prompt: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.

a/n: oh my gOD this chapter is so long wtf i’m so sorry so much happens it takes quite a dark turn towards the end and it gets very very emo i really wasn’t kidding when i said shit happens in vienna

tw; brief mentions of suicide attempts, self-harm & smoking

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

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Eighteen

Dan opens his eyes to the mid-morning sun struggling through the slightly parted curtains, warming the room with its golden, mid-July glow. He studies the room with a sleepy squint, and a couple of seconds of recollection is all he needs to realise that no, this isn’t a dream and Phil is still fast asleep beside him, his hair unruly and his breathing steady. He smiles softly, taking a moment to study his sleeping expression, contrasting his usual, carefully composed, thoughtful expression Dan so often sees him with. Without composure, it’s so different, so vulnerable, and it’s laughable because he’d almost say it’s innocent.

He sighs through his nose, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when the last time he fell asleep with someone who was still actually there when he woke up, was. True, they are on a supposedly ‘educational’ trip as opposed to back home in London, but even still; if Ryan tried a sly morning escape in Vienna, it wouldn’t exactly surprise him.

It isn’t long before his black-haired partner rolls over, inhaling deeply and consuming himself in a stretch before burying himself back into the duvet and opening his eyes, blinking sleepily at Dan.

Dan gives him a lazy half-smile. “Morning.”

Phil frowns, hesitating quietly before sighing, shutting his eyes again. “What’s the time?” His voice is scratchy and thin with sleep, creating another contrast to the daytime smoothness Dan’s used to. He reckons it’s probably the smoking as well as the morning fatigue, though, and he screws up his face when the small cardboard Marlboro pack sticking out of his tatty rucksack catches his eye.

“Er- I don’t know, something-past-eight, I think.” Dan cracks his back as he stretches, and Phil winces. He sits up, still frowning at the cigarette packet. “You’re not planning on doing that, are you?”

“What?” Phil frowns, sitting up and flicking his fringe out of his eye. “Having a rucksack? Look, I know it’s not exactly new anymore, but-”

“Not the rucksack, you pillock.” Dan shuts his eyes. “In the rucksack?”
“Wh- oh, that.” Phil smirks lazily, leaning over the bed and reaching for it, his pyjama shirt rucking up slightly in the process and exposing the paper-white skin of his torso. He drags the pack out, sitting back on the bed and flicking the card lid open. He whips one out, playing with it in some kind of admiration that Dan’s disgusted by.

“Don’t even think about it.” Dan whips it straight out of his fingers and tucks it under his pillow out of his reach. “We’d be in enough trouble already if they found out about the wine.”

“But they’re not going to find out, are they?” Phil’s eyes glitter, and he half-grins, leaning over Dan and retrieving his cigarette, sliding it back into the pack and dropping it on the floor in the approximate direction of wherever his open rucksack is. He sighs, flopping back down onto his pillow and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re impossible.” Dan says, although Phil catches the hint of fondness in his voice that Dan tries to mask with an eye-roll. “Do you think we could make it through these two weeks without getting arrested?”

“Does getti-”

“Yes, that includes getting thrown out of the hotel.” Dan shuts his eyes before Phil can finish. “Plus getting into fights, annoying the neighbours, running off-”

“Okay, okay; message received.” Phil says mockingly, rolling his eyes.

“And understood?” Dan raises his eyebrows, playing along.

Phil frowns, snapping out of the joke. “What am I; five?”

“And understood?” Dan emphasises determinedly.

Phil sighs. “And understood.”

“Good.” Dan nudges him. “Come on, we were meant to be down for breakfast ten minutes ago.”

Phil hesitates. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, then?”

Dan gulps, deciding against repeating the confessions of his mind going something along the lines of because you looked too fucking cute to disturb you twat what the fuck honestly even when you’re asleep you still manage to annoy me, and shrugs instead. “Because I only woke up about three seconds before you did.”

