Chapter Text
Chris Argent sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning on the foot of the bed, staring at the hardwood floor as if it held the answers to questions he hadn’t yet formulated. The sunlight streaming through the blinds hit his face in thin lines, but it did nothing to warm him. His chest tightened with the weight of something he couldn’t name. Something gnawed at him from inside, a familiar anxiety he’d thought he’d left behind with his life as a hunter.
He swallowed. Too dry. His throat ached from the tension, the unvoiced doubts. Do they even… love me? The question had been hovering at the back of his mind for days now, but he’d shoved it down, pretending the thought wasn’t there. Pretending he was fine. Pretending he was equal in this relationship.
But he wasn’t. Not really.
Chris had grown up believing love was conditional. That weakness was punishable. That if you wanted affection, you had to earn it, fight for it, and even then… it might not be enough. Even now, living with Peter Hale and Noah Stilinski, two men who’d claimed him, held him, and adored him. Chris couldn’t shake the nagging fear that he was faking his way through this.
His hands flexed in his lap. Clenched, unclenched. He ran them through his hair. He couldn’t focus. The air felt thick, oppressive, and the room seemed to shrink around him. Every creak of the building, every hum of the refrigerator, every soft whisper of the city outside sounded amplified in his skull.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
He whispered it, a mantra repeated over and over, but the words felt empty. His heart started racing, an unpredictable drumbeat against his ribs. His fingers trembled, tapping against the floor. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, crawling up his throat, invading his mind.
I’m fine. I—
And then the air left his lungs in a jagged gasp.
Hyperventilation. The room spun. His pulse thundered in his ears. He felt disconnected from himself, as if his body had decided to act independently of his brain. He tried to stand, to walk, to do anything, but his legs felt like lead. His hands gripped his jeans for leverage, and his chest rose and fell too quickly.
Chris pressed his face into a pillow, hoping that burying himself would somehow hide the tremors from the world. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them know. I can handle this alone.
But the truth was undeniable: he couldn’t.
Peter Hale was always perceptive. Predatory. He could smell fear, see the tiniest flicker of panic in a glance, hear the subtlest quiver in a voice. And right now, Peter was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, smirk plastered across his face.
“You look positively… catastrophic,” Peter said lightly, like he was commenting on the weather rather than his partner’s panic attack. “Came here to audition for a horror movie or just practicing for me?”
Chris flinched, wishing he could vanish. “I’m fine,” he rasped.
Peter’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Ah… the old ‘I’m fine’ routine. Classic. Spoiler alert: it’s not working. You’re trembling, sweating, and breathing like a foghorn.”
Chris groaned, trying to shrink into the bed. “I said I’m fine.”
Peter’s smirk widened, but the amusement in his eyes softened just slightly. “Not the point, sweetheart. You’re not fine. And you know I’ll know if you lie.”
Before Chris could respond, another presence entered the room: Noah Stilinski. Calm, steady, and grounded, Noah moved to Chris’s side, crouching slightly so that his gaze was level. “Hey,” he said softly, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder. Gentle and patient. “Breathe with me. Okay?”
Chris blinked. “I… I’m fine,” he said again, though his voice betrayed him.
Noah squeezed his shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with us.”
Peter approached the bed like a wolf inspecting prey, except this prey was his panic-stricken partner, and the smile on Peter’s face was predatory and affectionate. “Well, look at this,” he said with mock lament. “Our mighty hunter brought down by a little anxiety. And here I thought I’d have to fight Derek for dramatic effect.”
Chris’s panic surged again, involuntary, irrational. “I… I can handle it. I just… I need—” His voice cracked, and he pressed his face into his knees.
Peter crouched, face close to Chris’s. “Oh, sweetheart, no. That’s not how this works. You’re gonna tell me, tell us, or I’ll just start guessing. And let me warn you: my guesses involve a lot of innuendo and zero subtlety.”
Chris whimpered. “I don’t want… I don’t want to be a burden.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Burden? Burden? Oh, my Silver Fox, you are anything but a burden. You’re chaos, an anchor, and occasionally, our entertainment. And you know what else? You’re ours.”
Noah leaned in, his voice low and steady, a counterpoint to Peter’s teasing menace. “Chris… you’re not a burden. You’re loved. You’re wanted. Right here, right now.” He brushed a hand through Chris’s hair. “We’ll get through this together.”
Chris’s shoulders shook. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, mingling with the rapid breaths he was trying to slow. “I… I just… I feel… I feel like I’m not… enough.”
Peter’s grin softened, though the glint of mischief never left his eyes. “Not enough? Darling, you’re one of the most complicated, sexy, and infuriatingly perfect things in my life. And I adore every moment of it.”
Chris pressed his face harder into his hands, but the trembling slowed slightly. Noah’s presence was grounding, Peter’s teasing voice strangely comforting even as it teased at the edges of his panic.
Peter crouched closer. “You feel lost? Okay. Let’s solve that problem. Step one: admit you’re shaking. Step two: admit you need us. Step three… well, we’ll take step three when we get there.”
Chris couldn’t help the small laugh that broke through the panic, though it was ragged. “Step… three?”
Peter winked. “Step three is highly classified. Possibly erotic. Possibly involves cuddles. We'll figure it out when we get there. There might be more steps. Definitely involves making sure our Silver Fox feels safe and cherished.”
Chris groaned into his hands, trembling, but the panic had begun to ebb just enough for him to meet their eyes. Noah’s gaze was soft, steady, loving. Peter’s was wicked, teasing, but entirely focused on him.
“I… I don’t want to be… a burden,” Chris whispered again, this time quieter, more pleading.
Peter smirked, leaning in close so that their noses almost touched. “Burden? Oh, Silver Fox, you still think you’re the burden? That’s adorable. And wrong.”
Noah chuckled softly, brushing Chris’s hair back. “You’re ours, Chris. All of you. Not because we have to, but because we choose to.”
Chris blinked, swallowed, tried to breathe more steadily. “I… I just… I… I feel… touch-starved, which I shouldn't. And stupid. And…”
“Hot, gorgeous, a little frazzled, and very, very mine,” Peter said immediately, voice low and teasing. “See? Already improving.”
Noah rolled his eyes at Peter’s smug grin but squeezed Chris’s shoulder again. “It’s okay to feel like that. And it’s okay to let us take care of you.”
Chris felt the knot in his chest loosen slightly, the tremor in his limbs fading to something more manageable. He wasn’t entirely calm, but he wasn’t spiraling alone anymore. That was the difference. Peter’s chaos and innuendo, combined with Noah’s steady grounding, created a balance that was almost… comforting.
Peter brushed Chris’s shoulder lightly with a finger. “So. My little panic-prone fox. Step one complete. Admit panic. Step two: admit you need comfort. Step three…” He leaned in close again, grinning wickedly, “Step three is optional, but highly recommended. Cuddles. Affirmation. Maybe a little hands-on training in how to survive the overwhelming perfection of being loved by us.”
Chris laughed through his tears this time, shaky and breathless. “I… I think I can… try.”
Peter chuckled, brushing their noses together playfully. “Good. Because resistance is adorable, but ultimately futile.”
Noah pressed a kiss to Chris’s temple. “We’ve got you. Always. No escaping this, Christopher.”
Peter grinned, voice softening but still wicked. “And just for the record? We really do have you. Every flinch, every doubt, every beautiful, frazzled panic moment.”
Chris let himself loosen just a smidge, letting the two of them wrap him in warmth and reassurance. It wasn’t fixed, but for the first time in days, the panic had loosened its grip. And the thought of being caught, teased, and loved by both men… was something he could survive.