Tristan nervously fiddled with the sheet of paper that contained the full outline of his speech, occasionally throwing a glance into the grand conference hall from the sideline of the stage. Although he couldn't see up the balcony, due to the spotlights, he could see the first few rows of the audience slowly filling up with honours students and occasionally a parent or two with them. It was a bit strange to remember that only a year ago he had been sitting on the other side.
A hand on his back nearly caused him to jump through the roof, just barely containing a yelp. He immediately looked around, only to see Killian grin at him.
“Bloody hell, stop scaring the piss out of me 'An.” Tristan whispered as he held a hand over his pounding heart.
“What, you're not happy to see me? Figured you'd be so nervous, someone'd have to drag you out on stage.”
“It's not that bad.” Tristan mumbled back.
“You're shaking worse than a newborn deer in a freezer.” Killian said as he pointed out Tristan's trembling hands. The latter just leered up ready to snap back, but before he could Killian decided to get to the point. “I’m just here to say that you can do it. Deep breaths, eyes straight ahead and you'll ace this like your exams.”
“I actually threw up before last examination.” Tristan admitted, trying not to make eye contact with Killian, at least until he noticed him taking a large, sideways step. He raised a single eyebrow.
“Just a precaution.” Killian gave him a hollow smile back. “You know what, I'll just join the others.” With a point of his thumb backwards, Killian turned and left.
Now by himself, and slightly more miffed than before, Tristan shook his head and tutted. At least the annoyance did leave him somewhat less nervous.

Alright, here goes nothing. Tristan took a single, deep breath as he heard his name get called to the stage as the first speaker. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere with his nerves, so he left them off stage. The moment he took his first step up onto the main stage he'd already straightened out his posture, smiling enthusiastically and feigning a slight spring in his step as if the spotlight was his second home.
Despite his heart racing in his chest, he never let it get to his actions. He put his notes down and waited for the polite round of applause to die down before he spoke. Usually he was soft spoken, but through practise he knew how to give his voice the presence and weight required to keep the attention of an audience.

“Good evening, as said before, I am Tristan Wright, representative of the Oxford Debate Union, and for this presentation all extracurricular activities in general. But, before that, I want to congratulate you all on being accepted and making it here.” As he had expected, the overzealous parents clapped and started the round of applause, so he simply joined in with a smile and his own claps.
Once the second round of applause had died down again, he continued his speech in a slightly more relaxed fashion. He leant on the lectern, and with perfect control loosened his tone and cadence so that his anecdote wouldn’t appear too rehearsed.

“When I arrived here last year, I admit that I felt more overwhelmed than meant for greatness, despite all the speeches telling me otherwise. I got lost thrice on my first day, including trying to find my way back to my own student room. If you are like me, and from over a hundred miles away, you also had to leave your family and friends behind for this opportunity.
For some it will be easier to go home and make friends, but I remember that especially my first week was rather lonely. When you have been told you are the next lead scientists, CEOs, politicians, doctors and everything in between, it becomes difficult to admit that maybe you’re lost, or afraid, or lonely.
It is why I am honoured to represent these activities: aside from being fun and teaching life skills, they also help new students find their place.”

He let his anecdote sink in for a moment as he sorted his notes and he turned to the university powerpoint projected on the large screen behind him for the part where he actually presented the activities.

“I’m sure many of you probably have heard of the big, prestigious fellowships, such as debate, chess, polo and fencing,” he referenced the names on the first slide, “but you’re not confined to those at all. You can join various different sports, drama and arts, and since last year there is even a board game club. Find a group as large or small as you like, competitive or for fun, and give it a go.
I haven’t been allocated the time to give every activity the mention they deserve, so I will have to stick to the popular activities, but I have added a list at the end of some lesser known things there are to do.”

