Bluebird; Phan

XVIII

This chapter features heavy content of a mature nature. It features GRAPHIC descriptions of acts of self-harm. Please be cautious when reading.  

  The remarkable thing was, nothing actually changed. Dan continued to stay there in the room—when Phil woke up on Monday morning, he was there in his own bed with a vacant expression as a representation of my brain really hurts—and Phil continued to go to school without him. He made small-talk about irrelevant topics with Chris in lesson, but avoided all trace of Cat. And he sat alone for lunch, apart from that one day Harry fucking Ester sat with him.

That boy wasn't even aware how many infrequent thoughts Phil had of him.

The only real thing that changed was that Phil helped, and Dan was too overwhelmed by the pain of emotional numbness to ever push his fingers away. The darkness of three in the morning began to sound like I'm not going to leave you alone and it just felt like everything was trying too hard to be beautiful.

They didn't kiss again, and there wasn't actually a restraint there either. It wasn't that they'd already gotten their fix, it was just that arms to sleep in were so much more than a kiss to a depressed boy. Dan lost more weight and cried less (because it was becoming physically impossible) and spoke poems of worthlessness into Phil's ear and didn't ever sleep more than an hour or two. And his lips were always chapped and his heart was always bleeding and his skin was always suffering with open wounds that acted as tunnels to a peace of mind.

Some night when it was getting colder, stretches of daylight getting shorter, Dan said he was going out to see Tanner and Abi. He only ever left the house for Tanner and Abi because, outside, they were all that mattered. Inside, he had all he needed.

It was a Friday night and one of Tanner's friends had a family who owned this bar—Phil knew Dan was going to get drunk. He knew the night wasn't going to end in the way his (failing) optimistic-self was hoping. He knew Tanner and Abi didn't care enough to bring him home, should he need them to. They weren't smart enough to know that they needed one sober mind of three.

So Phil just went right ahead and invited himself.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dan stared at him with wide-eyes and the most definable expression in a long time. He was stood, dressed in a black shirt and black hoodie and skinny jeans. "You can't just invite yourself to come with me."

"Sure, I can," Phil said, spraying himself with cologne and proceeding to sit on his bed to slide trainers onto his feet. "Maybe I'll pick up a chick."

"A chick?" Dan scoffed. "Hell, no. You won't."

"Jealous?"

Dan shook his head. "Shut up. Don't make it like that. I was just saying, the bar we're going to is . . . it's not your scene."

"This isn't my scene," Phil waved his hand at himself. "But I'm going with you because I don't want you hurting yourself."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't want to not. But, I guess, no. I don't trust your stability right now. Don't yell at me for that when you know I'm in my right mind to be concerned for you."

"I'm concerned for myself," Dan grumbled and paused. "I just don't want Tanner fucking you up because then I'd have to do something and it would ruin everything."

"You'd do something against him?"

"If it was you, yeah," he bunched his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "It's offensive you doubt these things, Phil Lester."

Phil just smiled. "I'm coming, whatever you say. When do they get here?"

"They don't, I told them I'd walk down. It's not far from here," Dan started walking across the room to the door. Phil got up and he turned to him, weakly demanding, "Babe, stay. Please."