#dansphlevels

 "Stop whining," Greyson suggested, speed walking over to the fridge. "Naomi can stay as long as she wants, she's family. OJ?"  "Toss it." He did, and Phil caught it easily, his clumsiness forgotten when it came to food. "Family's overrated."  "Feel lucky. I tried for kids with Myrel for six years with no luck. Marrying your mother was the best thing I ever did. Five kids, just like that, and I didn't have to do anything!"  Phil grunted into his cereal. "Six, if you include the rodent."  "She's not a rodent, she's a baby. She's going to cry, you'd better get used to it."  "Who's going to cry?" Asked Tucker, hurrying into the kitchen and grabbing the cereal from the counter. "Amanda?"  "The rat," Phil explained.  "Amanda cries a lot too. I think her baby makes her sad."  "She's just tired," Greyson explained. "Hey, didn't you need a permission slip signed? Something for school?"  "Rocket museum field trip. I already turned it in."  Greyson leaned against the counter. "Really? Who signed it?"  "Mum did."  "That means he did," Phil explained to his bowl of cereal. He stared into it like it was trying to communicate with him, tell him the answers to his Calculus test or his problem with the baby. "He's getting good at faking signatures. You should see him do mine."  "Snitch. Greyson, would you like some eggs sir?"  "Yes please. But you're still grounded."  Tucker came up behind Phil and gave him a light smack on the back of the head.  "I need formula," Amanda declared, stepping into the already crowded kitchen. "Janie's crying again."  They all strained their ears to hear. Sure enough, the baby's wail sounded through the house from the upstairs, loud enough to hear but not loud enough to be bothersome. None of them had noticed yet; it had become a familiar background noise.  Greyson frowned in worry. "I thought you were still breastfeeding?"  "If I breastfed her every time she was hungry I wouldn't have time to do anything else. She's a hungry little baby. Lots of growing to do."  "She's fat," Phil corrected.  "Your mum."  "She's your mum too."  "Is mum up yet?" Sandy asked, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a bowl from the cupboard. Her old purple bathrobe that was two sizes too big dragged on the floor, her tangled brown hair falling in messy waves down her back. She sidestepped Tucker with ease, sliding in between the crowd of people trying to navigate the too small kitchen all at once.  A few of them shook their head. Phil continued to stare into his cereal bowl, not even eating anymore.  "She's sleeping," Greyson explained. "She had the graveyard shift."  "She did animal surgery at a graveyard?" Sandy asked, eyes wide.  "It's an expression. It means the late shift."  "And it wasn't animal surgery," Greyson explained patiently. "The clinic your mom works at has someone on site 24 hours a day, in case anyone's pet gets sick and needs help right away."  Phil's phone beeped, and he got up quickly, grabbing his backpack that was slung over the other chair.  "Have fun at school!" Greyson called out.  "Have fun selling used cars," Phil called back unenthusiastically. He walked right out the door without looking back, letting it slam shut behind him.  "He's a great kid," Greyson muttered. "Works hard. We shouldn't be too hard on him."  "School makes him boring," Tucker half agreed. "I like him better in the summer." --------  He wasn't wrong.  Phil rode the bus in silence, putting his backpack on the seat next to him so no one would sit with him. Headphones in, he pulled out his homework and started to review for his A-levels physics class.  Getting to school, he went throughout the day in silence. He talked to a few friends along the way, but all in all it was uneventful. He took a test and got another test back. B+. He'd have to do corrections.   When he got home, he went up to his room and started studying. He only had an hour until Tucker got back, and then the house would get progressively noisier and noisier until ten that night when it would simmer down, and he'd be able to study in silence again. Tucker had the top bunk, so he didn't mind Phil keeping his lamp on for most of the night, as long as the overhead light was turned off. However, sometimes his snoring distracted Phil.  After half an hour of reviewing, the rat started crying again and Phil was ready to stab someone. He changed out of his school uniform and into grass-stained jeans and a t-shirt and started going around the neighborhood, going through his checklist. Mrs.Henderson needed the hedges outside her house pruned every Thursday, and it was also the day he mowed the Howell's lawn.  An hour and a whole lot of sweat later- it was far too hot for November- Phil was knocking on the Howell's door.  It swung open after a full minute, revealing not Mr.Howell, but his son, Dan. "Hey Phil."  "Hey Dan. Is your dad here, I finished-"  The boy turned around, calling into the house, "Dad! Phil's here!"  They waited a few beats. Dan turned back to him. "How much do we owe you?"  "25 pounds."  "Jesus, you're ripping us off."  "Better your dad pays me to mow the lawn than make you."  Dan shrugged. "Probably."  His dad came running down the stairs, panting a little. "Phil! Good to see you!" He was a mess, almond brown hair sticking up almost at random. He stepped forwards and almost stepped on his son's foot if Dan hadn't stepped back.

 He scanned the front yard quickly then the boy in front of him. "How much is it again?"  "30 quid," Dan answered for Phil.  They both watched as his father emptied out his pockets, turning each one inside out hurriedly before finding the one with his wallet in it. "Ah ha! Here we go!" He pulled out a fat stack of cash, pulled off a few bills, and handed them over. "There you go. Payment for the week. Have any more leaves fallen?"  "No. That tree's been bare since the beginning of October."  He nodded quickly, stuffing his wallet into a different pocket than he'd pulled it out from. "That's great. And the lawn looks great, thanks for doing such a great job. I have to keep working now, but um, have a nice Thanksgiving!" He turned and hurried back up the stairs, skipping a few steps.  Dan and Phil watched him go. "It's two more weeks until Thanksgiving," Phil observed. "I'll see him at least two more times until then."  Dan snorted, still looking at the stairs where his father had sprinted up. "Yeah, he's a clutter-brain. Everyone tells me he's a genius, but... well, I have my doubts." He looked back at Phil. "He works in his office upstairs. All day. Sometimes doesn't even come down for meals."  Phil nodded, not really relating but at least understanding. "He's loud at night?"

 "Nah." He looked up, not really looking at anything in particular. "He hardly makes any noise in there. Sometimes I hear a crash, but that's just his clumsiness. He knocks down stuff every once in a while, but besides that, our house is usually dead."  "Must be nice. My house is always too loud to study in. You taking any A levels?"

 "Yeah, I'm in a few of your classes. Calc, and Lit. And forensic science, but that's not A levels."  Phil nodded, his cheeks a little warmer. "Sorry. I don't really talk much in class."  "I don't either. But I still look up every once in a while." He sighed. "I'm just procrastinating by talking to you. Have to write an essay. I'd rather throw myself into oncoming traffic."  "While I'll let you get to it then."  "Which one, studying or throwing myself into oncoming traffic?"  He shrugged. "Either or. But if you do decide to end it all, let me know so I can have your room. I'd be able to get stuff done so much quicker if I had some quiet."  Dan smiled. "Okay. I'll give you a heads up, put your name in my will maybe?"  "Definitely. See you around, Howell."  "See ya Lester."  As Phil walked home, he counted the money Mr.Howell had given him. Thirty pounds. Phil had been working for the Howells for at least a year now, and every single time he got paid he was asked how much it cost. Mr.Howell was clearly a cluster-head, and that was a nice term for it. ---  Phil knew he'd made a mistake the second the words came out his mouth.  The teacher was out for the period in general health and nutrition class, and no sub had shown up, so they got their desks all in a circle and decided to play a game of never have I ever. Phil didn't have any friends in this class, and he hadn't really talked to anyone in it recently, besides Dan, but that one time a week ago on his porch had hardly counted. Apparently, Dan and him had four classes together total. Phil had looked up in each class long enough to check.  The game was going fine for a few minutes. Phil, who never went out or did anything especially stupid, had most of his fingers up still. And then it got to the next person.  A girl, who smiled and proudly declared "Never have I ever kissed a girl."  Laughing, some people making noises and their friends put fingers down until someone noticed Phil didn't put any down. "Phil, did you put a finger down?"  He could feel his heart jump a little. "No."  All eyes were on him. "You've never kissed a girl?"  "I'm gay."  The reaction was immediate. Wide-eyes-open-mouths-chairs-scooted-back-worst-case-scenario "I didn't know there were any fags at our school!"  A few football players looked mortified. "We had gym together! Were you checking us out?"  "What? No!"  "Oh my God, he's kissed a dude!"  "That's disgusting!"  "I can't believe-"  "I'm sorry I'm late, class," the nutrition teacher stated, hurrying in through the front door of the classroom, coat and bag in hand. "My car had a problem and had to be towed, and my phone ran out of battery so I couldn't call anyone. Please arrange your desks back in their proper order, and we'll get started."  Everyone hurried to do as she said, doing their best not to touch Phil. They acted as if he had the plague, like his gay was contagious.  After a few minutes, they were all in their seats. Phil looked around and realized that there was a ring of empty desks around his seat. ---  Word traveled like wildfire.  After that class, he was afraid no one in the hallway would want to touch him. But to his surprise, only a few people seemed to know what had happened.  He practically ran to his next class. He sat down and put his head in his arms, mouthing the words it's going to be alright, it's going to blow over, no one will care, no one will care...  And no one in that class did care. Or so it seemed. Phil did his best not to look up.  He ate lunch in that class. Hopefully, already everyone in that God forsaken class had forgotten.  But by the time it was passing period again, it seemed like everyone knew. During lunch, everyone had been able to go on their phones and talk to their friends, and people stared at him in the hallway like he'd grown a tail.  "Gay."  "Homo."  "Lester, yeah, the boy with the black hair and the pasty skin-"  Phil put his headphones in at that point, drowning them out in music. He'd fucked up. ---  Dan answered the door that afternoon. As soon as he saw Phil, he scowled. "Dad! He's back!"  Phil leant up against the doorway, his breath shaky. Dan's expression made him want to curl in a ball on the floor. "Do you hate me too?"  "I'd be stupid not to."  "Because I'm a fag," Phil clarified.  Dan looked back, making sure his father hadn't appeared yet. "Because you can't keep your big mouth shut. Didn't you know that it'd ruin everything?"  Everything? "Everything?"  "I'm here!" Dan's dad appeared on the stairs, running down so fast it was a miracle he didn't trip. "How much?"  "25," Phil said quickly, daring Dan to correct him. He didn't need his help.  "25," Dan's dad agreed, quickly pulling out the bills. "Such a great thing you're doing, I'm sure everyone in the neighborhood appreciates it. I've always hated mowing the lawn."  "I've never minded it," said Phil, trying for an upbeat tone. "Good exercise."  "You kids need lots of exercise," the man agreed. "Daniel here does boxing. Great full body workout, keeps you healthy. Sorry, I've got to-"  "-get back to work," Dan agreed, glaring daggers his way. His dad didn't notice, just turned and left, back up to his office.  Phil turned to Dan. "I didn't know you boxed."  "I didn't know you were a fag," he sneered, turning and slamming the door in Phil's face.  He blinked. "Um, okay. Well... I guess I'll see you later too then." ---  "Anything interesting happen at school?" Phil's mum asked.  They went around, all of Phil's younger siblings sharing. Tucker got an A on his blah blah blah, Sandy got asked out by blah blah blah, and Phil's youngest sister, Anna, got made fun of for wearing her hair in a side braid when all the other kids wore theirs in a french braid.  "Kids can be cruel," Greyson advised, his paternal wisdom straight from a parenting book. "You can't let them get to you. The only people who are bullied are people who let themselves get bullied. You have to stand up for yourself..."  Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah. Phil was amazing at toning his family out at the dinner table. Now if only he could tone them out as efficiently when studying...  "And Philip? How was your day?" His mum asked brightly.  "Fine."  "Anything interesting happen?"  "No."  "How'd you do on that Lit exam?" Greyson offered with a smile.  "Fine."  ---  It was ten at night. Amanda was on her phone in the next room, the paper thin walls barely muffling her voice. On the top bunk, Tucker snored obnoxiously.  Phil closed his eyes and tried to think about Moby Dick. He had to study. He could not fail A-levels Literacy.  He was smart enough for this.  Would he have any friends when he went to school tomorrow? -------  Cereal. Backpack. Bus. School.  Yes, he still had friends. Yes, they accepted that he was gay. No, they didn't want to talk in the hallway. Yes, they were still his friends. You're right, you should have kept it to yourself, they said. You just royally screwed yourself over.  Class. Class class. Bus. Home. Study. Change. A note was stuck in the back pocket of his navy, school-issued trousers.  Faggot.  He threw it away, then thought better of it and tore it up, then threw it away.  By then Tucker was home, and soon Sandy and Anna were too. The house got louder and louder, and Phil's focus became less and less.  Finally, he gave up, tossing his folders and notebooks into his backpack, and heading out the door. ---  The bagel shop also sold coffee. However, it tasted horrible. Phil bought a small cup.  He chose a corner table and dropped his backpack, digging through it to find his materials, and sat down, immediately starting to write. He had to write a five-page report on the first half of Moby Dick, and he wrote without thinking.  Phil felt the presence next to him before he saw it. "Moby Dick? Interesting. You liking it?"  Phil looked up. "Hardly. What are you doing here Dan?"  He waved his bagel, making a duh expression. "I'm actually just leaving now. Enjoy the Dick book. But knowing you, I'm sure you will." He bit down on his bagel, reached out and knocking Phil's half empty coffee over, spilling all over the paper and his lap. "Oops."  He left, and Phil was left staring at the mess. Only half aware, he pushed his backpack and the book aside before the coffee could stain them. The pages he'd written so far were already ruined. He looked over them, trying to read what was written.  It didn't matter. Nothing he'd written had any sort of meaning or rhythm, and he'd used the same example at least three times. He balled the papers up and threw them away. ---   People pinched him in the hallway. He didn't know who it was but knew from the snickers it was the same people. He didn't react.  "Ooh, I think he likes it," a voice giggled. "Maybe he wants you to do it again."  "I bet he'd like it more if there weren't so many people here," another voice remarked quietly. "He'd be on his knees before you could snap your fingers, so desperate to get-"  Phil stuffed the headphones in his ears, turning his music on quickly. The louder the better. He tried to walk faster, ignore the looks. He really tried. ---  "Phil, anything new and excited happen at school today?"  "No."  "You've been giving the same answer all week! Surely something must have happened."  "No, nothing has. I presented that Health and Nutrition thing."  "Oh! That's nice, how'd it go?"  "Fine," he lied. "Can I be excused? I'm meeting with a friend."  He was exused, and as quickly as possible got his backpack and got over to the bagel shop. A cup of coffee in hand, he made his way to a table more out of the way than the first one, plugging in his music.  Peace and quiet, he thought, because music doesn't count as noise. My closest friend. ---  He couldn't afford to go to the bagel place every day. He was saving his money for uni, and mowing lawns didn't make that much.  The next Thursday, when he went to the Howell's house to collect his money for that week, Mr.Howell answered the door for once. "How much?"  "25 pounds. Is Dan at boxing?"  "Hmm? No, he's upstairs studying."  It took longer than normal for Mr.Howell to find and count the money. Phil shifted uncomfortably on the porch. "Dan's pretty lucky. I have to study at the Bagel shop by Main, my families so loud."  "Oh, you could always study here," Dan's dad said easily, counting out the pound notes. "Downstairs on the dining room table. Plenty of room, my wife works until nine most nights, and Dan studies upstairs, so there's plenty of room."  Phil blinked. "Are you serious?"  "Of course! You seem like a nice boy, I trust you. And you wouldn't be bothering either of us. Come over tomorrow with your study stuff, and you can just go at it. You seem like a nice boy."  On one hand, Dan hated his guts. On the other...  "Okay. Yeah, thanks Mr.Howell, I really appreciate it." ---  It took three days for Dan to notice him.  Phil let himself in after the first day, when Mr.Howell said it was easier for everyone. Then he studied at the dining room table, the house so quiet he questioned whether anyone was home at all.  He came back the next day, and the same happened. And the next day was shaping up to be the same, when Dan came downstairs to get a snack and stopped in his tracks. "What are you doing in my house?"  "Reconsidering my life choices," Phil answered immediately. "I should've taken easier classes. School is whooping my ass."  Dan walked over, surveying the mess of school supplied splayed across the table. "I bet you like that though."  Phil attempted a smile. It didn't work. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm kinky."  "You didn't deny it," Dan noted. Before Phil could defend himself, he was talking again, saying "But actually, what are you doing in my house?"  Phil rubbed his temples painfually. "Your dad said I could. I needed a quiet place to study."  "And you can't study at your house because...?"  Phil looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because I need a quiet place to study," he repeated, slower, as if to help Dan process it. "I have four siblings, not to mention the rodent."  "The rodent?"  "My sister had a baby. She never shuts up."  "The sister or the baby?"  "Both." Phil tilted his head to the side, considering. "Mostly the baby though."  "Cool," Dan deadpanned. "I'm going upstairs."  "Have fun."  He didn't respond. ----  Across Phil's locker, the word 'Twink' was spray painted, bright green. He tried to wipe it off with a wet paper towel, but it did nothing. ----  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   "Hey Peej, it's Phil, I was just wondering if you wanted to go the new movie theater sometime, check it out. I don't care what we see, um, you can choose. So... yeah. Call me back." Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   Beep. "Hey Mark, it's Phil! Do you wanna hang out sometime? It feels like it's been forever. So, uh, yeah, call me back!" Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   Beep. "It's Phil, I heard you and Julie broke up? Just wondering if you wanted to rant or talk about it or whatever. We could grab lunch or something. Um... yeah. Call me back." Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling has been disconnected and is no longer available." Beep.   Beep.  ----  "I'm going to die," Tucker was saying, laying on his bed with his head hanging off the end. "I'm actually going to die."  "It's only report cards," Phil reassured. "You're smart. You'll be fine."  "I did horrible in Science this quarter. I didn't even turn in my notebook, I forgot. Mum's going to kill me!" He rolled over, staring at his older brother miserably. "I wish I was like you and actually liked school."  "I don't like school."  "That's all you ever do though. You go to school, then you get home and study. How could you not like school?"  Phil shrugged. "Guess I don't really like the people there. We don't really see eye to eye." ----  "Dunk! Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!"  "Better close your eyes, bum-chum!" Phil's head was dunked under, water pouring onto his face as they flushed the toilet. He sputtered for breath, the chanting and cheering being literally drowned out by water.  They let him go and he threw himself forwards on the disgusting bathroom tile, coughing and spitting, desperate for air.  "Funny. I always thought that you'd swallow."  More laughter. Phil wanted to cry, or die, or kill them or all three.  The bell rang, and everyone dispersed, leaving him in a wet pile of tears and toilet water. ---  Dan was staring at him.  Phil had done his best to dry off, but he could only do so much. He refused to let the bullies make him miss class though, especially Calculus. He already hardly understood the class, he couldn't afford to miss a full day of instructions.  Phil tried to ignore the other boy's gaze on him, instead listening to the teacher. "...I'm sorry, but I don't let anyone take home the textbooks. We have a class set of 30, and that's all the district will provide for us for the next 20 years, basically. However, if you'd like you can stay after school..."  Dan was still staring at him. What happened? He mouthed from across the class.  I'm gay Phil mouthed back. He didn't know if Dan understood or not, but the boy's eyes widened, and Phil could tell that he'd made sense on at least some level.  After school that day, Phil was studying where he always did when Dan sat next to him. "Finish Moby Dick yet?"  "Last night. It was amazing, a fine piece of literature, blah blah blah."  Dan nodded. "I hated it. I still have twelve pages left to go."  "The last bit isn't so bad. It's better with the end in sight."  Dan nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. On a scale of one to ten, how gay exactly are you?"  Phil almost got whiplash from how fast Dan had turned the conversation around. "Um... I don't know. I'm not that gay."  "You're lying," Dan observed. "I'm not going to hit you or anything. Or make you go swimming like your friends from earlier did."  "They weren't my friends."  "I didn't think so. Now come on, scale of one to ten, one being straight and ten being so gay that you-"  "Ten." Phil cut him off, not sure if he wanted to hear the rest.  Dan's eyes widened. "Seriously? So you'd-"  "I'm very gay," Phil agreed. "So gay that I've never kissed a girl and never want to. So gay that I can't even imagine dating a girl, or marrying one, ever."  Dan leaned forward, interested. "So you'd like, suck dick?"  Phil winced. "In theory."  "And you would like, take it up the ass, and-"  "God Dan, please shut up. Maybe. I don't know, are you offering?"  Dan's eyes got wide.  "It's... it's a figure of speech," Phil explained, backing up. "Not a real question. Now, can I get back to studying, or-"  "Yeah, yeah!" Dan stood up so quickly he almost knocked the chair over. "Yeah, I was just curious. You can go back to studying, you're just like... the only gay person I know."  "There's more of us," Phil said, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. "Other gay people at our school, in fact. There have to be, the stats don't lie."  "Not that any of us would know it. After everything happening with you, you'd have to be stupid to come out at our school."  Phil scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess you're right."  "Yeah!" Dan took a step back, then shuffled forwards, bumping against the chair unceremoniously. "I'm going to go... study!"  "Okay," Phil responded with slight amusement. "Have fun."  "I- I will!" He turned around and almost ran straight into a wall. He quickly sidestepped, then was up the stairs, turning into what was assumably his room.  Phil shook his head, smiling only a little bit. ---  "The game's coming out in the New Year, but I want to preorder it now. Then I can get it as soon as possible. It has these super amazing graphics, honestly, I want to a design class or a graphic art class or something like that so I can learn how to do that sort of animation, because have you seen it? It's so cool! It's too expensive, but I'll get it anyways, I have some money saved up..." Phil trailed off, looking around. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"  Greyson was the first to clear his throat. "Um, it's just you've been so quiet lately. Is there anything new, or anything? You've been spending a lot of time away from home. New friends?"  Phil shrugged. "Not really. Just... the game I guess." His shoulders slumped forwards slightly.  "Tell us more about it!" His mum prompted quickly. It was the first time in a long time that she'd seen her son so vibrant, and she wasn't about to let him go back to sulking so fast.  Phil perked up. "Yeah, it's got these controllers..." ---  "No you spoon, it all goes back to the limit definition of the derivative. You have to define the variables, see, here..." Dan underlined a few numbers, gesturing with his pencil. "And then.... multiply here...." He was completely entranced in the work, marking and drawing lines connecting the dots, getting wrapped up in the math of it.  Phil didn't really remember how they got in this position, with Dan sitting at the table with him, showing him how to do the homework. Phil had had no idea, and he still didn't fully understand it, but it was becoming easier.  "Like this," Phil muttered, taking out another pencil and adding onto the equation Dan was writing. "You square it." 

