Chapter Text
Dan brushed his hair down in front of his face, contemplating (for the eighteenth time that morning) whether he should just take the plunge and dye it black. He already wore black all the time, it wasn't like it would be a huge difference. Drawing his hands from his tangled hair, he rehashed the year-long argument.
He could finally control something about himself, change a part of himself to prove that he could. That was good.
But something innate in him pulled him to stay natural, as though he would only draw attention to himself if he changed. People would notice.
That was less good.
He tried so hard to hide, keep his head down and his mouth shut. He found that it often kept him from meeting any kind of conflict with the inane dickheads of his school.
He may have been quiet and dismissive, but even he could admit that he was argumentative as hell. Knowing he could ream anyone dumb enough to step up to him offered the boy no comfort, as he could still get his ass kicked if they decided to get physical. His stature didn't reflect his aggressive streak, as he was lean and long-limbed, and (as everyone kept reminding him) tall.
Oh yeah, he looked like a goddamn noodle.
At least he didn't have short hair anymore. The months that the summer had provided had ended up in the nice, shaggy style he preferred. Now his fringe could hang in his face and provide a thick barrier between him and the world. A world that he would have to face very soon.
Ugh.
The ride to school was quiet as he hurriedly finished his English homework from the passenger seat. He had to keep his average in order to keep his mother off of his back, but his Xbox had been calling to him the night before. To be honest, it was much more interesting than whatever he was working on now.
"-and I just want you to be more involved."
Oh god, his mom had been talking to him.
"Yeah, I understand." He guessed in his answer, figuring it was his best bet to just agree with her.
"Maybe you could find some friends? Your studies look good, and it might be fun to hang out with someone."
His mother lecturing him about finding friends? This was a new low.
"Mom, all the kids at school are already friends. I can't just find a friend group."
She nodded quietly.
"Everyone there sucks anyway."
"Daniel!" She eyed him warningly.
"Sorry. Stinks." He corrected himself. Of course, he would mutter obscene things to himself in the halls, but it was nice to let her think she had some control over him.
He had never had the urge to rebel against her, actually. She always treated him well, and he had privileges available that he didn't even use because he never misbehaved.
Then again, he never misbehaved because he never did anything.
The car rolled to a stop outside of the school as Dan crammed the last-nights homework into his bag.
"I love you, sweetheart. Have a good day."
"You too, Deb." He smiled as she pulled him in to kiss him on the cheek. Because fuck it, he didn't have friends anyway and his mother wanted to tell him she loves him.
The wind cut through his hoodie as he walked into the school. At least it hid his earbuds well. Honestly, he could do that with his hair alone, but the rumor was true: being skinny was some chilly business. Also, the hoodie covered the wrinkly shirt underneath it. He hadn't bothered to even pick out a clean one-- if there were any left in his disaster zone of a room. What was the point? If he was going about his day correctly, then no one should be noticing him anyway. A wrinkly shirt would make him Stand Out.
He didn't want that.
He didn't even want the wild, "live-like-you're-dying-and-peak-like-you-were" high school experience. He just wanted to bide his time so he could have the money to party later on.
It seemed that the shrieking freshmen in the hallways felt drastically different, preparing for whatever "rager" was occurring the next night. "Rager" in quotes because it usually just ended up in awkward teenagers sneaking tiny bits of alcohol, turned down music, and fake-drunk teenage boys trying to reach up younger girl's shirts. All occurring in a fully-lit house, often with the parents being upstairs in their rooms, coming down to dispel any problematic behavior.
Gross.
So Dan was keeping to himself, trying to avoid any shoulder contact with everyone in the hallways.
Just get to class.
Get to class, wait until you can get home, play games until four a.m..
That was his plan.
Until a solid force slammed into his right side.
He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind straight out of his lungs. His vision was filled with stars for a moment, and he found himself staring at the cieling. The pattern of soft speckled tiles was interrupted by a kind, roundish face.
"I'm so sorry!"
Dan was silent and confused as a warm hand filled his. He was being... pulled back up? He was standing. Books were being shoved into his hands, and apologies insisted.
"Sorry, sorry! I wasn't looking!" His voice got higher with every word.
"It's... fine," Dan muttered, wide-eyed. The boy who knocked him over seemed genuinely sorry, not sarcastic or patronizing.
He almost looked scared. Maybe his all-black ensemble and wild hair was more intimidating than he thought.
"Really, it's not a problem." He tried to assure him.
The guy was still kneeling in front of him, picking up his papers. Dan knelt next to him, gathering up papers emblazoned with scrawled words in all capital letters.
ARIN HANSON.
Arin Hanson. Dan filed that away for another time.
"I'm so fat and clumsy, this happens all the time."
He wasn't fat. Dan knew that for sure.
He didn't say it out loud, though.
Arin didn't look as though he was waiting for him to, either.
Dan pushed as many papers as he could together and handed them to Arin.
"Thanks. Sorry again."
"Don't be." Dan awkwardly smiled. "I'll see you later, okay? Gotta.... get to class." He pointed behind him, trying not to seem like he was escaping the conversation. He was, but he didn't want to sound like it.
"Sure. Bye, man!" Arin called loudly through the hallway as Dan walked away, causing him to cringe inwardly.
Dipping his head down, he pushed his earbuds back in and headed towards English. For some reason, Dan was blushing crazily. He didn't understand why he hadn't just gotten up and walked away, why he had been stunned into speaking. Why was it that he hoped Arin was watching him leave, when he spent so much time trying to avoid exactly that?
Why was Arin different?
The bell rang, and Dan attempted to put it from his mind.
Now he had a new goal to add to the list.
Just get to class.
Get to class, wait until you can get home, play games until four a.m..
Don't think about Arin Hanson.
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He turned in the homework and tuned out his teacher at the beginning of class. All he wanted to do was sit and think.
Unfortunately, all of his thoughts traveled back to the boy in the hallway.
Arin Hanson.
He must have been new. He had to have been.
Dan would have remembered a face like that.
Even though he kept his hood down and his eyes the same, he still would have noticed Arin walking around. Who wouldn't? Bright eyes, long hair, and (as Dan valiantly tried not to notice) awesome butt. Yes, Dan took notice to a person like Arin. Even though the hot-pink shirt he was wearing that had "Baby Girl" printed across it in blue cursive was minutely frightening. Arin radiated this light, even when he was self-deprecating, even when apologetic, that made Dan want to stand near him. Stand under the light as a small child does with a Christmas tree, admiring the colors and way it bounces off of the walls. Dan felt an almost immeadiate attachment to the boy, like an ornery magnet that just passed by a really good-looking fridge. Or rather, the fridge slammed into the magnet forcefully, and the magnet stammered and blushed until the fridge smiled.
Why was this such a big deal to him?
He tried to slip back into his little box, the one he put his mind in that closed his mind to everyone around him.
He couldn't. He kept mentally slipping out, grasping to the idea of the boy as though he were a fish trying to escape a net by swimming down. His little box was in tatters, and there was one boy to blame.
A boy named Arin Hanson.