#illaks

Southview owns a lot of land.

It spreads out in blanketed acres of green, field upon forest upon meadow; miles of emerald patchwork. The building itself, founded somewhere in the fourteenth century apparently, makes up only a fraction of the private greenery Phil has been calling home for the past decade.

Habitatually speaking, it’s impressive. To be able to call such rich halls, such polished corridors and winding mahogany stairs, ever spiraling further and further below his house, his own dwelling; is something he struggles to grasp. He supposes every other student currently residing here may find some relation to a certain degree – but to look at a winding cobbled path and every single brick completing every wall, to name the clock tower chiming every high-clouded noon into existence anything remotely of an heirloom – isn’t anything his soul will allow him to process. He doesn’t see it changing anytime soon.

He stares at the wall-to-wall bookshelves lining every corridor brimming with ancient knowledge, medieval tales and just about every participle of the literary canon. There are strict rules against removing any books from their respective shelves with dire consequences if unobliged (absolutely ridiculous, Phil thinks – who in their right mind would consider reading a punishable offence? They’re there to be read.) He and Dan had taken it upon themselves to create a discreet enough rule-breaking method; choosing the dead of night to tiptoe through long, hallowed corridors devoid of light and sound and people and life, all whispers and giggles and cold interlocked fingers, sleepy eyes scanning fraying ladders of spines, whispered-yet-echoey assessments over which would be least missed for however many hours.

The candles up above, though only illuminated during the seasonal months, drip hardened wax onto the stone walls covering every inch of interior; something he otherwise never would have seen anywhere else in this time, let alone place. The beams hang dark and gnarled, curving across every roof with chapel-like grace.

He’s lucky, and he knows it.

Why, then, does he feel like a bird in a cage? Why can he sense the wings, feathered promises of freedom, hit against iron bars whenever he outstretches? This place is becoming too small, he decides. Seven years walking the same grounds, with the same windows and the same views no matter how creative he gets with his detours. The same faces, same conversations with all the same values; with only sporadic weeks of the outside world in between.

He wonders what he would have done had Dan not entered the scene. Wherever the place in his mind, he knows madness would reside. He only feels a breath away from it now.

He blames it on his surroundings, pushing down the rise of unease that jumps through his stomach. It’s got to be that.

::

It doesn’t subside.

“Are you okay?” he hears a voice soften beside him. 

He can’t lie. Not to Dan.

He shuts his eyes and realizes he’s been staring at that Oscar Wilde painting for way too long. The afterimage burns his retina in every shade of negative. His hair deep black on canvas now chalk white behind the eyelids. His eyes look like caves.

“I don’t know,” is the closest to the truth he can get. “I feel weird.”

Dan’s entire stance changes. Concern floods his eyes and he’s suddenly upright

“Why? What’s up?”

“I don’t-…” he shakes his head in defeat.  “I really don’t know. That’s why I’m so-…” his racing mind interrupts him. So what? So comfortable, yet so ill at ease? It makes no sense. 

This should be bliss. Curled up on a beanbag with his favourite person somewhere on the third floor of the library behind a wooden disguise of bookshelves and tall tables. Their ‘spot’ lies in a convenient nook no other soul seems to have yet discovered – a definite perk of being the son of the owner is having premium, extensive knowledge of every single crack and avenue this place has to offer; surveillance included.

That’s how the undercroft became a meeting point in the first place, Phil suddenly remembers as his stomach falls through three stone library floors.

It was him.

He had come up with the idea. He had planned the safest night-time route, locating every surveillance camera and possible risky window. And he, funnily enough, was the one who had spent an hour talking the three of them into it to begin with – if he strains his mind far back enough he can recall even Liam having doubts. Many of them, actually.

“Come on,” a harsher, younger and definitely more obnoxious version of himself had urged.

“No way,” Liam was the first to say. Freddie and Violet hadn’t been overly keen, but it was Liam who was adamant.

He feels sicker.

“What’s bothering you?” Dan closes the book they were giggling at no longer than forty seconds ago and turns his attention completely to him.

His heart is thudding now. He hasn’t given any of that any thought whatsoever since it happened; all anxiety surrounding the situation having been newly dissipated by evenings of laughter and love and-

Had it been dissipated? Or merely masked? Ignorance by will or by proxy?

“Phil?”

Had he spent all these passing months pointing fingers, dodging the blame, deflecting everything like a house of mirrors when this whole thing, this entire time, had actually been his fault?

He snaps out of himself and realizes it’s Emily Dickinson now burning behind the eyelids.

It’s too much. Even the oil portraits, beautiful as they are (and original too, allegedly), are all the same faces. It’s all the fucking same.

“We need to get out of here.”

Dan frowns. “Huh?”

“We need to get out of here,” he repeats, and stands up immediately. The book that was on his lap catapults to the floor, landing outstretched in a papery mess.

“Wait-“ Dan scrabbles around behind him, rescuing the book and smoothing out the newly crumpled pages. His own expression creases a little with the paper.

Phil doesn’t. He can’t. His vision is a tunnel and it’s only blind panic propelling him forward, past shelves and students and voices he can only barely decipher. Every cell in his body, every single drop of blood and beat of his heart is drilling the same message into his mind.

Get out.

It’s only until he feels the slap of winter air against his damp forehead he realizes he’s outside. He stops sweating and starts shivering, clutching the corner of the stone wall as if gravity be seconds away from disappearing and flinging him into the night sky.

His chest feels like lead. Each breath comes heavy, deep; never quite enough despite each gasp filling up his lungs like he’s drowning on air alone. His stomach feels like someone has clawed it out with blunt, bare fingers.

The huge door flaps open and a tiny figure runs out.

He can barely see. His vision still exists in blobs and grains, like someone turned up the contrast too much but also turned it right down completely. What’s happening to him?