 Dan stared at it for a long moment, blinking. "Um, no. You don't square anything. If you wanted, you could root it... actually, you probably wouldn't want to do that. Here, look." ---  It made more sense for them to work on their homework together. Phil didn't remember when it was decided, but one day Dan started bringing his work downstairs and working at the table with Phil, going over problems together and complaining back and forth. Dan was good at calc. Phil was better at Lit. Neither of them liked forensics. And both of them thought that generally, government class was stupid and signing up was a mistake.  They were talking one day when one of their phones went off in the pile of papers and notebooks scattered across the desk. "Get it," Dan suggested, nodding to the pile.  "Well it's not my phone."  "That's not my ringtone. You probably just usually have it on mute."  "Who would be calling me?"  Dan shrugged. "Well answer it!"  Phil jumped up, digging through the pile and flipping over his near-empty backpack, grabbing the phone and answering at the last second. "Mushi Mushi?"  There was some crackling at the end of the line.  Phil caught his breath. "Hello?"  Silence. Then, after a beat, a low deep voice growled "you have seven days to live."  "Dan, it's for you." Phil handed the phone over to the very confused Dan.  "Hullo." He paused, listening to the voice. Phil could barely hear it.  "Seven days..." it whispered guterally.  "Thank God," Dan mumbled in reply. "But can we speed up the process a bit? I have a test before that. Could you just kill me now?"  The voice seemed to consider this. "Not now. Tonight."  Dan clicked flirtily. "I'll light some candles. See you at 7." He closed the phone, hanging up with a grin. "Friend of yours?"  Phil shook his head, smiling lightly. "Nah, little brother. He got his own phone last week and has been prank calling people ever since. I'm actually kind surprised it's taken him this long to try it with me."  Dan laughed. "Amazing. I always wanted to have a little brother."  "I don't know. Tucker's all right, but I'd prefer to have my own room. Then I wouldn't have to come over and invade your space every day."  "You're not invading my space." The air seemed to crackle with electricity, or maybe something a little more dangerous. Then it disappeared. "Have you seen my room yet?"  "No. Wanna give me the grand tour?" ---  Phil had never had his own room. Dan practically had his own floor.  "There's Dad's office, which he spends about 23 out of 24 hours in, so it doesn't really count. But they technically sleep in their room downstairs, so I have loads of space."  Dan's room was at least twice the size of Phil's, and it looked even bigger with a double bed instead of the bunk beds that took up most of Phil's space. The bed had hidden storage under it for Dan's clothes, and next to it sat a nightstand crowded with figurines from animes, little mementos, and a few condoms.  "Nice," Phil said dryly, staring at the latter, which was out in plain sight.  "Um, ignore that!" Dan opened the drawer and swept the condoms and a bottle into it, closing it quickly. "No one ever comes in here, so it's not like I need to hide them."  "No one ever comes in here," Phil repeated, picking up an empty wrapper from the floor. "Yeah, I believe you."  Dan snatched the wrapper out of his hand, stuffing it in the drawer with the others. "Shut up." His cheeks had turned a bright pink.  "Why do you have two desks?" Upon further inspection of the room, Phil realized there were two desks inside of one, one in each corner opposite the bed. Only one had a chair by it, and that was the only one with papers on it. The other had a stack of discarded clothing on it, like it had been downgraded to a laundry hamper.  Dan looked where he was staring. "Oh, that's dad's old one. He gave it to me, like I'd have use for two."  Phil shrugged, glancing around. Nothing else was of much interest to him, unless he was willing to ask Dan more about the condom wrappers, which he wasn't.  "Wanna get a snack? I'm hungry." ----  The coffee tasted much better at the Bagel shop when he was sat at a table for two. It turned out, Dan was actually quite funny, though most of his jokes were horrible and caused Phil to snort so hard he almost directly inhaled his coffee.  Other new information learned: the bagels at the bagel shop taste about as bad as the coffee. Dan got one, and it was so stale he could tap it against the table and make a noise like horses galloping on pavement. Dan ate it anyways.  The whole building was so warm. Phil felt like he was wearing a woolen jumper. How long had it been since he'd felt so warm? Too long.  Dan smiled wide and laughed loud. And Phil did too. His cheek muscles ached from so much exercise after so much disuse. ---  Phil was just setting his stuff down on the Howell's dining room table when Dan called him upstairs. When Phil got to the top of the steps and peeked in his room, Dan was sitting in his rolling chair, the end of a pencil between his teeth. "Do you want to bring a chair up here? I don't get the Lit assignment." ---  There were few things that felt better than leaving school for holiday break. Actually, two, to be exact: leaving school for Summer Vacation and leaving school for good.  Dan whooped, tilting his face up to the starry sky and leaning back, stumbling only slightly. The brown paper bag he clutched in one hand sloshed around with his movement, the drink inside it still half full.  Phil's drink was half full too. It was strange- earlier that school year, he would've called it half empty. But lately, a lot of things were looking half full.  "I'm gonna to be an astronaut when I grow up," Dan slurred, stalking forwards, eyes trained on the stars. "'m gonna see the stars up close, and personal. Get all up in their space." He squinted, daring the stars to disagree.  "Is that what you're studying at uni-"  "Don't say that word!" Dan commanded quickly, cutting him off. "Evil. I'm in a good mood, satyr, don't ruin it with your talk of the future."  Dan's insults had been getting more and more interesting ever since they did the unit on The Odyssey in A-levels Lit. Dan had done an essay on the various ways mythology was ingrained in the culture of the time, and needless to say, he'd gotten a bit into it.  Phil took a big swig from his bottle, letting the liquor pour down his throat like molten lava, stinging and burning his tongue. They walked in curved lines, words slurred but brains still mostly aware. The empty space in their bottles wasn't enough to get someone drunk, but luckily for them, it wasn't all they'd been drinking that night.  "I hate parties," Dan mumbled. Most of his filters had been strewn on the floor, sloshed around and discarded like bad mouthwash. "Too many stupid people."  "It was your idea to go," Phil reminded him.  "Stupid," he repeated. "I don't even like dancing."  Phil raised the bottle to his lips and gulped, doing his best to wash the memory away. Dan had danced with a girl, some stupid brunette who was significantly smaller than him. They'd danced, and then made out, before Dan pulled away and spat on the floor. No one cared. It was too late and the air smelled too much like vomit and beer for anyone to care.  Phil wished he didn't care. "You like her?"  Dan didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "Not really. Just someone to dance with, someone to kiss." He sipped from his bottle, stopping to giggle lightly. "Not that you'd know anything about that."  "In my defense, I can't kiss people. Nobody around who'd want to."  "Oblivious potato you are." He cackled up to the sky, eyes gazing around as if waiting for Zeus to appear and pluck him from the ground. "'My name is nobody'," he quoted, smiling vaguely.  Phil shook his head, trying not to think about The Odyssey any more. Dan was referring to the passage where the brave Odysseus was face to face with the monstrous cyclops, Polyphemus. When asked his name, Odysseus replies 'My name is nobody'. Later, he stabs the cyclops in his one eye and escapes with his men, and Polyphemus chases him blindly out to the shore screaming bloody murder. When the other cyclopes on the island hear him and ask what's wrong, he screams 'Nobody stabbed me! Nobody stabbed me!' and Odysseus is able to escape.  He stared at the boy next to him, face illuminated solely by the thin scrap of moon that was visible. Phil wondered if he was thinking about the Odyssey too.  "She was a horrible kisser," Dan mumbled. "Tasted like cigarettes." He turned and looked at Phil sincerely, voice scratching out, "Don't smoke. I don't want any campfire kisses."   Then he stumbled forwards, continuing to walk, quoting: "'Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than a man.'"  Phil giggled. "You should probably head home now. Sleep it off."  Dan nodded tiredly. His shoulders were weighed down visibly, as if he still carried his backpack jammed full of expectations and textbooks. "'There is a time for many words,'" hiccup "'...and there is also a time for sleep.'" ---  Phil awoke with a pounding headache and a light blush across his cheeks. ---  "Your friends can't come over on Christmas," their mum insisted. "Christmas day is for family only."  "Sweetie, let's not be unreasonable. They just want to have fun! What about Christmas Eve?" Greyson suggested, ever the mediator. Sandy stared at them from across the dinner table, her puppy dog face on maximum level.  She frowned, thinking it over. "Fine. But Sandy, only bring one or two friends over, we hardly have enough room for everyone in the house as it is. Phil, could you go to the store sometime this week and get hot coco and eggnog?"  "And whipped cream!" Sandy added excitedly.  "Probably need two cans," Greyson agreed.  Phil nodded, making a mental note. "And, um, if Sandy is having friends over, do you think I could invite someone too?" ---  Phil sat on the carpeted floor, leaning against the maroon couch. His hands were wrapped around the warm mug of eggnog, and he sipped it slowly, trying to savor it. He was only allowed one glass, as Greyson insisted that it was important not to start drinking too young. Needless to say, Phil wasn't about to tell him about his and Dan's activities the week prior.  Dan sat closely nestled next to Phil, also with a single mug of eggnog and an overly festive jumper. The main difference was, Dan's was black with a reindeer on it, while Phil's was covered in reds, greens and whites. When Dan first saw it he claimed Phil looked like an 'obnoxious candy cane', to which Phil replied with something that wasn't supposed to be sexual, but of course Dan ended up taking it that way.  Dan was very warm, and their arms pressed against each other, though Phil reminded himself that it was because there was so little space. Sandy and Anna had friends over, meaning that there were currently around a dozen people in the sitting area and kitchen, which were made even smaller by the almost invasive presence of the plastic Christmas tree. "We should get a real one this year!" Phil had suggested upon seeing Greyson carrying the box down from the attic.  "No can do," he'd replied easily. "Real Christmas trees are a potential fire hazard. Do you know how many people get electrocuted watering Christmas trees naked, a year?"  No, Phil had not know, and no, he did not enjoy that mental image.  Dan was quieter than normal, sipping his eggnog and observing the goings on of the family and extras.  Finally, Phil spoke up. "I'm glad you could come. Are your parents celebrating with friends?"  Dan shook his head. "Mum might be. But Dad's spending the night in his office. Hopefully he'll get up and go to bed before it's time to open presents."  Dan's father was an extremely intelligent man, with a spattering of fancy degrees and an extremely prestigious job. But Dan talked about him like he was a deadbeat.  "It's weird being here," Dan admitted. "I've never had siblings."  "I've never not had siblings. I used to hate it, middle child syndrome and all that. Now... I don't mind it as much."  "I bet not. Especially since you don't have to study at home anymore."  Across the room, Phil's younger sisters and their friends laughed loudly, talking in quiet, fast voices among themselves. In the background, the song 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' played, and Amanda and Tucker danced to it on the small stretch of floor in between the kitchen and living room. Amanda looked happier than normal, probably since Janie finally managed to go to sleep and hadn't woken up since the party started. Tucker smiled too, though he looked a little embarressed to be seen dancing with his big sister.  "Come on," Phil urged, feeling a sudden impulse. "Let's dance."  He got up and pulled Dan to his feet, ignoring his complaints. "But I have two left feet!"  "I have four!" Phil retaliated, yanking Dan over to the tile floor and grabbing his other hand, spinning him.  "How is that even possible?" Dan complained, spinning and catching himself on Phil's hand. "Now I know why you're failing Calculus. You can't count!"  They swayed, doing something that almost resembled dancing.  "Everyone dancing merrily, in a new old-fashioned way,” The music played.  More people moved over, starting to dance along. Phil tried not to cringe as he saw his mum being tugged over to the floor, Greyson pulling her over to dance.  "I'm not failing Calc," Phil defended, intertwining his hands with Dan's more comfortably. "I have a B minus!"  "Potato po-tat-o." Dan spun him, and Phil only stumbled slightly. "You're right, you have no coordination."  "What's that quote?" Phil recalled. "'The gods don't give out all gifts at once..."'  "'Not build and brains and flowing speech to all. One man may fail to impress us with his looks but a god can crown his words with beauty, charm, and men look on with delight when he speaks out.'" Dan looked like he was somewhere else, reciting the quote easily. "'Never faltering, filled with winning self-control, he shines forth at assembly grounds and people gaze at him like a god when he… when he walks through the streets. Another man may look like a deathless one on high but there's not a bit of grace to crown his words. Just like you, my fine, handsome friend.'"  "Wow."  ‘Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree’ ended. Dan didn't seem to notice that there was no more music. He seemed to be staring at Phil's lips, his own lips parted slightly.  "Wow," Phil repeated again. "I'm genuinely impressed. I can't remember quotes for the life of me."  "They spoke to me," Dan replied with a shrug, trying to start swaying again to the beat of the new song playing, Let It Snow.  The weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since there's no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. ---  Christmas day was exciting, but not like it usually was. They each got a few small presents from their Mum and Greyson, and Amanda, Phil, and Tucker each had a present for each family member. Sandy and Anna couldn't be bothered to buy presents, but they were young enough that it was excusable.  After all the presents had been opened, the adults went into the kitchen and started preparing lunch, and Phil and Tucker wrestled around a bit. Phil may be 18, but he would never be an adult to his parents, just as Amanda had a job and a kid, but she still sat at the kids' table at family gatherings.  Tucker was small for someone his age, still in early high school, but he was a decent wrestler. Phil had the size advantage, but it was a pretty even match.  "I wanna do karate," Tucker said later, after they were done. "Or boxing. Or wrestling, I guess. Something like that."  A memory tugged at the back of Phil's mind. "Dan does boxing, I think."  "You think?"  "His dad mentioned it once," Phil explained. "I don't know if he still does, actually. He never talks about it."  "That's a weird thing not to talk about," Tucker observed. "If I did boxing, I'd probably never shut up about it." ---   "It's never come up in conversation, I guess," Dan explained, kicking off his snow boots. It was still Christmas Day, just a little later, and Dan had walked over to Phil's house to collect him. 'My house is quiet and I'm bored,' he'd explained, shivering in the cold. 'Come over?'  Phil had taken his first opportunity to ask about Dan's boxing, and sure enough, he boxed. "I go to practice three times a week, compete most Sundays, and train most nights before bed."  "And you've never thought to mention it?"  He shrugged. "It's not something I talk about. It's... weird, you know? I have like... a personality, that everyone knows, you know? And boxing just doesn't fit into it."  The two boys walked upstairs to Dan's room automatically. Phil sat on his bed. "Why not? Boxing is cool."  "And obviously I'm so cool," Dan muttered sarcastically. "I have like, negative two friends."  "You have me."  "Yes, there is that. But as you are the only openly gay student in our school, that doesn't score me much points." He winced. "Sorry."  Phil tried not to be offended. "Well, you're not wrong."  "If you wanted, you could use my locker at school," Dan offered quickly, desperately. "I don't use it. And then, you wouldn't have to see... you know..."  He was referring of course, to Phil's locker, which still had the word 'twink' spray painted across it. Phil had tried to scrub it away, but nothing worked. He'd reported it to the office, but to his knowledge, they hadn't even bothered to try to get rid of it.  Phil exhaled shakily. He hadn't thought about the bullies ever since the break started. He shook his head, changing the topic of conversation back to boxing. "You said you trained? Where?" ---  Phil had never realized that Dan's mom never parked her car in their garage. He also never realized that Dan's dad didn't even have a car.  "He's too much of a social recluse to have a car," Dan explained, leaning against the wall of the garage. Instead of being a space for parking cars, it had been converted into a gym of sorts, with a tattered old punching bag in the middle of the room. Pushed against the walls were boxes, some filing cabinets, and a new looking bench press covered in clothes and gloves.  "I don't use that," Dan explained, seeing Phil's eyes train on the press. "It's too boring."  Phil walked around the punching bag, observing where the material was faded or torn. A few spots were patched up with duct tape, and a few spots looked like it was about time they be patched up.  Phil noticed something out of the corner of his eye and walked over to where an open cardboard box sat again the wall. Dan realized what he was doing too late, and by the time he shouted "Wait!" Phil was already leaning down.  "Trophies?"  "I'm not any good," Dan promised. "Most of them are just participation!"  Phil pulled one of the medium-sized ones out. It was covered in a layer of dust, which he brushed aside. "Second place?"  "It was a small event!" Phil looked up, and for the first time noticed how panicked Dan looked. "Could you please put it back? Hey, I got the new Zelda game, do you want to try it out?"  Phil wanted to ask more about boxing. Obviously Dan was being modest; the box was stuffed full of trophies, and there were other boxes in the room. Did they contain the same things?  But when he saw Dan's expression, he knew there was no way he could push him any further. For whatever reason, Dan was ashamed of boxing, or something like that. Phil wanted to know why.  But now was not the time to ask. "Yeah, cool. Show me the game?" ----  Phil didn't not welcome school back with open arms.    Something had happened over the break. What, he didn't know, but everyone was glaring at him which such malice he wondered if he'd killed someone without realizing.  He pulled his headphones out, allowing himself to hear the chatter. His next class was on the other side of the school, and after he'd been walking a few minutes, he'd heard a shred of conversation that made him keep listening.  "....grounded. Chuck was caught sleeping with him-"  "With Lester?"  "Yeah! I mean, who else would he sleep with? It was a dude, and his dad got so pissed he beat him."  "Dude. How'd the fucking fag get Chuck to sleep with him in the first place?"  "I dunno, but now he won't be able to play in the game on Friday. We really need a win if we want to make it to regionals..."  Phil put his headphones back in his ears. Apparently, there were at least two other gays going to his school: Chuck, and another boy who'd been caught sucking him off. -----  "What happened?"  "Got in a fight."  "With who?"  "This guy at school." Correction: these guys at school. "We had a difference in opinion." ----  Dan prepared him an ice pack. "I heard the news. About, you know, you and Chuck."  "I didn't do anything with Chuck. I don't even know him that well."  "I know you didn't." Dan zipped up the bag of ice, handing it over with a towel. "Hold this over your eye, it should help the swelling."  "Doctor Daniel," Phil teased, taking the ice thankfully. His eye was beginning to swell shut, and his chest ached. At least he could hide bruised ribs. It wasn't so easy with the eye.  "You caught me at a bad time," Dan admitted. "I was going to practice now."  "Sorry. You want me to go, or... can I watch?"  Dan almost considered it. Phil could see the gears turning, but the awkward smile made his answer clear. "Sorry, I think you'd better go. I think it'll be a rougher workout today, I've got some... stuff to get out."  "Stuff to get out," Phil repeated. "Yeah, I can go. See you tomorrow?"  "Yeah, sure. And stop getting in fights, bruising doesn't suit you."  "That, we can agree on." ----  The rumors kept swirling. Chuck was not gay, it seemed, he'd just been put in an awkward situation and took advantage of it. "A mouth is a mouth," he laughed with his friends. "Trust me, I didn't want the fag to touch me but he wanted it so bad, you should've seen him. So wrecked." When his friends asked more about it, he replied quickly "No, I didn't like it! If he was a girl it would have been so hot though. He was so sweaty his hair got really curly- yeah, like that. Don't worry though, he'll pay for it. Trust me on that." ----  Dan was so sweaty his hair got even curlier than normal.  "Woah," Phil said as soon as he saw him. "Boxing practice?"  "Yeah. I'm getting ready for a big meet, have to be prepared." He took the strap of one of the gloves in his teeth, ripping it off easily. Phil tried not to stare too much. "Anyone else give you crap today?"  "Anyone not give me crap? It's fine, school's over. I don't have to see any of them again until tomorrow." He willed his voice not to crack, his hand not to shake. His head hurt from being slammed against the lockers.  Dan nodded, not making eye contact as he took the other glove off. "How's Calc going? I wish that he just let us take the book home, it'd be so much easier."  "It would." Phil didn't really know what else to say.  "I'm going to... erm, I'm going to do my homework in my room again. Come with?"  Phil's head throbbed. "Yeah. Sure." ----  Phil didn't know when he snapped. But if I had to say a moment in the altogether miserable week, it'd probably be when he was laying on the floor of the boys' bathroom, sopping wet from the swirly. After they'd dunked him in the toilet, they'd used him as a mop, swinging him around by his legs and splashing water on the ground for the back of his favorite hoodie to clean up.  Then they left him, far more interested in getting out of the school than they were in beating up the fag.  Phil laid there, not bothering to get up. His favorite hoodie was filthy, with dirt and toilet water and he didn't even want to know what else. And he was all alone on the bathroom floor, his bus having already left.  And something snapped.  Phil stood. He tore off his jacket and stuffed it in the trash can, hefted his backpack, and only made one stop before marching out of the school and walking all the way home. ---  Phil went home and changed out of his stupid school uniform into comfortable work clothes and went around, doing his yard work for the day. Then he went home, got his backpack, and marched to Dan's house, going straight up to Dan's room without knocking.  Dan wasn't wearing pants. "Phil! I didn't-"  "I stole something."  Dan blinked. "Um, what?"  Phil opened his backpack on Dan's bed, dumping half of it out and pulling out a Calculus textbook. "I was angry- I'm still kinda angry- and I'm failing the class." He paused. "And I'm not giving it back."  Dan blinked. It took him a little too long to process. "I'm not wearing pants." He repeated.  "You mentioned that already. I just stole a textbook."  "Yeah, you said that too."  They both were frozen.  Phil cleared his throat. "You can put on pants now. If you want."  "If I want," Dan repeated.  "I mean, I don't care."  "No, you'd probably actually prefer I don't put my pants on."  Phil scowled, messing with his backpack. "Don't put words in my mouth."  They were quiet for a few more moments.  "I'm going to put pants on."  "Okay." ----  Studying was a lot easier with the calc textbook. ----  "We could just sit on the floor," Phil suggested, eying the small couch wearily.  "Nah, this is better. Come on, hop up." Dan sat down, bowl of popcorn in hand, and patted the small space next to him.  Phil sat, the couch so small there was no way for them to sit without touching. "It's a good movie," Dan said, "so don't you dare fall asleep."  "I promise I won't," Phil laughed, snuggling up to his friend, albeit still cautiously.  Dan started the movie and leaned against Phil, his head on his shoulder. ----  Phil fell asleep during the movie.  But it was okay.  Because so did Dan. ----  "Oh, hello boys."  Phil had been half awake for a few minutes, not wanting to move. He was too warm, too tired, and besides, Dan was still asleep. "Hi Mr.Howell. We watched a movie last night, and fell asleep."  Dan snored, snuggling closer to Phil.  "I promise it's not as bad as it looks-" Phil started, but Mr.Howell cut him off quickly.  "Oh no, don't worry about it. I know about you two, Dan has boys over all the time. He didn't tell me specifically, but I notice things."  Phil blinked, still only half awake. "He has boys over all the time? What do you mean?"  "Well, not since you've been dating I'm sure. We've never talked about it, but I know he's homosexual, or bisexual, or whatever the kids call it these days. I'm not as oblivious as all that."  Phil blinked again. Apparently, Dan's dad wasn't that oblivious, but Phil certainly was. ----  Dan woke up a few minutes later.  "Crap, I fell asleep," he said as if that weren't already obvious. "Wait... don't tell it's morning already?"  "We both fell asleep," Phil admitted. He observed Dan as he stretched, pulling himself up. The words you're gay? got clogged in his throat, refusing to come out.  Just like Dan. Funny how that works. ————

