He had fucked it up.
He had been so close to being happy, and he had fucked it all up.
Dan stared up at the ceiling, his cheeks smeared with barely dried tears. He hadn't even noticed he'd been crying until his pillow was damp against his face. He had turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling for God knows how long before he let it all crash down on him again.
And crash down it did.
Shit, he would not start crying again now, he was absolutely pathetic and worthless, why was he crying—
Another tear rolled down his cheek.
He deserved to die. He stared wistfully at the bottom drawer of his dresser. That's where he kept his Swiss Army knife. He had tried cutting, he really had, he had tried so hard to work up the courage to slit his wrists—but he couldn't.
He was such a fucking coward.
Too scared to end it all.
Too scared to even slit his own wrist.
For, some reason, the first words that sprang to mind were, "Phil, why haven't you killed me yet?"
And those words hurt him in a way he didn't think they could. No, Phil could and would never do that.
He was far too innocent, a sweet child at heart, too selfless to see the bad in Dan…
And Phil had a girlfriend.
She was pretty—not in a beautiful way, but in a cute sort of way—and she was nice and she made Phil perfect brownies and Dan couldn't measure up, not ever—
And whenever Phil came home from a date, there was a certain tension, a certain…separation between them, and after they had both retired to their separate rooms—
Those nights, Dan went to bed early. He got ready and he switched his computer and his phone off. And then he waited.
He waited for an hour or two, usually, spending his time contemplating how the shadows in his room changed shape depending on how he lay, and how he definitely needed to cut his nails, Jesus, they were almost starting to look like a girl's now—
And then he would hear a soft knock on the door.
And his breath would hitch.
And Phil would enter with his baggy tee and his boxers and he'd sit down on the side of Dan's bed and then he would wait.
The first time this happened, Dan had crashed early and awoken in the middle of the night confusedly, blinking sleepily before jumping at his friend's sudden presence. Phil had smiled an apologetic toothy grin at him in the dark.
That goddamn smile.
Neither of them said anything. Dan sat up, duvet slipping off of his exposed chest. They remained silent. Then Phil reached out cautiously, like a schoolboy, and traced his fingertips lightly over Dan's hand, not looking his flatmate in the eye.
Somehow, as if it was all prearranged, Dan began to caress Phil's arm ever-so-softly, rubbing light shapes into his friend's skin. Phil's hand had travelled up Dan's arm and was now softly massaging the expanse of skin there. Dan did the same, his own hand now moving to Phil's upper back as the other's hand started running his fingers up and down his spine, the other hand now joining the other on Dan's waist.
Dan always followed Phil's movements. In the presence of Phil, he felt like such a pathetic…nothing. His mind could barely keep up with the situation; his heart was hammering far too quickly…
At some point, they lowered themselves onto the bed, stroking and caressing the entire upper body of the other. Each time Phil's fingers would brush over the curve of Dan's ass, the latter's breathing became slightly erratic. It was maddening.
And then Phil took his shirt off.
And Dan nearly panicked as they "accidentally" traced across each other's nipples, until the touches were purposeful and hard and oh—
Their lips found each other, moist and wanton and needy. Their movements became wild and hormonal, their hands reaching southward.
It couldn't be helped; they got off together. There was no afterglow; they both collapsed and fell into deep slumber.
The next morning Dan awoke to the sound of the shower running. He panicked. Oh God, Phil was going to hate him and think he was a freak and it was going to be so awkward and this isn't something normal friends do with each other goddamnit—
Surprisingly, life went on. In fact, nothing changed. That is to say—one thing most definitely changed. Now Dan had this to look forward to. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, since they never once spoke about it, but…it existed. And that was a start.
And then just last night, as Phil's hand helped him ride out his orgasm, Dan had breathed, "Love you so much."
And Phil had stopped.
And looked him dead in the eye.
And then he had stood up and left, leaving Dan in a near-suicidal state.
He hadn't left his room all day, but he had heard Phil call out that he was going out with Clarisse again.
Now he was in his bed, waiting for Phil, losing hope. Giving up on the constant that was keeping him alive, he finally swallowed his self-pity and walked over to the dresser, kneeling down to open the bottom drawer.
And that's when he heard a soft knock on the door.
Aaaaand that's it! It's my first Phan, so please be kind! Feel free to give constructive criticism! 3