ヾ⠀✦⠀𓄼

𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐀, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘! 𓍯∗

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Suga with a S/O who is experiencing a panic attack. 

Coffee story from a textpost I saw from a barista a while ago, if I can find it I’ll link it. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” the voice is light, airy even. It’s the only thing that’s cutting through your brain right now, the only thing that can be heard over the thrumming of your heart and the panic of not being able to breathe properly. 

You hear him first, then see him. Suga crouches down in front of you, brown eyes dragging your gaze into his. He raises his hands, asking for permission to touch. Sometimes you disagree, and he’ll plop down in front of you, staying in your field of vision so you don’t feel so alone. Today you want it, so you nod, and he wraps his hands around your forearms pulling your hands away from where they are clapsed against your chest. He pulls you into him, so that you can feel his heartbeat, his breathing, the calm way he’s sitting. You shut your eyes, still hyperventilating. 

“Can you talk?” He asks.

You shake your head, tongue dry, thoughts spinning too fast, too much. He sits with you, rocking back and forth, talking at you, about his day, about the train, about class, until your breathing gives just a little. Then, “Tell me how work was yesterday.”

You’re a barista, and you always have some fun story about a customer, one that you tell Suga when you first meet up, to make him laugh. You love when he laughs, his smile wide, his eyes bright. It makes the little whiff of hair on the top of his head sway, and his jaw tighten. It’s beautiful. “Had a customer come in, y-yesterday, um, wearing nothing b-but swim trunks and a backpack.”

“On campus?” He asks, eyes already crinkled with mirth. 

“It was raining,” you say, already a little less out of breath. You lean back against Suga and he holds you a little bit tighter, fitting his chin over the top of your head. You play with his hands, rubbing his fingers, drawing circles over his knuckles. 

“What did he order?”

“A Venti of espresso shots.”

“A venti--wait. Wait.”

You laugh then, and are surprised to find a stockpile of air to draw into your lungs. “He said he didn’t care about taste when I explained how bitter it would be to wait for 13 shots to be pulled.”

“Did he put any sugar into it?”

“When I gave it to him, he took a sip, then put in a dash of sugar, a dollop of cream, declared it perfect and left.”

You’re no longer gasping, no longer shaking, just exhausted and warm in Suga’s arms. He’s always been good at this, pulling you away from your panic, taking it into his own hands and soothing it like a small child. He’s laughing and you can feel it pulsing through you, a vibration that’s deep as it passes through his chest and into your own. 

You want to see him, so you shuffle in his grasp until you’re straddling him. He fiddles with your sides, rubbing his fingers there. His eyes are nervous, a little sad. You know he hates to see you like this, hates that you have to go through it. 

“Thank you, Suga,” you say, sincerely. 

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┆🥑⃝໋𝆄᪶˖⸽░ᥲᦸᩚ꯲tჩᦸᩚtꪱ᭫᥋♡

┆Ꭵ᥋૭ꫬꪭᩚ꯱᪶_Suga🍑ϐᡶຮ

┆🥥⃝᪶᪳ᜒ༊[ᥣเƙᦸ ૭ꧏ ꧏᦸϐᥣ૭ᧁ]

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soft yoongi icons 🥺🌸💫🥥

[ 6/7 of the tinee series !!! ]

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