summary: “I left phone number on the bathroom stall wall and you text me about your day and your frustrations for a month & it’s really nice and cute but I still don’t know who you are” AU
words: 12.7k
warnings: smut, mentions of smoking, alcohol/being drunk, lack of imagination as far as fic titles are concerned
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Can you believe this was meant to be 3k?? I honeslty don’t know what happened there. all I know is that I have five exams in less than three weeks that I should be revising for and instead did this. yikes I hope this was worth it. (also pray4me that I don’t fail everything) x
Also on the topic of exams the actual reason I wrote this now was bc I’m kinda not gonna be writing for a while because of Lovely responsibilities and school stuff and revision so I’m gonna leave yall with this before I’m off Working and doing fun stuff that adults do.
I hope this is ok!!
-
Dan’s halfway through skipping History when he does it.
He doesn’t know why he did it – he really doesn’t, he was just kind of bored one afternoon and happened to be carrying a Sharpie and hey, it’d just be a laugh, right? In a school like this, what’s the worst that could come out of leaving his phone number on a cubicle wall?
His pen squeaks across the pale blue paint, already tainted with curse words and penis drawings and tipp-ex and “Call _____ for a good time ;)”. He supposes the caretakers have given up with trying to cover up the graffiti – there are still thin layers of paint and chipped plaster coating every inch of the stall walls, at least showing attempted coverage, but people had just written over them, scribbles of song lyrics and “never got caught” tattooing every inch of the previously blank walls. No amount of assemblies or threats of “whoever did this-“, inserts picture of something someone had written about the Maths teacher on the hall projector, “is seriously going to pay” from the head teacher had ever stopped anyone, so, really, what does Dan have to lose? Sure, they could trace the phone number, but that doesn’t prove anything – he could just as easily throw on the ‘innocent’ act and say it was his friend.
07843983276, he writes. He doesn’t sign it off with any comment, nor kisses, not even a smiley face let alone a winking one. He just leaves it there, in a kind-of conspicuous place just above eye-level on the right hand side of the door, eleven digits amidst many others.
-
It’s less than fifteen minutes before someone texts him, his phone buzzing in his blazer pocket.
+44837026573: Hey :P
Dan frowns, having expected something a little more exciting than that. Can’t they use their imagination?
Sup, he taps back. He doesn’t hold many high hopes for this conversation, but it’s worth trying out, he guesses.
+44837026573: How are you? The reply comes about five minutes later, and Dan scoffs. Not even who are you, first?
He doesn’t really know how to respond – why would a stranger care more about how his day’s gone than his actual name?
Dan: I’m alright thanks haha. You?
He isn’t usually one for double texting, but hey – he’s still nameless. They can’t exactly judge him.
+44837026573: Yeah I’m good. What’re you up to, then?
This is beginning to resemble a fucking msn conversation, Dan thinks. All that’s missing is the excessive use of nudges and his astronomically wide emoticon collection.
Not much, you? Dan replies. If they’re not going to make any effort to be interesting, why should he?
+44837026573: Nah, not much.
That’s the last he hears of that number, and he considers taking a moment of silence for their sincere lack of skill in holding up a conversation or being, well, interesting.
-
The second reply comes only a matter of minutes after the first one ends.
+44996448673: Alright sexy ;)
Dan smirks. This is more like it.
Dan: Hey, who’s this then? ;)
The reply comes seconds later.
+44996448673: Someone who thinks you shouldn’t be writing your phone number on toilet walls. Naughty ;)
Dan: Just looking for a bit of fun, aren’t I? ;)
+44996448673: Oh really? What kind of fun :P
The concept of flirting like this over text makes him feel physically sick, but more than anything else it’s just fucking funny – the thought that he’s probably wrapping some horny guy right around his little finger with only so much as a couple of short exchanges complete with a semi-colon next to a bracket, is more than enough to pull a smirk to the corner of his lips. Guys are so fucking weak.
Dan: You tell me ;)
Dan’s no better. He really isn’t, but he guesses it’s kind-of justifiable on his part given that he doesn’t actually give a shit and he’s just doing it for his own personal entertainment as opposed to being three seconds from coming in his fucking pants like this guy probably is.
+44996448673: Wanna give me your name first? This is moving pretty quickly ;)
Dan feels sick with secondhand embarrassment for this guy.
What’s yours? ;) he avoids the question. He doesn’t really want to outright lie – he just wants to see precisely how long he can get away with this for.
+44996448673: Kyle. But you can call me Ky, if you want ;)
Dan: Oh, I do feel privileged ;)
Kyle: You should, babe ;)
Babe, Dan smirks. Kyle’s right, this is moving pretty quickly – especially considering this guy is clearly assuming Dan’s a girl despite writing his phone number on a male toilet stall wall.
Dan: Thanks ;)
Kyle: How does a game of 20 questions sound, then? ;)
Dan fights back the urge to roll his eyes at his phone screen. It’s been barely five minutes and already the fucking 20 questions card has been pulled. How predictable.
Dan: Sure. You go first ;)
Kyle: Are you a virgin?
Fucking typical, Dan shakes his head at his phone screen.
Dan: Nope ;)
It isn’t a complete lie – he lost his virginity in year ten to some guy in his maths class at a party.
Kyle: Your go :P
Dan: Are you a virgin? Okay, he isn’t much better on the ‘predictable’ front, but this is 20 questions after all – hardly the most imaginative game, to say the least.
Kyle: Nuh uh ;)
Dan: Oh really? :P
Kyle: Noooope. I’m no saint ;)
Dan: Hehe ;) Your go.
Kyle: Do you masturbate? ;P
Ah, of course – the urban myth amongst teenage boys that is female masturbation. Dan had actually been wondering how long it’d take before such a topic would arise. In fact, he reckons he’s only one message of ‘haha then what ;)’ away from giving up altogether. He’s forgotten how fucking boring sexting is.
Dan: Maaaaaybe ;)
That isn’t a lie, either, but again – it’s not exactly the same answer Kyle would have probably been expecting.
Kyle: That’s hot ;) the reply comes in seconds. Your go.
Dan decides it’s time to have some real fun.
Dan: What year are you in? ;)
The reply take a little longer this time, and Dan smirks.
Kyle: 12. You? ;)
Dan raises his eyebrows. Same year as him, then.
His reply, however, is a tad more creative.
Dan: Wow… you’re so.. old ;)
Kyle: Haha ok what year are you in tho
The wink face has gone. This guy must be getting a little anxious, Dan reckons.
Dan: Seven. But I’m very mature for my age :3
When his thumb hits the send button, he can’t help but snort. Fuck, this guy’s probably shitting himself now.
Funnily enough, the forthcoming reply isn’t as instant as the past couple of exchanges have been. In fact, ten whole minutes pass without any sign of a response from this Kyle guy, and Dan snickers mischievously to his phone. That’ll teach him.
Oh my god, this is fucking funny. Why did he never do this sooner?
-
Chris: Dan wtf why the hell did you put your number on the fucking toilet wall you tool
Dan smirks. He was wondering how long it would take before one of his friends would recognise the series of digits he’d written on there.
Dan: Just banter
Chris: If it’s a tactic for getting laid you must be desperate.
Dan: Nah I’m good on that front for now
He’s not being entirely truthful. The last bit of action he got was about half a year ago and even then he doesn’t really remember a lot of it; it was at a party, and the memory is, at best, a blurry haze of whiskey flavoured kisses and bright lights and heavy music and waking up to a headache and a note on his pillow in messy handwriting. He barely remembers the guy’s face.
Not that his one-night-stands should be any concern of Chris’s, of course. Dan’s a fairly open person with his friends and Chris is nothing short of a nosy bastard, to put it kindly, but there are some things he’d rather keep to himself.
Chris: If you say so
Dan: Prick
Chris: <3
Dan changes the subject quickly.