They were in Dan’s bed. It was late, and they were both just a little drunk on exhaustion and booze. Not drunk enough for their thoughts to be incoherent or their voices to slur, just drunk enough for Dan to quote "The Odyssey" every other minute.  "You know you’re my best friend, right?" Dan said quietly. He was staring at Phil, his eyes slightly lowered. Phil sighed contentedly, his eyes trained on his 'best friend's lips.  "Yeah, I know. You’re my best friend too." Phil shuffled slightly, wondering if it’d be too gay to cuddle up closer to Dan. Then again, it sounded like Dan was also gay, at least partially. Maybe it’d be okay.  He was stuck. He was stuck, right in between wanting to kiss Dan and not wanting to lose him, because he knew that out of the two options, he could likely only choose one. And he couldn’t loose Dan.  Shoveling the sidewalks as quickly as he could just so he could be paid by the neighbors and get to Dan's house as fast as possible, just to study. Going to the bagel shop for a special treat and eating the almost indigestible bagels and coffee, because it was convenient and it was quiet and he’d go anywhere with Dan, really. He like being around him a bit too much, and eventually it’d probably screw him over, but for now, it was worth it.  They liked going drinking Friday nights. Always some party, and if there wasn't, there was always booze for sale. They didn’t drink every week, but they did when they could. When Dan was tipsy he often lost track of personal space, and he’d bump into Phil or stand so close that Phil would wonder if he was going to kiss him. But then he’d pull away, saying something about why the government had set them up for failure, or ramble on about textual themes. He loved quoting the Odyssey. They walked through an empty field to get home most times, and it was just out of the way enough that they could see the stars, and Dan would say something about how "It is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine, that sets the wisest man to sing, at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool – it drives the man to dancing... it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told." And Phil just listens and smiles and wonders if Dan somehow managed to memorize the entire Odyssey, or if perhaps, he recites it in the shower.  He loved Dan. That much was clear. He loved him like a best friend. He loved him a little more than that maybe, loved him like he was angry, loved him in spite and loved him in secret. And it seemed as though Dan loved him as a best friend too. And there was that love, that love that Phil had no idea what to do with, so they could drown it out with booze and homework and chit chat and stale bagels and complaining about their families/classes/experiences/lives, but you can never truly drown love, love can swim.  Phil wonders if there’s a quote about that somewhere in The Odyssey. The entire story is about a man, Odysseus, trying to get back home to his wife Penelope. The journey is painful and long, but when he comes home, it was almost as if he’d never left. Phil supposed that the love between Odysseus and Penelope was buoyant too.

