Summary: Dan's going to try to make the most of college with his best friend despite the words on his wrist.
Genre: Fluff, angst. But like it's good angst. Love me some good angst.
Warnings: Ooee okay so we got some swearing, some drinking, some character death and a theme of death whoops.
Dan had always been one for irony. Dan's first word had, as he'd been told endearingly by his parents many times, been "milk." Apparently little baby him had seen it on his wrist so many times, and heard it so encouragingly spoken by his mother and father, that it'd been the first coherent thought to escape his mouth. He hated milk. Ironic.
Now, he sat at his desk, his Math Analysis papers sitting crumpled with erase marks so violent they were nearly holes, and he ran his thumb harshly over those words. In all of his sixteen years, he'd resented them, those overly casual words tattooed on his wrist like a sentencing date. They practically were.
Dan was tired of hearing the annoyed complaints of the people who'd curiously asked what his mark said, or the teary-eyed and condescending pats on the shoulders that he got from the girls in his grade when they saw it.
Everyone had them, those words branded on to their skin by the Forediligites at birth. Most people had unique ones like "Your eyes shine so brightly in the moonlight" or "I love you, my little carrot," but of course Dan got stuck with one of the most casual ones humanly possible. "Could you get the milk?" So far in his life, he'd counted that his mom had asked him to get the milk twenty-seven times, and not once had she died in some horrific accident after those words were uttered. Of course, his mom tried to avoid the exact wording as often as possible so as to ease his anxiety, but the Foredigligites weren't known for being exactly accurate in their wording, so that didn't stop him from worrying for his mother's life every time he went to the store to buy milk at her request. Of course, he knew that the words on his wrist were the last words that his soulmate would ever say to him, but how was he to know that he wouldn't be that one loser whose mom was his soulmate? Weirder things had happened. One guy, Dan couldn't remember the name, had had "meow" tattooed onto his wrist, and his cat had said that right before it kicked the can. If some dude's cat could be his soulmate, there was certainly nothing stopping his mom from being his.
He glared down at his math homework, as if it was the very seer that had sealed his fate to his wrist. There was no way he'd be able to think about formulas when so much was on his mind. He set his pencil down.
TO Phil: I can't do my math homework when the world is ending.
FROM Phil: What's up sugar pup
TO Phil: I just keep thinking about fucking milk, man.
FROM Phil: You want to have sex with milk? IDK dude sounds pretty two-girls-one-cup to me
TO Phil: Shut up, buttmunch, I'm talking about my dumb wrist thing.
FROM Phil: Dan, you've gotta stop worrying about that. You know what's worse than "Could you get the milk?" Mine is, that's what. I can't even have a dumb conversation with someone remotely close without worrying they're gonna drop dead. I've learned to get over it.
TO Phil: But you're used to it. I'm not. You've got all your highly educated Senior friends to keep you level-headed. I'm still a gross Junior.
FROM Phil: I'm your highly-educated senior friend, and I'm telling you to calm your tits. It'll be fine, sugar lump.
TO Phil: Yeah, whatever, asshat.
FROM Phil: Cumballoon
TO Phil: Shitmonger
FROM Phil: Bowl haircut fuck
TO Phil: did you just use "Yer a Wizard, Harry" insults against me?
FROM Phil: I can do what I want, Dan. Do your homework.
TO Phil: Fine, mom.
FROM Phil: *high-pitched mom voice* G'night, sweetie
Dan hated his math homework a little less after that.
~
"You're taking a gap year?" asked Dan two months later, his mind revelling in thoughts of mountains and road trips and attractions, "dude that's so cool."
Phil walked backwards in front of Dan, checking behind him now and then to make sure his backpack didn't ram into anyone trying to hustle out to their bus. "Yeah, and I haven't told my mom this yet because she'd think I'm gayer than she already does, but guess who'll be in college the same year as me if I take a year off?" Phil wiggled his eyebrows and Dan laughed.
