#sitting so close together even though there's like five feet of space on dan's other side sdkskdsdks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mindthekat · 4 years

Note

For an Andreil prompt, what about, childhood friends? Or maybe just them going on a date? Oh or Andreil + social media maybe?

okay so neil’s POV is HARD and this is the garbage i came up with? pls be kind

read on a03 | 2132 words | rating: t????

______

The thought doesn’t even cross Neil’s mind until Nicky brings it up. They’re all huddled in the girls’ room for Dan-mandated movie night - something about “team bonding” - and Andrew is in an evening session with Bee which leaves Neil at the center of attention. Aaron won choosing rights this week by betting that the freshman wouldn’t even make it through a week of practice before making a “butcher” comment at Neil, which means they’re watching another stupid superhero movie. Neil is bouncing where he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, glancing at the clock every five seconds. Something is exploding on screen when Nicky leans over and nudges Neil.

“What, you got a hot date with Andrew or something?”

It shouldn’t strike Neil as odd. The question. The assumption. It’s not like he doesn’t know what dating looks like for other people. He watches Matt and Dan get dressed up on off-weekends and go to dinner or a movie. Katelyn and Aaron have a standing date on Wednesday evenings after practice. But for Neil and Andrew, everything is different. It’s been months since Baltimore but Andrew still barely lets Neil out of his sight. The longest they spend apart is Andrew’s sessions with Bee or when they’re in class and even those hours are an exercise in self-control. It’s like Andrew can’t bear the thought of Neil disappearing on him again. Not after falling to his knees on shitty carpet in a shitty motel in the middle of Baltimore with Neil’s battered and bruised face tucked between his palms. Not after feeling the evidence of Neil’s stupidity and Lola’s insanity under his own fingertips. Not after waking up to Neil trembling and whimpering no, no, no in his sleep.

No, Andrew and Neil don’t do dates. They’ve traded them for promises, and stay, and yes. They trade kisses over the hood of the Maserati and unfinished cigarettes and keys to a house and a heart. Neil isn’t sure what going out to dinner or going to a movie could give him that he isn’t already getting. Because the thing is, Neil is happy for the first time in his life. He’s allowed to want things now.

“What?” He asks Nicky, confusion written all over his face. He spares another glance at the clock, counting down the minutes until Andrew is settled in beside him again, close enough to touch. Close enough to remind Neil that he’s alive and he’s allowed to have this.

“You. Andrew. Dinner and a movie?” Nicky prods, jamming his finger into Neil’s ribcage.

“We’re not..we’re not like that.” Neil stumbles over his words, trying to find the right ones on his tongue.

Before Nicky can poke and prod any further, the door swings open and Andrew makes his way in. The sight of him alone is enough for Neils heart to stutter. Andrews participation in team movie night is never a given. It’s as tentative as his consent is. A yes one day does not guarantee a yes the next day. But his sessions with Bee lately have been leaving him more unpredictable than usual. There’s days where Andrew comes back and won’t want Neil any closer than five feet away from him. There are days where he curls up into Neils space and finds contact with every inch of his body. Toes tucked under Neils thighs while they lounge on the couch. Pinky fingers wrapped around one another while Neil works on his homework and Andrew reads. Fingers wrapped in Neils overgrown curls, mouth pressed to the curve of his throat.

Today, it seems to be the latter. He shuts the door behind him and settles in on the floor next to Neil, burying his fingers in his hair almost immediately. Neil leans into the touch instinctively, without even meaning to. He tucks himself into Andrew’s side and presses a kiss to his temple, earning him a bite to his earlobe in retaliation.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

______

The thought doesn’t cross Neil’s mind again until a week later when Andrew is pressed against him, inch for inch. Andrew’s palms are ghosting over his sides, pressing into the curves of his ribcage and hipbones. He’s mouthing at Neils neck and driving his hips forward and Neil feels like a string pulled taut. Every point of connection between him and Andrew feels like a fire sparking.

“Where’s Kevin?” Neil breathes, squirming under Andrew’s hold on his hips.

“Fuck if I know.” Andrew sucks a fresh hickey into the base of Neil’s throat, next to where another is fading. And fuck, Neil might have a fetish for Andrew’s neck but he sure as hell has no complaints about Andrew’s attention to his.

If someone would have told him a year ago that he would have this, that he would have Andrew and the Foxes and a future, he would have laughed. A year ago there were only minutes and hours. He lived in moments between practice and class and games and lies. He couldn’t imagine weeks or even months into the future. He couldn’t dream of a moment beyond the one he was living in.

Andrew is hot and firm where he’s pressed against Neil, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything but Andrew’s breath and the scrape of teeth across his shoulder.

“Wanna blow you. Yes or no?” Andrew pushes up onto his elbows to level a stare at Neils face, searching for something in his expression. Whatever he finds there and in the breathy Yes that Neil lets out must be enough because he mouths his way down Neils bare chest. He pauses to suck another bruise into his ribcage, running his tongue along the lines of Neil’s ribs.

It’s not often that they find time to do this, take time with one another. Now that practice has started again, night practices have resumed as well. If Kevin isn’t up their asses about running drills, he’s coping with Riko’s death with the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Andrew bites into the soft flesh of Neil’s inner thigh before tonguing at the tip of Neil’s cock. He’s been rock hard since Andrew undressed him but when Andrew swallows down, he nearly whites out at the feeling. He doesn’t last long. He never does when Andrew works him up first but i when he comes he shakes under Andrew’s hands.

“Can I-“

“Shoulders only and don’t watch.” Andrew says through gritted teeth before Neil can even finish his question.

It’s like this most often, Andrew getting himself off above Neil. There are bad days, days where Andrew kicks Neil out of the room or retreats to the bathroom to take care of his own arousal but most days it’s like this. Andrew holds himself up on one elbow while Neil runs his fingers across Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew’s other hand dips below the waistband of his sweatpants and minutes later, he’s burying his face into Neil’s neck and his entire body goes rigid above Neil.

After they’ve showered, they settle against one another in the bottom bunk, Andrew’s back to the wall and Neil tucked against Andrew’s chest.

“Andrew?” Neil asks sleepily, just on the edge of being awake.

“Unf.” Andrew grunts in response.

“Would you want to go on a date sometime?”

Andrew’s even breath against Neil’s neck is the only sound in the room for what feels like hours until Neil realizes that Andrew has fallen asleep. His hand is still wound tight in the fabric of Neil’s shirt but the small puffs of breath in Neil’s ear is distinctly even, the only evidence that Andrew is capable of relaxing.

______

It’s after Andrew’s next session that Andrew drops onto the couch where Neil is knee deep in calculus homework. He drops two tickets into Neil’s lap and twirls an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Friday after practice. I heard you like that shitty band that Matt always plays.” Andrew says unceremoniously, like he hasn’t just dropped two concert tickets into Neil’s lap. To anyone else, concert tickets might not mean much but Neil knows just how much Andrew is giving him with these two small strips of cardstock. It’s more than just acknowledging that he heard Neil’s question between warm sheets and Andrew’s breath against his neck. It’s acknowledging that he cares about what Neil wants, acknowledging that whatever this is between them is something he cares enough about to indulge Neil’s fantasy of normalcy.

“You heard me.” Neil says, eyes shining and jaw slightly agape.

“Of course I did. You never shut up.” Andrew says, though the quirk of the corner of his mouth betrays his smugness at knowing he’s the one to make Neil look like this.

“Andrew..” Neil says, still unbelieving. He stares at Andrew, as if he will disappear if he looks away.

“Stop looking at me like that or I’ll take Kevin.” Andrew replies, the small tilt of his lips saying otherwise.

Neil leans down to where Andrew is trying his best to scowl at him, slowly enough that Andrew could pull away if he needs to, and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.” He whispers.

If they spend the next thirty minutes making out on the couch, Neil’s calculus homework forgotten, well that’s nobody’s business.

______

Andrew’s fingers grip Neil tightly as they weave through the crowd. The concert is standing room only and Neil already offered to stand at the back of the club so Andrew can press his back against the wall instead of leaving it to strangers. A few tables litter the edges of the standing room but they’re all full and Andrew is pulling Neil through the crowd until they’re close enough to the stage where Neil can see above the heads bobbing in front of them.

“If we’re going to go to a concert you may as well be able to see.” Andrew explains, as if he hasn’t turned the world on its axis with the amount of concessions he’s made for Neil in one week alone.

The evening is an exercise in growth and trust for them both. Andrew stands rigid through the opening act, though he does allow Neil to stand at his back with his hands on his waist. They’re not pressed close together but allowing Neil to touch him outside his direct line of vision is a first.

By the time the main act crosses the stage, Andrew is leaning into Neil’s touch. Whether it’s exhaustion from the week or just giving Neil another permission, Neil isn’t sure but he hooks his chin over Andrew’s shoulder and crosses his arms over Andrew’s stomach. “We don’t have to stay long.” Neil says, instead of I’m here and I see you.

“Shut up.” Andrew says despite curling into Neil’s lithe body. And Neil presses small kisses wherever he can reach: the side of Andrew’s neck, his cheek, the shell of his ear. The music is familiar, some songs Matt has played in the changing room after practice or during team dinners. Neil isn’t familiar with the lyrics by any means but between the sway of bodies around him and the heat of Andrew’s body, the lyrics strike him harder than music usually does.

'Cause somebody hurt me

Somebody hurt me

But I'm staying alive

And I can tell

When you get nervous

You think being yourself means being unworthy

And it's hard to love with a heart that's hurting

“Yes or no Andrew?”

Andrew is turning around in his grip before the question leaves Neil’s mouth, his hands finding Neil’s hair and tugging until Neil’s mouth is sliding against his. For a moment the crowd melts away and it’s just the two of them wrapped up in each other, pressed together at the chest and at the hips. Neil never takes Andrew for granted and anytime he has Andrew’s lips sliding against his, he is acutely aware of how lucky he is but getting to hold Andrew tight against him in a crowd of people is something else entirely. It’s stupid that he should feel possesive after everything they’ve been through. Andrew has shown him in more than words that he chooses Neil but there’s something that unfurls in his chest at knowing that Andrew is his.

“Idiot.” Andrew mumbles when they pull away for a moment, as if he can read Neil’s mind.

Their surroundings come back to them in pieces. They’re hardly aware of the song ending as they push through the crowd to make it out of the club. Neil reaches over the center console of Maserati in silent request. Andrew takes his hand wordlessly as he rolls his eyes.

“It’s just a hand.” He says.

“Its your hand.”

#Andreil prompt #answered #prompts #andreil #Andrew minyard #neil josten #rating: t #this is mostly just fluff #I attempted Neils pov and its HARD #tfc #tfc drabbles #aftg #andreil fic #foxhole court #all for the game

111 notes · View notes

markonasurface · 3 years

Text

things you said i wouldn’t understand

things you said but not out loud

Thea stared down at Neil. He looked confused but stepped aside to let her pass.

“He’s sleeping,” Nicky called over his shoulder.

She walked down the short hallway and let herself into their room. Nicky was wrong. Kevin sat precariously on the window, long legs dangling outside. He didn’t turn around.

“You gonna jump?” she asked and she had to grab his arm to make sure he didn’t actually fall out. There was a loud shattering noise that let her know her idiot boyfriend was indeed sitting on the edge of a top story window, drinking.

Kevin turned and slipped back into the room with surprising coordination. His eyes passed over her as he crossed to the dresser on the other side of the room and grabbed a half full bottle of - “Are you drinking vodka? At ten-thirty am on a Monday?”

He raised the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful. He grimaced slightly, then leaned back against the dresser. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he told her with overcareful pronunciation. “When did you get in?”

“An hour ago. Wymack picked me up.”

Kevin drank again. She waited for him to say something. He drank again.

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning, Kevin.”

“You’ve already said,” he answered and drank yet again, pointedly this time.

This was a mistake, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she turned and walked out.

Neil leaned against the doorframe ten minutes later and asked, “Is Thea okay?” Before Kevin could ask what he was talking about, he said, “She was pulled from the lineup 30 minutes before her game last night.”

Kevin shrugged and waited for Neil to leave before digging in his pocket for his phone. He had to plug it in and wait for it to get a decent enough charge for him to turn it on. He called his girlfriend but it went straight to voicemail.

He grabbed his computer and pulled up an internet browser, typing in her name. He read a few headlines.

Theodora Muldani Missing From Friday Night Lineup

Why Thea Didn’t Play

Muldani Missing in Siren’s Lineup, Food Poisoning to Blame?

Kevin tried calling her again but was once again sent to voicemail.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry about this morning. I just heard about last night though. Are you okay? Call me back.”

Kevin caught the ball and hurled it toward Jack. Jack missed it and Kevin immediately positioned himself in front of Dan’s path to steal it back. He ignored Jack’s shout of, “I’m open!” and fired at the goal from halfway down the court.

Renee missed it by half a centimeter.

Wymack called for a break.

One of the other freshmen complained about how many balls Jack missed this scrimmage. Jack took off his helmet and said, “We’re only three points down. I’m playing better than you.”

“And yet, Kevin is five shots in this morning and outplaying both of you so that’s not really saying much, is it?”

As he walked off the court, Wymack called his name. Kevin rubbed his forehead on his shirt sleeve and walked toward his father.

“Andrew’s just talking shit,” he said. “I haven’t had anything to drink this morning.” His pounding head was a constant reminder.

Wymack looked a little skeptical but said, “Great. If you’re sober, you can go pick up Thea from the airport.” He held out keys and Kevin stared at them.

“She didn’t tell me she was coming,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Twice in one month?” Nicky raised his eyebrows but kept walking.

“She said she’s texted and called you.”

Kevin went to change. After puking, showering, puking in the shower, dressing, taking a handful of ibuprofen, and downing a bottle of water, he left for the airport. Thea was waiting out front by the time he got there.

“Hey,” she said, leaning across and kissing him.

He held her hand as they drove back toward campus. “How long are you staying?”

“I’m going back in the morning,” she answered, her voice was soft. He shot her a look but she was staring out the window.

Thea was not a soft person.

“Are you just here to check on me or …?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You weren’t answering any of my calls or texts so I just needed to come see you.”

“Sorry,” he said. “My phone is dead and I just haven’t gotten around to charging -”

“You look like shit.”

He gave her an amused sort of grimace.

They got to Fox Tower a little after three. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she grabbed his hand, forcing him to turn back to her. He closed the space between them and she leaned back into the door.

He looked into her eyes, then she watched as his eyes moved to her lips, then the tip of one of her Dutch braids that he was twisting between his thumb and pointer finger. When he looked into her eyes again, she pulled him in.

His hand moved to her hip, then slowly down her thigh as he quickly deepened their kiss. His body pressed hers into the door. His fingertips trailed under her dress and she lifted her leg so her knee was pressing into his hip.

He opened his mouth, breathing hard, hands still gripping the back of her thighs. He lifted her higher for a brief moment before letting her slide her feet back to the floor.

We need to talk, she meant to say.

"Again,” she told him instead, shoulder throbbing from where he’d just bitten her. She kissed him and guided him backwards until they reached the bedroom.

When he opened his eyes, Thea was staring at him. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply. He kissed her shoulder where a bruise was forming and asked, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, sounding distracted.

His arm was over her waist and he pulled her closer so their chests were pressed together. He moved to kiss her jaw and she wanted to say again but she forced herself to say, “We need to talk.”

Kevin pulled away, looking displeased. Talking was his least favorite thing to do these days, mostly because whenever someone talked to him, they wanted to discuss his “drinking problem.”

So he was surprised when the next words out of her mouth were, “I’m pregnant.”

Only then did he realize neither of them had thought to use a condom today, though it was probably deliberate on her part because she already knew they didn’t need one. Kevin had been careless.

His eyes narrowed slightly and he sat up. “Pregnant? We haven’t since -”

“Riko’s funeral,” she reminded him, sitting up, too. “This baby was probably conceived in the same bed you lost your virginity to - what was her name? Lauren? Liv?”

Her tone was cold. Thea was trying to rile him. He didn’t bother correcting her.

“Maybe we should have that bed shipped to us -”

He tuned her out, trying to do the math in his head. Riko had died in April. His funeral was held in May. She was still talking but he asked, “What are you, seven, eight weeks along?”

“Something like that.”

“Have you been to a doctor? Does your team doctor know?”

“Of course not,” she hissed, looking offended.

Kevin considered the information he had. “Are you going to keep it?”

Immediately he knew he had said the wrong thing. Thea turned. “Am I going to keep it?”

“That’s not what I meant -”

“I’m the woman so of course it falls on me, right? I shouldn’t have told you.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her from climbing out of his bed. “Thea, that’s not what I meant. I-I-I -” His head was spinning. He felt himself start to shake. He needed a drink.

Thea pulled her arm out of his grasp and pulled the sheet higher. “I just told you I’m pregnant and you’re thinking about your next drink.”

He wanted to refute it but he didn’t want to be a liar.

“I’ve been patient,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “After everything you’ve been through and not being able to tell anyone for so long. I’ve tried to be supportive even as you destroy yourself and try to push everyone away.

“I thought when I told you I was looking for an answer from you, a-a-a declaration, a promise?” She shook her head. “Now I know I should’ve taken care of this myself and left you out of it completely.”

He offered his hand but she didn’t take it. He shook his head at it. “Thea, I’ll promise you anything you want if you want this baby,” he said. When she looked away he huffed a short laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know how much harder women have to work. I train twice as much as the men on my team because if I don’t, coaches will think I’m not dedicated enough. I stop 73 percent more attempts at the quarter line than Thompson and he still gets paid twice as much as I do.”

Kevin never dared to interrupt Thea when she was making a point.

“I can’t risk throwing away my career in the hopes that you’ll stop drinking and you’ll be there for us.” A tear fell down her cheek. “Even if it upsets my parents or you, I don’t think I can have this baby.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head. He wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about, but he knew everything she was saying was true. He was a 21 year old alcoholic with so many traumas he hadn’t even tried to start processing. Even without his issues, he would never ask her to give up Exy.

Thea climbed down the ladder and pulled her dress over her head. When she opened the bedroom door voices carried in.

“No one wants you in this apartment,” Nicky said.

“I just wanted to see if Kevin wants to run some drills tonight,” came Jack’s voice. “Oh.”

Kevin opened his mouth but Thea walked out.

“Thea! Nice to see you -”

She pushed past Nicky and snatched her bra from Jack’s outstretched hand. She stooped to pick up her panties and Wymack’s car keys, slipped on her shoes and left.

She sat in the car for awhile, trying to stop crying.

Four weeks later

When she left practice, she was surprised to see Kevin leaning against her car. She heard some of her teammates whispering. Even in the pros Kevin Day was a big deal.

He straightened as she came near. She stopped in from of him, a hand on her hip.

She expected him to ask her if they could talk. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes narrowed slightly but then she realized there was something in the hand he had taken hers with.

Slowly, she opened her hand so she could see what was there. On her palm was a round, red chip. She looked back at him, eyes slightly rounder and wet.

She moved her duffle bag around to her front and opened the side pocket. She removed the envelope and held it out to Kevin.

His eyebrows furrowed and she saw his fingers trembling a little as he opened it. He took out the photo, stared, the crease in his forehead getting deeper. She saw the moment it registered as he glanced back up at her face, a question in his eyes. She nodded.

When he grabbed her hand again, Thea felt the tears falling down her cheeks. He pulled her to him, his other hand coming around to cup the back of her head as he pressed his lips firmly to hers.

She heard some wolf-whistles as she fisted the front of his jacket in her hands, a mixture of relief and nerves fluttering around in her chest.

They pulled apart only for Kevin to pull her back in again. They would have to talk but for now the red chip said everything she need to hear.

#aftg #tfc #kevin x thea #tfc fic #Things You Said

10 notes · View notes

ravenvsfox · 5 years

Text

do you rascals want chapter 8 or what??

Andrew waits for his palm to make contact, for Neil to misstep and make everything easy again, but his fingers hover an inch from Andrew’s skin. He can feel the heat coming off of him, the little shield blocking out the breeze.

His hand is a warm bed, and Andrew is so tired.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't know,” Neil whispers. He sucks in his bottom lip. He’s leaning out of the light, face cut in half by shadow, and Andrew can't tell if his eyes are clear or not. He peels the hand from the air beside his cheek and Neil lets him.

Their hands are heavy together for a moment, paperweights trying to keep each other down.

“I’m not interested in ‘I don’t know’,” he tells him. He’s not going to let Neil lay his confusion and curiosity over him until they both suffocate.

“But you’re interested in me,” Neil says, stupidly, like he still can't believe it.

“Sometimes,” Andrew admits. “Sometimes you are intolerable.”

Neil holds his own bare arms. “Sometimes is more than I would have expected.”

“I’m not dealing with your self-pity right now,” he says viciously. He’s preoccupied with his own.

He keeps thinking of the way Neil’s mouth had formed the words he’d written about him. Andrew had thought them with such hopeless anger, but Neil had sung them with such rapture.

“It’s not self pity, it’s—“ he cuts himself off. “Maybe I’m interested too.” He leans forward into the light, and the full force of what he’s just said hits Andrew like a fender bender, when you have to pull over and assess the damage.

He can’t help the way his face takes on colour, the curl of hope that immediately dilutes in the cool air. “You’ve been drinking all night,” he says. “You sat through Kevin’s entire sermon on atonal improv. Forgive me if I can’t trust your judgement.”

Neil’s mouth betrays his feelings, as always. His lips part, and he says, “I don’t feel drunk anymore.”

“You don’t know what you feel.”

“I do,” Neil says, then looks surprised at himself for saying it.

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” Andrew says.

Neil falls silent, but he still looks so keyed up, so flush with the edge of something that Andrew’s been dangling off of for months. He thinks, if he had pulled his hand closer instead of easing it away, would this cracked ice between them have melted? Would there be anything between them at all?

“I used to have a piano teacher,” Neil says, “who told me not to start playing until I was sure that I could get every note right.” He looks out into the darkness for just a moment, and then squarely at Andrew. “I would move my hands to the right places but I wouldn’t press down. Sometimes we would sit for twenty minutes like that.”

“So—what? You’re hoping I’ll give you sheet music?”

“I just—I don’t want to be afraid to play because some notes will be wrong, I just like the song. I just want—“ he cuts off again, taking a deep breath and adjusting his posture, almost like he’s preparing to sing. He gestures helplessly, and then his hand curls back up into a fist and his back bows. “I’m tired of wasting so much time.”

“You knew you were signing your time away when you joined Ausreißer.”

“Right,” Neil says ruefully. “So why does it feel like you’re trying to buy me time, and I’m not using it properly?”

Andrew’s insides turn over sympathetically. His body has understood something that he has not, yet.

“You’re delusional,” he says.

He puts his glass down on the porch slats at his feet, and the static in his head keeps turning up and up and up. He feels like he’s writing a song, and it’s all the way up to his mouth and it hurts, to keep it in.

“People have said the same thing about you,” Neil says.

Andrew nods. “The only delusion I’m entertaining is that your voice is worth the trouble it causes.”

“I’m not sure that I believe that, anymore,” Neil says softly.

“I didn’t ask,” Andrew says, and then he puts both hands on Neil’s jaw, and kisses him.

Finally, the deafening, deadening static turns into solid sound. The wind stops blowing, and Neil’s mouth hitches open beneath his, miraculous, like a door unsticking.

Neil has a history of standing in Andrew’s way, moving all of the furniture in his life an inch to the left. But somehow this is the simplest thing he’s ever done. It’s like he put down his drumsticks and went for the drums directly with his hands. He can feel the skin of them and hear their heartbeat and it’s beyond music and beyond pain.

Andrew can feel Neil moving, craning up into the hands on his face, and he holds onto him. He can’t think of anyone who’s moved him to such slowness before.

He usually likes kissing because it’s a fight where he has the upper hand, but this feels more like a truce. This is the refuge where an armistice happens. This is the kind of kiss that ends a war.

He slides a hand up into Neil’s hair. The ball of his tongue piercing clicks behind Andrew’s teeth, and he breathes, shuddering, into Neil’s mouth. His foot moves involuntarily, and he hears his whiskey knock over and splash across the deck. He feels a hand loop unsteadily into the sleeve of his sweater, and realization trickles down the back of his neck.

He forces himself to relax his hand at the base of Neil’s skull and pull away.

Neil bobs after him. Andrew looks closely at the brown hair blowing into his eyes, aware again of the dark, cresting sound of the air rushing through trees. His hand slips up and pushes Neil’s hair back from his face.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says hoarsely.

“You said,” Neil starts, swallowing and closing his eyes briefly. “You said you wanted something you couldn’t have. But you can. I’m telling you you can have it.”

“I can’t have you. You’re too drunk to give me a real answer, and I’m not going to be that fucking person. I won’t be.”

Neil tilts his head, considering. “I would’ve said yes earlier, too.”

“That’s not how this works,” Andrew snaps.

“Then give me a few hours,” Neil says simply. “And we try this again.” Andrew doesn’t reply, and Neil leans close. Something about getting kissed has hooded his eyes and made him move slow, like he hasn’t quite acclimated to the air outside of Andrew’s mouth. “Last week you told me to choose trust. Can you do the same?”

“I don’t even trust you when you’re dead sober.”

He watches Neil tamp down a smile. “That stings a lot less now that you’ve kissed this mouth.”

“Doesn’t make it any less irritating.”

Neil snorts, standing up on wobbly legs and side-stepping the puddle from Andrew’s upended drink. He stops just before the door, his face soft. “Thanks,” he says, “for not being what people think of you. It’s been a long time since someone’s surprised me in a good way.”

Andrew’s stomach riots and swaps with his lungs. “Leave,” he says, urgently needing the space.

Neil does smile this time, a spasm of unchecked feeling, and then he taps gently on the doorway and slips through it.

Andrew slumps backwards in his seat, lips stinging. He can’t process the last five minutes all the way through without overheating and shutting down.

He’s used to all of his senses going dull for periods of time. He loses feeling like he used to lose time. The trees look browner and the alcohol burns softer. This time though, he’s feeling so much that it’s lurching ahead of the booze and the brewing storm on the air, and it’s all he can focus on.

Neil used to be easy, because he was impossible. He could do the equation ten different ways and still get the same wrong answer.

And now a whole variable has changed, and the answer is completely different.

Now the whole murky pool of his thoughts has been drained, and there’s a mosaic at the bottom, and it’s gleaming and solid under his feet.

He has to remind himself that the bottom of an empty pool is still a pit. The ladder is halfway up, and he’s stuck here.

He looks out into the whistling darkness, and rain starts to pitter on the overhanging porch roof, fighting down through the dense trees to the earth.

He’s been sitting in the storm for a long time when there’s a peel of laughter inside, and then a shriek as the power blinks and goes out.

He grips the arms of his chair tightly, and closes his eyes so he can hear better. The worst things always seem to come out of the dark. He’s tired of being taken by surprise tonight.

There’s a ruffle of footsteps inside, and then a smack when the door is opened too fast.

“Sorry,” Nicky hisses.

“What do you want?”

“Are you—can you—there’s a backup generator in the basement, and I’m—shut up Allison, I’m asking him—“

“Then go use it,” Andrew says.

“Could you?” Nicky asks. “Renee went to bed, Dan’s too drunk to read a manual, and the rest of us are spooked. You’re not afraid of anything, come on.”

He grits his teeth, suddenly resentful. He’s disoriented by the pounding rain and complete darkness, and so unsure of so many things that he’s almost shaking, but he stands up anyway.

“Yes!” Nicky cheers. “Yes, okay, thank god. I thought I was going to have to send Neil out here to convince you.”

Andrew pushes past him into the over-warm entryway.

He can hear a few Foxes nearby, moving shadows in the sparse moonlight. They go quiet around him, as usual. He can tell Neil isn’t with them because he would be rallying them out of their strangeness. He would be commandeering the situation for himself, pulling them all through whether they wanted to go or not.

“Why not send him down instead?”

“I dunno,” Nicky’s disembodied voice says. “I don’t know where he went. Plus I kind of get the feeling that he’s anti-basement. He can barely sit still downstairs at home.”

“He doesn’t trust a room with one exit,” Andrew says. “ He doesn’t like to be backed into a corner.”

“Well, like. Does anyone?”

Andrew pulls the heavy basement door open and pushes it towards Nicky.

“Hold this.”

Nicky drops his voice to say, “are you guys okay? Did he figure it out?”

Andrew doesn’t reply.

He steps down blindly onto the first step, and it creaks comfortingly beneath his foot. He feels his way to the bottom from there, hands on both bannisters, listening hard through the rain and wind for anything else disturbing the stillness.

There’s a little rectangular window across from the stairs, and the rain is tapping hard against it, trying to get in. A dollop of thunder smacks down on top of the cabin and drowns everything else out for a moment. Lightning follows, a white slash in the dark.

When he was a kid, he used to think of thunder as the incompetent villain giving himself away. Lightning was the hero, striking at the source of the noise with his flashing sword.

When he was a little older, he thought of lightning as the punishing blow when the thunder sobbed too loud.

A little older, and he didn’t think about it at all.

Another clumsy clap of thunder, and then the lights flood on around him.

Before his eyes can adjust, a voice says, “Andrew?”

He startles and turns in place, almost fishtailing in his haste to get to high ground.

It’s Neil though, of course, where none of them expected him, sitting on a couple of overturned crates next to the humming generator.

He squints at him in the light from the low-watt bulb swinging overhead. “Why are you down here?”

He looks sheepish. “I needed somewhere quiet to sober up.”

“You didn’t hear me coming down?”

“I didn’t know who you might be,” Neil says tightly. Andrew watches his face, a little ashen in the gloom. Being alone underground when the power was choked won’t have helped Neil’s anxiety any.

“You turned on the generator,” he says dumbly.

Neil shrugs. “I’ve lived in some dives, and I’ve seen a lot of shoddy electricity. Manual start-ups have kept me alive once or twice.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Why are you so scared?”

“I was just thinking,” Neil says. He’s breathing erratically, and his hair looks tugged out of place, maybe still from where Andrew tucked it back from the wind. “You wrote… all those lyrics about me.”

“Some of them, not all.”

“Right,” Neil says flippantly. “When we were planning the album, do you know how long I had to sit with a thought before I got it down on paper? How long you have to want something to write down that you want it?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The words don’t mean more because I scribbled them out to meet a deadline.”

“Stop lying,” Neil says.

“You can’t tell me to stop lying.”

“I like that you don’t lie,” Neil says. “I think, if I’d gotten to have another life, I would’ve hated lying too.”

“You must still be drunk.”

“I’m completely fucking sober,” Neil snaps. “And I think you are too. Am I wrong?”

“Usually.”

“Am I?” Neil asks again.

“I spilled half of my only drink on the porch, what do you think?”

He bites his lip nervously. “I think this is more dangerous than I realized.”

“Fine,” Andrew says, heart sinking. “We can bury it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Neil says. “Tell me you’ll stop writing about me.” He’s oddly focused on this. He’s convinced himself that music and feelings are the same, and you can’t have one without the other. Like if Andrew burns his lyrics, he burns the meaning out of them. As if he wouldn’t have tried that already.

“This is irrelevant.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“I’ll stop,” he says, watching Neil’s shoulders relax.

“Okay,” Neil breathes. “Okay. Then I think—I still want this.”

Andrew steps closer, hair standing on end. Neil drifts up to meet him, and one of his crates clatters to the floor. “Yes or no?”

“I just said—“

“I don’t care what you said unless it was a yes or a no.”

Neil’s mouth quirks just slightly, dented from neutral into something else entirely. “Yes.”

Andrew takes him by the wrists.

He walks Neil backwards until he makes contact with the wall just below the window. Lightning splits his face. Andrew kisses him to seal him back together. He lifts both of Neil’s hands and holds them just over his head, hard.

“Don’t touch,” he says against his lips. He slides his hands down Neil’s chest to his hips and gathers him close. “Still yes?”

