Sighs and Fire (Phan AU) (INCOMPLETE)

(1.21)

A/N: some parts themselves and some parts don't. This definitely wasn't one of them (sorry for the wait!)

Joseph's funeral is a week later. No matter how much we tried, the leaflets about 'losing a loved one' and 'planning your goodbye' couldn't be ignored and we spent a couple of days sat at the table putting together one of the half-hearted funerals anyone had ever seen. Phil didn't say a word, but kept a hand on my thigh which I appreciated and made us countless cups of tea.

Whenever it got quiet at the table, I thought about Phil's deceased twin and if it was hard for Phil to be sitting here, going through it all again. He picked up a catalogue of coffins and caskets and said 'oh, I remember this one' absentmindedly before brushing off the confused look my mum gave him.

My mum. Not 'ours' anymore. My.

It was adjusting to the simple changes that hurt the most. It was a tradition of Joseph and I's to binge-watch a series the day before school started again but this time round I had been saying my final goodbye to him instead.

I pin a blue flower to the pocket of my blazer and Phil straightens out my white shirt. I wear a black tie and I have to pinch myself to make sure this is actually happening. To make sure I'm actually going to my younger brother's funeral.

This shouldn't be happening, but it is. The day I shouldn't have ever have to experience was here and I can't stop clutching on Phil, leaning on him, making sure he doesn't let me fall. He looks beautiful though and I have to curse myself for thinking something like that on a day like this. I can't remember the last time we slept together, but the way Phil looks in black and white with his hair straightened properly is making my stomach turn and turning my cheeks hot but I'm not sure if that's me being turned on or if I just feel sick about the day to come.

It's a quiet ceremony. It's some family I haven't seen in years and I'm surprised they show up because they hadn't bothered with us in such a long time and I wonder if it's more obligatory than out of love and care.

Nevertheless, they hug me tightly before they go into the church and give me sympathetic smiles. A cousin who I barely remember doesn't say anything to me and looks down at this shoes, following his parents in. I hope he knows how lucky he is, to never have to experience the pain of losing a sibling that Phil and I have had to endure. In a way I want to scream that into his face because he looks bored and irritated to be here and it makes me angrier than I thought it would, but must be written all over my face because Phil grabs my arm and frantically whispers 'don't' into my ear. My shoulders drop and I sigh, not bothering to smile at the next arrivals and hoping they didn't expect me to.

I wonder if Joseph's school will have a minute of silence for him. If they'll have an assembly on the dangers of drugs, using my brother's death to scare them and teach them a lesson. I wonder if I'll be expected to be the teacher and that makes my head spin.

Teo and Emil show up, shoulders hunched and faces tired with unkempt clothes. Phil holds onto me tighter and I want to demand all the secrets they're carrying, all the contacts of people who assisted in the killing of Joseph and just ask why, why they didn't tell me what was going on so I could've stopped it and we wouldn't have to be here under a cloudy sky with dreary faces.

They pass me, saying nothing and I have no choice but to let them - this wasn't time for a scene, for a fight, and I knew Joseph would hate me for even considering it. Our- my mum mumbles 'thank you for coming' and then I want to scream at her instead, do you have any idea what they've done?!

They didn't deserve to be here. They did nothing to stop the addiction my brother was facing alone even though they knew that it was killing him.

I hope they no longer sleep at night like me because they were drowning in their guilt and memories of my brother flooded their minds whenever they closed their eyes. I hope they missed him as much as I did, to the point where every muscle in their body ached and eating something made them feel sick.

I'm not sure if it's their stares I can feel burning into my back during the service or if it's just me being paranoid. I have an urge to turn around and to look at them to see if my suspicions are right, but since I'm sitting in front row with the person I love the most and my mother, it was too obvious.

"Today," starts the vicar. "We bid farewell to Joseph Lias Howell. Son, brother and friend."

He goes on to say about the happy life Joseph led, but that must be just the standard thing to say at a funeral because his life must've been anything but happy if he felt he had to keep his addiction a secret from his family, not to mention why he went onto the drugs in the first place. I want to interrupt and stand up and argue this point, but there's no positive for me doing so and it would just make the event awkward and uncomfortable and that's not Joseph would've wanted.

Joseph would just wave this whole thing off, waiting for the next exciting thing to happen. In this case, it was lowering him into the ground six feet under and it was something that had kept me up at nights, because that was the final thing, wasn't it? Once he was buried he was truly gone forever. My only brother. Fatal. Dead. Gone.

I keep looking at the coffin that's next to the vicar. The one that holds my brother inside of it. Even though I had been watching him die, this was still hard to comprehend even though there was a bunch of flowers next to it and a good photo of Joseph framed sitting on top. Whenever I see photos of him now I can't help but try and piece together the background of it - wondering when it was taken, if he was high when it was being taken and if that's why he looked so happy.

I had photos of him all around the house now. I had a photo of us together as my lockscreen on my phone and his school photo in my wallet. I was hoping that seeing him everywhere would fill the empty hole in me but sometimes looking at the photos did more bad than good.

How was I ever meant to get over this?

Phil tugs me back to the present so we can stand a sign a hymn and I know Joseph would hate this and if he was watching, he'd be laughing and calling me an idiot. Why didn't we just make it more personal instead of doing the most standard plan?

I already knew the answer to that one - I know we weren't up to the task of making the funeral into something Joseph would've liked because it just hurt too much, but I can't stop the guilt anyway. If this were reversed, he would've worked tirelessly to make sure my funeral represented me and everything I stand for. I mouth the words I don't know and look at Phil who's crying, his face blotchy and eyes bloodshot. Has he always looked like this? Is it bad I hadn't noticed?

I can't help but turn my attention back to his own pain and wonder if he's crying more over his twin who he still hadn't named to me yet or if this just brings back all the overwhelming emotions that he had wanted to forget. Does this ever go away? I want to ask. Does all this suffering ever actually stop?

Even though it's probably wrong to, I feel lucky to know Phil had been through this before me. He's stopped me feeling so alone, so isolated, even though sometimes that's all I wanted to be. His voice and his touch was my anchor when I drifted away with my thoughts too much and sometimes I think that's what's stopped me from going mad.

I'm asked to say a few words and I'm surprised I manage to make it to the front with my legs feeling like they're shaking. I give an empty speech I had scribbled on the back of an open envelope earlier in the day, that says something along the lines of my brother being my best friend, but all I can think of when I hear myself say it is liar, liar, liar. Phil gives me an encouraging smile despite his own tears and that seems to be all I need to get me through the rest of day.

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