cliché (phan)

sixteen

tw// mentions of cancer and insecurities

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"That was the most horridly cringeworthy, yet heartbreakingly jaw-dropping thing I've ever seen."

Phil and I stood, shocked at the words that just left Coach Will's mouth.

"So we're back on the team?" I questioned.

Coach Will shot us a smirk. "It's not that easy."

"What?" Phil and I cried in unison.

"Well yes, you're back on the team. But if we don't win the last game, which is in a week, I won't let you two back on the team next year."

"But you're putting all the dependence on us!"

He ignored the comment."Go get changed and go shower. You two reek."

"Gee, thanks," Phil rolled his eyes.

I followed the raven-haired boy into the locker rooms, a sense of pride in his walk. He stopped at his locker and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at, Lester?" I challenged. His blue eyes sparked.

"You."

I giggled. "You did good today, you know that?"

"Thanks. Kinda reminded me of my mom, actually. . ." He trailed off, and I was shocked at the crack in the end of his sentence. He sat down, clothes still on, and head down. I quickly sat next to him, placing my hand onto his.

"What is it?"

"Dan. . ." he breathed, then looked up at me. Then I noticed. His face was now tear-streaked, eyes watery and lip quivering. "Dan, my mom has cancer."

I froze. "What?"

"We just found out a few days ago. She went in for a checkup and something didn't seem right. Turns out she got it from genetics, and it's spreading fast. That's why Nick was drunk. He's been drinking to try and ignore the fact that our mother is dying," he explained, sniffling. "Why do such terrible things happen to such amazing people?"

I sighed, leaning back against the lockers. "I don't know. I guess so those amazing people can turn into something even greater. You go through hard times to remember how you got out of them and what motivated you to keep going. That way they can be amazing and inspiring at the same time."

A tear rolled down his cheek and I reached out and wiped it away. Phil dropped his head onto my shoulder, squeezing my hand tightly. "I don't wanna be alone."

"You won't. I'll be here."

"You don't know that. You don't know that," he shook his head, pulling away and wiping his face. "My mom promised she'd be here, but now she's got stage two cancer. People die, people leave, people disappear- it could happen to us any second. It's like I blink, and they're gone. I try my best to keep people in my life, but it feels like I'm the only one putting in effort to keep the relationship strong."

"Phil-"

"It feels like I'm in a game of fucking tug-of-war with people, and when I tug, they simply let go and watch me fall back. I'm never good enough- I'm always doing something wrong. I try to be someone's idea of perfect, someone's ray of sunshine, but I constantly fail. I just want to be loved for who I am, but there's always something wrong."

"Phil Lester, I love you."

It was silent. He locked eyes with me, jaw-dropped and cries paused. "What?"

"I love you, you idiot. You're my idea of perfect, don't you see it? Sure, you piss me off. Yeah, you've got a jealousy problem. Yes, you're a cocky son of a bitch. But everything you do is so you, and that's good enough for me. But if that's not enough to you- if you think it's quantity over quality then this won't work. But god dammit, you've been in my head since the day I met you. Maybe you are a mess. Maybe your brother's a mess. Maybe your dad's an asshole, maybe your mom has cancer, and maybe your grandma has more sass than wrinkles- but I fucking love it, and I love you."

And I watched as Phil Lester began giggling, tears proceeding to roll.

"Why are you crying?" I grinned.

"I love you too, Dan."

And then we were both giggling, and in that moment I felt at ease. The blissful simplicity of a moment captured in seconds ticking by. He had his head on my shoulder, his free hand clutched at the hem of my shirt, as if he loosened his grip I'd drift away for good. His other hand held mine, our skin fitting together like the beat to a song.

And yes, even though this boy's mother was dying and my father felt more dead to me than alive, we held each other, ignoring the world's problems and flaws and only focusing on the idea of us in a relationship.

Maybe we weren't official. Maybe I didn't have a ring on my finger, or a kiss from him every day, or a reminder that he loves me every night, but at this time and place it was just us alone, and that was good enough for me. I was good enough for him, and that was good enough for me. I didn't want anything else.

Phil Lester was good enough for me even if he wasn't good enough to himself.

"I'm gonna go shower," I told him, standing up and grabbing my clothes. He looked up at me and I raised an eyebrow. "Care to join?"

"Is that even a question?" He flirted. I laughed.

"Touché."