#anxious reader

Your grip on your plastic cup tightened until it creaked threateningly when he proceeded to give you a wide grin before nudging Billy and pointing in your direction. Your spine snapped ramrod straight as Billy turned, his lips quirking up into a smile upon spotting you, and your gaze quickly darted around, looking for some kind of escape. 

Unfortunately for you, Billy had already ditched the shirtless teen that he’d been talking to and was making his way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor towards where you were currently lurking with his trademark grin. 

“Hey gorgeous, need a refill?” He asked once he was within hearing range, his voice still somehow managing to be saccharine sweet even despite the blond having to raise his voice in order to be heard over the nearly deafening music. 

You leaned to the side in order to look over his shoulder, nervously staring at the group that had been occupying themselves with following Billy around, the crowd of teens now loitering at his back as they took turns giving you dirty looks.

Billy followed your uncomfortable gaze to the teen lingering behind him and you saw one of Billy’s hands twitch, his fingers jerking wildly -almost as if the motion was involuntary- out of your peripheral vision before his handsome face twisted up into a sneer.

“Get lost.” He snapped and the group obediently scrambled to make themselves scarce, Billy waiting until they were all out of sight before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about that.” He stated, rearranging his features into an easy grin before offering you one of his hands, palm up.

You stared at the limb uncomprehendingly, unsure of what he wanted since the only thing you were carrying was your empty cup, and you didn’t think that he was offering to throw it away. Though, you must’ve taken too long, because Billy’s expression did something strange before he seemingly collected himself and took your cup from your lax grip, tossing it aside and grabbing your wrist. 

“Come on.” Billy said encouragingly as he used his death grip around your wrist to tow you out onto the packed dance floor. Before you could react, the crowd was already swallowing you up, the moving bodies forcing you closer to Billy’s back lest you get separated. 

Once Billy reached a spot that he was pleased with, he turned around to face you, keeping his grip on your wrist as he began to bounce in time with the deep bass pounding through the speakers. You remained stock still as bodies danced around you, the air in the room hot and suffocating, making you feel claustrophobic. 

You briefly glanced away from his intense gaze, which turned out to be a mistake since it made you keenly aware of the several guys and girls closest to you that were glaring daggers at you, like the fact that Billy was giving you the time of day somehow personally offended them. Their blatant jealousy was extremely unflattering and made you feel even worse about the whole situation.

Billy must have noticed your growing discomfort because he shifted even closer and began to move in earnest, rolling his body with purpose as the song changed to something faster. You saw him flash a grin as he loosened his grasp in order to run his hands up your arms, over your shoulders and down your sides before halting on your waist, his thumbs slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to press firmly against skin.

“You’re alright. Just focus on me.” He murmured as he leaned closer, his voice low and soothing. You let out a shaky breath, minutely relaxing into his hands and slowly beginning to sway along with the rhythm that the music set.

The only warning you got that anything was wrong was Billy’s gaze darting away from your face to stare over your shoulder, his smirk falling from his face as his eyes hardened. You startled when you felt someone come up behind you, the person rudely inviting themselves into your personal space. 

You spin around, Billy hands falling from your hips as you put your back to the blond in order to confront the guy who had decided that it was a good idea to step up behind you. Before you could get a word out, the clearly drunk teen stumbled forward, closing the distance that you had managed to put between the two of you. 

He reached out -probably in an attempt to steady himself- and caught himself on your shoulders, his head lolling forward as he slurred out some intelligible sentence, his breath reeking of liquor and vomit. You winced at his proximity and shoved at his hands, pushing them off of you and stepping further away, forcing Billy to backpedal with you, which turned out to be a mistake since the guy just tipped over without having something to brace himself against.

“Hey! Back off, shithead!” Billy snarled as he stepped out from behind you, shoving at the drunk's chest and sending him careening into the people crowded behind him. There was a commotion as he fell to the floor, the crowd closest to the confrontation forming a tight circle around you, Billy and the stranger. 

The drunk lurched back to his feet with an angry curse and the idiot -having been fueled by liquid courage- aimed a sloppy punch at Billy, who effortlessly dodged before swinging back. There were a few shouts as the blond’s knuckles slammed into the drunk’s face, not giving his opponent a chance to recover before ramming his shoulder into the other teen’s chest and rapidly landing some brutal looking kidney shots.

“Billy! Billy stop!” You shouted in an attempt to be heard over the sheer volume, but it was no use and it wasn’t long before the music cut out as the dance floor devolved into a fighting ring, the pounding bass being replaced with a cacophony of yelling. 

Your breathing picked up speed as people shoved you, forcing you further away from the center of the circle and the fight as the crowd got riled up, one girl screaming so close to you that you swore your ears popped.

You quickly gave up on trying to get Billy’s attention and instead used the ensuing chaos to push your way through the hollering mob, insults and encouragement alike filling the space until it was all just white noise. You stumbled toward the hallway leading toward the exit, ignoring the girl that checked your invitation on the way in as you practically fell through the door.

You heaved desperate breaths as you hit the cool night air, trying to keep the panic that was quickly building at bay. You shoved your hand into your pocket to dig out your keys as you unsteadily moved toward where you parked your car, wrenching the door open and falling into the driver seat as you began to hyperventilate. 

Your shaking hands fumbled the keys as you tried to shove them into the ignition, the key ring rattling as your fingers went numb and they hit the footwell between your sneakers. You curled up on the seat with a sob, your hands fisting into your hair to pull at the strands until your scalp ached.

Then there were warm hands gently brushing against your knuckles before carefully untangling your fingers from your hair, bringing your intertwined hands down to rest in your lap. You looked up through blurry vision and took note of blue eyes and a wild mane of curls and immediately realized who exactly it was who found you. 

“You’re alright. Just focus on me.” Billy whispered quietly into the silence and -unwilling to let him see you so vulnerable- you tried to pull away from him, but Billy refused to let go, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of your hand. 

He was crouched in front of the open door of your car, making sure that he was close enough to reassure you that you weren’t alone without being so close that his presence felt suffocating. It was oddly… thoughtful. 

You stared down at your joined hands, timing your breaths with each pass of his thumb and gradually slowing your pounding heart, focusing on his touch instead of the overwhelming need to climb out of your own skin.

