I'll go inside on the count of three. One; what if PJ says something in front of mum and his dad? Two; what if he thinks something's really wrong and is really worried because he thinks I'm not okay? Three; what if he's right? Okay, Dan. Deep breath. Let's go. I open the front door to our house and take a step inside, looking around the entrance hall and into the adjoining lounge room where PJ is draped over the side of one of the lounge chair arms, his legs dangling off the end.
"Dan?" he calls out from the well-lit room as I turn to put his bag by the entrance hall cabinet, I can hear him scrambling to get up and within a moment his arms are enveloping me from behind.
"You're a bit clingy today," I joke as I peel his arms off my torso. He turns me around and looks at me properly, clearly very distressed, "Peej, what's wrong? What's going on with you and everyone else? Why are you suddenly so obsessed with my well-being?"
"I just…" he face falls in front of my eyes and suddenly he looks very, very guilty. What has he done?
"What have you done?" I ask cautiously, and he doesn't say a thing. Oh god. Oh my god, I know what he's done, "You DIDN'T, Peej! Fucking tell me you didn't!"
"I… didn't?" Oh my fucking god, he has.
I slowly turn to pick up his bag, watching him carefully as his eyes do the same to me. As soon as I've got his backpack, I turn to face him as I was seconds earlier. Three. Two. One. I throw his bag at him as hard and as fast as I can and I'm running through the house and up the stairs toward my bedroom before he can stop me. God, I am out of breath. …Twelve, thirteen, fourteen stairs. I am so, so out of shape. …Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. I really need to start working out or something. I bolt into my room and there it is. My laptop, sitting open on my bed.
"PJ!" I scream out, assuming we're home alone based off of the quiet throughout the house. He clomps up the stairs, loudly I might add, and stumbles into my room with the guiltiest look on his face.
"Dan, I'm sorry… I noticed a few things were off and… What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?" He tried to plead with me,
"It's called respecting my fucking privacy!"
"It's called being scared that you'd disappeared to throw yourself in front of a train or something!" PJ screams out just as loud as I've been screaming at him. I think my heart has stopped. He's really gone through my files if that's his immediate thought… he's read what I've been writing over the past few months… It's not a diary, it's just some of my clearer thoughts put to paper through some profoundly powerful words, but I know that what he's read is enough to spark his fears.
"I didn't… I wasn't going to… It wasn't my intent for you to read that, Peej. You know that writing things out helps me, it's just an outlet. It's a good outlet too, and you know it," I say, I've changed my tone back to more of a calming one, at least that's what I'm hoping it sounds like to him.
"You said a lot of things in there… It's just fourteen pages of some really scary content, Dan," he looks like he's about to cry now. Please don't cry PJ, please don't cry or I'll cry too!
"Peej… It's not that bad, is it? Like, some of it's got to be normal, right? Like, they're not thoughts that I sit and think about all day every day, I haven't even opened that document since Saturday, and it isn't a big deal…" I try to convince him, but he just takes a step back and gently sits himself on my bed, stroking the smoothed out duvet cover.
"Dan, it's not normal to have thoughts about…" he swallows the saliva that's built up in his mouth, "…about injecting yourself with a local anaesthetic, slicing down your wrist, and then watching yourself bleed to death…" Well, there go my hopes of being normal, except… I guess that is normal for me. I don't even have concerns about the 'scary' thoughts anymore, they're just there.
"I'm not going to do that…" I say, sitting down next to him, "I'm okay, I'm not bad at the moment, I promised you that I would tell you if I was. You went through my password protected laptop and read something that I've been putting together as an outlet for my thoughts… Yes, it's horrific, and yeah, it sounds really, really, bad, but they're not plans. Just thoughts. What happened to trusting me?"
PJ swallowed again, fiddling with his hands in his lap before looking up at me with teary eyes. Here we go.
"I was- I am really scared, Dan…" his voice is quiet and timid, "I'm going to ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly. I do trust you, and that's why I'm asking you now, but I know that when you're unwell you're probably not going to feel like you can say something. I don't even think you know that you've been like… that… lately."
Oh god. He's right. He's always picked up on things about myself before I have, he's right…
PJ looks at me, waiting for my signal that it's okay for him to continue. I look at him and take a deep breath before he starts again,
"These aren't just random assumptions, okay?" he says, and I nod, "This is based off of what happened last November, and what I read before you came home, and off of how you've been acting. I'm only asking because I love you, okay?"
