"Venom!"
As Eddie realizes what Venom’s doing, as he screams out the symbiote’s name, the sound ripped from his chest like he’s been gutted, he feels it. As he squints against the blinding flash, hears the muffled roar of the ship collapsing in on itself, the sensation amplifies. He watches as Venom sizzles, writhes, and thrashes around, and then it hits him. He’s watching them die, he’s watching his other die.
Goodbye, Eddie.
He plunges into the water, and the ice engulfs him, swallows up his tears, his screams, his agony. His body can’t even find the energy to panic, to kick its way to the surface, to fill his lungs with air. It’s giving up on him, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the shock, the exhaustion, or the grief, but whatever it is, it fucking hurts.
It’s like he’s been hollowed out, his soul wrenched from him and then replaced with raw pain.
And then there’s nothing.
***
Before Venom, Eddie had never realized just how much space there was within him. The tunnels of his veins, the room below his heart, the gaps between his ribs. He never knew how many nerve endings he had just beneath his skin until he got that tingly rush across his whole body right before Venom’s inky tendrils extended from him. He was never aware of how loud his heartbeat could get until he was encased within his symbiote, only able to hear the deafening ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum echoing all around him.
He never quite understood that “you never know what you have until it’s gone” bullshit until now. Sure he’s had his fuckups--lost his job, lost his credibility, lost Annie--but in all honesty, he never expected any of those things to be permanent; he just kinda hoped for it.
He knew he was valuable as a reporter, but he was never naive enough to think that his job was a lifetime deal. The same went for Anne--he knew he loved her, knew she loved him, but he never truly expected any of it to be a forever endeavor. He’d been hopeful they’d spend years and years together, that they’d grow old together, but he also knew that nothing was guaranteed.
When it came to Venom, though…
It just never made sense for Eddie to even imagine that they would be separated from one another. Aside from the MRI stunt, there just was never a good enough reason for either of them to be apart. Venom needed him to survive, and Eddie, well. He’d never admit it aloud, and he barely let himself even think it whilst bonded with the symbiote, but he needed Venom too, in a weird way.
Obviously, humans aren’t like symbiotes--they don’t need another being to survive. They need social interaction, sure, but they don’t physically depend on any other living thing to continue existing. It didn’t make sense for Eddie to believe that he needed his alien goo monster, but now that they’re gone, it’s a wonder and a half that the man managed to survive without them in the first place.
Eddie doesn’t do too well with being alone. When he was punted into adult life after high school, he quickly learned how to turn himself into a social chameleon so he’d never have to feel isolated. His college years were filled with him bouncing between relationships, racking up nearly two dozen boyfriends and girlfriends. It turns out that a fear of loneliness leads to a solid four year streak of serial monogamy.
The weird desperation only really calmed down when he moved in with Anne. Even just the “seriously exclusive” stage of their relationship was toeing the line of not being totally fulfilling, and Eddie had had to lock it down to make sure that he didn’t lose her. One of the only people he’s ever had in his life that made him feel like he was good, like he was enough.
His dependency, that need for validation, easily explains the near-fatal bout of depression he fell into after she kicked him out and broke off the engagement. For a good two thirds of those six months, Eddie had been numb, like he didn’t know how to be a complete person without someone else there by his side. Just his luck that right as he was beginning to figure out how to function again, he gets body snatched.
He’d never admit it, but that brief time that he shared with Venom made him feel complete, and for once he didn’t feel like he was letting anybody down. All Venom really needed from him was a body, and some sustenance. Eddie could do that. Eddie did do that. He even went as far as running from mercenaries and eating people for his symbiote.
And yet it wasn’t enough to keep them safe.
As Eddie sits in the back of the ambulance, eyes glassy, a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders, he feels himself grow even colder than he was moments ago. He couldn’t keep Venom safe, he couldn’t save them, and now he’s alone again. And it’s all his fault.
