Nine: Familiarity 

Warning: Panic/Anxiety Attack 

Rocket’s car pulls up around fifteen minutes later. He drives a fancy silver Cadillac with elaborate. shiny rims on the interior of the wheels. The engine hums smoothly, and Rocket puts the car into park on the curbside. He flicks the lights off and opens the door, and the music he was playing fades out. From the look on his face alone, Philo could tell he was panicking. About him. Worried. For him.  

“Hey.” Rocket’s standing in front of him now, and he’s still slumped against the wall, a forgotten cigarette held between his fingers, trembling.  

“Hey.” Philo breathes, looking up at him. Rocket lets out a gentle sigh and sinks down beside Philo, back to the brick wall.  

“Are you okay? You sounded a little scared over the phone.” Philo stares lazily at the space between his legs, the dirty concrete, and the fallen ash from his cigarette. He watches as the blazing orange specks burn grey. 

Philo lets his head fall back against the brick of the building. He can feel how tense Rocket is beside him, and he feels guilty that he was that way because of him. He was only causing more issues for Rocket, dragging him out here to a random street in the middle of the night. And for what? Philo needed to vent? That was selfish, and Philo was a horrible, terrible person for it.  

“I’m fine.” Philo mumbles, not believing even himself.  

“Philo.” He turns to Rocket. “I’m so sorry about the other day. I don’t know if you’ve even been reading my texts, and that’s fine--” 

Philo cuts him off sharply. 

“Why... why are you being so nice to me?” Philo takes another long drag from his cigarette.  

“What?” 

“I don’t deserve it. Not me. Not from you.” Philo feels his eyes fill up with tears, and he tries his best to keep them at bay. There would be nothing more embarrassing than crying over this weak, pathetic life of his.   

Rocket stands up suddenly, dusting off his clothes and offering his hand to Philo.  

“Come on. I’m taking you to my house.”  

Philo stares at his hand for a while and then gives in and takes it.  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The car ride is silent, but it doesn’t take long to get to Rocket’s house. His car is fast, and the roads are nearly empty. Philo leans his head onto the window of the passenger’s side, watching the tall buildings of Nerora pass him by. The playlist that Rocket had lazily thrown on played softly in the car, almost inaudible to his ears. Like idle chatter in a busy subway. 

Rocket was pulling into his driveway now, up to his three-car garage. He parks the car, unbuckles and gets out. Philo follows wordlessly as he leads him up to his room. He throws his bag on the floor, taking in Rocket’s room, now that he had the chance to see it properly.  

There was a big bed tucked up to the far corner with a red cover, a flat screen TV on a little brown console table, thin and aged on the opposite side of the room. On the left side of the wall, an advanced PC set-up lived, and his desk was decorated with various polaroid snaps of him and some people that Philo recognized and some he didn’t. 

There was even one of them. It was at the party they had first met, the one in Rocket’s old apartment by Bayside. They each had a red solo cup in their hands, and Rocket’s arm was swung around Philo’s shoulders. 

“What ever happened to that apartment you had?” Philo asks, and Rocket stares at him from the door. He tilts his head, surprised by the question.  

“I have it under the lease for another four months. I just don’t live there anymore.” He says, and Philo gives him a nod.  

“So, you’re still paying the rent for it, then?” 

“Yeah.” Rocket rubs his forehead, heading for the pile of laundry on the floor. He quickly takes to folding it, trying to expend some of the nervous energy built up within him.  

“Does your roommate still live there? What was his name?”  

Rocket freezes, clutching a pair of sweatpants in his hands hard. 

“Oh, you mean Leo? No. He doesn’t. Moved out last year.” 

“He must’ve graduated then, huh?” Philo sinks down into Rocket’s mattress. 

“Mm. No. We had a falling out.” Rocket sends a sharp glance to Philo, who is kicking off his shoes now. “Are we going to talk about tonight? Or anything?”  

Philo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He rests his head against Rocket’s pillow, letting the potent scent of him everywhere, on the pillows, the blankets, the sheets, the carpet, flood his senses and calm him down. Familiarity is what he needed right now, more than ever.  

“Can we just talk like normal for now? I’ll explain everything tomorrow morning, okay?” 

“Fine. But promise me that we will talk.” Rocket goes to sit at the edge of the bed, and Philo feels the mattress sink from his weight.  

“I promise.” Philo opens one eye. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into all this.”  

Rocket holds up his hand.  

“Don’t apologize.” He pauses and then glances to a door on one end of the room. “The bathroom is over there if you want to shower really quick.”  

Philo feels his heart speed up, trying to escape his burning chest. It was just a shower, sure, and it wasn’t even at Sara’s, but the idea of having to go in there and face himself, his disgusting and tainted body, made him feel horrible. He couldn’t do it. And suddenly, he was clutching at his chest and lurching forward, letting out wheezing noises as he tried his best to catch his breath. The room was getting dark, and he wanted to claw at himself, break through himself and set his struggling soul free. 

Rocket quickly wrapped his arms around Philo, pulling him into his chest. Philo had his ear up to Rocket’s sternum, and it was then, in the quiet room, that he could hear the strong beat of his heart. It was rhythmic and steady. Soothing. Familiar. 

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he glanced up at Rocket once more.  

“You okay?” He asks Philo, voice quiet.  

“This is going to sound so dumb.” Rocket shakes his head at that, and Philo continues. “I do... I do want to shower, but can you cover the mirrors and just...” Philo takes a deep breath. “Stay outside the door until I’m done?”  

“Not dumb at all. Just give me a second.” Rocket gets up slowly and heads for the bathroom. A concerned look is plastered obviously on his face. Philo can tell Rocket wants to ask him why. Why do you need me to do this? Philo wished he had the answer, but even he wasn’t sure.