Relapse (Phan)

EIGHTEEN

"I'm sorry," Dan whispered, him lips still gently pressed against mine.

"What have you got to be sorry for?" I scoffed, but I smiled as I kissed him again, even harder than before.

"I shouldn't have let you go," he said, breaking away. He held me at an arm's length and stared at me for a minute before pulling me into his chest. "I'm never letting you go again," he promised quietly.

I swallowed a sob and let him hold me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his familiar scent. He felt so normal, so right. "I'm the one who should be sorry," I said, finally. "I've fucked everything up."

"You can't blame everything on yourself," he said, kissing the top of my head. "We're both stupid." He chuckled, "But I don't want to be stupid anymore."

"Me neither," I agreed, allowing him to drag me to my bed. We sat on the edge; he was gripping my hand tightly. His palms were sweating. "This is where we had our first kiss, remember?" I grinned, trying to relieve some of the tension in the air.

"Well, first sober one anyway," he joked, pecking my cheek. I sighed, shaking my head as I thought about those dear, dead days. "What is it?" he asked.

"I've been so dumb," I swallowed. "So, so dumb, Dan."

"Tell me," he said, turning to face me, "You know you can tell me."

"You're going to hate me," I breathed.

"That's impossible," he said, though he wasn't smiling anymore.

I remembered the last time I had told him that I was addicted to drugs. He'd stormed away, angry. I thought about that night, driving home in the rain with PJ. I'd cried half the night and spent the rest of it clutching Dan's pillow, worried that he wouldn't come back. Why would he? Why had he? And would he again? An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, but I knew that I didn't have a choice. He deserved to know.

"I—I'm sorry," I sighed.

"Phil—"

"Xanex," I interrupted him. "I've been taking Xanex."

There was a long moment of silence. I didn't look at him: I couldn't. I felt a hot tear sting my cheek. I tried to steady my breathing, but the fear was overwhelming. I'd only just gotten him back, now I could all but feel him slipping through my fingers.

I was shocked as he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"I love you," he said.

My breath caught in my throat.

"You what?"

He pulled away. He looked sad, but not angry. "I love you," he repeated.

"You're not—mad?"

"You've been through so much," he shook his head, "I know what it's like. I don't blame you."

"I'm sorry," I said, suddenly acutely aware of every mark on my body. Every bruise, every scratch—"You shouldn't have to see me like this; not after your Dad and—"

"It's fine. I'm okay," he ensured me, "I promise."

"You don't look fine," I said, meeting his eyes. "You look scared."

"Well—maybe I am," he shrugged.

"Why?" I ruffled my eyebrows, "What are you scared of?"

He let out a long sigh. "I have something to tell you too."

"What is it?" I asked. He chuckled, softly, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

"Fucking stupid, really." I could tell he was struggling not to cry.

"What?"

He smiled a small, sad smile and began unbuttoning his own shirt.

"What are you--?"

"Sh," he hushed me quietly. He continued unbuttoning before pulling the shirt over his head.

"Dan--" I found it difficult to breathe as I caught a glimpse of his arms. I couldn't bring myself to stare, so I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands, desperately trying to stay calm. He fell back onto the bed and grabbed the hem of my shirt, silently inviting me to lay with him.

"Come here," I mumbled, barely audibly, reaching out for him. I held him tight against me, acutely aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat as it synchronized with mine.

"I guess we're both a mess then," Dan breathed, trying to lighten the mood.

"You're my mess," I chuckled, taking his hand in mine. I brought it to my lips and gingerly kissed one of the thick, red scars on his inner-arm.

"And you're mine," he replied simply, meeting my gaze. I leaned in slowly and locked our lips, kissing him slowly and firmly. He bit my bottom lip playfully, sending a chill up my spine.

"I almost forgot," I whispered, grinning.

"Forgot what?"

"How you make me feel," I replied, kissing him again. I felt his fingers tangle in my hair just like they used to and I was suddenly extremely aware of how much I had missed that. Two years of longing and passion stirred inside of me as I rolled him over and climbed on top of him. I kissed his lips, his face, and his neck— causing him to emit the tiniest moans. I'd nearly forgotten about those. I lingered for a moment at his neck, relishing in every small noise he emitted. I ran a hand across his collar bones, drinking in every inch of the beautiful being that was Dan Howell. I kissed down his chest, running my hands down his sides and then through his hair. Adrenaline coursed through me and I felt a feeling I hadn't felt in a long, long time: a feeling that only loving Dan Howell could make me feel.

Loving Dan Howell is like a drug: it courses through your veins and pulses through your entire body, making you want to be better, to do better. He's so beautiful, the type of beautiful that reminds you that life is worth living. As we kissed, I was starkly reminded of the first day that I saw him across the classroom in college. I was in love with him then.

And now, I was relapsing.

"I love you , Dan," I said, sitting up and staring down at him.

"I love you too, Phil," he grinned up at me.

This was a relapse I didn't want to recover from. 

a/n: I made a new YouTube video the other day (finally) as a little encouragement to those who read/write fanfic, so you should check that out over on youtube.com/sophiathemarshan . I love you guys so much stay RAD AF