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Yrene is late. Again. In her twenty three years of life she has strived to be as punctual as her aunt, early by exactly three minutes. But in the last week, with finals looming over her like the death towers they used to sneak into in their teens, she has pulled all-nighters that haven't quite managed to turn into all-dayers. In short she's exhausted, and so is her alarm. Which is why, at 8:02 in the morning she stands in the line at their university café, waiting rather impatiently for her turn at the counter. Her foot taps on the ground, unconsciously, fingers drumming on folded arms. Calculations and anatomy are spinning in her brain as she visualizes the huge whiteboard covered in notes above her bed. Strategically placed their in case gaining information by osmosis may suddenly become a thing and she can actually get smarter in her sleep.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and with an irritated frown she whips it out.
How are you feeling? Chaol's name flashes across the screen.
She smiles as she slides the screen open and types out a reply to her best friend. Like if i don’t get a liter of coffee i’m going to keel over and die.
He sends wide eyed emojis, please don't drink a liter of coffee. You will die.
hey, She laughs at his worry. Always worrying. who's supposed to be the doctor here? Me or you?
Before she can read his reply a throat is clearing behind her, and a hand is waving in her peripheral vision.
She looks up and realizes there's no-one in front of her. She's holding up the line. Her cheeks burn like coal as she stumbles to the counter. "I'll uh, I'll have my usual." Why is her heart beating so fast? "Large black with a dash of hazelnut."
"Sure, is that all?"
She cannot even breathe, the scratchy fabric of her polo neck is tightening around her neck. "Yes thanks!" She chokes out, laying far too many notes on the counter and dashing out.
Air, the colour of glaciers and mirror fragments, snaps at her skin. She let's it. Her breathing, erratic and struggling fogs, up the pretty world. She sinks to the floor, back grazing the rough brick of the coffee shop. The world is moving in and out of focus. Toffee being stretched and molded around her throat.
A hand lands on her knee.
"Hey," The voice is gentle. It sounds like a muffled echo in her ears. "My name is Mor. I think you're having a panic attack. Is there something I can do to help?"
Yrene looks up, she sees blonde waves and pretty brown. Her throat tightens. She's definitely not breathing. Where has the world gone?
"Okay i’m going to ask you to do something for me." That voice is still so soft. Sweet like her aunt's candied apples.
"Can you try to take a deep breath for me." If she was listening she would have scoffed. "And while you do that I want you to point out five things you can see." There's a beat. "Can you do that?"
She wants to ask how she's supposed to talk when her lungs have been squished like grapes. They will not make flavourful wine.
"Just point with your finger." Mor says.
Yrene sucks in a breath. It is as shaky as a smoker's hands.
She points her index finger at the woman in front of her.
"One." The blonde says.
She points to the ground; can feel the cool under her nails.
"Two."
Her finger catches on the book that had spilled from her bag when she collapsed against the wall.
"Three."
She looks at the sky. It is grey. It is there. She points.
"Four." The quiet smile on her golden lips is back. "Just one more."
Yrene wants to point to her ribcage. To show it isn't expanding. She is going to die. She points to the necklace hanging around her throat instead, the owl pendant warm from her skin.
"Five." Mor holds her hands. She cannot feel the heat radiating of her skin. She cannot feel anything. "Can you tell me four things you can touch?“
She is faster this time. Confused, but clearing. The wool of her jumper. The sunshine locks of the girl in front of her. The fluffy keychain Elide had got her at the start of the year. The plant stubbornly growing out of the sidewalk.
"Three things you can hear?"
Her voice is croaky, strangled in a way she hasn't heard before. She uses it anyway. Because she can.
"The bell above the coffee shop." It tinkles in acknowledgment. Students walk out laughing. "The cars on the road." There's an expensive car in the midst of traffic. She can hear it's soft purr. "My breathing." It is loud and full of life in her ears. She is grateful.
"Two things you can smell?"
She takes a breath, let's the university fill up her body. "The melting snow. It smells like rain puddles, muddy and dirty and fun to play in."
"One more?"
“You." Her senses are all over the place. Her common sense has disappeared entirely. "You smell like cinnamon, and the faintest hint of soap."
