Hey everyone, so this fic is set a couple years into the future—the gang is in high school, yada yada yada. I knew I wanted to write a Jyrus fic, and the thought of a more mature tone and setting became appealing as I started to brainstorm. While I think Jonah and Cyrus have massive potential, I am personally not a huge fan of this show in its entirety (gasp!). I definitely support AM as a front-runner for representation, and it certainly has an audience, it's just not my cup of tea. I really just watch it for Cyrus' and Jonah's storyline, so it was an interesting experiment placing these two in a setting more my speed and style. Anyway, read and review, I own nothing, yada yada yada, hope you enjoy!

It was happening again.

AGAIN.

Sweating and dizziness. Tingling in my fingers. Shortness of breath. POUNDING heartbeat.

Panic attack. I, Jonah Beck, was having another panic attack. On just the second day of sophomore year. Oh God...

I stood in front of the mirror in the boys' bathroom, and it was all I could do but fall over.

Not sure exactly what triggered this one—it just seemed so incredibly crowded in the hallway during passing period this year. Too many people, too many voices, too much noise—It was impossible to even think.

These kinds of episodes had been assaulting me since middle school. I had hoped they might eventually just... stop as I grew up. When they first started to happen on a regular basis, I had wondered... will this still happen to me in high school?

Spoiler alert: Yep. All the freaking time.

Junior year? Senior year?

Hope not.

College?

If I even make it to college.

Forever?!

It feels hopelessly, brutally unfair that dwelling on the idea of panic attacks inevitably leads to more panic attacks.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe normally, blindly and awkwardly reaching for the faucet so I could splash water into my face in an attempt to cool down.

Sessions with Dr. Sáenz, a "specialist," had proven fruitful. For a while. The coping mechanisms worked, the episodes stopped, and I felt like my normal, confident, happy self. All was well.

Until Andi broke up with me at the end of freshman year.

Beautiful timing.

Just as I was wrapping up what had seemed, all things considered, to be a spectacularly successful first year of high school, a fresh start, she dropped that bombshell on me. Our complicated relationship had always been on-again-off-again, but this time, we were " done for good," according to her. The way she said it made me realize we really were.

I was inconsolable for a couple of panic-ridden days. Why did she do it? Was it something I said (again)? Something I did (AGAIN)? Was I still likeable? Was I "boyfriend material"?

In the end, she claimed it just wasn't working out. Enough was enough. We were "irreconcilably different people." There was certainly some truth to that, but I'm not sure it was the whole story. I liked Andi—she's cute, funny, entertaining—but when we were dating I was always uncomfortable around her. I would overthink every sentence, every action, every possible decision, trying to figure out whether I was "doing it right." How do I boyfriend? That was always the question. I found it difficult to talk to her and really open up. Difficult to show any of my affection toward her. Difficult to make progress in our relationship.

In other words, I fucked it up. Just the way I seemed to fuck most things up.

I managed to take in a fairly big breath and relax my trembling arms. My head bowed and my eyes still closed, I felt the dizziness gradually subside and my heart rate steadily slow to normal tempo.

"Jonah?" asked a sudden familiar voice.

I nearly jumped, turning my head toward the entrance to the bathroom.

Shit.

"Oh... uh... hey, Cy."

Cyrus Goodman stood facing me, one dark eyebrow raised in what appeared to be both confusion and concern. I was used to it—Cyrus has been a good friend of mine since middle school, and considering my panic attack history, I'd seen him wear the expression countless times. The clothing he wore was apparently brand new, however. He had taken my fashion advice and run with it—hell, he must have received further consultation from the girls, because his wardrobe had received a complete overhaul. Also considering the facts he had filled out over this last summer, and had started to regularly visit a hair stylist, I had to admit Cyrus looked good. Really good. At this point, I honestly wasn't sure why he seemed to have trouble finding a girlfriend.

Cyrus took a step toward me. "Wait, are you having a... is this a... you know..."