The corners of Phil’s mouth twitch into a grin, and he grabs his discarded hoodie, pulling off his pyjama top and shrugging into it. Dan glances away discreetly, trying to distract himself with his own undressing instead of letting his eyes travel across Phil’s slightly muscular, yet skinny frame. He doesn’t know if it’s envy he’s feeling, because despite the shocking amounts of food Phil can shovel down he still looks like that, or if it’s something else.

He doesn’t want to know. He pulls on the first jumper he lays eyes on, ruffling his hair into something half-bearable without a hairbrush, and stepping into his ripped jeans.

“We look a sight.” Phil giggles, fixing his hair in the mirror and glancing at both of their reflections; two teenage boys with silly haircuts and ragged clothing surrounded by décor probably worth millions is enough to make anyone laugh.

“We always do.” Dan shrugs, and it’s true.

-

Out of all the things Dan reckons Schonbrunn Palace, a beautiful, luxury tourist attraction is capable of offering, ballroom dancing sessions aren’t quite what he had in mind. They draw up outside a much more Buckingham Palace-looking place than the hotel, standing in front of the magnificent white architecture with a vast, green stretch of neat gardens between them.

They’re only here for a couple of hours before being let loose on the town for free time (what Phil had apparently renamed 'the amount of time it takes to find somewhere that’ll serve us’) until being collected by the taxi at dusk.

Dan takes a deep breath. Only a couple of hours he reminds himself. Only a couple of hours in this stupid fucking uniform oh fuck this itches why did I ever agree to this.

Although from a more optimistic perspective, at least they certainly aren’t out of place anymore. Everyone he had seen so far, from ballgowns whirling past them belonging to hurrying ladies, top hats tipped politely at the door, canes standing proudly beside long, black coats (Dan tries not to think about how much he’d rather wear a fucking top hat and a coat than this.) Fuck, he’d rather wear a ballgown at this rate. Maybe he and Phil really were right when talking about how much comfier it would be. And the tin foil dress. He stares down at his shoes thoughtfully. Forget the Crocs, though.

But there are also other dancers, much to his immense relief. There are other people suffering the discomfort of satin and frills and stupid corsets, although the ease in which they’re actually putting up with wearing it with puzzles him. It’s as if they enjoy it, or they’re in the ballroom seven days a week as opposed to just one.

Dan’s inclined to believe in both of those theories.

“This is certainly a step up from Studio Three.” Phil widens his eyes as they follow the class into what’s supposedly a ballroom, although when Dan walks in he’s confused as to whether they’ve mistaken the ballroom for a fucking art gallery.

He tips his head back, staring at the high ceiling made up of three dome-like structures. He studies the inside of every dome decorated with intricate paintings; swirls of clouds, grand-looking horses, finely dressed men and women and babies with angelic faces tower several metres above him, and a series of chandeliers sparkle gently from the ceiling, and poles of wax held in gold candlesticks hang from the walls.

“You don’t say.” Dan comments quietly with a nervous laugh. He’s too busy admiring the gold patterning the blank white of the walls and ceilings between the painted domes and glassy glitters of light to pay any attention to the drones of Mrs. Weymouth’s voice, muffled into the background by his own thoughts and attention shifting elsewhere. It isn’t as if him and Phil do anything more than totally ignore her instructions and spend the best part of a Saturday either sitting in the corner of the studio or standing loosely in each-other’s arms pretending to do work anyway, so why should this be any different?

“Should I even bother asking if you were listening to any of that?” Phil raises his eyebrows as Waltz of the Flowers begins through the brass horn of the Gramophone in the corner of the room, filling the atmosphere with a beautiful serenade.

“Nope.” Dan smirks as the class begin separating into the designated pairs. They, of course, adopt the furthest corner away from anyone again, although instead of subjecting themselves to absolutely nothing for the duration of the session, Phil seems more interested in actually pretending to work; much to Dan’s surprise.

