“You’re overthinking it,” Tomura mutters as he sits on the edge of your bed in your room where you’ve holed yourself up the entire day, trying to break down in the privacy of your private quarters so that none of the PLF see you as you pace a storm on the hardwood floors, your face pinched, almost frantic.

“I know,” you breathe out. You know you’re overthinking. That’s what always happens when you get overwhelmed — your anxiety spikes and then you can’t stay still, your lungs can’t expand comfortably and the bile keeps trying to crawl up your throat.

“So stop,” he says bluntly, his crimson eyes narrowed on you, tone not unkind though blunt. Everybody here has their thing, the consequences of their fucked up childhoods and lives. Twice can’t survive without something covering his face or he’ll spiral, Dabi burns his lungs with cigarettes, and even Tomura’s victim of an occasional manic episode when things aren’t going his way.

You? Your thing is these little anxiety spirals, the drum of your heart going too fast, the breaths leaving you too rapidly, your mind working too fast that it’s almost dizzying. Just watching you is making Tomura dizzy.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. Yeah he’s the leader, yeah he’s the commander, but dealing with somebody’s emotions when they’re so fragile isn’t his forte and yet out of everybody he’s the one watching you spiral, and he’s the one always snapping you out of it.

“Just—“ Tomura grits his teeth as his hands snag yours and force you to stand still in front of him, your eyes wide and your breathing fast. “Just calm the fuck down and come here.”

His fingers yank you forward until you’re on the bed and he can sink his fingers into your hair, cupping the back of your head, pressing his forehead against yours, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Breathe on my count and if you don’t, so help me God,” he grits out as his forehead presses to yours, close enough to see every eyelash as you look at him wide-eyed but not protesting his grip.