He shudders, feeling his throat close up and hot tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. He has to hunch over and curl in on himself to keep from collapsing right there in the dirt. A quiet EMT with dark skin and short, curly hair approaches Eddie slowly, her brown eyes wide and full of concern.
“Are you in pain, sir?”
He wants to laugh, because yeah, he really fucking is, but he doesn’t plan on explaining the emotional maelstrom that is watching one’s soulmate burn to death right before their very eyes. Sighing, Eddie shakes his head in the negative and pulls the blanket tighter around him with shaky hands.
“Nah, ‘m good. Just cold, is all,” he lies quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.
“Yeah, sorry about that. The police just need to finish getting statements and then you can go home. Will you be okay until then?” Eddie nods jerkily, a stiff smile on his lips. The young woman must be convinced, because she shuffles off, leaving him alone again.
Alone.
The word keeps bouncing around in Eddie’s head and he does his best to morph the voice whispering it into something similar to Venom’s. The raspy hiss and booming register apparently can’t be duplicated, though, and the realization causes Eddie to fold in on himself once again.
Burrowing further into the scratchy hospital blanket, he does his best to block out all of the noise around him and focus on the memory of Venom’s voice. He squeezes his eyes shut in concentration and tries to imagine the sensation of Venom’s presence just beneath his skin, shifting and thrumming with energy. It feels like tapping on a microphone in an empty auditorium and hearing the noise echo off of the walls.
The prospect of never being able to feel Venom again, to never be able to hear their voice, see their opalescent eyes, ever again, sends Eddie reeling. At first it’s just one tear, one sniffle, but then something breaks in him and suddenly he’s blubbering and clutching at his chest like he’s mourning at a funeral; and in a way, he is.
He thought the numbness would be bad, but this? This is so, so much worse. Eddie feels everything, every inch of emptiness, every cell that’s been left vacant. He can feel the entirety of the yawning chasm that Venom’s left in him, and it’s devastating.
***
76 hours.
It’s been 76 hours since Eddie’s slept (68 if you count him passing out after the explosion as sleeping). The experience has been pretty educational for him, though. For example, he’s learned that if you dissociate for a long enough time, your brain can trigger itself into going into micro-sleep; it almost feels like a mini reboot.
Eddie can’t get himself to sleep any other way. It’s not his fault, though--it’s fucking hard to lay down in bed like a normal person when you feel like your body is too empty. His bones are too light, his gut is too hollow, and his head is too quiet. He feels like a puppet with its strings cut and his marionettist nowhere to be found.
He hasn’t been able to leave his apartment, barely been able to eat, and let’s not even try to remember the last time he brushed his teeth or showered. The man’s been practically catatonic, eyes perpetually red and puffy. He can’t even remember the last time he got up from his couch; his days have become a blur of staring at his TV and not retaining any of what he sees.
Unfocused eyes fall to his phone on the coffee table, watching as it lights up for the umphteenth time in the last hour. It’s Anne. Again. Worrying about him. Again. That’s basically been his entire social life these last few days.
The first few texts, from the night of the explosion, are pretty mild. It’s almost routine, Anne doing her “you can come to me” schtick.
Annie: You probably don’t want to talk much right now but if you need anything, call me <3
Annie: I know you fear the oven, and I made lasagna for me and Dan for dinner~ Lmk if you want me to bring over some leftovers.
There’s a missed call or two from the day before yesterday, and then the texts get a little more antsy.
Annie: If you don’t respond I’ll assume you’re dead.
Annie: That was a joke.
Annie: Seriously, though, reply please. I’m worried about you.
There’s three more missed calls, and he doesn’t even want to think about how upset the corresponding voicemails might be. The next texts are from just last night.
Annie: Ed, call me back please.
Annie: Eddie, seriously.
Another missed call and then today’s notifications pick up with a text from Dan, surprisingly enough.
Doctor Dan: Hey Eddie, it’s Dan. Anne’s super worried about you, man. Are you doing alright? I know these last few days were probably rough. Please call one of us. I think she’s planning on storming your place.