“How are you feeling?” Billy asked once your chest was rising and falling evenly, your eyes dry. You sniffled a little and uncurled from your defensive position, finally glancing up from the soothing motions of his thumb. 

“I…” Your voice came out shaky and weak so your response trail off into silence. You wanted to say that you were fine, but the false words got stuck in your throat. Thankfully, Billy seemed to pick up on the fact that you were struggling and slowly inched closer, his hand briefly tightening his grip on yours before he gave you a soft smile.

“Alright. That’s okay. Are you hungry?” He asked and you just stared at him blankly for a moment since the question had come out of left field. 

“What?” You said incredulously and his grin grew even wider -if that was even possible- before he nodded encouragingly. 

“What do ya say we go get some food?” Billy patiently repeated and you found yourself shocked by how accommodating and thoughtful he was being, which was the total opposite of what you’d seen of his personality in school.

It made you wonder how he was so damn good at guiding you through a panic attack whereas others usually just ended up making things worse on the off chance that they decided to try and help.

It was like you were seeing Billy in a whole new light.

“Uh, sure.” You replied, feeling a little floored, and the tension in his shoulders that you didn’t even notice was there melted off his frame. Billy released your hands and you had a moment to mourn the loss of his touch before he straightened out of his crouch, ducking down in order to maintain eye contact with you.

“Scoot over, I’ll drive.” He stated and you obediently crawled over the center console, opening up the driver’s seat for Billy, and collapsed into the passenger seat as the blond sat down. You buckled in, watching as Billy shut the door behind him before reaching down between his knees to snag the keys that you had dropped, the blond putting the key into the ignition and starting the car in one smooth motion.

He meticulously adjusted the seat and the mirrors before taking the vehicle out of park and you couldn’t manage to pry your eyes away from him as he easily pulled out of the lot and began to drive down the road.

You had no idea why he was being so nice to you or why he even bothered to go through the effort of inviting you out several times, especially when it seemed like he had nothing to gain by being kind. 

You tried telling yourself that the reason you were waiting to confront him about his odd behavior until you reached a restaurant was because you didn’t feel like arguing with someone as volatile as Billy while in a moving vehicle where you couldn’t get away if things went sideways, but in reality you just liked the companionable silence and didn’t want to ruin it.

Billy always seemed to linger near your locker in between classes, his appearance conveniently coinciding with when you’d have to trade out your books or -when he wasn’t feeling particularly subtle- he’d  just so happen to be socializing in the hallway right in front of the classroom that you needed to get into, the blond and his posse inconsiderately blocking the doorway.

You didn’t let Billy’s attempts to get some kind of reaction out of you get to you though, opting to merely ignore him when you saw him at your locker as you went about your business and briskly pushing through whatever crowd he conjured up in front of your classroom with a muttered ‘excuse me’.

Though, despite your best efforts to avoid Billy, the blond remained persistent all the way up to the day after Tina’s party.

On Thursday morning, you went about your routine as usual, but as you walked into school, you noticed a lot more eyes on you than usual. Your shoulders rose up to your ears defensively as you hurried to your locker, letting the metal door block some of the gazes boring holes into you.

You hadn’t gone to the party. Hell, you hadn’t even left your house last night.

And, as much as you hated to admit it, you knew that all the attention you were suddenly getting from your peers had something to do with that. 

By the end of first hour, you were thoroughly worked up into a paranoid panic due to all the rumors you overheard from those who were not-so-subtly whispering about you while in class. From what you were able to make out, the general consensus among all the gossip was that Billy was looking for you...and he was pissed.

You figured that the best course of action to get through the rest of the day in one piece was to avoid even the slightest hint of Billy, which shouldn’t be too difficult since he was usually preceded by a sizable crowd. So, avoid large groups of teenagers and stay off Billy’s radar, easy enough...in theory.

You didn’t account for the fact that your entire grade would become snitches for the blond, telling him that you were in the library, which is where you ended up eating lunch. You nearly choked on air when Billy slammed into the silent room, the blond disregarding the glare that the librarian shot at him in favor of scanning the area with narrowed blue eyes.

You instantly became nervous since you’d seen the aftermath of his fury, anyone who had the misfortune of finding themselves on Billy’s bad side shuffling around the halls with bruises or broken bones. 

You knew the moment that he caught sight of you, the blond pivoting to face you before he began to approach. You push to your feet and trip over the table leg in your haste to keep distance between the two of you, stumbling back into one of the solid bookshelves lining the walls.

Before you could recover, Billy was suddenly there, the blond gripping the shelves on either side of your shoulders and backing you up further out of view of the disapproving stare of the librarian. The movement gave your impending altercation at least some semblance of privacy, as flimsy as it was. 

You could smell his distinct cologne as he leaned in closer, using his imposing frame to box you in and cut off any chance of escape. 

“Why weren’t you at the party?” He demanded, his voice low with an underlying edge that you weren’t able to discern. You frowned at the implication that, just because he was gracious enough to invite a loser like you to some bullshit party, that you were somehow obligated to show up.

You opened your mouth to tell him as much but then stopped, the meaning behind his statement sinking in. He had apparently noticed that you didn’t ever step foot on Tina’s property, which begged the question, had he been waiting for you? Did he think that you stood him up or something?

No fucking way.

“Not really my scene. I’m not fond of crowds.” You muttered quietly, your gaze darting over his shoulder in order to survey the open room beyond -wary of any new arrivals happening upon whatever the hell was going on between you and Billy- and back to the agitated blond periodically as you spoke.

You winced when Billy’s eyes widened, looking caught off guard by the honest admission, as if he were expecting to hear something different. You resisted the urge to breathe out a sigh of relief as the uncomfortable tension that had been crackling between the two of you dissipated, his anger melting into a more pleasant emotion.

“If you go to the party I’m throwing at the steelworks just outside of town on Friday, I’ll happily be your bodyguard, make sure the drunks don’t bother you too much.” He stated conversationally, feigning nonchalance, and your lips thinned at the unappealing offer.

As if sensing your distaste, Billy moved one of his hands away from the bookshelf in order to grab something out of his back pocket, the blond gently pushing a blue flier into your chest, patiently waiting for you to hesitantly take hold of it before withdrawing.

“Sure.” You said unconvincingly, drawing out the word. Billy clicked his tongue against his teeth in frustration and refused to move despite your attempts to signal that the stressful conversation was over.