-

As Tristan stepped down the three steps that led off stage, his shoulders slumped, and he let out the deep sigh that he had been bottling up for the entire duration of his talk. To signify to himself that it was really over, he tore his notes in half. Yet as he did, his eyes caught the lack of gold, his left sleeve only held together by the jacket of his suit.
Did I lose it? Immediately he searched the floor around him for a sign of gold. Nothing. I can't have lost it… I can't lose it. Did I drop it on stage? With a quick look back he frantically tried to find the cufflink, even just a glimmer of it. But to no avail. No no no, I couldn't afford to… I can't… you stupid piece of shite, why do you always fuck it up? Liz is going to kill me… 

Although the stagehands and organisers smiled at him, he felt hollow – narrow. He tried to smile as if everything was alright, afraid to show just how vulnerable and scared he was. Nobody would take him seriously, he didn't even know why people did in the first place. They all think I'm good at this, if they knew they wouldn't congratulate me…

Hastily he worked his way through the mandatory polite compliments, the tightness in his chest making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Not now… not now… as much as he could, he forced himself to breathe, hoping nobody would notice. It only made him paranoid that people knew behind his back.
The moment he saw his chance to leave, he grabbed his bag and darted out into the backstage hallway – only to see Sam, Killian and Liz approach.
No, nonono… 

“Your speech was really good.” Liz grinned at him. He tried to smile back, but the increasingly rapid pace of his inhales made it difficult not to grimace. How am I going to… I'm horrible… I can't even tell the truth… just say it… it's my fault… I… I… 

For a long, dreadful second he tried to come up with the words, but instead his gaze just darted between the friends he had failed. The friends he'd lose, now they would find out that he was awful and worthless.

All that left him was a quivering breath, and as he tried to inhale, he couldn't. Like a coward, he turned to run.
A firm grip on his wrist held him back, and he turned to see Killian was the one that had stopped him.
“Triss, you okay?” You know… I tried… I tried really hard… but I'm bad. His lip trembled as his mask fell, now there was too little left of him to prop it up. Even though he tried, just knowing that his friends would know how much of a mess he was sent him into even deeper panic, his breaths shallow and pained. Killian's laid back confidence turned into genuine worry. “Tristan?”
No… with a harsh tug he tried to get away from the grip, even if for a moment Killian tried to pull him back. He wrenched his wrist loose, and ran.

For a short while footsteps followed him, as he blindly scrambled through the hallways and up the stairs. Higher and higher, away from all the people, away from his friends, away from his own guilt. It all dazed him, his world spinning and he could barely tell which direction he was going.

Until finally he stumbled into an empty bathroom, on a floor he'd never been at. He dove into one of the stalls and locked it. His shallow breaths were stuck in his throat, a metallic taste in his mouth as he had overexerted himself. Don't pass out… I don't want to… as his mind tingled from the lack of oxygen, he sank between the tiled wall and the toilet despite how disgusted he was by the stench of stale urine and the bathroom floor. He had no choice, his legs shaking so much he couldn’t even get up. A wave of dark thoughts fell over him, telling him that this was his punishment.
Is this why everybody forgets me? … you deserve it… you stupid coward… they'd all be better off if you were just fucking dead… do everyone a favour and die… 
He laid his head back as his breath quickened, gasping for air that never seemed to reach his lungs. His chest hurt; the world getting narrower like it wanted to squeeze him even tighter. A few tears rolled down his cheeks, and he couldn't trace their origin in the mess of emotions.

He heard the bathroom door open. Immediately he duck into the corner he had claimed for himself, even if the door was locked. Don't find me… please leave… already ashamed by his own actions he didn't need anyone else to act on them. He didn't want anyone to know that he was too stupid to even breathe properly. So he closed his eyes and tried to choke as quietly as he could.
A knock on the door startled him, and he expected someone to call out. Perhaps they would call for help, and then everyone would know that he was a failure.
But nobody called out, and no footsteps left the bathroom. Instead whomever it was outside slid a cellphone under the door, which confused him even more. Enough to get him curious as to why a stranger would hand him their phone.

‘Sorry I have to talk to you like this: I'm a new psychology student, and I want to help you, but I'm mute. I'm not going to force you to open the door, or to come out, but if you let me in I'll try my best to help you through this. I promise I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to.’