-
The next vibration in his pocket from an unknown number comes a couple of days later. Dan smirks, having not had anything else that day aside a quick “Set me up with gear 10g skunk and half a g MD if you have it” from some guy who had assumed he’d broadcasted his number on a toilet door because he was a drug dealer. Needless to say, he’d had to refuse (but he did direct the number to someone who could be of some help to him), and ever since then, he’d kind-of forgotten he’d even put his phone number up there.
That is, until, he’s halfway through his after-school-bus-stop cigarette when he feels a buzz in his back pocket. He rolls his eyes, digging his phone out and holding his thumb over the lock button, – what the fuck does Chris want now? – when-
+449582330082: Quick I need a third opinion on this.
+449582330082: I’m desperate
+449582330082: if this is a fake number I swear to fuck
Dan frowns, but begins tapping out a reply. He hasn’t had any fun or remotely interesting conversations in a while, and he’s probably right in assuming this guy has found his number from the stall, so why not?
Dan: on what?
+449582330082: THANK GOD
+449582330082: ok so I’m doing a creative writing competition and I’m torn between these two storylines and I’ve only just realised the deadline is next week omg help
Dan: oh shit man
Dan: what are you torn between?
+449582330082: ok so
+449582330082: the first one is like this thing set in the medieval period where this guy is the son of a royal family at war with another across the border (theres this big border separating the two regions btw theres gonna be some rivalry backstory but I kinda need to think of one first) and basically legend has it this other family made this huge plan for destruction on them on this huge fabric scroll but cut it all up deep in the forest and buried most of it underground. Anyway so every day he has to try and cross the border in disguise in order to spy on the rival town and go into the forest and search for bits of the plan to bring back to his own land and yeah like every day he has to come up with a different way to distract the guards in order to get these clues and try and piece the plan together
+449582330082: lots of dragons and fighting is the aim really
Dan raises his eyebrows at the text. Fuck, he’s impressed.
Dan: yeah that sounds good, he feigns nonchalance. It’s less than two seconds before he adds to his bluntness.
Dan: like, really good haha. He’s never been the best at compliments, but he figures this guy deserves a bit more credibility for coming up with a brief plan as creative as that.
Dan: and the second?
+449582330082: omg you like it?
+449582330082: thank you!
+449582330082: anyway yeah the second is set in kinda like a future dystopian universe and nearly all of humanity has died out and has instead been replaced by robots and artificial intelligence and there’s this one old guy who lives a lonely existence bc like his family died long ago and he used to be a computer hacker before his job got taken over by robots and yeah idk that’s how far I’ve got with that plan I need to think of more to it but I have really bad writer’s block rn so I’ll have to wait until an idea comes to me haha.
Dan smiles at his phone. He knows the feeling.
Dan: no I mean that idea does have potential it sounds really cool
+449582330082: but?
Dan smirks.
Dan: But I really do like the idea of dragons and fighting.
+449582330082: YES THANK YOU I prefer the first one too I mean I could probs do a lot with the second but idk im too lazy to think of a good plot
Dan: I get you. Yeah I think you could do a lot with the first one tbh
Dan: good luck with the competition. He nearly adds a ‘let me know how you get on’, but backspaces it quickly.
+449582330082: thank you!
+449582330082: and thanks for being my second opinion btw :)
Dan: Anytime.
He smiles, and pockets his phone.
-
One week later, and Dan’s messy, broken piano melodies are interrupted by a buzz on the cushioned stool. He rolls his eyes, turning another page of the tea-stained sheet music (it’s some concerto by Mozart; something he probably should’ve perfected months ago much to the dismay of his piano teacher), and picks up his phone.
+449582330082: I WON
Dan frowns. What?
Dan: ???
+449582330082: don’t you remember?
Dan stops breathing for a second. Is this the number of some really important relative he’s forgotten to save as a contact? His tutor, maybe? Oh fuck, he needs to stop clearing out his message inbox on such a regular basis.
Gulping, he taps a hesitant response.
Dan: remember what?
Dan: sorry omg my memory isn’t great smh, he adds, a little sheepish.
+449582330082: haha it’s okay, I don’t blame you for forgetting tbh
+449582330082: no it’s just I was that guy who entered the creative writing competition a while ago if you remember?
Dan’s eyes widen. It’s him.
Dan: oh!! no no omg I do remember yeah sorry
Dan: it’s just I didn’t save your number and must have deleted the messages or smth idk
+449582330082: aw haha it’s cool, just wanted to let you know as you were the one who helped me decide on the story :))
Dan: yeah haha I was your second opinion
Dan: well congrats on winning omg I’m so happy for you!
+449582330082: thanks so much I can’t believe it myself tbh
Dan: call me shallow but was there some sort of prize? Haha
+449582330082: lmfao I wouldn’t have entered it otherwise. £250 and a great reputation in the English department
Dan: nice! Bet mrs morris is proud of you :P
+449582330082: no offence but that teacher has been up my ass since day one. i’ve already had my first email of congratulations from her so i assume that’s one of many
Dan: oh god yeah, that sounds like her. £250 isn’t bad though right?
+449582330082: certainly not. It’ll probably all be gone in a night though knowing me. Pubs seem to burn a hole in my wallet
Dan grins. This person is beginning to seem like his kind of guy.
Dan: I can sympathise. Still, might last you two nights if you’re lucky
+449582330082: guess I’ll have to chance it :P
+449582330082: so you take english right? Or do you just randomly know mrs morris?
Dan: haha as well-known as she is throughout college I do actually take it. literature. you?
+449582330082: oh I take language and literature. (It’s awful)
Dan: haha as is literature. i’m pretty sure keats wants me dead tbh.
+449582330082: oh god keats
+449582330082: what a poet, man. what a fucking poet
Dan: I sincerely hope you’re being sarcastic.
+449582330082: :P good job I don’t have to do Shakespeare on top of him though
Dan: on top of him. kinky ;)
He’s as bad as that other flirty guy he’d had about a week ago, but at least there’s some sarcasm in his tone.
+449582330082: oh shut up haha.
Dan: no Shakespeare does definitely take its toll
Dan: there’s only so much fucking Othello one can take
+449582330082: as much as I dislike language analysis I must say I’d rather do that than spend about three hours dissecting one sentence of Shakespearian dialect in order to even briefly understand it tbh
Dan: welcome to my life man. it’s shit.
There’s a lull in the conversation. It’s been back-and-forth solidly for about ten minutes and Dan finds himself staring at his phone, jiggling his leg up and down on the suspension pedal.
It’s less than two minutes before he caves, reaching for it again.
Dan: I need to save you as a contact haha
Dan: any preferable names you’d like to go by?
+449582330082: hmmmmmm
Five minutes go by before the reply comes.
+449582330082: i’m chill with whatever. Surprise me.
Dan doesn’t know quite how he’d go about ‘surprising’ this guy judging by the fact he doesn’t actually have a clue who he is, but it’s how he ended up with a new contact called ‘Cute Creative Writing Dude’.
-
The next morning, Dan nearly chokes on his spoonful of Special K.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: omg my brother just spilt milk allllll over the carpet my mum is literally going to castrate him when she’s home
Dan: oh fuck omg
Cute Creative Writing Dude: it’s literally everywhere
Dan: has he not cleaned it up?
Cute Creative Writing Dude: erm he’s attempted to
Cute Creative Writing Dude: as far as a few sheets of kitchen roll plus a lot of crying concerned
Cute Creative Writing Dude: but it’s still all over the place and we have to get the bus in teN MINUTES
Dan: jesus christ oh my god
Dan: just get the bus without him
Dan: leave him home to clear it up
Cute Creative Writing Dude: tbh it’d probably take him an entire school day to actually clean everything sufficiently
Cute Creative Writing Dude: but also he’s eight years old so maybe not
Dan: oh right that’s kind of an important detail
Dan: tbh you’d probably come home to a house in a worse state if you were to leave him
Cute Creative Writing Dude: haha ikr
Cute Creative Writing Dude: guess I just gotta take the brother and run right. Maybe the bus driver will give us a discount on our tickets if we explain the situation
Dan: lol maybe
Dan: well good luck to him when he gets home
Dan: if I were you I’d just hide in town or smth for an hour after your mum comes home haha
Cute Creative Writing Dude: you know that’s a tempting idea. I might do just that.
