[ Stephen Strange could tell him to jump off the building and he's sure he'd blindly follow instructions. Mr. Stark had that ability, too - to speak and every instinct would react first. (Well, most of the time). The need to please met with the authoritative voice of an elder, well. Peter was raised by May Parker, who takes no prisoners and suffers no fools. ]

Right... r-right. Breathing. Breathing's good.

[ Panic attack? The word glances off of him even as he bends to put his head between his knees, elbows braced on his thighs and hands linked against the back of his head as he tries to suck in deep lungfuls of air. He almost wants to sit back up and say that this, hands down, is not a panic attack. Not that he really knows what those are like, but he's just winded! He's had a long day. He just watched someone defile everything they went through to save the world.

It takes a good two minutes before his heart rate finally begins to slow, but the embarrassment of it all leaves him bowed a little longer, so as not to look the other man in the face just yet. ]

I'm okay, I swear. Just - ah. I didn't know this was your roof. Garden. Just needed a place to stop and kind of wound up here.

[ He nearly sounds apologetic, as if he's not supposed to have webbed his way over every building in New York, but here he is. Finally, he raises his head and wipes furiously at his cheeks, as if threatening his eyes to stop burning. And true to form, he's going to try and gloss over the fact that Dr. Strange is indeed face level with him, waiting for the panic attack to pass. His eyes raise to meet the older man's. ]

Needed a breather. Y'know, on the way to calculus. [ A beat, then: ] But it's good to see you, Dr. Strange. I mean, anyone, really. Who isn't normal, I guess. You know what I mean.