“Might as well make a good impression, right?” He says, gently taking Dan’s hand in his soft clasp, and allows his other arm around his waist, tugging him in a little closer than usual.

Dan’s heart thuds, and he hopes to God Phil can’t feel the sudden sweat forming on his palms.

“On who?” He frowns, gesturing around to no company other than their class.

Phil shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a big place, Dan.” He jokes. “You never know who’s watching you.”

“Although this is Vienna, not a James Bond movie.” Dan counteracts.

Phil chuckles, his eyes glittering in the soft, golden light. “Who knows? We might well be asked to audition for a remake of From Russia With Love.”

“Yeah.” Dan scoffs. “Because From Vienna With Love really has a better ring to it.”

Phil shrugs. “I think we’d make pretty neat Russian spies.”

“Viennese spies.” Dan corrects.

Phil screws up his face. “That doesn’t have quite the ring to it.”

“Probably because Vienna isn’t exactly the crime capital of the world.” Dan narrows his eyes.

Phil hesitates. “From Vienna With Love sounds like something from the back of a fucking postcard.”

“'I’m a spy and a criminal, but I wish you were here’.” Dan smirks, and Phil’s grin widens.

-

“What’s the time?” Phil whines.

“Two minutes after the last time you asked.” Dan rolls his eyes, although he himself is beginning to wonder how the hell they’re going to make three hours go as quickly as possible.

Phil groans, resting his head on Dan’s shoulder. “I wanna go to sleep.” He mumbles quietly into the crook of the brown-haired boy’s neck.

“I know, I know.” Dan pretends to comfort him, using jokingly patting him on the back as an excuse to detach their hands because they’re really fucking clammy now. He can feel an oncoming blush begin to heat his face with Phil’s hair brushing against his cheeks, and flutters dominate his stomach.

“How much time do we have left, then?” Phil doesn’t bother lifting his head, and Dan’s having a hard time concentrating on anything that isn’t the sweetly addictive scent of him lingering so temptingly close. He has half a mind to shove him off, screaming something about not letting himself getting attached because look at where the fuck that’s got me, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know why he doesn’t.

“Half an hour.” Dan mumbles, then sighs, letting his arms hesitate around Phil’s waist although being the passive dancer, his hands should be nowhere other than one on his shoulder and the other being held in Phil’s own clasp.

Phil doesn’t move from Dan’s shoulder, although it isn’t as if Mrs Weymouth, or any instructors for that matter, are paying a vast amount of attention to them.

Dan knows no-one would notice whether they were there or not. It wouldn’t make any difference to anyone.

And he can’t help wondering, with this knowledge, just how much they could get away with; starting with going elsewhere other than the hall for the hotel 'entertainment’ scheduled for this evening. He already knows exactly how that would go, and between spending hours on end sitting on a velvet audience chair trying not to yawn his way through the endlessness of symphonies and sonatas he’s already heard thousands of times before, and actually going to try and find this bar with Phil, he knows which one he’d rather choose.

-

“Imagine going here at Christmas.” Phil sighs, his eyes glued to the series of beautiful-looking buildings lining the wide, evenly paved roads and pavements, and Dan glances around. It’s pretty hard to imagine the streets currently with the mid-summer sun beating down on them blanketed in snow and decorated in fairy lights and Christmas trees on every block, but it isn’t impossible; and the mental image he’s conjured up is enough to make him sigh. “Do you think we could wait until December, then sneak onto the next flight to Vienna?”

“Can’t we just stay here until Christmas?” Dan says.

Phil pauses. “Even better.”

“Less of a chance of us being arrested.” Dan smirks.

“That, too.” Phil nods, returning the grin.

