The Doorknob

The Conversation

Or, at least, sleep was the goal. After laying awake for what feels like hours but could've been five minutes, I give up on sleep entirely. I have far too many questions racing around my head, and the moment I'd hit the pillow, they got all jumbled up and started demanding to be answered.

"Phil?" I call, hesitantly, into the darkness around me - not completely dark, though, with the ambient street light permeating the uncovered window. I'm about to say it louder when I see a figure appear beside the bed.

"I was wondering how long you'd toss around before you gave up," with the dim light, I can't see it, but I can sure as hell hear the smirk in his voice.

"Were you watching me sleep!?" I whisper-shout, afraid of complaints from adjoining apartments. I can feel my cheeks heating up again - has he been able to see me in bed before? Cause even when it was foggy, he may have still seen...I stop that train of thought before it can fully evolve, focusing on my indignation at Phil's intrusion of privacy.

"Well, technically, I was watching you not sleep," I can hear the taunting tone, and I flip over into my pillow, sticking up my middle finger in his direction. "Well, what did you call me in here for?" he prompts, ignoring my excellent attempt at a comeback.

"Nevermind, just go away," I mumble into the pillow.

"Come on, what'd you want?" His voice gets higher, teasing me, and suddenly I feel fingers poking into my side.

"Ah! Hey, hey, stop it!" I shout, forgetting the volume control as I try to swipe his hands away. But it tickles and I'm laughing and then he's laughing and I don't really want him to stop. Hell, I want him to do a lot more than that- nope, nope, abort, I try desperately to clear my mind at the twitch in my pants. Now is not the time for that problem, not with the object of those fantasies less than a foot away.

Not to mention, he's a ghost, you idiot! I groan, but the thought doesn't help my growing issue, so I try to roll away from his hands. Which turns out to be the absolute worst thing I could've done, as Phil decides to flop across the bed to keep poking me. And his face ends up two inches from mine.

I freeze, torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to close the gap - he's so close, I could just...and then he's the one who pulls away, and I try not to let it sting (it does anyway).

"Uhm...sorry about that," I look up to see him lying opposite me on the bed now, propped up on an elbow and focused on the edge of the duvet. "I got a bit carried away, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable..." and again, I can hear the sadness in his voice. "I'll, uh, talk to you tomorrow?" And he's shifting to stand up.

But I don't want you to leave, I shout into my head. Or, I thought it stayed in my head, but my hand is on his arm and he isn't moving, and I realize I've said it aloud as well. "Please, uhm, please stay. I would appreciate the company, I, uh, don't really sleep well," I try to make my original outburst sound a little less desperate, though my hand doesn't leave his arm.

"Oh, I'm well aware," Phil says, and I hear the smirk as he flops back down. Once again, I am immensely grateful for the darkness of the room and the space he's left between us - did he just imply he's seen me, at night, thinking about him, and... "So, what's on your mind?" Phil interrupts my train of thought, and I might spontaneously combust at the idea of answering that question honestly.

"I, uh...just, y'know, uh, you?" I stumble through the answer, trying not to lie completely, before I realize I've not made the situation any less awkward for myself. "You! As in, how you got here, what it's like for you...I have, like, a million questions!" I rush to amend my original answer, hoping he can't see the deep red I can feel on my face.