Summary: Y/n was 12, sitting under a tree at the end of school, her chest tight, breaths shallow, as the chatter and shrieks on the playground blurred around her. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to make herself small, tears prickling because she didn’t want to cry at school.Arthur spotted her from across the yard, dropping his football, running over with grass-stained knees, and dropping to sit cross-legged in front of her.
It was the end of school, the heavy summer heat clinging to the playground, the air thick with the scent of warm concrete, cut grass, and the faint salt of the nearby sea drifting up in the breeze. Laughter echoed around the cracked asphalt, kids sprinting for the gates, bags bouncing, parents beginning to gather, their voices overlapping in a wave of noise that pressed against Y/n's ears.
She was 12, small for her age, her cardigan too big around her thin wrists, her skirt brushing her knees as she stood frozen near the fence under the old tree that Arthur often climbed. Her breath caught, shallow and sharp, each inhale scraping her throat as her chest tightened and tightened until she thought she might choke. She pressed her palms against her ears, trying to muffle the clatter of children’s chatter, the squeak of sneakers, the shriek of a whistle calling for end-of-day lines.
She hated this time of day.
The chaos.
The noise.
The feeling that the world was closing in around her.
Her vision was blurry, tears pricking, hot and shameful. She ducked her head, hair falling around her face like a curtain, trying to hide the way her lips trembled, the way her shoulders shook with the silent sobs she tried to swallow down.
She could hear someone’s water bottle clatter to the ground, someone else yelling about ice cream, the heavy thud of footballs hitting walls, the shriek of the whistle again. Each sound layered over the other until it was too much.
She didn’t want to cry.
Not at school.
Not in front of everyone.
But her throat burned, and her breaths wouldn’t come properly, and it felt like the world was too loud and too bright, the sun pressing into her scalp, sweat gathering at the back of her neck beneath her hair.
Across the yard, Arthur, grass stains smudged on his knees and elbows, was mid-football game, his hair sticking up in sweaty tufts. He was laughing, shouting to Lucas to pass, eyes alight with the easy joy of a game played on a Friday afternoon.
Standing under the tree, shoulders shaking, hair hiding her face, alone.
Without hesitation, Arthur let the ball roll away, ignoring Lucas’s protest, and sprinted across the yard, feet pounding on the concrete, heart thumping in sync with his panic. He skidded to a stop in front of her, dropping to his knees so quickly that the gravel dug into his skin, but he didn’t care.
He could see the tears now, the way her small hands clutched at her ears, her breathing too fast, too high, that tiny whimper she didn’t even know she was making.
“Y/n/n,” he said softly, using the nickname he saved for when it was just them, when he needed her to know she was safe.
She didn’t look up, but he saw her flinch at his voice, saw the way her breaths hitched.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, softer, slower, trying to keep the fear out of his voice because he knew she didn’t need fear, she needed calm.
Arthur sat down cross-legged, ignoring the dirt and the itchy grass. He leaned forward, trying to catch her gaze. “Breathe with me, yeah?” he whispered.
She shook her head, tears falling now, dripping off her chin onto her collar. Her fingers dug into her hair, pressing against her ears harder, as if she could shut everything out.
Arthur glanced around. Parents were beginning to trickle in, some of the kids were watching, but he didn’t care. He only cared about her.
He held up a finger, steady and slow, making sure it was in her line of sight.
“In,” he said softly, raising his finger as he sucked in a deep, exaggerated breath.
“Out,” he lowered it, blowing out so hard his cheeks puffed.
Over and over, his breathing loud and silly on purpose. A few kids nearby giggled at the sight of Arthur puffing his cheeks out like a fish, but he ignored them, his focus entirely on her.
Y/n's eyes flickered up for a second, a tear sliding across her lashes. Her breath hitched, but she watched him, trying, failing, trying again.
“That’s it, Y/n/n,” he murmured. “Just like that. Breathe with me.”
Slowly, painfully, her shoulders began to drop. Her breaths were still uneven, but they were coming, in and out, in and out, matching the rhythm of Arthur’s finger.
Arthur leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’re okay. You’re here. It’s just us. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, okay? I’ve got you.”
A sob escaped her, and she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, terrified someone might have heard.
Arthur frowned, gently pulling her hand away, gripping it in his own. “You don’t have to hide it. It’s okay to cry, you know. I’ll fight anyone who says it isn’t,” he said with a grin, trying to coax out the smallest smile.
She sniffled, tears dripping onto their joined hands, but she didn’t pull away. Her breaths were still shaky, her lips trembling, but her eyes were locked on his now, her world narrowing down to him, the loud chaos of the playground fading into the background.
“There you are,” Arthur whispered. “See? You’re okay.”
She tried to speak, but it came out as a choked sob, so she shook her head instead, tears spilling faster.
Arthur squeezed her hand. “Bad day, huh?” he said gently.
She nodded, a broken hiccup slipping out.
“Yeah,” he sighed, brushing his messy hair from his forehead. “Those suck.”
They sat there like that for a while, the bell ringing, kids running to their parents, the playground slowly emptying around them. Y/n's breaths calmed, the tears slowing, leaving her with pink cheeks and swollen eyes.
Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue, dabbing her cheeks with exaggerated care. “You’re a snot monster,” he teased softly.
She gave a small, watery laugh, swatting at his hand.
“There’s that laugh,” he said, a grin breaking across his face, relief washing over him. “Told you it’d come back.”
As the playground cleared, Y/n finally whispered, “Sorry.”
Arthur’s grin faded, and he squeezed her hand again, shaking his head. “Don’t you ever be sorry, Y/n/n. You’re my best friend, okay? I’m here for you, always.”
She blinked, tears filling her eyes again, but this time it was different. Softer. Safer.
He stood, pulling her gently up with him, her legs unsteady, the world still a little too bright, but manageable now with his hand in hers. She looked around, embarrassed by how empty the playground was, how they were the last ones left, but Arthur didn’t seem to care.
He slung his backpack over one shoulder, keeping her hand in his, and started walking her toward the gate where Pascale was waiting in her small car.
As they walked, he leaned in and whispered, “You know, if anyone asks, we were doing very important breathing training, alright?”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, that small, shy, relieved smile that only Arthur ever got to see.
When they reached the car, Pascale opened her arms without a word, pulling Y/n into a warm, lavender-scented hug. She knew, in the way only mothers know. She kissed the top of Y/n's head and held her a moment longer than usual.
Arthur watched, hands in his pockets, dirt on his knees, a soft pride in his chest. He gave Y/n a thumbs-up when she peeked at him over Pascale’s shoulder, and she giggled quietly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.
As they climbed into the backseat, Arthur flopped dramatically, throwing his arms across her shoulders. “So, pizza night?” he asked hopefully.
Y/n nodded, leaning into him, letting herself feel safe for the first time that day. She wasn’t fixed, not entirely, but she was breathing. And for now, that was enough.
Arthur tapped her nose gently, “Told you I got you, Y/n/n.”
And as the car pulled away, the world outside still too big and loud, Y/n closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of her best friend beside her, knowing she was not alone, not today, not ever.
