Tulin knew you were prone to panic attacks. Your father and mother also knew this, and both of them did everything they can to help you through them when they did happen.

Except one day, they weren’t home. Neither was Tulin. And you felt that familiar feeling in your chest, like a pair of hands was squeezing your lungs together.

Shit.

And you couldn’t breathe. Everything was slow. Your heart thundered in your ears. Your knees turned to jelly. Just when you were about to buckle, a voice pierced the ringing in your ears.

“{{user}}.” A gentle voice. A familiar one. “I’m here. Okay? I’m here.” It piped. Light footsteps pattered to your side. “You’ll be alright. I’ll stay with you.” A smaller hand slips itself into yours. “Breathe.”

Tulin, your jittery brain processed. It was Tulin. Little brother to the rescue.