A/N: I've been working on this story for a while. I got the inspiration from Anthony's 'Draw my life' video, and I've wanted to write this ever since. I'm very happy with how it came out, so now it feels like huge weight has been lifted off of my chest!
There's not exactly explicit slash in here. It's more friendship-based, but it's oh-so easy to read more into it (like it is with Ian and Anthony, hurr hurr). It is very sweet (but not pink frosted sprinkled donut sweet), so I hope you guys will like it. Some knowledge of basic biochemistry is also fun to have while reading this, but not at all necessary.
Enjoy! And please leave a review, even if it's just a «this was good» or «this sucked». It would mean he world to me, and I'll reply to everyone :)
ATTACKED
Too often, the symptoms are just words on a list in a medical textbook. They are things you can observe, measure, interpret. You figure out what causes them, and how to treat them. You understand what they are but you do not really understand them. What they feel like when you get them. What your mind goes through when they hit you without warning. Few people have to experience them firsthand.
Tonight though, someone does.
Palpitations, and/or accelerated heart rate.
He feels his heart speed up, beating anxiously in his thoracic cavity. Adrenaline surges through him, urging the heart muscle cells to create more frequent action potentials, starting at his sinus node and spreading rapidly throughout his whole heart, making it contract with new power and speed.
Shortness of breath.
He can't seem to get enough air into his lungs. It's like the air in front of him is suddenly gone, and he's trying to breathe in vacuum. He breathes rapidly, shallowly. Hyperventilation is bad for you. You think you're not getting enough oxygen, but in reality you're losing too much carbon dioxide. Carbon dioxide is essential to keeping the levels of acids and bases in your bloodstream stable. When you lose too much acidic CO2, the pH in your blood rises, and becomes basic. It's called respiratory alkalosis. It throws your system off, causing blood vessels to constrict and calcium levels to drop. This leads to lightheadedness and possible fainting because your brain isn't getting enough blood. Your hands and feet start tingling and shaking without calcium, and in severe cases you get spasms in your muscles and nerves.
He is not much of a science person, but he can damn sure feel the effects of the chemistry happening in his body.
Sweating.
His palms are clammy. He balls his fists up, releases them and wipes them against the sheets. He can feel his hairline becoming soaked as well. Diaphoresis is the medical term for cold sweat. It occurs along with the body's natural fight-or-flight mechanisms. What is he fleeing from?
Chest pain, feeling of being smothered.
Has his ribcage suddenly become smaller? There is physical pain shooting through his chest, as if someone has just sat on him. Is some invisible force pushing him down, constricting his breathing? Something is choking him. He must be drowning, asphyxiating. Need to get it off. Not… enough… space…
Feeling dizzy, lightheaded or faint.
He blinks his eyes, swallows. Tries to focus on something, anything in front of him. The window. The chequered pattern of his bedsheets. The big, stuffed Pikachu lying on the floor. But he can't see that well, it's dark. Is the ground moving? Because fuck-...
Nausea or abdominal distress.
... he's gonna throw up. He's gonna throw up right now if he doesn't get out of here. He cannot breathe, he cannot calm himself down. It hasn't been this bad in a long time.
Fear of losing control, sense of impending death.
He knows what's happening, yet he's unable to fully realize it. The sense of danger is overpowering, drowning out all attempts at rational thinking. Something is going to jump out of the dark and kill him, right now. That, or his body is going to shut down. Maybe he has an illness that he didn't know about, something acute and lethal. If he stays still, he might just die without even realizing it. He can't stay here, he has to get away. In here, he's suffocating.
Anthony gets up, hurriedly, and climbs out of his bed. Is he dreaming? Everything is swimming around him in a hazy blur. He curses silently when he stubs his toe on the edge of his dresser. Now that was real pain. He's not dreaming. This is a real life nightmare.
He hates having panic attacks, hates it more than anything in the world.
