"Huh?" Carmy says, snapping out of his thoughts as he and you stand in front of the produce section at the grocery store. Whatever feeling that made his head swim dissipates like it'd never been there in the first place.

He didn't hear your question, though it's probably about what else he'll need for dinner that night, considering the shopping list in your hand that you're skimming with laser focus. He's nearly forgotten that he has the basket in his hand and that you've both already loaded it with ingredients for spaghetti. It's definitely a simple dish, knowing the caliber of his culinary prowess; however, spaghetti is your all-time favorite of his. And he'd do anything to make you happy, he thinks.

Carmy peers into the handbasket, double-checking for anything missing, then shrugs before he tucks closer to your side. "Just onions, babe," he mumbles while he slides his free arm around you, "and garlic, I think. That's it."

He almost smiles when you squeeze his hand before going to fetch the ingredients, but the aching feeling from before comes back tenfold. Like the ocean, it hits him with a wave of self-doubt, pulls away to give him some reprieve, and then knocks his feet out from under him when he least expects it.

He's allowed to be happy. Or, that's what he's been told in the Al-Anon meetings he's been attending since Sugar convinced him to go. Things won't be taken from him, and the other shoe won't drop just because things finally seem to be going his way. He doesn't have to live in fear of things that may or may not happen all because he's stuck in a constant state of hypervigilance. He doesn't have to drown himself prematurely before the tide rushes in.

So he smiles when you return with the garlic and onions, and he holds out the basket so you can put them in with the other items. "Let's head out, yeah?" he says while you two head for the register to pay for everything. "I wanna get you home and fed so we can just relax after. Sound good?"

He'd do anything to make you happy. He's sure of it.