“I’m sorr-“ he gasps, but Dan hushes him.

“Focus on your breath,” his voice is calm but firm. He’s unaware of the soft grip on either shoulder until he sees two arms outstretched in front of him.

Phil tries to, but each gasp gets stuck in his throat.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Dan guides him, demonstrating. Each breath seems so smooth, so calculated. Phil doesn’t want to think how often he’s had to do this.

His heart is still hammering, but he manages to comply.

“Imagine you’re blowing on a candle,” Dan continues. “But don’t blow it out.” 

It’s a challenge to focus when his mind is running one million mines a minute, but Phil shuts his eyes and eventually the swirling grain begins to subside. He’s still breathing way too hard and it’s probably enough to blow out a ninety-seventh birthday cake, but Dan’s encouragement doesn’t waver.

“You’re getting there,” he says, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping his grip completely. “Are you okay with that, by the way?” he gestures toward his hands. “Fuck, sorry- I should have asked- but when I’m having a panic attack it usually helps to keep me like-… centred.”

“No, it’s-…” Phil releases a shaky breath. “It helps. Thank you,” his eyes flutter shut when he feels two warm hands on his shoulder. He’s already feeling a fraction calmer.

“No need to thank me,” Dan says, his voice like velvet.

His eyes fly open. “Panic attack?”

Dan’s own are soft. “I think that’s what you’re having.”

His heart is still thudding, but at a marginally dropped pace. He’s never experienced anything like that before. Shit, is that what it’s like?

His vision has almost completely cleared; certainly enough to make out Dan’s silhouetted form in the amber glow of the lamp post.

“Is this really what you go through?” his voice is reedy, hoarse. All he can focus on is the boy inches away from his face.

Dan nods quietly. “Can be up to five times a day. Once it was twenty.”

He feels like crying. However much adrenaline there had been ripping through his veins had melted away; albeit only slightly, but the thought alone of this being a daily endeavor makes him want to physically remove his central nervous system himself. The thought of enduring such pain not only on a daily basis but multiple, only to emerge with a smile and with enough capacity to help others with the same issue-

Dan is an angel. 

He doesn’t deserve him, his mind cries. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“Deep breaths,” he reminds him, and it’s only then he realizes he’s hyperventilating again.

“Fuck,” he curses, slowing his chest down. He remembers the candle and closes his eyes again.

“You’re doing great,” Dan whispers when his breathing softens. “You’ve only blown out about seven this time. You’re on your eighth.”

He huffs out a shaky laugh, his heart melting into a puddle. As if he’d been counting.

“Ah,” Dan grins. “Maybe ninth, now.”

“Thank you,” he sighs, still trembling. He can’t tell if it’s temperature or panic-related anymore, but he doesn’t think he cares. He doesn’t have the capacity to right now.

“Come on,” Dan pulls him into a hug, arms wound tight around the waist as if there be no intention, no need to let go. “You’re okay.”

“How can you deal with that?” he says, not bothering to mask the crack in his voice.

“I have my ways,” he says as smoothly as his voice can allow, but Phil feels him gulp. Feels the quick jump of his throat against his shoulder.

The nausea returns.

::

“Ow, fuck-“ Dan snaps his fingers up from the drawer. “Bastard thing.”

“It wants your fingers more than I do,” Phil mumbles, then coughs on a mouthful of Mountain Dew.

Droplets fly everywhere.

"Phil!” Dan’s jaw drops when a few darken his trousers. He’s more than used to the other boy’s frequent laughter at his own jokes, but that one wasn’t even funny. “For fuck’s sake. So not only am I in pain, I’m wet too?”

“In pain and wet?” A voice pops up from around the corner, sending a jolt through the pair of them. “Phil, you naughty bastard, what have you been doing to the poor guy?”

“Oh, you f-“ Phil clutches his chest, his heart hammering. “Are you ever going to stop doing that? I had my first panic attack today. I don’t want another.”

“You’re saying that like it isn’t my plan,” Noah raises an eyebrow and slides past.

“Come in,” Phil gestures sarcastically.

“Leave your door open,’ he retaliates with equal sarcasm, blowing him a kiss. He plops himself down on the revolving chair and takes a token spin. He’s frowning on the other end of the 360 degrees, the other half of the sentence only just registering. “Shit, are you okay? What brought it on?”

“I am now,” Phil’s eyes flicker to the other company, mopping his trousers with a clump of tissue. “Dan got me through.”

He doesn’t deliberately avoid the latter question, but it’s certainly no accident.

“Candle trick works wonders, I’m telling you,” Dan says without turning around, still dabbing at the stain.

“It does,” Noah agrees, picking up Phil’s empty pen holder. He usually lasts a record of ten whole seconds in his room before finding something nearby to fiddle with. “It got me through the Death of a Salesman production, that’s for sure. Christ, I was a mess,” he shudders. “The four-seven-eight trick is good, too,” he adds.

“Four seconds in, hold for seven, exhale for eight,” the other boy echoes. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You press your tongue on the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth, too.”

“Really?” Phil’s eyes dart between the pair of them. Is this something he’s going to have to get used to?

“It’s meant to recalibrate the nervous system. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio uses it,” Noah adds.

“Wonder if it would have helped on the Titanic,” Phil raises an eyebrow.

“The fucking boat would have sank anyway,” Noah cackles. “The four-seven-eight is good, but it can’t demolish icebergs, babe.”

“It has its limits,” Dan adds, plopping the tissue in the bin and heading for the bed. A quick "you okay now?" is mouthed as soon as Noah takes another spin on the chair.

Phil nods and gives his hand a little squeeze, praying he hasn’t noticed the sweat.

“So,” Noah spins again, eyes to the ceiling, before muttering a “fuck that” and leaping up off the chair. He stumbles around for a handful of seconds, clutching the desk.  “What have you boys been up to, then?”

