Author's note: This story has nothing to do with the hospital series. For once, I'm trying my hand at a light-hearted story. That being said, it also deals with anxiety and panic attacks, the majority of it is based on person experiences. I myself have social anxiety. Warnings for BTT DJs, bad Canadian jokes, a good amount of crack and stupidity, and a possibly inconsistent update schedule.

Matthew was drowning.

That was what it felt like, at least. In reality, he was crouched down on the floor of one of the storage closets in the bookstore where he worked, trying desperately to stop the waves of panic crashing into him. It was far, far too busy that particular day. Just five minutes ago, he was fine. He was a little nervous, but overall fine. That didn't last for long. As if someone had flipped a switch, the lights were too bright and the walls were closing in. His breath came too quick, his heart pounded too hard against his ribs, and for the love of god, there were far too many people in that damn store.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember that this would pass soon, that he wasn't in any real danger, tried to remember to breathe like he did each time this happened. With the shelves around him continuing to spin, he realized with another pang of anxiety that he could not stay here forever. He needed to get back to work, and he needed to so without losing consciousness. He needed to face that crowd. People work in the midst of crowds everyday, it shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't as though it was life threatening.

So why did it feel that way?

'Pull yourself together, Matthew.' The little voice from the back of his mind acted as a signal that this episode was over- for the most part. His lightheadedness refused to cease, his hands continued to shake, but he could stand without the room turning on its side. The floor was no longer threatening to fall from beneath him. That was something, and right now, it was the best Matthew was going to get. He could only pray that he could go the remaining two hours of his shift without being pulled under the current again.

He opened the door to the storage room that he found shortly after the telltale signs of panic had set it, only able to hope that one of his superiors hadn't spotted him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one was around his area at the moment, meaning it was likely no one had noticed the disappearance. Considering the frequency of these episodes, Matthew was surprised that he still had a job. What had that been, the third, maybe fifth time this week? If only there wasn't so many people right before the holidays. If only they didn't try to be so chatty with Matthew. If only, if only... he sighed. His life was a never-ending stream of 'if only' statements.

Really, he quite enjoyed his job at the bookstore. He liked being around the books; he liked the quiet concentration it took to take inventory, and he enjoyed restocking the shelves. He liked feeling busy; he liked feeling helpful and wanted. It served as a distraction from the people swarming around like bees. People were always the problem. They gave Matthew undesired, judgmental attention at his worst moments, but were nowhere to be found when he actually wanted to be noticed. It was so bad that it wasn't uncommon for his own brother, Alfred, to forget he was in the same room as him. But of course, the moment Matthew managed to embarrass himself the way he always did, Alfred was suddenly extremely aware of his presence.

The attack mostly stifled, Matthew went back to stocking the shelves in the psychology section. After lining up about a dozen self help books, he placed a different book on the shelf only to freeze when he saw the title. 'Overcoming Social Anxiety.'

The term was far too familiar. Matthew had heard those two words, social anxiety, on the lips of so many therapists and stumbled over by confused family members. This book shouldn't have interested him. He had dozens just like it at home, lined up on his personal bookshelf like little soldiers fighting for his sanity, all promising solutions for the problem that had haunted him since childhood. Those promises were never delivered. Even if that was true, he couldn't help but feel the smallest spark of hope at each new one he came across. He always thought this one would be the one; this one that would contain the magic he needed. Slowly, Matthew opened the cover...

"Hey, you work here?"

The unfamiliar voice caused Matthew to drop the book. He fumbled for it with unsteady hands, his face already turning a shade of red he was accustomed to. When he managed to shove it back on the shelf after what felt like an eternity, he clamored to his feet. "Huh? Oh, yes, I work here." He kept his eyes low, and could only see the cuffs of the customer's black jeans.

"Are you okay? You like you're about to faint." The man had a German accent, and his words were fast and shrill.

Matthew swallowed the anxiety rising in his throat. He probably looked as though he were about to faint because that's exactly how he felt. "I'm fine!" he said a little too quickly. In an attempt to prove his statement correct, he forced himself to look up. When he did, he had to choke back a gasp. The man standing in front of him had hair like snow and eyes that looked like spilled wine in the store's artificial light. He was unlike anyone Matthew had ever seen. He had to remind himself to act like an employee. "Do… um, do you need help?" He tripped over the simple words and cursed himself for it.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Well, this is a little embarrassing, but it's awesome, too. So I don't care." His initial confusion a thing of the past, he smirked. "Do you guys have any books about chicks? Preferably with pictures."

