prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).
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HERE IT IS
HERE IT FUCKING IS
YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I’VE BEEN PLANNING THIS FOR HAHAHHAHA OH FUCK okay right this was quite literally a nightmare to write omg u have no idea I literally spent all week writing and deleting and Rewriting and editing and CHANGING but I think it paid off. I hope.
I listened to gasoline by halsey [x] and human by christina perri [x] whilst writing the majority of this. I think they both fit dan pretty nicely so I would highly recommend.
(Also I have nothing against the may fair hotel it’s probably v snazzy idk I’ve never actually been but u know. For the sake of fiction)
Anyway here it is. The story of Daniel James Howell. The tiny troubled child.
warnings: alcohol, mentions of abuse, (v v brief) mentions of rape, self harm
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Sixteen
Phil doesn’t really know how to feel about this.
It’s strange. It’s strange to be out here in the cold and under the stars after weeks and weeks of tiptoeing around curfews and cornered off areas and only staring at the night through an open window. It’s strange to be sitting hand-in-hand with Dan, the same Dan he’d be prepared to pelt rocks at only a month or two ago, talking about the moon and the stars and the way Dan’s features match those of the sky above. Hell, it’s probably strange to eat sixteen fucking brownies in one night, but they still did it. Everything’s just really fucking weird.
Most of all, however, it’s strange to see Dan, Dan who only last night wouldn’t let a drop of beer touch his lips, gulp away at this wine like it’s the final drop of water in an oasis.
“Slow down a bit,” Phil frowns, his heart thudding. He takes the bottle from Dan, still warm from his touch and holds it up to the moonlight. “Christ, Dan. You’ve drunk nearly a quarter of this already.”
“Good,” Dan reaches for it. “Let me-… let me have more. Then- then I can-… tell you. Things.”
Phil frowns, taking a few sips of wine himself; there’s no way he’s letting Dan drink this entire thing by himself. “What happened to Dan ‘alcohol is the mother of all evil’ Howell, eh? You didn’t touch Noah’s crate of Kronenbourg last week.”
“Wine,” is all Dan murmurs before he’s taking another gulp, eyes closed, breaths long and deep. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, staining them a darker red than usual. “I like wine. Hate beer. Tastes like shit.”
“Right,” Phil takes a few swallows himself
before screwing the lid on and wedging it in between them, slightly out of
Dan’s sight. “Well. Um. That figures.”
“Mm,” Dan sighs, shutting his eyes. “God. I think I’m a bit pissed already.”