the darkness inside us ; multiship

two

trigger warnings - self-harm, anxiety, panic attacks, and mentions of suicide

Alex expects the looks.

He expects the fake concern, the walking around on eggshells, the 'oh, you just had a panic attack and you could explode at any second' attitude.

It's what he's always gotten when he's had panic attacks at school. People don't know how to handle it so they don't. He gets the fake sympathy, the treating him like he's made of glass, the overall disregard for his feelings about the situation in favor of what they think he needs. No one bothers to ask what he actually needs, no, they're all experts on anxiety and panic attacks and already know.

He expects the worst, which explains his surprise when it never comes.

It's like they actually know how to handle this. That's new for him. Even when Jordan joins them and Ashton tells her what happened, all she does is ask if he's okay and leave it at that.

The front door swings open, and he's instantly overwhelmed by the flurry of activity. Footsteps pound against the wood floor as kids rush forward, and only when he forces himself to look up does he understand why.

A woman is standing in the doorway, which he assumes is Jordan's wife. She has long black hair cascading down her back, and she's dressed in a black and grey flannel over a grey tank top and black skinny jeans with converse. The black and skinny jeans seem to be a recurring theme. He's not complaining.

"Let her come in the house!" Jordan calls from behind, laughing. She shakes her head. "Animals."

"They want their shit," the woman chuckles, toeing off her shoes and setting paper bags down on the floor. "Ash, here, take your drum sticks. And for the love of god, try and make them last longer than a week, okay?"

After she's finished handing things out and the doorway is sufficiently empty, she comes over to where Alex and Jordan are standing. He fidgets nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at the floor. Every time he's around someone he doesn't know the anxiety starts building. He's nervous and he doesn't know why. It's not like she's gonna do something to him, but being around her has his heart racing and his palms sweating.

"Is this the new one?"

"Yeah, he just got here a couple hours ago," Jordan replies.

"Alexander, right?" The woman asks, glancing up at him and holding out a hand. "I'm Quinn, Jordan's wife. The kids call me mama, but you can stick with Quinn if it makes you feel more comfortable."

He takes her hand shakily. "Alex. It's, um, n-nice to meet you..."

"While we've got you by yourself," Jordan says from behind. "Come on, let's sit. We've got some things to go over with you."

He takes a seat in the armchair and they sit down on the couch next to it. He notes their body language, how they fit together almost like puzzle pieces. It's a welcome distraction from his head and his tendency to overthink every 'we need to talk' situation.

"First, are you sure you're okay?" Jordan asks. "That looked like a pretty bad panic attack."

If Quinn's surprised, she doesn't voice it. He's grateful. He's never liked the attention he gets after one of his episodes. He knows they're too serious for people to just let go, but he wishes they wouldn't ruminate on them for so long. He gets panic attacks. It's not the end of the world. He wishes people would stop acting like some part of him is broken because he forgets how to breathe sometimes.