“Yes,” Neil says breathlessly. Andrew presses in again, hands full of him, fingertips sliding over the skin below the hem of Neil’s shirt. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and Neil gasps for air like he does between measures of music.

There’s no drink to knock over this time, but he still feels like something’s upended.

A minute, and he can tell that Neil’s arms are sagging from the strain of holding them above his own head. When Andrew looks up to check, he’s gripping the windowsill with both hands. His fingers are slippery from the water seeping through, and Andrew can’t stop staring.

It’s uncanny, the sounds and the heat and the bunched muscles. It can’t be possible that the fantasy can disperse into reality and make things true. Nothing ever happens that way.

It’s almost terrible, to know that the longing was always a sliding door away from this: Neil relaxing under his hands, Neil ducking his head and dragging kisses down his neck.

His hands fly to his hair to yank him back a little, and Neil stares at him from under his lashes, swept away in it, head tilted back exactly where Andrew wants it.

“Andrew?” Nicky calls, from above. “D’you get lost down there?”

He loosens his grip and tries to swallow. “No,” he says, just loud enough to be heard. The last thing he needs is for Nicky to see them and decide he needs to play mediator.

He steps back, and Neil’s hands melt off the window and back down to his sides. He wipes the rainwater off on his shirt, dragging it back into place as he does so.

Andrew takes another step back, then another.

He makes himself turn and walk up the stairs away from this new agreement that they’ve made. He can’t get away from the memory of Neil’s face when the lights came on though, the hours he spent in the dark trying to convince himself that love songs don’t mean anything at all.

______

The morning is cool and green, but the torrential downpour of last night has broken like a fever. Andrew has the attic bedroom, in the crook of the roof where no one can be bothered to pull the ladder down and follow him up.

Last night he let Neil climb into his notebook, take out his ideas, and try them on. He’d tasted his whiskey mouth and then his ginger ale and peppermint one, he’d fisted his colour-damaged hair and watched him consciously hang his composure up like an overcoat to let himself be touched.

Andrew had skulked up to his room, trying first to be asleep and then to be awake, and finding that they were both non-starters. He’d relived Neil’s tongue piercing flat to his adam’s apple until he gave up, jerked off, and passed out just as the sun was coming up.

Now, he crawls out the window and onto the slope of the roof, feet poking out from sweatpants, hoodie zipped up over his bare chest. He lights a cigarette, half surprised when it manages to catch fire with all the moisture in the air.

His toes curl against the grey slats just above the eavestrough. It’s amazing how wired he feels, right on the cusp of falling. The only ways out are the acrobatic climb back to the window or the leap to the ground below. The wet pavement taunts that it’s closer than it is. Gravity, missing the ceaseless power of its rainstorm, tries to nudge him over and pour him down too.

It’s late morning when the door below him shudders open and Aaron’s blond bedhead appears beyond the crest of the roof. He wanders out towards the car, and Andrew flicks his cigarette so it bounces off the windshield.

Aaron barely startles. He sighs and turns around, shielding his eyes to look up at him.

“Where are you going?” Andrew asks.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my car.”

Aaron crosses his arms. “Only technically,” he sniffs. Then, “I’m gonna go to the lake. It’s supposed to be why we’re here.”

“Supposed to be,” Andrew repeats, fishing for whatever’s just behind those words.

Aaron rocks back against the van, face level with the side mirror. “I know you’re only here because Neil asked you to be. I don’t understand why you keep listening to him.”

“I know you’re not going to the lake,” Andrew counters. “You’re going to find somewhere with reception to talk to your girlfriend.”

Aaron looks crestfallen. “You don’t have to talk about her like she’s a filthy bad habit.”

Andrew thinks maybe that’s the only way he understands romance.

“You don’t have to treat her like one,” Andrew says. “By sneaking out and stealing my keys.”

“Yeah right,” Aaron says loudly. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“A choice is exactly what I gave you.”

“An ultimatum,” Aaron corrects. “Don’t make me return the favour.”

Andrew rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Aaron says, gesturing, agitated. “We all heard those things you wrote.”

“And you think you understand them.”

“Of course I fucking do, Andrew, I’ve loved people too.”

He sits with that for a moment, trying to swallow around the implications of it and finding that his mouth is bone dry.

“I’m gonna go, and you’re gonna let me,” Aaron tells him. He manually unlocks the driver’s side door and pops it open. “And you’re going to be careful with Neil. He’s still the guy who provokes people to violence every time he opens his mouth, and you don’t need that.”

Andrew knows all this, so he still doesn’t reply. Eventually Aaron gets in the car and shuts the door behind him with a sound like bubblegum popping.

He hates talking to Aaron like this, when they circle each other and go through the motions of the same fight over and over. Jab. Jab. Dodge. Hair pull, exactly where it hurts. Right hook that never lands.

Yesterday was the first time that they’d spoken about something other than the Spears lawsuit, or Tilda, or the Katelyn-shaped knot in their relationship. It’s uncanny, the way Aaron talks about music like he used to talk about medical school. His passion completely relocated when he realized that he could save someone’s life without having to prove how smart he was.

Sometimes there are soft sounds at Andrew’s door at night, and he can tell that Aaron is sitting outside, keeping watch. He’s never caught him at it, but he knows the shape of his brother’s shadow.

Twenty minutes later, Dan and Matt come out of the cabin, talking cheerfully about their plans for a quick and dirty 1 pm breakfast before they hike to the nearest falls. He can tell from a distance that they’re hyper casual, Dan in Matt’s sweatshirt, her short hair in a tiny little ponytail. Matt’s wearing sandals, and the gel from last night is loose in his hair.

They wonder about nearby restaurants and what footwear is best for the rain-soaked forests. They find the van missing and they wonder about that too.

It’s so simple that he thinks for a second that he might like to hear what Neil wonders about, and then he thinks of what Aaron said before. I’ve loved people too. He feels very stupid all of the sudden. He’s realized something much, much too late.

“Oh, Andrew, jesus,” Dan says, clutching her chest. “I didn’t see you.”

“What the hell?” Matt says. “You look like a fucking bird of prey perched up there like that.”

“I’m smoking.”

“Crack?” Dan says. “I don’t know why else you’d be on the steepest, slipperiest roof I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He shrugs.

“Don’t stay up there all day, okay,” she says. “Kevin’s moaning about his hangover, and Neil’s being super weird.”

“Not my problem.”

“I guess,” Matt says, packing their bags into his car. “But they’re like, your pets. I don’t know how to get them to stop whining.”

“I think Renee made coffee,” Dan says innocently. “If you want any. It’s that expensive honey almond shit.”

Andrew doesn’t reply, and she rolls her eyes and climbs into the passenger’s seat.

“Also, we’re having a fire tonight, and you’re obligated by law to come sit through it,” Matt tells him, not giving him a chance to refuse before he follows her inside.

He watches their car back out, trying to fathom how Neil could act any weirder than he already does.

Spreading out onto his back, he thinks about detaching himself from every miniature drama playing out in the strangeness of the cabin, and pursuing this thing with Neil until it runs dry.

He rolls onto his knees, ignoring the pang of fear that it sets off, and pulls himself up to the windowsill.

Only when he gets one dewey foot down onto the bare wood does he realize that Neil’s there, again, sitting in his unmade bed.

“You’re starting to infringe on my space,” Andrew tells him, swinging his other leg over the sill.

“Sorry,” Neil says, obviously unrepentant. “I kind of don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We’re at a cabin. Go to the lake.”

“I’m not a fan of the water,” Neil says, but he’s starting to smile a little, as Andrew gets closer, this stupid, coy little thing.

Andrew lifts Neil’s face up by the jaw. “You don’t like water and you brought us to an 8000 acre lake in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

“I like seclusion,” he shrugs.

“You like being unfindable,” Andrew says. “You found the darkest corner in the basement of a cabin in the woods to sulk in.”

“You’re the one who was huddled out on the rooftop.”

“Some people,” he says, “were getting on my nerves.”

“I could get on them again,” Neil says cheekily, and his smile widens when Andrew’s face drifts down towards his.

“Still yes?”

“Uh-huh,” Neil says, eyes already closing. Andrew watches the waiting-to-be-kissed look on his face for a beat, savouring it.

He pecks his lips, watching his eyelids flutter through the contact. He kisses him again, for longer, and lowers them both into the mess of blankets. He feels like he has arms full of sunken treasure, like he’s easing to the ocean floor with it all, rich and doomed.

He fixes Neil’s hands above his head again, and they curl automatically in the pillows.

“I didn’t come up here expecting this,” Neil tries to say. Andrew can’t stop staring at the way he looks beneath him, hair feathered out on the dark green sheets, loose shirt, scarred clavicle, glinting piercings, slim waist.

Andrew clicks his tongue reprovingly. “Liar,” he says. He thumbs Neil’s chest, putting his hands all over the span of his ribcage.

Neil looks embarrassed and amused at once. “I’m just trying to take advantage of our free time.”

Andrew accepts this, suddenly conscious of how little time they might have on this weird, close-quarters vacation. This surreal space that they keep returning to, where Neil wants to be kissed by him, can’t possibly be sustainable.

He brushes his mouth over Neil’s ear, and his neck, and gets pulled down into his gravity, past his event horizon, feeling wretched intrigue and death close around him at the same time, feeling a joy so hot that it is also agony, and kissing him, through it all.

He sweeps his tongue over a laser-thin scar, and Neil takes in a fast, hitching breath. His hands stay fixed in the pillowcase, even when they’ve been making out for a long time, and Andrew pulls his legs up around his hips. He doesn’t try to touch him, but he latches on when Andrew drags his hands down and puts them in his hair.

When he remembers to open his eyes, his vision seems vague and secondary. He’s so caught up in the heat of Neil’s mouth, and the thumbs slipping down behind his ears.

It’s hard to believe that they’re in the same still, chilly room that he woke up in. It’s hard to believe that the wicked thief’s smile at the back of a concert venue all those months ago is something he’s tasted now.

“Neil?” someone calls from below them. Andrew pulls back, and the humming noise that Neil was making into his mouth sort of pops open. “Hey, Neil? Are you around?” It’s Renee’s voice, he can tell now, more tentative than usual. “Nicky’s trying to rope us into playing Rock Band. Do you want to come be on our team?”

“No,” Neil says quietly, to Andrew. Then, consideringly, “Rock Band?”

Andrew sits back on his heels, and Neil’s hands drop from his neck. “Video game.”

“Andrew?” Renee wonders through the floorboards. “Is he up there with you?”

Below him, Neil shakes his head.

“Yes.” He looks down at Neil’s perturbed expression. “He’ll play.”

“Great,” she chirps, “You’re welcome to join us too, if you want.” There’s a short pause as she waits for a response, and then her footsteps fade down the hallway.

Neil sits up so they’re face to face, and Andrew has to grip his shoulders to stay upright. “I don’t want to play. I’m in a rock band.”

“Consider it practice.” He climbs backwards off of his lap and out of bed, feeling too warm and worked up.

Neil recognizes that he’s being dismissed, and takes it in stride. He gets up off the bed and makes for the hatch down to the main floor. “Can I be the drummer?”

“If you want to lose.”

“I want to know what it feels like to set the pace.”

He scans Neil’s face, and determines that he doesn’t know how flirtatious he sounds, actually, at all.

“No one is stopping you.”

Neil smiles over his shoulder, a flash of teeth before he starts climbing down the stairs, and Andrew thinks maybe he’s underestimated him again.

______

He should be taking Neil to the lake. It’s where the others are gathered, somewhere along the sandbars that border miles upon miles of fresh water. The feedback loop of lake, rivers, and falls means that everything’s always moving, at least a little. Neil should be there.

Only he doesn't like water. He remembers an argument they had, what feels like a lifetime ago, when Neil had said that Andrew “didn’t know what drowning felt like”, and he wonders how literally he meant it.

It’s sinking into the ripest part of evening now, the showing up with wine part of the party before the stumbling out onto the grass with your shoes in your hand part. They’ll all be sharing drinks around the fire by now, playing tinny music without any bass, and rallying around the betting pool that they think he doesn’t know about.

Andrew and Neil don’t make it past the driveway before Andrew grabs Neil’s hand from the gearshift and urges him to park.

“We’re not going to their fire.”

“We’re not,” Neil says haltingly.

“No,” Andrew says. “We’re hungry.”

“We are,” Neil echoes, amused now.

“And they are overly invested in what we do.”

Neil’s hand slips through Andrew’s grasp so he can shift back into reverse. “There’s a we?”

“Only in the grammatical sense,” Andrew says, trying to flatten the colour out of his voice. He used to snap his fingers and turn hope into resentment. He used to have a dentist-grade numbing agent welling up in him always, but he’s starting to feel pins and needles in his lips.

Neil maneuvers deftly out of the winding driveway and onto the main drag. “So where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew says. He wants to laugh. “Forward.”

______

They drive aimlessly for a while. Neil tries tactlessly to question him about his and Aaron’s relationship, deflecting slightly more gracefully when Andrew tells him about Betsy and her occasional house-calls. It’s interesting, watching Neil do this waltz around things he wants Andrew to talk about and things he doesn’t want to say himself.

He watches his face streak with colour and thought from the buttery darkness of the passenger seat. Sometimes his eyes are on the road but sometimes they’re fully on Andrew, and his mouth is parted even when he’s not speaking. Andrew answers questions when he’s asked, then tries to remember the last time he did that.

They share a joint, rolling the windows partway down so the smoke is spirited away on the breeze. Neil gets so talkative when he’s buzzed. He tells Andrew innocuous stories from his life before, of thieving and pursuit, the tragedies that could almost be comedies, if you tell them right.

Eventually, they end up at this upscale Italian place, with a fully stocked bar and the option between high-walled booths or breakable looking tables and chairs. Andrew’s already stolen breadsticks from someone’s table before the maitre’d can greet them, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. He takes a bite of one, dusty with bread flour and hot from the oven, and Neil’s mouth twitches as he follows him.

The staff have started to take notice, and Neil walks backwards to address them, his face going elastic and non-threatening. “We’re just meeting friends. They should be back here somewhere,” he says. He winks at Andrew, and a second later, impossibly, he stumbles over a bar-stool and knocks over a full shaker that’s just been set on the counter. Ice and booze go sprawling.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, leaning over and into the mess, grabbing napkins and getting grabbed by the bartender’s panicked hands.

Andrew slips in behind them like he’s overseeing the clean-up, and while he’s there he swipes the tequila that was just taken off the wall for the spilled cocktail. He puts it under his shirt while he’s still craned over, and Neil’s tilts his head at him from over the bartender’s head, his humiliated expression turning ironic.

“Sorry again, man,” Neil says, backing off, hands up.

“Whatever,” the bartender says, chucking ice into the sink so aggressively that some of it bounces back out again.

Neil ushers Andrew to keep moving through the restaurant. “We’ll leave you to it,” Neil calls, and then makes a beeline for the far end of the room. Andrew spots the bathroom sign and jogs after him, tequila bouncing under his shirt, cold and obvious if anyone could see him past the erratic figure Neil’s cutting.

“After you,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew slips past him. It’s an empty little two-stall with black faux-marble walls and a trough-style sink that Neil rolls his eyes at. He leans over and locks the door behind them. “You spill any?”

Andrew produces the tequila, intact. Neil watches the motion with interest. “Good.”

Andrew unscrews the bottle pourer from the top and drops it in the sink. “Couldn’t get to anything else. I didn’t know how long you could sustain such a bad ruse.”

Neil can’t seem to help smiling as he digs a salt shaker out of his front jeans pocket. “Not that bad, I guess.”

“What, no lime?”

“I can’t make it that easy for you.”

“Come here,” Andrew says. Neil does, instantly, looking flushed high on his cheekbones from their spur of the moment heist.

Andrew takes the shaker, licks the outside of his thumb, and pours a stripe of salt up to his wrist. He fights off a shiver as he watches Neil go through the same motions.

They hold the bottle between their chests, Neil’s hand slipping down to the base, their wet fingers catching together.

“How sober are you?” he demands.

“I’m fine,” Neil says. “It was half a joint.”

He checks his eyes, his steady hands. “Yes or no?”

Neil tilts his head. “Yes. Why?”

Andrew takes the first sip, salt then tequila, and Neil follows right after, trying to time it like a shot. As soon as he’s grimaced through a swallow, Andrew kisses him all the way into the mirror. They sway and overcorrect with the movement, clattering into a paper towel dispenser. Still, Andrew can feel his own brow furrowing with how good it is, better every time.

He presses him back over the sink, fingers laced up in his belt loops, then his shirt, then his hair. He wants him so badly that it’s getting in the way of having him. It’s debilitating, the thought that he might glut himself on this feeling and never taste a thing.

Neil’s still holding the bottle between them, and it reminds Andrew to pull back and take another swig, to lose himself in something else instead. Neil’s head thunks back against the mirror.

“Okay,” he breathes.

“Better chase than tap water,” Andrew says hoarsely.

“Uh-huh,” Neil says.

They share half a bottle like this, drinking deep then kissing deep, getting hands under each other’s collars, steaming up the mirror. A couple of times, the door handle rattles until whoever’s outside gives up and retreats.

Eventually, Neil breaks away, sort of shaky. “What are we doing?” he breathes. Their foreheads are pressed together, and his breath ghosts over Andrew’s cheek.

There’s a sharp knock on the door before either of them can say anything else.

“Um, sirs? Only paying customers are allowed to use the restroom.”

They look steadily at each other, strange and sober in the face of crisis, rumpled and spilled on and warm from each other’s bodies.

“I’m the only one in here,” Neil tries to say. “And I’m meeting a friend outside.”

“I… don’t think that’s true,” says the voice. They sound young, probably an underpaid server sent to collect them. “The host said she saw two of you come in here.”

Andrew gestures for the window at the far end of the room, and Neil smiles slowly.

“Alright, fine, we’ll get a table, if you insist,” Neil says, half laughing at himself, at the entire absurdity of the situation. Andrew crouches on one knee, arranging himself into a stepping stool.

“It’s uh. A little late for that.”

“Sure, of course,” Neil says, climbing up on Andrew’s thigh and reaching up to fiddle with the window latch. Andrew holds his ankles to steady him. The window stays stubbornly fixed. “Give us a moment.”

Another voice says, “Any longer and we’ll be forced to contact the authorities.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Andrew says.

“Yeah, let’s not—“ Neil cracks up again, and his face falls to his forearm, briefly. Andrew’s never seen him like this, so relaxed and stupid. Andrew flicks him in the calf, and Neil redoubles his efforts, cranking the lock in either direction before it finally wiggles loose, and he can wind it all the way open.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, hoisting himself up. Andrew stands as soon as he’s got a grip, and boosts him by the legs.

“We’re going to have to come in, boys,” the second voice says.

“You probably don’t want to do that,” Neil says, voice tight with the effort of squeezing outside. He reaches for Andrew’s hand and pulls. His feet scrabble against the slippery tiled wall. He decides that the tequila is dead weight and drops it on the floor. The bottle shatters and becomes a trap between them and the door just as a key scrapes in the lock.

Andrew manages to get his chest out onto the grass when the door opens and a swell of commotion is let inside. Neil drags him fiercely by both arms, and the rest of him pops through before they can get anywhere near him. Neil gets an arm around him, and they stumble upright as shouts start to echo out of the bathroom and into the chirping night.

“Run,” Neil hisses, and they let go of each other so that they can go running out into the parking lot. They’re both breathing hard, shoulder to shoulder, parting and converging around parked cars. They pass their own van and keep running, beyond the entire lot, out towards the woods that tuck in around all of the buildings and restaurants like the comforter beneath a child’s lego city.

Eventually, Neil’s speed outstrips Andrew’s, and he disappears between the branches. Andrew decides that there’s no imminent danger, and he slows to a jog.

“We didn’t even get to eat,” Neil’s voice pants. He’s somewhere ahead of him, just out of reach.

Andrew searches for him in the low light. “So we’ll go somewhere else.”

He finally makes out Neil’s silhouette, draped against a broad tree. He walks towards him, magnetized as always. “How do you know they haven’t put an APB out by now?”

“It wasn’t a very high stakes crime,” Andrew says slowly, like he’s bored. He isn’t.

“Mm. Maybe we should try harder.”

“Adrenaline junkie,” Andrew accuses. “How can you spend a life in hiding when you’re obsessed with being noticed?”

“I don’t think I was obsessed with being noticed before I met you,” Neil says. Andrew can’t really see him, but he’s speaking like the first warmth you feel in the cold water from the tap.

Andrew’s shoulders stiffen. “Don’t say that.”

“Okay,” Neil agrees easily. “I won’t.”

“I’m not your reason,” he says clearly. “You’re not mine.”

Neil eyes him, vague, through the trees. “Don’t worry. I know where we stand.”

Andrew wants to ask, really? He has no idea where they stand or why they’re standing together or how it’s possible that they’re standing at all when Andrew wants him like this, like a virus wants a host. He wants him even in the middle of a lie, wants to look up and see him draped out of a window, both hands outstretched.

“I wouldn’t have started this with you if I thought it would make things harder,” Neil says, ducking under a branch.

Good. That would be good, and straight-forward, if it were at all true, and if either of them felt it even a little bit.

He follows him through a sheet of budding leaves and into the kind of dry patch where fires start. “All you do is make things harder.”

There’s a silence, and then he says, “I used to hear that all the time, when I was younger.” His voice is so soft, almost transparent, in the dark.

Andrew’s stomach crumples up. “Yeah. Me too.” He leans against a neighbouring tree, and pulls out two cigarettes. “You can’t manipulate stone. And that frustrated them.” He puts them both in his mouth and lights them at once, then passes one to Neil. He doesn’t bother to explain himself.

Neil accepts it. “You weren’t always—stone, though, right?”

He shrugs. “I never did what people told me to without a good reason. You should understand that.”

Neil inhales deep, and shakes his head. He exhales, and Andrew can taste the tobacco even without taking a drag of his own. “I was plenty manipulated.”

“Your mother?” he wonders aloud.

Neil opens his mouth and closes it again. He takes another drag, and smoke comes pouring out when he finally says: “My father.”

“He’s the one you ran away from,” Andrew guesses. He’d said it with such dread that it’s not really much of a guess.

“He’s the one.” Neil’s eyes don’t seem to be looking at anything at all. “It’s terrible,” he starts, hushed, “but if he were here now, I know I’d do anything he asked.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Andrew says, smoking viciously. “I would kill him first.”

Neil smiles, generous and disbelieving. “He’s not an easy man to kill.”

“Someone managed it,” he says, shrugging.

Neil’s smile melts smaller and smaller, until it is memory only, the wet smear left behind from a snowflake. “I’m named after him.”

“Abram?”

“Nathan,” Neil says, and it’s as if he spoke it into a meat grinder, and it came out raw and crumbled. Even more quietly, he whispers, “Nathaniel.”

“Neil,” Andrew says, just to replace the sound of it in the air. “He might have had control over Nathaniel, but he can’t get his hands on Neil.”

“No,” he says, seeming strangely unconvinced. His eyes find Andrew’s properly. “I guess he can’t.”

They end up winding around the whole lot to get back to the car. The night is thick and navy now, and they wear it like a cape and mask, hiding from everyone including each other. Their last conversation sticks in his chest. He can’t shake the feeling of it.

They stay silent all the way to the van, but then Neil puts his feet up on the dashboard, slouching low in the seat, still holding the tiny butt of his cigarette. He blows smoke up into Andrew’s face, and Andrew tweaks it out of his hand.

“Do we go back, now?” Neil asks.

Andrew tries to look out the window, but the foggy interior light is making it so much easier to look at Neil, a low-res sepia dream. “Eventually,” he says.

“I’m still starving,” Neil tells him.

“Good.” Andrew revs the engine. “What do you want to steal next?”

#perhaps I had too much fun with them and should calm down #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #rockband au #tfc fanfic #long post #mine #drugs tw #alcohol tw #this is the happiest they're gonna get lmao #also consent is painstakingly asked for but inebriation complicates things #so absolutely feel free to peace out if drunk/stoned smooches bother you

293 notes · View notes

exyjunkies · 5 years

Text

“Well, damn, I think we’re playing this Seven Minutes in Heaven game a little wrong, are we not?”

Between the both of them, Ronan had spoken first. The silence for the past half-minute had been deafening, with the noise of those outside the closet an almost distant thrum. With the gap of two years since their last encounter, the whole situation was uncomfortable. And terribly awkward.

Adam wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kill him, or...

“Why did you go here tonight?” Adam hoped that Ronan flinched. “You knew I was going to be here.”

“Ah,” Ronan sounded mildly offended. “Because I’m the kind of ex that just knows where you’ll be every day of the week. Of course.”

“Not like that, dumbass. If you don’t already know--”

“I do know. You’re dating Chris, the best friend of the host of this party, and part of the rowing team. Yeah. I got it.”

It sounded like the drone of class recitation. A significant part of Adam really wanted to punch him.

“Then why are you here?”

“Gansey dragged me along. Said it was about time I stopped being single.”

An ache made its way into Adam’s chest, and Adam thanked his stars that the closet was relatively dark on his end. He didn’t know whether or not he should correct what Ronan just said about Chris, who had broken things off just this afternoon. The only reason he was here was because the bars near campus were all full, and he seriously needed a drink.

Very unlike him to seek alcohol, especially when his classes this semester were particularly demanding, but exams weren’t for another two weeks anyway.

Adam, you know I absolutely love that you’re so school-oriented. It’s just...

Just what?

Chris had fiddled with his phone, not wanting to look him in the eye. It’s just... I don’t think we fall on the same spectrum. Y’know. In terms of priorities.

Adam had braced himself for a fight. Hmm. Fine. And you think I should be the one to adjust. Cool.

No, you wouldn’t have to do that. I think... for both our sake, we should break up.

Adam had said nothing, merely gave a huge enough sigh that Chris had thought he was absolutely devastated.

Adam wouldn’t go so far as to say that he expected it. It was just that...by now, he had thought that Chris already understood that he wouldn’t be able to move up from his spot on the priority list, which went academics and then everything else.

But I mean, we can still be friends, yeah? Chris had pulled Adam into a hug, and Adam had barely registered how he felt about the whole thing as he nodded dumbly on Chris’ shoulder. In that moment, all he could think about was getting back to the paper he had been writing.

Chris wasn’t at the party later that night, which gave Adam the hint that he was genuinely sad about the whole thing. And Adam was too. Only a little bit, but he really was. Chris was a great guy, and they’ve been dating for almost three months. Chris was opinionated and good-humored, and was able to keep an intellectually stimulating conversation with Adam around half the time.

Also, he was gorgeous.

A few hours after the breakup, after Adam had done his paper and then a bit of processing, he found that he couldn’t tell when he had stopped.

Stopped putting as much effort as he was expected to, to make things work. Stopped looking forward to seeing Chris. Stopped caring about when Chris told him how his day was, stopped being excited to tell Chris about his.

At the end of everything, Adam had realized that he was just... tired.

And that things with Chris, as much as he had tried (and oh, did he try), could never be the same as--

“And yet you’ve landed yourself in here. With me.” Adam knocked his head back, closing his eyes. The bottle just had to point itself at Adam, not at the guy next to him. Some guy named Dan. Maybe if it were him, Ronan’s time in here would’ve been more worthwhile. Stupid beer bottle.

“Well, we can just... sit here and do nothing, if that’s what you want. We’ve got around five minutes more.”

The closet was big enough that they didn’t need to stay close to each other. It smelled of dust and fabric softener. Adam found a wall to lean back against, and slid down to the floor, bringing his knees up and hugging them.

There was a few seconds of fumbling on Ronan’s end, until Adam’s eyes burned against the light bulb above. He blinked up against the brightness and frowned.

“Found the stupid switch,” Adam heard Ronan mumble, then he heard a thump, not too far from him. Ronan had decided to sit next to him.

And for the next half minute or so, they sat in silence. Adam looked down at his shoes, swallowing the lump in his throat. Even with the space of years between them, Adam wondered if this was how he wanted things to go. If he wanted the both of them to sit there and do nothing. His body was so, so heavy with fatigue, and he wanted nothing more than to go home.

To go home and feel like it was home.

“Um--”

“Ro--”

Ronan’s surprised laugh was muffled by his hand. He tilted his head up and against the wall. “You first.”

“I...” And Adam could’ve said many things.

There were so many things he needed to get out.

Instead, he went for, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Ronan’s head rolled sideways to look at him. And that patience, that understanding, the part of Ronan that had made the biggest hole in Adam’s heart when Ronan had left, was clear as day.

“It’s our senior year, and I still hold that sentiment, Parrish.”

“It’s not like me, you know? I’ve always... always been... been me. And nothing, not any class, not any bully, not even any bad relationship, had gotten in the way of that. And that worked out fine for me.”

“You still hold top spot in all your classes. Probably.”

Top two in his physics class, but Adam wasn’t about to admit that. “But then I’ve never felt this... this helpless. I’m just so...? Done with it all. Nothing in my life feels worth it anymore. It’s hard.”

And maybe Adam felt something tug in his chest when Ronan inched closer, sliding against the wall, until they touched shoulders. He didn’t even know if they were past seven minutes already.

“Listen, Adam,” Ronan said, voice a little rough. “I know I may not be the best person for this type of crap, but I know you have it in you to get back up and make things better for yourself. It’s what I’ve always admired you for, you know? Being able to do that. You have other people around you who believe in you. Gansey and Noah and Sargent. Maybe Cheng, if you get to see him around. Your teachers, because I’m sure as hell you’re buddy-buddy with a lot of them. Those guys on the decathlon team.” He cleared his throat a bit. “And of course, there’s that one person who keeps you together every step of the way.” Ronan shook his head, a small smile on his face. “You can’t forget that.”

He probably meant Chris. Adam sighed, closing his eyes again. His next words were so soft, and yet it seemed like they filled the closet.

“Chris and I are done, Ronan.”

A beat of silence followed, which felt a lot longer than it actually was.

Then, Ronan’s voice was low and dark. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

A tear had left Adam’s eye before he could help it, and it felt onto his jacket sleeve. He sniffled and shook his head. Ronan shot him a concerned look.

“It was--ah, God--many things, I guess. He broke it off. Said he didn’t have the same priorities as I did. Which was... fine. I’m not sad about it.” Adam stared straight ahead. “It was probably a long time coming.”

Ronan was silent after that, and Adam understood. It was because in this moment, he didn’t know his place with Adam yet.

“I don’t think I loved him,” Adam continued, answering one of the questions Ronan was probably itching to ask. He felt Ronan tense beside him. “We never said the words to each other either. He was great, but... I don’t think there was ever that pull. We were together for quite a bit, but it never got to that point.”

“How long?”

“Almost three months.”

“Shit.”

“I know. I don’t know how I even made it past one.”

And Ronan laughed then, loud and true, and hearing it made Adam’s heart jump. Just a little.

But enough that Adam had laughed a bit too.

“You are many things tonight, Adam Parrish, and one of them is a complete asshole.”

“I deserve a prize or some shit for my level of tolerance.”

Ronan shook his head in amusement, and looked up at the ceiling again. The tension between them had eased considerably, a huge weight falling off of Adam’s shoulders. Adam wondered if this was what it felt like to be removed from everything he had to do, everything he had to be.

“You deserve so much better, yeah?” Ronan said, knocking his head once against Adam, and Adam felt that tug again, a little stronger this time. “You’ll be okay.”

Relief flooded Adam’s system, and Ronan was near him, was so close to him that the cogs in Adam’s brain were starting to malfunction. He was just broken up with a few hours ago, for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

It shouldn’t feel this right.

“Guys?” Two knocks on the door came, and Adam mentally cursed. Fucking seven minutes. “Time’s up. I know you guys must be enjoying, though, but hurry up.”

