headlights // phan au

two

lilac smelling bedsheets ; one hour before

dan's sweatpants hung loose on his hips, hair dripping down his back as drawers shut. trying to find a clean shirt is not easy- especially when you just graduated high school and half your closet was your uniform. he settles for an old shirt for a theatre production he was in sophomore year, and luckily he's still about the same size.

his eyes were red, and ears perked up at the distant sounds of car horns and dogs barking the pale moonlight. overall, it was quiet, his family was out of town, dan stayed behind so he can pack more stuff for college in the closing days of august.

to him, it didn't really matter he was alone in his home in his eighteenth birthday. he's not one to celebrate real big, or do something now that he's legal. he just carries on like any other day. however lonely that may seem to some, he enjoyed the closeness of his friends and the birthday walks across town rather than the precisely planned birthday parties with more acquaintances there than actual friends.

his clothes crumpled on the bedroom door are laced with the smell of smoke from where his friends came by earlier and they made some smores over the fire pit in dan's backyard. they talked quietly, watched the stars, and retold memories, some still glossy from the lack of age.

it reminded him of a thing he had with donnie once, they sat shoulder touching cross legged on the grass. their voices with slightly high pitched and unsteady, the smell of alcohol on their breath clear. donnie turned fifteen several days prior during a snowstorm which made dan unable to go over, so they met as soon as they could. that was the first time they really really drank, thankful dan's family got stuck a few towns over for the night. dan doesn't remember much, but he remembers the sweat of each other's skin as they sat on the grass looking at the stars. donnie's arm slung around dan's shoulders, and every time he made a bad joke dan alike recite the boy's full name.

that was always a way to emit a response from donnie, dan still whispers it under his breath sometimes when he thinks of the boy.

dan's body aches, and not in a way from climbing or from the weather or anything. it aches for feeling the other boy pressed against the bare skin of his back, tracing freckles between his shoulder bones. they would lay in the grass for hours, rain, snow, or shine.

he would have known what's bothering you. dan's head chimes in, calling back to why dan was so quiet at the fire pit for the first time in years. his friends didn't notice- or didn't comment on it.

"it's nothing." dan whispers, the battered shoes he was wearing earlier tucked under his arm. they reek of alcohol from someone spilling it, just like he did earlier.

dan's head doesn't chime back, but it doesn't need to. the dull thud in his heart is enough.

in. out.

perhaps being an inpatient four times in three years does give dan control over his issues, even if it doesn't feel like it. despite how much it can get on his nerves, all the rules, he's thankful for what it has done for them.

even if it means shoes with no laces.

see- you're calm.

the dip in his back around his spine tingles as the shirt presses to his wet back, the boy sitting against the side of his bed. the alcohol has mainly worn off now, now just a heavy feeling that makes dan pull at the thread of his carpet as the only audible thing was his breathing. it was softer than before, almost back to normal.

he needs to go to bed, should go to bed, but he already knows what tonight will be like. the moonlight will watch over him as sits at his window, refusing to reach inside the dark room and place the boy in his bed. melatonin will sit just out of his reach, perhaps until the next night.

tonight is one of those nights, the one where he can lay in bed for hours and realize he's crying. the ones where he wraps his arm around his pillow like it's a person, burying his face into it as his wet eyes blur his vision. there's a tight feeling in his chest all night long, and everything feels too big.

his face will feel heavy, like his body is not his. the walls of his room will suddenly seem too far apart as he pulls the covers up to his chin.

he will wish for the sleep, but at the same time, is afraid of it. his mind will be his only company, reaching into everything that dan doesn't want to think about.

it's one of those nights, the ones where dan texts a friend at three in the morning making no sense, a complete mess. the ones that he makes constellations out of the speckle on the ceiling because he can't focus long enough to find the real ones.

dan just liked constellations, he always has. they're sketched onto the back of schoolwork, calendars, anything that he can write on and not get in too much trouble for.

he used to sit on his counters, knees pressed against the mirror, feet tucked under opposite thighs as he stared at his cheeks. he would look until he could make out a constellation, whether it be orion's belt or the little dipper.

perhaps he was a star, going and going until he burned out.