Why the fuck did this happen to him? What the hell is wrong with his brain, for it to suddenly become paranoid and freak out at the worst times?
Anthony knows nothing can kill him, he's safe in his house. Nor does he have a terminal illness, and this is not a heart attack. He's not going to die, as long as he keeps breathing. Yet, repeating this in his head over and over does not help one bit.
Move, pace, keep going.
At least when he walks, he knows he's alive. It's silly, but it helps. Anthony paces around the room, craning his neck, stretching his back, flexing his fingers. Blinking, still trying to focus.
He just has to check that every part of him is still working like it's supposed to. Or else he might just freeze. His whole body will stiffen, and so will his organs. His lungs will be paralyzed, unable to draw in air. His heart will stop. His brain will die. He'll fall to the floor and disappear from this world. He'll lose everything.
Shaking his head, Anthony tries hard to suppress the anxious thoughts. It's not very effective. The walls in his room look like they're closing in on him, and soon the room will become smaller and smaller until the weight of it crushes every bone in his body.
Out, out, out, he has to get out. Anthony bursts through the door and practically runs out to the living room. He walks over to the kitchen, stopping in front of the sink for a second, wondering if he's gonna throw up.
No, not now it seems. He starts pacing again, around the dining table, between the couch and the coffee table, back into the hall, down into the kitchen again, into their entrance hallway and back to the dining table. Round and round. Again and again.
He stops finally, steadying himself with a hand against the wooden surface of the table.
"Anthony."
The voice is soft and quiet, but Anthony nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns around rapidly, throwing his arms up around his head. Fuck, now he actually just might die.
But it's just Ian standing there, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. He has obviously just woken up, seeing as normally, people aren't casually up and about at 3 a.m. Anthony lowers his arms, but his breathing is even faster now.
"Anthony, what's wrong?" Ian asks quietly, though he really doesn't have to. This is after all far from the first time he's witnessing this.
"N-nothing," Anthony stutters, "I, uhm, I just woke up and needed some water."
He knows he really doesn't have to lie to Ian. But it's like if he tells someone when he's having a panic attack, it becomes even more real. It becomes worse. He thinks that if he tries to deny it, maybe somehow it isn't really happening at all.
Ian knows this. He could easily just point out that Anthony is standing far away from the sink, and there's no water glass to be seen, but he won't call Anthony out on the lie. He knows how hard this is for his friend. He knows Anthony would never tell him if he's having a panic attack; he wouldn't tell anyone. So he goes along with it.
"Yeah, I can't sleep either. I think I had too much coffee again or something, I really need to watch myself." Ian says, not really paying attention to his own words. He's just making small talk, trying to give himself time to think of what to do.
Ian wants nothing more than to soothe Anthony's distress. He's known about the panic disorder for many years, and even though Anthony tries to hide it, Ian always knows when it strikes. Always. He's learned to recognize the trembling, the shortness of breath, the pacing and the way Anthony looks around like he's delirious. It must be hell for him to go through this, Ian thinks.
He racks his brain in order to find a way to help Anthony. Then he remembered why his friend was out here in the first place. Walking, Ian thinks, moving calms him down.
"Do you wanna maybe go for a walk?" he asks.
Anthony looks at him fleetingly. Then gives a tiny nod.
"Alright," Ian says, "let's get some clothes on and we'll go outside."
After dragging Anthony around the house to get dressed - because Ian wasn't going to leave him alone for a single second - the two boys make their way out into the chilly December night.
Anthony is quiet, and he walks with his shoulders hunched, eyes constantly darting suspiciously around him. Ian stays close by his side, not talking, just being there. It's not like he would know what to say either, to help soothe his friend. He couldn't exactly start asking "Are you okay?" or simply tell Anthony to calm down. Because obviously he's not okay. And right now Anthony would love nothing more than to "just calm down", but it's physically impossible for him. That's what a panic attack is all about.