Laughter came from the rest of the people outside, amidst shouts of Get a room! and Aren’t you guys broken up already, anyway? Ronan exhaled steadily.

“I guess we’re done here,” he said, and Adam felt all the peace drain from him as Ronan moved away and stood up. Ronan offered a hand, then withdrew it when Adam shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Ronan said, turning around, and Adam just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Wait. Ronan. Stop. I--” Adam did his best to scramble to his feet, his legs not taking kindly to being suddenly held upright. He held onto the wall for leverage.

“Something wrong?”

Adam was frustrated now, as more knocks came from outside. “Okay. It can’t just be me.”

“What--”

“Do you not feel it too? Ronan. Ronan. I get it now. Or... at least I think I do. It’s been too fucking long. And you’re finally here.”

Ronan crossed his arms. Something moved along his features, as if he was trying to make sense of the matter. “But you broke up with me. Why should there be anything--”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why I’m feeling something. But it feels right, Ronan, it feels like we fit. And we might’ve ended on one of the worst possible notes back then, but believe me when I say that ours was the last time I ever tried to fight for a relationship.”

Adam had taken too much out of himself with that monologue, and he slumped back against the wall, barely holding himself up. He was breathing a little heavily, but he wasn’t done.

“The others that followed, they all went as easily as they came, because I never tried to make them stay. There was nothing compelling me to do so. But you, Ronan. We fought so much, and each time, I was so, so scared I was going to lose you. It did get to a point where we had to go our separate ways. It really was too much to handle back then. But now. Now I see why the others didn’t mean as much. As much as I tried to forget about all of it, I don’t think I ever stopped feeling the way I felt about you.”

Ronan’s hands were clenched into fists as Adam finished, chest heaving a little.

Then, Ronan surged forward, cupping Adam��s face with his hands as he kissed him.

It was a mix of grief and relief and anger and happiness and pain and regret, and Adam wrapped his arms around Ronan, holding him as close as possible. Ronan’s tongue licked into Adam’s mouth, and it was everything Adam had been missing since all those years ago. Adam’s face was streaked with more tears now, because he didn’t realize he was holding onto so damn much. Now, he was more than ready to let everything go.

They pulled apart after a few minutes, Adam resting his forehead against Ronan’s and Ronan wiping Adam’s tears away. The knocks became louder, more insistent.

“Go the fuck away, asshole!” Ronan turned to shout at the door.

“Heh. Classy.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.” Ronan’s arm slipped around Adam’s body.

And as much as Adam wanted to continue the kissing (because the drought had lasted so long and he was here, he was here), they still needed to finish talking.

“Ro’, if we do this again, I... I wouldn’t know what to do if we fucked up again.”

Ronan looked Adam in the eyes, a determined look on his face. Adam’s heart was beating hard against his chest, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down.

“I can’t promise that we won’t, Adam.” And Ronan’s other hand went up to cup Adam’s jaw. “But I swear that I will be with you to fix things if we do.”

It was honesty, brutal and real, and Adam held onto it like a lifeline. He nodded, closing the space between them and kissing Ronan again, a little slower this time around.

Because if Ronan could admit to their shared humanity, their similar capability to make mistakes, then maybe this time around, everything will be alright.

#pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #trc #myfic #trc fic #WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!!! IT'S 1 AM AND I AM EMOTIONAL #also this isn't proofread oops sorry

227 notes · View notes

nureyevapologist · 5 years

Note

Hiyaaa, if you want an aftg prom still, pls consider: Neil coming home to his and andrew's apartment with one of his newest recruits, and they boy is beaten and battered and neil's first instict was to take care of him because no one ever took care of neil, and andrew's reaction to this! ❤

thanks for this!! i might have veered from the specifics a little and this is like, 70% a character study of neil and 30% Andreil Content but i hope this is okay!!

Neil Josten felt that he owed a lot to the idea of coincidences.

Coincidence was Neil taking an uncalculated risk on the Millport Dingoes the very same year that Riko Moriyama finally snapped and took the bones in Kevin Day’s hand with him. Coincidence was falling into the same orbit as the man who had watched Neil’s father slice a man like lunchmeat and coincidence was him being so single-mindedly focused on Exy that he didn’t notice Neil’s terrible dye job or the white ring around his contact lenses. Coincidence was Andrew Minyard being the single-most observant person Neil has ever met, and coincidence was Neil being forced into his field of vision.

Coincidence was also Neil here and now, stopping off at a convenience store to grab a packet of cigarettes and accidentally witnessing his potential new recruit fall victim to a heavy, parental hand.

It had only taken one video on a grainy, digital camera to show Neil that this kid had the raw potential to be one of the greatest backliners Palmetto State would ever see. Not fifteen minutes into the footage had Neil shoved aside his other folders and said to Wymack, one thumb jutted at the screen, we have to have him. Wymack had shrugged, assented with a nonchalant you’re the captain, captain and the very next week saw the two of them riding out to Georgia in Neil’s shiny new Lexus.

(“Having a Pro Athlete for a boyfriend sure does have its perks, huh kiddo?” had almost gotten Wymack elbowed bodily out of a moving vehicle.

“Above your paygrade” in a smooth, Andrew-esque tone had Coach laughing for the next ten minutes of the drive, safe and unmoving in the passenger seat.)

So they had approached the boy, Josh, after hanging back in the shadows to watch his high school team completely demolish their opponents. Wymack had loitered, no doubt trying to catch the name of the opposition’s only saving grace, a furious offensive dealer, and Neil had attempted to look cool and friendly as opposed to cold and menacing.

Naturally, the kid told Neil to fuck off four times before Neil backed him into a corner and told him to stop squandering his future by being unnecessarily abrasive. There was something in the complicated ice of this boy’s eyes that Neil connected with, an innate fear that ducked for cover behind aggression and hunched shoulders. One minute he stood every inch his five feet and ten inches and the next, body folded in on itself like he was willing it to disappear, he looked to stand no taller than Neil himself.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” Neil had said, arms tucked across his chest with all of his patchwork scars on show, “but I come from Palmetto State. I’m not here to judge, or pry, or fix. I don’t give a shit about your tragic backstory, I give a shit about the way you single-handedly held up your team’s defense line and I give a shit about putting you on an NCAA Class I Exy team. If you can get over yourself for five minutes, I suggest you sign first and cry later”

Every fibre in this kid’s body twitched like he wanted to run and Neil was hit, not for the first time, with jarring memory of himself in this position, shadows of a dark locker room curling in around his ankles, Wymack promising a future he’d never stayed still long enough to know he wanted. Sentiment was lost on Neil, most of the time. Still, if his family of Foxes had taught him anything, it was that sometimes you had to save people despite them not wanting to be saved. At this point, that may as well be the Palmetto State Motto. Neil had given the kid a few hours to think on it. Go home, talk to whoever you need to talk to, think about it. Just remember that we did not drive out here for a no.

Wymack had, of course, grumbled about having to spend a few hours sweating my damn ass off in the pleasure of your company but had mellowed somewhat when Neil had taken him for a suitably greasy dinner and showed him how to use his new phone to FaceTime Dan. He had allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the scene; Wymack, his face far too close to the screen, cursing Dan out for not texting him all week because saying I miss you is too overrated. Dan, a pixelated blur of joy and exuberance, showing her father every single corner of her new apartment and zooming in on one Matt Boyd, tangled helplessly in the middle of an Ikea side table.

With Wymack occupied, Neil had called Andrew, who answered on the very last ring because he was a certified asshole at the best of times. “Am I to assume you will be elsewhere when I get to the dorms?”

Andrew always makes him feel so known. “I managed to pick another stubborn one”

“Yes,” Andrew says, his voice a slow rumble over the familiar, quiet growl of the Maserati, “because you were so quick to acquiesce”

“I might have been running to grab a pen,” Neil replies. Andrew doesn’t laugh, but there’s a puff of air that Neil recognises as amusement, and his own mouth curls. “I think I sold him, though. A few hours and I might finally have secured a backliner”

“You should hope so,” and then there’s a beat of silence and the tell-tale flick of a lighter, “because I refuse to listen to you whine about it all weekend”

“So you admit that you do listen, when I talk?”

“Absolutely not” and when the silence stretches for a beat too long, Neil lifts the phone from his ear and realises Andrew has disconnected the call. Typical Andrew, but now Neil’s fingers twitch to hold a cigarette and he distinctly remembers leaving them behind at the behest of Wymack’s disapproving frown. Beneath his thighs the sticky vinyl booth creaks in protest when he shifts his weight and he waves a round-about hand at Wymack before ducking out of the diner, knowing that Wymack will see him cross the road toward the convenience store and put two and two together.

It says a lot for how far he has allowed himself to sink into safety and familiarity and family that he doesn’t immediately notice the shouting. He’s caught up in realising his ID is somewhere in the glove compartment of his car and wondering if his sharp scars and sharper expression will dissuade the cashier from asking questions. Behind the front counter is a door, all peeling red paint and a half-hearted Staff Only sign, and the slight space between the door and the frame is the source of the noise. Neil has no interest in interfering. Neil has no interest in even listening to some inane disagreement between cashier and colleague, and is considering returning to the diner empty handed when he hears a sharp crack, followed by a sharper, you are never leaving me, Joshua, not ever and the unmistakeable sound of hands pummelling flesh. Something in Neil twitches to intervene but he isn’t stupid enough to walk into a small room with flying fists so, in a bid of panic, he thumps the bell by the cash drawer once, twice, three times.

A man appears from the back, face flushed the red of barely-swallowed anger, eyes a little wild and searching. Neil smiles something icy and the man is stupid enough to misread it. “Sorry ‘bout that, had’ta catch up on some paperwork in the back. What can I do ya for?”

There’s a moment where everything slows down and Neil files away details like his life depends on it. Blood, smeared across the knuckles of one large, meaty hand. A row of scratches, three raised and red, sit tucked against his chunky neck in an indication that someone had raised a hand to defend themselves. A gold ring, thick and faded, shaped to spell out DAD. Neil doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he opens his mouth to ask for a packet of Camel Blue and what comes out is “someone round the back is casing the place, you might want to check that out”

A self-righteous rage takes over the man’s expression, clouding his eyes and the twist of his mouth and he claps Neil on the shoulder as he passes on his way to the door. Men like him, Neil thinks, are far too predictable for their own good. Something like a memory tugs at his subconscious; Neil at age sixteen, dropping a similar line, waiting for the all clear to stuff his pockets full of food and hightail it out of there before anyone noticed. That, Neil thinks, was a far more sensible plan than whatever this was. He rounds the corner of the cashier desk, nudges the back door open with the flat of his hand and comes face to face with the cowering, crumpled body of his newest recruit.

The kid, Josh, is folded in on himself in the far corner of this office, schoolbag tossed a few paces away, face hidden in his hands. At Neil’s entrance he starts so hard Neil almost feels it like a physical thing and then his face does something complicated when he realises it isn’t his father; relief warring with shame warring with anger warring with hope. One of his eyes is beginning to blacken and there’s blood pouring from a cut in his eyebrow – the ring, the fucking ring – and from one side of a crooked nose. His wrist doesn’t look particularly healthy and the way he holds himself tells Neil that this is not a one off occurrence.

“What do you want?” asks Josh, and Neil has no fucking idea. There are scars on his skin from the hands of his father and the hands of his mother and there were long years of his life where he was so accustomed to being beaten within an inch of his life that he never stopped to think that maybe, he didn’t deserve it and maybe, it wasn’t normal and maybe, someone should have helped him. How many teachers saw his black eyes, his split lips, his bruised arms, and how many of them said nothing. How many strangers saw his mother grip his wrist so tightly that it popped, pulling him into a car or a hotel or an alley, how many men saw his father pummel him like a punch bag?

Without thinking about it too much, Neil holds out a hand. “I want to help you. I want you to come with me”

Josh scoffs, gesturing loosely to his face. “This is nothing compared to what he’ll do if he comes in here and I’m gone”

Neil frowns. “Look at me,” and he points to his own scarred face with equally scarred hands, “look at my face and tell me you don’t think I’ve survived worse than your piece of shit father. Come with me, now, and don’t ever come back. Let us help you”

And there it is again, the flurry of anger-fear-shame-hope. “Why?”

“You’re a damn good backliner,” Neil tells him simply, “and if you let that pathetic excuse of a man beat you any harder you won’t be, anymore”

Hesitation twists his features into something ugly. Neil knows that he has minutes, maybe seconds until the man outside realises he’s been set up. If Neil has to pick saving himself over saving this kid, he’ll probably save himself, but Josh drags himself to his feet and looks Neil squarely in the face. “If I do this…he will come looking for me”

“And he will find an entire team of angry, troubled Exy players who know their way around a racquet” Neil replies. “I can protect you, but we have to leave. Right now”

His jaw goes tight but he nods, once. Neil nods back and together they make their way toward the front of the store, Neil pushing ahead, body strung-tight with focus. Outside he nudges Josh ahead of him, watches him adjust his gait around a lopsided limp, reels in his anger for another day.

They reach the Lexus across the street and a voice from behind calls “Joshua, get back here this goddamn instant.”

Three things happen.

Josh, in a bout of incredible bravery, flips his father the middle finger and falls over himself to clamber into the back seat of Neil’s car. The father, in a bout of incredible anger, starts for Neil like he means to snap his head from his body. Wymack, in a bout of incredible exhaustion at the familiarity of a situation such as this, appears at Neil’s right shoulder and swings a right hook up and under the man’s jaw.

It sends the man on his ass and in a split-second shared glance, Neil and Wymack make the mutual decision to get the fuck out of there.

Over the course of their drive back to Palmetto, Neil explains the situation with their new backliner, Wymack assures Josh that he will be resolutely protected, and Josh leaks blood all in the fancy seats of Neil’s car. When it doesn’t seem like it will stop, Neil shucks off his hoodie and throws it at the kid, telling him to hold it fast to the wound – after a brief, whispered argument, Neil pulls over and hands Wymack the keys and throws himself into the backseat to try and assess the damage. The ring hadn’t cut his eyebrow so much as it had gouged out a chunk of skin and his nose and lip are bust but mostly dried up. There’s a patch of blood at his side, seeping through his white t-shirt, and he waves that away as split stitches. From what, Neil doesn’t ask. He tries to staunch the bleeding but succeeds only in covering his own fingers in the blood, and in the end Wymack has to drive them straight to Abby’s house.

“Abby is our team nurse,” Neil explains, while Wymack tries to parallel park a Lexus under a blanket of colourful curses, “she patches up sprained ankles but she also patched up every wound visible on my skin, so you can trust her. I can stay, if you want, or I can leave you in her capable hands while I go back to campus and make preparations for you. There’s a spare bed in one of the freshman dorm rooms, or you can stay with Abby, or you can sleep on my sofa. Whatever you need”

Josh tucks his arms around himself, bravado stripped for the day. Neil assumes it will come back, that things will be difficult, that the kid’s attitude will fling itself all over the place, but for now he’s looking at Neil like Neil just saved his life and Neil thinks he just might have.

“You can go,” Josh says, “I have more shit under here I don’t wanna flash to anyone but a nurse, right now. Uh, I don’t…maybe I can stay on your sofa? For a bit. I don’t…”

“Hey,” Neil interrupts, “you don’t have to explain. Sofa it is. Though, I should tell you, my…my boyfriend is visiting right now, and he isn’t the friendliest person you’ll ever meet-”

“Understatement,” Wymack interrupts, “fucking understatement”

“-but,” and Neil flips off Wymack, “as long as you don’t give him any reason to distrust you, you’ll be safe”

He watches the kid for a minute, waiting for something. Protest, anger, homophobia, acceptance. Instead he shrugs, tired, overwhelmed, and climbs out of the car. Wymack follows him out, with a parting jab about Neil’s use of the term boyfriend, and then Neil is left to drive back to campus alone.

Maybe it should be embarrassing that the sight of the Maserati fills Neil with a fuzzy sort of warmth but this past half-a-year has begrudgingly taught him that distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever, and that he should allow himself to recognise that he misses Andrew and likes it when he comes home.

Or maybe Bee had taught him that, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Andrew.

The man in question is leaning up against the hood of his car, sleek and sharp in his black jeans and leather jacket, one booted-foot propped against the license plate, a cigarette between his lips. He’s gotten broader, since Neil last saw him, bulkier in the arms and shoulders and if Andrew is feeling up to it, Neil wants to relearn the shape of him with his fingers, maybe even his mouth.

Andrew doesn’t look up when the Lexus pulls in, feigning a nonchalance the set of his jaw doesn’t quite convey, but he does look up when Neil steps out of the car and his face transitions from smooth to thunder so fast it gives Neil whiplash.

“What happened?”

Neil blinks and Andrew’s hands are on him, fingers tilting his jaw this way and that, skimming down the sides of his body, eyes roaming for injury. Neil belatedly realises that he has Josh’s blood on his hands, a little on his shirt and he curves his own fingers around Andrew’s wrists, meets his eye with a calm stare. “It isn’t mine”

“That,” Andrew says, shoulders settling away from tension, “is not as reassuring as you seem to think it is”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Had some trouble with the new recruit. He’ll be staying with us”

Andrew arches a pale eyebrow, studying the blood on Neil’s fingers with a calculated disinterest. Neil huffs. “His father was beating the shit out of him”

“Where is he now?”

“Abby’s”

Andrew studies him for a long moment. Then, “I thought taking in strays was my thing”

“Well,” and Neil smooths his thumbs down over the fine bones of Andrew’s wrists, “someone had to pick up the slack. I couldn’t leave him there. So many people must have seen my mother backhand me and no one ever stepped in. How could I-”

“Stop it,” Andrew says, and Neil stops. “You cannot take responsibility for every single person in the world. It will never make your mother un-hit you”

Neil flinches, but he knows Andrew is right. Still, “I can help him. I can help this one. I want to”

“Alright”

“Yeah?”

Andrew gives him a look. “What, were you asking my permission? Are we adopting this child together?”

Neil laughs, a new thing, tipping his head back, teeth slipping past his lips. “You don’t think we’d make good parents?”

Andrew steps close enough that one of his boots rests between Neil’s two sneakers, their hands still clasped between them becoming squashed between their chests. “I would be a textbook parent. You would be a nightmare”

“I resent that,” Neil tells him “We’re never having kids”

“Obviously”

“Cats, maybe”

Andrew blinks. “Cats? You’ve thought about cats?”

Neil shrugs, once, but can’t fight the smile spilling back onto his face. “We’re getting cats. You said yourself that you like taking in strays”

“No,” Andrew says, firm. “I do not like it. The last one I took in continues to test my patience, so I will not have another”

“I’ve been testing your patience for four years and you’ve yet to get rid of me” Neil reminds him, “I think you’re getting soft”

“I think I am getting back in my car and leaving you here” Andrew replies, allowing it when Neil’s hands wiggle up between their bodies to frame his face.

“I think you’re going to help me make use of my empty dorm room before a freshman backliner moves in onto my sofa”

Andrew doesn’t respond to this either way but he allows it when Neil stretches to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and he allows it when Neil takes him by the fingers and leads him into Fox Tower, and he certainly allows it when Neil peels him out of his leather jacket before the door is even closed behind them.

(Later, when Josh announces his presence with a tentative knock at the door, Andrew answers it. Neil watches them size one another up and then Andrew reaches up into his armband for a knife. “Use this on anyone other than your father,” he says, “and I will use it to remove your hands”

If the expression on his face is anything to go by, Josh has no idea what he’s agreeing to in taking that knife, but he does it anyway. Neil has to hide his smile in the collar of his newly-acquired leather jacket.)

#answered #prompt fills #andreil #fic

104 notes · View notes

danfanciesphil · 6 years

Text

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER EIGHT] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[Ao3!]

The school parking lot is rammed with limousines and Rolls Royce’s. Dan idles the car in a queue for about ten minutes waiting for one particularly obnoxious pink limo to do a seventy-point turn in an attempt to get out of the exit again. Amanda coos over the colour of the awful car, nose pressed almost to the glass, and Phil gently teases her for being a stereotype.

She rolls her eyes and swats him in the shoulder. “Girls are allowed to like pink.”

Phil laughs and pokes her in the side, making her smile. Dan watches the fond exchange in the rearview mirror, lips pressed together. Eventually, he finds a parking space, though it’s a tight squeeze between the hundreds of cars that have shown up here tonight. He switches off the engine, blank eyes staring out of the windscreen at the building in front of him. They’re about half an hour late, so the parking lot is pretty much deserted – everyone is already inside. The back door of the car opens, and Amanda begins climbing out, complaining and laughing at once about how difficult it is to elegantly clamber out of a car in a big dress and heels. Dan’s fingertips tingle. He’s already mentally projecting to the next available smoking opportunity.

Phil leans forwards then, his chin resting on the back of Dan’s seat. “You’re gonna come in, right?”

Dan is silent for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking I might wait out here.”

“Please come in,” Phil says. “I don’t want to go to Prom without my best friend.”

Venom sears Dan’s throat, he swallows it down but it stings. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Phil looks desperate, as though he’s begging Dan not to push it. Luckily for him, Amanda knocks on the glass of the back window, making a face that says ‘what’s the hold up?’.

Phil gives him one last pleading look, and Dan’s resolve breaks. Reluctantly, he sighs, and unplugs his seatbelt.

Prom is everything Dan expected, and worse. The hall is crammed with his peers, each of them decked out in a taffeta frock, or a cheap rented suit – with the exception of the Elites, of course, all of whom wear tight designer dresses, or tailored tuxedos.

The Elites have commandeered a table near the back, and are lounging around it holding plastic stem glasses of what appears to be punch, but Dan suspects is not. There’s a stage in the hall, on which a marginally terrible band is playing a mashup of chart hits, the majority of which Dan only knows because Louise forces him to have Radio One playing in the café at all hours.

There are paper chains, and a glitterball, and crêpe-papered tables holding punch bowls and bowls of crisps. It’s the kind of Prom that Dan has seen in a dozen American high school movies, which isn’t that surprising, as the Prom-planning committee’s inspiration was Pretty In Pink.

Everyone’s attention is stolen by the entrance of Phil with Amanda Jones on his arm. Hardy, over at the Elite table, glares across the room at them, sour-faced. He’s wearing a white tuxedo, as if he could get any more douchey, and seems to have brought a different Elite girl as his date, though he doesn’t appear to be paying too much attention to her.

Dan can’t imagine that Amanda would be welcomed if she tried to go over to her usual possy, but she doesn’t so much as look their direction. Phil, looking slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of near everyone in the room, leads Amanda through the crowd towards the punch table. Dan follows solemnly behind them; distracted as they are by the scandalous date of the century, nobody pays him any attention at all.

“This punch tastes like ass,” Dan says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, they made me use Diet lemonade,” Lee says. “It’s gross.”

If Dan asked Lee why he’d chosen to volunteer at the Sixth Form Prom, doling out ladlefuls of disgusting punch to a load of teenagers that are sneaking vodka into it anyway, he’d probably say that he had nothing better to do with his Friday night, or that he came to watch everyone be ‘tragic’. In reality, he is almost definitely here to hang around Dan. In another timeline, Dan might find this annoying, but tonight he’s glad of the company.

The punch table is on the periphery of the dancefloor; in the centre, a few brave couples have already started vaguely swaying together to the cacophony of noise the band is making. One of those couples are Phil and Amanda.

Dan would have put good money on the fact that Phil cannot dance, and he’d have won the bet. Phil is tall, and clumsy, with two left feet and a tendency to not know where to place his hands. Amanda seems to find this utter incompetence on his part incredibly endearing, and keeps laughing every time Phil steps on her pointed shoes.

The moment they began, she picked up Phil’s hands and placed them straight on her hips, then slung hers around his neck, just as Dan said she would. They’re awkward, and due to their height difference the movements are far from graceful, but they’re having fun, apparently, if their laughter is anything to go by.

“Got a cold?” Lee asks, handing Dan a napkin.

Dan sniffs for the hundredth time, shrugging, and takes it from him. “Can we get out of here? Go for a smoke or something?”

“I got something even better,” Lee says with a grin.

He reaches discreetly into the pocket of his sweatpants, and exposes the tip of a flask. He tucks it away quickly before any of the patrolling teachers notice.

“You make yourself useful, I’ll give you that,” Dan says, then inclines his head, and starts to make his way over to the hall doors.

“Geez, that’s a bit full on,” Lee says, staring into Amanda’s painted face. The canvas is bigger than Dan remembers it being. “What’s he planning on doing with it?”

“He’s gonna gift it to her, apparently,” Dan replies.

He’s already taken the flask from Lee, and is sipping it quietly, perched up on a desk. Phil’s left a few paintbrushes and dried up palettes scattered about the place, but the usual vibrancy he brings to the art studio is missing. Now, the room seems bereft, dark.

“Weird,” Lee says, leaning close to peer into Amanda’s vacant brown eyes.

Dan takes another sip of what tastes vaguely like whiskey, but is probably more likely to be a mixture of a few spirits Lee swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet in order to avoid being caught.

“I want a cigarette. Let’s sit behind here,” Dan says, walking around to the back of a big stack of blank canvases, propped against a desk. In the tight space behind them, he and Lee will be impossible to see from the door if a teacher comes snooping. Lee follows him obediently, squatting down in the small nook. Dan offers him the flask while he digs around for his pack of cigarettes, but Lee refuses.

“You look like you need it more, mate.”

Dan wants to call him out on this statement, argue and demand he explain himself, but he thinks better of it. So what if his misery is written all over his face? Lee is too up his ass to do anything with the information that Dan might be crushing on Phil, if he has indeed picked up on it. Dan puts the flask between his knees and pulls two cigarettes out of his rapidly depleting pack of Djarums.

“Here,” Dan says, not giving Lee a chance to refuse. He hands one of the cigarettes over, and pulls out a lighter. The first drag is glorious. A thick rush of nicotine sluices through Dan from head to fingertips. Lee lights his up after a moment, too, then promptly splutters, grimacing.

He puts it straight out again. “Eugh, what the fuck’s that? All perfumey.”

Dan snorts with laughter, about to explain that they’re flavoured, but right then, voices permeate the quiet air, right outside the door. Dan looks forlornly at his cigarette, which he’s only just begun. He takes another deep drag, then one more, breathing it out in a long rush just as the door opens. Then he stubs it out on the tiled floor.

“…you think you could do a better job of it?”

Dan’s heart plummets straight through his ribcage, landing on the floor with a pathetic ‘plop’. He imagines he can see it pulsating weakly on the tile beside his the ashes of his cigarette. It’s Amanda’s voice. Which means…

“Hey, maybe that’s my calling,” Phil says. “I could be the next big thing in the cover band world.”

“I do agree that you couldn’t be any worse than that lot,” Amanda agrees. “But I guess we can’t be too critical- what the… oh my God.”

Her voice falls away, leaving only the stagnant silence of this room in its wake. A few seconds pass, and then there’s the sound of her kitten heels tritting slowly across the floor. She’s approaching the canvas, on the other side of where Dan and Lee hide. The door closes, and Dan hears Phil moving cautiously further into the studio.

“It’s difficult to capture you,” Phil says; Dan can feel the nerves in his best friend’s voice. “I wanted to do something big, but there’s so much about you I didn’t manage to get right-”

“Phil,” Amanda interrupts. Her voice is choked. Dan swallows down a gulp of tobacco flavoured saliva. “I’ve never seen anything like this. You painted this? By hand?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “For you.”

“I don’t understand,” Amanda says; yep, she’s definitely choking back tears. Desperate to escape, Dan looks around himself for a possible exit, but without Amanda and Phil seeing him, there’s no choice but to just sit here and listen. He brings his knuckles up to bite at them. “Why would you do this for me?”

“There’s more,” Phil says, and oh God, Dan had almost forgotten.

Eyes smarting, Dan hears the rustle of Phil digging around in his suit pocket. Phil steps forward, closing the gap between he and the girl of his dreams. A moment passes, and then she gasps.

“Oh my God, Phil I can’t… you shouldn’t have-”

“Just let me explain,” Phil says. Amanda stays quiet. “I know you spend every day wishing you were born differently, watching your friends glide through life with ease just because they have money. I know it makes you feel inferior to them. It shouldn’t, because you’re perfect. That’s why I wanted to paint you, to show you that to me, at least, you’re flawless.”

Dan shifts quietly. The floor is hardening beneath him, making it impossible to stay still. He catches Lee watching him, fingers covering his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet. It doesn’t matter, he wants to shout at Lee, they’d never notice us. Even if we screamed.

Dan wants to put his fingers in his ears to block it out, but Lee might ask him why later, and Dan can’t handle it. So he just grits his teeth and tells himself it won’t last forever, and that later he can deal with the pain. He remembers, belatedly, the flask laying in his lap, so unscrews the cap and pours a great deal of whatever is inside into his mouth. It tastes disgusting, but then he has another swig, and it goes down a little easier.

“I bought you these because you deserve them,” Phil tells Amanda then, and Dan knows he must be handing her the earrings. Those beautiful black pearls on silver stems. “I want you to feel like you ought to feel. I want you to feel as precious as I see you every day.”

“It’s too much,” Amanda says, weakly. “I can’t accept them.”

“Please take them,” Phil says. “I want to show you what you’re worth.”

A quiet falls, and all Dan can hear is vague rustling. Lee is staring at him now, his eyes feel like they’re boring into his skull. It might be something to do with the tear that’s just fallen down Dan’s cheek.

“How do they look?” Amanda says after a while.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil doesn’t respond straight away. Dan kind of wants to peer his head over the canvases and see for himself. Maybe they really do look hideous on her; Dan had always thought they weren’t really her usual style.

“Yeah,” Phil says then, though his voice is not at all convincing. “Really nice.”

Tip-tap go Amanda’s shoes as she closes the distance between them. Dan can’t help it, he shifts again, bum numbed by the horrible hard tile. As he moves, he realises there’s a slit between two canvases, allowing him just enough space to see through if he leans awkwardly. In the tiny gap, he watches, heart tearing itself down the middle, as Amanda’s hand rests on Phil’s chin, and she tiptoes up to press a kiss to his lips.

At this point, the tears are too insistent to try and hold back. Lee can think what he wants. Dan sips more of the flask, and sinks back to his former position, hating himself for torturing his own heart this way.

“Can you smell cherry?” Amanda asks then, and Dan freezes. He turns to Lee, wide-eyed.

Like they’re connected, Dan can feel it in his chest as the realisation floods over Phil. He hears the guilt in his silence, and aches from it. Phil will sweep his gaze over the room, will note the strange wall of canvases and know at once what they hide. He will know, of course he will know, and now he will pretend he doesn’t.

“N-no,” Phil says, just like Dan knew he would. There’s a slit in his voice, like it’s about to crack, to splinter into bits. “I can’t smell anything. Come on, let’s go back to the dance.”

“Dan,” Lee says for maybe the fifth time. “Dan, are you alright?”

The jumble of art supplies in front of Dan seems to be moving. The supplies swirl about randomly, paint brushes blending into charcoals, oil pastels bleeding into one another, creating a brown sludge.

“ ‘m fine,” Dan gets out. He tries to drain the last of the flask, but finds that it’s somehow already empty. He turns to Lee, eyes blurred from the film of moisture gathered in his ducts. “Hey,” he slurs, pushing the empty flask at him. “You’re sober, right?”

Warily, Lee nods.

Dan digs in his trouser pocket for Ricky’s car keys. “I need a favour.”

The bright lights and jarring, staticky noise coming from the ancient speakers is a lot worse now that Dan’s mind is thickened with alcohol. He pushes through seemingly hoards of people, some of whom grunt and shout things at him, indignant. These people, his classmates, seem alien to him, their faces unrecognisable, distorted and strange.

He’s trying to find the exit, but ends up at the back of the room somehow, with all the tables. Amanda and Phil are sat at one, just the two of them, sharing a glass of punch, their cheeks rosy with happiness. Amanda’s earlobes are glistening with two black pearls.

