Panic.
ship: ryan x reader word count: 1319 warnings: panic attacks rating: g (i don’t think there’s like, any swears in here) a/n: michael is also in this one! it’s established that the reader has anxiety, but ryan doesn’t know that much about it. it’s implied that michael and the reader are good friends. also, you should change (y/n) to your first name, and (y/l/n) to your last name for maximum viewing pleasure! :)
It was just the two of you. Alone. At the office. You’d been dating awhile, but not long enough for him to know you had anxiety. You'd been dating long enough for you to trust him, but not long enough for you to trust him with that.
Of course, as he sat there, fingers deftly working on the keys of his keyboard and other hand wrapped around a can of diet soda, you had no choice but to try to escape the room when you felt these feelings approach.
You tried to think of people you could go to instead of him, people who knew. Lindsay was one. Michael was another. Hell, anyone EXCEPT Ryan was a valid option. Ryan couldn't and didn't know. You cleared your throat of the congestion that forced itself there, and also as an attempt to relieve the pressure in your chest, "I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Be right back."
You began your walk to the door from your desk, only to feel as though the walk were a thousand miles. You trudged, hand over your heart and eyes watering, hoping to whatever deity that he wasn't looking at you. You didn't make it to the door, however.
Your knees buckled and gave way and you hit the concrete floor with a chilling thud. He paused, the *tappa-tappa-tappa* of his fingers on keys stopping, and you heard the sound of his chair against the floor and the aggressive pitter patter of his feet.
His voice rang out against the stark silence, "Are you okay?" You didn't respond. Your throat was tight and you felt like you had swallowed cotton wool. "Talk to me. What's going on?" He didn’t seem to catch on to the fact that your throat wasn't functioning. With another confused expression, Ryan attempted to salvage the situation by sitting you up. But this idea was quickly stopped by the fact that you began coughing and your hands were gripping and grappling for something, only to come up short with nothing.
He put a hand out and clasped it into yours, your fingers holding his in a death grip. "Hey, you're alright. Listen to me." His voice just wasn’t penetrating your brain though, and you felt yourself coughing harder, eyes watering and chest filling with more tension. Your mouth felt dry from hanging open in desperation to breathe, and this made your body attempt to create something to wet your own mouth. It didn’t work, sliding back down your throat. You began to choke.
"Relax baby relax," he pleaded. He pushed you into a sitting position, gently, and patted at your back, pulling your arms up over your head to stop your choking. "That's it. Keep coughing." The coughs became harder, more like hacking as the spit you forced out of your throat combined with snot and tears. You felt my throat close up in more ways than one. Ryan patted harder, his face contorted into anxiety as well, "Baby breathe. Cough. C'mon, you've got it. You've got it." He was handling it shockingly well for having no idea what was going on.
You forced coughs as your brain muddled together. When you managed to stop choking several minutes later and your breathing slowed, you immediately began crying. Your cries were loud, keening ones, sobbing angrily with intermittent apologies strewn in between the tears.
Ryan didn’t know how to handle the situation, so he went with his gut, pulling you close against his chest and whispering, "Shhh, shhhh. It's okay baby. You're okay. You're okay. It's fine." He had no idea what you was apologizing for, and at the moment you didn't either.
The door swung open with you held in his arms, sobbing brokenly against his chest. Michael looked between the two of you as he walked quickly towards you, "I heard her crying. Is she okay?"
Over the sounds of your sobbing and sorries, Ryan spoke, "She got up saying she had to go to the bathroom but collapsed halfway through. Then she couldn't talk and she was coughing and choking for about five minutes. Then she just started sobbing and apologizing and I didn't know what to do so I just held her and told her it was okay."
You continued apologizing, louder this time because you felt guilty for attracting the attention of Michael and for stopping Ryan from his work and because Ryan didn’t know what to do anyways and for so many other things you didn't even know you were upset about. Your keening got loud, to the point where both Ryan and Michael were gently shushing you.
Michael said, "Shhh. It's okay."
And Ryan said, "You're okay, love. It's all okay. Everything's okay."
Them telling you it was okay did not make it any more okay. Your chest tightened and you gripped at the gray fabric of Ryan's shirt more tightly.
Michael said quickly, "Ryan if I may."
"Sure," he responded just as fast, undoing the vice he has created around you with his arms, and opening you up to Michael.
He said your name first. You did not respond to it. "Look at me." His voice was direct, and to some it may have sounded cold, but being concise is important in this situation. You raised your eyes to his for a moment before flicking them back down. "Look at me,(y/n)." You forced yourself to look into his eyes as you sobbed and apologized more. "You are okay. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth." He counted breaths for you, and you heard Ryan doing them with you, his hand gentle against your forearm. "Good. Good girl. Now relax. Close your eyes and just relax. Can you talk?"
You nodded, and said, "Yes."
"Good. Do you know where you are?"
"I'm at work."
"Where is that?"
"Austin, Texas."
"Good girl. Do you know who I am?"
"Michael."
"Michael what?"
"Michael Jones."
"Who else is here with us?"
Ryan's hand rubbed against your arm again, soothing, "Ryan."
"Ryan who?"
"Ryan Haywood."
"Yes. What do you remember about him?"
"He's my boyfriend."
"Mhm. That's it." You felt your body relaxing, but you still felt as if you were floating, not really there, disassociated.
Ryan's hand squeezed gently on your forearm, and Michael carefully pulled a hand into his own. Ryan's hand left your forearm and went for the other hand. Ryan quietly asked, "Why are we doing this part? Not that I don't like holding hands with my girlfriend of course."
"To ground her. She's disassociating."
"Which is?"
"It's like seeing yourself doing something. An out of body experience."
Your eyes watered and you desperately wanted to cry again. Michael quickly tried to stop this, "No no. Don't cry. You're okay. You're right here with me and Ryan."
Ryan spoke, "You're right here with us. Don't worry, dear. We're right here."
You felt your body coming back down, tethered to the spot by their two hands and the words they said to you. With a relaxed sigh you closed your eyes tighter and felt sleepy. Michael slowly let go of your hand, knowing you were grounded. "Ryan, she's gonna be sleepy now. I'd either take her home or set her on the couch so she can sleep."
Ryan nodded, and Michael got up. He left. Ryan asked you, "Do you want to stay, or go home?"
The only word you got out before sleep consumed you was "Home."
Noticing the fact that you were asleep, Ryan scooped you up into his arms, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest, and he says, "Homeward bound, then, my love." After gathering his things and yours, he got in his car, you gently placed in the back seat, and headed home. You were placed in bed gently, and a kiss was pressed to your forehead, "Sleep well, dear. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
