AN: The poem in the video tab is very important to me and probably my favorite poem yet. I just really fucking love it so I really would want you to watch it.

Sitting at his table watching the smoke catch around his face and head up into the ceiling, Phil sighed. The book of poems Dan had given him sat next to Phil mockingly. The words that were scrawled inside of it so carefully ventured through his brain and into his body. The language seeped deep into his very core so that all he could think about was how dumb he was to dismiss such a wonderful experience.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette Phil picked the book up once more and turned to his favorite poem

Moles Don't think About Space Or Small Talk

Reading the whole thing from start to finish devouring each word like a bite of his favorite meal. Swallowing the letters ravishly, savoring the last bit that sticks at the back of his throat.

"and there's nothing to discuss

things to think too much

everything to think too much

i always think too much"

Phil never sickens of the flavor. He can re-read and re-enjoy the course many times each new bite better than the last.

And soon he is crying.

Large droplets full of sadness, heavy and wet. Not the light kind that can be wiped away with a tissue and forgotten but ones that stick heavy to your clothes and stain your cheeks forever. Invisible roots of tears digging their way under pale skin.

Phil lets the tears fall to the ground in large droplets, his cigarette hanging from his two fingers. Phil tries to imagine himself back at that beach that seemed to calm his mind a few days ago but his feet are planted stuck on wooden floors instead of sand.

His heart quickens with every moment passing and he feels himself clawing at his past memories that seem to fight him with such rage and power that Phil feels that he can only surrender. Smashing his cigarette butt into his ash tray Phil falls onto the ground.

His hands desperately scratch the wood, digging away at it as if it were memories. Phil lets out a sob, empty of noise that only his soul can hear. Ears ringing Phil cries out in terror.

"You have ruined everything, don't you know?" The voice called.

Phil knew what he had done but being told by him seemed to make it more real, "Yes I know."

"Why would you do this?" It wasn't yelling but pleading. Asking, hoping there was a reason why all of this was happening and that Phil was innocent. But he wasn't. He was far from.

"I don't know."

The man in front of him dug hands in his hair, "You better give me something better than that. There has to be a good reason you did this. Not just 'i don't know.'"

"I don't know." Phil said more firmly the beginning of the tears that rooted under his skin coming to life.

"Then make something up." The man demanded in a whisper, "Or I will and I think that everyone will like my story better."

Phil woke from his nightmare to find his fingertips coated in blood once again. Blood is vivd to begin with and since his skin was basically white it stuck out like paint.

Standing up calmly Phil knew the worst was over. He knew that the nightmare was temporary and that he needed to continue on with his life until the next moment of darkness.

Walking to the bathroom Phil turned on the shower. He let the steam build up as the mirror fogged over his reflection.

His emptiness of a reflection. His pale skin looked sickly, sweat dripping down the side of face from either the steam or flashback. Phil didn't know. His hands clutched the sink below him causing the white surface to turn a dark red. His fingerprints were present under the blood and Phil shuttered.

This blood seemed to stick to any surface that was white. It clung to the skin of the one that made it. Wasting away, not being able to carry out its duty. Not being able to fight diseases or whatever blood is made to do. Instead it sat on the edge of it's creators body to just waste away with water.

Tossing off his clothes Phil entered the shower. The warm water trickled down his back its hot pressure relaxing his tense muscles. He faced towards the water and watched as the blood blended with the liquid and wash away. It whirlpooled before the drain engulfed it.

Washing his hair and body quickly Phil turned the nobs off and sat down, his back against the cool slick wall.

He sat in his ball of sadness for a little while not allowing any more tears to show. Instead he took this time to reorganize himself.

You are over that. This is the new life you fought for. You have a new home and job and maybe a friend so you're not going to waste away in a fucking bath. No. Not after everything you have worked for.

He gave himself small tasks to do first to try and help.

First, stand up.

With tremendous effort Phil stood up.

Now dry yourself off.

Grabbing a towel from a hanger Phil did as he instructed.

Almost done, just go back to your room and put on some pj's and nap.

So phil washed the blood from the sink and walked to his room. Digging through his dresser Phil pulled on some large lounge pants and a t shirt. He let the towel drop onto the floor not caring if it would leave a pool of water.

Crawling under his blankets Phil closed his eyes allowing his mind and body to calm. Wrapping himself in the comfort of the blankets Phil felt shielded from the outside world, even if it was just for a few moments.

* * *

Phil shoves his glasses onto his face squinting to try and tell the time.  Pulling his phone close to his face Phil realizes work start for him in a bit.  Throwing the covers off Phil sits in the middle of his bed remembering the hell that was a few hours ago.  This has happened twice now.  Phil raised his hands above his head in a stretch. 

Swinging his legs off of the bed Phil stood up and changed into something more suitable for work. 

Distracted by the window Phil drifted towards its view to watch the streets below.  The roads were slicked with a thin layer of water.  Phil was sick of water.  Sick of it pooling from his eyes, the shower head and the sky.  It seemed to surround him here.  It would push him around in the waves tossing his limp body through the current.  Phil would allow it to happen knowing that if he tried to fight it he would lose anyway. 

Shaking his head to try and clear the water from his mind Phil ran down the stairs eager for work.

"Hello!"  Dan smiled at Phil his hand waving.