"Okay."
"Have you been hurting yourself?" his voice sounds pained and as though it's about to crack. I don't know how to answer him. I don't 'self-harm'. I don't cut or burn myself or anything. I don't
"No. No," I answer him, "I'm not hurting myself."
"Dan, can you show me your wrists?" he asks me, looking like he's really about to cry. I swallow dryly. I don't cut myself. I don't have razors, not even the normal kind, apparently I grow very little body hair. Like a child. I don't cut myself, I swear I'm not cutting, but I'm scared because I know he'll see something he won't like, and now I know I look guilty. I pull up my sleeves and lay my wrists and forearms out flat on my thighs in front of me,
"I don't- I don't actually hurt myself," I say as his eyes trace over the red marks crossing my white skin.
"What- What is this?" he's asking me, his fingers tracing over the red marks before his eyes are drawn to the slightly more faded bruises the same size and shape. Here we go…
"When I'm stressed or overwhelmed, or if I generally feel empty or down, I do thi-" I begin before PJ interrupts me,
"Is this from a rubber-band?" he gasps, "When you're fiddling with your hands or something, it's the rubber-band? Dan, I know it's not like, cutting or something, but this isn't good! You're actually leaving marks…"
"It's just a habit," I say as he places my arm back down.
He's just looking at me. He's just staring at me. His eyes are watering. I hope he doesn't cry… I open my mouth to speak again and he shakes his head. Well, at least the awkward nodding I've been making people feel as though they have to do all day has stopped. Oh, and now he's crying. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I've fucked up. It's something I don't even think about, ever, it just happens of its own accord, and I've really upset my best friend because of it.
"Okay," he wipes his eyes, "Next question, we'll go with a bit of an easier one. Where did you go after lunch, and why?"
I don't know what it is, but I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know where I was, that I was with Phil, alone, at his house, where we talked and… kissed. PJ can't know that I might be attracted to men. I'm a sixteen year old guy, we all know what happens to sixteen year old guys that are attracted to other guys! They end up getting beaten up in the schools handicap bathroom during lunch, THAT'S what happens, and that can't be me.
If I tell him the truth, if I tell him that I kissed a guy, if I tell him, or anyone else, that I might not be straight, I could lose my family and my friends. Actual friends, like Chris. Maybe even PJ… What if his dad starts to hate me? What if mum hates me? What if he hates me and she doesn't and my sexuality tears this whole family apart?! What if I single-handedly destroy our entire family!? I can't do that again! It's already my fault that dad left, I can't ruin mum's marriage again. I can't do that to her. I just can't. Oh god, what do I say? What am I supposed to tell him?!
"I went home with a friend, we did friend things like talk about family and eat food," I say, and technically I'm not lying. Phil and I did both of those things.
"Which friend?" he asks, clearly demanding that I tell him otherwise he's not going to be so nice about this anymore,
"Just… Phil," I say, almost inaudibly stating Phil's name. PJ just stares at me. He's looking right at me with a look of confusion on his face,
"Dan, two days ago you cheered people on as they beat him up and locked him in my locker," PJ's saying through his confused expression, "So why would you be at his house with him? Why would you leave school early with him? Why would either of you want to hang out with the other?"
Because, PJ, for some reason I am extremely attracted to him and he's completely charming, why wouldn't I want to be alone with him in his house instead of sitting in the school library?
"Because, PJ, I am not entirely incapable of redeeming myself and making friends outside of my regular circle," I tell him. He looks at me for a second longer before his eyes drift away from me and back down to my wrists.
"Yeah," PJ breaths, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry."
"No, no, I'm not right! I mean, I am right, I mean… Ugh. Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. You're worried, and that's okay. You just care… You're trying to help," I breathe, running my fingers through my hair and watching PJ carefully.
He flings himself at me and wraps his arms around my neck, which is pretty customary for us since he's still a little taller than I am (though I am one hundred percent determined to one day be taller than him, I will win this!). He moves his arms further down my back and pulls me into him as if he's my mother and I his distressed child, rubbing my back soothingly.
"Any more questions before mum and your dad get home?" I ask, and he pulls me in tighter,
"I don't know how to ask it…" he whispers into my ear. I feel guilty. I've worried him again, and there's almost nothing worse than that. His hand continues to stroke up and down my back and it's so comforting.
