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That was it. The day had arrived, it was here. And Dean felt like throwing up. He wasn't ready, he couldn't do it. He had barely eaten anything for dinner the night before and, that morning, he had to force himself to swallow some toast so he could take his medication. He had even almost passed a red sign on the way to the university because he was too busy repeating his presentation to himself.

Dean leaned back on the driver's seat, feeling his heartbeat on the back of his throat.

He should have listened to his mother at the beginning of the year and request the status of a special needs student, but he had refused since he was sure his grandfather wouldn't have liked it if he found out. According to the requirements on the university's website, he might have been accepted. Or perhaps not. He had tried to speak with his professor and the only thing it had accomplished was being accused of attempting to use his family name to his advantage.

The balloon of pressure inside his chest inflated with every thought, every pessimistic sentence that sounded in his mind, every image of a class full of people, looking at him, judging every little thing he did and said.

His body jerked upright, straightening his back with a violent inhale and his hand reached inside his pocket. He squeezed the keychain and looked outside through the window, searching for something he could focus on. There was a flock of birds passing by so he counted them, then he tried to decipher the partly-faded flier glued to a pool, followed by the abstract-looking graffiti scribbled under it. And it went on like that, keeping his brain as busy as possible with anything in reach until he saw Blake approaching the car, backpack dangling from one shoulder.

Before he could lock himself in the car for the duration of that class, Dean grabbed his things and forced himself out.

- You're early.

- I couldn't sleep and if I waited at home I don't know if I'd come. – he turned to Blake after locking the car. – How did you know I was here already?

Blake smiled. – Lucky guess.

Dean nodded, not because there was something to agree to but because his throat was too closed up to say anything. Blake noticed and his smile turned sweeter.

- It'll be okay. – he stepped towards him but didn't reach out to touch him, he just stood close enough to lock their eyes that way only Blake could. – You know that stuff by heart.

- I know what I have to say, but the people...

- Yesterday you presented in front of me and your family. – Blake raised his hands at Dean exasperated look. – I know it's not the same, but you couldn't do that either just a few months ago.

Dean knew Blake was right and that that should be comforting. So why wasn't he comforted? Blake studied his features for a while and then spoke, - You want me to stay with you? You could look at me while presenting.

His immediate reaction would be a resounding 'yes', but Dean held his tongue. – You have class.

- That wasn't the question.

- You can't skip class because of me.

- One class won't doom me.

- But...

- I'll get notes from someone.

Dean wanted to reject the offer. No, he wished to want to reject it, but the truth was, the idea of having Blake there for him had the pressure in his chest subside a bit.

He hitched his bag on his shoulder, adjusting the strap. – Thank you.

Blake's smile returned in full force. – You're welcome, bunny.

In the classroom, Blake took the seat beside Dean that he usually occupied with his backpack. Blake tried his best to keep the conversation going, very clearly trying to keep Dean from thinking about the inevitable torture as students trickled into the room. A few minutes before class started, Dan and the other two members of his group, Helena and Jo entered the room. Dan found Dean and Blake at the end of the room and smiled, doing a 'let's do this' sign. Dean tried his best to give a convincing smile as a response but it may have lacked some feeling because Blake layered on the excitement, returning the gesture.

- Have you ever spoken to him personally? – Blake asked, leaning on the table to watch him, and supporting his chin on his hand. – Or the other two?

- Not really... Sometimes we wave at each other.

- Not even online?

- Only about the project. I mean, they sometimes joke around, but I don't really participate.

Blake was about to say something but the professor's arrival didn't give him that chance. With everyone in their seats, the professor was quick to announce the start of class, and then recapped the plan for the presentations. The groups would present in order of the numbers attributed to the theme chosen, they would have fifteen minutes to present and five minutes for discussion. Oh, discussion. As in the professor asking questions in front of everyone. Dean's mouth went dry.

He looked at Blake and, sure enough, he was looking right back at him. Blake's eyes tried to tell him to calm down, that everything would be alright and Dean wanted to believe him, but his mind wasn't registering it. While his left hand went for his pocket, his right went for Blake's, gripping it under the table. It was probably hurting him, but Blake didn't much as flinch.

The first group went on to present and if it weren't for the consuming panic that hammered at his chest, Dean might have been amused at the confusion in Blake's face at every new slide, but he was far too busy trying to keep is breathing in check. When the third group went up, Dean's stomach turned and his hand returned to Blake's. This time Blake's hand tensed, probably because Dean's nails had found his skin.

- Your group is next? – Blake whispered, only receiving a tense nod in response. Blake's hand turned under his, reciprocating the hold, albeit much more gently. – It's going to be okay. Just look at me, pretend you're practising in your room.

Dean intended to nod, but he wasn't sure if it was even perceptible. As the third group presented, Dean looked around the room. Some people were listening, but a big part of his classmates was distracted, not even looking at the people at the front. That was good. The least attention he had on him the better.