"Hm, the guy from your Calculus class?" Dan teased, remembering all the comments of calculus boy's ass.
Phil slapped him on the shoulder. "No, asswipe, now don't you go making me regret starting college late for your sorry ass."
"You love my sorry ass," said Dan as they both turned to enter the narrow doors to their bus.
"Depends on what you mean by that statement," said Phil, and he chuckled when Dan raised an eyebrow, "no, you're right, it's true both ways."
They were both grinning as they took their usual seat next to the fire escape window.
~
Dan couldn't believe he'd made it through highschool. There was no way that these boxes in his room were full of his stuff ready to be shipped off to college, and no way that the letter in his hand was one accepting him to his dream university, to which he'd be going at the same time as his dream best friend. Life was surreal.
He took his box of bedding, his brand new chair, and his paint-splattered desk down the stairs one at a time, and he realized that maybe life didn't suck as bad as he had thought.
~
Dorming came around and Dan and Phil were paired in separate rooms, but it didn't matter because life was great. The words on Dan's arm were no longer covered in layers of marker, and there was a lack of red due to Dan's not picking at it. The words of the future were nothing, because here he was in the present, and it was better than anything his mind cooked up about later. He had classes to go to, and of course he didn't much appreciate having to haul ass to those, and he had no clue where he was going in life, but it didn't matter because he had new experiences to live through and new friends to make and a better support system than he could have asked for in his life. College was a free space where he could eat pizza between classes and sure that meant he wasn't getting homework done but did it matter if Phil was doing it too?
His free periods were spent in Phil's dorm or out in the sunshine-y campus with Phil's laugh in his ear, or in his room with Phil's texts in his hand, and if he was being quite honest, he thought life was treating him quite well. If he was to express any of this to Phil, it generally came out as "you're not half bad, asshole" but they both knew that it meant the same thing.
It was on one of these lazy days in Phil's dorm that Phil got a text from a girl he'd met in his Science class.
Hey, it read, Jack's gotten himself invited to a party and he's invited you and me along with him. You can bring whoever. It'll be down by the lake.
Phil made sure to read the text out to Dan in an extra high-pitched voice. "So what do you think? You up for going?"
Dan bit at the nonexistent loose skin on his lower lip. "I don't know, Phil, parties aren't exactly my scene. Plus, I'm literally a stick, any alcohol consumption I do will probably have me dead or licking some dude's face in like two minutes."
Phil smiled. "So that's a yes then?"
Dan sighed. "Yes, it's a yes."
That's how Dan found himself clutching uncertainly to Phil's arm at a party he'd never intended on going to at eleven at night. No one gave them a second glance as they walked down the grassy slope towards the lake, but for the few people eyeing Dan up to decide if Phil was fair game.
Dan didn't know what he had expected. He'd assumed there may be loud music as he'd seen in all those movies, but considering the party was outside, he didn't know if that'd be probable. Speculation did him no good, and when he arrived to equal parts loud talking and music, he figured this pretty much lined up. There were red plastic cups in nearly everyone's hand, bar the few frat boys who carried four or five. The clothing wasn't exceptionally short, and all in all, Dan didn't know whether it lived up to his expectations or not.
He rubbed subconsciously at the ink on his wrist, and he only wished he could hold Phil's hand, so maybe he'd have something to do with his own. Not that he hadn't done it before, but he didn't feel as if he'd be acting as a proper wingman if he made it seem like Phil wasn't available. Then again, it could help him play up the super sweet and sensitive guy thing. He decided he'd just ask.
"You going for sensitive or hardcore 'will totally bang you against a wall while wearing leather' today?"
"I'd say hardcore today. Gotta build up my cred," he said the last part in a mocking tone, lightly bumping his shoulder into Dan's.
Dan kept his hand planted firmly to his side.
"See how many numbers we get and meet back here in ten?" Phil asked, and Dan nodded.
