Midnight Eyes ✵ Phan

*32*

A/N Do I sense less depression? Hell yeah! (I also apologise for the random changes in mood, I wrote this in three very stilted sections due to lack of inspiration which is also why it took me so long to get out)

The apartment, slowly but surely, became there home. Cozy and welcoming, albeit rough at the edges, had made Dan and Phil fall into an immediate pattern. Phil, now in charge of paying his third of the rent (whilst Chloe paid the other two thirds), had found himself a job at the gas station a few blocks over. Easy work, he found, even if it was long hours. He was working further into the night than ever and had more night shifts than he had ever experienced in any previous job but something about it felt meaningful. At least now, he was working for something. For something more, even.

Dan, meanwhile, remained at home. He left rarely but surely and Chloe had made it a task to take him to the shops whenever they went. They were becoming close, barely having to speak to convey their conversation whilst Phil and Chloe were probably labelled too chatty at the best of times. Chloe was one for gossip.

But, the feeling of being cooped up didn't escape Dan. Whilst Chloe was out as work and Phil sleeping off the long night, he was left in the living room alone, faced by his demons and his friends at once.

Not often did he ever transform, the contorting of bones still unnatural and awkward. No one had ever tried to make him either; Chloe was not one to push and Phil knew what the consequence of his words would be. But, even without the shifts, it was clear that something was always on his mind. He still didn't laugh, barely smiled, barely talked.

It wasn't until around two weeks of living there, when Phil had only just got his job, that they began to realise that Dan wasn't eating. Phil had heard it, he should have known better. Anorexia. Control of the mind by control of the eating.

With no professional options available, Chloe and Phil were left to cypher the problem themselves. Website after website scrolled past but no one seemed to help. They saw advertisements, tips and how to cope with the illness but never a cure. They were naive enough to believe there was a cure in the first place.

No one had ever told them that it wasn't just an antibiotic away from healthiness.

They started slowly, nonetheless. Dan would eat once a day: tiny portions of anything but fish. Phil was doing his best to give Dan no reminders of his previous dwelling and avoiding the food they gave him seemed like the best option.

'Dan, please.' He begged as another spoonful was dropped back to the plate. The clatter echoed throughout the halls deafeningly.

'I can't.' He still hadn't regained his voice after all this time, the hoarse whisper a representation of all that was wrong and left Phil reeling. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't let his best friend starve nor could he force him to do anything. He was stuck in a paradox. He had to pick the bad or the worse. But he didn't think he was capable of either.

'I know but just try. For me.' Phil breathed in and out carefully, trying not to be patronising as he lowers himself to look Dan in the eye. 'Just one more. Please, Dan.'

'I can't.' The trembling speech did little but leave Phil's frail heart fractured, the crack eroding that already-present chasm in his chest.

'One more.' Phil looked down at the food; mash, barely a drop of it, three dents in the surface where Dan had buried for the littlest bit he could find. He cursed himself for his own failure but he couldn't continue, not like this. Not like he was a parent chastising a child. Dan was his friend, his equal, that was what they always were because otherwise their whole friendship became meaningless. At least, to him it did, Dan hadn't seemed to change his mind from the beginning. He was the inferior. Always the inferior.