Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daniel Howell was a catch. He winked at almost anyone and everyone; he flirted with strangers and smiled as blushes crept up their cheeks; he made it his goal to be the most attractive person around without being too attractive. He always had a gaggle of people following behind him with their chins dragging on the floor.

Everyone assumed Dan did this because, well, he was Daniel Howell™. He didn't need a reason.

Everyone, except for Phil, the boy with crutches, who thought Dan was an utter twink. Phil saw right through his facade, mostly because he was in the same position: fighting for his life, day in, day out; attempting to be likable enough to avoid being selected to be cast out of the village.

Daniel Howell was born mute and without his right eye, already two strikes against him, but he had an advantage that automatically brought him up a few pegs. He was rich, beautiful, and charismatic; all things Phil lacked. 

If Dan could make an eye-patch look good, then he really could do anything. Maybe he could even survive the selection.

                                -------

There he was. Standing right outside the partially frosted glass windows of the shop where Phil was employed, talking animatedly with his friends, dumb and dumber. His chocolate curls bounced in the wind, his dimples visible even from the ten feet between them.

Phil realized he was staring after Dan turned to look at him; the boy weaving like the gods were coursing through his fingers. Phil blushed and looked back at his work on the loom, realizing that, while he had looked at the pretty flirt, his stitching had been messed up and his tapestry of a horse was beginning to look like a giraffe. 

It only took a minute to fix, but when he turned to look again, Daniel was gone and his boss was there, trying to talk to him over the ruckess of thirty looms working all at once. Phil's boss was a kind, middle-aged woman, her black hair dotted with white and grey. She was plump, and Phil could easily imagine her baking cookies for her grandchildren.

Phil paused for a moment and looked up at her, and she began to shout a bit to be heard. "PHIL! Your shift was over an hour ago! You can go home, you silly lad." She smiled good-naturedly, and bumbled away, swaying on her feet a little. She was great, that woman. Always caught in her own mind.

Phil sighed in relief and picked up his crutches, taking a minute to reattach a bandage that protected his fingers. Days like these, he hardly noticed the time fly by. He had dropped out of school about a year ago to support his family, and now he could hardly feel the days slipping by him.

Phil took a few seconds longer to decompress, and looked at the workshop, taking it all in before he had an entire weekend to himself when he would rather be working. There was exposed, crumbling brickwork all around him. The only light came in the windows on his side of the room; the one facing the bustling street. 

It was beautiful in its own way. Phil couldn't even smell the must and the mold in the main room anymore. Phil limped out of the building, feeling fresh air caress his skin. He took a deep breath and began the mile-long walk home, stopping by the sweet-shop to pick up a cheap bag of mints for his older brother, who stopped by on weekends to visit. His college wasn't very far from where they lived.

When Phil entered the crowded, over-stocked building, he immediately noticed Dan was there, throwing his head back in laughter at a stupid joke. He was wearing a baggy, striped sweater and a pair of shorts that showed off his defined legs. Phil looked away quickly, feeling butterflies flitting around his belly and a blush creeping up his neck. He grabbed the mints, bought them, and left quickly. Phil wouldn't allow himself to fall for the boy's tricks.

Paved roads quickly gave way to dirt roads; old buildings changed to shoddy, somewhat newer ones. Three doors down and a left turn led Phil home. 

"Mum! I'm home!" Phil called, closing the creaky, peeling door with the end of his wooden crutches. There were only three rooms in the entire home, including the bathroom. There was a kitchen and a bedroom and not much else. 

Phil's mum, Katherine, called from the kitchen, "Sweetie, I'm in here. Come help me slice up some carrots with those magical fingers of yours."

Phil navigated around a bed and stepped into the kitchen, the heavy smell of incense and stew permeating the air. "Mum, please don't say that ever again."

Katherine stood by the sink, rinsing off onions, the carrots sitting on the counter beside a knife. "My dear, you will find that embarrassing you is my way of being a proud mummy." She turned to look at her son, taking his hand to examine fingers. "You've kept the bandages on, yes? I can't have you walking around with bloody fingers, can I?"

"Yes, Mum, I've kept them on. Anyways, where's Martin?" Phil braced himself with his crutches and began slicing the vegetables.

Katherine chewed on her bottom lip a bit and had a faraway look before she finally answered, "He is a little late, isn't he? That's unusual." Her fingers tightened around the onion she was peeling.

Phil's stomach dropped, his mind going over each and every bad product of Martin, Phil's only brother, being late. "You don't think he's been robbed? He's always been safe about that kind of thing..."

Katherine remained silent, until the sound of a door opening and closing a few minutes later lifted her eyes from cooking. "Mum, I'm so sorry I'm late. All the buses were halted for a bit because they're preparing for the festival next week..." Katherine's relieved face switched suddenly to a dark one, then back to one of contentment. 

"Well." She said sternly. "You've come just in time to help me brew the stew." She turned and busied herself with the giant pot on the burner.

Phil felt a bit deflated. The festival was all fun and games for the able-bodied people, but for everyone else, it meant survival. It meant that if you weren't productive enough or liked enough by the age of seventeen, you would be forced into the wide and everlasting wilderness just beyond the city limits. Martin sensed the change in the air and glanced apologetically at Phil, who simply nodded, his mind elsewhere.

Raven-haired Phil still had a chance to live. He could knit, sow, and weave like nobody's business; made the violin sing better than anyone else; and he could read, which was a skill most people don't have.

Except there was always that little setback: his left foot was bent at an awkward angle, making walking and standing nearly impossible without his trusty crutches. He was slow and weak, incapable of common human things, like jumping and running.

There was still a chance, though.

                           ----------

After about an hour of small talk about Martin's college and Phil's work, Phil's father, Nigel, finally arrived home, and everyone sat down to eat.

The atmosphere was tense and charged. Everyone wanted to say something; to dismiss doubts from their minds aloud instead of having internal discussions while everyone looked on.

Finally, Martin spoke. "Hey, Phil, have you finished that huge tapestry yet?" Phil looked down at his bowl, and then up at his family, and then back down at his bowl. "I'll take that as a no. Are you at least close? The festival is next Tuesday." Martin continued to probe.

Phil swallowed thickly. "I... I'm nearly finished, but I can't figure out how to do the hooves. I don't have a reference for a horse below knee height, so for the most part I've just been estimating; seeing what looks right."

Nigel grunted, "Well, you better hurry, Son, the deadline is drawing closer every second you waste thinking about hooves. Just get it done." Nigel sipped at his soup obnoxiously, and Phil finished his meal quickly and went to bed; mind whirring with outcomes to his little hoof problem; none of them good.

On days like these, it felt as if the entire world was against him, which, for the most part, it was.

Chapter Text

The next day, Phil woke up before the sun came up and meditated to the sound of his brother snoring beside him.

He desperately needed to clear his head, even if it was the last thing he did. Thoughts of Dan plagued his mind, drifting from daydreams of how soft his skin was, to running his fingers through his curls, and even how his lips tasted. 

Phil ended up getting nowhere and gave up, thoughts of being lulled back to sleep tugging at his limbs. He laid back down again and closed his eyes, just as Martin woke up and shook him so he could get out of bed to use the loo.

 Phil groaned and sat up, letting his brother roll past him and onto the exposed concrete that was the flooring of their home.

Phil laid down again and stared at the ceiling with contempt. He reached up and touched the plaster, bits of white paint coming off onto his nimble fingers. 

His hands itched to be back at his Lomb, twisting twine and sweeping his needles, again and again, until a picture of something appeared across the fabric. He wanted to trap Dan's beauty in a tapestry; in the arcs of his fingers and the braids of yarn.

Phil sighed, closing his eyes and considering falling back asleep before deciding against it. He grabbed his only shirt and one of two pairs of pants and slipped out the door, careful to not make a sound or accidentally drag his crutches and wake his Mother and Father.

The early morning breeze caressed his skin, ruffling his clothes gently and whipping his hair. The sun was just showing on the horizon, and a Starling in a nearby tree called out to him. Phil watched it hop about, and he wished he knew what it said.