“You’ll be there?” He insisted and you frowned, finding yourself unimpressed with his pushy personality. You wondered if anyone ever told Billy Hargrove ‘no’ before promptly deciding that that was a stupid question. Clearly no one had if his ‘I get what I want’ attitude was any indication. 

“Will you leave me alone if I say that I’ll go?” You asked, already resigning yourself to the shitty night that you were about to have on Friday. Billy’s face split into a shit-eating grin as he readily agreed to your terms and you let out a defeated sigh. “I’ll be there, but I won’t promise that I’ll stay long.”

“Perfect! See you Friday.” Billy purred, brushing a hand across your arm before turning to saunter right back out the door he barged in through. You stared after him for a long moment before looking down at the crinkled paper clutched in your fist, dread pooling in your gut as you realized what exactly you had signed yourself up for.

Billy gave her a sauve grin as they approached the ticket booth, spending only a few moments there before taking the tickets and making their way inside, the blond politely holding the door open for his date before moving toward where you were standing in order to join the line for concessions.

You watched the pair interact -despite not wanting to be noticed- unable to keep your eyes off of Billy. The blond was dressed nice, even nicer than usual, which was saying something because the man always came to school looking like an unattainable god. 

Tonight he wore a smooth blue dress shirt that complemented his eyes and tan chest -which was shamelessly on display- with a tight set of dark jeans that hugged every incredible inch of his lower half. 

It was totally unfair that a total douchebag like Billy was allowed to look that good.

“What would you like?” A bored voice pulled you out of your pity party of one and you tore your gaze away from the blond behind you in order to focus on the tired looking man at the counter. You flushed a bright red at being caught staring at Billy and rattled off your favorite candy to go with your small popcorn and soda. You spoke quietly in an attempt to avoid being recognized and -once you paid for your snacks- you beat a hasty retreat to the ticket taker, not daring to look back.

You hastily took your seat, the sparsely lit room allowing you to relax slightly as you settled in. It was still pretty early so it was just you and a couple other people in the theater, those who came with friends quietly chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the movie to start.

The lights had just dimmed when you heard a low chuckle, your head whipping over to the staircase so fast that something in your neck popped. The silhouette of Billy and his current date moved up the steps, each one taking them closer to the back row and, consequently, where you were seated.

You didn’t know whether to feel resigned to the universe and its cruel sense of humor or pissed off when Billy and his date decided to sit just a handful of seats away from you.

Suddenly every crinkle of your popcorn bag and groan of your chair when you shifted was deafening, every little noise you made causing you to nervously glance at the couple to your left. At this point you were paying more attention to Billy and his date than the movie you paid to see.

About halfway through the film, you decided that you wanted your candy, despite the commotion that unwrapping it would inevitably cause. You figured that getting it done quickly would be better in the long run, like ripping off like a bandaid, so you dutifully followed through with tearing the loud ass packaging until you had access to your treat. 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as the scent of the delicious sweets registered, making you salvate. You eagerly popped some of the candy into your mouth as your eyes wandered over to the blond once again, only to choke on your mouthful of sugar when you met Billy’s gaze.

A slow smirk crept across his lips as you frantically sucked down some of your soda, trying to ease the lump of candy down your throat before you did something embarrassing...like die.

“You okay?” A sarrachine voice whispered just loud enough to be heard over the movie playing in the background. You cringed at the question and warily turned to Billy, your panicked swallows tapering off as you hesitantly pulled the straw away from your mouth in preparation to answer.

“Yeah. Fine.” You replied stiffly, valiantly avoiding direct eye contact with the blond by gluing your eyes to the front of the large room, watching as colorful blurs flitted across the screen. When the silence drew on, you dared to believe that maybe Billy had lost interest and would leave you alone for the remainder of the movie.

Though all your hopes were dashed when his honey-sweet baritone rang out.

“You should be more careful, I would hate to have to bend you over in public.” The blond stated nonchalantly, the mischievous glint in his eyes giving away that he knew exactly what his particular wording implied. You blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments before your brain finally came back online, your face heating up.

“What?” You asked shakily, your gaze darting around the room like a skittish animal, taking special note of all the exits in case you needed to make an escape. Billy’s indifferent demeanor broke, his amusement peeking through the cracks as he leaned closer. 

“Oh yeah. I’d have to wrap my arms around you, placing my hands at the base of your breast bone and thrust.” Billy purred with half-lidded eyes, his words floating across the distance between you. You stared at the blond in shock, your gaze shifting down to his mouth when his tongue peeked out from between pink lips before they curled up into a smug grin.

Honestly, leave it to Billy Hargrove to use the Heimlich maneuver as a way to flirt.

“Then -after I save your life- you can show your thanks by meeting me at Tina’s party on Wednesday.” He continued, the odd statement pulling you out of the trance that the blond’s soft voice and strange seduction had sent you into. 

“Is that your roundabout way of asking me to go to the party?” Your gaze moved from his face to where his companion was sitting as you spoke, surprised to find the spot on the other side of him empty.

“I suppose it is. Will I see you there?” The blond prompted, dragging your attention back to him. You pursed your lips in thought as if you were actually considering his request. You had no intention of going but you had the feeling that if you wanted to avoid your time at school becoming hell, you had to say yes, even if it was a lie.

“Sure.” You reply uncertainly and Billy’s smile somehow seemed to widen even further before he turned back to the screen just in time for his current date to return, reclaiming her seat next to him. Billy threw an arm over her shoulders as he murmured something to the girl that you couldn’t make out, whatever it was he said causing her to laugh.

Maxi probably doesn't remember a time when he wasn't anxious, tbh. He was the cautious one of the three growing up, and the one saddled with being Vincent's heir apparent before he could even decide for himself what it was he wanted. When he wasn't trying to talk Hector and Rora out of sneaking into somewhere they shouldn't (when they were small, he'd all but given up on that when they were teenagers and older), he was constantly trying to keep up with his father's demands for perfection and whiplash moodswings. There was a time he tried to keep it bottled up or pushed aside and that ended with Vincent in a bloody heap on the kitchen floor with him half-laughing hysterically and half-sobbing but thankfully, he's tried to adopt much more... healthy ways of coping, relatively. Now when he gets anxiety, it's prone to stem from one of a few things: worrying that someone's on his trail, concern that someone's going to now start catching on with Rora and Hector back in the mix - or, finally, that he's done something to scare or disgust you, and worn out your tolerance for him. (He's particularly sensitive about the last one; he spent so long thinking he was just going to croak alone one day in the House, he's terrified of doing something to hurt you or make you want to leave.)

