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Panic attack (Sam Wilkinson)

"When are you packing your things?" I asked Sammy as he casually scrolled through his phone while laying shirtless on the bed.

"Soon." He replies, not taking his eyes off his cracked iPhone screen. "Actually, do I really need to go? Do I really need to meet your parents? I know we've been dating for a long time now, but I –"

I give him a worried expression. My eyebrows creased and my head cocked to the side to study him. He played it cool, but knowing Sam he was definitely feeling slightly worried. "Do you not want to meet them yet?" I asked carefully.

He locks his phone and runs his hands through his bottle blond hair.

"I – I don't know. What if they don't like me?" He confesses, burying his head into the pillow next to him.

I let out a silent sigh. "They'll love you, Sam. I promise." I reassure him, running my hands through his hair.

He inhales sharply and nods his head. "What could possibly go wrong, right?" He chuckles.

Sam packed the trunk of his car and quickly got into the driver's seat. I examine his body language and he seemed pretty calm, but you know what they say: the calm before the storm.

"You sure you want to do this Sammy? I can always make up an excuse and visit them during the holidays." I tell him, gently rubbing up and down his arm.

"I'll be okay. Don't worry about it." He says, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my arm.

On our way there, it was quiet. I could tell Sammy was nervous, to the point where he wouldn't say anything in fear that if he did, all of the reasons as to why he was nervous would spill out.

"Sam, you okay there?" I asked carefully. I didn't know whether or not he was getting frustrated with my constant asking, but I couldn't help it. It was worrisome to know something was bothering him.

"Mhm," he let's out as he quickly nods his head, but still doesn't bother making eye contact with me.

"Sam," I sighed, turning my body to face him. "What's really going on? Do you not want to meet my parents?"

"I do! I do! I swear, it's just...I feel like your parents won't like me. I mean, you have to admit I'm not usually the type of guy parents are fond of. And let's be real here, your parents put you on a pedestal. You're too good for me and I'm not good enough for you. Everyone we meet knows that. Did you know that my friends always wondered how I ended up getting you? Constant questioning and jokes about how you're going to find someone better, how you're going to realize I ain't shit, how you're just going to pick up and leave me. I mean, I get it, it's just jokes, but I have a feeling your parents are going to end up hating me."

I couldn't help but feel bad. I hate when Sam is so harsh on himself since he is his own worst critic. The thing with him is, he feels like he needs to please everyone and everyone's happiness eventually becomes a burden. "Pull over," I tell him.

He looks at me funny, but does as I say.

"Switch places with me." I command and he obeys, but once he got into the passenger's seat, I didn't continue with the drive, instead I wanted him to tell me all of his problems regarding meeting my parents. "Why are you so sure my parents won't like you?" I asked, genuinely curious about his response.

He leans forward and buries his face in his hands and shakes his head. "Like I said," he sharply inhales once more, moving his hands and looking at me. "You're too good for me and everyone knows that. Your parents are probably going to take one look at me and write me off because I look like a frat boy, ready to pounce on anything with a pulse. I know what people think of me, Y/N. I know what your parents are going to think of me."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yours –" I was cleanly cut off by his continuation of rambling.

"And my friends are probably right. You're going to find a guy better than me; a guy who is worth your time and energy. I'm literally just a sitting duck, waiting for you to find one flaw of mine that'll drive you to the point of no return." His breathing shallows as he tries to let out sentences, but they come out short and breathless. He looks at me, redness filling the whites of his eyes and at any moment, tears were about to stream down his face. And I was right. Sam angrily wipes them away and takes a deep breath.

"Sam, please take deep breaths." I advise, rubbing his back.

"I can't, I can't do this." He quickly opens the door and gets out of the car. He leans himself, back first, on the car and slides down, having him sit on part of the sidewalk.

I get out of the driver's seat and walked over to where he was. The back of his head was placed against the car door and his hand gripped his chest. It was clear he was trying to catch his breath. I quickly sat next to him and pulled him into me.

"Hey, it's okay Sam. You're okay. Breath." I advise. "Count down from 10 with me okay." I slowly counted down and he followed, but it didn't help much. I knew this was something that his body needed to overcome itself, so we sat there for what felt like a century, with me repeating the fact he was okay and that I was there.

His breathing began to steady and soon enough, he was gripping me tighter, as if I was going to run away from him.

"I'm here. I will always be here." I reassure.

"Promise?" He quietly lets out.

"I promise."