Phil's POV:

September 24th 2014

I got, at most, an hour of sleep last night. I kept having dreams of Dan yelling at me for how much of a failure I am, and how he would never love me. In the back of my mind, I know it's true, But… Do those really have to be the thing I visualize when I fall asleep?

I guess he felt like he had to tempt me yesterday with my favorite meal. But I can't gain another pound. I need to be perfect for him… For my Dan.

I slid my journal in the same place as always and slid back under my duvet. I heard my door lightly creak open as the light blinded me from the hallway. All I could really see was the silhouette of Dan. "Fuck" I though as a slid deeper under my covers. I felt the weight on my mattress shift as he sat down next to me.

He lowered the covers slightly and just sat there for a minute or two; And it took me just that long to realize something. My exposed arms were sticking out right in front of Dan, as if they were in a museum display. I tried to quickly bring them back down to me, but he stopped me. This was absolute torture. My love was holding my imperfect, shredded up, scabbed and blistering arms, studying them. I used my remaining strength to try and yank them back, but I failed.

His touch (at the same time) was so gentle and warming. It felt like the feeling you'd get from jumping into a hot tub after being in a freezing cold pool. Just as I was getting used to the sensation, He got off the bed and left.

Dan's POV:

Warm tears fell down my cheeks as I studied Phil's bloody arms. I set them down and headed for the bathroom. I grabbed the bandage and alcohol from the medicine cabinet, and rushed back to Phil to attend to him. I got a quick glance in the mirror as I rushed back; my face was red and patchy, and my cheeks we're drenched. I got back to Phil and took his arm again.

I stroked back his hair and whispered "I'm sorry" before pouring the alcohol over both of his wrists. He flinched and squirmed as his breathing got quicker. I cried with him; it killed me to see him like this. As soon as his scars and cuts had been cleansed, I wrapped the bandage around them.

I grabbed him a clean – and by clean I mean non-bloodied- Long sleeve shirt. "Take off your shirt" I cried. "What?!" He responded sheepishly "You heard me" I demanded as I cried into my knees. He did as I said and I slipped the new shirt over his head and slid his arms through the sleeves. I Noticed cuts and bruises all over his stomach as well.