Just as a wash of bile crawls up Dan’s throat, something happens. It shatters the warping, undulating bubble of Dan’s drunken state, and everything clatters into clarity just as Hardy Jenns’ fist slams down in front of Phil, shaking the table. Phil leaps to his feet, stricken, and Hardy starts to yell.

“...showing up here with my girl on your arm! Who the fuck d’you think you are, you little shitbox, I’m gonna punch your lights out!”

Dan watches in alarm, a tiny ‘no’ slipping from his lips. He surges forwards, straight through a gaggle of girls on the periphery of the dance floor, and lunges. Hardy’s fist draws back, his teeth bared into a snarl as he pulls his weight into the incoming punch. He swings, fast, but Dan is faster. Phil falls to the floor with how hard Dan barrels into him, but it doesn’t matter, because Hardy’s fist misses him by centimetres, and connects with the bone of Dan’s right cheek instead. It makes a dull ‘thwack’, and Dan is thrown backwards by the force of it.

The alcohol numbs the pain, but it throbs unbearably even so. He straightens up, clutching his face and swearing loudly. Phil, on the floor still, has his mouth open in shock.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you again,” Hardy growls. There’s a slur to his voice too; Dan clearly isn’t the only one imbibing this evening. “Thought I told you to tell your boyfriend to leave my girl alone!”

Dan jabs a finger at Hardy, breathing hard through the pain. “Get away from him, Hardy.”

The corner of Hardy’s mouth curls into a nasty sneer. “Or what?”

For a moment, Dan just glares at him. He notices Phil struggling to sit up in the periphery of his vision, and is momentarily distracted. He turns, noting the terror on Phil’s face.

“Dan, just leave it,” Phil garbles, urgently. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, whore,” Hardy says, drawing Dan’s attention again. He’s still got that smug, shit-eating smirk on his face. Dan’s fist begins to curl. Oh, he’s been aching for a release, and this is all too perfectly set up to resist. “Why don’t you leave it? Go back to whatever back room you crawled out of, wait for the next John to pull down his fly for you.”

“Dan,” Phil says, from somewhere seemingly far away. “Dan, ignore him.”

Drunkenly, Dan turns to Phil for a split second. He shoots him a stupid grin, allowing the rush of white heat and anger to flood him, and then lunges forwards, his own fist connecting with Hardy’s jaw.

“Dan!” Phil calls out. The concern in his voice is blissful. It slips into Dan’s bloodstream, giving him the energy to land a second punch on Hardy’s stupid forehead. This time, it knocks him backwards, and he crashes onto the table behind him.

“Dan, stop!” Phil’s voice is shrill.

“Get the fuck off me you little cunt,” Hardy shouts, as Dan grabs him by the lapels of his idiotic white suit, slamming him down against the table he’s sprawled on, so the back of his skull thunks against it. Amanda is still sitting down, watching with wide-eyes; Dan doesn’t spare her a glance. He’s seething, livid, and Hardy’s stupid, ignorant face suddenly represents every reason why.

Dan knows he doesn’t look like he could lift a fruitfly, but he’s had to toughen up, living where he does. He’s stronger than anyone he knows his age, which people don’t expect. By the look on Hardy’s face, he’s no exception. Dan slaps Hardy sharp across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark come morning. They’ve gathered a crowd now, so it won’t be long until a teacher notices and comes over to break them up. So, Dan brings his face close to Hardy’s, close enough that the dickhead should be able to smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Amanda is not your girl,” Dan hisses. “She can do whatever she wants. And mercifully, that’s not you anymore.”

“Get off me!” There’s something urgent and worried in Hardy’s tone. Dan’s half on top of him now, and it seems to be making Hardy even more furious. Dan’s having to exert a lot of energy just pinning him here. “Get the fuck off me you fag fuck!”

And then, it all becomes painfully clear.

The anger recedes a little as Dan’s knee comes into contact with a rather obvious bulge. His eyebrows lift, and Hardy’s terror is palpable. Dan sends him a little ‘gotcha’ smile.

He leans forwards, feeling Hardy go limp, sensing the defeat. “Don’t think you and I will be having a problem anymore, do you?”

Hardy doesn’t respond at first, so Dan pushes his knee sharply into Hardy’s crotch, and he shakes his head quickly. “Please move,” Hardy begs. “I’ll back off, I swear. Just don’t say anything.”

“Swear to me you’ll leave him alone,” Dan says, knee still jammed up against Hardy’s erection.

“I swear, fuck.”

“And Amanda.”

“Fine, fine,” Hardy says hurriedly.

“If you tell your Dad, and get me fired,” Dan says. “I will tell everyone about what I felt here tonight.”

Hardy nods inn understanding, cheeks aflame. Dan releases him then, and wipes his hands on his shirt in disgust. Hardy doesn’t move for a minute. There’s a wide, stunned look in his eyes, as though he’s not sure of his next move. He casts a quick, frightened gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of every onlooker, and then jumps up, fleeing to the hall doors.

Bizarrely, just as Dan turns to go, it’s Amanda’s gaze that he catches. She’s staring at him wonderingly, calmly, despite having seen him beat up and threaten her ex moments ago. In her right thumb and forefinger, she twiddles one of her earrings. Dan turns from her then, nauseated, eye and cheek throbbing, and pushes back into the crowd. He can see the glowing exit sign now, and the crowds seem all too happy to part as he moves towards it. He doesn’t care about these people anymore, nor did he ever. So they’ve finally seen just what happens when somebody pisses off the scary emo kid just a little too much. Let them be scared of him. Maybe it’ll make them leave him alone.

He’s almost at the door, almost free from this horrendous night, when something catches his arm. When Dan turns to see who is stopping him, he has to stop himself from throwing more punches.

“Where are you going?” Phil asks; his eyes are red. Dan tastes blood. “You’re hurt.”

Dan licks the corner of his mouth. His lip ring is missing, and there’s blood pooled there. It must have ripped out during the fight. He wipes the blood with the back of his hand, hardly caring.

“I’m goin’ home,” Dan says, dejected. The alcohol in his system has swooped back into play, and he feels drunk again, the adrenaline of the pain and violence gone. “I’ve given Lee th’keys t’Ricky’s car. He agreed to drive you and Amanda back.”

“Don’t go,” Phil begs him. He seems desperate, and Dan cannot fathom why. “Please, just stay for a while, we can talk, I can get you some ice-”

Dan pulls free of Phil’s grip, annoyed. “If y’wanted t’talk t’me, y’could’ve this morning. Now’m tired, and drunk, and’m leaving.”

“Why did you let Hardy punch you?” Phil’s blue eyes are deep and watery. Dan could throw anchors into them, made of longing, and hurt, and misery, but they’d never reach the bottoms - they’re too deep. “Why did you push me out of the way?”

The question, to Dan, is absurd. “B’cause he was going to hurt you.”

“So?”

“So,” Dan whispers. He tastes blood again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“You matter,” Phil whispers back. “You matter to me.”

Dan snorts in derision, not bothering to reply. Instead, he turns away, and pushes through the fire exit, out into the cold night beyond

The vodka in Dan’s blood is making the dense, humid air shimmer. He’s wrapped in someone’s arms, grinding on someone’s thigh. There’s a sultry, pulsating beat all around him. He thinks maybe, before, there was a finger in his mouth, a small blue pill pressed onto his tongue. Dark grey eyes are locked on his, and as they move to the music, Dan can feel warmth, sweat, hands on his hips.

He wishes he were in bed, not here, with the covers pulled over him, and a pillow to softly soak up the tears. But going home would mean facing Ricky, and perhaps getting another punch thrown at him for kicks. Dan doesn’t even have his brother’s car anymore. Facing Ricky’s wrath without it would be suicidal. The right side of his face throbs and aches. It’s bruised badly, Dan saw it in Ozone’s cracked bathroom mirror. His eye is swollen, making it hard to see.

“What’s it gonna cost me to take you home?” A rough, gravelly voice says into Dan’s ear.

It’s a little surprising Dan is able to pull anyone in the state he’s in. Damaged goods are apparently not a dealbreaker for the dudes in here. A rush of something blissful and heady threads itself through Dan’s body, making him wonder what exactly it was that he swallowed half an hour ago, compressed into that tiny pill. He welcomes the rush of pleasure even so, closing his aching eyes as he allows the drug to sweep away the pain.

He leans forwards, lips to the guy’s ear, and says: “What’ve you got?”

(Chapter Nine!)

#phan #some kind of folliful #skof #phanfic #phan au

50 notes · View notes

dabidevito · 6 years

Text

[fic] i’m here waiting (if you want it back)

read on ao3

summary: He thought it would get easier. Thought they would get older and more settled and that the ache in his chest he feels when Dan’s not around would eventually subside.

or, three times phil finds himself in dan's closet while he's missing him

a/n: seeing phil in the vetements hoodie did something to me and i'm not even sorry. this is self-indulgent. please shame me for my clothes sharing kink.

July 2015

The thing about not actually being one person means that sometimes they do things alone. Sometimes they take separate projects and make separate commitments and that’s okay. Sometimes Dan gets on a redeye flight to Germany and Phil wakes up in cold sheets, and that feels less okay, in the moment.

It’s not cold though, not really. July is hot and unending and Phil decides that he’s allowed to spend the day in just his pants. And the next day, and the day after that. No one’s around to see him, anyway.

He thought it would get easier. Thought they would get older and more settled and that the ache in his chest he feels when Dan’s not around would eventually subside.

Dan texts him a picture of a dog in the Berlin streets and Phil says give him a pet from me.

Dan’s immediate response of :((( pretty much sums it up, he thinks.

The timer’s ticking away at the back of his mind as he crawls into bed on the fifth day, counting down the hours until Dan’s flight lands. Calculating how long the taxi ride will be from the airport, trying to remember how many steps their flat has. It’s early still, only half-ten, but Phil’s convinced himself that time speeds up while you’re sleeping.

There’s a hot breeze blowing through the open window but Phil’s still cold somehow, the usual radiator-like Dan-warmth a stark absence against the sheets.

An avalanche of clothes spills out of their closet, a remnant of the last-minute packing procedure Phil’s maniac boyfriend seems to prefer. Phil pulls himself out of bed, rummages around in the semi-darkness for the first t-shirt he can find. He holds it close to his face, trying to make out the pattern without his glasses.

(Dan had said I’m wearing it ironically, you spoon and Phil had just smirked and asked if he fancied Zayn or Niall more.)

It’s soft and worn through and smells faintly like Dan’s body wash, like he’d put it on only to change his mind and chuck it back into the closet. Phil pulls it over his head and climbs back into bed, laying directly in the middle so that there’s no chance he won’t wake when Dan gets back.

He’s hurtling towards unconsciousness when he hears Dan’s heavy footsteps on the landing, feels the dip in the mattress as Dan sits to take off his shoes. Warm arms wrap around him from behind, easily maneuvering Phil back over to his own side of the bed.

Phil turns around, nudging a knee between Dan’s thighs. “Hi,” he tells the jut of Dan’s collarbones. “How was Germany?”

“I missed you.”

Phil’s about to say that doesn’t answer my question. But then again, maybe it does. He settles for I missed you too and lets Dan pull the stupid One Direction shirt off of him.

It’s too hot for clothes, anyway.

***

December 2017

Phil wonders if he’ll ever get to stop missing Dan on Christmas.

This year had been better than all the rest, with Dan travelling up north with him in the lead up to the holiday. It settles something in his heart to round the corner of the kitchen and see his mum and Dan sat at the breakfast nook together, sipping morning tea and laughing quietly. Kath pops up from her seat to make Phil a coffee, still mothering him after three decades. He lets her, sinks down in the chair across from Dan and props his feet up in Dan’s lap.

He looks over at Dan, sleepy curls yet untamed and Christmas lights casting rainbows across his skin.

Phil feels overwhelmed with the thought of it’s not fair.

He says don’t go and Dan looks like he wants nothing more than to relent, rubs soft circles into Phil’s ankle.

But Dan goes anyway, kisses the corner of Phil’s mouth and says see you soon and I’ll call you tonight and Phil wonders if it’s good or bad that it never seems to get any easier to say goodbye.

He wakes up to 18 texts from Dan, variations on a theme of merry christmas phil and i love you and i wish you were here and colin says hello and Phil thinks it should be illegal to feel this sort of heartache on Christmas.

Phil forces himself out of bed, making a beeline for his suitcase. He passes over a few of his jumpers for one that’s been folded carefully and hidden away at the bottom of his bag.

Dan would kill him if he knew Phil had stolen it out of their laundry last week, sequestered it away just for this trip. He’d torn into Dan when it had arrived in the mail, outraged that his boyfriend could bear to drop 500 quid on a jumper. But Phil had come to secretly love it, lured in by the truly superior cuddles provided by the soft black wool.

He slips the garment over his head, a barrier against the chill of the morning and the sadness in his heart.

Downstairs, Kath once again presses a warm mug into his hands. Coffee takes precedence in the Lester household, even more so than the gifts waiting under the tree. She eyes him carefully, running the fabric of his sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. “Is this new, Philip?”

He could tell the truth. There’s no penalty here, no risk, no hiding. It’s not a secret that he misses Dan, that he’s the only one here without his other half.

“Yeah,” he chokes out instead, “it’s new.” He does his best to avoid her measured gaze. It’s a bad lie, and they both know it.

She pries the coffee out of his death grip, pulls him down by the shoulder and into her arms. He goes willingly, folds his long body in half around hers and does his best to suppress his tears. It doesn’t work.

It’s about more than a few days apart, it always is with them.

It’s not missing Dan so much as it’s missing a piece of life that’s been stolen from them.

Later, he folds the jumper back into the bottom of his suitcase. He’ll hang it up in Dan’s closet when they get home.

***

April 2018

Phil should really get up.

They’ve still got loads to do and just under two weeks to do it. They don’t usually work on Sundays, but he’d still spent the day playing catch up with tour emails, finalizing some decisions, on the phone with the Brazil venue for ages trying to work out the all-consuming visa issues.

And so he’d laid down for just a second, just long enough to read through the live update texts Dan’s been sending him from the wedding.

The ceremony is for a friend of a friend of a friend, someone Dan had gone to school with and who Phil had never bothered to meet. Dan had said you can come if you want but that conversation had been over before it even started, and they both knew it.

Sometimes it’s still easier like this, with people who aren’t quite strangers but who definitely aren’t friends either. With month after month of very public appearances staring them in the face, Phil had opted to sit this one out.

Dan’s latest texts say the cake is red velvet :( and i’ll bring you a piece and then i’ll bring you two pieces i miss you.

There’s a familiar and heavy weight settling in his chest. He’s up and standing in front of Dan’s closet before he can worry too much about what it all means.

He rifles through the hangers, searching for something large and soft and good for cuddling. The Ventements hoodie catches his eye - Dan had insisted on him trying it on for their latest video, and it’s hanging up front and center in the closet. Phil hates the way it looks on him, if he’s being honest. He’s been warming up to black recently, but the hoodie dwarfs him and really doesn’t match his aesthetic, if he even has one.

He thinks about how there’ll be room for Dan to fit both his arms up underneath it and tugs it on anyway.

There’s exhaustion seeping into his bones as he drags their duvet out into the lounge to wait for Dan. He queues up some Bake-Off reruns and lets himself drift for awhile. His laptop taunts him from where he’d abandoned it on the coffee table, and he’s just about to give in and resume his emailing when he hears Dan’s key turning in the lock.

Phil lowers the volume on the TV, snuggles down further into his blanket nest and feigns sleep. He doesn’t want to hear about the wedding, not tonight. He wants Dan under the blanket and in his arms - everything else can wait.

He cracks his eyes open just a sliver to watch Dan shuffle into the kitchen with what looks like a truly enormous container of cake, but closes them again quickly. He’s sleeping.

Phil sees it in his mind’s eye, Dan folding long legs up under himself to sit on the floor next to the couch. There’s a few stray strands of hair tickling his forehead, and Dan reaches a hand up to brush them back into place. Phil can’t help but lean into the touch, effectively giving himself away.

Dan voice is soft and tired when he says you’re such a bad liar, Phil and make some room for me, you look warm. Phil presses himself into the back of the couch, lifts the edge of the duvet up. Dan curls himself into the empty space and exhales a sigh against Phil’s skin, sticks cold fingers up under the hem of his hoodie.

The quiet envelopes them as they lie there, both of them far too big for it to be comfortable for very long. But for now it’s okay, for now Phil combs his fingers through Dan’s curls and listens to the gentle sounds of him decompressing from the day.

Eventually, Dan says, “I thought you hated this jumper,” stretches up to press a kiss against Phil’s jaw.

Phil shuffles down so that more of Dan’s arms slip under the hem. “It has it perks,” he says, cups a sweater-pawed hand under Dan’s chin to kiss him more soundly. Dan is giggling into his mouth and pressing fingers more deliberately against his skin, and it’s incredible how easily Dan can erase the dullness Phil feels when they’re apart.

(They’ll be conjoined at the hip for the next five months, but he’ll pack some of Dan’s clothes anyway.)

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp #dan and phil #i banged this out at work today someone appreciate me !!!#*roses #*rosewrites #100

266 notes · View notes

plantbased-elise · 6 years

Text

Cheers for Queers

Back for another fic. I wrote this for the phandom reverse bang @phandomreversebang. The art was made by @thebabiesarentokay. The fic was beta’d @danceswithsweaters.

I hope you all enjoy this fic! Go check out the art. It is absolutely amazing!

Wattpad AO3 ART

The air around him smelled of freshly baked pastries, coffee and rain. The café was nearly empty, as it was nearing tea time, in the middle of summer holidays. Apart from Phil, there was a family of four sat around a round table at the other side of the café.

The rain was falling down, steady but forceful. It streamed along the old London streets and pooled where the pavement was no longer at level. Phil sighed whilst staring out the window, putting off leaving the comfort of the café.

He started towards the toilets, drawing out the time a little more by using the loo. He was hoping that by the time he got back it would’ve stopped raining. As much as one could hope, it was still London and it rained so often and it was unlikely for it to stop in five minutes.

As he made his way to the back of the café, he heard a small uproar at the table of the family. He ignored it in favour of respecting their privacy.

When he returned, the family was gone. Lydia, owner of the café and a close friend of Phil’s, was already placing the chairs on the tables.

“Hey Phil, thought I saw your umbrella in the umbrella stand. You should’ve seen that family leave. The father nearly threw the money at me, the son was outside in tears before the rest of the family had even stood up. The daughter was just looking at the floor.”

Phil snickered. Lydia had the habit of telling him about strange situations at the café.

“What story did you think of for them?”

Another habit of Lydia’s was to make up stories about the strange situations, which would often take a turn for the magical, taking the shape of myths about dragons, even beyond Phil’s imagination.

“Dad forgot he had cookies in the oven. The mom had a bad client at work. The son has lost his fairy wings and the daughter is still learning how to breathe fire.” Lydia was wiping the counters, her face straight and her voice level.

Phil shook his head and took his umbrella from the umbrella stand.

“How do you still have a business in baked goods? You would do great as a writer. See you tomorrow!” He opened the door to the café, sighing at the rain still pouring down.

As he closed the door, he heard Lydia call out, “Bye!”

Stood under the protection of the overhang, Phil opened his umbrella. The noise of the rain seemed to drown out the entire world. Just as Phil turned to walk down the street, he noticed someone sitting under the hangover, on the pavement, huddled against the building.

It was the boy from the café. Now that Phil got a closer look at him, however, he realised that this man was around his own age. He was curled into a ball, his shoulders seemed to be shaking slightly. His face was turned away from Phil but his hands were in his hair, tugging at it.

“Sir are you okay?” Phil approached the huddled figure, “No, of course you aren’t. Stupid of me to ask. Do you need help?”

The man looked up. Tearstained blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed brown eyes stared up at Phil.

“C-could you help me up. I can’t really feel my legs.” The man’s voice was quiet, nearly drowned out in the rain. He held out his hand for Phil to latch on to. Just as Phil was about to do just that, he noticed how the other’s hands were shaking. He clasped their hands together and pulled it towards himself.

The man came up willingly, and even though when he stood at full height he was taller than Phil, he was light and easily pulled up for someone who didn’t really work out.

When he stood on both his legs, they seemed to shake for a moment. Phil reached out his arm and wrapped it around the man’s waist for support.

“I’m Phil.” He said. He felt the strange urge to protect this man, who had been sitting so lonely on the pavement.

“I’m Dan, nice to meet you. I’m sorry to inconvenience you.” Dan tried to push himself away from Phil’s supporting arm, but the latter only tightened his hold, just enough to stop Dan from moving away.

“You know, I love the rain, but hate how wet it makes me. I wish I could just look at the rain through a glass bubble,” Phil rambled.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Phil asked, mildly concerned about this handsome stranger.

Dan shook his head softly. He kept his eyes slightly downcast, never quite looking Phil directly in the eye.

“Do you want to walk with me for a bit?” Phil offered. Dan nodded his head and let himself be led down the street.

He looked at the rain as they walked down the streets of London, moving away from the City towards the suburbs.

“You know that’s what windows are for, right.” Dan had dried his tears and was looking up at Phil, smiling with an amused glint in his eyes. His eyes still looked a little watery, and red, but they seemed to have regained a certain spark that wasn’t there minutes before. “Looking outside without having to partake in it.”

They crossed the road, narrowly avoiding a car that ran a red light, but not without Dan loudly swearing at the driver.

“You’re not taking me away to kill me, right?” he asked suspiciously, moving closer to Phil to avoid a large puddle. Only, instead of just gracefully sliding aside, he stumbled over his feet and tripped into the other. His chest collided painfully with Phil’s boney shoulder.

“Ouch!” Dan hissed, rubbing his sternum, more out of shock than out of pain. It seemed that he always got himself into awkward situations.

“Oh, sorry. Are you okay?” Phil’s hand shot up, only to retract hesitantly as to not touch a near stranger.

“Yeah I’m fine. Where are we going?” Dan was curious as to where Phil was leading him.

“Well I’m cold and you’ve been shivering the whole time. If you don’t mind, We’re on our way to my apartment.

As he looked sideways at Dan, he came to a halt in front of his apartment complex. He fumbled for his keys, his wet skinny jeans sticking to his legs.

The lock sprung open and a warm rush of air fell over the two men. “God, this is what I needed!”

---

“Make yourself at home,”Phil said, directing Dan’s attention to the comfortable-looking sofa in the living space. “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

Dan looked around the apartment. The walls were decorated with paintings and posters, each one nerdier than the last. This man seemed to be the perfect combination of good-looking and kind. He was handsome, with a frame that was perfectly proportioned. His black hair contrasted perfectly with his pale skin.

“So I could only find my superman pyjamas and my emoji pyjamas. No judging, they’re very soft. And clean.”

Dan laughed as the offensively yellow trousers were thrown towards his head. He accepted the tea Phil handed him and took a tentative sip to test the sweetness.

“Perfect.” He couldn’t help but sigh, feeling warmth seep back into his body.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why were you crying earlier? You don’t have to answer.” Phil was looking at him over the glasses he’d put on and… fuck. Dan was definitely fucked.

“No it’s okay. It was shock more than the actual event. I was in the café with my parents and brother. They were visiting for the weekend. And I thought it was finally time to come out to them.” Dan sighed and took another sip of tea. “I really don’t know what I was expecting. My dad has been openly homophobic as long as I can remember, and my mom comes from a conservative religious family. I knew their reaction wasn’t going to be positive. I guess I feel worse because of my brother Alex. He just wants to start transitioning, but our parents would never allow it. He’s almost done with high school and he’s going to move out here as soon as possible. He hates that our parents call him Alexandra and that his school doesn’t recognise his preferred pronouns.”

For a while silence hung in the room. Dan sipped his tea and Phil looked at the man sitting on his couch. Phil nodded, encouraging Dan to continue.

“I guess something I’m more worried about is how I’m going to help him. I’m 26, and still in university. How can I help him find a place?”

Dan looked at his phone, which he had placed on the table. The time it showed was 11:33 PM.

“Shit, I’m sorry for bothering you. Thank you for the tea and the pajama bottoms,” Dan said as jumped up from his place on the couch. He didn’t really wanting to leave, but he felt like he had overstayed his welcome.

“Wait! I want to give you my number. That way I can return your jeans once they’re dry and you can give me back my pajamas. You can text me whenever. I’ll help you out. Or just talk to you.”

Phil put his phone number into Dan’s phone, before handing it back to him, secretly feeling grateful that he had managed not to drop it.

“What’s your last name?”Dan asked. “I have a Phil form uni in my phone and I don’t want to confuse you two.” Dan didn’t know why he felt so drawn to this guy, who he had met whilst crying in the rain. He was putting a lot of trust in a stranger.

“Oh, I never told you. It’s Lester, spelled L-E-S-T-E-R.”

The brunet hummed to himself. Funny, he thought he’d heard that name before. He shrugged it off, in favour of following Phil to the door.

“I hope to talk to you soon Dan. Goodnight, sleep tight.” Dan waved as this gorgeous man closed the doors, seeing the glimpses of a smile through the last crack of the door.

----

03.46 Am Unknown number

Now i know where i’ve heard your name before. You’re a radio presenter for BBC Radio 1.

08.36 Am Phil Lester

You caught me! Radio presenter by day, taking care of cute guys at night!

Oops that came out wrong!

I meant cute boys like you. Giving them some tea.

‘Smooth as always, Phil,’ Phil thought to himself. He sat his phone down on the counter in favour of picking up his mug of coffee. After looking at his phone for a few more minutes he left to go to work.

---

He was supposed to be coming up with ideas for the next big show he was going to do, but he was getting distracted by Dan sending him pictures of dogs and memes throughout the day. Around 1:00pm, just as he was going on lunch break, an idea hit him like a ton of bricks.

He rushed back to his computer, frantically typing up the idea in a text document, before sprinting off to the lunchroom before the pizza was gone.

Cheer for all those who are queer!

‘Being LGBT+ isn’t always easy. You’re always going to have to fight against the people that won’t accept you for who you are. What can we do to help make it a little easier and no longer taboo?’

The description blinked back at Phil from the front page of the BBC Radio 1 website. His boss had approved the idea instantly, and told him to gather some people he wanted with him on stage. On his quest he’d ended up on YouTube, looking for some of the most significant British LGBT+ YouTubers. He’d gathered a short list, and even got Tyler Oakley to fly out, who was more than happy to help Phil present.

There were just two people left on his list who he had to ask if they wanted to be there.

----

Dan burst out laughing as Phil fell off the track again. “Honestly, Phil, how can you be so bad at Mario Kart?”

Phil pouted at Dan as he crossed the finish line. “You’re just too good at this game. I demand you play blindfolded next round.” He giggled as Dan pumped his arm in victory, as if it was such an unexpected outcome.

“Kinky,” Dan muttered, “didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Phil giggled with pink cheeks. “You do that, bossy.”

This had been happening since they met. The playful comments and actions, borderline flirting, or even downright flirting. Little touches that sent sparks flying, comment that could only be interpreted in so many ways, and most of them not platonic.

Dan’s phone dinged with Alex’s special ringtone. He picked up his phone from the couch, eyes skimming over the message .

“Alex asks if he can come by this weekend to check out some housing options. Would you be okay with that?” Dan looked up hesitantly. They’d planned to go to Infinity War on Saturday, and he hated having to blow off Phil.

“Dan, of course that’s okay. When are his exams over again? He can come down as soon as his last exam is over, and stay as long as he wants. I like him.”

Dan texted his brother that it was fine, before dropping his phone back on his lap. He worried his lip between his teeth. “Phil,” he said.

“Hmm, what?” Phil hummed staring at the Television in concentration. His tongue was poking out slightly, and his eyes glinted with glee as he watched the Mario Kart characters race across the screen. (Dan had no idea how he missed Phil putting on a game of Mario Kart.)

“Earth to Dan? You look a little off. Are you feeling alright?” Phil’s blue eyes were focused on Dan and fuck, couldn’t he stop being so perfect for just one second. His face was so close.

“Oh, just wanted to ask if it’s really fine. I know you really wanted to see Infinity War this weekend.”

Phil’s face lit up as he smiled, oh so reassuring. “Dan, I want to see Infinity War, yes. But, I also want to you to help your brother,” he said softly. “I did want to ask, when Alex is done with school is he moving out here before his graduation ceremony?”

A giggle fell from Dan’s lips, unexpected and high-pitched. “Yes he is, just wants go back for graduation and then leave Wokingham behind. Why do you ask?” he looked into those blue eyes with a curious look on his face.

“No reason, just asking.”

After this admittedly strange exchange, they both returned their attention back to Free! where Haruka was about to dive into the pool.

---

“Do you see Alex? What am I saying, you haven’t met him, how would you know what he looks like. God, I hope he didn’t miss the train. What if he got stuck somewhere halfway...” Dan was rambling, so obviously nervous for nothing. He was running his hands through his hair, tugging on it to.

“Dan, calm down. Alex texted you ten minutes ago that he was almost here. The train hasn’t been announced yet. He’ll be fine. He’s a smart guy. Just take a breath.” Phil gently pulled Dan’s hands away from his head.

To anyone else on the station, they looked like a couple. Standing close, in their own bubble. Reading into each other, and responding perfectly. Alex observed them from a little ways away. Dan’s brother seemed so happy, for the first time in a long time. Alex didn’t want their bubble to burst, but it was pretty busy on the platform and he was in the way.

“Dan! Over here!” he waved his arms in the air, for emphasis. Dan looked up in shock, a blush rising on his cheeks. He smiled wildly when he met Alex’ eyes. He sprinted to him, and hugged him to his chest. Their difference in height was almost comical. Dan stood at 1.91 meters and Alex stood at a mere 1.55 meters.

Phil approached slowly, giving the two brothers some time alone. The scene was a sight to see, two people so similar in appearance standing in the middle of the station. This morning when they’d left for the station, Phil had brought his camera, for no particular reason. Now it seemed more than just a whim or coincidence.

He took the camera and zoomed in slightly, focussing on the two brothers embracing in the crowd. He made a mental note to edit the picture to make the people surrounding them blur.

“Did you just take a picture of us?” Dan looked at him, having just released his brother. He was grinning at Phil, an arm still slung over his brother’s shoulder.

“Alex, meet Phil, who takes pictures of people instead of properly greeting them. Phil, this is Alex, who you’ve already scared off.”

Alex grinned, and held out his hand for Phil to shake. “Don’t worry, I lived with Dan when he was in his emo phase. Nothing can scare me anymore. Except maybe when he made his first skirt, and it ripped whilst we were visiting our grandma. He was just standing there, in his undies, completely mortified. Best day of my life!”

Dan was blushing furiously now, and hit Alex in the arm repeatedly. He attempted to say ‘shut up’ over the other two’s laughter. Eventually giggles started escaping from his mouth too.

“Come on, we have a lot to do today.” Phil lifted the bags and started towards the exit of the station.

---

“So, Daniel, when where you going to tell me you found a man? Thought I raised you better than this.” Alex grinned devilishly. He dodged the half-arsed punch his brother threw at his shoulder. He turned left to the apartment they were viewing.

“Shut up! He is not my man. As much as I want to...” Dan was interrupted by his brother’s scream. He turned in concern, only to see his brother staring at him with a look of utter joy.

“You like him! Oh I am going to have the greatest time here!” Alex stopped when they reached the right address. The apartment complex was rundown, trash was resting against the wall.

“Alex, I don’t think you’ll want to live here. The wall over there says ‘Queers must Die!’. This is not the right place for you.” Dan stirred them around and away from the building. Looking around the neighbourhood, it seemed like those type of exclaims were all over the buildings.

