nosebleed ; phan

i :: burn

flash !!

THE BLINDING WHITE FLARE erupted from the taunting camera in front of him, temporarily blurring dan howell's strained vision. his starlight-skinned hand was placed delicately on his younger brother's shoulder, where he tried his hardest to momentarily ignore how prominently the younger's bones jutted out of his frail body. their father's hand laid over dan's own coated shoulder, where the singeing feeling of his countless, sweat-stained affairs and white-knuckled punches to his sons' ribs threatened to spill from his deathly-still digits.

his mother, her gaunt spine arched so straight it appeared it may crack any moment, her vacant, photogenic grin hiding any trace of the broken woman she was a mere few hours ago; irises stained with lilac and crimson veins with an empty flask gripped from her right hand, a stained bible and a wedding ring hanging loosely from her left.

"daniel," his mother delicately prodded, a smile concealed with chronic depression and running mascara painting her cherry lips, "don't forget to smile." he didn't have to meet her corpse-like gaze for more than a second to instantaneously correct his faux grin, dryly swallowing the anxiety lingering in his stinging throat as his father's fingers seemed to clench around his collar. "okay, just one more," the photographer smiled, provoking a thread of fatigue-ridden thoughts from dan wondering if the man was genuinely smiling or if the grim soul lurking behind his white-toothed grin was as deathly and vacant as that of his mother's.

he shoved his free hand in his pocket, his concealed fingers twirling a cigarette between them as he felt his cheeks ache from smiling. "okay, i guess we're done here," the photographer mumbled absentmindedly. the tall brunette didn't bother to stay any second longer than he was required as his wiry body ghosted up the family's staircase, encompassing his wiry frame in his room.

it didn't take him more than a second for his rose gold flask to be retrieved from its concealment behind a withering house plant. he hungrily brought the tainted metal to his chapped, shivering lips and let the whiskey run down his burning throat. the golden liquid seemed to mute his wrecked thoughts as he slid down against his baby-blue wall, exhaling alcohol-laced breath into the ghostly atmosphere of the place he was supposed to call home.

"merde."

-

"do you ever wish you were the matches?" tae mumbled somewhat-absentmindedly, watching as the hickory-burning-to-orange flame devoured the crumpled-up paper that they continued to throw lazily at it. dan inhaled, the aromatic taste of smoke lingering on his tongue as he tossed a paper ball into the flame. "i wish i was the paper."

tae scoffed at his answer, returning a cigarette to the shivering space between his pearled teeth. dan held his palm out, the lighter-haired brunette dropping a cigarette in between his fingertips. he shoved it between his split lips, using one hand to hold back his fringe as he neared his whiskey-tasting lips to the open flame. the cigarette whisked smoke as the fire lit it, the nicotine running down his throat like a toxic river.

"so how's the party planning coming along?" tae asked, resting his chiseled jaw against his fist expectantly. dan rolled his eyes as he let the hazy fog bleed out from his dry lips. "it's shit," he muttered under his breath, earning a dim chuckle from his friend. "eh, i'll be there, i doubt it'll be that bad," he shrugged, blowing a ring of smoke towards the other's face. "putain, je suis crevé," dan complained as the smoke evaporated against his moonlit skin.

tae dryly chuckled, before his hickory-shaded irises fluttered to the side, as if his pupils were dancing dangerously around the heroin-infused track marks that ran up dan's pale arms. "you always are, nowadays."

fatigue bled out from his café au lait-colored irises and crimson-faded-to-lilac veins and the traces of blood smeared messily around his nostrils, as if had tried to clean his nosebleed but gave up.

"i know," tae spoke again, quietly, "i know you're scared."

dan's bloodshot irises shot away immediately, feeling the vacant permanence— the haunting imminence —of youth sink its teeth into his moonlit skin, leaving bite marks in what used to be school uniform ties that hung past his waist and cheekbones that weren't tainted with bruises and eyes that didn't burn when he blinked.

he felt hollow.

like he was on a beach, being blown away by the winds of a clock that just won't fucking stop; as if his bruised-blue ribs and cigarette-faded lungs were nothing more than sand being strangled by a storm.

he felt like he was drowning.

dan howell had been chiseled by growing up and growing up even further terrified him.

-

the brunette's gashed knees were huddled up to his chest in the bathtub as he exhaled, the colors of lilac and violet and violence painting themselves across his bruised body. a syringe laid in his palm, his pruned fingertips twirling the needle between them.

maybe i don't have to do this, he thought, i don't want to be fucked up at the party tomorrow for a high tonight. his nicotine-tasting breaths blended into the sweat-laced fog his steaming bath created as he rubbed his forehead.

the faint sounds of his mother vomiting up an intoxicated mixture of cranberry vodka and chronic depression in the next bathroom over seemed to drag the needle closer to his vein. the hushed sound of a scale hitting the floor sounded from his left, choked-out cries voicing from his brother's strained throat. the headboard banging from the bedroom above put a puncture in his skin; the rushing heroin drowning out his malicious surroundings.

he skimmed his bitten-to-the-bone fingernails against the water, before pushing his head under sharply. his eyes shot open underwater, the water dizzying over his stinging irises of bubbles and a nonexistent shade of red. his head erupted from under the water when he could hold no longer hold his breath than for forty-seven seconds.

forty-seven seconds of holding still.

forty-seven seconds of vacant living.

forty-seven seconds of youth wasted.

he met the cold gaze of himself in the foggy bathroom mirror, looking at the strained veins and cracked lips that decorated his complexion like shredded crimson wallpaper.

he sniffled, inhaling the sense of melodrama as his salted tears blended into the blood that suddenly began to drip from his nose.

—

yikes i hope you guys liked this, idk how i feel about this chapter lmao

i also put some french in this for no reason hah so

merde: shit

putain, je suis crevé: i'm so fucking tired