———— "Because of you, Chuck wasn’t there for the game. Because of you, we lost."  Phil backed up, the three boys stalking towards him until he was flush against the lockers, banging against them with a little clanging noise from the cheap metal. He knew where this was going. Chuck stood to the side, cracking his knuckles. In front of him, Trevor was the one leading the assault, his dirty brown hair falling in front of his eyes. Caleb stood to the other side of him, dumping his backpack on the ground as if he didn’t want it holding him back.  "It wasn’t me," Phil insisted again like maybe this time they’d listen. They didn’t, just continued pressing forwards until Phil had pressed himself so closely against the locker he could feel its hinges digging into his back. Phil’s gaze fluttered from one boy to the next, looking for any signs of hesitation, some sort of human emotion. He found nothing.  He swallowed. "I have standards. I wouldn’t get anywhere near his dick."  The first punch came before he’d finished his sentence, a sharp pain across his face that made him slam back against the lockers. The rest came in rapid succession, his ribs, his face, his stomach. He doubled over, gripping his stomach and desperately trying to protect his head as fingers dug into his head and shoved him to ground.  "This is for being a fag!" Phil’s breathe was torn from his throat, forcefully expelled by a harsh kick to the lungs.  "And this is for costing us regionals!" Chuck's voice, and a swift kick to the head. Phil wondered if he knew that it wasn’t him who he slept with, and was caught by his father. Phil wondered if he cared.  Phil tasted blood. His body twitched away from every blow until he was curled up in the fetal position on the dirty school floor, and as he was being attacked on every side all he could think about was how stupid it was for him not to book it out of school as soon as he’d had the chance.  A filthy shoe made contact with his face, and he tasted blood. Phil covered his head with his hands, just wishing them to go away.  "What the fuck are you doing? Hey, get off of him!"  The kicking stopped temporarily, but Phil didn’t dare try to get up. There was a scuffle, and then a body was slammed against the locker.  Phil looked around quickly then scrambled to his feet, his assailants more busy with someone else. A new person had appeared, his body shoved up against the locker as he yelled back and forth at the bullies.  A balding teacher left his classroom, coffee mug in hand. He watched the fight for a moment, then retreated back into his room, locking the door behind him.  Phil was frozen in shock as Trevor was kicked backward, stumbling a meter then falling on his ass. The person was still shoving the other two away but somehow managed to rear his arm back and punch Caleb so hard he crumpled against the lockers.  Dan grabbed Chuck by his greasy blonde hair and yanked his head down, making contact with his knee. Phil flinched, taking a step back so he was leant against the wall, still catching his breath but in too much shock to move. Dan spun Chuck around and slammed him into the lockers with so much force Phil’s back ached in sympathy.  Dan was bleeding, a long scratch right under his eye from a nail or something. He had a split lip. But he didn’t look any weaker from it, hardly even seemed fazed.  He held Chuck against the locker, holding an elbow directly under his chin, but then adjusted his hands so he was holding Chuck still by his neck. Dan panted and wiped some of the blood on his face away. Chuck's hand came up to cup his own bleeding nose, but Dan slapped it away, pulling Chuck back and slamming his head against the locker easily.  "I hear you’ve been spreading rumors," Dan muttered. His voice was deep and gravelly, but he stared at Chuck easily, not intimidated in the least. "People seem to think that Phil was the one you were caught with."  To his side, Travis started getting up, but before he could Dan kicked him in the stomach so hard he fell back down. "Shh, listen." Dan brought his attention back to Chuck, who wouldn’t look at him. "Who was it?"  "It was you," he admitted. "You were the fag. You think you’re so special Howell, thought you could keep it a secret-"  Dan slammed him against the locker again, and Chuck shut up, his hands flying up to Dan’s hands still wrapped around his neck, trying to get him to loosen his grip.  Dan licked his lips. "Listen up, all three of you. Stop screwing with my boyfriend. Or they’ll be hell to pay."  He let go of Chuck, shoving him down onto his knees as he stepped back. "Feels familiar, doesn’t it? You on your knees. All we need now is a broken lock on your door and your raging father, isn’t that right?"  He took another step back, glancing over his shoulder and grabbing Phil’s collar, pulling him into a kiss. It was sloppy and tasted like blood, and Phil could still hardly catch his breath, and nothing was processing, because was Dan really kissing him?  Dan pulled away, but still held onto his collar. They stayed there a moment, eyes interlocked, when the next impact came.  Dan was thrust against the wall, stumbling to get up. Travis stood over him. "Cocksucker," he snarled, raising his foot to stomp Dans lights out. But Dan was too fast, grabbing his leg and yanking him down. They wrestled on the floor for a moment until Dan came up on top, muttering something about Travis being 'surrounded by cocksuckers' before landing another punch.  They started brawling for real, hitting and punching and clawing and before Phil knew it, he and Chuck were locking eyes and running over to pull them apart before they could kill each other.  Finally, a few teachers ran down the hallways, shouting something about stopping, and all five boys had just enough time to stand, regard each other harshly, and glance down one last time. "Fuck you," Phil spat, before balling his fist and punching Chuck square in the jaw before turning and sprinting away, Dan right on his heels.  He hit the door with so much force that it actually hurt, but everything hurt at this point and Phil was bleeding and so was Dan and they had to get away before anyone spotted them. They sprinted around the side of school, panting turned into exhausted laughter as they turned the corner and collapsed against the brick wall. It was that type of pained laughter that physically hurt, because Phil’s ribs were definitely bruised and maybe worse, and his hands were stained with blood, and he was definitely imagining things because Dan was there too, the area right under his right eye splotchy and red.  "I can’t believe-" Phil started, but they didn’t have all day for him to say everything he didn’t believe had happened, but somehow, through the pain in his knuckles in the ache of every breath, he knew it was real, it was very real. "You kissed me," he said finally, looking up at Dan with a look of respect. "You actually kissed me."  "After all that just happened, that’s what you’re thinking about?" Dan’s entire face was contorted by the smile, and he looked like such a wreck but Phil couldn’t care because there was no way he looked any better. "Sorry about that, by the way," Dan added, wiping some of the blood on his lips away. "I thought it’d be dramatic. Scare them off. Didn’t work that great."  "Yeah, no shit." Phil tugged on Dan's collar, pulling him close but stopping him before they actually collided. "Thanks. I appreciate it." He eyed Dan, the cut on his cheek, the split lip. "You look like a mess."  "You do too," Dan agreed. "I want to kiss you again."  Phil yanked him into another kiss, tasting of blood and exertion and sweat and a little bit like hot chocolate. "I’m not going to be able to stop," he admitted, halfway through the kiss.  "Its fine," Dan mumbled against his lips, not even bothering to pull apart. "I won't either."  They kissed for what could have been hours before Phil mumbled "My hand hurts," and they finally pulled away. ————-  "You’re doing so good!" Phil handed Dan his water bottle as he took his mouth guard out, wiping his sweat away from his forehead.  "Only a few more matches." Dan’s eyes had this far away look to them. He never had so much pride in anything but his competitions. It was one of the reasons why Phil insisted on coming every week.  Dan drank from the water bottle as someone jogged over, patting him on the back roughly. "Hey champ, nice match! Who’s this?"  Dan’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Phil. His lip had heeled, and the cut under his eye had faded, but he looked the same as he did the day they first kissed. Sweaty, with his hair plastered back away from his forehead, but so proud and happy Phil couldn’t help but smile.  "This is Phil. My boyfriend."  Phil’s heart literally fluttered in his chest.  "Oh yeah? Phil, do you box too? Bet I could find you a decent instructor, huh?" He nudged Dan’s side playfully.  Dan laughed. "Nah, Phil doesn’t box. The last time he punched someone, he broke his thumb. It’s a pretty good story though."  Dan’s friend's eyes widened with interest. He looked to Phil. "Oh yeah? Tell me."  "I don’t know, it’s a little crude. I doubt you can handle it," Phil teased.  "Oh come on, try me!"  "Well..." Phil tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth, looking at Dan as he tried to decide how mean he wanted to be. "It all started when Dan got sucked off by the most popular boy in school..."

 Riding in the back of a pickup truck with a half dozen other people high on weed and Fall Out Boy, screaming I don’t care what you think as long as it’s about me as they drove around town and wrecked mild havoc. They were going a little too fast in a neighborhood a little too nice when the car slammed to a halt and a boy almost fell out of the truck bed. Straightened brown hair and black circle earrings, black shirt and black skinny jeans, emo wannabe breathing in toxins like he wanted his lungs to be as black as his aesthetic. He catches himself on the side of the truck bed, the only one not complaining about the sudden halt. Eyes shoot up, and he’s looking at a boy who looks like he could use a smoke. All it takes is a glance, and he’s a goner.

Then the truck starts back up and he’s gone.

 Psychologists suggest that it takes 66 days to form a habit.

 But why would you ask a psychologist?

 It took Dan less than that. He has an addictive personality and anything that could give him any sort of high he immediately clung to. Weed made everything blur and every edge soften. The idea, just the idea, of a beautiful boy that Dan could corrupt made the edges sharpen and the frame go back into focus. It was such a confused pattern that it didn’t make any sort of rational sense, but it didn’t need to.

 He was addicted to wrecking things. His life, his body, and now, he wanted to wreck this boy.

 Research suggests that love at first sight does not exist.

 But what does research know?

 Perhaps it wasn’t love, perhaps it was lust, a gut-wrenching desire for something stable in a shaking, crumbling world. A Uni dropout who longed for something more, longed for anything to take the pain away.

 He saw him at a party and pulled him to the dance floor. Neither could dance, so they ended up outside, kissing and rocking against each other with the taste of liquor passed back and forth. Only Dan was drunk. Phil’s eyes were still weary, the way they were the first time they saw each other.

 Wanna go back to my place?

 Can't, I have early classes.

 Kissing, kissing. Lonely, lonely. Two lonely people and two empty apartments and one intense kiss and gone, gone.

 I want to ruin him.

 Studies show that to remain sane, a person needs human touch at least 7 times a week.

 Dan was going insane.

 He tore the posters off of the wall, crumbling them into his wastebasket with his lighters, his smokes, and his earrings. The shadows danced across the walls, laughing and nudging him. The hallucinations were too real. The high was too high, the low too low. He crumbled on the floor like one of his posters. Sick. Very sick. And he knows that he must pull the drugs out from the basket because, for the past year, they have been his only company.

 Lights turn off. Goodnight, goodnight. Go to bed. In the morning you can dig them out, in the morning you can breathe in the toxins once more and breathe out regret. Marijuana won’t kill you, but smoking it when you hate it might.

 Specialists suggest it takes 21 days to break a habit.

 Specialists lie.

 Another party. Another boy. Unrealistic expectations shoved down the crotch of his jeans.

 Another party. Drunk enough to kiss a girl. She smells like weed, and Dan turns her away.

 He didn’t take the lighters and smokes out of the wastebasket. He took out the trash. He took out the trash.

 That stupid boy, the one he saw through the window with the blue eyes and dark hair. That stupid boy, from the party, who’s still in Uni and how dare he? Kissing and failing at dancing and Dan holds on to his memory because he needs something to hold onto.

 "Oh wow, you’re right, we’ve met before. At that one party, with the pool table." Scratches his ear. "I almost didn’t recognize you. Without the earrings, and the uh..." the red eyes hiding so much fear don’t know don’t care-

 "Do you wanna get out of here?" The answer was no. "Come on, we can get drinks. My treat."

 "I don’t drink."

 "Milkshakes then."

 Hesitation. "I don’t know."

 "A free milkshake, no strings attached. You’re not going to get a better offer from any of the other deadlifes here."

 Hesitation. "Okay."

 Chocolate milkshake and banana cream milkshake. Banana cream tastes horrible. It tastes better later that night, on Phil’s lips.

Scientists suggest it takes between 4 and 90 minutes to fall in love.

Dan had taken ten seconds to fall. It took Phil six months.

 We wear shirts as well. Fully clothed, he's probably wearing socks too, and I check, feeling the fabric with my foot. Phil giggles lightly, "that tickles!"  I find myself giggling too, not because of his comment, but because of his laugh. "I swear, you have a dozen different laughs."  I can feel him nod just as well as I can see it. He's smiling, because of course he's smiling, and I'm smiling too. I smile stupidly. I smile annoyingly. I smile blissfully.   There is something about the way we are laying. A something I don't know the word for. It's evening, too early to be in bed but a few hours ago we were cold and this was the easiest option. I know I napped for a while, and I suppose he did too.  "We should probably get out of bed," I suggest, looking up with puppy dog eyes.

 "Nah." He curls his legs up a little more, and suddenly we’re a little closer, a little warmer. "I don't think I ever want to leave."  I never want to feel any colder than I do right now. After being in his embrace for so long, how am I ever supposed to leave? Climb out of his arms and out of the bed, go and continue life like normal? I want to lay in this moment forever, like a bath the perfect temperature. I want to soak in the moment, and never get out, even when my skin's gone pruny and I know it's about time.  Bliss. The feeling of warmth, of comfort, of companionship. Not utter joy, joy is too draining. Bliss is what comes after joy. The honeymoon phase is over and suddenly it's just the comfort that you find in the warmth of routine. Coming home to the smell of dinner cooking or waking up to find your love messy haired but you don't care, because you love them, and there's no look on them that matters more than that.  I mourn for those who don't get to feel this. There is a difference between warmth and heat. Warmth is comfortable. Heat is the blush on your cheeks after the first date. Warmth is the feeling of his hand, the familiarity of it, and it's so normal that you don't even question it.  We have moments of heat as well. Sticky heat, the kind that comes when the pajama pants come off and we see how close we can truly get to each other. Then dry heat, the heat that comes with arguments and yelling and slammed doors and suitcases. We don't have many moments of dry heat. We prefer to cool down a little bit until we're back to warmth, and we can wrap our arms around each other and whisper sweet nothings until the sun goes down and comes up again.  There is something about cuddling in bed fully clothed. Something, a something that I don't know the word for. I suppose it's because if we were to take our pants off, the moment would be sexual. This is not sexual. This is a word more important than lust, one I dare not say unless it's whispered in his ear.  Bliss, the serenity and the warmth. Bliss, the l-o-v-e that swarms.  Bliss.

The air in the room was tense, everyone’s posture rigid and stiff. They pretended to be casual- leaning up against the exposed brick wall or the torn up couches. One man fiddled with an old dart but didn’t bother throwing it. Another loaded and unloaded his gun, muscles taught and expectant. The target in the corner, shaped like a real person, was riddled with holes- but none were fresh. Everyone was simply waiting.

Dan paced, his worn pink converse tapping against the concrete impatiently. He too was waiting, but unlike the others, he wasn’t anxious. He was just /bored/- bored of all the stupid gang members and all the stupid waiting. Dan had tried out plenty of different people, and the one thing that Phil’s lifestyle gave him that no one else could was constant excitement.

Everything about Dan was soft, from his flower crown, sitting lightly on brown curls, to his clothes, pretty and pastel, just the way he liked them. Phil liked them too- liked pulling on them and calling Dan ‘baby’. Phil didn’t just date Dan because he was pretty, just like Dan didn’t just date Phil because he lead an exciting life. But it certainly didn’t hurt.

Dan huffed. “How long has it been?”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” one of the men, Alvin, said as he tried to get the blood out from underneath his fingernails. “They’ll be done when they’re done.”

“I’m bored!” Dan marched over to the smaller couch and laid back over the edge, hanging upside down from the back. His loose pink shirt fell upwards, revealing his stomach. “What’s the meeting about anyway?”

“Not our place to tell you,” another man, Charlie insisted. He walked behind the couch, reaching over and pulling Dan’s shirt back up to cover his stomach. Dan smirked, still upside down. “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend when he gets here?”

“Why don’t you ask him for me?” Dan flirted, fluttering his lashes.

“Why don’t you ask him for yourself?” the man retaliated. His voice was harsh from years of smoking.

Dan huffed once more. “Fine. I will.” He sat up, maybe a little too quickly, and danced his way over to the single phone, the ground wobbling slightly beneath him. Grabbing onto the phone he stumbled forwards, catching himself on the table, and staying there. “Phil,” he sang quietly, listening intently to the ringing.

“Wait, he’s at the meeting!” Alvin protested, striding over to where Dan leant on the phone table. “You can’t call him when he’s at a meeting, put the phone down.”

Dan hummed lightly, ignoring him.

The click meant a bullet went into place. Dan tilted his head slightly, looking down the barrel of the gun pointed at him.

“Alvin, stop!”

“Don’t touch him, the boss will kill you!”

“Shut up!” Alvin demanded, and they did, however reluctant. He turned his attention back towards Dan. “Now put the phone down.” The big man gestured with the gun, muscles flexing.  

Dan, his flower crown slightly crooked, considered it. The phone continued ringing, buzzing annoyingly in his ear. “Shoot me,” he whispered.

“What’d you say?”

“Shoot me,” Dan muttered again, licking his lips. “Come on. Do it.”

“Hello?”

Dan squealed. “Philly!”

“Oh, hey baby. Anything wrong?”

Dan looked up at the man with the gun still trained on him. Slowly, Alvin lowered it. “Yes, Phil. I’m bored.”

Phil chuckled on the other line. “I’ll be home soon, okay baby? Just have to finish up the meeting.” There were some muffled noises in the background- something like an impact, then begging, then quiet. “I love you.”

Dan giggled, biting the tip of his finger lightly. “Mm'kay. Bye!” He cut the call, amused enough for the moment.

—

Dan practically tackled Phil when he came in through the door.

“Boss!” Charlie said from behind them. “The meeting went well?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Phil scolded. Dan was clutching on to him, practically hanging off of him like a koala. “Baby,” he whined, “You’re going to get blood on your clothes!”

Dan pouted but didn’t move. “Why are your clothes bloody?”

 "Because I hit a vein, Baby. You know blood splatters when you hit a vein.“

Dan smiled dreamily, resting his head on the taller man’s chest. "As long as it’s not your blood.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “If it was your blood, I’d have to go and find whoever hurt you and kill them.”

Alvin snorted behind them. “Yeah, good luck with that, princess.”

Dan and Phil both looked up, glaring at him. “Can I shoot him?” Dan asked quietly, but still loud enough for the others to hear.

Phil shook his head, looking a little disappointed. “No, he’s part of our gang. But if Alvin betrays us and joins another gang, then you can shoot him.”

—-

They were laying on their bed, with Phil sitting against the pillows and Dan curled up, his head rested in the other man’s lap. The TV show playing across the room came to a commercial break, and Phil picked up the remote, muting it like he always did.

His hand was rested on Dan’s head, sometimes stroking his hair lovingly, sometimes just letting his presence be known. He was careful not to mess up the boy’s carefully placed flower crown.

“You’re so soft,” Phil commented quietly. “How do you do it?”

Dan smiled hazily. “Dry shampoo and hard drugs.”

Phil flicked his ear, and Dan tried to make a face of annoyance, but he couldn’t be serious. “You don’t do drugs,” Phil reminded him. “Bad for your health. Addictive. Expensive.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Please. If you cared about health, we’d eat a vegetable once in a while. You just don’t like the taste of weed.”

“You don’t like it either,” Phil reminded him. “And the health thing is an added benefit.”

They went back to silence, watching the muted commercials with vague interest.

“You’re soft too,” Dan announced, almost too quietly to hear. “You just pretend like you’re not. But I know the truth.”

Phil snorted. “You know all my secrets, Baby.”

Dan laughed aloud. “Please. You’re in a fucking gang, I don’t think I want to know all your secrets. I don’t have that kind of time.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pastel,” Phil retaliated, a small smile dancing across his lips. “What’s with all this cussing?”

Dan sat up slowly, letting Phil remove his hand. Instead, Dan snuggled up to his side, kneeling next to his boyfriend and resting his head in the crook of his neck. “I like flowers and pink, and I run an aesthetic Tumblr blog filled with flowery, pink things. What more do you want from me?”

Phil tilted his head to the side further, exposing the side of his neck invitingly. “Nothing.”

