#shooklynn

I walked in and was pleasantly surprised. Unlike most thrift stores, I wasn’t bombarded with the smell of old people and musk, but rather the shop smelled of a sweet cotton candy. Some soft, upbeat music played in the background, a tune I didn’t fully recognize, but that seemed vaguely familiar. I looked around and was frankly shocked by the size of the shop. It was far larger than it had appeared from the outside, filled with seemingly endless racks of clothes. The walls were painted a pastel blue. It was really a beautiful shop.

“Hello! How can I help you?” I heard a voice coming from the back room and turned my head. I jumped a little, not realizing that somebody else was there. It was a boy, a little older than myself, holding boxes of clothes piled almost to his chin. Of course, I assumed they were filled with clothes or something, but it was nearly impossible to tell. I smiled curtly at him and began to sort through one of the racks. It was filled with t-shirts in various sizes, most had been washed so much that the cotton had worn thin. I pulled a faded teal shirt off of its wooden hanger.

“Excuse me, do you have any fitting rooms?” I hated having to bother the clerk, but I really didn’t want to buy the top without knowing if it would fit.

“I’m sorry, we don’t really have one. If you’d like, you could try it on in the back room if you don’t mind all the boxes of donated junk.” I smiled and walked to the small room from where the boy had first emerged. It was small and nearly filled to the ceiling with boxes stacked on top of eachother. There wasn’t a lot of space that I could change in, but I thought it would be rude to walk out after I’d just come in, so I pulled the door shut behind me. I tugged my jumper off and slipped on the t-shirt. It fit pretty nicely and the material was very soft on my skin. I was checking myself out in the mirror when I heard a soft knocking on the door.

“Sorry, I think I left my phone in here,” I opened the door to let the boy in, “Wow! That shirt really suits you. It’s a very nice color. Really brings out your eyes.” I blushed and mumbled thanks while he grabbed his phone and let me be. It wasn’t that I didn’t get complimented, it’s just that a majority of the nice things people said to me came from my relatives or close friends. The opinion of some random thrift shop employee shouldn’t matter so much to me, but I guess sometimes it’s nice to be recognised. Plus, I didn’t really like my eyes. Of all the things anybody could point out, my eyes were generally not the topic of compliments I received. They were plain and brown and boring. They were definitely nothing special.

I tugged the shirt off, apparently a little too excitedly. While I was free from the grip of the teal shirt, pulling it off had cause my elbow to sail into one of the boxes of junk, shoving it away and causing all of the boxes to fall onto me. I groaned. Of course of all things, I’d ruin all of the sorted boxes of donations. The door burst open.

“Oh my, are you alright?” the boy looked down at me, concerned. I laughed half heartedly, “Yeah, I’m great, just, you know, buried in boxes.” He reached his hand out to me and pulled me out of the boxes sitting atop me. At that moment, I realized that I wasn’t wearing a shirt and quickly turned around and looked for my jumper under the boxes. I pulled it over my head and over my torso to cover myself up. My face was flushed, I’d messed up pretty badly.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll help you get everything cleaned up. I’m such a clutz,” I sighed, bending down to put stuff back in the boxes. The boy giggled, “It’s fine, I can clean up here. We don’t get many customers anyhow, now I’ll have something to do for the rest of the day.” I felt so bad for him. It didn’t seem like there were any other workers to help him. It was my mess, it was only fair if I helped him clean up.

“Really, I insist. I’ll be here to help you keep company. I owe you one, I should’ve kept better track of my elbow.” There was that giggle again, the boy’s tongue poking out a little as he smiled at me. It was clear that he was the exact opposite of me, at least personality wise. He seemed very friendly and outgoing, whilst I tended to recoil at the idea of any social interaction. He sure did like to laugh, and, while I was pretty sure he was laughing with me, I still couldn’t help but feel that he was teasing me for knocking everything down. I felt really bad for having inconvenienced him, but he didn’t have to try and make conversation while trying to repack boxes. I just wanted to help him and go.

