Falling for you (phan)

Part 3

That night when Phil got home he threw his keys into a bowl in the hall and dumped his bag. He stretched his arms up, unknotting the aches in his shoulder that had appeared earlier today when he was lifting a box of text books. He walked through to his kitchen and flipped on the kettle, dumping a teabag into a mug and rummaging in the fridge for milk. As soon as the kettle clicked he poured the boiling water into the mug and yawned. He was really tired, but he still smiled from the events of the day.

As his tea was brewing he walked back and picked up his bag, pulling out a drawing he had received earlier. He smiled at it, gently touching the words beside it. He grinned. He knew it was from Dan, no one else could have drawn something that amazing, not even the art teachers, and of course the handwriting was his.

He carried it through to the kitchen and put it on the table, fishing out the teabag and adding the milk. He took a long sip, breathing out calmly afterwards. Tea always made him relax more, not matter what had happened.

He walked up to his room, balancing the tea and a plate of biscuits in his hands, the picture tucked under his arm. He put it on the table in his study along with the tea and cookies and started rummaging in one of the draws. He brought out an old frame with a picture of an old boyfriend in it. He took the old picture out, glanced at it, then tore it down the middle, throwing it in the bin. He placed Dan's portrait of himself inside, clipping the frame back in place. He stood it up next to his laptop, smiling at it. Should he tell Dan he liked it? Or pretend it never happened? He didn't want other people finding out, it could lead to a whole world of shit. But he did want to find a way to show Dan his thanks.

That night in bed he gazed at the picture from his bed. He had moved it to the small table next to it, sitting there happily with his lamp and book. He smiled at it, aching for Dan to know how much it had meant to him. But then he started to feel horrible. What was he doing? This was his student, a teenage boy. Phil was a grown man.

He quickly opened up a draw in the table and shoved the frame inside, hiding it away with a snap of the draw. He couldn't let himself think this way.

He flicked off his light and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep, but he couldn't relax. He had no sleep that night, he was an insomniac, only able to think about Dan. It was slowly driving him mad.

The next day after not seeing Dan at all (much to his disappointment), he was driving back from work, when he saw Dan riding his bike along the pavement.

He drove slowly next to him and waved, and Dan laughed foolishly and waved back, losing control of the bike and clumsily crashing into a fence, landing on the floor, looking almost unconscious, a large scrape across his cheek.

"Oh my god!" Phil shouted worriedly. He pulled up near Dan and ran out of the car, kneeling over the boy. He shook him a little and breathed out heavily as he heard a moan escape Dan's lips. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of his history teacher, hand on his shoulder, looking worriedly into his eyes.
"Thank god. Are you okay?" He asked hurriedly.
"Yeah I guess," Dan said, wiggling his limbs gingerly, nothing seemed in pain. He lifted himself off the pavement but stopped abruptly as his vision went blurry. A sharp stabbing sensation appeared in his leg as he tried to move it again.
"Fuck," he said under his breath.
"You alright?" Phil asked, seeming to brush over his outright swearing.
"My leg really kills, ouch. Fuck," he swore again, it was too painful not to.
"Which one?" Phil asked. Dan pointed to his right one, and Phil carefully placed his hands on it. He felt it nervously, seeing if there seemed to be any more damage then a few cuts and scrapes. "You could have sprained it, but it's probably just have bad bruising." he said, letting go gently. Dan only just got what he was saying, he was too wound up in the feeling of his teacher touching him.