chapter eight - phil

 Chapter Eight - Phil:

It’s funny- how attuned you can become to other people. You don’t even realize it sometimes.

I used to be that weird scary guy that spent all his time in his room writing stories, or the one who went to parties to get completely smashed and start trouble. I’d never had the chance to actually have a friend. Someone I could spend all of my time with, in my room writing stories, and have them share the quiet space with.

As I sat currently, messing with my soul sucking sticks, feet up on my desk, my eyes were on Howell- in more ways than he knew. They seemed to have a mind of their own lately, always finding him, looking at his thin, bony hands, forming words and stories.

My eyes trance his hunched body, oblivious to my stare, reading some battered book- same hands wrapped tightly around the cover, legs curled underneath him. He was so small- I almost wished I could pick him up in my hand and whisk him away from whatever nightmare he feared so much.

I tossed the cigarettes onto my desk and dropped my feet, walking over to where Howell sat. I reached over, snatching the book out of his hands.

He made a noise of protest, extending his arms out, trying to grab it back.

“What are you reading?” I asked looking at the cover. I plopped down next to him, jostling his perturbed form.

None of your business jerk, he signed, taking the book back- however not before I saw the title.

“The Little Prince?” I asked, incredulously.

He shrugged, curling his shoulders in on himself- probably thinking I thought he was a giant loser or something.

“I love that book,” I saide. “My mum used to read that to me as a kid.”

Howell looked at me surprised. Oh, yeah. Well I’m supposed to read it as an English Assignment- but I haven’t gotten very far. I hardly understand anything.

I furrowed my brow. “Are you reading the French version?”

Howell smiled sheepishly at me. For extra credit.

“I could read it to you if you want,” I suggested. “I mean, we’re really not doing anything else. Unless you’re ready to cash in that drawing opportunity I offered.”

Howell turned maroon. Maybe another time for the drawing… he signed.

I laughed taking the book from him again. “Whatever you say, Howell.”

I cleared my throat, getting comfortable as Howell leaned his head against my shoulder.

“‘The Little Prince went to look at the roses again.’” I began to read, slipping into my impeccable french accent.

“‘You’re not at all like my rose.  You’re nothing at all yet,’ he told them.  ‘No one has tamed you and you haven’t tamed anyone.  You’re the way my fox was.  He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others.  But I’ve made him my friend, and now he’s the only fox in all the world.’

And the roses were humbled.

‘You’re lovely, but you’re empty,’ he went on. ‘ One couldn’t die for you.  Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you.  But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered.  Since she’s the one I put under glass.  Since she’s the one I sheltered behind a screen.  Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies).’”  

As I read, I could feel Howell’s breathing slow, his pulse in his neck thrumming against my shoulder. I could feel his eyelashes fluttering on my t-shirt, his fingers playing with mine.

It was nice.

I continued reading.

“‘Good-bye,’ he said.

‘Goodbye,’ said the fox.  ‘Here is my secret.  It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart.  Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.’

‘Anything essential is invisible to the eyes,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.

‘It’s the time you spend on your rose that makes your rose so important.’

‘It’s the time I spent on my rose…,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.

‘People have forgotten this truth,’ the fox said.  ‘But you mustn’t forget it.  You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.  You’re responsible for your rose…’

‘I’m responsible for my rose…,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.’”

I felt my heart stutter as Howell sighed, and brushed his hand behind my back, to reach my hip on the other side. He squeezed his tiny arms around my waist, burrowing his forehead into my collarbone, his tufts of hair tickling my neck.

I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

Slowly, I reached out my hand that wasn’t holding the book, and carded my fingers through his hair.

I felt his breath blow out against my neck.

My mind was crashing and falling- what the fuck was I doing?

I sat the book down on the side of the bed, as I continued to stroke my fingers through Howell’s hair and he continued to tumble into a deep sleep.

