"So it's true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love."
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly
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City lights caused such a dim illumination to the ravenette's hair, still revealing the bright blue to any on-lookers eyes. He leaned his head upwards, eyes narrowing slightly as the small street light flickered out of existence, a cigarette pulled up to his lips. After taking a breath, he pulled the stick away, puffing out the smoke that was in his mouth. It came out in rings, like art, almost. Beautiful and painful. Of course humanity liked something that could kill it, that was always the case. He continued his walk, a rhythmic pattern to his steps, one unbeknownst to him. His thumbs were hooked loosely in the belt loops of his black skinny jeans, his eyes flickering around the immediate area, as if to merely check if he was being followed. He said nothing as he continued, fishing out a flask from his black jacket and opening it, taking a small swig of the alcohol inside. Without putting it away, the boy continued to walk peacefully, stopping only when his phone rang out.
The tune of a song he didn't remember was blaring out from the front pocket of his jacket, the melodious tune calming the uneasy silence of his walk home. He finally pulled out his phone, the caller ID shocking him as he let it clatter to the floor, the screen smashing. "No, no, no." He mumbled softly, squeezing his eyes shut as he used the end of his boot to crush the rest of the phone, letting the screen fade to black. That was how much he didn't want to talk to the caller, how much he refused to see him. He could feel anger radiate out of him, fear, maybe, as well.
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The brunette, on the receiving end of the call, let out a soft sob when he didn't answer. His head hit the couch, hands on either sides of his head as he let his breath intensify. His eyebrows drew together, eyes squeezed shut as he exhaled quietly, trying to calm the tears and noises escaping his mouth. "P-Phil..." He mumbled to the New York City apartment couch, the couch he had taken to practically living on when he wasn't working or sealed into his bedroom. Eat, Work, Eat, Sleep. A repetitive schedule that left him tired and alone, arms wrapped around his torso as he indulged in the cool air of the city, missing the boy he loved and the girl that he lost. Love and lose. An easy thing, a natural thing.
Life gave him a wonderful thing that he fell in love with, a wonderful thing that made him smile, and caused a problem that ripped his very heart away. He was still completely heartbroken, infatuated with the only one he'd ever loved. In reality, he'd been the one that left him. Left Phil, walked away after Hailey's funeral. It was his fault his heart was breaking.
YOU ARE READING
starry skies ; phan sequel
Fanfiction[sequel to city lights] under the starry skies, drama fills the air. murders, detectives and maybe a little christmas spirit, but the worst thing... dan howell doesn't know if he should stay in london or go back to new york city.