 "Stop pouting," Dan teased, his eyes narrowed slightly and the startings of a smirk on his lips. "You can't always get your way. Besides, this will be better."  No one in the country dared speak to King Philip Lester, Ruler Of All That Is Cold™  like that, not if they wanted to live: unless of course, they were King Daniel Howell, co-Ruler Of All That Is Cold™. He sat on a matching throne of glassy blue ice, which was also designed just for his royal ass, and wore similar black robes, though his collar was shaped slightly different, with smaller points curling up slightly. A matching crown floated above his head, though his glowed a yellow golden, not blue. He and Phil were co-rulers, and they held an equal amount of power.   A human spoke to the guards who stood a half dozen meters before the kings. Then the guards raised their spears so the human could pass, and the kings halted their conversation to watch the peasant approach them, kneeling before them.  "My lieges."  "It's either 'my kings' or 'your majesties'," Dan corrected boredly, lounging on his throne casually. "Liege hints at feudalism, and this is a democratic society."  "It's a monarchy if anything," Phil argued blandly, leaning his elbow on the icy throne's armrest and slouching into it. "We don't let the citizens vote or anything."  "Nonsense, it's a democracy. And it's 'Your majesties'. I'll let it pass this time, but we addressed this in the FAQ section of the informational brochure we sent out to everyone." He smiled at the human expectantly, whose jaw was hanging open. "You're welcome," King Daniel said finally. "You may leave."  "But my family-"  "Yes, have them read the informational brochure too. And don't forget the FAQ section! Now, my guards will show you your way out." He snapped his fingers twice and a pair of guards immediately came to the human, dragging him out while he squeaked out something about dying crops, blah blah blah.  Dan turned to Phil, leaning his elbows on the shared armrest between them and resting his face in his hands, tapping his fingers on his cheeks. "Why are you so grumpy? I told you, you can't always get what you want."  Phil huffed. "And I'm fine with that. But it seems like you always get what you want. It's not fair."  "Life can't always be fair," Dan reminded with an air of philosophical wisdom. "You just have to take what comes."  Another peasant walked up to them, dressed in dirty brown rags. She bowed quickly. "Your majesties-"  "You're supposed to kneel, not bow!" Dan huffed, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. "Honestly, did I write that FAQ for nothing?"  "You didn't even write it," Phil reminded him, slouching with his cheek mashed up against his hand. "You had that peasant do it."  "Guards! Behead that peasant-"  Two guards surged forwards, grabbing the peasant in front of them and beginning to pull her backward as she babbled incessantly.  "No, no. Not that peasant. The one who wrote the pamphlet we sent out that apparently no one read.”  "Your highness, they've already left."  "Well find them!" Dan snapped. "And behead them. But don't bring me their head, that was so gross last time. Just... sent me a pigeon or something."  "And while you're in the towns, can you get me some of that delicious pudding?" Phil added, suddenly interested. "The swirled stuff."  "The swirled stuff," a guard repeated uncertainly.  Dan waved the confused guards off to do their tasks. The peasant stood shaking in front of them.  "You look chilly," Phil observed.  "Um, yes, a little bit... your, um, liege."  "Majesty," Dan corrected. "And it has to be cold. We are the Rulers Of All That Is Cold™. It's the aesthetic."  That didn't make the peasant stop shivering. "Does that mean you also oversee people with cold personalities?"  Dan looked to Phil, looking excited. "That's a good idea, isn't it? Do you wanna?"  "It'd make us look like we're emotionally cold. The press will have a field day."  "Nonsense. Guards! Pencil that in." He looked back at the peasant girl. "That's a good idea, I'm so glad I came up with it. We're writing a new constitution, modeled after the American Declaration of Independence. I'm thinking of calling it: The Declaration of Your Dependence." He made brackets with his fingers, opening them like imagining what the words would look like written out in front of him. 

 "But, um, the American Declaration of Independence wasn't what their government was built upon," the peasant said, not making eye contact. "It was their declaration of independence from Britain, my um, my King."  Dan scratched at his chin. "Then I'll have a peasant write it. But instead of declaring yourself independent of your Kings, you'll declare yourselves dependent upon us!" He clapped in excitement.  "Speaking of which, all of the crops have died because of the cold-"  "But not too dependent," Dan interrupted. "Just dependent enough. I think learning how to problem solve on your own is important as well. You're welcome, you may leave. Make sure to pick up an informational brochure on your way out!" He clicked his fingers twice, and two guards came and dragged her out of the throne room, just as they had done to all the peasants before her.  Phil took off his glowing blue crown and spun it on his finger. "I don't think they like you very much."  "Like 'us' very much, we're co-Rulers Of All That Is Cold™, remember? Don't sell yourself short, you're just as important in this democracy as I am."  "But Dan... they don't like us."  "Ridiculous." Dan snapped twice, and two more guards appeared. "Random guards, do you like us? I'll behead you if you say no."  "Yes, of course your highness! We adore you, you are so wise and-"  "That's good," Dan interrupted. He turned back to Phil, smiling smugly. "See? They love us!" 

(Here’s the art again if you still haven’t checked it out, tsk tsk)

 I told him I was a human, and he turned and left. Only after he was gone I allowed myself to relax, to exhale, to squeeze my eyes shut and will the pain to go away. I knew it wouldn't do much, but it was all my rattled brain could think to do. I should explain. I was born into a very prestigious family. My brother, Martyn, was the apex of perfection, both aesthetically and intellectually impressive. My parents tried again, hoping for a mini-Martyn of sorts, but instead got me; a scrawny tall boy with ears that stuck out and transparent skin. There was a catch however- my skin, however ugly and overall unimpressive, is completely resistant to any blades or burns or bruises. I simply cannot puncture or mark my skin. I feel most of the pain, but it doesn't leave a lasting effect. Because of that, my parents have always been very protective of me, both because  they didn't want anyone finding out, and that if something happened I wouldn't be able to have surgery. And so far, no one knew. Up til now, it seemed. The bigger man with the brown eyes is named 'Mr.Howell'. At least, that's what everyone calls him. He's running this operation, whatever it is, and as far as I can tell, he got into a bit of a beef with my parents. I think the idea was the kidnap me, hurt me, and then ransom me back to them, but he's currently stuck at the second step. As far as he knows, he isn't able to hurt me. I want to stand up. My muscles all feel tight and rigid from sitting so long, my legs buzzing with the pain of inactivity, my arms still stinging from the knife he had dragged down them. It would've cut very, very deep, judging from the pain. I'm lucky for my thick skin. Funny. 'Lucky' wasn't the first word that comes to mind when describing my current predicament. As time progresses, my body hurts more and more, the belts tying my limbs to the uncomfortable wooden chair digging into flesh. So much time has passed by the time someone enters the room again, that the pain in my arms has passed and my entire body feels numb. It hurts, a lot, but I am more focused on my full bladder and the discomfort it brings that I don't hear the door open. I was unconscious when they brought me here, and besides Mr.Howell coming in a few hours previous, I hadn't seen any other people. I knew nothing of the room I was in, which is likely why I didn't realize there were two doors, and one of them was placed behind my chair. I yelp and flinch horribly when a blindfold is placed over my eyes, and a pair of lips hovers next to my ear, making me shiver with each breathe. "You're going to stand up and walk with me. You will not try to escape, or next time you won't be allowed to leave to use the restroom. Got it?" I nodded, spots dancing in my vision from the tight blindfold. It was him- Mr.Howell- and I could feel him untying my binds, starting with my legs, then my hands. He quickly yanked me to my feet, holding my elbows together firmly behind my back, and pushed me forwards. If I was a different person, perhaps I would have fought. Maybe I would have tried to kick him or push him off or something, but I was just Phil. And despite my tough skin, I was not completely immune to injury, a lesson I learned when I fell off a bunk bed as a child and hit my head so hard I passed out. And this man, whoever he was, could likely kick my ass. And he's not blindfolded.

I'm lead through a busy hallway and have to walk blindly like the worst, most uncomfortable trust test ever. He keeps pushing me to go faster, and I try, but knowing me it's a true miracle we get to the bathroom without my falling on my face. He yanks me aside, opens what I can only assume to be a bathroom door, then whips the blindfold off and shoves me in. I hear a lock behind me. After I finish relieving myself and cleaning up a bit- and stretching, which felt amazing- the door was unlocked and pushed open. I expected to see the same man as before, but instead I found myself facing two meathead security guards, both far taller and more muscular than Howell, which meant they were much bigger than me. I put up no fight, and was wrestled and grappled into a blindfold and down a new corridor. Their hands were far more rough than Howell's. A weird thought as I was being dragged down to what may as well be my death, but something inside me told me that it wasn't that. Something else. Whatever it was, I was guessing it wasn't a home cooked meal and a warm bed. Sure enough, we entered a new room, this one with tile floor, and I did my best to be compliant as the two men attached my hands to some contraption on the ceiling, hoisting them high above my head until I was almost on my tiptoes. Then they brought knives against my clothes, tearing them off until only my boxers remained and I could truly appreciate how cold the room really was. A door opened, and a familiar voice spoke, "Good. One of you may go- I don't care which." And then there were three. He paced around me, and I did my best to follow his voice. "I see you've got thick skin" he chuckled, like it was a big joke. His voice was different than it was when he whispered to me earlier. He was putting on a show for whichever meathead remained in the room with us. I licked my lips, wondering why my mouth was so dry, and what was going to happen, and a million other questions that started with 'why is the room so cold' and ended with 'is he going to kill me?' Then the first impact started. It must have come from the meathead, as I doubt Howell had the strength to deliver such a blow. I refused to show the pain it caused, but did have to gasp for air, adjusting my hands so they held the chains shackling me to the ceiling, so I could have something to hold on to. Howell chuckled. "Hit him again. Harder.' Another blow, this one to right below my rib cage. I wanted to scream out in pain, but they couldn't know I felt it. Maybe if I continued to pretend I didn't, they'd stop, like any old playground bully. But they didn't. I was left sightless and completely defenseless as punch after punch was thrown. Finally, it stopped.  "I can take it from here."  Door opened, then closed. Howell and I were alone.  He paced around me again as I tried to stop crying. "No marks, still. What's your secret, Lester? It's okay, you can tell me." His voice was cruel, mocking. I tried to collect myself. "Were you hitting me or something? I couldn't even feel it."  A hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back, and I could feel the man's breath against my ear as he whispered, "Then why are you crying?"  The man pushed my head away, and continued pacing until he was directly in front of me, in all my semi-nude glory. One hand gripped at my side as the other ran a knife over my chest, sending a wave of searing pain through me. He picked up the blade, surely seeing there were still no marks, and tried again on my legs. My back. My shoulders. My face. And I felt all.  He grunted in frustration, and plunged the knife into my leg, or at least tried. The knife bounced back, and I heard it clatter on the floor. "You're supposed to be dead!" He cursed, "Why the hell are you not dead?"  My legs trembled, hardly strong enough to hold me up. My entire body stung horribly, the worst parts beginning to throb and pulsate.  I did not answer.   A hand was knotting in my hair, and I could feel my head being torn backwards, aching horribly. "I will find a way," he whispered. "And then I'll leave you here to bleed out."  Through my gasps for breath and desperate attempt to cling onto reality, I felt him let go, heard footsteps trail away.  The door opened, and I heard one of the men from earlier.  "What do you want me to do with him?"  I could practically hear the snarl in Howell's voice. "I don't care. Just keep him alive. And tomorrow, at the same time, bring him back here and I'll try again."  "He looks pretty bad already," the man observed. I hung my head lower, trying to seem more pitiful, though I'm sure no extra effort on my part was needed. "Take a picture of him now, send it to the parents. We'll get what we came for, and then dump him on their doorstep."  I hardly dare to breath, not willing to miss what Mr.Howell said next. Nothing was spoken for a few moments, and then I heard the unmistakable click of a camera shutter. "There. Send the picture. But... do as I ordered. Bring him back here tomorrow, and I'll keep trying."  "But Boss..."  "What?" He snapped.  "Why bother? We'll get the Lesters, and then ditch him. You don't need to make him bleed."  "You ignorant fuck. This... this is far more interesting than those /accountants/. Bring him back and string him up again tomorrow. And if you argue with me again, I'll have the others string you up too. But I suspect your skin isn't so durable."  For a moment, I felt bad for the big guy. Then I remembered he was being threatened with my circumstance, and the spots of pity quickly dissolved.  The big man yelped. "Oh look," The Howell observed. "So you do bleed."

 "I have a theory," he muttered, setting out his tools on a table next to me. "Actually, I have a few."  "I'd be glad to listen," I said, trying for cheerful. It was hard with my hands bound above my head, and the majority of my clothes in a pile in the corner. Well, actually I didn't know if they were even in the room anymore- the blindfold covering my eyes kept that sort of information from me. All I knew was that I was very vulnerable, and that maybe if I got the Howell talking I could go a bit longer before the pain started. My skin tingled upsettingly from the previous day's abuse, and though I knew such pain couldn't kill me, I also knew that it hurt like hell.  He walked around me, occasionally poking my side, making me wince from the tickles. He seemed to find this funny, and kept doing it until I biting my tongue to keep from sobbing with laughter.  "My first theory is that it's not actually your skin," he pondered, his tone slightly joking. I wondered what this change in outlook was caused by, before remembering how yesterday, there were other people in the room.  Bullies from primary school were the same way. They loved an audience. They were far more likely to be cruel when they had something to prove, and while this man definitely had something to prove, he was more like a cat playing with its dinner before eating it. In front of others, he wanted to take his anger out on me by hurting me. But in front of me, he had nothing to prove.  He wouldn't take his anger out on me by hurting me. He would play with me. And /then/ hurt me.  He prodded my skin, pinching around my elbows. "It's not some skin suit, if that's what you're suggesting," I offered.  "No?" I felt a harsh impact on the back of one knee, and fell a few inches, the ropes around my wrists digging in miserably. As I struggled to stand, a fist made contact with the soft of my stomach, and I grunted in pain, falling again. "You feel the impact," he noted, "and you feel the pain."  I didn't disagree. It'd be pointless- he was right. Maybe, if I gave in, he'd stop feeling the need to prove his theory.  "But how come you don't feel this?" Before I could protest, a sharp blade slid against my skin, stabbing into it. At least, it felt like it. But I knew better.  In the silence that followed, I tried to recover, standing up a little taller, grabbing onto the ropes that kept me up right.  "I think... I think you felt that," he mused, and my heart dropped to my feet. "I think you feel the pain. You just don't... bleed."  I didn't respond. It seemed to be worse when I responded.  "Well don't just stand there. Say something. Did I get it right?"  I stay silent.  "Say something!" He kicked the sides of my knees, and I stumbled, the pain disorienting. "Fine," he amended, and I allowed myself a breath. "We'll just have to try something else. I'd hoped we wouldn't- well, no, I suppose that's a lie. But still... it's a shame, really. This would have been over so much more quickly if you just bled." ----  On the bright side, the table was more comfortable.  My hands were tied at my side, infinity more comfortable than when they were above my head. My feet were also tied down, and another strap was across my waist.  At my side, he sat on a chair, sharpening a large knife. I knew because of the sound, the horrible scraping that made my entire body cringe. I knew that the knife was big too, despite not seeing it. At this point, he wouldn't waste his time with anything less of a weapon intended for killing.  "This feels so intimate," he mused, sliding the knife along the metal sharply. "I usually don't torture people without others in the room."  "Strange," I squeak. "Me neither. But then again, I don't torture people in general, so-"  I squeak as I feel a sharp scratch my upper leg. "No blood. You think if I keep going, eventually I'll break it down?" He did it again, over the same spot, making the pain only increase. "I think you should realize that it's not going to work. By now, you know that my skin is impenetrable, so-" I wince as he yanked the knife along the same spot again. "-So you'll have to give up eventually."  "Or maybe I'll find your weak spot. You have to have one. An Achilles heel, perhaps?"  "Don't have one." He made another attempt at a cut, closer to my knee. "I'm completely-" I wince "-unaffected."  He laughs, and does it again. "I like watching you lie. It's so amusing. No, I suppose you don't feel any pain." His fingernails dug into my leg, and he ripped his hand back, the skin stinging horribly from his scratches. "Oh, you don't feel any pain?" He mocked. "Is that why you keep flinching?"  I feel his fingers on my face, brushing along my cheek softly. Then he ripped the blindfold off, examining my eyes closely, with some dark browns of his own. His face was tight as he examined my features critically, but like most of the things he did, it was an act. His eyes betrayed him. They showed that he was human. He'd seen some things, things that'd make my skin crawl.  "Philip. I suppose people call you Phil?"  I nod, slowly. He's quite handsome, actually. The knife in his hand is a bit of a turn off, though.  "I'm Dan. Thought we should get acquainted, we'll be spending a lot of time together." ----  His hands are rough, but his touch is precise. He doesn't fumble with his hands. He doesn't slip. When he wields a knife, every cut is exactly as he plans it. When he wields his fists or his feet, every horrible impact is purposeful. He aims to knock my breath from my lungs. He aims to knock my feet out from beneath me. He aims to break my ribs. The latter doesn't work, but he does his best. It turns out my insides are almost as resilient as my outsides. Who knew?  He tries to hurt me in other ways too. The fire is the worst. No welts or blisters form on my skin, but it's burns horribly. I only scream at the fire. With the others, I can keep quiet. But the fire is my limit.  Over the weeks, we get quite acquainted. His name is Daniel Howell, and he's from Wokingham. He's very attractive, especially after beating me for a while, when the sweat clings to his forehead and his cheeks go pink. I may be wrong. But he's the only person I've seen in weeks, so I'm likely biased.  I spend my days in another room. It has a bed with no blankets and a bathroom with only hand towels. I suppose the goal is that I don't hang myself. I've thought about it. But then again, there isn't much I haven't thought about. So many hours alone isn't healthy.  One hour a day, he brings me out and tries new methods. He seems intent on killing me- no, not killing me. Destroying me. He knows just as well as I do that I can be suffocated. But that's too easy.  We sit at a table, on opposite sides. A tea cup is sitting in front of me, which I must drink. It's poison, I know. I drink it. We talk about the weather. Apparently, I missed Christmas. I ask what day that was, and he says it was the day with the gun. The poison burns my throat. I ask which day with the gun. He says the first day, the day that I cried whenever he pulled the trigger. I smile. It hurts.  I lay on a table, limbs tied down. He has a machine that gives me shocks periodically, whenever I tell a lie. I tell only the truth. He laughs when I get shocked.  I stand against a table, blindfolded. He stands in front of me, hands roaming my body. He kisses me. I forgot what one of those felt like. I kiss back. We kiss for a long time. Then he pours acid on my skin and I scream.  He's the only person I ever see. When we're apart, I try to conjure up his face in my mind until I have it exact. He has two freckles on each side of his mouth that form faces when he smiles. I like his smile quite a lot.  The day he tells me my parents died, I consider crying, but don't bother. I tell him I forgot what they looked like. It's not a lie. I forgot most things.

