arms: a prequel // {phan}

dan : before

Part One (of Three): The Heart // Dan's Beginning~

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS CUTTING AND SUICIDE REFERENCES AND DEPRESSION.

I had always been prone to falling in love easily.

When I was seven, I fell in love with bicycling. I had begged my parents for a bike for my birthday, and happily, when June had rolled around, my parents granted my wish. That summer I'd spent the whole time with scraped knees and elbows, and a toothless grin from baby teeth that had sprung free prematurely. I'd been tired and sweaty, the bike helmet itchy on my head in the deep heat, but I'd still pushed my new bike up the hill, only to be swept away with the wind when I'd rode down.

When I was ten, I fell in love with drawing. My eyes had lit up as my parents and I had been shopping, as we had passed the art supplies section. Again, I'd thrown myself into the joy head first, drawing everything I'd seen, the colors vibrant and mismatched, the lines messy. Gradually though, I'd became more careful, more diligent about practice and line precision, until I'd been the best in my class.

When I was thirteen, I fell in love with a boy. I hadn't known his name, only that he'd been very pretty, the kind of pretty that hurt your eyes and made you squint. I'd told him as much, my face blank almost like even when I'd been saying it, it still baffled me. The boy's mouth had turned up before he'd said, "Probably not very pretty on the inside though," and then had laughed.

It wasn't until I was fifteen that I'd realize the boy might not have been joking, and that maybe loving things too much, wasn't always good.

I was a boy of humble beginnings and messy endings, which is why loving things usually ended with me getting hurt.

***

The breeze was nice, a filter of air cutting through the stifling room, allowing the students to breathe for a moment. It was the last day of eighth grade, summer lurking outside the unlit room, while the projector flashed images from some PG movie no one was interested in.

Aaron and I sat in the back, tucked away from everyone else, as we reviewed plans for my fourteenth birthday party— me doodling on Aaron's arm with a sharpie.

"It's not fair that you're older than me, when you're the one who's way more immature!" I whispered.

"I don't make the rules," Aaron whispered back, head on his folded arms as half smiled. I laughed, only to laugh harder when Aaron shushed me.

"We're going to get in trouble," Aaron said, shoving out a hand to cover my mouth, before I battled it away.

"So?" I whispered, continuing to doodle on Aaron's arm, drawing small dragons and birds. "What are they going to do— suspend us? Expel us?"

I looked up and smiled at Aaron, as he smiled back just as fondly— even if I could tell it was still a little flat.

Something had been off with Aaron lately, something I couldn't place. Although in retrospect, I had always noticed something was off with Aaron, even since the day I'd spotted him across the playground. Every lunch he took oval-shaped white pills, never offering an answer for why, though I never really asked.

I hadn't seen him take them this week.

I'd wanted to ask, but didn't want to pry.

Talking with Aaron was a slippery slope; sometimes when conversations were left open ended, no resolve, where Aaron wouldn't talk to me for days on end, and then pick everything back up like it was nothing— I was tempted to pry.

"Don't be a brat, brat." Aaron said ruffling my hair. But in moments like this, where Aaron was sweet and content, I became unsure again. It was that dangerous middle ground— never doing anything but always worrying about everything.