dearly beloved | scömìche

14; panic

trigger warning: panic attack and mentions of anxiety

Mitch frowned slightly at the menu, trying to read it. However, the words were long and confusing and Mitch's chest hurt too badly to make him want to try harder. He just went by the pictures, even though not every entrée had a picture. Scott was reading his own menu, but when he glanced up and saw Mitch was struggling, he immediately closed it and set it to the side. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I can't read the menu, sir," Mitch admitted quietly, avoiding Scott's eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

"No, baby, you're not stupid. Do you know how to read?"

"Yes, sir. I did go to Omega school, but I haven't read anything since then and big words are hard," Mitch whispered ashamedly, certain Scott wouldn't want a dumb Omega like him. 

Scott frowned slightly, his heart aching for his poor angel. "I'm so sorry, baby. We'll work on your reading, it's okay. What would you like?" he asked, opening his menu again. "Do you know what you got last time?" 

Mitch shook his head and glanced up at him, surprised Scott hadn't left him. "No, sir. But I remember what it looked like."

Scott smiled and gestured to the menu. "Just look. They have pictures." 

Mitch blushed slightly and nodded, quickly turning his gaze down to his menu. "Yes, sir."

A few moments later, the waitress came by, her notepad ready. "Good morning. My name is Rose and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, smiling brightly at the couple. Mitch jumped, startled, but he soon flushed red out of embarrassment and turned his gaze to his lap. 

Scott slipped his hand into Mitch's under the table to calm him down as he returned the smile. "Yes, thank you. I would like a coffee, please." 

The waitress nodded and jotted it down. "Of course, sir. And for you, honey?" she asked, her gaze going to Mitch. 

Mitch's breathing hitched and he held Scott's hand tightly, his gaze flickering between Scott and the waitress. "I- I, um..." His heart began to race. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he wanted to drink. He didn't even know what he was allowed to have. What if he ordered the wrong thing? What if Scott got mad at him? What if Scott punished him right there in the restaurant, for everyone to see? His hands shook, but he gripped at the table to hide it, his throat closing up. Distantly, he could hear Scott's concerned voice and feel his thumb running over his knuckles, and he tried to calm himself down, but it was no use. He was terrified.

Scott realized what was happening quickly. When he was at the hospital a few days ago with Mitch, the doctor had told him privately that Mitch had anxiety, probably having developed it after years with Alphas who punished him if he made the slightest mistake. Luckily, the doctor also told him how most people got through panic attacks, so he had an idea of what to do. He quickly got out of his seat and knelt in front of Mitch, letting go of his hand to set his hands on his knees. "Hey. Mitchy? Mitchy, listen to me. Tell me what you need." Mitch hardly understood him, but he managed to whimper and grabbed his own throat. Scott nodded slightly, understanding. "Okay, sweetheart. Breathe with me. In," he soothed, inhaling slowly and deliberately, "and out." He released the breath just as slowly. "Can you do that for me? In... and out."

Mitch was doing his best to obey, and Scott nodded encouragingly, smiling slightly. "Yes, like that. Good boy. Now, can you tell me your name?"

"M-Mitch," Mitch squeaked, his hands shaking as they grabbed frantically for something to hold onto. 

Scott nodded and took Mitch's hands, running his thumb over his knuckles. "Good boy. Good boy, Mitchy. What's my name?" he asked calmly, and Mitch met his eyes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly as he hyperventilated.