When the presentation ended and the professor skipped to the questions, Dean couldn't believe it. It couldn't have been fifteen minutes already. His eyes darted to Blake and he looked back with a small smile, not saying anything because what could he say? They both knew there was no way out. And that was proven when the professor called out for group number four.

For a second, Dean wasn't sure his legs would have the strength to get up, but then the other three members of his group got up and Dan looked to the end of the room, motioning for Dean. With a last glance at Blake, who gave him an encouraging smile, Dean stood up, crossing the room to meet his colleagues. He turned to the room, taking in the sea of people and the professor right at the front, holding a pen in his hand that felt more like a dagger. Dean's eyes shifted to Blake, who signalled as to say 'Look at me'.

Dan was the first one speaking, in charge of introducing the subject, and he did so with impressive confidence. Dean, on the other hand, tried his best to stay hidden behind Helena and Jo while keeping a fair distance between them and himself. His mind split into two, revising what he had to say while trying to gauge the audience's reaction. Most of his classmates were now distracted, or at least they weren't looking at his group, with only a few people nodding along to Dan's words. Unfortunately, those people were mostly at the front.

Dean's hand took refuge in his pocket, wrapping around the softness of his keychain while his mind raced to recall the list Miss Pam had given him.

"First, take a deep breath." Right, he could do that.

"Then, release the tension. Even if you think you're not that physically tense, try to relax your muscles. Visualize if you need to." Dean tried to focus, pinpointing the tightness in his jaw and shoulders that he hadn't even notice.

"Pick a focus point." Dean's eyes met Blake's, who smiled at him as if there wasn't a worry in the world.

"And you have to trust yourself, Dean. It's going to be over before you know it."

Dan's part ended far too quickly and Jo stepped forward. Dean was next. His heart clenched, gaze locking with Blake's like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

He tried his best to tune in to what Jo was saying, hoping that listening to the subject would be enough to distract him from what was about to happen. However, that proved to be a bad idea once he noticed that Jo, just like Dan, exuded confidence as they spoke. It was awful of him, but he wished he wasn't the only one scared out of his mind. Everyone would notice how nervous he was in comparison with everyone else.

Breath, breath, breath, breath.

- ... with the examples that will now be laid out. – Jo said and stepped back.

It was his turn.

Dean dragged himself forward with what felt like anchors strapped to his feet. His shaky finger pressed the keyboard, he looked up, securing Blake's gaze and... he started talking.

He was talking, he was presenting. Granted, he was spewing from memory, completely in automatic mode with little conscious effort as his brain seemed to have been taken over by a daze, but at least he was speaking. Another slide, and another, and another and he was almost there.

Just one more slide.

- This company's circular approach covers the entire lifecycle of their products, from material procurement all the way through to customer experience. This includes sourcing eighty-percent of... - he trailed of. Eighty-percent of... Eighty-percent of... Eighty-percent of what? Eighty-percent of what? His chest hammered against his chest. Oh God, he had blanked. – E-Eighty-percent of...

His stomach twisted and Blake's eyes grew in worry. Blake had noticed which meant other people were probably noticing too.

The pressure at the base of his throat turned painful. His gaze darted to the professor, watching him arch a grey eyebrow before clicking his pen and writing something down.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He had to keep going, the five minutes were passing, his grade was going down. He was ruining the presentation.

Eighty-percent of what?

It was useless, everything had vanished from his mind, there was only static and the realization that everyone was looking at him, some confused, others with clear pity in their eyes.

A few whispers made their way through the buzzing in his ears, heat scorching its way up his neck. The room was spinning.

- Hey, Dean, - Dan's whisper came from behind him, - you okay?

He wasn't. His throat tightened and his stomach wrenched.

No.

He darted towards the exit, but it was too late.

Before he could reach the door, he found himself facing the wall, bent over himself and finally, nausea overtook him. The contents of his stomach burned their way up his throat over and over again, and Dean could only beg, on the slim chance something in the universe was hearing him his pleas, that at least, at the very least, the convulsions would drown out the gasps and worried voices that filled the room. It was suffocating.

Once he was able to stop throwing up, he noticed the stream of tears that left his eyes, joining the puddle on the floor. He couldn't handle it. That was too much, too humiliating, too cruel to be real. But it was real and everyone was watching, everyone would remember.

He heard a few chairs dragging, but no one had the chance to approach him. Fuelled by adrenaline alone, his legs moved by themselves, bolting out of the room. He supported himself on the corridor wall, stumbling his way towards the bathroom. He didn't have the strength to reach a stall, falling back against the wall, sliding to the floor. In between sobs, he hugged his legs against his torso, forehead on knees.

It didn't take long for the sound of rushing steps to echo into the bathroom. Dean's head snapped up, although he already knew who it was. Even with tears blurring his vision, the pain in Blake's eyes was apparent.

Dean's shoulders trembled as Blake sat beside him. – I don't want to do this again, - he slurred in between hiccups. – I want to go home.