-

They stay in the city centre until the sun begins to set from a cloudless bright shine in the centre of the sky to a position lower towards the west, casting everything with a gentle orange shine. An evening in London compared to an evening in Vienna creates a shocking contrast. As opposed to the crowded, sweaty public transport, roaring drunks, and gangs Dan’s so used to dealing with, Vienna replaces the river Thames with the river Danube, persistent traffic with a couple of pretty-looking taxis cruising past every now-and-then, and at one point the quietness in the city is so dominant, the only sound either of them can hear is a tuneful melody coming from an open hotel window, of someone practising their violin, and Dan can’t believe it. Even the villages in London would need to get rid of a couple of hundreds of cars, most of the general public and a handful of criminals in order to clearly hear an electric piano playing through a window, nevermind a violin. He can’t quite believe this is what they call a city when he’s grown up with the idea that a city isn’t a city without densely populated streets, orange skies of pollution at night and artificial light within a five-metre radius of wherever he steps.

He loves London, of course he does; it’s the best place they’ve moved to yet, but there’s something about quiet streets, talented performers, gentle glowing lamppost and general cleanliness in such a city that appeals to him. They’ve spent the day (after getting changed out of their fabric disgrace, of course) wandering the streets, from wide, open-spaced concrete to tiny, narrow alleyways with obscure-looking restaurants and shops with overhanging wooden signs selling pipe tobacco. Everywhere they go, there’s always something that catches his eye.

Phil’s happy too, after finding somewhere that sells banana flavoured chocolate; which Dan, after trying a bite, finds sickening. He screws up his face when he hears the rustle of the paper bag and Phil pulls out another chunk.

“How can you ingest that?” Dan screws up his face as Phil takes another bite.

“Oh god, it’s amazing. It’s gorgeous, I- shit, how did I live before this?” He says, shutting his eyes in bliss.

“Quite easily, I can well imagine.” Dan mutters, widening his eyes.

“Do you really not want any more?” Phil checks in almost disbelief that Dan could refuse such the beautiful invention.

“I didn’t want any, let alone any more.” Dan smirks. “I’ll stick to the fudge, thanks.”

“You finished that within five minutes.” Phil comments, glancing to the empty wrappers filling Dan’s bag.

“You think so?” Dan uncaps his water, taking a couple of swigs before pulling out another bag. “This one’s vanilla, I think.”

“You bought more?” Phil raises his eyebrows.

“Of course.” Dan shrugs. “I’m not leaving a fudge shop twenty euros better off.”

“And you call me weird.” Phil mutters, breaking off another chunk of the brown and yellow marble-patterned block.

“I never said you’re weird.” Dan mutters a couple of moments later.

“Hm?” Phil glances up.

Dan gulps, staring out into the distance vacantly. “Never mind.”

“No, go on.” Phil breaks the silence a couple of moments later.

“I said-…” Dan sighs. “-I’ve never said you’re weird.” He repeats, and he glances up to meet Phil’s curious eyes, the blue irises tinted with warm colours from the sunset. Phil narrows his eyes, waiting for elaboration. “I mean, I’ve called you a lot of things; tall, annoying, obnoxious, rude but-…” Dan shakes his head. “I’ve never called you weird.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Phil smirks.

“No, I-…” Dan struggles to explain, starting to wish he never bothered bringing it up. “I mean, I can’t exactly call you weird.”

Phil frowns. “Why not?”

“Because I’m no better myself.” Dan smirks, his eyes falling to the ground.

Phil pauses. “Well, I’ve never called you weird, either, so-…” He shrugs. “I guess we’re as weird as eachother.”

“I certainly seem to attract the weirdos.” Dan says. “I guess that must say a lot about me.”

“You attract the assholes all right.” Phil corrects.

Dan gives him a half-smirk. “You can say that again.”

Phil chuckles quietly, before hesitating. “So you’re calling me an asshole?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Well, I-” He stops, cocking his head to one side. “-are you saying you’re attracted to me, then?”

Phil opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it again. He gulps, turning slightly away from Dan and clearing his throat. A couple of silent minutes pass as Dan watches him jiggle his leg tensely and have a stare-off with the bin as if the features of Vienna simply couldn’t get any more riveting then that. He doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s blushing like mad.

