psychedelia | phan

2: You Fucking Spoon

Let me establish one things first; I'm not a morning person, and neither is Phil. Generally though, most mornings we're too sleepy to even acknowledge each others presences until we've drank some sugar and caffeine. Sometimes, we watch sports anime at ten in the morning to break us gently into the day.

But this morning is different.

My head pounds with a white hot headache that feels like something's internally stabbing my brain (or whatever is left of it at this point) as I drag my heels up the hall from my room to the bathroom upstairs to clean myself up a small bit before breakfast. The stairs are like trying to climb a vertical mountain and each step is like hell. When I reach the landing, I hear something and I freeze. I stop breathing for five seconds to see if I hear it again.

There it is again; the sound of someone - Phil - throwing up in the bathroom. Is he okay? Is he ill? I hate intruding, but I silently step across the landing and to the bathroom door, and softly graze my knuckles against the door. I hear a startled gasp and a tap running water.

"Are you alright in there, Philly?" I ask him, my voice husky.

There is a long pause, and then a mumbled, "go away Dan, please."

I step back from the door as I hear the lock turning. The door swings open to reveal a pale faced Phil, with his raven black hair stuck to his forehead. He lowers his head and knots his hands together. He looks terrible, and the word sick is a total understatement.

"I...I don't feel so good," Phil admits. "I think I have a bug."

"No shit," I shake my head at him, laughing lightly. Phil, however, does not see the funny side of this.

"It's not funny," he scowls. "And anyway, where did you go last night? I went into your room after eleven and I couldn't find you. Did you go out?"

My heart stops dead in my chest. Fuck. Phil woke up and he knows that I went out. I panic briefly, but then I realise that he still doesn't know about the drugs and I'm still safe. Still, it's early in the morning and I'm in no form for being questioned about my whereabouts last night. "Probably. Why?"

Phil's jaw drops wide open. "Why? I was bloody worried, Dan. You always tell me when you're going out somewhere, you walnut."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realise that I had to consult with you before I go out somewhere. I didn't know I required your fucking permission," I snap, and I realise that I'm being irrational. Maybe I'm being too defensive, but I'm mad now.

Phil throws his hands up. "Are we actually having this conversion? What year is it again? 2012? Do you forget that we live with each other, Dan? I have a right to be worried."

My cheeks heat up at the mention of 2012. "You fucking spoon," I growl. "I'm sorry, okay? Next time I'll remember to call a baby sitter for the next time I go out without you. Okay? Sorry for leaving you alone."

Phil's cheeks heat up and I can tell that maybe I'm pushing him too far, but I can't help it. I just keep pushing. "You're such a baby. Stop taking everything I say to heart."

Without answering me, he turns and marches down the stairs. Under the light, I see tears shining in his eyes. My heart splinters.

Before he is completely out of shot, I hear him say, "the bathroom is free, by the way."

And that's when I feel bad. Was that argument really even necessary? After all, Phil didn't even say anything mean. It was all me.

As usual.

+++

In the lounge, we sit in silence with a bowl of Cheerios each on our laps, and our phones in our hands. From the corner of my eye, I watch Phil. He's so perfect; his hair is choppy and a little messy but it's beautiful and dark and exactly how I wish mine was. His eyes are blue and green and yellow and they glitter like the sun's reflection on the ocean. I hate it when we fight. Phil means everything to me, and I'm scared that if I ever lose him I won't have anything to live for anymore.

Hell, it's hard enough to find things to live for at the moment. I don't want to lose the one thing that's keeping me tethered to the world. Phil fucking Lester.

Sometimes he tells me that I don't talk enough and I'm too quiet. That I hide things from him and get lost inside my own head. It's true; I do that a lot. But Phil takes it so personally, like I'm purposefully not telling him what's running around my head to irritate him and make him doubt himself, but that's not at all true. I stay silent sometimes because I'm scared of fucking up the only friendships that I have, and that I've ever had in my life. Phil means so much to me and losing him would be the death of me.

I had a dream last night after I crashed into bed about Phil. In the dream he was dead and I was at his funeral. Everyone wore black and the coffin was made of glass so I could see his body, and Phil's mother kept begging me to go and speak to Phil in the glass box. All I can remember is the feeling of dread and panic, and the desire to run as far away from that scene as I possibly could. To be honest, I don't know what I'd do if Phil died. I think I'd die with him too.

"Phil," I whisper, but he doesn't look up. I know he can hear me though. "Phil, look at me."

His eyes stay focused on his phone and I resist the urge to roll my eyes to heaven. He's being difficult on purpose, and he fucking knows it. I sigh heavily, and listen to the sound of Phil's metal spoon clinking off the sides of the cereal bowl as he crunches on the Cheerios. On my iPhone, I open iMessage and tap the thread for Phil.

On Phil's phone, I know he has my name listed as Bear, which is funny and cute in a platonic way of course, but on my phone Phil is simply listed as Phil Lester. And I know this annoys him a little, but the honest truth is because I love the sound of his name so much. It sounds like home and security.

phil, i'm sorry i shouted at you this morning, I type, reading over each word twenty times. i hate fighting with you, and i hate this silence. i hate not being able to talk to you, because you're my best friend and when you're ignoring me it feels like a piece of me is missing. i promise i won't yell at you like that again. i was just tired and craving caffeine, and i know that doesn't excuse the way i treated you but i'm sorry. please talk to me, phil.

My finger hovers over the send icon before I tap it and it delivers the message. Five seconds later, Phil's phone chimes. He doesn't glance over at me as he opens the text message and reads it. I watch him intensely; the way his bright eyes flicker left and right as he reads each line of my message, the way his face softens as he draws nearer to the end of the text, and the way he doesn't fix his dark fringe even when it tumbles into his glowing eyes. Phil drops the phone into his lap and finally turns to me. It's stupid, but my heartbeat thunders in my ears as his eyes settle on me. He exhales loudly.

"Dan," he sighs. "I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault, at least not all of it. I was just wondering where you went last night because I was worried about you."

Phil's eyes soften, but he still looks exhausted and I can tell that there's something in the back of his mind that he isn't telling me. That the thing about the two of us; we're pretty good at keeping secrets from the Phandom but pretty shit at keeping secrets from each other. I can generally read Phil like an open book, and he can read me. Which is why I'm trying my hardest to keep the things I do at night under wraps.

"I just went for a walk to clear my head," I shrug. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Phil watches me closely for another three seconds before his face lightens and he smiles. It's the type of smile that could coax a suicidal person off the top of a bridge, or stop a child crying. It's contagious, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips too. But what's killing me is the dull ache within my heart that lets me know that I haven't been honest with Phil. The last person in the world that I want to hurt is Phil.

But I am nothing but secrets and lies.