Chapter Text
It was another one of those days: where nothing is going right, nothing is on-schedule, and everything is going wrong.
First, it had been Akaashi accidentally picking up the wrong order from the local coffee shop just around the corner from home. He had grimaced at the unexpected taste of apple cider rather than the semi-sweet coffee he’d been hoping for.
Next, it had been Akaashi stumbling against a rise in the sidewalk on his way to the train station, spilling said apple cider on someone’s freshly-shined loafers. The man had cussed him out with a face as red and angry as a chili pepper, despite Akaashi’s numerous apologies and bows.
Because of this incident, he was late to work for the first time in months. His gaze had immediately taken notice of his supervisor’s disapproving stare, and guilt had crept up his stomach like acid.
And now, here the Omega is, crouched over his desk at 9PM trying not to have a breakdown in the middle of the (mostly empty) office. His hands are shaking and his lip trembles; a tell-tale sign he is close to a panic attack.
Akaashi forces the anxiety down into the darkest crevices of his mind, imagining himself locking it away in a chest and throwing the chest to sea. He doesn’t have time for anxiety; not now. Not ever.
Today is his deadline. He needs to submit the edited version of this chapter by 11PM or he’s royally screwed. Tiredness has already seeped deep into his bones, and his muscles are spasming due to dehydration and exhaustion.
He forces himself to skim through the rest of the chapter and edit it based on gut instinct; he doesn’t even proof-read his work before he emails it to his supervisor and the author herself. That alone has his head pounding with “what-ifs” and shame.
Nevertheless, the email is sent. There’s not much else he can do now, so he decides to finally head home.
Of course, though, the train stutters to a halt and stalls for an hour due to technical difficulties. Akaashi doesn’t even try to stop the stress from souring his scent, and he doesn’t have the energy to stop the tear that falls from his cheek.
When he finally gets home near 11, his boyfriends take one look at him and instantly hound him with questions.
“Where have you been? You didn’t text, ‘Kaashi!”
“We’ve been a bit worried, you know.”
“You don’t look so good. Are you alright? What happened?”
Akaashi can’t take it. He can’t handle the onslaught right now. Through teary-eyed and blurry vision, he pushes past his mates and makes a beeline for one of the spare bedrooms, locking the door behind him.
Behind the safety and privacy of the locked door, he lets himself fall into one of the worst panic attacks he’s had in weeks.
He can’t let the others see him like this.
He can’t let the others see him.