That one almost makes Eddie laugh.
Four more missed calls and then the most recent text from Anne.
Annie: I’m coming over. You’d better be dead or I’ll break your ass for worrying me sick.
Despite the gratitude he feels towards her for being so concerned, Eddie quite literally wants nothing more than for Anne to leave him alone. It’s not just her, though, he just really can’t be bothered to act like everything’s okay for the sake of someone else’s comfort, and despite how understanding she can be, he knows that’s exactly what’ll end up happening.
He’ll probably have to do that deflective routine where he bounces questions back at her. It works with other people, and he can only pray it’ll work on her. He never really had to be fake with Anne before, but he knows that if he lets on just how absolutely grief-stricken he is, she’ll probably try to have him committed. Which is completely valid, in her defense.
Sighing, Eddie sits up, grimacing when he feels an uncomfortable tug in at least four different muscles along his back and obliques. With a groan, he heaves his feet to the floor and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The movement must have been a bit too quick, because he’s overcome with a wave of nausea and his vision nearly goes black.
“Ugh, hate that,” he grumbles, blinking rapidly.
Clutching the armrest of the couch, Eddie does his best to ignore the inclination to vomit up what little contents remain in his stomach, and reaches for his phone. Unlocking it and opening the messages app, he immediately taps away a short message to Anne, knowing it won’t do much to thwart her plans to come over.
Eddie: I’m alive, no need to alert the media.
Just as he’s about to lock his phone and toss it back onto the coffee table, the gray typing bubble appears. Eddie can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the snippy reply that pops up.
Annie: Good for you. Still coming.
Eddie: That’s really not necessary, counselor.
Annie: Too bad, Brock. ETA 5
The playful quips are so routine by this point that they barely do anything to make Eddie feel better. Any other day like this, one where he’s just too caught up in a mood drop to function right, this would have made him smile. He might’ve even been able to muster up a laugh if he’d had enough sleep.
Today really can’t relate. He kind of just feels like he’s doing what’s expected of him, in this state. He knows that Annie’s usually really good at sniffing out bullshit, but he also knows that he’s the regional champ of bullshitting, so it’s pretty fifty-fifty with this.
Pushing up off of the couch, Eddie ignores the aches and pains lighting up all around his body, and makes his way to his dirty bathroom. He immediately flips on the cold tap and splashes his face, hoping it’ll do something to make him look a little less dead. He even throws in a few gentle slaps to his face, remembering reading something about increasing blood flow and waking up the skin or whatever the hell.
There’s a few moments where he just stares at his face, getting lost in all of the differences he sees in himself. It feels like it shouldn’t be so visible precisely how misplaced he is. It doesn’t seem fair that someone could take one look at him without ever knowing anything about him, and know instantly that the last three days of his life were probably the worst he’d ever experienced.
The wrinkles across his forehead look miles deep, along with the ones around his eyes and mouth, like the echoes of a frown. His face is slimmed out significantly and his skin’s taken on a wraith-like pallor. Gross, dirty hair and equally gross and unkempt clothes stand as a testament to just how much of a nosedive his personal hygiene has taken as of late.
His eyes take the cake this Transformation Tuesday, though. Those normally bright and expressive irises, always swimming with swirls of blues and greens, look cold and dulled out to a flat steely shade. The dark shadows of exhaustion beneath them do nothing to help the situation either.
Eddie’s pulled out of his little daze at the sound of a sharp rap on his front door. Oh, right. Almost forgot I invited over the firing squad. With a heavy sigh, Eddie pushes himself off of the sink and makes his way through his apartment. Without bothering to check the peephole, he swings the door open and effectively manages to startle Anne on the other side.
“Christ, Ed, you look like shit,” she grumbles, shoving a bag of takeout into his hands and brushing past him into the apartment. As she makes her way further into the apartment, Eddie watches her sweep her eyes across the room, a disapproving frown on her face. “And I’m guessing you haven’t cleaned since you moved in?” She spins back around, and despite her brusque tone, he can see the concern written all over her face.
