phan one shots

come out and play | song fic

Summary: come out and play song fic by Billie Eilish. I'm going to use all lowercase for this one. Just feels more appropriate.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression, anxiety

wake up and smell the coffee
is your cup half full or empty

soft yellow curtains, billowing slightly by the open window of the golden painted kitchen, sun shining against the glass and casting bright shadows over the room, the white counters, the vases full of marigolds and daisies, the bittersweet tinge of morning coffee resting in the quiet, warm air. pictures of cerulean sea against pale sand, pale like the boy sitting across from dan, like his fingers laced with his tanned ones, a snowy, sugar white, a seamless expanse of breathless skies, framed by silky ebony strands, falling into captivating ocean eyes. they glimmered between greens and yellows in the light, palm resting against his mug, raising it to his candy lips, gentle gaze resting on dan's face.

shadowed by sparkling hues of shimmering jewels, and blankets tucked over curly heads. early in the morning when his straightened brown hair was bouncy in crescent shaped waves, and his chocolate pools were decorated with hazel and burgundy, slightly sleepy, slightly muddled, cherry stained lips wet from his warm beverage, the tip of his tongue tingling from its heat.

looking down at his own cup, black half full or half empty.

phil rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of his hand, sparks of pleasure scattered over his honey skin.

when we talk you say it softly
but I love it when you're awfully quiet

phil rested his head on dan's shoulder, breathing in his vanilla scent, a comforting, familiar one that always clung to his over sized cotton sweaters and his blue jeans, just as the taste was always hidden on his soft lips, just beneath the muted down cherry chapstick. his hand moved slowly over the blank canvas before him, bright color drenching the end of his paintbrush, creating stretching bursts over the blank page, eyebrows pinched in concentration.

occasionally, he would twist his bottom lip between his teeth, leaving harsh teeth marks over the smooth skin, almost drawing crimson beads over pink, but phil tugged it away, brushing over it gently.

he didn't need to ask as their silence was never suffocating, and he was content to watch dan create the universes he kept locked in his head, inside his delicate throat.

when he did speak his words were threaded with lace, soft and light, and ever so quiet.

but phil didn't mind.

you see the piece of paper
could be a little greater

he gripped the pencil tightly between his fingers, writing like he was running out of time.

it was strange for a boy who was so afraid of his own voice, and yet it also made perfect sense.

a world of inked words he wanted to say, but fear followed the thought, cold hands grasped at him and pulled him back, tearing him down into insignificance, and into the whispered belief that it could only end in ruin and humiliation.

and so he wrote.

he wrote like his life depended on it, because in a way it did.