We never used to hug like this. We used to think this was weird and possibly even uncomfortable. It's not a normal thing between guys, and it wasn't a normal thing for us either… until last November. I don't like to talk about it. I don't even like to think about it. I know some people can look back at things and accept them and move on, but I can't do that. Maybe one day it'll be like that for me, but until then I prefer to pretend it didn't happen. It's hard to pretend though, especially when it's not only you that's been affected by the whole ordeal.
PJ was home when I broke down. I didn't know he was here. I left school halfway through lunch because I felt overwhelmed and more than anything in the entire world, I just wanted to go to bed. Someone could have offered me twelve million dollars to stay at school and I still would have chosen to go home to bed. The thing is… when I got home and no one else was here, I just shut the front door, locked it behind me, and started hyperventilating. Everything in my head was a blur. I'd been struggling with bad thoughts and even worse feelings for a while and for some reason they all decided to attack me at once, building their forces and sending their armies in. I barely remember most of it.
An hour and a half later and somehow I was locked in my room, dizzy, hyperventilating, crying… with a bottle of sleeping pills in my hand. I didn't plan it, not really. I'd thought about it, but I never thought I'd do it. It wasn't until I looked at my bed and realised that I never wanted to be anywhere else again. I barely even wanted to be there. PJ must've come home from school at some point because he heard me crying, struggling to breathe, and he started knocking on the door. I couldn't answer him. I was frustrated, I couldn't do anything… so I swallowed the entire bottle of pills. PJ just kept calling out my name and his knocks turned to him pounding against the door. I don't remember anything at all after that.
In counselling, PJ told me what happened from his perspective, and I've never been able to forgive myself. I know it's only been five months, but I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for doing that to him. He said he came home from school a little bit early because no one could find me, and when he opened the front door all he could hear was heaving and sobbing coming from upstairs. By the time he was outside my bedroom door, he could hear my hyperventilation, my crying, and my yells of frustration. After a few minutes he couldn't hear me anymore. I'd stopped. He says that was the first time that he had ever felt his heart break and that it was the most fear he'd felt in his entire life.
He had to break down my door. I don't even know how he did it, maybe it was adrenalin, but by the time he got to me, he was in tears and I was slipping in and out of consciousness. In the ambulance he called our parents… The paramedics and then the people at the hospital kept asking him questions he couldn't answer – he didn't know anything. Deep down, I'm sure he knew what had happened, but it wasn't until after our parents sat him down and told him that I'd tried to… kill myself that it hit him. I don't think he's fully recovered, and I can't blame him. I traumatised him. I ruined his life. I swear I didn't mean to do it. I regret it whole heartedly.
"It's alright," I say, his squeeze on me tightening as he takes a breath in, "Just ask…"
"Okay," PJ nods, his brown hair tangling loosely with my own slightly darker hair, "Dan… When you left school today, and I know that you leaving school shouldn't be a big deal, but it is, I thought… I thought it was going to happen again. You've been acting weird, Dan, and you've been a little distant… Can you honestly tell me that you're not going to…" he takes in a deep breath, "…to tr-try ag-again?"
"Peej, no! I'm not going to! It's not like that now, okay? I'm okay, and I know I have support from you and everyone now, and I'm not on the verge of a break-down. I'm trying to sort some personal things out, but it's nothing like that. It's nothing like it was that day, I promise, PJ. I don't want to do that, I won't do it to you, and mum, and your dad, or anyone!" I say, squeezing him this time.
"Dan…" He says with watery eyes, holding me at arm's length and smiling a relieved smile, "I love you so much," he whispers, pulling me back in. I close my eyes and relax into his arms, it's not weird anymore. The first time he saw me back at the hospital after mum and Jamie told him what happened, he threw his arms around my sore body and cried. After I was sent home he slept in my bed with me for a week, holding me onto me for dear life, MY dear life, as if letting me go would mean that he'd lose me forever. I'd always considered him my best friend, always, and it was that exact moment that I really felt as though he was my brother. I love him.
"I love you too," I say, softening my voice, "I'm not going anywhere."
"I'd probably be playing peek-a-boo with my kid and just never come back," some girl a couple of rows behind me laughs loudly with her friends. Of course she's just joking, but I'm not in the mood for it today.
"My dad was really good at that game," I say, my voice flat. They all look shocked, but why should I care? They should be disgusted in themselves for even thinking something like that.
