It’s 5:46 pm, which means two things. First, that they’ve been parked, unmoving, in the driveway of Kris’ parents’ house for close to half an hour and second, that they’re officially 16 minutes late.

“So,” Kris says carefully into the quiet. The radio had been turned off on the car ride over, and though Tao feels the almost overwhelming urge to turn it on again now, he knows it wouldn’t help. It’s what he always does when he gets like this, creates these delusional solutions: Everything will be better if the radio is on. And then, when it is, everything will be better when it’s off. And vice versa. Or It’ll be better if the windows are rolled down, I just need some air and then, when they are, Too much. Too distracting. Roll them back up. And repeat. Comfort always just out of his reach, always on the impenetrable other side. “You think you’re ready to go inside now? They’re probably all wondering where we are.”

“I know they’re all wondering, Kris,” Tao snaps. He runs a hand testily through his hair, so meticulously styled an hour earlier. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

Kris retreats, not for the first time tonight. He runs his palms up and down over his dress pants and turns to stare at the house in front of them, the warmly glowing light pouring out of the windows. Beneath the sick churning in his stomach and the small tremors that keep coursing through him, like his body just has too much energy, too much sensation to contain, Tao feels a familiar twinge of guilt. 

The first time it had happened was a month or two into their relationship, during the movie they’d both waited weeks to see. Before the previews had even finished, Tao had felt the familiar compression on his chest, that small buzz that worsened as he’d acknowledged it, as though all it needed was his participation to take root. He’d gone frantic in seconds, everything too loud, everyone too close. He needed out. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

Kris had called his name as Tao scrambled down the dark aisle, stumbling over feet and knocking into knees while people grumbled and he muttered hasty jumbled apologies. He’d burst out of the theater, nearly ready to weep with the wild, blinding fear pounding through him, and leaned against the sticky wall red wallpaper, in shallow, rapid breaths through the fear in his chest as people around him looked on with concern. From a distance, he’d heard Kris speaking to him. Are you okay? What the hell happened in there? Tao, what’s going on?

He wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been the end of their ill-fated romance. Because yes, of course he’d explained everything after he’d wound down, his body exhausted, but his mind pleasantly blank in the aftermath. He’d thrown out the big words---panic attacks, anxiety---and then tried to downplay them---"I just get freaked out sometimes, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain"---but he hadn’t held out much hope. Mental disorders put people off---not always out of cruelty, but fear. They loom over everything and, for those without them, they're disconcertingly foreign. Like the monster under your bed that you’ve never seen, but who’s threatening presence you’re constantly aware of.

But Kris had surprised him. On his own, he’d bought books, which Tao had found scattered in the backseat of his car, Kris’ place marked by the receipt from the bookstore, the chapter titled “Advice for Family and Friends” dogeared. A few weeks later, when Tao had panicked during one of his classes and, in a frenzy, called Kris outside the lecture hall, Kris had spoken to him in a purposefully calm voice, validating Tao’s fear and assuring him he was safe in rehearsed-sounding lines. He’d stayed on the phone with him, counting him through breathing exercises until Tao was back in his body and the world had decided to once again stand still beneath him.

He knows that Kris tries to help, and to an extent, he does, but his help will only ever be the help of someone who has never had a panic attack themselves. And sometimes, like now, when Tao’s heart is beating out of his chest and he knows, deep down, that it’s stupid and that he should just be able to go into the house and ing have dinner, he becomes unwillingly resentful of Kris’ calm voice and how patronizing it begins to sound. Kris has no idea and sometimes, sympathizing just isn’t enough.

What Tao ha