blank canvas ;; phan

.:four:.

It had been just a week. Only seven long, dragging days since Phil had seen Dan. Phil craved the taste of his kiss, the way he smirked before leaning in to touch his lips with his own, the feel of his damp curls between his fingers.

It had been a week since Phil had seen Dan, but that didn't mean they hadn't talked. Phil's phone was constantly blowing up with texts from him.

dan: good morning, u beautiful ray of sunshine ^-^

dan: i miss u

dan: pls wake up. i wanna kiss u

dan: phillllllllllllll

dan: i'll give u head if u talk to me.

dan: pls. im begging.

phil: fuck off im asleep

dan: how bout i fuck you instead ;)

"Whatcha lookin' at?" a soft voice spoke from behind him. Phil turned around, seeing the same sparkling eyes he saw when he looked in the mirror.

"Oh, nothin'." He pressed the lock button on his phone, attempting to save himself from any embarrassment at the hand of Maggie.

"Alright. I get it. You're texting your boyfriend," she said with a smirk. She set her school bag down in an empty chair, seating herself at the island. Her mischievous eyes glanced at the screen of his phone, which had lit up with a text from Dan:

dan: what's ur opinion on public sex (it's for science)

"He's not my boyfriend," Phil retorted, pulling the screen away from the gaze of his sister.

"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you should know, if I wasn't with B," she said, "I'd go for him. He's a looker, that boy."

"Oi!" B shouted from somewhere in the flat. "I heard that!"

Phil felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He searched his brain for something to change the subject.

"Hey, Mags, when's the last time you ate something?"

Previously engrossed in the picking of her nail polish off of her fingernails, she looked up, startled. "Uh ..." She glanced at her bag. "Sorry Philly, I gotta go."

Before he could stop her, she swung her bag over her shoulder and ran out the door.

"Did Mags leave already?" B murmured from the hallway. Phil leaned back in his chair so he could see her: she sported a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a Manchester University sweatshirt (which Phil realized was his own), and her lilac hair was a mess of unruly curls.

"Yeah," he replied, watching as she trudged around the kitchen and poured herself a cuppa. "But I don't think she ate. She's been acting a bit funny lately."

B paused mid-sip, her emerald eyes filled with concern. "Fuck. She promised me she'd eat breakfast." She placed her mug down on the counter and ran a hand through her curls, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "She didn't eat at all yesterday, but I'm not really that surprised. It's been about time since things got bad again."

Phil raised his eyebrow. "What d'you mean?"

"Haven't you looked at a calendar? It's almost ... that date."

Phil's eyes widened in surprise. He felt disgusted with himself; how could he forget the anniversary of his own mother's death?

"Shit. Alright, um, I'll take care of this," he said, jumping out of the chair and pacing along the thin strip of tile that lined the kitchen.