I tried to think when my feelings of concern and protection for this small, odd boy bloomed into something bigger. Obviously I was confused about why I was suddenly attracted to a boy- but he also wasn’t anything like the people I’d messed around with in the past. Except-

I thought about that one dimly lit afternoon, in the back of a classroom- back to when I’d worn a feathered crown. I remember that that had been the first time I’d saw two guys kiss. I hadn’t known how to react to such a display. The others had- saying things and calling out names I hadn’t heard of. The two boys had slunk into their chairs, ashamed, their cheeks bright red.

Thats what Howell reminded me of sometimes- those two lost boys trying to figure things out.

I remember going home and writing their story- the kiss permanently stained in my mind. It wasn’t very long, lasting no more than a second or so, but they both looked happy.

I felt Howell’s breath, slow and even- cascading over my neck. I shifted him carefully, pulling him onto my lap, my arms wrapped around him tightly, his head on my chest, my chin on top of his hair, his tiny fists grabbing my t-shirt.

I didn’t know when the last time Howell was held, but from the grip of his hands, I’d say it’d been too long.

Since the moment I’d met Howell, everything had been different. I had known he’d liked me since the first day I’d met him, confirmation of the fact when I’d taken the drawing of me back from Logan. Even now, as I held him, I could feel his heart beating just a bit faster then it would with a friend.

For some reason it didn’t bother me. Whether that was because of the defiance for the crows ways that had been engraved into me, or my messed up feelings, I couldn’t be sure. Howell had been from the start, this fragile thing, a flower so beautiful, soft to the touch, but surrounded by infinite thorns.

“I’m responsible for my rose,” I mumbled, my eyelids drooping, my heart beat syncing with Howells, and sleep overtaking me.

* * *

I woke to small whimpers, something trembling in my arms, light beams of sunlight pouring through the cracks in my blinds. I opened my eyes slowly, the edges of them still crusted with sleep, my biceps sore.

I lifted my head slowly, trying to orient myself. I felt a heavy body pressed into my chest, their breaths close to sobs.

Howell.

I rolled onto my back, our chests pressed together, my rough hands rubbing circles into his back. I knew he was awake when his breath hitched, his little gasps being silenced to small hiccups.

We stayed like that for a bit, just sinking into the quiet, saving and cherishing one anothers warmth- until I glanced at the clock.

“Hey, Howell?” I asked, my voice deep and scratchy from sleep.

He made a small humming noise.

“What day is it?”

He removed his grip from my shirt, folding his arms on my chest and placing his chin on top of his hands, probably getting a charming angle of my nostrils.

Wednesday? he signed, rubbing his eyes with the back of one of his hands.

I turned my head back to the clock. “Yeah, well it’s 7:58.”

Howell sat up quickly, rolling off of me and nearly face planting it onto the floor.

“Shit, pourquoi ces sortes de choses arrivent toujours à nous?” I mumbled, as I sat up and surveyed my room for a clean pair of jeans.

I heard a frustrated noise to my left as I pull off my jeans and changed them for a slightly less greasy pair.

“What?” I said annoyed, turning around with my pants still unbuttoned.

I found Howell pulling the edge of his t-shirt away from his body, his face scrunched up in disdain. There was a bright blue patch in the center, probably caused by the hair dye last night.

“Ugh, here you space cadet,” I said, tousling my hair and throwing one of my hoodies at him. “Put this on and hurry up.”

He caught it, his eyes darting down to my unzipped pants for a moment, his cheeks pink as he turned around.

I smirked for a second until he took off his shirt, his shoulder blades pulling and folding under his golden skin, freckles dotting down his spine. I stared.

Howell lifted the hoodie over his head and slipped it on- the droopy and baggy sleeves making it obvious that the sweat shirt belonged to a much broader person.

He turned back around, waving his sweat paws at me frantically. He looked so cute.

“Here,” I said softly, walking towards him. I pulled the edge of the sleeve on his right hand, folding it back over his forearm, once, twice. I did it again with the other arm, slowly, drawing the contact out. I could feel Howell’s eyes on me as I glanced at him from under my lashes.

