Forget Me Not - A Phanfiction

Phil POV

It's cloudy today. Slim patches of pale yellow sunshine struggle their way through the dense clouds, but it doesn't make a difference. It's still gray.

Was it cloudy yesterday? I can't seem to remember.

I shuffle across the floor, wondering why it's a dull gold carpet. I'm fairly certain that I prefer hardwood. I gaze down and notice that my white socks are tinged gray and wonder how long I've had them on. There's a basket full of clean laundry on top of a table, and though I can't remember when I did laundy last, I'm thankful that it's been done. I put them away, being careful to not wrinkle them.

Socks get put away first. The boring browns and grays, all neatly folded, staring up at me from the bottom of the drawer. Next, white boxer briefs make their way next to the socks. Once everything is in order, I close the drawer quickly, ready to put away everything else. The drawer closes shut too fast, and before I can move it, my thumb gets caught.

"Fuck!" I yell out, unable to help myself.

My cry echoes throughout the empty  room; nobody else around to hear it but myself. I force the drawer back open and pull out my thumb. I can feel my pulse beating heatedly, reminding me that despite the bleak gray surrounding me, I'm still here.

I'm still alive.

Sometimes I forget.

Once the blood stops pulsing in my thumb, I notice I have laundry to put away and neatly put away my undershirts. After hanging up a few collar shirts and some pants, the basket is empty, and I stuff it in the closet. I glance at the clock, and realize I have some time before I need to leave, so I lounge on an overstuffed armchair by the clock.

There's a magazine on the side table, and turning on the dusty lamp next to me, I flip through it, curious as to why all the articles were about summer. Peering outside once more, I came to the conclusion that it's certainly not summer, before turning the magazine over and noticing the date it was published

July 2012

My eyes flit to the calendar hanging on the wall, which states that it's actually November 2013. I frown, a bit confused as to why I still have an old magazine lying around, but I read it anyway. As time passes, I find myself growing hungry. Looking at the clock, it seems like the ideal time to head out.

When I reach the door to leave, I pause for a moment to think of whether I've forgotten anything or not, but nothing comes to mind. A bright yellow notebook is perched on the table next to the door. I stare at it and take the keys laying next to it before deciding it to bring it along with me as well.

The hallway appears to be empty, and the solitary echo of my footsteps confirms that thought. As I reach the doors, a kind looking woman smiles at me.

"Good morning, Mr. Lester," she says brightly, stepping aside to let me pass.

"Morning." I mumble in response, not quite certain of who she is.

The brisk air hits me at once, and the overpowering smell of cleaning agents from inside the building dissipates in the air. It's instantly replaced by the smell of grass and smoldering leaves. I take a deep breath and savor the scents in the air before setting out. One foot moves in front of the other, and soon I've found myself in front of a small cafe. I don't recongize it, but something about it feels familiar.

I let myself in and am immediately engulfed with the smell of bitter coffee beans and sweet pastries. My mouth begins to water instinctively as I scan the variety of scones and danishes in the display case. There's a small queue, so I file in, contemplating on what I should order. I think hard and try to remember what my favorite drink is as I wait my turn. 

I note the tired-looking man at the counter, taking the order of the customer in front of her. He looks depressed, defeated, and as if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He looks incredibly familiar. I don't know why.

His face is pinched up in concentration as he patiently explains to the customer that there is no way to make the cheese danish vegan friendly. I want to laugh at this ridiculous exchange, but the pained look on his face stops me. He can't be that upset over a cheese danish. I find  myself unable to look away from him, and he must feel my stare because he suddenly turns his head gazing directly at me.

I offer a shy smile, embarrassed about being caught staring, and lower my eyes. As I wait my turn I can't help but hope that he's still at the counter to help me.

__________

So this is the first phanfic that I've ever uploaded, hope you like it cause I have self-esteem issues when it comes to writing...

//UPDATE: After coming back to wattpad after a two-year absence I am AMAZED by the amount of reader's my little fic has. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and comments. It was really fun to read everything you guys have to say! 7/31/2017