Sinking

entangled

The curiosity was killing me.

Could I call it curosity? I wasn't too sure, but I knew I could call it confusion. Wonder. Fear.

This morning, Wednesday morning to be exact, I'd woken up in my own bed, with a boy with black hair sleeping next to me, our limbs quite entangled. I hadn't had any nightmares which was slightly surprising, but it was even more surprising to find Phil Lester sleeping in my bed, until all the memories from the night before came rushing back at me.

I remembered following him after to school to find him standing above the river, prepared to end his life. I remembered grabbing him and holding onto him trying to convince myself that he was okay, now. I remembered holding his hand on the way to my house and the look on his face when he saw my paintings. I remembered laying outside with him all night, staring at the stars, discussing the random feelings inside our minds like there was nothing we had to filter out.

At around 1:00 AM we'd finally gone back inside and Phil had basically collapsed onto my bed, immediately falling asleep. I'd been left standing there, unsure of whether or not I should get in bed with him, or just sleep on the floor. Eventually, I'd decided that sleeping on an uncomfortably hard floor with canvas's surrounding me did not seem very appealing, so I'd slowly climbed underneath the blankets next to Phil. I'd been stiff at first, making sure that our arms didn't accidentally brush, but easily fell asleep within the next twenty minutes.

And then in the morning, we were entangled.

His left leg was over my right, my own left leg hitching up so that it crossed over both of our hips, and one of his arms splayed gently across my waist while my head was tucked underneath his chin, his gentle breathing drifting over my hair. There wasn't much skin on skin touch, since we were both still in our jeans and shirts, but I hadn't been this... close with anyone in as long as I could remember. With anyone else, I probably would have been annoyingly uncomfortable and jumped up from the bed and probably ran down the street. But with Phil, it felt almost normal.

It had taken a lot of motivation to remove my head from where I was comfortably laying in order to turn and look at the clock on my nightstand. Somehow, my mental clock had actually woken me up twenty minutes before we needed to be at school.

Waking up Phil had required a lot of trying to untangle my limbs from his without stirring him and then shaking him awake after I'd already changed my clothes. We'd rushed out of the house with four minutes to spare once my hair was satisfyingly straightened against my forehead.

It was a nice day, amazingly, the mostly clear sky and shining sun constrasting with the weather we'd witnessed yesterday. Phil and I had discussed multiple things while on our short walk, some important but some being something like what he saw on tumblr yesterday.

And just before we'd gone inside the front doors, Phil had turned to me, his voice becoming completely serious. "Could you maybe... could you not mention what happened yesterday to anyone?"

In confusion, I furrowed my eyebrows, but I nodded all the same. Soon enough, we'd made it inside and Phil was turning left as I turned right, our footsteps putting more and more space between us as they echoed against the walls.

Now, as I sat in History with Mrs. Anzo still substituting, I could feel it. The questions flying through my mind, entangling themselves in knots and tugging relentlessly, too quick for me to focus on one and untangle the others.

Why did he ask for me not to tell anyone? Not that I would, but what was the reason? Which part was he referring to? Him almost attempting suicide or the two of us staying at my house? Was he embarrassed of his actions with himself or did he regret his actions with me?