“What, since this afternoon?” Phil says. He’d only seen him about five hours ago.

“Yeah. Anything could have happened,” Noah replies, dizzily plonking himself down on the bed next to Dan with such force the shorter boy bobs upward. Phil splutters.

“That was- oh my god, that was adorable,” he gasps delightedly. “Do it again.”

Dan glares at him, fighting a smirk. “Shut up. No, don’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” Noah glances between them. “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Did you not see that?” Phil widens his eyes. “Oh my god. When you bounce down like that,“ he giggles, ignoring Dan’s “no, shall we not” – “Dan’s like a feather, so he literally defies gravity.”

“Hah,” Noah springs upward and launches himself down with about three times the force as before. Dan catapults up, starfished in the air for about a second before hurtling down on the mattress.

Noah and Phil hoot with laughter. Dan’s doubled over in stitches, clutching his abdomen. He can feel tears of laughter brimming at his eyelashes and he probably looks in pain right now but really he’s anything but.

He’s so happy it hurts.

“Shit, he really does!” Noah shrieks. “Oh my god, that’s quality. You okay?”

Dan manages to breathe out an ‘I’m fine’, still clutching his stomach. “Holy shit,” he sighs when he gathers enough composure to speak. “’Memory foam’ my arse. The springs under that thing are giant.”

“Or you’re just tiny,” Phil gushes affectionately, combing a hand through Dan’s hair. The feeling of silky waves between every finger are enough to chase away any remaining claws of anxiety, any pegs to his stomach, if just for a moment.

Maybe it is okay. Maybe it is just a product of an overactive mind. He’s been so wound up recently, what with looming examinations and deadlines and just about everything he could really do without so close to Christmas, that maybe it’s manifesting itself oddly.

Maybe.

He doesn’t want to think about it right now. He swallows the feeling down with another mouthful of beer, the bubbles foaming up like lather in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Dan glares at him, rearranging his fringe. “I’m not that short.”

“He’s mini,” Phil jumps back into conversation, as if Noah he can’t see for himself

“Short people deserve compensation for the amount of shit they go through,” Dan mutters, feigning grumpiness, but the shine in his eyes tell Phil it’s difficult to feel anything other than utter bliss.

“Ah, so you admit it!” Phil’s eyes match the light. “You are short.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan blushes, realizing what he’d insinuated.

“Don’t worry, Dan,” Noah chips in. “Phil’s been the same height since he was about twelve. I remember him in year seven,” he glances at the other boy. “You were terrifyingly tall. But then everyone else caught up.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Yeah, there I was thinking I was some sort of superhuman. Twelve years of age and almost as tall as my dad. They used to call me Slenderman.”

“He looked like Mike TeeVee at the end of the film,” a giggle ripples through Noah.

“I can’t even imagine what he-” Dan frowns. “Mike who?”

Two jaws drop. Silence.

“You’ve never seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?!” Noah spits as if it be as outrageous an exclamation as never visiting Sainsbury’s.

Dan’s eyes dart to Phil, blue eyes wide.

“Not even the original?”

“No, I-…” his eyes flick between the two mirroring expressions. He huffs out a chuckle. “Is this really a big thing? Okay, well I’ve never seen Shrek, while we’re at it.”

A collective groan echoes through the walls.

“You’ve got to be fucking-“

“But it’s a-“

“Please tell me you’ve seen Star-“

“Not Wars, or Trek,” Dan cuts him off. “I don’t even know the difference between the two.”

“Dan, I-…” Noah cuts himself off with a sigh, staring at Phil. “What are we gonna do with him?”

“This is a crime,” Phil shakes his head. “This is actually outrageous.”

“If the most offensive thing I’ve done since arriving here has been not sitting through three hours of an ogre’s life, I’ll definitely take that.”

“Oh don’t you worry,” Noah leaps up off the mattress, grabbing his laptop from the revolving chair. “It’s about six hour’s worth in total.”

“Seven-and-a-half if we count the spin-off,” Phil chips in.

“Do we have to?” Dan whines. “I’m sure I’ll love it, but with all due respect I can’t even sit through films I like sometimes.”

“Are you implying you’ll dislike this?” Phil puts a hand on his chest in mock-offence.

“I said I’m sure I’ll lov-“

“Could watch Star Trek,” a voice pipes up from under the bed. Noah’s folded over to one side, the rustling of a carrier bag apparent. He adds, “not Wars, I can’t stand- Phil stop giving me evils you shit, it’s just not as good.”

Phil’s glare toward his turned back turns into a grin. He knows him too well.

He re-emerges clutching a six-pack of bottled beer, tearing one out of the cardboard and dropping it into Phil’s lap.

“He’s talking shit,” Phil mutters.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Dan smirks. “Star Trek is just Shrek with extra letters.”

“We’re gonna have to culture you up, Dan,” Noah shakes his head, thrusting a bag of popcorn almost the size of his torso in his general direction.

“God, you came prepared,” Phil notes. “It’s almost as if you knew we were both here.”

“I could hear you both from down the corridor,” Noah fires back, before adding “Plus you two are inseparable anyway. If I needed to find you, I’ll find you,” he points at Dan, then at Phil. “And vice-versa.”

Phil and Dan exchange glances. Do they really spend that much time together?

It’s difficult to calculate. They spend time apart, obviously. It’s not as if he’s sat in Maths with Dan pirouetting all over the place with a feather duster, but once are done and the final document has been closed; once the day’s duties are behind him, he can’t say he wouldn’t be found tearing from East wing to West; desperate to drop his workload and swap computer chairs for soft mattresses and lamplight.

They’re melting into each-other, and he can feel it.

 Noah smirks, and only says, “We’re performing Alice in Wonderland next week,” his eyes flicker to Dan. “Have you seen that?”