“Dunno.” He finally responds after having left it so long Dan almost loses the thread of the conversation.

“Oh.” Dan ducks his head, desperately searching for something, anything, to change the subject. He gently taps Phil’s knee. “You’re shaking the entire bench, stop it.”

“Sorry.” Phil apologises, his voice suddenly quiet.

Dan nibbles his lip, studying the face next to him hidden with a fringe of jet black hair. He thinks about the last time they were sat on a park bench together.

He thinks about the last time they were in a park together.

“Nice evening.” He pushes the suddenly intrusive thoughts out of his head with his own voice.
“Yeah.” Phil responds too quickly. “You never get a sunset like this in London.”

“Too cloudy.”

“Too polluted.”

“Too loud.”

They leave it there, and Phil sighs, relaxing a little. In a silence like the one they’d sat through, it’s hard to imagine with how much ease they usually converse and finish off eachother’s sentences.

Dan doesn’t bring it up, so neither will he.

“We should go up to the bridge, over there.” Dan nods in the direction of the path in front of them, and although Phil can’t see the bridge for trees, he immediately nods, standing up.

“Let’s.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, going by the tradition of holding out his hand to help Dan up.

They’re both as clammy as each-other, this time.

-

If Dan thinks it’s possible to fall in love with the view of a city, he thinks he just has.

Even if it isn’t possible, he still has.

The sun sits on the top of the stretch of buildings to their right; separated by the river Danube and shining a slightly darker, redder light, painting every building, tree, human, car, street, the entire city in a warm light. Dan gazes below them at the green body of water underneath their feet, sparkling gently in the orange sunset light.

“It’s beautiful, here.” Phil looks down too, and if they can focus enough they can see their reflections staring right back up at them.

“Good idea of mine to come here, wasn’t it?” Dan teases.

“Yep.” Phil agrees, watching a longboat sail beneath them. “It looks a lot like Venice.”

“Have you been?” Dan asks.

“Yeah.” Phil nods. “Several times.”

“Same.” Dan says, studying the view in front of them, and Phil’s right. Without the wider picture including the landmarks of the Rathaus and St. Stephen’s Cathedral and the dome of St. Peter’s church, everything making Vienna recognisably Vienna, it does look uncannily like Venice.

“It’s lovely, there.” Phil sighs.

“When did you go?” Dan tilts his head.

“A couple of years ago, I think.” “What about you?”

“A couple of months ago, actually.” Dan widens his eyes. “My dad’s got business partners all over the world, so we’re everywhere.”
“Really?” Phil raises his eyebrows, and Dan nods. “Wow.”

They sit in another silence, simply listening to the calm of the city, before he pipes up again. “You know something?”

“Hm?” Dan turns to face him.

“I’ve been thinking,” Phil looks at him. “we really don’t know that much about eachother at all.”

Dan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, like-…” Phil begins. “We see each-other once a week, survive dance class, maybe talk a bit about music or something on the way, but that’s it.” He shrugs. “Like even now; I just realised how little I know about your family, or even your friends for that matter.”

“You know one of them.” Dan mumbles.

“I said friends, not dickwipes who fuck people over for fun.” Phil rolls his eyes, and Dan smirks.

“You have a point, though.” Dan agrees, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t even know your middle name, yet we-… oh god, I don’t know.” He chuckles humourlessly.

“Go on.” Phil prompts.

“It sounds stupid, but-…” Dan sighs. “I just feel like although you know nothing about me, you-… well, you get me. I don’t know.”

“We get each-other, Dan.” Phil adds quickly.

“What?” Dan looks up.

Phil gulps. “My, er-… my middle name’s Michael, for the record.”

Dan doesn’t buy Phil’s subject change. “You were saying?”

Phil sighs, sagging slightly, before glancing up at Dan, their eyes locking blue against brown. “Why do you think I warned you about Ryan?”

