A Little Therapy

Jack spoke to Vic often now, well they say speak, but neither of them really made much movement with their mouths, instead they just sat in silence with each other; sometimes Mike would join and talk at them, but really both boys enjoyed the comfortable need to be quiet most days. The quieter Fuentes picked at a sandwich and glanced at his Little brother (who was about four feet taller than him) as Mike explained the mechanics of relationships and how there was someone he really liked. Vic tried not to laugh, as it was painfully obvious the reason Mike said someone and not her, after all they were brothers and were aware of most things in each other’s life.

So when the younger Fuentes had left, the other Mexican began to speak, “He thinks I don’t notice,” Jack of course, hadn’t noticed, and was completely unaware of what his friend was talking about so in reply simply tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows (his mouth was full of sandwich in excuse not to talk five minutes ago when Mike had been there, however now the other was gone the brunet was having serious trouble munching the mouthful). “He has some romantic attraction to a guy,” Vic clarified, he even had an idea which guy, but he didn’t bring it up “I noticed that he wasn’t completely straight, I had a feeling,”

Finally forcing most of the food down his throat, Jack began to speak quietly “Br-brother’s intuition?” He looked up through his wide eyes, head tilted again as he listened finally interested in something other than Kellin and Alex. This classed as progress, as for the past week all the small, shy, tanned boy had heard from Jack was “I miss them,” repeatedly.

“I guess, I mean, I always catch him just sort of glancing and then looking away as if it never happened,” They were, by this point comfortable with each other, enough to speak as normal people and not as if the other was about to hurt them. It was mostly because they recognised each other as people who had been hurt and will get hurt, sooner rather than later, and probably from the same person.

“D-Do your parents know about ei-either of you?” But all the American born boy was met with was a frantic shaking of Vic’s head, pushing his hair behind his ears as the shorter dug into his sandwich. There was another prolonged silence as the darker skinned one finished his sandwich and in a hushed voice began to speak again, having had his time to deliberate an answer at this point. Sliding the second half of the sandwich into its container and wiping his mouth, he leaned a little closer to Jack and began to speak again.

“They’d kill us,”

There was something in the way he said it, the flicker in those brown orbs and a tremble in his lip that made the taller boy shiver a little; it was so pronounced, so final and determined that for a moment he genuinely believed that murder would be the only resolve to his question. Instead of pressing this further, he wrapped up the remnants of his own sandwich, tucking it into his container and began to speak again, thankful his voice wasn’t trembling at the fierce fire in his friend’s eyes. “I’m sorry, my parents they’re…they would probably do some bad things to me if they found out that I…” And yet he still couldn't say it aloud.

Despite the kisses, the shivers and the dreams, for that moment he couldn’t say it aloud too Vic’s curious gaze. He wasn’t sure why, he knew by this point that Kellin and Vic had had a thing, whatever the thing was had left them both on shaky ground, but they’d had (/have) something. It wasn’t as if the other was homophobic, yet the moment he went to say that little three-lettered word, his mouth trembled and his throat ran dry, leaving only a strangled sound to come out. Disappointed in himself, he folded his arms and stared at the floor, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Why didn’t he say it? It was hardly a secret too himself and he doubted to Vic either, now the other was going to thing he was an asshole, can’t even say the goddamn word.

“Yeah…I get it,” The Mexican said softly, but there was an agony in his eyes that made Jack feel terrible.

Thank God for Tony, who at that moment sidled up to them and replaced Mike’s job with thousands of words that no-one was really listening too. Jack stared idly at the turtle keychain hanging limply off the other’s backpack and wondered, not for the first time, how the other was so obsessed with the animal. In reality it was a distraction from the thought that he was a terrible person who had let one of his first close friends since the bad boys of the school, down.
“Yeah…but listen…” Jack wasn’t listening, his chest felt tight and his eyes were watering, what if Vic hated him, what if he thought he was homophobic? He hated him, oh God, his first real friend hated him, he would out him to his parents or too his friends or… his throat constricted and he dug his nails into the palm of his hands. “Jack, are you alright dude?” No, No he really wasn’t, he couldn’t breathe, why wasn’t he breathing? A burning sensation ricocheted up his arms and a whimper tumbled from his lips. Vic hated him and he couldn’t breathe.

A tingling sensation stung his muscles, which now ached from tensing them so very much; his heart was hitting a rapid pace that made his stomach tense and his veins boil whilst the need to collapse became unbearable. Jack didn’t understand, he didn’t know what was happening, and that alone caused fear to spike him further. His throat was burning whilst his mouth felt as though he’d tried to eat sand, rough and deserted, dry.

“He’s having a Panic Attack,” That voice was familiar, he knew that voice, “Jack, can you breathe for me, focus on me, listen to my breathing, deep breaths you can do it,” He turned through a watery haze too meet such beautifully familiar blue eyes. Kellin, what was he doing here? Yet he followed that melodic voice and began to inhale slowly, shakily, grasping onto the other’s arm. A cold hand held his and he found himself channelling that touch without a second thought; trusting that touch.

Jack heard another voice here, as he was trying to concentrate on breathing and not being hated, “Back the fuck up, all of you, get away, leave him be,” That voice was a voice he’d recognise anywhere, everywhere, Alex. Finally he didn’t feel as if there was a rope tied around his chest, or a piece of metal pressing on his windpipes. “You did it,” There was a gentle smile and a hand on his arm as Jack looked up to meet those world-crippling caramel orbs. When had Alex’s eyes become so sparkly?

He never got his answer to that question, but if he had asked, the answer would be when Alex met Jack.

((Alright, so I’m only going off my personal experience with Anxiety here, some panic attacks all it takes is a nice calming voice, for some…obviously not so much))

Notes