worst ; gawsten

fifteen

highkey in love with this chapter,,,,i really did save the best for last eh

trigger warnings for anxiety/panic attacks

"Alright, you need any more?"

"I think I'm good." He forces down a swallow and surveys the room, closes his eyes and squeezes tightly for a few seconds before blinking back open again.

The boxes don't disappear.

He lets himself lean forward, until his elbows are touching cardboard and teetering on the edge of collapsing under his weight, in, and out. In, and out. You're fine. This is going to be fine. Breathe.

Breathe.

But he can't. He can't hit pause on the panic attack because it keeps prevailing, pulsating at the back of his mind and permeating everything. Every thought, every action, every movement is probed and preceded, what if she's there what if I run into her what if she tries to talk to me what if it happens again what if it happens again what if it happens again-

What if it happens again-

What if he's there and she is too and everything starts to dissolve beneath him, what if the world crumbles and he fumbles everything like the idiot he is, too trusting, too forgiving, giving second chances like the candy they seemed to be, tearing into his heart and handing her chunk after chunk, going back for more when there was nothing left, scrambling, rummaging, trying to salvage what remained of the wreckage amidst the inevitable breakage.

He never knows when his breath leaves him anymore. It's there and then it isn't, stolen by the confines of his mind and recycled for the next time the world decides to leave him in the bind. He can breathe and then he can't. It always happens so fast and he doesn't know how long it'll last, doesn't know how long he'll feel like the world is physically surging up to swallow him whole from the constant panic attack he can't control.

He doesn't know why he's doing this. He doesn't know how the idea even became a reality; one day he was perfectly content in Houston, with his family and his friends and the orange juice he loves so much, well-adjusted to the urgency and never once fazed by the ardor of certain tasks. They didn't feel that way. It was a different kind of difficult that didn't involve his hands shaking every time he imagined leaving the house and the fluttering in his chest that never stopped, what if I see her what if she decides to go to the grocery store at the same time what am I supposed to say what am I supposed to do how am I supposed to do this I don't know I don't know I-

He feels like he's bleeding.

The words won't stop. He's ripped himself open and he can't stitch that part shut again. He keeps trying to batten down the hatches and force it into a container, draw the shade on the parts of himself that make him want to fade, stop it. It's not ready. You're not ready. The world isn't ready to hear this and you need to think about how much of yourself you're giving them. They don't need everything.

They don't deserve everything.

But he's not living unless he's giving, unless he's ripping from a reserve he barely has, journeying deep into the pits of his chest and breaking off parts he isn't sure he's even ready to talk about, I can't keep it here any longer. It stays and it rots me from the inside out and it'll still hurt there but it'll be better than this.

Anything, would be better than this.

And he wants to be over it, already. He wants to be done with it. People are mad at him and tired of him and he can't even blame them because he's fucking tired of himself and it hurting all the time and not being able to go out with his friends or enjoy concert or have one good fucking day without she cheated on you she's gone it's all over she cheated on you-

This is for the best.

You can't stay.

Giving is living and it can't happen here.

He keeps telling himself that, tries to know it'll be good and imagine it'll be good, force the universe to align itself with the laws of attraction because it loves him enough to never make him this sad again. But none of it is guaranteed and that's what he remembers that night; that's what breeds and multiplies across his mind, sends him reeling amongst the throes of lost time.

He could've been smarter and gotten out earlier and saved himself all of this he could've known better he should've known better he could've-

"Aws? Dude, you good?"

"Yeah, sorry." He blinks rapidly to refocus his vision and puts the stack of books he's been holding into an empty box. "Just thinking."

"Everything okay?" Geoff reaches for the pile of clothes on his bed and slides onto the floor as he starts to fold and place them in another box.

"Just- nervous, I guess." He drops his voice toward the end and keeps his gaze on his lap. "This is a lot. I dunno. I just..."

He hears Geoff scoot across the carpet and feels his body relax against his own, before Geoff's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders. "It's a big step," Geoff admits. "Like playing Lucky People was, last show. But I wouldn't be on board if I didn't think you could do it, Aws. You've got this. I know you do."

"I'm excited, don't get me wrong," he mumbles. "'Cause, like, Courtney's there, and I'm super close to the studio and I won't be wastin' time on planes, but- I dunno. It just...I don't know if m'ready for it."

"It's a huge change." Geoff tightens the arm around his shoulders and squeezes him close. "But it'll be so good for you, Awsten. You can focus on the music and writing and go in the studio whenever you have something, not store it away till we fly out next. And hey, maybe we'll be able to put the third record out sooner. You never know."

"What if I run into her?"

His voice breaks as he asks the question. He doesn't look up. He can't. And it's a very long moment, before Geoff answers.

"It'll suck." The words are soft. Geoff pulls him even closer. "It'll be awkward and you'll probably be shaky afterward, and everything will feel like it's falling apart all over again, like all the progress you've made was destroyed." His voice is shaking and his eyes are glassy. "But then." His breath hitches and he lifts a finger to turn Awsten's chin so their gazes will me. "You're gonna call me, and tell me what happened, and I'll be there, okay? To tell you how amazing you are. I'll always be there."

"I'm gonna miss you so much."

The sob bursts from his throat before he can stop it. He turns his face into Geoff's shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. Geoff keeps rubbing his back.

"I'll miss you too." He scoots around until their bodies are facing each other, face not leaving Geoff's neck. "But we'll see each other 'soon as Otto and I come up ta record, y'know? Once you get the amazing things in your head into words. We'll make the album and put it out and it'll be so fucking good, Aws. I promise."

He exhales and pushes up from Geoff's body, bites his lip as Geoff reaches forward to brush tears off his cheeks. "You really think so?"

Geoff smiles. "I know so."

"And hey...I've actually been thinkin' about moving up there myself, so..." Geoff trails off. "You cool with having a roommate for a while, in a few months, while I look for a place?"

"You don't have to."

"Hm?"

"Look for a place." He doesn't register the words until they're out there. "You don't have to."

He lets his head flop back down into the crook of Geoff's neck as the arm around his waist tightens again.

Fifty percent has never felt this good. 

i don't wanna get overly sappy or anything but i just wanted to say thank you, to all of you that have read/loved/supported this story. thank you for your kind words and your continuous love. it was cathartic for me but it turned into a lot more than that and i'm really proud of what it's become. i hope you've all enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

thank you, again. i appreciate all of you.