He feeds me poison in wine glasses. I chug it. He holds a flame against my skin, and I watch as it burns, leaving no trace. I sip arsenic from coffee mugs. I don't cringe at the sound of metal upon metal anymore. The sharpening of a knife is as familiar as his breathing. I don't scream. I don't cry. I don't struggle. I don't cringe. The shower runs until the water's gone cold. Sometimes, I sleep on the blanketed bed. He writes notes in a thick binder after each session. I hate the sound of pencil on paper. It means 23 more hours of loneliness. One day, he tries to drown me. It works. He pulls me out of the water sputtering and coughing. A few more seconds and I would have died. He kisses me, softly. The next day he drowns me again, but for longer. Arsenic tastes like candy. Knives hardly tickle anymore. He holds me underwater for longer. I have a pulse, he finds. My pulse increases when I see the bucket of water. He thinks it's funny. I fill the shower with water, and hold my head under. One minute. Two. My lungs are going to burst. I want to die. I want to die. I'm dying.... He pulls me out, screaming and crying. We find out that the inside of my mouth can be cut. For the first time in my life, I see my own blood, taste it. He's proud, you can tell. I wait for him to chop me up like a tomato. But he doesn't. Instead, he let's me go back to my room early. Somehow, that's worse. I'm dying. But I'm not dead yet, and it hurts. He takes notes on my mental wellbeing as well. As time goes on, his handwriting gets messier. He is a scientist, and I am his experiment. One day, he realizes I am human. It scares him. He's seen a lot of things, and a lot of cruelty, but nothing that measures up to what he does to me. I smile. His eyebags droop to his shoes. I kiss him whenever I get the chance. Fire no longer hurts. Bullets are like taps, on the hands, on the head, over the chest. I make jokes as he shoots me. He's dying. I know because he looks like I do. We sit across the table from each other. He hands me a gun. It's his form of an apology. He's holding the same type. He puts it in his mouth, and I follow suit. No words are spoken as he counts down on his fingers, and we pull the triggers in unison. 

 So all in all, the beach was not a good place to be. But Phil found himself walking along the sand, his bare feet no longer complaining after all the time he’d spent on that very beach that month. A change of scenery was good for people whose minds were blocked, so he’d heard. So far, the retreat was more of a break from reality, and though no new ideas came to his mind, it was a much-appreciated one. 

 He allowed himself to walk right up to the edge of the sea, letting the waves pound at his legs. They weren’t too big, just forceful, as if pushing him back. 

 The wind blew hard against him as if agreeing. It whipped against his white t-shirt and tan cargo pants, blowing his raven hair back. He wasn’t in swimming trunks, but it hardly mattered. No phone- it had been left in Manchester, very purposefully- and no wallet- no need for one, his rental house wasn’t far away. Really, no reason why he shouldn’t go for a quick dip. 

 He took a few steps forward, and all around him it grew quieter. The birds calmed, the wind dyed down, even the water seemed to be less harsh. 

 He took another step forward, and heard a strange sound, something that didn’t in any way belong in the ocean. It was… a piano? 

 Phil’s feet walked forwards on their own free will, diagonal along the coast towards the rock formations a half kilometer away. They were shaped like mountains but much, much smaller, only a short hike to the top. Phil had wondered why no one ever came to this beach, and over the past few days being here he’d decided it must be because of the intrusive rock formations. They were ugly, and there were lots of things like that under the water when you got over too far. Bad for surfing, and no good for pictures. The beach was completely deserted, every day of the week, even when it didn’t storm.

 These thoughts went through Phil’s mind as he walked, the gentle playing of the piano becoming less faint as he grew closer. Soon, he was up to his waist in water and started swimming, doing a smooth front stroke towards the noise. The ocean stilled for him, as if it was listening to the playing as well. 

 He swam out further than he planned to, but there wasn’t a single thought in his mind that made him want to turn back. He had to find out where the noise was coming from. It was a beautiful tune, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. The notes ran together easily, enticing and beautiful and perfect. Whoever was playing the instrument must have a true passion for it, and a talent as well. 

 There were large outcroppings of rocks sticking out of the water that Phil had to swim around. He slid in between them, careful to keep his legs from touching the sharp, dark grey stones on either side. The area was badly polluted, with soda cans and plastic bags floating in the water. A fisherman’s net slid against his legs, catching on his foot. Phil had to pull out his pocket knife and cut it. The pocket knife was for opening clams, but luckily, it worked, and Phil was free from the ropes. 

 Phil began to swim faster as the source of music came closer. The piano keys tapped delicately one after another, going in his ears and circulating through his entire body. Every cell, every tissue yearned to go closer, begged to find the source. It was The Answer, to everything he’d wanted and everything he was searching for. This was why he was here, this was the reason he was alive. 

 A rowboat was wrecked against one of the huge slabs of rocks. A large chunk had been taken out of it by a mouth the size of Phil’s torso. He kept swimming, faster. He had to get to the noise, he had to get to the music. 

 He swam past the last rock outcropping, into the open sea. The music pulsed and hummed, all around him, but when he turned in a full circle he saw nothing, no piano anywhere. But it was here, he knew that with all his being and all his mind, it was here. 

 He held his breath, and dived under, opening his eyes underwater. He looked around desperately, his actions becoming more and more anxious. Where was it? He had to find it, this was The Answer! He needed The Answer! 

 The water was so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. Nearby, there was a huge wall of rocks, sharpened and deadly, part of the mountains that made this bay so ugly. But where was the music? Where was it?!

 Phil came back up, gasping for air. It had begun to rain, droplets of water hitting the sea in little ripples of motion.

He treaded water, catching his breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he realized the music had stopped. Not a bird dared to chirp, nor the waves dare to splash. Everything was perfectly silent.

 Something wrapped around his leg and Phil had no time to scream as he was ripped into the water. Someone had grabbed him, and Phil yanked and tried to kick or pull away or do something but whatever it was had grabbed ahold of him and wasn’t letting go. Bubbles raced to the surface as they descended so quickly Phil’s ears popped and he heard the thumping of a drum in his head. 

 Something had grabbed him, a slick form that felt almost like a human hand, wrapping around his ankle tightly, pulling him down. And he was going to die. 

 The thought made his brain go into overdrive, it’s blurry waterlogged HTML code sending mass orders of panic. Get away get away get away get away was blared through loudspeakers on repeat, his entire body screaming in terror and agony as they descended so rapidly the pressure made his insides crumple like a soda can. 

 And then they were slowing, the decent smoother. This was the moment before the white of death, where everything slowed as your heart prepared to stop. Phil’s arms went down to his sides, working on orders from the shred of his brain that still worked. He fumbled with his pockets. 

 Phil looked down and almost blacked out. 

 The tail was the color of crystalline swamps, a shade of green unlike anything Phil had ever seen. Fins ran off of it, flowing naturally in the dark water. A hand, a human hand the color of milk but slightly sickly green was wrapped around his ankle, pulling him down. The figure, the monster, the mermaid, the whatever it was, pulled him deeper. A creature of terror, of darkness, of death, it swam downwards towards the ocean floor and Phil’s immediate death.

 The tail brushed against his legs. 

 Phil pulled out the object from his pocket and opened it. Before he had time to consider it, he plunged the knife into the creature’s tail.

 Horrible dark blue liquid the color of poison poured out from the wound, and the creature let go in pain, it’s body writhing with agony. For the first time, Phil saw its face, human, a boy’s face twisted in pain and horrible anger, pointed teeth bared and ready to rip his throat out as Phil tried desperately to swim away. It swam to him in a burst of motion, grabbing him and pulling him down, when something changed and it shoved him away. The water was turning sickly blue from the blood, and the creature was looking at something in the distance. Then he turned, swimming away at an incredible speed away from whatever was there, and Phil may have been drowning but he knew danger when he saw it. He followed, hurriedly, kicking with all his might and praying that he wouldn’t drown. His lungs begged to burst, his whole body screaming in pain at the pressure. 

 The mermaid swam into one of the caves formed by the rocks, and Phil followed, desperately kicking and praying and drowning all at once because he was a talented individual who refused to die like this. 

 The light of day was getting closer, and he swam upwards, letting out his final puff of breath and begging the God he didn’t believe in to save him. 

 And then there was light, and then there was air, and Phil gasped and swam to the edge of the pool, trembling hands gripping onto rock. He didn’t know what was chasing them, but he knew that if it was bad enough to scare the merman, then he didn’t want to meet it. 

 Phil dragged himself onto land, coughing and then vomiting, the taste of salt wedged underneath his tongue and down his vocal cords. He crawled away from the pool of water, his entire body shaking with cold/fear/exertion/pain. 

 Nothing came out of the water to kill him. He was safe, for now. 

 Phil had finally stopped throwing up and managed to slump to the ground a few feet away, his entire body aching horribly.

 "Hello there. I’m sorry I didn’t drown you, this would have been much easier for the both of us if you’d just died like you were supposed to.“

—

 Phil sat against the stone wall of the cave, his feet resting on the sandy ground. 

 Across from him, on the other side of the pool, lay the creature. He was… well, Phil knew what he was. But he wasn’t sure if he could admit it. 

 The creature’s top half was almost human. He had a male torso, and though he had muscles, he also seemed skinny to the point of malnutrition. His skin was extremely pale, with an almost green tint. If you looked at his face and just his face, you might call him handsome, but possibly ill. Damp brown curls hung over his eyes, and he pushed them back in annoyance.

 Phil wished that was all. But it wasn’t. 

 Under his belly button, where one’s stomach would begin to curve into a pelvis, the skin turned scaly. Instead of having legs, he had one massive tail, long and dark, swampy green and onyx black. 

 "You’re a mermaid,” Phil said aloud, still staring at the boy. 

 He huffed. “I’m not.” His voice croaked, and he cleared his throat, the same way Phil had to do whenever he hadn’t been using his voice for a while. 

 "Then what are you?“

 The creature- the man- the not mermaid?- sat up a little straighter, showing off his pale green inner arms. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Come on, you know. I was the one who grabbed you. You don’t look horribly dumb, just make a guess.” 

 "You’re a merman,“ Phil suggested, his voice monotone. His eyes flickered back and forth between the creature’s tail and his eyes. Dark, very very dark, probably brown. 

 He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a mermaid, or a merman, or whatever else you’re suggesting. Mermaids don’t exist anywhere but German fairytales and old pirates stories. And in case you haven’t noticed, I exist.” 

  I noticed. “Then what are you?” 

 He smiled again, like he was imagining trying to drown Phil and succeeding. “Well, I’m a siren, obviously. You heard my music.”

 The puzzle pieces clicked together all too late. “The piano music.” 

 "That was me,“ he agreed. “I always think, surely this time they won’t fall for it. Someone will have enough sense not to go out to sea in search of a piano of all things. And every time, I’m mistaken.” He shrugged, and the end of his tail, the semi-transparent parts flapped nervously.

 Phil looked into the water. The cave was about the size of a small room, circular, with most of the space being taken up by the pool in which they’d small up in. Above, it rose in the shape of a mountain, with a giant crater at the top where they could see the gray sky through. 

 The water lapped at the constraints of the pool upsettingly, dark and blue without any green at all. Far below, Phil could see something move. 

 "Something’s-“

 "Sharks,” the siren supplied. “They love the taste of sirens. Can smell our blood from miles away, and come racing.” He crinkled his nose in annoyance. “Rude of you to stab me. It will take at least two or three days to heal, and who knows how long the sharks will stick around for.”

 "Sharks,“ Phil repeated, still staring down into the murky depths, trying to make out any features. 

 "Yes,” the siren agreed, as if talking to a small child. 

 "And you’re a siren. Which is different from a mermaid, apparently.“ 

 "Yes.” Now he looked slightly annoyed. Phil wondered if he’d try to drown him again. “Mermaids are fictional. And sirens…”

 "…play piano music in the middle of the bay,“ Phil finished. "And are attractive snacks for sharks.” 

 He was definitely going to drown Phil. 

 "You act as if I’m the bad one. Like, out of the three of us in this cave, I’m the worst one.“ 

 "Three of us?”

 "Including the shark. Though there’s likely more than one. I can see better if I stick my head underwater, but right now my goal is not to die, so I’m not going to do that.“ 

 Phil backed up from the pool, going back to his original position against the cave. He bent his knees, bringing them to his chest. "Yeah, but you’re the one who tried to drown me. That’s pretty bad in my books.” 

 "You’re the one that tried to drown me,“ he corrected. "With carbon emissions and pollution. Honestly, have you ever thought about your actions? That maybe dumping thousands of tons of sewage into the ocean each year might be a bad idea? Because I have some news for you, some of us have to live in that ocean, and we can’t do that very well when you’re destroying our ecosystems!”

 Phil blinked. 

 Dan stared back at him, not daring to look away. 

 "Nerd.“ 

 "Oh my god. Oh my god. Wait ‘til I get my hands on you, you slimy little land bastard-” 

 "I prefer Phil, actually.“ Phil smiled, tilting his head a little. His skull ached, like someone was trying to hammer new information into it. Maybe he was seeing things. After all, he did just inhale a lot of seawater. 

 Neither spoke for a while. Eventually, the siren stopped staring at Phil and instead tended to his injury. 

 Phil tried to mind his own business for a few minutes, observing the cave. He doubted the merman siren could get out by a land exit, but he probably could. He looked around, and then eventually stood, walking around his side of the cave. He was able to walk all the way over to where the siren lay without any difficulty, but he’d already almost died once today. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown to the sharks while being lectured about carbon emissions. 

 Every once in awhile, Phil caught the siren looking at him. Whenever he caught Phil’s eye he would quickly look away, back to his wound. 

 Finally, Phil decided he had to accept it. There were only two exits to the cave: the pool and the hole in the roof. Unfortunately, the pool contained a shark hungry for a fish-human hybrid, and Phil didn’t doubt that he’d settle for just a human. And the walls were tilted towards the hole in the ceiling, making them impossible to climb. It was like the inside of a volcano, Phil realized, but with a pool of water instead of magma. 

 He tried to be discrete about looking at his company in the cave. But as he watched him work, he realized something. 

 "You took the knife out?” He asked before he could stop himself. 

 The siren huffed, pushing his brown curls away from his face in annoyance. “Clearly.” 

 "You should have kept it in. It was the only thing keeping your blood from flowing out, you’re supposed to leave it in until you get to a vet.“ 

 The creature looked up so pointedly Phil wondered if he should make things easier and just jump in the water on his own terms. "A…. vet?” 

 "You know, like a person who cares for animals.“ 

 "I know what a vet is,” he snapped. “But I’m offended that you’d suggest I might need one.” 

 Phil blinked. “I mean… you’re tail…” 

 He brushed it aside. “You know what, never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I took the knife out already. In the water. That’s why I bled so much, that’s why the sharks came, and that’s why we’re in this mess.” 

 "Because you took the knife out?“

 "Because you stabbed me.”

 Phil huffed. This wasn’t getting anywhere.  

 "How’d you know that anyway? The knife thing?“ 

 Phil crossed his arms, looking down at the surface of the water, turned gray from the sky’s reflection. "I went to school to be a vet. I ended up doing something else, but I still ended up learning a lot of stuff like that.” 

 He stared at the sand, digging in it with his fingers. It was true. He’d ended up changing to studying language and film after he’d gone to see surgery performed on a horse and passed out. 

 He was so deep in thought he hadn’t even realized the siren was saying something. “Feel…. Feel! Erm, Fell? Feel? Phil!” He snapped, and Phil looked up. “Phil!” 

 "What?“ 

 "Stop digging around and come help me! God, you’re a vet, I’m not supposed to have to ask.” 

