Page 6 of Not Catching Love

His small, clammy hand tightens firmly around mine twice, giving consent for me to inspect him. Xander’s a small guy, more noticeably with his shirt up, and I commit to focusing solely on feeling the site of the pain.

“Does this hurt?” I ask, pressing gently.

He shakes his head.

“This?”

He shakes again. I go over his front, then get him to sit up so I can check the back. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t give a definitive diagnosis, but I do know that step one is getting him to calm down, and then if he’s still in pain, we can take step two.

So far, thankfully, we’ve never needed step two.

Once his back is cleared, I shift until I’m standing in front of him and lean forward so he’s forced to meet my eyes.

“There’s no pain to indicate a burst appendix,” I tell him. “The first thing I need from you is to take your breathing and heart rate down so I can check your vitals. Does that sound okay?”

Tear tracks streak through the makeup on both his cheeks, and I have to swallow to clear out the lump building in my throat. I don’t know how his friends can stand seeing him this way. I’ve had training for handling distraught patients, but this gets to me more every time I see him.

“This panic attack isn’t you,” I remind him. “It will pass.I’m here to help. I’m going to count my breaths, and I want you to copy me.”

We go through the usual breathing exercises, and it takes a few minutes, but eventually, Xander’s panic evens out. He’s still shaking, still crying, and seeing him like this? It’s a real effort to keep up my professional front when all I want is to pull Xander into my arms.

Lines blurred for me a few months ago, and while I’ve always cared and wanted to help him, I can feel those protective urges building into something more.

Something I can’t let take over.

“D-Derek …” he whispers between inconsistent breaths.

“Hey, I’m here.” I pull up a chair to sit next to him. The need to reassure him and make sure he’s okay is consuming.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just take your time.”

He nods, blue hair falling over his forehead as he looks down at his lap. With the way his head is angled, I can’t make out his freckles or those unusual-colored eyes, but that’s for the best. I’m already too familiar with everything about Xander Moore.

It takes longer than usual until I can’t hear his breathing anymore, and his slim shoulders fill with tension.

“Thanks,” he grits out.

And now that he’s not panicking anymore, this is where I come in with the tough love. Judging by the way he tensed up, he’s ready for it. “How’s therapy going?”

He scowls, eyes immediately meeting mine. “I’mfine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell people how they feel.”

“But isn’t that why you come to me?”

He scrubs at the tears on his cheeks. “I never ask to come here.”

“You don’t need to ask. You know I’m here if you needme.” I lower my voice to give myself the impression that Seven can’t hear our conversation in the tiny room. “This is the second time this week.”

“Sorry I haven’t miraculously learned how to fix myself.”

“Your snark doesn’t work on me. Your mental health isn’t your fault, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do something about it.”

His lips turn down.

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