Archive of Our Own

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had noticed the silence. But now that he was finally settled, the resonance of a barely furnished apartment made him weary of his own voice.

He’d kept talking to himself. It was part habit, part hope – hope that a little voice inside would call him out for being a fool. He’d clung to that echo for weeks.  

Now, all that answered him was the echo of empty walls, bouncing off the emptiness inside him. The symbiote was eating at him in its absence, worse than it had when it was physically eating his liver.