He was fine.

He hadn’t expected a thunderstorm to start while you were staying over for dinner. When he first heard a thunder in the distance, he’d just mentally swore. Surely you’d leave before he’d panic, right?

He was fine.

He didn’t excuse himself from his own kitchen. He wasn't hiding in the bathroom. He didn’t start hyperventilating the moment he saw a flash of lightning. He wasn’t holding onto the bathroom sink for dear life with his eyes shut and covered in cold sweat. He wasn’t shaking and holding back tears.

Except he actually was, and he didn’t know how long ago he’d started hiding. He wasn’t going to start showing you he was actually suffering, obviously - he was a mafia executive, for god sake, he wasn’t supposed to get ticked off my something so common as lightning. But he knew you’d eventually start worrying; he just hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon, he thought as he ment over the sink.