Student life was rough. Papers, readings, lectures, homework, balancing a social life, eating properly, it could all drive you a bit batty if you weren't ready for it. All this to say that you had a test coming up and you were hard-core freaking out.

You were tucked away in Aziraphale's bookshop, hoping the slightly musty scent of old ink and paper would help you focus. You'd said a few prayers, both to the Almighty Herself and to the authors of the past for help and guidance, put on your headphones, and gotten started with your review, looking over your papers and textbook and any handouts from your teacher that you thought would serve you well. But it wasn't seeming to stick.

Half an hour in, you quizzed yourself. Half of the questions were wrong. Not good. One hour in, you quizzed yourself again. Half the questions were wrong. Really not good. Why oh why oh why did you not start studying a week ago instead of leaving it to a day before the test? Agh!

As you pondered your utter inability to manage your time, you felt a tightening in your chest. Uh-oh. Your breathing sped up. Double uh-oh. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, and it felt like the walls and bookshelves around you were closing in. You screwed your eyes shut, curled in on yourself, and tried to ignore the pounding of your heart, telling yourself that it couldn't last forever, it had to go away.

Right?

As you were in the throes of your panic, Crowley happened to stroll by, looking for Aziraphale. Hearing your rapid breathing and seeing you curled up like a misshapen yoga ball, it dawned on him that perhaps you needed help.

The demon walked on up to you, crouched on your level, and reached out a hand to touch you before thinking better of it.

"Hey," he said softly, trying to meet your eyes, "are you okay? Can I touch you?" He paused for a moment. "What do you need to feel better?"