Talking To The Moon

Note: this is copied word for word from adorablehowell's Tumblr page. I just wanted to put a copy up on Wattpad to spread it because it's such an amazing one shot:) Anything below this line is theirs
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title: Talking to the Moon
author: adorablehowell
artist: @twentydollarblog
beta:  @thefranklero
word count: 21.8k
rating: R (mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts/actions)
warnings: TW; suicide attempt, smoking, terminal illness, major character death, swearing, depression, food mention
summary: Dan hides away from the melancholy in his life by sitting on the balcony with the stars as his only source of happiness, but he encounters a man named Phil who likes to sing songs on his own balcony, and Dan finds the stars are not his only friends out there.

AN: oh my GOD it is finally Done this fic gave me Many late nights and a Lot of PAIN so i really hope you like it because this is probably the longest one shot ive ever done and im so Proud that i actually went through with all of this!!! shoutout to my wONDERFUL beta and artist ashley and eden oh myg od they are so lovely and the song is so lovely and ashley was such an amazING beta i love them!!!! BUT also special thanks to my LOVe bonita (@phansomniac) ) for having fic days with me that definitely kept me writing and for editing and for being overall Amazing <3333 and thank u to pbb mods who organized everytHING and having this bang that motivated me to Write this oK so i hope u like it i would absolutely love feedback and yES i have a writing survey if u want to take that after reading B)) and YES TYSM in advanced <3
THE ART WAS A SONG WRITTEN BY THE LOVELY EDEN IT IS SO AMAZING GO LISTEN TO IT!!!
here is a playlist on spotify with the songs i listend to while writing this as well!!
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The stars have always spoken to Dan.
He finds solace in them because they're comforting whenever he sits on the uncomfortable lawn chair on his balcony, basking in the petrichor that's perhaps a bit too pungent; but he's okay with that. The rain is pattering against the roof of his house, and so Dan just sits and watches.
Dan's gazing up at the stars with a hopeful heart, because he loves how their flavescent hues contrast against the darkness of the night sky, and how they act as the sole source of brightness in his otherwise sepulchral life.
Yet, as he's looking up at these stars that are millions of light years away, he can't help but remember that he is constantly surrounded by radiant people, who didn't need or feel this love that he held for stars because they encompassed their own vibrance that he lacks. That fact constantly plagues him and he hates that stars act as the very reminders of the recurring dullness in his life.
And when he looks at the stars he can't help but feel tempted to end it all, with one leap off of the balcony that would turn haematic screams into nothingness; and he's okay with that.
He knows he needs to stop torturing himself with such beauty found in nebulas, when the grave price was vermilion scars and amethyst abrasions engraved against pure skin. Every argument he tried to make against it contained some sort of idea about cherishing life and all of the bumps in the road were just "part of the journey", but none of it really stuck to him because of the whirlwind of melancholic emotions that constantly ripped the recesses of his mind until he could feel nothing but numbness spreading across his body.
Dan finds himself trying to stray away from the tempting balcony that overlooked the entirety of the London skyline, where he could view all the lives of people he yearned to be; the people  who encompassed a vivacity and an affinity for life that he so desired.
But Dan knows how to laugh. He could laugh with such vigor that pain would rise in his chest and crystal tears would inevitably form in his eyes. Dan knows what 'happy' feels like. He could never say that he had never experienced true elation and jubilance filling his stomach. Most importantly, he knows how to enjoy life and he knows a life apart from this one filled with dreaded memories and sorrowful tomorrows. 
He just woke up one day, and he was different.
Instead of the Dan whose dimples carved permanent marks into his cheeks and laughed so loud that the noise would pierce all ears in the immediate vicinity, he lacks emotion and the curves on his smile have devolved into nothing but detached stares.
And he's trying to stop from drowning in these dreary thoughts but attaining real happiness is too difficult and he can't help but succumb to the suffocating, insistence waves that come from heart wrenching tears.
Every flaw, every problem he sees within himself, every late night contemplating the importance of his own life seemed to precipitate into one blur of emotions that defined his early adulthood: aching needles poking at every crevice of his being.
It's been consistently clawing at him, and now he can't even do anything without it seeming like it needed required ample amounts of energy that he didn't have.
He doesn't want to work so hard just to be happy.
Dan sits on the sunken sofa cushion in the dark living room of his flat with the television turned on to a low drone, the incessant flashing of the changing commercials on the screen burning into his eyes. He had forgotten how long he'd been sitting there for; all he knew was that it was only to distract himself from going out onto the balcony, because the cravings for feeling and emotion became unbearable to the point where his body was longing for the ground at the bottom of his building.
