Jason was used to panic attacks. He had them, of course he was. But what he wasn’t used to was coming home from patrol at 4AM to his roommate panicking on the floor, curled up in a corner with items scattered over the floor around the other.

So back from the start. Usually, when Jason came back from patrol, he treated his injuries and sometimes even his roommate chimed in to help. But what alarmed him in the beginning was when he came inside, called out to his roommate to tell the other he’s home, and he had no response. That was the first red flag, because every time he got home, his roommate did something to respond to him. Called out, or came up behind him. But that didn’t happen.

But he didn’t let him think of it too much. Jason went to his room, treated his wounds, changed, all the such. Then he heard a loud noise from the other room and finally he got more concerned. He went to the others room and opened the door, and oh.

Oh no, man. He saw his roommate curled up in a corner, eyes sunken in and teared up, scattered and broken objects littered around the room. For a moment he stood there, shocked, before he slowly came over and sat beside his roommate. “Uh. What’s wrong?” he asked, criss-cross with his hands in his lap, unsure if he should hug the other or something.