[this is a very old fic - it's over 2 years old - and even though it represents nothing of what my current writing does, i can't quite bring myself to delete it. so like, yfip: me:
1. wrote this fic,
2. cannot bring themself to delete this fic
basically what i'm trying to say is that this isn't me anymore & that this fic is low qual but it's where i started, sooo
also: i haven't edited this fic, so it still stands as it did like 2 years ago or whatever. it's rough and SO badly researched that i kinda feel sick...like GOD this fic is a trainwreck. but you guys have been kind! thank you for still leaving comments 2 years on!
in other news, warning for major character death and terminal illness! also warnings for awful cliches and 1st person narrative.]
Dear Phil,
It's been a while since we spoke, too long, far too long. I miss you. We need to remember, talk about that final year before you left me alone.
I remember the day you told me that you wanted to finish your bucket list. You told me that it was important. You said that it had to be done before the end of the summer and you asked for my help.
Hastily, I agreed. I always would do anything for you, Phil.
You took a crumpled piece of paper from your pocket and observed it closely, squinting a little at the small letters.
You'd looked up from the sheet and did that little half smile and told me, proudly, that tomorrow we were going to go out.
I had happily complied.
In the seven months from that day, we slowly worked through that list.
We had the time of our lives. I'm sat now, looking through our scrapbook of pictures and memories. We had such a good time. We really did live.
"Hey, Dan, look over here." Phil called.
I turned to feel the flash of the camera on my face.
"Phillll." I whined, pouting. "Delete it, please? Pretty please?"
Sadly, he complied, but he continued taking pictures, both of us, actually.
Everything we did was either documented in film, or audio or image. Everything. Every crazy thing we did, like when we played dares in the library, or when we went white water rafting.
Do you remember that, Phil?
I do.
The only think I always wondered, Phil, was why you never let me read the list. It always upset me, even though I didn't let you know. I thought that it meant that you didn't trust me enough and that broke my heart.
"What now?" I asked.
Phil shrugged and pulled out the slip of paper.
"Hey, I know." I said. "I'll pick something?" I suggested, giving him a hopeful smile.
He shook his head quickly, celurean eyes widening in panic.
"No, no, it's okay, I know what we'll do."
It's okay, Phil, I'm over it now.
I know why you did it.
It's easier to remember the good times anyway.
Like that time you pulled from your pocket, not the list, but two pieces of thick paper and handed me one.
"Hey, Dan." Phil said, groggily walking into the kitchen. "You need to get ready now, we have a long wait ahead."
I nodded. "So, what're we doing today?"
He smiled and reached into his jeans pocket, an action I had become so very used to, but pulled out two very foreign bits of paper.
He pushed one into my hand and my eyes widened.
'Muse plus very special guest Dizzee Rascal' was printed along the middle.
"You didn't have to do this." I said softly. "Do you want me to pay for this?"
"No, no, no." Phil rushed to say. "Early birthday present from me." I saw the rouge climbing up his cheeks.
He was too sweet sometimes.
We got ready quickly, the excitement of going to the gig spurring us to move quicker than we thought we could.
By eleven, we were in the queue, which was only slightly longer than I'd hoped.
We talked to the people in the queue around us, especially the two people in front of us. They were young, both of them only fourteen, and I had assumed that they were dating, until they had hastily denied it.
They had been amusing and entertaining to talk to, and it turned out that the girl was a fan of both me and Phil.
We got pictures and she gave us her Twitter name, and we both promised that we'd follow her.
The gates had opened at half four and we had surged into the venue, only pausing to show out tickets. Somehow, we had ended up at the barrier.
It was, undoubtedly, the best gig of my life. The passion and energy of the band and the crowd, how close I was to Matt Bellamy, and the childlike wonder on Phil's face.
Everytime a song would start, his eyes would flutter shut, like his life was falling into place.
The gig ended all too quickly.
It felt like only seconds until we were on the tube on our way home.
Phil was tireder than I had expected him to be, hardly able to stand on his own two feet, but there was a euphoric smile on his face, so I didn't worry.
He fell asleep on the tube, and rested his head on my shoulder. I could feel his breath hitting my neck and I shivered slightly, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. It was soothing.
It would, I knew, always be the best night of my life.
After the gig, Phil, I noticed that you were changing. You were getting weaker.
You told me you were just tired, and hesitantly I believed you, no matter how much I knew it wasn't true.
I noticed that you were taking some painkillers, and some type of medicine often, but I didn't pry. I knew you didn't want that.
You just seemed to be getting sicker. You were losing weight and your skin was losing it's luminosity.
We stopped doing things on the list slowly, you pretended nothing was wrong and that you were fine and you didn't just fool yourself, you fooled me.
Two weeks before you left me, you alerted me that there was only three things left on the list.
It was nearing the end of August, then, but you remember that, so I don't need to tell you.
I did exactly what you wanted me to, and followed your every instruction.
The coach journey was draining, both physically and mentally.
The boredom that came with the trip was inevitable, and so was the aching leg and back muscles, but when Phil's face lit up into a large grin, illuminated by the lights of the Eiffel Tower, it was all worth it. He looked so pretty in this light.
We checked into a hotel that from the window you could see seemingly the whole of Paris.
