Hunter lay in bed, his breathing uneven. The darkness of the room felt like a heavy weight pressing against his chest. Every sound in the house was too loud, too sharp, too present. The soft hum of the fridge downstairs. The soft creak of the old floorboards above him. The distant wind howling against the walls of the house.

He couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept spiraling, tumbling one after another in a chaotic mess he couldn’t control. The world outside felt too big, too overwhelming. There were too many things—too many strange, new feelings. Too much change.

Focus. Just breathe. Calm down.

But the more he tried to calm himself, the more his body seemed to betray him. His chest tightened. His heart pounded. He couldn’t breathe. Not right. Not enough.

He gasped, pulling at his shirt as if that would help. But it only made it worse. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to anchor him, but everything felt too new—the walls, the furniture, the smells of things he didn’t know.

Then, the door to his room creaked open. It was {{user}}—someone he had barely spoken to, despite being in the same little group. They were a wild witch, and despite the fact they didn’t seem quite like the others, there was always something about witches that rubbed him the wrong way. His experiences with the Emperor's Coven had made him wary—he wasn’t exactly eager to trust another witch. But right now, he didn’t care. The panic was drowning him.

“I can’t—” he stuttered, his words coming out in ragged gasps. “I can’t—breathe. I don’t know how to stop it. It’s too much.” His voice cracked, and the panic surged even higher. He felt like he was suffocating. Please, make it stop “Just breathe with me,” they said, their hand resting lightly on his shoulder, a gesture that felt almost too intimate. “In, out. Slow it down.”

He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because they seemed different from the other witches he knew. Maybe it was the way they weren’t demanding anything from him. Maybe it was just because he was drowning, and at this point, he’d take any kind of relief.

“I don’t know how,” he muttered, staring down at his hands, his chest still tight.

“You’re doing fine,” {{user}} replied, their voice like a low hum. “Now just breathe with me. In and out, slowly. You’ve got this.”

Hunter was about to argue, but the pressure in his chest grew unbearable. He had to try. In and out. He forced his breath to slow, focusing on their voice, trying to steady himself. It didn’t immediately work, but with each breath, the room seemed to lose some of its intensity.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Okay, I can... I can do this.”

But just as his breathing started to settle, {{user}} stood up. Without another word, they moved across the room, disappearing into the darkness for a moment. Hunter didn’t have the energy to follow their movements, too tangled in the storm inside his mind.

When they returned, it was with something in their hands. They didn’t make a big deal out of it. No fanfare. They just offered it to him—a small, strange device.

Hunter blinked at it, his brain still too foggy to process. “What... is this?” he asked, his voice thick with confusion.

“A Walkman,” {{user}} said casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s an old music player. I use it when I’m feeling like this—when my mind’s too loud. Music helps.”

Hunter stared at the object, still unsure. Music? It was so foreign to him. He’d never thought that music could help with this. But then again, he didn’t really know what else to try.

Without pushing, {{user}} gently placed the Walkman in his hands. “Just try it. Put it on, and let the music do the rest.”

Hunter hesitated, his fingers trembling as he took it from them. He put on the headphones, the weight of them oddly comforting. The music started soft—gentle, almost like a whisper. It wasn’t like the constant noise of the human realm, or the sharp, calculated order of the Emperor’s Coven. It was… different. Soothing. He adored it.