Ethan's body language was off when his solo ended, but I hadn't anticipated Ethan's reaction in the halls. I had seen that familiar look on his face as he made himself small; his hunched shoulders and pained expression were clear markers. He was disappointed in his performance, but there was something more to it. Fear. 

My grip on the bouquet tightened as he backpedaled from me, physically flinching at my words.

"Shit," I breathed as he took off. I didn't waste any time going after him, not even bothering to hand the bouquet off to my team.

Laser-focused on his retreating frame, I weaved between the crowds, apologizing profusely to those I had nearly rammed into. But that was not the concern.

My only concern was Ethan. I needed to find him; I couldn't lose him.

Maybe I was being dramatic, but losing him in this crowd felt like losing him forever. Obviously, he'd probably return to our hotel room, but the irrational part of my brain reminded me that he easily walked out of my life without any notice. If he really wanted to, he'd do it again.

But that's not what I should've worried about. The fact that he was already on the cusp of a panic attack made my chest cinch with worry. The fear in his eyes and how his body jerked away was the same as the attack in junior year. I couldn't let him go through that alone, not if I could help it.

That was the thing, though. As I halted in front of the bathroom I had seen him enter, I realized there was a real chance that I couldn't help him. That I could make it worse by being there. If just my being at his concert triggered his anxiety, there was little I could do. 

But after hearing retching from the bathroom and a terrible-sounding cough, I pushed past the man leaving the door. I checked the stalls, relieved that only the two of us were there. Practically tossing the bouquet in one of the sinks before approaching Ethan's stall.

"Ethan? Ethan, it's me." I knocked on the stall, surprised to find it open. One arm braced himself over the toilet, and another wiped his mouth. I held the door open, unsure if I should give him more space as he didn't seem to acknowledge my presence. "It's me, Cam."

His shoulders tensed, indicating he at least heard me. 

"Ethan?" I tried again. 

He mumbled something incoherent as he glanced at me over his shoulder. His face was red, tears staining his face. His mouth trembled, shaky breaths still escaping him.

My grip on the door tightened but kept the space between us. "Eth—"

He made a noise before turning around and shoving past me, nearly knocking me off balance, beelining to the sink. I didn't crowd him, letting him wash his face with as much coordination as Felipe when he was completely drunk. 

He successfully dried his face with paper towels until he looked up in the mirror. His hands shook as he noticed me in the reflection. His eyes softened before spotting the bouquet beside him. He gripped the edge of the sink.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled under his breath. To who, I couldn't tell. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," I said calmly as he rambled something incoherent. "You did great out there, Eth."

His knuckles whitened, head shaking. "No. No."

"You did," I insisted, taking a hesitant step closer.

"I..." His whole body shook, his breaths so heavy that it was a shock it didn't fog up the mirror. "I didn't."

"Ethan," I tried to say evenly. If he heard the concern and fear in my voice, it would probably make it worse. "Breathe, Ethan. You're going to be okay."

His eyes glanced around the room as if looking for an exit, but I knew it wouldn't help him to run. It would likely worsen it; he needed a safe place to settle his breathing. Somewhere where his mind could calm down. The last thing he needed was to get injured or pass out with no one around.

"I—I can't breathe." His eyes widened. A hand shot to his chest, gripping the stifling suit. I craved to hold his hand, pull him close into a hug and shelter him from the anxiety; this wasn't like before, though. I couldn't gauge if that were what he needed right now.

"Easy," I said, searching his face. "Breathe. In and out. Slowly."

He shook his head as his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His hand moved up his chest, reaching for the red bow tie. If he'd let me, I would've loved to remove it to make breathing easier.

"Eth, follow me, alright. In, one two three," I directed, breathing with him in tandem. "Out, one two three."

After repeating it a few times, he seemed to catch on, shakily following the pattern as we kept our eyes on each other. He was still petrified, his limbs shaking, but at least he was breathing properly. "Good, one more time."

He nodded, his eyes focused on me as he breathed in. Once his breathing calmed and returned to a normal speed, Ethan's gaze focused away from me toward the bouquet.

His legs folded beneath him, his left hand still clutching the sink as he eased himself to the floor. I gulped, fearing he'd slip back into an attack, but the tension in his shoulders lessened. I sat beside him without hesitation, leaving less than a foot of space between us.

He didn't say anything at first, merely staring at what I assumed was the bouquet or the bathroom exit. His mind was probably a jumbled mess, so I gave him time, letting my presence hopefully calm him down. Last time he had entered this trance-like state, too, most likely his mind trying to make sense of his surroundings and frantic thoughts. I had read that it was common for people to be dazed and confused after a panic or anxiety attack. 

