dark devil ; phan sequel

i; sweet lies

i; sweet lies

  "I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me." 
― S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders

→ 

He was sitting on the floor, blue eyes hidden behind eyelids, black hair like a smudge of charcoal, and Dan couldn't help but watch him. It was so peculiar the way he could stay silent for hours, and after living with him for a full three years, Dan could say he kind of loved it too. But he dropped to his knees, and Phil turned to him, eyes wide now, a little startled before he smiled. He leaned forward, tilted Dan's head down and pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose, affectionately. "What's with the scare act?" He murmured, and Dan pulled back, turned to the television and flicked it on.

The news played, a hurried rush of voices talking about a mass murder in London, and Phil felt all the muscles in his body go rigid. He leaned forward to pull Dan closer, and the door was swung open, both of them almost terrified, until they saw Benji and Joey in the doorway. Shutting the smooth wood door behind him, Benji looked at both of them, raising one eyebrow. "You know, I always thought you two were gross, but this is way out of the league. This is our house, don't give me a reason to buy earplugs." 

"Benji!" Phil exclaimed, and then he shook his head, still saddened by the news broadcaster, who seemed to be faking her sympathy as much as she probably bought half of her face. "No, London's in trouble." He whispered, and maybe that made him want to find his leather jacket in the mess of his and Dan's shared closet, take his helmet out of Benji's workshop and pull his suit out from under the mattress, find his guns where they were stashed under the couch cushions.  "You know there's some mass murderer? He's trying to copy me." 

Benji huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know," He agreed, "He stole my freakin' name I made for you, calls himself the 'Dark Devil'." He did quotations over the word, and then made a face, because man, he'd worked hard to make that name, and suddenly some guy was taking it and making it the face of a villain instead of a hero.

Joey was still clinging to Benji, and looked up at him nervously, so Benji ruffled a hand through his brown and blue hair, smiled like the world wasn't going to end today. "You're okay." He told the boy, "Promise. We've got you."

"We've all got you." Dan quipped in from the floor, and pulled his legs to his chest, a fond smile directed at both of the people in the doorway. "No one's getting hurt in our family ever again." There was a small, comfortable silence before Phil stood up, muttering things and turning away from all of them. Everyone looked concerned, even Joey, who was nineteen but still so small, with piercings in his ears and a couple tattoos across his arms. 

"Phil!" Benji shouted after him, and then practically dove across the floor to reach for his best friend's arm, yanking him back. "You don't know if you're ready for picking that damn helmet back up just yet, okay? Think about it, you haven't shot a gun in an entire year, your aim must suck." His blonde hair was messy, and when he narrowed his eyes, oceanic blue like they'd come from some heaven above, Phil sucked in a breath. 

He just wanted to save the city he'd left. He just wanted to make sure it would thrive, that it would survive without him, and now it wasn't, and he felt something sickening building in his stomach. 

→ 

He picked up the gun later that night with Benji beside him, both of them wearing sound-cancelling headphones, and raised it to the target they'd placed on the fence. He hesitated, looked to his friend and turned back to the target, pulling the trigger. He hit it easily, a bulls-eye, like he'd never stopped using it to protect people, like he'd never stopped using it to kill. 

He shot again, three times, and at the end of it all, he finally realized one thing. 

He could never miss it. Every bullet flew straight to the target, embedded itself in the wood of their fence, and maybe getting something with a little more power fell across Phil's mind, but he lowered the gun and flicked the safety on, blue eyes still as bright as before in the dark. He spun on his heels, and when he saw Dan at the door, broke into a run until he swung it open, pulling his boyfriend into a kiss. He heard Benji make a gagging sound behind him like the child he was, but then his best friend pushed his shoulder gently and passed him on his way inside.

This time, if he returned to the mantle of the Devil of London, he had more to lose, which meant more precautions to keep the people he loved safe.

"Phil," Dan whispered, soft against the skin of his neck, and left a kiss lingering on the dark haired man's collarbone. "It's late, come inside."

Phil was brought into the house full of promised lives and sweet lies, was brought into the room he shared with the man he loved, and fell into the sheets for another night of blissful sleep. But nothing lasted forever, and the mortality of his life, of everyone else's, was a reminder in the pit of his stomach as he tried to close his eyes. 

He felt a hand brush across the skin on his bicep, saw the sleepy smile of his boyfriend, and ended up letting the feeling trail away as he turned, pressing his forehead to the other man's, holding him there. "I love you." Phil whispered to the silence, and his heart hurt when Dan didn't answer, grip tighter on the man when he realized Dan had been asleep at the confession. So he turned away from him, and pretended he'd said nothing at all, pretended he was immortal and completely invulnerable, told himself some sweet, sweet lies for the night.

→ 

words: 1025

i couldn't help myself--

i'm literally obsessed with this story.