Phil began travelling his way down the dirt road lined with houses not unlike his own. There were select few people awake at this time in the morning, and Phil loved the silence.

He basked in it, stopping by a Yarrow bush and grabbing enough to make some incense when he got home. 

After about ten minutes of walking, the dirt road became paved and the first few buildings that looked somewhat new came into view. Most shops were closed, some where condemned, but there was one that Phil always stopped by on the weekends that was open this early.

 It was a quant little coffee shop with peeling paint and cracked windows; a menu painted on them to cover the spider-webbed fractures.

Phil stepped inside, a little bell ringing. His friend, a boy named PJ, was behind the counter. PJ had brown curls, similar to Dan, but he was shy and quiet.

PJ looked up and smiled. "Hey Phil. Same as always?" He asked, pulling a small cup from a stack. Phil nodded and waited alongside a table that had plastic containers of creamer and sugar.

 Phil's caramel macchiato only took a few minutes to make, and PJ gave it to him in exchange for a pound. Phil smiled and said his thanks, sitting at a table to wallow in his thoughts while he sipped on his coffee. 

A few minutes later, the bell chimed again, and a familiar face entered the nearly unknown coffee shop.

Today, Dan had painted his nails black and wore a pair of jean shorts and a baggy jumper that his fingers barely escaped. His face looked tired and downcast, heavy bags and pink cheeks on full display. His eye patch need adjusting.

PJ looked just as shocked as Phil, and stammered, "W-welcome to Carly's Café, w-what can I get you?" PJ smiled awkwardly, suddenly not knowing what to do with his arms.

Dan considered him for a second, staring at the menu on the window coolly before turning back to PJ again. Even looking like he just rolled out of bed, he was breathtaking to behold. Dan pulled a notepad out of his back pocket and jotted down, "Surprise me." PJ blushed and ran over to the blender and started making some miscellaneous drink.

Phil, in his own little secluded corner with his Yarrow, (which, to any normal person, looks like a yellow roadside weed - which it technically is) attempted to be as small and invisible as possible. 

Dan looked around the café, taking in the ramshackle art and the old wallpaper with some disgust. Clearly, he had never been here before. Phil liked the vintage vibe and the cheap coffee, so he kept coming back.

Eventually, he befriended the lone barista (PJ), but had yet to meet the owner, Carly, who was probably dead at this point. A lot of people died around here.

Dan rapped his knuckles against his legs as he waited. Phil found it hard not to stare. He was grateful that Dan hadn't noticed him yet.

"Umm... Dan? Your drink is ready." PJ murmured. Dan opened the book to a page that said 'thank you,' and forked over ten pounds, which was much more than the drink was worth. Dan found a spot near the door to sip his drink, and watched the sun rise. Phil finished his drink, but stayed, just to watch Dan.

Finally, after about thirty minutes, Dan left, leaving just Phil and PJ behind. PJ looked breathless. "I can see why you fancy him." PJ breathed as Phil got up to go a few minutes after Dan left, not to look suspicious.

Phil hissed, "I don't fancy him. He's a flipping twit."

Phil opened to door with his crutch and was about to maneuver out when PJ quipped, "A hot twit you just spent the last half-hour staring at." Phil was effectively shut up, and instead of retorting something back, just left, his stomach filled with butterflies.

Maybe I do fancy him? Phil thought to himself. 

What a terrible person to fancy. 

Chapter Text

Sunday came and went without incidence. Martin left later that night to go back to the tiny University dorms nearby. Nigel was called by his work shortly after to fix a broken computer. This left just Phil and Katherine alone together.

A comfortable silence settled over the two as they cleaned up from dinner, listening to the sound of cheap dishes clunking together. Katherine broke the silence after a little bit. "So who's this Daniel boy I keep hearing about?" Phil nearly dropped a plate.

"I hope it's not embarrassing that I don't know of him. I don't have much time for gossip, you see." She slyly looked at her flustered son out of the corner of her eye.

"Uh," Phil swallowed thickly, "He's... He's this rich guy who everyone's always fawning over. Not that big of a deal." 

"Hmm." She smiled. "Is he cute?" Katherine asked, catching Phil off guard yet again.

"Mum!" Phil cried out, a blush creeping up his neck like poison ivy. "Please!"

Katherine seemed to be enjoying making her son squirm. "Well? Is he?"

Phil quieted down for a few seconds, and then murmured bashfully, "He's absolutely gorgeous, Mum, he really is." Then, he paused. "Wait, how did you-"

Katherine answered his question before he even finished talking. "Really, dear, you need to do a better job at hiding that little crush of yours. I've seen you lusting after him for months now." 

"What?" Phil turned to face his Mother, who was holding back laughter. "This is a total invasion of privacy! Have you been watching me?"

"A mother has her ways of knowing things." She said wisely, and turned her full attention to putting chicken Alfredo into boxes for later.

There was some more silence, and then Katherine spoke again. "You really should ask him out sometime, might do you some good."

"Mum, I don't have a chance. I'm not even sure he knows that I exist." Phil said hopelessly, taking the boxes from his mum and putting them in their tiny refrigerator.

"Well then, give yourself a chance! Introduce yourself to him! Do something!" Katherine cried, taking her son's hands. "I hate seeing you so torn up like this."

Phil's mum hugged him, and Phil felt happier, even for a few minutes. "I'll give it a try, alright? For you. Okay?"

"I'm going to hold you to that, alright? Don't you forget."

"I love you, Mum."

"I know."  

Chapter Text

On Mondays, Dan woke up extra early to avoid his family so he could go to the 'gym', which was more of a boxing ring than anything else.

Today, however, when Dan snuck downstairs at 05:30, his Mother was already there, talking to the Gardner in the kitchen. Dan silently cursed. He just couldn't catch a break this week, could he?

Dan's Mother was an unkind woman, strict in many ways; unforgiving and unrelenting. It was not much of a shock that she was yelling at the poor botanist about the petunias being a little wilty.

Dan held his breath as he tried to sneak past her and towards the front door. Just as he was home free, the hardwood gave a particularly loud creek.

Shit.

Dan's Mum immediately stopped talking and peeked her head out the doorway. "Daniel? Where are you going? It's to early for a lad like you to be up, don't you know?" Dan turned slowly on his heel, flashing a suck up smile that always got him complements from his Mother's rich friends.

I'm going to get coffee. Dan signed carefully.

Dan's Mum excused herself from the conversation with the Gardner and turned her full attention to her son. Dan was mentally cussing himself out like all hell.

"Isn't it a little early for coffee?" Dan's Mum furrowed her brow and sounded commanding already. Dan's stomach sank. The gym was really the only place where he could be alone with his thoughts; no one there to judge him if his cool demeanor slipped up.

Dan sighed and quickly signed, It's never too early for coffee. Dan's Mum looked unconvinced, but waved him off anyways.

"Fine, fine. Go. But be back by eleven, because we have brunch at the Leonard's." Dan wanted to cry in exasperation and distress, but he bit his tongue and nodded. Jack Leonard and Naomi Leonard were both creepy bastards who, on multiple occasions, nearly molested Dan.

The Howell family kept going back to the Leonard's because they stroked Mr. Howell's ego like no other could. It was just all disgusting.

Dan left quickly, walking briskly across the pavement. The cold, early spring air stung his face, but he dealt with it anyways. He was already late. Dan began to sprint, taking a rocky sidepath that lead from his neighborhood to a different one Dan had been to countless times.

Dan ran down a bend in the path, not looking at all and just going. Suddenly, before his brain could even process it, he had crashed into a tangle of limbs and crutches. Goddammit!

Whoever it was that he had ran into was apologizing profusely, pulling themselves up and helping Dan up right after. Dan pulled his paper pad out of his back pocket to a pre-written page that said, Don't worry about it.

The person Dan crashed into nodded. He was flushed a shade of red, which Dan could understand. This entire situation was embarrassing. The stranger looked flustered, even though Dan was smiling. "Oh! I'm Phil, by the way." The boy reached his hand out for a shake. Now, at least, there was a face to a name.

Dan flipped to a page that had, I'm Dan written on it. Phil smiled a little and said his goodbyes, leaving Dan alone on the little path. Dan sort of wished 'Phil' would come back, just so he could have some company.