It's been a week and one day since I kissed Phil and had that really intimate discussion with PJ, and I've tried being normal. Phil and I haven't really hung out since then, nor have we properly spoken. I think I might have scared him off. I've smiled to Phil whenever I've seen him, in fact, I smile to him even when he's not looking. Okay, it's not to him, per se, but I'm smiling in his general direction whenever I see him. He smiled back at first, too… until I had to go and BETRAY OUR FRIENDSHIP LIKE THE COMPLETELY HORRIBLE, AWFUL EXCUSE FOR A PATHETIC HUMAN BEING I AM! Fucking hell, I feel bad. I didn't know it was possible to feel this much guilt. I probably broke his heart… Actually, probably not that far, but it would have hurt. A lot. We were meant to be friends…
I caught Chris pushing him up against a bunch of lockers a few days ago and stopped him, that's our most notable point of contact since we hung out at his house. Chris looked at me, confused, and asked why I cared. I didn't know what to say and all that came out was, "He's PJ's friend."
He's PJ's friend?! PJ'S FRIEND?! Not MY friend, PJ'S friend! I can't image how that would have hurt Phil… I fucked up. I really fucked up, and now his smiles are a little more forced… pained even. I'm really sorry, but I don't know how to apologise to him.
"Dan?" someone's talking to me, "Daniel?" Oh. It's Chris. I turn to face him properly and raise my eyebrows so he knows he has my attention, "Are you alright?" he asks.
"Yeah, why?" I answer, pulling his pen from his mouth and putting it back down on the desk,
"Because you haven't spoken about your dad since… like, at least four years ago, and you just snapped at Christine about him?" he queries quite sternly without letting me break eye contact.
"I've spoken about him," I practically hiss, and I have, I'm not lying. From time-to-time I have the immense pleasure of telling people that my dad left, that my dad left me because he doesn't love me.
"I think what you just said is a little different from the standard variations of the 'My dad left when I was seven and now I have a new one' speech that you spill out when you have to. Very different," Chris informs me, his words drilling into my skull, boring holes and raising my temper.
"I DON'T CARE, CHRIS. HE'S NOT IMPORTANT!" I yell, standing up and drawing the attention of literally the entire room as I storm from my seat to the front of the classroom. On my way down I look at Phil's desk and spot the colouring book again, but I don't want to think about that fucking stupid, intriguing colouring book right now. I walk straight out the door, the teacher calling my name after me, but I ignore her. I don't care about her either.
I've been slumped down in the corner of the handicap bathroom for about fifteen minutes now, I think. I've just been crying. Not sad crying, or depressed crying, none of that bullshit. It's angry crying. I'm angry and I'm upset. I'm frustrated. I'm not having a great day, I don't really have a reason why. I just generally feel utterly, utterly horrible, and now to top it all off I've gone and made a complete idiot of myself in front of one of my classes. Wonderful. There's a knock on the door and I watch as the handle turns down as whoever it is goes to open the door. Before it's registered in my mind that this means whoever it is will see me like this, and before I can open my mouth to tell them the bathroom's occupied, Phil is standing in front of me and the door is closing shut behind him.
"I figured you'd be here," he speaks, locking the door and pressing his back to the smooth surface as he slides down to sit by me. His voice is gentle and I wish he'd just keep talking to me forever because listening to his voice and the things he says is just such a wonderful experience.
"Did you?" I ask, wiping the tears from my red face and making my best efforts to not look like a complete tool.
"No," he says, and I laugh a little, it's funny. It's honest. "I checked like six other places before here. I even walked past about three times, I just figured you weren't in here because the door was unlocked," he chuckles.
"It's strategic," I shrug with an amused smile.
"Are you okay?" he asks, flicking a stray tear from my cheek away.
"Yeah, just a bad day," I sigh, "Thanks for coming to find me… Oh, and I'm so sorry for what I said the other day, I should've said you were my friend. You are my friend Phil. We're friends… if you still want to be," I almost start babbling and have to stop myself before I say something stupid.
"Don't worry about that, precious," he reassures me, running his hand down my arm, "Dan, I get that it's a weird situation for you, okay? None of that is important right now unless it's what's on your mind. Do you wanna talk about what happened in class?"
How is he so incredible? How does he know exactly what to say? How does he use little pet names like that with such ease?
"Thanks…" I whisper, "I don't know if I can talk about it," I tell him.