Dan frowns. “Hm?”

“You remember?” Phil prompts. “After dance when you were going to meet him and I told you to be careful, because-”

“Oh, oh, I-… yeah, I-… I remember.” Dan stutters, his heart beginning to thud.

“I could see it coming.” He narrows his eyes.

“See what?” Dan gulps.

Phil sighs. “You can spot Ryan’s type from a mile off.” he shudders.

“Ryan’s type?”

“Sweetly gorgeous. Always know the right thing to say at the right time. Always on their phone, but never answering any messages.” Dan feels his heartbeat in his ears as it all falls into place with a sickening crash. “They wrap you right around their fucking finger, then you belong to them for however long it takes for them to get bored and find someone better than y-

“So you’re a fucking expert on him now, are you?” Dan suddenly snaps, his veins flaming with rage. Phil jumps, his eyes wide with genuine surprise.

“What?” He whispers, his brow furrowing.

“You heard me.” Dan grits his teeth. “You’re acting like you’ve known him for longer than I have. For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know me properly, let alone him.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t know him like I did, Phil. I know you like to think you do, and I appreciate that, but you don’t. You-”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” Phil growls so suddenly threatening Dan almost completely shuts up.

“Don’t be so fucking judgemental, then.” Dan retaliates, trying to hold his glare although the fiery blue of Phil’s eyes when he’s angry is almost enough to prefer a swim in the river below than spend another second in Phil’s presence. God, he hates him. He fucking hates him so much he can’t stand himself because in actual fact doesn’t hate him at all and - “Ryan knows- knew me better than anyone else.” Dan mumbles so quietly he’s not sure if Phil’s even listening or not. “Every single detail; all of my family, my fucking stupid fears, darkest secrets, bad habi-” He gulps, unable to finish. “He-… Phil, I-…” He glances up to meet Phil’s tentative eyes. “We used to wait until everyone else was asleep until we could talk. Because that was the only time we could, like-…” He takes in a slow breath, determined not to show himself up in front of Phil. “-we could spend a couple of hours just being us. It was as if the whole world could die and it wouldn’t matter, just so long as we were alive there in my bed or in his bed or watching the sky from the balcony. No-one else mattered when we were together.” He gulps. “-because I knew no-one else could possibly matter more than him.” He ducks his head, feeling his heart begin to clench horribly because it’s the first time his feelings have been anywhere else other than his head and he can feel his words echo, each a tiny wasp-like creature stinging them both repeatedly.

Phil tries to put his arm around Dan, but he tenses up. “So don’t say you know him, because-…” Phil waits for the I could see what he’s really like, he’s the only one I need, I’ll forgive him, he knows me, but Dan glances up at Phil and his eyes are scarily empty and helpless. “-I thought I knew him better than anyone else, but-…” He gulps, shutting his eyes and letting a tear roll down his left cheek. “-even I had no idea.”

He lets Phil’s arm around him this time, and relaxes into his chest. “I loved him.” He mumbles thickly into the fabric of Phil’s shirt, and Phil shuts his eyes, wrapping his other arm around Dan and holding him as tightly as he can manage without crushing his skeleton because all he wants to do is protect him and Dan doesn’t fucking deserve this and holy God if Ryan were here now Phil would most definitely introduce him to the river Danube below them. He feels like apologising on behalf of his ignorance because perhaps he doesn’t know Ryan like Dan did, but he knows enough to be able to see in him what Dan unfortunately didn’t. Even the look of him had set off alarm bells the first time he’d seen him from across the road. “Fuck, Phil, I loved him so much, and I-…” He cuts himself off, and Phil feels him begin to shake gently as he sobs into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Phil mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his lips on the top of Dan’s head. He stays still, letting him get it all off his chest; it doesn’t take a person of great intelligence to work out how long Dan’s been bottling up these emotions for.

