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The stadium lights pulse in time with the drums, the crowd a roaring sea of noise. The band is tearing through the bridge of the song, but my attention is locked on Enzo, the unbreakable rock of our band. He’s been acting strangely all night, and as I watch him, the reality of the situation hits me.Enzo is having a panic attack.The signs are subtle at first—the white-knuckle grip on his guitar neck, the frantic, darting look in his eyes that usually lock onto mine during this part of the set. But then, I see him struggle to draw a breath, his shoulders rising sharply. For a second, I can barely process it; Enzo is the strongest, most unshakeable person I know. But here he is, entirely overwhelmed.I can’t let the performance stop mid-song, but I also can't let him drown. I begin casually navigating my way across the stage, continuing to sing the melody into the microphone as I move toward him. The lights are bright, but the distance shrinks until I’m right behind him. I reach out and place a gentle hand on the back of his neck, using my thumb to trace slow, steady, reassuring circles against his tense skin.I keep singing, using the vocal line as an anchor, hoping my presence gives him a tether to reality. He tries his best to maintain the rhythm, his fingers fighting the tightness in his chest, but keeping up with the tempo is nearly impossible when he feels like the air is being violently sucked out of his lungs."Look at me, Enz," I mouth over the roar of the arena, not breaking my rhythm.His eyes finally find mine. They are wide, completely terrified, and filled with a frantic apology. He hates feeling out of control, and having a panic attack in front of thousands of people is his absolute worst nightmare. He desperately tries to force a lungful of air in, but it only comes out as a shaky, uneven gasp.