Chapter Nine
Hell or High Water

SATURDAY 14th JUNE, SUMMER 1985 — FLASHBACK

Aside from the occasional sigh, a purposeful huff, or the repetitive click clack of Betty's heels against the concrete sidewalk, she and Eddie had been in silence since leaving Steve's party.

Eddie got bored quickly. So he did an embarrassing little jog to catch up with her.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked. When she responded with even more of the silent treatment, Eddie visibly grimaced. "Yeah. You're definitely mad."

His shoulder lightly bumped against hers. Betty scowled, angling her body away from him. She was still a little off balance, not entirely sobered up, and stumbled a step or two further than anticipated. Eddie bit back a smile, casting his amused gaze over her. He noticed the line of raised goosebumps along her bare arms.

"You cold?"

Betty said nothing – although she had been forcibly grinding down on her teeth to prevent them from chattering. Truth was, she was fucking freezing. It might have been the summer, but it was gone two in the morning and she was only wearing a tiny dress.

But, Betty was stubborn. Eddie knew that. So instead of pettily ignoring her in response, he pulled off his leather jacket. "Here."

Betty glanced down at it, then slowly lifted her head to look up at him. "No thanks. I'm fine."

Eddie had debated launching it at her instead, but decided not to. Fine. If she wanted to be difficult, he would let her.

"Alright." Eddie shrugged, folding the jacket back over his arm. "Nice to know you remember how to speak."

Still nothing.

Damn. He thought that would work.

Betty sped up. Eddie took longer strides to match her pace.

"So, what? You're just never gonna talk to me again?" He prodded, only to receive another exasperated sigh in response. Eddie knew he was close though. If he annoyed her just a little bit more, she would snap eventually. "I mean, even a thank you would go a long way."

Betty halted abruptly.

There.

She whirled around, jabbing a manicured pink fingernail at his chest. "I'm mad at you because–" Because you got hurt. "Becau– because–" She threw her hands up in the air exasperatedly. "Because you're so infuriating, Eddie! Like, why would you do that?!"

He frowned. "Offer you my jacket?"

"No, you– ugh!" Betty stomped her foot in frustration. Eddie genuinely had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing at her mini temper tantrum. "I meant why would you punch Billy–"

"Uh, because he deserved it."

"Yeah, but–"

"There's marks around your neck, Betty," Eddie reminded. "That's not okay."

Her fingertips consciously grazed over the bruised skin. It was sore to touch.

Betty thought about what had happened. Billy's rough and calloused hands roaming all over her body, touching her when she said no, groping her when she resisted, hurting her when she fought back. That dark, almost animalistic look in his eyes. Her fear.

She started to imagine what could've happened if she didn't get away. How far it could've escalated.

Betty wanted to know why. Why Billy decided to do that to her. What made him follow her out that door. Was it something she did?

Perhaps Betty had given him the wrong impression. Or had he seen her as an easy target? Maybe he thought she wanted it. If she hadn't had so much to drink, she might have been able to stop him earlier. Or prevent herself from provoking him with petty quips. Had he been angry – was that why?

Betty didn't fully comprehend that she was crying until the tears skimmed her cheeks.

Eddie's expression softened. "Betty. Hey, c'mon." She turned away from him, a hand covering her face. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"No," she hiccuped. "It's not you."

Eddie did not know what to do. "Betty..."

She turned back around, gesturing exasperatedly to her outfit. Her bottom lip quivered. "I'm dressed like a hooker, aren't I?"

Eddie stared at her, lips parted to speak, though it took a while for anything to come out. "What?"

Betty let out a choked sob. Her right leg wobbled petulantly as she looked up at the sky. "Ugh, it's all my fault, Eddie," she whined, flinging her arms out. "I dressed like this and got drunk and said mean things to him, and now you're hurt and Harrington kicked us out and I can't–" She shook her left foot vigorously, kicking a stiletto heel across the sidewalk. "I can't walk in these stupid shoes. My feet are killing me. And I'm getting fucking hyather– hymo– hernia out here!"

Slowly, Eddie outstretched his arm, offering his leather jacket again. "Hypothermia."

Betty eyed him, then the coat. She hesitated for about half a second before snatching it from his grasp. "Thanks."

Eddie watched as she slid her arms through the sleeves, and tried to ignore the strange feeling stirring in his chest. The jacket was oversized on Betty's smaller frame; length only just coming above her dress. Her hands disappeared into the large sleeves. She wrapped her arms tighter around her body.

