It started as always, a tightness in your chest. Then came the dizziness, the creeping sensation that the walls were closing in, the air thinning out until every breath felt like a battle. Your hands trembled violently as you gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, your knuckles turning white.

Not again.

Damiano was in the other room, the muffled hum of his voice on a call barely cutting through the ringing in your ears. You tried to push the panic down, to steady yourself, but your body wasn’t listening. Your heartbeat was erratic, chaotic. Your vision blurred. It felt like you were dying.

Somewhere between the static in your brain and the choked sob you didn’t mean to let out, his footsteps rushed toward you.

“Hey—” Damiano’s voice snapped through the noise, sharp with concern. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

You couldn’t. Instead, you shook your head frantically, your nails digging into your arms as you struggled to ground yourself.

“Shlt,” he breathed, closing the space between you. His hands hovered, unsure for a second, then landed gently on your shoulders. “Okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Your body refused to listen, but Damiano’s hands were steady, real. He guided you away from the counter, easing you down to the floor, keeping his touch firm but careful.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “In for four, okay? One, two—”

You gasped for air, still struggling, but he didn’t waver. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to give you space, but not enough to let you drift away.

“Again. In… one, two, three, four. That’s it. Now out. Slow.”

Your fingers clutched at his hoodie like a lifeline, your body shaking as you fought to match his rhythm.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice even softer now. “I’ve got you.”