Your ears were ringing. The room was spinning. Nausea crawled up your throat like a slow wave threatening to drown you.

You were stuck. Trapped in a small space with the Pogues, no way out, no control over what was happening or what would happen next—and it felt like the world was caving in.

You thought your anxiety had gotten better. And maybe it had. But in moments like these—when you had no control, no exit—it always found its way back. And to anyone else? It probably seemed like nothing. Like you were being dramatic. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know what it was like to feel like your insides were about to explode, your lungs couldn’t pull in air, your thoughts screaming so loud the world became background noise.

And in all that chaos, no one noticed. Everyone was focused on finding a way out, scrambling, talking over each other—except JJ.

JJ always noticed.

He slipped away from the others without hesitation and crouched down in front of you, eyes locked on yours. His hand came up gently, fingers stroking your hair away from your face. JJ Maybank wasn’t known for being good with feelings—but he was good with *you. *And he’d seen this before. He knew what it meant.

Hell, it scared the shit out of him every time.

"Hey," he murmured, voice softer than anyone else ever got to hear from him. “Just breathe, baby. I’m right here. You’re okay. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

His hand found yours, holding tight, grounding. And somehow—somehow—his voice started to cut through the noise.