“Well, then I have nowhere to go. This is the only thing I can afford near campus. Dan, what am I going to do?” Alex looked a little panicked. His breathing picked up in speed, and his legs grew a little weak. “I can’t go back to mum and dad. They want a daughter, I’m not their daughter. I don’t want to be seen as their daughter.” His hands were in his hair, tugging on the strands that came out from under his beanie.

“Alex, breathe. It’s going to be okay. We’ll find a way. You will never have to feel like that again. Come on, we’re going to Phil’s and relaxing for the rest of the night.” Dan led him to the nearest tube station, rubbing his back soothingly. Alex had been having panic attacks since he was in his early teens. Dan came to know that it was mostly induced by his dysphoria.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, sending a text to Phil that they were on their way. He didn’t know why, but he felt he needed to go to Phil’s house, not his own home. He’d been spending so much time there, it almost felt like a second home.

Phil

Is everything okay? Thought you were going to be out till late checking out houses. 1.36 PM

Phil, always so considerate, always so wonderful. Dan really was fucked.

Phil

Text me when you’re near. I’ll get the snacks and movie set up. 1.38 PM

Dan

About five minutes away. Thank you. 1.41 PM

---

They were settled on the couch, all eyes on the television. Occasionally the crackling of a crisps bag sounded, or the crunching of crisps sounded in the room.

The peace was disrupted by Dan’s phone ringing. He picked up the call. After a rushed conversation, Dan stood up rapidly. He looked a little frantic. “That was one of my classmates. I share a workspace with him at Ravensbourne. Someone spilled coke over my final project. I have to go see if I can save it, otherwise I’m fucked.”

He was out of the flat in minutes, mumbling about stupid first years. Phil and Alex looked at one another one the couch, mostly confused. Phil reached for the remote and paused the movie.

“So you do have any more embarrassing stories about Dan that I can tease him about? I need some good material.”

Alex grinned wickedly. He looked so much like Dan, it was almost scary. He launched into stories about Dan’s teenage years.

“So, at eighteen, our parents wanted Dan to study law at Manchester. He didn’t agree and when he said he was going to Manchester to apply, he was actually on his way to Ravensbourne University, London. By the time our parents found out, he was well into his second year, and had a very promising internship at a fashion design company. Our parents were never the most involved parents out there, but they cared. It wasn’t until they found out about Dan’s ambition that it took a turn for the worse. They nearly cut all contact with him. During that time, I started living outside of our home more and more. I slept over at friends, family and tried to be home as little as possible.” Alex took a deep breath. Somehow they’d ended up talking about the Howell siblings’ parental situation.

“Dan reached out to me, and begged me not to say a word to our parents. He helped me discover me, and came up with the name Alex. Then, half a year ago, mum and dad reached out to Dan. they wanted to catch up with him. So we set up a day where we would come down to London. That’s how we ended up at the café. Then Dan came out, and everything crashed. I’m not allowed to go out, and they are convinced I’m in Liverpool with one of my friends to look into the university options. Dan gave me an out. He gave me a way to freedom. But my finances are in the way. The neighbourhood that’s close to my new school is homophobic, has slurs written on every wall. It’s the only place I can afford that is within traveling distance.”

A silence fell over the two. Phil was racking his brain. There was something on the edge of his brain, an idea forming gradually.

“I might have just found a way to solve your housing problem. I have three bedrooms in this flat. I don’t know why I ever bought it. I wanted to turn one into an office, but that wasn’t necessary. One of them is a guest bedroom, and one is just empty. I’ve been thinking about getting a flatmate. I just don’t want a stranger living with me. Would you maybe move in? If you want you can pay some sort of cost of living.”

Before the last sentence was properly out of his mouth, Alex launched himself across the couch and threw his arms around Phil.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! God, you don’t know how good a person you are.”

Phil blushed and hugged the boy back. “I do want to ask you something else, but I’ll wait until Dan gets back.”

As if on cue the front door opened. (Phil had given Dan a spare key because Phil’s tendency to lose his keys occurred frequently.) Dan shouted out ‘I’m back’ and let the door fall in the lock.

“So I managed to save my garment, and not kill the first year who spilled the coke. Are you proud of me yet?” he came into the lounge, hair tousled like when he ran his hands through it too much. Why did Phil now that he’d done that. Maybe because he’d seen him do it so much. He looked exhausted, and frankly, kind of adorable.

“Dan! Right on time. Phil has offered to take me in as flatmate. Also he wanted to ask us both something, so shut up and sit down.” Alex pushed his brother down on the sofa between himself and Phil.

“So, I’m working on a new project at the BBC. They want me to host a special, and I can decide what it’s about. I’ve got an idea set up, and invited several guests to be there too. Wait I have the website on my laptop…” Phil fumbled around with his laptop for a few minutes before turning the screen towards the two Howells.

Cheer for all those who are queer!

Dan’s breath hitched, and then he looked up at Phil. “you invited UK’s most well-known LGBT+ YouTubers, and they’re going to be there to speak?! That’s amazing Phil, congrats!”

Phil swallowed and smiled gratefully at Dan. “I want to start the conversation on acceptance from family and how this is a topic that’s kept under wraps. I wanted to ask you two if you want to accompany me, talk about your personal situation, and help me present the whole thing. I never had to deal with unaccepting parents. When I came out as bisexual, they were accepting. I don’t want to be /that/ person that gives tips whilst knowing absolutely nothing.” Phil took another deep breath.

“So would you do me the honour of presenting ‘Cheer for all those who are Queer!’ with me?”

Dan looked between the screen and Phil, mouth gaping. “You want me, a fashion major, who is the most unknown person in Britain, to host a radio special?! You are insane! Yes, I’ll do it.”

Alex looked up hesitantly. “I’d love to, but when is the special. I can’t do it before graduation. Mum and dad don’t know yet.”

“That’s why I asked my boss if I could do it after your official graduation. He agreed. We can get you settled and then we’ll do the actual special.” Phil smiled oh so softly, eyes shining.

Before anything else could be said or done, Dan tackled Phil into a hug, throwing them both onto the side of the sofa unoccupied. Alex wolf whistled loudly, but Dan ignored it in favour of saying what he’d been thinking for a while now.

“Phil, you are the best person I’ve met in a long time. God, what would we Howells do without you? I love you.”

Dan stiffened, his hold on Phil going tense. Alex coughed and Phil grew still. After a short, tense silence, Phil exhaled slowly.

“I love you too.” It was soft, barely above a whisper. Slowly, they pulled back from the hug. Dan turned to look at Alex, only to see him munching on crisps whilst staring at them.

Suddenly laughter bubbled up in Dan’s throat. He barked out a half laugh, before properly dissolving into laughter. Alex nearly choked on his crisps before succumbing to the laughter to it too.

Phil looked between the two Howell brothers, amused yet confused. His grin turned into little giggles which eventually grew into full on laughter.

---

Later in the night, they were watching Ant-man. Phil yawned discreetly, at least what he thought was discreetly. But Dan caught him out on it, only he was judging to soon, as before he could say anything he yawned with his mouth wide open.

“You guys can crash here. I’m not letting you get on the Tube at this hour of the night. Alex I’ll show you what will be your bedroom. Dan, I haven’t cleaned the guest bedroom in a while, so you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Phil got up and gathered the dirty dishes stashed on the coffee table. Dan swiftly got up to help him. Alex was half asleep, mumbling something about making things tiny.

“Absolutely not! You cannot sleep on that sofa. We’ll share the bed. I don’t mind at all.” He put force behind his words by setting down the dirty dishes, maybe a tad too hard. He turned to Phil, who had turned on the tab to start the dishes. Dan lay a hand on his, and pushed the tab closed.

“And you are not doing the dishes right now. We’ll do it in the morning, together. I helped create the dishes, after all.”

Phil just smiled at the man in front of him, looking so different from the one he’d met in front of the café three months ago. His smiled reached his eyes, dimples were etched into his cheeks. He stood up straight, shoulders right and an air of confidence about him that seemed to make him glow.

Phil step forward and pulled him in for a hug. They stood there with their arms around one another for a while. Eventually Dan pulled away, immensely reluctant to release Phil’s warm body.

“Come on, you look like you’re going to fall asleep right here. Let’s go to bed.”

Dan found that he couldn’t defy the softly spoken command.

As the night passed Dan turned from his side of Phil’s bed to the warm body next to him. He had always been a sucker for spooning.

When Phil woke up he felt warm. No, not warm, hot almost uncomfortably so. Almost, but not quite, because of the amazing smell and the soft puffs of air that touched Phil’s face. His arms were wrapped around Dan who was sprawled out partly on top and partly against his side, in a weird way. Somehow, it was comfortable, because he was fast asleep and occasionally hummed under his breath.

Phil laid there, content to be in this moment. He felt so much for the man that sleeping so close to him. He wanted him to have everything he needed.

After a while of Phil creepily staring, Dan started to wake up. First his humming became more of a soft groaning, then he started to breathe deeper.

“Good morning, handsome.” Phil didn’t know where the nickname had come form, but he damn sure didn’t regret it.

“Mmm, right back at you,” Dan mumbled, face now pressed directly into Phil’s bare chest. Phil slept without a shirt most nights, except when it was freezing out.

He looked up from his comfortable spot, into Phil’s bright eyes, intensified by the morning sun coming in.

“God, can you not look so beautiful when you wake up?!” Dan sounded almost offended, yet it was massively outweighed by the fondness and utter adoration in his voice.

“Says the model. You look like you’re doing a photoshoot, not like you’ve just woken up. I just want to kiss the sleep off your face.”

Dan’s breathing hitched. “What’s stopping you? Not me.”

Phil leaned forward and captured Dan’s lips between his own. Like everything else about the blue-eyed man, his lips were soft and warm, delicate and somehow even caring.

A whine left Dan’s throat before he responded, if a bit too eager. Phil slowed him back down, till they were kissing softly, dare Dan say, lovingly.

Their lips disconnected, but before either could pull away completely, Phil pecked Dan’s lips once. “We should get up. I want a good bowl of cereal.”

So they wandered into the kitchen. Dan decided to let Alex sleep for a little bit. He deserved it.

Sat at Phil’s kitchen table, spooning cereal, whilst occasionally smiling at Phil, made Dan feel so warm inside.

“So, I wanted to ask you. Would you want to be my boyfriend?” Phil smiled slightly as he asked.

Dan dropped his spoon into the bowl, staring up in awe at his friend... no boyfriend. “Yes. God I’ve wanted to hear that so bad.” He reached for Phil’s hand across the table and smiled fondly at him.

“Ugh, gross! Get a room you two.” Alex stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a mixture of amusement and disinterest on his face.

“Fuck off Alex!”

----

“Good afternoon Britain, and welcome to BBC Radio One. I’m Phil Lester and I’ll be hosting a special event today. ‘Cheer for all those who are Queer!’. Presenting alongside me are Dan Howell and Alex Howell….”

Dan smiled at his boyfriend as he chatted away to a room full of people, and a large portion of the population of Britain.

God he was lucky.

#prb2018 #prb18 #phandom #Phanfic #phanfiction #phan #strangers to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #writing

13 notes · View notes

philsdrill · 6 years

Text

Chapter 36: Trying New Things

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 5.8k

[Uploads will be hopefully every couple of weeks! (follow @philsdrill-updates to hear when I post)]

A/N: Uni work got me busy so I guess its been a while. Friday is my last day of class before summer, so apart from an Easter assignment and a summer assignment, I’m pretty much free until September!? So we have hope for the next chapter not taking so long. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Dan’s POV:

Our first Dance had been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, but a happy one. We were both crying a little, but it felt right; it felt special. For the next dance, everyone else was invited to join in. Phil and I spent it just holding each other, the two of us swaying slightly from side to side as he tried to dry my eyes with his handkerchief. He’d felt it an unnecessary accessory, but of course, it was me that needed it in the end. Phil’s tears, he tried to hide, brushing them off with the back of his hand, but I knew they were there.

We danced again to the third song, this time the emotions being less intense as we just relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. After a few dances, everyone started to branch off, seeking new dance partners and allowing for the tradition of the wedding couple dancing with their parents. My mum asked me to dance, then Phil’s mum followed suit in asking him. We revolved around dancing with our own parents and each other’s for a bit, then dancing with our friends, of course having lots of dances to ourselves too.

We took a break for a bit, neither of us quite having the stamina for that many dances in a row. We took a seat at the side for one dance, allowing us to recover a little. We got back on the dancefloor for the next one, however, knowing we should make the most of our own wedding.

Later on, Phil and I spotted Adam and Ethan sitting in a corner and decided to ask the two of them up to dance. Phil asked Adam and I asked Ethan, us taking the two of them to the middle of the dancefloor. We started dancing in the same area, but the other couples moving around us forced us apart. Ethan and I ended up dancing in a different area from Phil and Adam, but that was okay; we could regroup afterwards.

Ethan struck me as being quite a good dancer, but I could tell he was tired. When I brought this up, he admitted he’d just done about four dances in a row with Adam and they were about to take a break when Phil and I approached them.

“Sorry about that,” I apologised, knowing that he needed that break, “I’ll let you have a break after this.”

I took the lead in the dance, spinning Ethan around when an appropriate moment came. It meant nothing compared to what it did with Phil, but we were enjoying this dance as friends, as family. His hand seemed a bit clammy to me, but I didn’t judge him for it, knowing I would be that way if I’d been dancing with my suit jacket on.

“Dan,” Ethan said, sounding a bit out of breath and gripping my shoulder, “I need a seat… don’t feel so good.”

Instantly, I moved my hands to get a better hold on him and led him over to the nearest seat, waiting until he’d sat down until I tried to work out what was happening. I crouched down next to him, taking in his appearance, particularly his pale skin and sweaty forehead. I was pretty warm myself from dancing and I’d abandoned my jacket a while ago.

“Ethan, can we get this suit jacket off of you?” I asked him, “Think you’re overheating?”

Ethan nodded weakly, allowing me to help him get it off. His movements were slow and he looked a bit like he was about to pass out. I was just taking in the bandage on his arm when he started to fall forwards.

“Woah,” I said, holding onto him and stopping him from going any further, “You alright there?”

“M really light headed,” he mumbled, “Everything’s spinning a bit and…”

“Okay, I think we need to get you on the floor,” I told him, “I’m guessing Adam’ll have felt this?”

“Yup,” my brother’s voice sounded from behind me, a worried looking Phil in tow. “What’s happened?”

“He’s like almost fainted on me twice,” I explained, “Adam, help me get him onto the floor. Phil, could you get some water from somewhere?”

Between Adam and I, we helped Ethan off of the chair and down onto the floor. He wasn’t going to stay in the chair by himself, so the floor was a safer place until he was feeling a bit better. We got him sitting with his head on his knees, that being a position proven to help with dizziness, the support for his head probably being a good thing.

Adam had assumed a position right next to him, with a hand on his back. He was keeping the body contact to a minimum until Ethan cooled down a little but.

“I think he’s got a bit too hot,” I said to Adam, even though that was probably obvious, “But what happened to his arm?”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, “I wasn’t happy about him wearing the jacket, but he had an accident with the steak knife and now he’s self conscious because that and the scars together…”

“Phil told me, but I presumed it was a little cut finger or something,” I told Adam my assumptions, “How bad is it?”

“It’s not the worst he’s ever had, but it wasn’t pretty,” Adam explained, rubbing Ethan’s back a little.

At this point, Phil arrived with a glass of water and a little crowd had gathered, asking Phil what was happening, whether Ethan was okay. Phil ignored them for a moment and crouched down, handing the water to Adam.

“Ethan, I’ve got some cold water here; I’m going to put it up against your forehead,” Adam said to Ethan, warning him before the sudden influx of cold.

Meanwhile, I was explaining to Phil that he’d just overheated a little, that the guests shouldn’t need to worry. Phil took care of the onlookers and set about getting some windows opened, while I remained with Adam and Ethan. Adam had got Ethan sitting up a little to drink the water now, which would hopefully do him some good.

Five minutes later, Phil arrived with one of the venue staff in tow, who had a pole for opening the windows. He let them do the work and came to join me and the boys. We gave them a little space to get sorted out, but stayed nearby so we could help. I picked Ethan’s jacket up and hung it over the back of a chair so it didn’t get ruined and thought about what would be the best plan for him once he’d cooled off.

It might be a good idea to take him outside for some fresh air, I decided. The day was starting to cool down now and where inside was like a greenhouse from the earlier sun, the outside would be cooling quickly. I voiced this idea to Adam, well to both of them, but Adam was the one making the decisions at the moment.

“I think that would be a good idea,” Adam agreed, “But any chance you could help us out there?”

“Of course,” I nodded, “What would you like me to do?”

“Just stay close as I help him up, then I’ll support him from one side and you take the other?” he told me, although not sounding entirely sure himself.

I stayed close as Adam helped Ethan to his feet, watching as he was pulled into a hug the moment he was up.

“You’re going to be okay,” I saw Adam mumble to him, “The dizziness will pass.”

Adam held him for a few moments, both arms securely around his back. Ethan wasn’t saying much, but I knew they would be communicating things mentally. I watched as Adam pulled away slightly to take a look at Ethan’s bandaged arm. Blood was showing through, which didn’t look good, but it was probably the least of their worries at the moment.

“He’s thinking this blood loss might not have helped,” Adam told me, voicing Ethan’s thoughts aloud.

“Mmm, yeah,” I agreed, seeing Ethan swaying slightly and reaching out to steady him, “You good to get going outside?”

“I think so?” Adam said, nodding at Ethan for confirmation.

“Okay,” Ethan agreed, a little uncertainly, but he probably realised it was for the best.

Adam and I took a side each and the three of us walked slowly towards the doors, Phil following with their suit jackets, for when they inevitably got cold. We moved down the hallway to the front door, then stepped out into the cooling summer afternoon. Adam and I guided Ethan over to a bench, where the two of them sat down. Ethan rested his head on Adam’s shoulder, but now he just looked tired rather than being on the verge of passing out.

“D’you think you two are going to be okay here for a bit?” Phil asked, as he laid the two jackets down next to Adam.

“Yeah, we will be,” Adam nodded, “You two go back inside and enjoy the rest of your wedding reception. Thank you for the help, but I think we’ll manage from here.”

“Okay, well Phil and I have our phones on us if you need anything,” I assured him, wanting to make sure they could get help if it was needed.

“Okay, thank you,” Adam nodded, patting his suit jacket to check for his own phone.

Phil and I headed back inside, hand in hand, ready to go and enjoy ourselves some more with the peace of mind that Adam and Ethan would be okay. We both paused for a drink to keep hydrated, then did a few more dances here and there, but taking things more slowly now.

My mum came up to us, maybe half an hour after we’d left Adam and Ethan, to tell us that they’d decided to head back to their hotel early. I completely supported that decision, knowing it was probably for the best. They’d been there today to celebrate with us and that was important to us, but now all that mattered was that they were both safe and well.

The dancing faded into the night and everyone was invited to gradually come up to a buffet table to get food. There was an assortment of generic party food: sausage rolls, little sandwiches, carrot sticks, olives, sausages, pastries and little canapés like those from earlier. Then there were sweet things, little bites of caramel shortcake and shortbread, but most importantly, wedding cake!

I started with a couple of savoury items, little sandwiches and carrots, knowing that this was pretty much my dinner. Phil stacked his plate high with all sorts of things, but I preferred to take it slow and go back up for more if I needed to. Eventually I got to the stage that I felt I was ready for my slice of cake. I’d been working up to today for a while and I felt okay about eating a whole slice. It was my wedding after all; I was allowed to treat myself. Phil and I went up together; he picked out a large slice and I went for a medium one. It was clearly not the smallest piece I could’ve had and I think Phil noted this. He didn’t know what was about to hit him. Phil finished his slice quickly, but I knew I had to take this slow if I wanted to be successful. The cake was incredibly sweet and I probably wouldn’t have managed it without a glass of water and Phil by my side, but I took bite after bite and eventually I was down to picking the last few crumbs off my plate. Phil was watching me as I finished and after I swallowed for the last time, I looked up to meet his gaze, giving him a bright smile.

“I did it,” I said to him, my pride clear in my voice.

“You did!” Phil said, excitedly, “I’m so proud of you.”

Phil took the plate from me and laid it to the side, before engulfing me in a warm hug. He softly rubbed my back, a gesture that was comforting, albeit unrequired. I hugged him back, glad that he had been here for this moment, glad that I’d been able to do that, both for myself and for Phil.

As everyone finished up their teas and coffees, that was when things started to wind down a little. People started to head home, so Phil and I made it our goal to go around and thank those leaving for coming.

It was sound this time that I got a text from Adam:

Best wishes to you and Phil - hope you have a good wedding night ;) and enjoy your honeymoon! (just thought I’d send a little message as we left early) - Adam and Ethan

Phil's and my immediate family were the last to depart, but with my parents taking the lead.

“I think it's time for us to head off,” my mum told us, also nodding to my dad, “But congratulations to the two of you; this has been a great day and I'm sure you'll want to enjoy some time to yourselves now. I'd better go and check my other two sons are doing okay.”

My dad added his own few words of thanks and congratulations, the two of them giving us both hugs before they left.

As the last of Phil's family drifted away, I glued myself to Phil's side, suddenly feeling a pang of loneliness now that our friends and family had left. All that I wanted now was to go home and spend the rest of the night alone with Phil. We had something special in mind for tonight, but we’d need to wait until we were in private to discuss and see if everything was going to go to plan.

We had a car to take us back to our flat, in which we were both cuddled up in the back. We wanted things to stay classy until we got home, where I'm sure it wouldn't be long before all sense of control went out of the window.

It would have been nice to have just fallen into each other's arms, kissing passionately and seeing where things led, but we had an important conversation to have first. Recently Phil had been hinting to me that he wanted to try bottoming. It had first come up in a post-sex discussion about trying new things, where Phil had straight out asked, “Dan, if you don’t mind, at some point I think I’d like to try bottoming?”

Of course, I was fully supportive of Phil’s decision, but there were things we had to discuss before we got to the stage of doing it. I wanted to make Phil wait for a day that felt right; I was sure I could have the confidence to let Phil be a bit more submissive, but as this would be quite different for him, I wanted to make sure he was ready.

I knew that Phil was confident in the stretching process when doing it to me, but he admitted he wasn’t sure about doing his own preparation; how would he know when it felt right? I’d promised I would help him with it when the time came, maybe even introduce him to it a little beforehand.

A couple of weeks ago, I’d introduced Phil to my fingers, not making it sexual, but just getting him used to the feeling. We’d been talking about it more since then, me letting him in a little more on the cleaning and preparation that I did, even getting onto more taboo topics like poop. There were days when I wouldn’t want to do anything anal and Phil would accept that without question, but now I felt it was better that he understood fully, if he was going to be doing this himself.

Previously, our conversations rarely had anything to do with shit, apart from when Phil’s lactose intolerance made it unavoidable. I’d been more open recently though, just outright telling him if things weren’t so good in that department. At first, this seemed to embarrass Phil, but he was taking in his stride now.

Yesterday, Phil had asked me how I felt about us trying it tonight. It was still going to be a lot of new things for him, but he felt that presuming he remained all good in the poop department, he was ready to go for it. I too felt that this would be a good way to make our wedding night special. I agreed with Phil, that yes, presuming he still felt good about it today, I would be happy to go ahead with him.

“Let’s get our suits off and we’re going to sit down and talk before we go ahead with anything,” I told Phil, not wanting to initiate anything before I knew exactly how he was feeling about things.

Phil sat down first, then a couple of moments later I joined him, pulling the duvet up around our shoulders. I put my arm around Phil, enjoying a moment of just holding my husband close before we got into anything.

“C’mere,” I said to him, moving to invite him onto my lap; I felt we needed to be closer before having such an intimate chat.

“How are you feeling?” I started, that being an open question he could answer how he wanted to.

“Good,” Phil said, smiling, “Really happy, really happy to have you as my husband, really happy to be with you right now.”

“Great,” I nodded, “Me too.”

“You did well today,” Phil told me, “After last night I was a bit worried about your anxiety playing up more, but you handled it well.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, knowing it could have been better, but still happy with how I’d done overall, “I wish I didn’t have to sit down during the ceremony, but thanks for dealing with me.”

“That’s my job as your soulmate,” Phil laughed, “And now as your husband.”

“Mmm,” I laughed in agreement.

“And you did well with the cake too,” Phil nodded, his smile growing bigger, “I’m so proud of you.”

Unsure what to say to that, I just smiled in response, letting Phil nuzzle into my shoulder.

“So, husband...” I said after a minute or two, “How are we planning to spend our wedding night?”

“Umm,” Phil started, suddenly looking a bit flustered, “What we discussed…. Ummm… metryingbottoming?”

“Are you still feeling up for it?” I asked him, noting his embarrassment but being confident myself to show him he could be too.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, still sounding nervous, but a little better.

“Have you pooped today? Is everything good down there?” I asked, glad I’d built up to this so that it wouldn’t be so out of the blue.

“Yeah, yeah, I have,” Phil nodded, “All seemed fine to me.”

“Great,” I said, “Okay, well I think we should take a shower together, start off the prep in there.”

“Okay?” Phil said, sounding a little unsure.

“D’you want to go through and get the shower on?” I asked him, “And don’t worry, we’re going to talk through everything.”

While Phil got the shower started, I looked out a few things for afterwards. I made sure the lube was handy; which it already was. I looked out a small dildo, knowing Phil was going to need to take things slowly, so that could be a good inbetween step. I made sure there were condoms on hand too, because although we didn’t usually use them, I could understand if Phil didn’t want me coming inside him.

I joined Phil in the shower, first grabbing a couple of disposable gloves from the cabinet. We had lube in the shower already, but I sometimes used a glove for cleaning myself. I was only going to introduce Phil to cleaning himself with a finger, but I had no idea how it was going to go.

I handed Phil a glove and put one on myself, “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting this to be too gross. It could be a little messy, so just as a precaution have a glove; you might feel a bit like you’re going to poop, so it eases your mind a bit to know you’re not going to poop on your hand.”

“Right, that gives me a lot of confidence,” Phil mumbled, pulling his own glove on.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I told him, rubbing his shoulders softly, “You just need to relax and not worry; if it eases your mind I’ve done much more disgusting things to clean myself.”

“Like what?” Phil asked, as I picked up the bottle of lube.

“Douches and enemas,” I told him, “Where you basically squirt water inside you to wash everything out… but don’t worry, you’re not doing any of that.”

“Okay, thank god, that sounds horrific,” Phil said, sounding very relieved.

“You do get used to it a little,” I told him, “Anyway, you don’t even have to think about that at the moment. All we’re going to do is use our fingers and some lube and make sure you’re mostly clean down here. We won’t be doing anything that hardcore; this is your first time, so I’m going to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be.”

“Thanks,” Phil nodded, relaxing back against me a little.

I squirted some lube out onto my gloved hand and coated my first finger. With his permission, I brought it up to touch Phil’s hole, starting with gently massaging the area, loosening it off little by little. I slowly worked the finger inside him, until eventually, it was as far in as it could go. In terms of the cleaning, I just moved my finger around inside him, every so often pulling out and wiping it on his bum. He seemed pretty clean already, which was great as I knew Phil would be embarrassed if I found any poop. After talking through what I’d done, I let Phil do a bit himself, knowing if he decided he wanted to bottom more regularly, the prep might be something he’d like to do in private.

“How do I know when I’m done?” Phil asked eventually.

“Well you don’t have any poop on your glove do you?” I said, encouraging him to look, “You’re good; I just wanted you to get the idea of what you were doing. To be honest; you probably didn’t need this cleaning, but it helps you be a bit more confident and unless you know your body really well, it's probably a good idea.”

“Oh okay,” Phil said, sounding pleasantly surprised, “What’s next then?”

“I could, in theory, stretch you in here, but I’d like to do it in bed where you can relax more,” I told him, “So let’s just have a minute more just relaxing in here, then we’ll dry off and go through.”

I took Phil’s glove from him, removed mine and tossed them both in the corner for me to tidy up in the morning. I’d explained to him that gloves weren’t a necessity, that was his choice, but I’d thought it was a good place to start. The next minute or two, I spent gently washing him with shower gel, taking it as an opportunity to help him relax. When we both got out of the shower, I rubbed him dry with a towel, doing the same to myself. When we were ready, I put a hand on Phil’s back to guide him back through to our room.

It was only now that I let myself capture Phil in a kiss, make out with him until our hips were desperately grinding into each other, seeking something, seeking anything. It’s what we’d both been wanting for most of the day, and now we were finally alone. Eventually, I let my more dominant side shine through, and pushed Phil gently down onto the bed.

“You still good to go ahead with this?” I paused to ask him, wanting to make sure he was completely okay with what we were about to do.

“Yup,” Phil nodded, hands pulling at me needily.

I nudged Phil’s legs apart with my knee, grabbing the lube from where I had left it and squeezing a little out onto my fingers. It was a bit cold, but I knew Phil would know this. I massaged his rim slowly, slipping my finger into him. At first, it wasn’t much more than what we’d been doing in the shower, but I wanted to make the stretching feel good for Phil as soon as possible, so I set about finding his prostate, pressing my finger in a little further and angling it towards his stomach.

I knew I’d found it when Phil tightened around my finger and let out a strangled moan, “Nnnghh.”

“Is that good?” I asked him softly, hoping that he liked the sensation.

“Mmm yeah,” Phil nodded, “Wasn’t quite sure at first, but yeah it’s good.”

“Okay, d’you think you’re ready for another?” I asked, slowly sliding my finger out and lubing up a second.

“I think so?” he said, a little unsure as this wasn’t something he’d done before.

With two fingers, I was able to stretch him out a bit further, making sure to communicate with Phil about what he was feeling, and when he was ready for a third. Eventually, when I felt he was as stretched as I could do with just my fingers, I picked up the small dildo I’d looked out.

Again, making sure that Phil was still okay to go ahead, I coated the purple length with lube. We owned a couple, which I sometimes used to work up to Phil’s size, or just personally. This was a little more for Phil to take, so I made sure to insert it slowly, talking to him all the time and making sure that it wasn’t too much.

I worked it in and out of Phil, who was gasping at the stretch and new sensations he was feeling. He was doing really well; I knew it was a lot but he was handling it, he was telling me he was doing fine, and from what I could see and feel, I believed that.

I let Phil enjoy the dildo for a bit longer than he needed to, just to be on the safe side. It was clear he liked it and wanted more; I had to bat his hands away from touching himself a couple of times, but I knew he would want to save himself for what was to come. I slowed down my movements with the dildo and slowly pulled it out of him, watching him clench at the loss.

“We’re going onto me next if you’re good with that?” I said, again checking I had his consent to go ahead.

“Mmm please,” Phil nodded, a bit lost in the pleasure he’d just been experiencing to say much.

I’d been enjoying stretching Phil and slowly fucking him with a dildo, so without even touching myself, I was mostly hard. However, I had a bit to go before I was ready to bury myself in Phil. I asked him to suck me a little to get me fully hard; Phil was good with his mouth, so he had me there in no time. Before I got down to business, I gave Phil’s dick a little attention, giving him a familiar feeling before we got back into the unfamiliar territory.

“D’you want me to use a condom?” I asked him, “Come inside or out when we get there?”

“No condom and inside please,” Phil said weakly, “I want all of you.”

“Sure thing,” I said, laughing slightly at his eagerness.

To help line myself up with Phil, I grabbed the other pillow and got him to lift his hips up to rest on top of it. I wanted to see Phil, so this position was best, but I didn’t want to hurt him. Pushing into Phil felt amazing; this was my first time experiencing such a feeling, but I managed to control myself, thinking back to our first time and how slow Phil took things with me.

“How’re you doing?” I asked Phil, who seemed a little quiet.

“Feels good, the stretch, hurts a little, but it’s good,” Phil told me, giving me a small smile.

I paused for a few moments, letting him adjust, rubbing my fingers over his hips while I waited. Phil let me know when he was good, in a way I recognised as my own. I continued to take things slow, pausing to let Phil adjust, but eventually I was all the way in, balls deep in Phil.

