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For Dan Howell, a typical Friday night consisted of a warm blanket, a warmer laptop, and a cup of tea. He’d just sat down with his steaming Hello Kitty mug and began idly browsing through Netflix, content with the cozy atmosphere of his tiny bedroom when suddenly, he heard a deafening crash followed by the muffled sound of someone cursing.
Dan froze, a sick and terrified feeling washing through him as he slowly closed the lid of his laptop, listening. The clambering noises continued and he heard a creak that signified a window being opened. His window.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” his brain was chanting on repeat. Shaking hands probed underneath his bed, emerging with a cheap aluminum baseball bat he’d prayed he’d never have to use. As he cracked open his door and crept into the living room, he cursed himself internally for living alone instead of with a roommate. Preferably a strong, brave, ass-kicking roommate.
As he tiptoed through his tiny kitchen his breathing quickened, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his extra long T-shirt. Dan knew he would hardly stand a chance against any attacker, with his scrawny physique and his lowly height of 5 foot 5, but perhaps sheer adrenaline combined with dumb luck would compensate. As he burst into the living room, metal baseball bat a-blazing, he decided, probably not.
Dan was face to face with a dark, menacing figure, illuminated only by the gentle glow of moonlight from outside his window. He was waving his baseball bat wildly and began to yell. Hopefully if the trespasser tried to murder him, the neighbours would hear him screaming.
“BACK THE FUCK UP!” He screeched, his trembling fingers gripping the slick aluminum even tighter. The trespasser froze in his position at the window while Dan fumbled for the lightswitch. “TAKE ONE MORE STEP AND I’LL BASH YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN I SWEAR TO GOD. I AM NOT AFRAID TO USE THIS THING!” He hollered again. All lies, but lies he hoped the mysterious criminal would believe. His sweaty hands finally managed to flip the switch, flicking on the lights and oh shit.
If anything, the trespasser looked more terrifying in the light. He was massive, he had to be at least 6 foot, probably taller. Either way, combined with his lean muscles and Dan’s lack thereof, the stranger was probably extremely capable of tossing him around like a ragdoll. He was in dark skinny jeans and a leather jacket with the hood up, and Dan couldn’t tell if all the black was due to his apparent punk exterior, or because he was dressed for robbing people blind in the dead of night. Both? Probably both. Dan tried not to stereotype people based on what they wore. After all, most people judged him for his pastel jumpers and his liking for flower crowns, but when a strange man with a giant dragon tattoo on his neck and snakebites bursts into your flat at one in the morning, you can’t help but assume his intentions are malicious.
The man grimaced, holding a hand up to his face and holy shit was that blood? Holy shit that was definitely blood on his face. “Please, I know how bad this looks,” his voice was pleading, and surprisingly soft. “Please just let me explain-”
“I don’t have to listen to shit.” Dan tried to speak in a level voice, but a hint of a tremor crept along the edges of his words. “I’m calling the police,” he snapped.
“No, wait!” The man cried, holding out his arm and taking a step forwards before he saw the wild, manic gleam in Dan’s eye and moved back to the wall. Dan stared him down, tensed and ready to swing as the man breathed a heavy sigh, gingerly pulling back the black hood shielding his face.
The pale slope of his jaw was swollen and littered with blooming tinges of purple. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, cutting a path down his chin, and most of his face was covered in other random scrapes and bumps. Most shocking of all, however, were his eyes, a light and glittering blue color. Or Dan guessed he could say eye, singular, as the left one was starting to swell shut. To make matters worse, Dan could tell that underneath the swollen and battered visage was a seemingly really attractive stranger. It was one thing to get all your shit stolen by a stereotypical brutish thug, but another when it was a sexy, blue-eyed punk boy.
“Holy shit,” Dan took a sharp intake of breath and lowered his bat slightly as he surveyed the damage. “What happened to your face?” He asked before he could stop himself.
