#panda posts

He tried to go back to reading his book but couldn't get past the first sentence on the page before needing to lift his head to look down the hall again. His gut was telling him that something was wrong. He wanted to brush it off as his usual anxiety but couldn't because what if something really was wrong with you? What if you were hurt and hid it from him? What if you were mad at him for not helping with the dishes or for leaving the coffee creamer out yesterday? Did he even do that or was he making up reasons for you to be upset with him?

Snapping his book shut, he stood and made his way down the hall. There was nothing wrong with checking in, right? You always told him that he could come talk to you about anything. And that you wouldn't be mad if he asked a dumb question. Even if it sounded rude or inappropriate, there was always a way to move forward with the conversation.

You were helping him figure out how to communicate better. Not just with you but with everyone else in the tower and beyond. You had been in therapy for several years and had done your own research on the coping skills you had learned so you were the go-to person when anyone in the tower was struggling. But who do you go to? Who checks in with you when you are struggling?

Bob wanted to be that person. Not just to help you, because he definitely cared about you and wanted to make sure you were okay but also to be useful. He wanted to help in any way that he could so that him being here meant something. So that he meant something. To you.

When he reached your door he hesitated. He could faintly hear music playing from behind the door. Tilting his weight from side to side he contemplating actually knocking on your door or trying to go back to reading. What if you just wanted some alone time and him checking in was actually ruining your day? He shouldn't be trying to take up your time with his stupid need to help. He'll just make it-

His thoughts were cut off when he heard a sniffle sound. Had he heard correctly? Were you okay? He leaned his head closer to the door, the scolded himself mentally for trying to eavesdrop. But got distracted when he heard the sound of you blowing your nose and something almost like a whimper.

All doubts forgotten he knocked and called out your name. The sniffling stopped and he knocked again. The music went quiet and he faintly heard you call out "come in" . When he opened the door he was met with a sight that made his stomach drop and his head spin.

You were curled up on the floor hugging a pillow. Tears were streaming down your face as you blew your nose again then tossed the tissue into your nearby trash can. You looked like you had been full sobbing the entire hour he hadn't seen you and his chest clenched at the very idea of you suffering alone.

"Oh my God- ar- are you okay? What happened? What's wrong?" He stumbled into the room and knelt next to you, hands uselessly hovering in the air as if to grab you and check for injuries. He couldn't see anything immediate but that didn't mean there wasn't something hidden.

You let out a snort of laughter then sniffled again. "I'm fine, Bob." You replied so casually like your eyes weren't red and your breathing wasn't stuttering.

"You don't look fine." He fired back, no longer worried about upsetting you. "You look- what happened? Why- why are you crying? On the floor?" His hands flexed mid air as if instinctively wanting to hold you but not knowing if that would be welcome right now.

You blinked up at him then reached for the water bottle sitting beside you. "Oh, it's floor time." As if that would answer any questions he could possibly have about your current state.

"Floor time? What's floor time?" He'd never heard of floor time and was a little afraid to find out if it left you in tears.

"Oh yeah. It's a coping thing my old roomate and I used to do." Even with some context he was still confused. You had taken a small sip of water and then let out a deep sigh. When you looked up at him again you could see the confusion clearly on his face. "Lying on the floor and listening to sad music is a good way to cry." You explained simply.

"Uh, yeah. I can see that. But-" He couldn't quite wrap his head around you seemingly happy to have a full meltdown on the floor, like it was normal. "I don't get why?" His hands dropped to his knees as he looked you over again.

You nodded as if his confusion made perfect sense to you. "It's not for everyone. But with our line of work, I don't always have time to express my emotions in a healthy way, y'know?" You waved your hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. "We're constantly on the move with missions stuff and it gets pretty overwhelming, so I decided to pick a time to cry before my body decided for me." You cracked a smile at your joke and he felt his lips twitch in an attempt to match it.

He nodded in understanding. There were times when the others got loud or someone made a comment that had him holding back tears. He never really thought about how often he felt overwhelmed with everything. Most of the time he tries to push it aside or hold it back.

"Yeah, so I like to set aside time every couple of weeks to just, have a good cry." You gesture to you self and your little set-up on the floor. That's when he realized that everything around you had been placed deliberately. The water bottle for hydration, the pillow for comfort, even the tissue box and mini trash can were all within easy access.

