Coalesce

FOUR

Liam can't breathe.

He's pretty sure he's dying, or it feels like he is. His throat is closing up, his chest is heavy and his lungs are aching, and the walls of his bedroom feel like they're closing in on him, and he knows he isn't allergic to anything so this isn't anaphylaxis.

So he's dying. That's his only conclusion.

He's not sure when it started. Somewhere between walking home from school in the late September rain, and getting home and checking his messages only to find fourteen new texts from a different unknown number asking him to meet up again. One moment he had been breathing just fine and then the next, it had been an impossible task.

He's so done with this. With the endless texts and the constant paranoia that he's being followed, the inability to focus on anything because his phone won't stop buzzing. He wants to tell his Papa but he knows that he'll be mad, that he'll get the police and their lawyer involved, and that's even more stressful than just dealing with it all alone.

Except maybe it's not, because now he's suffocating, sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands shaking too hard to undo the top button of his school shirt, all but gasping for the air that never really reaches his lungs.

"Liam?" The voice that calls through his door is soft and quiet, little more than a whisper. He barely hears it over the ringing in his ears, can't bring himself to answer.

The door pushes open slightly and Niall peers in nervously, brows furrowing in something akin to worry when he sees Liam struggling to breathe on his bed. He glances over his shoulder for a moment before stepping in and closing the door behind him, not even taking a second to glance around the room that he's never been in before before looking ready to turn and bolt.

"Uh, do — do you want me to get your Papa?" He offers, already preparing to turn and leave, but Liam shakes his head quickly, one hand rubbing at his chest and the other flying down to grasp at the edge of his mattress, trying and failing to ground himself.

"No!! N-no, d-don't — don't — shit," he wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut as his chest contracts again.

The bed dips slightly beside him then, and when the smaller boy speaks again, his voice is closer.

"Okay, um, you — you're having a panic attack. You gotta try not to focus too hard on breathing," he explains, his own voice a little shaky.

Liam manages to scoff, keeping his eyes shut tight as he lets out a half-hearted cough. "Y-yeah. Good one, Einstein. So — s-so freakin' simple," he stammers, and to his horror, he feels tears escape his eyes, slipping down his cheeks.

He doesn't open his eyes to see Niall's expression, but the younger boy does sound a little more steady when he speaks again. "Just...tell me five things you can see right now. Open up your eyes and try," he adds, when Liam immediately shakes his head. "Try."

He lets out a short, whisper of an exhale and slowly opens his eyes, allowing them to dart around the room quickly, avoiding the boy beside him. "Um, my — my TV. The wardrobe, uh — the — the carpet. Lamp. P-posters, on the wall. Was — was that five? I didn't — I forgot to count," he stutters, and Niall breathes out what might be a laugh, a hesitant hand coming to rest on Liam's back.

"Yeah. Yeah, that was five. Okay, now four things you can feel," the other boy goes on.

Liam nods, focusing on the instruction rather than the tightness to his chest and the incapacity of his lungs. "Right, okay, uhh, my sh-shirt. Duvet," he presses his socked feet into the carpet a little harder. "The floor. And, uh," he knocks his hand against the side of Niall's thigh. "Your trousers."