“So, do you always pull your shirt off so violently?” Did he just wink at me? Maybe he just blinked. Was I seeing things? This boy did love to talk. He told me stories about his mum, who had taken a photo where her hand looked like a claw, and joked about her being a lobster. He said that he worked in the shop every day because his mum owned the place and paid him to help keep it running. While the way he babbled on was undeniably adorable, I didn’t come to the shop to hear his life story. Still, I couldn’t be rude and ask him to shut up, so I just grinned and nodded while he continued to chat. I felt very bad about knocking all of the boxes over, after all. Slowly but steadily, we managed to return everything to its proper box.

“Thanks for helping. This would have taken ages if I were alone. We make a good team, huh?” the boy gave me a small smile. I grinned tightly back at him. I was ready to go back to the safety of my bed where I wouldn’t have to face the social humiliation I had to when I inevitably messed something up because I was a clutz. Honestly, I’d have rather been anywhere else other than that stupid shop with that extroverted employee trying to converse with me.

“Yeah, we sure did make a good team. See you round then,” I made a beeline for the door, not leaving quick enough to avoid seeing the boy’s face fall as I quickly escaped from the shop. Thank god that was over. As I looked back in one last time, I saw the boy sitting at the checkout, looking sadly down at the register. What was his problem? I was just a customer, I was sure he saw loads, right? It wasn’t my job to babysit him while he worked.

Phil’s POV:

What did I do to scare him away? I thought I’d acted more than friendly towards the curly-headed customer. I’d shared some funny anecdotes with him and tried to engage with him. He seemed like a nice guy, a bit reserved, yeah, but he did stay back to help pack up the boxes after he’d knocked them down. I just didn’t understand why he left so abruptly, like he couldn’t even face me. Had I done something wrong?

I knew it was silly, but it got lonely in the shop. We hardly saw any customers at all in the shop, and those we see are usually old people or those donating. I rarely saw anybody my age in and, well, it was nice that the boy made me feel a little less alone. Of course, it was silly. He'd just been shopping downtown and I was just another employee. He stayed back because he was polite. That’s all. I just wish he could have stayed. I couldn’t help but wonder what his life was like, as I’d shared so many parts of mine with him. All things considered, he hardly shared anything at all with me, and I talked most of the time.

My eyes shot open, filled with tears from an unknown source. It was bright and overwhelming, but eventually my eyes adjusted to it. I was on a couch in a lounge that I’d never seen before wrapped in a quilt. Next to me was a boy with eyes so bright that they almost made my head hurt if I looked at them too long. His dark hair was unmistakably iconic, the same head I’d stared at the back of during english every day, wishing that I could be like him. The same person I’d gone on and on about how much I hated. Of course it had to be Phil Lester who’d taken me in and been a decent person, telling me not to worry about puking in his car. Of course it had to be the boy who I’d assumed gave nobody the time of day who’d taken the time to make sure I was okay and drive me to where he could take care of me.

I should have been grateful, I should have thanked him and been happy that he’d rescued me from what I’d accepted as inevitable. I just felt angry. Phil Lester couldn’t understand how I felt, how my body ached and I just wanted to cry not only because of the scars that they left me, but also because of the things they called me between classes. Phil Lester wasn’t called “worthless” or “ugly” or “fat” multiple times a day. Phil Lester wasn’t called anything. He had no idea how it felt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, it’s just, you were screaming, and I thought you had a bad dream or something,” Phil looked at me sympathetically, but I saw right through his icy eyes. I didn’t know why he brought me here, but it certainly wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. Maybe he just wanted to look like a hero or something. Phil Lester never did anything for anybody. Yeah, maybe he felt sorry for me, the was rich people feel bad for people who aren’t as well off, but he’d never understand. He’d never look at me and say, “I know what you’re going through.” I’d say that I may have just been on his path home, but why hadn’t he stepped in before? Perfect Phil Lester could never understand, and that made me so mad.