"None of this is your fault, you know that right?" Eddie said, in such a sincere and gentle tone that it prompted Betty to actually meet his gaze. "And as for me–" He gestured a circle around his face. "This is a face that's been punched many times. In fact, I'm surprised it doesn't get punched more often."

"You are quite punchable," she admitted.

"Exactly. So don't worry about me, all right?" He said. Betty nodded. "Now, let's focus on how we're getting you home, because those heels?" Eddie shook his head as he glanced down at the discarded shoes on the ground. "Yeah, they do not look comfortable."

Betty pouted. "I can't feel my feet."

Eddie fought back a smile at her expression. "Well, I do have one solution..." His eyebrows raised. "Piggyback?"

Betty's face instantly dropped. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on," he teased encouragingly. "You know you want to."

"Over. My. Dead. Body."

Five minutes later, Betty was clinging onto Eddie's back as he strolled down the sidewalk.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders. Betty's fingers clutched the straps of her removed heels, which kept accidentally swinging against his chest. Eddie had complained he was being stabbed. Always so dramatic.

Betty secretly enjoyed wandering around in the dead of night rambling about stupid things with Eddie, or simply just enjoying the view. It was quiet and peaceful. The only downside was the small threat of potentially being murdered. Also, Betty was very conscious of any partygoers driving past them. She would never be able to socially recover if they were spotted in such a position.

Feeling herself starting to slip, she pressed herself closer against Eddie, instinctively tightening her grip around his neck.

"Strangling me, sweetheart."

Betty relaxed her arms. "Sorry."

She leaned in again to readjust herself. Her nose accidentally brushing against his dark curls. Mind tipsy and hazed with curiosity, Betty inhaled – though clearly not very subtly.

"Why are you sniffing me like a dog?"

Betty pulled back. "Did you wash your hair?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do wash my hair, yes."

"It's just..." Betty craned her neck to look round at him. "I heard a rumour that you don't."

"Was it the same rumour that suggests I smell because I'm poor and don't have a shower?"

"Oh," Betty said defeatedly. "Maybe."

"Yeah."

"...I don't think you smell," she said. "And I've seen your shower."

"Thank you," Eddie replied sarcastically. "That makes up for a lifetime of bullying."

"Oh, you have something on your shoulder–"

Eddie groaned. "If you're going to say I have a chip on my shoulder then I swear to god–"

She frowned, dusting off, what turned out to be, a strand of her hair stuck to his shirt. "Why would you have a chip on your shoulder?"

"Not an actual ch–"

"Wouldn't you just eat it?"

"I didn't mean an actual chip, Betts. I'm talking about the meta–" Eddie paused. "Wait. Is it a metaphor?"

"Which one's a metaphor again?" She asked airily. "I always get them confused with smimiles."

"Similes," he corrected.

Dramatically, Betty threw out an arm, almost whacking Eddie across the head. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

Eddie burst into laughter. "What?"

"It's a Shakespeare simile!"

He grinned. "How many drinks have you had?"

In response, Betty stretched out a hand in front of her, holding up four fingers. "Wait." She lowered her index, then raised it again. "Four?"

"So, four drink Betty recites Shakespeare?" Eddie teased. "Who knew."

"I'm full of surprises."

He attempted to disguise a smile. "That you are."

They continued on in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Betty did something totally unexpected. She let out a yawn and then leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Eddie?" She mumbled tiredly.

"Yes, Betty?"

"Has anyone told you that you have super pretty eyes?"

Eddie almost fucking dropped her.

He quickly readjusted his grip, holding the back of her thighs to keep her steady. "I'll be honest, I've never been told I have a pretty anything."

Betty gasped. "What? But you're–" Ok, she was sober enough to stop that almost slip up. "Your eyes. They're like... like chocolate buttons."

Eddie almost fucking giggled. "Chocolate buttons?"

"You know, the round chocolate drop thingys."

Eddie was so fucking glad she couldn't see his grin. "I know the ones."

"Your eyes look like them."

"Thank you."

Betty lifted her head again, observing his side-profile. Wow. He was pretty.

"Eddie?" She asked again. Her finger absentmindedly toyed with a lock of his hair. He felt a small tug against his scalp. The action made him smile.

"Yes, Betty?"

"I know in this town there isn't, like, a clear line between you and Satan–"

Fair.