Dan: well it saves you earache from listening to her shout at your brother about the milky incident
Cute Creative Writing Dude: oh my god
Cute Creative Writing Dude: please never call it that ever again
Cute Creative Writing Dude: my brother just asked me why I’m laughing at my phone this is all your fault I hope you know
Dan: omg hahah why not tell him the reason you’re laughing??
Dan: give me the credit for the joke though x
Cute Creative Writing Dude: what would I say? ‘Some anonymous contact just made me laugh because he said you were in a milky incident. Carry on with your day, Michael.’
Dan: sounds foolproof tbh
Dan: and way to make me sound like I’m a total creep
Cute Creative Writing Dude: how do I know you’re not? :P
Dan: don’t you trust me?
Cute Creative Writing Dude: idk man, writing your number on the bathroom stall walls seems like the kinda thing a ‘total creep’ would do tbh ;)
Dan: well you trusted me enough to ask for my opinion on your work didn’t you??
Cute Creative Writing Dude: true. Who knows? Maybe you’re just a total creep with good taste in creative writing prompts.
Dan: okay but if you’re so sold on the idea of me being a total creep, why are you still talking to me?
There’s a short delay, but he soon feels his blazer pocket vibrate.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: Maybe because I never said I didn’t trust you :P
He can’t hold back a grin at that.
Dan bins the rest of his cereal. He’d been too distracted by Cute Creative Writing Dude to pay any attention to it, and now the flakes have absorbed every last drop of milk, leaving nothing but a soggy concoction he can barely have a spoonful of without making a face of disgust.
He’ll stop off on the way to school and buy a Mars bar, or something.
-
“Howell, if whatever it is on your phone is that amusing, how about you come up here and share the joke with us?” Mr Harrison breaks his train of thought. Dan jumps, his eyes snap up and his grin vanishes. He can feel twenty-four pairs of eyes on him, twenty-six including Mr Harrison’s cold glare behind his thick-rimmed glasses hanging off the edge of his nose.
Mr. Harrison is not Dan’s favourite teacher, to put it kindly. He has a partially bald head with a sorry excuse for hair lining the very edges and just about covering his ears in crazy grey tufts and Dan doubts he’s ever seen him without some kind of signature coffee stain colouring his tie. It must be part of his branding, now.
He’s round in shape, and he plods around the classroom and shouts a lot. His desk is always untidy and he taps e-mails out with only two fingers and leaves the cursor in the middle of the screen when they’re watching a video. Dan often wonders how he manages to get his computer to work when he looks and acts as if he’s never encountered another piece of technology more advanced than a microwave.
He’s pretty sure it works both ways and Dan is, in fact, no favourite student of his. Dan’s just about everything no teacher wants in a student; too sarcastic, chews gum way too loudly, doodles on just about every surface he can touch (tables, hands, textbooks, you name it; Dan’s biro’s probably on it), distracts other students, swings on his chair a lot and he’s just kind-of a nuisance, really. Mr. Harrison will never let Dan forget that one time he’d actually gone too far and brought the table down with him, sending pencils flying across the room and books clattering to the floor and laughter bursting out through the class (the memory still threatens a blush), but much to the middle-aged teacher’s dismay, Dan’s grades are proving he’s actually really good at Classics, so he has to find other things to pick on him for.
Dan’s eyes flicker back to his phone, rereading the text he’d just been given. He doesn’t think the balding man towering above him would appreciate a recital of it – ‘I dare you to say the Odyssey is just one giant game of The Sims controlled by Athene’
He was halfway through his reply of ‘I’m not playing dares wtf are u 12’ before adding ‘true though’, although he didn’t have time to finish the ‘ough’ so when Mr. Harrison snatches his phone out of his grasp before Dan can protest (before Dan can do anything, really), he’ll just see “true th.”
Shit. He should be thankful it wasn’t anything less tasteful like the conversation they’d been having earlier about History, but his face is burning and the class is silent and Mr. Harrison’s eyebrows are so raised Dan’s surprised they haven’t risen right off of his crinkled forehead.
“Well, Daniel, if this little- ‘Creative Writing Dude’” another ripple of laughter, and Dan feels his face burn an even deeper shade of red, “friend of yours seems to think a great epic such as the Odyssey deserves to be viewed as a-… game of- The what? The ‘Sims controlled by Athene’-…?” the class burst out laughing again, and Dan can’t help but hold back a chuckle because it just sounds so funny when someone as serious as Mr. Harrison says it, “then you can bring him here and we can all discuss it in detention on Thursday. How does that sound?”
Dan stops laughing. Mr Harrison is no joker, but he still studies his expression for a glimmer of humour.
“You serious?” he says. The plump teacher’s expression remains stony. “Oh, what? Sir!” he protests. “How’s that fair?”
“How, might I argue, is it fair that you decide to spend my lessons texting on your Facebooks or whatever it is?”
“It’s actually iMessage, sir,” Dan snorts.
Unwisely.
“Right- out,” Mr. Harrison jerks his head towards the door. “I’m sick of your constant disruption in my lessons, Howell. Go on, off you go. Go and disrupt someone else’s class.”
“But-“
“No buts. You can come back tomorrow afternoon and we can discuss whatever it is you have to say then,” he cracks a smug grin, and Dan wants to punch it right off. “Do I make myself clear?”
He clenches his jaw, fixing him with a steady glare before standing up so quickly his chair falls backwards behind him. Before Mr. Harrison has time to react, he reaches forward and grabs his phone before fleeing the classroom all in the space of about three seconds, slinging his bag over his shoulders and ignoring the calls of protest that follow behind him.
He speeds down the winding staircase connecting the Classics block to Maths, sliding down one of the metal banisters to hurry things along and grinning to himself about four flights down when he can no longer hear Mr. Harrison’s distant yelling coming from above. He’ll be crucified tomorrow and yeah, he’ll have to turn up to that stupid detention if he wants to live to see another day, but if he’s leaving class, there’s no way he’s going without a phone.
It’s then when he feels a vibration in his hand, he realises he hadn’t put it on Do Not Disturb. Had he left it with Mr. Harrison who doesn’t seem to fully know what a phone actually is let alone how to work one, he probably would’ve been in for a nice shock when Creative Writing Dude started going off on one of his tangents about sex in Athenian Society.
(To be honest, knowing Mr. Harrison, he’d probably find this boy and give him an A for what he’d said. Dan doesn’t know if he actually takes Classics, hasn’t got round to asking, but he can’t deny this guy definitely has a brain on him.)
He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the hill behind the sports hall; a blind spot for any CCTV cameras. He pulls out a crumpled carton of cigarettes along with a lighter and sits down on the grass – if Mr. Harrison doesn’t want him in his lesson, that’s fine by Dan. He has better things to do.
It’s not a horrible day, but the weather certainly isn’t great for April. The sky is painted a thick, grey-ish white and there’s still a chill in the air and always that threat of rain meaning Dan has to carry around a can of hairspray with him in case the heavens decide to open onto his perfectly straightened fringe.
He pulls out his phone, sucking on his filter and inhaling the smoke. He laughs it out though his nose when he sees what Creative Writing Dude had texted him – when Mr. Harrison snatched up his phone, Dan assumes he must have knocked the keyboard then hit the ‘send’ button by accident as there’s a blue bubble reading “true thdhdj”, followed by a couple of grey replies.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: sorry what
Cute Creative Writing Dude: did you have a seizure on the keyboard or something
Cute Creative Writing Dude: hey where’d you go??
