dichotomy ; gawsten

thirty

trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks

"I need him with me."

"I don't think they're gonna be too happy about that..."

"I don't care." Geoff grips tighter onto his hand. "I need him. With me. I'm gonna have a panic attack in there Jawn, I'm fuckin' serious."

"I won't say anything," he says quietly. It's not like he's going to have anything to weigh in on while Geoff and Jawn meet with their management. He has no idea how any of that works. Geoff just needs him there. He needs someone to hold his hand when he gets too anxious.

"They're not gonna be happy about this," Jawn warns. He drops his voice slightly, says the next words almost under his breath, "they're not happy with you in general."

"Whatever," Geoff mutters. Awsten feels him tense against him. He squeezes Geoff's hand and leans over to press their shoulders together.

"It's gonna be fine, breathe, okay?" he whispers into Geoff's ear. "They'll understand. It was a fucking suicide attempt, this is serious."

"You don't know them." Geoff's voice is shaking. It sounds slightly high-pitched and he stammers out a couple of the words. Awsten sighs. He knows how this works. He knows Geoff's anxiety well enough to detect the signs of a panic attack and Geoff is well on his way to one.

"They're ready for us." Jawn says. "Let me do the talking, okay? Don't say anything unless you have to."

"It's not you they're mad at." The words sound tight. Choked. Geoff's hand is slick against his. He can feel him trembling.

"It's gonna be okay." Jawn pushes open the door and he lifts his cane over the rise in the floor, the "threshold" between the room and the hallway. Geoff's footsteps are slow. He can hear him taking shaky breaths, mumbling something incoherent to himself under his breath.

Something shifts in Geoff as soon as they're inside the room. There are a flurry of voices, all talking over each other, firing rapid questions at both him and Jawn in tones that are sharp and sound cold. Previously tense, Geoff goes completely rigid against him. The pressure on his hand increases. He's starting to lose feeling in it from how hard Geoff is squeezing. Pressing up against his shoulder, he can feel Geoff's racing heart. It's fast, too fast to be considered close to normal.

This entire situation makes him anxious. Awsten knows that. He's known since he got up to pee at 3:29 am and heard Geoff watching TV in the living room. He's known since last night, when Geoff was moving a little slower, taking a little longer, wrapped in his mind a little tighter, since Geoff's voice broke when he asked if he was ready for this, since he had to change shirts for bed because Geoff's tears had drenched the one he was wearing.

Geoff told him about how their management has treated him, how they berated him for his depression and forced him into situations that triggered so much anxiety. Awsten knows anxiety. He lives anxiety. It's different for everyone, but similar enough that there's the blanket of "know", like everyone whose every dealt with an anxiety disorder could be put into a room and list off all their symptoms and share commonalities with at least one other person.

Geoff shouldn't be this scared of the people who are supposed to help. Management exists to help them further their career and get them the success they deserve. They're not the monsters. They're not supposed to be.

Geoff barks out a dry sob. He swallows, splays his fingers out against the back of Geoff's palm and starts to move his thumb back and forth.

It's not much.

But it needs to be enough.

It needs to be enough to get him through this.

...