It was no secret that Dan was a lot more lonely these days. Everyone was just so fake, it was nearly impossible to find someone who wouldn't sell his deepest secrets to the highest bidder the moment they heard them.

Dan walked through town as the sun came up. He found that he did that a lot recently, ever since his best friend Chris died. They used to stay up until three, drinking until their heads would spin, and their hangovers nearly too much to bear.

Now, Dan went to bed at 21:00 and woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, just so he could workout and get coffee. His younger self would have been so disappointed.

Dan turned down an alleyway onto a secluded street, where the Gym was; and that coffee shop he went to the other day. There was a candy store and a flower shop, too. Someone he very vaguely remembered making out with in year 11 waved at him from the window of the sweet shop. Dan waved back, but his mind was elsewhere.

Dan walked a little farther and then came to a warehouse. He knocked. His buddy, Jadd, opened the door. He looked sweaty and sorta gross, but Dan was used to it. "Hey, you can come in and do your thing. I'll be in the back." Jadd said sleepily, and walked away, leaving Dan in the doorway to his own devices. Jadd was cool. He let Dan come in before anybody else, so he could practice in private.

Dan made his way over to the punching bags in the far corner. There were treadmills to his left, and a giant boxing ring took up nearly the entire room. A musty smell permeated the air. Dan breathed in deeply, and then breathed out.

At this point, most people took their shirts off, but Dan just left his on. Jadd had asked him about it once, and Dan had just shrugged his shoulders.

Dan grabbed a pair of donor gloves from the equipment box, and went to work. His arm ached a little from falling earlier, but he just ignored it.

Dan just kept punching the bag, over and over, in and out. He tried to freeze his thoughts in place, keep them from reaching him. He wanted, so desperately, to just force his brain to shut down, even for a few minutes.

Before he knew it, he felt himself sinking into familiar patterns; his imagination tracing over old scars; memories that had yet to be repressed. Tears began to gather at the corners of Dan's eyes. He struck faster, quicker. He had to distract himself. If he pretended it wasn't there, then it would go away.

Go away, go away... Dan thought. He could feel his form slipping. A few more strikes, and he could sprain his wrist. He slowed. The tears came, and Dan fell to his knees. He held his face to his hands. His callused knuckles felt raw, his hands clammy. He felt wrong; Dirty.

Dan wanted so desperately, in that moment, to scream at the top of his lungs; to let his shame and anger escape him into the air. Let the world know! But as long as he was forced to talk with his hands, he couldn't. He couldn't even talk to his friends anymore. He felt so utterly trapped.

Dan curled up in fetal position on the mat; wetness on his cheeks making everything stickier than it already was. Dan stared into the abyss. The abyss ignored him; taunted him.

He felt nothing in those moments. He felt broken, like a glow stick with all its insides bleeding onto the floor; everyone too afraid to pick up the pieces for fear of getting sick.

Eventually, Dan managed to pull himself up as the first few customers came around. Dan went to the coffee shop again, asked for the same drink, and sat with his head down. Dan didn't feel hungry, but Carly's was somewhere that felt like home.

Dan noticed that Phil was there, but he didn't want to talk, so he just stared past him, at a spot just to the left of his head. He wanted to keep him in the corners of his eyes, because he was pretty. Phil was reading a book. The only person who noticed this exchange was the barista.

Maybe it was good that way.

Chapter Text

It was the day.

The day when Phil's entire life would come to a head.

The day when his fate would be decided by a council of old, ableist, most likely homophobic men.

It was that day for Dan too. Phil knew it in his heart that Dan wouldn't be selected. He was too pretty, too rich. But Phil didn't even have an inkling, and as he finished up his tapestry in the wee hours of the morning, an air of dread hung over the entire Lester household.

The festival began at eight, the selection at twelve. Four hours to prepare himself for what was to come when he got there.

Phil sat on his bed, fixing up smaller stray stitches and desperately trying to make the horse's hooves look right. Phil sighed in exasperation. No matter what he did, it looked wrong, in one way or another.

He heard his Mother rustle in bed, and turn over to look at him. "Darling," She murmured, "It's three in the morning."

Suddenly, Phil just broke down. He sobbed. Katherine got up and embraced him gingerly, smoothing down his hair and whispering calm words into his ear. "Darling, darling... It's going to be alright. Your tapestry looks stunning. I didn't even notice the hooves until you pointed them out. If it's beautiful to me, then I'm sure the judges will think the same."

Phil nodded, but he didn't believe her. It was too big of a mistake. It didn't show his worth enough. He dried his tears and pretended to sleep, satisfying his Mother, who went back to bed, but Phil was too wired to sleep, too tired to do anything else.

He wondered why he had been born.

In a brief burst of courage, it occurred to Phil that he didn't need to stay here. He mulled it over in his mind for a few minutes, and made his mind. He sat up as quietly as he could to avoid making the springs in the bed creak, and just left, heading towards town. It was all that he needed in that moment, the click of his crutches and the chirping of the crickets. Phil had the audacity to smile.

                   ---------

Dan lay awake. His clock read three, but his mind didn't except it. He felt like he had just gone to sleep, even though he had just slept for twelve hours. He was stuck in limbo again.

He didn't bother grabbing his eye patch when he got up to get water. If someone saw him, then it was their problem. He honestly didn't care. It wasn't as if it was too ugly, just very alarming. Instead of an eye, there was just skin; and a scar from an operation when they'd tried to fix his little 'problem', but upon discovering that there was no eye trapped in there, they just stitched him back up and sent him on his way.

It hurt like hell, and his Father had called him a baby.

That's what the people called him, too. The people who paid for his body; the people who had trashed him. It was his worth. Prostitution. He didn't even get to keep the money.

Dan walked down the black hall. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge. He hated the dark. Monsters hid in the ink of it.

He went downstairs to the kitchen. Thankfully, someone had left the light on, and the shivers went away. He poured himself some water from the tap, and lounged around drinking it.

He set the glass down, and made up his mind. He was going to sneak out; though it wasn't technically sneaking out because his parents didn't care where he was at any given time, as long as he was where they needed him to be, in order to impress the neighbors. Dan suddenly felt bitter.

He didn't even know why he was climbing out the window, when he could just go out the front door, but he was reveling in how embarrassed his parents would be if he was caught. He smiled. He was walking all over his Mother's azaleas, but he didn't care.

Soon, he was on that familiar back path connecting the two neighborhoods of modern Manchester. The cool air stung his face. Just as he was falling into a rhythm, he heard the distinctive sound of crutches on dirt. It was nearly covered up by the sound of the forest all around him, but it was still there. Dan halted in his tracks. He had a feeling that he knew who it was. Hopefully it's Phil. Dan felt weird thinking that, but he didn't stop himself.

It was Phil. Bed-head haired Phil, with a day old quiff and heavy eye bags, and scruffy clothing. He looked adorable, his eyes glued to his feet. Dan wanted to call for his attention, but he couldn't make a noise much more distinguished than a weird squeak, which was undignified. So he let Phil crash into him, for a second time in the last twenty-four hours.

Nobody fell over, but Phil did look a little dazed. He looked up, and squeaked like a school girl. "Dan!" Phil tilted his head, something that Dan found adorable. "Wait... Why are you up so early? It's like... three-thirty in the morning? Four?"

Dan noticed Phil's eyes dart over to where Dan's eye patch was missing, and look quickly at his other eye; something Dan appreciated. Dan shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, so he would appear to be at least a little cool.

Why do I want to be cool for Phil?

Why not?

"Oh." Phil sighed. There was a tension in the air that Dan could read like writing off the palm of his hand. It was a mix of awkwardness and something else. Dan blushed. "Anyways, sorry for crashing into you again." Phil interrupted Dan's straying thoughts.

Dan felt his for his notepad in his back pocket, but realized he had forgot it. He tried to motion to Phil that he couldn't tell him anything, and Phil got the message.

