The knock came just after eleven. You opened the door and there Lucas stood. He looked like hell. His shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. His shirt clung to his chest like he’d broken a sweat just getting there, and his hands were flexing at his sides like he couldn’t make them stop. But it was his eyes that stopped you cold, like the air had gone thin around him and he hadn’t breathed right in hours. “Hey,” you said softly. “You okay?” He opened his mouth, but no words came. Just a shaky inhale. “Lucas,” you murmured, stepping forward. “Come here.”

He didn’t resist when you reached for him. He barely moved at all, like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread. You guided him inside and shut the door behind him, then gently backed him against the wall of your entryway. He dropped his head, bracing his palms on his thighs, trying to force air into his lungs like they just wouldn’t open wide enough. “Okay. Okay, Luke,” you said gently, your hands coming up to his chest. “You’re okay. It’s just your breath. Just too much day, not enough air, huh?” He nodded once, barely, his lips parted, chest fluttering like he couldn’t get a full inhale without shaking. “I’ve got you,” you said, moving closer, as you get him to sit on the ground. You climbed onto his lap slowly, straddling his waist, holding his eyes to your own. His hands gripped your sides instantly: rough, tight, but not in panic. Just need. You brought your hands to his face, thumbs grazing the stubble along his jaw. “Look at me, honey,” you whispered, forehead brushing his. “Just breathe with me. That’s all you have to do right now.” He closed his eyes, trying to do what you said, but it was hard. “No one’s asking you to be okay,” you whispered. “Just breathe, Lucas.”

You slowed your own breath on purpose, deep and steady. You wanted him to feel it, how calm sounded, how it felt. “Here. Follow me, okay?” you whispered against his cheek. “In-” you breathed in slowly through your nose. “Now out.” He mimicked you. Barely. But you saw it, the first real, slow exhale. His brow furrowed like it hurt to let go of the pressure in his chest. “That’s it,” you said. “Again. In… slow, baby. That’s it. You’re doing good.” His fingers dug into your waist again, grounding himself in the feel of you. You stayed close: forehead to forehead, your voice quiet, steady. Your fingers brushed his jaw, his hair, anywhere you could touch him without overwhelming him.

His breathing was still shaky. Still uneven. But not as fast now. Less frantic. You could feel the shift. His body finally started to relax under you. The tension in his shoulders sagged. His jaw loosened. His forehead pressed against yours more willingly. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice low and raw.