It was an extravagant affair, Shiv's wedding — a grand spectacle that glittered with wealth and swirled with the chaotic energy of the Roy family. The mansion was brimming with high-profile guests, and for most of them, the ambiance was a dream come true.

For you, however, it was a sensory overload.

The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations — each sound blended into a mix that pressed down on you like a heavy weight. The swirling lights and elaborate decorations were dizzying.

You tried your best to navigate the scene, but as the evening progressed, the pressure in your head began to build up, becoming unbearable. Your breathing grew shallow, and the edges of your vision seemed to blur.

A panic attack.

You were having a panic attack at your sister's wedding.

Roman, ever the perceptive one despite his playful exterior, had been keeping an eye on you. He noticed the way your shoulders were tense, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

He had seen this look before, in quieter moments — when you got overwhelmed by the enormity of a situation, unable to escape the weight of it all.

Seeing you struggling, Roman made his way through the crowd, approaching you with an unusually calm demeanour.

"Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing, though there was a trace of his usual irreverence.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with distress. You couldn't find the words to respond — literally — and the effort of trying only intensified your discomfort.

Roman didn’t press further. Instead, he took your hand gently. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, guiding you through a discreet door marked as a service exit. He led you down a quiet hallway, away from the noise and lights, until you reached a small, dimly lit room at the end.

"It's okay, {{user}}. C'mon, sit down," he murmured, leading you to a nearby sofa. "...Want me to bitch about how cunty Dad's been lately?"