mnemophobia | dh + pl

seven

a/n: who wants to be my friend?

The perks of going on dates with someone who has the opposite dominant hand to you is that you can always hold their hand while doing something else. I never really appreciated this luxury until I found myself strolling through the park with one hand in Phil's and the other holding my ice cream.

It was the perfect evening for a walk. It was warm enough for me to be in shorts but not too hot. A soft breeze ruffled our hair and the sky was a brilliant pink/purple color due to the setting sun.

"D'you wanna sit for a while?" Phil finished the last of his ice cream and tossed his trash into a nearby bin.

"Sure, I could use a—" I glanced up at Phil and stifled a giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"You need to lick the chocolate off your mouth, just there," I pointed to the spot above his lip.

Phil smirked. "Wanna get it for me?"

I scoffed, nudging him with my shoulder. "Oh, shut up!"

Phil laughed, wiping his mouth.

I finished the last of my cone and we took a seat on a weathered, wooden bench. It was a scenic location, right by a fountain. The surrounding grass had scattered patches of wildflowers and a few small, bushy hedges formed a wall hiding us from the road.

"Have you ever done anything illegal?" Phil asked, slipping his arm around my shoulder.

I laughed softly, leaning into him. "Do I look like the kind of person to do something illegal?"

"Fair enough." Phil chuckled.

"Have you?"

Phil let out a snort of laughter, tossing his head back. "Oh yeah."

"Really? Like what?"

"Just small things. Weed, vandalism, underage drinking... That kind of stuff."

"Wow," I muttered, "I'm suddenly realizing how boring my life is..."

"Oh, come on," Phil nudged me, "it's not that bad!"

I laughed dryly. "I like to imagine that I live a wild and interesting life, but the truth is that I'm just a somewhat introverted florist whose main hobby is anxiously wearing girl's clothes."

Phil chuckled, standing up and extending his hand. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"We," Phil intertwined our hands, "are going to break the law."

...

After a quick stop by the tattoo parlor to grab an ominous duffle bag, Phil and I made our way to the darker, less populated side of town. It wasn't too far of a walk, but it was certainly more exercise than I usually got.

"This is ridiculous," I giggled, watching as Phil tossed his bag down and began taking spray paint bottles out. "What if we get arrested?"

Phil grinned up at me, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry about that, okay? Just live in the moment."

I bit my lip anxiously but nodded anyway. Phil made the first streak of paint—a hot pink that stood out brilliantly in the dim light.

I noticed his composure changed when he was painting. He usually slouched but was now using his full posture. His face was relaxed, but his brow furrowed slightly—he was very focused. The dim streetlamps cast dramatic shadows across his face and reflected orange off his hair.