The flickering glances he sent Phil's way while chatting up random people showed Phil was going for his usual lean and charming smile combo, while Dan went for his normal approach: the "I'm totally awkward um can I have your number please wow I dropped my drink." Considering it took no acting at all, Dan found it the easiest.
Phil was happily chatting with a boy with greased-back hair while Dan was fumbling around in a small crowd of girls, all of whom giggled particularly loudly at his awful jokes when they found that their ten minutes was up. They separated themselves from the others and met up by the tiki torches.
"Alright, normal procedure. I count the numbers on your arm, and you count the numbers on mine. Let's go." They both lightly jabbed at each other's upper and forearms, silently counting the amount of sloppily-scribbled numbers the other person had gotten.
"Alright three, two, one,"
"seven!" said Phil, at the same time that Dan said "five!"
Phil looked taken aback. "You got seven numbers? How the hell?"
Dan grinned. "I went cute and sappy."
The stare Dan received from Phil was one of mock betrayal. "That's it," he shook his head and smoothed his hair back down into his usual fringe, "no more leather. It's dork sappy Phil from here on out. This means I've gotta look like I'm super nice to you."
Dan laughed and then regained his composure, batting his eyelashes. "That won't be too hard, will it?"
"Maybe not, dork," said Phil, grabbing his hand, "maybe not."
Forty-five minutes later, Phil hadn't left Dan's side, despite explicitly stating a few hours earlier that he'd planned on flirting his ass off. They were in the middle of a discussion with a few girls about which Attack on Titan character was most important to the show when another guy trotted light-heartedly down the slope towards the party. Dan's eyes widened and he pulled Phil to the side, his head ducked low. "Phil," he hissed, "it's him. It's Dean. Why the fuck is he here oh my God I'm gonna die."
"Dean? You mean 'I'm breaking up with you because your hair is weird' Dean?" Dan nodded. "Man, I hate that guy."
Dan was looking increasingly more worried as the damned guy wandered closer, and Dan's conversing skills seemed to seep into the grass and out of sight.
"Hey, Dan, does Dean have a boyfriend now?" asked Phil a few minutes later.
Dan shook his head. "Girlfriend."
"And do you want to make him jealous?" Phil asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"I suppose..." Dan said slowly, slightly wary of what Phil had in mind.
Phil grinned and separated himself from the girls they were talking to. He waited until he thought he'd seen Dean look their way, and maybe even recognize Dan, before pulling Dan's face towards his. Making out was definitely more Phil's thing than Dan's, but he tried to keep up nonetheless, not quite registering the confusion swirling around on top of his brain as his lips worked along with Phil's and Phil's hand travelled down to his waist.
It was a good half minute at least before either of them broke apart, and when they did, Dean was nowhere to be seen.
Phil stuck his tongue out in the direction he'd expected Dean went. "Dude, I was not expecting you to catch on that quickly."
Dan's brain was still slightly hazy, but he managed a good "what can I say? I'm pretty smart." He'd only put together Phil's motives after he noticed that Dean was no longer there, but he wasn't going to say he was complaining about the way Phil had handled things. Phil's lips were soft, and he smelled nice, and kissing hot boys was always good for credit around people like this. Plus, Dean probably felt like shit, and that made Dan smile the tiniest little bit.
~
A month later and college still didn't feel like highschool as Dan had feared. Sure, the homework load made him want to take a running dive for the nearest paper shredder, but math with Phil was more fun than math on his own in the dark as he rubbed agitatedly at his wrist-words, so it was okay.
He was sat in Phil's dorm, on Phil's bed, running his fingers lightly over Phil's "I love you" that his wrist proudly displayed in black ink as Phil quizzed him on math terms. If not for Phil's calming warmth pressed to his side, and the steady beat of Phil's heart in his ear, he might have flung himself out the nearest window what with intaking all these facts. Phil's roommate had long since accepted the closeness, both physical and not, of their friendship, and he was flipping through his manga, chuckling every so often. Dan couldn't think of many mangas he'd read that were so funny, but he didn't question.