"–But I think you're nice." Betty yawned again, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You always make me feel safe."

Eddie kind of felt like he'd been punched in the face again. But in a good way?

Betty Angel, the Betty Angel, felt safe with him. Despite all the times men had broken her trust, after the way she was violated at the party, he'd done enough to make her feel at ease.

"Hey, sleepy?"

"Hm?"

"You make me feel safe too."

Betty's expression brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah," Eddie smiled. "You do."

"I like that," she said. "That's nice."

"Question though," Eddie started. "Why does literally everyone compare me to Satan?"

"Oh, I think it's because of that game you play," she answered. "Dungbombs and Dragons."

"Dungeons and Dragons."

"Well, they think it's a cult," Betty explained. "That you all worship Satan."

"They think a bunch of metal-head nerds are secretly worshipping Satan?"

"Right?! That's what I keep telling people!"

Eddie was so distracted by the fact that Betty had been defending him in private, that he didn't even notice they'd turned the corner into her street. And it took Betty even longer to realise. Like, until he stopped outside the gate.

Betty lifted her head. "Holy shit. That's my house."

"You sure about this?" He double checked.

"That it's my house?"

"No, idiot. About sneaking me in."

"Oh. Probably not."

Well. That was good enough for him.

Eddie flicked open the lock on the front gate. His movements had caused Betty to start to slip, so he hurriedly tried to grab her again. Except his hands missed their intended spot.

"Shit, sorry, didn't mean to grab your ass."

"Only chance you'll ever get."

Eddie pressed his lips together and fought back a smirk. Touché.

The gate squeaked as it was pushed open. Eddie winced, stopped, then tried again.

Creak.

"You need to oil that."

"Shut up."

Eddie followed the front garden trail and climbed the porch steps. He stopped outside the door and carefully set Betty down.

She wobbled a little off balance, so he held her upper arm to steady her. "You good?"

Betty nodded, rummaging through her purse for the house keys. Eventually, she lifted them out and stumbled closer to the door. Betty missed the lock several times before she managed to slot it in. The door clicked and, very slowly, she pushed it open.

Betty paused, peered inside, listened, then stepped onto the welcome mat. Eddie crept in behind her. The hall was almost completely pitch black. And Betty had, for some reason, decided to forgo turning on any lights.

Eddie blindly waved a hand out in front of him. "Hey, uh, I can't see anything," he whispered.

"Hang on," she hissed back. He looked around, attempting to pinpoint where her voice had come from, when his forearm was grasped abruptly. Eddie flinched. "It's me, loser," Betty said, fingers trailing down his wrist until she reached his hand. "Follow me."

Eddie did as he was told.

Betty led him up the staircase. Eddie made an effort to watch where he was going, but all he could see was darkness and shadows. He shuffled tentatively up the steps. Halfway along, Betty bumped her elbow against the bannister and swore. Eddie stifled a laugh.

Betty stopped just above him, on what he assumed was the landing. Still clutching her hand, Eddie took more confident strides. But then his foot accidentally kicked something firm and furry.

A strangled yeow came from the floor.

A sharp scratch dug into his leg. Eddie tried to hurry up the stairs faster, but his foot snagged. He tripped, toppling into Betty, who tumbled down with him.

There was a loud thud as they hit the floor.

"Ow."

A light switched on inside one of the bedrooms, flooding underneath the gap in the door and onto the landing. Betty gingerly propped herself onto her elbows. Eddie intended to move too, but something was pawing at the cuff of his jeans. He heard a recognisably aggressive hiss. Ringo. That fucking cat.

The door opened, bathing the hall in a particularly bright light. Eddie was forced to squeeze his eyes shut. Betty groaned too, throwing out a hand in front of her face.

"What the hell is going on?"

Betty peered through the gaps between her fingers. Her mother was stood in front of them, dressed in a lilac robe and matching bonnet. She set her hands on her hips disapprovingly.

Eddie peeled his eyes open and squinted, adjusting to the light. Once he had, his gaze drifted towards Betty. At which point, they both seemed to realise their position.

She was sprawled on her back, legs open, Eddie practically between them, his face dangerously close to her crotch.

"Oh–"

"–Fuck!"

Betty pushed his forehead back. Eddie scrambled to his feet, accidentally elbowing Ringo (deserved), who was still trying to claw at him.