If you're the one that's anxious, he's going to be more than generous; he knows too well what it's like when you can't stop grinding your teeth and your brain feels like it's full of bees. He's prone to trying to distract himself with a few specific things, and he'd want to work with you to see if one of them would do the trick. One of them is definitely touch: when he couldn't sleep, he'd smother himself in blankets on the couch and watch tv until it felt like his eyes were bleeding, before he finally passed out a couple hours before he had to open the Mortuary. With you, he'd be more inclined to be the weight - he'd be happy to keep you snugly secure against his chest if the two of you were laying on the couch or in his lap, maybe watching a favorite show he knew calmed you down, or some cheesy movie you both could poke fun at, or even some lectures on the history of funerary arts that he figured at least might keep you distracted with new information. Another tactic might be to keep you pinned slightly underneath him on one of your mattresses - he'd be laying enough to the side where you could breathe easily, but still where he could hide his face in the crook of your neck and play with your hair, passing hours with maybe your music on in the background or maybe just listening to the crickets outside. (And then, for a more practical approach, making sure he ordered you a proper weighted blanket for sleeping or when he was at work.) He'd want you to try breathing with him for a while, just the two of you doing that and nothing else to hopefully bring you back down to earth, but mostly he'd want you to feel like you were safe with him. That would be his priority, to let you know that he had you, and that if needed, he could help handle anything that came your way. He would never leave you to face anything alone, on pain of death. If you were willing, he'd be more than willing to talk through whatever was bothering you, and see if he couldn't help put some of the larger worries to rest by just reassuring you what couldn't happen, or what was very unlikely, or what might happen but wouldn't be the end of the world. Most importantly, that there was absolutely no outcome that would make him love you any less. If you weren't feeling particularly verbal, he'd be happy to just talk to distract you - about a service he worked on that day and who was there (and what they were wearing, if he thinks there's something that would make you laugh), someone you both know that he ran into in town or something weird that had happened that day, or about anything he knows that you're interested in lately (that he quietly tries to learn more about by either eavesdropping on what you're doing or looking it up by himself later during his breaks in the prep room). One of his favorite topics, though, is you - if he didn't think it would make you uncomfortable, he'd tell you about all the things he likes about you, or something you were talking about the other day that he'd been thinking about still, or something that reminded him of you recently. Even just plans the two of you had made together, whether it was going to NOLA for a weekend or even just going to grab groceries the next day. If truly desperate, he might even try singing to you, quietly - Maxi absolutely doesn't sing, but if he thought it could draw you out, he'd try something from the last show the two of you had seen in New Orleans, or something from a musical the both of you knew. Something soft and simple, to remind you of better times in your life together, and that they'd come again no matter what was going on in your brain. All songs start again eventually, even if you'd sung them before.

(...This last one would absolutely be a case-by-case basis, but based on where you were/how you were feeling in your own body, he would, at some point, quietly ask you if you wanted him to make you feel something else. You'd know what he meant. If you weren't down for it, he'd happily go back to whatever it was he was doing before or trying something else entirely. If you were, he'd give you an option: his fingers, or his tongue. Depending on what you wanted, he'd gladly give it to you until your head was blissfully empty, your lungs experiencing a different kind of shortness of breath, with no expectation of reciprocation or drawing blood for himself. It wouldn't be about him getting anything from this or you feeling like you had to participate on equal terms; He'd just want to see if he could root you in something physical (and pleasurable) to get you out of your head, and help your body release some of the tension it was holding onto, in a way. Once you tapped out from exhaustion seemed at least a little better, he'd clean you up (and himself if necessary) and go back to his gator-strength hug, asking if you wanted to talk about it or go do something else entirely. This is only ever suggested if he thinks you might be amenable and able to physically refocus this way, but he knows full well that sometimes physical stimulation/exertion is the only way to distract a racing brain, and who would he be if he didn't offer that to his sweetheart when he could provide just that?)

Overall, Maxi's approach would be about trying to remind you that you're very much not alone, and that you shouldn't have to hold onto this all by yourself. If there's anything he can do to help you feel better, he's devoted enough to do it up to and including getting rid of your anxiety's source, if it traces back to a particular person. He's very thorough that way.

Hector has had to deal with anxiety more as an adult than he did as a child/teenager - he's spent years constantly moving from place to place both to avoid the authorities or his mother's side, depending, so he's a bit prone to paranoia and twitchiness if he stays in one place too long. He's also started, recently, to deal with a bit more anxiety about stepping in as his family's representative necromancer (if Maxi's out entirely, it really just comes down to him and Rora, and how the fuck is he supposed to cope if he not only loses to someone he loves, but loses everything he gave up just for this chance?) and needless to say, it's been keeping him up at night.

Anxiety, for Hex, isn't too different than coming down from acting as a medium/channelling a spirit - something we'l be getting into a bit more with his arc. They both have that same out-of-body experience for him, that looseness of the sense of self, the slippery relationship to time and the world around you. Thus, his approach to helping you through your anxiety is going to be based a lot on his own experiences with trying to keep himself feeling rooted in his own skin literally. This might involve a different type of touch - he might have you hold ice in your hands so you can feel the ache of cold in your palms, the drip of water down your arms as it melts. He might take you outside in the afternoon sun and just have you sit there with it on your shoulders, or have you run your hands over a big, flat stone he finds in a sunny spot in Rora's garden. Something to remind you that you're part of a whole world around you, outside of your head, and that everything can be so much bigger. While you're in the garden, he might try smell - the white roses that Mathilde had planted, the honeysuckle that climbed the side of the House, the lillies that Rora and Maxi were trying to figure out how to grow on site so they didn't have to pay the florist through the nose so often. Sweet, beautiful things, though to him they could never compare to you. Or, he might stick with taste - making you some of his famous hot chocolate so the sweetness and heat can move down into your chest, or making you eat something sour (like candy) or spicy (like the bag of hot cheetos he usually has hidden somewhere in the kitchen cabinets), both as a form of comfort to hopefully make you smile, and to help clear the fog from between your ears of feeling like your brain won't slow down. If he gets really desperate, he might go through a folder of photos he has saved on his laptop: the night sky from various places he's traveled, shots taken in absolute stillness with as little light pollution as possible. He'd sit with his laptop in front of both of you, clicking through them slowly as he whispered to you about the colors of each black sky you only saw if you looked hard enough, pointing out constellations where he could find them (like on your first date!), and just wanting you to see how big everything truly is. As great as the storm inside you could feel, he'd want you to see how in the face of everything that could be so much bigger, it could still be manageable.

