Connection (a phan soulmate au)

eighteen

dan knew he fucked up. everytime something bad happens, it always involved dan, like he was a bad omen. it was as if his lack of string had casted a spell on him, causing harm to everyone he loves. he was that one crack that everyone wanted gone, that one flaw in the perfect family.

he had driven his father away, and then phil. someone that he was closest to, someone he adored. he was clinging onto that one thin strand of hope, and then the string had torn whatever's left of that hope, leaving him in the dark with nothing to look forward to.

he had just realised how dependent he was on phil. his reason to wake up was phil; his motivation to do his homework was phil; his happiness was phil.

dan sat at a park near the tower, no longer attractive to him, his hands shaking and his hair a mess. he had tried chasing phil, but that boy was fast, and dan had no stamina compared to phil.

phil lester. the boy he had a crush on, and the boy he had kissed, whom had kissed back. the boy whose string he had broken, whose heart he had shattered.

tear tracks were visible on his face, his eyes rimmed with redness and his nose a splotch of pink, the aftermath of his crying. his lips were bruised due to his biting, and he wanted to scrub it as hard as possible to get rid of phil's taste. if it meant getting phil's soulmate back, he would do everything and anything, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

he wasn't any good to anyone anyway.

he must've looked like a complete mess to anyone walking pass, but he didn't care. his heart was aching and he needed to calm down and rethink his situation.

he looked up at the sky, and closed his eyes, trying his best not to hyperventilate. he noticed a crowd of pigeons nearby, triggering his memory of phil feeding pigeons and chasing them away, smiling and radiating positivity, his red string still there.

"fuck!" he yelled, causing a few pigeons to flutter away, only to land a few inches away from their original position again. a few civilians stared at him, shocked by his sudden outburst, but as he made eye contact with them, they hurriedly looked away, pretending as if they weren't looking at him.

he looked down on his clothes, and god did he want to rip them away and scrub his body hard, make his skin peel and his flesh raw in order to rid of phil and his scent; to stand under the hot scorching shower and let the water burn him, let it melt away his skin and leave nothing but his skeleton behind, because he was aware that phil would never come close to him ever again, and his subconscious would remind him that it was all his fault.

wearing phil's clothes felt like a sin, and dan laughed because kissing phil was a sin too, but he still did it.

he stood up and kicked a pebble, before picking up his backpack and turning around, avoiding the eiffel tower. he didn't need a reminder of what had happened, although it was constantly at the back of his mind, nagging and gnawing at him and his heart.

he felt like a thief: stealing people's happiness and peace just by being in others' lives. he was shameless: knowing that he was a disaster, yet he still involved himself in others, staying close to them, hoping that it wouldn't be the same case as before but it always happens. it's a cycle for dan, and no matter how hard he tries to break away from it, it will still suck him and his family and friends into the vortex of doom.

he found a public toilet nearby, and he went in and locked the door, secluding himself from the outer world. he ignored the mirror that was hanging by the wall, and proceeded to take off his clothes, switching to wearing his hoodie only. he dumped the clothes into a plastic bag, which he carelessly squeezed into his already filled bag. as he made his way to the door, he couldn't help but glance at his reflection in the mirror.

his hair was a literal bird's nest, but no birds would want to live in those oily and unkempt curls. his eyes were a little swollen, the edges red and bloodshot. his cheeks and nose were still dusted red, and there were bruises on his lips due to his unhealthy habit of always biting them when he's nervous or stressed.

but that wasn't what he saw. all he saw were the flashbacks when he met phil for the first time, when they had started talking; when they had laughed at even the minor things until their stomachs hurt; when one of them had cried and the other consoled him until he was okay; all the little things that they had done together. flashbacks of moments before their kiss, and during it. he smiled.

but soon, it all hit him. flashbacks of phil's face, scared and terrified, when he stared at his own hands which were lacking the string; of phil when he ran from dan; of phil screaming in horror, fleeing. all because of him.

he let out a scream of anger, guilt and regret, and punched the mirror. and as his fist collided with the glassy material, it shattered into a million pieces, cracks running along the edges and broken shards falling, some cutting into his skin making him wince in pain.

he stared at the disfigured him, breathing heavily. beads of crimson red blood were forming where the glass cut him, threatening to pool and spill, some were already forming streams of red down his arm. lashing out only caused nothing but more pain.

he let his fist down, and washed his arm, not bothering to clean up the mess that he had made at the sink. as he looked up at the broken mirror, he let out a howl of laughter. he sure was going to get seven years of bad luck.

but what's another seven years when you are one yourself?