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I remember the first day I saw Phil Lester.
He was new, and he sat alone in the cafeteria, ignoring everyone who even tried to talk to him. Eventually, people just gave up on trying. And then throughout the year, Phil Lester became a nobody.
Phil and I weren't so different. We were both a background noise of a broken record. We were invisible, unnoticed, and friendless. Phil didn't seem to care, though. He seemed quite happy as he sat alone in classes, in the cafeteria, in gym class and even on his own at lunches. He was in his own little world. That was how he liked it. I wasn't like Phil. I hated being alone, friendless, invisible and unnoticed. I wanted the attention of someone who would care. But no one ever did. Soon enough, I gave up on trying to be a somebody, and stayed a nobody.
I remember the first day I spoke to Phil Lester.
He sat alone outside on the day with perfect weather. He had a on his black skinny jeans and a white top and thin grey cardigan. He was leant against the wall, a book in his hands and his glasses sliding down his nose. I gulped nervously, and found myself walking over to him.
"H-hi." I stuttered nervously. Phil looked up from his book and smiled at me.
"Hello. Can I help you?" He asked, his voice deep and smooth.
"N-no. I-I just wanted to say hi." Smart one Dan, make a fool out of yourself. Phil just chuckled.
"Well, you just did. Is that all?"
"C-can I s-sit with you?"
Phil gave me a confused look. He almost looked worried. But he looked around and nodded slowly. I sat beside him, and we spent the whole lunch in an awkward silence. He read his book, whilst I listened to my music.
We did this daily for the next two weeks.
I remember the first day Phil Lester spoke to me.
"What are you listening too?" He asked, as we sat on the bus on the way to school.
"Muse." I said quietly.
"I love Muse, they're my favourite."
I smiled and handed him an ear phone, and we spent the bus ride listening to the high pitch of Matt Bellamy's voice.
I remember the first day Phil Lester and I had a conversation.
"There is beauty in everything," Phil randomly said as we sat under a tree at lunch, "I just wish everyone could see it." At first, I was confused, but as I followed his gaze, he was looking at the sky, his eyes glue on the crescent moon that was unnoticed by everyone who was outside.
"Some people just don't look hard enough." I said, looking back to the ground and running my hands over the wild daisies that grew.
"I wish I had a friend, sometimes. But I know I'm just being silly." Phil changed the topic.
"I'm your friend." I told him.
"I don't have friends, nor do I need them." He said. I remember, I felt offended.
"Why not?"
"People die. They get close to you, and you begin to love them and care for them. And then they die. They take away that feeling you will never feel again. And its harsh. Why love someone if it doesn't last forever?"
"You don't have to love me..." I said, staring back at him. He looked over at me. His blue eyes were concerned, worried and nervous all at the same time.
"I will fall for you if we become friends, Dan Howell." He said, his voice shaky.
"I will catch you, Phil Lester."
He smiled at me...
I remember the first day Phil Lester and I hung out.
We were walking to the almost out of business coffee shop that was around the corner from the school. He was talking to me casually. As if I was really his friend.
"I wonder what our religious studies teacher thinks of gays," he said, "I wonder what she'd do if I touched her butt."
I remember when I threw my head back with laughter.
Phil just grinned along beside me.
We got our hot drinks in take-away cups, and walked to the park. Phil laid down under the biggest, shadiest tree there was. He stared up through the leaves and to the greying sky. I leaned back against the tree trunk, sipping my coffee quietly.
"I like to compare myself to the sky," Phil said, "I was so bright when I was young, but every day I get sadder, and sadder, and inside, I am getting darker and darker, until one day, I will cease to exist."
I was shocked and at a loss for words. Everything that came out of Phil's mouth was beautiful.
"At the end of the day, when the sky is dark, there are stars, millions upon millions of them. They shine brightly, and although you may be dark inside, there will always be light to guide you through it." I said. Phil turned his head, and stared at me. He smiled.
"You're so beautiful, Dan." He said, as he closed his eyes.
"As are you, Phil."
I remember the first time Phil and I went to a party.
It was his cousins birthday, and he'd invited me. He didn't want to go alone, and I didn't want to let him be there alone when there were drunk people. We sat outside, in his aunts shed.
"I used to come here all the time when I visited," he said, "It was my happy place." He sat on the worn out and patched up couch, his hand clutched around his sixth bottle of vodka. He looked outside the dirty window.
"Aren't you scared?" I asked as I sat beside him. He just shook his head.