The first thought that ran through his mind was that it was a ruse; a way to get to him. Yet this stranger had trusted him with their phone, and he knew for sure it was a stranger, since everything but the message was written in Chinese characters. Part of him didn't want to let them in: nobody should have to suffer his awfulness. But just for once he wanted to trust someone – he wanted to hope they could help him, because that hope was all he had left while his mind conspired against him.
Although his fingers trembled worse than his breath, he still undid the lock on the door. The moment he heard the click, his fear welled up again, telling him he had made a big mistake. Afraid to disappoint someone before he even knew them, he tried to hide again by laying his head on his knees. It was difficult when he was stuck between the wall and the toilet.

He heard the person outside slowly enter and close the door again, but not turn the lock. In the cramped space it was impossible not to be close beside them, and the feeling made him even more nervous. The slight amount of breathing room the distraction had given him, now quickly dissolved again. He heard every heavy, desperate wheeze, his heart pounding in his chest which felt more and more like a cage.
For a while he was let to his panic, the person beside him patiently waiting for him to calm slightly again. Although he was still adversed to the idea of anyone knowing, and he was deeply ashamed of how he looked, he couldn't help but feel a little soothed by how calm they were. It took the edge off of his worst panic, allowing him to collect his thoughts ever so slightly.
And when he did, he realised it was quite obvious why the person besides him never tried to communicate with him: he still had their phone. Embarrassed, he just held it out and mumbled a strained 'sorry’ into his knees.

He felt the phone leave his hand, and in return something small was given to him. His heart sank as he recognised the shape; the source of his grief returned to him. The cufflink came paired with an absurd sense of relief, and an abyssal depth of shame. Now he was painfully confronted with how much he had overreacted, he wasn't sure anymore if the pain in his chest was from his cramped attempts to breathe, or because he was about to cry
“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice strained between wheezes. Although he wanted to take a few deep breaths and shrug off this whole ordeal, he was instead immobilised by the shame. A hundred fears about how he was getting judged swarmed his mind and left him unable to figure out what was really the right thing to do.

‘Are you okay?’

The glow of the screen snuck its way in past all his concerns about getting judged. Perhaps a small part of him had hoped to be judged; to have this other person consider him miserable and not worth their time, so he had an excuse to stay distant and keep them safe from his own dramatic bullshit and faults. That way he wouldn’t inevitably disappoint.

The student wasn’t keen on being pushed away: he felt a hand carefully run over his shoulder, trying to find a good balance between comfort and closeness. A short while later, another message was shown to him.

‘If you don’t want me to stay, I get it. I know that it’s scary and embarrassing to lose control over your own body, and you don’t want anyone to see. But I can’t leave you struggling for breath in a toilet stall. So I’m going to stay here at least until you can breathe again, okay?’

Still unable to face them, Tristan’s gaze was confined to the phone, before quickly darting down again and avoiding so much as looking at them. Still he understood, and the soft squeezes in his shoulder did tell him that this person was here to help him. With a slight nod he agreed, resigning himself to their silent comforting.

It took a while for his inhales to become stable, his chest still rather tense and narrow. Despite that he managed to push his breaths through more and more, his mind clearer by the second. Until finally Tristan worked up the courage to throw a glance at his silent Samaritan: as expected, he was an Asian student.
He was on the shorter side, and had a rather round face. Although his facial features were soft and not very pronounced, they were still clearly visible. A few shorter locks of otherwise mid-length black hair had stubbornly sprung up from a neat, side parted hairdo.
He smiled gently and a waved with his cellphone still in hand to break the tension. For a moment Tristan’s gaze met his dark, nearly black eyes, and despite wanting to look elsewhere, there weren’t many things better to look at – it wasn’t like he much preferred a stare off with the toilet.
Before it could get awkward, another message was shown to him; this one had been prepared as it only took two presses to get to it.

‘My name is Hibiki Yukimura by the way, nice to meet you.’

Hibiki’s smile widened, eagerly awaiting an introduction.