Eddie doesn’t even bother trying to hide his scoff and eye roll as he turns to set the takeout onto the counter. Moving to grab some paper plates from a cabinet, he falls into autopilot as he plates he and Annie’s meals. While he’s doing his best to think of a response that doesn’t sound like a lie but also doesn’t sound like a truth, he must give himself away.
Unsuccessfully hiding the pitying look in her eyes, Anne leans against the makeshift island in the middle of the kitchen and crosses her arms over her chest. Eddie can practically hear her planning her response, mentally outlining her statement. Always the lawyer.
“I know that Venom, uh,” she pauses, glancing up to his face to gauge his reaction. She almost misses the way that Eddie’s shoulders tense up and his grip on the lo mein box tightens. Exhaling loudly through her nose, she continues, though her voice has taken on a more cautious edge to it. “I know they meant a lot to you… I’m really sorry, Eddie.” Her hazel eyes are wide and worried, giving Eddie all of the motivation he needs to absolutely avoid the topic.
Nodding curtly, he simply hands Anne her plate of lo mein and moves to sit at his rickety little dining table. Gesturing towards the chair opposite him, he silently invites her to sit, which she does, albeit reluctantly.
Before she gets the chance to ask him anything or prompt any further conversation, Eddie immediately decides that stuffing his face is the best course of action. Fumbling with his chopsticks in his shaky hands, he shovels his mouth full of noodles, staunchly avoiding his ex’s curious gaze.
The second he starts chewing, Eddie has to close his eyes for a second to ground himself. Dizziness rolls over him, along with the sudden urge to vomit. The sensations are closely followed by a screaming voice in his head berating him for going three days without eating anything more than dry cheerios. Great, great, fantastic, just what I needed.
Caught up in this little struggle against his body, Eddie misses the doleful frown on Anne’s face as she takes in his appearance. Greasy hair, dirty sweatshirt, hand tremors, hollow eyes. This might just be the worst she’s ever seen him--and that’s saying something.
“Ed,” she speaks softly, waiting for him to make eye contact before continuing. “Have, uh…” there’s a pregnant pause as she tries to think of the most delicate way to word what she has to say next. After a few moments she gives up and decides that maybe being blunt is the best decision. “Have you been taking your meds?”
A beat.
Eddie is no longer looking at her, but is instead staring a hole into the table before him. His jaw’s clenched and she can see the beginnings of his forehead vein popping out. Automatically, she reaches out a hand to lay atop Eddie’s in a comforting gesture, but he flinches away from her before she can even reach him.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he snatches up his plate and stands abruptly, moving towards the kitchen. After unceremoniously throwing the still mostly-full dish into the trash, Eddie moves to the fridge, snagging a beer and twisting it open. Trembling hands raise the bottle to his lips and he takes a quick sip.
He should’ve seen this coming, he should’ve fucking known that she’d do this. It’s not that she wasn’t onto something--he does have chronic depression, and his meds did work wonders in the symptomatic treatment of it. It just--this isn’t--she can’t just... ugh!
No, he hasn’t been taking them, and no, he hasn’t taken them in months. But that doesn't mean that he needs them now.
This isn’t just his brain being shitty, he’s literally in mourning. Eddie feels himself growing more and more agitated, and after a quick glance her way, he can see Anne getting more and more worried. Squeezing his eyes shut, he exhales heavily and shakes his head once.
“'S not what this is, Annie,” he rasps out. His voice feels crackly and gritty after going so many days without using it for anything but crying. It almost hurts his throat to speak. Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Eddie lets his head fall into his hands and he scrubs at his face. He's doing all he can to suppress the tears he feels trying to well up.
He hears Anne stand up and move his direction, though he can tell that she’s keeping her distance. He’s the perfect picture of an anxiety attack waiting to happen, and he’s grateful that she’s giving him his space. Though it would be a fuck ton better if she just left, he thinks bitterly.