Dan: DUDE
Cute Creative Writing Dude: there you are
Dan: omg I hate you
Dan: my fucking Classics teacher caught me texting and read your message out u know the one about Athene and The Sims
Dan: and he gave me detention
Cute Creative Writing Dude: ARE YOU SERIOUS
Cute Creative Writing Dude: HAHAHAHAHAHAH
Dan: IT’S NOT FUNNY OMG
Cute Creative Writing Dude: oh come on
Cute Creative Writing Dude: it kind-of is though isn’t it.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: Did anyone laugh at my joke when it was read out
Dan: is that all you can ask
Cute Creative Writing Dude: well what else did you want me to say
Dan: maybe something along the lines with ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry you’re now subjected to an entire additional hour of labour for something that was my fault. Here’s £900 compensation for your tragic loss’.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: because that’s not at all an exaggeration in any sense of the manner
Cute Creative Writing Dude: besides, if you want to go down that route, then you shouldn’t have been texting in class tbh :P
Dan: you should be thankful I’m willing to make such sacrifices for you
Cute Creative Writing Dude: don’t complain about the consequences if you’re willing to take such risks.
Dan glares at his phone, flicking ash onto the grass.
Dan: fuck you
Cute Creative Writing Dude: if you insist x x
He doesn’t quite know what they’re doing. He can’t exactly call it flirting as such, but, well-
Okay, so maybe he is kind-of flirting. Kind-of.
It takes him a moment to remember that if this slightly-suggestive-banter is borderline ‘flirting’, that he’s doing it without an actual face to the name which is a bit weird but, well, he can’t exactly stop the conversation to go “oh, by the way, would you mind sending me a pic of yourself?” without the motives of his question being horribly misinterpreted.
He’s thinking of a response when a voice from behind makes him jump.
“Hey,”
Fuck. He freezes, dropping the cigarette on the ground and hiding the remains of it under the sole of his shoe, his hand reaching in his bag and blindly groping around for his can of deodorant, when-
The figure walks into view, and he looks up and enjoys the most immense wave of relief he thinks he’s ever felt in his entire eighteen years of life. It’s only a student.
The boy looks fairly tall and can’t be much older or younger than Dan himself. His shoelaces are undone, his black Doc Martens scuffing the path beside the hill, and his top button is undone, his tie is hanging loose around his neck. When Dan looks up, a pair of blue eyes stare right back at him through a messy fringe of black. An unlit cigarette pokes out of the corner of his mouth, obscuring his speech a little.
“Got a light?”
“Uh- sure,” he stutters, putting his hand back in his bag, little foolish. He hopes this guy didn’t see him stub out his own so abruptly, and when he stands up, he makes sure he conceals the area he knows the rest of his squished-up cigarette lies with his foot. He brushes himself down, approaching the guy and handing him a little red lighter.
“Cheers,” he grins, cupping his hand and holding an amber flame up to the tip. Dan isn’t really sure why he’s watching him, but it isn’t until the boy exhales a stream of grey smoke and glances at him, that he remembers to look away.
“Really shouldn’t be doing this,” he sighs, flicking ash onto the path. “Only just gave it up.”
“Why did you start again?” Dan asks. He fishes around for his own carton of Marlboros – he might as well join him if he’s here. The other boy lights it for him, flicking the lighter with his thumb before handing it back to him. Dan inhales, feeling a burn in the pit of his chest and his vision swims slightly. He shouldn’t be doing this either, really.
“Stress, mainly,” the other boy sighs. “Y’know. It’s an awful habit, but it’s a nice kick. Just the thing you need when you’re tense, isn’t it? Nothing else quite cuts it.”
Dan nods, understanding. “I was gonna give up, but-…” he shrugs, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Not yet. I will one day.”
“S’what they all say, isn’t it?” the boy grins, but not unkindly. Dan nods a little sheepishly.
“It’s nice for now,” he finally admits, and breathes in more of the chemicals that make his heart race and his muscles unknot.
-
12 cigarettes and an empty can of deodorant later, the bell rings and they have to part for their next lessons. Dan internally groans at the thought of going to History, and he gives the boy a sympathetic grin when he shuts his eyes and complains about having to face Mrs. Morris for his English Language & Literature lesson. She isn’t coming across as the most popular teacher throughout the college, to be honest.
“Thanks for the smokes,” the boy smiles, handing back his lighter again, warm from his touch.
“Thanks for the gum,” Dan smiles, the taste of mint beginning to eliminate the stale aftertaste of tobacco on his tongue.
“See you around,” he offers, slinging his bag strap onto his shoulder. Dan nods.
“Yeah. Bye,” he says, watching the boy back off in the other direction before completely turning the corner. The minute he’s gone, he whips out his phone, and there’s already a message from Creative Writing Dude.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: ughhhhhh I don’t want to go to English
Dan: I have fucking history, he complains. I swear to god if I get my phone confiscated omg
Cute Creative Writing Dude: haha better be more discreet about it then :P
Dan: you’re not exactly innocent in this either
Dan: in fact it’s your fault im even texting at all
Cute Creative Writing Dude: would you rather I didn’t, then?
Dan stops, his thumbs hesitating over the screen.
Dan: you know the answer to that.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: it’s nice to know I’m worth the detention tomorrow then ;)
Dan groans at his phone. An hour of smoking and small-talk had caused him to forget about where else he has to be tomorrow afternoon.
Dan: fuck you
Cute Creative Writing Dude: if you insist :P
-
The detention seems to last about ten years. Dan’s eyes hadn’t left the clock for the entire time, and during that he’s sure the left hand had actually stopped moving altogether at some point. When he finally escapes, it’s six in the evening and the sun is at an angle but still pretty high in the sky, tinting the clouds a pale orange and stretching out shadows long across the paths and tennis courts.
He pulls his phone out, about to text Creative Writing Dude a sarcastic thanks or something, but the messages on his screen are enough of a distraction for him to forget about pretending to be annoyed.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: omg
Cute Creative Writing Dude: my mum went mental about the milk
Dan: shit omg
Dan: did you just leave it there
Dan: like all day
Cute Creative Writing Dude: no I mean we tried to clean it up
Cute Creative Writing Dude: with kitchen roll but yeah
Dan: omg shit haha the carpet must be in a right state
Cute Creative Writing Dude: you don’t even wanna know honestly its gross
Cute Creative Writing Dude: anyway how was your detention? :)
Dan: it was brilliant, thanks for asking :)
Cute Creative Writing Dude: learnt your lesson now?
Dan: the lesson of you being a bad influence or the lesson of Mr Harrison being a complete and utter bellend?
The reply comes in seconds.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: one of the two.
Dan grins, and pulls out a cigarette.
-
Dan begins to spend more free periods and lunchtimes hanging around the back of the sports hall, sitting on the hill and smoking with his new nameless black-haired companion. They don’t really talk about anything too ambitious, it’s just a ‘hi’ here, an ‘alright?’ there, and then a lot of small-talk about their subjects and the weather and how they should give up smoking, they really should.
Dan finds out this guy takes English Language & Literature (clearly – it’s where he was going after their first encounter), Psychology and Maths. Dan tells him he’s taking History, Classics and English Literature, and they complain about Mrs. Morris for a while. They’ve adopted a space next to the wall, round the corner outside the fire exit; away from the prying eyes of any nosy P.E. teachers. Over the days, a dent in the grass appears from where they’ve been sitting, and when the black-haired boy laughs, Dan can’t stop a grin spreading across his own face.
“God, I’d choose this over Psychology anyday,” he shakes his head, inhaling the last of his cigarette. Dan copies him, smoke curling out from between his lips as he does so.
“What do you even learn about?” he asks. “I know, like, in second year you have to do fifty-two case studies or something ridiculous, but like-“ he shakes his head, “is it just like study of the mind? I know there’s a guy called Freud in there somewhere, but I’m not sure.”
“Hence the term ‘psychology’, yes; the mind does come into it quite a lot,” the boy smirks, flicking ash onto the grass. “Yeah, the case studies are disgusting. I’ve learnt a grand total of five so far.”
“Five?” Dan blanches. “And study leave is in- what? Four weeks?”
