The Cameron house was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made the creaks and groans of the building seem louder than they were. You’d been watching a movie with Sarah when you realized Rafe had left the living room over an hour ago. Something about the way he’d been unusually withdrawn earlier had stuck with you, a nagging feeling you couldn’t shake.

You found yourself hesitating outside his bedroom door before lightly knocking. There was no answer, but you pushed it open anyway, peeking inside. Rafe was sitting on the floor by the bed, his back pressed against the side of it, his head buried in his hands. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, and even from across the room, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“Rafe,” you said softly, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind you.

His head snapped up, his glassy blue eyes locking on yours, wide and filled with panic. “I can’t— I can’t breathe,” he choked out, his voice raw.

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression calm. You’d never seen Rafe like this, completely unraveled, the mask he always wore shattered into pieces.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, dropping to your knees in front of him. “It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

He shook his head, his breaths getting sharper, quicker. “I feel like I’m dying. I can’t—”

“Rafe,” you cut him off gently but firmly, placing your hands on his knees. “Listen to me. You’re not dying. I need you to focus on my voice, okay?”

He nodded slightly, his eyes darting to yours.

“Good. Let’s breathe together. In through your nose,” you said, demonstrating a deep inhale, “and out through your mouth.” You exaggerated the movements, holding his gaze as you repeated it again and again until he finally began to follow your lead.