"That's okay," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him slightly,
"Sometimes it just gets to me, but not normally when I'm already in a horrible mood or whatever," I confess.
"What gets to you?" Phil asks, softly and supportively. I wish I knew how to tell him. It's a story I've told just a few times before, but it never gets easier, especially since I haven't had to speak about it for so long.
"My dad…"I shudder. He looks at me with a slight softness and the all-too recognisable expression of pity. I hate pity, but I can't take that out on him.
"Sorry…" he says quietly and I shake my head as he begins to speak again, "Do you want to try and talk about it?" It's a good question. Do I want to talk about it? Do I? Do I, really? I guess I do. I do. I will.
"He left when I was about seven… He and my mum had been fighting a bit over my behaviour, my dad used to blame my mum for me not going to bed on time, or not sleeping and needing him to stay in there with me so that I wouldn't cause trouble… Whenever they fought it was because of me or something I did. I heard everything just about every single time, so I know that for a fact. Then one night he just left. He put me to bed that night, tucked me in, and told me he'd see me in the morning… and when I woke up the next day, he was gone. My mum was crying on the couch and hadn't slept. After I went to bed he walked right up to her and told her he was leaving and then he- he… he walked out the front door and never came back…" I'm surprised I got through that, if I'm being honest. I think most of it was probably inaudible or difficult for Phil to understand, but he seems to have gotten it.
Oh god, I'm crying. I didn't even notice. Phil pulls me closer and suddenly I'm crying into his chest as his arms wrap around me properly. It hurts so much just to think about him, talking about him is another excruciating sensation entirely. I don't care how long it's been, I don't care if I have a new dad now, I don't even care if I have a new, better, family now, because it still hurts. I don't understand how he could just leave like that. I'm sure that at some point, on some level, my mum will get over it, assuming she hasn't already. In a way I guess it's just like another break up for her, they weren't married or anything, the only real difference being that she had me with him. I, on the other hand, have to live the rest of my life knowing that my father doesn't love me, and that not even one of the two people that are supposed to love me, genetically imposed to love me, is able to.
"Dan, I am so sorry…" whispers Phil, interrupting my thoughts as he runs his fingers through my hair and gently rubs his hand up and down my back. He probably thinks I'm some sort of freak. Who the hell cries to someone like this? "You're kind of having a pretty difficult time at the moment, huh?"
"Yeah," I breathe, "You could say that. I'm sorry for being like this," I say as I slightly pull from his embrace. I don't want him to stop holding me like this, it's so comforting and it feels so safe, but I'm scared that if I don't break the contact, he'll realise just how pathetic I am. Jesus, I'm such a fucking loser.
"Don't be sorry, it's okay to feel upset about things like that," he smiles sensitively, "And I heard what happened with Christine, so it's no wonder you'd be upset. Anyone in your position would be."
"You're really nice," I sniff with a quick smile of my own, "And you're really good at this whole consoling thing and knowing what to say…"
"I've had a fair bit of experience," Phil tells me, "Do you feel any better?"
"A little, yeah. I'm glad we're friends," I chuckle.
"Me too, sweetness," he grins, quickly stroking my cheek to clear away some of the wetness from the tears.
"Is it weird that I kinda like it when you call me little things like that?" I ask with a shy giggle, there's something so sweet and endearing about it that makes me feel all warm inside, but I doubt I'll ever tell him that much.
"Not at all," he smiles, "I'm searching for one that fits perfectly and sticks, but so far everything has seemed fitting for you," he laughs a little.
"You're really impressive," I tell him very quickly, almost hoping that he doesn't hear me.
"Not really," he grins, "but thank you."
I wonder if now's the time to ask again. I've been wondering and thinking about Phil and his little pencil-case sized colouring book far too much for my liking as of late, and I wanted to bring it up, but-
"What's on your mind?" Phil asks, sounding concerned because apparently I've zoned out,
"Um," I begin to think a loud, "How come you carry around a colouring book and are always colouring?" And now that's it's come out of my mouth, I realise how much of a dick I sound.
I hope I haven't offended him… Please god, don't let me have offended him.
"Colouring is therapeutic. It's a simple, enjoyable mindfulness exercise; it helps with stress relief and anxiety and stuff…" he answers shyly, no longer making eye contact. His response sounds rehearsed.
"Oh."
