it was almost around midnight, and here you were— sitting across from dean, crying your little heart out to him. you never were good at handling your emotions, and he knew first-hand just how bad it could get.

“breathe, baby.” he said, shifting to gently grab both of your hands, trying to steady the trembling. he hated how you were doing this to yourself, how you were letting your anxiety get the best of you.

he gently squeezed your hands, trying to get you to look at him. “breathe, okay? you’re working yourself up.” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite being a bit stern as his eyes searched yours.