If he'd have been paying less attention to how often Phil drew breaths, he would've noticed that whenever Drew chuckled, he wasn't looking at the Manga, but at the two of them curled up together on Phil's bed, and he would've seen the smile on Drew's face and the shake of his head as he laughed.
~
Dan walked towards Phil's dorm laden down with his textbook-filled backpack. The straps were at an angle that dug painfully into his shoulders, and it helped none that they were the hard burlap-y kind and not the cushioned ones. Damn those expensive backpacks.
As he neared Phil's room, he heard loud groans that, upon further inspection, seemed to be coming from his destination.
Seeing as Dan wasn't exactly a big fan of possibly walking in on his best friend having sex or something, he decided to knock. The groaning didn't stop.
"Phil?" He called through the door.
Yet more groaning, but this time accompanied by his name. Honestly, whether he was jerking off to images of Dan or whatever else he could be doing, Dan wanted to know, and he turned the knob slowly, which opened easily.
He was met with the sight of Phil lying face up on his mattress, clutching his stomach in a way that made it look like he was making sure it didn't leap out.
"I feel like I'm dying," Phil managed between groans, clutching his stomach harder than before.
"I don't know if this is better or worse than what I was thinking," said Dan, setting his backpack down by the door and striding over to the chair beside Phil's bed.
"What were you thinking?" Phil whined.
Dan looked down at his spiky shoes. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, why are you here alone? Where's Drew?"
Phil shrugged, "out."
"Well, here, have you taken anything?" asked Dan, already heading towards the medicine cabinet at the other side of the room.
"I would've if I didn't feel like I was going to die."
Dan rolled his eyes before leaving the room, emerging again with a plastic cup of water and a pill.
"Here, Mr. Dead boy, take your dumb meds."
Phil grinned. "You're the best."
Dan nodded his agreement and crouched instead by the tv. "So are you having period cramps or are you contagious?"
Phil attempted a laugh before clutching his stomach once more. "I think it was food poisoning. I fucking knew that that cookie did not look right."
"So does that mean I won't start hacking up my dinner if I stay in here and we watch some Howl's Moving Castle?" asked Dan, inserting said disk into the slot and plopping himself down on Phil's pillows, so that Phil's torso rested against his.
"I suppose not," sighed Phil, running his fingers over the slightly faded words on Dan's left wrist.
Calcifer was in the middle of a rant when Phil spoke up nearly an hour later. "Thank you for taking care of me, Dan," he mumbled into Dan's shirt, his want for sleep apparent in his voice.
"'s no problem," Dan whispered back, running a hand through Phil's hair.
"I love you," he whispered, barely intelligible through the fabric of Dan's shirt.
"Love you, too" replied Dan, and Phil's light snores filled the room.
~
Dan didn't leave when Drew entered the room half an hour later, but rather warned him rather sternly in a quiet voice that Phil was sick and that Drew shouldn't wake him.
Drew just laughed quietly as he climbed to the top of his bunk.
~
Three am was most definitely not the correct time to be baking cookies, but what did it matter? Neither of them had classes until late, they were hungry, and it'd been two weeks since Phil had shown any sign of a stomach ache. The communal kitchens were empty, which to them meant that they could do whatever they wanted. They tried not to shriek too loudly as flour was thrown in either direction to hit one of them in the face, and it was clear that neither of them had any idea how to make cookies, but Dan was sure that there was baking powder and Phil was positive that they were meant to use butter, so that was a start.
"Hey, get the milk, will you?" Phil asked, and Dan strode over to the small fridge near the window.
"Right, yeah, I would, except for the fact that there is no milk."
Phil didn't look discouraged. "We could use water?"
Dan looked appalled. "Dude, I'm like two-thousand percent sure that that'd make them gross as fuck."
