Before I Let You Fall (Phan)

Chapter One

Dan's POV

Love is strong, but it is not the only force in the world.

Silent feet padding down a hallway, a door creaking open like the whine of a child, and the small chuckle of a long-forgotten woman were all memories I knew too well.

I loved how it always smelled of cinnamon, or, if we were having guests over, it smelled of an excessively-applied apple-scented fragrance that only my mother would love. I missed the memories like those, because they were my childhood; they were when I was truly happy.

Dark spells of depression had consumed me, wrapped around my lungs, taking all the air I breathed. No more chuckling; no more sweet scents from my childhood. But then I met Phil.

The boy with the blue eyes--he saved me, in a sense. I had been planning it out in horrid detail how it would happen, and how much my family would actually miss me, but when I met him, I didn't. He taught me how to speak when the words left my mouth; he taught me to live again.

Yet there was no denying the fact that humans can't live off of simply love. We can't feed off of it; it can't sustain us alone. My love for the blue-eyed boy, Phil, was immeasurable, but I couldn't survive with only it, no matter how many times I tried.

"Dan?" he asked, pulling me from the deep swirling mess of my mind, back into the present streets of London where a gray, polluted sky threatened to drown us in its tears. Sometimes I understood how it felt.

"Yes, Phil?" I inquired, dragging out the i slightly longer than necessary out of habit.

"These fans want a picture," he said, and only then did I notice the teenagers standing beside him. I faked a smile and stood next to two ecstatic girls, but I saw Phil's eyes narrow: he could see directly through my smile and through the walls I had tried so hard to make solid. Nevertheless, we posed happily, and as the flash of he camera blinded me, I momentarily forgot the feeling of being lost. For simply one second, I was just a boy blinded by a camera instead of a boy drowning in a sea of thunder produced by his own mind.

Once the giggling girls walked away, Phil tugged on my arm. "You okay, Dan?"

"Yes, fine," I said before quickly changing the subject, not wanting Phil to have time to ponder my reply. "Want to go to a café or something? I'm starving."

Thankfully, Phil didn't press on the previous subject; a wide smile stretched across his face as he pointed across the street to one of the lesser-known cafés of London. Despite its rundown exterior, the place was cozy and often near empty, which made it easier for Phil and I to be loners. Together.

We dodged cars as we jogged across the street. Phil was first to reach the door, and he pulled it open for me, the bell above the door laughing as we entered. The place was cluttered with chipped beige décor. Small hanging lights swung back and forth, back and forth, almost pretentiously, as if they were boastful of being the brightest things in the building.

We slowly made our way over to our usual table, Phil sitting next to me, as always, a smile on his face, yet it somehow seemed strained.

An ill-humored waitress made her way over to us, a surly frown upon her pale face. She impatiently shoved a strand of blonde hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail as she set our menus on the table. "Thanks for coming," she mumbled quickly before hurrying off, her shoes clicking angrily on the tiles of the floor.

"Phil, she looks like I do when I catch you eating my cereal," I said, silently pleading for Phil to forget whatever he saw in my eyes, but it was no use; he read me like an open book, but he only knew the beginning and ending. If he discovered the middle chapters, he would never want to read again. He gave a soft chuckle at my joke, but then submitted to silence.

"Dan, tell me what's wrong," he said after a moment. There was no anger, sadness, confusion, or anything in his voice. He was not impatient because of my hesitance, to which I was extremely grateful. I looked up at his blue eyes, so shockingly blue that I remembered doing a double take the first time I met him. A single strand of black hair fell lazily in front of his eyes, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. I noticed, though. "Dan."

I opened my mouth to speak, but was saved by the waitress, who was glaring at her nails as if they'd been the ones she'd caught eating her cereal instead of Phil. No matter what I thought about, my thoughts somehow traveled back to Phil. Always Phil.

"Well?" she demanded in her sour tone, raising an arched eyebrow.

"Oh, sorry, um..." Phil said. I watched as his bright eyes rapidly raced through the menu, darting to every word. He made it his goal to try something new every time we came here, whereas I tended to be more consistent with my orders. And, as I had been gradually doing more often recently, I tuned out, my thoughts racing.

There were so many things I wish I could tell him.

So many things my heart pleaded to say as my eyes lost their focus on the boy in front of me, but these things in my head--these were things no one could know. My heart tried to shout these things for all the world, but my mind was the opposite.

Phil mumbled something to the waitress. I only saw his lips moving; I couldn't hear or feel at that moment.

I didn't want anything from Phil. We were best friends, and that alone kept me happy. I was not broken over the fact that he would never feel in such a way that I do, because we loved each other, and even if it was only a best friend sort of love, it was still love. No matter what situation, it is always love. My heart had trouble accepting it though, and occasionally, a thought would slip through that I never meant to think. Such as right then, for example. Even though it was such frequent thing lately, it still took me off guard when my heart sang loud enough for only me to hear: "He looks beautiful right now."

Phil's eyes glanced off the page and met mine for a fraction of a second, as if he knew.

I wish he knew.