Dan

One week.

It had been one week since I entered this bloody place.

After my "breakdown" a few weeks back, my mother decided to admit me to this stupid teen recovery hospital. Almost everyone I had talked to had depression or anxiety. Some were just gay. Their parents had apparently complained that they had problems. The hospital couldn't turn them down, so here they were.

   I had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for a while now. I couldn't look away. There was a broken person in there. They had puffy, red eyes and tears streaks all the way down their face. An ugly, misshapen body. Arms too long, legs too big. They were just plain out ugly.

     And their name was Dan Howell.

•

     "So, what are you here for anyway?" One of my roommates asked. The one with curly hair. I think his name was PJ. Weird name, okay guy.

     I had been put in a room with two other boys and a girl. I was told that she had nowhere else to go except here. I didn't care. Her name was (Y/N). She was pretty. Not my type really, but pretty nonetheless.

/Didn't see that coming did ya?/

     I had been sitting on the window seat for a bit, drawing some kind of animal, (Y/N) quietly sitting beside me and watching. Without saying a word, I raised my right arm. There was a long scar down the middle of it. It used to have a bandage on it, but I had gotten that removed earlier that day. PJ went to say something, but stopped himself. He was sitting across the small room, cross-legged on his bed.

     I caught the other guy stare at me for a moment. He quickly looked away as I noticed him and went back to reading the book he had, sitting on a box next to PJ's bed. The boy hadn't spoken a word since I got here. PJ told me that his name was Phil Lester and he hadn't talked the whole time he's been at the hospital. It was interesting, but I had my own problems to worry about.

     "That's . . . that's some scar, man," (Y/N) commented, breaking the silence. She was nervously rubbing her legs that were tucked to her chest.

     I shrugged, "I would have gone further, but my stupid mother stopped me."

     "Well, I'm glad she did. You're a nice guy and you deserve to be alive. I know it's not what you want to hear, so I'm not gonna lecture you about it," she said, giving me a half smile.

     "It's fine. You're at least better than the councillor my mom forced me to go to," I chuckled, making the two laugh a bit.

"You seem to talk about your mom a lot, do you have any other family? Or is that a sore spot?" (Y/N) nervously asked. She had anxiety. It was really bad, but she hid it fairly well.

"It's okay, (Y/N), you don't have to worry about it. But, yeah, I had a younger sister. My dad left when I was really young, so Harper never had to meet him," I explained, choking up a bit, "he was an ass."

"Had?" PJ pushed.

"Yeah. Had . . . About a year ago, there was an accident. She was walking home from school and . . . And, uh . . ." I started feeling a tear roll down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, hoping that no one noticed.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. You don't have to tell us. We get it. I can tell you loved your sister very much." (Y/N) started rubbing my back, like a mother would to a child. Not my mother, though.

"No shit," I laughed, another tear falling.

"Miss (L/N), your councillor is ready to see you," a nurse interrupted, peeking her head through the open doorway. Yes, doorway. No door.

     "See you later, Dan." She hugged me tightly and then followed the nurse down the hall.

     "She's got the hots for you Danny boy," PJ teased when he knew that she was out of earshot.

     "One, don't ever call me Danny boy," I laughed, "And two, it's not me she's got the hots for Peej."

     "Oh, so I'm not allowed to call you Danny, but you're allowed to call me- wait. What do you mean by that?" He had stopped mid-sentence to give me a confused look.

     I didn't reply. Just smirked and continued drawing what I think was a lion. PJ finally gave up and walked to the cafeteria. He was always hungry, that pig. I mean that in a friendly way though. That was the only good thing about this place, the people I had met.

     "That's a nice drawing. Lions are my favourite."

     I didn't realize when Phil had walked up to me. He was now standing right in front of me. I looked up into his crystal clear, ocean blue eyes. I couldn't focus on the fact that he had actually spoken because our faces were too close together. I didn't move, though.

     "Thanks," I finally spat out.

     He leaned forward, and so did I. I didn't know what was happening until our lips collided. I closed my eyes and reached my hand up to his cheek, my pen falling to the ground. As we separated, I was speechless.

     "I-I liked th-that," I stuttered, "but we can't tell the others . . . not yet at least."

     Phil nodded, "And please add the part about me talking to the list of secrets."

     His voice was very raspy and quiet. I guess that's what happens when you don't talk for at least three months. I agreed and went back to my drawing, pretending that nothing had happened. Phil grabbed his book and sat next to me, crossing his legs.

I couldn't wipe the huge smile off of my face.