"I'm afraid of the dark, I'll admit. But when I look out this window and see the stars, I feel as though I'm safe." He said.
We sat there in silence. It was cold in this metal shed, and his voice bounced off the walls and echoed everytime he spoke. He was drunk. His eyes were beginning to fall shut as he was drifting off to sleep.
"I think I'm falling for you Dan..." He whispered as he shut his eyes and fell asleep. I shifted him around, so he was lying down.
"I think I'm falling for you too, Phil." I said. But he didn't hear me. And I'm glad he didn't.
I remember the first time Phil Lester and I had a sleepover.
He arrived at my house at four on Saturday night. I showed him my room, and he told me he loved my posters.
We played video games and discussed which was the best Pokemon.
"I have secrets, Phil," I said as we laid down on my bed, staring out the window and to the stars, "I have secrets I've not told anyone." Phil looked over at me, and I turned my head so we were staring into each others eyes. He smiled at me.
"You can tell me, Dan," he said, "I'd never judge you." He slid his hand into mine, and entwined our fingers together. My eyes began to water and my lips tugged into a small smile.
"I hurt myself, Phil..." I whispered. I pulled my right arm out from under the covers. And under dim moonlight, several deep red lines and bruises could be seen littering my skin. He ran his cold fingers over the uneven skin. He ran his fingers over a three letter word that was too deep it could not fade away. Gay.
"You're so beautiful Dan," he said as he brought my arm up to his lips where he placed kisses on each and every scar, "You're so bloody beautiful."
Tears spilled from my eyes, and soon I was curled up in Phil's arms, his fingers rubbing soothing circles onto my shoulder blades, and our legs tangled together underneath the bed sheets.
"Goodnight, Phil," I whispered through tears, "you're the best friend I've ever had."
And as I fell asleep in Phil Lester's arms on that cold winter night, I could have sworn I felt his cool lips pressed against my cheek for a moment before he whispered; "I think I love you."
I remember the first time Phil Lester and I kissed.
"What's so good about kissing?" I'd asked him. He looked up from his book and shrugged at me.
"Why do you ask?" He placed his book on his bed, and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"I see my sister kissing boys all the time. I've never even had my first kiss and she's 3 years younger than I am." I sighed, looking out the window and into the grey clouds that were illuminated by the setting sun. Raindrops looked golden as they fell, the dim sunlight shining through them, making them look impossibly amazing.
"I've never kissed anyone before, either." Phil admitted.
"What if we suck at kissing when we finally get boyfriends?" I asked him.
"I'm not sure, Dan..." Phil said as he looked out the window as well.
"Phil..." I began nervously, "D-do you think that maybe- just maybe, w-we could uhh, practise on each o-other?" I looked down at my lap, and fiddled with my fingers.
"Yeah, I guess so."
I looked up, seeing his perfect blue eyes staring at me.
"Well? Are you gonna kiss me?" He asked playfully, as he scooted closer. He rested his hand on my knee and slowly, I leaned closer. We shut our eyes, and our lips connected. Fireworks didn't explode, but a flash of lightning lit up the room, and to me, that was good enough. Our lips locked and we gently moved them. I turned my head to the right, and my fingers laced through his hair. His hands gripped my hips tightly.
Our lips moved together in perfect sync. And I was proud to say Phil Lester was my first kiss.
I remember when Phil Lester told me he loved me.
We were in the forest, sitting near the crystal clear lake. His fingers gently touched the water, sending ripples around.
"I'm falling Dan," he'd said, his eyes cast down and his voice sad.
"What?"
"Will you catch me?" He asked, the expression in his voice did not change.
"I'm not following, Phil..."
"I'm falling in love with you, Dan," he whispered. Only then did I realise the tears rolling down his cheeks. I moved myself closer, and hooked a finger under his chin, lifting his head up so his eyes would meet mine.
"I have my arms open wide and I am going to catch you." I whispered back, sealing our lips in a gentle kiss.
I remember when Phil Lester wrote me a poem.
And as his dark eyes captivate me
And his lips are pressed against mine,
I know that we are meant to be
But we are running out of time.
I didn't understand the meaning of it, but as his lips spoke the words, I felt shivers run down my spine. No matter how many times I asked him what it meant, he just smiled and said; you'll understand when the world stops spinning.
And again, I didn't understand the meaning. He'd kiss me and change the subject each time I would ask.
I remember when Phil Lester bought me roses.