But he can't ignore the temptations because he wants to feel and he wants to stop being reminded of how fucking empty everything in his life is.
The crisp night air feels refreshing against Dan's skin because it's the only thing that he has felt in the longest time; it raises the hairs lined up against the base of his arm and his neck and, funnily enough, reminds him of the time he shaved off all the hair on his arm because he didn't like the way they made him feel in the cold.
He remembers how much he laughed at the touch of his oddly smooth arm skin, how much his parents tried to scold him before bursting into their own fit of laughter, and how he used to encompass so much emotion and feeling that got somehow got lost and left him desensitized and hollow.
All he wants is to feel again.
He pulls out a cigarette and examines it, running his fingers over the paper that enclosed these addictive desires that leave his mouth in puffs of dark smoke. The fire from his lighter blinks a warm erythraean color, painting flashing shadows against the door leading out to his balcony. It's mesmerizing the way it flickers and dances with such haste. Dan enjoys the sight of the fleeting moment of intensity as he holds it up to the end of the cigarette and allows it to engulf the paper with vibrant flames. And he brings the cigarette up to his mouth to breathe in the sweet smoke that leaves burning poison sitting at the back of his throat, and he then releases swirling, dark gray clouds of nicotine into the atmosphere.
The view is nothing short of breathtaking, with colorful lights in the city that sit underneath an indigo sky baring quiescent stars. His hands run against the woodwork of the railing, feeling the rough, faded white celadon paint slowly break off with each time he went over it, leaving particles of colorful dust etched on his fingertips.
Memories of his childhood came flooding back, drowning him with feelings of nostalgia that only acted as sad reminders of what he didn't have anymore. They reminded him of a time so happy that he longed to reach, but couldn't. Gazing at the wind slowly passing through distant trees, he recollects being ten years old, standing in the street and pretending that he controlled the wind by using over dramatic body movements that scared off their neighbors. That freedom and carelessness he held as a child was something he wanted back so badly, and the fact that it was stuck in an unreachable time is frustrating.
Dan tightens his grip on the railing to the point of wood pieces splintering through his hands, allowing shooting white pain to course through his body. It reminds him of the first day he realized the recurrence of the boring insecurities and flaws he found, except that pain was gradual and slow burning, scorching the top layer of his skin until all feeling was lost; this pain was relentless with cutting gashes inscribed against his heart made by jagged blades that left dull, droning pains in his chest.
He feels empty.
He finds it ironic how he had walked out to the balcony, prepared to forget all these memories and end any connection he had to the person that he was before, yet they kept rushing back in the way that twisting and turning cerulean waves endlessly crashed onto the shore.
And Dan's scared, because for weeks, going on months, he had thought about this day and how it would fix everything; he would never have to be aware of his lack of feeling because he wouldn't be able to feel anymore. But, taking in the sky's pure magnificence hindered any previous desires of complete destruction, taking away the one thing he thought he had control over in his life.
And he merely sits, and watches.
In an effort to push away this hesitation and uncertainty he began to feel, Dan carefully climbs on the railing and sits down, precariously hanging his legs over the long drop to the gray pavement.And his heart is racing and pounding loudly against his chest, because it's begging him not to do this, but he doesn't want to keep listening anymore.
He takes another drag of the cigarette, pleasuring himself in the incendiary ecstasy that he's allowing to pollute his lungs. The fiery sensation that it brings him acts as a substitute for the explosive balls of gas above manifested in stars; the beauty and intensity of them that he has always admired, but could never find in his own colorless life.
Far away noises of midnight dwellers wandering the city seemed much closer to home, their murmured conversations entering Dan's ears as if they were right underneath his flat. His heart races as he glances downwards at impending death, regretting ever wanting to do this, yet still wanting to uphold this bizarre idea that feeling the hard, cold ground collide against his body would solve every doubt he had about his life, and himself. It's an everlasting battle with his mind and his heart, when both had experienced rips and abrasions that stayed with him every passing minute, searing with pain every time he remembers the fragility of his life.
The moments sitting on the railing, whose paint was worn out from every drop of rain or snow that tainted it and ripped away its life and color, seem timeless. He's pensive as he sits on the brink between life and death, deciding whether a life of grays and nothingness was better than one painful second of splattered blood against hopes and dreams. Tears roll down the apples of his cheeks and fall down onto the hard pavement, painting it a slightly darker color with each drop. He finds similarities between himself and the same tears that stream down his face with clawing desperation, but at the same time, it was completely different. The tears would eventually evaporate into the sky and become nothing but singular drops of water in millions of raindrops; Dan's death would never leave the lives of those he touched. The deep red blood stained into the sidewalk would soon be washed away, but the memories and regret and anger of not being able to help him sooner would plague his family and friends long after the ruby pigments faded back into gray.
