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[personal profile] onceakoala
After not writing a single thing for several years, here's an ~800 word drabble on an abemiha Time Traveler's Wife AU because i have no sense of self preservation whatsoever. cheers

tags: description of a panic attack, naked butts


Waking up without your clothes on is getting really fucking annoying.

Grass is stuck in your hair, and floats gently to the ground as you get up to shake it off. Your nudeness is a problem that you've managed to curb recently, since your little trips have becomes somewhat regular. Today, however, you are not in the familiar glade with a conventient duffle bag stuffed with a snack and change of clothes tucked conventiently in between the roots of a nearby tree. In fact, there is not a single tree in sight.

The grass around you is dry and scratchy, and has started to make your skin tingle and itch in discomfort. It's hot, the sun is directly overhead, and everything is a scorching orangey-yellow in all directions. The sky looks yellow, the dirt is a darker yellow and stings your feet, there are rocks in the distance and they're -- you guessed it! -- yellow.

You sigh, a small puff of defeat, and begin walking. You're not sure where, or for how long, or if it's the right direction. Eventually, one of three things will happen: !. You run out of energy and collapse from dehydration or heat stroke and die. Not optimal, but there's also not a lot you can do about it at this point. Standing still you might last longer, but there could also be civilization around a corner, and you could be here a while. You never know (like you said, fucking annoying). 2. You start walking, eventually find other people, or a building, or something to either use for shelter or maybe find some resources. Then you'll be able to manage for longer, because your third option is you get yanked from this time (or is it dimension? You never were able to reach a diffinative conclusion on that), and you get to go home, more or less instantly and intact, where there are both clothes and food. But that could happen as much as several weeks from now.

Obviously, the third option would be your preference. There's really no argument there, it's the least painful, and you're not likely to get arrested for tresspassing or disturbing the peace (both of which have happened before, both when you were butt naked. Those were not good days). Your problem is that you don't know when that's going to happen. Could be ten minutes, could be ten days! You went a month a while ago without hopping at all, to any time, just... coasting in the present. Or rather, it was your present at the time. You've lost track of which or when is your chronological present, and in a lot of ways, it doesn't matter anyway. So you don't live your life in chronological order, who cares? What's sense and order, anyway. Right? Who needs it. You're fine.

Your throat begins to feel tight, and something in your stomache gives a sharp jolt and an ugly squirm. You stop, eyes widening as dread washes through you, and attempt to focus on your breathing. You wish Mihashi was here. You inhale, hold it, hold it hold it hold it--

and let it out. You try to bring your attention to the looseness of your muscles, the steady flow of air. You sit down. Your butt is now very sandy. Sweat drips down your temple, draws a cold line down your spine.

You miss Mihashi and his very convenient duffle bag.

There's an ache in your chest, but the squirming is a little more distant now, and the vice on your chest has loosened, and the air is clear. You breathe, and sit, and wait, and miss Mihashi.

If you're going to be dealing with panic attacks, you figure you'll just wait. You're not going to be getting anywhere while that shit's going on, anyway. You drag your fingers around in the sand, through your hair (bad idea, you realize immediately) and continue to miss your sweet, sweet duffle bag.

You're going to hug Mihashi so hard when you get back, holy shit. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, being stuck somwhere, feeling like the world was closing in, with no idea when you'd be able to escape. It always feels like prison, somehow. You'd think it'd feel a lot more like freedom? Being able to pop around, anywhere, anywhen. As long as you have been there (or will go there) at some point during your lifetime, you could return. At any point.

If only you could control it, it might feel less like a cage.

Suddenly, you feel your body stretching, twisting, and then a cool gust of wind on your dry, burnt skin, and suddenly your butt is way colder and slightly damp, and there, in front of you, is your glorious, delightful, sorely missed tree, with the world's most perfect duffle bag sitting wonderfully in the divet between the roots. You feel a euphoric giggle rise in your chest as you pick it up (it smells like his room) and open it, tugging on the shirt and boxers and pants and dashing for the clearing.

He's waiting.

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