Paper Hearts (Phan)

6 days after

Walking home from wandering around campus while trying to forget everything and obviously not succeeding, I realized that my dorm room number was 321, and if you put that into date form, became March 21st.

What a coincidence.

It was almost like the universe had tried to warn me of that specific day 224 days ago, when Dan wasn't dead and I was still oblivious as to what 56 heartbreaks can do to someone.

But the universe didn't warn me like the insensitive and cruel thing it is, and it let Dan grab my hand and pull me in head first, out of my comfort zone, away from anything and everything I'd ever known.

I wanted to stay in the driver's seat with him curled up next to me; my eyes stuck on him the entire drive back from wherever he'd insisted on going. I would've driven him to the ends of the earth if he'd asked me to.

But I guess things don't turn out like they should.

I like to set my expectations high.

PJ barged into my bedroom a couple hours after I'd gotten back and sulked in bed for a while. He probably would've stopped by earlier if I hadn't arrived home and not spoken to him like usual.

"We need to save all of his stuff we want to keep," he said breathlessly "the janitor is coming to clear it all out today."

"Why not one of his family members? His mum? His dad? Siblings?" I asked, because that's usually how it happened in other situations like this. It only made sense for family to retrieve his belongings.

"For god's sake, Phil," he whined and hid his face in his hands "he never told us about Sammy until recently, and that was because she was dead. Now, think about this one because I'm sure as hell not saying it out loud. If we never heard about his family, and he didn't like to talk about them, then..."

It took a second, but the lines connected. "Oh."

"Yeah. C'mon, let's just get this over with."

The fear set in that he would be gone for good. And I rolled out of bed and ran down the hall with him and through the open door. Everything was just as we'd left it almost an entire week ago, the blankets spread across the floor and all the Polaroid pictures still carelessly tossed on the countertop.

The smell of him still lingered in the air, the smoke and the watermelon candies, and the alcohol. And I stood stone still in the doorway for a moment to breathe it all in for the last time before it became a normal scent, and I'd never be able to smell it again.

And poof, he was gone. Gone for good.

I grabbed the pile of photographs first, and flipped through them all to make sure they were still there. It was a stupid idea of course, because it ended up stabbing me through the heart.

There was the one where he'd fallen asleep on my chest for the first time, when he'd claimed he wasn't flirting, that he was just tired.

The one when he climbed on my back and demanded I carry him out to Cat's car because his "legs had stopped doing things"

When Chris passed out in the bathtub after eating too much ice cream, using the shower curtain as a blanket for the night.

The photograph of Dan sleeping on the couch after he had broken his wrist from trying to hang up Halloween decorations, made an appearance.

And the time when he'd been blowing bubbles with gum and it burst all over his face like a mask.

When we all played Jenga and the tower collapsed on PJ (who was not happy, losing for the 17th time in a row)