"He was without his angel. His angel was without the cure."
…
He woke up in a cold sweat gasping, fingers clutching the bedsheets with strength enough to turn his knuckles white.
Tears wet his cheeks, his chest shook with silent sobs.
"Nightmare," he thoughts dizzily.
But he couldn't wake up from the real nightmare. If he couldn't wake up, maybe the nightmare was real. Maybe all this was real.
This was his new hell.
He was just thankful he hadn't screamed.
He didn't want Phil to know.
Didn't want him to know how much he was hurting.
Didn't want him to know how much he was breaking on the inside.
But then again, you can't break a broken heart.
He could tell he was falling into his old ways. But this time, he didn't have his angel to fix him. His angel was the one who needed to be fixed, but Dan didn't have the cure.
It was going to be a spiral into darkness for both of them.
Dan trapped in the dark hell of his own mind.
Phil trapped in a body that was slowly wasting away.
….
Phil woke up achy and sore.
He rolled out of bed and opened the draw next to his bed.
An arsenal of colored pill bottles met his eyes.
He took out four of them out and laid them out on the bed. Respectively, he shook out eight pills, two from each bottle. He grabbed the glass of water from the side and swallowed them in one gulp, wincing as the bitter taste hit his throat.
He reminded himself this was his life now. That he had to take pills each day to elongate the little amount of life he had left and minimize the cancer's side effects. The doctor said in all likelihood, MORE pills were likely to be added to his prescription as time went on.
He slid out of bed and walked into the kitchen in his pajamas.
Dan wasn't up, big surprise.
Phil guessed that his friend had probably been up to the early hours of the morning. His own memories of the last night were hazy towards the end.
But he had told Dan. That was what mattered.
He sat down at the kitchen chair but he couldn't sit still. He stood back up and paced the floor. The apartment was too quite.
He gave up.
He paced down the hallway and peeked through Dan's cracked doorway. A black and white duvet covered ball was huddled in the middle of the mattress. The lump rose and fell with soft breaths.
A gentle smile lifted the corners of his lips. Dan looked so peaceful.
But at the same time it scared him, terrified him.
How was Dan going to cope when he was gone?
Would he able to sleep at night? Would he be ok?
Phil cursed his cancer. Cursed it for hurting not only him, but a sweet young man that had nothing to do with any of this.
He just wanted Dan to be happy.
He leaned against the doorway, just wanting to soak in his friend's peacefulness, for however long it might last.
…
Dan stirred a little after 11:30. He poked his head from his cocoon and gave Phil a sleepy smile, not seeming to notice or care why Phil was leaning on the doorframe.
All his brain could register was he had to spend what time he had left with his best friend.
"Lay here. Come down and lay next to me."
Phil climbed into the bed and laid down next to Dan. Together they stared at the ceiling. Their hands brushed against each other's and they intertwined their fingers. Squeezing each other's hands, they silently communicated their words.
"I love you."
Just together.
Just enjoying each other's company.
For however long it might last.