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Rooming with Grimmjow had its pros and cons. Grimmjow was stubborn. He was loud. He frequently forgot the concept of personal space. There were simple considerations of others that the man just seemed to either not know, or completely disregard. But he paid his share of the rent on time and had a (delightful) tendency to always bring home extra food.
The extra food. At first, it had been strictly Grimmjow’s. His leftovers, usually for work lunch the next day. But over time, as he warmed up to you, it became your portion of dinner, or whatever meal he happened to grab food for. The habit expanded. Extra snacks for you. Random knick knacks he knew you’d like. It was very akin to a cat dropping random gifts off at your door just because it likes you. Grimmjow was very catlike. He liked to drape himself over you, or whatever you might be focused on, at highly inconvenient times. You were sure he timed this on purpose, though he’d vehemently deny it. He was finicky, he was rambunctious, even a bit annoying at times. But Grimmjow was also oddly adept at reading and dealing with your moods.
Today was the second Thursday of the month, the day you and Grimmjow had decided would be “outing” day. The two of you would go to your favorite stores, grab lunch, and get groceries after. It allowed you two to spend some time together, and also to get you out of the house. You made jokes about being a borderline hermit, but really, leaving the house made you incredibly anxious, especially alone. Having Grimmjow with you though helped significantly. You trusted him, and anyone with half a brain could tell that he was not someone to fuck with. Outings with Grimmjow usually went smoothly, and it had helped you a lot with your social anxiety.
So when the familiar feelings of a panic attack started setting in the middle of the store, you felt a little extra sick to the stomach. Grimmjow hadn’t had to deal with one of your panic attacks before, and you doubted he’d understand what was happening or how to help. As the chatter in the store turned into a loud, unpleasant hum in your ears and your hands turned clammy, you tried to push down the feeling. Not right now. Not right now please. But your chest was tight, and you could barely breathe, and god, were the lights always so fucking bright and why was that random person looking at you and and and
Grimmjow almost immediately sensed the change. You had gone tense, your breathing was shaky, and he could see the slight tremble in your hands as you tried to keep your composure. And he knew. He knew that feeling all too well. It was how he felt after nightmares of his dead fracciones asking him why they died for him. It was how he felt when the walls of a place were a bit too white, a room a bit too empty and echoing, the sky a bit too bright and blue. How he felt when things reminded him a bit too much of Las Noches, and all the pain and loss that had come with it.
So Grimmjow knew what to do. Gently, he led you out of the store and into a more secluded area, putting himself between you and the sightline of anyone who might walk by. Facing you, he took your hand in his. He felt a slight sense of relief when you blinked a few times and your eyes seemed to refocus a little. “You’re alright. I’m right here. Just breathe,” Grimmjow said quietly. Vaguely, he remembered a breathing exercise you had taught him a few months ago. Squeezing your hand slightly on each word, he recited it slowly. “In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.” Over and over. Your breathing evened out and the trembling became less frequent. “There ya go. You’re doing good. You’re safe. I’m here, and you’re safe.”
When the attack had passed for the most part, Grimmjow wasted no time taking you both back home. Guilt for ruining the day out settled in your gut, but Grimmjow had simply said that you two could go out on Saturday instead if you felt up to it, and that it wasn’t a big deal. When you went quiet after that, he had made a show of rolling his eyes and gently flicking you on the forehead. “You feeling safe is a lot more important to me than some stupid shopping, you dumbass.” His tone was light, but his eyes held an odd seriousness to them. So you had nodded and put the guilt aside. Grimmjow had plopped heavily on the couch, opening an arm and gesturing his head to the side as an invitation. You took it, sitting down next to him and leaning into his side. Grimmjow’s arm wrapped around you, and he turned the TV onto some stupid show you both liked. The two of you stayed like that until you dozed off, still tucked into his side. Grimmjow glanced down at you. God forbid anyone saw the soft smile that flickered across his face then. In that quiet moment, he could admit to himself just how much he cared about you.