 Phil stood, looking at him unsure. “Will you drown me?” 

 "Not until after you help me.“ 

 "No.” He crossed his arms tightly, hoping the merman couldn’t see how nervous he was. “Promise you won’t try to kill me. At all. Ever.” 

 He whined. “But Feeeeeellll.”

 "It’s Phil.“ 

 "But Phiiiiiiiiillllllll.”

 "Do you want help or not?“ 

 He pouted. "Fine.” 

 "Swear it. On your tail,“ Phil added quickly.

 He continued to pout, but gave in. "I swear on my tail that I won’t try and kill you again if you heal me.” 

 "If I help you,“ Phil corrected. "I’ll do my best, but I have no supplies.” 

 He groaned. Phil decided it was enough and walked over and knelt next to him.

The wound probably looked worse than it actually was. Even so, it didn’t look too bad. “Well, you’re not bleeding much.” 

 "Wow, thanks for that professional advice.“ 

 Phil ignored him. "Does this hurt?” He reached over, carefully touching the area around the wound. It was a little darker blue-green than the area around it. Phil realized too late that it was stained with the siren’s blood. 

 “It doesn’t really hurt,” he announced.

 Phil nodded. "That’s good. Um… you should… apply pressure.” 

 "Great.“ He seemed unamused but did so anyway. 

 Phil’s mouth tasted like seawater. He was on one knee next to the creature, right next to his tail. It was even more beautiful up close. So dark green it was almost black. Now that Phil was closer, he could see flicks of gold in it, especially around the area where the tail met with his skin. 

 "You’re staring,” the siren noted. 

 "Sorry.” Phil tried to stand, but his eyes caught onto the fins at the very end of the tail, lighter greens and blues with golden veins. "Can I touch it?” 

 "Um, what?” 

 "Touch your… fins. The flipper things.” Phil pointed. His tongue seemed to have forgotten how to work.

 "My… caudal fins? Fine, just be very gentle. They tear easily.“ 

 Phil crawled over and knelt next to the flippers. Most mermaid pictures and drawings he’d seen depicted the end of the tail, where a human’s feet would be, to be two elongated flippers, like those ones that some freedivers used. Or maybe it was one flipper, shaped like a v. 

 The siren’s ‘caudal fins’ were not like that. It was as if he had multiple pairs of mermaid fins all stacked on top of each other.  Smooth and soft like fabric, folded together in a confusing mess. 

 Phil reached out, and touched it. All of sudden the fins shot out, jumping and unfolding to form one massive flipper in the shape of a math bracket {. 

 It unfolded so fast and took up so much room that Phil was almost pushed into the pool of water. 

 His eyes widened. "Woah.” 

 It was clear the siren wasn’t sure what to think. He had a perfect poker face, like he was just observing Phil, trying to decide what to make of him. 

 There was a rip in his tail, a little hole by the ends, which were a little torn themselves. “What’s this from?” 

 "Fishhook. Like I said, you humans have no respect for the creatures of the sea.“ 

 He folded his tail once more, pulling what would have been his knees up to his chest and leaning on it. "Okay, now it’s my turn. Come here.” 

 Phil gave him a strange look but crawled over anyways. 

 "Let me see your… legs. That’s the word. And your… feet? Those.“ 

 Phil hesitated. "Wait. I need to know your name first.” 

 "Why would you need to know that?“

 "I don’t like strangers touching me. Just a general rule.” 

 The siren stared at him intently. “Fine. My name is Danye.” He pronounced it like ‘dawn-yay’. “But you can call me Dan, since humans lack vocal ability. My pronouns are he/him.”

 Phil looked up. “I’d kind of assumed that already.” 

 "Rude. You should never assume someone’s gender.“ 

 "I mean- I wouldn’t think that mer- sirens would care about that sort of thing.” 

 Dan gave him a look like he wasn’t sure how much to tell him. Then he shrugged. “Meh. You’ll probably die in the next few days anyways. You would care a lot more about pronouns if none of the creatures of your species had penises.” 

 Phil found his eyes drifting down to Dan’s waist. “Um… you don’t-” 

 "Have a dick? Oh yeah, sure, let me pull my tail down like a pair of pants. It’s around here somewhere… Obviously not, you fern. And don’t ask how we reproduce, because I’m not going to tell you.“ Dan patted the spot next to him. "Come here.” 

 Phil decided to just listen, scooting over. Dan quickly grabbed his ankles, dragging him a little closer. “Your legs are filthy,” he noted. 

 "What? No, that’s just hair.“ 

 Dan looked at him like he was trying to decide if he was lying. "You grow hair out of your legs?”

 "Um, yeah? And out of our arms, and chests, and stuff. And most guys my age can grow beards, if they try. I can only get a weird neck beard.“

 Dan touched his neck, as if imagining hair sprouting out from it. As he moved his arm, Phil realized his armpits were completely bare of hair.

 Eventually, Dan went back to inspecting his legs. Apparently, he’d known what toes were but never realized there was such thing as toenails. He prodded at Phil’s ankle bones and felt his knees. "It’s unnatural,” he decided finally. “And frankly, I’m uncomfortable.” 

 "Hey! You’re the one who’s part fish!“ 

 "And you’re the one sitting by the shark-water, so I’d watch it,” Dan threatened. “Can you see them?” 

 Phil leaned over, looking into the water. A figure circled beneath, closer than it had before. “Only one, I think.” 

 Dan rolled over onto his stomach, a real process with his large tail. He dragged himself over to the pool by his forearms, army crawling close enough to see over it. 

 "How long until it leaves?“ 

 Dan shook his head. "A few days, at least. Sharks will do just about anything for a taste of sirens.”

 Phil’s stomach ached. “What do we do?” 

 "Wait it out.“ His voice was calm, which would have been reassuring if he didn’t look so worried. 

—-

 The rest of the day was spent waiting. They were shaded from the sun, but it still came in from the cave, glittering against the water. 

 Phil retreated back to his side of the cave and laid on his back, staring up at the walls curving up to the hole in the ceiling. The walls weren’t smooth, but he doubted he could climb out that way. It would take upper body strength that he just didn’t have.

 He didn’t dare nap. It might be difficult for the merman to crawl over across the sand, but Phil didn’t doubt that he could. And, as casual as their interaction earlier was, this was still the creature that had tried to drown him. Phil knew better than to trust the creature too easily. 

 At some point in the afternoon, Phil rolled over onto his side and found Dan laying on his side as well, staring at him from across the water. When he caught his gaze, Dan scowled and rolled over, staring at the wall. 

 Phil watched the sharp edges of his back, observing the dark contours and the greenish tint of it. Then, lower, as the skin turned into thick green-black scales that lead to his tail, longer than human legs, with the folded caudal flipper at the end. He moved his flipper around nervously, tapping it against the sandy ground. At one point, his fin twitched, launching a pile of sand into the water so aggressively Phil wondered how strong his tail was. It must have been incredibly powerful. He remembered the hands wrapping around his feet and the force pulling him down so quickly there was hardly any resisting it. Dan had been able to do that with hardly any exertion. 

 His stomach ached slightly as the day went on. He would have been okay if he hadn’t thrown up his breakfast- a painful side effect of almost drowning. 

 Phil kept thinking that they’d start talking again, but the siren seemed intent with ignoring him. Finally, the long day was over and Phil could feel his eyelids weighing down, begging to be closed. He wanted sleep. After a short struggle, he gave in, hoping that he’d wake up in the morning. 

—-

 Dan did not kill him. 

 When Phil woke up, Dan was leaning over the pool, staring into it. He glanced up when he heard Phil stir, then went back to looking into the water. 

 "There’s more,” Dan noted. 

 It took Phil a few moments to process. “More what?” 

 "Sharks. I see at least two, but I think there’s a third one.“ 

 Phil could feel his stomach rumble. "What do we do?”

 "Wait it out.” 

 "How long?” 

 "As long as we need to,“ Dan snapped. "Unless you want to jump into the pool and try swimming.”

 "Would it work?“

 "No. You humans are miserable swimmers, you’re painfully slow, what with your deformed fins. They’re horrible for propelling you.” 

 Phil took a wild guess that Dan was talking about his feet. “We don’t have fins. They aren’t deformed, they just are made for land use. I can swim better than you can walk.” 

 "You want to test that theory?” Dan gestured to the shark-infested pool. "Be my guest.” 

 Phil stood slowly, brushing the sand off of his clothes. “If you’re so intent on me dying, why didn’t you just kill me in my sleep? You could have tossed me to the sharks and been done with it.” 

 The siren looked more hesitant now that Phil was standing. He had to look up to see him.

 "I didn’t throw you to the sharks,“ he explained slowly, "because then they’d win. I hate sharks. Even more than I hate humans. If I kill you, trust me, I’m not going to let the sharks get something out of it.” 

 That did not reassure Phil. “But you wouldn’t kill me anyway,” he reasoned. “Because we made the deal.” 

 "I agreed not to kill you if you healed me. Well, guess what.” Dan moved a little ways back from the water, bringing his tail around for Phil to see. He pointed at the gash, which appeared to have scarred over, but was definitely not healed. “You didn’t heal me.” 

 Phil ran his fingers through his fringe, brushing the sand out of it. “Healing takes time. What did you expect, that I’d just say the word and it’d be fixed?” 

 Dan looked at the ground.

 Phil realized too slowly. “You actually thought that?” 

 "You humans are insufferable,“ Dan defended. "Too busy polluting the ocean to explore it. There are things down there that would make you curl up in a ball and cry, Phil. Don’t act like you know my world.” 

 "Wait- what? There’s something down there that could heal wounds that quickly?”

 "Shut up.” Dan pulled his tail back behind him protectively, slumping onto his stomach. “It’ll be at least two more days until the sharks go.” 

 Phil’s stomach flipped inside out. “What?”

 "The sharks. They know they have me trapped.” He shrugged. "We just have to wait it out.” 

 Phil could feel his breath quicken as panic set in. “I can’t… I can’t survive that long! I need food-” 

 "You can’t go a few days without food? Wimp.“

 "But I definitely need water. A human can only survive two, maybe three days without water, and even then they might go mad.”

 Dan looked at Phil like he was trying to decide if he was lying or not. “There’s water right here.” 

 "Freshwater! I can’t drink salt water!“ 

 Dan’s voice mimicked Phils, getting higher and louder. "Why not?” 

 "Because- ugh! Because humans can’t process salt! It’ll be worse than drinking nothing because the salt will dry up all the water!“ 

 "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you humans evolve to not be able to drink salt water?” 

 "Stop acting like you’re the normal ones! Why would anyone want to drink salt water?“ 

 Phil hadn’t realized, but he’d been stepping forwards, getting closer to the siren. He saw Dan’s eyes widened, then he lashed out, pulling himself up and whipping his tail around, knocking Phil off of his feet. Phil yelped as he collapsed. 

 Apparently, Dan could move fast on land when he wanted to. Within a moment he was on top of Phil, grappling with him and trying to pin him down. 

 Phil tried to slide out from under him, fighting and slapping his hands away. Dan’s tail was extremely heavy, even heavier than he’d previously thought. 

 Dan grabbed something off to his side, and raised it above his head, preparing to strike. Phil processed it in a split second- the gleam of the blade, the way it was still stained from dark blue blood- and before he knew what he was doing, he’d knocked it out of Dan’s hand. It fell into the pool with a plop.

 Dan jumped off of him, reaching out to the water desperately. "That was our only weapon.” 

 Phil sat up, moving away from the siren in a hurry. “Yeah, well you should’ve have tried to stab me!” 

 "You shouldn’t have been preparing to attack me!”

 "I wasn’t!” 

 "Oh really?“ Dan mocked him, squaring his shoulders and sitting up straighter. "You stood up, made yourself look tall and then stalked towards me. If that’s not preparing for an attack, I don’t know what is!” 

 "I was just arguing with you! I wasn’t going to attack you!“ 

 Dan’s tail fin fanned out fully, unfolding into a huge fan. He cursed in a language Phil didn’t recognize, and quickly retracted them. "It doesn’t matter. What is done is done.” 

 He rolled over onto his back, still scowling. “You humans. You’re always right, aren’t you?” 

 Phil was careful to sit down, not wanting to make the same mistake as last time. “What do you have against humans?” 

 “Everything. Do you even know how much of a global footprint you leave? You’re killing our earth.“ 

 “Well, you’re… you’re… you’re over hunting the fish!” Phil retorted. In reality, he hadn’t known sirens even existed until the day prior, much less how they affected the environment. But based off of the offended expression Dan made, he’d hit a sore spot.

 “For your information, we work very hard to conserve our species diversity. The Tecopa fish extinction was an accident! Things like that can’t always be avoided!” 

 “Excuses excuses.”

 “Don’t act all innocent, we may have caused the extinction of Tecopa, but your species killed the Dodo bird! Do you know how upset I was when I found that out?” 

 “The dodo bird has been dead for centuries!”

 “How long do you think it took me to figure that out?“ 

 Phil paused, his eyes growing wide. “How old are you?” 

 Dan gnawed on his bottom lip. The longer he hesitated, the more Phil freaked out. Could he actually have been alive when the dodo bird was around? Was he a hundred years old? Two hundred?

 “I’m twenty-five.“ 

 “Oh.”

 “Do I look old to you?“ 

 “No! You look… young, in fact.”

 “Young?“ 

 “Good! You look- good, like, not little or anything-” 

 “Are you calling me fat?“ 

 Phil covered his face with his hands. Dan didn’t say anything for a few moments, then scooted over, the sound of his tail dragging on sand obvious and entirely without grace. 

 Dan tapped on his arm. "Phil!” He whispered urgently. He still pronounced it sort of wrong, like he was trying to say Feel. “It was supposed to be a joke! I forgot how delicate humans are!” 

 "Oh, shut up.“ Phil moved his hands away from his face, smiling at the ground beside him. 

 Dan poked at his arm again, equally urgently. "How old are you?” 

 Phil brushed aside his fringe, looking at the boy’s troublemaker face. “Twenty-nine. Almost thirty.” 

 "How long do humans tend to live?“ 

 "You know about ecological footprints but you don’t have how long humans live?” 

 Dan shook his head. 

 "Guess.“ 

 "Um… Forty years.” 

 "Higher.“

 "Four-hundred years.”

 "Lower.“ 

 "Two hundred?”

 "Usually around seventy,“ Phil supplied, "But it depends. My grandpa lived to ninety-three. How long do sirens usually live?” 

 Dan shrugged. “I don’t actually really know. No one really dies of natural causes, it usually because of predators or fishing nets, that sort of thing.”

 Phil licked his lips. They were beginning to crack. He needed water soon. “That’s… pretty sad, actually.” 

 He shrugged again. “Depends on how you look at it. On the bright side, no one ever really grows old. You’re as strong as you are strong for, and survive as long as you can survive for. Then, when you aren’t strong enough anymore… nature takes its course.” He was playing with a shell in the sand, digging in it absently. “How many sharks?” 

 Phil peered over. “Three. They’re closer to the surface now.” He leaned down a bit more. “They’re a lot closer, actually. And… I think there’s more underneath.” 

 "That’s weird. There’s no reason for-“ Dan stopped mid-sentence, his face going even paler, if that was possible. "Oh no. The knife. Did it have any of my blood on it still?” 

 Phil’s eyes widened. “Yeah. But there was just a little-” 

 "That’s all they need,“ Dan mourned. "They know I’m here, and they’ll be desperate for a taste. No way they’re leaving anytime soon now.” 

 Phil’s stomach turned over. His mouth tasted like salt water and sandpaper. “How long?”

 "Dunno. But we might have to find another way out.“ 

 In perfect unison, they both looked up at the hole in the cave ceiling.

—-

 It was the next day. Phil felt faint and light-headed, and his stomach and head ached. 

 They talked quietly. Every so often, a fin would break the surface of the water. The shark would swim a few slow laps, testing it out, and then submerge once more. Every time one came that far up, their conversation paused, and didn’t resume until it disappeared again. 

 Meanwhile, Dan tried to convince Phil to climb the cave walls. "It’s our only option!” 

 "Dan, do you see them? There’s no way I’ll be able to without falling in!” 

 Dan huffed, his caudal fin bouncing up and down in agitation. It was partially unfolded, maybe half of its full size, and every once in awhile it twitched, closing and opening like the shutter of a camera. Though he didn’t complain, Phil knew Dan was suffering the effects of hunger as well. He was incredibly skinny, only muscle and bones. Maybe he stored fat in his tail, energy to use for later. 

 If they were stuck in the cave for much longed, Dan would survive for more time than Phil would. He wasn’t suffering from dehydration; he still could drink the ocean water, while Phil knew better. He couldn’t filter out the salt like the siren could, it would just make everything so much worse. 

 They stopped arguing as a shark’s dorsal fin peaked through the water. Phil could see its full body through the thin layer of water; it was probably almost as long as he was, and much wider. And there were even bigger ones lower, ones that couldn’t fit in the little pool easily and had to wait further down. 

 It’s fin submerged, and they continued. "It’s our only chance,” Dan argued. “If we stay here, we’ll die. If we try to swim out, we’ll definitely die. You especially, with your deformed…. foot things. This is the only chance we have.” 

