All He Wrote // Phan AU

Chapter 0.5

A/N I forgot this story existed so sorry I haven't updated but here is a prewritten chapter
I hope you like it
Have a great day and remember someone loves you.

------------------------

Silver – The feeling of lust or longing for something you don't have. Synonyms: Lust, longing, want, desire.

Dan's P.O.V

When days and weeks go by without a single memorable event, its mind numbing. Thoughts that were once running through my head have stopped like there is a destruction on the railroad for my train of thought. All I can do is write.

Writing about things I know nothing about because the process in my head has been disabled. Write about heartbreak and death and suicide and depression and love.

I know nothing about any of these things.

Except maybe love. Maroon.

I leave note after note for a boy who will not notice me but I don't want him to. He only loves what I leave behind for him, not what I am.

I only hope that one day he will catch up and change his mind. Sunset orange.

The boy with white skin and black hair has me in a chokehold, sucking in each of my outward breaths, and I cannot escape. But I would gladly lose my breath for him to breathe.

I want to know what colour he is. I want to know if it matches his eyes or his skin or if he a complete contrast. I have no idea who he is but I don't think he knows who he is either.

The only time I see him is in lessons of human history. Ironic. Lessons teaching us on the inevitable fall of mankind when kings and queens meet is the lesson in which I found my prince charming. Watching him from the front of class is as close as I can get without disturbing the impenetrable force his has walled up around himself. Can't I just get a little closer? Touch his pale skin with the tips of my fingers. Fix his messy hair back into place when he is focusing too hard on something. Kiss his pale pink lips...

Not good thoughts for class.

He's getting my notes. He combes through them every day in every lesson, squinting at my messy writing. Trying to put each piece together as if they could fit the mould of puzzle pieces.

They don't. Trust me.

Every day of my life is spent putting colours on paper. Then inevitably failing at putting them together. But I still try, every single day. Because one day maybe one will make sense.

Ringing bells, running feet, inward groans. Lesson starts.

Take your eyes off the boy Howell

But he's so beautiful...

Just write

Pen to paper. Mind to ink. Everything I have ever longed for tied up in a neat little bow with fraying edges.

Stop focusing

Phil's P.O.V

For the third time today I pull the small miss-matched pieces of paper out of my pockets and comb through them. It's been weeks since I received the first note and since then I have been finding them almost every day. I have come to the conclusion that they are being left for me. They always revolve around my classes and as far as I know no one else has found any of these poems.

Every time I go through these notes one always sticks out to me.

When I was a kid, I would play "the ground is lava" everywhere I went

Jumping from tables to beds hoping I wouldn't slip

But when I was six I fell to the floor and found out what it was like to "die"

To my surprise it was just bundles of laughter mixed with unintentional lies, and a skinned knee that my mum kissed better

She told me to be more careful, and I promised I'd try

But as the years flew by, lava turned into hopscotch played with cigarettes and knives

Shattering lives like glass houses with the stones we threw

Shattering our own was not a feeling of new

But we never knew that the lines in our game would turn to lines of cocaine

And the lines on my wrist would be my novocaine

And we didn't know love would become one of our games

"I love you more" would turn into a fight

Leaving bruises like hickeys night after night

And everything turned into a competition to see who could take their own life

But you didn't know

That since I was six I haven't been afraid to die

My eyes begin to tear and the pain in my chest returns. How could someone feel something like this? This type of heartbreaking betrayal. Just reading about it makes me want to tear my own heart out. I place all of the miscellaneous pieces of paper into the front pocket of my bag and wait for the bell to signify the beginning of my long day. I sit in the back of home room as usual, just watching everybody run around kicking soccer balls or talking to their friends loudly.

Once the bell rings I wait for the other students to file out of the classroom in an unorganised mess before I start making my way to history. But before I can even make my way out of the room Mr. Mitchel stops me in my tracks.

"You really have to start sitting at the front of class Philip." Mr. Mitchel has replaced his joking manner with a much more serious and concerned tone. "Your grades are falling exponentially. I know you have some learning problems but you need to try harder."

"I do try" I manage to choke out with a mix of small sobs and shallow breaths. That's the one thing I cannot stand. People saying I don't try hard enough. I try as hard as I can with everything.

"Just try it out" he mutters, his voice filled with sympathy. Keeping my back turned to him, I shrug and walk as fast as I can out of the classroom.

Maybe it will help me a bit.

History is the one thing I need right now. Probably my worst subject but almost every lesson I find one of these little notes that give me some kind of hope. I'll try this out, only one day though. If it doesn't work I'm going back to my spot hidden in the back where nobody can see me.

Walking through halls and across a small field of grass gives me the time to choke back my sobs and put a neutral smile back in its place. Without hesitation I walk straight into the classroom but I notice the room in almost full. My detour around the field left me with no time before the lesson starts. The only spare seats are my original seat, one next to a quiet boy in the second row and a seat next to a pretty girl near the window in the third row.

Not in the mood for sexual harassment, I take a seat next to the quiet boy and watch as writes his heart out in letters that look vaguely familiar. I don't think he has noticed I'm here.

"And that was all he wrote."

I chuckle to myself at my own lame joke and he jumps out of his skin. His mouth opens as if he were to scream but nothing comes out except a high pitched sigh.

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you" I stutter out and he shuffles back a little bit, obviously terrified for some unknown reason. He eventually calms down and looks at me with a questioning look. With that I delve into an explanation.