phanlight:

note: here’s the song this fic is based on [x]

summary: phil’s too reckless for his own good, but maybe that’s just what dan needs. they end up spending the summer together, living in the moment and taking chances that wouldn’t cross their sober minds, all the while slowly falling in love.

words: 15k 

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carpe diem

ˌkɑːpeɪ ˈdiːɛm,ˈdʌɪɛm/

exclamation

1.    used to urge someone to make the most of the present time and give little thought to the future.

2. a fancy way of saying ‘fuck it’.

**

i.

Dan’s always thought the summer holidays are a bit too hyped up, to be honest.

They’re never how they appear in the movies, for a start; no-one throws papers up in the air after the last exam, no-one really goes on the ‘roadtrips’ that are so supposedly popular in fictional summers (even if by some miracle someone does manage to organise and afford one, it’s never the six weeks of sun, loud music, fields, drinking and star-filled nights they’re always made out to be). No-one throws a house party that doesn’t end in some kind of fight, no-one cares enough about the sky to go stargazing, summer nights are overrated and it’s just never how it is in the movies.

That said, Dan doesn’t particularly dislike the summer holidays – figuratively speaking, he loves summer, it’s his favourite season. It’s his staggeringly high expectations that he dislikes – the moment when reality cuts through the picture-perfect images of the future his mind has painted out – yeah, that’s what pisses him off.

And it isn’t something he can help, either. He’s tried, of course he’s tried, but the whole “hope for the best, expect the worst” bullshit he’s been told by every teacher, parent and therapist he can think of, just doesn’t work. It’s far easier to say nonsense like that rather than to actually put it to practice.

That’s why it’s unsurprising when he finds himself slouched on his stained beanbag with an xbox controller in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It’s something-past-one in the afternoon and he’d literally rolled out of bed five minutes ago; straight off of the mattress and onto the floor, switching the monitor opposite him on with his foot and waiting for his TV to boot up. It’s not the wisest use of his time – his CV’s still sitting on the kitchen table due to the weeks he’d been putting off handing it in anywhere so he’s broke as fuck, but pretty much all of his friends are abroad, so what else is there to do?

Besides – he’d rather fight digital zombies than annoying bosses.

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The rest of the day follows in pretty much the same unsurprising, unfulfilling manner. He ambles downstairs a couple of hours later, grunts a couple of half-greetings to his family members in the kitchen while he’s grabbing handfuls of cornflakes straight from the box. He stays upstairs, playing Call of Duty half-clothed with the curtains closed until the sky turns orange with sunset and he looks at his phone and shit, it’s already 7pm and he’s wasted an entire day.

It doesn’t surprise him, though. He sighs, putting the controller down with aching thumbs and switching the TV off with a clumsy kick in the general direction of the button. He stays there, staring vacantly at the ceiling for a couple of minutes. He stares for a while – his eyes tracing over chipped paint and faded blu-tack marks from where glow-in-the-dark stars once sat during a simpler time. He misses being a kid.

He jumps when he hears the muffled buzz of his phone from under his duvet. He reaches out, groping blindly at the sheets until his hands stumble across something solid and vibrating. He pulls it out, gearing himself up for a stilted conversation with whichever friend it is who cares enough to see how he’s doing, but when he reads the name on the screen, he frowns. What the hell does Phil want?

“Hello?” his voice is half-shaking although he isn’t quite sure why.

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