I CAN'T SLEEP ?PHAN

It had been a couple, very long days since I had spoke with Phil. My body usually stayed put under the covers, refusing to venture outside unless I needed to go to the restroom or get water; other than that, I was a stubborn hermit in denial, denial that it was my fault, that I'm the bastard in this silent argument between my roommate and I.

It's not like Phil made any effort to speak to me, I only saw brief glances of him walking down the hall from the crack in my door, my eyes peering out at his unknowing figure like a stalker. I was so desperate to see any part of him and to hear any distant whispers that may leave him, but at the same time, so agonizingly hesitant. He was a wounded bear and I was a curious onlooker.

I didn't know how to approach him, or if he even wanted me to. I didn't know if he just wanted us to ignore each other for the rest of time and end our entire friendship, or if he really wanted us to come together and apologize but he was too afraid to, like me. The lack of communication was mentally killing me, and so was the lack of sleep.

There was no rest, there was no escape anymore, and Phil was my lost paradise. I didn't want to go back to him selfishly just because I wanted to sleep soundly like before, I wanted to go back to him because I wanted his loving glances and gentle touches back in my grasp, but I didn't know how. I was so uneducated and deprived of social interaction that I didn't know how to deal with all of this; I only knew how to cry and drown in my tears of self pity and confusion.

"I swear to god, if you don't wake up..." I heard briefly, rousing me slightly from my deep sleep. The voice sounded familiar, velvety and soothing. I groaned in protest, attempting to wrap my duvet around my shoulders tighter as if to protect myself from the intruding sound.

I felt soft, wet lips press against my ultra-sensitive neck and the person got what they wanted, I awoke, with a swinging fist.

"Jesus Christ, Dan!" Phil clutched his cheek, a red bruise already forming beneath his long fingers. His eyes looked shocked and almost sad, I didn't know why but I think I had an idea of it.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry!" I scrambled out of bed and tumbled over to the kitchen where I swiped an ice pack out from the freezer and dashed my way back to my room where I found the injured boy sitting on the bed idly.

I walked over cautiously beside him, poking his hand out of the way and pressing the frozen block to the side of his now darkening face.

"I was trying to wake you up, sorry," Phil mumbled, his eyes glued to the carpet that desperately needed vacuuming, "I'm sorry for before, too," I stood silent, my gaze too cowardly to meet his.

"I am too," I choked out, my lip almost popping out to pout but I stopped it; I wasn't going to cry like I always do. I was going to put my stupid feelings past myself and treat the situation as if I was a proper adult, "I want to tell you what's wrong."

"Oh?" Phil looked up at me curiously, tilting his head.

"Yeah," I toddled over to the spot next to him and plopped down, handing the ice pack to him if he needed it later. I was going to tell someone how I felt for once, because that was the right thing to do; at least I hoped so.