arms // {phan}

chapter five - dan

Chapter Five - Dan:

It started with blonde, overflowing amounts of blonde, curling everywhere the eye could find- enough to make even Rapunzel envious.

The afternoon was dreary as I sat in the back of the art room, sketching absent mindedly, the sky's funeral-like attitude reveling in its teenage angst- its "grunge" phase. The day was nearly over and I hadn't seen Phil yet, my anxiety growing by the minute.

Since the evening of the dinner with Phil and his family- well, family plus Aphrodite- he'd been giving me rides to school. Rides, that made it so hard to remember the promises I made myself. Because drives with Phil were always unexpected, even when I'd spend the whole night before trying to prepare myself.

Sometimes they were like all the air had been sucked out of the room- Phil's back tense in some hidden anger and arms bare, his tattoo's winking at me mischievously, not a word breathed between us in fear of a cosmic explosion.

Sometimes they were like visiting the ocean- Phil's wild eyes like seashells I wished to collect, his words about something he felt passionate- being caught in the salty wind sneaking in from the rolled down windows, and carried away for the world to hear.

Sometimes they were like sitting in a church- a hundred different parts of Phil's history colliding into each other simultaneously, in a cacophony of shattered glass transformed to chalk, a mosaic of all Past Phil's trying to seep out, while I tried to keep up in rain of words he was weeping.

Everytime was different. Except-

No matter what the mood- repressed anger, bare joy, deep sorrow or enthusiasm- Phil always managed to fill in the awkward silences I couldn't. He managed to be both loud and soft- loud like he was drowning out the sound of rushing water I never stopped hearing, and soft like he was caressing the fragile pages of my old life. I was beginning to become desperately attached to Phil Lester, enough to make me stay up at night thinking about his ghostly face, but not like I had when I was with Aaron. I never wanted anything to be like it was when I was with Aaron.

But with this attachment came obsession. And with this obsession came worry.

So there I sat, in the messy art room, the dull throb of worry in my throat- similar to that of this mornings- when I realized Phil wasn't coming.

And what a humiliating moment that had been.

I was so lost in thought I didn't immediately notice the usual gold appearance- a few students in front of them giving him unintentional cover- and I was too involved with my latest drawing to care. It wasn't until they sat down right across from me, grumbling like an old Chevy truck engine, and muttering quick angry latin under his breath.

I jerked my head up to find Phil in all his shocking glory.

At first, I didn't understand- there was so much blonde! It was covering all of Phil's once black hair, the butter colored locks curled angrily behind his ears and pushed up from his forehead.

I'd admit, it did suit him in a way- although, Phil Lester could probably wear or do anything and manage to pull it off spectacularly.

His face was crumpled into a tight expression, as if it physically pained him to have his hair this humiliating color.

Been messing with bleach again, have we? I signed, forgetting completely the anxiety of this morning.

With Phil, I'd gotten used to being more bold, but never would I be as comfortable as Phil when he spoke. He was able to say everything and anything, and able to execute it as though he was stealing all the words in the room and claiming them, leaving his opponent speechless.