"It's, uh, it's not what it looks like," Betty tried to explain, hauling herself up from the floor. She tugged down the bottom of her dress, which had ridden up. Eddie swore he tried not to look. "He fell and–"

Donna's brows raised disbelievingly. "Into your lap?"

The two teenagers exchanged wide-eyed looks. "Uh..."

Donna's firm stare landed on Eddie. He thought she was going to be pissed, but her expression quickly shifted into one of concern. "Eddie, what happened? Why are you covered in blood?"

He frowned for a moment, forgetting the actual reason he was there in the first place. Eddie cast a look down at his bloodstained t-shirt. "Oh, yeah, I, uh, sort of got into a fight."

"A fight?"

"Defending me," Betty added quickly.

Eddie pointed back at Betty. "Yep. Defending her. Totally her fault."

Betty glared at him before addressing her mother again. "And then we got kicked out. I mean, technically I didn't, but he did," she rushed. "And I felt bad, so I said I'd help him get cleaned up. We walked back because it was only a few blocks away, but my feet were hurting so Eddie gave me a piggyback and–"

Donna held out a hand. "Okay, I get it."

"Sorry."

Donna sighed. "All right. I'll get the first aid kit from downstairs. Take him to your bathroom," she instructed. "And try not to make any more noise."

"Sorry," Eddie apologised. "I, uh, tripped over your cat." He offered Donna a sheepish smile. The woman responded with a pointed look.

"Oh no, is Ringo okay?" Betty asked worriedly. She crouched down and outstretched her hand. The cat immediately padded over to her, brushing its face against her palm.

"Okay, the devil cat is fine," Eddie said bitterly. "I, however, am not."

Betty straightened back up. "Don't call my cat the devil."

"But he is."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Come on."

Betty grabbed his hand again, tugging him inside her bedroom and through to the en-suite.

Honestly, Eddie still found it super cool that she had a bathroom inside her bedroom.

The walls, painted a light pink colour, matched her room, and the white floor tiles were practically spotless. There were several utility cupboards, a mirror and a dresser below it, with a whole line of hairspray and perfume bottles. Eddie couldn't understand why one person could need that much. Then again, Betty always smelled unreal. The kind of scent that would linger on your clothes, in your hair, in your mind...

She motioned her head towards the bath. "Sit."

"Yes ma'am."

Eddie plonked down, slumping back until he was pressed against the wall. He watched as she crossed the room towards the sink.

Betty reached up into the white cabinet above her and rummaged through. Eddie failed to tear his eyes away as he watched her dress drift further and further up her thighs.

There was a clatter. Betty pulled out a small pink, fluffy towel. She shoved whatever had fallen out of place back inside and slammed the cabinet shut. Eddie quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in his hands as he fiddled with his silver rings.

Betty ran the cloth underneath the tap and wrung the excess water out. She headed back over to him, droplets falling from the flannel onto the floor.

Eddie's attention returned to Betty, observing her underneath the flush of the fluorescent lights. Her curls had dropped into loose waves, her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, tiny smudges of mascara dotted underneath them. His leather jacket hung loosely from her frame, having fallen down one of her shoulders and leaving it bare. He remembered a strange sensation overcoming him, a nice one...

Eddie thought she was beautiful.

Meanwhile, Betty had realised how fucking terrible Eddie looked. A dark bruise was taking shape over his cheekbone. His left eye was red and starting to swell. The blood that had pooled underneath his nose was dry and flaking. His cut lip had already started to heal itself, but there was another at the bottom of his chin and a nasty graze on his temple.

"Have I got something on my face?" Eddie dead-panned. Betty responded with a pointed look. He flashed a toothy grin back. And then winced. "Ow. Hurts to move my cheeks."

"Then stop talking," she told him. "You're far more tolerable with your mouth shut anyway."

Eddie's lips immediately parted to disagree, but Betty touched his face and his brain malfunctioned long enough to shut him up.

She placed her index finger underneath his chin and tilted his head back. The pad of her thumb gently grazed across the bruise on his cheek. Eddie gulped, eyes lingering on her.

Two knocks sounded at the door. Betty moved back instinctively just before Donna entered.

She smiled at her mother, smoothing down the material of her dress. Eddie squeezed his hands tight in his lap, glancing around the room to distract himself. Donna's eyes flickered curiously between them.

"Here." She passed a red first aid kit to Betty, who set it on the side of the bath.

