Work Text:
He’s a wreck. A fucking train wreck.
It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. He had promised they were forever that night when Phil had first told Dan that he loved him. This is it. You’re it. You’re my soulmate, I love you.
Dan poured his heart and soul into Phil that night, telling him his vulnerability from his childhood and the endless love he had for Phil.
Now he’s sat on the floor of his entry way, surrounded by a wave of nothing but a dark sea of... nothingness. His brain felt like a fucking void. He was so relieved to have finally escaped the pain of the breakup from a year ago, but now he’s being sucked into it yet again.
He felt like he did that tragic night, knees pulled in tight to his chest, cheeks swollen from broken tears. Dan felt nothing but emptiness. Fucking emptiness.
Dan wanted nothing more to just be in Phil’s arms again. It’s been so long since he’s felt like this. The last year of university and finding a decent therapist was like the light at the end of the tunnel after the breakup.
All was well, very well, in fact. Until not even a half an hour ago, when Dan went for a jog in the park.
A big fuck you to his therapist for making him get exercise. A big fuck you to his grandmother who told him that seeing Phil might help him feel better.
Running into the man he had tried to forget during that lonely year was so surreal. He looked so fucking beautiful. So happy, so full of life.
Dan felt so small when we noticed the fit man intertwined with Phil’s hands. Both their cheek muscles aching from the amount of smiling they’ve probably been doing.
Dan stopped in his tracks, almost tripping over nothing. Heart sinking into his stomach.
His mind drifted off to the memory of Phil’s soft hands linked in his as they walked around that art gallery on their first date. He hadn’t been back to that gallery. Avoiding the pain seemed like the easy way out.
But, shit. Seeing him. In person. Was so fucking painful. So draining. So...
Bitter.
Dan ran. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Phils face when he would see him in his athletic wear and hair out of sorts. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Phil’s new partner’s face when he would say, this is Dan, my ex.
He did what he did best. He fucking ran away until he reached his flat.
Dan rushed inside, not bothering to take the lift. By the time he was unlocking the door to his flat, his face was slobbered in tears and snot and his brain saying nothing but I told you so.
He slammed the door for good measure, and slid down the door to pull his knees in tight, sobbing his fucking guts out.
He probably calls him baby.
Don’t you call him baby.
Don’t you call him what you used to call me.
Dan lets out a scream. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or screaming bloody murder.
He was so, so sad. So numb.
I’m so selfish.
I’m hating this.
“Fuck,” Dan sobs.
I just miss your Northern accent and your Northern friends.
I wish I still talked to them.
I wish I still talked to you.
“Fuck,” he cries. F-“
He couldn’t even manage a swear. His shoulders were shaking, his limbs were heavy, head spinning of nothing but Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil....
There Dan sat for the next two hours, sobbing Phil’s name, attempting to form sentences of self depreciation.
He was so, so sad.
Sad for himself that he wasn’t over him. Sad for the fact that Phil found a replacement so quick. Sad that his therapist will have her work cut out in their next session. It was all so sad.
His legs were hurting. His eyes were puffy, upper lip dripping in snot. Arms numb, stomach hurting.
And his brain picturing nothing but an empty art gallery.