On The Run [phan]

fifteen.

Dan sat in front of the open window in Phil's apartment.  He was asleep only a few feet away.  The morning light drifted into the room and across his face.  Closing his eyes Dan breathed in a deep gulp of air and let it trail out of his mouth as slowly as he did to Phil's cigarettes.  But this time, he wasn't breathing in toxic chemicals that were slowly eating away his life, this time, he was breathing in life.  Breathing in the fresh cool air of spring that was drizzled in the thickness of rain.  

Stretching his hands out slowly he huffed a sigh.  The warmth of the light seeped into his skin so he felt nothing but pure peace.  He let his usual fluttering eyelashes draw to a close and his lips part open.  His shoulders relaxed falling closer to the ground.

A part of Dan knew he wasn't doing the right thing.  That all the textbooks and the warnings steered him clear of Phil.  That there seemingly was nothing good about him.  Someone who doesn't disclose their past or much of anything actually.  Someone who introduced him to a deadly habit.  Someone who was a deadly habit.

Phil was like a cigarette to Dan.  He knew it was bad, knew that it would only end up badly.  But that didn't matter because the feeling of warmth that filled his lungs was enough.  Enough to keep him wanting more.  Wanting the touch of Phil's cold hands against his body.  Wanting his soft lips to explore his body in places he has never wished anyone to visit.  Craving the sound of his deep heartbeat while Dan's ear rests on his chest just as much as he craves the poisonous stick of death that hangs from his lips.  Dan has never wanted anything more than he did Phil.

But Phil seemed distant.  Lost in his own past that drove him to dark places that seemed much worse than Dans imagination.  Dan tried not to dwell on that.  He tried.  But how could he ignore something like that?  How could he ignore the way his rough hands pushed him to the ground like he was a monster?  Like Dan was there to hurt him and do nothing more.  His eyes clouded with a different sort of blue that seemed musty.  Like his brain fogged with the memory and trailed to his eyes.  

Dan was afraid.

Not that he would get hurt but that Phil would leave.

He was afraid that Phil would decide that he wasn't healthy to Dan. 

That he was a cigarette that needed to stay unlit.

But all Dan wanted was to light it and drink down every last toxic drop until his lungs were drowning in it.  He wanted to feel the heaviness of Phil in every way possible.  

Opening his eyes Dan looked out onto the empty streets.  He was able to see his house from this view if he squinted.  It was a tiny white thing on top of a hill a mile or two away.  Dan wonders what his parents were thinking.

He thought that maybe they would think of him.  Think enough, or care enough, to pick up their phones and call Dan to make sure he was okay.  To double check that he found a safe place to stay.  

Dan shut his wandering mind off from that topic.  He needed to stop dwelling on the obvious fact that his parents just didn't care.  

Pursing his lips Dan let his mind wander off to his canvas at home and how lonely it must be.  How it sat on his bed waiting for the stroke of his brush. 

Dan paints mental pictures in his head of places he never visited.  A rouge mountain amidst a cluster of trees.  A rough sea casting dark waves at each other exploding into a picture of blue and white.  But his mind always ended up drifting to a pair of blue eyes that carried more stories than the sea itself.

AN:  Okay this was a really chill chapter but I'm tired and when I'm tired I tend to write more try hard poetic-y.