 Phil stared up at the ceiling, at least a dozen meters up. “What good would it do you? It’s not like you could get out that way.” 

 "True,“ Dan agreed, "But you could give me provisions. Lower them down. Food, maybe a weapon. Trust me, I don’t like the odds much either, but it’s our best bet.” 

 "I won’t. I can’t do it Dan, I can’t…. what’s that noise?“

 Dan tried for a blank expression. "What noise?” 

 Phil was looking around, desperate to find it. “Its…. it’s music! Don’t you hear it? It’s… a piano!” 

 Dan shrugged, not saying anything. His fingers tapped out a gentle melody against the sand, and he watched as Phil’s eyes widened, and then looked up. 

 "It’s coming from up there,“ he realized. "I have to find it.” 

 His hands were already on the rocks, searching for hand holds. He soon pulled himself up, his feet finding holds. 

 He climbed slowly towards the source of music, getting increasingly frustrated the longer it took. “I have to find it…” 

 Meanwhile, the sharks grew more agitated. They churned, going up to the surface and dipping back down. Two sharks circled, tail to tail, and Dan scooted away from the water, his breathing increasing. His fingers didn’t stop tapping, tapping so lightly he was hardly touching the sand. 

 Phil grunted. His hands were shaking slightly, whether from the stress of not being with the noise or the exertion it wasn’t know. Possibly- likely- both. 

 He was so high that the cave walls had sloped over the pool. If he were to fall, he’d fall into the shark-infested waters. 

 Dan began humming, a low and quiet melody that went along with the gentle tapping of piano keys. Phil cried out, grabbing for another ledge, only centimeters deep. He forcibly pulled himself up. He was only holding on out of pure willpower. 

 Dan’s willpower, to be exact.  

 Over the courage of a few long, painful minutes, Phil managed to climb the increasingly steep cave walls. At the top, it was too smooth for him to find a single handhold, so he jumped. Dan caught his breath as he leaped, pushing up and away from the wall, hands reaching out frantically for the edge of the crater. 

 He grabbed it, swinging as he gripped onto it with both hands, trying to pull himself up. Dan exhaled, “You’ve got this!” 

 But he realized too late. Dan’s fingers were idle, and the music was replaced with an eerie, ringing silence. 

 Phil’s eyes snapped open, like they’d been closed the whole time. His grip loosened, and he dropped like a stone into the frothing water. 

—-

 It happened too fast for Dan to have time to make a decision. He had to go with his gut, and before Phil had even completely hit the water Dan’s gut was throwing himself over the edge into the water. He grabbed Phil and swam. 

 The sharks were so surprised that for a split second, maybe a fourth of a second, they didn’t react. Then they pounced. 

 But by then, Dan was already at the bottom of the pool, swimming with all his might and tearing out of the cave and into the open ocean. He didn’t dare look back, but knew that the sharks were right on his tail- literally. 

 Phil was limp in his grasp, his legs bumping against Dan’s tail with every beat of it. Dan could feel Phil’s heart beating through his tshirt- or maybe that was his own heartbeat, thumpthumpthumping in his head. 

 He risked glancing behind him as a shark opened its huge maw, ready to snap. Dan dove to the side, barely avoiding having his flipper bitten off entirely. His caudal fin was completely unfolded, beating against the water as his body gyrated rapidly, swimming so fast he could hardly breathe. 

 Another sharp snapped at him, and he dove to the side, narrowly slipping in between two outcroppings of rocks. The waters were becoming more and more dangerous, floating with pollution. Huge outcroppings of rock jutted out from beneath the seafloor, and Dan swam in between them, his entire body made for this type of swimming. Still, the sharks gained. He only had a little time before he made a wrong move and then it was over- for both him and the limp boy in his arms. 

 Dan ducked under a piece of sinking wreckage, weaving in and out of the huge rock formations so fast that his tail whipped against one of them, stinging with pain. 

 Phil was so limp in his arms that he wondered if the boy was even still alive. Then Dan cursed- he’d forgotten humans couldn’t breathe underwater! How long did he have? Surely, Phil could survive another few minutes, right?

 A shark grabbed part of his tail, and Dan wanted to scream as a section of his caudal fin was ripped off, tearing like tissue paper. He swam faster, looking for anything, anywhere he could go to ditch them… 

 He spotted it. It was too far up, but he’d have to make it work. With a ginormous shark right on his tail, Dan dove to the bottom of the sea. At the very last moment, he arched his back and curved, swimming upwards with more force than he’d ever used in his entire life. 

 They broke the surface of the water with so much speed they soared upwards, then fell to the earth and landed on an outcropping of grassy land with a horrible thump. Dan felt Phil slip from his hands, and without any way to stop himself, tumbled a few meters down a grassy hill, sputtering and grunting as his body pounded against the ground. 

 Finally, he came to a stop as they land flattened out. He slowly did one last roll, then managed to groan and stop himself on his back. The sun was so bright it was almost blinding; the sky was so blue it was as if it was trying to imitate the sea. 

 Dan coughed, sitting up. He flexed his caudal fin, slowly extending it to its full length. He’d only lost a small section. It left the end of his fin torn and ripped at, but he knew it would still work, and since it was his fin instead of his actual tail, he didn’t lose any blood. 

 Up on the hill, Phil was finishing throwing up bile. He stood, shakier than ever, and turned, looking down the hill to where Dan lay in a heap, covered in grass and out of the water, but still very much alive. 

 It wasn’t that he didn’t like Phil- no, the problem was that he did. But he just didn’t like expressing it in the ways that most people did.

 That meant kisses, that meant those weird neck things- what were they called? Hickies? Dan hated having people touch his neck. Have someone bite it? No thanks.

 And the other things that people in relationships did, the touchy kissy naked stuff that involved lots of weird noises and sweat. Or so he’d heard. So far, Dan had managed to avoid.... that.... and he wanted to keep it that way.

 And, to clarify, Dan knew what sexual intercourse was. He wasn’t innocent. He’d done his fair amount of research when he was twelve and thought that sleeping with a girl was part of the job description of being a man. Then, later in life, he’d done more research- this time, on what his job would be if he were to sleep with a man.

 He wasn’t sure whether he’d be a top or a bottom. Frankly, neither sounded fun to him. All the porn he’d watched made everything look so uncomfortable and unnatural, and above all exhausting. The only times Dan wanted to sweat was when it was hot outside and when he played Wii Sports. And even then he didn’t really want to sweat.

All of these thoughts flashed through Dan’s mind as he waited for Phil to come over. He was over five minutes late, which seriously was an issue because Dan really shouldn’t be left with his thoughts.

 At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Dan practically leaped off of the couch and threw himself at the door, opening it in such a hurry Phil's eyes widened in surprise. "Hey!" He squeaked.

 "Hey!" Dan replied, a little too enthusiastically. "You can, um, come in I guess!"

 Most people would have found Dan awkward. But Phil just laughed, as if it was endearing. That’s why Dan liked him. And yes, Dan did like Phil, that’s why he’s agreed to this fourth date. If anything, he liked him a little too much.

 Oh look, we’re back to the Problem(TM). Dan was ace. And he was dating someone. And that someone would probably get tired of just talking and holding hands soon.

 Dan had heard that the fourth date was supposed to be special because that’s when most people hooked up for the first time. Or was it the third date? Maybe it was third in the United States, fourth in the U.K.? Either way, it seemed way too soon to Dan. But then again, hooking up with someone in 100 years seemed too soon to Dan.

 He and Phil were on their fourth date, the one where they were supposed to hook up, and they hadn’t even kissed before.

 Dan hurried over to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. "Yeah! Can I get you anything to drink, or-"

 "Just a Ribena, if that’s okay."

 Dan slumped against one of the shelves. Phil even liked Ribena? How was Dan supposed to break up with him now?

 "No problem," he said through gritted teeth. Then, back in his normal tone, "What do you want to do? We could play video games, or watch a movie-"

 "I actually brought a board game," Phil said, a little awkwardly. "I know some people don’t like playing board games, so if you don’t want to-"

 "I like board games." Dan fetched a glass from the kitchen cupboard, pouring the dark red drink into it.

 "Oh good." Phil's voice was a little higher than usual. "Cause if you didn’t, this probably wouldn’t work. I really like board games."

 Suddenly, Dan wondered if he could take it back. No, I actually hate board games! Get out of my flat!

 And what was the Problem(TM) with that? Oh yes. Dan /liked/ Phil. He was sweet. He was fun to be around. And he was really, really cute, in the way that a puppy is cute or a particular piece of nature is aesthetically pleasing. Less of I want to bone you and more of I want to take lots and lots of pictures of you.

 So Dan didn’t lie and say that he hated board games, because 1) a board game actually sounded pretty fun right now, and 2) as much as he lied to himself, he really didn’t want to kick Phil out of his apartment. Maybe kissing wouldn’t be so bad?

 Luckily, kissing seemed to be the last thing on Phil’s mind. He got out the game and set it up, and they played for what felt like half an hour but was actually significantly longer. Halfway through, Dan made some popcorn; half of which ended up in their stomachs, and the other half ended up on the floor. Popcorn was a good projectile for when you had a bad turn and had to go back a few spaces, and it was even better at practicing trick shots. They tried to throw the popcorn up and catch it in their mouths, and when that didn’t work, tried throwing it into the other person’s mouth. The best was when the other person wasn’t aware they were still playing. Phil almost choked when he was halfway through a turn and had a piece of corn chucked down his throat. Then, he was too busy laughing to hear Dan’s apology.

 When they finished up the board game, it was already dark outside. Phil gave Dan a look he couldn’t read, like letting him make a choice.

 "Have you ever played Final Fantasy? I have the new one if you want to try."

 Both questions were soon answered. Yes, Phil had played it before, yes, he’d like to play, and no, it was not okay when Phil beat him. Dan pouted, declaring that Phil was cheating. Phil laughed and declared Dan a sore loser.

 Dan could feel the game begin to get boring. Phil seemed less interested and didn’t mind losing so much.

 "You have work tomorrow?" Phil asked.

 "No." The word slipped out of Dan’s mouth before he gave it permission to. He knew what that question meant, and he’d just given the wrong answer. "You?"

 "Nah, I don’t work on Fridays. Do you like horror movies?"

 Yes, Dan liked horror movies, and that’s exactly what he said.

 "Do you want to watch one? There’s a few that I’ve been meaning to see forever."

 So they watched a horror movie. After going through and considering for a while, they finally decided on a classic that neither of them had seen: the original Friday the 13th.

 As they curled up on the couch, Dan’s mind raced, trying to figure out the signals he was putting down. Was he being too open? He and Phil sat on the couch, with Dan leaning against Phil’s side and resting his head on his shoulder.

 They watched the movie for a while. It could hardly be called a horror movie- there was the blood and the murder, but the fear just wasn’t there. Dan and Phil spent most of it laughing and making fun of the characters.

 "Yes, you should definitely have sex right there," Phil agreed as they watched two characters lay down a blanket and begin to tug each other’s clothes off. "That’s a great idea."

 Dan cringed, leaning harder against Phil and pulling the blanket up to his face.

 Phil noticed this, saying "Don't tell me you find this part scary!"

 "I don’t," Dan admitted honestly. "I just find it gross."

 "Gross?"

 Dan realized what he’d said. "I mean, it’s just weird. Like, I don’t want to see two people in a movie getting it on like that. It feels... invasive." It wasn’t technically a lie. It did feel invasive. "Why? Does it like... turn you on?"

 Phil snorted, watching with amusement as the characters in the movie were stabbed to death, screaming dramatically and altogether failing to run away. "Does blood and guts turn me on? No, not quite."

 "No, the um... the..."

 "The sex scene?"

 "Yeah."

 Phil laughed again. "No, badly written characters making out in ugly clothes does not turn me on. Why? Are you into it?"

 Dan stared at the screen, bringing the blanket up to hide part of his face. "No."

 "Yeah, it'd probably be weird if it did."

 They watched the movie until the jumpscare at the end, which made both of them flinch in surprise. Then it was over, and they turned it off, leaving them cuddling on a couch in the dark.

 Dan got up, annoyed at the loss of warmth. "I’ll turn the lights on."

 "Is that a scented candle?" Phil asked, his voice getting a little more excited.

 "Yeah. It’s Beachwood."

 "Oh, can you light it! I love scented candles, I’m kind of addicted!"

 Dan laughed, flicking the lighter that was sat near it and lighting it. He carried it over to the coffee table in front of the couch and hurried back to cuddle with Phil where it was warm.

 He quickly tucked the blanket around him, trying to snuggle up to Phil’s side without being too obvious. "Cozy?" Phil asked in amusement.

 "Yes. Let me seep out your warmth, blanket daddy."

 Dan really needed to get a filter.

 Luckily, like most awkward things Dan did, Phil found it funny. They talked for a little while as the candle burned, still the only light source in the room beside the windows that displayed the nightlife of London.

 But soon, the conversation ran out. It was almost as if they both had something on their minds.

 Dan looked up at Phil. He was attractive, even if it was in that 'aesthetically pleasing' way. Maybe, if Dan just kissed him and got it over with, then they didn’t have to end whatever it was they’d started just yet? Dan liked being around him. He wanted to be around him more. What’s one little kiss?

 Phil turned towards him too. The two of them were still wrapped in the warm blanket, the mixture of that and their shared body heat making it the perfect heat. How had Dan found himself in this position? Sitting on a couch with Phil, at night, with a burning candle on the table? God, how had he set himself up like this?

 Phil was looked at him. He was smiling softly, and Dan watched as he parted his lips, wetting them slightly.

 Dan, unfortunately, had fallen for Phil. He didn’t know how that worked, but he had, and we wanted to continue to be around this boy. And that meant he had to play the part.

 Before Phil could make the first move, Dan pushed himself forwards, practically slamming into Phil’s face with his own. Their lips touched, and Dan tried to kiss like he’d seen in the movies. He moved his head a bit, so their noses weren’t pressed up against each other, and opened his mouth a little and closed it. He decided this was right when he heard that little kissy noise like you always heard when people kissed.

 Phil kissed back, sort of. Dan still wasn’t sure what the big deal about all of this was. Why was everyone so obsessed with kissing? It was fine, Dan supposed, but he much preferred cuddling and throwing popcorn at each other.

 Dan tried to keep going for as long as he could, but finally, he pulled back, not able to take it for any longer. He immediately wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, before he could think that that might be considered rude.

 Dan looked at the floor. A few seconds passed in silence, with neither of them speaking. Dan knew what must be running through Phil’s head now- probably floor plans of Dan's flat, trying to figure out the fastest way they could get to his room and on his bed. Dan imagined more of the haphazard making out, followed by awkward undressing and... ew.

 Finally, he looked up. Phil was staring at the floor, just as he had been, looking more uncomfortable than aroused. "I’m sorry Dan," he finally said. "But I haven’t been completely honest with you. I don’t really, um..."

 Dan’s senses were suddenly on high alert. You don’t really what? Like popcorn? Like me? "You don’t really what?"

 Phil cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at Dan. His lips were slightly redder than usual from the kissing. "I’m... uh... I’m ace. That’s, erm, asexual. I’m sorry, I should have told you, but I really liked hanging out with you and this is really nice with the candles and stuff but I just-"

 Alarm bells were ringing in Dan’s head. A voice spoke through a megaphone, calling out Alert! Alert! You misheard him! You misunderstood! Alert!

 Dan blinked. "What?"

 Phil covered his face with his hands. "I really am sorry! I just don’t like kissing and sex, I know I should have been honest-"

 "Yeah, you should have!" Dan's voice possessed a type of anger he hadn’t really planned for. "If you’d told me earlier, I wouldn’t have been so worried these past few days! And then we wouldn’t have had to have that God-awful kiss!"

 Phil’s eyes went wide in horror. "Wait, you mean-"

 "I’m ace too, you burnt piece of toast! Why the fuck did we just kiss then?"

 Phil's horror melted into laughter, louder and longer than it had been any time earlier in the night. "I don’t know! You’re the one who kissed me!"

 "Only cause I thought you were going to kiss me!" Now Dan was laughing too, painful laughter that was half laughing and half sobbing.

 "Why would you think that?!" Phil was holding his chest in pain, wheezing with laughter.

 "I don’t know, cause we’ve been dating?"

 Phil managed to calm down a little, his tone slightly serious, though he was still grinning. "No offense to you, but um... I really don’t want to kiss. Like ever."

 "Fine with me." Dan leant back against the couch, sighing wistfully. "What now?"

 Phil considered this. "Well, we could keep dating, or whatever it’s called. But no kissing."

 "Please. And, just clearing the air, no... up... sleeping together?"

 "You mean sex?"

 "Yeah. That."

 "I agree." Phil carefully picked up Dan’s hand, intertwining it with his own. "Is cuddling okay with you? Hand holding?"

 "Yes and yes."

 Phil smiled. "This might actually work."

 Dan smiled too, rubbing the back of Phil's hand with his thumb. "Yeah. This could work."

 And somehow, it did.

Let me know how I did. I am not ace, so I hope that I represented it well; I wanted to show a slightly different perspective, and know it was a little risky because generally, ace people are seldom shown in media as still having relationships. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you are ace, let me know how accurate I got it :)