Matthew felt his cheeks develop an even deeper scarlet. Who goes up to a stranger and asks for something so...indecent? The man didn't even look embarrassed. If anything, he looked proud. Now thoroughly uncomfortable, Matthew could only whisper. "Well, um, I..." He closed his eyes briefly, wanting an escape from the man's wild, confident gaze. Did he have to stare at him like that, especially when he was asking for something so vulgar? His heart rate picked up again. "That kind of thing might be under… um… men's interest? By the magazines?"

A look of confusion passed over the man's pale face. "Really? Huh, I didn't think that was really a guy thing. Are you saying women don't like birds anymore?"

Oh. Powerful embarrassment washed over Matthew, filled his veins, threatened to close his throat. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. Of course that was what he meant, how could he have been so stupid? Who in their right might makes that kind of assumption? This is exactly why he had no friends. He was so stupid... "O-Oh. That would be by… um…pets." The room was spinning again. Not again, not again...

The man only nodded. "That makes a lot more sense. Why would it have been by men's interest?" He stopped abruptly, as if coming to a sudden conclusion. "Ooh! You thought I meant girls!" He laughed wildly, and Matthew felt almost like he wanted to die. Stop, please… "Whatever. I'm not exactly surprised you took it that way. I can't say that would be too much of an interest of mine, though. Looking at girls, I mean."

Oh. Oh. Surely Matthew was misunderstanding again. He looked up again just soon enough to see the man wink. He had not misunderstood. He felt an embarrassed, flustered blush form at his neck as the implication set in. Why was this guy telling him this? Did God just want to torture Matthew today? His words having been stolen from him, he could only whisper. "Um, I mean, oh." Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Can you show me where that section is? This store is freaking huge."

Why God, why? "Oh! I mean, sure, I guess..." Matthew immediately recognized that he sounded rude. This guy probably hated him already. He wouldn't blame him.

"Kid, are you sure you're okay?" Matthew was downright stunned to hear that the man's voice held an edge of concern. "Hold on."

There was a moment of silent while the man swung the backpack he was wearing around to the front, unzipped it, and finally retrieved an unopened water bottle. He held it out, and Matthew only stared at it as if he didn't know what it was.

"Go on. Take it. I get these things free from my work, and I don't want you to get sick on the job or something," he said. Slightly confused, Matthew hesitantly took it, twisted the cap off, and took a sip. The man smiled again. "Alright, awesome. Can you show me that section now?"

Matthew kept his attention on the water bottle as he walked this strange albino to the pet section. Before he even had time to turn around, the man was talking to him again. Why was he talking to him? "Awesome! You guys have such a great selection." He picked up a book about canaries and opened it to a picture. "Wow, this one looks just like Gilbird!"

Matthew blinked. "Gilbird?"

"Yeah, he's my pet bird. He's awesome like me, so I named him after myself." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, my name is Gilbert, not Gilbird. Obviously. It's clever though, right?"

"Yeah, clever..." Matthew could think of nothing else to say. He never could.

Gilbert turned his attention from the book and gave Matthew the once over. Matthew felt his heart jump to his throat. "You're not wearing a name tag," he said. "You haven't introduced yourself either. Hm… I know! You helped me find this bird book, so I'll call you Birdie. Perfect!"

Matthew felt his fluster give way to plain confusion. Why did he need to call him anything? It wasn't as if they would ever see each other again once he left the store. It confused Matthew even more when the thought caused him to feel almost melancholic. "Oh," he said finally. "My name is Matthew."

"Matthew?" Gilbert shrugged. "That name is nice and all, but I think I like Birdie. That's way more awesome."

As sad as it was, Matthew could not remember the last time he had a conversation this long with someone who wasn't his own brother. It had been even longer since the other person seemed to be listening to him. As expected, he had absolutely no clue what to do with himself. He felt as though he had just been dropped in a foreign country with no knowledge of the language. When he finally spoke, it was barely audible. "Okay."

