Bluebird // Phan

Chapter 4: IV

IV

Monday came in a soft glow of hope. Dan was already up when Phil awoke, rummaging through his draws, knelt on the floor.
Phil's eyes struggled to adjust to the dim shine and overcoming the woolly cloud of sleep that circled him, but he found that Dan was shirtless, dressed only in black trousers and a pair of grey socks that slid on the wood. His hair ended messily at the bottom of his neck and his skin was a shade of a colour that didn't exist, creamy and soft and delicately crafted. And Phil was a bit jealous of him for reasons he didn't understand. He shrugged that off, such complexity being too much for the morning fog muddling his head.

The bones in Dan's back moved when he stood up from the floor, white shirt in hand. He kept his back turned to Phil as he pulled it over his shoulders and began to clip the buttons up.

It was then that they became startlingly obvious. The indents of dark purple that were spattered up his arms and his chest and his stomach and across every bump that pushed from under his skin. They almost seemed too deep and complex and permanent to be just bruises. Phil knew they-it-was so much more than that. It was pain; a concealed torment and a voiceless struggle. It was an intermittent rush of not knowing when or why or how and Phil couldn't understand how he got all that from a discreetly beaten boy. But Dan made him think, and that was really just it.

And then there were the jagged streaks of white, like little lightning bolts, marked in between the discolourations across his skin. These seemed much stronger, somehow more obvious against the contrast of his tan. Phil didn't get long to look, but it was long enough to make him feel like he was going to cry.

When Dan turned, he closed his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing to keep up the lie of not having yet woken, but his heart was running a race that rocked his chest. He was screwing his eyes shut so hard that he saw phosphenes and thinking: God, please don't let him see me.

Because he felt like he'd done something wrong. Overstepped the mark, or something. He'd seen something he shouldn't, regardless of whether it was intentional or not and that gave him a horrible feeling. These marks weren't Phil's to see and he tried so hard to forget them that his toes tingled.

Eventually, there was a loud clasp shut of the door and Phil risked the opening of an eye. Dan had left the room, taken his bag with him.

Yesterday afternoon, Phil had hung his uniform up in his wardrobe. Today, it took him less than ten minutes to slip into the uncomfortable clothing; the fabric made his skin itch and as he left the room himself, he had his hand dipped down his collar to scratch at his neck. He had his empty backpack bobbing on his shoulders and a weight he was sure wasn't there when he went to bed the night before.

Dan wasn't at breakfast.

At least, Phil couldn't see him. He ate quickly and silently, suffocated by an unforeseen loneliness. Once he'd finished the food on his plate and downed the tea in his mug, he headed out into the reception, which was abundantly overcrowded.

It was strained with fuzzy faces, spilling out in a way that resembled a mug too-full of coffee. Phil felt a bit lost, to tell the truth.

So it was probably luck that he found Dan just outside the building. He wasn't really looking for him-it was one of those moments where everyone and everything blurs together and it's kind-of impossible to look for anything in the mess-but when he did find him, he wasted no time in rushing over.

Dan was stood alongside Miss Leer, who had her hand firm on his shoulder. He noticed Phil the moment he arrived and pushed his face down to the floor, looking everywhere but up.

"Hi," Phil whispered, to no acknowledgement. He continued to stare down at the busy clatter of shoes on the pavement and Phil wondered if he was ignoring him or if he just didn't hear. Still, there was something different between them today. Phil didn't know whether or not it was his fault, Dan's fault, or even Harrison's fault-but something was different. That much was obvious.