A/N- my first story, all opinions welcome. Much more to come. Also, sorry for the changing of the points of view, I just thought it would be better if you knew what both characters were feeling
Phil's P.O.V
I was sitting on the edge of his bed; clutching the letter tightly between my hands. I could my see nails turning white from the strain. I knew I had read it to many times already, that I had memorised the letter word for word, but I scanned it one more time. From our flat address at the top to the doctor's signature scrawled at the bottom, was bad news. All of it.
Sighing, I threw myself backwards onto the bed. I stared up the ceiling miserably, trying to form pictures from the pattern from the peeling wallpaper above me. I knew I should get up. Dan would be worried. I could hear him clattering about in the kitchen, the ghastly smell of his burned cooking seeping through the door. And heard a loud crash and Dan's swearing rocketing off the walls. I couldn't resist smiling to myself.
How could I tell him? Sweet, innocent, gentle Dan? As soon as I thought of the idea, I knew I couldn't. I wouldn't. Dan didn't deserve to know this. He was too good for it, and I couldn't hurt him like this. But then… would it be fairer to tell him beforehand? Groaning with all the unfair commitment, I rolled onto my front and buried my face in my pillow.
Wrapped up in my own, depressing thoughts, I barely heard Dan knocking on the door, his soft voce calling out to me.
Flooded with panic, I unstuck my face to the side of my pillow and threw myself off the bed, falling to the floor jamming the letter behind the desk. I got up, and turned to the door, telling him he could come in. Almost obliviously, I bounced on the balls of my feet.
Dan's P.O.V
I had been worried about Phil for a while now. He just seemed to be acting a little… odd. I had passed it of as a phase, until I had opened his bedroom door this morning. I would never normally have dreamt of bothering to go into Phil's room before I knew he was up, but it was already lunch time and he hadn't eaten a thing. That wasn't like Phil. With my anxious thoughts on an entirely different matter, whilst making lunch I had managed to burn all the food I was cooking, and drop a huge pile of plates, the majority of them smashing.
Giving up on waiting, I had ripped my oven gloves off and made my way steadily and nervously to Phil's room. Hesitating slightly beforehand, I knocked on his door. I heard a lot of scrabbling inside, before Phil had yelled in a voice several octaves higher than his own to come in.
If I had thought there was something up beforehand, I would definitely think so now. He was swaying in the centre of his room, half naked but without a care. His face was, amazingly, paler than usual. Beads of sweat decorated his forehead in twirling patterns. His eyes were a beautiful green as usual, but were empty and scared staring at me, as if pleading for help. His hair was up and pointing at every angle known to man, as if he completely forgotten it even existed. It was terrifying.
After staying staring at him for a full five seconds, I coughed and filled the silence.
"You ok?" I said without thinking. Shit. I was supposed to bring it up casually.
"Yeah fine! So fine! Fine and dandy!" he blurted out, a huge fake grin spreading across his face, ear to ear.
I didn't believe it for a second.
"There's food in the kitchen…" I said, trailing off without knowing what to say.
"Excellent! Smells amazing!" he said as he marched passed me, the smile still plastered on his face.
His shoulder crashed into mine as he made his way out, but he didn't seem to notice. Since when did Phil say fine and dandy? And since when did Phil EVER compliment my cooking?