“I’ve made your shirt all soggy.” Dan gulps, sniffling as he pulls away, ducking his head and desperately trying to wipe his face as if there’s any hope left of hiding the fact he’d been crying despite having spent the best part of ten minutes sobbing on his dance partner’s fucking chest in the middle of an unfamiliar city.

“It’s My Chemical Romance.” Phil glances down. “It could do with a couple of tears.”

Dan rolls his eyes at the weak emo-themed joke, although he lets himself smile. It feels better than crying, anyway.

“Sorry.” Dan mumbles a couple of minutes later when the tears have dried on his face and on Phil’s shirt, although his newly red-rimmed eyes and shaky breaths and hoarse voice still remain.

“Don’t be.” Phil responds quickly. The sun had almost completely set, leaving an afterglow that paints the sky pastel. They both glance up at the same time, and Dan lets his eyes travel upwards to where the sky fades out into a darker blue, and even in the twilight skies he can already see more stars here than he’d ever be able to squint at in the dead of night in central London. He identifies four tiny pinpoint lights, and they fade in and out of focus and he keeps losing them and finding them again, until he gives up, staring back out at the sunset. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Phil gulps. “For being ignorant. And insensitive. And you were right, I know I-”

“Phil, its fine.” Dan sighs, and he can already sense the relief creeping into his voice from being able to finally offload his emotions. Phil doesn’t even want to think about how long he’d been bottling it up for, he doesn’t want to think about the way his thoughts twist and distort and go stale in his mind and rot every feeling and emotion in his heart, and instead tries to focus on the more positive fact that it’s finally out now.

They spend a couple of quiet minutes staring vacantly out into the distance as the sunset begins to turn from skies of pale reds and oranges into light blues, fading into dark as the sky progressed from in front of them to above them.

“You seem to have him mapped out in your head pretty well.” Dan breaks the silence, and Phil can’t tell if he can detect bitterness in his tone or not.

“Yeah, well,” Phil shuffles uncomfortably, glaring down at the water. “I have my reasons.”

Dan rolls his eyes, although his usually soft, thick brown eyelashes are still spiky from tears.

“Enlighten me.” He scoffs sarcastically.

Phil’s heart begins to thud, and he can’t gulp the lump in his throat down. He doesn’t think he’s ever once revisited the memories since he buried them in the back of his mind and left them to gather months of dust. He lifts his eyes up tentatively, his mouth already beginning to go dry with the difficulty of speaking.

“Have I ever told you why I moved to Fernhaven?” He mumbles a couple of seconds later.

Dan hesitates. “Nope.”

Phil raises his eyebrows, letting his eyes trail over the stretch of view in front of them. The sunset’s beginning to silhouette the buildings, and he finds he can’t tear his eyes off the black outlines of the city as he speaks.

“Dan-…” Phil sighs. “I’m sorry, I-…”
“No, no, please; go on. I’m listening.” Dan stares at the sky, his voice definitely bitter now, and if Phil didn’t want to do anything more than fall into the soft, protective cradle of his arms, he’d have a good mind to punch him straight in his frustratingly pretty face.

“My old school took 'totally shit’ to a new level-…” Phil begins. “-it made Waterloo Road look like fucking Welfeather, and-”

“Look, if you’re just going to bang on about your school after I’ve just poured my heart out to you, then I’d rather we just-”

“What, shall I just dive straight into it, then?” Phil snaps suddenly, breaking through the indestructible peace of the city. “Shall I build up a bit of atmosphere for you, or just cut straight to when I crossed paths with the most incredibly beautiful human I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting?” Dan shuts up as soon as he hears the 'fell in love’, his eyes turning smug to anxious in less than a second. “Shall I go on to describe his chestnut coloured hair, eyes the darkest shade of brown,” his eyes glitter into Dan’s “and a tendency to captivate you with every single word passing his lips?” he chuckles bitterly “I stupidly let him captivate me when I was at my most vulnerable, because this was around the time-” he mumbles, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Sure, whateve-”

“-When my fucking father died.” Phil grits his teeth his eyes flashing into Dan’s before he dares mutter out another snide remark. He’s shaking now, and the tear he feels hotly fall down his cheek certainly isn’t the first one, but Dan’s expression switches in seconds. His eyes, glittering with almost victory, had drained completely along with the colour of his face, and in the dusky light, he’s almost as white as Phil.

