You were both in the kitchen. It was late—past midnight—and the storm outside was rattling the windows, thunder echoing through the house. You’d been cleaning up in silence after a stupid argument, letting space settle between you, until you turned and saw him.

Edward stood frozen by the sink, unmoving except for the twitch in his fingers. His eyes were locked on nothing, distant and dark, like something had reached up from the past and pulled him under.

“Edward?” you asked, frowning.

No answer. His shoulders rose sharply—too fast. His breath was shallow, uneven. You stepped closer, but he didn’t even flinch. His hands had started to tremble, gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Edward—breathe.” You reached for him, but he recoiled, like he didn’t even know you were there. His eyes were wide now—frantic. Not just anxious. Terrified.

“I—” he rasped, chest heaving. “I can’t—” He staggered back, hitting the edge of the counter. His legs nearly buckled.

“Hey—look at me,” you said quickly, grabbing his hand, but it was cold and shaking so badly you barely recognized the way it felt in yours.

His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but no sound came. His breathing got worse—too fast, too sharp, like his body had turned against him completely.

And then—his knees gave out.