emotions (phan)

one

(a/n: the first few chapters are pretty cringeworthy since this was my first phanfic/boyxboy fic that i ever wrote)

"Stop, you're gonna kill him!"

I refused. I hit and hit, kicking and throwing punches at the man underneath me. I had him pinned to the bar table, my knuckles covered in his own blood. People watched and called for help, running out the restaurant or standing still with shock. No one dared to try and get in between us.

"Get off him!" A different voice shouted.

Without warning a pair of arms yanked me off him, and I growled, spinning on my heel to look at the person who pulled me off. "What the f-"

I cut myself off when I saw his eyes.

The bluest irises I had ever seen, feeling as if they were piercing right through me like an arrow to a target. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The chaos around me sounded fuzzy, the others seemed blurry- all besides him. He was clear, verbally and physically.

Black, messy hair. Pale. Pink lips. A small navy button-down hugging his chest.

I shook myself out of my trance, angry again. "What'd you do that for?" I cried. He didn't flinch once, instead glaring at me.

"You were going to kill him if I didn't stop you. You're lucky I saved your childish ass from prison. So you're welcome."

My jaw dropped as he began to walk off but I grabbed at his sweater, forcing him to stay. He turned to me, raising an eyebrow.

"Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?"

"Phil Lester at your service," he replied with a coy smile, adding a sarcastic bow before turning and strutting away. I stood there in shock, lips parted as I struggled to come up with a snarky response. "Pleasure to meet you, asshole!" Phil added, waltzing out the door.

I glared past him, turning my attention back to the bleeding man still laying on the table. I picked him up by his coat, staring straight into his brown eyes.

"Jamie, I gave you the money. So where is it?"

"I-I couldn't find it, I-I'm sorry! I'll get more of it as soon as I can, Dan! Just please don't hurt me anymore!" His eyes watered and he trembled in my grasp, terrified.

I groaned in frustration, letting go of him. People began calming down, going back to their own business. The waitresses continued serving and the drinks proceeded pouring, music blaring through the speakers and customers' conversations adding onto it.

"If I don't have the damn bag by next week, I'll find you, and this time there won't be anyone to pull me off. Got it, J?"

Jamie nodded frantically, raising his hands in surrender.

"I think it's time for you to go, kid," an older man spoke softly. I decided not to start another fight, obliging and going back to my flat.

In New York City, fights like those occurred almost everyday, so police didn't really bother coming to the rescue. They have before, and I did get caught, but my mom bailed me out the same night.

She hadn't talked to me since. I mean, what's there to talk about when your son doesn't have any emotions to share?

I shoved my hands in my jacket, pushing my fringe from out of my eyes as I walked down the puddle-covered streets of the crowded town.

"Watch where you're going!" A man scolded when I accidentally bumped into him. I huffed.

"Shut up," I groaned, dragging my feet along the cement as I trudged away from the stranger.

Once I got home, I shoved my keys in the lock, shutting the door and locking it again once I was inside. I turned on the lights, exhaling, glad to finally be home. I stripped off my clothes and hopped in the shower, then pulled on some boxers, climbing into bed.

Honestly, having no feelings- you still felt alone. Because not only is it a feeling, it's a noun: loneliness. A thing. In fact, Shakespeare created the word. Lonely.

People are a noun, more specifically a human. So when they aren't around, loneliness replaces it, therefore it becomes the noun. It becomes the thing you once had, because now that you don't have that friend, you have the dread that keeps you company instead. It haunts you like a ghost that you can't get rid of.

Living in an empty apartment dorm wasn't exciting, but it was better for me, considering I didn't want to have a roommate. My aggressive side controls me now, since I turned off all the reasons to be nice.

I did have a job, but it was the worst career you could think of. I'm the college dropout that fixes cars for a living. I go to a building, someone pulls up in their car and explains the problem then leaves, and I work on it for hours- usually going home covered in oil or dirt.

The many bars and weekly clubbing makes up for it. I bring someone home, having some fun with them, then never seeing them again. After all, PJ told me I was worthless. I have to make use of myself somehow.

He's too busy living happily ever after somewhere else, and possibly with someone else.

And weed. That's another thing making up for my dull existence. Jamie, my dealer, wasn't able to provide tonight and I wasn't happy about it. I liked the way it felt in my skin, in my head, in my veins.

And here I am, pondering life at three in the morning with a broken AC and a stray cat meowing outside my window.

But for some reason I struggled to sleep that night, the only thing on my mind being specific blue eyes and tangled black hair.

And I didn't know why, but I hoped to see that cocky pale boy again. What's his name?

Oh, right.

Phil Lester.