The blue-eyed boy let out a small laugh that quickly twisted into a painful grimace. “I was walking home, and a couple of fucking pricks tried to jump me. I don’t know if it was for money or if they just didn’t like the way I looked, but they basically beat the shit out of me until I was able to fight back and get away.” He held up his hands to reveal the bruises forming across his knuckles, and Dan noticed that they were shaking a bit. “I sprinted away as fast as I could but they started to follow me, so I turned the corner and climbed up the nearest fire escape I saw, and I guess, I wound up here…” He gestured awkwardly to Dan’s little flat and the open window.
Dan felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, after all, he’d really gotten his ass handed to him, but he was still skeptical. “You could be a burglar, or an axe murderer…” he said weakly, shifting side to side with uncertainty. “For all I know you could be a serial killer who kills their victims and then wears them as a skin suit.”
“Do I look like a burglar or an axe murderer?” The man smirked at him. “Or God forbid someone who wears skin suits?”
Dan looked at the man, staring back at him with his soft blue eyes. He looked tired, but his eyes were still bright and hinted at some kind of warmness underneath.
“I’ll get you an ice pack…” he said hesitantly, “But don’t move from that spot, okay?”
The man breathed a sigh of relief and slid down against the wall onto the floor. He smiled weakly at Dan and drew two lines over his chest. Cross my heart.
This is insane, this is insane, this is insane, the rational part of Dan’s brain was chanting as he made his way into the kitchen. What kind of idiot lets a total stranger BREAK INTO HIS FLAT AND NOT CALL THE POLICE. He jerked open the freezer door and rummaged around for an ice pack, coming up empty-handed and opting for two bags of frozen peas instead. Why was he doing this? Rational people would have dialed 999 long ago, but despite the man’s intimidating punk aesthetic, there was something oddly… sweet about him.
Dan scoffed at himself, shoving the freezer door shut and making his way to the medicine cabinet. Your funeral, Howell, he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a few supplies and headed back to the living room.
When he got there, the boy was slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Is he asleep on my carpet? What if he DIED while I was getting frozen peas? OH GOD SHOULD I HAVE DRIVEN HIM TO A&E? He hoped to God not. Unsure of what to do, Dan leaned in closer and prodded him with his baseball bat. To his relief, the man cracked an eye open at him, his good one at least. It seemed the other had completely swollen shut.
“Oh good you’re not dead,” Dan chimed, breathing a sigh of relief. He then gestured awkwardly to the bags of peas in his hand. “Sorry I didn’t have any real ice packs but I brought you some peas….”
“Peas are fine!” He said, waving Dan over to sit next to him. Dan paused for a moment, unsure of how to best help the injured boy. Was he supposed to just hand him the peas? Let him sort himself out? He scanned over the boy, who, now that the adrenaline had likely worn off, seemed utterly exhausted. Before he knew it, he was cupping the boy’s chin in his hand before gently pressing a bag of icy peas against his face.
“Ah! That’s cold!” He’d almost recoiled at the touch and Dan let out a light, slightly nervous laugh. “Well yeah, dummy. What did you expect?”
No response. Just a slight shrug and a half smile. The boy took the other bag of peas in his hand and lifted up his shirt slightly. Dan caught a glimpse of the smooth, toned expanse of his chest before he placed the frozen peas on his ribcage, also patterned with bruises. Shit. The more Dan looked up and down the punk boy with his blue fringe and piercings and oh my God was that a Poké Ball tattoo? he had to admit he was kind of gorgeous.
“So… what’s your name?” Dan asked, trying to shake his mind from the weird, surely one-sided sexual tension he was feeling, and adjusted the ice pack.
“Phil, actually,” he said, giving Dan a cheeky grin.
“Not very fitting for such a punk guy,” said Dan, taking off the ice pack and ripping open a pad of rubbing alcohol.
“Why so?”
“I don’t know, it’s just I’d expect your name to be a little more- watch out this might sting a bit- hardcore you know?”
“Hardcore? Well- AH!” Phil jumped when the rubbing alcohol came in contact with the cut on his forehead and winced at the pain.
