Fight or Flight (Eddie Munson x Y/N)

18. "We're Not Gonna Take It"

Eddie has two choices. Beat the shit out of the creep or go after you.

He decides he has time for a little of both.

He grabs the guy by his shirt to spin him around before he grabs him by the shirt collar. Eddie brings the guy close to his own face. "If you ever touch her again, I'll kill you myself," he growls, spit flying into  the man's face. Eddie lets him go forcefully, causing him fly back against the bar, before he runs out the same exit you did seconds earlier.

You hear how loud the side exit door slams against the brick of the building as you leave. The cold September airs hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself as you walk.

You're not even sure where you're going. You just need to get away.

"Y/N! Y/N!" you hear Eddie running toward you. He runs past you and then skids to a stop in front of you, hands up. "Wait. Please."

You snap your head up so to meet his eyes. You're visibly shaking. He looks startled, afraid of how to proceed.

You take a deep, shuddering breath in, averting your eyes as tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. "I just don't like..."

"You don't like to be touched," Eddie quietly finishes your sentence, as if a lightbulb goes off in his head. He's coming to the realization that Gareth was right; something had happened to you, changed you. Someone had hurt you. And it killed Eddie.

You slowly look back at him, your face finally crumbling, the tears spilling. "I'm sorry," you say shakily. "I'm sorry I ruined your show."

"Are you kidding?" Eddie laughs, genuinely incredulous at the idea. He leans down to meet your eyes. "You being here tonight made my show." He goes to put his hands on your arms but as soon as he raises them, he lets them fall to his sides.

He sighs, "Y/N, I'll be honest, I really want to comfort  you after what that creep did, but I'm not sure how to do it without touching you."

The honesty and awkwardness of his admission lightens the mood just slightly. You give a laugh through your tears and nod. You step forward and put your arms under his, pacing your closed fists on his back. You rest the your cheek on his chest. It's firm and warm, the muted rhythm of his heart a soothing and repetitive sound. This is the first time you've let a man touch you in years.

He hesitates in consideration of where to put his hands, but pulls you closer with one on your back and the other stroking your hair.

"It's okay," he whispers in your ear, rocking you back and forth ever so slightly. "You're safe now."

The last three little words break you. You start to sob: heavy, heaving sobs. For the anger and shame you had been stuffing down, for every voice in your head that told you it was your fault, for every sleepless night you had from reliving the moment in nightmare after nightmare.

He knows by your response that this something you've been wanting---needing---to hear, so he repeats it over and over as he strokes your hair. His words, his voice, become a mantra for you.

It's the first time you realize you could fall in love with Eddie Munson.

Eventually, you have no more tears to cry and you look up at Eddie. "I have to get home before my dad kills me for breaking curfew."

"Okay," he says quietly, using gentle calloused fingers to wipe away streaks of mascara. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No, I drove me and Stacy here."

"Okay, well can I at least follow you home in my van? To make sure you get there okay? We already packed everything in it after the set."

You give him a small smile, "Sure, Eddie. Thank you."

"Of course. It's my pleasure."

"Just um," you look up, trying to think of how to phrase this. "It's just my parents don't know that the guy I'm tutoring is in a metal band..."

"And if they did, they'd think he was a cult leader corrupting their daughter?" he laughs. "Tale as old as time, sweetheart. I'm just another car on the road who happens to be behind you when you pull into the driveway."

"You're something else, you know that?" you smile at Eddie in wonder.

"I have been told that, yes," he quips sarcastically. "Tomorrow? Are you still up for a guitar lesson?"

"Absolutely. Your place? As we just established, my parents might kill me..."

You notice a beat of hesitation before he says, "My place it is."