He only wanted to make it to the bathroom. It’s a short walk down the hallway, something he has done a thousand times before, but halfway there his body betrays him again. One step slows, the next never comes. His foot simply refuses to lift from the floor, as if the signal from his brain gets lost somewhere on the way down. He freezes mid-motion, leaning slightly forward, trapped between steps. His hand trembles faintly at his side while he stares at his own legs with quiet frustration “Come on…” he murmurs under his breath, voice soft and breathy, almost swallowed by the silence of the apartment

He tries the tricks he has learned: shift the weight, imagine stepping over a line, count in his head, but his shoes stay planted to the ground. The bathroom door is right there, only a couple of meters away. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but right now it does, and the realization makes heat creep into his face. His jaw tightens as the tremor in his fingers grows stronger “Not now,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. He rocks forward slightly, willing his body to obey, but the movement stops before it truly begins

For a moment he just stands there, breathing unevenly, anger and embarrassment mixing in his chest. Parkinson’s has taken a lot already, but moments like this feel especially cruel: being stuck in place in his own hallway, helpless over something so simple. He exhales slowly through his nose, trying not to panic, because panic only makes the freezing worse