“Yup,” the boy sighs, stubbing out his cigarette on the brickwork behind them both and pushing it down the drain next to him. “I’m so fucked.”
“Shit,” Dan sighs. “Good luck with that.”
“I’ll need it,” the other boy widens his eyes. “Fuck, I hate psychology. Good job I’m not taking it any further, eh?”
“What are you gonna do at uni? I mean, if you go,” Dan asks.
The boy shrugs, flicking his black fringe out of his eyes. “Dunno. Probably something to do with writing, I think. But I’m not certain,” his eyes flicker to Dan, studying his face for about half a second. “What about you?”
“I don’t really know either,” Dan answers truthfully. “Realistically, I’ll probably go into something History-related. Or Classics, maybe,” he smirks, remembering Mr. Harrison and his fucking detention. He’s pretty sure he still hasn’t been forgiven for that.
“Oh god,” the boy shuts his eyes. “I’ve heard a couple of stories about him. Sounds like an absolute twat, to be honest.”
“Oh, believe me, he is,” Dan shakes his head. “Although, I mean- I’m not exactly his, let’s say, flavour of the month,” he pauses. “Or year, to come to think of it.”
“God,” the boy smirks. “I imagine it’s probably easy enough to get on the wrong side of him. Apparently he gave my friend a detention for texting in class.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dan stubs his own cigarette out, treading it into the grass. “He gave me one too,” he smirks. “For that exact reason. It’s ridiculous. All you have to do is breathe incorrectly and he’ll fucking lay into you. Or, at least, he does with me anyway.”
“Sounds like a right charmer,” he pulls out some cologne and spritzes himself with it, pulling down his collar to reveal a little too much of his porcelain skin, carefully defined by his shapely collarbones. Dan gulps, determined not to stare.
“Er- thanks,” he takes the glass bottle when the other boy hands it to him, repeating the action on his own skin and trying to do the same. He leaves his top button undone and loosens his tie a little, aesthetically aligning himself with the other guy as much as he can because, let’s face it, it’s only been a couple of weeks and he’s already terrified of this boy thinking him weird or uncool. He hasn’t had a smoking partner in a while, not since Rae left last summer, so he doesn’t really want to fuck this up.
When he glances back at the other boy, he catches him staring. He diverts his blue-eyed gaze to the grass, hauling himself up and trying to bite back a grin.
“C’mon,” he mumbles. “Bell’s gonna go any second,” he holds his hand out for Dan.
When Dan takes it, he notices how clammy it feels.
-
It’s constant, back-and-forth texting for weeks.
Creative Writing Dude tells Dan about his day, Dan does the same, Creative Writing Dude makes a joke, Dan laughs out loud in the middle of class and doesn’t see his phone for the rest of the lesson, Creative Writing Dude tells Dan about his frustrations and worries, Dan sympathises, and Creative Writing Dude starts a three-hour long discussion about the last episode of Grey’s Anatomy they’d both watched one night (it hadn’t taken them long to discover they have very similar tastes in TV shows and music and film which makes conversation even easier if it wasn’t already).
Then Creative Writing Dude begins asking for advice, and Dan gets a bit stuck.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I just. Man idk. I just don’t understand how I can get such a dumb old crush on this guy when I’ve known him, what, two weeks?
Dan: idk man. feelings can fuck you over. He tries not to let his bluntness leak into his texting, it’s just-
Well, call him selfish, but he doesn’t really want to hear about Creative Writing Dude’s crush, to be honest. He doesn’t want to hear about how his eyes are pretty and how they’d skipped class to go and smoke and how his hand had brushed against his and he’d felt his heart flutter. He knows he’s only sharing it with him to get it off his chest, but he can’t help but feel like he’s kind-of rubbing it in a bit, especially after Dan had told him he’s been without a proper relationship of any kind for a good two years now.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: tell me about it
Cute Creative Writing Dude: he’s just so perf though omg
Cute Creative Writing Dude: he’s a little bit shorter than me with these cute brown eyes and wavy-ish hair and its just awenjhfjd yeah
Dan grits his teeth. He sounds lovely, he taps back.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: he is omg
Dan: what’s his name then??
About ten minutes go by before his phone vibrates with a response.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: don’t laugh but
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I don’t actually know lol
Cute Creative Writing Dude: we never asked for each-other’s names we just kinda bunk together and that’s it
Dan frowns. Old Golden Boy doesn’t even have a name, then?
Dan: wow
Dan: must be a great crush then lol
Dan feels a surge of vindictive righteousness upon pressing ‘send’, but immediately regrets it.
Five minutes go by.
Then ten. Then fifteen, and Dan can’t keep his eyes off of his phone. Shit, that was mean. He knows he’s bitter, but it was wrong of him to take it out on this guy.
Dan: omg im sorry that was mean
No response, and his heart thuds.
Dan: shit I don’t mean that I promise I’m sorry
Cute Creative Writing Dude: No it’s ok
Dan breathes a sigh of relief at the response, but still worries.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I go on too much lol sorry
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I forget that you’re not like a really good friend.
Dan frowns. Okay, that hurts.
Dan: ???
Cute Creative Writing Dude: no I don’t mean it like that
Cute Creative Writing Dude: no like I don’t mean it as in you aren’t a good friend, I just mean it in the sense that yk we’ve been talking so much over these past couple of weeks I’ve kind-of forgotten that I don’t know you as well as I think I do ygm??
Cute Creative Writing Dude: for someone who won a writing competition I’m pretty shit with words I’m sorry idk
Dan relaxes a little. That makes sense, he thinks.
Dan: no I get you. I feel the same way tbh but I’m glad we do talk and stuff.
He pauses, his thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button. He kind-of wants to ask for this guy’s name, but then again, there’s a part of him that likes the anonymity of this.
-
There’s a party at Chris’s, and he seems to be the only person who’s certain it isn’t going to end up in a completely wrecked house and a spray-painted driveway like the last one. Fuck if Dan knows why his parents are letting him have another one, honestly. They must be mad.
“Oh, come on,” Chris protests in the common room. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Max looks up from his MacBook. “’Wasn’t that bad?’ You had to get a whole new driveway fitted because the paint spelling out ‘CHRIS LOVES COCK’ wouldn’t scrub off.”
Chris smirks. “Well-“
“And the broken window?” he reminds him.
“But-“
“And we won’t even go into what kind-of state the kitchen was in after Luke finished with the-“
“Okay, fine,” he surrenders, shutting his eyes. “It was a disaster. But this time I’ve made the Facebook group private, right? So what are the chances of three groups of gatecrashers finding out about it and showing up with baseball bats again?”
Dan feels sick. He’d forgotten about that. God, all those smashed ornaments.
“Jesus Christ,” Max shuts his eyes.
Chris glares at him before turning to his brown-haired friend. “Dan?”
Dan gives Chris a look.
“Please?” Chris presses. “I promise it won’t be like last time. And you can have first access to the hidden crates of lager I’m keeping in the washing machine.”
“Don’t do that” Dan shakes his head. “First place people look, thanks to The Inbetweeners. Try the microwave or something. No-one looks in there.”
“Is that a yes?”
Dan rolls his eyes. “Only if I can have first access.”
Chris cracks a grin, and Dan racks his brains, hit with a sudden idea.
“Oh, Chris?”
“Hm?” the blonde-haired boy looks up.
“Can I bring a plus-one?”
Chris shrugs. “Sure. Bring who you like.”
“That’s what he said last time,” Max mutters, and Chris flicks a paperclip at his head.
-
“There’s a party on Saturday night,” Dan says whist his smoking partner is lighting up. “Fancy it?”
“Whose is it?” he asks, handing the lighter back to Dan.
“Chris’s. He’s my best friend, but he said if I was free to take someone.”
The boy looks up, and a smile tugs his lips. “So you asked me?”
Dan shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”
“Well,” he exhales a smoky breath. “I’m flattered, I must say. What time is it?”
“I’m getting there for like 8 but, like, you’re welcome to come round mine first or something.”