I was sick and away from school, hating the fact I could not be with the one I wanted to be with most. But when I heard a knock at the door and I opened it to see Phil with a bouquet of white and red roses. His cheeks were flushed red and his tongue was poking out the corner of his mouth.
"Hey.." He'd said, biting his lips as he handed me dozens of flowers. In his other hand was a teddy bear. It's soft white fur brushed against my skin as he hugged me.
"Thank you," I sniffed.
I remember when Phil Lester asked me to be his boyfriend.
We laid in my bed at 1 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday morning. His arms were wrapped loosely around me and my head was resting against his shoulder. He was humming as he ran his cold fingers through my damp hair.
"You're beautiful, Dan..." He whispered against my head.
"You're amazing, Phil."
"I'm in love with you."
"I'm in deeper."
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
"I'll be your boyfriend until the end of time."
I remember when Phil Lester and I lied to our parents and sneaked out late to a party.
Phil wasn't the one for parties, but he really wanted to go to this one. And when we got there, I felt an unsafe feeling in my gut and confusion swarmed my thoughts. People were swallowing pills and doing drugs as they listened to dubstep. Phil greeted a few of them as he lead me upstairs. He locked us in the bathroom and he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a little zip lock bag.
"Do you want too?" He asked as he wiggled the bag in my face. No, I didn't want too. But I didn't want to let Phil do this alone. He placed the little squares with strange patterns on them in his mouth and immediately kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth.
I didn't remember much from that night, but I remembered seeing Phil injecting something into his arm.
I remember when Phil Lester and I wasted our money on countless drugs.
We sat in my shed, hiding behind boxes. We had smoked marijuana from a pipe he'd stolen, and took some tabs of acid and injected ourselves. That night we laid down on the cold cement and listened to quiet music as we tripped.
"I'm fucked up..." Phil whispered to me. I closed my eyes and made a noise that sounded quite strange. I didn't know what was happening in my brain, but I didn't like it.
I remember when Phil Lester continued to do drugs while I stopped.
He sat on his bathroom floor with a belt tightened around his biceps, and the syringe in his hands. Tears slid down his cheeks as he pushed the end of the syringe and the liquid entered his vein. I watched as his body relaxed and he looked me straight in the eyes and said;
"I don't want to be like this."
But he was like this. He was the innocent boy who had turned to drugs as an escape from the reality he lived in.
Whenever I asked him why he did drugs, he would give me a sloppy smile and take another drag from his cigarette and say;
"The world is much better when you're tripping. It's so beautiful compared to this wasteland which we live in."
I remember when Phil Lester and I lost our virginity.
He wasn't fucked off of drugs. He was his normal, sober self. And he didn't have to be on drugs to love me in this moment.
I remember when Phil Lester saw the fresh cuts on my wrist.
"Baby...why?" He asked, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on mine.
"You only love me when you're high..." I whispered, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. That look on Phil's face was heartbreaking as he lowered his head in shame and kissed every single one of my cuts, even though they stung. He whispered apologies that didn't mean a thing.
After all, he was high at the time and he can't love me when he isn't.
I remember when Phil Lester called me at 3 AM on a Sunday morning.
"I'm so sorry, Dan..."
"What?"
"I love you so much."
"I love you too, baby."
"You'll never see me again..."
"Why not? Phil, what's wrong?"
"Don't forget me, please don't forget about me..."
"Are you drugged up again?"
"No... It's me, normal Phil," he chuckled dryly, "I love you. Goodbye."
"Phil!"
The line went dead.
I remember when Phil Lester was rushed to hospital at 3 AM on a Sunday morning.
The doctor let me sit beside his bed after they finished pumping his stomach of the fifteen sleeping pills he'd taken. His skin was so pale and cold, I would have thought he was dead if the ventilhator wasn't forcing oxygen into him and the heart monitor wasn't beeping.
"I'm so sorry Phil."
I kissed his chapped lips and cried for the millionth time that night.
I remember when Phil Lester died.
He died there on his hospital bed. They couldn't save him. The doctors wouldn't tell me what happened.
And as I kissed his sweet lips and whispered sweet nothings into his ear, I told him for the very last time I loved him.
So that was just a thing I wrote.
I mainly wrote it because I have writers block on my other stories :s
so v v sorry.
also, if you've not read my other stories you should go check them out because I just rly want ppl to like them ;-;
so uh these are my other stories;
The Real Me
Runaway
Player, Player
it would be much appreciated if you went to check them out!:))
Goodbye, friends!