“No, Eddie, I get that but I just--wouldn’t they help?”
He knows she’s trying to be helpful, he knows that she wouldn’t get it, but something in him is just getting irrationally upset. The heat bubbling up in his chest feels like it’s showing up out of nowhere, and he’s pulling just about every string he can to keep it from boiling over.
Eddie lets a few tense minutes of silence hang in the air before he pushes himself up off of the counter and fixes Anne with a withering stare. Somehow, the man manages to look even more tired than he did just minutes ago, and Annie feels something in her shatter a little at the sight. This was a lot worse than she’d assumed.
“If not, then I’m sure you could get a better prescription! I know Dan could easily find you a new psychiatrist and help y--” Eddie cuts her off before she can dig herself any deeper.
“Annie, stop. Seriously. I don’t need more p-pills," he spits the word, "or therapy or whatever the hell, okay?” She nods, stunned by his sharp tone. “Great, thank you.” Sagging against the counter, Eddie takes another swig of his beer, eyes fixed on the ground.
“So was this a friend check-in, or an intervention, hm?”
He almost feels bad about how cold his voice has become, but apathy is ultimately winning out. When his eyes find Anne’s once again, he finds her looking more flustered than he’s seen her in ages.
“Well, uh,” she stammers, caught off guard by his disposition. “I mean… I d-didn’t mean to accost you, I’m just worried.” Grimacing, Ed hunches his shoulders inwards, contrite.
“I-I know, I get that, but I just…” He opens and closes his mouth for a few moments, unable to think of a way to word his feelings. “I’m grieving, Annie. I felt them leave me, I f-fuckin’ watched them die, for chrissake. I’m not gonna t-take some pill and get over it y’know? Venom was p-part of me, they were me, and it’s..."
There's a weak fluttering in his gut, right where V used to sit, and it makes him nauseous with longing. Eddie steadies himself with a deep breath before going on.
“Symbiosis doesn’t just go one way. I needed them just as much as they needed me, believe it or not.” He lets out a watery laugh, thinking of how much an actual person he felt like when he had Venom with him. And now without them? God, it’s probably the loneliest thing anyone could ever experience. Not to mention goddamn painful.
In his peripheral vision, Eddie can see Anne shifting closer to him, a hand held out tentatively like she were approaching a cornered animal. Moving haltingly, she slowly comes closer to him, stopping only when she’s just out of arm’s reach.
“Oh, Eddie. I had no idea,” she says, voice hardly above a whisper.
“Yeah, well.” Eddie shrugs helplessly.
When he brings his eyes up to Anne’s, she’s floored when she sees the tears trailing down his cheeks. Without even thinking about what she’s doing, she moves in, wrapping her arms around his torso in an awkward hug. Eddie winces at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, voice thick with unshed tears.
Eddie’s white knuckling the edge of the counter at this point, every muscle taut. The intimacy of the situation isn’t lost on him, and his mind is racing as he tries to figure out the best way to respond. He ends up blurting the first thing that comes to mind.
“It’s fine, Annie.” His answer comes out robotic, and he says it completely out of habit. When he feels Anne sigh against him, he wants to take it back. She pulls away from him, eyes hard with something unreadable.
“We both know that it’s not, but we’ll get you through this okay? Just...” She pauses, taking a moment to read his face. “Promise me you’ll let me help you?” Rubbing his back comfortingly, she gives him a hopeful smile, doing what she can to seem encouraging.
The optimistic twinkle in Anne’s eyes nearly breaks Eddie’s already shattered heart. He goddamn hates promises. It’s like he was designed to break them, built to break people’s trust. But this was one of those rare promises that needs to be made, to comfort the other person, to ease their mind.
“I promise."
***
By the end of the following week, Eddie’s back on a semi-acceptable sleep schedule. He’s practically nocturnal, but Anne and Dan can’t find it in themselves to really complain (“At least he’s sleeping at all,” “That doesn’t make it much better, Annie” “At this point we should just be willing to take what we can get.”).
