She didn't know fear could feel like this, that heartbreak wasn't just a word- that is was deep and real and felt like something was tearing your guts out, raw and harsh and sadistic and painful.

In that moment,

In that GODDAMN moment.

When the knife moved, and Eli's eyes widened; when he gasped.

Clare Edwards was absolutely, completely, utterly sure that the boy she'd kissed not hours before, that the boy she'd tumbled into love with, the boy that, -don't admit it, don't admit it, don't admit it- she LOVED, had been stabbed.

In her mind, it was crystal clear, the silver blade sinking into his flesh, staining the jacket a deeper, darker, masochistic red.

She let out a strange, strangled wail, and sank to the floor. This was the end. Her best friend, English partner, boyfriend; the LOVE OF HER LIFE, was dead.

And then, Fitz moved. Like clouds blocking the sun, he moved, and there...

There was no blood.

The knife was harmlessly, nonchalantly, uneventfully sticking out of the wall, and Eli- God, oh Eli-

He was okay.

Shocked,

But alive.

She half crawled, half threw herself at him.

He was okay, he was okay, he was OKAY.

Suddenly, she had to tell him. Everything, how she felt, how he made her feel, how he felt. Tonight.

She wasn't losing him again.

BUT, OF COURSE, SHE DIDN'T.

THAT ENDING LITTERALLY BROKE MY HEART. OH, GOD, I'M FREAKING OUT. SO I HAD TO WRITE IT.