"Chatty one, aren't we?" Gilbert sounded amused, but not as though he was mocking him. "Okay, I think I like this one. I'm going to go buy it. Catch you later, Birdie!" With that, he patted Matthew's shoulder as if they had known each other for years, smiled in the same obnoxious way, and started off towards the register.

For reasons he wasn't sure of, Matthew watched Gilbert until he could no longer be seen. When the little bell fixed above the door signaled his exit, he remembered to breathe again. There was something about that German. Maybe it was the unapologetic way he spoke, the fluidity of his movement, the way his eyes seemed to see through him…this was ridiculous. Matthew shook his head as if to clear it, slightly embarrassed with himself to be giving this stranger so much as a second thought.

After pushing thoughts of pale skin and German accents to the back of his mind, Matthew managed to go through the rest of his shift without being strangled by anxiety. He managed to go the remaining two hours without conversing with anyone, and at the end of his shift, he bought the book.

.

Since forever, the time between the moment Matthew walked though the door to his apartment and the moment he turned off the lights to go to sleep had always been his favorite part of the day. In the safety of his apartment, he can truly be himself. If he wanted to run around in his underwear, sing, talk to the air- he could do just that. There were no scrutinizing eyes watching his every move, no need to speak and in turn stumble and stutter through his words- no people at all. It was perfect. It was his nirvana.

That particular day, just walking through the door caused Matthew's entire body to relax in what felt like an internal sigh of relief. The ride home had been terrible. The bus was particularly crowded, and Matthew had stumbled and nearly fell on the way to his seat. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew that no one had cared about or even noticed this error. But in a part of his mind that was much more commanding, he was sure that every pair of eyes had been focused in on him, judging him silently, until the moment he got off at his stop. By that time, his face was a humiliating shade of red and his eyes were bleary.

Now that he was back home, safe, alone, that didn't matter anymore. Matthew stretched, kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag, and did a triumphant little turn on his heel. Free. Alone. Safe. At least, that was what he thought. Not ten minutes after he managed to settle in with his new self-help book out of dozens, his phone rang. The calm he had felt just seconds ago vanished in an instant. It drove him mad, how fragile his nerves were. It seemed like nowadays, the times during which he felt composed were getting shorter and farther between.

Matthew picked up his phone and attempted, unsuccessfully, to choke down the anxiety that rose in his throat. Phone calls were another thing that didn't sit well with him. He felt slightly better, however, when he noticed that it was only Alfred calling. He could handle talking to his brother. He might not be thrilled, but he could handle it. If anything, he was glad to be hearing from him. "Hello?"

"Mattie!" Alfred's booming voice forced Matthew to pull the phone further from his ear. He was sure he would go deaf otherwise. "How are you doing, little bro?"

That was such a complicated question, yet it could be answered with such a simple lie. "I'm fine."

"Okay, great!" said Alfred, much too quickly as if he had barely been listening. Without warning, he changed the subject. "Mattie, you remember Feliciano, right?"

Feliciano was a sweet, energetic boy Alfred had met through work. They were still in contact, but Matthew didn't think he and Alfred were particularly close. "Yes, I remember him. Why?"

"Well, he's getting married! Remember that big blonde guy? Ludwig whatever?" He sounded ecstatic. Matthew couldn't say he was surprised- Alfred had always been such a big sap when it came to weddings. When he married his husband, he'd been reduced to a sniffling pile of tears to the point he could barely say his vows.

"Oh," said Matthew, unsure what else he could say. He couldn't be sure why Alfred would call him solely because a casual acquaintance of his had gotten engaged. "That's great."

"Well, that isn't exactly the point." Alfred chuckled lightly, an obvious attempt at sounding casual. "I was talking to Feliciano about it, and guess what? We decided that his fiancé's brother would be perfect for you, Mattie!"

Matthew closed his eyes briefly; absolutely dreading what was about to happen. His brother's attempts at matchmaking drove him absolutely insane, especially when it was with someone Alfred didn't even know. It seemed so random, almost desperate, as if his brother went around begging every single guy or girl in the country to give Matthew a chance. What was so hard to understand? He did not want a relationship. He could not handle one right now. "Al…"

"Matthew." The somber edge his voice had taken off took Matthew off-guard. He went silent and waited for him to finish. "You can't keep shutting yourself off from everything. How long has it been since you broke up with that Cuban guy? Like, ten million years?"

