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Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Simon’s eyes flew open.
It wasn’t like sleep had ever come easy for him, but it surely didn’t help when he had someone blowing up his phone like bombs on a minefield.
The worst part?
He had no fucking clue who was texting him, and that drove him nuts.
He had just gotten a new phone number, so no one should’ve had it in the first place. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Johnny, that he was going to do it. Granted, he was going to keep the fact that he got a new number from Johnny for as long as he possibly could. He didn’t need the Scot blowing his phone up at all hours of the day and night with nonsensical gibberish and memes he wouldn’t find funny.
Ding.
Much like the person currently texting him was doing.
So maybe Johnny had managed to get his new number…
He seriously considered it for a moment, so much so that he actually checked his phone, just to see if he was right.
He almost half expected it to be Johnny, but it wasn’t. Simon didn’t recognize the number. So, unless Johnny also had a new number, it couldn’t be him.
But, just to be sure, he clicked on the number.
I saw Mum today-
He slammed his phone down.
That definitely was in no way Johnny. It couldn’t be. The only way it could be him was if Johnny was messing with him and pretending to be someone else. It would be just like him to do that shit.
Slowly, he brought his phone up to his eye level and opened it, staring at the messages, reading them.
I saw Mum today. She’s doing better but I think she still misses you. I’m just glad she’s actually eating full meals.
She refuses to change your room. I think she half expects you to come waltzing back in.
Sometimes I dream that’s the case.
I miss you
Yup, that definitely was not Johnny. He would’ve broken by the second message.
It had to be a wrong number. No way it wasn’t.
Knowing that, he should’ve just deleted the number. He should’ve just put his phone away and tried to sleep. He should’ve just forgotten all about the messages.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
There was something about them, like they were calling to him, like he was supposed to see them. That couldn’t be right. It was just a wrong number. They weren’t meant for him to see. There was no way.
His fingers hovered over the keypad. For some reason, there was something in him that really wanted to respond, even if he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t know them. It wouldn’t be right. But he still felt as if he should say something. Anything. At least just to tell the person on the other side that they had the wrong number.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t. Something stopped him. Whatever it was, it was the same thing that made him shut his phone off and it was the same thing that made him shove his phone away in his nightstand, as if not seeing the messages at all would make him feel any better about his decision.
Newsflash — It didn’t.
He still saw them, burned into the forefront of his mind.
He rolled over into his pillows, resigning himself to another sleepless night. The messages continued to bounce around in his head. His fingers itched to grab his phone and reply.
No matter how bad it got however, he wouldn’t pull his phone out. He wouldn’t stoop to a level that low, especially when he knew he would only stare at the messages. He wouldn’t answer them.
And yet…
Before he even knew it, the early morning rays of the sun were dawning on him, stretching long across the phone screen. They illuminated the pale scars of his hovering fingers, where his fingerprints had been burned off so long ago.
Fuck.
He never should’ve checked his phone.
He knew better, but he still did it.
He just couldn’t help himself.