“Nnghh, I feel so full,” Phil grunted a little, clearly taking a little longer to accommodate me fully.

“Take all the time you need,” I said, keeping my lower body as still as I could.

Phil shuffled around a little, making my self control even harder, but eventually, he announced he was ready. I pulled back the way slowly, started with shallow, slow thrusts. I waited for Phil to tell me he needed more until I picked up the pace. With that, I also took that as an invite to find Phil’s prostate, changing the angle slightly and lifting his legs up to give me better access.

When I found Phil’s prostate, I knew about it, he shuddered around me, letting out a guttural moan. I didn’t go full on at his spot at first, not wanting this to be too fast or intense for him. Each time I hit the spot, he lost a bit more control, his toes curling, legs trying to pull me closer. I too was struggling with my self-control, but I was doing my best to keep it under control for Phil.

When Phil uttered he was close, I let myself go a little, letting things be a tiny bit rougher, a little bit deeper. I touched him too, wanting to help him over the edge, knowing that coming untouched would be too much for his first time.

When Phil came, he let out probably the best moan I’d ever heard, the white stuff spilling from his cock onto both himself and me. At this sight, this feeling, I found myself coming too, doing my best to keep up a rhythm to work Phil through his longer, more intense orgasm.

I pulled out slowly, knowing that Phil would feel weirdly empty after this. I moved to lay down next to him for some cuddles, but Phil had quickly broken down into sobs.

“Oh my God Phil, are you okay? Have I hurt you?” I rushed, full of concern.

“It’s good, I’m good,” Phil sobbed, “That was just so intense. I’m fine, but like… please hold me.”

I laid next to Phil, pulling him into my arms. We were both sticky, but I ignored that, trying to give him the closeness he needed. One arm tightly round his back, the other hand cupping his bum, I held him until his sobs died down, murmuring words of comfort and love.

After a minute of quiet, Phil spoke up again, “I’m sticky.”

“I know,” I said softly, “I was going to clean up but it seemed you needed some hugs first? Let me go grab a cloth?”

Begrudgingly, Phil freed me from our embrace and let me head to the bathroom to grab a cloth. I soaked it in warm water, wrung it out, then carried it to the bedroom where I started with wiping down Phil’s stomach and abdomen.

“Is that good?” I asked him, wanting to check with him that I’d got all of it.

“Yup,” he nodded, “Yours is staying inside of me.”

“It will for a bit,” I told him, now wiping Phil’s come off myself, “But it’ll probably slide out of you a bit overnight; so that might feel a little weird.”

“Mmm,” Phil nodded, maybe not entirely getting what I was saying.

I returned the cloth to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, which I used to dry Phil off a little, before tossing it to the side. I hopped up onto the bed next to Phil and pulled the duvet up over us, pulling him into my arms again.

“You good now?” I asked, rubbing my hand up and down his back.

“Yup,” Phil said, nodding his head into me, “I’m tired, but today’s been the best day. I’m so grateful to have you as my husband and I’m so glad we got to do this tonight. I love you, Dan.”

“I love you too, Phil,” I replied, smiling as my heart filled with warmth.

Phil was quiet for a minute, before letting out a yawn, “Think I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Good plan; we’ve had a long day,” I said, “Now, you get to sleep, but if you need anything, I’m right here.”

Phil fell asleep in my arms, his body so drained that he was out in seconds, barely moving in his sleep. I followed not long after, holding him close, hoping that I’d done a good job and that he wouldn’t be too sore in the morning. A little ache would be almost inevitable, but I would treat him to whatever loving care he needed to ease that.

It was almost inevitable that Phil would be a little sore the next morning. Like with exercising a new muscle at the gym, you were bound to suffer from using different muscles in bed. I recognised the ache Phil was suffering as one I’d experienced myself and I knew that a warm bath, and maybe some ibuprofen if it persisted, would be all he needed.

Like Phil had done for me many times, I ran us a bath. I let Phil pick out a bathbomb or some bubbles, then joined him. As well as providing physical comfort, taking a bath together was emotional comfort, a place for us to be close and intimate with each other and discuss how we were feeling. Apart from a little pain on Phil’s part and a desire for breakfast on mine, all was good between us. Our day was going to be quite laid back; yes, we had to pack for our little honeymoon, but that was our only responsibility. I had a good feeling about the next few days, that a little trip away together was just what we needed as our final step into married life.

Next Chapter =>

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #phan au #tw #tw; ed #phan fluff #soulmates #soulmate au #fandom #phandom #waiter!phil #ed #someday

27 notes · View notes

auroraphilealis · 7 years

Text

Metamorphosis (8/10)

Metamorphosis (8/10) | Once upon a time, Dan Howell and Phil Lester were best friends. They did everything together, from hanging out at each other’s house, to sitting next to each other at school - but one day, Dan was torn away from Phil by none other than Phil himself. Five years on, and Dan still doesn’t know why his best friend threw Dan away. Was it the fault of the bullies who relentlessly picked on Phil, or was it Dan himself? Dan just didn’t know. So when a chance to protect Phil and get his best friend back arises, Dan jumps on it in a heartbeat, and uses his own confidence to boost Phil’s just enough to make the bullies back away. | Phan | Teen and Up | High School AU, Bullying, Getting Together, Make Over Fic, Kissing Booth, Kissing Lessons | 3,576 Words this chapter Disclaimer: In no way do I pretend that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil.

Thanks again to my beta etoilesdephan for her wonderful help editing this fic <33

(Ao3) (Previous)

Chapter Eight

The morning dawned bright and early. Dan blinked his eyes open with a surprising lightness to his heart that he hadn’t properly felt in years. In fact, it took him a few minutes to get his bearings enough to recognize why he was feeling so light in the first place, but then the previous afternoon came flooding back to him and Dan found himself grinning as he flopped back into bed and stared up at the ceiling above him like a love-sick teenager. He could still remember the way it had felt to have Phil back in his arms again, and how nice it had been to finally see him smile again after so long.

The sudden change to his appearance wasn’t helping matters either. Dan had always found Phil attractive, but with a shine to his eyes and a happiness to his demeanor, it made Phil look only a million times better, just as Dan had suspected. Finding out as well that it had been Phil’s idea to dye his hair black, something he’d worked up the courage to ask Fabrice himself, had made pride well inside of Dan as well, and he’d been so tempted to kiss Phil when he’d heard. He’d been a good lad and held himself back, though, because he’d known that it wasn’t something he could just spring onto Phil out of nowhere, no matter how relevant the emotions now felt to Dan.

It might have been five years of pining for Dan, but Phil had no idea of Dan’s feelings, and for all Dan knew, Phil didn’t even feel the same. The last thing Phil needed was for his one best friend to come onto him without asking first, not that Dan would ever do a thing like that.

Still. He’d wanted to kiss Phil, and while Dan’s chest ached to have so much more with Phil, he held himself in check with the memory of how hollow he’d felt not having Phil in his life. This right here was enough, he promised himself, even if it was a struggle to think of Phil in anyway less than platonic.

He’d get through it - he had to. It was a necessary thing, and, maybe, when Phil was feeling more confident in himself, Dan might just tell him what Dan was always thinking when he looked into Phil’s shining blue eyes, makeover or not. Dan grinned to himself at the thought of what Phil’s face would look like in that situation, and climbed out of bed to get ready for class. Already, his mind was forming ideas on what else he could do to help Phil with the bullies at school, and a plan for how the two of them were going to combat the kissing booth today.

Dan’s phone went off as he was yanking on his skinny jeans, and he flipped the screen on to see another text from Sarah.

Sarah: whats goin on wth u, thot we wr frnds

Dan ignored it with a roll of his eyes, and went back to pulling the overly tight jeans up his thighs. Once they were settled, he grabbed his phone and his backpack, and rushed out the front door in the hopes of catching Phil before his long lost friend could take off for school without him. The days of Phil walking alone were long gone, and if Dan could help it, he’d never let it happen again.

He’d not so much as gotten through his front door before he caught sight of Phil a few feet down the pavement, headed to school. Dan grinned, and started running, his backpack jumping against his back as he moved.

“Hey! Phil!” he shouted, waving enthusiastically as his friend stopped and turned to face him.

He wasn’t wearing his hoodie today. Instead, he had on the jacket Dan had bought him, almost lovingly stroking it with one hand, and the hood down. His dress shirt was slightly untucked, and a little rumpled, just how Dan had shown him to wear it, and his tie was loose around his neck. His jeans didn’t look so baggy now, the way they usually did, and while they didn’t cling to Phil’s legs the way Dan’s clung to his, they did look flattering for once instead of “too big.”

It was the starkness of his face against his hair that really stood out to Dan once more, and it took him a few moments to reconcile the sight he was used to seeing when he saw Phil, with this one - sans glasses and with hair darker than Dan’s jeans.

Phil really was ethereal.

As Dan jogged to catch up with Phil, a slow smile began to take over his friend's features, and Dan felt warmth surge through him to see Phil not only waiting for him, but seeming relieved, as if he’d honestly thought that Dan would not want to be seen with him after yesterday.

“Wait for me next time,” Dan said easily as he reached Phil’s side. “Sorry I’m almost so late out of bed, but I swear I’ll tie you to your mattress if you take off without me again!” Dan teased, ignoring the way Phil’s cheeks seemed to go bright red all over again at the implications. Taking Phil’s hand in his casually and easily, Dan squeezed his fingers, and started walking, pleased when Phil fell into step easily beside him.

“Sorry,” Phil replied quietly, and then, “I wasn’t sure…”

Dan waited for him to continue, to confess what Dan had seen in his stance, but Phil didn’t continue.

Casually, Dan bumped their shoulders.

“Course I want to,” Dan said, answering the unvoiced question. “I told you. You’re always going to be my best friend.”

Phil never did reply, but that was okay. Dan didn’t mind, and he could see from the relieved fall of Phil’s tense shoulders that it meant a lot to him. Instead, in an attempt to help relax Phil from the mounting terror he was likely feeling about showing up to school practically a new person today, Dan chattered away about everything that Phil had missed over the last five years.

All the while, Dan never let go of Phil’s hand, not even when they got to the wide gates of their school, and students began staring.

“They’re all kind of dicks, but they just kind of adopted me, and I kind of just went along with it. They’re nothing like you though; they’ve never even been to my house, and believe me when I say Sarah has tried! She’s completely insane,” Dan was saying, holding tighter and tighter to Phil’s hand the further they got into the crowds of students milling about outside. He could feel Phil trembling, the desire to flee making his steps faulty, but Dan didn’t let him go. He didn’t want to make Phil feel trapped, but he also didn’t want to leave him alone, and if that meant securely keeping himself at Phil’s side, then that was what he would do.

If Phil took off running, he’d have to take Dan with him.

The entire school was staring at Phil by now. There were girls chattering and giggling to each other, looking Phil up and down like they wanted to eat him up, and there were boys staring in confusion, trying to match up this appearance of Phil with the one they’d just seen yesterday. The boys Dan had told to shove off after the lunch bell rang looked particularly perplexed, but more than that, almost annoyed. Dan prayed that Phil hadn’t noticed as his eyes darted around the courtyard in terror.

“I think she might have a crush on me, but don’t tell anyone,” Dan continued on in an attempt to distract Phil.

Phil snapped his head towards Dan, gawping.

“What?”

“Howell! Who's your new friend?”

Phil was staring at Dan with wide eyes, his cheeks gone completely crimson, but there was something about his eyes that struck Dan. They looked almost panicked, almost upset, but Dan didn’t get a chance to figure out why, as his attention was almost instantly diverted by the student in front of him.

Dan didn’t know their name. Honestly, he was surprised the kid knew his, but he didn’t question it. He merely raised an eyebrow at him and the way he was staring at Phil, like he were new fodder or something, and dragged Phil closer to his side.

“It’s Phil. You know, ‘wimpy Lester?’” Dan mocked, narrowing his gaze at the bully as he startled, and peered more closely still at Phil. Phil’s trembling only seemed to increase, a thought that plagued Dan, and he tried to hold him tighter, tried to be even more reassuring than he had been previously. The bully looked confused, almost annoyed that he’d been duped, and Dan felt hatred curling in his gut for this boy.

How dare he spend his life torturing other students? How dare he feel anger that Phil was finally making a change, and standing up for himself? Dan wanted to punch the guy square in the face, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “We’ve had enough of your shit. No one’s going to be beating Phil down anymore, understood? And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

Phil jumped next to him, and turned to Dan with an expression of abject horror. He opened his mouth to speak, but the bully beat him to it, laughing at Dan like what he’d said was funny, or something.

“Seriously, Howell? Why are you defending a wimp like Lester?” he asked, genuinely looking perplexed. “I bet you’re the one who gave him the makeover. You know cutting his hair and getting him new clothes isn’t going to make him any less of a loser than he already is, right?” the bully mocked.

He took a step closer to the two of them, crowding into their personal space. Phil tried to take a step back, cowering slightly, but Dan held his ground.

“Besides, what makes you think your standing in the way is going to stop anyone from pummeling you to get to Lester?”

Dan grinned, slow and easy, and said, “Cause my father’s police. Why do you think everyone's my friend?”

Dan watched as the realization, the reminder, sunk into the bully’s head, and he remembered again the first time he’d ever called his father to help when he and Phil were being harassed. The bullies had backed off and cowered away from Dan and Phil with looks of hate in their eyes; this bully’s face resembled that so much that, for a moment, Dan was eight years old again and holding onto a sobbing, bloody Phil who still had dirt in his mouth, while Dan’s father stood protectively in front of them both.

The memory hardened Dan’s resolve, and he glared at the bully until the kid finally sneered, and turned his back on both Dan and Phil. His hands were balled in fists at his sides as he walked away, but Dan had a feeling that he’d be relaying Dan’s threat, his promise, to the rest of the school.

No one was going to be getting away with hurting Phil again.

Dan turned back to Phil.

“Shall we head in, then?”

Phil wasn’t smiling anymore. His head was ducked, and he looked like he was trying to hide behind his too short fringe, but he nodded anyway and started walking again.

Dan tried to pretend that the reaction didn’t hurt, but it did.

Dan convinced his maths teacher to let him out of class early before lunch so that he could set up the kissing booths for theater club activities that afternoon, and packed his things to head out to were the booths had been left abandoned yesterday afternoon. Franklin and the rest of the theater kids had originally set up two, forcing Dan and Phil to be separated, and Dan unable to help Phil or make sure he was being paid and treated fairly. Dan had been thinking since yesterday that it wasn’t right, and he knew just the way to fix it.

While the rest of the school was still in class, Dan messed about in the middle of the quad forcing the two kissing booths together, fixing the chairs so that Dan and Phil would be forcibly close to each other, and opting to use just one desk rather than two. He set up the queue dividers to section off a place next to the table set up where pictures could be taken, and then set both jars for collecting coins straight in the middle of the desk, so that Dan would be able to see just what the students were paying, rather than letting them run amuck doing whatever they wanted.

Then, he rushed off to the cafeteria before anyone else could get there, and smiled at the lunch lady who looked surprised to see him so early. They ended up chatting for a few moments while Dan picked out a sandwich for himself, and he didn’t even have to ask for the teriyaki bowl before she was pulling it out for him and allowing him to pay. With a fond farewell, Dan practically ran back to the quad, wanting to arrive before Phil or the rest of the school, and settled down with a loud huff of lost breath just as the bell rang and the school erupted with students all trying to rush to lunch.

Before Dan even saw Phil, he watched boys and girls, many familiar faces from yesterday, rushing to get into line in front of the kissing booth, seeming somewhat surprised and even unsure of the new set up. They kept glancing around at each other, like they were all in on some private joke, but Dan could see the insecurity beginning to form with each passing moment, as Dan stared them down, and they realized that something was different.

It wasn’t just the kissing booth, either. The worst of the bullies from yesterday were nowhere to be found.

Then Phil pushed through the crowd, taking everyone by surprise with soft, muttered, “excuse me”’s and darted to the other side of the kissing booth with wide eyes.

“Dan?” he asked at the same time as the people in line began murmuring to each other in confusion, staring at Phil like he’d grown two heads.

Dan hummed with a pleased little grin, and turned to Phil with raised eyebrows in question.

“Why - why are we together, I - ?” he stuttered out, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets which, Dan was pleased to find, Phil was still holding tight to his body, hood still down. His blue eyes were so bright without the glare of his glasses lenses hiding them, wide and unsure. Nervous.

Dan hoped that one day Phil wouldn’t be so nervous around him.

“I told you,” Dan replied pleasantly. “I’m not leaving you alone again.”

The two didn’t have any more time after that to argue or discuss Dan’s decision to move their booth into one, as not a few seconds later, one of the girls in line was shyly approaching Dan and asking for a hug. Dan offered her a smile in return while Phil dropped his stuff behind them, and the girl popped a quarter into the jar. Then, Dan was standing, and the line was moving forward, just as confused as before, but, for some strange reason, completely and utterly enamoured with this new Phil.

Dan watched for the entire hour of lunch as girl after girl came forward asking for pictures and hugs, and even a few asking for kisses until they saw the look on Phil’s face and changed their mind with soft little coo’s that they didn’t want to make Phil uncomfortable. A few boys even came over for a photo with Phil, most often wanting some cool pose that Phil awkwardly did, and then laughing at him good naturedly, rather than cruelly. Phil’s face was a cool mask of horrified confusion the entire time, but no one seemed to mind, and with nothing to hide behind, Phil was forced to open up in a way he never had before.

When girls and boys alike asked his name, and Phil admitted he was just the same old Phil, he even got a few murmured or flirtatious apologies that honestly surprised them both.

It was a good day, and when Franklin showed up with Sarah not long before the lunch bell was going to ring again for students to rush back to class, they both looked incredibly annoyed to find Phil being treated well, rather than made fun of as was their obvious initial plan.

“Daaaan,” Sarah whined as she cut into the front of the now fairly short line. “Why have you been ignoring my texts?” she asked, her back practically to Phil as she spoke. Phil was too busy to notice the slight, once again fending off the advances of another girl who wanted a kiss from him, and managing to convince her that a hug would be good enough, and that only seemed to annoy Sarah even more, who was peering sideways at Phil.

Dan shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve been busy,” he replied, while Franklin stood off to the side on his phone, texting someone with a look of annoyance on his face. Dan hoped he wasn’t trying to plan anything, or else Dan might just have to… call his dad, if he was being honest. He would have hated himself more for the lame reaction if it weren’t Phil he was protecting, but as it was, Phil came before anything else for Dan.

Sarah whined, and took Dan’s hand in hers from across the small table. Dan turned his attention back to her, but he didn’t even try and keep up a polite smile with her as he had the other girls and boys who’d lined up to kiss, hug, and take photos with him. He merely stared at her with his brow raised in question.

“I thought we were friends,” Sarah complained, and then, after glancing at Phil again, leaned in closer to Dan. “I thought were were on our way to being more than friends,” she added.

Honestly, the admittance came as no surprise to Dan. The only real reaction he had was genuine annoyance at the idea of Sarah thinking she’d ever had a chance with Dan. He’d been careful to not give her an impression such as that, and he rarely spoke to her unless they were in a large group or doing a scene together in theater.

Pulling his hand out from underneath Sarah’s, Dan opened his mouth to protest, when Sarah reached up and dropped a quarter in the collection jar. Her grin told Dan exactly what she was about to ask for, but no words ever escaped either of their mouths. Dan didn’t even get a chance to collect his bearings before Sarah was reaching out with her now free hand to bunch her fingers into Dan’s school shirt, pull him forward, and not only shove their mouths together, but press her tongue into Dan’s mouth far too aggressively for him to even pretend to enjoy it.

Dan’s face scrunched up in disgust. He felt Sarah giggle against his lips, and made a muffled sound of protest in return. He reached up with the full intention of pushing Sarah away, only for her to pull back with a loud smack from their lips, and wink at him before promptly kissing him a second time, this time a quick peck on the lips.

Dan’s eyes were wide, lips grossly wet, and mind reeling, when Sarah said, “I’ll see you later, Dan,” and walked away.

The bell for class went, the line in front of them dispersed, and Dan was left with nothing but a nauseated sensation in the pit of his stomach. He felt almost violated in a way that kissing the other girls that day had not made him feel, while his mind spun with the realization that Sarah really thought Dan had any kind of feelings for her. Had that kiss been her way of saying they were going out now?

Dan didn’t want to go out with Sarah. He wanted to go out with Phil.

Speaking of Phil - Dan turned, wanting to lament with Phil over Sarah’s ridiculous obsession with him, not to mention the disgustingly wet kiss she’d landed on him, only for Dan to realize that Phil was no longer by his side. No, instead, Phil had already left the booth, backpack slung over his shoulders, head ducked to avoid Dan’s gaze, and walking so fast Dan knew he was trying to get away. The sight pained Dan, who’d thought the afternoon had gone rather well considering, and shouted after Phil’s back, “Wait, Phil!” but Phil didn’t so much as look back.

Dan felt his heart crumble in reaction as he glanced down at the two half full jars in front of him, at the place Phil had just been standing, so close their shoulders had practically been touching, and then back at the lunch Dan had managed to grab them before lunch had even began.

Then, Dan looked back up at Phil’s retreating back, and mumbled to himself, “I got us some lunch…”

(Next)

#phanfic #phanfiction #phanfictioncatalogue #phandom #phan #snowbunnylester

64 notes · View notes

ominousdan · 7 years

Text

Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: Dan has countless near death experiences throughout his life and Phil, or Grim Reaper D2417, is stuck with a client who can’t seem to die. After so many run ins with each other throughout the course of Dan’s dangerous life, they form a forbidden connection between human and AfterLife employee.

warnings: death (not in great detail, guaranteed happy ending), smut

word count: 9.7K

Phanart that @starsthatshine13 made!

You could never hear him coming. He moved like a feather dancing in the wind, being swept off his feet with each breeze that blew his way. He never made a sound when he walked. The pitter-patter of toes along hard wood, the clacking of dress shoes along a stone hallway, the angry stomps that could shake a house -- it was never him. You could put him on a piano and he could stride along the keys without resonating a single note. That's how he snuck his way into everyone's lives, that's how he snuck his way into Dan Howell’s, unheard and unnoticed. His body frail, his hair black gossamer, his eyes as deep as the drowning sea. He was the poison in everyone’s veins, waiting to be enacted. To die in his hands was surely a heavenly way to die, but Dan refused to let him have his way. Even if he didn’t know he was fighting it in the first place.

It had all begun when Dan was a mere toddler. His mum had left him sitting on the living room floor with one of those little race car toys. The bright blue metal vehicle zoomed back and forth between his chubby legs. Curiosity swept over his tiny mind, like it does, and he crawled his way over to the diminutive holes in the wall with secret electricity brewing behind them. Dan’s infancy disabled him from seeing the consequences of his actions, so when that baby stuck a piece of his toy in the socket, he didn’t know a shock would pass through his entire body, rendering him unconscious. The poor boy could taste metal in his drooling mouth. He could hear his mum screaming his name repeatedly, as his eyes drifted to a close.

Dan awoke from his coma-like state while in the ambulance on the way to the local hospital. His mum was holding his right hand and to his left were three paramedics. Two of them were working diligently to keep track of Dan’s vital signs but the third one was acting...

. He stood the farthest away from Dan, seemingly minding his own business when he should be minding the high voltaging baby on the stretcher. His aura was dark and lingering. His expression showed that he was bored as if he’d been in the same situation a thousand times before. Dan’s beedy eyes met with his and he smiled at him. Those lips, that grin, the pure blackness that encompassed the mysterious being was Dan’s first memory of him. It was the first file in a very extensive folder of moments in his life where the same man would make an appearance.

He was supposed to die that day. The doctors claimed his body wouldn’t have been able to undergo a shock of that caliber. And yet, it did. His mum called him her

, and would always remind Dan that he had someone watching over him. And he knew that was true because he saw the same mysterious man many times after that first incident, though he never put two and two together until well into adulthood. Except this person was no guarding angel, in fact, he was far from it.

His second near death experience occurred a good couple years following the first. He was ten years old and didn’t have many friends. He didn’t know what it was about him that made everyone in primary school seem to have a shared seething hatred for Dan, though he didn't feel like finding out what it was because that meant interacting with them.

Earlier in one of his dreaded classes -- biology, to be exact -- they were conducting an experiment that involved several mixtures of microscopic organisms. Dan was walking passed Steven’s desk and didn’t see the boy’s extended foot that Dan soon tripped over. He lurched forward, falling to the ground, and dropping the test tubes in the process. To Dan’s dismay, the organic substances found themselves a landing target on Dylan’s shirt. Dan looked up to meet the fiery eyes of the kid who had had it out for Dan since the beginning of the school year. Dylan was a foot taller than Dan and a year older too, due to the fact that he’d repeated 4th grade. His fists were clenched, and his scowling face had microorganisms spread across it. Dylan’s friend, Steven, was curling over with laughter, joyful tears brimming in his eyes. Technically, it was Steven’s fault, but Dan knew that wasn’t going to stop Dylan from taking it out on him.

Which is why he was in the position he was currently in.

It was like any other day. Dan was walking home from school, taking his usual route that allowed him to avoid the public. He trekked behind the school, through the borough of trees that encircled the train tracks, the path leading him right to his backyard. This way he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew because everyone he knew didn’t like him.

Except today, he knew someone was following him. With every crunch of a leaf, every snap of a twig he heard behind him, Dan’s ears felt like they would begin to bleed. He shivered at the thought of being pulverized in such a secluded area where no one could hear him scream for help.

he repeated in his head,

. He stared straight in front of him, determined to get home as fast as he could, when he noticed a rustling across the train tracks. Out from between the bushes emerged Steven. Dan quickly turned around, only to be met with two other boys; Dylan and someone he didn’t recognize, both scary nonetheless.

“Where do you think you’re going,

?” Dylan exclaimed, making Steven giggle at the childish name. The hooded stranger didn’t even crack a smile, or a glance for that matter. He stared down at his foot kicking a rock from side to side as if he was bored. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his even blacker hair was poking out from under the hood of his sweatshirt.

Dylan and Steven approached Dan from either side of him, forcing Dan to stay in between the two. He attempted to run up the tracks, away from the bullies, but then more kids from school who were apart of Dylan’s posse made themselves known. Dan was outnumbered, five to one. All of them, except the emo looking one, surrounded him. They each took a turn hitting Dan, causing him to fall toward another boy who just hit him again. Dan was flying from fist to fist, each blow in a different spot. Dylan, a punch to the face. Steven, a fistful in his gut. Tommy, a crack to his ribs. Jonathan, a heel to the groin. Dan’s vision blurred and his whole body ached, he didn't know which part of him to hold onto so he just fell to the ground. He laid there in a fetal position, trying to make himself as small as possible. But they continued to kick him and laugh even as he spit out blood and coiled within himself.

He was slowing drifting away, becoming so numb it didn’t even feel like he was being pulverized anymore. But then he became aware that he actually wasn’t. He glanced around, seeing the boys far away from him on either side of the tracks. Some of them were looking at him with wide, worried eyes while others were looking north of the tracks also worriedly. By reading their lips, he could tell they were calling his name but he couldn’t hear them. He couldn't hear anything. Not the birds in the trees, not the wind whistling through branches, not the rumbling of the ground, and definitely not the horn of the train that was headed right at him. When he finally noticed the bright light barreling towards him at a rate he could not comprehend, it was too late for him to even attempt to get up. His head lolled to the side in defeat. Dan took one last look before clenching his eyes to brace himself for Death. The last thing he saw was the hooded stranger, sitting cross legged by his side, right outside of the lines of track, staring down at him. Dan could finally see his face. It was pale, and all his lines were dark and abrupt, like a statue with chiseled edges. His eyes were the real amazement. They looked like someone crystallized the ocean and put the rocks inside this boy’s face. Dan was confused about a lot things, like why was he sitting next to him? And why wasn’t he helping him? But the most baffling question lingering in the back of Dan’s mind: Why was he feeling so calm about dying as he stared into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen?

The train ran over him. Literally ran right over his body but did not scathe him in the slightest. Because of the position Dan was in, there was enough space between the ground and the bottom of the train for Dan to lay perfectly still and not be harmed. Dan couldn’t even breathe while under the vehicle for if his lungs were to expand, they would have been taken off. Dan stared with bewildered eyes at the bottom of the train, watching it pass him so rapidly it looked like a gray cloud, all the pieces of metal blurring together in one fast motion. As the caboose finished passing over Dan, he shakily stood upright. He looked into his shaking palms in amazement, and started to laugh. Actual, full on, cackling. His body rolled with laughter, ignoring all the pain. He fell onto his back, panting and smiling and screaming into the air. He was alive.

. And that was all that mattered. Not the bullies who scrambled away in terror at the freak who thought this was the funniest things that’d ever happened to him. Not the mysterious stranger with eyes that captured the sky who became even more mysterious when he vanished. None of it mattered because he was a walking fucking miracle.

-----

Dan’s teen years were filled with no inhibitions. Ever since he was almost run over by a train he stopped caring about what other people thought about him. And you’d think that would have improved his life significantly, but things unfolded quite oppositely. Apparently not giving a fuck meant allowing your life to unfold while having no emotional reaction to whatever may come of it. He found himself without friends once again, because he never made an effort to keep anyone around. His grades were slipping because who cared what his teachers thought, or his parents for that matter? He didn’t even care what he looked like. He’d come to school in the pajamas he wore the night before because who was he trying to impress?

However, Dan

built himself a reputation. His stoic appearance and fuck-whoever-looks-at-me-wrong attitude made him somewhat popular among the student body. Being bullied throughout his childhood made Dan immune to it now. No reaction meant no entertainment and kids like Dylan and Steven gave up and sought out new targets. Dan was always invited to the big parties where high school students across five different neighborhoods would gather and drink their weight and get too high to come back down. And Dan was a sucker for substances that allowed him to leave his body and escape from the dreary life he had created for himself. But tonight was different. Tonight he didn’t simply want to drift away; he wanted to fly.

Tonight the air felt thicker, harder to take in and digest. Dan’s numbness was consuming him lately, to the point where if someone stabbed him with a knife, he would just keep walking with the handle protruding out of his body. “Don’t feel, don’t care” was no longer a command he repeated to himself, it was a way of being. But after so long, Dan felt bored. He wanted pain and hurt and happiness and wanting, but now it didn’t come naturally to him. So he had other means of bringing on such things.

Dan sauntered into Brandy Meldane’s luxurious house that took up half the block. Because Brandy’s parents were always on work excursions, this was the usual spot. She had enough space for a small village to live in it and enough money to repair any post-party damages and enough freedom to do whatever she pleased. The house lights were dim but strobe lights of an array of colors were flashing in every which way. Someone was going to have a seizure. The house was consumed in a cloud of smoke, reeking of pot, and if someone in the crowd didn’t have bloodshot eyes, they had a beer in their hand. It was a teenage wasteland and Dan loved getting lost in it.

Brandy, who had had a thing for Dan since primary school, skipped over to him in her red, velvet miniskirt and tanktop that couldn’t contain her breasts. “Here, Danny, drink up!” She handed him a red cup with a clear liquid that smelt like biodiesel, so Dan chugged it down without hesitation. It stung his tongue, burned his throat, then lit a fire inside his chest. And it was the best kind of pain he’d ever experienced. He craved more and Brandy was more than happy to provide for those needs. Drink after drink, they kept coming, and Dan consumed every last drop. Soon, he decided that red solo cups could no longer hold the amount of alcohol Dan wanted- needed.

He decided to grab an untouched bottle from Brandy’s home bar. Zyr Russian Vodka, the label read. But the label could have read ‘POISON’ and he would have gulped it down regardless.