"Early morning deliriousness gets me every time too. I forgot my glasses, I'm about as blind as a bat right now." Phil smiled. Dan itched to tell him that bats aren't blind and actually have good vision, but he couldn't, so he just grinned and nodded. He could cut the sexual tension in the air right now with a knife.

I don't even know him. He doesn't know me.

Something changed in Phil's face for a second. He caught Dan glancing down towards his lips, which was pretty easy to see, since Dan was about the same height as Phil.

Dan couldn't tell if he was reading the signs I correctly or not, but he was sure that Phil had looked too.

Screw it.

Dan went in for a kiss, and Phil cupped his cheek and kissed back. Every thing around them fell away, and a kiss that lasted a few seconds felt like centuries. Good centuries. When Dan went to pull away, it almost seemed like Phil was chasing after his lips for a moment longer. Dan looked into Phil's eyes. They were stunning, three different colors mixed like a beautiful, yellow ocean sunset. Dan's brain barely registered the fact that Phil was a good kisser before he spoke again, and the forest suddenly seemed to awaken around him. It was too loud; too loud.

"I... I need to go." Phil looked... guilty, almost. It was obvious to Dan that he had liked it. Before he knew it, all Dan could hear was the sound of Phil's crutches receding into the darkness. Dan usually had his choice of anyone in town, and this was the first time someone had ever ran away from him.

Now, He was the only thing he wanted. He wanted to feel those lips again; the only ones who rejected him instead of using him.

It was 4 AM and Dan knew he was obsessed.

Chapter Text

It was eleven o'clock and Phil was still riding the high of being kissed by the boy of his dreams. It still felt so surreal, like it was some sick trick pulled by his subconscious.

But it was real.

So why did he run away?

Phil thought he wasn't anything other than straight, so when his crush on Daniel Howell developed around year eleven, he thought it was just some phase. But he hadn't grown out of it, no matter how much he tried to deny it;  no matter how many girls broke his heart; how much his friends teased him about it. It all just spurred him on.

He couldn't let himself fall for Dan's tricks, but it happened anyways. On that moonlit forest path, he had given in. He had kissed Dan back, and he had loved it.

That's why he ran. He wasn't going to let himself get attached to someone who would love him once and them throw him in the bin.

I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay.

Phil tried to enjoy the Festival and avoid Dan as much as he could before twelve came. It was nearly impossible in a town that small, where all six hundred people were gathered in one place. Another thing that irked Phil was the fact that there were colorful hand-painted signs everywhere that said, "Happy Festival, Year 2126!" Which, was a grammatical error that would be easy to ignore if it wasn't every two feet.

Martyn had come down for the day to have fun with the family. That's where the two brothers were now, sitting around eating homemade ice cream, watching people fail miserably at various shooting games. It was hilarious to see Mr. Parks scream at the teenage student behind the stand because he hadn't won, as he was normally a soft-spoken man.

"Oh wow, there's that Daniel guy again. I think I've seen him three times now? What, is he following us or something?" Phil looked around, and sure enough, there he was, wearing shorts that were just a little too short, and a tank top that was just a little too tight. Phil's ears burned. He sat on a table, just blowing bubbles with his bubble gum. He winked at Phil when he noticed him looking.

"Shit." Phil accidentally whispered out loud. Martyn looked confused, and kept glancing back and forth.

"Wait, do you have a beef with this guy or something?" Martyn asked, oblivious to the brush creeping up Phil's neck as Dan got up and approached them. He just passed them by, his hand brushing Phil's. He had a cocky little smile on his face that Phil just wanted to smack off. "I'll fight him if you need me to..."

Phil just stared after him, starstruck, his eyes drifting to places they shouldn't until Dan disappeared into the crowd.

Martyn seemed to catch on. "Whoa... You're into him?" The question was just a little too probing for Phil's liking, and Phil made a disgusted face, just in case.

"Hell no. He's unbearable." Phil's body silently disagreed with him. He wanted to ignore it.

"ALL PEOPLE AGED 17 AND OLDER WHO HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO BE SELECTED, PLEASE REPORT TO THE EAST EXIT. THANK YOU." A loudspeaker blared, and Martyn and Phil both exchanged looks.

"Looks like it's that time, kid." Martyn grimaced. Phil began walking silently, shouldering his backpack. His pulse raced, but he was refusing to show his fear to his brother, or he would have as much faith in Phil as everyone else, which was already low as-is.

The east exit was usually devoid of people, but now it was full of spectators. There was a small crowd of people near the actual exit, which was just a pad-locked fence. Dan, at the moment, was the only young one among them. There were six in total, three above the age of seventy, and two that looked so ancient that it was nearly impossible to gauge their age.

Dan looked nonchalant, but Phil recognized fear in his eyes. He stood among the group, trying to ignore Dan's eyes staring at the back of his neck.

Suddenly, the crowd silenced itself, and it became obvious why. The judges emerged from the fray, wearing heavy robes and carrying notepads. Phil loathed them already.

Phil recognized the head judge, a man named George Hamilton, a cruel individual who was rumored to have raped his own daughter, once upon a time. It sickened Phil that this was the man who would be deciding his fate.

Hamilton called to the larger crowd, "You have gathered here today to witness the distribution of justice among those of us who are lesser! Let the fittest survive!" The crowd cheered like the sickos they were. Phil noticed his family, looking nauseas on the sidelines. He smiled at them. Kathryn smiled back reassuringly, giving him the thumbs up.

"Let the oldest come forward first." Hamilton yelled, waving them forward with his arms. The two ancient ones came forward and stood before him. Hamilton looked disgusted. "Don't you know how to kneel?" He cried out, eliciting a awkward laugh from the crowd.

"Sir," One of them said feebly. "My arthritis..." Hamilton cut the man off with a deft slap to his face. The crowd gasped, and the man fell backwards, too weak to stop himself from falling. He didn't get back up. The other one got on his knees rather painfully.

"What is your profession?" Hamilton snarled, and the ancient one cowered.

"I'm retired... Sir...." He mumbled.

"Then I'm sure it will be no problem for you to go out into the forest and finish your retirement there." Hamilton said coolly. The old man looked up at him, utterly horrified and afraid. "You will have one day to gather your things and prepare. Come back here tomorrow at sundown." The man got to his feet shakily, and disappeared into the crowd.

The three Seventy year old men went about the same way. Nobody bothered to cry for the men as they were basically sentenced to death. The ancient man still laid on the dirt, undoubtedly dead, but nobody came to take his body away.

Dan was next. He seemed to be shaking with fear, and when he kneeled underneath Hamilton's gaze, he looked down at him with satisfaction and anger. "Look at this, the little slut is kneeling again." The crowd chuckled nervously.

"So what do you bring to the table, Daniel?" Hamilton sneered, "Obviously not much, since you couldn't take being controlled when you worked for me." The crowd looked around at each other, shuffling their feet. We're they really hearing what they just thought they heard?

"You can't even satisfy a mate, so that part of your worthiness is already invalidated. So, Daniel, what else can you do? Be somebody's eye candy when you clean their house? I might even let you come back to me, if you've grown up any." Hamilton said, and Dan spit on his shoes. Someone in the crowd whistled.

Hamilton for right up in Dan's face. "Come back tomorrow night and spend the rest of your worthless fucking life in the forest, you little slutty bitch." He snarled. Dan laughed right in his face, but Phil could spot the terror in the way his hands shook. Dan got up and joined his disappointed parents, who refused to look at him.

Now, it was Phil's turn. The crowd was completely silent, and Phil tried to quiet his crutches as best as he could. He attempted to get down on his knees in a dignified fashion, and eventually did, and pulled out the tapestry he had made to prove his worth.

"What's this?" Hamilton asked.

"I-Um... It's a tapestry that I made... With my own two hands... Sir." Phil stammered. Hamilton looked Phil up and down, making everyone feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"Looks like you have talented fingers, Lester. What else can you do?" Hamilton took the tapestry and handed it off to one of the other judges.

"I-I can play the Violin, sir. I brought the tapestry instead because I'm better at... uh, weaving. Yeah." Phil muttered, refusing to meet Hamilton's prying, perverted eyes.

