Warning for descriptions of a panic attack and some frank discussion of medication. Plenty of comfort and friends being supportive, though.
Hot knives judder up and down Asahi's lungs. Every panicked shallow breath he takes draws his shoulders up tighter, sends aches down his spine, tugs the tightening noose around his neck. He rests his forehead on his knees, and as he tries to hold the scattering atoms of his body together, some detached part of his mind notices the dark shoe-scuffs staining the gym floor. He wonders if he made them. His feet are numb.
A faint pressure on his back, moving up and down. Warm, ticklish breath at his ear, which culminates into a voice, low and quiet and a little shaky with concern. "Asahi," Suga whispers, rubbing slow circles at the tense spot between Asahi's shoulders. "Breathe, Asahi. Take a moment to breathe. Can you do that for me?"
Asahi tries. His first breath in is jerky and choked, but Suga only nods, murmurs, "That's it; let's do a count of four, alright? In, two, three, four… and out, two, three, four." His voice is a muted buzz at the back of Asahi's consciousness. Asahi doesn't even notice how tightly his hands are gripping his knees, nails digging into the skin, until they are gently pulled away and gripped reassuringly. Not by Suga; these other hands are smaller, more calloused. Familiar, even to his fragmented brain.
It seems to take hours, but finally his heart rate slows. Breathing becomes less like sharp blades in his lungs and more like a persistent, dull cramp in his stomach, as though he's had too much cold milk for breakfast. The adrenaline seeps away from his body, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
"Asahi, can you hear me?"
After a long moment, he nods, face still pressed against his knees.
The hand on his back moves up to his hair, gently tugging the elastic loose. The second pair of hands, still cradling his own, loosen their grip slightly.
"Asahi-san?" He isn't surprised to hear Nishinoya's voice in front of him, albeit much quieter than usual. He makes some mumbled noise that's supposed to be a response, but Suga only rubs his shoulder.
"You don't need to talk. Daichi, can you bring—? Ah, thanks."
A plastic bottle is pressed into his hands. The water inside is unpleasantly lukewarm from the summer heat, but Asahi drinks until his mouth is less dry, until his stomach churns and threatens to bring it all back up if he doesn't stop.
He keeps his head down even after he finishes drinking, unwilling to meet the others' eyes. Suga continues to rub circles into his back, and the slight squeak of shoes over the gym floor, followed by a warm presence at his side, tell him that Daichi has sat down beside him. Not too close so as to crowd him, but close enough that his presence is steadying rather than anxiety-inducing.
It's not the first time the three of them have sat in such a way, be it in the gym or a school hallway or an empty classroom after exams. The only difference this time is the addition of the fidgety libero kneeling in front of Asahi, releasing his hands with awkward suddenness when he catches himself still holding them, before one of his hands creeps back over to rest on Asahi's wrist.
This doesn't go unremarked by the others. "Nishinoya," Daichi says carefully. "Would you mind refilling this water bottle for us?"
"No," Asahi says before he can stop himself. He tries not to flinch under the weight of the others' sudden attention. "No, it's okay. He can stay. I don't mind."
If Daichi is surprised, he doesn't show it. "You feeling better now?" he asks. Asahi nods, and slowly uncurls until he's sitting cross-legged instead of hunched up in a ball, though he keeps his gaze fixed downwards.
Suga speaks next. "What brought this on?" This, too, is a familiar question, with the unspoken undercurrent of you don't have to tell us if you don't want to beneath his words. Asahi tenses again anyway, and hates himself for it.
"It's silly," he says towards the floor.
"Of course it isn't," Nishinoya says hotly, his grip around Asahi's arm tightening. "If it made you react like that—"
"No, it's… it's silly," Asahi says again, helplessly. "It really is."
"Tell us anyway," Daichi says, and Asahi can't argue with that.
He sighs. His stomach is still churning, but at least breathing comes a little easier. "It's literally nothing," he mumbles, resisting the urge to pull his knees back up to his chest and curl into a safe little ball. "It's just… I changed my medication, recently. That's all."
"Right," Daichi says after a moment of silence. "Is it, uh. Is it helping?"
"Doesn't look like it," Nishinoya mutters, sounding like he's ready to fight Asahi's doctor personally. Asahi nearly smiles at the absurd image that enters his mind of Noya marching up to the doctor's office, ready to give the physicians inside a piece of his mind.
"It is helping, I think," he says slowly, trying to ignore Nishinoya's disbelieving expression. "The other medication I was taking made me tired all the time, so I'm trying a new one, and it really has been better. But they increased the dosage recently, and my doctor told me that there might be some, uh, side effects while I adjust to them. Like more anxiety."
He's a little out of breath at the end of this, so he forces himself to take deep, measured breaths, in and out, until his heart rate settles again. The others wait patiently, and Noya's hand is a comforting weight against his arm.
"My doctor gave me another kind of medication to help me deal with any issues in the meantime, but I've been kind of afraid to take it," he admits, rubbing a hand over his face. He winces. It sounds even sillier to say aloud, but no one laughs.
"Why?" Suga asks, brow furrowed. His face shows no judgement, only concern.
"Um. The other medication might have side effects, too, like drowsiness. I looked it up." Asahi looks up. Breathes in, out. "I was worried it might affect my attention and response time during practice, so I just… didn't take it."
"Even though your anxiety's been worse?" Nishinoya looks vaguely thunderous, and normally that would make Asahi even more nervous, were it not for the fact that Nishinoya is still holding his wrist and rubbing a thumb gently over the back of his hand. He doesn't even seem to be aware he's doing it. "Asahi-san," he continues, exasperation and worry in his tone, "you can't play volleyball if you don't take care of yourself, first."
Asahi hunches over further. "I know," he mumbles. "I'm sorry for causing a scene. I honestly thought I'd be able to handle it."
A hand settles on his shoulder. "You don't need to apologize," Daichi says. "And you don't have to take that other medication if you really don't want to. But," he pats Asahi's shoulder once, a slight yet firm remonstration, "if you do need it, and want to take it, don't stop yourself from doing so just because you're afraid of letting down the team or something like that."
Suga pokes Asahi's side. "Exactly. Your health always comes first."
"Yeah." Asahi closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. "I — I think I'm going to take it. At least until I adjust to my regular medication." His heart still feels like it's hammering a tad too quickly in his chest, making his stomach flutter.
"Do you have it with you right now?"
"Y-yeah. It's in my bag."
"I'll get it." Nishinoya jumps up and returns with Asahi's schoolbag, and Asahi digs around the front pocket until he finds the blister pack of small white pills. He carefully shakes one out and washes it down with a mouthful of water, and it's probably just a placebo effect, but his chest feels marginally less tight already.
"Better?" Suga asks, and Asahi nods.
"Thank you, guys," he says quietly. "Really."
Nishinoya grins at him and extends a hand to help him up. "We've got your back, ace."
A/N: I did some quick research and it seems that prescription medication (in pill format) comes in blister packs in Japan—if this is incorrect, please let me know!
Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are always greatly appreciated. Stay safe, friends.