It felt like ten million years, but in reality, Carlos had left him only ten months ago. Matthew felt a tightening in his chest at the mention of him, and realized with a jolt of shame that he still wasn't completely over him. He had spent two years with Carlos, the man who he thought understood him. Carlos, the one he sat around and ate ice cream with, laughing and talking until the wee hours of the morning. Matthew felt like he could be himself around him, like he had finally found the one he was meant to be with.

But as time went on, Matthew's anxiety only got worse. Before he even realized it was happening, they were arguing more. Matthew never wanted to go out, never wanted to leave his house in an attempt to ward off the feelings of panic he felt every time he stepped out the door. This drove the extroverted Carlos absolutely insane. Matthew still remembered the words Carlos he shouted in the argument that ended it all.

"You're just too sick, Matthew!"

Matthew's stomach twisted into painful knots and his eyes grew bleary before he finally spoke. "Ten months, Alfred. That's all."

"Ten months!" Alfred sounded downright appalled. "That's a long time, Mattie! Have you been on a single date since then?"

There was no point in lying. "No."

There was a sigh on the other line. "Listen, bro," said Alfred. "I'm getting worried. You never go out anymore. You don't seem happy. I know you have that anxiety disorder and all, I know the breakup was tough, I just…I don't think holing yourself up in that apartment is helping."

Alfred could be so wise when he wanted to be. Matthew had to give him one thing- he had never been anything but supportive about his condition. Being as outgoing as he was it was likely Alfred didn't completely understand, but at least he tried. That was more than what could be said for most people. Deep down, Matthew knew he was right. Locking himself up in his room wasn't helping, it wasn't even making him happy, but dammit, it was comfortable. He sighed, and then supposed he owed his much to him. "What's his name?" he asked finally.

"No idea. He and Ludwig are from…somewhere in Europe? I forgot. He has some weird name," he said. Matthew bit his lip. This was just like him. "So will you do it, Mattie? This guy works at a nightclub, apparently, and we're going to go there on his day off! Isn't that cool? Feliciano is going to bring Ludwig, I'll bring Arthur, and you can meet up with what's-his-face there. It'll just be drinks. Two hours, at most." Alfred sounded as though he were pleading.

Matthew had never even been inside a nightclub before, so he had no idea how he would have anything in common with someone who worked at one. Besides, two hours might as well have been two days, two years, two lifetimes of stuttering and embarrassment and crippling worry. Oh God…what if they expected him to dance? If Matthew's heart was already starting to race at the mere thought, he couldn't imagine how bad it would be to actually do it. He took a deep breath and told himself this would not be the end of the world. If it stopped Alfred's growing concern, it was worth it.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Awesome!" Alfred sounded far too thrilled. The word reminded Matthew of the guy from the bookstore, who used it incessantly…wait, why was he still thinking about him? He was broken out of his thoughts when Alfred continued to speak. "This Saturday, Mattie. Nine pm. I'll pick you up and everything, since I know you hate driving. We'll leave after a couple hours, and I'll take you home."

Matthew couldn't help but smile at how kind Alfred was being, not to mention how well he actually knew him. He knew that Matthew was most comfortable when he was told exactly what was going to happen, and he knew that driving made him nervous. "Okay, Al," he said. "Nine pm on Saturday. Try to at least figure out the guy's name."

"Got it!" Without warning, there was a loud beeping noise from the other line, accompanied by an Englishman screaming obscenities and finally Alfred laughing. "Alright, little bro. I have to go shut off the smoke detector. Arthur managed to screw up the food again- don't deny it, Art! What are you yelling at me for? …Anyway, see you Saturday, dude!"

Matthew said goodbye, hung up the phone and sighed. Saturday was two days from today. He would have two days to compose himself, to build up strength to go to a loud, crowded place and meet up with some stranger. He told himself it would be okay, knowing full well he would have to continue telling himself that from right then to the moment it was over.

Right before he went to bed that night, one pesky, reoccurring thought passed through his mind one final time: eyes like fire, hair like cotton, and the little quickening in his chest when he was called 'Birdie.'

To be continued...