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Anxious

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It starts in his chest.

The unfortunately familiar weight constricts his breathing as emotions begin to build. Emotions that are impossible to sort through as his mind- along with his heart- begins to race. The sudden mixture of thoughts and feelings- the Hurricane that gradually builds before it rips through his being- is too complex.

Usually with emotions there's a cause or a reason that your mood changes.

Someone insults you; you feel hurt.

Someone passes away; you feel sadness and longing to see them again.

You do something you know is wrong; you feel guilty.

But for him, that's not always how his anxiety operated. He's been dealing with it since he was a teenager and it never has been predictable. There didn't seem to be many- or any- rules that his attack followed. Recently it's seemed to be happening without reason. No real triggers that he's aware of so he doesn't even know what to watch out for. What to avoid.

Like today for example. It hadn't been a bad day. It wasn't anything spectacular or memorable for any extraordinary reasons, but it definitely wasn't bad.

Just a mellow Wednesday spent finishing up a few assignments that are due next week in the late morning, compiling a grocery list of what he needs to restock for movie night this Friday with his friends followed by a trip to the score that afternoon and then heading to work in the evening for his night shift at the hospital. 

Nothing crazy or difficult. Nothing that should make him feel emotional in any way. Yet, here he is; sitting in his usual seat on the train home, blunt nails on each hand digging into his thighs as the weight in his chest- which alerts him of an oncoming panic attack- mounts within him.

The familiar closing of his throat as sobs accumulate there cause his breathing to become more labored with each passing second. His bottom lip also threatens to tremble at the same time he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the building tears from falling.

He tries to control his breathing. Begins taking deep breaths in through his nose, holding it in for three seconds before exhaling out of his mouth, and it's helping for now.

After a few more cleansing breaths he manages to pry an eye open to sneak a peak out the window to his right. He recognizes the street. It's only six blocks away from his stop which is just up the street from his apartment complex.

Breath. Just a few more minutes then you'll be home he tries to self assure as he begins to rock ever so slightly in his seat.

Unclenching his fingers from his legs when the pain because a bit too much, he instead wraps himself in a hug, not caring if the four other  people he'd seen on the bus when he'd first boarded see. It's nearly one in the morning now and if they are in the same state he usually observed riders in at this time, they are nodding off or fully asleep.

God, he wonders if he'll be able to sleep.

If this attack is anything like the last one it could take hours before he either comes down from his sobbing on his own or he will pass out from a mixture of exhaustion and lack of oxygen from his hyperventilating. And God forbid his roommate- his best friend who radiates sunshine and rainbows unceasingly- be awake when he gets home.

Fuck.

It has yet to happen with Hoseok finding out, but if he's awake and sees him in this state, Yoongi, doesn't know what the man would do. Well, that's not entirely true. He's sure that the first reaction will be to call Jimin. And once Jimin knows something so do the rest of their friends, which is the last thing he needs.

He wants to avoid at all cost anyone knowing he's an unhinged, depressed head case who-

"Hey, you okay?" A voice breaks through his racing thoughts, causing him to jump.

The voice, although unfamiliar, is full of concern- of care- and it makes his heart drop to his stomach. Despite his best efforts, tears begin to fall and he immediately drops his head.

"Rough day?" Is the follow up question asked.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip with a small shake of his head.

Oddly enough, no. There's actually no plausible reason for me to be falling apart right now. I'm just an unstable mess. Don't mind me he wants to say but doesn't, instead clenching his jaw shut.

He'd probably be unable to get any coherent words out anyway. As soon as he opens his mouth he doesn't doubt that nothing but choked wails would come out. Thankfully then a bell dings, signaling to him that his stop is approaching.

He hears the man let out an audible sigh before saying, "Well, I hope tomorrow is a better day for you" and he can tell that the stranger means it.

He feels guilt immediately mix in with all the other shit he's feeling as he again can do nothing but move his head, this time nodding, as he quickly opens his eyes, immediately directing them to his backpack and jacket on the seat next to him before practically sprinting off the bus.

With long strides and quick, short breaths- he can tell he's on the verge of beginning the hyperventilation stage of the attack- he rushes to his building. He just wants to make it to his bedroom show can crumble in peace. Tomorrow he will pull himself together, place a brave smile on his face and go about his day.

But tonight, he's going to let himself be broken; not that he really has a choice in the matter.