The laugh is enough to settle the last of Yrene's frazzled nerves. It is bright and full and carries happiness like a bouquet. She settles, heart rate slowing, lungs expanding, contracting, skin feeling the first nips of cold once more.
"Does that mean you like the way I smell?" The blonde grins, squeezing their still joined hands.
She thinks about it for a second. "Yes." Her earth brown eyes collide with Mor's caramel gaze. "I think I do."
"Can you give me one thing you can taste?"
Yrene knows she's lost it when the first thing that's pops into her mind is the woman's lips. She shuts her eyes to the thought, feeling her bones sludge inside her. Everything aches. She's held herself up for so long.
"How about this?"
The bitter smell of coffee wafting between faint hazelnut greets her. She opens her eyes to see her order dangling between slender fingers. Taking the cup, she tips its back, letting the hot liquid spill down her throat. It warms her from the inside. It burns away the dregs of the panic, hiding in the folds of her. Waiting.
When the cup is drained she looks to Mor, who is sitting their patiently, observing the world.
"How did you know to do that?"
"I suffer from panic attacks and anxiety attacks. It works for me." She shrugs as if it is not a constant and exhausting force. "Also," A bright smile takes over her face, "I'm a psychology major."
"Can I book you as my therapist when you graduate?"
There's that laughter again. The one that lights up all her insides. "I have a while to go before I get to qualified therapist status."
"Really?" Yrene frowns, "How long does it take?"
"I have to get my masters before I can practice."
"Wow," Her mind is a little blown. The med students are so cut off from the rest of the faculties- maybe by choice, maybe by design- that learning about other degrees always blows her away. Just the other day Feyre was telling her about the art students and the portfolios they have to submit. She can't imagine sitting down to pick a topic and then pouring your heart and soul into it. Med school made sense. There was no grey slate, at least for the most part. This is where the ulna is. This is how to tie off your suture. This formula tells you how to blow up the lab. The last one had been an honest miskate... the first time.
"Do you think you can stand?" Mor gets up, as graceful as a flamingo, and then offers a hand.
Yrene takes it without hesitation. She marvels at the contrast between her earth brown skin and Mor's burnt gold. The richest colours in the world. The ones that glow under the sun.
"Can I walk you to your dorm?"
"I have to get to class. If I rush I can be there for the second half of the double."
"Uh," She winces, looking at the hello kitty watch on her wrist. "It's been an hour?"
Her eyes widen to the size of planets. "It's been what?" Her voice is high pitched. "Oh gods oh gods oh gods. What if I missed the exam briefing? What if prof said something vital? What if—"
"Hey!" Mor clamps down on her shoulder, turns her so they're facing each other. Yrene only slightly shorter. "You were in no state to go to class. You still aren't. You should go to your dorm and rest. Maybe eat some carbs. Is there anyone who can take notes for you? And relay information?"
She frowns, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Well I guess Rowan is in that class, and Nesta."
"They will help you?"
She nods. She breathes.
"Wonderful." Mor smiles. It's is pretty enough that Yrene sees stars. "Then we'll walk to your dorm and I'll make sure you're settled with some chamomile tea and some cheese sandwiches and then I'll go to my own classes."
They start walking, sludgy snow squelching under their boots.
"Won't you be late for class?"
The blonde just grins. She decides not to ask.
"You know I don't know your name?"
"Guess," It's her turn to be all mysterious and cheeky.
Mor looks at her closely, eyes traveling unashamedly from the top of her screwed curls to the tops of her black wellingtons.
"Irene."
She stumbles over herself. Looks at the woman alongside her. There isn’t enough oxygen in the world for her gasp of shock. "That's not it."
The blonde scrunches her nose in amusement. "“You’re a bad liar did you know?”
She sticks out her tongue. "How did you..."
"My friends call me Truth-Speaker."
"That's creepy." She raises a brow. It just makes Mor grin wider. "It's Yrene with a Y not an I."
"Pretty," She mumbles. "My full name is Morrigan."
"Pretty." She echoes. "Hey, you want to come drink chamomile tea and eat carbs with me?“
The blonde clasps their hands together beaming at the leaking blue sky.
"I'd love nothing more, Yrene."
She sees, touches, hears, smells, and tastes the happiness that clings to them as they step into the dorm.