Everybody in this house of fog seemed like a completely different species from Dan and he believed that’s why they kept him around: to observe him like a creature in a zoo. He had a black cloud around him, looming over his every move, metaphorically and literally. For ages now there has been this moribund aura surrounding Dan, one that everyone felt in the same way dogs could sense a hurricane approaching.

Dan couldn’t tell what it was, he just knew he was doomed. He was the type of person to get struck by lightning then come back to school the next day only to be hit by a meteor. Dan was always stuck in a state of almost dying -- the walking soon-to-be dead. The crowd that lingered around his ominous presence wanted to witness the damned miracle that was Daniel Howell in the same way people couldn’t help staring into a solar eclipse despite the risk of blindness. This calamitous cloud became stronger whenever Dan was in danger. Like how it was right now. Today it was massive, black, and consuming. It was dark matter.

Dan chugged his Russian vodka and it slid down his throat like molten lava with no viscosity. He was nearing the bottom of the bottle and started to feel naked, in a way where he couldn’t feel his clothes anymore, and then couldn’t feel his skin. He felt himself slipping in between realities. In one moment he was in his head, and then in the next he was in Brandy Meldane’s house. Desperately drunk and hopelessly lonely Brandy Meldane, but Dan was a hypocrite.

He was slumped on a hideous chair that was probably more expensive than his own life and Brandy was sitting on his lap. Her tits were practically morphing with Dan’s hands and if he kept groping her his fingers were going to get stuck. He kept his hands there anyway. Brandy’s mouth was plastered to Dan’s, the kiss messy and wet. Brandy seemed to be enjoying herself but Dan kept his eyes open. He couldn’t help but stare at the boy leaning against the wall across from them.

The boy was dressed in black (or possibly navy), a hood pulled over his low hanging head. He had one foot resting on the wall behind him as he stared at his fingernails absentmindedly like he was bored. He was balancing himself with one leg planted on the ground so he was clearly not as intoxicated like everyone else.

Of course he’d be bored, Dan thought. The mysteriously sober boy finally met Dan’s eyes and it was like he was punched in the face. Blue. His eyes were so blue Dan wouldn’t be surprised that, if he got close enough, he would be able see waves crashing in them. Dan wanted to be close enough.

He suddenly remember his hands were up someone’s shirt and his tongue haphazardly moving inside their mouth. He untangled himself from Brandy, lifting her to the side, and ignored her protests as he got up. Dan moved towards the stranger, the dark matter growing, and he leaned into him.

“Come,” Dan whispered, before moving towards the back of the house as the stranger complied. Dan slid open the door to the back patio where no one else seemed to be lurking. He waited for the hooded boy before closing the door shut behind them. Dan grabbed his hand, wincing at how cold it was, and pulled him to the side, pushing him into the siding of the house. Dan slid a hand in between the boy’s hood and his hair and pushed the article of clothing down to his neck. His hair was an inky black, the kind of black that shined blue in fluorescent lighting.

He was still staring down, his fringe blocking the eyes Dan so desperately wanted to see again. He lifted his head by grabbing his chin and raised it. Dan was right. There were tsunamis in his eyes ready to crash into Dan and drown him.

And then Dan was kissing him.

He was kissing him and it felt like it was the first time he’d ever kissed anyone.It stung his tongue, burned his throat, then lit a fire inside his chest. It felt better than any drug he’d ever had. Just kissing this boy felt better than all the kinds of sex he could ever have with Brandy. The boy’s hands were dancing on Dan’s naked back where his shirt had risen up. His hands were cold -- so cold it was hot enough to burn his skin, the same effect as dry ice. Dan’s arms were slung around his neck and he was pressing his entire body up against his, deepening the kiss as much as he could before he was swallowed whole. Dan realized he liked kissing boys better than girls because there were no boobs in the way, he could hold him closer. So much fucking closer.

The boy pushed Dan away and stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Right when Dan’s lips parted from his, all his drunkenness ran him over like a freight train. “I rec..o..nize… you,” Dan slurred, remembering flashes of blue from pasts too far away to pinpoint, but remembered nonetheless.

“No you don’t.” He said this factually, his voice stern but face still nervous. Dan ignored him, confident in his distant memory of this boy.

“Wutz..yer...naaame?” Dan attempted to ask, keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder and another on his own stomach because it ached and he could feel it twisting around, something within his gut pushing itself up.

“Don’t have one.” He said nonchalantly, and maybe Dan was too drunk to understand or maybe he didn’t ask the question right. He couldn’t remember what he even said. “But some of my colleagues call me Phil.” So he did ask what he thought he did but he still couldn’t make any sense of his answer. Dan didn’t have the capacity to evaluate the conversation because he was too busy trying not to vomit.

His efforts were fruitless. He spewed the contents of his stomach onto the deck he was standing on, changing the stainless, white wood to chartreuse. Dan figured he just needed to get the alcohol out of system and then he’d be ready to pop a mint in his mouth and continue where he’d left off with the boy possibly named Phil, but he coiled over and vomited again. And again. And again. At some point he couldn't stand anymore and threw up while sitting down which resulted in vodka mixed with stomach acid getting all over him. His throat was so raw and his entire body was exhausted from the violent hurling. He couldn’t see properly anymore and could feel himself shutting down completely.

Phil was just standing there, looking at him with a blank expression as Dan choked on his own vomit. “Help. Me,” Dan muttered with a scratchy whisper in between heaves.

“I’m not permitted to do that.” He spoke solemnly, sitting down on the railing. “My job comes after.”

“After-” Dan wiped some residue off his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “-what?”

“After you die.” And then everything went dark

------

Dan woke up in a white room, so white, he swore the walls were glowing. He was in an equally white bed, wearing an equally white gown, with an IV drip attached to the inside of his arm. He awoke to the sound of monotonous beeping from the machine beside him and water droplets falling within the pouch hanging above him. Dan pressed the red button on the side of his bed that called for an attendant and within the minute a middle aged woman in a doctor’s coat entered his room. “Hello Daniel, I’m Dr. Warren.” She greeted gingerly, shuffling over to his bed, clipboard in hand.

“Why am I here?” Dan inquired bluntly, confusion affecting his manners. The doctor smiled regardless.

“You had your stomach pumped, young man!” Dr. Warren's tone was still chipper despite the news she was delivering, “You suffered from an extreme case of alcohol poisoning. You could have died if someone hadn’t brought you in when they did.” She shook her head sadly at the thought.

“Who brought me in?” Dan desperately tried to remember what had happened the previous night but kept drawing a blank. His eyebrows were scrunched in bewilderment, the gap between them disappearing.

“Ms. Meldane. She stayed here throughout the procedure and spent the night in the waiting room. Would you like me to send her in?” Dan continued to file through blurry memories but nodded, hoping Brandy could put the puzzle together for him.

The doctor left and didn’t come back, but in her place, Brandy stood. She was wearing a stained red skirt and the worn grey hoodie she kept in her car. Her cheeks were stained with streams of black from her mascara. Her lips were red, as was the area around her mouth, like she’d tried to wipe it off but instead just smeared it everywhere. She was trembling and her eyes were bloodshot. Dan looked up to meet her stare and the corners of his mouth quirked up. Brandy flew into his arms and he wrapped them around her, pulling her close and basking in the familiarity. “I thought I found you dead, Dan. I thought you died in my fucking backyard.” She cried into his chest, her balled up fists shakily hitting him. Flashbacks of Brandy’s house party began to come back in waves.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I’m sorry.” Dan leaned his forehead against hers and kissed the top of it. She was his best and only friend after all. And a good one at that seeing as she’d saved his life and all, silly crushes and drunken hookups aside. Suddenly Dan remembered something. Something blue. “When you, uh, found me outside, was there anyone else there?”

Brandy pushed herself up and sniffled. She thought for a moment but shook her head no. Dan brushed off the fleeting recollection.

-----------

Phil has lived a total of 57 lives, reincarnated into a different human over and over again (except that one time he was a dog in the 17th century). Once you’ve completed certain requirements throughout your lives, a soul is then eligible for a higher-up position. For instance, you need to have saved a life, made a beneficial long lasting difference, discovered something new, and many more things along those lines. Phil had completed enough of these to apply for ‘Afterlife Employment.’

There were a large variety of positions to register as. Sorters were people who placed souls into new lives after dying in a previous one. Determinators decided whether a soul was worthy enough to experience another life or whether they’d done something so heinous that it results in them being banished to “Hell,” if you will. There were the Creators who generated biological matter, making the bodies a soul could inhabit. And then there were Reapers, like Phil, who collected souls whose earthly figures had died and brought them to headquarters to be dealt with by the other employees.

Mr. G was the head of the entire AfterLife department. He hired them, fired them, and gave them orders to follow. On Earth, you were given names by your guardians, but the staff had only Mr. G to be named by. The G man had called Phil by this name on his first day and he had been referred to as such ever since.

The thing with reaper D2417, or “Phil”, according to his humanitarian boss, was that he had it tough. Tougher than anyone else in the office and everybody knew it. Poor, pitiful Phil, stuck with a client who can’t seem to die.

Daniel Howell was a fluke, a glitch. Phil had been assigned to take his life when he was supposed to die in ‘93, yet here he was 24 years later still waiting to collect his soul. The kid would be teetering on the edge of death when out of nowhere the universe would decide to save him, leaving Phil to report back to base empty handed.

There was a certain degree of power that came with each job here at Afterlife. For instance, Phil would get a list of names in the area he had jurisdiction over. Each name was put in order of time of death and glowed red when it was time to collect their soul. Phil simply had to touch the illuminated name and it teleported him to the exact location of the soon-to-be-deceased. Since Phil didn’t have a body, per se, he could shapeshift into someone that blended into the environment he got sent to, always with the same basic features that he could manipulate according to age and attire. He could also manipulate the memories of those around him, making it so they didn’t think of Phil as a stranger who’d just appeared out of thin air. Earthlings looked at Phil and were forced to recognize him as a friend, a coworker, a neighbor -- whatever the situation required.

But Daniel Howell, whose name was always glowing red at the top of the list, had a non manipulable mind. He always saw Phil as a stranger. Except, just recently he had recognized him, though not in the way Phil would’ve liked. The stubborn boy had started to remember moments where Phil had tried to take his soul but was inevitably unsuccessful. Daniel was getting closer and closer to putting the puzzle with together every day he was still breathing (which was a huge violation and could get Phil fired and who knew how many lives he’d have to live again before getting a chance at another job).

Still, no matter how irritating Daniel Howell was, it was undeniable how attracted Phil was to him during his most recent visitation. Throughout the years, Phil had seen Daniel as a work case, a file in a cabinet, a difficult task. He was always categorized as something that wasn’t worth feeling over.

Like most AfterLife employees, he didn’t pay humans much mind -- they were seen as potential future workers to contribute to this whole cog. No one cared about one another after they were aware of the system behind their meaningless lives on Earth. You fall in love and in hate and die and realize that none of it mattered because now you’re off to do it all over again. And again. And again. But there was something about that nuisance of a teenager at that party that’d switched something within Phil’s head, or lifted a veil of sorts that made him view Dan in a different way.

Maybe it’d been the alcohol or the cannabis in the air -- not that any of it could physically affect Phil -- but the energy was hypnotizing. Phil couldn’t help but keep a watchful eye on his target. And who was going to stop his target from returning that gaze? It wasn’t like Phil could have possibly halted said target from advancing towards him. And in Phil’s defense, who could’ve said no to those flushed, pink lips being pulled between teeth? And those rich, hazel eyes that had born into Phil like he wasn’t something to be kissed, but something to be devoured?

And Phil hadn’t thought that that blonde ditz could have had the capacity to come to Dan’s rescue! So yes, introducing himself had seemed harmless -- the kid was dying right in front of him, mere seconds away from choking on his own vomit! Although, Phil was an idiot for not seeing this coming. At this point he was convinced Dan was immortal.

The problem with the current circumstances between reaper and client relationship had left Phil in a sticky situation. The night sky was dark enough to convince a seeing man of being blind. The only semblance of light reigned from the street lamps looming above the handful of people reckless enough to be roaming the dangerous paths of London this late in the night. Of course of those people was Daniel Howell, once again making an appearance at the top of Reaper D2417’s list.

It had been a few years since their last encounter. Dan was now 24 years old and a lawyer at a reputable firm, resulting in long shifts of infinite paperwork that sometimes left Dan tiredly stumbling home to his flat a 12 AM on a Thursday night.

Phil crossed his fingers in the hopes that their last meeting had been forgotten. Still, only a fool would be able brush over something as traumatic as making out with someone who told you you were going to die as you commenced to nearly die.

Phil never got a cause of death summary, he just knew who was going to die and when. He followed closely behind Dan, curious as to what was going to happen. Maybe a meteor was going to fall from the sky and crush him. Or maybe a gang of cats would come out of nowhere and maul him to death.

Among these hypotheses in his head, Phil couldn’t help but appreciate the way Dan’s pants clung to his ass like they were painted on. Or the way his hips swayed back and forth like they were begging Phil’s hands to grab them and bury his nails into his bare skin. Or the way Dan admired the city like it was a dream, that glimmer in his eye and the slightest grin of wonderment pulling Phil in deeper. Phil’s heart began to race for two reasons, both not any better than the other. The first reason being that Dan was beautiful and Phil missed him. How was that even possible? They’d kissed once and barely had a conversation, and yet here Phil was, yearning pathetically. The second reason was that soon Dan was going to die and for the first time in his career, Phil didn’t want that to happen. Strange.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw a figure -- tall, dark, and brooding. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a man, possibly homeless. He was wearing worn, scuffed clothes and his facial hair was absurdly unkempt. The man wore a crooked smile that radiated hostile energy. Aside from the distant sound of sirens, slight patterned noises erupted in the night. Slice, click, slice, click. The reflection of the street lamp glimmered on the silver blade of this man’s pocket knife. He flicked it open and the sharp blade whipped through the air. Slice. With his middle finger he tucked the blade back into the handle. Click. He continued this as Dan walked closer to where he was standing. Why isn’t he crossing the street? Why THE FUCK is he not crossing the street?

Some people get murdered. That's just a fact. The greatest power a human has is the ability to create and destroy life itself and sometimes the urge to execute that power is too overwhelming to ignore. Phil knew this. He went through hours and hours of unemotional training. Seminar after seminar on how to resist feelings of empathy and mourning. Being a reaper required one to be void of emotional understanding. Phil had seen countless, brutal murders and felt absolutely nothing. But this wasn’t a field assignment about to be stabbed to death, it was Dan

A few more steps, a couple inches to go, and Dan would be right beside this maniac. The haggard man bounced off the building he was leaning on, pulled his hood further down his face, and left his blade out. Slice. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the piercing scream of tortuous pain, but all that followed was a gasp.

Phil opened his eyes and saw the blade pressed threateningly against Dan’s neck with the filthy hand of that man cupping his mouth. His lips were brushing against Dan’s ear, whispering something Phil could barely make out: “Follow me and maybe you won’t die tonight.”

The man dragged Dan by the jaw into the nearest alleyway and behind a dumpster, Phil trailing behind with trepidation. The man’s hands were traveling all over Dan’s trembling body as he emitted grunts and moans of pleasure. His knife traveled down to Dan’s groin, the point of the blade malevolently dancing along the imprint of his dick from under his slacks. “This is mine tonight,” he grunted behind grotesque chuckles, “and this,” his hands gripped Dan’s ass and pushed him against the side of the dumpster so that his back was facing the homeless guy’s front. Hushed whimpers poured from Dan as he felt the knife dig hard enough into his back to most likely draw blood. The reality of the situation didn’t sink in until the predator took his greasy cock out from his unzipped jeans.

“Nope nope nope nope.” Phil had had enough. He transformed into a form he knew would intimidate and terrify the rapist. He lifted himself onto the dumpster in the most demonic manifestation he could muster. His skin grew black feathers, long with rigid edges covering his face and body. Wings sprouted from his back. Not majestic, beautiful wings but broken, crooked appendages that flapped in the air menacingly. The whirlwind they created sparked the attention of the two men from below. Phil’s eyes were glowing bright yellow like the tips of fire and his pupils were the narrowest of black slits as they were bored into the soul of the criminal. Phil could see this man’s worst nightmares, his past life trauma, his dreams. Every secret he could possibly have was not a secret under Phil’s gaze.

“Harold,” Phil said warningly after learning the man’s name along with just about everything else about him.“I’m not happy with this behavior, Harold,” he said lowly, imitating the voice of Harold’s abusive father. His father was what he’d been running away from as a teenager, and now here he was, homeless with his dick in his hand and his knife on the ground.

Phil’s neck extended 10 feet longer, like a jack-in-the-box clown, so his ink blot lips were fluttering over the man’s cheek, “You know what happens when you upset me. Right, Harold?” The man’s face went completely pale. Dan could hear the man's heartbeat increase rapidly and his breathing go shallow. Shivers ran up Harold’s spine and his eyes glossed over in disbelief and unadulterated fear. Phil leaped off his perch and before he hit the ground, he transformed back to his natural state. There was only a millimeter of distance between Phil’s and this despicable man's nose. “Run.”

And he did.

-----------

Dan stared at this thing in disbelief. A giant bird-monster-demon ass thing came out of nowhere and yelled all this weird shit at this criminal who nearly raped and killed him. So maybe saving his life deemed this creature not a monster. But maybe he just made his competition go away so it could eat Dan while he was fresh.

“That was a close one, huh?” The misshapen, terrifying bird-man, was now a normal appearing human. Black pants and a matching hoodie cascading a shadow onto his face. He could barely compensate what his company even said because his mind had reverted back to the situation he needed to be saved by. He could still feel the touch of the rusted blade pressing against his groin; the taste of the dirt on the man’s hand gripping his jaw; the cold metal of the dumpster he was pressed against; the hot, humid breath of disgusting whispers forcing their way into his ear. Dan was shaking, hyperventilating, and reaching out for something to catch his balance on as his vision dissipated. The being of some kind caught him before he fell and gripped him securely. Dan realized that for the second time that night, a stranger was unexpectedly touching him. “Let go! Get the fuck off of me!” Dan punched at his chest vigorously and tears began to fall involuntarily, the shaking not only continued but hastened like volts of anxiety charging through his body. The man didn’t let go, he knelt down on the floor, pressing Dan closer to his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” This person whispered into Dan’s ear but it didn’t feel like the whispers of the creep from before. His cold breath was as soothing as magic or really strong narcotics. Dan drastically relaxed, his breathing becoming less shallow. The two stayed like this until dusk’s fog veiled the Earth, twilight was approaching but not quite yet because the dark continued to showcase its persistence. Dan finally felt composed and with that, embarrassed. With rouge cheeks he looked up at his savior. His face was still covered with a peculiarly strong shadow created by his hood as if it was a black hole that swallowed light. He looked like the drawings that partnered with stories of the grim reaper. A faceless figure with long, pale fingers wearing a long black robe, all this guy was missing was a scythe. Dan lifted a hand and slithered it into the space between the hood and the top of his head. Dan combed his fingers through the silky hair that sat atop the man’s head and moved his hand all the way to the back of his neck, effectively pushing his hood off.

Dan was finally able to view this face he thought would be terrifying, demonic, unfamiliar. All adjectives that could not be applied in this situation. His face was very pale, like Dan figured, but his lines were not gentle, they were abrupt and sharp. His lips were naturally mauve, like he was always cold but his skin was bereft of goosebumps. He had small, brown freckles almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, they were so minuscule. But once seen you can never unsee them, they decorate his face like constellations in the sky above.

But the most vital aspect of his face, the feature that really tied it all together was his eyes. These fucking eyes affected Dan like when a deer faces headlights. They were so incredibly blue that it seemed as if this specific shade couldn’t possibly exist anywhere else. Except Dan has seen this color before, on this specific face, in these same hypnotic eyes. “Who are you?” Dan pressed and the other man just cracked a smile, chuckling breathlessly.

“C’mon, let me take you home,” He said smoothly then awkwardly added, “For, uh, protection.” Dan nodded, returning the smile from before but continued walking with the familiar stranger in apprehension. Dan tried so desperately to delve into his memories and rip one out that starred this guy. They walked side by side through the mucky, city air. The whistling of birds awaking from their nests rang from above them. The man made all the right turns sans Dan’s guidance as if he already knew where his flat was. The knocking of the rock the stranger was kicking along the path seemed booming, every noise enhanced in the awkward silence that consumed them.

They turned the corner, approaching the stairway leading to Dan’s apartment. “So are you going to tell me what your deal is? Because I know I’ve met you before and you just turned into a bird back there. I think I deserve some kind of explanation?” The guy sighed in return, seemingly conflicted. His eyes moved from side to side, he scratched the back of his neck, and groaned irritatingly before nodding.

“Okay, fine, but we have to go inside.” Dan stared blankly at him before reviewing what he just said and hurriedly dug in his coat pocket for his house keys. He fumbled with the cold piece of metal before inserting it into the door handle. It took an embarrassingly amount of turns of the knob before it eventually swung open. Dan stepped inside first, slipping off his loafers. The other guy followed by kicking off his black sneakers revealing black socks- consistent. Going from the frigged outdoors to the contradistinction of the thermal apartment caused Dan’s face to flushed red with warmth. But mystery-man’s face remained pallid. Dan made his way to his grey couch, gingerly placing himself in the sunken crease that perfectly outlined his body. His company stood in front of him, rubbing his temples with his hands, as if preparing what he was going to say.

“I’m D2417,” Dan’s eyebrows stitched together, not knowing what to do with that information, “but some of my colleagues call me Phil.” There’s the trigger word. Dan collapsed in a montage of flashbacks beginning with the party. He heard that exact same introduction before he almost died, in fact, this guy had told him he was going to die that night! Dan remembered how transfixed his drunken self was with this guy’s eyes but he now realized it was because he’s seen them several times before. When he was baby, when he was a boy, a teenager, and now in this very moment. The red string that attached all these pictures together was that each one of these memories involved a near death experience. Oh my God, this guy was trying to kill me all these years, Dan figured. But he hasn’t aged consistently, maybe this guy was Satan. Great, Satan is trying to kill me.

“Why do you want me to die so badly? Who th- WHAT the fuck are you?” Dan began to hyperventilate for the second time today. Each time this guy reappears, the previous worst day of Dan’s life gets triumphed by another.

“No, I don’t-” Phil began but Dan’s panicking cut him off.

“Ohmygodohmygod you didn’t let that guy kill me because you wanted to do it!” Dan stood to his feet and paced back and forth, trapped inside his own worried thoughts.

“That’s not-”

“Just do it, just get it over with. I don’t want to deal with this again.” Dan stared up at his ceiling, opening his arms wide in defeat and hopeless acceptance. He clenched his eyes tightly, holding back tears, his heart attempting to beat out of his chest.

“Can you shut up?!” and he did, snapping his head in the direction’s Phil. “I’m not trying to kill you! I just want to collect your soul when you die… not that that seems to be happening any time soon.” Phil attempted to explain, but Dan wasn’t at ease.

“So this is like an Angel of Death type thing?”

“Yeah you could say that…”

“Then what ELSE could I say about it? I want more than the shittiest, vaguest explanation a demon can offer.”

“Okay, the d-word is offensive.” Dan rolled his eyes and gestured for Phil to continue with the most pressing matter at hand. He nodded, placing his hands on Dan’s shoulders, pushing him back down on the couch. Phil sat beside him and decided to tell Dan everything, each minute detail of his occupation. He told him about AfterLife, about Mr. G, the other professions. He told him about his powers. To prove himself, Phil morphed into a child, and then an old man, he grew gills, made his hair red, all of which made Dan nauseous. Phil explained the ability of his list and how Dan’s name is continuously glowing red at the top of it. He told him about the first time they met when Dan was an infant, and then second when he was in elementary school. He foreclosed all the information about past lives, about the requirements needed to apply for an AfterLife job.

Everything.

They sat in silence. Dan looked dazed as he endeavored to understand. Phil rapidly tapped his foot against the wooden floor, not making a sound. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth distractedly, “Can you say something?”

“You saved my life though. Doesn’t that defeat your purpose?” Dan turned toward the reaper in, once again, utter confusion. But Phil didn’t have a reasonable answer for that one.

“I suppose so…”

“Do you think it was the same reason why you kissed me at that party?” Phil choked on his spit in shock. It wasn’t brought up in the entirety of their extensive conversation, he assumed Dan forgot about it.

“I-I mean, maybe?”

“Okay,” Dan nodded sternly. “So what’s the plan?”

“Wait until the next time you’re supposed to die, and not interfere, I guess.” Dan nodded again, both of them unsure of how Dan felt about the situation. God, how could anyone be able to forget that kiss, Dan reminisced. He turned towards Phil, his knee pressing against his. They both looked at their grazing legs and then up at each other. The eye contact they shared was tense- a good kind of tense like they both knew what each other wanted, but who was going to be the first to break? Dan’s stare shifted down to Phil’s lips, and Phil’s eyes were traveling along Dan’s neck like he was trying to taste his skin with a glance. Dan noticed every subtle movement of Phil’s mouth; how he bit his bottom lip and dragged it between his teeth and when it bounced back into place, the pigmentation was bright red causing his cheeks to adapt the same color.

“Thanks for tonight. Hopefully, next time we see each other I’m old and about to die in my sleep.” Dan chuckled morbidly, still undressing a Grim Reaper with his eyes.

“Mmhm.” Phil said distractedly busying himself in the same fashion.

“Do you...have somewhere else to be?” Dan asked nervously, hoping the question would lead to the conclusion of Phil deciding to stay with him a little while longer (for closure of course, nothing more nothing less).

“Absolutely no where.” He may have had somewhere to be, but definitely didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Do you maybe want to spend the night? Only because this is a lot to take in an-” Phil grabbed the sides of Daniel’s blubbering face and pressed it against his boarder line violently. He had wanted to do that so desperately for almost 5 years. And it was exactly all it was pent up to be.

Dan reciprocated immediately, moaning into the fast paced kiss. Phil bit Dan’s lip forcing a gasp to escape, which gave Phil the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Dan’s mouth. They explored each other’s mouths so deeply, each taste bud rubbed against an identical one on the other’s. Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck and leaned back on the couch so that his company was on top of him. They separated for a quick second so Dan could unzip Phil’s hoodie and Phil could pull his shirt over his head and discard it on the ground. Dan followed suit, the pair of them now able to grip, scratch, and dig at each other’s bare skin. Phil bent his head down to that neck he craved to cause discoloration to. He peppered a trail of delicate pecks from his jaw to his collarbone. Dan sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth when Phil hit a spot just below his ear, feeling the smirk being pressed against it. Phil began by sucking gently, Dan’s soft skin lifting into his mouth. It escalated to Phil pulling the derma between his teeth, nibbling and then biting. Dan was panting and arching his neck so high it looked straining.

Phil began grinding into Dan and he reciprocated by thrusting upwards, their pelvises adapting into a symbiotic rhythm. Phil moved further down Dan’s body doing what he did to his neck to each nipple until they were pink and puffy. “Phil, please,” Dan huffed, “I’m so hard it hurts.”

“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” Phil grinned smugly. He gripped the waistband of Dan’s undone pants and the hem of his underwear and with one swift motion he was now completely naked. His erection sprung free from his constricting clothes and pressed itself against his body. Dan yelped at the drastic motion. Phil didn’t give Dan enough time to think before he grabbed the back of Dan’s thighs and lifted his legs in the air. For a split second, Dan horrifyingly thought that Phil was about to go in raw and dry but was delightfully surprised when he felt a warm, wetness spreading over his tight opening. Phil’s tongue lapped diligently over the area, effectively lathering his spit and lubricating Dan. Phil pushed a dripping finger inside of him, waiting a moment before adding another. And soon Dan was three fingers full and pushing down on Phil’s hand as he curled and twisted his fingers in fluid motion, tickling the surface of Dan’s throbbing prostate.

“That’s enough! Oh my god, please Phil!”

“Please what?” Phil smiled, making eye contact with Dan as he kissed his shaft.

“Fuck,” a scream overcame him as Phil’s middle finger pressed even deeper, “Fuck me, fuck me until I break.” Ceasing any hesitation (because it was killing Phil just as badly), he lined himself up with Dan’s ass, Phil’s pants and boxers slipped down his legs, he shook them until they hit the ground. He pushed himself in slowly, both of them erupting into a chorus of groans and explicites. Phil pulled in and out, leisurely, and gradually picked up his pace. He was thrusting in and out every two seconds, pounding Dan further and further into the couch. Dan threw his arms over his head, holding the armrest behind him in a death grip. Both of them were glowing through their sheens of sweat and Dan broke out into laughter.

“What?” Phil asked breathlessly, looking down at the beautiful boy he had pinned below him.

“Can you manipulate every part of your body?” He inquired cheekily, the glimmer in his eye brighter than any stars gleaming through the windows. Phil couldn't wait to distort that complacent look on his face.

“AHHH! FUCK, PHIL,” Dan felt Phil’s dick grow several inches longer from inside him, ripping impossibly deeper like it was in his stomach. Dan’s entire body started to shake as he helplessly flailed his arms around in search of stability. His mouth was open as if he was screaming but he didn’t even have the strength to conjure a voice. Dan came instantly, getting cum on both himself and Phil. One more deep thrust later and Phil was doing the same.

Dan sat up and pushed Phil down, so their positions were switched. Phil laid on his back, and Dan sprawled himself on Phil’s stomach, Phil wrapping his arms around his precious boy. They laid there, panting, naked, and moist but neither of them made a move to separate. “That last part was just mean.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh, “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he pressed a final kiss on his forehead and waited for Dan to fall asleep before slithering out from underneath him. He wiped himself down with some tissues that were near by and dressed himself. He spread his black hoodie on top of Dan’s curled up body, and relished in one last view of this unkillable man before teleporting out of his favorite corner of the world.

----------

It had been several months since Dan woke up alone and naked on his couch. He hadn’t seen Phil since that hectic, terrifying, magical day. Dan shamelessly moped and ate ice cream in a dark, locked room for what seemed like weeks afterwards. He had no way of contacting Phil, all he could do was wait for the next instance he might die. But since he became self aware of his near death experiences, they stopped happening. Dan’s thoughts only consisted of Phil. The memories Dan had of Phil attempting to collect his soul, that he hadn’t even uncovered until recently, became the only memories he seemed to have. He had unfinished business with the reaper. It was devastating to have developed a connection with him only for him to disappear from his life directly afterwards.

But Dan developed a recklessly insane (but creative) idea that might drag Phil to him. He began putting himself in extremely dangerous situations that might lead to his death. Dan walked in the middle of busy streets, along the double yellow lines as oncoming traffic zoomed and honked passed him on either side. He would go to the tubes and stand on the very edge of the tracks, the trains coming close enough to skim his skin. But today he was on the edge of his apartment complex, 10 stories above the ground. He wore the black sweatshirt Phil left behind to protect him from the frigid wind of the heightened atmosphere. Balancing along the foot wide trim of the building, singing toward sky, “C’mon, asshole.”

Dan was about to get back on the roof floor in defeat before he noticed this blackish mist developing in the sky. It became an orb of darkness that germinated until it was large enough for a person to come out of. Phil materialized in the air, sporting his classic, black-feathered wings that kept him afloat. “Okay, Dan, what the actual fuck have you been thinking?” Dan beamed at him, a smile stretching from ear to ear plastered itself on his face. “Are you fucking crazy? Trying to kill yourself? For what? For me!?” Dan was so overwhelmed with joy and pride that his plan had worked out he couldn’t even tell what Phil was saying. “That’s bullshit!” He seemed angry. Cute. “I know that this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, had sex with you, and then left. I didn’t even leave a note! Did you want to see me to punch me in the face? I’ll give you a free hit.” Dan shook his head, finally responding to Phil’s spastic rant.