"Thanks mom," Betty said.

Donna kissed her daughter on the cheek and said goodnight. "Oh, and Eddie–" She stopped, turning around to address him. "The guest room is already made up. Feel free to stay."

Eddie smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mrs Angel, but I'll head home, stay out of your way. Sorry for waking you."

Donna shook her head. "Nonsense, Eddie. I'll sleep much better if I know you're safe."

The offer made Eddie feel warm inside – he wasn't used to such kindness. "Thank you."

Donna headed back through the doorway, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. "Goodnight."

"Night," Betty and Eddie chimed softly.

The door was closed shut.

Betty immediately got to work. She popped open the first aid kit and rifled through it. Betty pulled out an antiseptic wipe, set it between her teeth, then tore the packaging.

She moved towards him. Eddie recoiled back.

Betty huffed in frustration. "I haven't even touched you yet."

"It was an involuntary reaction," he defended.

She rolled her eyes. "Right. You're not gonna make this difficult for me, are you?"

"Never."

"Good."

Eddie readjusted his position, making space between his legs. She stepped into the gap, hand placed on his shoulder to steady herself.

"This might hurt," she cautioned.

Eddie had registered that warning somewhere in his brain, but became entirely distracted by a glimpse of Betty's cleavage when she leaned over. He hadn't mentally prepared himself, so the second the wipe brushed against the open wound on his chin, his hand latched around her wrist.

"Fuck–" Eddie rasped, tensing uncomfortably as a sharp stinging sensation prickled his skin.

Betty drew her hand back. "Don't be such a baby."

"It hurts."

"Well, I have to clean it, so." She pried his fingers from her wrist. "Mind letting go?"

Eddie dropped his hand. "Sorry." He was hit with the gut-wrenching realisation that he'd grabbed her in the spot Billy had left those awful bruises. "Shit, did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Betty assured, leaning over him again. "Just don't move, okay? Hold on to something."

His eyes darted around. "Uh, what?"

The antiseptic made contact with his flesh, prompting a hiss of pain to leave his mouth. Instinctively, he reached out to grab the nearest thing.

Her.

Betty halted as his hand squeezed her upper thigh. "Not exactly what I meant, but sure."

"I'm sorry," Eddie immediately apologised, loosening his grip. "It just– Jesus," he grunted. Betty wiped roughly against his cracked skin. Eddie closed his eyes, jaw tightening as he tilted his head back. "Fuck, Betty."

"Sorry, uh–" Betty needed a second to compose herself as another pained groan left his mouth. "There was a bit of dirt."

"Mhm." Eddie ground his teeth together, fingers clasping tightly at the material of her dress.

She licked her bottom lip in concentration.

Focus.

Betty tossed the dirty wipe aside and took out another. She touched it cautiously to his cheekbone. Eddie squirmed.

Betty automatically grabbed his jaw to hold him steady. "Sorry. Know it hurts."

Eddie grimaced but relaxed in her hold. "'S okay."

For the most part, her motions were tentative, delicate against his skin. Eddie watched her quietly. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been cared for in such a way. He liked it.

Betty tilted his jaw to the side, giving her better access to the cut on his temple. Eddie had wondered whether she'd done such a routine before. Maybe with ex-boyfriends. Had she held them so carefully too?

Shit. Eddie was almost...jealous?

Betty placed the wipe on the trash pile, switching it for the wet cloth. She inspected his face thoroughly. "Well, I think your nose has finally stopped bleeding," Betty said, dabbing the towel against his skin.

The area was swollen and tender. Eddie flinched at the contact. His initial reflex was to grasp her tighter. "Sorry. Just sore."

She cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing soothingly against his skin. "Almost done" she promised, wiping the blood a little more vigorously. She just wanted the pain to be over for him. Eddie's body stiffened. Betty realised she might have gotten carried away "Sorry."

"All good."

She stepped back and examined her work, bloodied cloth clutched in her hand. "There."

Eddie gradually released his grip on her thigh. "Thanks."

She leaned over the first-aid kit and shuffled through several different sized band aids. Eddie sat patiently as she peeled back the sticky part and placed the first one against his temple. She smoothed it down delicately with her finger before moving on to apply the next to his chin.

"Reckon I came off worse than Hargrove?"

Betty didn't even hesitate. "For sure."

"Wow," Eddie said sarcastically, the corners of his mouth quirking. "Makes me feel so much better."

