The gap they'd been forced into was small, too small, and Kit was going to break. There was a wall pressed against his back,a wall pressed against his side, a wall less than an arm's width away from his face. He was well and truly cornered, and far too afraid to look up and see how close the roof was. His breathing was getting too fast, his heart was definitely in tachycardia, and he knew from deep in his bones that he was going to die. He had never been more certain of anything than he was in that moment. He. Was. Going. To. Die.
"Kit!" A voice was hissing for his attention and it was all he could to do stop from throwing up his hands, covering his eyes, his ears, blocking out everything everything everything...
"KIT!"
His eyes snapped open and focused on Rori. She had squeezed into the gap between him and the wall, and somehow, completely contradictingly... It should have made him feel so much worse, this decreased space, but it didn't. Like this, it was like there was no room to shake - her hands found his and held them tight, his legs stopped trembling until he felt he was supporting himself again.
"Kit, calm down," she said, and he closed his eyes again, shaking his head. Calm? /Calm/? He couldn't be calm, not like this...
"Kit." She brought him back, her voice, gave him something to ground himself to. "Breathe. Slowly. With me if you have to. Just... breathe."
He concentrated on her breaths, inhaling when she did, exhaling when she did. And slowly, slowly, he found his heart rate was returning to normal. He kept his eyes closed, knowing rationally that they were safe, but also knowing that if he opened his eyes the fear of where they were was going to come crashing back down on him.
"There you go. We're fine. We're fine."
And only then did he realise that she had been afraid too. He opened his eyes, searching for her face in the dark. He could just make her out in the little light there was from the alleyway, and he kept his gaze fixed on her eyes. Since the moment he'd watched her take down that guy at the Smuggler's Haunt, there had been something about her eyes. He loved the tinge of red that marked her out, the red that made her dangerously easy to recognise. He hated the haunted look in her eyes, because he knew what that felt like, to have seen something so terrible it marked your soul like that.
"You look like ice," she whispered,"Has anyone ever told you that?"
Kit frowned slightly.
"Kit!" A voice was hissing for his attention and it was all he could to do stop from throwing up his hands, covering his eyes, his ears, blocking out everything everything everything...
"KIT!"
His eyes snapped open and focused on Rori. She had squeezed into the gap between him and the wall, and somehow, completely contradictingly... It should have made him feel so much worse, this decreased space, but it didn't. Like this, it was like there was no room to shake - her hands found his and held them tight, his legs stopped trembling until he felt he was supporting himself again.
"Kit, calm down," she said, and he closed his eyes again, shaking his head. Calm? /Calm/? He couldn't be calm, not like this...
"Kit." She brought him back, her voice, gave him something to ground himself to. "Breathe. Slowly. With me if you have to. Just... breathe."
He concentrated on her breaths, inhaling when she did, exhaling when she did. And slowly, slowly, he found his heart rate was returning to normal. He kept his eyes closed, knowing rationally that they were safe, but also knowing that if he opened his eyes the fear of where they were was going to come crashing back down on him.
"There you go. We're fine. We're fine."
And only then did he realise that she had been afraid too. He opened his eyes, searching for her face in the dark. He could just make her out in the little light there was from the alleyway, and he kept his gaze fixed on her eyes. Since the moment he'd watched her take down that guy at the Smuggler's Haunt, there had been something about her eyes. He loved the tinge of red that marked her out, the red that made her dangerously easy to recognise. He hated the haunted look in her eyes, because he knew what that felt like, to have seen something so terrible it marked your soul like that.
"You look like ice," she whispered,"Has anyone ever told you that?"
Kit frowned slightly.
