Polaroid (A Phan AU)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.

~Isaac Asimov

We had to come up for air eventually, much to both of our dismay.

While Dan disappeared to grab us some snacks, I took the opportunity to grab a cloth and begin wiping down the messed up wall.

When it was nearly all clean, I noticed something; right beside the door, was a crack in the wall. If you peered closely, you could make out the binding of a notebook balancing in the plaster.

Dan appeared in the doorway holding a tray. His face dropped when he saw what I was looking at, and carried the tray of food to put it on the bedside table.

When he turned to me, I raised my eyebrows, noticing the pair of tweezers in his hand. He said nothing, simply pressed them into my palm and pointed at the crack in the wall.

"I'm gonna go make hot chocolate," he said, almost nervously, shooting me a small smile before leaving the room.

I turned my attention back to the crack in the wall, biting my lip before delicately pushing them inside. I slowly closed them around the part of binding I could see, and carefully pulled out a deep blue notebook.

On it, there was a label, and it read:

If you should find this, please put it back.

But Dan had basically given me his permission, right?

This was my reasoning as my trembling fingers peeled the front cover back, my eyes widening as they flickered over the words in front of me.

I suppose this is the place where I ought,
To document my darkest thoughts,
But I'll just write whatever comes to mind,
Whether it be good or bad my brain finds.

So, be my guest, read on - if you dare,
Don't blame me for the crap you find there,
Its your own fault if your eyes bleed,
But, if you must, please read.

I hesitated before turning the page, but I did, flitting my eyes over the words that lay there.

Thoughts of death,
And thoughts of blood,
And losing breath,
Will do no good.

Thoughts of living,
And thoughts of light,
Thoughts of giving,
They are right.

With each small rhyme, my face lit up more and more, the beautiful words etching into my brain.

When I reached halfway through the notebook, I stopped, too overwhelmed to read on. I slotted the treasure back into its chest, and then leaned against the wall in awe.

A head rested on my shoulder, making me jump. I glanced down into adoring chocolate orbs, a smile finding my face at his soppy expression. I took a hold of his hand and bought it gently to my lips, pressing them against his knuckle.

"You're so good with words," I muttered against his skin, then swung our hands between us, resting them against the wall.

"Not the only thing I'm good with," he smirked cheekily. I shoved him and pulled away, laughing when I felt his hands wrap around my waist from behind and his pointed chin resting on my shoulder.

"You're such a husband, Dan." I giggled, twisting to kiss his forehead.

"Bet you love it."

"Yeah," I said softly, "I do."