“Sure,” the other guy smiles, and Dan grins back, a little shy.
“Twenty-four Nightingale close. It’s, like, on that road round the back of Sainsbury’s in town if you know it?”
“Oh, yeah,” the other boy nods.
“So-…” Dan finishes the last of his cigarette. “I guess I’ll see you there?”
The other boy grins, finishing his own and dragging his lower lip through his teeth a little.
“I guess you will,” he says, and then the bell rings.
-
Dan: I’ve got a party tonight.
Okay, so what if he’s only saying it to make this guy a little jealous? He’d had to endure a load of bollocks about Creative Writing guy’s crush, so surely there’s some fairness in him just, you know, doing a little of the same thing back?
Dan: I had to ask this really hot guy if he’d go with me
Dan: and he said yes for some reason haha heLP
Creative Writing Dude’s reply takes a couple of minutes to arrive.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: oh really?
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I’ve actually got a party tonight too
Dan raises an eyebrow.
Dan: oh yeah?
Dan: where is it?
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I don’t actually know tbh. I mean I’m only a plus-one haha
Dan: aw well
Dan: I hope you have fun
Dan: try not to drunk text too much :P
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I’ll certainly try :’)
Cute Creative Writing Dude: Same goes for you too tho
Cute Creative Writing Dude: like don’t get too fucked. Especially if there’s a hot guy on the cards ;)
Dan can’t help but feel a little annoyed. How is it when Creative Writing Dude talks about his crush, Dan can’t help but turn all unnecessarily bitter and cold, but then when Dan does the same, Creative Writing Dude’s just-…well, just so cool about it? Not that it isn’t how Dan would want him to respond, it’s just- well, from the weeks of speaking to him, he’s kind-of under the impression Creative Writing Dude’s the ‘perfect guy’ in every sense of the manner. He gets good grades, from what Dan’s heard he’s attractive, he cares about people, he isn’t immature when his friend tells him about his crush due to his own personal loneliness, and, despite the detention, he is fucking hilarious. And despite Dan secretly kind-of doting on this guy, it kind-of pisses him off because- he sighs, realising how jealousy-fuelled this unnecessary irritation is.
It’s because he’s everything in a person Dan isn’t, and everything Dan wants to be, really. He’s like that friend everyone has; that one you kind-of want to hate because they’re so- well, so perfect, but you can’t quite manage it just because of how fucking lovable they are.
Dan doesn’t deserve him. Not really.
He picks up his phone, realising he hasn’t responded to him yet.
Dan: thanks. I’ll try ;)
Cute Creative Writing Dude: and try not to drunk text me. Your typing’s bad enough sober ;P
Dan: oh come on I’m not that bad
Cute Creative Writing Dude: whatever you say ;)
Dan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop his thumbs automatically typing out the same response he’s been giving him for the past couple of weeks.
Dan: fuck you
The reply comes in seconds.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: if you insist x
-
When the doorbell rings, Dan jumps and nearly burns his forehead with his straighteners.
“Can you get that?” he calls down the stairs to his mum. He hears her footsteps edge towards the door, then there’s a click and a kind-of polite voice outside.
“Yeah, sure, he’s just- Dan?” she calls up. “He’s just upstairs. Go on up, love.”
Dan feels his heart in his throat. He always gets like this before parties, naturally nervous, but then the door opens and he has to swallow his nerves and greet his plus-one and shit.
He looks good tonight.
“Hey,” he says in a small voice, throwing him a shy grin.
His messy mop of black hair is perfectly straightened, teased and swept to the side in a fringe that would put Dan’s own to shame. He’s wearing a plain black shirt and skinny jeans – not the most adventurous or even imaginative combination, but he looks so good in them Dan almost forgets to take the hot irons off of his hair and when he does, his fringe is steaming.
“Fuck, sorry, I’m-“ he reaches for the hairspray. “I’m nearly done, I promise. Sit down. Sorry for the mess, I just-“
“It’s fine, dude,” he smirks, perching himself on the edge of Dan’s mattress whilst the brown-eyed boy fixes the new uneven kink in his hair he’s created. “Nice room,” he comments conversationally, before whipping out his phone.
“Really,” Dan scoffs, glancing at the mirror’s reflection at the numerous faces of Gerard Way and Vic Fuentes covering his walls. “I decorated it when I was going through my emo phase at, like, thirteen.”
The other boy snorts. “I like it,” he says. “Nothing wrong with a bit of My Chemical Romance.”
“I must say,” Dan begins, “I’m partial to the odd bit of Danger Days every now and then.”
“Yeah?” the boy looks up from his phone. “I’m the same. But, I mean, I think the Black Parade will always have my heart, y’know?”
“I get you,” Dan smiles. “That album was what got me into them in the first place, to be honest.”
Dan’s phone buzzes with a message then, and he puts his straighteners down to answer it.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: im so nervous omg help
Dan: why omg
Another buzz.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: my crush looks so fucking good I’m intimidated
Dan rolls his eyes, sighing a little too audibly.
“What’s up?” a voice asks from behind him.
Dan shrugs. “Just one of my friends. Trying to make me jealous or something. I dunno.”
“Really?” the boy frowns. “How come?”
“Just-…” Dan sighs, shaking his head. “It’s so dumb, but- just, like, talking about their crush to me all the time and stuff. It’s alright, I mean, I like that they can share stuff like that with me, it’s just-… it does grate on you after a while, you know?”
The other boy nods. “Er. Yeah,” he says. “Guess it does.”
There’s a silence, and Dan can see the other boy shuffling on the edge of the mattress.
Dan: aw omg
He might as well ditch the whole ‘bitter’ act, he supposes. Or try to, at least.
Dan: what does he look like?
Cute Creative Writing Dude: agh just fucking gorgeous. He’s straightening his hair rn but tbh I don’t think it needs styling at all.
Dan gulps, his own fringe feeling a little heavy on his forehead.
Dan: i know the feeling haha
Dan: my hair’s so gross. I’m always straightening it.
Cute Creative Writing Dude: oh cmon I’m sure you don’t need to
Cute Creative Writing Dude: I like natural hair on guys tbh
Dan snorts, grabbing his hairspray.
Dan: should see mine then. I look like Bilbo fucking Baggins
There’s a little snort behind him, and Dan turns round to see the black-haired boy grinning at his phone. He taps out a message whilst Dan attempts to spray his fringe into place. He knows it probably won’t last five minutes and it’ll curl like crazy the second he walks outside, but it’ll do for now.
“I think I’m ready,” Dan says, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt. The other boy glances up, eyeing Dan with a fond little smile on his face.
“You look great,” he says. “Is there time for a smoke before we go?”
Dan grins, and grabs his lighter and his phone.
-
At least the driveway’s clean, Dan thinks as they walk up to Chris’s house. Their hands keep brushing against each-other’s and Dan refuses to acknowledge the small prick of electricity inside his stomach every time it happens. They barely know each other – it takes a while to remember Dan doesn’t even know this guy’s name.
“Hey,” Dan stops as they slow down outside the door. He’s facing the other guy now, and his nose just about comes up to his chest because of the height difference.
“Yeah?” the other guy looks down, his blue eyes soft.
“I- well, I know this is kind-of dumb and I should’ve asked you sooner, but, well, what’s your-“
“Dan!” the door bursts open and Chris is in the hallway, arms outstretched and covered head to toe in glow sticks. He looks like he’s already consumed most of the beer Dan had had first dibs on and more. He grabs Dan’s wrist with a little too much enthusiasm, almost falling over his doormat.
“Hey,” Dan smirks, letting himself be pulled in. The taller boy follows closely behind him, and suddenly the door’s shut and they’re surrounded by the smell of alcohol, sweat, smoke and perfume, packed like sardines in the hallway. Dan whirls around, finding his plus-one. “This is, er-“
Before he can finish, Chris disappears into the living room and they lose him amongst the crowd almost immediately. They exchange glances.
“Oh,” Dan shrugs. “Well, he’s gone.”
