He layers you like a heavy blanket, his chest imprinting his heartbeat into your back. You have had panic attacks before, but not out here, not out in the dark where a hoard of death lumbers by. Your strained breaths sting your lungs and your throat and you got your sweat slicked hands clamped over your mouth to cover the sobs. You're done, it's over it's over it's over. That's what your mind says. You tremble under those bleak thoughts as your watering eyes trace the rotting backs of walkers filling the basement hall of the prison. You tell yourself you're dead and gone but hot and scratchy skin brushes over your arms and pull you even closer to the presence behind you.
"Shh, shh," his lips trace your ear and he says your name with a graveled and controlled voice. It's low enough it's just between you two. "Listen to me." You still shake, shifting your head from the door to the ground. Your hands move from your mouth and cover your eyes now. God, those things are wall to wall now, shoving their bodies into each other. You jump back as the steel door you both hide behind slams shut, the weight of the dead outside blocking your only exit.
He takes your hands, large fingers wrapping around your wrists. He secures you in a hug, mouth back at the shell of your ear. "'S okay, shh shh." Tears fall down your cheeks and you lose balance. He has to hold you up, but he decides to get you both on the cool concrete floor, much easier. He scoots the both of you against the back wall, avoiding dusty brooms and crusted bottles of chemicals. His legs stretch out along the left and right of you. You bend your knees, head twisting to and fro. You can't breathe, fuck, you can't think. He seems to know this, already ahead of you. "We gotta getcha calm, honey." You're against him, both of your sweat and dirt mixing with each other. You're still hyperventilating, still panicking.
He then squeezes your biceps, whispering in your ear, "Breathe with me, sweet girl, c'mon."
He starts to do that, taking in gulps of air. It moves his chest, moving you. His dry lips blow the warm air out near your temple, "In and out, just like this." He does it again, calloused hands rubbing over your skin, breathing in and out real slow. He repeats it, waiting for you, not halting his movements until your shaking decreases ever slightly. Your ears gradually stop listening to the growls and the howling outside the door. His steady pulse gets louder. "There you go, nice 'n slow, keep at it." He feels you try to mimic him under your choked breaths, a small smile gracing his lips. "Doin' real good sweetheart, 'm right here." He doesn't move you as you take your time coming back.
It lasted for a while, felt like hours. Knocking and groaning remained on the other side of your shelter as you mildly realize exhaustion loomed over you. In the darkness, the curves and ridges of his body is foreign to your senses. Too different, but warm and soothing. Enough to get you weary. You fall asleep on his chest before you even realize you're back to yourself again. And he sits there, the weight of your body on his. He watches that door until he can't hear anything but silence, his hands still rubbing over your skin, his nose in your hair breathing you in.
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