That night we slept like logs, exhausted from our journey.
The next day we went sightseeing, but finally it was time to live Phil's dream.
We queued for about an hour, Phil nervously shifting his feet and giggling with apprehension.
We went up in the lift, right to the top.
Phil's face was perfect.
He was doing something that he wanted to do for such a long time. He was stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
That night, I decided, would maybe join the night of the gig at top spot.
It was the 28th of August, and there was only one thing left on the list. I remember how that day you'd been really bad. Do you remember, Phil?
You had got up at around eleven and dragged yourself into the living room, footsteps sloppy and weak.
We chatted for a few hours, about nothing in particular, just stuff.
I remember you kept cracking jokes and we would fall about laughing often. That was the life.
We had a nice simple pasta dish for lunch, which was nothing amazing, but you said it was one of the best dishes you had ever had.
You said you loved it and I loved you for saying that.
I always loved you.
Then afterwards, when we were doing the washing up, you stopped me.
You told me there was something you had to say.
"Dan," Phil whispered, "I need to tell you something."
I nodded and turned around and put down the glass I was drying. Phil put the bowl back in the sink and pulled off the washing gloves.
"Dan, I-I really like you." He paused. "More than friendly."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?" I asked softly, although I was already certain I knew what he meant.
"Dan, I mean that I'm in love with you, I always have been." He paused. "I love you."
With that, I brought our faces together, our lips locking in a passionate and sweet kiss, a kiss that said more than our words ever could.
I pulled away. "I love you, Phil. Always."
I'd never loved anyone as much as you, and I never will.
I watched as you crumbled after my words, and fell into a heap at me feet.
Phil, how could you do that to me?
I tried to wake you, but you were out, I tried everything, but you wouldn't wake.
I called an ambulance and they said they were sending one, but it was too late.
There was no pulse.
I tried to do CPR, I tried everything, everything, Phil, everything.
It was too late, you were gone.
As the crews came bursting in, they confirmed what I knew was already true.
I wouldn't let them take you. You were mine, Phil, mine. I hugged you to me, my tears spilling onto your still warm chest.
You weren't gone; you couldn't be.
They eventually took you away, and pulled a white sheet over your head. They took me to the hospital with them and I spoke to a doctor there.
"Mr Howell, I am sure you were aware of Phillip's illness."
I shook my head. Phil wasn't ill, he was fine.
"Mr Howell, Phillip had terminal cancer. I'm so sorry that you never knew." He patted my arm.
I couldn't move, I was frozen, what the doctor had just told me was uncomprehendable. Not Phil.
"These are all his possessions that he had on him at the time of death. I am sorry for your loss."
He handed me a small polythene bag, only half full.
I still can't believe you didn't tell me, Phil. I'm so angry, how could you do that? I thought you trusted me. But I'm more angry at myself. Why didn't I notice, how could I not notice, Phil?
But sometimes I look at everything you left me and it all makes sense.
In the bag was a note.
"Dan.
"I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was dying, I am so sorry.
"I just didn't want my final months twinged with sadness or worry. I just wanted it to be normal, just us together and happy.
"If I never get to say this, I love you Dan. So, so much. I love you I love you I love you.
"Thank you so much, for rescuing me and making my life worth living. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for helping me do my bucket list.
Thank you Dan.
I love you. Always.
Phil."
I felt guilty, Phil, as I thought you didn't complete your bucket list, I thought we had failed. I thought that I had failed you.
I know, now, that that's not true.
Also in the bag was a list. Phil's list.
There was still one more thing for him to do, only one and I was sad. We had failed.
It felt like I was invading his privacy, bit I had to know, I had to, so I checked.
'Kiss Dan & tell him I love him.'
We had done it after all.
In the weeks after you left me I died a bit more everyday, Phil.
I died, along with you. I left too.
The funeral was the hardest part, Phil. I wished you were with me the whole day. It just hadn't sunk in that you had left me in the world alone. To me, you were still alive.
I broke down as they lowered your coffin into the ground. They were playing Muse, Phil, they were playing Blackout and it seemed so ironic.
Everything was ironic. The lyrics fit too well, it was like it was aimed at us. The memories from the gig came flooding in and Phil, that was hard. Remembering a time when we were together and happy when you were gone. Muse was your favourite band, Phil, and you should have been enjoying the music with me. You should have been there.
The only thing I will ever be grateful for about your death would be my last words. "I love you, Phil. Always." It's the only thing that reassures me you aren't turning in your grave.
It still doesn't make me happy.
It wasn't your time, Phil. I needed you. Why did you leave me?
Phil, I need you. I miss you, Phil.
I need you.
They told me that I have to let you go; I have to move on. I can't let you go. I can't forget you, because Phil, you are my world, my sunshine.
This whole letter, it's all for you. All of it has been for you. The day I met you, I vowed that I would devote every breathing second to you. And I have.
I need you, Phil. I can't stay here anymore, not alone, not without you.
That's why I'm joining you, my precious. Because I need you.
I never really believed in heaven. It's strange, then, that now that you've gone I believe in it whole-heartedly. It's because you're an angel, Phil, and it's where you belong. Where you belong, I belong at your side.
I'm coming to get you.
I love you, Phil. Always.
Dan.