Blake didn't speak, nodding in silence while his arm snaked over and around his shoulders, but not touching him until Dean scooted closer, laying his head on Blake's shoulders. And he sobbed. Dean sobbed until his eyes felt puffy, the skin of his cheeks irritated and his throat feeling raw.

The scene replayed in his mind time and time again, and, between the humiliation and sadness, something else began boiling. Rage. Rage at himself, rage at his choice to not apply for a status that would have prevented this because he was afraid of disappointing his grandfather, rage at the professor for forcing him into it and, most of all, rage at the world for not giving him a break. All he wanted was a break, so why wouldn't the world give him that much? He kept waiting, and the world kept knocking him down and he was exhausted. He wanted a break, even if the world refused to give him one.

Dean walked into his room, aware that everyone in the house wanted to come in but no one thought it to be a good idea. And it wasn't. Dean wanted to be alone. At least he thought he did, he wasn't sure. Wanting anything sounded far too exhausting at the time.

He dragged his feet across the floor, letting go of his bag along the way and sat down on the edge of his mattress, gaze falling somewhere around his desk. He still needed to change his dirty clothes. He should do it right away, the smell was awful. But he stayed put.

Blake hadn't come with him. He had wanted too, but Dean had refused. Blake had already skipped a class because of him. And for what? To see Dean crumble in front of the entire class? To watch as Dean throw away all of the work he had been doing for months?

A splinter of pain shoved him to reality and Dean looked down at his lap where his nails pressed against the opposite wrist. Oh. He pulled away, leaving behind half-moon shapes on his skin that rapidly grew red. That was going to hurt later that day but he wasn't that worried about it.

A knock on the door had him looking up from the marks. He knew who it was.

- Come in.

The door opened and his mother appeared, peeking inside before coming in, closing the door behind her. Her eyes were soft but her smile was sad as she walked towards the bed and pointed at a spot to Dean's right, not too close, - May I?

Dean nodded.

They stayed silent. Something in Dean wanted to apologize, although he wasn't sure about what. Maybe because he felt like he had disappointed everyone or maybe because everyone felt like they had to tip-toe around him, or both.

After some time, she reacted, but not to him, exactly. Her nose crinkled as she smelled the air, looking around.

- It's me, - Dean said. – My clothes got splashed.

There's a pause, and Dean felt the bed move as she shifted to turn to him.

- Maybe we should call Miss Pam.

- No, - a drained sigh collapsed his chest. He dragged his gaze to his mother, trying his best to show something resembling a smile. – Not today, at least.

She studied his face for a few seconds. When it looked like she was about to respond, her gaze fell to his lap, more precisely, to his wrist. Her eyebrows cinched. Dean hurried to slid it away from her sight, but it was too late, she had seen it.

Dean evaded her eyes, tightening the grip around his wrist. He waited for the inevitable onslaught of worried questions. But then she spoke.

- Why don't you try to relax, honey? – she said. He looked back up, watching her give him the sweetest of smiles, - I could draw you a bath. A ton of bubbles, just like when you were little.

If Dean were to be honest, he just wanted to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, but he had promised himself to try his best at not driving his mother away. She was giving her best, he should too. So he joined all his strength to pull off a more genuine smile, - Thank you.

He was thanking her, but it was her expression that filled with gratitude, - It will be ready in a minute, – she said, standing up and as she walked towards the bathroom, Dean made his way to the closet. He had just opened the door when her voice stopped him, – Sweetie?

Dean turned. His mother stood by the bathroom door, hand on the handle and smile on her lips, but her eyes had something strict about them, - I won't insist on this matter again, but you should talk to Miss Pam. Soon.

He paused. He didn't want to talk about what had happened.

- It will help, - she said when he still hadn't responded. – Maybe not right away, but it will help.

It wasn't a request, but neither was it an order. Her strong gaze stayed on him even as he looked down at his feet. After a moment, he looked back up with a week nod, - I will. I promise.

Her smile returned in full force, - Great. Thank you, sweetie.

Not long after, the bathtub had been filled almost to the brim and Dean laid in the warm water under the blanket of bubbles, head leaning back against a folded towel. Drops fell from the faucet into the water in a constant rhythm, echoing on the bathroom walls.

Dean gaped at the ceiling, trying his best to relax, enjoy the pleasant scent around him, the way his body felt lighter underwater. But his thoughts were heavy. The presentation seemed to play over and over on the white ceiling and if he closed his eyes, it would replay on the back of his eyelids.

His classmates were surely talking about it as Dean laid there. They would be saying 'Did you see that? The poor guy,' and telling his friends 'You won't believe what happened in class!'. And the professor. The professor would be giving him a lower grade, talking about it with his colleagues and maybe even telling his family once he got home that night.

An uncomfortable rage pumped through Dean's veins at the thought and he had to force his hand to undo a fist. He had left his keychain on the bedside table and he wasn't about to have his mother spot another mark.

He took a deep breath, further immersing his body,