Phan- Noises

Nighttimes Mistakes

The whimpering. It doesn't seem to stop. Every night since we got the new dog, she whimpers when she sleeps. But of course, Phil sleeps like a rock and he insists Mitzi stays in his room. Another loud whimper rings out and I stand up. I can't do this. I leave my room and cross into Phil's room. Mitzi is sound asleep next to Phil. I can hear them both breathing softly, and I go to Mitzi. I pick her up and pat her on the butt. She waddles away, and I start back towards my bed, not stealing a glance at the sleeping man, until I hear it. A whimper. My head twists around to see Phil twitch slightly, then he relaxes. "Phil?" His face is gentle in the peeking moonlight-- it glazes over his pale skin and he practically glows. I sit next to the bed. The small room made me feel a bit claustrophobic, but I didn't mind sitting near the bed. I keep listening to Phil's breathing. Another whimper slips out, a little quieter than the others. "Phil... you're alright. Everything is fine. Sleep. Sleep." I whisper, for some odd reason. It was something my mom would do for me when I would stir in my sleep. Slip good thoughts into my sleeping mind. Maybe it would work. But another whimper comes from his mouth. Mitzi sits in the doorway like a ghost, just watching over the scene.  I stand up and look down at Phil. "Dan... feed her. She's hungry Dan... I can't reach." My heart skips a beat when I hear my name, thinking he has woken up, but he was sleep talking. His voice sounded like a child's. Lost in some dream about space, or some odd dream about feeding something. Whatever it was, he was bothered. I round the bed and sit on the edge, where there's a bit of space. We both had full sized beds, so it didn't move when I sat. "Philly? I'll feed her. It's okay. She's not hungry anymore Phil." I didn't know what I was doing at this point. Maybe I should rub his back? No that's weird. This was already weird, but that's weirder. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. I start to move my hand over his bare back, and I feel his back rising and falling under my palm. He was warm, like clothing from a dryer. A little too warm. Probably a fever. Maybe I'd make him soup in the morning. Who knows.
A draft hits my pantsless legs, and I shiver. Phil's blanket looks enticing. He wouldn't mind if I got under it, I don't think? Nah, it's fine. I swing my long legs onto the bed, and slip under the covers. I pull them up slightly, and warmth quakes my skin. I take my hand off of Phil's back, and lay down. He rolls over, and I can't help but stare at his lidded eyes. His lashes on the end, like butterfly wings. His lips, plush and pink, slightly moist from drool. His cheeks were dusted pink, and he looks rosy and warm, like an innocent child warming up next to a fire on a winter day. A good way to describe him was pure. His hair was in a quiff, and it made him look like one of those guys on an L.L. Bean magazine. It's not weird to admire a friend. It's not. Girls do it all the time. Guys could do it too. You know what else girls do? They hold hands. I could hold Phil's hand. It was probably warm. I snake my hand down to his, and lace our fingers together. His hand was warm, and his fingers were long. Our hands kinda fit together, like those two puzzle pieces you instantly put together, that you never find out where they go in the puzzle. You always kinda loved how they fit, even though it didn't make sense. I shut my eyes, and feel my brain drift from consciousness. And the whimpering seems to have ended.