Evacuee (Phan Fiction)

Confessions

"Firstly, why were you sick?" Phil asks as he places his hands on my knees, rubbing slightly in a comforting manner.

I think about it for a moment. I have nothing to lose, I may as well tell him the truth. I mean, Miss Hayes knows and she's always supportive. "I guess, I, um, don't eat very well." I admit quietly.

"How so?" Phil urges gently.

"I only really eat when it's, um, absolutely necessary." I say and look away.

"How often is that, Dan?"

"Like every three days or so." I admit, it sounds worse out loud than it does in my head. "I guess my body's started rejecting food if I eat too much."

"Oh, Dan." Phil sighs. "Trust me, I will deal with this but there's still more we need to talk about." I nod in understanding. "Okay, two questions. The first; why did you react the way you did after you were sick? And secondly; where did you get these from?" I'm confused for a second until he gently runs his hand over my ribs that are still covered in faint bruises from those few months ago. He continues to brush his fingers lightly over the marks on my body. It feels nice. The skin that he touches tingles.

I tell him. About my father and everything that happened in the past. By the end of it I'm crying my eyes out, taking deep gasping breaths to calm myself down. "I'm sorry." I apologise for crying as I wipe my eyes.

"Oh, come here." Phil coos and holds his arms out for me. I lean over and wrap my arms around his neck while his wind around my torso. I bury my head into his shoulder as I feel him pull me up so that I'm sat on his lap with my legs hanging over the side of his. I squeeze him tightly, relishing in the tight embrace. "You are so brave, putting up with all that. It's okay to cry, it doesn't take away your bravery." He says softly and I nod against his shoulder, taking in his kind words.

We stay like that for a few minutes until I eventually pull back, still sat on Phil's lap. I get up slowly and stand before him. "Okay, go grab a clean shirt and then we'll get going, alright? I'm sure a bit of fresh air will do you good." Phil says, holding my arm lightly, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting his own hand drop.

I nod and go put a top on. I don't have vary many and the ones are do have are clearly not suitable for the weather around here. It's much colder up her than it was back home. I sigh as I slip on a thin, short-sleeved shirt. My only jumper is for school and I shiver slightly as I meet up with Phil by the front door.

"Oh, Dan, you're freezing." He notes, furrowing his eyebrows. "Here." He says and he grabs a coat from the rack by the door, handing it to me. "This should keep you nice and toasty." He grins as I slip the large coat over my small frame.

"Thank you." I smile at him and wait for him to turn away from me but he just shakes his head and pulls me over by my waist.

"Honestly, Dan, anyone would think you wanted to catch hypothermia." He says as he does up the buttons on the cost all the way up to my neck.

I grin guiltily at him. "Sorry." I giggle lightly as he gives me a fond smile. It makes my tummy churn but in a good way. In an amazing way.

"Come on, you turnip." He chuckles and opens the front door, wheeling down the ramp as I follow closely behind. As we walk through the beautiful front garden, I stop at a rather stunning looking patch of lilies.

"These are beautiful, Phil, how do you get them looking so nice?" I ask.

I feel Phil stop beside me and I turn to look at him before gazing at the lilies once again. "Well, it's my job." He says. "I'm a florist."

"You're a very good one." I say, turning back to him fully now.

"Thank you." He smiles. "Being in this chair, there's a lot I can't do but tending my garden and arranging flowers is something I can do easily and often. I always used to help my mum out in the garden when I was a kid because I could never keep up when my brothers would play football and now I realise it's something I enjoy and can actually do."

"If it's not rude to ask, how long have you been in a wheelchair?" I ask timidly.

"It's fine to ask, I understand that you're curious. I've always struggled to keep up with people since I was born. Physical activity was just much harder for me. For a long time, it wasn't too bad but when I was around 13 I started passing out if I was walking too fast for too long and then when I was 15, it would just happen randomly if I stood up for too long. So they gave me the wheelchair to make things easier. I was kind of upset that I couldn't do normal things. Like play football or even go to war. But I got used to it and it's not so bad." He explains with a small smile on his lips.

"Football's not all that great." I comment which gains a small chuckle from Phil because it was the only thing I had to say. "Really, I kind of hate football. I always used to get pushed around and your shins ache after being kicked in the legs so many times. I don't know how other people do it."

Phil looks up at me questioningly. "People used to kick you?" He asks.

"Well, yeah, that's how you get the ball off each other. Pushing and kicking. The only thing that I really hate about football though is the tripping up. I mean, the kicking's alright but when you land face first in a pile of dog crap you kind of just want to quit the game." I tell him. I never really saw the appeal of football, it was just a bunch of guys pushing each other around.

"Dan," Phil says cautiously, a hint of sadness in his tone. "That's not how you play football."

I look down at him and raise my eyebrows. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"You're not supposed to kick, push or trip up the other players at all. In fact, that kind of stuff is a foul." He informs me and suddenly realisation hits me.

"Oh." I breathe out, thinking back to my past experiences with sports. "Oh." I sigh. "I guess now you're going to tell me that you're not supposed to aim for people's faces in dodgeball." I laugh lightly until I see his face.

"Come here." Phil says and pats his lap. I sit cautiously as Phil wraps his arms around me.

"And you're not supposed to hit people with your stick in hockey. Or push people off the bench in bench-ball. Or do swimming with weights in your pockets." I list off, thinking back to school. And now I kind of just want to go back inside and never come out again. Because not only have I been hurt but I have been humiliated due to my ignorance. Bloody hell.

"I can't believe people would treat someone so sweet like that." Phil says, rubbing my back carefully. I blush lightly when I realise he called me sweet. "Come on, let's go for a walk." He prompts and I get up off of his lap.

It seems that perhaps these new arrangements aren't the worst thing in the world. But then again, I am yet to meet the rest of this village. I just hope they aren't too harsh.