If none of these work, he's prone to find an empty room, or a spacious place on the back of the property, and with whatever music player he has nearby, he'll turn on a playlist of old favorites as loud as he can(/that won't make either Maxi or Rora appear and chuck something at him to keep it down bc service in progress/dangerous science project in her workshop/etc.) and invite you to dance. It doesn't even have to be a lot of dancing, if you're not having an easy time getting your limbs to cooperate - it could just be his eternal favorite of holding you and swaying, trying to get you to come back to him. He'd encourage you, as you came around, to get more ridiculous with it - being big, dramatic, bombastic with it rather than good or smooth, with lots of bad air guitar and him spinning you around when needed. Just something to get you moving and hopefully laughing. He'd only do this if he thought you were more anxious than sad or straight-up scared - he knows how hard it can be to even want to get up, when he feels this way. But if he thought it would work, he'd want to to find a way to shake it off with him, to let yourself be light and loose and just in the moment rather than trapped wherever you were in your own mind.

When the two of you finally collapsed in a different kind of exhausted heap, he might think to ask you about talking about it. But Hex has had less experience dealing with this than the other two, in a way, so he's going to be more action first than thinking through it per se. He'd want to be there for you emotionally, for whatever you were going through and he'd be more than happy to handle someone if they needed handled, but his immediate concern is likely going to be helping to get you back out of your head because that's what he knows how to do best. He'd be down for cuddles and talking eventually, but first and foremost, he wants to get you to the point where he sees you smile or laugh at least a little. He's not about to leave you locked out of your head and your body all alone. He knows what that's like in a... different sense, and he wouldn't even wish it on his worst enemy. But especially not his Querida.

As always, he's going to want to remind you that the world is so much larger and more beautiful than whatever your brain tries to convince you, but that you are the most beautiful part of it to him. He's not about to let something like anxiety make you question your place in your life, or his, or in everything happening outside your mind. Life is too short, he knows too well (although afterlife is... complicated. But we'll get to that. Everyone does, after all.).

Rora, as always, has a complicated relationship with her anxiety. So much of hers was based not in what she could or couldn't do when she was alive - quite the opposite. Her anxiety just stemmed from what she was, and what she was expected to be by her parents. She and Maxi are alike in the way that their parents had roles for each of them that they were expected to step into and fulfill when they came of age, and not only were they both phenomenally bad at them deeply hemmed in by these expectations, they also didn't develop the personality traits their parents had tried to cultivate in them almost from their first day in the nursery. Maxi was clever but never cruel yet, Rora was poised but never coquetteish in the right way. On the other hand, Hector and Rora had a lot in common with the fact that they were expected to just take up whatever was left for them as spares and be grateful until Hector's dad tried to put forth Hector for the title, but that's another story. Rora was stuck in the middle of the world's shittiest venn diagram, where she was expected to be a flawless hostess for the fellow families (but never seek favor or attention for herself alone), a lady of grace and charm (but only performing her feelings in ways that were 'appropriate'), a model student of dark magic (but never to excel past her brother and her cousin), and one day a willing mother to the next generation (despite the fact that she definitely Did Not Want To). Rora spent years dealing with a constant, acidic churning in her stomach when she realized that having any dreams, hopes, or emotions of her own went against everything that had been ground into her to carry on the family legacy, and if you autopsied her first body which they didn't Vincent rushed her right into the ground without any questions and barely time for a goodbye bc how do you explain an eighteen year old with a gaping acidic hole in her neck you likely would've found molars that looked like a forty year old's and a blooming precocious ulcer.

Dying just made everything so much easier. Especially since now Mathilde and Vincent are dead too. Or was, in Vincent's case.

That's not to say Rora doesn't still get anxious - far from it. There's days she walks around speaking barely a word, her jaw locked together as her teeth grind endlessly on one another without her realizing it, her eyes like distant storms far out over the delta mouth. She'll pace incessantly, unable to sit and focus on any one project, getting up and finding reasons to cross the room that make little to no sense. It takes a lot to convince her to sit still and talk it through, because that's just not what she does. Or did, anyway. Not the first time.

If you're the one who's anxious, though, she's more than prepared to deal with it. She's had a lifetime to figure out things that work that she wished someone would have done for her, and most of them involve making you sit still and just letting her spoil you. Does she see the irony in this? No. But she's blinded by love, cut her some slack.

She's more than willing to let you talk about whatever's bothering you to your heart's content, as she does whatever your hair needs done to care for it - oils at the roots, hair masks, leave-in conditioner, careful brushing, braiding, re-shaving the parts of your style that need shaved, hell, even washing if she can get you in her clawfoot tub. Her approach is much different than either Hector or Maxi, though; where they're happy to hear you out, the minute Rora hears something that won't happen, she just cuts you off with a "No 🖤" or "So what if they do, then they'd be a dick." or "Petal, that's not how physics work." She will not humor the little dark thoughts that swirl around your skull, because that way madness lies. If she can put every one of them down like pesky little rodents, she will, without mercy.

If that doesn't work, she'd want to help you feel empowered in your own skin, whatever that looks like for you: face masks, helping you into your binder (although she'd be a little hesitant to do that if you've already been short of breath, but ultimately defer to you), rubbing lotion on your skin, letting you try things out from her perfume collection, helping you with any hormone patches/injections you might need, trying on cute outfits from your respective wardrobes, painting your nails, or even being silly with makeup together if that appeals to you. She loves doing things that help you feel more like yourself - the boys would both happily help with these too, of course, but she knows how much taking control of how you look can make you feel less helpless. She didn't have it for so long, she can't imagine being expected to ever give it up again. While some of this might even feel frivolous, she knows how easy it is to hate yourself when you're in the middle of an anxiety spiral. It pains her to no end to ever think of you hating yourself. She couldn't imagine anything worse, because as quiet as she can be, she thinks you hung the moon.

