The wind blew furiously through the city – wailing between the innumerable skyscrapers, tearing branches from trees and ripping the occasional power cable as if it were nothing more than a simple strand of cotton. Rain had been falling steadily for the past two days, driven even harder by the gale force winds, washing clean the air and streets of Hong Kong. Thunder rolled almost continually across the darkened sky and lightning split the swirling clouds apart.

As the force of the storm continued to shake the world below it, a young man slept uneasily on the 19th floor of an upmarket hotel. As his mind lost its grip on sleep, his hands clenched the sheets in growing desperation. Thunder struck overhead and startled him awake in his bed – stifling a cry he sat bolt upright in his dark hotel room. Sweat glistened on his toned, bare chest. He struggled to take even a few deep breaths as a he surveyed the empty room. It had not taken long for him to realise the familiar symptoms associated with his anxiety.

Everyone is judging you! And they are laughing. His mind all but yelled at him.

He tried to calm himself. He had never been able to weather severe storms alone – in a manner of speaking. As a young child he had always taken refuge in his parents' bedroom each time the panic had threatened to overwhelm him, whether in a real storm or the other kind.

You're just weak little twat playing at being a hero!

You're running out of breath! Is the room getting smaller?

Nobody would have guessed, given his out-going and energetic personality that he suffered from this particular, and peculiar, weakness. Were it ever to be found out, he would no doubt be ridiculed mercilessly in the realm of memes – a superhero who panics and fears storms. He couldn't bear to think about it.

There are so many people counting on me. I'm not good enough! What if it all fails? I'll be the one who ruined it all. Thought flashed in his head, as he continued to hyperventilate.

For a time he sat in his bed, covers half off, trying his best to reign in his growing anxiety – a battle he was not winning. His mind threatened to overwhelm him –thoughts of inadequacy, inability to cope screaming at him from all directions. Of course, none of these feelings were new, but he was a long way from home, and a long way from the child he once was and the refuge that provided. These realisations made coping even harder, setting his nerves on edge and his body shaking uncontrollably.

It's a heart attack! I can't stop it!

You're a disappointment.

As the minutes ticked by achingly slow, he could feel nausea growing, his fingers tingled as the spasms began to numb them. The storm outside only added to his growing unease. The sight outside his window looked just as chaotic as his mind. There was no comfort to be had staring out across the city.

Do you still need your Mommy? Little boy!

The fans are gonna see you for what you are. They will leave you. You're not gonna make it. You're weak!

For almost an hour, the young boy put in a valiant effort, but finally, unnerved by the violence outside, frightened by his own thoughts, he gave in. Throwing back his covers, he grabbed the spare key-card from his nightstand and left his room. In the hallway, barefoot, wearing only a pair of grey shorts, he made his way to the door just down from his own.

He knew that comfort could be found in that room.

Harrison could not believe, even now, over a year later, how much his life had changed.

Two years ago, he had been at home, attending classes and aiming to enrol at LAMDA. They had always been friends, inseparable their parents had once teased, but this experience had only made the bond between them stronger. They had grown in so many ways and had incredible experiences along the way.

Like this hotel suite. He thought. It's half the size of my actual house! Harrison mused.

Of course, it was all due to his best friend's sudden and thrilling arrival beneath the Marvel Universe spotlight. And to the loyalty they shared.

I don't think even he realised it was gonna be this epic. Harrison thought to himself.

Lying to the one side of the enormous king-sized bed, covered by just a t-shirt and boxer briefs, the young man gazed out of his window and listened to the storm raging beyond the glass. He had always been calmed by such weather. Dark skies, thunder, rain…. Typical British weather one might have said. What better way to feel at home in a foreign land than with the sounds of your home country's weather?

It had been going on like this for almost three days now. Still, that had not dampened the spirits of the thousands of fans that had filled the conference hall and hotel lobby – hoping for a glance of him – and even more so his travelling companion. They had been prepared to fly out to the next stop on the two month long press tour that same night. But the weather had intervened and flights were cancelled.

Deep in his own thoughts, listening to the rain driven hard against the large hotel windows, he had not heard the quiet click of the front door to his suite being unlocked. Had he registered this sound, it still would have caused him no alarm. Only one person, his favourite, was ever allowed the spare key-card.

Moments later, from the corner of his eye, he saw the door to his bedroom swing slowly open, cautiously at first. As he turned to face the other man, he encountered a sight he had not expected to see that night.

He stood in the doorway, the soft glow from the light of the bed side lamps illuminating his bare chest and legs. Hugging himself, shaking violently, as if freezing, he looked anxiously at his closest friend, eyes glistening and filled with apprehension.

"Hey mate," he began, "can't you…"

"Harri….Haz," he stammered, "ple… please…"

"Tom? Oh, fuck!"

