Colors (Phan)

Purple.

// TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARING //

(Phil's POV)

Phil gave Dan a warm smile,

A genuine smile.

"Are you sure you wanna stay with me, Dan?"

He hoped to hell that Dan still wanted to live with him,

To be with him.

Dan gave a smile and nodded,

But his eyes did not crinkle.

Still.

"Dan, is this all you have?"

He nodded again,

He'd already moved in,

Stuck with Phil now.

Phil had finally noticed something,

Something purple on Dan's arms,

Like bruises.

Like,

"Cuts."

He whispered softly.

Dan looked up with confusion,

Then fear as he realized that his wrist was showing.

And his cuts.

Purple and bruised.

Sliced.

"Dan?"

Dan backed up,

But Phil blocked him before he could run out,

Irritating his busted knee into further injury.

"Dan. Why?"

He said the words surprisingly calm,

And Dan's words were just as calm,

"Cutting is my art.

My arm the canvas.

The paint my blood.

My brush, the knife.

It's my art."

Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Your art? Your destroying your body, Dan. Killing yourself slowly. Towards death,"

"Death can be art.

It can be beauty.

It can be calming.

And it's soothing."

Phil tried not to cry,

Soon taking a knife from the kitchen,

Holding it out to him.

"Then paint me."

His big brown doe eyes watched him,

Wide,

And afraid.

"I-I can't. Phil your not-"

"DO IT!"

He shouted,

Shaking the knife.

"Or I will."

Dan looked lost at the threat Phil brought upon himself,

Sad.

He looked away,

His fringe covering his watering eyes.