"Hi."  Phil nodded.

Dan balanced on the counter with his hands, "did you read the book?"

"Yes I did."  Phil scooted behind the counter next to Dan.

"So, how'd you like it?"  Dans eyes were full of the fire that lit the first night they met.  It was a different fire, passion was held in this ones flames opposed to curiosity.  He was balancing on the tips of his toes drawing closer to Phil with each passing moment.

"I loved it." Phil smiled at the excited Dan in front of him who leaped around the counter like an over caffeinated child.  Phil did enjoy it, despite the darkness laced in the words that only Phil could see.

"I knew it."  Dan laughed, "I knew you'd like it." 

"You were right, calm down."  Phil laid a hand on Dans shoulder and he stopped.  Letting his hand linger on his shoulder for a little longer than normal Phil smiled at the younger boy. 

Dans eyes followed Phil's hand and up his arm to make a gaze that Phil could only describe as electric.

The door rang indicating there was a customer and Phil's hand dropped.  Dan turned to help them out leaving Phil to watch him again. 

Dan bustled around the counter grabbing the coffee and pouring a glass. 

Just as the customer was leaving Dan pours himself a cup and walks around the counter, a first for him, to the cart. 

"I'm really tired."  He stifled a sigh.

"Why is that?"  Phil asks.

"I couldn't sleep last night so I decided to read a chapter and a chapter turned into a few chapters and soon enough I read a whole book and it was three."

Phil turns around to grab a cloth to wipe down a spot that Dan spilled. 

"Damn, that's not good."  Phil spins on his heel only to collide with Dan who happened to be standing right in front of him. 

"Fuck."  Dan curses as the dark coffee drips off his white shirt and onto the ground.  Almost nothing got into Phil and what did was caught by his apron.  Dan on the other hand stood with his arms in the air coffee splattered all over him.

"I'm so sorry."  Phil replied and used the cloth to wipe the coffee off of Dans arms steadying himself with his other hand on Dans chest. 

Phil would be excited by this physical contact if it weren't for the circumstance. 

"It's not your fault.  I snuck up behind you."  Dan laughed, "aren't I a mess?"

Phil shook his head and laughed with him, "your shirt is ruined."

"I'll have to bike home for a change."  Dan groaned.

"I have some clothes upstairs?"  Phil asked, "we're about the same size and it'll only take a moment."

Dan hesitated and looked at the door, "I suppose."

With Dan standing in the way Phil had to jump over the counter to lock up the door. 

Dan was close behind him as Phil walked up the stairs.  Opening his door Phil ran straight to his room and rummaged through his dresser. 

Dan stood in the studio area walking around his shoes echoing through the home. 

Phil picked a sweater that seemed to be Dans size and threw it on his bed.

"Hey, this is my favorite poem in this book."  Dan smiled picking up the book that was laid out next to a carton of cigarettes and an ash tray.

"Me too."  Phil nodded, "I always think too much."  Reciting the last stanza Phil received an impressive look from Dan that may of come off as snobby if it weren't for his charm filled eyes and stained shirt.

"'When I was little is was told
I had an excellent imagination
Who ever would have guessed
I'd use it in the creation
Of my own personal hell
Where everything's my fault
And no matter how small I get
I always take up too much space while at the same time taking up
No space
Because have you ever thought about
How big space is
Everyone's so small
But I'm the biggest small of them all"'

Dan read from the book his eyes eating at the pages with an even larger hunger than Phil's.  He seemed to appreciate and understand the taste better than anyone, "I love that." He sighed.

"Me too."  Phil smiled at the scene in front of him.  Only hours before where Dan was standing laid a sprawled defeated man his fingertips bleeding.  Now stood a boy with an appetite for words who served Phil just a plate of his life.  A mere appetizer of the buffet of Dans words.  And Phil wanted to devour everything that Dan handed him.

"The sweater is in there."  Phil pointed to his room and Dan smiled placing down the book gently on to the table. 

Phil turned to the painting again waiting for the sound of a closed door but never hearing it.

Looking into his room Phil saw Dan didn't close the door.  He couldn't help but watch as Dan slipped out of his soaked shirt his back facing Phil.  Biting his lip Phil watched his shoulder blades move under his soft skin, rippling.  Arching his back as he held the sweater over his head Phil admired the dimples on his back before they were engulfed by the cloth. 

Looking away to not seem so intrusive Phil faced the window.

"Thanks for the sweater."  Dan smiled his wet shirt in hand.

"Of course." Phil returned the grin.

Dan smirked, "you're probably never getting it back." 

"What?"  Phil asked playfully, he didn't mind but wanted to rile Dan up anyway, "that is my favorite sweater."

"I'm sure it's so close to your heart."  Dan laughed, "considering you found it at a thrift store."

"There's nothing wrong with goodwill."  Phil laughed.

"I know.  I was kidding." 

"Good."

"About the goodwill thing."  Dan smiled, "not about the never giving this back thing." 

Phil crossed his arms and watched as Dans smile grew.  They stood again, watching each other's eyes.  Phil watched the fire dance under his pupils and Dan would be transfixed by the sea, "we'd better get back to the shop."  Phil said quietly.

"Yeah." Dan whispered and turned away.

An: okay this got hella long.  WhoOps.