warning : it's shit :)

tired, tired, tired. dan's half open eyes are burning with the lack of sleep, his movements annoyingly slow and lethargic and his face expressionless as he sits on the dining table, willing his ears to avoid the conversation going on between phil and his mother in the kitchen. he hasn't looked at phil since he walked out of their-phil's bedroom last night, and he wants to keep it that way. he could go a day without the mental breakdown of watching phil's eyes go colourless as soon as they meet his, his pretend smile falling and his sharp features turning morose at the reminder of their situation.

the smell of pancakes and pine needles fills his lungs in a bittersweet manner, his throat with bile and his head with memories. he can't pretend that the air isn't unforgivingly drenched with arguments and unsaid words, that it isn't choking him with every breath he takes, that this is just like any other christmas morning.

"how many pancakes for you, adrian?" mrs. lester yells from the kitchen, and adrian's eyes visibly light up at his grandmother's voice. dan watches fondly as his expression changes to something more forgiving, something he can bear to look at and he is just so grateful for phil's mother's arrival. her bubbly persona cuts through the tension every once in a while and her wit and humour never fails to make dan's smiles just a little less forced.

"twenty five please," adrian yells and dan smiles a little at the conjoined laughter of phil and his mother's coming from the kitchen.

"coming right up! and you dan?"

"i'll pass actually, i had breakfast earlier this morning," his lost appetite lies for him. pancakes had always symbolised the happiest of this moments, the lone category of food was such an important part of all his celebrations and all the late night dinners and all the second breakfasts because the first one wasn't fulfilling enough. he had probably eaten pancakes more than he had smiled, and even phil's mother's delectable cooking can do nothing to fuel his appetite.

"since when are you not hungry for pancakes? i thought they were your favourite?" mrs. lester pokes her head out of the kitchen, an apron tied around her thin waist and a scowl of confusion on her face.

"they are," dan smiles at her half heartedly. "i'm just not hungry, i'll have some later,"

"one?" she compensates and it takes everything in dan to refuse. refusing her right now would be better than retching the food out as soon as he finishes it.

"you're here till new years, you'll probably be making pancakes everyday so let me pass this once," he attempts to make the atmosphere lighter and she gives him an unconvinced smile before nodding her head.

dan taps his fingers distractedly on the table top, tilting head back and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment, sleep wanting to fight away the consciousness and it wins after a while, the clinking of pots and pans fading into white noise and darkness slowly pooling under his eyelids. the triumph of finally getting rest is short-lived, because after five minutes a plate is clumsily settled in front of him and his eyes fly open in a haste, his mouth already opening in rejection.

"phil made this one for you," katherine interrupts him before he can speak, and the ache in his chest that he worked so hard on pushing away returns with full force, staining his cheeks with embarrassment. when he looks at her, she has a small smile on her lips and an apologetic look in her eyes and dan wants to say something, anything, but the lump has found it's spot back under his throat.

"thanks," he mumbles finally, staring at the imperfect shape and just by looking at it he can tell it has been made by phil. he doesn't understand what this is, why phil breaks his heart again and again and then spits out a light of false hope. dan knows everything is too far gone to be fixed, he was finally trying accept the idea of space and divorce and alone but every time he feels like he has taken one step forward he is being pushed back miles by the confusion.

it would be so much easier if he knew phil didn't care, it would be so much easier if phil just pretended to not give a fuck. the initial heartbreak would be brutal but at least there would be scope of making progress, but what is dan supposed to do now? one minute phil wants him to leave and the next he is worried about him not eating. one minute phil is kissing him and next he says he can't do this anymore. one minute he says he cares and the next minute he looks like he has fallen out of love.

dan's weak emotional state can't comprehend the complexity of phil's actions, so in a moment of pure frustration of failing to understand what he is supposed to do-he pushes the plate away from himself and leaves the dining the table. he is aware that adrian is calling after him, asking him where he is going, but his head aches miserably from the events that have piled up, the events that he refuses to think about.

he doesn't know what to make of phil's behaviour, it's confusing and heartbreaking and comforting and annoying all at once and all it does is make dan's already scattered emotions into a more widespread fire, igniting his lungs and hurting his brain and he can't put a finger on how he actually feels.

he shakes his head, trying to take a few deep breaths to calm himself but it doesn't work. nothing works except his already overworked mind that seems to be very keen on sorting out all his emotions this very second. he can feel the heat of anger in his chest and he isn't sure who it is directed towards-himself or phil or just this pathetic situation.

before he does something he regrets, he quickly grabs a towel and makes his way to the bathroom, his fingers working clumsily on the temperature knob of the shower. as the pattering sound begins and the sprinkling turns from ice cold to steaming hot, he discards his clothes and allows his skin to come in contact with something that burns hotter than his anger.

somewhere along the angry red lines that paint his back he can feel himself becoming calmer, the physical pain overruling his deranged mental state only for a moment but maybe a break from thinking was what he needed to keep remotely sane.

--
hi, just to inform you delivered is gonna come to an end in about 10 or less chapters ;)
i am aware the writing has turned a bit crappy but its just because i haven't written anything this heartbreaking in a while so i apologise, maybe i'll fix it in the future?
hope you are all doing good !! eat a tray of cookies because u deserve it thx