Chapter Text
PART I: oxytocin.
DAN
7th september, 7:08 AM
'You know what they say, fifteenth time lucky,' I murmur, watching the shadows dance across the deserted road. I pick at my tie, an all-too-familiar mixture of dread and disgust creeping into my mind yet again. I lean against the derelict bus station, waiting for the coach to arrive, taking me to a new school. Not that new, though. Sure, maybe the hallowed halls may look a little cleaner or be painted a different colour, but all schools are fundamentally the same. Same types of teachers, always yelling about homework and tests. Same students, the insufferable jocks, pretentious over-achievers, the painfully unaware hordes of people being unique in the same way. All of them doomed to follow a path plodded down by millions of people before them, while thinking it was their own.
How sad it would be, being a regular person. Almost as bad as being destined to shadow them, having friends almost but not quite, loving almost but not quite, feeling almost but not quite, doomed to a half-life behind the walls you build for yourself. But, shadowing is what I do best.
The bus pulls up, and I climb on, searching for an empty seat. Somewhere where I'd look completely unimportant, inconsequential. A face and a place nobody would be remember.
'Oi, faggot!'
Oh crap.
My better judgement told me to keep walking and ignore the bleached blonde jock torture the poor kid. My better judgement told me to ignore feelings for safety. My better judgement told me to sit somewhere else and keep my head down.
And for the first time in my life, I told my better judgement to shut the hell up.
I stop short in front of a torn apart bus seat, acting oblivious to the weedy preps making crude jokes about the boy next to me, and I sit down.
Silence. Everyone stares at me like I made out the black mop next to me, rather than just sit down, and I can't help but relish in their amazement. Might as well give them a show, right?
'Hi. I'm Dan,' I say, smirking. A small voice from the back of my head pipes up, parroting off what mum told me this morning, while she was straightening my tie.
We're staying here now, till you turn 18. So maybe lay off on the stoic solitude act, okay Dan?
I smother that voice. This is just for fun. I'm not going to get attached to this kid. I don't think I can really get attached to anything anymore, and I'm not putting anyone through it. Maybe he could show me around, though.
A quiet voice drips through the air, auditory caramel. 'I'm Phil, Phil Lester. It's nice to meet you, Dan.' He looks up, and my breath hitches slightly. He has freshly fallen snow for skin, cherry-blossom lips, and statuesque cheekbones. But his eyes. His eyes are every single romantic cliche wrapped into one. They're as blue as the North Sea in spring-time, and full of emotion. His eyes are teeming with emotion and unbridled optimism, and childlike wonder. Part of me is envious of him for this. God knows I need more of that. I need to be careful around Phil Lester.
'So, what are you listening to? I left my iPod at home,' I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, and avoiding eye contact. Looking at him is like shooting up, and i can't afford an addiction.
'Erm, Fall Out Boy. Do you want a headphone?'
'Yeah, thanks.' The rest of the bus journey passes in utter silence and stolen glances, and i can't help but think, what if? But I know that the answer isn't good enough. So when we get off the bus, and he shows me around, I stare at my shoes. When he tries to make conversation, I give monosyllabic answers. When he eventually gets tired of me, and leaves, I mumble a thanks and make it my mission to avoid him. In the first few days, i can feel him staring at me, and the guilt is almost overwhelming. That is, until he stops, (he's grown tired of me, like they always do). As the weeks pass, and I'm sure he's forgotten about me, I still find my eyes lingering on his face.
And i don't know what to do.