Notes
on June 23, 2014
tHSI WAS THE FIRST THING I EVER WROTE AND EVEN THOUHG ITS FANFICTION ITS STILL KIND OF GOO D IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF
--
For the first time in a few months, Dan sat down.
He sat on their old black couch, which had way too much dust on that neither Dan nor Phil ever bothered to clean off.
Maybe once or twice, when they had absolutely nothing to do, they partially cleaned the couch. But now the dust was piling up and neither of them just seemed to care.
Everything was over.
Which meant, everything really, was over. Youtube, Radio 1, liveshows, and, Phil. (that was pretty much everything to Dan, considering he didn’t do much but stay on the internet.)
The fights had started a few months ago. They were rare at first, just little arguments about little things which usually ended in cuddles and “im sorrys” and “i love you’s”.
But as time progressed, so did the fighting. They became less rare, and not so little.
Phil would come home drunk most nights, and Phil wasn’t much of a drinker before all of this had started. He would get mad, and Dan would have to take all of what Phil had for him. It was usually just yelling, in which Dan would only come out of the fight with a tear stained face, and going to bed. In is own bed, like he did every night starting a couple weeks after the fights became less little.
But other times, as time progressed, he would come out bruised and sometimes bloody, and again with a tear stained face. Dan would lock his door at night, leaving his light on so he could feel somewhat safe.
Sometimes Phil wouldn’t come home.
Those nights Dan hoped for, not because he hated Phil, (he still loved him, and always would, no matter how many nights Phil came home drunk and angry), but because he was scared.
Dan didn’t like being screamed at, or hit, which no one does.
He once tried to lock himself in his room or the bathroom, but Phil only hit and yelled more because of that.
He called Dan a coward, for not coming out to get what he deserved.
And some nights, Phil wouldn’t come home drunk. Just angry. Those nights he left Dan alone, and last night was one of those nights. Phil came home, from god knows where, and went to his room. He barely acknowledged Dan’s presence, who was sitting on the black, dusty old couch. Maybe a nod, or glance in his direction, but never an official greeting before slamming the door to his room.
That night, Dan slept in his own bed, with the lights on.
When he woke up, he could hear Phil moving around in his room, and not being very quiet about it. Dan shrugged it off, because it now was a normal thing. A few months earlier, it would have been different.
A little fight over a little thing, ending in cuddles and “i love you’s”.
Dan longed for that time again, when he and Phil were somewhat okay.
Two guys living together in a flat, making youtube videos and watching tv shows.
But that was the past, and this is the present.
"I’m going." Phil had said before quietly closing the door to the flat, looking at Dan for one last time with something different. His eyes were soft, but face emotionless.
Dan got the message.
'I’m sorry.'
Those two words were all he needed that day. He knew Phil wasn’t coming home tonight, or tomorrow, or ever. He was going, and never coming back. It wasn’t just some, “I need some time away.” And Dan understood that.
Despite all the fights and tearstained faces, he and Phil didn’t forget anything about each other. They held onto it like it was their lifeline, and in a way it kind of was.
They still had each other, but not ever in the same way the did. There were no cuddles, no little fights over little things, no “i love you’s”.
And now there was no Phil.
So Dan sat down, on the dust infested black couch that sat in the half empty flat. And he thought about everything. Everything that was, that is, and that will never be. He sat until the sky darkened, and watched as stars slowly started to appear.
And Dan felt something he hadn’t felt in a few months, let alone thought about.
He felt at peace.
But Dan still closed his door at night.
He still locked it.
And he still slept with his light on.
--
For the first time in a few months, Dan sat down.
He sat on their old black couch, which had way too much dust on that neither Dan nor Phil ever bothered to clean off.
Maybe once or twice, when they had absolutely nothing to do, they partially cleaned the couch. But now the dust was piling up and neither of them just seemed to care.
Everything was over.
Which meant, everything really, was over. Youtube, Radio 1, liveshows, and, Phil. (that was pretty much everything to Dan, considering he didn’t do much but stay on the internet.)
The fights had started a few months ago. They were rare at first, just little arguments about little things which usually ended in cuddles and “im sorrys” and “i love you’s”.
But as time progressed, so did the fighting. They became less rare, and not so little.
Phil would come home drunk most nights, and Phil wasn’t much of a drinker before all of this had started. He would get mad, and Dan would have to take all of what Phil had for him. It was usually just yelling, in which Dan would only come out of the fight with a tear stained face, and going to bed. In is own bed, like he did every night starting a couple weeks after the fights became less little.
But other times, as time progressed, he would come out bruised and sometimes bloody, and again with a tear stained face. Dan would lock his door at night, leaving his light on so he could feel somewhat safe.
Sometimes Phil wouldn’t come home.
Those nights Dan hoped for, not because he hated Phil, (he still loved him, and always would, no matter how many nights Phil came home drunk and angry), but because he was scared.
Dan didn’t like being screamed at, or hit, which no one does.
He once tried to lock himself in his room or the bathroom, but Phil only hit and yelled more because of that.
He called Dan a coward, for not coming out to get what he deserved.
And some nights, Phil wouldn’t come home drunk. Just angry. Those nights he left Dan alone, and last night was one of those nights. Phil came home, from god knows where, and went to his room. He barely acknowledged Dan’s presence, who was sitting on the black, dusty old couch. Maybe a nod, or glance in his direction, but never an official greeting before slamming the door to his room.
That night, Dan slept in his own bed, with the lights on.
When he woke up, he could hear Phil moving around in his room, and not being very quiet about it. Dan shrugged it off, because it now was a normal thing. A few months earlier, it would have been different.
A little fight over a little thing, ending in cuddles and “i love you’s”.
Dan longed for that time again, when he and Phil were somewhat okay.
Two guys living together in a flat, making youtube videos and watching tv shows.
But that was the past, and this is the present.
"I’m going." Phil had said before quietly closing the door to the flat, looking at Dan for one last time with something different. His eyes were soft, but face emotionless.
Dan got the message.
'I’m sorry.'
Those two words were all he needed that day. He knew Phil wasn’t coming home tonight, or tomorrow, or ever. He was going, and never coming back. It wasn’t just some, “I need some time away.” And Dan understood that.
Despite all the fights and tearstained faces, he and Phil didn’t forget anything about each other. They held onto it like it was their lifeline, and in a way it kind of was.
They still had each other, but not ever in the same way the did. There were no cuddles, no little fights over little things, no “i love you’s”.
And now there was no Phil.
So Dan sat down, on the dust infested black couch that sat in the half empty flat. And he thought about everything. Everything that was, that is, and that will never be. He sat until the sky darkened, and watched as stars slowly started to appear.
And Dan felt something he hadn’t felt in a few months, let alone thought about.
He felt at peace.
But Dan still closed his door at night.
He still locked it.
And he still slept with his light on.
