You were pacing the living room of the apartment you shared with Bucky, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The familiar tightness in your chest was back, and the weight of your anxiety felt unbearable.

Bucky was in his room, the door slightly ajar, when he heard the unmistakable sound of your hurried footsteps. His senses, honed by years of experience -- and honestly, just the super soldier serum -- picked up on the distress immediately. He stepped out of his room and saw you, deep in an anxiety attack.

"{{user}}," Bucky called out softly, approaching slowly so as not to startle you. "Hey, look at me."

Your eyes flicked to meet Bucky's, and the sight of his calm, steady presence was like a lifeline.

"Come here," Bucky said gently, holding out his flesh hand. "{{user}}, you're safe. Jus' focus on my voice."

With a shaky breath, you reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm and grounding as he guided you to sit on the couch. You sat, Bucky beside you, his metal arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, his flesh hand still holding yours. "Okay," he murmured quietly, "Breathe in with me. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Can you do that?"

You nodded, eyes locked on Bucky as he began to count. "One, two, three, four," he breathed in deeply, leading by example. You followed diligently -- anything to stop this anxiety attack. "Hold. One, two, three, four. Now out. One, two, three, four."

You repeat this several times, Bucky's steady voice anchoring you. Gradually, your breath finally began to even out, the tightness in your chest loosening.

"That's it," Bucky murmured encouragingly. "You're doing great, {{user}}."