They walk around their neighborhood, breathing in the fresh night air. It's a clear night, and for once stars are gleaming in the sky. There are no cars around at this hour, and everything is remarkably silent.
Anthony suddenly grabs a hold of the sleeve of Ian's jacket. Ian looks up at him quickly, but doesn't take his hands out of his pocket. He wonders if anything has scared Anthony, but after a brief look around them he can't see or hear anything suspicious. Except for the gray cat leaping across the street and into a bush.
He decides to act like nothing. Anthony keeps holding on to Ian's sleeve, but now his eyes are trained on the ground beneath his feet. Ian hopes actions speak louder than the words he so desperately wants to say, yet cannot express right now. I'm here for you, he thinks as he scoots ever so slightly closer to his friend, so that their shoulders are pressed together as they walk through the night.
After a while, they reach the front of their house again, and Ian decides they have walked for long enough. Anthony must be at least slightly better now, mustn't he? His breathing is more even, his eyes not so wild anymore. Ian feels his heart lighten at the observations.
However, as soon as they step inside the confines of the house, something seems to flare up. Anthony starts trembling again, as he fumbles to take off his jacket. The zipper seems to be caught in the fabric, and Anthony tugs at it harshly, pulling at the jacket and almost clawing at it to get free. His eyes grow wider and wider. The frantic movements aren't doing anything to help.
Ian knows he has to act quickly. He grabs Anthony's hands, stilling them, before slowly placing them at his sides. He frees the little fold of fabric from the zipper, an easy task when your head is cool, yet impossible if you don't stop to see what you are doing.
He drags the zipper down, and Anthony hurriedly shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, throwing it aside into a corner.
At this point, Ian is desperate. He understands that Anthony is still panicking, and he has to do something. Get the other man to breathe normally again. Make him stop looking so scared and haunted and not himself…-
"Can I give you a hug?"
The question all but falls out of Ian's mouth before he has really had the chance to think it through. Stupid, he thinks, you know he doesn't want to be touched when he's like this!
But this time is different. This time, Anthony nods.
It's so slight that Ian almost mistakes it for another tremor. But it is indeed a nod.
Ian's heart jumps in his chest.
He wraps his arms around Anthony's waist, careful to keep his touches very light in order to not intimidate him. He's letting Anthony decide how close it's okay for him to be.
Anthony swallows hard. He's taking a huge risk with this. He focuses on the warmth and the softness of Ian's body, trying his best to let in the feeling of safety and stability that Ian provides. The closeness of his friend seem to trigger something in Anthony's brain though, among them fond memories of laughter and goofing around, but most of all it triggers trust.
This is someone who's known him since sixth grade, and who's been at his side for most of his life. Ian isn't dangerous. Ian isn't going to kill him. Ian is safety.
He grabs hold of him a little tighter, feeling Ian do the same.
The effect is surprisingly almost instant. He presses his cheek into Ian's hair, breathing in the familiar scent and closing his eyes.
He's still trembling like a leaf, as cortisol and adrenaline continues to rush through his bloodstream, but the fear in his brain is finally fading. Slowly, like an ice cold, bony hand reluctantly letting go of his heart, the panic subsides just a little bit.
And instead of the cold hand there's Ian.
Ian's presence, his calmness, his relaxed energy. It seeps into Anthony's mind, patiently convincing his brain to stop freaking out. Anthony can feel the physical change in his body happening.
The fight-or-flight hormones are thinning out, losing their effect on his muscles and heart rate. They're drowning in Ian's aura, dissolving into nothing.
"Breathe with me." Ian whispers softly, rubbing the small of Anthony's back with tiny movements of his hand.
Their chests are pressed tightly together, and Anthony focuses entirely on Ian's breathing. He can feel it with his whole body. He tries to copy the rhythm, taking the air deeper into his lungs.