"Well, it's a beautiful tapestry, Lester, but what can you do to attract a mate?" Hamilton snapped his fingers in front of Phil's eyes, to gain his attention.

"Uhh... W-What do you mean, Sir?"

Hamilton scoffed. "I mean, you're worthless to the community if you can't have children, so what about you can attract a girl?"

Phil seemed stunned for a second, before he chuckled nervously, "I'd like to believe that I have a good personality, sir..."

Hamilton kicked Phil in the gut, and Phil went down. He whispered in his ear as he groaned, "Come here tomorrow at sundown, you worthless piece of shit. And, your horse looks like a cow. You need to work on that." Hamilton stood up and walked away, addressing the crowd. "The Festival is over! All of you go home!"

Phil's family helped him up and enveloped him in a bear hug. Phil's Mum cried, as did Phil, and Nigel, and Martyn. The real world could've ended in that time, and they wouldn't have noticed.

Their own world was shattering right before their eyes, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Chapter Text

Phil noticed that Dan was alone.

He noticed and he felt bad.

He felt horrible for Dan, who had to watch Phil sob as he said his goodbyes to his family. The only person who wasn't there was Nigel, who was a mess and couldn't miss work.

Katherine cried into Phil's shoulder, soaking his shirt. "I just c-can't believe that th-this is happening. My little boy... Oh my poor, poor boy..."

Phil eventually let go of his Mother as Hamilton mysteriously showed up out of the brush bordering the chain-link fence, and demanded their attention with a haughty "A-hem," 

Phil's parents took a few steps back, but were still close enough to protect him if anything went wrong and Hamilton started doing something crazy. 

Dan was on the opposite part of the clearing, looking out into the forest, which was black and evil; trees groaning and moaning and swaying in the wind. He looked teary. Phil noticed that he had a backpack, which looked like it was full to the brim and could barely be zipped closed. Better to be prepared, Phil thought to himself.

The three old men and the ancient one were all there, huddled together, looking as feeble as ever.

"Will the Lester family please excuse us? I have important work to do and I can have you messing things up." Hamilton stood next to the gate, shooing Phil's family away with ridiculous hand motions. Katherine glared but hugged her son one last time.

"I'll miss you, Darling." She murmured, holding him at shoulder length.

"I know. I'll find you again, Mum. You don't have to miss me." Phil said sincerely, before turning away to approach Hamilton with the others, backpack in tow.

Phil eventually came to stand beside Dan, the only person he'd have from this moment on. Phil put his differences with Dan aside for now. They both knew that their childhoods were ending, so Phil reached for Dan's hand. Dan took it without a second thought. There was a silent agreement: They were going to stick together.

"So," Hamilton began. "None of you passed my test. How unfortunate. I hope you came prepared, as the wolves are hungry tonight." Dan squeezed Phil's hand, and Phil squeezed back, suppressing the urge to smile in all of what was going on around them.

Hamilton unlocked the pad-lock, and an endless forest path opened up before them. The old men hobbled in first, and then Dan and Phil, no longer holding hands so Phil could concentrate on walking. Hamilton tripped Dan as he went through, and shot daggers at his neck, which Dan ignored. Phil turned around to wave at his Mother one more time as the gate closed, obscuring her from view.

The Forest was daunting, abysmal; treacherous. The two boys felt as though they were being watched with every step they took.

Suddenly, the older men, who stood in front of them, just sat down. They sat there, emotionless, like statues.

"What are you doing? We have to keep moving if we don't want the wolves to find us!" Dan wrote on his pad of paper, showing it to them men angrily.

The most ancient of the four spoke, his voice like a chest being opened after years of sitting, unused. "You are young. Wolves only pick on the weakest and the most feeble. We don't want to go on."

"What? There's another village to the West of us! All we need to do is get there! This is-" Dan was signing at them in rapture even though they probably couldn't understand what he was saying to them.

"Dan."

"Absolutely rash and irresponsible! Just save yourselves, goddammit!"

"Dan!" Phil shook him. "Listen." Dan stopped and noticed that the forest was silent. Not a single bird singing, no crickets chirping, nothing. Dan reached into his bag and pulled out a hunting knife. Phil nodded, and pulled a can of aerosol from his bag and a lighter from his hoodie pocket. Dan looked at him strangely but didn't question it.

Dan turned in a wide circle, looking for a bear or a wolf or something that could cause the entire forest to go quiet.

A low growl came from Dan's left, and Phil whirled around and sprayed with his can of aerosol and light it with his lighter, illuminating the offending noise maker.

It was just as they feared, a wolf. It scurried away from the flamethrower, baring its teeth. It was nearly the height of Phil's hips, and so skinny, its bones seemed to jut out awkwardly. Phil almost felt sorry for it, a creature that was starving and hiding in the darkness. 

There were three more growls, circling in on them, cornering them. The old men didn't even seem affected by this change in events, and in fact looked knowingly at the two boys attempting to defend them.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Dan wrote on his pad of paper. The wolves were closing the circle, and soon they would loose their chance to escape. Phil's homemade flamethrower wouldn't last all night, and his hands were going numb from hugging his crutches to his sides for so long. "C'mon! We need to go! Now!" Dan tried to pull one of them up, but the man slapped his hand.

"My fate has been decided, but yours hasn't. Go while you still can, young one."

Dan looked broken, staring desperately at the men, who all nodded and closed their eyes. 

"Dan! They're getting closer!" Phil yelled, and purposely sprayed on of them, sending it yelping away.

Dan grabbed Phil's hand, and they ran. None of the wolves pursued them, and the circle closed around the men. Dan kept on wanting to surge ahead, but Phil was automatically a little slow because his crutches made things tough. They kept on slipping on the gravel if he tried to go too fast, and hauling his weight back and forth made his arms go numb. Dan offered to let Phil hop on his back, which Phil did. Things sped up a little, and they were making ground. There was a strange silence, just the sound of chomping and tearing from the wolves and nothing else. Dan carried Phil in darkness, tears dripping down their faces, nausea setting in at what they were really getting themselves into. 

When Dan's sides hurt so badly he couldn't run anymore did they finally stop, letting Phil fall on his ass in exhaustion. They rested besides a swift stream that shimmered in moonlight. It would have been beautiful if their eyes weren't tainted with the sight of blood.

Dan broke down, sobs racking his body. His clothes were torn by low hanging branches, arms scratched to all hell, legs covered in rashes from stinging nettles. Phil held him as they both shook, adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

"We need shelter, Dan. There's a cave right over there." Phil whispered into Dan's ear. Dan looked up and managed a smile, and then nodded. Dan helped Phil up, and steadied him as he found balance again with his crutches.

They both limped over to the place, which was somewhat hidden by the stream inlet, which raced over a water fall. When they finally got inside, they were soaked, and thankful to find that nothing lived in there already.

Dan sat on the floor and began unpacking his full sack, setting down the loads of camping equipment inside. There were two hunting knives in total, three boxes of matches, a few feet of rope, a small axe meant for cutting branches off trees, a change of clothes, a plastic bowl, a spoon with a cutting edge, a box of granola bars, and a few apples and oranges. Phil laid his things out alongside Dan's. They mostly had the same tools, except instead of an axe and hunting knives, Phil had a compass and a small handcrank radio. They both had sleeping bags, but agreed to combine them to keep warmer.

Dan left for a few minutes to collect some wood for a fire, and came back with an armfull of brittle sticks that could probably get the job done. Phil started a fire and the two boys went to bed on the cold stone floor, keeping close, but just close enough that it wasn't cuddling.

Little steps, Dan though to himself as he drifted off. Little steps.

Chapter Text

Phil Lester woke to the sound of rushing water.

It certainly wasn't a bad thing to wake up to. As Phil blinked the sleep from his eyes and grabbed his glasses, his stress melted away as he took it all in and rested for a few moments more, before turning a little to see if he could spot Dan around.

Dan stood, rinsing his hair in the waterfall that coursed over most of the entrance to their little hide-away. He was shirtless, and Phil's stomach dropped at the sight of his back.

There was a webwork of scars, some thin, some wide, some pink, some white, some still healing. They reached over his shoulders like spider silk. Phil was sure there were probably more on his torso. 