I was grateful that he still knew better than to shout it out, announcing my affliction to the world, even though we appeared to be the only ones in the bathroom.

I turned to grab a paper towel and tried my damnedest to play it cool. "Don't worry about it."

"I thought you said they stopped... Does Dr. Sáenz know about this?"

I didn't want to talk about it. So I didn't.

"I said don't worry about it. It was nothing."

"Jonah, come on, you know you can talk to me... I don't think any less of you or anything, you know you need to tell someone if they're happening again..."

I stared up at him.

Yeah, up. Cy was slightly taller than me now. His large, chocolate eyes always gleamed with a whirlpool of emotion. And today I couldn't take it. He was worried. But why drag someone so good into my hellish world of torment?

My mouth curved into a fake smile. "I'm fine, really."

"Is this about... Andi?" he asked.

He knew all about it, of course, but we hadn't discussed it in great detail over the summer. I'm sure he figured I didn't want to—and correctly so.

I shook my head. "No, dude, that was months ago. I'm over it! Geez. I'll see you in math."

Truth be told, I was over it. Andi and I did have our differences. It never felt right. But the break-up hadn't left me in a great place. What did people think of me? Being dumped equals a decrease in popularity points, I was sure. Jonah Beck, the Love-Life-Lacking Loser. Would I ever find another girlfriend?

I brushed past him toward the door. A beat later, he pointedly half-whispered, "I'm still your number-one fan."

I kept walking.

Classes for the rest of the day were uneventful and boring. Did I already say boring? Mind-numbingly BORING. That's how it usually was for the first week of school. But I wasn't going to complain—boredom certainly beat anxiety.

I only shared one class with Andi this year, which was for the best. It was the last class of the day, history with Mrs. Perlman.

History. Ironic, right?

Mrs. Perlman, I could already tell, was no good. An old, jaded crone of a woman with a perpetual frown adorning her wrinkled face. I had heard other students calling it the "Perlman Pout." She was a humorless, no-nonsense, straight-to-business kind of teacher. In many ways, that was actually better than the young teachers who tried too hard to relate to you, always asking personal questions in a feeble attempt to win you over and basically become your friend or something.

When I arrived in the history classroom, I saw that Andi was already seated, along with Cyrus and Buffy, in the back corner of the room. Andi looked up at me and gave a half-hearted smile. I awkwardly shifted my gaze and turned to take a seat in the front row, farthest corner.

Not that I was a fan of history, or anything. I just also wasn't a fan of awkward proximity to a certain ex-girlfriend to whom I had not spoken since our breakup.

"Okay, students, take a seat and turn to page 8 in your textbooks," said Perlman in her monotonous yet strident soprano. She apparently never used powerpoint presentations, videos, or anything. Just lectures and passages from the textbook. Thrilling.

I wondered what Andi was thinking. Was she staring at me? What about Cyrus and Buffy? I was sure they had inferred there would be some tension. I fought the urge to turn around or even take a sideways glance.

"Mr. Beck!" shrilled Mrs. Perlman.

Shit. She already knew my name?!

"We just started class and already you're unable to pay enough attention to follow basic directions?"

I looked down at my desk. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I had not yet even pulled my textbook out of my backpack. I swallowed. "Sorry, Mrs. Perlman. Wh—which page?"

I was great at making first impressions with teachers.

I tried my hardest to stay focused for the remainder of the class period. Every once in a while, I would turn my head, slowly and nonchalantly, so that I could glance backward toward "The Good Hair Crew," as Cyrus insisted they be called. I guess it made sense now more than ever. Andi and Buffy were looking down every time I peeked back, hard at work taking notes. Or maybe just doodling.

But I caught Cyrus' eyes. They still showed concern, but at the same time, inexplicably, reassurance.

And the despair in my world lessened, slightly, pushed away by the fiery determination in those sparkling eyes.

One corner of my mouth lifted ever so slightly.

He smiled back.