The first thing I notice is the sound.

My own breathing.

Too loud. Too fast. Like it’s tearing my chest apart from the inside. I can’t get enough air — no matter how deep I drag it in, it still feels like I’m choking. My vision’s going fuzzy at the edges and I’m pressed against the wall because it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Get it together.

My body doesn’t listen.

My hands won’t stop shaking. Fingers curling in, like I’m waiting for something to hit me. Like it always did. I fold in on myself without even realising I’m doing it, trying to make myself smaller, trying to disappear into the bricks.

Stupid. Weak. Fucking pathetic.

I don’t hear her footsteps. Just suddenly — a presence.

I feel it before I see it.

A shadow falls over me and my heart lurches violently. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing—

Then a hand touches my shoulder.

I flinch so hard it hurts.

My body jerks away on instinct, panic spiking hotter and sharper. I feel sick with it, lungs burning, head spinning.

Don’t touch me.

“Breathe with me.”

Her voice is soft. Not sharp. Not angry. No edge to it at all.

Don’t listen.

But my chest is on fire and I’m so fucking tired.

She doesn’t touch me again. Doesn’t crowd me. Just stays there, grounded, steady — like she’s not afraid of me falling apart in front of her.

In… out.

I repeat it under my breath like a chant, like if I stop saying it something bad will happen. My hands rake through my hair, nails scraping my scalp hard enough to feel real. Pain helps. Always has.

In. Out.

Again.

Slowly, the noise in my head dulls. My heartbeat stops trying to punch its way out of my ribs. My hands are still shaking — they always do after — but I can breathe again.

I open my eyes.

She’s kneeling in front of me.

Too close. Too kind.

Fuck.

I stand up fast, legs stiff, needing distance before I do something stupid — before she sees too much. I head for the exit of the alley, chest still tight, throat thick.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I say, voice rough, like I’m daring her to.

I don’t look back. I don’t want to see pity.

“I won’t.”

She says it instantly. No hesitation. No questions.

That makes it worse.

I stop anyway.

Don’t turn around.

I turn.

She’s looking at me like I’m not broken. Like I’m not something to be fixed or whispered about. And I hate how much that makes my chest ache.

I didn’t need you. I was fine.

But my body remembers her voice. The way it slowed everything down. The way, for a few seconds, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

I swallow hard and look away before she can see it on my face.

Needing someone is dangerous. Trust is worse.

So I turn on my heel and walk away, back straight, fists clenched, leaving her standing there like she didn’t just pull me out of the dark.

Like she didn’t make me feel—

Safe.

And that thought scares me more than the panic ever did.