Eddie is the sanest of them all

"I was gonna say," he starts, pushing himself upright and stepping closer, "that if you really cared about me, you’d get the family sized pack."

You don’t even hesitate. "No."

"Wow. Wow." He presses a hand to his chest, deeply offended. "After everything I’ve done for you."

You grab a normal sized bag and toss it into the cart. "You ate half my fries yesterday."

"I was helping you."

"You ordered your own fries."

"And I finished them. So clearly I still had capacity to assist you."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth. There usually is, around him. It’s kind of unavoidable.

That’s the thing about Eddie. He’s loud. Not just in volume, but in presence. He fills space without trying, all sharp edges and big gestures and stupid jokes that somehow always land. Being around him means being pulled into his orbit whether you planned to or not.

Not that you’re complaining.

Not anymore.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Eddie Munson was just background noise. The weird guy everyone had an opinion about but no one really knew. The one you noticed from a distance but never quite approached.

And then, somehow, he became the person you call when you can’t sleep.

The person who shows up at your window with no warning and a cassette tape he insists will "change your life."

The person who notices when you go quiet.

You don’t remember exactly when it shifted. Just that one day, you were acquaintances, and the next, you were this.

And you wouldn't change that for the world.

"Hey," Eddie says, snapping his fingers lightly in front of your face. "Earth to you. You spaced out."

You blink, refocusing. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He nudges the cart with his hip. "C’mon, we still need drinks. And I refuse to leave without something caffeinated unless you want me to wither away dramatically in the next hour."

"You say that every time."

"And one day, I’ll be right."

You shake your head, but you follow him anyway, letting him steer the cart like he’s on some kind of mission.

The store isn’t particularly busy. A few people here and there, the quiet hum of conversation blending into the background. It’s almost peaceful, in a weird, artificial way. The kind of place where time feels like it slows down under the constant glow of fluorescent lights.

You’ve always kind of liked that.

Neutral spaces. Places where nothing is expected of you.

Eddie turns the cart a little too sharply into the next aisle, and you grab onto the side to steady it.

"Jesus, Munson."

"Precision driving," he says confidently.

"You nearly took out that display."

"It was in my way."

"You were in its way."

He grins, completely unapologetic.

You fall into step beside him, shoulder brushing his as you walk. It’s easy. Comfortable. The kind of closeness that doesn’t feel forced or questioned.

Your fingers tap idly against the cart handle as you scan the shelves again, not really looking for anything in particular.

"Hey," Eddie says after a moment, quieter this time. "You okay?"

You glance at him. "Yeah. Why?"

He shrugs, but his eyes linger on you for a second longer than necessary. "Dunno. You got all floaty again."

You huff softly. "I’m allowed to think."

"Yeah, but usually you insult me while you do it. It’s concerning when you stop."

You bump your shoulder into his. "I’ll keep that in mind."

He seems satisfied with that, turning his attention back to the shelves. But he stays a little closer now. Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice.

You do, though.

You always do.

"Okay," he says, clapping his hands once. "Serious question."

"That’s new."

"Do we go soda, or do we go off brand mystery liquid that’s probably illegal in at least three states?"

You glance at the options, then back at him. "Last time you picked the mystery one, it tasted like battery acid."

"That’s how you know it’s working."

"It’s not supposed to work, Eddie. It’s a drink."

"Agree to disagree."

You reach past him, grabbing something normal and placing it in the cart. "We’re not risking it."

"Coward."

"Alive," you correct.

He opens his mouth to argue, but then something overhead flickers.

It’s brief. Barely noticeable.

But you see it.

And for some reason, your chest tightens.

You frown slightly, glancing up at the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. They buzz faintly, a constant, low sound that blends into everything else.

You’ve heard it a thousand times before.

So why does it feel louder now?

You shake it off, focusing back on the cart. "We should probably grab something from the frozen section, right? You said you wanted..."

"Pizza rolls," he says immediately.

"Of course you did."

"They’re a staple."

"They’re barely food."

"They are perfect food," he corrects, steering the cart again. "And I will not accept slander."

You follow him, but as you get closer to the back of the store, the air shifts.

Colder.

The hum gets stronger.

It presses in around you, layered now. The freezers add their own low, constant drone, vibrating faintly through the floor. The lights above seem harsher here, reflecting off glass doors and metal shelves.

You slow slightly.

Eddie doesn’t notice at first. He’s already crouching in front of one of the freezer cases, scanning options with intense focus like this is the most important decision he’ll make all week.

"Okay, but do we go classic, or do we..."

The buzz spikes.

Not actually louder.

Just sharper.

It cuts through everything else, slipping under your skin.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.

The light above flickers again.

Your stomach drops.

Something in your chest twists, sudden and wrong, like your body is reacting before your brain can catch up.

You take a breath.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

"...Or do we get the off brand ones and risk immediate regret," Eddie continues, oblivious, holding up two boxes for comparison.

You stare at them, but you’re not really seeing them.

The glass door reflects the overhead lights.

Too bright.

Too white.

The hum is everywhere now. In your ears. In your head. Under your skin.

You swallow. "Eddie, I..."

Your voice comes out thinner than you expect.

He looks up immediately.

And that’s when it really hits.

The sound warps.

The light blurs.

And suddenly, you’re not just in a grocery store anymore.

Your breath stutters.

Your hands start to shake.

"Hey," Eddie says, frowning, already standing. "What’s wrong?"

You try to answer.

You really do.

But the words get stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat, tangled up in something older, something you can’t quite push down fast enough.

The buzzing won’t stop.

It never stopped.

It never...

The box slips from your hand.

It hits the floor with a dull thud.

And everything tilts.

"Hey, hey..." Eddie’s in front of you now, hands on your arms, grounding, solid. "Talk to me"

You shake your head, breaths coming too fast, too shallow.

