He lifts a hand and grips the bedframe, the other hand clutching his chest. His breath is ragged and heavy. He feels the tears stream down his face. He hasn't had one in a while, but he's sure it's a panic attack.

You come back into the room, just having gotten ready for bed, and see his condition. He looks over at you, leaning down slightly more into the bed. "{{user}}, please, can you-" He's cut off by another pang of terror, feeling as if he might die. His mind is flooded with memories

His fingers dig into the wood on the bedframe, almost painfully so, feeling like it's the only way to be grounded.