“It’s fine,” I replied, tight-lipped and bitter. Phil looked a little surprised at my tone. Maybe he’d expected me to thank him extravagantly, or worship the ground he walked on like everybody else. Sure, he’d saved my from getting beaten up, and I was glad I wasn’t a punching bag anymore. Still, I knew what to expect from Balloon, Rat, and Gardener, while Phil was so strange. At school, he acted distant and floaty and above it all, but now it was like he was pretending to care about me.

He obviously didn’t care about me. Phil Lester didn’t care about anything. He didn’t care about teachers, he didn’t care about the students who treated him so nicely, he didn’t care about homework, he certainly didn’t care about me. He was this shooting star, ever so admired by all, giving off a certain glow, brilliantly falling through the sky, not caring about its surroundings, just existing for others to look at and appreciate. It’s cut off from the world, but the world still sees it. It’s there and not and it’s so beautiful and frustrating.

“If you need anything, I’m here for you,” he nearly whispered it, seeming significantly less enthusiastic than the time before. Was he really there for me? Why would he be? I was a black hole, filled with darkness and imploding on myself. Why would a shooting star care about a dark hole, existing on opposite sides of the universe. We were too different.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. Maybe I was taking for granted being in Phil Lester’s glorious presence. Most people wished on shooting stars, but all I could think about was all my wishes who hadn’t come true. All the other times I was cornered and punched and kicked and humiliated, where had he been? Surely he’d seen it happen, it had gone on for over a year. What made him step in now?

“Phil, can I ask you a question?” I was reluctant to straight out ask why he’d helped me.

“Of course,” he whispered calmly.

“Why did you step in? Why now of all times?” the question was killing me, I couldn’t think of a single reason that he would have wanted to help me.

“I know that, in your position, I would have wanted help. I didn’t really want to go over at first, but it was so bad and I just couldn’t handle seeing anybody treated that way. I understand how you felt, hopeless and afraid,” his eyes seemed softer, perhaps more empathetic.

“You’d never have to be in my situation though,” I nearly scoffed. It wasn’t meant to sound as rude as it ended up sounding.

“Excuse me?” the boy looked genuinely confused.

“I mean, everybody worships you at school. Nobody picks on you. How can you possibly say you understand?” I laughed a little, a bitter, short laugh that held nearly no humor at all. Suddenly, it was if something in Phil had changed. His shoulders went rigid and his eyes got the same distant appearance as they usually had at school. It looked as if he were clenching his jaw.

“Here’s some advil, you can get cleaned up in the bathroom, let me know if you need a ride back to your place,” the way he said it made a shiver run up my spine. The quiet, caring boy from only moments before was gone, a cold shadow of what he used to be left in his place. The monotonous tone in his voice was eerie. He stood up and walked into the other room, leaving me alone. This was the Phil Lester I knew.

A different sort of nausea to the type I felt earlier washed over me. I layed on the couch for a moment, taking in the situation and just thinking. I finally decided to go and get cleaned up in the bathroom. The door’s handle was difficult to turn, but using my body’s weight and will power, I managed to get the door open.

The room was painted a pale blue with a white ceiling. The sink had a marble countertop and a mirror directly above it. I looked horrible. I had a busted lip and dried blood was at the corners of my mouth. I popped an advil into my mouth and used the sink water to swallow it. I turned on the shower, took off my bloodstained clothes, and waited for a minute before getting in to give the water time to heat up.

The still slightly cool water felt good on my back, washing away the blood that had dried onto my torso. I looked at the shower products sitting in the shower’s corner and grabbed a handful of what I presumed to be shampoo, lathering it up through my hair. It felt so good to feel actually clean, watching everything wash down the drain. I rubbed a pump of conditioner into my hair. His body wash smelled like bubblegum and cotton candy and was so different than the barred soap I was used to.

I wasn’t sure how much to use, so just kept pouring it into my hand until I couldn’t hold it anymore. I rubbed it all over my body and my wounds burned at the contact. Even worse, I realized how much it lathered up, and I’d definitely used way too much. I must’ve used like a third of the bottle. I was going to wreak of sweets for the next two years.