“I just missed you,” Dan offered, “And I don’t know how I feel about you, but I can’t get you out of my head. And I very much want to kiss you right now.” Phil’s face did a complete 180 as an expression of distress morphed to a flustered, happy one. Phil flew closer to the chocolate-eyed human and Dan attempted to take a step away from edge. But he had forgotten it rained the night before. And he had forgotten that he was standing on the slippery, narrow platform of a 100 feet drop. And Dan didn’t remember until he was falling through the air and Phil didn’t think to remind him until he saw his body splattered and broken on the pavement below. “Well, shit.”

---------

“Get up, son,” Dan awoke to a man’s deep, bellowing voice and a blinding white light. His vision focused on a muscular, businessman with luscious brown hair and a perfectly groomed beard.

“Am I dead?” Dan inquired as he sat up, noticing everything else in the room. There were several other professional looking people in a place where the walls seemed as if they were glowing, decorated with file cabinets, desks, and office doors.

“Yep!” The big guy said, “Congratulations you have completed all your Earthly life requirements and can now be promoted to an AfterLife job! I’m M-”

“You’re Mr. G! I’ve, uh, heard about you.” He erupted into a laugh that probably caused an earthquake in California. “Alright, boy, take my hand, I’ve pre-assigned you a position.” Dan shook his hand and a surge of power flooded his body and ran through his veins, like his blood was being replaced with liquid gold.

“What’s happening to me?!” He vibrated vigorously as Mr. G kept a firm grip on his hand.

“I’m giving you the powers of a Reaper. You are now reaper R38L2, or Dan, for short. I can tell you’re fond of that name.” He let go of Dan and magic settled itself within his new feeling body. He was handed a scroll tied prettily with a red bow which Dan assumed was the List. “Now I’ll introduce you to your partner, he’ll show the ropes.” Dan followed him down a winding hallway with beings of all shapes, sizes, and energies. He could feel each of their powers levitating off of them, he could see their auras.

“Danny, this is your reaping partner.” A black figure appeared from behind him with the rarest blue orbs for eyes.

“Hey, babe, wanna get to work?”

#phandom big bang #Dan and Phil #Dnp #phanfic #mine #pbb2017 #ominousdan #fic #smut #death #demons

27 notes · View notes

etoilesdephan · 7 years

Text

Burn bright for my constellations (Chapter 3)

Chapter masterpost Read it on ao3!

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Whoop! This take longer than intended, and I'm sorry about that but I hope you enjoy this chapter nevertheless! From now on I will be updating this every 1-3 weeks according to how much school workload I have to deal with in between. Sorry about that but I want to give you all quality updates <3

===

It had taken a while, but finally Dan pushed the door to his room wide open, a pack of biscuits under his arm, only to toss them at Phil when the other boy looked up. “Mum seems to like rearranging things in the most bizarre ways lately,” He lied easily as he motioned at the sweets and Phil gladly grabbed one and bit into it happily.

“Your collection is impressive,” Phil complimented, too distracted by the rows of CDs and the box of vinyls to note the way Dan had been absent longer than he should have been, even in his roughened up state. Dan was thankful for the distraction though, and carefully watched as Phil reached out to pull one of the CDs out and Dan took the moment to switch the song that was playing in the background, lowering the volume before he settled down on his bed, partially out of laziness, partially - tiredness.

“I've been trying to get my hands on this!” Phil waved the CD around in a way Dan could barely make out the cover, “But it's always either sold out or I can't afford it on the go.”

He shifted at that, leaning his weight forward, a little bit, his feet on the ground keeping him from toppling over, the stiffness too prominent in his lower back again, “I usually raid the second hand stores and there's a couple of forums where you can exchange with other people,” He explained, something in him desperate to clear the situation. It was like a knot in the centre of his being was making him fear something that didn't make any sense, words taking lead over thought easily, “I can show you.”

Somehow the boy in front of him seemed to be the exact opposite of Dan, relaxed completely and fitting in so easily with his surroundings though it was a space Dan had created for himself.

It was scary in a way that Dan couldn't explain.

There was something so genuine in everything Phil did and said. When his emotions changed, they took over the entirety of his features. When he moved - it felt like he was doing it in a way that shifted the world around him instead. Something about the other boy seemed so open, all evil purified as soon as it touched him, despite how cliche Dan realised it sounded.

He was an absolute stranger to Dan, yet something about him felt like had known one another for ages.

And perhaps it was the familiarity that made him tense; Dan had never made actual friends easily, always careful about their intents until they proved themselves harmless in some way. It was not like Dan to feel this thoroughly comfortable in someone's presence and that, ironically enough, made him uncomfortable.

“You can borrow some, if you want?” Dan found himself saying and it was clear at that moment that Phil didn't know him at all, that they had no real past that their interaction would bounce off. Because anyone who knew Dan, knew how protective he was of his collection.

They would ask him what changed his mind? Or why he didn't give his usual list of rules.

Instead what Phil responded with was unashamed joy.

“Really? I promise I'll take a good care of them!”

And for some reason Dan believed him.

===

“How do any of these even make sense?” Dan dropped his pen on the open book in annoyance when the calculations kept getting away from him, no matter how carefully he tried to write them down in the notebook.

The pack of biscuits laid empty on the edge of the table, the crumbs dotting the surface around it.

“Honestly, I've never been good at maths,” Phil scratched his head with the back of the pen before he lied back on Dan's bed.

It had taken about fifteen minutes of going through the CDs, Phil carefully picking out a couple to borrow, and another five before he had comfortably settled on the edge of Dan's bed as the two discussed the genres and even managed to argue over the best songs within the albums in question.

It was such a nice, natural change, that Dan felt a bit of peace with the world settling in his bones, easing the numb tingling that was ever present. The discomfort liked to melt away as if Phil's voice had the power to wash it out of Dan's system effortlessly.

It made Dan almost feel like he was leading the same normal life as before, that nothing had interrupted it, changed it.

But that magical sensation shattered when Phil's phone buzzed once, twice, a dozen times that couldn't be ignored, and finally the other boy sheepishly excused himself to reply to whatever had come up.

Dan wondered about the friends Phil had and what they thought when Phil had left. Did they miss him? Probably, because it hadn't taken even two minutes until the phone buzzed again and Phil rather hurriedly turned to respond.

Dan wondered - did they feel the same as Dan felt when thinking of Tuck.

Probably not, Dan soon concluded, because Phil was alive and whenever someone messaged him, he responded. Meanwhile Dan could only longingly look down at his phone, knowing that it will never again carry the voice of his friend, no matter the amount of calls and texts Dan would end up receiving. He was gone for good while Phil had only moved from one place to another.

There was a bit of jealousy that sparked in Dan's being but he swallowed the knot in his throat, shaking the feeling away before it could make its home in him.

“Somebody sure misses you,” Dan finally commented when the phone buzzed for the millionth time and Phil just laughed.

“Yeah,” His response was curt and the way it was said left something hanging in the air. When Dan looked over, he saw the way the screen turned dark again and how Phil pocketed the device all whilst still lying on Dan's bed like it was his own.

“Screw this,” Dan said, finally giving up when he looked down at the numbers again and realised that they had lost all their meaning in the small moment of distraction. He slammed the book shut and leaned back in the chair, spinning himself just enough to fully face Phil. “I don't even want to study mathematics after I'm done here.”

“Tell me about it,” Phil followed suit, reaching out to push his book off the bed and it fell flatly on the floor with a muffled sound against the carpet.

It was a strange reminisce of something inside Dan's skull and he felt how his whole body tensed, only to shudder visibly before the tension passed. Cold bled into his limbs, making him feel colder than he already had and absentmindedly he wrapped his arms around himself to try and keep himself warm. It took a moment until he noted that Phil was looking at him, having pushed himself up enough to lean on his elbows.

Dan knew the feeling though, as sudden and strange it was. He swallowed and he felt how his chest was tight with the beating of his heart and how the ringing in his ears mixed with the heavy thumps. He felt the dryness in his mouth and the way that the cold took over more and more and he wanted to hug himself tighter as if holding himself would help with keeping the warmth from escaping his body.

“Hey, Dan,” The voice sluggishly drew him out from the inside of his mind where numbness had settled in a terrifying manner that no matter how hard Dan fought on his own never quite retreated as easily as he'd will it to. He blinked several times until his eyes focused on the other boy who watched him with his brows slightly furrowed, a crease in his forehead forming concern.

It was then that he realised that he was shivering violently.

“J-just cold,” Dan cleared his throat, feeling his lips tremble, making the words less legible. He pushed himself onto his feet, the world underneath them feeling extremely unstable and his ankle suddenly less reliable than he had hoped it would be. He didn't even realise that he had stopped until he felt a light touch to his shoulders and the weight around his shoulders.

“I shouldn't be hogging up all the blankets, your room is pretty chilly,” Phil was close and had draped a blanket over Dan's shoulders, carefully wrapping it around the shivering boy. The words were genuine and there was worry in Phil's eyes but it was soft and open, it wasn't dark with sorrow. It was silent and it took a moment before Dan realised that he was staring. He shook his head, trying hard to clear it and felt as the initial feeling began to pass.

“Sorry, I think I've exhausted myself in the last days,” Dan lied weakly, lips forming a half-hearted smile and even if it was clear that Phil saw right through it, the other boy didn't point it out. Instead he nudged Dan lightly and Dan followed suit, sitting on the bed, cocooned in the blanket, back against the headboard. His lids were heavy, but he wasn't tired enough to sleep, so he let them close.

The music kept on playing in the background, and he could hear Phil as the other boy shifted. He could hear the clothing rub together as the other moved, and the sound of Phil's phone unlocking and then locking again a moment later.

“Thanks for being so nice to me,” Phil's words were sudden and Dan opened his eyes, the world bleary before them momentarily, indicating that perhaps he was more tired than he had realised. “It's so hard to find your place when moving, and starting at a new school. I mean people have been nice and all, but it never goes beyond the basic pleasantries at most.”

At that moment Dan noticed the way Phil dragged his vowels in a Norther manner; it wasn't something that he had paid attention to before. The music changed to a calmer track in the background and Phil was fiddling with his shirt, now silent as he sat at the foot of Dan's bed.

“Why did you move?” Dan's lips formed the words and as soon as they were out, a little bit of blush coloured his cheeks, and he shook his head, “I mean-- You don't have to explain. But you brought it up and I know nothing about you yet you're sitting on my bed and-- Bloody hell, that sounds wrong, but you know what I mean--”

It was the sound of a light laugh that finally shut him up. Something had changed in the air around the two boys, and though Phil was still smiling, there was something incredibly sad about his expression too. It felt familiar, and it dug into Dan's heart mercilessly.

“I don't mind, it's just...” Phil as if tried to find words, the sound long and thoughtful, each syllable heavy on his lips unlike any other words that Dan had heard him say. It wasn't like Phil was unsure if he should trust Dan and more like he was trying to find a way to explain it. So Dan sat quietly, allowing the thought to form words.

Finally, Phil heaved a sigh, his hand finding the back of the head, long fingers rubbing through the short hair at the nape of his neck, “See, my parents divorced when I was seven, but they've been keeping in touch this whole time. Now dad's sick and we decided to move in with him to help him through it, because he's always been wholeheartedly supportive of us after the divorce. I couldn't fully understand it until I got a bit older, but now it's time for us to be one whole family again.”

Dan blinked at that, “Mister Lester is sick?” He felt the corners of his mouth turn down; he'd known the man for years now - the friendly older man had always been a neighbourhood favourite, willingly helping out those in need with household fixes and always with an abundance of smiles and reassurance to share with those who needed it.

There had been a lot of speculations why he lived in such a big house alone, but the adults had trusted him so Dan didn't question it. Somehow it had never crossed his mind to actually find out more about the man, he was just a normal constant in their lives for as long as Dan had lived there.

Phil smiled a small, crooked smile but it was as if the sadness was seeping through the smallest of cracks, and his eyes were downcast for once, staring at where the fingers were pulling at the threads slowly before he released it with a sigh, “Yeah, he's been struggling for a while now.”

The silence was strange, though filled with the background of music and that same low hum ringing in Dan's ears, it was all muffled in exchange for the heaviness of the information that hung in the air between the two.

“I'm sorry,” It was very quiet, but the words escaped him loudly enough so that Phil could understand. Instead of accepting Dan's words, Phil shook his head as if brushing them off.

“Please don't, Dan,” There was a pause, like he was trying to gather his composure though nothing had implied the budding anger, - was it anger?, - beforehand. Finally though, Phil smiled and it was without a doubt to Dan that the thin line was forced.

Dan bit at his lip, and then finally, shyly added, “I guess we're both sick and tired of pity, huh?”

It was as if he'd spoken the magical words and Phil's tension melted away and the smile turned from a grimace into something a bit more genuine.

“I guess we are.”

===

“Dan, we're home,” The front door closed louder than it had opened and the sound along with his mum's voice registered to the two boys who had settled both on either side of the laptop between them on the bed, watching old episodes of Phil's apparently favourite show (if the excited commentary in between every five words was anything to go by).

Studies had been long forgotten, the strange equations having eaten up all their will to put effort into them.

“Oh no, what's the time?” Phil jumped as if burned, nearly slipping off the edge of the bed, and dug into his pocket for his phone where it had been left muted. He unlocked it only to make a face when he checked the notifications and when Dan gave him a questioning look, Phil returned it with a sheepish, “Mum tried to call me half an hour ago.”

“Yikes,” Dan slowly shifted to get off the bed, stretching uncomfortably, “You better get back to her soon.”

Phil merely hummed back in response, distracted by whatever was on his phone's screen. “Yeah, I'll head home now. I'll see you tomorrow at school?”

When Phil looked up all hopeful and genuine, Dan couldn't find it in himself to say no.

===

“Who was that, honey?” His mum was quick to ask when Dan finally made his way into the kitchen, but he ignored her until he had settled by the table, ready to join the family for dinner for once when he noted the absence of the two other family members.

“Where's Adrian? And dad?” His heart was fast to take a leap, but it was a touch to his head, his mum running her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner that calmed him before the full panic could begin though he knew it irrational.

“Adrian wanted to go to that fair, remember?”

Though vaguely, he acknowledged the flaky memory of his brother talking about the event; he couldn't quite place what it was about and no matter how much he tried to rake his brain for details, they seemed to be escaping him. It made him grumble in annoyance.

That is, until a sudden pinch at his head made him jolt, when his mum quickly pulled out a hair, “Ow, mum! What the hell?!”

“Language, Daniel,” She reminded before waving in front of him a single hair, “A random grey hair. I used to get them your age when I was stressed.”

“Right….” He looked at the hair for a second before turning away. His hood over his head again, he leaned onto the table, his back straining momentarily before the relief set in as he tried to focus on the surroundings, the sounds calming him successfully.

He could hear his mum bustling around the kitchen, the clinks of dishes and the sound of the stove a welcome interruption in his thoughts and he closed his eyes, a small smile gracing his features slowly.

It had been a strange day. A lot stranger than he had expected, and suddenly Dan realised that maybe he had made a new friend.

A new friend whose number he didn't even know, but it was a start.

“So,” His mum began and it went without her continuing that she was still pushing the earlier question.

“He came by to bring me homework since he lives next door,” Dan mumbled so unclearly that it made him wonder if she even understood, but when he heard the curious sound she made, he continued, “He seems cool.”

“Does this 'cool' boy have a name?” Her curiosity was endless and though Dan could often appreciate it, sometimes it was too much. He shifted, nuzzling his face into his arms for a quiet moment before he finally looked up, a little bleary-eyed, but there was a smile on his lips when he pronounced the name.

“Phil. His name is Phil.”

===

“Phil,” Dan raised his voice the next day while he limped through the corridors of the school, noticing the incredibly lost-looking boy once more looking around with a deep crease in his forehead again.

“Dan!” Phil's face seemed to light right up and it made Dan's earlier doubts about attending for the day begin to dissipate slowly. Though the day had been nice, nightmares had been quick to swallow that feeling, the memories of the crash mixing with a strange warped mess of other thoughts and ideas that he couldn't really remember after he had woken up, his whole body aching and covered in sweat, his chest heavier than felt healthy and heart beating fast enough to make him dizzy.

“Right on time to save me from being late for a class again, aren't you?” There was a joyful softness in those words and Dan felt like a bit of a superhero under Phil's excited gaze. A temporarily mildly disabled one, but he could forget even that for a moment.

“Only if you buy me a chocolate bar at lunch,” Dan retorted with a slight tease in his voice, only to begin laughing when Phil began to pat around his pockets and then dug into his backpack.

“I'll one up you byyyyyyy...” Suddenly an actual Snickers bar was nearly jabbed in Dan's face, making him wobble a little when he took a step back, “Giving you one now in exchange for directions and some company during the lunchtime?” And by the end of it he looked so hopeful that Dan had to put a hand over his mouth, the laughter begging to escape his lips.

“What?” Phil questioned, lowering the candy bar, when Dan didn't answer and cocked his head in a manner that made Dan think of a curious dog.

It was, to say the least, - endearing.

“You're such a dork,” Reaching out to grab the candy bar out of the other boy's hands, Dan admitted and there was a momentary hesitation in Phil's expression that made him elaborate pointedly, “In the best way possible.”

That seemed to calm Phil down and Dan pocketed the candy bar before leaning against the wall and motioned towards Phil to give him the schedule, the crumpled paper soon in his hands and it was clear that Phil had folded and unfolded it more times than the material was originally intended for, the ink cracking on the folds, making the words on the creases hard to read.

“Oh, we have Biology together,” Dan smiled and admittedly his chest filled with a joy that he hadn't expected and it felt like Phil felt the same because when Dan looked up, he met excited blue eyes staring right at him, unashamedly. And perhaps there was less of a distance between them than Dan found naturally comfortable, yet he didn't mind it now.

“Oh my God. I swear, Daniel, for someone on crutches you're still too hard to find,” Louise as if emerged from thin air, startling both of the boys and Dan realised instantly that Phil stepped back right away, arms wrapped around himself protectively.

“Louise, stop trying to make my heart stop,” Dan whined, but when she frowned he rolled his eyes, “And stop giving me those looks.”

Her attention, however, was drawn away from him quickly, “And who is this dapper man?” She was loud and happy, her voice always upbeat in a way that Dan felt jealous of at times.

“Louise, this is my friend, Phil,” Dan introduced quickly before he could even check if Phil was fine with it, but when he looked at the other boy, Phil was smiling widely, and Dan understood - they were on the same page. “Phil, this is Louise, my partner in crime since fifth grade.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Phil awkwardly extended his hand towards her in a similar manner that he had done with Dan just the day prior and Louise, her eyes wide, glanced at Dan for a moment before taking it as they shook.

“Pleasure's all mine. You're new, aren't you? What brings you here?”

She sure didn't waste her time.

Awkwardly, Dan shifted and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to draw her away from interrogating Phil, “Did you bring me the book?”

It worked like a charm.

“Of course! I also brought you my notes,” The two boys watched as Louise went through her belongings, and shoved several books into Phil's hands before she finally found the right one and held it out to Dan along with a flowery notebook, “You better go through all of them this time, she was very adamant and you know Mrs. Barlow, she doesn't joke about her tests.”

“Thanks,” Without even giving the book and notes a look, he began to shuffle to get them into his own bag.

“Thank you, love,” Louise meanwhile began to collect the books from Phil.

“You better be as lovely to Dan, or else we'll have to have a talk,” Though her voice was the same cheerful, there was an edge to it and even Dan looked up surprised at that, mouth agape for a moment as he surveyed the shorter girl who was actually staring at Phil enough to make the tall boy shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Louise, what--”

“Shush, Daniel,” She brought her hand up to shush him and instead stepped just that bit closer to Phil, reaching out to pinch his cheek lightly, “If I hear you mistreating him in any way, I swear I will flip.”

“I-uh, y-yeah?” Phil was clearly at loss of words, his eyes seeking out Dan who stared back at him with just as much confusion.

“Good! Well, I have to go, but I'll catch you at lunch,” She was smiling brightly at the two as if nothing had happened, before turning to pull Dan into a light hug, Dan's arm awkwardly wrapped around her shoulders momentarily before she took it and Dan felt a piece of paper placed into it.

“What was that about?” As soon as she was out of hearing distance, Phil asked, clearly unsure of how to process the situation he had just experienced.

“I have no idea,” Dan responded, looking down at the piece of paper in his hand and there was something that made him want to throw it in the trash instantly but instead he stuffed it into his pocket. When he looked up again, Phil was silently watching him, arms busy hugging his stomach again, “She's usually not like this.” Dan promised softly.

Phil opened his mouth, but the bell rung, interrupting whatever he wanted to say and Dan swore under his breath, in turn making Phil laugh, “Rude.”

“Your mum is rude,” Dan shot back without thinking and threw the bag over his shoulder, beginning his awkward traipse down the hallway, “Come on!” He called out when Phil didn't instantly follow.

He hadn't seen the change on Phil's face, where the expression had softened considerably.

#myfanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #phanfiction au #phan #phandom

12 notes · View notes

jestbee · 7 years

Text

Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Thirteen)

#my fics #myfics #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction #ao3 update #ao3 #fic #fic update #phan #phandom #dnp #dan and phil #phanfic au #phanfic fluff #ships that pass in the night #chaptered fic #madophelia

73 notes · View notes

nowitsdarkfic · 4 years

Text

chapter eleven (”i used to make out with medusa”)

November 28, 1988. Wellesley, Massachusetts.

“Wow—mmm, you're better than me.”

“Well, I dunno 'bout that.”

It's after sundown here on the edge of Boston, and the sky is still that pure white with the reflection of the sun on the steam. Meanwhile, Matt and I are still here in this pub: I'm pretty sure he's hammered because he keeps giggling every five seconds even though I haven't said a word. I've had to run into the bathroom twice now because of the root beer, but otherwise I'm the sober one here. Reminds me of when Lars got kind of tipsy back in the City. I put my arm around Matt to ensure that he doesn't fall out of his chair and onto the hard floor. He bows his head towards my shoulder with his golden blond hair spreading over the front of my shirt: I had taken off my coat and my gloves after I climbed out from behind the drum kit, and set them down on the bar in front of me, right in the same spot I had my fish.

“You aren't gonna barf, are ya?” I ask him in a loud enough voice for him to hear me over the crowd around us.

“Nah—” he sputters. He hesitates, and I think he stifled a burp there.

“Well, tell me if and when you get a hankering for upchucking, 'kay?” I tell him.

“Yeah—” He bursts out laughing. “I drank so much stout!”

“It wasn't that much,” I assure him. “At least not when I was sitting here with you.”

“I had—another refill, but—” He pauses again. “—I—I—” He rolls his head over so I can see the side of his face pressed against my chest, and he opens his mouth again, this time for the tip of his tongue to spill out like a dog. He spits out some hair and gives me this hysterical giggle.

I sigh at the sound of it.

The least I can do is stay with him until he's able to stand on his two feet. Unless he can stand on his own two feet and he's just being a silly drunk at the moment. I turn my head to the right when I hear a sound that sounds like someone calling my name. No one behind me, just an empty space on the honey colored floor there next to the stools. I return to Matt as he's struggling to push some of his hair out of his face.

I help him out with that when I hear the woman's voice again.

“Joey?” I turn my head again to see the kinky curls of black hair weaving her way through the crowd.

“Dominique!” I call out, and return to Matt for a brief second. “Your lady's here.”

“Cool—” he stammers. She hovers over me, her gloved hand right above my shoulder. I eye her fingers and, about an inch away from them, the crotch of her jeans. Her boyfriend has had one too many and I drummed almost just like him not too long ago. She knits her eyebrows together and scoffs at me.

“What happened here?”

“He had a little fun with the stout stuff,” I confess, and he laughs again. “It wasn't my doing—I swear.”

“Well, I was just gonna ask if either of you fellas wants to join Angeline and me for a bite of dinner, but I think it's a bit too late for that.

“Besides, uh—no, thank you, anyways—I'm stuffed.” I set a hand on my stomach.

She sniffs the side of my head.

“Yeah, you smell like French fries.”

“Eh, close. It was more fish than anything.”

“You're not drunk?”

“I had root beer.”

“I see.”

“Where is Angeline, by the way?”

“The other side of the room.” She gestures back towards the entrance and the sign reading “open mic night.”

“Hey—Hey—Hey—” Matt sputters out, wagging his finger at us. He rolls his head up towards me again, never taking the side off of my shoulder.

“What?” she asks him.

“Yeah, what's up?”

He stifles another belch in his throat.

“I forget.” He bursts out laughing again; I turn back to her as she's rolling her eyes and snickering at him.

“She wants to talk to you, by the way,” she says. “That's part of why I came over here, aside from telling you that Angeline wants us to take us out.”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah.”

“About what?”

“Not sure, she didn't say. But yeah—she told me distinctly 'I want to have a word with Joey.'”

“Alright.” I glance back at Matt again, right as he's yawning and closing his eyes at the sight of us. “What about him, though?”

“Don't worry 'bout him. I got him.”

She takes a seat in the other stool to the left of him so as to tug him off of me. I fix my shirt before standing up. I take one last sip from the root beer on the bar before heading over to the other side of the room to meet up with Angeline. I duck into the front lobby to find her lingering near the doorway with her handbag dangling off of her wrist. She's digging around on the inside of the bag for something.

“Angeline?” I call her, and she lifts her head for a look at me. Her face lights up at the sight of me.

“Oh, hey!”

“You wanted to speak to me?” I approach even closer to her so she can hear me.

“Um, yes. This isn't about Anthrax, even though I interviewed Scott and Dan just the other day. I asked them about you and they said they're not sure where to go from here with John.”

“Really?” I'm stunned by that.

“Yeah. Dan said they're considering and recalculating everything as it stands, and even though they seem pretty dead set on John, they're not ruling you out.”

“Wow. Because I was told I was done.”

“That's what Scott said, too. But—you know the whole thing about being in a band. Things and circumstances happen that bring about changes of heart on a regular basis.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, I wanted to speak to you about—what happened in here not too long ago.”

“What, my drumming?”

“Yes.” Her face lights up and her eyes gleam at me. “Dominique and I heard you playing outside in the alleyway, and I totally forgot how much your voice just fills out a whole room. So I want to know if you're planning on doing stuff of your own, because I would love to write about it in the future.”

“Well, right now—at the moment—I have some songs written down, back home—but I'm still trying to get the feel of them, you know? Like I don't know if I'll sing and drum, or if I'll just sing to them.”

“Oh, okay.” She gives her blonde hair a little toss back from her face. “So they're definitely gonna be Joey Belladonna songs?”

“Absolutely. Unless—either of the dudes from Anthrax wanna jam with me in the future?”

“I don't know—Scott told me he's going through kind of a difficult time right now, relationship wise, and it's really helping him out with writing their new album. Who knows really, because I've found, from my experience in writing and doing journalism work with bands and musicians, you can interview someone and you'll never hear the same story twice all the way.”

“Right—and I used to make out with Medusa, too,” I joke to her, and that coaxes a laugh out of her.

“I also want to ask you about Maya. The writer, Maya Sorensen. You know she's been missing, right?”

“That's what I've found, yeah.” I step out of the way of a young woman in a black overcoat and thigh high leather boots walking towards the bar.

“I thought the name sounded familiar when Dominique first brought it up to me. Like I've seen her name pop up in magazine publications and whatnot. I tried to get an interview with her because she had such an anti authoritarian attitude to life, like it reminded me of the punk bands in New York City, but I never could get her. And yes—her family is here in Boston, not too far from this pub and the school actually. The problem with that, though—”

“Trespassing?”

“Well, yes, but also—I guess her father, her foster father is a bit of a curmudgeon.”

I think about the curmudgeon down the block from Brick's house.

“How so?”

“He's one of those people who—do you ever come across someone so fixated on what they're doing that the slightest of interruptions is like setting off a bomb?”

“—yes?”

“That's what he's like. Going to their house for anything, much less an interview with me, a reporter, is a sure fire to get yourself killed.”

“What does he do again?” I ask her, trying to recall what Molly had told Lars and me in New Orleans.

“He's a business man, albeit a rather wealthy one. He helped build most of the real industrial side of Boston here.” “Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at that as I fold my arms over my chest.

“In fact, he introduced some of the—he calls them 'drones', you might have seen them either here, or in New York City, or in Seattle. They're like these chrome miniature airships about the size of a sofa.”

“I think I have,” I admit to her, “like I saw them flying over the freeway, coming over here.”

“Named such because they make this quiet drone that's rumored to drive a person to the brink of paranoia because it's on the threshold of human hearing.”

“Well, why's he making them if they do that?”

“They're prototypes. At least, that's according to what he has said publicly. I've seen them in Queens, in Manhattan, and over Staten Island, and yeah—they are kind of creepy looking, especially at night because they look like airplanes but they're not. But I guess it's to help out with things like photography and watching traffic. That's why he introduced them to New York City first because of all the traffic they get down there.”

“Have you actually interviewed him?”

“I haven't, no. I have interviewed her sister, though. Her sister, Candace.”

“And I assume Candace has said everything is peachy at home?” I'm thinking back to what Molly said.

“Actually according to her, life here in Boston has been anything but peachy.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. According to her, their home life was kind of lonely. Like it was just the two of them, they had to look out for each other.”

“That's not what her mom told me.”

“You interviewed her mom?” She raises her eyebrows at me.

“Foster mom. Molly. I wouldn't say 'interviewed' like you did with Scott and Danny, but yeah—I have spoken to her. Me and Lars both spoke to her in her home in New Orleans, and she told us some things about life here in Boston. How they've pretty much been treated well here at home.”

Angeline frowns at that.

“That's… not what I heard. Candace told me that she and Maya had to pretty much fend for themselves growing up, like after Maya was brought home.”

She opens her handbag again, this time for a little black book and a pen.

“What'cha lookin' for?” I ask her.

“I guess I'm going to have to arrange an interview with Michael Morlente because something here doesn't add up. All of this is stumping me.”

“You're telling me. If there's one thing that's stumping the hell out of me about her it's this tidbit about knowing where to find her. She told me that the other night while we were in New York City.”

“You know where to find her?”

“That's what she told me, yeah. It's almost like she's trying to hide things about herself from me, even though she wants to come closer to me.”

“Interesting. But anyway, I'll see if I can do a phone interview with him because I don't know any other way around it.”

Matt's voice floats in from behind me. I peer over my shoulder to see Dominique cradling him in one arm and holding my jacket over the other.

“Terrible idea,” she cracks.

“We can go by their house, though,” Angeline assures me as she scribbles something down in the little black leather bound book. “Like just to get an idea of it and everything, y'know?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Dominique hands me my coat and the gloves, which I presume she tucked into the pocket because I didn't do it, and I slip them on for this chilly late autumnal evening. Angeline tucks her book and her pen back into her handbag before leading us outside: Matt staggers about the sidewalk as we return to the alleyway with the air conditioners and then back to the street to the car I borrowed from Maya and Angeline's car. I take the key out of my coat pocket right before the driver's side door.

“Besides, I need to take this car back to Maya,” I tell her in a low voice as Matt and Dominique wobble past us.

“This is her car?” she asks me.

“Yeah. I think it's just a rental, but she drove me home in this and then she left it at my place.” I stop, and then I turn my head to her.

“Wait a minute,” I begin again, looking on at my reflection in the dark window. “Angeline, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“I think so,” she confesses. “But just as a reassurance, tell me.”

You know where to find me, Maya told me. I do.

“I think I know a way into their house—and not in the way that'll get either of us killed.”

“Hang on a second,” she tells me off, and rushes up to Dominique for a word. I'm sure of it. This is how I'll uncover the next secret about Maya.

Soon, Angeline returns to me, slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

“I gave her the key to my car,” she tells me, “like she and Matt will go to a park so he can rest and then you and I can—do whatever it is that you have in mind with the house.”

“It's a deal,” I flash her a wink and then the hydrogen hum within the car fires up in front of me as a result.

0 notes