Phan Smut Oneshots {Discontinued}

You Are Out of My Mind {Part 2}

Word Count: 1800 ish

"Oh"

The room that was once full of laughter was now eerily silent, the game's music having been turned down. Something had changed inside Dan. Something big.

When he imagined speaking again, he thought it'd be like a switch he would turn back on by himself, he didn't think it could happen like that. He always stayed quiet because no one would care what he'd have to say, but judging by Phil's reaction, he cared. One person cared, and that's all he needed.

Maybe he wasn't going to talk to anyone again, but it would be nice to just talk to one person.

This particular person he had in mind, he had only known for a few hours, yet it felt like they were life long friends. It probably wasn't healthy to grow so attached to someone so soon, but it was nice.

"I... I guess I did."

He'd started now and he had no intention of stopping any time soon; that would destroy the purpose of speaking in the first place, as unintentional as it was. The initial shock that had overshadowed every other emotion on Phil's face grew to what could only be described as pure happiness, his lips stretched into a wide grin, cheeks rosy.

"This is great!" Phil exclaimed; the game on the screen was ignored now as they basked in each others elation. It just wasn't important anymore.

Phil stood up suddenly, holding his hand out, which Dan took without a second thought.

"Let's go to my room!" Phil smiled, "I want to get to know you properly."

If anyone else were to suggest something like this, he'd surely scoff in their face and walk away, but this was Phil. Somehow, he'd achieved the unachievable; get Dan Howell to talk.

Phil's room was just as plain as Dan's, probably even more so given that he'd only arrived that very day. These walls were painted a pale blue, the paintwork slightly scuffed from the previous owner. Dan wasn't quite sure where she went; she just disappeared one day. Maybe she got better.

There was a suitcase on the floor waiting to be unpacked but obviously, Phil hadn't got round to it yet.

"Maybe we can talk as I unpack?"

"Can I help?"

"Yeah sure," Phil laughed, "but stay away from the underwear."

After a little while of placing various items of clothing in the chest of drawers, they'd established a rhythm; Dan passing the clothes to Phil who would fold and put them away.

"So what are you here for?" Dan knew it was a personal question, but Phil had asked him the same thing earlier. Granted, he hadn't answered it, exactly, but the question had still been asked.

"Anxiety," he said almost nonchalantly, though Dan couldn't miss the unspoken emotion in his voice, "I can't leave the house it's that bad. I actually put up a huge fight when I had to leave. I don't know, I think it's the fear of something going wrong, like all the time and I'm sick of it holding me back."

Dan would never have guessed if they'd never had this conversation. That's the thing with mental illness; you can't always see it like you do physical illness.

"I'm sorry." That's the other thing about mental illness; you don't always know what to say in case it's the wrong thing.

"It's fine, I'm working on it." Dan knew as well as anyone else here that it wasn't always as easy as that. He'd been there a good couple of months more than expected because he'd made little to no progress.