dichotomy ; gawsten

thirty four

this got pretty long pretty quick

trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks

"No pineapple, right?"

"If you get pineapple, we are no longer friends."

Jawn rolls his eyes and flips him the bird as he brings the phone back to his ear. "Yeah, one plain, one pepperoni. Yep, that's the address. Alright. See you then. Thanks, you too!" Geoff leans back against the couch and tilts his head back against the cushions, as Jawn hangs up. Jawn slips his phone into his pocket and moves across the room to join him, curls in next to him and drapes an arm around his shoulders.

"Half an hour," Jawn says. Geoff turns his head to rest it on Jawn's shoulder. "By the way...I figured everything out with management. We're out."

He picks his head up immediately. His heart is starting to race. It's like he doesn't even have a heart anymore; the muscle was replaced by a bucket of panic that spills over with the utterance of a few simple words. "What do you mean, out?"

"Relax, they didn't drop us," Jawn replies. "I got them to cancel the tour. Puttin' up a statement tomorrow."

"How mad are they?" His voice breaks. He drops his head down and bites on his lip. The swallow sends sparks of pain down his throat. He wants to puke.

"It doesn't matter." Jawn lowers his voice. The grip around Geoff's shoulders tightens. "You matter, Geoff. They can be pissed all they want. You need this more than they need money."

"What if they do drop us, though?" Geoff chokes out. "I can't- I can't do that to you. You should go back and tell them we can do it. The tour. I can do it."

Jawn stays silent for a few moments. Geoff stares down at his lap and tries to remember breathe. fucking breathe. you're fine. everything's fine. stop panicking. you don't have anything to panic about. Jawn doesn't need to deal with another one of his panic attacks right now.

"It's not a matter of whether you can," he says quietly. "It's whether you should." Geoff opens his mouth to say something, but Jawn plows on, "You're shaking. I can feel your heart racing. And you're just talking to me. We've been best friends for almost half your life and you're freaking out about talking to me. That's not normal, Geoff. It's not something you can forget about until it comes back to bite you in the ass again. You don't deserve to feel like this anymore. You need to get help."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. A tear rolls down his cheek. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Hey, no. You're not." Jawn lifts his chin and forces him to look at him. He's smiling. Geoff tries to force the corners of his lips up too, but another sob tears from his throat. "You're not a mess. This isn't your fault, okay? It's too many people – me included – being assholes and not seeing how bad it was until it got to this point. You tried to tell us and we didn't listen. That's on us. Not you."

"You like dealing with me freakin' out at everything?" His voice cracks. "You're gonna get tired of it. Everyone is. I'm tired of it."

"I hate it," Jawn says. "I hate that you have so many panic attacks and can't even talk to me without getting shaky. I hate that you can't breathe right, right now. But it's not gonna get better if we forget about it and go on tour. Something needs to change."

"Meds didn't work," Geoff mumbles. He wrestles away from Jawn's grip and lets his head flop down into Jawn's shoulder. "Stopped takin' them. They didn't do shit."

"So we can try new ones," Jawn tells him. Geoff closes his eyes and presses his nose against Jawn's collarbone. He feels pressure against his back as Jawn starts to rub, and lets out a heavy breath. Panicking is exhausting. "But I think therapy would help more. So you can talk about it instead of just numbing it with some pills and going on with your life."