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English
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Published:
2026-01-19
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536
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1/1
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2
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6
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45

It May Feel Bad

Summary:

Tim calls for Daisy’s help, although he’s not entirely certain it’ll be useful.

Notes:

I watched Spaced last week and haven’t stopped since. I’ve tried to portray this as sensitively as I can, obviously different people might experience panic attacks slightly differently so hopefully I’ve written accurately. Please do give any feedback if you have any thoughts on this at all, thank you!

Work Text:

His constant and desperate gasps for breath just built his frustration, bringing about more of the same. Repeatedly reaching out for some control, heart hammering and stomach rinsing itself from the inside out. He needed someone here with him. No, it would make it worse. Explaining. She’d freak out, give him more unneeded anxiety. He couldn’t feel much worse. He made the two challenging steps over to the bed, legs almost liquid beneath him. “Daisy!” he gasped, aware it sounded rather desperate, unsure whether she’d catch it through his closed bedroom door. “Alright? Can I come in?” she asked before he could shout again. “Yes.” he dropped his gaze to the floor and his friend tread across the carpet.

“Tim, what is it?!” Her expression and tone both sat somewhere between confusion and concern. “Just a panic attack…” he paused for some reprieve, breathing further restricted by the sharp lump in his throat. He’d become rather well-accustomed to it all, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant. His friend trudged the few steps to the other end of the room then back again. “Shit! What do I do?! How do I…?” He’d thought she might’ve panicked a little. “Calm down.” He thought she might flap a bit, and expected her attempt at calming him down to be well-meaning but messy. He hadn’t quite seen him telling her to calm down while he was mid-panic attack, though. “Sorry, what can I do?” She tried to measure out her voice, making a second dip next to him on the bed as he moved over slightly as if to invite her to take a seat. Breathing was becoming more of a task, and there was no way to gauge whether he was feeling ashamed or just sick. “Oh, Tim, c’mere.” She started to carefully draw her hand up and down his back to soothe him, his skin clammy and burning up even under his thin t-shirt. An attempt at a measured intake of breath became shaky and he gave up as some tears pooled in his eyes. He wished he’d been able to hold them back as a few fell. “It’s alright, you’re safe here, there’s nothing to panic about, Tim.” He always managed to find something, though. “Shhhh, c’mon, deep breaths. You’ll be alright.”

Being touched usually wasn’t ideal when he was already experiencing every sense at full capacity, but the rhythm of her palm along his back gave him something else to focus on for a minute or so. He was eventually granted more steady breathing, although he was far from completely relaxed. “Feeling any better?” she asked him. “Uh…” he wiped his eyes, sniffing to stem his now running nose and meeting her eye for the first time. “A bit, yeah.” She seemed to have got the feeling he still wasn’t quite up for talking at length, and instead placed her hands on his upper arms, waiting for any signs that he might want to pull away. She wrapped her arms neatly around him, hanging her head over his shoulder and tracing circles over his back with her palm. Both comfortable in the silence, neither of them showed any signs of breaking away just yet.