I stepped out of the shower and saw a towel and clothes that I’d sworn weren’t there when I’d gotten into the shower. There was something written hastily on a notecard on top of the pile of linens. The note read, “I heard you start the shower and thought you might need these.” I couldn’t help but feel bad for acting so coldly towards the boy earlier. It was a towel, a pair of grey sweatpants, a light pink t-shirt, and a dodie yellow sweatshirt. I used the towel to dry myself off. The sweatpants were slightly long on me, but unbelievably soft. The shirt was oversized and comfortable. When I put on the sweatshirt, it felt like I’d just walked through a cloud. I had to give it to him, Phil knew how to dress for comfort.

The note read:

“Hey Phil!

We’re so proud of you, and we know that you must be a little freaked out, but we know you’ll be fine! We’re only going to be gone for a week, and we are confident that you’ll be alright. The box on the counter has all things you might need to know in the case of an emergency, including contacts. Don’t forget to lock the doors, there should be plenty of food labeled in the fridge.

Make sure to call every night so that we can check in on you. If you have a friend who can stay over, that would be fine by us as long as you try and get to school every day and stay safe. You’re going to be fine.

XOXO,

Mum and Dad”

His parents were clearly very protective of him, but many parents were. Still, the note, clearly supposed to be comforting rather than instructions, was a little strange in itself. His parents were congratulating his bravery staying home alone? They must have cared a lot about him. He was probably an only child.

I would have killed to have parents who cared so much. Yeah, if I got seriously hurt my mum would worry about me, but it seemed like nothing to the extent of Phil’s family’s concern for their teenaged son who would be home alone for like a week. I was alone most of the time, so I was used to microwaved meals and the loneliness that accompanied most dinner times.

Looking through the box, there were instructions for everything you could have possibly imagined. They ranged from break ins to a wild hamster bearing rabies running into the house. Each envelope was clearly labeled with colorful stickers, his parents must have been pretty paranoid to put so much time into something like that. Did they not realize that he was a teenager who could, for the most part, do things himself without burning the house down. I supposed that some parents were just like that.

I went through another door, this one leading to a dimly lit hallway. The walls were burgundy, but the ceiling was the same too-bright white that the bathroom’s ceiling and the kitchen’s walls. At the end of the hall, there was a window, the only source of light in the narrow space, and a small table below it. There were 4 doors, 2 on each side of the hall. I slowly opened the first on the right.  

It was probably Phil’s parents’ room. The walls were painted a light tan and there was a large king bed with a dark brown comforter on it in the left corner of the room. A bedside table was next to it, with two framed pictures propped up and a bowl of stationary tools. The first was a picture of who I assumed to be Phil’s parents with a boy who looked to be a bit older than Phil, but looked strikingly similar to him. There were mountains in the background, and they smiled like a happy family. I couldn’t help but feel a longing when looking at the photo. His parents looked so fondly at who I assumed to be Phil’s brother.

The second picture was Phil’s school photo from last year. I snorted a little, they clearly had a favorite son. While the picture of them as a family was adorable, it was just hilarious that they had a fully framed picture of Phil and not any of the other family members.

I heard the door open behind me. I’d been caught being nosy. I spun around to see Phil looking at me, slightly panicked.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice a little deeper than before.

“I-I’m sorry, I was just wandering around and I got lost,” I stuttered, “I can go now, I’m really sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind you being here, it’s just my parents’ room,” he stood there awkwardly, just kind of looking at me. We stood in silence, just sort of coexisting. I cleared my throat.

“So, uh, where was this taken?” I didn’t care much, but the silence was making me uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure,” he replied softly, fidgeting with his shirt. His eyes darted around the room, never resting on anything for too long. I kind of just stood there, not knowing what else to say.

“Is that your brother?” I was trying to save the dying conversation because I had no idea what else to do. Phil looked up at me.

