Everything was receding away, falling down this long dark tunnel that made him feel like he was rising up into the sky, and the world was somewhere below, the noises distant and growing farther and farther away. Even his own body, far down below, like he was having an out-of-body experience and staring down at his own petrified face, the frozen grimace that was trying to be a smile, the way his fingers clutched the syllabus in his hands until the pages crumpled into deep creases.
And then the moment when he broke, and gave in to the voice in his head screaming that he was in danger and he needed to run.
He twisted on his heel, and suddenly the squeak of his dress shoes on the floor was too real, too loud, shrieking up that wind tunnel separating him from the world. Everything was blurry, his vision wavering and strange, but the door was close enough—close enough that it only took three steps before he was flinging it open, bursting out into the hall, skittering several clumsy steps before he just leaned over and grasped his knees and breathed.
Deep, harsh, he sucked in breaths as fast as he could, but he never seemed to get enough air, his head spinning and his heartbeat turning erratic and hot and twisted and heavy and he just—he just—
“If a single one of you,” Iseya said from inside the classroom, his voice drifting out the door, “moves so much as a fingertip while I am absent, everyone has detention on grounds cleanup for a week. Be still. Be silent. And open your textbooks to chapter fourteen, Jungian psychology. There will be a pop quiz when I return.”
Not a single peep rose.
Not even a groan.
No one disobeyed the tyrant.
Not even Summer.
But still he wasn’t expecting the soft tread of footsteps behind him, the door pulling closed, latching.
And then strong arms around him.
Strong arms around him, coaxing him to straighten, pulling him into the heat and solidity of Iseya’s body.
“Here,” Iseya said softly, that frigid voice defrosting into a rumbling, gentle murmur of baritone. “Here. Hold on to me. You’re all right.”
As he spoke, Iseya drew Summer against his chest—and, numb with confusion, frozen with unreasoning paralytic terror, Summer went unresisting.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Only that Iseya’s arms were firm and steady around him, wrapping him up, cradling him in quiet, steady strength. Suddenly the stone of Iseya wasn’t forbidding, but instead...stable ground. Stable ground that made Summer’s world stop spinning out of control, that held him in place and grounded him until he could stop feeling like the floor was dropping out from beneath him.
Because Iseya was holding him up.
And he let out a shaky sound, and buried his face in Iseya’s chest.
He’d never been more aware of how tall Iseya was than now; Summer himself wasn’t short, five foot eleven, but Iseya had at least four or five inches on him—and the professor rested his chin lightly to the top of Summer’s head, making him feel enveloped, sheltered, wrapped up in a safe space that shut out all the senseless things that made his mind and body think he was in danger in the most mundane situations.
He hated his anxiety.
He hated it so, so damned much.
But he didn’t hate this.
The warmth and firmness of Iseya’s chest against his cheek, the breadth of his shoulders, the fresh-washed scent of his clothing and the soothing warmth of his body heat soaking into Summer. Long, strong hands against his back, fingers splayed, holding him, capturing him, gripping just enough to remind him he was solid and real and not this strange ghost disconnected from his panicking body.
He could breathe, now.
It still hurt, stitching his ribs strangely, every breath like ice water, but...
He could breathe.
There was enough air, and he no longer felt like he was about to pass out, his heart rate finally starting to slow down to normal levels and even out until its beats came in steady rhythm again.
But it skipped once more, startled and erratic, as Iseya said, “I’m sorry.”
Barely a whisper, more felt ghosting against Summer’s hair in warm breath, slithering down the curve of his ear, his neck, into his collar; felt rumbling in the chest beneath his clenched hands, his cheek.
He had to swallow multiple times before he could speak; before he could even find words, past the sluggish clouds that always seeped into his brain after an anxiety attack.
“Wh-why are you apologizing?” he managed to falter out weakly.
“Because I let myself get angry enough to goad you,” Iseya said, and for a moment his arms tightened around Summer, a gentle grasp that gathered him in closer. “I know the markers of anxiety as well as I know any other condition. And I should not have agreed to let you do something so drastic that would trigger yours, when I knew you weren’t ready to lead the class.”
Summer bit his lip, hunching his shoulders. “I... I v-volunteered.”
“You did,” Iseya agreed. “But I am still your senior, and it was my responsibility to stop you.”
“No...it wasn’t.” Summer had said he could do it, and he...he needed Iseya to trust that when Summer said he could do something, he meant it—and he would have to pace himself more in the future, make sure he could hold his commitments. But still... “But...thank you for caring.”
Maybe...maybe it wasn’t Iseya’s responsibility, to know Summer’s limits.
But...it meant something, that Iseya cared about pushing them.
Iseya said nothing, though.
But...
He didn’t let Summer go.
And Summer wondered how long this would last, wondered how long he could hold on to it, when he’d wanted for so long to know how it would feel to rest against Iseya’s chest and listen to the sound of his heart moving deep and strong inside his chest.
He closed his eyes and sank into that sound, letting it soothe him until he timed his breaths by it, and slowly it felt as though his heart moved into line with it, taking calm, taking strength.
And