He’s even eating again too, thanks to Anne bringing him meal-prepped tupperware (“I don’t think he needs you to pre-prepare his cereal for him.” “And I think that you underestimate his absolute lack of functionality.”).
It took time, but he’s doing better.
Well, let’s not exaggerate. He’s still an absolute mess on the inside. He cries a lot. He cries in the shower, and when he eats, and before bed; the point is that he’s at least showering and eating and sleeping now. Physically, it’s getting better. He’s getting his strength back, the headaches are slowly but surely disappearing, and he’s finally starting to feel less like a walking sack of shit. It’s refreshing.
It’s almost to the point where the emptiness that he’d felt those first few days, that weird void in his gut, feels like it’s getting smaller. Now, this may just be the physical act of his body filling back up whatever burrow Venom had made, but Eddie can’t help but feel like it’s something else.
It’s comforting, because he feels less… incomplete, but it unsettles him, because what if this means that he really doesn’t need Venom to live? What if everything goes back to the way that it was before? What if he ends up living like Venom never existed?
Wincing at the thought, Eddie shakes his head resolutely, like he were trying to dislodge the idea from his head.
With a disgusted huff, he pushes his plate away from him. There’s something tugging at his gut, and it isn’t hunger. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s working on a story and he can feel himself getting closer to the root of it.
It’s usually a sensation that he welcomes, looks forward to even, considering it tends to be the deciding factor of his paychecks. But now? Damn, is it unnerving. Eddie wasn’t searching for anything, so why does he feel like he’s just stumbled upon something?
It’s starting to create a weird, tingling anxiety all across his skin and he finds himself tugging on his jacket and grabbing the keys to his bike before he can even think about it.
“Start going for walks or drives,” Dan had said to him earlier in the week in an attempt to get him to start moving. “It’ll help clear your head, get you out of your depression cave.”
And that’s exactly what Eddie does.
He’s mindlessly weaving through the nighttime traffic, making his way over the hills of the city, mind completely blank. By the time he finally starts to pay attention to his surroundings, he can already see the water shimmering.
Immediately, his stomach drops. This place… he shouldn’t be here. It’s like going back to the crime scene of his own murder, he shouldn’t be here.
Something sickening coils around Eddie’s heart like a noose.
Despite the raw dread weighing down his bones, Eddie finds himself parking his bike and making his way through the woods towards the water, as if he were in a daze. After a few minutes of walking, he end up toe to toe with the shore, the water mockingly still and deceptively peaceful.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters to himself, sick with heartache.
It’s not fair that things get to just fucking continue. The world gets to keep turning, the moon gets to keep phasing, the water gets to keep lapping at the shore. All while Eddie’s entire life is shattering to pieces all around him, and all he can do is cover his head and hope the shards don’t cut him. It’s not fucking fair.
There's no one to be mad at, not really, but there's something hot and angry crawling through his lungs and up his throat and eventually making its way out of his mouth.
“Fuck you, stupid parasite,” Eddie spits through gritted teeth, angrily swiping at his nose with a clenched fist. “Make me f-fucking need you then you leave?” Something flickers in Eddie’s chest and it causes his feelings to bubble up to the surface even more rapidly, on the verge of overflowing.
“What happened to us?!”
The question comes out as a broken cry, and he doubles over with his hands on his knees, dry heaving and lightheaded.
We... are here.
Eddie's eyes snap open and he feels every muscle in his body draw taut. No. There's no way.
It was too weak, too quiet to be them. Shaking his head so fast his vision blurs, Eddie lets out a dry sob, incredulity squeezing at his throat.
"Y-You're losing it, Ed, you're hearing things."
He starts to move move away from the water, shuffling backwards on shaky legs. It's being here, it's the water--it's making his PTSD act up. Auditory hallucinations are normal trauma responses right? He remembers Dan mentioning that once before. His brain's trying to help him cope with the stress by making up something comforting. It's all in his head, he's just imagining-
We are here, Eddie.