Dan just smirked. “You know what? I change my mind, Phil is actually quite fitting.” He paused a moment, wiping away the little spots of dried blood before adding, “My name is Dan.”
After a while spent cleaning up Phil’s face, and chatting randomly, Dan had deduced that Phil was not nearly as terrifying as he’d once thought. In fact, he was quite charming, silly, and kind of a nerd.
“I like your tattoos,” Dan said, prodding towards the round little Pokéball along Phil’s wrist, before unpeeling a plaster to apply to his forehead. “Especially that one.”
“Thanks,” Phil gave him a warm smile. “It was actually my first, you know. Got it when I was sixteen.”
“I always wanted a tattoo or a cool piercing,” Dan sighed wistfully. “The most I’ve ever done was get my ears pierced.” He pulled back a few strands of wavy brown hair and revealed two circular black discs in his ears.
Phil paused a moment, his gaze sweeping Dan’s entire body, making him blush. “I think you’d look really good with a nose ring or something,” he said, tapping Dan lightly on the nose. “Actually-” he paused a moment, moving his fingers from Dan’s nose to rest gently against his lips. “I change my mind. A lip ring is definitely for you.”
Dan swallowed hard and sat frozen in place. He looked at Phil, feeling the soft pressure of his touch against his lips and tried to resist the urge to kiss his fingers, but before he knew it, Phil had dropped his fingers and Dan jerked back into reality, quickly sticking the last plaster to Phil’s chin. “There,” he said, “All finished.”
He leaned back to admire his work and suppressed a snicker. Originally looking dark and threatening in his all black, punk ensemble, Phil was now decorated with a series of pink Hello Kitty plasters.
“Sorry, Hello Kitty was all I had,” Dan said. He tried to sound sincere but couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped his lips.
“Sure, sure,” he smirked, and then it was quiet. They sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.
“I should definitely apologize,” said Phil, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Again, you know.” He took a deep breath before he began. “You didn’t have to do this, any of this. Letting me stay, bandaging me up. Most people would have called the cops-”
“Most rational people,” Dan interjected, making Phil laugh.
“Yeah, well, I just want you to know how grateful I am, really. You kind of saved my ass and were just really nice and sweet and fun to talk to and I know I’m rambling but I want to make it up to you.” He looked so cute, unable to meet Dan’s gaze and running a hand through his messy, dark blue hair. “For real, anything you want, I’ll pay you back.”
What the hell, nothing ventured nothing gained. “A phone number? Maybe?” He asked, glancing up to see Phil’s look of shock transform into a giant grin.
“A phone number? Yeah, sure, of course!” He was scrambling in his pocket for a pen and a piece of paper, scrawling down a few numbers down before handing it over to Dan with a smile.
He sat up a bit from his position on the floor, groaning as Dan took his hands and helped haul him to his feet. They stood there, fingers clasped together, and Dan noticed how Phil’s larger hands almost completely engulfed his own. After a few moments, Dan reluctantly lead him to the front door. Phil’s smile wavered for a moment, and Dan wondered if he had detected a flicker of disappointment across his face.
“You don’t have to take the window this time,” he smirked, sliding open the deadbolts and wrenching open the heavy wooden door.
“This won’t be the last time I see you, right?” Phil said hesitantly, stepping out into the chilly stairwell air. “I mean I know it’s weird and if I totally misread this please just tell me to fuck off but…” He trailed off, uncertain of how to finish his sentence. “You’re kind of cute and I like hanging out with you,” he mumbled.
Dan giggled, hiding his grin behind his hands. “I liked hanging out with you, too,” he admitted. An understatement, as “I liked fantasizing about kissing your snakebites” would be more accurate, but he decided not to mention that. Hopefully he’d have time for that later. “Besides, I need to get you back for nearly giving me a heart attack when you burst in,” he added teasingly.
“True,” Phil said sheepishly, but smiling a bit brighter than he was before. “So I definitely see you again?” he asked excitedly.
Dan traced a finger over his chest, forming a little “X” shape. Cross my heart.