Phan Oneshots

He Was Made Of Galaxies

Summary: His eyes were the stars that crowded the night sky. His hands held the secrets of all the universe, his fingers bleeding different worlds. And his smile was the sun.

Dan is aromantic and Phil likes to write.

***

The journal was sitting on the chair beside him, an almost offending item that seemed to taunt him. If he had been a worse person, he would have long ago picked it up and carelessly flipped through the pages, but Dan Howell prided himself in not sticking his nose in places it didn't belong. This was someone else's possession, that they were probably looking for right at this moment.

It certainly looked like it would be dearly missed. The spine of it was creased, from continuous opening of its pages, and the pages themselves looked worn and used, in the most loving way possible. Sheets of coloured paper stuck out of it messily, covered in untidy handwriting from what Dan could see, and little drawings.

He should at least pick it up. Right? If he left it there, sitting in the middle of this busy coffee shop like it had been before, surely someone else would take it into their greedy hands. And they probably wouldn't be at all caring about it. He wouldn't look inside of it at all, just set it next to him and hope that its owner would come and claim it before Dan left.

So he picks the journal up carefully, placing it next to his laptop and fighting the curiosity that was pushing at his mind. He would not open it, it was against the rules of being a decent human being. And he goes back to his own business, checking a few emails and responding to one from his boss, trying to make himself busy.

He isn't the kind of person who usually hangs out in places like this, or anywhere in public, unless he was forced to. His small apartment was good enough for him to spend most of his time in, and he felt it completely unnecessary to venture out into the unknown and sometimes very confusing streets that were the city of London. But sometimes he got lonely, and he had found a small comfort in being surrounded by these strangers, who gave the sense of being around him without actually interacting with him in a way that was sure to end with him a stuttering, blushing mess and them probably leaving him on his own once again. No, he was better off by himself.

But Dan is nowhere near the idea of being antisocial. He doesn't prefer being alone, he doesn't enjoy the fact that he can't start a conversation to save his life. It is more often than not that he finds himself actually thinking what his life would be like if he wasn't such a recluse. If he had witty comebacks to a group of imaginary friend's jokes, if he could casually walk up to a stranger and maybe find some common interests to start an unlikely friendship. But he is left alone with his nerves and the always present cloud of self doubt in the back of his mind that pulls him away from people without him even noticing. This has been his life for so long, and he is familiar with it. He saw no point in changing it anytime soon.

The shop wasn't very noisy or even that crowded, it being the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, so it was perfectly reasonable for him to jump about three feet in the air when the door (which he just happened to be sitting next to) slams open. He barely has a second to calm his racing heart, when the guy who had walked through the door trips over his own shoes and nearly  falls onto Dan's table. But he doesn't seem to care about the almost fatal accident that could have occurred.

"Have you seen a journal here?" He asks frantically, grasping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turn white. "It's not that big, might look look a bit old? I left it here, or I think I did, I can't remember, but I was writing in it here, and now I can't find it."

Dan points to the book beside his computer. "That one?" He asks carefully.

"Oh shit," the guy says in relief, reaching for the journal eagerly. "I was gonna lose my mind, I thought it was gone forever. Thank you."