( "Don't tell me what to do. You don't fucking know me. I can take care of myself without your fucking help!"
There's too much panic for him to fight back and say all the shit he wants to. And fuck, he wants to tell Charles to take his care and shove it so far up his ass nothing else will ever fit. All he has to do is wait it out. Put himself somewhere quiet and away from everything and he'll be fine. Eventually.
The dark helps. Ignoring everything about "visualizing" shit so he can instead sit on the floor helps more. Knees to his chest and hands gripping his curls is less-- good, but they're effective at keeping his attention inward. They let him take a few deeper breaths until he's-- sort of doing what Charles suggested. He's short a few seconds all the way through and he's sure as fuck not thinking about his chest or how it moves or-- whatever, but he's breathing-- normally...ish after a couple of minutes. )
Fuck. ( He's damp with sweat and cold now that it's starting to work its way out of his system. He rubs his forehead with the back of a hand then drops his head between his knees to keep breathing. Getting home is gonna be a fucking nightmare.
Now that he's hearing everything again and seeing more than the floor beneath his feet, it's too quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with-- something. Anything. Probably something really fucking stupid, but he can't just sit here and let things be like this, so... )
Thanks. For-- coming back here. With me. ( Ugh. Gross. Painful. It hurts to be vulnerable like that. ) Gonna need so many drinks after that.
( How is he supposed to bike back to Creekside if he's wasted fuck. )
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There's too much panic for him to fight back and say all the shit he wants to. And fuck, he wants to tell Charles to take his care and shove it so far up his ass nothing else will ever fit. All he has to do is wait it out. Put himself somewhere quiet and away from everything and he'll be fine. Eventually.
The dark helps. Ignoring everything about "visualizing" shit so he can instead sit on the floor helps more. Knees to his chest and hands gripping his curls is less-- good, but they're effective at keeping his attention inward. They let him take a few deeper breaths until he's-- sort of doing what Charles suggested. He's short a few seconds all the way through and he's sure as fuck not thinking about his chest or how it moves or-- whatever, but he's breathing-- normally...ish after a couple of minutes. )
Fuck. ( He's damp with sweat and cold now that it's starting to work its way out of his system. He rubs his forehead with the back of a hand then drops his head between his knees to keep breathing. Getting home is gonna be a fucking nightmare.
Now that he's hearing everything again and seeing more than the floor beneath his feet, it's too quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with-- something. Anything. Probably something really fucking stupid, but he can't just sit here and let things be like this, so... )
Thanks. For-- coming back here. With me. ( Ugh. Gross. Painful. It hurts to be vulnerable like that. ) Gonna need so many drinks after that.
( How is he supposed to bike back to Creekside if he's wasted fuck. )