Agoraphobia
Master list
Warning: social anxiety, agoraphobia, being followed home
You had been working for weeks with your therapist just for today. It was the first time you had left your apartment in months. The first human interaction that was not through your phone or people watching out your window. It was a simple trip to the cafe nearby.
It was actually going really well. You ordered your favorite pastries and sat in a corner reading a book for a bit. It started to rain as you were leaving, but you were prepared. You stepped out, popped open your umbrella, and even looked at some of the little shop windows as you began your way home. When you rounded a corner, stopping to admire the flower shop, you noticed him.
You did not freeze up. You remembered what you could in the moment. You pressed your keys between your knuckles. Then took a right, looking in the reflection of a store window, seeing him follow. Stay in well-lit areas. Take another right. Pretend to be on a call-
The phone fell from your hand into the water, instantly fried. Cursing, you pick it up. Take another right. You still heard the footsteps. Breathe steady. Keep your pace steady. Do not acknowledge him.
Do not lead him to your home. Who will help? Who do you know? The older lady in the first apartment who brought you pie when you first moved in? No, no, she would have a heart attack. You rack your brain for anyone you know. You have to go through a dark spot to even get to the apartment.
Then you remember someone you saw often through your window. A military man who kept his face covered even off duty. Objectively, he was probably the scariest-looking person in the building, but you saw him practicing sign language with his seemingly mute friend and a very loud, playful man you think might be his flatmate. He lived on the first floor, one of the external doors. He was big. He could defend. He was not easily angered. You bit your lip. As odd as it seemed, the person who looked like a slasher might be the only person you trust to open their door.
You feel the umbrella fall before you even realize your decision running through the dark spot. Footsteps fast behind you. Just a few yards. You can outrun him. Come on. You hope to any power out there that he is on leave.
You do not slow down, barely registering that the light inside is on as you run into the door, bodying it and making as much racket as possible, barely making it look like you slipped, then start banging on the door "BABE! I FORGOT MY KEYS! BABE!" Come on. Come on!
The door swings open. His mask is a little crooked, and briefly, you imagine he probably thinks you are some drunk chick at the wrong apartment. You hold your keys where he can see them, but the person following would not, and then make wide eyes that dart to the side. You see the man process it and look behind you into the darkness. Then he puts a hand around your waist, moving you inside, pushing another set of keys into your hands before bolting out the door, slamming behind him. You lock it, grab a knife from the kitchen, and start looking for a phone.
He makes it back before you find his phone. His knuckles are bloody, but he guides you to sit on the couch, wrapping you in a blanket, explaining that the police will need your statement. He sits beside you, hand on your shoulder, as officers come and go from his home, asking questions. He keeps you from looking out the window even as the ambulance comes and goes.
You should be terrified, but... His name is Simon, as you learned when the officer asked. Simon was so warm. Simon felt safe in a way you had not felt in years. You stared at the door even as the last officer left. Your grip tightened painfully on the blanket. He was sure to tell you to leave. Outside was dangerous. Even your own apartment did not feel as safe as on his couch did in this moment. You felt him get up but you were too scarred of whatever face he would make to actually look at him.
It took a full minute to process what was happening as he placed a cup of tea into your hands. He waited till you were finished and placed the empty cup on the table. You felt the tears and the words tumble out. How were you so happy to successfully leave your apartment. How you were so so scared when you realized you were being followed. How your phone was ruined, and you did not have anyone to call nearby. How you did not know if he would answer, but you did not know anyone.
You managed to hold back how scared you were to go home. You did not want to burden him further.
Still, he was trained to notice such things, and he asked if you would be more comfortable spending the night there. He did not expect you to say yes. He was well aware of how scary he himself looked. Then you began crying harder and nodded.
Neither of you is sure how it happened, but when Soap makes it home the next morning, he finds Simon asleep on the couch with a cutie lying on top of him, now staring wide-eyed at him while clutching onto Ghost's shirt like a lifeline.
After a second, Simon woke up, and it was like you registered who Soap was and then tucked your head into Simon's neck as if hiding from Soap. It was adorable, but Soap instantly noticed the bandages around Ghost's hands as he raised one to gently pat your head.
