Eddie Munson/Joseph Quinn one shots

Let Me Help You

The therapy appointment you had didn't go well not to your knowledge and you aren't sure if it's your fault. Well no you know that it's your fault because you are mentally unwell. She pointed it down to a few things in the recent sessions: One. Anxiety, specifically social anxiety, regular anxiety mixed with a nice diagnosis of Obsessive Complusive Disorder. Two. Childhood Tramua, emotional and possibly physical abuse and neglect. This caused you to like attention, you liked when you were 'seen'. Three. You have no idea who you are, washed away by the things you are obsessed over. Whether it was Abba, comic books or rewatching the rom-coms of the early 80's. Daydreaming about falling in love in the same ways the fictional characters did. Because it would just solve everything, right? That wasn't true, but you realized that all this time it had made up for everything you avoided or tried to survive from.

The words stuck with you, the conversation really did. "Who are you, y/n?" she asked, you stared at her in confusion, you couldn't really answer her question at all because their was no answer for it besides what you said.

"I don't know."

"Well I mean, what makes up your personality?"

"Well I think I'm Kind, umm creative, big-heart." You trailed, those were things you heard about yourself from your friends or family.

"Well those are more the fundamentals of your personality, yes. But what makes you, you?"

"I really like Abba and the new movie, Pretty in Pink, it's such a great movie-."

"Those are things you like, but I think you use those things to make you who you are, when you connect on to a certain thing that becomes your personality until you move on to the next. It keeps going in a cycle. You are stuck in a cycle. Here's what-."

You listened to her advice, sure. You really tried but the idea that you didn't know yourself sat wrong with you. It made you feel empty, like you were some shell of a person whose whole identity was really, truly based on other things that weren't you.

So you become overwhelmed by basically everything and just sad. You wanted to fill your time doing things that didn't make you think about anything. You wanted to fill in spending time with your friends, but you couldn't do that because a part of you was absent and that was clear to them. You couldn't read or listen to music, you became too distracted. You decided that you needed to clear your mind of all the tension inside of you. That you needed to be able to relax and just take a moment. You had no idea who you were and you were very sure that yoga wasn't going to be the all savior. You couldn't mediate to save your life, you respected it for whoever it worked on but you always had too many things floating in your mind to settle.

That's when you were in your science class, looking over at Eddie Munson. You knew that he was considered a freak, though you didn't understand what any of that meant. Who wasn't a freak? Who didn't have weird or odd in's and out's of their personality. Eddie was the furthest from 'freaky' because he was able to actually be himself around others, he could displace his true nature and he took the punches and blows.

You decided to write him a note, "Can you hook me up with some MJ?" the note read then you scribbled your name at the bottom before folding it up and sliding it into his locker. At the end of the day you heard a ring clad hand slam on to a locker beside your head, startling you as you went wide eyed at the man beside you who held a cheeky grin.

"I certainly can." Eddie replied, smiling at you.

"Really?" You asked as he nodded, you breathed out relived as you stared back at the mirror for a moment staring off before tearing your eyes away to look at him. "When?"

"After school, behind the football field." Eddie suggested as you nodded, giving him a soft smile before closing your locker as the bell rang.

What you didn't know is that Eddie watched you walk away, the sway of your hair catching his attention as it always did. He realized he had a fascination with your hair, with you in general. For some reason you always smelled like roses and your hair alway did too, not that he was smelling you but you always wound up sitting close to him and when he would walk by, he noticed you always smelt really good. The race of Eddie's heart when he found your letter in his locker was unrealistic. He didn't expect you to ever ask him for something or even talk to him. He knew that you weren't like the others, you weren't in a certain group and you rarely talked to anyone outside of your small circle but only because you were quiet.