If none of this appeals, or you don't have the spoons, then she's just as happy to sit with you one of two ways. The first, cuddled together in her bed, surrounded only by candle light to soothe your nerves. She would lay with you in the low light, her eyes glittering like a panther's as her cold hands clung to yours. She would whisper that no matter what happened, she would be there, and you wouldn't have to face it alone. She would make sure of that, by any means necessary.

The second would be at her work bench. She'd set you in her lap, or as close to it as the two of you could manage, and work around you, murmuring in your ear exactly what she's doing and why she's doing it as she works on her latest project. She'd try to keep it to just things like re-potting plants or moving mushrooms, or taxidermy projects with the viscera handled already, but just to keep you focused and involved in something orderly. Something calm, with her low honeyed voice hushed beside you, to help remind you that everything finds its place. Mistakes can be made - she makes them frequently, herself - but they can be undone or adapted to. Whatever will be, will be, and you still have more control than you think.

Rora might be the most blunt of the three, but she's also the one who identifies anxiety spirals with feeling like you have to fight for your life - if she can take some of it off your shoulders, she will, although it might not be in the most graceful of ways. If she has to take something or someone else off your plate too, she will, but don't expect her to tell you about it later. Anything she can do to remind you that you're not powerless, or weak, she will without hesitation. Because you are everything to her, and she will rain Hell on anything that tries to make you feel badly.

The sunshine woke you late the morning after the wedding, golden rays filtering through the California shutters you forgot to properly close in your haste to fall face-first into bed when the reception had wrapped up. You were naked, save for your underwear, and a quick pass of your hand over your face reminded you that you had managed to wash away the makeup before going to bed. When you finally rise from the luxurious sheets and pad to the en-suite bathroom, you see your pretty dress pooled on the floor, a set of false lashes next to it, and your heels kicked against the nearest wall.

It looked as though you had evaporated, and you laughed to yourself before freshening up. You took time to hang your dress, then changed into a comfortable lounge set. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes, eyes drawn to your chest.

You had promised yourself that this week was a vacation, where you were staying among friends, and that meant you didn’t need to wear your usual bras. You could get away with wearing this looser, insanely comfortable sports bra. But as you gazed at your reflection, you felt that twist of self-consciousness that always arrived just before you were to be around others. Your chest had been the biggest, in every sense, target for bullies growing up. And now as an adult woman, it was all the men seemed to find interesting about you.

Usually, once they stopped admiring your tits, they didn't stick around much longer.

This was one of the many reasons that had brought Little and you close when you went to school together. She was beautiful, curvy and busty and unapologetic—you adored her confidence, her determination to ignore the ‘standards’ and just be herself. And she sensed your anxieties pretty quickly, promptly spending the formative four years of university encouraging you to love yourself, pulling you out of your comfort zone at times. And she was just there for you, supporting and loving you no matter what.

But her confidence only rubbed off so much, and while you looked at yourself now and saw a gorgeous figure, you still cared too much about what others thought when they looked at you. It was impossible to completely ignore the intrusive thoughts, especially when, time after time, men usually proved to be thinking exactly what you suspected them of. You had been ‘accidentally’ groped or brushed against too many times to count, which was why you had formed the habit of wearing constricting bras and avoiding low-cut shirts. You wanted to fully love yourself, but sometimes you thought it would just be easier to get a reduction and slink into the background.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard some laughter filter in from outside your open windows and promptly pushed away your concerns—it was vacation. You weren’t looking at a normal bra for seven more days.

Based on the direction of the laughter and voices, you guessed there was a larger group in the kitchen and dining room now. Santi had done a great job on securing this place because it came with everything—even a large staff dedicated to attending to all the guests' needs. You had poured over the online brochure for the AirBnB during the flight to Hawaii, and know that there was a number you could text for room service. You found the number, already saved into your phone, and ordered a light breakfast and dark coffee. When it arrived, you happily wheeled the cute breakfast cart out onto your private balcony and relaxed with a podcast as you ate and watched the earlier risers settle in on the beach.

The balcony had dividers between it and the rooms on either side, but they didn’t fully extend so you could, in theory, walk next door. But Little, in all her match-making efforts, put your room right next to Frankie’s, stating it was ideal for the best man and maid of honour to be close to one another. And while she wasn’t technically, wrong, you still knew her well enough to know that wasn’t her primary motive.

She had sensed the chemistry between you and her friend straight away, but you denied it at first. You’d almost walked into a wall when you had first seen him at the wedding of a mutual friend he, Santi and the Millers had also attended, but you knew immediately who he was and that he was certainly not going to be interested in a much younger woman. He had a kid, for fuck’s sakes. But the more you got to know Frankie, the harder it became to deny that there was something there between you. And the harder you had fallen.

It hadn’t helped that, for the last six or so months, you’d been helping her plan her wedding. Which meant that you and Frankie saw a lot of one another. Eventually, you had started texting on the regular—always about the wedding, even if sometimes it evolved into sending memes back and forth or making jokes at your engaged friend's expense. And you might have sent him a dozen-ish photos of your rescue pit bulls, Anna and Elsa, while he sent cute shots of Rosie being adorable.

You were friends, it was normal banter really. Even if every time he messaged you, a warm sensation would fill your belly it was entirely platonic.

You’re sipping on the final dregs of your coffee when Little appears below, holding a large mug in hand and appearing to be speaking. You pull your AirPods out and stand, catching her eye.

She grins up at you, “Morning, Star!”

“Oh, good morning Mrs. Garcia!”

She giggles at this, and Santi steps into view and spins to look up at you, his grin an extension of Little’s. You don’t miss the way his hand secures to her lower back. “That’s the first time today anyone has said that! I love the sound of it.”

Little rolls her eyes at her husband, then adds to you, “We’re going to relax at our little cabana on the beach, come join us whenever okay?” She gestures over her shoulder, where a small, mint-painted beach cabana sits among the spattering of shaded loungers.

“You’ll see me once I’ve had my second cup of coffee. I’m still recovering.”

