inconsolable - backstreet boys
When this day rolls around every year, Stiles wakes up and he can't breathe. Normally, this day falls in the holidays, just at the beginning. But, this year, the holidays start later. And Stiles has to go to school. He doesn't know how he's going to cope. He thinks, no, he knows, Scott will have forgotten. Since it's always in the holidays, Scott has never had to face Stiles on this day. And anyway, Scott's so infatuated with Allison that Stiles has become a third wheel. His only hope, he decides is to keep himself to himself and try get through the day as quickly as possible.
This plan works for most of the day. If people look at him strangely, it's because he's actually being quiet for once. There is no pity, no sympathy, in those looks.
It's all going well. Until lacrosse training. Stiles is sat on the bench, as usual, when he suddenly, inexplicably, starts having a panic attack. He clenches his fists and closes his eyes in an attempt to ward of the oncoming wave of terror. This can't be happening. Not here, not now. He tries to take shallow breaths, but he can't breathe at all now. He opens his eyes and everything is out of focus and spinning, so he closes them again. He hears his name being called and it sounds like he is underwater; all the sounds are muffled. His name is being repeated. "Can you hear me?" comes through, clear of static. He nods, shakily. He doesn't know who is speaking. He feels someone take him by the arm and lead him away. His eyes are still squeezed tightly shut. He still can't breathe properly.
He's sat down on a bench in what he assumes, from the smell, is the changing rooms. "Focus on my voice," he hears and he tries to nod, but he think it probably just comes out as a feeble wiggle of his head. "Okay, breathe. Just breathe, it's all okay." Stiles tries to follow these instructions. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It's hard. He hears a tap running and then a wet cloth, a cold one, is placed around his neck. Someone crouches in front of him. He's still trying to breathe. "Open your eyes," someone says. He does and he could swear that, though his vision is still fuzzy, it's Jackson in front of him. "Breathe with me," the person says. He breathes in and out steadily and Stiles tries to copy him. He breathes in deeply and out again. "Good," he hears and it sounds less like being underwater and more like normal.
Eventually, he can breathe again and his vision is clear. It is Jackson crouched in front of him. "How do you know how to deal with panic attacks?" he asks.
"First aid course," he gets as an explanation.
"I didn't think that they did that on first aid courses," Stiles says, confused.
"I might have specifically asked them about it," Jackson shrugs, slightly sheepishly. Stiles looks about to ask why. "Yes, it was because of you," Jackson preempts him. "I was 12 and I remember you were always leaving the classroom because of panic attacks, so I made sure that I could deal with them." He says it like it's no big deal, but to Stiles, it is. He's just come around to the fact that he likes Jackson, as in more than a friendly kind of liking. It means something to him, that Jackson made an effort to make sure he could deal with Stiles' panic attacks. "Thanks," he says. "For being able to deal with it. I don't think anyone else could have."
"Not even McCall?" He can hear the unasked question reverberating in Jackson's voice. Has he never told him? Stiles shrugs and smiles, wryly. "Normally, this day always happens in the holidays," he explains. "Scott never has to deal with it."
"What's so special about today?" Jackson asks. He sits on the bench.
"My mum died five years ago today." Stiles explains. "I usually just spend the whole day in bed, but this year, I can't."
"What was she like, your mum?" Jacksons says.
"She was beautiful. I'm not saying that just because she was my mum. She really was beautiful. And funny and kind and just the best mum I could ever have had."
"Like you," Jackson says.
"No, completely not like me." Stiles replies.
"You're funny," Jackson says. "You're kind. I mean, if McCall didn't have you around, as his best mate, he wouldn't be able to function."
"He's got Allison, now," Stiles says, slightly bitterly. "He doesn't need me."
"Well, he's an idiot for not seeing how good a friend you are, then." Jackson says. Stiles laughs a bit at this. "And you're beautiful," Jackson continues. Stiles' heart starts thumping hard in his chest, straining to be free of its moorings. He looks at Jackson and the expression on Jackson's face says he's being completely and utterly sincere about this. Stiles is lost for words. Jackson cups Stiles' face with a hand and Stiles leans into the touch a bit. Jackson leans closer and really Stiles doesn't know why his heart hasn't leapt from his chest yet, it's beating so rapidly. Jackson's lips touch his and Stiles' brain short circuits. He doesn't think, he just acts. He moves his arms to drape over Jackson's shoulders and kisses back.
When the rest of the team comes in, they're changed and sat waiting. People keep checking in on Stiles, asking if he's okay, and really he is. He's never felt better. Scott looks at him oddly, as if he can smell that something has been going on. Stiles just smiles, enigmatically.
As he's driving home, Stiles can't stop smiling. Really, today turned out so much better than expected.