"Surely you can't have gone into that fight expecting to win it."

"Wasn't really thinking about that," Eddie admitted. His eyes drifted over her, from her marked neck to her arms. "You should go to the police about what he did."

"No point," Betty dismissed, snapping the first aid kit shut. "They won't do anything."

"What about that officer you know?"

"Rich?" Betty asked, heading to the sink. She shook her head, washing her hands. "Don't wanna get him involved."

"Why?"

"It's so much hassle," Betty replied. "Easier to just get on with things."

"He can't get away with it."

"It's Billy," Betty reminded, moving through the door and into the bedroom. "He can do whatever the hell he wants."

She removed Eddie's leather jacket and rested it over the back of a chair.

"Not to you," Eddie said, standing up. "If he even comes near you again–"

Betty peered back around the door. "Eddie, I respect the enthusiasm, but you're legitimately the least threatening person I know."

He trailed into the room. "I can be threatening."

Betty chuckled. "No you can't."

Eddie lingered in front of the doorway. He watched as she pulled open the closet and leaned in to rifle through it's contents. A t-shirt was promptly flung behind her, landing in a crumpled heap in the floor. Then a sweater. And another shirt. And another.

Betty huffed. "Goddamnit."

"What are you looking for?"

"Something for you to wear," she said. "I swear I still have one of Derek Riley's basketball shirts in here."

"Why do you–" Eddie cut himself off, shaking his head to dismiss those thoughts. "Actually, I don't want to know. And I'm not gonna be wearing one of your exes shirts, so forget that."

Betty sat back on her knees, staring up at him in disapproval. She gestured to his shirt. "Well you can't wear that."

"Why not?"

"It's covered in blood."

Eddie glanced down, tugging at the material. So it was. "Well..."

"Either you wear the stupid jersey or you take that off," she told him.

"Sweetheart, if you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was say."

Betty pulled a face of disgust. "Gross."

"You're right," Eddie said, tugging at the hem. "This thing is kinda gross."

Betty didn't mean to look. But as Eddie lifted the t-shirt over his head, she couldn't stop her eyes from following.

Her stare hovered over his chest, to the slight definition of his stomach, all the way down the trail of fine hairs that led to his jeans waistband. Eddie was thin and pale, she could see the outline of his ribs, but he was also more toned in places than she expected him to be. She supposed his mechanic work was fairly physically demanding, but she hadn't expected him to have such an appealing physique.

Fuck.

Betty swallowed heavily, heat rising to her cheeks.

His amused eyes caught hers. Eddie grinned. "Wanna take a picture? It'll last longer."

"Get out of my room."

Eddie chuckled. A hint of a smile reached her lips too, assuring that she was joking. Betty shut the closet doors and perched on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. Eddie traipsed over.

Betty released a long sigh as she fell back against the bed. Her eyelids fluttered shut when her head hit the pillow. Eddie's gaze wandered over her for a moment before he lay down too. And god those pillows were soft.

"This is the comfiest bed I've ever been on," Eddie stated, sinking further into the mattress. A satisfied moan left his mouth. "Fuck."

Oh man, she wanted to die. Why did he have to keep doing that?

"I might not be able to move," Eddie finished.

"Well, I don't even have the energy to push you off," Betty responded, curling up onto one side so she could face him.

He turned over too, smiling at her half-opened lids and tired pout. "Shame."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry you got hurt."

"I'm sorry you did too."

She buried her head further into the pillow. "I've definitely been to better parties."

"Me too."

Betty closed her eyes again, an unescapable tiredness pinning her to the bed. Eddie admired her features, all sweet and peaceful, as a lock of hair swept across her face.

"Thanks for having my back, Munson," she mumbled sleepily. "I owe you."

Eddie thought about when they were kids, how they used to trust each other without question. Sometimes, things would go wrong. Eddie often got himself into sticky situations. But they had a pact, a promise; if one of them was in trouble, the other would always come.

Eddie hesitated.

Fuck it.

"Hell or high water, right?"

Betty remained quiet for a moment. And then a slow smile crept onto her face.

"Hell or high water."

A/N

agdhdkdkxbxhdndmxcnxbdh

imagine "hating" each other and then acting like this like okkkk simps

had to do chocolate button eyes, it was too difficult to resist

btw notice how eddie didn't call her angel ONCE throughout this after she told billy to stop calling her that in the last chapter. king