Once I finished, my fingers crawled down to his palm, my thumb rubbing familiar circles with my chapped hands.

Howell hummed.

“We should go.” I mumbled, pressing my forehead against his, scrunching up my face like he had earlier.

Howell nodded against my head, knocking ours together.

I slipped away quickly, shut the door behind me as I left my room, and raced down the stairs to my car.

I yanked open the driver side door, and threw myself inside. I reached over to the glove compartment side, shuffling around inside it for my cigarettes, before I realized I’d left them back in my room.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my thumb and pointer finger across my forehead.

Howell was stressing me out. All the constant flirtation and dancing around our feelings was driving me insane.

I thought about the psychic lady and the woman at the church- even Meredith- all telling me the same thing.

Tell that boy you love him.

I felt the car rattle as the passenger side door was opened and closed.

I looked over at Howell as he looked at me.

Ready to go? he signed.

Maybe I’ll tell him later, I thought.

* * *

The final bell rang, the screeching of chairs and chatter of students almost drowning it out. I leaned back in my chair, reaching my arms above my head, twisting to the side to crack my back. I felt more than heard the familiar pop noise, and turned to the other side to achieve the same result.

I head fingers rap against my desk, and I looked to see Howell standing there- still in my hoodie, his sketchbook clutched tightly in the crook of his arm.

Can I have a ride home? he signed, his shoulders hunched and caving in on himself. Even after all this time, he couldn’t erase his natural posture radiating unconfidence.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, reaching out and ruffling his hair- an action that tugged at my heart strings. “I have to use the loo first, so you go ahead without me.”

Howell made a face, nodded, and turned to leave the room without a glance back.

I stood up and gathered my stuff, heading to the bathroom. I whistled quietly as I walked through the grounds and into the main building, my thoughts full of Howell and how I could confess.

I didn’t want to be lame- roses and heart eyes weren’t really my thing. But I didn’t want to be insensitive either- the cold, cool guy demeanor kryptonite to relationships.

Distracted, I walked through the doorway to the restroom and knocked shoulders against someone, as they mumbled “douche” under their breath. I looked back to see Eli sauntering confidently past me and down the hall, whistling shrilly, mimicking me.

I snorted.

I walked over to the sink, tossing my bag on the ground. I washed my hands, trying to scrub the graphite off the side of my palm, just thinking- something I seemed to be doing a lot of lately.

I dried my hands with the paper towel, threw it away, and paused to look at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t understand how Howell and I worked. He was a sad boy who feared bathrooms and drew pictures of boys he liked. He was thoughtful and never spoke, looking at the world with optimism but an untold amount of caution. He was plain, but with hidden beauty underneath the oversized clothes he wore. He was a boy who kept a boundless amount of secrets tucked away inside that head of his, ones I may never know.

And then there was me, a pale, lanky, junky looking boy- with tattoos up and down my arms- like they were running along with me from Old Phil. This New Phil was confident and all knowing, the pillar keeping everything standing. Old Phil was tucked away- like Howell’s secrets- shy and embarrassed and questioning, waiting for someone to help him find his way.

I hadn’t realized I was crying at first, the tears falling slowly down my sharp cheeks. I tugged at the strands of my hair, the color of Old Phil’s eyes.

I’d always known I lived as two different people- the outside of me- New Phil- an exoskeleton to protect the fragile, gentle body underneath- Old Phil. They’d been living apart, in different worlds for different people for so long, that I hadn’t even realized that when I was with Howell, they kind of… merged. Not Old Phil and New Phil but just Phil.

I wiped my eyes, picked up my bag, and left the bathroom.

My mind was made up. I had to tell Howell- before I lost my nerve.

I wished I had my soul sucking sticks.

I thought about the night in the car, when my confession was nearly spilled.

I walked out the backdoor heading across the grounds to the parking lot.