Phil laid down again, resisting the urge to vomit. He turned over again, rustling the sleeping bag sheets, so he could pretend he hadn't seen anything and had just woken. 

Phil sat up, Dan had a shirt on and was drying his hair with a spare pair of pants.

"Good Morning." Dan had the phrase written on his hand in pen, so Dan simply showed Phil his palm. Phil nodded reached for his spare clothes, having to scoot a bit because it was farther than he first thought.

"Don't look." Phil mumbled, hoping his voice wasn't shaky.

Who had hurt Dan like that? Why?

Phil got dressed as quickly as he could, careful around his twisted foot, hoping to the Gods that his leg wouldn't freeze up today and be paralyzed with cramps the second he maneuvered his pants on.

Luckily, it didn't, as Phil knew that they had lots of traveling to do today.

They had agreed the night prior to follow the trail to Lavender City, the most industrialized, futuristic place in the country. They would start over. All they had to do was get there.

Dan sat down and passed Phil a granola bar and began to write. "Did you sleep okay?" He began, carefully weighing his words on the paper, as to not let on to the fact he had woken up snuggled up against Phil.

Phil had noticed, but decided not to bring any attention to it, as the temperature had dropped to 4 Celsius the night before.

Phil smiled. "Yeah. I slept really well." He took a bite of his granola bar and watched for Dan's reaction. Dan coughed. A blush crept up his neck and the panicked look in his eyes gave his whole operation away.

Dan swallowed and wrote out a feeble, "Really?" Phil fought the urge to laugh. Usually, it would be Dan who made people flustered. Now, Phil could definitely see how much fun it was.

"Yep. How was yours?" Dan's blush intensified and he wrote out a reply that was too sloppy to read. Phil hummed.

His mind was straying to their kiss, our under the moon. How electric it was. He wanted to kiss Dan again, but then a thought crossed his mind:

You can't be gay. You've kissed girls before, so why is this popping back up now? What would Dad say?

Phil bit his lip out of guilt. He had no right to be doing this. So why did he like it?

"What're you thinking?" Dan wrote, noticing Phil's suddenly closed off posture, and the way he chewed his lip. "There's obviously something on your mind." He looked concerned.

Phil debated on whether or not to tell him about what he thought of their little moment on the wooded path. There was only one way to figure out if that kiss was real chemistry, or just two tired, horny teenage boys throwing all common sense out the window.

"If..." Dan seemed to be thinking heavily over his words, twisting a few damp curls around his finger nervously as he wrote. "If it's about that kiss, I'm sorry-" Phil put his palm on the back of Dan's hand, keeping him from writing anymore.

Now Dan looked both confused and even more flustered, his eyes darting up and down Phil's face, settling on Phil's lips and then back to his eyes.

Phil pulled his hand away, and calmly leaned in, stopping just a few inches away from Dan's face; asking permission with his eyes. Dan's hot breath fanned over his cheeks, making Phil's stomach fill with butterflies.

He had never done anything like this in his entire life. He had no idea if he was doing it wrong or not.

Dan's eyes fluttered shut, and he closed the distance; connecting their lips in a few, short, chaste kisses that didn't last long enough in Phil's opinion. Dan didn't pull away, though, but rested his forehead on Phil's, and looked into his eyes.

It was a first for Phil; seeing such a dark amber color that seemed to be speckled with gold flakes within. Dan had never been so close to what looked like the ocean.

When Dan couldn't take it anymore, he brought his lips down to Phil's and ran his fingers through his hair; the kisses getting longer and more heated with every second that went by. Phil had his arms around Dan's waist, and brought him closer.

To Dan, it felt like a breath of fresh air, finally being able to choose who he kissed - and when to pull away. Kissing Phil felt like freedom.

It was when Phil's kisses started drifting that Dan began to have problems.

After a few minutes of average-kisses-that-didn't-feel-so-average, Phil's lips left his for a few moments and began to graze Dan's chin and upper neck. Every once in a while, as Phil explored, he would bring his lips back to Dan's to keep him interested.

Phil's lips traveled lower, towards the back of his neck. Dan let out a breathy moan, so Phil nibbled at it a little. Dan dug his fingers into Phil's hair and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Phil laughed into Dan's neck and licked the hot skin there, slipping a hand up Dan's shirt, but he didn't get past his back dimples before Dan had jumped back, panting, terror in his eyes.

Phil's entire body was yelling at him in protest, but he was more concerned about Dan's well being than getting into his pants. 

"What's wrong?" Phil whispered. He had a hunch as to why Dan wouldn't want him touching his back.

Dan was still breathing heavily, probably from what Phil had been doing to him, but he looked to be calming down a little. He adjusted his eye patch and gestured that he would be going outside. Phil nodded.

He could hear his heart in his ears. Phil laid down on his sleeping bag and finished his granola bar, feeling somewhat disappointed.

It's just a phase. You're not bisexual. You're not gay. You're not queer. Just bi-curious. You'll get over it.

Thoughts like these bounced around Phil's brain until Dan came back, looking refreshed, curling up beside Phil; kind of like his own, comfortable version of an apology. Phil sighed, his body relaxing, the thoughts flitting away only to be replaced with the word, Dan.

Suddenly, Phil Lester couldn't imagine kissing anyone else, no matter how much his brain wanted to argue with him.

Dan.

Chapter Text

The packed up at around noon and left the safety of their little waterfall nook, stocking up on clean water (boiled, of course) and began their trek through the wilderness.

As Dan and Phil trampled through an over grown path, they didn't try to talk. Phil's crutches made all the noises they needed. It wasn't awkward silence, just, "Wow, it's so pretty and I just want to listen to the sound of the forest," kind of silence. Not that Dan could talk, anyways, it would've just been Phil babbling while Dan nodded.

Dan nearly considered carrying Phil on his back again to make things go faster, but Phil was heavy, and Dan wondered if it would be overstepping his boundaries as an... acquaintance? A friend? A blob of flesh? Dan was pretty sure that acquaintances didn't mutually pine for each other, or know that Dan's neck was hypersensitive to a certain kind of touch.

Dan didn't even know what they were, in relationship aspects.

Dan didn't even know Phil's last name; what his favorite color was, how many siblings he had, what his hobbies were. So he wrote it all down and just passed the notepad when the daylight waned and they found a clearing to settle down in for the night.

Phil had set up a makeshift tent out of sticks and their sleeping bags, and they sat on logs nearby and heated up a can of green beans over their fire. It was cozy enough, and Dan could nearly imagine that they were just average campers, and that they would be coming back home in a few days time.

Phil took the notepad with a fond smile and look at the page. "You want to play twenty questions?" He looked at Dan in awe, who was laughing somewhat silently to himself. "Where'd this come from?"

Dan took the paper back and scribbled some words that were too messy to read.

"You know I can't read this, right?"

Dan attempted to sober up his attitude for a second and took a deep breath, before writing some gibberish about not knowing anything about Phil and wanting to be his friend and other silly shit about geese. It was a complete brain dump and his cursive-like handwriting filled the entire page. Dan handed over the notebook.

Phil stared at the page for a few seconds, and then looked at Dan, who was trying his hardest not to crack up. 

"I still can't read this."

Dan snatched to book from Phil and wrote his first question down on the page. "Favorite color?"

Phil's face lit up a bit when he saw it. He stroked his chin as if he was actually thinking about it, before answering shortly, "Blue."

"Last name?"

Phil scoffed. "We've kissed before, I can't believe you don't know this." Dan jumped a little, the darkest blush Phil had ever seen before lighting up his face. He was already having fun. "And it's Lester, by the way."

"Favorite food?"

Phil actually paused for a second, mind lost in thought. "Caramel Macchiato." He said, finally.

Dan punched his shoulder. He wrote quickly, "That's a beverage, you twink."

Phil smiled and rubbed his arm. "Oww. Well, anyways, did you know that water isn't a beverage?" Dan stared at him in disbelief. "It's true! By definition, a beverage is 'Any drink that is not water.'" 

"That's weird, and super off topic."

"Oh, whatever, you need to learn to appreciate my fun facts."

