ANTICHRIST | phan ✔️

god's as dead as the lavender

TRACK FOUR
"we had to end it"
cuco

👼🏻

1987

the two thirteen year olds walked down the silent village streets; one a brunet with a school coat that smelt like lavender over his pyjamas, the other a dark-haired boy in a creased school shirt and trousers, whistling broken bars of a hymn as they walked towards the dark.

dan was barefoot, and the road was cold as ice.

"jesus," phil said (ironically, of course), pausing before cutting across an expanse of unkept grass, "where are your shoes?"

"forgot them," dan mumbled, teeth chattering, holding his hands to his ears with his pyjama cuffs pulled over his fingers to warm his ears.

phil sighed, before turning around.

"jump up, then."

of course, dan flushed, taking a step back although the cold road under the soft soles of his feet made him wince.

"what?"

"ugh, i said jump up, then. i'll carry you."

phil smiled, like an angel whose wings god painted black by accident.

"just jump up and put your arms around my neck."

after naturally looking around for any mrs hadleys or angel tears, dan stepped forwards to jump up so that his legs were are phil's waist.

"light as a feather," phil laughed, putting his hands on the backs of dan's thighs.

dan was starting to wonder if maybe phil was a test sent to him by god, because he was starting to imagine those ivory hands between his legs.

"heaven is a place more beautiful then any of you children can imagine."

"where are we going?" dan asked softly, voice close to phil's ear and heart thudding as if he'd just heard another tap! on the window, because they were so damned close together.

"dunno, really," phil shrugged. "i fancied killing a priest, and i thought of you."

he turned his head, soft grass crunching underfoot.

"just kidding. i stole his lighter, though. it's in my pocket. touch it, if you don't believe me."

of course dan reach down, and his fingers brushed something hard in the pocket of phil's school trousers; cold, like metal.

dan shivered at the hard muscle his hand caught the glimpse off, and wondered if holy water would wash it how it made him feel inside.

"it's too fucking cold on this damn village."

as phil's words hung in the cold air, the bruised brunet on his back dared lower his face just above the back of phil's neck; the older boy had winter and lavender laced on his skin, a smell sort of like dan's coat, but richer, thicker.