I thought about Howell’s face as I had curled him into my arms.

I spotted my car, Howell’s back against it.

I thought about how remarkable it would be to have his face so close to mine.

I-

I came to an abrupt hault.

Standing no more than a hundred feet away was Howell leaning against my car and Logan-

I watched them, Howell pressing himself against the car- Logan standing way too close to Howell.

I watched as Howell shook his head.

I watched as Logan leaned in closer.

I watched Howell’s head shaking get more frantic.

I watched Logan slowly tilt his head towards Howell’s and- no.

I was frozen, the absurdity of it all, the only thing that was registering at the moment.

I swivelled my head around, trying to see if anyone else was watching them- this complete madness that was taking place. I didn’t see anyone around, the place deserted until-

I spotted Eli.

He was on the opposite side of the lot, close enough that I could register the complete disgust in his face. We made eye contact, each of us expressing different levels of distress.

I saw him turn and run, something I wished I could make my feet do.

I looked back at the pair, Logan no where to be seen, Howell still pressing himself into the door of the car, as if he wanted to meld himself with it.

I felt betrayed.

I felt hurt, my pride and my heart.

I did what a coward like Eli did.

I turned and ran away.

* * *

“Calling again I see? I didn’t realize you were so needy. And so prone to getting yourself into such dramatic situations.”

I slid against the wall of the bathroom, my back slowly descending until my butt hit the ground.

“I need more help.”

“Don’t you always?” said the familiar Russian accent.

I closed my eyes. “Don’t be mean, this is important.”

“Sorry,” the woman said, crunching something that sounded like almonds. “I forgot you were so sensitive.”

“So what should I do?”

“About the sad boy? Or the angry one? Or the voyeuristic one?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Be serious,” I said, adding after a moment. “Please.”

I heard her heavy breathing on the other line.

“Well, I think the most obvious course of action would be to just talk to the boy.”

“Which one? Loga- I mean the angry one?”

“No, I don’t that will do you much good. No, I meant the sad, pretty one you have love eyes for.”

“... I don’t have love eyes for him…” I mumbled.

“You should be gentle. Most likely this is just a misunderstanding.”

I sighed. Everything always seemed to be a misunderstanding.

“Alright. Thanks for your help and… yeah.” I said lamely.

“You’re very welcome.” she said before hanging up.

I turned off my phone and knocked my head against the wall. I was so tired of always having to make things up with Howell. I wish he and I could just communicate so much more simply. I wish he could talk.

But however much Howell seemed to fill the silence, it always felt like I was the one with nothing to say.

AN- 

hey everyone! thanks so much for the get well soon messages you guys left me, love you all dearly. also thank you for the 8.9k reads!!! YALL ARE CRAZY AWESOME! 

but srsly, what about that major plot twist. DAH FUQ LOGAN!!!??? 

sorry to everyone about how i've been really MIA lately. I've become really obsessed with K-Pop and one of my favorite bands was (and is) making their comeback this month, so I've be kind of preoccupied with that. AND IVE BEEN WRITING MY NEW PHANFIC WHICH I WILL POST ONCE I FINISH THIS ONE! it's a medieval themed one and dan is older and phil is a prince, i think you guys will like it. 

anyways in other news, whats your guys opinion on this whole book tour think going on with dan and phil? I personally am happy for them and excited for the book. However, i do agree that the book is a bit spendy and understand the notion that everyone feels they are selling out and conforming to the common youtube money making thing. HOWEVER however! I am holding all judgment until i actually see the book, because i have a feeling its going to be above par than normal youtuber books because dan and phil actually have some integrity. 

but tell me what you think and we can have a bant session :) 

<3 love you all and thank you for being so pacient with my major slow writing style :D 

TRANSLATION: 

(I didn't bother to translate the book in french because i thought it was too long of a passage)

pourquoi ces sortes de choses arrivent toujours à nous? = why these kinds of things always happen to us?

Xxx- Eddy

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