oneshots • sidemen

|| 12 || wroetozerk • hide and seek

|| ship; wroetozerk

|| warnings; descriptions of a panic attack

|| words; 1.5k

- {} -

Harry really hates this video idea.

Hates it with a burning passion.

Hide and seek. In a haunted maze, at nearly midnight. All of the things he hates the most. Cold, dark, loud, and full of places where he has to watch his back.

He can't stop looking behind him, borderline obsessively. Always finds nothing, but still feels on edge, so checks again.

Vikk was with him, but he's gone now. They got separated. So now he's alone.

This just makes him more anxious.

He doesn't like the way his clothes ripple, and brush lightly over his skin. It keeps making him think someone's there.

He's entered a small sort of room now, full of mirrors, and bright strobe lights. Just freaks him out more. He has to find the corner, and press himself into it just to feel a little more safe. Because that means nobody can approach him from behind.

Has to close his eyes too. Because seeing his own pale face and trembling body reflected on the walls, isn't pleasant. He looks like a mess. Keeps them closed, because he convinces himself that when he opens them again, there's going to be someone, or something there.

And then he feels it starting. The anxiety, building, climbing higher and higher in his throat. Filling his body.

He feels his chest start to tighten, as the panic sets in. A huge pressure sitting heavy on his ribs, making it difficult to draw in a breath. Feeling his airways constrict like that just makes the panic worsen. He grabs at his hoodie, closing his fists around the fabric, and holding on with a white knuckled grip.

He knows it's guaranteed to become a drastic spiral downwards now. The more he panics, the more shallow his breathing becomes. The shallower his breathing becomes, the more he panics. And it just keeps going like that, on a loop, until the breaths he sucks in can hardly be counted as sufficient for a child, let alone a man his size.

He can feel himself shaking, hands trembling like leaves, as he slides down against the wall. Curled tightly in on himself, arms around his knees as he tries to breathe.

Just breathe.

Begins to feel nauseous, and then lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Like he could heave until his stomach was empty, and then fall asleep for eternity. Miserable, and scared, for the rest of time.

The lights are too bright, but they flicker, meaning not even light is a stable point. There isn't anything constant, or stable in the surroundings for Harry to use to keep himself from being swept away by the panic. Although he knows it's a lost cause really, at this stage. He's too far gone to save himself.

He needs someone else.

But nobody is there.

He's alone.

Alone.

Painfully lonely.

Barely aware of the tears that streak his face, as the edges of his vision begin to go white, a brighter white than any of the strobe lights in the room. And then, black spots follow, slowly growing larger, until they block him from seeing entirely.

He's unsure whether he's closed his eyes, or if he's hallucinating.

But then. He feels his brain just, switch off. Stranding him in the quiet darkness of his blank mind.