We stop at Panera, even though that place is crazy expensive. We end up getting a bagel for each of us, a hot chocolate for Dan and a caramel latte for myself. The whole breakfast cost £7.43.
We sit down at a booth, across from each other. It takes everything I have not to tear into my bagel. I'm famished. Dan sips at his cocoa, his mind obviously somewhere else. His hair is all over the place, but he looks lovely anyway.
His eyebrows suddenly raise as he notices me looking at me.
"You got a problem, bud?" He jokes, sweeping his hair to the side. I can't help smiling.
I smirk and avert my eyes to my bagel. I rip off a piece and fold it into my mouth.
As I chew, more people walk in, and the place becomes louder and louder, until I can hardly hear myself chewing. A couple sits behind us, laughing joyously.
I find the whole thing unpleasant.
Most days, I really don't mind human interaction. But with what has been going on lately, my stomach turns sour as the restaurant grows louder.
Dan must've seen something in my face, my discomfort. I was never good at hiding emotions, unlike Dan. He can be hard to read sometimes, which I don't know if it's a good or bad thing. The only thing that doesn't pass under my radar is when he fake smiles. I've known him long enough to know when he's really laughing, and when he's wanting to get the heck out.
We walk out the door, still holding our half eaten bagels. Dan has barely nibbled at his, whereas I polish mine off as soon as we exit Panera.
I sip at my coffee while we turn into ALDI, navigating through the store with ease. The whole of London seems brighter than usual, louder, unpleasant. I don't know if it's the day or what, but it seems to be making me more snappy.
We walk into ALDI, and we're immediately greeting by an over preppy salesgirl, trying to sell a microwave.
The salesgirl moves in front of me, talking a million kilometers an hour.
"Heywouldyoulikethismicrowaveit'sonsaleforonlyelevenpoundsandit'salimitedtimeofferIwillgiveittoyourightnowandit'sonlyelevenonlyelevensirwouldyoulikeone?"
I look at Dan for help, completely frozen. I only understood three words from that phrase, microwave, eleven and pounds.
Dan's eyes flit between me and the salesgirl, who is still smiling and staring me down. "Erm... no thanks," he smiles and grabs my hand with his right and grabs a squeaky cart with his left, pulling me away from the salesgirl.
I almost flinch away, but this is the first time Dan's held my hand in public for a while. Once he realizes what he did, he drops my hand and my heart sinks to my feet.
"What was that?" Dan mutters to me.
"A girl selling a microwave for only eleven pounds," I reply, bending down to reach a can of spaghetti sauce. "Is pasta good for tonight?"
He nods. "I'm not talking about the girl."
I freeze and look at him. "What?"
He leveled my glare. "You froze. What's up with you? Even at Panera you were freaking out."
I felt anger strike it's match in my stomach. "You're asking me what's wrong? Dan, for as long as I can remember you were okay with people, and now? You barely get out of the house!"
"But that's different!" He nearly shouts.
"Oh, and how so?"
Dan squinted at me, defeated. "Just stop being so... mopey."
I felt my heart sink even further. All Dan wants is someone to cheer him up, a little voice whispered. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
He can't put that kind of pressure on you, another voice muttered, the angry, stubborn voice. He can't expect you to be perky 24/7.
I still felt upset, my stomach a cocktail of anger and guilt. I met Dans gaze and looked at him apologetically. His eyes flickered with anger for a moment before he lowered his gaze. The match of anger diminishes as I hand him the heavy jar of red sauce and grab a box of noodles.
The grey, squeaky cart is soon filled with all kinds of food, selections of colored cereal boxes littering the top. We make our way to the check-out.
The salesgirl is still trying to sell people the microwave. She confronts a couple, two young girls holding hands, and tries to sell them the £11 purchase. One of them looks extremely uncomfortable, and breaks away as the second smiles and waves away the offer. The first girl grabs a cart, and they make their way through the store, grabbing things as they walk down aisles.
"Phil?"
"Hmm?" I break my attention away from the girls. Dan is holding a bag out in front of him. I grab it wordlessly and make my way to the doors.
---
"How are you?" A preppy girl interrogates a droll-looking school boy.
"Leave me alone," The boy says, making a face. The girl flips her bright pink hair.
I sigh heavily. "Daaan?"
"What, Phil?"
"I'm bored."
"Great."
I sigh again, turning the obscure anime off. Dan turns from his chair at the absence of noise.
He looks beautiful, his chocolate brown eyes shining and his hair curling at the ends. He hadn't bothered to spend a lot of time straightening it. I love his hobbit hair, but he thinks it's hideous.
He makes a strange face, like he was trying to be sarcastic, but his despair accidentally fell through. He turns back to his laptop.
I lean my head on his shoulder. He flinches, but doesn't shake it off. I look at his Tumblr feed from my position.
I feel his head come to a rest on mine, probably ruffling up my hair. I feel fireworks explode in my stomach, and I hope he can feel them too.
