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Some days, things just take way too much of my energy
I look up and the whole room's spinning
You take my cares away
I can so overcomplicate, people tell me to medicate
It’s been a while.
A while since your heart has started beating arrhythmically, since you’ve been aware of every intake of breath. You’ve let yourself fall into a false feeling of safety, dipped your toes into the sea only to be swallowed down by the thick syrup of fear, unable to get your head above the waves.
It’s exhausting.
You know that it’s part of the process, know that you should be grateful for the time of rest in between one wave and the other. You should feel happy to be able to navigate the vastness of it instead of constantly surrendering to the sheer force of it like you used to do.
“Be nice to yourself,” is what Phil says to you, voice muffled by the way his mouth is pressed against your chest.
“I don’t know how.”
“Then I’ll remind you.”
Feel my blood runnin', swear the sky's fallin'
How do I know if this shit's fabricated?
Time goes by and I can't control my mind
Don't know what else to try, but you tell me every time
If someone asked you, why Phil’s head on your chest feels so grounding, you wouldn’t be able to answer. You can’t begin to find the words to explain it, the comfort and safety wrapping around your entire being just by feeling the familiar weight of him on top of you.
It’s always easier, when he’s right there with you - almost like he makes the darkness in your mind seems a little bit duller, the sun shining outside a little bit brighter.
He isn’t a magic cure, not really. He isn’t able to completely take away the shadows that sometimes overcome you, isn’t able to silence the voices in your brain picking at each and every of your insecurities, at every hidden fear.
Phil isn’t your saviour, has never been. You might have considered him that way, once - when you were younger and more desperate and didn’t really understand what you were going through, didn’t realize exactly that the only enemy that you had to fight was a hormonal imbalance and a scary world.
For a long time he tried so hard to fill the void that you were leaving open, fingers grabbing at each end of the gap to bring them together, almost like he was afraid you would let out every single part of you until nothing would have been left.
It was always painful to watch, just how much he was trying to keep you together - how much he still tries to.
“I want to help you,” he always says, a small frown in between his brows when you voice your concern that you are weighing too much on him. He always wave your worries away, almost like he finds the idea ridiculous.
In reality, you know far too well that he would let himself fall apart on the ground if it meant keeping even the smaller part of you unharmed.
Sometimes it's hard to find, find my way up into the clouds
Tune it out, they can be so loud
You remind me of a time when things weren't so complicated
All I need is to see your face
Your heart hammers in your chest as you try to inhale and exhale to the rhythm of Phil’s body. You try to focus on the way he looks as he’s sprawled on top of you, dishevelled hair almost blending in with the blackness of your jumper, long eyelashes caressing the pale cheek that isn’t pressed against your chest.
There’s a part of you that wants to shake him, right now - wants to press your fingertips on his shoulders until you leave your mark and get his body off you. It’s not because you don’t want him close, no, never that - but you don’t understand how he can be so calm, when you feel like the world is crumbling around you, the ceiling about to collapse and bury you under the weight of the disappointment and questions from your confused audience.
“Just breathe with me,” he asks, tightening his hold around you, sensing the slight hitch of your breathing, the way your limbs start to tremble out of nervous energy and the desire to run away.
“Are you not upset?” You ask him back, and for a moment you brace yourself for his biting reply at the accusation that you can hear in your own voice. You’re no stranger to Phil’s hurt thrown back at you, have been the unwilling witness of it too many times to even count - although it has been a while.
You feel him shrug, shoulders raising and lowering in that way that he has, the small movement reminding you a child or maybe a puppy - a gesture that you can’t help but feel a pang of adoration for. “Not really?”
There are frustrated tears threatening to spill from your eyes when you say, “how?”.
The dip of his head suddenly disappears before your vision is invaded by the sight of him, looking sleepy and rumpled in the most comfortable of ways, smelling of hair product and sweat and everything that makes him home.
“Because this reaction doesn’t mean we didn’t do a good job. I love the trailer, I love the book and I love you.”
You can feel a knot in your throat as you force yourself to keep looking at him, overwhelmed by the unwavering love that you can see in the blue of his eyes but unable to do anything but surrendering to it, the sweetest death that you could ever imagine.
“Phil -” you start, before finding yourself at a loss for what to say, the concept of him the only coherent thought in your mind, the only idea that your scattered brain can focus on - a steady constant that your consciousness can latch onto, desperate to never let go.
You stay like that, Phil hovering on top of you and covering your body with his, sharing the same air as you breathe in and breathe out, subconsciously regaining the rhythm that you have lost some time in your pondering, lost in a ocean without seeing the shore in the distance.
“Breathe in, breathe out,” he says, voice soft and molasses sweet, the only symphony that you have ever cared to learn, engraved in your memory to keep you company whenever he isn’t near you.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually the overwhelming sensation of falling into the abyss goes away.
Your eyes stop stinging, the tension in your muscles disappear.
The only thing left is the embarrassment, the feeling of shame that comes to you whenever you feel like you’ve lost control - of yourself, of your own emotions, of everything that surrounds you.
But thankfully, Phil is always right there, with his smile and his love, to remind you to not let go, to keep you strong - strong enough to fight for it.
“Thank you,” you say after, each word dripping with the sincerity of your gratitude and your affection for him.
And Phil, wonderful Phil - Phil, who you don’t feel like you deserve but who has never, not for a second, made you feel like it - he just smiles at you, places a hand on your cheek and leans in to leave a chaste kiss on your chapped lips, the touch enough to light you on fire with the warmth of his love.
You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of him, of you, of the world you've built together - and just for a moment, your head is clear.
My, my air
Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin' and breathin'
And oh, I gotta keep, I keep on breathin'