In Your Dreams // phan

t w e n t y

Why did I say that? Why on earth did I think that was an appropriate question to ask? We'd literally only met a week ago. But it didn't feel like a week ago. It felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was a soulmate thing. Maybe it's because I've seen glimpses of his childhood, and in a weird way it felt like I had been a part of it.

"Really?" Phil asked, drawing back from me slightly in surprise.

"Yes?" I said hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than an answer. "You can say no," I sighed dejectedly, already resigning myself to the fact that he would. It was a stupid suggestion.

"No, no, no. I'd love to. My 'really' was more of a 'are you sure that you're comfortable with this' not a 'are you seriously asking me to stay over' kind of really. Does that make sense? Yes, I'd love to stay over –" I silenced his rambling by placing a finger to his lips, an amused and relieved smile on my face.

"Really," Phil murmured sincerely, his breath tickling my finger. I chuckled and stood up, offering him my hand. He took it gently, careful not to hurt me, and stood up too.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, leading him back downstairs to the kitchen. It was late, well past the appropriate time to have dinner, but I hadn't eaten since lunch. I had no appetite before Phil had shown up, as I was too exhausted to eat. But the curative magic of Phil's presence completely revitalised me and I only just registered how hungry I actually was.

"No, actually," Phil said, a little taken aback. "I... forgot. How could I forget about food?" Phil asked me, jokingly appalled. I laughed, and squeezed his hand gently.

My parents were sat at the dining table when we came downstairs, and my grin refused to leave my face. "What did you have for dinner? Are there any leftovers?" I asked, bounding into the kitchen with Phil trailing behind me.

There was a pause where both of my parents just looked at each other a little confused. I knew why they were confused, but I ignored it. "Y-yeah, there's pizza in the fridge. We did call you..." my dad answered finally, trailing off at the end.

I frowned, but only temporarily. I didn't remember that. I must have really been out of it today. "That's okay. I'm alright with cold pizza." I shrugged it off, grabbing the box out of the fridge. "Phil?"

Phil nodded with a smile. "Fine with me. Pizza's pizza."

I made to head back up to my room when my mum spoke up. "How are you feeling, bear?" she asked. She studied me quizzically, waiting for my answer.

I glanced at Phil and grinned even wider. "I'm feeling good," I replied honestly, reaching for Phil's hand again behind my back. "How are you feeling?" I asked, kind of enjoying the bemused expressions on their faces.

My dad chuckled. "We're doing good too, thanks for asking. Are you staying the night, Phil?"

Phil nodded, then quickly added, "I mean, if that's okay with you of course."

My parents glanced at each other and smiled. "That's absolutely okay. Stay as long as you like," my mum said. I don't say this enough but I really do love my parents. And I don't think I've ever felt more appreciative of them than I did in that moment.

They were confused because I was smiling, when last they saw me I was a complete mess. But they were smart people, and they could put two and two together. They figured out what caused such a drastic change in my mood.

Most parents, I imagine, would be hesitant about letting their teenage son have his soulmate stay the night, but not my parents. Because they knew that Phil had the power to calm me down when nothing else could. They knew that Phil could make me happy when I couldn't find a reason to smile.

They knew he was good for me, and if it were up to them, I bet they'd never let him leave.

Phil and I stayed up late eating pizza and watching movies. It was fun and casual and normal. I felt normal for the first time in a long time. There was no anxiety, there was no paranoia, and it was best feeling in the world.

At some point we both drifted off to sleep, dressed in the clothes we wore that day and with the TV still running. I had another blissful dream. Little Phil was at his grandparent's house and it was his brother's birthday. But despite it not being Phil's birthday he was given a present as well and allowed to blow out his own candle, because little Phil was a jealous Phil it turns out.

The dream filled me with warmth and nostalgia. Phil was happy in the memory, content with his one present and single candle, and so I was happy by extension. I got lost in the memory; swept up in the singing and the smiling, and the balloons and the food.

I was abruptly pulled out of that world however, when Phil – the present day Phil – began stirring fitfully in his own sleep. Tossing and turning, trying to throw the covers off of him. I sat up, suddenly wide awake, and shook his shoulder gently.

"Phil?" I whispered hesitantly. I wasn't sure if I should be waking him as he got so little sleep the night before. Perhaps I should just let it pass. But his thrashing was becoming more violent, and his breathing much heavier. He was panting and mumbling and shaking and it terrified me.

Was that what I looked like every time? I'd only seen the aftermath of my attacks when I looked in the mirror. I never witnessed them while they were happening, as if from an outsider's perspective.

"Phil!" I said louder, desperately trying to wake him. It was his dream that was causing this. It was my memories. My memories, my fault. My own heart rate started to pick up now, my breath becoming more laboured too.

"PHIL!"