-

Feedback is always appreciated literally HOW IS THIS pls let me know i haven't posted anything in years i love u all for reading thank u so much  

“God, since when did you get so cocky?” Violet eyes him carefully.

“Round about the time I befriended some decent people and realised how shitty you guys actually were.”

“Oh that’s very rich,” Freddie laughs, and it resounds bitterly through the atmosphere. “Shitty? Coming from he who hasn’t said anything truthful since he was about twelve years old? I’d say that’s quite a shitty attribute, if you ask me.”

“Well no-one is asking you, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll-“

“Woah, not yet,” Violet grabs him. “’Decent people’? Like who? Because as far as I’m aware, the only person you’ve befriended as soon as we cleared off was your cleaner. Not what I would really call a social climb, but-”

“I don’t need to give you a fucking report of my social life,” Phil snaps.

“Well, at least we know for a fact Liam won’t be on there,” Freddie says. “It’s just such a shame you two don’t see much of each other anymore, isn’t it?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Phil. “I’m sick of him. If I ever see him again it’ll be a million years too soon.”

“Well I don’t think he particularly wants to see you either,” Violet says, “and to be perfectly honest, I don’t blame him. If my best friend alienated me for the best part of a year for no good reason, I certainly wouldn’t be best pleased.”

“For no good-” Phil blanches, shaking his head in disbelief. “What the fuck, Violet? You think I did this without reason?”

“Well I can’t see one. And we know for a fact that he can’t either,” she inspects her nails, feigning nonchalance.

“I have my reasons,” Phil says defensively. “Not that it’s remotely any of your business, of course.”

“Oh, but I think it is,” Freddie says. “He’s our friend too, y’know.”

“He’s not fucking mine anymore, though,” Phil says.

“You wouldn’t be saying that this time last year,” Violet narrows her eyes. “What’s changed, eh? What’s gotten into you?”

“Some fucking sense,” Phil fires back.

“More like that cleaner’s dick,” Freddie mutters, and they both roar with laughter.

Phil clenches his jaw, a hot surge of anger jolting through his veins.

“If you fucking dare talk about Dan like that again, I’ll-“

“Oh, so that’s his name, is it?” Violet raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you and him are getting to know each other. This is all moving so quickly.”

“Keep up then,” Phil snaps.

“He’s still fuming with him, you know,” Freddie comments. “Even more so now he’d found out you got let off the hook earlier than all of us. Oh, and that you lied to him. He didn’t appreciate that too much. Christ knows what he’s planning.”

Phil sees red. He grabs Freddie’s collar and they both slam into the nearest wall.  

“You let him so much as touch Dan, and my dad will end your fucking educational life faster than Liam can throw a punch.”

“Oh, that’s very characteristic of you, Phil,” Violet snaps back immediately, but Freddie stays cool, eyeing up Phil. He’s so close he can smell the cigarette on his breath and the aftershave around his collar. “Sitting back and letting Daddy do all the dirty work.”

“Oh, do one, Violet.” Phil mutters to her without turning around.

“Fair enough,” Freddie shrugs.

Phil stops at that, loosening his grip. “What?”

“I said fair enough,” he repeats, before grinning. “Your dad can do what he likes to us. But it’s not like we don’t have anything to use back against you.”

Phil’s stomach swirls. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I imagine if King Lester knew you were out here doing that,” he points to the cigarette still lit between Phil’s fingers, “he wouldn’t be best pleased with you, either, would he? Especially after all the fucking drama you’ve caused this year, what with the security tags and that.”

Phil gulps. Shit, he didn’t think of that.

There’s a long, drawn-out silence. Phil swallows, letting Freddie go. He rubs his neck a little but doesn’t take his back from against the wall.

“Just-… don’t hurt him,” Phil sighs, suddenly quieter. “Please. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Violet narrows her eyes, almost considering what Phil had said, but Freddie just says, “we’ll see.”

“Freddie-“

“We didn’t deserve to be treated like fucking prisoners for three months because of him, but we did it. And now Liam has another three months, and-“

“Please, just-“ Phil pleads, not wanting to hear any more. “You can do whatever you want, but- just don’t hurt him. Don’t let Liam hurt him. Please. I’m begging you.”

“You don’t want us to let Liam hurt him? Fine. We won’t,” Freddie agrees, walking away from the wall, but his tone is clipped and there’s something about the glitter in his eye that doesn’t sit well with Phil at all.

“I fucking hope you mean that,” Phil frowns. “Because if you let him do anyth-“

“I literally just made it explicit that we won’t. What else do you want us to do? Sign a fucking contract?”

That would help, actually, Phil thinks. Anything to put his mind at rest.

He doesn’t say this out loud, though, and lets another silence creep in.

“What?” Freddie breaks it, and it’s only then Phil realises he’s been frowning. “Don’t you trust us?”

“Why should I?” Phil mumbles. “Like, seriously. Give me one reason why I should trust you.”

Freddie thinks for a moment, and then sighs.

“You want a reason?” he raises his eyebrows.

“Well- yeah, considering I literally just asked for one.”

“Cut the arrogance, Lester,” Violet lights up another cigarette. “It never looked good on you.”

Phil glares at her, but remains silent.

“Because,” Freddie continues, “when we found out about you and Dan, we kept it quiet. Kept it from Liam.”

Phil’s stomach drops like a stone.

“When you found out what?!”

“When we found out you two are together. I mean- or just fucking. Whatever it is you’re doing,” Freddie shrugs.

“But- how did you- why-“

“That’s not the point,” Violet chips in. “The point is, we kept it from Liam because we knew how he’d react.”

“So we are capable of keeping things,” Freddie finishes decidedly.

“Wait- rewind a second,” Phil shuts his eyes, his brain trying desperately to wrap itself around all of this. “How did you find out that me and Dan are-“

“I’m in English with Lia. Lives in your boarding house,” Violet says. “Got talking to her. Nice girl, she is.”

