moments ♡

salvation ♡

I lied! Here's a oneshot about anxiety. There's nothing too triggering here, but if talking about anxiety things bothers you, take extra care. Love you ♡

She was pacing when he got home. She felt like a caged animal. There was no real reason. She was just overwhelmed about life, and he wasn’t there and she was sure things were falling apart. She didn’t know exactly what was falling apart, but everything was.

She was pacing, but she wasn’t crying. Her heart was hurting, and she was afraid. It was dreary outside. It was dark. It was sad. She was sad.

When he came through the door, he found her pacing back and forth, and she was so painfully upset that he could feel it, too. “Babe?” She glanced at him, but she wouldn’t stop. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

She started crying as soon as she met his eyes. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t know. I’m just upset.”

He took off his jacket and sat down on the couch, opening his arms for her. She was reluctant to come and sit, though.

“C’mere, Babe,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

She shook her head. “I’m just sad. I don’t want to cry on you unless it’s for a good reason.”

“If you’re sad, it’s for a good enough reason.”

She sighed angrily. “But I’m not sad for a good reason. I’m just sad.” She turned to pace the length of the living room again. Her chest was burning.

He stood and moved to pace beside her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He smiled and took her hand. “Pacing with you.”

“Are you mocking me?” she asked.

He stepped in front of her, and she collided into his chest. His arms came to wrap around her, and she broke down completely. She cried into his shirt about nothing and about everything, and he just held her close and kissed her hair.

“I love you,” he said quietly, over and over again until she was calm and wrapping her arms around him, too.

“I love you, too,” she finally answered. “I’m sorry I was so upset.”

He pulled back a little and took her face in his hands. “Never be sorry for being upset, Babe. Never be sorry for needing me.”

“But I am,” she said quietly, trying to avoid his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her forehead and pulled her back into his arms. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I feel like I should be sorry for everything -- for existing and for breathing too much air and needing too much help. I just feel really sorry and really sad. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he repeated quietly. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, but if you need to apologize, I forgive you.”

She sobbed against his shirt. She didn’t know why she was crying, and neither did he, but she was safe now, and he was holding her and rubbing her back and whispering “shhhhh.”

“Do you want some mac and cheese?” he asked after a long moment. “If you’re still sad, I’ll keep holding you, but I’m sure you’re hungry. Did you have lunch?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but it’s past time for dinner.”

“OK,” he said. “Come on.” He led her to the bathroom first and supervised her washing her face. He told her stupid jokes until she at least cracked a little smile. He insisted on her sitting with him while he made dinner -- macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets because that was her favorite -- and he spoiled her with a million and eight kisses.

It was days like this that he was her salvation.