Phan Oneshot collection

Words Like Needles Upon Cold Skin

Summary: Dan's going to try to make the most of college with his best friend despite the words on his wrist. 

Genre: Fluff, angst. But like it's good angst. Love me some good angst.

Warnings: Ooee okay so we got some swearing, some drinking, some character death and a theme of death whoops.

Dan had always been one for irony. Dan's first word had, as he'd been told endearingly by his parents many times, been "milk." Apparently little baby him had seen it on his wrist so many times, and heard it so encouragingly spoken by his mother and father, that it'd been the first coherent thought to escape his mouth. He hated milk. Ironic.

Now, he sat at his desk, his Math Analysis papers sitting crumpled with erase marks so violent they were nearly holes, and he ran his thumb harshly over those words. In all of his sixteen years, he'd resented them, those overly casual words tattooed on his wrist like a sentencing date. They practically were.

Dan was tired of hearing the annoyed complaints of the people who'd curiously asked what his mark said, or the teary-eyed and condescending pats on the shoulders that he got from the girls in his grade when they saw it.

Everyone had them, those words branded on to their skin by the Forediligites at birth. Most people had unique ones like "Your eyes shine so brightly in the moonlight" or "I love you, my little carrot," but of course Dan got stuck with one of the most casual ones humanly possible. "Could you get the milk?" So far in his life, he'd counted that his mom had asked him to get the milk twenty-seven times, and not once had she died in some horrific accident after those words were uttered. Of course, his mom tried to avoid the exact wording as often as possible so as to ease his anxiety, but the Foredigligites weren't known for being exactly accurate in their wording, so that didn't stop him from worrying for his mother's life every time he went to the store to buy milk at her request. Of course, he knew that the words on his wrist were the last words that his soulmate would ever say to him, but how was he to know that he wouldn't be that one loser whose mom was his soulmate? Weirder things had happened. One guy, Dan couldn't remember the name, had had "meow" tattooed onto his wrist, and his cat had said that right before it kicked the can. If some dude's cat could be his soulmate, there was certainly nothing stopping his mom from being his.

He glared down at his math homework, as if it was the very seer that had sealed his fate to his wrist. There was no way he'd be able to think about formulas when so much was on his mind. He set his pencil down.

TO Phil: I can't do my math homework when the world is ending.

FROM Phil: What's up sugar pup

TO Phil: I just keep thinking about fucking milk, man.

FROM Phil: You want to have sex with milk? IDK dude sounds pretty two-girls-one-cup to me

TO Phil: Shut up, buttmunch, I'm talking about my dumb wrist thing.

FROM Phil: Dan, you've gotta stop worrying about that. You know what's worse than "Could you get the milk?" Mine is, that's what. I can't even have a dumb conversation with someone remotely close without worrying they're gonna drop dead. I've learned to get over it.

TO Phil: But you're used to it. I'm not. You've got all your highly educated Senior friends to keep you level-headed. I'm still a gross Junior.

FROM Phil: I'm your highly-educated senior friend, and I'm telling you to calm your tits. It'll be fine, sugar lump.

TO Phil: Yeah, whatever, asshat.

FROM Phil: Cumballoon

TO Phil: Shitmonger