Despite the truth in everything that was passing through his mind, Dan feels tired of catering to other people's needs and wants because it was the exact reason of why he feels the need to do this in the first place.
With one last inhalation, Dan crushes whatever's left of the cigarette into the faded railing, watching as it engraves a burn mark on the surface next to several others.
Each marking represented every time of uncertainty, every tear shed onto the concrete ground from every internal cry for help, for feeling. He can see all the times he's been angry or bitter, because no one knew that he struggled with even the simplest of tasks because of this deluded desire to be everything that he couldn't. And with each mark, another reason to end it all.
And that's when he hears it.
It drives all other thoughts out of his head the moment he catches wind of it. He cocks his head in curious intriguement as he listens to music beginning to play.
"Please don't see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies
Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see
Take my hand let's see where we wake up tomorrow
Best laid plans sometimes are just a one night stand
I'd be damned Cupid's demanding back his arrow..."
The calming and soothing music fills Dan's ears like hands running over smooth velvet, making the hairs on his arms rise with the same tingling sensation he felt when he was younger. He could feel his heart inflating at the sound of the acoustic guitar in the quiet of the night, pushing away the busy noises that came from the city and everyone occupying it.
"Who are we? Just a speck of dust within the galaxy?
Woe is me, if we're not careful turns into reality
Don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow
Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer
Turn the page maybe we'll find a brand new ending..."
And his mind actually catches the meaning of the silky words being sung by this unknown man, and how it related to his life and described how small he felt in a world that was so vast, surrounded by people who held unique lives with actual meaning.
The biting thoughts of inadequacy that ceased to end ruined even the happiest of moments for Dan, instilling poison that contaminated all positivity or joy that he managed to dig out of innumerable emotions of sorrow.
No matter how archaic it seemed or how cliché it was, the parallels between his undying desperation to feel important (or feel at all) and the song that followed the movements of the wind made him relieved.
"God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young
It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run
Searching for meaning
But are we all lost stars, trying to light up the dark?"
I thought I saw you out there crying
I thought I heard you call my name
I thought I heard you out there crying
Just the same."
The song ends with a flourish of random guitar riffs, leaving Dan sitting right where he was mere minutes ago, about to let go of every trouble he had with a prompt drop to the ground. All he hears of the man who was singing is simply a sigh and what sounds like the scraping of a chair being pulled up.
It begins to feel like time doesn't exist, as he still finds himself in this haze of pure astonishment and amazement at the unadulterated beauty of the music that played, and the voice of the man who sang. The words from the lyrics sit on his mind as he remains in this entrancement that was accompanied by the glowing stars above him. His breaths come out in quivering wisps of air as he pondered what his life was to be, because he had never even imagined a life past the age of twenty-four.
And the lyrics play in his head again.
"Turn the page maybe we'll find a brand new ending..."
Every moment and every second of his life led Dan to being there that night. If it hadn't been for all of the anguished cries, lonely nights, and lackluster mornings, he wouldn't have been sitting on that balcony underneath misaligned stars, and he wouldn't have heard the soft voice singing the song that made him rethink everything he thought he wanted. He didn't have to continue this ending that he had written for himself.
He could write himself an entirely new one.
And he suddenly realized ruby red galaxies splattered across a white canvas weren't for him.
Taking one last look down at what almost was, Dan swings his legs back over the railing and lands onto the ground of the balcony, glad to feel something stable underneath him after hours of tense sitting. He searches the balconies surrounding his, trying to find this man who showed him a new perspective for a new life, only to see that he was the only one even awake on his side of the building.
"Thank you." Dan barely whispers, knowing well that the man couldn't hear him, but knowing that saying those words simply acts as a reminder that he was still alive.
Able to speak, experience, live.
Dan is still by no means cured from the daunting pain which suddenly appeared his life that he needs adjustment to, but there's a new sensitivity and liveliness that rekindles his drive for betterment of the one life he has. Despite knowing the discoloration that plagues his life and how it pales in comparison to lives filled with vibrancy and shining smiles, he doesn't want to miss looking at starry nights tinted a deep purple or miss savoring food that acted as a true reminder of how sweet life could truly be.
Most of all, he wants to find the man on the balcony with the angelic voice and the poetic songs that helped him realize a new ending to what seemed like a doomed life.
~