The conversation died down. When they finished their hearty meal of lukewarm green beans, Phil said that it was his turn to ask Dan a few questions. "Alright, Dannie boy, what's your favorite color?"

"Black." Dan wrote, relishing in the fact that Phil's chin was an inch away from resting on his shoulder, and that he could feel his breath tickle his neck. Dan shivered involuntarily, cursing himself in his mind, hoping against hope that Phil hadn't noticed.

Phil laughed. "How bleak of you."

"Any more questions? I'm tired af."  Dan wrote, yawning right after, as if on queue. It was all fake, he was hoping that he could go to bed and sleep away his affection for Phil from earlier that morning. The ghost of Phil's lips on his neck and the his hands on his thighs still haunted him. He just wanted to be his friend, and work his way up from there.

"Just one." He began, and moved closer to Dan, and took his hand in a friendly and reassuring gesture. "You don't have to answer this if you don't feel comfortable. It's more just me getting something off my chest." Dan held his breath.

"Who... Hurt you...? Why are you covered in scars?"

Dan froze in place, his eyes stuck, his heart racing. Phil couldn't be asking that question. He'd done such a good job at hiding it! This couldn't be happening. Except it was. Dan could feel his breathing speeding up, becoming labored.

"Dan? Dan!" Phil reached out to steady his friend, whose mind was trailing the web of tainted memories and lost childhood back to the source.

George Hamilton. His recurrent rapist.

Dan's shaky hands picked up the pad of paper, tears dripping onto the page as he wrote the name who had ruined his life and stolen his safety and sanctity for years.

Phil gasped in horror, and pulled Dan into the best hug he'd ever had. Phil traced circles on his back and whispered calming words into his ear. When Dan's sobs were reduced to soft hiccups, he started to write his story.

"He was one of my very first clients when I started out, around fourteen or fifteen at the time. He was so rough and mean to me, constantly. He never gave me a break, but he paid well, so my parents let him keep coming back.

As time went on, he started marking me with his switchblade, chasing off my gentler clients. Every time he was finished, I was passed out cold, bleeding, and bruised. It wasn't until I started fighting back that things really got bad. He started threatening my friends, accusing them of indoctrinating me into being disobedient."

Dan took a deep, watery breath, and continued to write, Phil squeezing his right hand to keep him awake.

"He killed by best friend Chris when he once tried to assault me at school. He got away scott free on self defense. After that, my parents finally started telling them that he couldn't hire me anymore, and he sent us death threats for weeks. He found me, once, when I was walking home, and I had to be taken to hospital all the way in Lavender City." Dan's writing was drowning in his tears, and Phil pulled him close and held him tight.

They listened to the sound of the crackling fire, while Phil kept rubbing Dan's lower back. "It's okay, it's okay... I've heard all that I need to... You've got me now, okay?" 

Dan eventually pulled away and scooted back a ways, and tugged off his shirt. "Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" Phil asked, averting his eyes, even though it was just a freaking shirt. 

Dan reached for Phil's hands, and gently turned his face back towards him again. Phil gasped. The word 'slut' had been carved just below his collar bone, and lacerations dotted his belly and chest. It wasn't  nearly as bad as his back, but still pretty bad. His body seemed more scar tissue than skin.

Phil reached out to trace the words that were branded onto Dan, and he shuddered and sighed when Phil touched him. Phil yanked his hand back, but Dan took his hand in his and placed it on his chest again.

Dan closed his eyes, and for the first time ever, really let someone in, both emotionally and physically.

Phil leaned down and kissed Dan's most ugly, jagged mark. "I'm going to kiss every scar on your body until you don't want to hide anymore." He whispered into Dan's ear, eliciting a shudder from Dan, who nodded his head vigorously.

Needless to say, Phil kept his promise.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The next few months were a blur for the boys. Dan proved his abilities for craftsmanship in woodworking, something Phil didn’t know Dan capable of; likewise, Phil weaved his days away on an old loom, and played a borrowed violin when the sun set.

At night, Dan and Phil slept in cots side by side, drinking in the clear air that drifted from the entrance flap of their secluded tent that would never close, and sharing kisses that could have gone father but never did.

It was a peaceful existence, living with the nomads. However, Dan could feel the restlessness picking at his bones. 

He wanted to see the forest; wanted to drown in its green and browns. He finally saw the trees for what they really were now that he had escaped the fear of his first few days. It was nature; it was beauty, and it fed him and his friends and family; but it was also pain, when it took away the foolish men to feed the other creatures that called it home.

Dan blinked the sleep from his eyes. He had been having broken, somewhat unfulfilled rest for days now. Phil snored very gently beside him, his arm loosely wrapped around Dan’s middle. He must have fallen asleep like that.

Dan turned over carefully and looked at his peaceful face. There was some stubble beginning to show, and his black hair dye had been washing away over the weeks they had spent away from modern society, if one could called Manchester ‘modern’. His ginger roots were bright; his quiff long gone. He had a very light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and hands, from spending all day in the market square.

Dan gently kissed the tip of Phil’s nose. He stirred in his sleep but didn’t wake. It was no question that their bond had gone from complete strangers with some attraction to lovers in a matter of months. Three months, to be exact.

Dan carefully moved Phil’s arm and sat up silently. The entrance flap to their little hut quivered in the incoming breeze, and Dan longed to leave and take a walk. He stayed there for a second, contemplating, and then made up his mind.

“Dan...?”

Dan turned a little to look at Phil, who was looking at him with his eyes screwed up. Dan smiled and kissed his cheek, as a reassurance, and stood up to leave. Dan signed, I'm taking a walk, and Phil nodded, and rolled over, pulling their blanket tightly around him.

Dan smiled. Phil was picking up BSL fairly quickly, and Dan could easily say some simple phrases to him without having to write it all down.

Dan pulled the flap aside and set down the street, feeling the cool night air on his bare chest. Everything was calm, the full moon high up in the sky, and Dan took the time to point out some constellations to himself and he walked.

No one occupied the shoddily constructed trade stalls, and the dirt look undisturbed under his sure feet. A little ways ahead, they road narrowed and split into two separate paths, the one on the left leading towards the forest, the one on the right leading towards the where most of the villagers lived.

Dan turned left, and trees soon enveloped him. The sound of swaying trees and crickets sang to his ears. He pulled an army knife from his pocket and picked up a good sized stick and began tapering its ends as he walked.

Eventually, he came across a peaceful pond that rippled as silvery fish swam under its surface. He sat by the edge, and began carving intricate swirls and curly cues into the wood of his now cleanly shaven stick. When he came back, he would head over to the workshop and sand it until it was smooth and finished. Then he would gift it to Phil. What purpose it would serve, he didn’t know. It did look pretty, however.

But for now, he was just going to enjoy the calm.

When the sun pulled itself above the horizon, Dan stood and began to leave, but froze when he heard heavy crashing in the nearby undergrowth. His stomach sank, and he could hear his heart pumping in his ears.

Then, it emerged, and Dan would have yelled if he could’ve. The creature was massive and hulking, its muzzle made of black skin the texture of leather, shaggy brown fur nearly hiding beady black eyes.

It was a Bear. A massive, terrifying, deadly bear. Dan was screwed.

The Bear lumbered forward, claws the size of daggers dragging at the grass and pulling out clods of it with every step. Dan backed up as far as he could, until he was thigh deep in water. He could feel his left foot sink into empty space. He was out of room.

The massive creature charged, slowed somewhat by the water, but still quickly enough to tear Dan to pieces. Dan shrieked. And then something happened.

The next thing Dan knew, he was on the shore, soaked from head to toe, the Bear on its side nearby. The branch he had been carving all morning was lodged in its throat, his lifeblood spilling onto the sand with every heartbeat. Its chest heaved, and mangled groans escaped its throat. 

Dan recoiled, crawling away. He coughed and cried. What had he done? He didn’t even know. There was bits and pieces missing. He remembered screaming, his vocal chords boiling in his throat. They still hurt. His ears rang.

Finally, after an agonizingly long while, the behemoth stilled. The Bear had died. And Dan had killed it.