"Two-thousand percent?" Asked Phil, his tone implying that Dan was being a numbskull for even suggesting that a number like that existed.
"There is literally a two-hundred in ten chance that water would make our cookies taste like shit. I'm telling you, we're not doing it."
"Well then, someone's gotta get the milk if we're gonna finish these cookies, and guess what? Least pretty has to get them. Not my rules. Bye."
Dan rolled his eyes. "Oh, so you're saying bye because you're about to go out to get the milk? I am, after all, the prettiest."
Phil tried a new tactic. "Have I ever told you how your eyes sparkle in the sunlight?"
"Are you trying to bribe me into buying your milk?"
"I love you, Dan."
"Ugh. Fine. Anything else?"
"Could you just get the milk?"
Dan shook his head, suppressing a smile, "yeah, okay."
He chucked the oven mitts that he'd been wearing in the general direction of the countertop and took Phil's jacket off of the chair. He headed off into the chill, early-spring air, wrapping his arms around his middle as he headed off to the store just down the road. There were cars in the street, but he doubted that any of them would be taxis, and he didn't want to look stupid sitting there waving his hand when no one was going to pick him up.
He let out a huff and continued down the uneven sidewalk, very glad for the hightops currently covering what parts of his ankles would otherwise be exposed due to his too-short jeans. The buzz of the amber street-lamps kept him company as he half walked, half ran towards the small corner store where all the students went to buy their food.
Six minutes took him to the doors of the little shop, and the blinking "Open 24 hours!" sign made him want to punch himself. Who was that enthusiastic at three-thirty am when it was cold and dark? Of course, he understood that the sign wasn't able to change emotions, but that didn't stop him from being bugged by it.
The dusty yellow tiles calmed him, having been there so many times before in the past few months, and he set off down the frozen food aisle, dodging an unhinged sign and a puddle of water, only partially covered by the yellow, plastic caution sign.
He got the milk first and then tootled around the shop, adding a shareable bag of orange gummies and some powdered donuts, thinking back to the first time he'd ever had donuts at Phil's fifteenth birthday party, where they'd both shared one and gotten powder all over their faces, including, somehow, up Dan's nose.
He was pulled out of his reminiscing when a siren wailed its way past, and he shook his head and payed for his stuff, conscious of the fact that the tired-looking cashier was eyeing him up as if it was not every day that people zoned out by the donut racks. He smiled at her as he gathered the handles of his small plastic bag and he headed out the door, back out into the bite of very early morning air. He shuffled along the sidewalk, weighed down by both the milk jug and his tiredness, and he wondered if he'd fall asleep on Phil midway through making the cookies.
A strange scent that Dan couldn't place wafted softly into his nostrils, and he brought his non-bag hand up to his nose to scratch it. As he continued down the patchy sidewalk, the smell got stronger, and it smelled so familiar now that it was bothering him. It smelled something like home and, yes that was it, pork, or more what the pork roasted on...
Dan hit himself on the head when he finally placed the smell, and smiled even as it got more acrid and made him cough slightly. How could he not have known? It was the smell of smoke.
But then, why was the smell so strong in his nose? Oh fuck, was his dorm on fire?
He ran the remaining few sidewalk tiles until he had cleared the line of trees that was blocking his vision, and he saw them, the firemen, emerging ash-faced from the black remnants of the east wing. But then, the east wing was where the kitchen was.
Dan ran full-speed towards the ambulance flashing its colors, and when his bag slowed him down too much, he dropped it. Thoughts were flying through his head as quickly as the scenery on either side of him, and with each passing one, he felt like a new brick had been placed atop his head.