His mouth falls open in shock, but he’s dry of words. Phil takes this as a cue to continue. “I let him console me. He wouldn’t leave my side even in the darkest of nights when my mother would kick him out of the house and I’d hear him climb up the vines a couple of minutes later.” He gulps. “Nothing could’ve separated us, I was sure. Almost certain. I had him, and he had me, and the shitty school around us didn’t matter because we barely even went anyway; he’d bunk round mine, I’d bunk round his, and he’d hold me and listen to me and I’d make him tea and interrupt him with kisses during movies. I give him a collage of our polaroids when we went to Brighton, which he framed and wrote ’I love you too’ where I’d written I loved him.” Phil’s breathing is jagged, and his voice is wobbling but his messy handwriting stains in his mind like permanent ink, and all the memories come flooding back in uncontrollable flying, vibrant colours. “He made me feel happy, almost. I’d always been dangerously, dangerously close to happy when I was around him.” He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What happened?” Dan’s voice is barely there, and when Phil glances up, he realises he’s now crying too.

Phil gulps. “Everything was perfect for a couple of months. But he-… I don’t know. I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe I didn’t make him enough tea, or I forgot to kiss him when he wanted or maybe it was the fact I never made us a collage when we went to Manchester together because my camera ran out of photo ink, but-…” He gulps. “He, I-… on his phone, I saw-… there was another guy- well not one, there were probably about eight, but-…” He bites down on his lip so hard he’s surprised his teeth don’t pierce the skin. “-I wasn’t special. Or ’important’, or whatever he’d whisper into my ear on a night where ending it all seemed like the only way out. Everything, every single word that I’d been hanging onto for so long to give me even the tiniest shred of hope that things might get slightly better than this, it was all-… it was all bullshit. I’d been clinging onto nothing. Every reason I’d been trying to give myself to live, to make it through another day, maybe, was gone.” He gulps, gathering up every ounce of courage he has the capacity to contain to continue “I had no reason to live, so I-…” He shuts his eyes, moving his watch away from his wrist and exposing Dan to two thick, pale scars across his papery skin. “I tried, and-…” He can’t finish. He chokes on a sob, covering his face with his hair and both of his hands, although he can’t hide anything from Dan. Within seconds, he’s grabbed and pulled straight into Dan’s arms, both of them sobbing incoherently this time.

Dan squeezes him, his arms wound tightly around his waist as tears drip into the black-haired boys hair. He feels terrible, although that’s a weak fucking understatement. He doesn’t know he he could’ve possibly had Phil mapped out so incorrectly in his head, let alone how Phil had Ryan mapped out. He was right, he always has been.

Dan however, couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I’m sorry, Phil, I-…” Dan manages to sob into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m just so sorry.”

Phil doesn’t respond verbally, but Dan can feel his arms tighten around his waist.

They both stay sitting on the edge of a bridge, hugging as if it were the last time they would ever see each-other. They probably look insane to any potential passer-bys that can make them out in the close-darkness, but they don’t care. Dan doesn’t care about anyone else except Phil, right now.

Phil nuzzles into Dan once they calm down a couple of minutes later, both their hearts still thumping rapidly and their breaths shaky, but neither of them loosen their grip.

Dan gently lets himself kiss the top of Phil’s head, inhaling the scent of his hair.

“You were right.” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t take his lips away from Phil’s inky hair, the colour matching the star-covered sky they both sit under.

“Hm?” Phil manages to respond.

Dan takes a shaky breath. “We really don’t know each-other.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN