Liam lets out a panicked huff as he presses his hands over his ears and tries to block out all sound so that he can focus on writing the history essay in front of him. The question is one that he knows he should find easy. 'Explain why some groups did not benefit during the 1920s in America'.

His mind can't seem to think, and he slams his palm into his temple a couple of times as if he's trying to knock the answer into his head.

It doesn't work and he throws his pen down on the desk before standing up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over in the process before he storms over to his open window.

He's all sweaty and hot despite the snow filled skies outside. The voices become louder the closer to the window he gets.

"Come on Agent Danny!" Niall yells, running to the end of the garden in his winter jacket, hat pulled firmly over his ears so that all Liam can see from his room is the eight year old's bright red nose.

Danny comes running next, dark hair sticking up from running around in the wind, hands held in front of him like he's holding a gun in their imaginary spy game that Niall always loves to play.

There had been a time where Liam would have gone and joined in with their little games just to make his baby brother happy, but now the sound just aggravates him. He slams his window shut, hoping that the two eight year olds hear the sound and take the hint.

He can still hear their muffled voices as he moves back to his desk, and his hands find their way back up to his ears, fingers absently tugging at the hair on the sides of his head as he struggles to take an even breath. He turns his attention back to the question in front of him and he reads it again. Then again. Then once more because his stupid brain still can't seem to process any of the words, his throat is all right and closed up, and he can't breathe in a way that hasn't happened since he was Harry's age.

There's a knock on his door and he physically flinches before he glances up in time to see his Papa poke his head into his room, giving him a small smile.

"Hey kiddo. Dad's making drinks for everyone, asked if you wanted anything?" He asks, eyes lingering on the fifteen year olds face before his brows knit together in concern. "You okay? You look a little stressed."

Liam just shakes his head quickly, because the last thing he needs is his Papa trying to force him into taking a break when he really needs to get this essay done and then study some more before mock exams start the following week.

"I'm not stressed, Papa. Um. I could use a coffee? Please," he says, and the man lets out a small chuckle.

"You and your coffee. I'm starting to think you have an addiction," he comments, and Liam manages to force a smile in return, finally sucking in an even breath at the temporary distraction.

"It's only my second one today, Papa," he replies.

Papa just laughs, ruffling his hair in a way that comforts the boy more than he'll ever let on because he's fifteen and determined to be seen as an adult. "Alright, I'll bring it up to you in five. Just...take it easy, alright?"

Liam nods and waits for the man to leave the room before he turns back to the question with his heart racing. Taking it easy isn't an option. He doesn't want to be a failure.

.

The week before exams passes by in a whirlwind of nothing other than stress. He drinks more coffee than he's sure should be humanly possible in an effort to stay up until late to study every night, catching maybe a couple hours if he's lucky before he has to be up for school again. And every day goes the same; school then home to do more schoolwork, skipping lunch to study in the library some more and then feeling too sick to eat all of his dinner each evening. The routine passes by each back in a slow haze of anxiety and hunger and exhaustion; and then plenty of coffee which worsens his anxiety, dulls his hunger, and pushes his exhaustion back for a little while.

Before he knows it, he's standing outside the exam hall waiting to walk in with Emily by his side. His girlfriend reaches out to give his hand a squeeze, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Don't look so worried. These aren't even the important ones yet," she says.

And Liam knows that she means it in a way to reassure him, but it makes his heart pound a little harder against his ribs. If this is how the unimportant ones make him feel, how's he ever going to survive the real exams?

Before he can even try to calm his shallow breaths, the line starts to move and they're all going into the exam hall. He finds the desk with his name on it in a daze, trying to remind himself of everything he knows and how hard he's studied so that he shouldn't have to worry as he sits down, legs giving out like jelly from beneath him the moment they're safe to do so.

He bounces his leg up and down at a million miles an hour beneath the desk, eyes already focused on the timer projected on the board at the front, waiting for the invigilator to tell them they can begin.

He picks up his pencil as soon as they have the get go, hands shaking so much that he can barely write his name on the front before he flicks it open. And then he just stares at the page in front of him with a hopeless sense of dread creeping over him.

The quadratic formula.
He can't remember it.

He sets his pencil down and tries to take a deep breath, but it's like being a kid all over again after being shoved over on the playground; throat closing up, lungs sealed off, heart racing in his chest so hard that he's surprised nobody else can hear it. He peers around to make sure, but everyone else is focused on the test in front of them, already scribbling away answer after answer.

His stomach flips and he still can't take a deep breath. Even the shallow ones are growing difficult, hands sweating against the desk before he raises them to the side of his head, massaging his temples slightly and willing the equation to come back to him.

Only it doesn't, because he can't remember it and he clearly hasn't studied hard enough - or maybe he's just stupid. Either way, he's going to fail and then his parents will be disappointed.

His blood is whooshing in his ears so loudly that he can't really hear anything beyond that, can't focus on anything else. And he still can't breathe. Hardly at all now.

Come to think of it, he feels a little light headed; it somehow has slipped his mind up until now what with everything else running through it.

He becomes aware of all the little things. The label on the inside of his shirt scratching against his side, the hardness of the desk beneath his elbows, that damned blood whooshing in his ears and -

He doesn't even realise that he's had his eyes squeezed closed until a hand settles itself in his shoulder and they shoot open quickly. He stares into the face of his maths teacher, Mrs Henderson, almost panting immensely exertion now.

She looks concerned, peering over his shoulder and he follows his gaze to where Emily is sitting upright and looking at him across the otherwise silent hall. A few papers turn and the sound feels deafening paired with that whooshing blood and his thudding heart and his heavy breaths -

"- on, lets get you out for some air," the teacher is saying, and he doesn't even object because honestly, he's barely aware of anything yet somehow aware of everything all at once; and either way, he can't remember the freaking quadratic formula so he's going to fail.

Somehow his shaking legs manage to walk out of the hall, eyes following him as he goes, Mrs Henderson's hands resting gently on his shoulders as she leads him into a quiet corridor.

As soon as he's out of the exam hall, his legs give out and he crumpled to the floor against a wall, hands moving to clutch at his chest as he struggles to breathe.

The teacher kneels in front of him, face soft and concerned. Mrs Henderson has always been kind to him, always offered extra help to study where needed. Maybe if he had excepted then he wouldn't be in this state right now.

"Alright Liam, take some deep breaths," she advices in a soft voice and Liam wants to bite back that if it were that easy then he would be doing it already, except he doesn't because he can't breathe.

She looks over her shoulder, speaking to another member of staff before she turns back to Liam. "You don't have to worry about going back in there, honey. Your parents are being called as we speak, okay?" She says, and Liam wants to fight against it but he doesn't bother because he knows he won't be able to do the test in this state anyway.

He finally manages to suck in a few shallow breaths, his hands shaking so hard in his lap that he has to ball them tightly together to cover it, pulling his knees up into his chest as he tries to calm himself. His mind is still racing, trying to remember when a shadow falls over him.

And he isn't sure how much time has passed, because Papa is there already, taking Mrs Henderson's place in front of him as he kneels down, eyes soft and worried, still wearing his lanyard from the university where he works.

His expression is asking a million questions, the main one being 'how did this happen?' and Liam forces out an answer before the question is even spoken aloud.

"I couldn't remember the quadratic formula, Papa," he mumbles, eyes swimming with tears, and the man just sighs, pulling him into his chest and squeezing him tightly.

The contact grounds him, and he relishes in it, ear presses to the man's chest so that he can listen to the steady beat of his heart, waiting for his own to fall into rhythm with it. He doesn't even care that he's fifteen year old and curled up into a ball in the floor of the hallway, hugging his father. He just wants the comfort. Yearns for it.

"Come on, kiddo. Lets get you home."

.

He can hear them talking outside of his bedroom door that evening as he sits at his desk, textbook open on the page hat holds the quadratic formula.

They're using low, hushed voices which he knows they reserve for the things they deem important that they don't want to be overheard.

He waits for the inevitable knock on his door, letting out a soft 'yeah' when it comes.

The men filter in together, faces both painted with the same gentle, pitiful expressions as they close the door behind them. "Hey, Bear," Dad says in a quiet voice, eyes scanning over him before landing on the open book, which he observes with a small frown. "Back to studying already?" He asks.

Liam gives a shrug, cheeks warming up a little. He hasn't had an attack like that in so long, and he can't remember them ever being so bad before. Or so embarrassing.

He practically cringes at the thought of having to be taken out of the exam hall in front of everyone and then blobbing like a baby in front of his maths teacher. He winces.

"Hm. It's so dumb, Dad, I remembered the formula straight away once I calmed down. Don't you think that's dumb?" He says in a small voice, trying to force humour to sift into his tone, which only succeeds in making him sound more pathetic.

His parents don't laugh. Papa just winces and Dad looks sad. "Buddy, that isn't dumb. What's dumb is forcing yourself to study so hard that you don't sleep or eat or take care of yourself," he says, and Liam can't help but take offence to that, defences shooting up automatically.

He frowns. "I have been taking care of myself," he says, arms crossed over his chest tightly as he spins to face them a little more directly in his chair.

Papa shakes his head, moving to lean on the side of his desk. "Kid, you're not. You've lost a lot of weight and you look exhausted. These exams aren't worth your health, and neither are the grades that follow," he tells him.

Liam's mind reads those words as 'your grades are going to be bad anyway, so stop trying so hard to change that'. He grits his teeth together for a moment, already deciding to study even harder from that point on just to prove to himself that he's capable.

Dad takes a softer approach, crouching in front of the chair so that they're a little closer to eye level, looking him in the eye. And Liam can't help it; he looks away.

"Just come down for dinner tonight, buddy, okay? And get an early night in. No more pushing yourself over the edge," he says, and Liam agrees, if only to make them leave his room sooner so that he can carry on with his work.

And so the cycle continues.