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His eyes round in horror, and all the blood seems to rush to his cheeks at once.
Before I can assure him it’s not a big deal—because it’s not…
He scrambles out of the bed, mumbling under his breath. The words fumble out of him so fast, it takes a second to process what he’s saying.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean—I just—I…”
Now, I’m the one frowning as I hurriedly push myself up to a stand, the song and sketch I tainted and stole forgotten, as concern for him takes center stage.
“Hey,” I say, rounding the bed to where he’s hunched over, frantically looking around the floor for his shirt.
Already having spotted it strewn over his garbage can earlier, I go over and grab it and quickly bring it to him. “Here.”
Avoiding my gaze, he quickly, jerkily shoves it on.
My concern only deepens.
“Jeremy?”
Nothing.
“Hey, look at me.”
He shakes his head, and I can hear his breaths quickening, pitching, like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.
Not knowing what to do—it’s been years since I’ve actually seen him have an attack, if that’s even what this is; he learned to hide his very well over the years, unlike me—I just let instinct guide me.
Grabbing his bunched shoulders, I steady him, and then before I even realize what I’m doing, my hands are cradling his smooth cheeks, and I’m lifting his face, giving him no choice but to look at me.
He inhales sharply, his body going ramrod straight like someone took a taser to his spine.
And he’s utterly still.
Warm brown eyes round with fear and something else—something deeper, something I can’t define—collide with mine.
I search them, and then drop my gaze to where his nostrils flare and relax with his quick breaths. Against the heel of my palm, his pulse flutters like that of a hummingbird’s wing.
“Do you need to hold your breath?” I ask stupidly.
Way to command the situation.
He shakes his head, and his chest rises and falls in deep, even breaths.
Okay…that’s a good sign, right?
“You’re freaking out over nothing,” I tell him, again, stupidly.
He scowls at the same time I wince.
“I just meant?—”
“Is it nothing though?” he whispers raggedly.
My eyes widen, before comprehension has my brows slamming down heavily with my frown.
He quickly averts his gaze, and his cheeks grow warm under my hands, reminding me I’m still cradling his face.
Against my wrists, I feel a heavy swallow ripple through his throat. His long dark lashes flutter against his cheekbones, and a flash of pink has my gaze snapping to where his tongue pokes out to wet his full lips.