Each inhale brings him closer to Ian, closer to his calmness and his relaxed state of mind. Anthony holds his breath for a few seconds every time he breathes in, like Ian is doing, so that he can be pressed tighter against him, hoping to absorb some of his energy.
He clings to Ian for dear life now, as if he's the only thing that can keep him safe. Keep his brain from shutting down. Keep the faceless monster from killing him.
And maybe that's the only thing preventing another wave of anxiety from hitting him, because now he can barely feel it anymore. Is it gone? Is it finally over?
Anthony almost doesn't even dare to hope.
So that's why he stays still, and continues to focus on Ian, keeping himself distracted. Breathe in, hold your breath, breathe out, hold your breath again. Repeat.
Time passes without Anthony's acknowledgement nor attention. Who knows how long he stands there, letting Ian hold him.
His heart is slowing down. His chest suddenly has more room in it. He's not sweating anymore. Nothing hurts. Nothing is spinning or making him queasy. He thinks he might actually live, for a few more minutes at least.
"There you go," Ian murmurs against his cheek, "good job, Anthony."
He can hear the warm smile in Ian's voice. Anthony grips him tighter, squeezing him, before he lets him go with one last shudder.
The words 'thank you' come to his mind, but he doesn't say them. He can't right now. Right now he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to speak, wants to stay completely still so nothing can trigger another attack.
He looks into Ian's smiling eyes, and hopes he understands. And maybe he does, because apparently Ian understands everything about him. It makes Anthony happy to think about just how special that really is, and how lucky he is to have a friend like this.
Ian gently grips Anthony's wrist, leading him down the hallway. Anthony wants to ask why they're stopping in front of Ian's bedroom, but he still can't talk.
Ian opens the door quietly, and Anthony follows him in. Because he trusts Ian.
The moment of understanding finally hits him when he's lying in Ian's bed, with his friend right beside him. They are pressed against each other's sides, fingers loosely interlocked, innocently yet protectively.
And Anthony understands why he's here, because him having a panic attack doesn't just affect himself.
It affects Ian too.
Ian must have been frightened, seeing Anthony in that state, becoming a completely different person. It makes him admire his friend for managing to stay so calm, and for doing the right thing like taking a walk with him instead of fussing or freaking out himself.
But now, even though everything has calmed down, Anthony is thankful that he doesn't have to be alone. He doesn't have to be afraid of falling asleep and waking up to another fit of anxiety. Because Ian will be right there by his side to soothe him through it. Ian will do all the right things. Ian will keep him safe.
Anthony finally feels completely relaxed. He closes his eyes, subconsciously stroking a thumb over the back of his friend's hand. He settles in the warmth radiating from Ian's smooth skin, slowly starting to fall asleep again.
Before spiraling off into oblivion, Anthony thinks about the only two people in the entire world that can actually help him when this sort of thing happens.
One of them knows everything about panic disorders, because she suffers from it herself. Maybe even a lot worse than he does. She can truly sympathize. But because she has her own anxiety to deal with, she cannot always be there for him.
The other knows little about what's going on in his mind at those times, but he has learned exactly what Anthony needs, and what it takes to calm him down. But most importantly, he's always there. He always knows.
One of them is his own mother. The other is his best friend.
Anthony is aware that the attacks probably won't stop anytime soon. Maybe he will have them for the rest of his life. Maybe the monster will always be there in the back of his mind, eagerly waiting to chase him again.
That thought should scare him.
But right now, it doesn't. Not one bit.
Because Anthony knows that Ian will be there for him. Ian, whom he cherishes. Ian, whom he loves. He will be there, like he always has.
And like he always will.
So yeah. That was my attempt at angst. Please note that I do not suffer from anxiety myself, so forgive me if there's something wrong or if this doesn't seem accurate. I've done quite a lot of research on panic disorder in order to write this story, and I am a nurse student (that's where the biochemistry is from), but I am only human. And if there's anything wrong with the English (it's my second language), do tell me so that I can improve!
Thanks so much for reading xx