THE CITY OF LOVE ❁ PHAN

huit

tw: alcohol abuse

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Phil and I eventually made our way home. I was mostly healed, but my entire body still ached horribly and I could barely walk, so we took the privilege of borrowing a wheelchair from the hospital. I didn't stay in it for long, my leg only had a dull ache after a while, and my arm
and head were fine.
There was just one moment during my recovery at Phil's flat that stuck out, it was out of the ordinary and frankly, I couldn't get it out of my head.
"Hey, I've got your cereal, need anything else?" Phil trotted in from the kitchen, a purple bowl in his grip and his hair fluffy with sleep.
"No, that's fine, thanks," I mumbled, looking up at Phil with a toothy grin.
The man bent down and handed me the cold dish, though he stayed in his hunched over form, his face a mere two inches from mine. I could feel his breath fanning over my face, my neck and god, it felt surreal.
"W-What are you doing?" I drawled, my mouth moving as if it was in slow motion. He was so close to me, why was it affecting me like it was?
His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my cheek oh so softly..
He stood up, his back going rigid and his face emotionless, I was puzzled.
"Sorry," he began to toddle away, "couldn't help.." I couldn't hear the rest of what he had to say as he was just out of earshot.
I frowned, staring at his dissipating form go around the corner, his fingers combing through his messy fringe.
I was so tired of all these confusing feelings, the almost-kisses and the bittersweet glances. I felt so starves of his bipolar affection, one second he's looking into my eyes like I'm the only thing he needs, and the next he's walking out the door with a sorry smile.

"We should go to that night club a couple blocks away," I suggested indifferently, tapping the squishy button on the remote to change the channel.
Phil turned the page of the newspaper he was currently reading before pushing his glasses further up his nose, scanning over me, "You should try harder to learn French."
I bit my lip, frustration littering my brain. I stopped on a sports channel featuring various men playing football along with cheers in a not so foreign language slipping from the speakers. "Je mange les petits enfants," I grinned devilishly.
Phil scoffed, his eyes squinting with little lines at the edges, "Do you even know what that means?"
"I do."
"You're horrible."
"You know it, babe."
Phil shook his head, his gaze going back to the printed paper in his hands, ignoring my pestering stare. I craved his attention, even just a short look would give me some sort of satisfaction but he just wouldn't budge.
"So can we go to the club later tonight?" I turned over on the silky couch so I could face Phil as he sat in the opposite couch, his pajama cladded legs crossed.
"Je suppose, avez -vous déjà été à un avant?" Phil pursed his lips, challenging me.
"Non, mais je suis impatient de chien," I grinned cockily, crossing my arms over my baggy tee shirt Phil let me borrow.
"Dog?" the dark haired man giggled, throwing his head back.
"What?"
"You said you look forward to dog," Phil sputtered, his fringe falling into his pale face.
"Oh."

The music enveloped the building at a head pounding volume, the place smelled of sweat and cheaply made drinks along with the occasional whiff of vomit from time to time.
"Want a drink?" Phil shouted over the harsh tunes, gesturing to the bartender from a couple feet away.
I nodded, my eyes darting around the colorfully lit building. I got out my wallet and paid for my own drink, taking a sip of it only for my face to scrunch up in disgust.
"It's an acquired taste," Phil chuckled, tipping his head back to gulp down the alcohol before settling the glass back on the wooden bar, wiping his face with the back of his arm.
I shrugged, drinking a bit more of the mystery beverage, the liquid burning my throat and slowly but surely clouding my mind.
"We should go dance," I suggested to Phil loudly, he quickly nodded in response and stretched out his hand for me to take, which I did.
He lead me over to the colorful dance floor where crowds of people grinded on each other to the beat of the dubstep, drinks spilling everywhere and the limited space soon becoming hot with second hand body heat.
Phil and I tried to dance in our buzzed state, we really did, but all we could manage was lazily stepping from side to side and moving our hips to the music. I nearly tripped over a discarded shot glass, but Phil promptly caught me, careless laughs leaving both of us. We stayed like that though, my arms around his neck and his hands pressing into my sides, his signature cologne filling my senses
Eventually, a relatively slow song poked out from the earlier selection, the rowdy people around us continued their dirty dancing and snogging in the corner but Phil and I went with it, our bodies moving with and pressed against each other as our breaths got hotter and finally, finally I got the attention I wanted. All of his focus was on me, not how bad it actually smelled in here or how the song changed to some crappy rap, all on me. I could tell by the way he rested his head on my shoulder, how his hands gripped my hips as to suggest something, how he depicted his affection by letting his lips press against my sensitive neck, traveling up my throat before stopping in front of my mouth.
I stared at him through my lashes, noting the dark color his eyes seemed to take on before smashing my lips against his.

TRANSLATIONS:
>Je mange les petits enfants. = I eat small children.

>Je suppose, avez -vous déjà été à un avant? = I suppose, have you ever been to a club?

>Non, mais je suis impatient de chien. = No, but I look forward to dog.

A/N:

spicyy