quixotic. ↣ d.h.

xxxvi: tired

"phil, could you hang back for a moment, please?"

phil pulled his mind out of its daze and turned away from the doorway, walking back towards mr. levine's desk. "sure." everything had felt strange and off-key after zoe ran out. phil had wanted to follow her as well, but some inexplicable feeling made him hesitate, and when he had finally begun to rise out of his seat, mr. levine had told to stay put. he hoped they were okay.

"yes?" phil questioned.

mr. levine sighed, brushing a hand over his scruffy face. he looked exhausted, such a stark contrast to the persona of exuberance he projected during every club meeting.

"the things you said today. they were fine, but... wasn't there something else you could have talked about?"

phil went stiff, but tried to keep his voice steady. "I'm

not sure what you're getting at."

"phil. i know."

"you know...?"

"we don't have to do this. i know about your parents, about your... current living status."

the classroom began to swim in front of phil's eyes, a swirling storm of fluorescent lights and chalk dust and desks he'd wasted far too much time at.

"i...."

"you have nothing to be embarrassed about, phil. plenty of kids live in orphan houses."

but not because their parents abandoned them, phil thought bitterly. it was all their fault. the way he felt about himself, the reclusive way in which he acted. and why had they done it? was he so irreparably messed up, even as a child?

"you don't have to tell anyone," mr. levine said, breaking through phil's racing thoughts. "i just wanted you to know that you could. everyone's a little messed up, you know? you don't have to hide it. you can even be proud of it if it makes you feel better. just don't hate yourself over the tiny fractures beneath your skin."

phil swallowed hard, keeping his eyes on the floor. "can i leave now?"

mr. levine sighed deeply once more. "sure. have a good night, phil."

"you too," phil mumbled on his way out the door.

-

that night, he laid awake into the early hours of the morning, mind spinning and gagging on its own productions.

the other boys in the room with him were sound asleep, their obnoxious snores filling all of the empty space in the suffocatingly small room.

he was tired; tired of existing, tired of thinking, tired of being a helpless slave to the endless trains of destructive thoughts that barreled through his mind. he wished he could sleep, though he would be no better off if he could; he was tired in a way that sleep couldn't fix.

so instead he slipped in a pair of earbuds and closed his eyes, falling away to the music and dreams of Somewhere.

a/n: sorry this is short and sucky but it'll be several days before i can write again so i wanted to get something up and you will need this info for later so :)