"I'm right here, baby. Just breathe."
Dwayne x Trans masc reader. Hurt/Comfort. You have a dysphoria-induced anxiety attack at the boardwalk, and Dwayne stays back to comfort you.
Word Count: 1,054
TW: descriptions of gender dysphoria, body dysphoria, anxiety attack, unsafe binding practices, tobacco smoking
__________
You've been hanging out at the boardwalk with the boys again, as has become your Saturday tradition. You were already pretty blazed when you got to the boardwalk, and you’re feeling pretty good. Dizzy in the good way, the way that makes you feel light. The smoke doesn’t dull your senses (if anything, colors are actually brighter and sounds are clearer), but there’s a haze between you and them and you are floating above it peacefully. You and Marko are sharing a cotton candy bigger than your head, taking turns picking pieces off and throwing them at the back of Paul’s head, and Dwayne has his arm around your waist. Occasionally leans over to nip at your ears or neck when he thinks no one is looking. You’re following the sounds of the calliope toward the carousel at the far end of the boardwalk, hellbent on getting the most out of your money before security throws you out again, when it hits.
You’re not even sure what triggers it. Maybe it’s the way the bandage around your ribs rubs against your Iron Maiden shirt just wrong, or the way your own laughter sounds compared to the other boys, but suddenly you’re painfully aware of your own body. Of all the ways it falls short. The roundness in your cheeks, the fact that you’re almost a head shorter than everyone else here even with your platforms. Your chest begins to itch and get that plasticy feeling, like a cheap Halloween costume you can’t take off. You try to ignore it as long as you can. Try to focus on the conversations going on around you.
Dwayne must feel your shoulders sink slightly, though, because he tightens his hold on you ever so slightly and slows his pace to create some distance between you and the others. You lean into him slightly for comfort. As you start to Paul turns around to face you guys, walking backward without breaking his stride, giving you a mischievous smirk. “Yo, slowpokes. What’s the holdup? I wanna grab a bite before this place shuts down.”
Before David can tell him to be patient, Marko joins in. “Yeah, you lovebirds got somewhere else to be or something?”
“Yeah,” you pipe up, matching his smile and kicking a discarded cup in his direction. The bravado does a decent job at masking your discomfort. “Away from you idiots.”
Dwayne laughs a little at the salt in your voice and waves the others off. “We’ll catch up with you guys. Don’t worry, Pauly, I’ll take good care of him.” He gives Paul a suggestive wink, who nods his respect before pulling Marko into a headlock and dragging him ahead. Once you’re alone, Dwayne pulls you into a quiet spot next to one of the closed food shacks. “You good, baby?”
You start to say you’re fine, not to worry, but now that you’re alone the words stick in your throat. You shake your head and sink to the ground against the wall, picking nervously at the mesh sleeves poking out from under your T-shirt. For all your attempts to stifle it, your heart rate is increasing fast. The sounds of the boardwalk cut through the haze in your brain, louder and sharper because of the anxiety building in your chest, and it feels like walls closing in around you so you can’t breathe. Before you can stop them, your eyes feel with tears. And then you feel stupid for crying, so you angrily brush them away, but that only makes them fall faster. You start to pound at your knee in frustration, but Dwayne catches your hands and pulls you closer.
“Shh… It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. Just breathe. In four, hold four, out four, right?” He scoots over to sit next to you, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders but still trying to give you space to breathe. He touches your chest gently above your T-shirt, asking for your consent, before slipping his hand up under it and the bandage. You cringe a little as his fingers brush your breast, but the distance he creates between it and your chest does make it easier to breathe. “1…2…3…” You grip the lapels of his faded motorcycle jacket and squeeze your eyes closed, trying to focus on breathing along with his counts.
Slowly, ever so slowly, your breathing begins to even out again and eventually your heart rate decreases. Not back to its normal resting pace, not yet, but at least it isn’t threatening to jump right out of your mouth. You finally release your stranglehold on Dwayne’s jacket and your shaking hand wordlessly grabs for the cigarette tucked behind your ear. He lights it for you, and the two of you just sit in silence for a few moments while you let the nicotine work its magic. When you finally look back up at him, his brow is furrowed with concern and you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to work out what went wrong. You immediately feel guilty for worrying him, and look down in shame. “I’m sorry for ruining the night.”
“Hey.” You feel his firm hand on your chin, urging you to look up at him. You hesitate, but obey. He looks deep into your eyes and wipes your tears away. “ “I’m a big boy. No one ruins my night except me, got it?”
“But-” The stern look he gives you kills the protest in your throat. After a second you nod. “Okay. If you say so.”
“There’s my good boy.” He leans forward to give you a quick kiss and then pulls you to your feet. “Now… you wanna go home?”
You shake your head. “No, that’s okay. Let’s find the others.”
Before he has a chance to ask if you’re sure, you start walking ahead. The anxiety is still there. The dysphoria still sits in the hollow place between your ribs, gnawing at you like an animal caught in a trap, but it’s quieter now, drowned out by Dwayne’s words echoing in your head. “My good boy.” My good boy. My good boy. You’ll wear those words like armor for the rest of the night, and whenever that animal gets too loud, you’ll lean over and ask him to say it again.