“Yeah, Martyn’s 2 years older than me, off at boarding school,” Phil’s tone was lighter, actually looking me in the eyes as he answered.

“Really, that’s cool. I have a brother too. How long ago was the picture taken?” If his brother was only 2 years older than him, then it must have been fairly recent, as Martyn still looked slightly older than Phil in it. Phil began to fidget again.

“I’m not sure,” he breathed, so quietly that it was a miracle I’d understood at all. I decided to drop it, he seemed to be kind of uncomfortable.

“So, where are your parents at?” I didn’t want to give away that I’d read the note on the fridge, he already thought that I was nosy enough.

“They’re visiting some famous French doctor,” he almost seemed annoyed, “but I don’t really understand why that would take a whole week.” Why would they need to visit a doctor in France? I felt a sinking feeling inside of me, maybe somebody in his family was sick. Maybe it was his brother, and he was getting treatment in the “boarding school” he was at. It would explain why he’d gotten so shut out when I asked him about Martyn. God, I was a terrible person. I decided not to pry.

“God, that must have sounded horrible. None of my family is dying of disease, my parents are just doctors, so they like to meet with other doctors,” Phil chuckled a little, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. He looked at me apologetically, “I’m sorry, that reminded me, I’ve gotta call my parents to put them at ease. You can keep wandering around if you want, just don’t go opening any drawers you shouldn’t.” Had he just winked at me? He turned and walked out the door. Left standing alone, I decided to keep looking around.

I went to the room across the hall. The handle didn’t budge when I tried to open it. At this point, I had two options. I could have either left it alone as it was probably locked for a reason or used the paperclip I’d seen in Phil’s parents’ room. I went back to get the paper clip.

It was a fairly easy lock to pick, pretty standard. I was in within a matter of minutes. The room’s walls were painted black. The duvet on the bed in the corner of the room was checkered black and white. The bed was neatly made, the bedside table having accumulated a thick layer of dust. Muse, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and Green Day Posters were all over the walls. The closet was full of band tee-shirts and black clothing. His brother reminded me of myself. I was sure I’d get along well with Martyn.

I was a little surprised that that was Martyn’s room. In the picture, he’d been wearing pretty bright clothes, it was hard to believe that the same boy in the picture owned all that black. I guess everybody went through their emo phase at some point or another.

“Jesus, when I said you could wander, I didn’t realize you’d go into the locked rooms as well,” Phil was back. He was back and he’d just caught me after breaking into his brother’s room. I turned around.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I tried to make it sound lighthearted, but Phil’s expression was much more upset than he’d been when I’d gone into his parents’ room, “Is this Martyn’s room?” He looked distant again, and that scared me more than the anger I’d seen behind his eyes just a moment before.

“Nobody lives here,” he stated monotonously. He was back to the Phil Lester from school. He was back to the robot I’d seen him as too many times. He gestured to me, “Follow me, I can give you a ride home.” I followed him through the house to his car, climbing in. It was later than I thought. How long had I been unconscious for? The sun was already down.

I could still smell my vomit from earlier. Gross. It was a long, silent car ride. The tension was so thick I could slice through it with a knife. We just went by wordlessly. I thought about how much Phil had helped me, and felt bad about breaking into the locked bedroom. I’d overstepped my boundaries. Maybe it wasn’t right to have hated this boy who showed me nothing but compassion. It didn’t change the fact that I envied his life, with doctors for parents and everybody treating him kindly. His emo brother was away at boarding school, so he didn’t have to deal with him. He was clearly the favorite child. He pulled up to my house.

“Hey, thanks for everything. If it weren’t for you, I’d still probably be bleeding and slumped over a tree,” I couldn’t put into words how much I appreciated what he did for me, and how sorry I felt about breaking into the bedroom.

