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He doesn't know what causes it this time, only knows that suddenly his heart is racing when there's no reason for it to, adrenaline spiking high and making his hand shake where it hovers over his notebook. He drops the pen he's holding, clenches and unclenches his fingers like that's going to stop the trembling. His pulse skyrockets and the breath in his lungs doesn't feel like it's enough anymore, but he can't drag more in correctly. Logically, he knows exactly what's happening, but it's not going to stop just because he identifies it.
Jisung is having a panic attack.
It's been a while since he's had one, especially an unprompted one like this. He's gotten better about not letting himself be put into situations that would trigger one, and the others are quick to get him out when they start noticing the signs. But he's currently home alone at the dorm, and even though Minho should be back any minute--it doesn't take that long to walk down to the corner store and back--there's no one to help him through it right now. He's just going to have to ride it out on his own.
He drops his forehead to the desk and tries to breathe, the way he was taught to bring himself out of it, but his body refuses to cooperate. He clutches at his chest like he can claw himself another airway. The shaking worsens. Maybe this is it, he thinks. Maybe this is the one that kills me.
Maybe this is what dying feels like.
At least it would be tragically poetic: Han Jisung of Stray Kids found dead at his desk in the middle of writing another masterpiece of a song. Stay would probably memorialize it forever. He tries to laugh at the thought, but laughing takes air that he doesn't have to spare.
The panic begins to take hold even harder when he realizes that, if he dies here, it's going to be Minho that finds his body, and he can't do that to him, even in a warped fantasy. He has to make it out of this. He can't hurt Minho like that--can't hurt any of them, really, but Minho most of all. He's fine. He's going to be fine.
His brain accepts that, but his body doesn't.
He doesn't know how much time has passed since it started; he hasn't been keeping track. He distantly registers the sound of the front door opening, of a soft voice calling I'm home, of shoes hitting the floor and the rustling of a shopping bag.
His throat loosens up, just a fraction, just enough to wheeze in half a breath. Minho's here, he thinks. He's going to be ok. Everything is going to be alright now because Minho's here--
And suddenly he's right here, on his knees next to the desk, cradling Jisung's face in one hand while the other pulls Jisung's hand flat to his own chest. "Breathe with me, jagiya," Minho says, and he's so calm that no one who isn't Jisung would realize that he's worried. "Come on, you can do it. Breathe."
He can feel Minho's heartbeat under his fingertips, steady and strong, reminding him how normal heartbeats should sound. And he tries to match the rhythm, he really does, but it's taking longer than he wants it to, and it's frustrating, and he hates hates hates being like this--
"Breathe," Minho says again. "Just keep looking at me, ok?"
Slowly, so painfully slowly, he comes out of it. He's still shaking a bit, but his lungs feel like they can finally fully expand now. Minho is here with him the whole time, even as whatever he bought at the store lies abandoned somewhere in the dorm, getting cold or melting depending on what it is. And he hates that, too, that his stupid fucking body not only betrays him like this but interrupts everyone else around him. They didn't sign up for this. Minho didn't sign up for this.
But he's still here, and he hasn't complained once.
He sighs, shakes his head a little. "Ok," he says, voice feeling more ragged than it probably is. "I'm good."
Minho smiles softly at him. "Welcome back." He doesn't pry, doesn't ask what set it off, just presses a gentle kiss to Jisung's forehead as if nothing's wrong, as if everything's normal, as if he didn't just come home to his boyfriend having a panic attack after being left alone for a few minutes. He stands, making his usual noises of exertion where he likes to pretend that he's old and falling apart. "Come on. Let's go eat."
He doesn't let go of Jisung's hand.
"I'm sorry," Jisung tells him, and he means it, he means it every single time, and they always tell him that he never has to apologize but he does--
Minho doesn't say anything, just keeps smiling at him in a way that feels grounding, but the words are there anyway: I love you, and I will be there for you every time you need me.
He smiles back and lets himself be dragged to the kitchen, where he tries to help cut up vegetables for dinner until Minho playfully threatens him with a knife and orders him out of the way for his own good.
They don't talk about what happened, but the thought plays in the back of his mind: the panic attack did not win. Han Jisung is not dying today.