Phil feels sick. Oh god.

It’s not as if they were making it completely apparent, of course, but it’s just- their housemates have probably put two and two together by now. It’s not as if they don’t sometimes hold hands in the kitchen. And steal a few kisses in the corridor, or when they’re all downstairs watching something on the telly. And they’ve definitely fallen asleep cuddling under a duvet on the sofa in the lounge a few times; Phil’s sure of that.

“Great, so you were discussing my love life, were you?” Phil snaps back. “Who do you take me for; fucking Taylor Swift?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetie,” Violet scoffs. “It just came up in conversation, that’s all.”

“Why were you talking about it?” Phil demands.

“Like I said; it came up in conversation. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, do enlighten me,” Phil says.

“Well, we were talking about Shakespeare, and she says there’s someone in her house who’s fucking crazy about it. I asked who, and she was like ‘Dan. You know, the one Phil’s seeing at the moment’.”

Phil draws in a breath, ready to retaliate, but stops. Oh.

“And she was like, super apologetic when she found out I didn’t know, though, so don’t you dare take it out on her,” she adds.

“But the point is,” Freddie chips in. “We didn’t tell Liam about it.”

“We’re dickheads, Phil,” Violet says, breathing smoke into his face. “But we’re not stupid.”

This is ridiculous. He has no reason to believe this, no reason whatsoever, but he finds his stomach begin to unwind a little.

“Oh,” he gulps, caught somewhere between relieved, confused and actually quite pissed off. “Well, I er- okay-“

“You know something?” Violet says.

“What?” Phil asks, not really wanting to hear it.

“Between us three, I think you two make quite a cute couple,” she grins, but Phil has no telling of how genuine her smile is.

“Um- thanks?” he says a little uneasily. He’s already feeling an itch for another cigarette but he does his best to ignore it – despite not having a curfew anymore it’s getting cold and late and he really has to get back to his dorm.

“Don’t thank me,” Violet rejects his civility. “You’re still a twat, I hope you realise.”

“Just a twat with a cute boyfriend,” Freddie adds, and Phil would grin but there’s still a pinch of discomfort in his stomach about this, about this entire thing.

“Yeah, I um-“ he shrugs. “Well. Thanks for keeping your mouths shut, I guess.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Violet says, her voice a little bitter. “As long as you keep your mouth shut about us being out here, we’re good.”

“Yeah,“ he swallows. “I will.”

“You’d better,” Violet warns.

There’s a silence. Phil sighs, throwing a glance at Freddie. “Sorry. I know we’ve um- drifted apart and stuff, and-“

“Oh, give it a rest Phil,” Freddie interrupts. “We know you can’t stand us. And quite frankly, we’re not your biggest fans at the moment either. So let’s not pretend to patch things up, yeah?”

Phil frowns, a little taken aback. Sure, he hadn’t exactly been expecting them to join hands and skip off into the sunset, but couldn’t they at least be civil?

“Well excuse me for trying.”

“He has a point though,” Violet says.  

“Whatever,” Phil rolls his eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t a bit disappointed. “I’d better be heading back now, anyway.”

“Off you go then,” Violet dismisses him coldly.

“Alright then,” Phil widens his eyes.

“Say hi to Dan for us,” Freddie says.

Yeah, Phil scoffs. Like fuck will he tell Dan about any of this.

He leaves them both with a careful glare before turning his back to the forest, and-

“Oh, before I forget,” he digs in his pocket and pulls out something small, cold and hard. It glitters for a few seconds in the soft twinkle of the moonlight, but then he opens out his hand and lets it fall to the concrete with a clatter. “Give that back to Liam on your way in.”

And just like that, with thudding in his ears and adrenaline pooling in the pit of his stomach, he breezes out of the forest and back to the fences, back to buildings and blocks and amber lights.

The air is cold and his head aches and his chest is burning a little, and he’s trying to bury the feeling that begins to nag the pit of his stomach, the voice in the back of his mind suggesting he might have just made a big, big mistake.

-

“Have you been smoking?” is the first thing Dan asks him when he slides through the door. He’s wrapped up in bed, voice muffled by the pillow.

Phil gulps, sniffing his collar. Fuck, he was certain he put enough deodorant on.

“Yeah, I um-“ he gulps, not really seeing any lie he can spin to get out of this. “I was a bit stressed. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m not your mum,” Dan huffs out a sleepy laugh. “Just make sure you brush your teeth for an extra minute before you get into bed. I’m not kissing an ashtray.”

Phil grins, putting down his bag and shrugging off his jacket, leaving it in a denim heap on the floor. “It was a one-off, though. I’m not like- addicted.”

Not true. His cravings are going to drive him up the wall tomorrow, but he’ll live. He’s sure he must still has some nicotine gum somewhere.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dan says. “You reek.”

Phil throws him an apologetic glance and heads over to the bathroom, not really wanting to taint the sweet spicy scent of Dan’s room with his stale tobacco any longer. He takes his time with the toothbrush and swills around three capfuls of mouthwash and washes his face with a splash of cold water before heading back into the room. His heart sighs a little at the sight of Dan all curled up beneath cotton and memory foam, and he gives him a soft little smile before shouldering out of his uniform and into something comfier.

“Where have you been, anyway?” Dan mumbles when he slides under the duvet and into the space beside him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hanging out with a few people from Maths,” the lie rolls a little too easily off of Phil’s tongue. “They were having a movie night at Jonathan’s, and- you know.”

“That’s nice,” Dan smiles to himself, sidling up to Phil under the covers. “What did you watch?”

“Deadpool,” is the first movie that comes into Phil’s mind.

