The Weight of Relentlessness
It had been a quiet afternoon, one that Arthur had hoped would help him regain some sense of calm. But as he sat at his desk in the lab, the low hum of machinery surrounding him, the familiar restlessness began to creep in again.
He had been trying to focus on the project Tony had given him, but his leg was moving—faster now, bouncing up and down without his consent. At first, it was just a slight twitch, almost imperceptible. But soon, it escalated, becoming an incessant rhythm, the heel of his boot tapping relentlessly against the floor, as though it had a mind of its own.
Arthur tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the task at hand. But the bouncing didn’t stop. In fact, the faster he tried to concentrate, the faster his leg seemed to move. It was as if his body had taken control, and he had no say in the matter.
His hands, which had been working on adjusting the wires in front of him, stopped moving as he realized how completely his leg had taken over. He felt the beat of his heart matching the frantic rhythm of his bouncing leg, a fast and irregular pulse in his chest.
"Come on," Arthur muttered under his breath, frustration building in his throat. "Stop. Stop, stop, stop."
His hands clenched on the desk, knuckles turning white. His leg continued to bounce, an unstoppable force. It was like being trapped in a loop, his body moving against his will, the sound of his foot hitting the floor growing louder, echoing in his ears.
He tried to focus on something else—anything else—but it was impossible. His thoughts were scattered. He couldn’t think straight. The movement in his leg felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch, a constant reminder that he couldn’t control his own body.
“What is wrong with me?” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. His breathing became shallow, quick, like he was trying to outrun something that he couldn’t escape.
His thoughts spiraled. What if it never stopped? What if his leg kept moving like this forever? What if he could never find peace, never find stillness again?
His heart rate quickened, his breath coming in shorter gasps. His chest felt tight. He stood up suddenly, hands still gripping the edge of the desk, as his body felt like it was vibrating with the need to move.
Please, stop. Please, please stop, he begged silently, but it didn’t make a difference. His leg kept bouncing.
He couldn’t escape it. The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning—What if it never stops?
Panic surged through him. His throat tightened. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands slick his hair back, off his forehead. The walls of the lab seemed to close in, the bright lights overhead becoming too harsh, too overwhelming. The sounds of the lab, once a background hum, now felt like they were closing in on him, each beep of the machinery, each click of the keyboard, magnifying the chaos in his mind.
His leg was still moving. Still bouncing. He couldn’t control it.
He needed to get out. To move. To escape this feeling.
"Arti?" A voice broke through the panic, soft and familiar. Arthur didn’t recognize it at first, too lost in the storm swirling inside his head. But when he turned around, he saw Steve standing in the doorway, his face etched with concern.
"Hey, hey, what’s going on?" Steve’s voice was steady, calm, like a lifeline in the middle of the storm.
Arthur didn’t know how to answer. His leg bounced faster, and the air around him seemed to get thicker. The more he tried to stop it, the worse it seemed to get. The walls of the lab were closing in on him, the noise from the machines unbearable. He could feel his anxiety building, tightening around his chest like a vice.
"I... I can’t stop," Arthur gasped, his voice ragged. He stepped back, his leg continuing its frantic rhythm. "It won’t stop. I... I can’t control it."
Steve moved toward him slowly, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”
Arthur's breath hitched, his chest heaving as he tried to follow Steve’s calm instructions, but every time he exhaled, his body was already anticipating the next breath, and the bouncing leg didn’t stop. It was a chaotic dance he couldn’t control, a rhythm that only heightened the noise in his mind.
Steve gently placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You’re not alone in this, Arti. You don’t have to fight it alone. Let’s slow down together.”
Arthur’s hands trembled as he took a deep breath, struggling to follow Steve’s lead. But the anxiety was still there, clawing at him, making it hard to focus. His leg kept moving, a constant reminder that his mind was a storm he couldn’t escape.
“I can’t do it,” Arthur whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek before he could stop it. "I can’t get it to stop. It’s like I’m broken.”
Steve’s voice softened, filled with understanding. “You’re not broken, Arthur. You’re just... you’re just having a moment. It’ll pass, alright? It always passes.”
Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to believe Steve, wanted to believe that this was just a moment, that the restlessness would eventually fade. But the fear still clung to him—what if this never stopped? What if he was doomed to be trapped in his own body, never able to find stillness again?
Steve didn’t move his hand from Arthur’s shoulder. Instead, he gently steered him toward a nearby chair and guided him to sit down. “Okay, just sit for a second,” Steve said. “Focus on me. Look at me, Arti.”
Arthur’s breath was still ragged, his leg continuing its relentless bounce, but Steve’s steady presence seemed to help. The familiar calm in Steve’s voice slowly began to pierce through the noise in his mind.
“Focus on my voice, okay?” Steve continued. “We’ll take this one step at a time. You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to fix everything at once. Just breathe with me. In... and out.”
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the panic, but Steve’s voice was like a constant anchor, pulling him back from the edge. Slowly, gradually, the tension in his chest started to loosen. The leg, though still bouncing, didn’t feel as out of control as before.
It wasn’t gone. Not yet. But it was better. The panic had started to ebb, replaced with the steady rhythm of Steve’s voice guiding him back to something resembling calm.
Steve didn’t let go of his presence, didn’t pull away until Arthur’s breathing had steadied. He remained next to him, patient, unwavering, until Arthur finally spoke again, his voice small and uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said quietly, ashamed of how out of control he had felt.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve replied, his voice warm. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
Arthur nodded, his chest still tight, but the panic had receded for now. His leg was still bouncing, but it felt a little less overwhelming, a little more manageable. With Steve by his side, the storm inside him didn’t seem so impossible to weather.
For now, at least, he could breathe.
To be continued…