I constantly live in fear. Even though I know he loves me back, I'm terrified that I will lose him. Nothing could prepare me for that, and I don't think anything ever will. I hope to God that nothing would ever change his mind, whether another beautiful boy waltzes his way, or I screw up.
"You okay? You're shaking," I am pulled out of my thoughts. Dan is looking at me, concerned. He gently closes the laptop.
"Y-yeah," I stutter, my thick voice giving me away. I clear my throat and try again. "I'm fine."
Of course he doesn't believe me, and the love I felt is replaced by guilt. Can't you let something be perfect for two minutes, Phil?
He leans into me and kisses me on the head. I feel the warmth of his touch explode from my forehead to the tips of my fingers. I tingle with delight.
I lift my face and lean into his lips, feeling his love course through my veins. He moves the laptop and pulls me closer. I melt into him, my legs around his hips. We stay that way for a long time, looking into each other's eyes, foreheads touching.
All of the guilt had vanished. I love him, and he loves me.
And it will stay that way forever.
---
I jolt awake in my bed, tears starting to flow. My stomach cramps with pain, and I almost cry out. Little bits of the nightmare start to float away, but most of it stays, imprinting in my mind.
I sigh deeply, taking in a shaky breath and holding it in for, God knows how long. Then I let it out slowly, and I can feel my hands start to shake.
Slowly, silently, I push the quilt off of me, the rush of fabric sounding giant in the silence of our apartment. Ticking of three different clocks sound down our halls, filling my bedroom with it's repetitive noise.
My feet make soft, padding sounds against the soft carpet. I'm still wearing socks, something that Dan despises. I try to smile in the dark of our hallway, but my stomach is still twisted with sorrow. I sigh again, and clench my fists.
I switch on the lights as I move through the house, my legs starting to become heavy with exhaustion. I glance at a clock, and it reads that it's 3:42.
Oh well, I think. I'm not going back to sleep anyway.
I go to the cabinet in the kitchen and grab a box of cereal. I don't even look, and I don't grab a bowl either. Instead, I grab my laptop and settle into the couch in our lounge.
I open the box of cereal with a crisp snap, and I flinch at the sound. Dan doesn't seem to be stirring from the other room. I start to hope he's just asleep, not laying on his bed for hours on end, depressed.
My laptop floods the room in blue light. I squint my eyes; they've adjusted to the dark. I turn down the brightness to the lowest it can go, and open my eyes. I can see that my YouTube tab is still open from yesterday. I close it quickly and browse.
I don't know how long I browse. I remember starting at 3:50ish, but all I do for four or five more hours is look on the internet. I read wikipedia pages. I look myself up on Google. I go on Tumblr and reblog some posts. In between reading my Twitter, I grab a cup of instant coffee. As I head back to the lounge, I realize that the sun is already peeking over the clouds.
I stand in the middle of the room, looking at the sunrise. The bands of orange are to the east, and the sky to the west is still a deep blue of night.
"Phil?"
I jump, spilling my coffee everywhere, including on myself. I whirl around, my hand over the mug. A splash of the hot liquid hit my hand, and I pull it back in surprise, dropping the cup entirely. There I am, standing in front of Dan like an idiot.
"What the heck, Phil?" He reaches down to grab the mug. The coffee fills the room with its bitter smell.
"You scared me," I choke out, smiling.
Dan stares at me, disbelieving. Then he looks past me. "Phil, have you been eating my cereal again?"
"No," I say, backing up so the box is behind me. I grab it from behind my back. "I don't eat cereal this early."
Dan's scowl deepens, but he eventually rolls his eyes and walks back into the kitchen. "What're you doing up this early?" He calls from the other room. "You're not a morning person," he adds matter-of-factly.
Nightmare, I wanted to say. The one that's been persisting days after the night I complained about it to you. The one where you kill yourself, because you think no one understands. The one where I shake with anger as I stand over you, because you didn't think I would understand. You didn't think that I was depressed too. You thought your situation was hopeless, and you didn't think about me. You never do.
"I was hungry," I lie, smiling, hoping to make a joke out of it.
Dan lifts his head. "I thought you weren't eating anything."
Then he smiles and ducks down to grab the cleaner from under the sink.
I cross the room to the cereal cabinet, and place the box inside. As I shut the door, I realize that I've eaten half a box of Frosties.
Dan pulls out a bottle of noxious liquid. He wrinkles his nose before reaching for a grey rag. I follow him to the lounge, bringing a roll of paper towels. He's barefoot, like usual, and he got dressed; he is wearing a cat shirt with his black jeans. His hair is askew, like he's stopped bothering to check on himself... As he bends over, he places the rag on the ground and begins to spray the stain.
"Go clean yourself up," he says, acknowledging that I was trying to help. I handed him the paper towel roll.
I start to turn to the bathroom, and as I begin to walk, I catch something that Dan mutters. Something he doesn't want me to hear. Four words that chill me to the bone.
"I'm so sorry, Phil."