I got out of bed and immediately winced in pain. My body throbbed from the injuries of the previous day, and I wished I’d taken another advil before going to bed. I went into the bathroom and popped a few pills. I considered stepping into the shower, but decided against it. I still smelled like cotton candy and didn’t want my soap to wash the scent away. I also didn’t really want to take the clothes off, so comfortable and warm and soft and neat. Realistically, I knew that I’d have to return the clothes to Phil, but I wanted to enjoy my last moments in them. It was like floating through a cloud with a fresh lamb.

I brushed my teeth and combed my hair, getting ready for the day ahead. I went back to my room to check my phone, but the boy hadn’t replied. It was fine. He was busy. He wouldn’t just ignore me, would he? He was probably awake, getting ready for school. He wasn’t ignoring me. He just obviously hadn’t seen the text.

I changed out of the clothes, suddenly feeling too warm in them. It was like they were suffocating me or something. I picked out a black pair of skinny jeans and a grey t-shirt. The hoodie I put on made me kind of look like a drug dealer, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t as soft as the yellow one I’d had before, and it almost felt wrong to have such dull colors on. I shook it off, I had different things to worry about. I put Phil’s clothes in my backpack, so as not to forget to return them.

I walked into the kitchen to find my mum already at work. Of course, this was the occurrence nearly every morning, and I didn’t mind being alone. It was peaceful, and that was all I really wanted: peace.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and tried to eat what I could. Swallowing hurt, and I could only choke down a few bites before giving up. I grabbed my backpack and started the walk to school.

It was bitterly cold outside, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than put Phil’s sweatshirt on. I had to force myself not to take it out of my backpack, as it was Phil’s and it probably would look weird on me to others even though I’d loved how I looked in it last night. I couldn’t wear it, it wasn’t right.

I got to school and didn’t see Phil. He still hadn’t replied to my text, and I was starting to think he’d given me a fake phone number. I went to my classes and everything was a little different. Balloon, Rat, and Gardener could barely meet my eye, and a few people actually half-smiled at me. What was going on?

I had history just before lunch, and, half way through, asked the teacher if I could go fill my water bottle in the hallway. She permitted me to leave and I grabbed my backpack, not wanting to rummage through for the bottle in front of everybody, and headed into the hallway.

I set out toward the fountain, thinking with each step. I could look for Phil at lunch to give his clothes back, or wait until English, or, as the more selfish part of me suggested, just not look for him and keep his sweatshirt. Obviously I couldn’t do that. I was nearly at the fountain.

“This is an intruder drill,” a voice announced over the intercom system, and I groaned. I should've just waited until lunch. When you were in the halls, or anywhere outside of a classroom, you were supposed to go into the nearest bathroom and lock the doors. The bathroom wasn’t far away, but I didn’t really want to make the trip. Still, I started to briskly walk toward them. I turned the corner and went into the blue door with the man’s silhouette painted onto the front. Nobody else was in there, and I was glad, imagine how awkward that would have been. I set my backpack down and leaned against the wall, waiting for the drill to be over. Generally, the drills lasted for around 20 minutes, which meant likely till the end of the period. Great.

I saw the door swing open and heard ragged breathing. I immediately recognized the boy to be Phil Lester, but he looked so different than how I’d seen him the night before. His eyes were red and puffy, breathing sporadic, visibly shaking. Under his breath, he kept repeating, “No no no no please no please.”

“Phil, what’s going on? Are you alright?” I took a step towards him and he yelped.

“Stay back, leave me alone” he repeated over and over again.

“Phil, it’s just me. It’s just Dan. Phil, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” I took a step back, not wanting to scare him more than he already seemed to be.

“He’s coming. He’s coming oh my god he’s going to kill me. Last time he said that if he caught me trying to get away again he’d kill me. Oh my god I’m going to die,” tears were rolling down Phil’s face. Now I was alarmed.

“Phil, I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. You have to let me help you, who is going to hurt you?” I tried to speak in a steady voice, but I was afraid. Realistically, I knew that I couldn’t protect Phil if somebody much stronger than me came in, but I needed Phil to calm down. Phil looked into my eyes, and all I could see was the fear that resided in his glazed over blue eyes.