Little and Santi laugh, send you friendly waves and make their way along the path, away from the concrete and grass surrounding the infinity pool and into the sand. You watch them with a small smile, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight. Little had been in love with Santa for a very long time, and when she’d called to tell you they had gotten together because she’d overheard him admitting his feelings over the phone—to Frankie, no less— you had been over the moon for them both. Helping her plan this wedding was one of the great honours you could have been given.

You contemplate the rest of your morning because in reality there is a lot to do. Or a great number of places to go ahead and do nothing, including a tranquillity room, movie theatre, onsite RMT, steam room, private beach, pool and hot tub—the list went on. It was paradise, and you were momentarily overwhelmed with all of the options laid out before you. You had to remind yourself that you had seven days left to enjoy this place, so you didn’t need to get all of your relaxing squished into one day. You decide to make your way down for another coffee, changing so that your bathing suit is on under your lounge set, the green of the suit peeking out from beneath your peach-coloured shirt and shorts. You pack a bag with the essentials, including a book, water bottle and sunglasses, and head for the kitchen.

You give your room a final once over, ensuring you haven’t left a big mess for the housekeeper. It is a beautiful room, filled with rattan furniture and live plants, soft white linens and orange accents throughout. The bathroom is open to the bedroom area, the only thing hidden behind a door was the toilet itself, so you could see the large soaker tub and tiled shower, and couldn’t wait to take advantage of both later that day.

As you wander downstairs, happy that you can’t hear any voices, you think of Anna and Elsa. This was the first trip you’d taken since rescuing them two years before, and though you trusted your veterinarian parents to care for them perfectly, you still ached for them and wished they could understand why you had left, that you’d be back before they knew it.

When your turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you barely take two steps before slamming into a wall. The wall grunts, hands shooting out to steady you as you reel back in surprise, and you look up to find a tousle-haired Frankie standing before you.

Oh, Christ. He looks good.

“Shit, sorry Frankie!”

He smiles at you shyly, a hand reaching to rub the back of his neck. “No worries. How are you?”

He still hasn’t taken a step back, though neither had you for that matter, and you catch his masculine scent now; an intoxicating blend of freshly mown grass and cedar. “I was worried that Rosie wouldn’t sleep well, being in a new place,” He replies, his smile widening, “But she’s taken to it fine, which means I’m sleeping well. So I’m great, how are you?”

You laugh, happy for him because, with all he had been through with his ex, you knew he deserved to relax more than anyone. You remember suddenly what you’re wearing and blanch because your figure is more accentuated in this outfit, but his eyes haven’t strayed from your face for even a beat. Whether he finds you attractive or not, you appreciate how Frankie was a true gentleman.

“I’m really good, thanks. Slept like the dead, now I’m going for another coffee to take down to the beach.”

“I’ll see you there in a little bit. My mom and Rosie are on the same nap schedule,” He lowers his voice teasingly, and you giggle. You try not to notice how his eyes brighten. “I’m just going to wake them up, and then I want to take Ro swimming.”

You nod, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you soon, in that case.” You part ways from him and resist turning to watch him make his way up the stairs. It wasn’t about checking him out; you just really liked looking at Frankie, memorizing the ways he moved, the expressions on his face, what made him laugh.

Yes, you had it bad for the man.

You’re relaxing in your lounger, grateful for the shaded canopy and enormously comfortable cushions, reading one of several books you’d brought on the trip. Others filter by, most saying hello but giving you your space. Recognizing that as maid of honour, you were more than due for a good rest.

Benny stops by on his way to tease Little and Santi, who are swimming in the blue ocean water, and you end up having a fun conversation with him. You’re retelling one another the best moments of the night before, and agreeing on the parts you hope made it onto the wedding video—and the ones you hoped didn’t. You’ve always really liked Benny, he seemed to sense the type of person you were in that same way that Little had, and he had a way of making you feel normal. Where you and Will had a friendly enough relationship, Benny felt more like a brother. Protective and encouraging and just really nice.

When Will comes along, he says hi to you before Benny—who gives you a quick hug—leaps to his feet and bounds towards his brother, ready to wrestle in the water. You laugh, watching them dunk one another, then a large splash hits Little and Santi jumps into the tussle, and your friend makes her way out of the water shaking her head in exasperation. When she plops down next to you on the lounger, you’re both snorting with laughter.

“It’s like they’re twelve. Santi literally said ‘don’t be a butthead’ to Benny,” Little giggles, and you both watch them for another minute before she turns to you and lowers her voice. “So, how are you doing today?”

“I’m supposed to ask you that, Mrs. Newlywed.”

Little doesn’t take the bait, and you never expected she would. “You know what I mean, Star. Are you having fun? Can I do anything for you?” This was the thing about Little. She was not just a good friend, she was a thoughtful and caring one, the kind that you could call at midnight and ask to move a body and she’d show up with shovels. Which was basically what had cemented your friendship several years before, though you weren’t going to think about that right now. You were on vacation.

You lean in and press your forehead to hers briefly, “This place is incredible, I’m extremely happy. Please stop worrying.”

“I just…I know you never get time for yourself. Or to have some fun and unwind,” She takes hold of your hand and applies light pressure, “I know you have busy shifts with the rescue, long hours. I just want this week to give you the break you deserve—the wedding was absolutely perfect and that’s in great part because of you, Star.” At this, you sigh softly and pull her in for a proper hug.

She was right that you barely had time for yourself, you worked a lot at the rescue as a vet tech, a job you loved and wouldn’t change for anything. You were hoping to get a couple of new techs hired and trained so that you could reduce your hours in the next year or so, but it wasn’t an urgent thing. You just wanted a little more free time, because currently, you were operating on hardly any, always either working, sleeping or making your way to and from work. Around the time that Little had asked you to be her maid of honour, you had made the permanent switch to daytime shifts, and your life had greatly improved with the steady routine.

But you still had a dismal social life, only occasionally going out with Little or spending time with your parents. And dating? You literally would have to give up sleep to bother with it, and since you were hung up on a man completely out of your league, that wasn’t happening anytime soon either. So you understood her concerns entirely.

“Little,” You pull back from the hug and give her an encouraging smile, “You don’t need to be so worried, I’m having fun. I’ll try to socialize, I promise.”

She grins back at you, then glances down at your outfit, “Is that the swimsuit we picked out together?” She’s beaming with pride that you’ve worn it, and you shrug with a smirk pulling at your lips.

