My Spirit Love (phan)

三十一 - 𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓒𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻

It took Phil another week before he returned to his empty bedroom, the laptop laid out on the bed and their covers still left in a mound. The curtains were undrawn as they always were, and the first print of their book sat untouched on their desk, both of their names printed on the front of it, sharing the title with the name of their blog.

He sighed, discarding his blanket on the floor besides the doorway and picking up the cover in his palms, placing himself on the bedsheet mountain and holding it against his crossed legs. It was hardback, this edition, although they planned to print it in both formats. It was twelve-hundred pages of memoirs, experiences, and advice, compiled over a year and a half by the two star-crossed boys.

He opened the first cover, reading the imprinted text, "Dedicated to everyone who's felt misunderstood, but knew they were speaking the truth." and the tears began to form in his eyes again. The only thing that felt lonelier than having a spirit love, is losing them entirely, and being afraid to go on alone.

He hadn't given himself a chance to mourn. He'd pushed every cry down below his feet, grasping onto the belief that maybe the spirit would return. He'd sat curled and hungry on the sofa, food not passing his lips and even the brightest winter sunrise not breaking a smile against his lips. He took one morning to step into the garden, staring at the old, cobbled well until his hands piled the rest of the dirt back onto the disturbed bones. He took every shovel to regret what he'd done, hating himself, wishing he asked Dan if it would have been safe to do.

He took himself back to the last things Dan had uttered to him, "Don't do that." he'd said to him, checking the older boy hadn't hurt his head on the collision with the wall. He stopped shoveling for a moment, taking his fingertips to the sore patch on the back of his skull. He didn't want the pain to fade.

"What now?" he whispered to himself, "What now, Dan?"

And now he was sat with the book on his lap, for the first time in a week facing what would be every day. Nobody else understood. Nobody else tried to.

He let the feeling of isolation sink over him, his body falling against the double bed he'd bought for Dan on his birthday all those years ago. He placed the book where his boyfriend was supposed to lie, tucking it under the duvet with his own body, his fingertips gliding against the glossy plastic.

He imagined Dan standing behind him, laughing, saying, "Cheating on me with a book now, are you?" he should then come around, standing over him with his hand on his shoulder as he bent down to kiss the human boy's head, "Come on, let's do something useful you moping twat." they'd laugh, Phil standing up and shaking his head, asking where he'd been for seven sunsets, and the spirit would have an answer.

But instead he stayed there in the cold, wondering if Dan let off heat that normally kept him warm, or whether or not just his smile alone managed to heat him up.

He considered whether Dan had lost himself between the physical and spiritual plane, if he was actually standing over him with his lips to the older boy's neck, begging the human to be able to see him. Would he be able to find Dan if he became a spirit himself? He knew it was fantasy.

They'd told themselves over the years that everything works out in the end, that it always did and always would do, but the truth is: it never did. Nothing was ever settled, nothing was ever okay. They survived and they loved, but they never had the chance to sit back and breathe. It was as though they were running a race that didn't have a finish and now they'd given up entirely.

After that first week alone, Phil was giving up. He wept until his exhaustion pulled himself into sleep and he dreamt of a day he could have Dan back in their bed. He missed the way his brown eyes shone back the sun and could light a room when they smiled. He missed the way his dimple was carved into his cheek and traced the edges of his smile. He didn't understand why it had to be like this, he didn't think it was fair.