“You can’t save me. Nobody can,” Phil collapsed into a sobbing ball on the floor, and I felt a chill go up my spine. Something was seriously wrong. The way that he had said it was the more frightening than the death threats he’d worried about, he said it with a cold certainty that chilled me to my bones. I had no doubt that Phil didn’t believe that he could be saved.

I sat next to Phil, still rocking back and forth and sobbing. I slowly reached my hand out to touch his hair.

“Is this okay?” I asked. I didn’t want to frighten him more. He nodded and continued to sob, shaking in his place. I ran my fingers through his hair the way my mom used to do to me when I got hurt. I put one arm around him, trying to comfort him but not really knowing how. When he let me do this, I wrapped my other arm around him aswell and pulled him close to me. He was still taking shaky breaths, the occasional choked sob escaping, but he seemed to have calmed down a little.

“You’re okay, Phil. You’re going to be okay,” I whispered in his ear. His head was resting on my shoulder, my sweatshirt damp from his tears, but I didn’t mind. I just wanted him to be okay.

“No, I’m not,” Phil began to sob again, and I rocked with him, arms wrapped around the boy. I could feel each shaky breath that he took and held him close while he cried into me. I kept reassuring him that that he was going to be okay and that he was safe. I felt his breathing grow slower, though it took some time.

“I-I’m sorry,” Phil sniffed, “I’ve ruined your sweatshirt and wasted your time and you just saw me a complete mess and I’m really sorry - ”

I cut him off, quoting his own words, “Stop apologizing for something you had no control over.” He started crying again. Jesus Christ.

“Did I do something wrong?” I whispered, running my fingers through his black hair once again.

“No, I just never thought that my own words could mean so much to me,” he smiled a little, and, for a moment, I could imagine everything being okay. He was going to be okay. The bell rang, which meant that lunch had started.

“I know a quiet place where we could go if you want to,” I offered. Phil, puffy eyed and snot-nosed, looked up at me. He looked so adorably helpless and all i knew was that I needed to protect him at all costs.

“I think I’d like that,” Phil whispered, “I think I’d like that a lot.” I didn’t want to leave the embrace we were in, but I knew that I had to.

“Hey, I have something of yours,” I rummaged through my backpack and pulled out the sweatshirt and other clothes he’d lent me.

“Keep it. The clothes don’t fit me right anyways,” the boy with the brilliant eyes smiled up at me, and I swear that nothing had ever existed as beautiful as that smile.

“You really don’t have to,” I offered the clothes back to the boy, but Phil pushed them back into my arms. I smiled at him.

It was crazy how much had happened in that bathroom in the span of 20 minutes. Maybe now I understood all the hype about Phil Lester because in that moment he was the most beautiful person in the world and all that I cared about was making sure that he was happy and okay. And, for now, Phil Lester was okay.

I might even go as far as to say that, like the rest of the school, I’d fallen under the Lester Effect. After all, how could anybody hate a ray of sunshine like Phil Lester? I grabbed his hand and led him out of the bathroom, letting him keep his face buried in my shoulder as I slowly walked to the safest, quietest place in the whole school.

I took the quietest hallways, which I’d scoped out during my time trying to avoid bullies. It was a slow travel, but it was peaceful, and that was all I could have asked for. I had the shooting star that was Phil Lester at my side, beautiful head resting on my shoulder. I listened to his steady, peaceful breaths. I combed my fingers through his beautiful hair and looked at him, so gorgeously calm and unaware that I was staring at him. The pastel boy was so different than I’d first thought, and, even as head head rested on me, it was as if he was floating gracefully by. We were just coexisting, and that was enough.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” I put an arm around him because maybe it felt like my arm was made to hold somebody just his size close.

“Why did you help me?” he looked into my eyes and I got lost in the blue that was actually like 3 different colors.

“You were there for me when I needed somebody to save me. I had to return the favor. You’re a good person, Phil, you’re a shooting star who doesn’t deserve to be anything but happy,” I looked at him fondly. He half-smiled back at me.