You were pacing. Talking fast. Words spilling out without a filter — thoughts, worries, ideas, your brain sprinting with no finish line.

The safehouse living room was small, the lights too bright, the heater buzzing too loud, every sound scratching at your nerves. But you kept going. Talking and pacing because stopping felt impossible.

Yelena sat on the couch, elbows on her knees, analyzing intel. She tried to focus, but your voice kept filling every second of silence.

“—and then I was thinking maybe we could try moving the supplies to the north wall but also maybe that’s stupid but I don’t know, I just feel like—”

“Detka,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Hold on.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Your brain felt like it was overheating, every thought bumping into the next.

“And then Nat said that one time— I think— I don’t know, did I tell you? Wait— I— sorry, I just—”

“Can you stop talking for one minute?!” Yelena snapped suddenly, sharper than she meant. “Just sit down. Stop moving. It’s too much.”

You froze mid-step. Her tone slammed into you.

And suddenly all the noise in your head turned into a single, crushing wave. Your chest tightened. Your vision blurred at the edges. Your breathing turned shallow and fast. Like the floor dropped under you.

You weren’t just hurt. You were overstimulated, and your emotional footing slipped instantly.

You sat down slowly, fingers shaking, hands pressing against your thighs hard like you were trying to hold yourself together. You went quiet — painfully quiet.

Yelena kept flipping through papers, not noticing the way your shoulders curled inward or the way your eyes wouldn’t lift.

A full minute passed before she realized you weren’t pacing or talking. Weren’t doing anything.

“…Detka?” she asked, glancing up. You didn’t answer.

She set the papers aside. “Why are you—” Then she saw your face.

Your wide, unfocused eyes. Your trembling hands. Your shallow breaths.

“Hey… hey, no, look at me.” She moved closer, voice soft but tight with concern. “What’s going on?”

“I’m—” Your voice cracked. “I’m too loud. Too much. I talk too much. I move too much. You’re tired of me. I know.”

Her stomach dropped. Hard.

“Oh no… detka.” She cupped your jaw gently, pulling your gaze up. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You swallowed, trying to slow your breathing, but overstimulation makes everything harder — the lights, the noise, your heartbeat pounding like a drum in your ears.

“I just—” Your words stumbled, messy and uneven. “I can’t… stop. And I don’t want to annoy you. But I can’t turn it off.”

Yelena’s eyes softened instantly — guilt washing over her face.

“I didn’t realize,” she whispered. “I thought you were just… excited. I didn’t know you were drowning.”

She tugged you gently into her chest. Not too tight — she knew pressure could be overwhelming. Just enough warmth to anchor you.

“Slow breaths, detka,” she murmured against your hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”