Am I good enough yet? (Phan)

Chapter 3

Dan's P.O.V

It was 22:00 before I finally finished late last night, like always. I came to get my bomber jacket and leave, except, it wasn't there. At least not mine. The only one left on the hanger was of blue and red and white, same style but certainly not the one I own.
I like colour, in displays, but not on me. I hate them on me.
It sounds strange, but I feel like black has more meaning than any other colour could ever posses. It seems like a void, but it has the potential to be everything and nothing all at once.
If that still seems ridiculous, think about it this way, could you imagine an artist (writer, poet etc.) in a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.

It was 8:00 am now, the time at which most people's shifts start, and I was looking for someone with a black and white coat.
It hadn't taken long before I spotted it, held against the chest of a guy with a red checkered shirt.
Phil.
Of. Course.
He turned around to talk to someone, obviously enthralled in telling the story, his gestures exaggerated.
I began walking over, I didn't want to bother with him really, I just wanted my jacket.
I attempted to gain his attention, to ask for it back, when *smack*
I felt a hand slap me across the face, obviously he was gesticulating too much, and I felt blood running out of my nose.
I saw his blue eyes widen in shock and worry.
"I-I'm so sorry! Wait I can fix it!"
He reached into his jeans and pulled out a tissue, reaching out and trying to plug my nose.
I didn't want to be babied. I can do it myself!
"Phil, phil stop." I attempted to bat his hands away, he was wiping the blood over more of my face and for fucks why is he so clumsy? I felt the tissue accidentally being shoved into my mouth, and I instinctively opened it so I could get rid of the little pieces of paper, only for an iron taste to run over my tongue.
"Dan I'm so sorry! Is this your coat? I didn't meant to take it, just...here!"
He shoved the tissue into my hand, and threw the coat in my general direction. Phil didn't seem very sure of what to do in a situation liked this. He paused.
"Do you want a kitkat?" He hopefully smiled, but I flashed him a look of exasperation as my reply. He backed off a bit then, pulling his hands close to his body, and gazed down at the floor.

I tried to clean up as best as I could, but I couldn't concentrate whilst the incessant squeaking of Phil scuffing his shoe against the floor carried on.
"Phil," I smiled through gritted teeth, he looked up at me through his fringe,
"...yeah?"
"I swear if you don't stop that I'll pull your shoe off your foot and shove it down your throat."
Shit. I had a habit of really weird phrases, and I found it hard to create a filter sometimes. I was a surprisingly open book, but I remain too distant and secluded for anyone to find that out. As a result, I haven't really learnt what to say to people at what level of acquaintance, and so phrases like these tumble out every now and again. I just hope he didn't take it badly...

Surprisingly, he laughed. Just like before, he stuck his tongue out between his teeth, and his eyes went all crinkly.
"Sorry Dan," he giggled. "Do you want me to make it up to you? For, you know, stealing your stuff and then punching you in the face."
I smiled a little.
"It's okay Phil."
I was busy wiping the blood from my top, and had expected a reply.
I looked up and...
I couldn't tell whether he was staring at me or the space around me, but it was intimidating.
"Phil?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry I just sort of, zoned out. Please let me make it up to you, I feel really bad."
"Well if you have any ideas please enlighten me."
"I don't know! Come on there must be something you want, or want to do?"
"Actually, that painting you said you were moving? I would like to keep that, and also the truth, did you read my notes? You had my jacket, I take it you looked through the pockets."
"I'm not going to lie, I may have seen the pictures, which are really good by the way, but the writing, I didn't touch. I promise I didn't read it.
And since I'm nice, you can have the canvas."
"Okay, thanks for letting me know, and as for that picture, at least you finally realised who's judgment is better.
"Excuse you! I'm the director so I know what's best." Phil protested in mock offence.
"Oh Phil, just because you're in charge doesn't mean you know what's right and wrong. I mean look at you and your clumsiness, you'd be lucky to pour water out of a boot with the instructions on the heel."
"Dan I don't think that's a good-" PJ tried to interject.
"No it's okay PJ, Let Dan do what he wants, we won't bother him anymore. After all he's the designer of all these exhibits, so he must know everything. Sorry I'm not professional enough for you."
Phil walked off then, and something I had intended to be only slightly serious at first, escalated fast.
What have I done? A guy actually tried to be nice to me and I go insulting him? Wow Dan, maybe my family was right after all?

I sulked back into the room I was currently working in, and leaned against the door. My eyes rested on the painting that kickstarted it all. I wanted to tear it off the wall, but of course I didn't. I'd spent too long working on getting it in just the right place to ever dare touch it again.
I don't know why I feel so bad about this? I'd known Phil for only two days and had a grand total of two conversations, but I've never been good at feelings. I have trouble understanding my own, let alone other people's. They're too complicated:

People saying one thing and meaning another, acting happy when they're sad.
Then again I should know about that last one. That's all to familiar at this point.

Yet, after all that I've done, after all that has happened today, there's just one thought looping in my head, like a broken record or a song on repeat:
They were right.