“Yup,” the boy uncaps his wine and begins sipping. Dan does the same – he figures he’ll probably be needing a lot of this to make being pressed up against strangers with blisteringly loud music thumping against the floorboards as bearable as possible.
“C’mon,” Dan grabs his hand, pulling him in the general direction of the kitchen. It’s a lot less crowded, with practically no-one except a couple making out in the corner of the room who look like if the entire house explodes, they wouldn’t move from each-other’s lips. Nice.
“He said I could have these,” he ambles towards the microwave.
“Microwave?” the other boy frowns. “What did you dibs; a pot noodle?”
It’s not actually that funny, but Dan hoots with laughter.
“I-… oh my god,” he sighs, clicking the microwave door open with his thumb. “No, wait-“ he drags out the case of beers. To his surprise, none of them are actually missing.
“What the fuck?” the boy screws up his face in confusion. “How the hell did he manage to get that in there?”
The cardboard is all crumpled and it looks as if it’d taken quite a battle to fit them all in, but they’re still drinkable.
“Fuck knows,” Dan takes two, offering him one. He hesitates for a second, taking another swig of wine.
“Should you mix wine and beer?” he asks, mouthing the rim of the bottle thoughtfully.
Dan shrugs. “Beer before wine, you’ll feel fine.”
“I thought it was wine before beer you’ll feel queer?” the boy frowns.
Dan shrugs, pulling the aluminium ring until the can fizzes open. “Win-win either way, isn’t it?”
The other boy doesn’t deny that, and copies Dan’s actions.
-
Dan’s always had a pretty strong stomach when it comes to alcohol. He doesn’t feel any immediate effects of mixing the two – when he was younger he’d always assumed it’d have some kind of mentos-and-coke style reaction in his stomach and he’d have to be rushed to hospital, but this is fine, really.
They adopt a space outside on the garden chairs, pulling them closer together and dragging the ashtray on the centre of the table nearer to them. There are other people outside, the night air is heavy with music and the smell of weed and tobacco smoke and fruit-flavoured vape (Dan’s never really seen any point in vaping and it turns out neither does the other guy), and the patio is littered with cigarette butts. Dan doesn’t really seem to notice the company they’re surrounded by, they don’t matter; the air’s buzzing with drunken excitement and there are about twelve different conversations humming at once and Dan only cares about one.
“Y’know-…” the boy begins, flicking his cigarette. He aims it for the ashtray, but a few of the grey crumbles land on Dan’s knee instead. Their shoulders are touching now and Dan can feel the other boy’s warmth and smell his aftershave and Dan knows their heads are so close if he tilted his to the left right now, they’d more or less be kissing. His heart hesitates at the thought of that.
“I know-…” Dan prompts with a grin, his dimple appearing.
“I-…” the other boy chuckles, as if sharing a private joke with himself. There’s a little silence before he speaks up again. “I-… I still don’t know your name.”
Dan glances up, their noses nearly touching. This guy’s eyes glitter cerulean in the dim light and the fairy lights lining the gazebo are his backdrop, illuminating his skin porcelain white and his hair midnight blue. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.
“Dan,” Dan says when he remembers to speak. “And yourself?”
He gulps. “Phil.”
Dan nods, turning away and flicking his own cigarette. A bit of ash lands on Phil’s jeans this time, grey bits sprinkling black fabric.
“It’s good,” Dan nods. “To, y’know, finally put a name to the face,” he says. Phil nods in agreement.
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, we’ve known each-other for, what, three weeks or whatever? And, like, I’ve only just found out your name,” he scoffs as if he’s just made a ground-breaking revelation. “Wow.”
“I-… Phil,” he tests it out, glancing back up to the boy, studying his eyes and the gentle silver curves of his face and his hair; his perfectly straight fringe that will always sweep across his forehead in a perfect way that Dan can never quite replicate, himself. “It suits you.”
“That’s a relief,” Phil smirks, and he drops his cigarette on the floor, edging closer towards Dan and shit, his heart is really speeding up now. He takes a swig of his can; he’s lost count of how many they’ve had but the microwave’s probably empty now and they’d finished their wines long ago.
Dan giggles. “You’re really cute,” he can feel Phil’s breath on his cheek and he’s kind-of leaning into him now and the only barrier between them is the hard plastic armrests of the garden chairs. He’s thinking of leaning a little further until their noses touch and there’s only one way they can tilt until it happens, but then the moment passes and Phil stands up and suddenly Dan isn’t leaning on anything anymore.
He’s about to feel disappointed until he feels a hand clasp his own and he looks up to see the other boy inches away from him, a suggestive glitter in his eye. Dan doesn’t know what his intentions are, but he gets up anyway, feeling his vision swim as he does and it takes him a couple of seconds to recollect his composure and not fall face-down onto the grass. When this doesn’t happen and he’s standing upright, hand-in-hand with this taller guy, he feels him pull a little towards the direction of the garden.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, and Dan can’t help but follow. Chris has a pretty big garden and they don’t have to do much walking to remove themselves from the majority of the party until they’re standing together, secluded and surrounded by darkness with wet grass against their feet and cold night air whipping their skin every now and then. The moon lights their path in a silvery, almost blue glow around them, so it’s never truly dark wherever they go.
The stars are glittering against the deep blue canvas of the sky above them, little pricks of light glimmering in constellations that blur in Dan’s drunken vision and he can’t be bothered to map them all out or name them right now. They just look pretty right now; they always do.
“It’s nice, tonight,” Dan comments. Phil doesn’t say anything, but the moonlight illuminates him enough for Dan to notice a grin tugging at his lips. The glow spreads around them both, lighting up Phil in every shade of black, white and blue, matching his hair and skin and eyes perfectly and fuck, he really is beautiful.
He’s too transfixed on both Phil and the sky of stars behind him that it takes him a couple of seconds to realise Phil’s arm is around his waist and he’s pulling him in.
And then, just like that, they’re kissing like they’re already a couple.
It’s fuelled with passion, need almost, as a result of three weeks of pent-up tension and smoking together and secretly stealing glances when the other one isn’t looking. Dan kisses him back immediately, melting into his touch and dropping his beer straight onto the grass in order to slide his own arm around Phil’s waist, to touch him and run his fingers across the stitching in his shirt and the leathery firmness of his belt. He hooks his thumb around one of the loops in his jeans, and Phil presses into him. It’s just like a dream – out here, under the stars with a boy who looks like the night, and Dan can’t quite believe this is happening.
Phil parts his lips and Dan feels a hot slip of tongue that makes him want to pull his hips in by the belt loop and grind forward into Phil. He resists, however; despite he illusion of isolation they’re still very much outside and he doesn’t really want an audience. He settles for gentle pecks against Phil’s warm mouth, their lips pressed together and each kiss getting a little messier and shit, they’re really making out now.
When they finally break apart, Dan’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon and Phil’s usually perfect hair is a little mussed from Dan’s touch and they’re both breathing together, searching for the reflection of the moon in each-other’s eyes.
“Upstairs?” Phil’s voice is nothing above a raspy whisper, and Dan doesn’t need to be asked twice. They make their way back to lightness where the crowd thickens and music blares but Dan doesn’t pay attention, he doesn’t care – the only thing that’s on his mind right now is Phil.
They just about make it up the stairs alive – Dan trips over a few times and nearly brings Phil down with him and their clumsiness raises a few eyebrows, but he doesn’t really have time to process anything because in seconds they’re falling into a darkened spare room and the door shuts against Dan’s back, shutting them all out and they’re finally alone.
Phil presses Dan up against it immediately, his body weight pinning him against the wood of the door, and he’s kissing him hard.
