aidan
he's leaning against the door, hands on his knees, sweat rolling down the back of his neck. he just needs to catch his breath before he freaks out even more.
he can hear a voice, or maybe he's imagining it.
"aidan," everything becomes clear. his eyes focus on his surroundings, on the practice room and the cello rested against a chair, and a mop of blonde hair. "are you okay?"
no, no he isn't okay. he can't breathe. he can't—
"aidan?"
he sinks to the floor and tries to count. one, two, three...
"aidan," a warm hand touches his wrist.
everett.