(Thanks for the request! I enjoy writing hurt/comfort way too much. :,)

TW: panic attacks, drug mentions)

- You really miss your boyfriend.

The problem isn't that he's gone anywhere; he's here, at home with you. And yet, on the off chance that he's in the same room as you are, it seems like Trent is elsewhere; he always seems to be lost in his own head, his eyes even seeming to be clouded over. You know that work is more than overwhelming; the new album came out a few months ago, the band got to play Woodstock, and, even if Trent had been worried about the quality of that performance ever since, it really put them on the map. Now, everybody wants a piece of him. There are more girls falling at his feet, more reporters trying to get an interview in, -- hell, there are directors asking him to do the soundtracks for upcoming movies. 

As happy as you are for him, you really wish that all of this wasn't coming at him so fast, -- not because he isn't paying attention to you, but because he doesn't even seem that happy for himself. In fact, you're starting to worry that it's too much, that he might drive himself crazy before it's all over with. 

- You would tell him that you're worried about him, but you're scared that would just stress him out more, -- of all the people he's trying to entertain, you don't want him to feel pressured to please you, too. But it sure would be nice for him to show you affection again, -- you miss how he used to cuddle you at night, arms wrapped tightly around you, making you feel safe and warm, inside and out. Now, he comes to bed and promptly passes out, too far away from you to share his warmth. There have been times that you've had to check that he was still breathing, just to make sure. 

- Now, early into the evening, you feel just as lonely, absentmindedly flipping channels on the TV with Maise by your side, enjoying the attention that she was getting from you, considering Trent had barely looked her way over the last couple of weeks, either. You enjoy her company just as much, for the exact same reason. 

You're almost asleep when you hear the noise: a loud, startling 'thud,' followed by a scream. 

It came from the studio. 

- You jump to your feet, rushing down the hall. Your stomach churns, fearing that Trent might have done something to himself; what, you don't know, but you know that none of it could possibly be good. 

You reach the door, only to find that it's locked. You bang your fists against it, hoping he will answer. "Trent!" you call. "Open the door!"

You hear a quiet, stuttering sound on the other side, followed by a quiet 'dammit.'

You deflate. Hopefully he isn't crying in there; if he was, you'd be afraid to find out why. Though you're currently struggling with the guilt of possibly letting him get to the point of breaking down, you try your best not to make it any worse. You soften your voice as you continue. "I'm coming in there, okay?" you ask. 

Getting no reply, you work the lock with your fingernail, finally opening the door to find him slumped against the wall, head in his hands.

- "Babe?" you ask, approaching him slowly, carefully. Upon coming closer, your heart sinks, noting the quite rapid rise and fall of his chest. From the looks of it, he's hyperventilating; he's worked himself into a panic, and he won't even look at you. Feeling helpless, you kneel next to him. "Shhh... hey... honey, look at me..." 

He barely moves, hands grabbing fistfuls of long dark hair. You try not to get too upset yourself. 

"Trent." Hesitantly, you reach out for him, fingers gently brushing against his arm. You're almost afraid to touch him; though it sometimes helps to be soothed by physical contact during a panic attack, it might also make things worse.  It seems to be the former in this case, however, as that finally seems to get his attention. He looks up at you, eyes wide and teary, before falling forward into your arms. 

- Surprised as you are, you wrap your arms around him, whispering reassuring words into his ear every now and then. "It's okay, babe. You're okay. Shhh..." 

Finally, he seems to have calmed down enough to speak to you. Gently wiping a tear from his eye, you pull away, still cupping his chin. "What happened?" you ask. 

He continues to shake as he answers you, and all you want to do is hold him again. "Nothing's working," he says. "I'm trying so hard, but nothing works out. I... I just..." 

You shush him again, gently taking hold of his hand. "You don't need to do any more work... especially not like this." You grimace, noticing the dark circles underneath his eyes. "When was the last time you got a good night's rest, anyway? And I mean eight hours." 

He struggled, thinking about this. "Maybe three or four nights ago? Eight hours... that's not a common thing for me."

You frown, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "And what about your anxiety meds?"

He sighs, leaning into your hand. "I stopped taking them after the first week," he said. "I hate the way they make me feel. It's almost like they make it worse. And I'm so damn tired..." 

"I know," you interrupt him. Slowly, you stand up, tugging on his hand. "Come on," you say, already sure of yourself. "You're coming to bed with me." 

He looks back at the recording equipment, hesitant. "But--"

"No buts," you respond before he can finish. "Now, come on. Let me take care of you." You can't help it; you send him a pleading look. "Don't you miss that?"

He sighs shakily, nodding. 

- And so he follows you, letting you lead him to your bedroom. Once he crawls under the covers, you join him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Tenderly, you press your lips against the back of his neck, pushing his hair out of the way to plant a series of kisses there. 

He grins despite himself. "And you expect me to sleep?" 

"Oh, shut up," you tease. "You're too tired to do anything but sleep."

He hums an agreement, eyelids growing heavy. 

You stay pressed close to him, happy to have his warmth again, tracing patterns between the freckles on his arms. You press another kiss to his cheek, causing him to sigh, this time in contentment rather than resignation. 

"I love you," you tell him. "And, as amazing as you are at what you do, I think you deserve a break. So just stay with me for now, okay?"

"Mmm... mmm-hmm." You smile at his voice, deep with sleep already. "Love you, too."  

- It doesn't take him long at all to drift off, sleeping soundly next to you. With that, you slip out if bed. As much as you hate to leave him, you have more to do. 

You head to the kitchen, finishing up what you have of dinner, as well as working on a pot of tea and a bit of dessert. 

Once everything is done, you fix his cup and plate, heading back into the bedroom. You nudge him awake. "Dinner."

He smiles upon seeing you, eyes lighting up just a little bit. "Thank you," he says, taking the plate from your hands. "You're the best."

"So are you." You leave the room and come back with your own meal, staying by his side to make sure that he actually eats, -- he's been known to be too busy to do that, too.

Once you're both done, you take your plates back to the kitchen. "Be right back," you tell Trent. When you return, you have two of the cookies you had just baked in hand.

"I know they're not the heartiest thing in the world," you say. "But they're good for cheering a person up, yeah?"

He just barely nods, taking one of the sweets from your hand. "God," he says, taking a bite. "You're an angel."

Despite the blush spreading to your face, -- you had missed his compliments, too, -- you shake your head. "Come on, now," you say. "You know I'm not that." 

"You're right," he replies. "But you said that I'm too tired tonight."

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist again. "You're too much," you murmur. "But you're mine."

"Of course I am." He leans back into you upon finishing the cookie. You nestle your head into his shoulder, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair.

- When the two of you fall asleep, you're practically tangled up in one another's limbs, happy to return to the warmth of the person you love most. 

He still wakes up first the next morning, though, gently kissing you. "You know," he says. "I'm not so tired anymore..." 

You roll your eyes before returning that kiss. "Well.. I'll see what I can do..."