Dan lets out a shuddering breath, and their hands are straying everywhere. Phil grinds into Dan, their hips colliding and Dan all but moans, his teeth clamping down on his lower lip, determined not to make a sound. He gropes Phil’s dick through the black denim of his jeans and discovers he’s just as hard as Dan is, and suddenly he’s pulled off the door and onto the bed, the smooth duvet creasing and cushions flying everywhere. Phil climbs on top of him, straddling him, and a clink of a belt and a zip of a fly later, there’s no longer a denim barrier between them and buttons are being undone, moans are escaping their lips and all Dan can think about is the feeling of Phil against himself, the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his crotch and fuck, how did they get here?
Phil presses his lips to Dan’s neck, and Dan all but loses it. He digs his nails into Phil’s back, arching his neck to allow him better access and feeling surges of arousal jolt through him every time he feels a peck against the hypersensitive skin. He blindly gropes for Phil, his fingers finding his waistband as Phil’s hands begin to also wander south. His fingertips are cold and they send shivers shimmering through Dan’s body, but in all honesty, Dan couldn’t be feeling more alight right now.
When Phil grips his cock, Dan feels as if every nerve ending in his body has just been lit, glowing amber like the tip of a cigarette. He stutters out something incoherent, shuffling back against the headboard and letting Phil roll to his side. Phil’s lips are on his neck, his teeth grazing the skin every now and then in a way that makes Dan writhe almost uncontrollably against the pillow and he knows there are going to be blotches of purple peppering the areas Phil has his lips against tomorrow, he just knows it.
Phil settles into a rhythm, his mouth on Dan’s neck, collarbones and lips and his hand on his dick, his thumb flicking over the tip every now and then and smearing precome for lubrication and fuck, Dan’s really moaning now. He’s thankful there’s as loud music as there is to mask this, and he doesn’t know why he’s finding it so hot that anyone could walk in on them right now.
Dan comes in a flurry of moans and gasps of Phil’s name, and Phil grabs some tissues from a box on the side of the bed. It takes Dan a breathless silence until he can speak again.
“C’mere,” he presses his lips to Phil’s once he’d come down, buttoning his jeans up. He rolls on top of Phil, groping at his crotch and palming him until Phil moans into his mouth. He breaks off the kiss, his lips travelling past his jawline, down his neck until his lips are hovering above Phil’s waistband.
“Please,” Phil breathes, his voice laced with desperation, and that’s all the confirmation Dan needs before he has Phil’s cock in his hand, wetting his lips a little nervously because he’s never really done this before, but how hard can it be, right?
-
“Wow,” is all Phil can say. They’re staring up at the ceiling, side-by-side, and all they can really do is reflect on what just happened, their drunken minds trying to process everything at once.
“Wow,” Dan huffs out a sigh of agreement, before rolling over and pressing a kiss to Phil’s jaw. “I like you, by the way. And not just because you’re good at handjobs.”
Phil chuckles, leaning into Dan’s touch. “I like you too. And not just because you’re good at blowjobs. Which, by the way, you are,” he adds.
“Really?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never done it before.”
“You serious?” Phil pauses. Dan nods. “Well,” he smirks. “You’ve certainly got a talented mouth.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dan says.
“Well it’s hardly an insult, is it?” Phil quips, and Dan shuts him up by kissing him.
Phil pulls out his phone, half of his limbs still entwined with Dan. He checks it briefly, before locking it again and putting it on the bedside table. He rolls over until they’re nose-to-nose, pulling Dan in for a cuddle and pressing a lazy kiss to his forehead.
It’s then that Dan feels kind-of sorry for whoever this bed belongs to. Then again, Chris can always torch the sheets if he finds out what had happened.
-
It’s been a couple of days since the party, and Dan had told Creative Writing Dude everything. It turns out he’d had a fair bit of action at his own party, too, and that’s okay because Dan doesn’t feel jealousy anymore, not when he now has Phil.
They’re not really dating. It’s just sex, and banter. Dan would certainly like it to be something more, but he’s never run the idea past Phil. They’ve never properly talked about it; one minute they’re joking about their English teacher and the next they’re ripping each-other’s clothes off without a second thought, and Dan doesn’t quite know why it works as well as it does.
Dan’s got an essay due in tomorrow. He’s been tapping away at his laptop for the best part of an hour but the word count doesn’t seem to be moving that quickly. He sighs frustratedly, shuffling around on the sofa and rearranging a sleeping Phil around him, their legs tangled together because Dan once thought it would be a good idea to let him round when he’s trying to work.
It’s nice to have him here, though. It’s always nice to be in Phil’s company.
He pulls out his phone, sick of staring at a blinking cursor.
Dan: can u help me with something it’s English related.
A phone on the coffee table vibrates, and Dan hesitates. He isn’t nosy, not really, but Phil’s asleep and his phone is just kind-of, there, and-
Okay, maybe Dan is a little nosy, but a tiny glance can’t hurt, right?
When he presses the lock button and the screen illuminates, his mouth goes dry.
There, on a phone screen, is a clone of Dan’s exact text. On Phil’s phone.
What the fuck?
He taps another one out, experimentally.
Dan: um wtf
There, again, is the same vibration and the text flashes up onto Phil’s phone.
Dan feels sick. Oh my fucking god.
“Phil,” he nudges the sleeping boy. No response. “Phil,” he says, a little louder this time, elbowing him in the thigh.
“Mh,” Phil grunts. “What?” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m- having a nap. It’s not very nice to disturb peop-“
Dan thrust the phone screen in his face. Phil frowns, blinking a couple of times before it comes into focus. He squints.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “What?”
Dan grabs his own phone, tapping out a message to him.
Dan: I can’t fucking believe this.
Phil’s phone vibrates in his hand. It’s his turn to go quiet this time, and the look on his face, dropped jaws and wide eyes, really is something priceless. Dan can’t help but giggle even though his heart is thudding because this is really fucking happening and oh my god.
“You’re-“
“I’m-“
“I’ve been-“
“And it’s-“
“What- what the fuck,” Phil shakes his head in disbelief. “What the fuck?”
“When we were both going to the-… party and- we went to the same party-…” Dan reflects. “And,” he stops, remembering. “Oh god.”
“We-“
“-Both got some. Um. Action,” Dan chuckles, and Phil’s face burns red. “With each other.”
“Oh god,” he chokes suddenly.
“What?”
“You-…” Phil shakes his head. “All that time I’d been talking about my fucking crush on you. I was telling you.”
Dan’s eyes widen, and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. That hadn’t quite occurred to him.
“Oh my god,” his voice is a little hoarse. “Oh my god. All the time I was getting annoyed with you for going on about it. I was complaining to you about it-… but it was you who had a crush on me and-…”
“Fuck,” Phil shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
“Oh my god,” Dan gulps. “You. You’re ‘Creative Writing Dude’.”
Phil frowns. “Creative what?”
Dan shows him his saved contact, and Phil chuckles.
“Oh, yeah,” he grins. “The competition. Because I came to you for the advice on the two pieces, didn’t I?”
“And you won,” Dan beams proudly.
“God, this is so weird,” Phil shakes his head. “I just- I had no idea-“
“I didn’t even twig,” Dan agrees. “Not even when I was texting you when you were in the same room as me.”
“How did we not put two and two together?” Phil asks rhetorically. “Like, honestly. We’re fucking idiots.”
“You can say that again,” Dan huffs out a little laugh. “Oh my god,” he shuts his eyes again, still not quite believing this.
“Fuck,” Phil grins. “This is so weird. Like-… so weird.”
“I know,” Dan’s heart thuds. “You-… you got me a fucking detention.”
Phil chuckles gleefully. “That was funny, though,” he says. “You have to admit.”
Dan glares at him, and only one comeback springs to mind.
“Fuck you,” he mutters.
Phil grins, putting his phone down and leaning forward until they’re chest-to-chest. He presses a kiss to Dan’s lips.
“If you insist,” he quips.
-
Dan’s essay doesn’t get done that night.
-
The next Day, Dan changes a contact name. Creative Writing Dude is no longer in his contacts.
Phil, on the other hand, is.
-
Feedback is always appreciated!!
Also fun fact: the bit about hiding drinks in the microwave is based off of a true experience of mine. No-one looks in there, seriously.