Hadn't Phil asked him to get the milk last thing he asked? Dan had an overwhelming urge to rip his blasted wrist off as he ran. Surely Phil wasn't dead, surely... surely because... Because Dan hadn't said I love you! That was it! Phil's tattoo clearly said that the last words spoken to him were meant to be I love you, and Dan knew he hadn't said that, he knew it. These thoughts stopped as he did, and he looked around wildly. If Phil was alive, then he had to be here somewhere, wrapped safely in a shock blanket, shaking, but okay. Dan searched everywhere with his eyes, until they landed on a stretcher, atop which was a black haired boy, though you could hardly have told the color of his hair from that of his face. He was covered from head to foot in ash, and his skin was bloated, not that Dan could see much of it but for the blanket draped over most of his body. There was an oxygen mask over his face, and Dan let out a breath because who gives oxygen to a dead guy? He ran quickly over.
"What's wrong with him?" He asked the paramedic who was standing outside of the ambulance with a clipboard. She didn't answer, but held him back, letting the stretcher be loaded into the car.
"Please, please I know him, I just went to get some groceries, please what happened to him? Please, he's my best friend can I at least see him?" He was begging now, and he could feel the hot tears running down his cheeks, and he knew that she could see them too, but he didn't care because that was Phil in there, and he needed him. Phil needed him and God help him if he'd had to grab on to the bumper of the goddamn ambulance, he would have. The paramedic looked up at the man in the ambulance, who nodded, and she beckoned Dan on board. Dan thanked her as he climbed in, and he saw the gathering groups of students in their pajamas for a split second before the doors banged shut.
Immediately after the doors were closed, Dan spun around to face Phil, and he nearly started sobbing again at the sight. His eyes were closed and his chest barely rose as they hooked him up to the makeshift oxygen machine. His face was covered in ash such that Dan could barely make out where the corners of his motionless eyes, generally graced with happy crinkles, stopped and his nose began. His arms were inflamed, but again covered in a layer of black dust, and Dan wished Phil's lips weren't covered in a mask so that he could kiss them, and he would've done it, paramedics and all.
He couldn't even hold his hand because he was informed that the skin there couldn't handle it, and the doctors were bustling around him so much that it would have been impossible anyway.
So he settled for sitting huddled in the corner, too shocked to cry or breathe or blink. He thought of the milk laying in the grass on the way to the kitchens and he cursed it. He muttered under his breath, and he grabbed at his hair, and he wanted to cry because how could one item make him feel so helpless? His fate was decided by a half gallon of liquid, and he wanted to yell and scream and lash out, but he couldn't because he was in public and that wasn't what good boys did. Good boys didn't cry, and they certainly didn't cry over other boys. They sat and they let it reflect off of them, and roll off them like water on oil.
Dan didn't want to reflect. He didn't want to sit and stay quiet and composed because his friend was dying and for God's sake, the last thing he said hadn't even been I love you. He was going to explode.
He was numb by the time he arrived at the hospital, and his only hope was that maybe Phil would be too when he woke up.
If he woke up was not a thought that occurred to him. People's friends didn't die. That was something that happened in sad movies, with rain and sobbing. There was no rain, and the urge to cry had been replaced by a dull buzzing. He was not some sob story. Death didn't happen to real people. Phil would get through this like he always did, because Phil was Phil and he could do anything.
Phil was the one that beat Dan at video games, and Phil was the one that could down a whole soda bottle when Dan could only manage half. Phil was the one that broke the piñata at someone else's eighth birthday party, and he was the one that aced all his classes with only the few minutes of study time that were spent curled around Dan in a warm bed. Phil could, and he would, and he always did. Phil won. That's what he did.
Dan was positive that the only one that might not pull through this was him. It was him and his weak heart in that godforsaken waiting room that was going to fail. Phil was in the other room fighting with his skin, and his heart and his lungs. It was Phil's body that betrayed him.
It was Dan's mind that waged his wars.
