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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I
am currently one of eleven people staying in this tiny lil house and ive
finally managed to steal an empty room to myself in order to write this and I
feel so UNSOCIABLE but theres a dog here next to me so it’s all good
Shoutout to this chapter for being the first one in which things actually begin to HAPPEN???? I know I say this at the beginning of literally every chapter so far but things really are gonna pick up from here I swear and by that I mean dans backstory (or at least some of it) is Literally Going To Be In The Very Next Chapter
Anyway I got far too carried away with this. im kinda sorry but kinda not
warnings: smut (masturbation AGAIN WHAT THE UFCK WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING) alcohol, self harm (v brief) ehhh I think that’s about it
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Fourteen
There’s something about Dan that calms Phil down.
Maybe it’s weird, a little illogical, that someone with a personality as anxious and as timid as a wild mouse can somehow be seen as soothing, but that’s how it is.
“Hi,” Phil had sighed upon hearing the door open. He didn’t look over, didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling. Seconds later, a brown head of hair slides into his peripheral vision and he feels part of the mattress sink a little. He shuffles into an upright position in order to make more room for the other boy, crossing his legs and slouching his back a little.
“What happened?” Dan had whispered in a voice like cotton wool.
“Freddie happened,” Phil had told him. “We had an argument.”
Dan sighed, caramel eyes glittering with sympathy. “Talk.”
“Huh?”
“Tell me about it. You’ll feel better with it out of your system.”
So Phil did. And he found once he started, he can’t really stop and it’s only about ten minutes later he finally pauses, the room feeling thick with silence without the sound of his own voice filling it. His blow-by-blow recount from when they got to the vending machine to when he left it, charging through the corridors with an angry heart, was probably a little too detailed. He probably could’ve wrapped up the entire story in about three sentences instead of three-hundred.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “I’ve bored you, haven’t I?”