“I’ve never seen it,” Dan says. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

“Yeah, we will,” Phil agrees, his fingers finding Dan’s hair. It’s still a little damp from the shower. “What have you been up to, then?”

“Nothing much,” Dan shrugs. “Cleaned your room a little bit. Talked to Mark about the keys. He’s impressed you’ve made it this far without losing another one, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s only because you’ve been spending so much time in my room instead of your own.”

Phil chuckles. “I imagine my room’s a lot easier to clean too. You know, without me in it all the time.”

“Who would have thought dating you would come with so many benefits?” Dan smiles, and leans up to press a gentle kiss to Phil’s cheek.

Phil’s heart leaps at that word. Dating.

“That’s what you get with dating me,” Phil says, testing out the word again and loving the way it falls off of his tongue. “The whole package.”

“Kinky,” Dan quips.

“Shut up,” Phil nudges him with his free elbow, and Dan giggles, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Play with my hair more,” Dan tells him. “I love it when you do that.”

So Phil does. His hands massage soft chestnut locks, his fingers curling around the longer, wavier parts of his fringe and around his ears.

He pulls Dan’s fringe back a little too far, and exposes a blotch of purple. Shit, he’d forgotten about the bruise there.

He gulps, feeling his stomach twist, and does his best to pretend he hasn’t seen it, gently brushing strands of brown back over to cover it. He doesn’t know if Dan notices, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

They lie there in a comfortable silence, Phil’s fingers in Dan’s hair and Dan’s hands tracing the sliver of exposed skin just above Phil’s waistband, just listening to each other’s breathing, before Phil’s grip on his thought filter begins to loosen and he lets something slip

“I gave the ring back to Liam today.”

The second the words pass his lips, he regrets it. He can almost hear the break of the mood, shattering like glass as it goes.

Dan stiffens beside him. “Really?”

“Not directly, of course,” Phil reassures desperately. “I did it through someone.”

“Noah?”

It’s easier just to say “yeah.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just- yeah. I wanted rid of it. I hated the feeling of knowing I still had a piece of him hanging around in my room, y’know?” he shudders.

“Yeah, definitely.” Dan says, still a little wooden. “Well. I’m, um- glad you got rid of it, anyway.”

“So am I,” Phil says, and they descend into another silence and fuck, despite the gentle softness of the sheets and pillows, this is really quite uncomfortable.

“Sorry I just-“ Phil begins after a while. “I didn’t want to- you know, ruin the mood or anything. I just thought you ought to know.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Dan reassures him, but there’s a little tremor in his tone. “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.”

Phil sighs out a smile and rolls over until they’re nose-to-nose. He lies there for a second, taking a moment to drink in his appearance – the tanned curves of his features, the delicate point of his nose, his soft, plump lips and those big brown eyes that have seen far too much darkness. He leans over and presses his lips to Dan’s in a gentle kiss.

Dan pulls away after a few seconds. “I’m impressed.”

“With what?”

“I can’t taste a trace of smoke on you,” he says, pecking Phil’s lips again. “You really did listen to me.”

“Of course I did,” Phil mumbles between kisses. “You’d better appreciate it. I did mouthwash and all.”

“Brilliant,” Dan smirks, sliding his thigh over and shifting his weight until he’s lying on top of Phil. “And I do appreciate it, dickhead.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

So he does.

They lie there, Dan on top of Phil and Phil underneath Dan, their lips along with just about every inch of exposed skin locked together, intertwined underneath cotton and feathers. Phil combs his fingers through Dan’s curls and Dan’s fingers trace the soft curves of Phil’s sides.

Phil pulls him forward and presses a kiss to Dan’s neck, grinning when he hears the other boy gasp against his skin.

-

They lie there in a tangle of limbs, cotton and heavy breaths. A blotch of purple stains Dan’s collarbones. Phil’s hair is everywhere; crazy black tufts sprawled out over his forehead and his fringe and he’s pretty sure he looks an utter mess right now, but Dan’s been spending the past half hour looking at him as if he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d told him this multiple times too, albeit through ragged breaths and soft moans, and Phil had kissed him and stopped just short of letting three words slip past his lips.

“You’re the best,” Dan mumbles into Phil’s chest, swaying in and out of consciousness. The way he does this, the way he always croaks out sleepy mumbles right before he drops off, his guards down and his inhibitions invisible, makes Phil kind of want to cry. Not because of how adorable he sounds when he’s sleepy (although okay, that too), but because of the truth behind anything he says when he’s in this state. Whatever he says, he means.

“You are too,” Phil whispers, pressing kisses across Dan’s forehead in miniature pecks. “You really are.”

“You-…” he’s interrupted by his own yawn, “you… you’re so good to me.”

Phil finds himself giggling. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No one else was,” Dan mumbles against his shoulder.

Phil’s fingers find Dan’s hair. “Don’t think about that now.”

“You’re the first person who wasn’t a dick to me,” he mumbles. “Apart from Abbie.”

There’s a silence.

Phil frowns. “Who’s Abbie?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan murmurs, but Phil feels him gulp.

“Right- erm…” Phil chews on his lower lip, studying the ceiling.

He doesn’t care to push the subject any further. Discussing the past with Dan is already risky enough, and Phil still feels eggshells cracking beneath his feet every time any mention of his past slips into conversation. He doesn’t want to make this any more troubling than it already is, doesn’t want to break the soft serenity of Dan’s mood now; he hasn’t been this calm for weeks.

“You’re great,” Dan breaks Phil’s train of thought. “Did y’know that?”

Phil gives him a wry smile. “Nope.”

“Well, you are,” Dan continues. “You’re-… you’re the best. You’re so- you’re so great and-… lovely and- everyone likes you. I like you, I like you a lot, and-“

“Just a warning,” Phil begins. “As much as you and I both know I adore your compliments, I’m pretty sure my head’s going to explode in a minute with all this hot air,” he chuckles.