He'd never heard of purposely setting yourself up to have "a good cry" as you called it but he could see the benefits if letting all your feelings out.

"So you...you're not hurt?" You smiled at his concern and shook your head.

"No, I'm not hurt. And I was pretty much done when you knocked anyway." He nodded along, feeling embarrassed that he had freaked out about something you considered so normal. You watched him sit there staring at the bottle in your hands like it held the answers to the universe.

"Would you like to have some floor time too? I've got a good Playlist." His eyes trailed up to your face where you held a calm smile. His gaze dropped back down and he shrugged a shoulder.

"I don't think I'd be very good at it." His voice was quiet, still embarrassed and now wondering if he should have just stayed in his reading corner. Your hand reached out to brush his arm gently.

"There's no being good or bad at it. There's just letting yourself feel." You squeezed his arm slightly and he leaned into the touch. "It can be hard to do and there's no pressure to do anything but lying on the floor and listening to sad music helps me personally so if you want to try it you totally can."

Now that he was sitting on the floor with you, in your bedroom, there was a part of him that wanted to take any excuse to stay with you. Even if that meant crying in front of you.

He chewed on his bottom lip in contemplation. You sat beside him, body relaxed with your thumb gently rubbing his sweater.

"What do I do?" He finally asked. Your responding grin was bright enough to make his heard stutter.

"Alright first things first, make sure you have comfy clothes." He looked down at his usual ensemble of sweater, and sweatpants. "Check. Next get something for hydration. If you're gonna cry you gotta replenish that water. I've still got some in mine if you like." You'd managed to drink about half the bottle and handed it to him. He took it without question and held it like a life line.

"Check." He said softy.

"Next we lay down and get comfy on the floor. C'mere." You gestured to the emtpy space next you and lay down on your back. He followed your instructions and lay down on his back beside you.

It was then that he noticed you had tiny glow in the dark stars on your ceiling. His eyes traced over the imaginary constellations as you shifted and brushed your shoulder against his.

"Alright, final step is play some deep emotional music and then let yourself feel whatever you feel." You reach up to grab your phone and press play. Instantly the room is filled with a soft piano song that he doesn't recognize. "Don't forget to breath."

You both lay on the floor quietly breathing and letting the notes from the song wash over you. Bob let's out a deep breath and feels his body start to relax into the carpet. He isn't really sure what he's supposed to be feeling but he knows he's feeling something.

You reach over again and brush your fingers against his. He wiggles his fingers back until they are hooked with yours. Not quite holding hands, but connected in a way that feels comforting. Something in his shoulders let go and a tension he didn't know he felt finally releases.

The song changes to the ballad cover of a rock song. As you lay there next to eachother he thinks about everything that's ever happened in his life. His parents, his addiction, the vault. None of it really makes him cry but it feels good to think about everything without a voice in his head bringing it up first.

A sniffle pulls his attention back to you. He glances to the side to see slow tears seeping out of your eyes. Your face isn't scrunched but relaxed as the tears slide down the side of your face into your hair. You slowly reach up to wipe one when it gets to close to your ear.

Bob watches you for a second before turning his eyes back to the stars on the ceiling. He lays there for another minute, listening to the vocals of the ballad and waiting...

But nothing happens.

His body is more relaxed but no tears come. He wants to cry. He has so many reasons to cry but it just- isn't happening. His body isn't in the moment and he doesn't feel the need to cry. He let's out a frustrated huff.

"I don't think I'm doing it right." He speaks finally, annoyed at himself that he can't do something as simple as cry. You sniffed again then turned to face him.

"You're not doing anything wrong, Bob." You told him and gave his fingers a slight squeeze. "If you don't need to cry right now then don't worry about it. We can just sit here and listen to music." He turns to look at you again and you offer him a teary smile. He feels a pull in his chest at the sight, but nods and searches the ceiling for constellations again.

"We can just...sit here." He repeats like the concept of simply existing was entirely new to him. Your fingers curl into his his again and together you simply...exist.

The next half hour is spent mostly in silence as your tears dry up and you both enjoy the peaceful atmosphere in the room. Bob didn't shed any tears but let his body relax for the first time in a long time and that was kind of the whole point wasn't it?