This time it's louder, and Eddie gasps haltingly, stupefaction dragging through his veins. It's not possible, it can't be, it doesn't make any sense. Eddie's eyelashes twitch, already sparkling with yet-to-be-shed tears.
"V?"
For a few moments, there's no response, and it's long enough for Eddie to start to seriously consider committing himself and getting put on an anti-psychotic. This is too much. He can deal with his depression and his anxiety alone, he's been doing it for years. But this? If this grief is going to make him start imagining Venom's still here, he's gonna need professional help.
Eddie's already turning around to walk back to his bike and drive himself to a hospital, when suddenly, he feels something lurch behind his rib cage. It's... no.
His knee-jerk reaction is to deny it, to ignore it, and the pessimism almost wins out. But then he feels that wobbling sensation again and it’s too familiar and it’s too real and please, god, it has to be real.
"Oh god, please be here, please," he whimpers. A shaky hand presses to his sternum, hoping to feel something but terrified of feeling nothing. He's doing his absolute best to stay upright, to not collapse right there in the dirt. “Please be real.”
Eddie, we're real.
After the first tear, the rest follow in a ceaseless rush, and the force of the sobs brings Eddie to his knees, forehead pressing into the mud. Now he's crying with vigor, on all fours, weeping like a newborn, but unable to give an explanation as to why.
He can feel Venom panicking, weakly flitting around beneath his ribs, trying to figure out what to do, how to help, but there's nothing to be done aside from letting this spell of emotion run its course.
"You're here?" Eddie pants out weakly, still unable to fully process it.
Yes, Eddie. Here.
At their words, Venom presses more firmly against the inside of Eddie's chest, reaffirming their statement. The light pressure he feels rattles him, and a fresh round of tears overcomes him.
"I thought you were fuckin' gone, V," Eddie manages to gasp out between sputtering snivels. "I thought I had watched you die! I th-thought you left me." A biting heat flashes over Eddie's skin as his symbiote bristles, and despite how borderline painful it is, the relief that fills Eddie's chest at the sensation nearly knocks the breath out of him.
We didn't leave. Never leave.
Images flood Eddie's mind of what happened after the explosion. Venom left as nothing more than an ink stain clinging to the inside of ribs, forced into some kind of torpor. They were so weakened by the explosion that they couldn't even find it in them to let Eddie know that they were okay, that they were alive. It didn't exactly help that Eddie refused to eat or let himself rest; it caused V to take even longer to come back around.
Regret blooms in Eddie's chest, and before he can even verbalize an apology, V wriggles around just below his heart, as if they were shaking their head.
"I missed you so much," he whispers, remorse clear in his words. "Don't you ever do that again."
Never, Eddie.
Though they don't say it, an apology is clear in Venom's tone as well. They even punctuate their words by sending a warm pulse of affection to Eddie's side of the bond. The crying man can't help but smile tearfully, damn near dizzy with gratitude for his symbiote, his other, his love.
The fire made us weak.
"I know, you goddamned self-sacrificing son of a bitch. Christ, I wanna be so mad at you," he huffs out. Raising a hand back up to his chest, he presses against his sternum again, right in front of where he knows Venom is, right where they belong. Inky goo surfaces and spreads out against Eddie's palm, seeping between his fingertips and squeezing, as if they were holding hands.
Eddie smiles at the feeling, completely overwhelmed with too many emotions to be described. He feels like the world's stopped spinning and nothing is moving except him and his other, huddled in the dirt and bathed by the pale moonlight.
This moment is more satiating than any five course meal could ever dream to be, and to be honest, Eddie can feel himself becoming a glutton for this feeling.
It's like he's being transported through space and time. He can't remember what these last few days felt like; he can't recall the numbness or the emptiness or the pain. All he knows is this moment of delirium, and he wonders briefly if anyone else in the world has ever felt this before or if he's discovered something new.
He feels complete.
"Let's go home, love."