New To Me (Phan)

Chapter 5

I don't think Phil intended for us to stay over. It just sort of happened. We had continued playing games well and truly into the late hours of the night, oblivious to how late it really was, until eventually Phil's mum came downstairs with blankets and pillows in hand. We took the hint.

Chris was out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow. He was sprawled awkwardly, and what looked to be uncomfortably, across an armchair. Unlike PJ, who was sound asleep in his own chair, he hadn't had the sense to lift the footrest before nodding off.

After much insistence on Phil's part, and much protest on mine, I took the couch. Phil was adamant that he would be fine on the floor to which I said was stupid. Of course I wasn't going to make him sleep on the floor. It was his house, after all.

But for one so kind and gentle Phil firmly stood his ground and showed no indication of backing down. I had then suggested he go sleep in his room. A suggestion which he also shot down. I gave up in the end.

Although the couch should have been the most comfortable out of all of the options available, I couldn't sleep. In general, couches aren't designed for people over 6 foot tall to sleep on. That mixed with Chris' snores and PJ's sleep talking, it looked like I was in for a long night.

My eyes had adjusted to the dimness and I had taken to counting the small ornamental squares on the ceiling. I had just reached 41 when I heard PJ mumble something along the lines of, "perky with a chance of wallflowers."

I quietly sniggered and then started when I heard someone else do the same. I rolled onto my side and looked down to see Phil wide awake, a small smile playing on his lips. His eyes met mine and we instantly burst out laughing. I was well aware of how late it was and how loud we were being, but I couldn't help it.

"Does he normally do that?" Phil whispered, once his laughter had died down a bit.

"All the time." I whispered back, still grinning.

After talking some more it became evident that Phil wasn't falling asleep anytime soon either. Although he refused to admit it, I'm pretty sure it's because the floor turned out to be highly uncomfortable (which is exactly what I predicted, might I add).

I scooted over to one side of the couch and patted the spot next to me, indicating he should join. Despite his denial about the floor's lack of comfortability he happily obliged, dragging his blanket along with him.

And for the next few hours we just talked. Sometimes about trivial things, sometimes about things of a more personal nature.

Perhaps it was the stillness of the night or the darkness of the room that eliminated all potential awkwardness. I found myself instilled with the sudden confidence to ask Phil all the questions that I had been compiling in my mind, and he answered them without hesitation.

The topic eventually turned to the future and life after high school (cue existential crisis). It was our final year after all, so you'd think I'd have my plan pretty much worked out by now. You'd be wrong.

I sighed. "I have no fucking clue what I'm going to do." Although the tone I was going for was one of nonchalance, I could hear the genuine worry laced in with it. I think Phil heard it too.

He paused for moment before responding. "Do what makes you happy." He said simply. As if it were actually that simple.

I didn't respond. For some reason this frustrated me. Of course to him it's that easy. Everything makes him happy. He could have the worst job in the world and still find a way to enjoy it. Still be able to find the silver lining.

Didn't he understand that for some people it just doesn't work like that? For some people happiness doesn't come that easy. You have to work hard to find it and when you do, you cling to it for dear life because God knows if you'll be able to find it again.

"I had a best friend back at my old school." Phil said, filling the silence. I wasn't sure how this was relevant but thought it best not to interrupt him anyway.

"He died just before I moved here." He said. "That's actually why we moved here."

I looked at Phil. Really, truly looked at him, and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. I saw a crack in the façade and through it a seemingly endless expanse of sadness. It was as if he'd suddenly thrown open the doors to his inner most thoughts, with every hidden feeling and emotion that usually lay beneath the surface on clear display.

"It's taking a while, but... I'm learning to swap some of the sadness with happy memories that we had together. Because I know for sure he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life being sad."

I remembered back to the photo frame on his desk. Perhaps it wasn't his brother in the photo after all. "Phil, I'm so sorry."

I had never understood why people said sorry as a way of comfort. I had thought that if they didn't do anything wrong then they had no reason to be apologising.

But perhaps people apologised in those situations because there was nothing they could do. Although they had no hand in inflicting the pain maybe they felt bad because they couldn't come up with a way to numb it. At least, that's how I felt.

"I know that you think I'm incapable of sadness. It's what everyone thinks. But I'm not immune. No one is." He said quietly, fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of his blanket.

At that I felt the guilt settle in the pit of my stomach. That was exactly what I was thinking.

"I just figure life's too short to spend any of it being unhappy."

I stared at Phil, amazed at how profound he sounded, and the ease with which he could jump from one end of the serious scale to the other.

It was only when the first rays of dawn came creeping through the blinds that Phil and I eventually drifted off to sleep. I slept peacefully, pleased with the fact that I had added more pieces to the Phil Lester puzzle in that one night than I had in the entire two months that I had known him. And the image was at last taking shape.