#wingedbyday

Dear Charlie--                  oops.  Regards,    Lex. 

Phillip wasn't a screamer. When he was awoken at two, three, four in the morning by some wicked dream that still clung to the very edges of his consciousness like set-in claws, he didn't scream. There wasn't any sound that would come out. His mouth would open, yes. His eyes would shut and his jaw would ache with the effort of teeth clamping together as though they were being bared, sure. But scream? Not a single whisper could be heard in the ways of that. Instead, it would be rocking, back and forth and back and forth, hands at the base of his throat, choking but not quite lethal, silent but gasping and "oh god oh please" coming out in between the tremors that would him over and over again, altogether so very, very un-soldierly. It's why he chooses to sleep alone. The very idea of someone seeing that is just...no.  Anders found him like that, one night. Phillip had invited him to stay over in order to avoid getting pretzeled around one of the many lampposts that lined the D.C streets ("You can't even walk in a straight line, Anders. You don't have a choice at this point."), and, somehow, at some point, the other wandered in to his bedroom (maybe to ask about whether or not he could turn down the heat? I feel like that's a thing that could be used as an excuse?). It was there that an almost seizematic Phillip could be seen beneath the covers of a too-large bed; struggling for air that couldn't quite come, shaking so goddamn terribly, and altogether just...not Phillip. Not the Phillip that anyone had every really seen. That was the second time that they ever slept together. After a few moments of staring, one person became two in the bed, arms wrapping around a dampened back and fingers working through his hair the way that a mother might soothe a crying babe--and, really, in that moment, he was reduced to that level of vulnerability. Phillip wouldn't ever admit to the gasped murmurs of "please don't leave me alone right now oh god please don't"

When Anders comes over, Phillip likes to cook (mainly because he knows that, if he doesn't force him to, the other man most likely won't get around to eating) for him. It's strangely comforting--and, really, it is strange, given the fact that he's not all-too partial to company after his return to the states--to have Anders there, be it just the sound of his voice shooting off abstract ideas as the pots on the stovetop heat up or the light flipping of paper documents from the counter nearby. Every now and again he'll look up to see if he's still there. When he is, he'll smile; smile, that is, until the speechwriter looks up and makes some crack about how he'd better not overcook the pasta again or whatever, to which he'll respond with a sarcasm-soaked rebuttal or a not-so honorable gesture. Once dinner is served, it's quiet in the tiny square of-a-home. The D.C traffic two stories below will mingle in with the sound of the radio playing from where he left it on that morning in his bedroom. Not much conversation will be made (they're too busy eating to talk). It's one of the silences that's comfortable rather than forced, that's leisurely rather than pointed and focused. The only focal point in detection would be the way that Phillip watches Anders towards the end of things to make sure that he actually ate. Comfortable airs and full stomachs are a recipe for sleepiness, however, and by the time that dinner's over, it will have already gotten to be late enough that an excuse can be made as to how the other should just "crash here for the night. It's no trouble. Really. You can take my bed--" (he's a gentleman. He can't help it. Manners were something that his southern-bred mother pounded into his sense of self) "--It's no trouble at all." Again, another way to make sure that Anders stays in relatively good health. He won't mention the fact that there are usually less night terrors if someone's there. His pride is still too-intact for that. It was during a city-wide power outage that they first slept together. It wasn't sexual. There weren't any fevered kisses or desperate attempts at fulfilling something. Instead, it was just really, really cold, and both decided to agree upon the logic of "well, it'd be a shame to freeze to death". They initially began on either side of Phillips' bed ("So is this the part where I tuck you in, or--?" "Shut UP"). Sometime in the middle of the night, however, they ended up tangled up in each other, limbs hooked around limbs and fingers grasping loosely at the backs of shirts and hair. He won't mention how it's the first time since returning that he's gone without a night terror and the use of a prescription drug to knock him out.