"May I?" I held my hand out to him, palm up. During his panic attack in junior year, we had held hands; the added pressure seemingly helped to ground Ethan before. 

Before I could retreat my hand, figuring it was a silly idea, Ethan surprised me.

His hand reached over and interlaced with mine. He squeezed it before resting it along his knee. I couldn't help but smile, that silly hope that what we had was still there, even if it was just a sliver. 

He let out a sputtered breath, then sniffled. When I looked over, there were tears in his eyes, and his lips were jutted out in a pout. Oh, Ethan, I nearly said, but he leaned toward me, resting his head against my shoulder. I readjusted my legs so he could be more comfortable, and his head turned to face my chest. 

He choked on a sob, obviously overwhelmed by his panic attack, likely upset and embarrassed at himself for it when it was never his fault. 

"I got you," I told him, resting my hand tentatively against his back. His sniffling persisted as he silently cried into my chest. While I hated the circumstances, I missed Ethan in my arms. It was painful to see him in this much distress; I just wanted to fight those negative thoughts and anxiety away from him permanently. He didn't deserve it. "Let it out, Eth."

I tapped his back gently as he let the tears continue. I watched his breathing, ensuring he didn't fall into another attack. "I've got you," I told him over and over. "You'll be okay."

We fell into a steady rhythm, rocking Ethan in my arms as his crying began to settle down, his hand still squeezing mine.

My phone buzzed, and while I wanted to ignore it, it was likely my teammates wondering what was going on. Slipping my hand into my pocket to find the phone, I read the notification; it was Kenji.

Everything alright? He texted in the group chat. Does he need anything? Water?

I think there's a vending machine up front, Daniel had sent.

I quickly typed my response and hit send. He'll be alright. You guys can head out; I'll text you later.

Pocketing my phone before I could see his response or any of the other guy's texts, I turned my attention back to Ethan. He'd probably be hungry and thirsty after this. Shit, did he even eat anything before the concert besides our brunch?

Ethan peeled away from my chest with a soft sniffle, his blotched face frowning before looking up at me. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "For messing up your shirt."

"It's fine," I told him. He sniffled, likely wanting to argue but too exhausted to say more. "You feeling better?"

"A little." He nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

I squeezed his hand. "You don't have to thank me."

He made a disgruntled noise, one that I knew all too well. He was never one for affection or could easily accept praise and words of affirmation. Ethan had told me his parents were raised the same way, always assuming others expected something back for their gratitude or actions. 

"You bought that bouquet?" he said meekly, a smile bordering a grimace. "For me?"

"I did." I raised a brow at his pained expression. "Not to your liking? I swear blue was your favorite color. Or is it the size, not big enough?"

His lips curled up, a laugh nearly escaping him. "I do like blue. And it's not the size."

I hummed, playing along. "It's the ribbon, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's...it's beautiful, idiot."

That was the Ethan I remembered. Capable of complimenting and calling me an idiot all the same. Oh, how I missed that.

"You didn't have to," he added. "It's too nice."

"I wanted to," I told him. "I missed getting you bouquets."

Among other things, I nearly said. I missed everything about him.

He gulped. "They are nice. I missed them too."

Though it was no "I missed you," it still felt just as endearing to hear. "You hungry?"

Ethan hesitated, looking away before nodding sheepishly. "I am."

"Good, my treat," I told him before lifting myself from the ground and pulling Ethan up with me. My hand lingered above his waist to steady him if needed. He didn't comment on it or pull away, a good sign. The faintest of smiles was returning to his face. "You okay with that?"

He nodded. "Though, my face must look like shit. Maybe takeout?" 

"Sure thing. I should warn you, though," I said seriously, leaning in. "Before getting out of here."

His features scrunched. "What?"

"My ass is completely wet," I told him, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. "God, the men's bathrooms are always so disgusting."

Ethan sputtered a laugh. "You didn't have to sit on the floor with me."

"And let someone walk in on us? They'd think I bullied you if I was standing in front of someone crying." I rested my hand on his lower back. He didn't shrink from the gesture. He gingerly picked up the bouquet, resting it in the crook of his elbow as his hand still held onto mine. I didn't comment on it; pleased he hadn't let go, even if it was just a source of comfort for him.

As I let him exit the bathroom first, that was when I realized something. "Wait a minute, why isn't your ass wet?" I scoffed, faking offense. 

Ethan laughed, leaning back into my side. "I just got lucky, I guess. At least your pants are black."

"Still," I drawled. "Quite uncomfortable; I'm hurt."

He reached up and poked my cheek. "You'll live."

"Oh, the struggle," I cried. And yet, I felt like the lucky one here, Ethan beside me, like before. Even if it cost me an evening with soggy pants, I couldn't care less.