𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓+𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 ✭ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍

ḟ유ƒ†ẙ ḟ☼υԻ

That night, the baby yellow box sat on the edge of his dresser staring back at him. His mother's words were on his mind; repeatedly calling out. "Think about him, why you said you loved him in the heat of your argument, why he is important to you."

Frankly, he still didn't know why. What was it about Dan that made him lose a piece of himself when he was gone?

Phil turned on his back, tearing his gaze from the dress's box to look at his bare white ceiling. His head pressing into the pillow behind him and his light blue nighttime shirt riding upwards, showing a bit of skin. His blanket clung to the side of his mattress as moments before he with full force kicked it off. Blue eyes shutting at the darkness cascading around him, he tried to think back; map out what Dan did to wrap Phil around his glittery fingertip.

Maybe PJ made it fun like a game, I had to get around him to get to Dan. He thought to himself raising his hands to his head. There's no way that's it, with Dan everything in the world stopped. He raised his hands to his head, pressing the palms into his sockets.

He was in a loop of denial, finding a reason in his mind as to why he loved him than finding an immediate counter-part.

Dan was the first person who gained trust and gave it in return but—He stopped himself, wires in his brain sparking up his darkroom sending an instant shock of reality. It clicked, he was fighting himself—convincing himself all the reasons why he couldn't let himself love Dan.

But all in all, there was none, there was no excuse. "Dan deserves better..." he whispered under his breath, sighing out to the cold air.

...why he is important to you.

He trusted him, never judged him, never judged anyone else, fought for himself, his true colours consistently showed, he's sarcastic, funny, caring, intelligent, he's Dan. And there was no one else in the world like him.

Squinting at the sunlight shining through his room, it took him a matter of seconds to rush out of his bed. His feet soaring towards his bathroom sink; he shoved a toothbrush into his mouth, then later picked through his clothes finding a white tee and jeans. He styled his hair with a fine-toothed comb and dabbed cologne in a quickened fashion. Before he could ponder about seeing Dan any further, he swiped the box from his dresser and set off.

Hands on the wheel; the thoughts rehearsed on what he was going to say to Dan when his hand reaches up to knock ever so slightly. There's no one else in the world like you, I'm sorry for everything I did. His mind soared trying to catch up with his body. He shook his head at that apology. No, that's so lame, I have to tell him why he's important to me. He adjusted his clamped fingers stomach churning at the thought. He then glanced over in his passenger seat, the gift sitting still staring back at him.

He couldn't let himself lose Dan, he had to try and get him back.

Before he knew it, he blinked and his knuckles were hovering over the dark blue door awaiting to alert the residents inside. The box tucked under his arm like a football until he realized he was holding a multi-million pound-sterling dress. He adjusted himself, like the monster in his abdomen attempted to claw up and out of his mouth.

He knocked.

Then, swiftly swallowed fear. His eyes were still red and swelled around the waterline; the blue and gold specks contrasting with the crimson laying on the tips of his cheeks. He gulped in more air as he witnessed the door cracking in his presence.

"Mrs Howell—" Phil's posture was straight till the door went open wide—it then slumped like a hobo's on a metal park bench. He took in a breath trying to find words to say to the person in front of him.