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Ray had always compared the feeling to a tornado. Swirling, picking up everything around it and only making the destruction worse. His boyfriends never were one for analogies. As a member of the Fake AH Crew, the most infamous and powerful gang in Los Santos and the outer districts, Ray had a reputation to uphold.
It's not that he didn't trust his boyfriends; God, he trusted them with his life, but he just didn't want them to deal with his weakness. It was his burden, his problem, and he didn't want to heavily involve them.
They had only found out about his disorder because it happened in front of them. Whilst they were being shot at. To give them credit, they had all handled it well, even Gavin. Michael had sensed something was wrong with Ray through his lack of concentration, and had instantly brought him out of the firefight. Whilst Michael couldn't stop fighting - he had an explosion to set off - Geoff had also cottoned onto the bad feeling and was kneeling beside Ray, murmuring words of comfort into his ear. And he had come back to them, eventually.
That had left a fair bit of explaining to do, but they didn't judge him. After all, it wasn't exactly his fault he had a panic disorder. He wasn't anxious, or depressed. It wasn't caused by a traumatic upbringing, or just general depression evident in his teenage years - it was just something that Caleb, their doctor, had said would fade over time with the correct therapy. Ray had told him to fuck his therapy, despite Jack's protests, and instead took tablets for it. The situation wasn't ideal, but it would do for now.
So three months on, things were going better for Ray. He had five loving boyfriends, who took care of him and protected him. Geoff gave him wise words of wisdom, Jack cared for him like a parent, Ryan taught him things Ray never thought he would be able to learn, Michael humoured his crazy theories about game plot lines, and Gavin simply flat-out entertained him. Despite the occasional panic attack, Ray was pretty damn happy.
Except that glowing feeling of happiness was quickly draining away, replaced by a deep swirling pit of fear in his stomach. Ray felt his hands begin to shake, his attention drifting from the discussion that Jack and Geoff were having about helicopters as an escape method. They had been planning a particularly high-stake heist for a few days now, and it was all coming to a climax. There would be a lot of pressure on Ray for this one, and he was trying desperately to not let it get to him. He had managed to remain reasonably calm throughout the planning process, but with the nausea starting to creep up on him, there was only one thought on Ray's mind: I need to get out of here.
With that thought in mind, Ray mumbled something about fresh air and bolted from the room, leaving a surprised Geoff and a worried Jack. Ray knew that he would have to explain later, but for now, his only thought was to escape the room, the walls seemingly closing in on him. He managed to get into their training room, which was both soundproofed and pretty secluded. The air conditioning was on, meaning that the room was cool and relaxed.
Ray headed over to the right-hand wall, away from some training equipment, and simply sat down on the floor, his back to the wall. He put his head in his hands, trying to ignore the swirling in his abdomen. Focus, Ray, just breathe. It was easy enough to think it, but the vice constricting around his heart said otherwise. Oh God, I can't breathe, this is it, what a shit way to die, oh God.
Ray's train of thought was interupted by a soft voice calling out his name. Ray lifted his head out of his hands to see the calm figure of Jack, his face soft and eyes kind. He looked worried, but otherwise calm. He slowly approached Ray, and sat down beside him. Jack knew how to deal with these attacks - his ex-wife, Caiti, used to have them all of the time. He just wanted Ray to know that he was not alone.
"I'm here, Ray. You're not alone." Jack soothed.
He didn't make any attempt to touch the younger man, he simply sat next to him, murmuring quiet words of confidence. When it appeared that Ray was beginning to calm, Jack pulled out his phone. "Don't call Geoff, please, I can handle it." Ray sighed, his breath shaky.
"I'm not going to, not yet. I've got something that might help." Jack said.
He loaded up his Google app, and went onto the website he had discovered a few weeks ago. He held the phone so that Ray could see it. "It's pretty calming." He explained. "You press the colour buttons, and it creates a Space Nebula of that colour. It does it slowly, and you can block out everything else and match your breathing to the app as it makes the image."
Jack handed Ray the phone, and watched as the Puerto Rican pressed on the coloured buttons. The concentration on his face was intense as Ray created the Nebula image, his breathing slowing down to a more normal pace as the image progressed. Eventually, Ray dragged his eyes away from the screen, and handed the phone back to Jack.
"Thanks, Jack." Ray mumbled. "That helped."
"It's a pretty neat app, right?" Jack stated, and Ray nodded. "We'll just stay here for a few minutes, and then go back upstairs. I think Geoff's making Enchiladas for dinner. Gav's got that new game too, called Fibbage."
Ray groaned quietly. "God, noise."
"I know, I'll tell them to keep it down." Jack promised.
After about ten minutes, the two men headed back up to Geoff's main apartment, though he owned the whole building. The two had been gone for about 40 minutes overall, and all signs of any criminality had been erased. Michael and Gavin were sitting on one sofa, playing Minecraft on the large flat screen tv. Ryan was sitting on the breakfast bar, talking to Geoff as he cooked the food. They all greeted the two men with smiles, Ryan pressing a small kiss to Ray's forehead.
"So, Raymundo, the real question is... chili or barbeque?" Geoff grinned, mouthing 'thank you' to Jack behind the Puerto Rican's back as he laughed and denied the offer of chili enchiladas.