The lights flicker.

Your vision tunnels.

And just like that, you’re gone.

Not really.

But enough.

Your knees buckle slightly, and Eddie catches you before you can hit the ground, grip tightening as he steadies you.

"I’ve got you," he says quickly, voice sharp with concern but still trying to stay calm.

You can’t.

Not yet.

Not until he pulls you back.

And he will.

Your feet don’t feel like they belong to you.

That’s the first thing.

They’re there, you know they are, because Eddie’s holding you upright, because the floor is solid under you, because something real has to be keeping you from collapsing completely, but you can’t feel them properly. Everything is distant. Fuzzy. Wrong.

Your breathing breaks.

Not just fast. Not just uneven.

It stutters like your body forgot how to do it.

Air in, too sharp. Air out, barely there.

Your chest tightens, panic stacking on top of panic, because now it’s not just the lights or the noise or the memory bleeding through, it’s this awful, suffocating feeling like you’re not getting enough oxygen.

Like you’re going to choke on nothing.

"Eddie," you try again, but it comes out fractured, barely a sound.

"I’m right here," he says immediately, voice closer now, louder in a way that cuts through the static. One of his hands moves from your arm to your face, cupping your cheek, grounding, warm. "Hey, stay with me. I’ve got you."

Your head shakes weakly, like that’s the problem. Like that’s the thing you can’t do.

The buzzing drills into your skull.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too much.

Your vision blurs further, tears you didn’t realize were there spilling over, and your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, gripping like he’s the only solid thing left.

He doesn’t try to pull away.

If anything, he steps closer.

"Okay, okay," he murmurs, and you can hear it now, the edge under his voice. Not panic. Not quite. But something tight, something controlled, like he’s holding it back so it doesn’t spill into you. "We’re gonna sit, alright? I’m gonna get you down."

You don’t remember nodding, but suddenly he’s guiding you, one arm wrapped securely around you, the other steady at your side as he lowers you carefully to the floor. Your back hits something solid, cold tile beneath you, but it barely registers.

Everything is too loud.

Your breathing breaks again, a sharp inhale that doesn’t go anywhere, your chest constricting painfully.

"I can’t..." you choke out.

"You can," he says, quick but gentle. "You can, I promise. Hey, look at me."

You can’t.

Your eyes dart everywhere except him, unfocused, caught somewhere between here and somewhere else entirely.

A hospital room that smells like antiseptic.

White walls.

Machines.

That same sound.

Always that same sound.

"Hey," Eddie says again, firmer now. His hand shifts, both of them coming up to frame your face, forcing your focus just enough. Not rough. Never rough. Just enough to anchor you. "Hey, look at me, you're alright, i've got you"

Something in his voice catches.

Not loud.

Not demanding.

Just steady.

Real.

Your gaze flickers, finally landing on him, even if it’s shaky, even if it slips.

"There you go," he murmurs, softer immediately, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. His thumbs brush under your eyes without you even noticing when the tears started falling. "Stay with me. Just me, okay? Not... not anything else. Just me."

Your breathing stutters again.

"I can’t breathe," you whisper, panic rising all over again, sharp and immediate.

"Yes, you can," he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. No doubt. "You’re breathing right now. We just gotta slow it down, alright? I’m gonna help you."

His hands slide from your face, one settling over yours, squeezing gently, the other moving to your back, rubbing slow, steady circles.

"In with me," he says softly. "Slow. Not too big. Just a little one. Come on."

You try.

It comes out shaky, uneven, but it happens.

"There you go," he encourages immediately. "That’s it. That’s perfect. You’re doing good."

It doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong and tight and like your chest won’t expand properly, but his voice keeps you there, keeps you trying.

"Out," he murmurs, hand still moving against your back in that same rhythm. "Nice and slow. You don’t gotta rush it."

Your exhale trembles, but it lasts a second longer this time.

"Yeah, that’s it," he says, quieter now, like he’s settling into the pace with you. "Again. In."

You follow him.

Because it’s him.

Because his voice is something you can hold onto when everything else is slipping.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Your grip on his shirt loosens slightly, then tightens again when another wave threatens to pull you under, but he doesn’t let it.

"I’m right here," he repeats, softer now, like a promise. "Not going anywhere. You’re safe, okay? Nothing here is gonna hurt you."

His hand shifts from your back to your arm, rubbing up and down, grounding, steady, never stopping. The other stays laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, repetitive motion.

And then, softer still, almost like he’s not even thinking about it, he leans in.

You feel it before you really process it.

A gentle press against the top of your head.

A kiss.

Light. Careful.

Like he’s afraid you might break.

"It’s okay," he murmurs against your hair.

Another small breath in.

Another out.

The buzzing is still there.

But it’s… quieter.

Or maybe he’s just louder now.

Not in volume.

In presence.

Another kiss, just as soft, right near your hairline this time, his hand never stopping its slow movement along your arm.

"You’re doing so good," he whispers. "I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are. Just keep breathing with me. That’s all you gotta do."

Your breathing stumbles again, but it doesn’t completely fall apart this time.

You catch it.

Or maybe he catches it for you.

"In," he reminds gently.

You inhale.

It’s still shaky.

Still tight.

But it fills your lungs a little more.

"Out."

You exhale, longer this time, your shoulders dropping just a fraction.

"Yeah," he says, and you can hear the relief he’s trying not to show too much. "Yeah, that’s it. I got you."

Your head tips forward slightly, resting against him without thinking, forehead brushing his shoulder.

He adjusts instantly, one arm wrapping more securely around you, pulling you in just enough to support your weight without trapping you.

Another soft kiss to your head.

Another slow pass of his hand along your back.

"You’re here," he murmurs, "Everything is gonna be okay"