[The thing is, this isn't the first time. It's a class focused on people with issues, one that has always worked closely with vet services. Something about this one hits harder, though. He gets the focus of the class again, and several of the remaining students have seen similar breakdowns in other related classes.
Really, Bucky didn't punch anyone out, the cops didn't have to be called. As far as panic attacks went, it was relatively mild from an outsider's perspective.
That doesn't stop Steve from spending the next few days dwelling on it in every free moment, going over every interaction and wondering how he could have done things differently, creating elaborate scenarios in his head where he says the Right Thing and he gets James to be comfortable, to stay.
It doesn't help matters any that he's got his move coming up. It's closer to where he works and volunteers and is more or less the same price he was already paying with the added bonus of less money spent on transportation. Come moving day, he wished he could put it off more but if he just gets it done it'll be over and done with and he can put his time to more productive use.
Fitting it'd be a gray, dreary day when it happened.
He's got very little by way of possessions and half of it is art supplies. Natasha doesn't own a truck but she does have access to a truck thanks to her boyfriend so she helps Steve with the two big pieces early in the morning. Which is mostly Steve doing the lifting and Natasha helping with the pivots.
"You sure you don't want me to stay? I can call in with the plague," Natasha offers as Steve unloads the smaller boxes from the truck.]
Nah, it'll be good. I can clear my mind, get to know the neighbors even.
["Bake them an apple pie and bring over fresh made lemonade," Natasha suggests, which is only 50% sarcastic "Nobody talks to their neighbors anymore Steve."
They banter back and forth for a few more minutes before he shoos her away to go to work while he handles moving the smaller boxes of mostly art supplies into the propped open door. He's trying not to make too much noise, though he supposes he doesn't know how thin the walls are here.]
no subject
Really, Bucky didn't punch anyone out, the cops didn't have to be called. As far as panic attacks went, it was relatively mild from an outsider's perspective.
That doesn't stop Steve from spending the next few days dwelling on it in every free moment, going over every interaction and wondering how he could have done things differently, creating elaborate scenarios in his head where he says the Right Thing and he gets James to be comfortable, to stay.
It doesn't help matters any that he's got his move coming up. It's closer to where he works and volunteers and is more or less the same price he was already paying with the added bonus of less money spent on transportation. Come moving day, he wished he could put it off more but if he just gets it done it'll be over and done with and he can put his time to more productive use.
Fitting it'd be a gray, dreary day when it happened.
He's got very little by way of possessions and half of it is art supplies. Natasha doesn't own a truck but she does have access to a truck thanks to her boyfriend so she helps Steve with the two big pieces early in the morning. Which is mostly Steve doing the lifting and Natasha helping with the pivots.
"You sure you don't want me to stay? I can call in with the plague," Natasha offers as Steve unloads the smaller boxes from the truck.]
Nah, it'll be good. I can clear my mind, get to know the neighbors even.
["Bake them an apple pie and bring over fresh made lemonade," Natasha suggests, which is only 50% sarcastic "Nobody talks to their neighbors anymore Steve."
They banter back and forth for a few more minutes before he shoos her away to go to work while he handles moving the smaller boxes of mostly art supplies into the propped open door. He's trying not to make too much noise, though he supposes he doesn't know how thin the walls are here.]