Little coaxes you into the water, and after applying another layer of sunscreen and ridding yourself of your clothing, you follow her into the cool ocean. You love the water and sink into it quickly as you glance back toward the beach, instinctively seeking out who might have seen you in your swimsuit. Will and Benny are sitting in beach chairs in the shallow water, deep in discussion, while Santi is back at the cabana, cracking open a drink. His eyes are on Little in that rapturous, protective way that makes your heart swell with joy for them. They were perfect for each other, there was no way around that.

You spend a good half an hour swimming and chatting with Little, who tells you about the new woman in Benny’s life that he’s insisted is just a friend, but she suspects there may be more to it. And when it came to Benny, both of you knew that if he was feeling something for someone, he would deny it. He liked to be the bachelor, the ladies man because he was afraid of commitment. You tell Little that he just needs to find the person he won’t be afraid of doing anything for.

Eventually, her brothers grow bored and begin taking turns jumping off the end of the dock situated at one end of the beach. You aren’t surprised when Little takes your hand and leads you out of the water, eager to join in on the fun. You let her pull you along, happy to break out of your comfort zone and, other than her brothers and Santi, no one else is around. You glance back to see if he’s coming to join in and almost stumble in the sand.

Frankie is standing with Santi, his eyes locked on you as he speaks with his friend. Rosie is in his arms in a cute little one-piece swimsuit that has the Little Mermaid on the front, and she’s craning her neck to look towards the noise the boys are making on the dock. But all you can focus on is how Frankie watches you, even as you meet his gaze, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “Jesus,’ You turn away as you speak, and Little looks at you, eyes searching your face before she looks back.

“Oh, man, Frankie looks like he got hit over the head. You realize that you look like a goddess right now, Star?” She slows her pace so that she can keep her voice quiet, her head leaning closer to yours.

You scoff, “Please, Little,” But she cuts off your protests before you can even begin.

“He looks at you like that all of the time. Like you hung the moon,” You glance back at him again, trying not to look too obvious, and find that he is making his way over to the dock now too, being tugged along by a giggling Rosie, her little feet sinking into the sand. Looking away, you smile to yourself, but you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you, your senses in overdrive, and you wish you could be brave enough to just look around and smile at him. Toss a flirty wink, just like Little would do with Santi.

But you were no Little (Miller) Garcia. And Frankie Morales was most definitely not interested in you. You try to ignore the swell of misery within—Frankie was the perfect man. The universe seemed to enjoy dangling him in front of you, showing you everything you wished you could have was just out of reach.

The Miller brothers make more noise at the end of the dock as you and Little step onto the warm wood, drawing your attention their way as they do elaborate jumps into the water. You gaze along the side of the dock, into the shallow water, where you can see several large rocks piled. There’s a little sign on one of the dock posts here, advising to walk along this first section, and you can see an orange line painted across the dock just ahead, the indicator that the water deepens and clears starting there. You’re so focused on the line that you lose track of your feet and stub your toe on a slightly raised plank, hissing in pain.

You pause and bend to inspect it, ensuring there are no slivers. “All good?” Little says, patting your arm with concern, and you smile at her, opening your mouth to respond.

When Frankie’s panic-stricken voice cuts through the air, you both turn in alarm. He’s at the end of the dock, now rushing forward because Rosie had pulled from his grip and was darting toward Little happily, her giggles in stark contrast to the horror on Frankie’s face. She’s not much of a runner at her age, so Rosie teeters back and forth in a way that would be adorable if it weren’t for how close she was to the edge that drop into the rocky shallows.

“Rosie stop!” Frankie’s voice is strained in an effort not to sound too scary to his daughter as he yells, but she glances backward anyway, her legs still moving, and you react before you think. It’s probably because you’d spent years dodging kicks and bites and swats from your animal patients, that your reflexes work the way they do.

Frankie isn’t as fast as you, and you have the advantage because she’s moving towards you and Little—you shoot forward as fast as you can, and just as she sees her dad chasing her and loses her footing at the edge, you drop down and shove your arms out, catching her in the chest so that she’s knocked toward Frankie.

You see him catch her, hear her confused whimper, but the momentum you created darting toward her so quickly gives you no ability to correct yourself, and you skitter, then plunge right off the dock, falling face down into the water.

You hear the way your leg smacks off of a pointed rock, and then pain is lancing through your face as it glances off of another one. You’re dazed, but still aware enough to feel the splinter of pain in your thigh, and you cry out—only you’re underwater, so it’s garbled and you push your hands out to try and get your bearings and raise yourself—

“Mi amor estas bien?” Frankie’s rumbling voice fills your ears as he lifts you, turning you in the water before pulling you up and into his arms, and you don’t even register what he said, really, but you lock onto the fierce concern in his expression and the words begin to sink in. “Cariño? Jesus Christ, Santi get the first aid kit!” He yells, and you feel him moving out of the water and tilt your head, looking down your body.

You can see the brutal gash on your leg, and immediately recognize it’s not as bad as it could have been—but it gushes a decent amount of blood, and it stings from the saltwater and you whimper again.

“F-Frankie—is Rosie-?”

“Cariño, she’s perfect thanks to you,” You look at him again, surprised at the strain in his voice. He sounds wrecked, and you want to ask him if he’s okay but you don’t know how, and something about the way he’s holding you as he carries you—your instincts say that he’s not okay, and to let him take charge here. He reaches a lounger and begins to lower you down carefully, but your leg is jostled and the pain peaks; you start to cry, short sobs that you try to hide—Frankie makes a noise in his throat, and then his hands are cupping your face gently. “Mi amor, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Please don’t cry.”

You stare at Frankie because this time, the words smack you right in the face and you can see that he means them. That he called you his love, twice now, and as you realize this, you see understanding flash in his expression and he doesn’t correct himself or try to deny it. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then the others are surrounding you and a first aid kit appears and you can only slump back and cover your face.

The man of your dreams just said something that might change your life, but you couldn’t do shit about it right now. And then realization sets in that you just fell off a dock in front of him, and you want to die of humiliation.

You tilt your head to look away and your eyes land on Little, who has Rosie in her arms and one hand over her mouth—but you recognize the way she's trying to hide her smug smile, and you glare at your friend. Her expression changes, and even though she doesn't speak, you know exactly what she's saying.

'I told you Frankie loved you, didn't I?'

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