“I like your head too much to ruin it,” Dan smiles. “I’ll shut up.”

Phil’s not too sure what Dan means until he feels the soft touch of fingertips moving along his back, drawing little patterns into the skin.

“That’s better,” Phil mumbles, kissing Dan’s shoulder. He feels the familiar tickle against his skin, relishing in every gentle line, every shape the other boy traces beneath his t-shirt.

HI

Phil smiles. “Hi.”

HOW ARE U

“I’m good, funnily enough,” Phil grins. “What about you?”

BETTER

Phil feels his heartbeat in his ears.

“Really?”

NOT TOTALLY

“Oh,”

BUT BETTER.

“Well,” Phil gulps, smoothing over the cracks in his voice. “Well, um- that’s good, isn’t it?”

Dan nods, his finger motionless for a few seconds.

HANK YO

“Shit.”

Phil frowns. “What?”

“I fucked up,” Dan smirks. “Let me do that one again.”

THANK YOU

Phil feels a pinch in his heart. He rolls over until they’re facing each other, nose-to-nose, brown-to-blue, before leaning down and sealing their lips in a fervent kiss.

They lie like that for another handful of minutes, limbs and thoughts tangled together, a vacant stare towards the ceiling, until Dan’s breathing begins to steady and his hand movements slow down. The letters become sloppier, more indecipherable, but Phil still tries his best to make something of them. He gets I LIKE YOUR EYES, something about his nose and the way his hair sticks up in the morning, and then there’s a few almost motionless moments, Dan tipping into unconsciousness, his finger moving but barely writing.

And then Phil freezes, Dan’s gentle touch burning into his back like an iron rod. Shit.

His heart is racing in heavy thuds underneath his pyjama shirt and it takes every scrap of his self-control not to move, not to wake Dan up, not to do anything except lie like a stone and try to make sense of what the other boy had almost written.

He can’t be certain of course; it’s pushing three a.m. and his brain is a tangled, sleep-deprived mess, but he thinks Dan might have just fallen asleep in the middle of tracing three little words into the small of his back.

-

“You’re doing that grin again.”

Violet narrows her eyes. “What are you on about?”

“You know. That grin you always do when you have a good idea. You’re doing it now,” Freddie says, shuffling up the bed. They’re sprawled out on the mattress together, staring at the ceiling and making their way through a 6-pack of cider, discussing just how much of a dickhead Phil had become upon cutting ties with them all. “Come on, what have you thought of?”

“Well,” she smirks, a glint in her. “Just of ways we can teach that little shit a lesson.”

“Who; Phil?”

“No, actually,” she says.

“Who, then?”

“Dan,”

“Dan?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she begins.

“About what?”

“About how pretty much all of the shit that’s happened this year stems back to him. I mean, the tags for a start; that Liam’s still having to deal with. Poor sod’s got two and a half months left of it, still. That on top of the fact he essentially took Phil away from us.”

“How?” Freddie narrows his eyes.

“Oh, come on. Think back. When did Phil start being all off with us?”

“Er-…” Freddie tries to kick his tipsy brain into gear. “Like- half a year ago or something? I dunno, I can’t-“

“Exactly. Which was right around the time the two of them started getting cosy, right?”

“I- oh shit, yeah,” Freddie realises.

“I think a lot of it is to do with him, y’know. I don’t know what he’s been doing to Phil, but he’s not him anymore.”

“Maybe he wiped his brain and microchipped him,” Freddie mumbles.

“Probably,” Violet snorts. “But I have an idea.”

“There’s that grin again,” Freddie’s eyes light up and he rolls over on the mattress, facing her. “Speak, woman. What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Violet begins, fiddling with the ring pull on the cider can. “We promised to keep Liam away from him, didn’t we?”

“Yeah?” Freddie frowns.

She smiles. “But we never promised him anything about keeping ourselves away from him.”

Freddie hesitates for a moment. Then he grins.

“I’ve only just seen you now,” Dan says. “You were in Maths when it happened.”

“Couldn’t you have- I don’t know, texted me or something?” Phil tries.

“Yeah, because that was really my priority when I was on the floor,” Dan smirks.

“Stop it,” Phil shuts his eyes, trying to erase the mental image that his mind conjures up of Dan hitting the coldness of the concrete. Fuck, why did he have to be in Maths when it happened? He didn’t even do anything this lesson – he coasted his way through a test and spent the rest of the hour texting Noah about the Stranger Things (after much persuasion, he’d finally been convinced to start it). He could have easily skipped.

“I was fine,” Dan repeats for what has to be the seventh time in the past ten minutes. “Some P.E. teacher helped me up.”

“Did you go to the nurse?” Phil asks, his eyes still glued to the gauze patch taped across Dan’s forehead.

“Yeah,” he nods, tapping his head. “She put this thing on it and told me to get ‘lots of rest, drink plenty of water, blah blah blah, something about fresh air’”.

Phil grins, but his brow tightens into a frown. “You are okay though aren’t you?”

He studies Dan’s expression carefully; the sigh, the slight sag of the shoulders, the sincere glint in his eye when he insists for the final time that yes, he’s fine, just a bit of a headache but he’ll definitely live. To save Phil from going into literal cardiac arrest, he bites his tongue before he can add that he’s certainly been through worse.

Phil shakes his head. “Did they not grit the paths this morning? They usually do that every day from the first week of December.”

“I don’t know?” Dan frowns. “To be honest, I didn’t really check before I fell,” it’s meant to be a light remark, a passing comment, but there’s something about Dan’s tone that feels ever so slightly sour.

“I’m just worried,” Phil mutters indignantly.

“Yeah, and I appreciate that,” Dan says, but the sincerity in his tone seems to have drained.

“Then what’s the problem?” anger speaks before he can stop himself and shit, now really isn’t the time for an argument. Not now. Not with Dan.

