Phan Oneshots

Do You Sleep Anymore?

Summary: Phil has insomnia and Dan has bruises on his knuckles.
Warnings: booty sex, punching walls, cussing

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There was a breeze wafting through Phil's window that made him shiver, but he didn't move to shut it despite the fact that his hands were quivering and his nose felt like ice. The joints of his fingers were sore from gripping the pen for hours on end, and his eyes were burning from the lack of sleep, but yet release refused to come. So he kept writing as if that would stop his thoughts enough to allow him to sink into darkness.

He was longing for it, the dreams, the darkness that came with sweet sleep, and yet it wouldn't come. He was left with bruised eyes, pale skin, and mussed hair, receiving looks from strangers because he looked like an actual character from the Walking Dead, and that was apparently socially unacceptable.

Phil was exhausted and he didn't know what to do.

But tonight was different. The words stop flowing and he still couldn't shut his eyes even though the green numbers of his alarm showed that it was three twenty-eight in the morning. He was restless, a ghost among the living, and maybe he needed some air despite the open window because the walls were whispering through his ears.

With shaking fingers, Phil allowed the pen to drop onto the desk with a loud clatter, too loud at a time so early, and pushed his chair back to stand. He was out of his flat before he could change his mind, feet stumbling over the pavement as if he was drunk.

Although, a hangover would be a much better fate than one of never ending exhaust and black eyelids.

His feet took him to a nearby park, the street lights illuminating the sky to make the stars invisible, casting long shadows across the ground like black paint. Phil shivered at the eerie atmosphere, but sat upon one of the swings anyways, suddenly too tired to even walk back home.

Maybe he would even consider sleeping here if it weren't for the fact that he may get stabbed. At least then he wouldn't be so exhausted, though.

Phil had just started dozing off when the sound of a crunching leaf made him stiffen, head whipping towards the offending sound. He made eye contact with a tall figure who had froze in spot as soon as Phil moved, and Phil's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the stranger could hear, and Oh God, he's going to die.

But then he realized that the figure seemed just as frightened as he was, so he relaxed, if only just a tad. "It's okay," Phil said loudly, trying not to acknowledge how his voice cracked from disuse. "I won't hurt you."

"How do I know that?" The voice was considerably male, lilted and wavering a bit in a southern accent. The man took a step forward, under a streetlight so that Phil could see his mahogany hair and warm chocolate eyes, lip sucked nervously between his teeth.

With a jolt, Phil realized that this unnamed stranger was, indeed, extremely attractive. "What's your name?" Phil asked, pushing his feet on the ground to make the swing move a bit. "I'm Phil."

The man hesitated before saying, "Dan," in a strained voice. Phil noticed that he was clenching one of his fists, the knuckled bruised and red. It reminded Phil of his own eyes. "Why are you in a park at three a.m.?"

Phil chuckled. "I could ask you the same thing." There was a moment where it was completely silent, both men searching over the other to see if they were in danger. Dan was pretty and looked nearly as worn out as Phil, with knuckles the colour of anger and sadness. "Is your hand alright?" Phil finally asked, gesturing to the swing beside him as an invitation.