drop dead ; phan

xi

"tell me more about chris," dan said, looking up at his white, tiled ceiling. he was lying on his back on the sofa that he usually slept on, with phil on the sofa across from him.

"chris? why?"

"i don't know, because."

"hm. he lives here in london, he's scared of thunder and lighting, he's bisexual, uh.. his favorite color is green-"

"no, i mean.. uh, never mind" dan stammered, keeping his gaze on the ceiling.

"dan, you can ask me anything," phil shrugged, picking at the hems of his fraying sleeves.

dan kept silent for a few minutes, then quietly said, "you said as time went on he got really aggressive and, uh, violent."

phil gulped and nodded slowly, glancing to his side to see dan's expression. he wasn't looking at phil, but he looked as if he was in pain, like dark memories were playing in his mind and he had no idea how to stop them.

"what did he do?" dan's voice quivered as he spoke, making phil's eyebrows furrow.

"what's wrong, dan?" he slowly asked, getting up off of his back to where he was sitting up.

"just answer the question," dan choked out, his body trembling in the dimly lit room.

"he uh, um, well," phil stammered, not really realizing how hard it was for him to say these things out loud.

"he used to come home drunk a lot and get mad over small things, like there not being enough food, or his apartment being dirty. so he'd get pissed and he.." phil trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"he what, phil?" dan growled, making phil even more confused. dan finally looked away from the ceiling at met phil's gaze, his dark eyes brimming with tears.

"why are you cr-" phil asked quietly, before getting cut off by dan's hoarse voice.

"he what?!" he yelled, rising to his feet and standing expectantly in front of phil.

"he used to hit me and scream at me and i don't know! why the hell are you upset?" phil exclaimed, feeling his own anger rise. why is he crying?

"what's wrong, dan?!" phil stammered, watching dan chuck all the pillows that were on the couch across the room. suddenly, he stormed into the kitchen and grabbed hold of a half empty beer bottle, before skulking back to phil.

"my god, dan! put it away, you've had enough!" phil said, trying to worm his way around dan to grab the bottle, but instead having it be thrown across the room and colliding against the wall. the glass shattered across the floor and the beer cascaded down the wall.

"phil, would you ever forgive chris for what he did?!" dan choked out, phil still gawking at the mess across the room.

"i-i-i don't know, yes?" phil stammered, running his fingers through his hair.

"why would you do that? how could you forgive him for what.. for what he did?" dan mumbled, biting on the side of knuckles and shivering.

"just breathe, yeah? here's some water," phil said, hesitantly placing his hand on dan's shivering back. his shoulders tensed up at the contact but he didn't flinch away, which was more than usual.

"how could you forgive him?" dan asked hoarsely between sniffles.

"i guess, i guess i'll always love him," phil sighed, "i know we used to date but he's just, i don't know. he's like my best friend."

dan scoffed, "why are you here then? why aren't you with him?"

"it's a lot more complicated than you think, and anyway, why are you upset?" phil asked, softly running his fingers through dan's hair as the brunette boy lied up against his chest.

"i can't, i can't," dan stammered, habitually biting on his knuckles again.

"dan, don't hurt yourself," he said, slowly taking his hand away from him and folding it into his own. dan didn't respond so phil spoke up again, running his thumb over the back of his hand to calm him.

"does this have to do with your brother?" phil asked, handing him the glass of water. dan nodded and hesitantly removed his hand from phil's.

"you can talk to me, dan."

"my dad was a.. was a drug addict," dan started. phil's heart sunk in guilt and he moved his gaze to the floor, a short silence enveloping around them.

"he was always an asshole to me and adrian, but he never hit us or did anything physical. that's why i first started drinking. then he 'recovered' and everything was really good for a while, i stopped drinking and my dad wasn't a dick." he shrugged, blood drawing from where his nails dug into his palm.

"then i met jai, and he and adrian helped me after i started to fuck up again. after that.. shit happened, and i started drinking again; i scared myself. i would come home drunk and pissed from what i had done that day, and i was so fucking mad and disappointed in myself. so.. so i took it out on adrian. he'd always get all the bad shit that i deserved. i deserved all the bruises and insults, not him.
but even after that, he was still there for me. and then.." dan paused, "more shit happened, and here i am." he scoffed, shaking his head.

phil was obliviously biting on the inside of his cheek until he tasted the metallic irony taste of blood inside his mouth and gagged, wiping his tongue on his sleeve.

"how could adrian even consider forgiving me for what i did?" dan scoffed, ignoring phil and rolling his eyes.

"i'm sure he forgave you. i forgave chris, after all," phil nodded, flashing a fake smile at dan. he tried to ignore the guilty feeling in his stomach as he told dan this, considering where his own cash flow came from.

dan didn't answer, but in phil's mind it was everything but quiet. every millisecond in his brain was full of thoughts and guilt, jai's shaky voice in his head deafening his thought process. he winced as he could feel the bullet shooting through his collarbone, wishing it would've been his heart.

my head would've been too fast, he thought, he deserved a slow, agonizing death. phil thought of his own death as a luxury, no more feeling or thoughts; to simply cease to exist. it was what he craved for, but he knew he didn't deserve such a pleasant escape. he deserved to live through the rest of his life with the guilt of what he's done weighing down on his shoulders.

dan shrugged, heading upstairs without another word. but he found himself stopped once he had gotten to his bedroom door. it was a rather depressing and disgusting room, but dan hadn't ever really noticed, or cared, until now. he felt disappointed in himself for the countless shards of broken glass and crumpled cigarettes that scattered his bedroom floor like confetti. but really, that was his pathetic life; drinking, smoking, and fucking. maybe that's why he was so at peace with something as simple as taking a walk, because something as n and boring as that was better than what he typically did.

he'd admit it that after a while it got boring to have sex all the time. the drunkenness gradually faded into dan's normal state and being completely sober felt foreign to him.

it got boring to be always getting pissed off at everything and everyone; coming home just to throw liquor bottles at the four walls which he hated. those four walls that trapped him in his lonely, depressing state that made his oppressive thoughts echo in between each of his unsteady heartbeats.

or spending hours leaning over the toilet throwing up all the alcohol he had consumed, with a cigarette even then between his shaky, pale fingers, and the taste of his own vomit lingering in the back of his scratchy throat.

or stumbling into cemeteries every single fucking day with a half empty can of beer and no dignity or care left, digging his fingernails in the ground because he felt the need to somehow hurt something, even something like the muddy aftermath that was left after a long, rainy night.

or stumbling into the warehouse's back room to fuck someone in a poor attempt to somehow even out the unbalance of human connections in his life; shutting himself off from having any emotional connections of any kind, and overcompensating his human need for people by sleeping around.

dan would admit he got tired of it, it was hard not to. it was hard to not get tired of doing the same shit every single fucking day.