Dan ran to the village as fast as his legs would carry him. He found Soairse in the village square, posting up notices. He tapped her shoulder, and she turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Dan? What is it? Why are you wet?” She asked, and Dan groaned in frustration and motioned for her to follow him, and without looking to see if she was behind him, ran off again, down that forest path to the lake.

When he came to that same spot with the Bear, everything was just as he had left it; the blood pooled around its dead body, the glassiness of its eyes. Soairse was right behind him, panting. “Damn, Howell, you sure are fast.” She gazed around, looking confused, until she saw it.

“Whoa... Did... did you do this?” She seemed in awe, but there was also that tint of fear, something Dan only noticed because he had spent so long listening to others while he had no voice to interrupt.

He nodded. She furrowed her brow, and then smiled. “Good work. Maybe I should look into sending you to Oakley’s.” She began to leave and Dan started to follow before she raised a finger. “Nuh uh, Mr. You’re staying here to keep this buddy,” She patted the carcass, “Safe.”

Dan stayed behind, feeling on the verge of vomiting. He didn’t like the fact that he had just killed something with abilities he hadn’t even known he had; and then had been patronized for it. He had blood on his hands, and he had a feeling that there would much, much more.

That afternoon, there was a huge feast. Everyone cooked something, the food was great, and Dan got quiet a few pats on the back. Bear was nearly an impossible kill in the first place, and the fact that Dan had slaughtered one with his own bare strength and a sharp stick put him on the map.

That afternoon, everyone wanted a piece of Dan and his Bear.

Phil was distant, trapped in his own mind more than usual; chewing his food mindlessly as easy talk and familiar faces chorused around him.

Dan stared down the table, trying to find a familiar face, when someone tapped his shoulder. Dan jumped and turned to see who it was.

“Hi! You’re Dan, right?” The man who spoke was short and squat; muscles rippling under his skin and the thin material of his t-shirt. He had a quiff, similar to Phil’s normal style. Dan made a mental note to ask where he got his product from.

Dan nodded. “Good. I’m Tyler Oakley, but you can just call me Tyler. I’ve been hearing around about how you killed today’s dinner. I’d like to hear it from you.” Tyler began, pulling out a nearby chair and sitting without being invited. Dan felt a little wary, and turned to Phil, who seemed unfazed by this sudden stranger.

Phil spoke for Dan when a whole two seconds of silence went by. “He took a walk this morning and nearly got mauled by a Bear, and somehow killed it in some freak turn of events.” Phil didn’t look up from his plate, and instead invested himself with stabbing his trifle.

Tyler looked a little off put, and began to ramble on about some trivial things before he finally got to the point of what he wanted to say. “Anyways, I’d like to recruit you for our villages militia. It’s small, but it pays fairly well, and you’ll have your own housing. You can take your boyfriend along too, if you want.”

Phil shoved his chair back, grabbed his crutches, and began to angrily walk away; clearly fuming. Dan tried to motion that he needed to follow him, and Tyler nodded.

Dan found him back at their tent, sitting on his cot, crutches thrown to the floor.

“What was that?” Phil demanded right away. Dan just stood there, his brain going over different options and then backtracking and going down separate paths that all led to dead ends.

“Do you want to know something, Dan? I honestly don’t know how much I mean to you. I wonder if you realize that we have something here, between us. You just keep denying it. You pretend it doesn’t exist.” Phil looked up now. It was too dark to make out much of his face, but Dan could see the tears brimming at the edges of his eyes. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“You know what I did after I heard that you had killed a Bear? I died a little inside. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you couldn’t have. You would be dead. I wouldn’t have you anymore. I can’t even imagine living without you, and I’ve hardly known you for more than a few months. Did that ever occur to you? That someone might miss you, love you, even?”

Dan was at a loss. He sat down beside Phil, and stroked his cheek. His own eyes were beginning to tingle, and it finally clicked in his tiny rat brain. Someone actually loved him. Someone would really, absolutely miss him if he died.

But then that nagging voice returned. That same ugly, broken part of Dan that surfaced when he needed it the least.

Phil noticed the doubt in his face. Phil’s gaze hardened. “Oh.” He hissed. He pushed Dan’s hand away. “So that’s how you feel.” He reached for his crutches and began to get up when Dan grabbed his wrist. Dan panicked, and kissed Phil when he knew he shouldn’t have.

For a split second, Phil seemed to be melting. But then he was shoving Dan away. Then he was yelling.

“Why do you always do this?! Why can’t I just tell you what’s bothering me without something like this happening? Is this all I am to you? A pretty face? I-I can’t... I can’t do this anymore...”

Then Phil grabbed his things and left, and Dan cried bitter, bitter tears. He made up his mind.

He found Tyler standing with a group of strangers, talking leisurely. Dan gave him the note that said all it needed to, and gave it to him. Tyler nodded, and simply said, “Meet me at the Iron forge tomorrow evening.” Before continuing his conversation.

That night, as Dan fell asleep, his mind fretted over what had happened. Maybe someday he would win Him back.

Dan hoped it wasn’t too late.

Chapter Text

Daniel Howell was a terrifying man. A silent man of stature and of strength; a warrior in the militia with an eyepatch said to have been gained in a battle. It was ill advised to get on his bad side.

At least, that was what people said.

In reality, it wasn’t hard to see that Dan was a 6’3” softy with a heart of gold. People gossiped all throughout the village as to why he didn’t yet have a wife or something of the like. To those who knew him, the answer was obvious.

The answer was Phillip Lester, the owner of a nearby clothing shop, and local medic/musician.

Of course, there were rumors. There were always rumors in a village that small, but the two men who had shown up mysteriously a year and a half prior were always a hot topic.

Phil didn’t mind because it brought people to his shop, but it was a problem for Dan whenever he was seen within thirty feet of Phil, because the whispers would start about how Dan; the burly, fearless soldier with an eyepatch, had the hots for Phil; the calm and tried seamstress with crutches who owned a shop down the street.

Dan always shut the rumors down quickly because... well, because they were true. Phil seemed oblivious to them, but Dan could see it in his eyes that he knew; always with raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin. What had gotten into him, Dan didn’t know.

Frankly, it pissed him off.

Dan was over Phil. Then why had he not had a single lover since they split, when Phil had had at least three?

Maybe it was because it felt like cheating, even though Dan knew it wasn’t. Either way, nobody wanted ‘scary Dan’, the man who had killed a Bear with his own brute strength.

So when he needed a new pair of trousers, and the only place that sold the kind he liked was Phil’s, he couldn’t stall the embarrassment as he walked in with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

A bell jingled as he stepped inside, and the place reminded Dan of Phil in ways he couldn’t explain. It was just so cozy, bright, and just generally Him. A bored employee lazed around the cash register, reading a book. There was no one else around, so Dan looked for his pants quickly, grabbed a black pair, and brought it to the register.

The employee’s eyes widened. “One second!” She squeaked and ran through a side door that presumably lead towards the back. Dan heard bits and pieces of a rushed conversation with a familiar voice, before the female employee and someone emerged.

Dan’s breath hitched before he narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

“Can I just buy my pants and leave?” Dan demanded in bsl, resulting in an eye roll from Phil and a confused look from the employee.

“Sure,” Phil commented, pulling a tag off the waistband. “By the way, if they don’t fit, you can always just come back and get them re-hemmed, free of charge.” Phil’s hand brushed Dan’s, and Dan blushed furiously.

He nodded and pulled a wallet from his pocket and set the amount on the table, and then promptly shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking.

“Would you like a bag?” Phil asked, and upon Dan’s nod wrote something on the receipt before stuffing it and the pants in a small plastic bag.

Dan hesitated, signing a Thank you at Phil before picking up the bag with a confused glance at the employee, who looked like she was watching a telenovela. 

Dan huffed and left, then dug through the bag for the receipt, where he was sure that something was written.

Meet me @ The new Italian restaurant, 17:00

Xoxo, P

There was no way. No way in hell that after over a year of silence, after he had done what he’d done, that Phil wanted to get in touch again. It made no sense.

But maybe it didn’t need to make sense.

Chapter Text