Jolting from his bed, oblivious to his state of dress, Harrison went straight to his friend, alarmed by his condition. Without a second thought, because this was the closeness of their bond, he put his arms around the other man and led him to the edge of the bed.

Tom was trembling, "I…. I can't breathe…" he said, teeth chattering, "it….. it's a… bad one."

Harrison knelt at the foot of the bed, taking Tom's hand in his own and squeezing reassuringly, "Shhh… it's alright now, Tom." He soothed, "Just try to take some deep breaths, mate. You're not alone anymore."

Hunched over slightly, refusing to let go of Harrison's hand, Tom tried his best to comply. It wasn't easy, his body didn't do what his brain commanded. He began to take a few deeper, although still shaky breaths. After a few long minutes, the violent shaking began to slowly subside – eventually to a tremble – and his rabid breathing became a little steadier.

Harrison ran a hand gently through the boy's ruffled hair, "That's it, Tommy. Easy does it."

He tried to stand, intending to fetch a glass of water for his rattled mate. But, as he moved, Tom's grip on his hand tightened, clenching almost painfully.

"Don't… don't go," he pleaded.

Without hesitation, Harrison sat back down, this time on the bed beside Tom and instinctively hugged closer as the young man moved toward him.

After a few moments of tense silence, Harrison, trying to distract his friend, asked quietly, "What caused this mate?"

"I dunno…" Tom whispered, shaking his head against the other man's shoulder, "I was sleeping and then I woke up. Felt it start to get worse. I tried to ignore it but… but the storm."

Harrison, still running a gentle had through Tom's hair, smiled to himself and relaxed inwardly. This was not as serious as he had initially thought. Tom was able to speak more clearly and without stuttering now. The worst was behind them.

He realised, this too might have been nothing serious had there not been a storm along with it. Even as a child, before the panic attacks had started, he remembered how Tom had never liked thunderstorms. On their many sleepovers, Tom would seek refuge in Harrison's bed whenever the thunder and rain had rolled in for the night.

Thinking about it now, Harrison realised, he missed those times, the closeness he had shared with his best friend.

"I guess some things never change huh" he said lightly. Tom shook his head; no.

Settling back into a comforting silence, Harrison sat unmoving for nearly an hour more, pleased each time he felt Tom's trembling subside even further. Eventually, the last grip of panic seemed to fall away, leaving his friend weary.

Harrison stood slowly, stretching his legs and arms. They had begun to fall asleep, and he felt the familiar prickle of pins-and-needles as he moved.

Putting a hand soothingly at Tom's neck he asked, "Are you ready for bed?"

Tom flinched at the question, looking up somewhat alarmed, "I… I don't want to go back."

"Don't be daft, you div." Harrison smiled, "This bed is fucking massive. You can spend the night here with me."

The relief in the young man's eyes was clear as soon as Harrison reassured him that he would not be forced to spend the rest of the night alone.

He steered Tom around to the other side of the bed and after pulling back the covers, watched as Tom eased himself beneath the sheets, which Harrison then brought up to his chest.

From this vantage point, propped up against the pillows, Tom watched as his mate went around to the other side of the bed and closed the curtains, blocking out the storm that continued to rage, before coming to lie back down, reaching over and turning off the bedside lamps.

The two lay in silence a few moments until a light tremor in the sheets drew Harrison from his thoughts.

"You cold, mate?" he asked the young man.

"Just… just a little." he admitted.

Shaking his head - a smile playing on his face in the dark - Harrison replied with a hint of mischief, "Then move closer Spiderling! I'm lying right over here."

Without a second thought Tom slid over and into the embrace of his friend's outstretched arm.

When they had been children, Harrison, even though he was slightly younger, had always been fiercely protective of Tom.

As he lay there, feeling safe and warm, he remembered the one occasion when he had gone camping with the Osterfield's. One night, he recalled, the power had gone off in a particularly rough winter storm. With no heating in the rough cabin, they had both been freezing. Harrison, of course, had insisted that Tom take the extra blanket - the bigger boy had then wrapped his arms around Tom to help keep warm. Harrison had suffered a severe cold for days afterward. But he had never once complained.

"Just like old times." Haz said, breaking into Tom's memory.

"You remember too?" he asked.

"Of course I remember, Thomas." Haz admitted. "I remember everything about you."

In whispers the pair continued to speak to one another. As they spoke, and without even thinking about it, Harrison gently began to run his fingers up and down Tom's warm, chiselled stomach. The smaller boy let out a contented sigh and moved over, getting closer to his mate.

Having Tom closer, Harrison realized what he had been doing and moved his hand away, instead, resting it lightly on Tom's hip – just above the waistband of his shorts.

"Haz….?" came a shy whisper, followed by Tom's fingers lacing together with his own.

"Yea?" the blond boy whispered back.

"You don't have to stop."