It starts slowly, creeping up on you like a shadow stretching in the fading light. A racing heart. A lump in your throat. The distant hum of the world turning into a dull roar inside your ears. But then, all at once, it crashes over you like a tidal wave, swallowing you whole.
Tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them, hot and unrelenting. Your chest tightens, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to pull in enough air. Each breath is shallow and ragged, as if your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your hands tremble violently at your sides, fingers curling into fists as you struggle to hold yourself together.
But you can't.
You can't think. You can't breathe.
You wrap your arms around yourself, pressing your back against the cool surface of the wall behind you. Your mind screams at you to calm down, to slow your breathing, but nothing works. The panic has sunk its claws in deep, and now you're drowning in it.
You don't even realize you're not alone until a pair of warm, steady hands gently cup your face.
"Hey, hey, I got you."
Nicholas.
His voice is soft, but urgent, cutting through the deafening static in your head. Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but he's there—so close, so solid, so real when everything else feels like it's spiraling out of control.
"You have to breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks in soothing strokes. "Look at me."
You try. God, you try. But your vision is blurred with tears, and your chest is burning, every breath a fight.
Nicholas notices. He always notices.
"Okay," he says gently, shifting closer. "I want you to do something for me. Just focus on me, alright? Don't think about anything else."
His forehead presses lightly against yours, his own breath slow and measured, as if trying to guide you without words. One of his hands leaves your face to grasp your trembling fingers, his grip warm and sure.
"I'm right here," he whispers. "You're not alone."
A sob catches in your throat, but you squeeze his hand tightly, desperate for something—anything—to ground you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Hold onto me. I won't let go."
You feel his other hand move to your back, rubbing slow, steady circles. His touch is featherlight, but it anchors you in a way nothing else can. He's not trying to force you to calm down. He's not telling you to "just breathe" or "stop crying." He's just there.
And somehow, that's enough.
"Okay," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "I need you to try something for me. Can you copy my breathing?"
You can't speak, so you nod weakly against him.
"Good," he says softly. "Just listen to me. In for four..."
He inhales, slow and deep, making sure you can hear it. You do your best to follow, but your breath still hitches, still shakes.
"That's okay," he reassures you instantly, squeezing your hand. "You're doing great. Let's try again. Breathe out for four."
He exhales, slow and controlled, and this time, you manage to follow just a little better.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple. "Keep going. I'm right here."
It takes a few more rounds, but gradually, the pressure in your chest loosens. Your hands are still shaking, and your face is still damp with tears, but the dizziness starts to fade. The world feels just a little less suffocating.
Nicholas must notice the change because he pulls back just enough to search your face, his eyes full of quiet concern. He doesn't let go of your hand. "Better?"
You nod hesitantly, your throat too tight to form words yet.
But Nicholas understands. He always does.
Without another word, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His embrace is warm, secure, the kind of hold that feels like a shield against the world.
You cling to him, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt as another quiet sob escapes you. But this time, it's not from fear—it's from relief.
"I got you," he murmurs, his lips pressing a lingering kiss against the top of your head. "I've always got you."
And for the first time tonight, you truly believe it.
