Sighs and Fire (Phan AU) (INCOMPLETE)

(1.9)

I didn't go home that night.

I stayed away from home, awake and tormented, pacing around wherever there was light.

Resisting calling Phil and updating him on the situation was harder than I could've thought possible, but it meant I wouldn't worry him about what had happened and how awful I was feeling and what I done.

I didn’t want to tell him about myself and the past. In detail, at least, and especially not right now when he was still forming a first impression. I could disguise this night and not calling him, easily, he wouldn't ever have to know about this evening and I could put off telling him the years behind me I wanted to forget.

I watched my phone ring and ring and ring around midnight when he started calling me. I slightly regret not picking up now because I could've acted normal, pretended I was fine and said that the apology went well, but I knew that sod's law would've meant a herd of traffic dashing past just as I was saying I was getting ready for bed and faint sounds of chattering teeth would have given him every clue that something wasn't right, that I was in fact deliberately homeless for a night.

Instead, I spent the night awake and wandering, turning my phone off and sticking close to street lights. Even with my hands buried deep into my pockets they turned numb and hurt whenever I tried to bend the joints. It was abnormally cold for this time of the year, which was just my luck, but at the same time, I appreciated the cold fresh air that chilled my lungs.

My mood gave up around 3am, close after Adrian had stopped trying to call me. I was left just emotionless and bright pink cheeks from the low temperature. I was getting tired now and my legs are aching so much that the thought that I might've actually burned off my muscles crosses my mind.

Taking time to make a detour, I made my way to the high street which was the part of the city that never slept. Sitting on a bench close to the train station, I did nothing else but observe, watching average-looking people who seemed like they had no business to be out and about at this time of night.

I guess that was the beauty of strangers. Not knowing. Guessing. Being able to create their life in your mind.

I hadn't been creative in a while. There wasn't really much need for me to be. But I was sitting here now, still watching, I was creating all sorts of characters and lives in my head.

One man, in late thirties, holding his hands behind his back. He's walking slowly with his head bowed slightly. My guess is he's been kicked out of home, or maybe he's like me and just escaping an environment that's becoming toxic. I decide on the latter and guess that one of his children is ill, he's getting some air from the hospital that's a mere ten minute walk from here. The red on his cheeks and veins on his face is from having an argument, possibly from the stress but he's not showing enough emotion to show that he cares about whoever's sick, and just maybe he tried to kill the child because maybe it knows more than it should.

The man leaves my area of vision and I briefly look at someone else who's been in the corner of my eye.

A young female, in her twenties, hair tied back with vomit on her clothes but doesn't seem intoxicated - she's walking fine, actually - potentially just saved a life when on her way back home from a night shift. She has debt issues from paying off a loan she didn't need and shouldn't have taken out and is working every hour under the sun to pay it back.

I do this countless of times for countless amount of people. It's a weird source of entertainment but it passes the time quicker than I hoped and takes my off why I'm here in the first place.

If someone were watching me, I can't imagine how I must look right now. Just sitting. Staring. Not making a sound. I wonder if there's a CCTV camera on me and if there's a security guard watching me watching other people, and I guess it's not 100% impossible.