"Yeah…" he breathes in response to my clearly very insightful statement, "I have problems with anxiety, colouring helps. My mind wanders a lot too," he chuckles, "Especially in classes. So it helps me focus a little better, but it's mostly to keep my mind in check so I don't start worrying about every little thing."
"But you don't seem like you're anxious or anything… ever?" I, once again, find myself wondering aloud. He seems full of confidence and pretty normal to me.
"Anxiety disorder is different for lots of people, like you can be still be functional and stuff," he shrugs, "I can get really anxious about a few things, but most of the time I'm fine. I've found ways to cope and ways to avoid certain things, and, yeah, for the most part I'm completely fine," he smiles. I've always assumed that all anxiety disorder type stuff was the same, but I guess I was spectacularly wrong.
"You're actually really, really impressive," I let out a short exhale through my nostrils in a silent laugh.
Phil grins at me in thanks and drops his head onto my shoulder for a moment before forcing it back upright,
"Okay, so we've learned a bit about each other today," he chuckles,
"Fancy sitting with us at lunch?" I suggest. Maybe if Phil and Chris get to know each other, they'll be friends! He's already friends with PJ and me, so I don't think that there would be much conflict… maybe… Probably not.
"You know what does make me anxious, though?" Phil says, "Sitting with someone that has no problem whatsoever with shoving me in a locker, or pinning me against a wall and cutting off my air supply, or beating me up, or, my personal favourite… getting his friends to help him with doing any of the latter."
"I didn't know it was getting that bad…" I confess, "I'm so sorry. I'm gonna talk to him about it, okay?" Why the hell is Chris still targeting him? I've spoken to him about it twice, and now I need to make it a third time before he gets the freaking message?
"Yeah, thanks…" Phil replies, looking down into his lap and fiddling with a loose thread on his pants.
"Do you maybe want to do something on the weekend?" I ask, hoping to god that he doesn't reject me because I don't think I could take that right now. Actually, it was probably a bad idea to ask. If he shoots me down, it's my own fault.
"Sure," he looks up and smiles at me. His cerulean eyes shining back at me, his lips teasing at a small smile, "You could come over if you want?"
"Okay," I smile in return before something else I've been wondering pops back into my mind, "Phil?"
"Dan?" he mocks, though it's easy to tell that he means it as a "yes?" more so than anything else,
"How do you live alone?" Does that even make sense? He's probably laughing at me internally.
"Uhm," he looks up at the ceiling, the same flickering light as a week and a half ago is blinking sporadically down at us. "Before I lived here, I was technically homeless, I was in a youth shelter for a few months after my parents kicked me out. I understand where they were coming from, to a certain degree, and I try not to be too bitter about it or anything. They're really strong Catholics and I'm- you know, but I was homeless and couldn't do much about it for a little while because I was under eighteen. I turned eighteen in January and could finally rent a place without so much difficulty, and I could access the money that my grandparents left for me. The shelter wasn't too bad, but moving into my own place and having room to do things, and privacy, and my own belongings is just… better, as one could imagine," he laughs.
Phil was kicked out by his parents and was homeless, and yet he's… chuckling about it? He's so surprising, and incredible and so, so strong. That's it. When I grow up, I want to be Phil. He is just… he's only a little bit older than me and he's gone through all that. I can't imagine how terrifying that would have been for him.
"Phil, I'm so sorry," I say, and he smiles at me again. He smiles a lot. I like that about him.
"It's alright, I survived and it could have been a lot worse," he assures me. How could it get worse than that, though? He gets kicked out, is homeless, forced to live in a youth shelter and then what? A dragon burns him to a crisp? Because that's the only way that I can see his former situation possibly getting any worse.
"Dan, are you okay? You've gone all quiet?" Phil's voice interrupts my thoughts,
"I'm just quietly basking in your glory," I say with a laugh, and he reciprocates.
"Alright then," he giggles, "I'll catch you later, bright-eyes," he says smoothly as he stands up, extending a hand to offer me to do the same. I take his even-temperatured hand and allow him to pull me to my feet,
"Tomorrow, then?" I ask,
"Is five okay?" he asks in confirmation, and I nod with a bit of a half-smile, knowing that he's staring straight at my now prominent dimple.
"You're cute," he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear as he opens the door, "See you then, you've got my number, yeah?" he says a bit louder, I nod, and then he's gone, leaving me to attend lunch and my last classes for the day before heading home.