𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟏𝟖. You were easy to tackle!

･:*࿔.ೃ⋆❀˚༺☆༻°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Chapter 18 you were easy to tackle!

Author pov

"Areyy... itne komal aansoo, woh bhi ek janwar ko dekhkar," he said, voice low, teasing, yet tender. "Aapne toh isse bade janwar noch rakhe hai, fireball." He tried to draw her attention away from the panic consuming her mind, to anchor her in the present, in him.

Slowly, hesitantly, her tearful eyes lifted to meet his.

"Huh," she whispered, voice barely audible.

"Haan... breathe with me," he said softly, coaxing, steady, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. But her body betrayed her; she shivered violently, breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

"I... I can't... I'm not able to... breathe," she stammered, panic threading through each word.

He didn't flinch, didn't panic. Instead, his fingers moved with careful precision, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. And then, impossibly close, he brought her face to his, tilting her gently, ensuring their foreheads almost touched.

Every inhale of hers brushed against him, uneven and raw, and his heartbeat hitched. He felt the tremor in her lips, the quiver in her chin, the fragile, trembling warmth of her entire being pressed against him—and for a long, suspended moment, all that existed was her, utterly unguarded, and him, holding her like the world depended on it.

"Count with me... and breathe with every number, deep breath, haan," he murmured, his voice low, steady, and coaxing, trying to anchor her trembling self to the present.

"One," she whispered, attempting a deep breath—but the inhale caught in her throat, ragged and uneven. Her body shuddered against him, small hands clutching at his shirt, and he instinctively pulled her closer, pressing her flushed, trembling frame even tighter against his chest.

"Bas... aaram seee..." he whispered softly, feeling the rapid thrum of her heartbeat against his own, but her breaths still came in jagged, panicked bursts.

"Come here," he murmured, voice threading with urgency and something unnameable. "I know you're having a panic attack... but I don't know how to fix it without this."

Before she could protest or pull away, he tilted her face toward his, and their lips met—soft at first, searching, impossibly intimate. The kiss pressed them together, binding them in a tension that was part panic, part desperate need, part protection.

Her small body quivered against him, trembling not just from fear but from the closeness, the warmth, the overwhelming reality of him holding her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. And in that suspended, chaotic moment, the panic didn't vanish—but it shifted, tethered to him, tangled with a strange, fierce intensity neither of them could fully name.

He blew a small, controlled stream of air into her mouth, just enough to help her draw in a proper breath. Slowly, ragged and uneven at first, she began to inhale and exhale more steadily, relief flickering across her features.

Their lips had brushed together for a fleeting heartbeat—long enough for the world to tilt slightly, then parted, leaving a charged silence between them.

Her eyes, wide and trembling, slowly cleared from the haze of panic. The first thing she saw was him, impossibly close, and realization hit like a jolt.

"You... kissed me," she whispered, voice barely above the tremor in her chest.

"I just gave you my breath," he replied softly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he brushed her reddened nose with his thumb, grounding her further.