You have a panic attack
Written by me and all copyrights reserved
The air in the crowded train felt thick and suffocating. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a relentless drumbeat in the chaos of your mind. Faces blurred into a sea of indifference, their voices a cacophony of noise that you couldn't decipher.
You gripped the handrail, knuckles white, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, that felt real. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhale a shallow scratch against the sandpaper lining of your throat.
"Hey, hey," a familiar voice cut through the fog. Bakugou's warm hand covered yours, his touch a grounding force amidst the swirling storm within you. His eyes, usually fiery and intense, were now pools of concern, scanning your face with a worry that mirrored your own terror.
"I-I can't breathe," you choked out, your voice a pathetic squeak lost in the din.
He didn't hesitate. With a low, reassuring growl, he pushed through the crowd, clearing a small space around you. He cupped your face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheekbones.
"Focus on me," he commanded, his voice surprisingly soft. "Just look at me, [Y/N]."
You obeyed, forcing your gaze to meet his. The crimson of his eyes, usually a symbol of his explosive temper, now held a calming warmth, like the flicker of a fire on a cold night.
"Deep breaths," he instructed, his voice a steady mantra against the rising panic. "In through your nose, slow and deep. Hold it for a count of four. Then, out through your mouth, slow and steady."
You followed his instructions, each inhaling a battle against the constricting fear, each exhaling a release of pent-up tension. The handrail became a steady presence beneath your fingers, Bakugou's touch a beacon of grounding warmth.
Slowly, the fog began to clear. The faces around you returned to focus, the voices settling into a low murmur. Your breaths became less ragged, the suffocating pressure in your chest easing with each exhale.
"There you go," Bakugou murmured, his voice laced with relief. "See? You're doing great."
He squeezed your hand, his fiery eyes softening into something tender. "I'm right here, okay? You're not alone."
Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring his image for a moment. You leaned into his touch, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His familiar scent, a mix of spicy cologne and the comforting musk of his skin, washed over you, a calming balm to your frayed nerves.
He held you close, his strong arms forming a safe haven around you. The train rattled on, its rhythmic movement a lullaby against your racing heart. You didn't need words; his presence spoke volumes. He understood the silent language of your fear, the tremors that ran through your body, the way your breaths hitched in your throat.
After what felt like an eternity, the train finally reached your stop. Bakugou helped you down, his hand never leaving yours. You walked the rest of the way home, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat of the train.
Once inside your apartment, you collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion washing over you. Bakugou followed suit, pulling you into his lap. He held you there, his silence a comforting presence.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
"No need," he mumbled, burying his face in your hair. "Always here for you, you stupid nerd."
His words, though gruff, held a tenderness that brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You snuggled closer, seeking solace in his warmth. The panic attack might have left you shaken, but you knew one thing for sure: with Bakugou by your side, you could face any storm.
The rest of the night was spent in comfortable silence. You watched movies, his arm draped around you like a protective shield. You fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his breath, his presence a lullaby lulling you into a dreamless sleep.
You woke up the next morning feeling fragile, but calm. The remnants of the panic attack lingered like a faint echo, but they were overshadowed by a deep sense of gratitude. You had faced your fear, and you had emerged stronger, not alone.
Because you had Bakugou. And that, you knew, was all that mattered.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through your window, painting the room in a warm glow. You stirred, feeling a comforting weight around you. Bakugou's arm was draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling with a steady, reassuring rhythm.
You snuggled closer, savoring the warmth and security of his presence. Last night's panic attack had been terrifying, but having him there, holding you together, had made all the difference.
He stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open. They met yours, and a soft smile played on his lips. "Morning, sleepyhead," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.
You smiled back, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "Morning," you whispered, tracing a pattern on his arm with your finger. "Thank you for last night."
He squeezed your hand. "Always," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. "You know that."
You spent the morning cuddled together on the couch, watching cartoons and sharing lazy kisses. The panic attack felt like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of shared laughter and quiet intimacy.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you decided to head out for a walk. Bakugou readily agreed, and you soon found yourselves strolling through the park, hand-in-hand.
The autumn air was crisp and invigorating, the leaves crunching under your feet with each step. You pointed out brightly colored leaves to Bakugou, his usual scowl replaced by a surprised delight. He even picked a couple of the prettiest ones for you, tucking them behind your ear with a shy smile.
You laughed, his unexpected tenderness melting your heart. "You're so sweet sometimes, even if you don't want to admit it," you teased.
He scoffed, but his cheeks flushed pink. "Shut up, nerd."
You continued your walk, talking about everything and nothing. You discussed your hopes and dreams for the future, your silly plans for the weekend, and your shared love for cheesy superhero movies.
With each passing moment, the fear of yesterday receded further into the background. You were with Bakugou, and that was all that mattered. He was your anchor, your safe harbor, the calm in your storm.
As you walked home, the last rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was a moment of breathtaking beauty, and you and Bakugou stood there, holding each other close, simply enjoying the view.
"This is perfect," you whispered, leaning your head against his chest.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm against your ear. "It is."
And as you stood there, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, you knew he wasn't just talking about the view. He was talking about you, about him, about the two of you together. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were right. It was perfect.
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