A/N: Something my friend and I thought up at school today! Lots of credit goes to my best friend, UkeAlchemist.
I hope you like it! Please leave reviews, I'd really appreciate it.
I found Dan's diary under his bed. It had been a week since it happened, although it felt like this past week had gone on for centuries. It's like he's still here, I thought, looking around. His coffee mug sat on the desk next to his bed, and his clothes hung untouched and gathering dust in the closet. It all seemed so ordinary, like nothing had changed. I half expected to see him barging through the door of his own room, wondering what I was doing snooping through his belongings. Except he wouldn't be back. He's gone, and I'm still here.
We made promises. Never to leave each other. He broke his promise.
I picked up the jumper he had left lying on the bed. It was his grey one with the horns on the hood; I hugged it close to me.
I sat on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chin and the sweater clutched to my chest. I picked the diary up and looked at the cover.
It housed a simple grey and black design on it and was filled with loose pages. It was clear the diary was used often and no doubt filled with all of his personal thoughts.
Should I do this? I wondered. I longed to have some sort of connection with him, even if it meant only through reading.
He'd hate me for this, he's probably rolling in his grave, I thought, turning the book to the last page.
Dear, Phil:
I can't help but wonder what would happen if I told you how I really feel. Or what our fans would think. (We probably wouldn't be public about it, huh?) Throughout all these years, I've tried to ignore how I felt, but I'm done with it. I'm just going to go for it. Tonight, Phil, I'm going to take you somewhere nice and I'm going to confess. I love you, Phil.
It was dated the afternoon before the events that led to his death. I couldn't wrap my head around any of this. I flipped through some earlier entries, all addressed to me. The most recent was more romantic than the rest, but earlier ones still had many hints toward romantic feelings.
How did I never notice this?
The doorbell rang. I put my head in my hands, wiping away the silent tears that were streaming down my cheeks, leaving stains on the pages of the diary. I closed it, staring blankly at the cover for a moment longer before setting it beside the mug on the desk. I took a deep breath and got up slowly.
I reached the front door and opened it to see a man holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers.
"Are you Phillip Lester?" He asked, monotone.
I nodded. He handed me the bouquet of flowers and walked away. I looked quickly to find a card hidden between the soft petals. A deep sadness came over me as I read:
Dear Phil,
I was going to tell you in person at a date, but I couldn't do it.
Hopefully I've timed this delivery right and I'm not home when the flowers arrive.
Anyway, I sent these to tell you that I love you. More than as a best friend; I think you get the point. I hope you feel the same way. I'll see you when I get home.
See you soon,
Love, Dan.
I sunk to the floor, my knees hitting the ground with a thud. Feeling as fragile as the flower petals, I set the bouquet down on the floor next to me.
I'll see you soon, too, Dan.
