Those Who Trust (Phan)

Part 6

Dan moved in on a Tuesday, one week before the start of his second year at university. Together with PJ he had been to Phil's- their- apartment three more times before moving in. Now he sat on the grey carpet of his room, surrounded by boxes and on his own. The bed was already standing, along with a desk and a closet and an old piano that had already been in the room. Other than that, he looked at bare walls and boxes filled with clothes and all his other stuff.

PJ had left half an hour ago. Dan felt every muscle in his body ache. Carrying everything upstairs had been exhausting. Phil had helped them, but true to his words, he had refused to take one step into Dan's room and had put down the boxes in front of the door.

The sound of plates clanking against each other and cupboards being opened and closed could be heard coming from the kitchen. Phil had offered to cook dinner while Dan was unpacking. Dan guessed that it was supposed to be a nice welcoming gesture, but he did not appreciate it. In fact he had tried to talk his new flatmate out of it. Phil, however, didn't want to hear anything about it. He was adamant on doing this and the intensity with which he insisted on it made Dan even more uncomfortable than he already was in this apartment with this stranger. He knew of tasteless drugs that Phil could easily mix into his food. He wouldn't be able to see them, smell them or taste them, but they would be there and they would take over his body, but keep his mind awake. He's come into contact with these kinds of drugs before and it was the reason why he ordered only unopened bottles when going to restaurants. He never ordered food somewhere when he was on his own, only went out eating when PJ was around to ensure that he was safe. But PJ wasn't around anymore and Dan's dinner was in the hands of another man and maybe it had been a terrible idea to move in with Phil after all.

His movements were slow and mechanic as Dan started opening up boxes and putting clothes into the closet. He just separated shirts from jeans and sweaters and threw them each in separate corners of the closet, dumping socks and underwear on top.

A soft knock on his doorframe brought Dan out of his thoughts and he swirled around. Phil was standing there, still respectfully out of Dan's room like he had promised. "Dinner is ready."
___

The TV was showing a documentary about Antarctica in the background, the voice of a narrator talking about the animals living there being the only one talking in the room. Sometimes he was interrupted by the sound of cutlery screeching against plates. Neither of the both man in the room were listening to him.

Dan had maybe eaten four forks of the food on his plate. It wasn't even that he didn't like it- in fact, the food Phil had prepared looked and smelled delicious- but he couldn't bring himself to eat it. He remembered how it had felt when the drug had finally kicked in that was put into his drink too vividly. How his movements slowed against his will and his words came out slurred but his mind was awake, how he was trapped in his own body without a chance to fight against the hands on his shoulders, hands on his hips, hands dragging him downstairs-

"Do you not like it?"

Dan looked up from his food with a start, having been lost too deep in his thoughts. The fork fell out of his hand and the noise as it hit the plate vibrated loudly through the room. Phil looked honestly hurt at his food being rejected and Dan immediately felt bad for it. After all, the man had just tried to make him feel welcome and he screwed it up the very first evening of living with him.

"No, it's really good," he tried to get himself out of the situation, stumbling over the vowels in his haste to bring out the words.

"You don't have to lie, Dan. You've barely touched your plate." The disappointment in Phil's voice was so thick that Dan felt like the worst scum on earth. He picked up his fork again and picked apart the rice on his plate some more. "It's really not that I don't like it."