He woke up with a crook in his neck and a smile on his face, because he'd just had the most wonderful dream, and Phil was there and he was smiling, and his skin was normal, and he breathed without a tank. The dull drone of the waiting room seemed quite a letdown to wake up to. His head pounded from the lack of water he now had due to letting it all pour out onto his face overnight. At the same time though, Dan knew that his migraine wasn't a result of something as simple as dehydration. A lack of water wasn't troubling him, but a lack of warmth, and a lack of comfort, and a lack of Phil. He felt as if a ruthless coach was forcing him over hurdles, and each one was not a bar, but the twisted form of his best friend, bent to fit the shape.
He tried reading magazines and taking calming breaths, but his mind was too preoccupied. He took to letting his eyes fix upon the little stream of water falling endlessly from the rocky bottom of a table-top bamboo plant, and he let his mind's eye wander elsewhere.
He figured the term "mind's eye" was pretty accurate. He knew in his brain that his pupils were fixed on the transparent bluish stream, yet he didn't see it. He literally did not register the sight before him, because the scenery in his head was too vivid.
So he sat, with only the rise and fall of his chest going as any indicator that he was even alive. His eyes were dead, and he sat, motionless, until a woman's voice cut through the chorus of words seeming to emanate from his wrist.
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, and Dan moved his eyes for the first time in what felt like hours. He took in her pale brown skin, and her kind, narrow eyes. There were faint creases around them that deepened when she smiled. He thought of Phil.
"If you're here to see Mr. Lester, he can take visitors now. I must warn you though, his skin is quite badly damaged, and he won't be responsive to questions. He inhaled the fumes from the oven mitt that was thrown on the stove when it caught fire, and he suffered quite a hard blow when his head hit the counter. You may be glad to know that he was out cold when the fire reached him. Didn't feel a thing."
"You say that like he's dead," Dan mumbled, feeling icy towards this nurse for daring to talk to him about Phil as if he was badly hurt. Phil was fine. But then he thought, if Phil was badly hurt, it was because of that goddamned oven mitt. He felt brief resentment towards it before remembering who threw it. He shook that thought out of his mind. He wasn't responsible for Phil's injuries because Phil wasn't hurt. Phil was fine. As always.
"My best wishes that he'll pull out of his coma," she said, disregarding Dan's previous statement. Dan tore down the hall to the room they'd taken Phil to last night, and again he nearly cried at the sight of him. This time, because it'd been a day and Phil wasn't dead and he could feel it in his heart that he was going to be fine.
He pulled up a hard wooden chair beside Phil's bed, and he wished he could put his ear on Phil's chest and listen to his heartbeat as he had so many times before, but all he had was the dumb heart-monitor making Phil's heartbeat sound more like a death sentence than a sign of vitality.
He choked out words between his oncoming tears and the periodic sniffs that he had to do to contain them. "God, Phil, I love you so much. I know I said it a few times when you were sat with your arm around me in my bedroom, or your treehouse, or your dorm, and I know it didn't sound like I meant it but I did. I do. I love you to death, and I hope you don't take that literally because that would suck ass." He spluttered out a laugh between his sobs. "You're the only thing holding my life together, honest to God. I don't know where the fuck I'd be without you, or what the hell I'd do without you there to tell me I'm being dumb. I love your dumb laugh and I love your dumb warmth, and I love your dumb black hair that isn't even naturally black because you're a liar. I love your dumb smile and I love your dumb dog, and I love you a lot, Phil, so please, please wake up soon, because I want to be able to love all those dumb things when you can listen to me say it.
I love you, Phil, and I'm kind of sure that's not in a gay way but who the hell knows anymore? I deserve time to figure that out, so you have to come back to me, you hear me? I deserve to have all the time in the world with you. I still need time to kick your ass at tennis and look way more hardcore than you when we go skydiving together like we said we would. I deserve to love you, Phil, and no dumb milk and no dumb fire can take that away. I love you." The monitor spiked like crazy before falling in one flat line, but Dan only caught the first few seconds because then he was yelling and he couldn't think anymore.
In the end, his wrist was the death of him, just as he always knew it would be. He washed down pill after pill with sips of milk until he could feel no more.
Dan had always been one for irony.