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The words on his skin are his name, Eddie , written big and bold across his bicep. Eddie's name has been spoken to him so many times that there is no proof of who should actually be saying the words.
And yet... none of it has felt right.
The script of the words is jagged and sharp and demanding, and when he speaks to Anne for the first time, he pays attention to what he's saying. "You look like a story," and the words on her skin are not those.
Her first words to him are, "Do you think you could write it?"
But his words are just... Eddie.
He pushes it aside and says that the concept of soulmates is stupid anyway, and he isn't going to be forced into caring for anyone, or forced into not loving the person he chooses. But when he and Anne break up and he's left alone... Eddie can't help but think about the fact that his words weren't on her skin.
So maybe there's something to this soulmate business, after all.
Even though he's thought multiple times that maybe he's found the one, when Eddie's eyes seek out the return words... they're never what he says. They're never what he speaks. They're never his words .
Maybe he doesn't have a soulmate.
Maybe he's just... supposed to be alone.
And then he's sick -- so sick. Vomiting, burning up, eating things that he has no business putting into his mouth. Eddie is huddled over the toilet and wishing that he did have a soulmate to take care of him, to help him through whatever insanity he's suffering.
Eddie is looking at himself in the mirror, and his eyes are fixated on the words on his skin.
And then his eyes are not his own, and a word springs into his head in a wickedly deep, growling voice.
"Eddie."
He screams.
He falls.
He faints.
And for a while, when he wakes up, he thinks that it must have been in his head. There's no way that he heard a voice saying his name in a tone that matched exactly to the script on his arm. His fingers brush the words and he laughs a little, cries a little, because maybe he's so pathetic and so alone that he's saying his own damn words just to feel better.
But then there's someone at the door, and that voice speaks to him again.
Don't open the door.
What are you doing?
And Eddie responds aloud to the voice in his head, "I'm putting my hands up."
---
And later, when they've swum across the water and Venom's head spills from his shoulder for the first time to look at him, Eddie feels a burst of shock shoot through his senses.
Along the black expanse of Venom's throat, and in handwriting that Eddie clearly recognizes as his own are words.
Five words.
And he realizes why he's never seen his words on someone's skin before.
'I'm putting my hands up.'
And at that moment, Eddie know that things have just gotten much more complicated.