The silence that follows is even worse, because shit, Phil had kind of been expecting an answer, a denial, anything. Maybe another ‘I’m fine, I swear’, a ‘you’re just being paranoid’, or, ideally, even a ‘what are you on about? There’s no problem at all’. He’d probably get annoyed that Dan has the nerve to call him paranoid, but he’d take that in a heartbeat over no answer at all.

“So there is a problem?” Phil’s the first to speak. His voice is slow, and there are a few cracks in it.

Dan shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “No, not really, it’s just-“

“What is it?” Phil interrupts him.

Dan’s silent for a few seconds, before his shoulders sag in defeat.

“It’s just,” he sighs. “I-… I can’t help feeling as if you-“ he cuts his sentence there, shaking his head.

“As if I what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan mumbles.

“No, go on,” Phil frowns.

Dan sighs. “I didn’t wanna say it,” he says. “But-… you don’t think I’m lying or something, do you?”

Ice floods Phil’s veins.

“What?” his voice is a hoarse whisper.

Dan shrugs. “It just- I dunno. It’s just when you kept questioning it, it kinda came across as if you, like, didn’t believe me or something.”

“Like I didn’t believe-“ Phil cuts himself off, trying to process Dan’s words. “I- fuck, of course I believe you Dan! That’s hardly the issue here.”

“Then what is the issue?” Dan glances up. It’s the first time they’ve met eyes during this, and Phil notices water tracing the brims of Dan’s eyes like glitter.

Phil’s thoughts run wild, but only one thing comes to the forefront of his mind. It glares at him in bright blue, sickening turquoise fringing the edges and fuck, he feels as if someone’s taken the tag from his ankle and tied it around his neck instead, the plastic cutting into his skin and choking him like a vice. He opens his mouth, but nothing follows.  

“Phil,” it’s Dan’s turn to break the silence now. “Phil, don’t go quiet on me. What is it?

Phil takes a deep breath. The words are balancing on his lips.

Liam. It’s Liam.

“Phil, please,” Dan’s hand is on his now and there’s a careful glitter in his eyes and fuck, nope, Phil can’t do this. He can’t. Not yet.

He shakes his head and squeezes Dan’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just- I just worry. About you,” he gulps. “A lot.”

Dan deflates, and the relief on his face all but kills Phil. He has no idea.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” Phil gulps, trying to block out the alarm bells that had been screaming in his mind ever since he saw the purple bruise that had the nerve to taint Dan’s delicate skin. It’s going to take a while before he stops seeing that ugly wound colouring his nightmares.

“Of course,” Dan says. “You know I would. I wouldn’t keep anything from you, I promise.”

Phil doesn’t know whether the delicate post-conflict atmosphere or his current emotional instability is to blame, that statement seems to leave a bigger ache than it usually would have done. Fuck.

“Come here,” a wave of affection suddenly breaks inside Phil’s heart, masking the bite of the guilt. He stretches out his arms and Dan melts into them, resting his head on Phil’s chest. Phil can smell his shampoo, and he leans down and presses a kiss into the gentle chestnut waves. “I’m sorry I snapped. I hate arguing with you.”

It wasn’t really an argument per se, but any kind of conflict with Dan manages to leave a gaping hole in his chest.

“I hate it too,” Dan’s agrees, his fingers trailing up Phil’s back. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I know you were just looking out for me.”

“Yeah, I-“ Phil gulps. “I’m sorry for- like, interrogating you,” he forces out a chuckle. “I just- yeah. I hope you’re okay now.”

“I will be,” Dan says. “Mild concussion, that’s all,” Phil doesn’t know if it’s the cruelty of his own imagination, but he swears he hears a small crack in Dan’s voice.

They stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and their own thoughts, for what feels like half an hour but was probably pushing five minutes at best, before Dan gently pulls out of the embrace. Phil pouts for a few seconds before noticing the chocolate bar Dan had just reached over and grabbed from the other side of the mattress. He strips the bar of its foil packaging, and offers Phil the first chunk.

Phil grins and takes it, but slides the piece between Dan’s parted lips instead. Dan rolls his eyes, but chews appreciatively.

“Thank you,” he mumbles a few seconds later.

Phil smirks. “You’re welcome. It’s yours, anyway.”

“I don’t mean for the chocolate, you dick,” Dan rolls his eyes. “Although I mean- thanks for that too,” he quickly adds (Phil knows for a fact that caramel is his favourite flavour). “I mean-“ he shrugs. “I don’t know. Thank you for, you know. Caring. I guess.”

Phil sighs and leans into him, burying his head into his shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know, but,” Phil feels Dan’s shoulders quirk up in a shrug. “I just feel like I ought to. I’m not really- y’know, used to having people- like, give a shit about me,” he chuckles, but Phil feels his heart drop.

“Well I do,” he mumbles, before adding. “Noah does. Everyone in this house does. So get used to it.”

Dan giggles, but gasps when Phil huffs out a chuckle. “Bit close to the neck.”

Phil giggles, pulling away. “Sorry.”

A voice from behind the shatters the atmosphere, making them both jump slightly.

“Have any of you seen the-“ Noah stops in the doorway as soon as he sees the two of them, his eyes flickering between them like he’s watching a ping pong match. “Oh, crap. Bad timing?”

“It’s alright,” Phil glances over his shoulder, throwing Noah a quick smile. “What’s up?”

“Lost my fucking phone charger again,” Noah says, but his eyes are still watching Dan carefully. “Either of you seen it?”

Phil shrugs. Dan shakes his head.

“Have you checked downstairs?” Phil asks. Noah nods.

“Yeah. And the kitchen. The little fucker seems to have grown legs and wandered off somewhere.”

Phil chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I’ll have a spare one somewhere. If you promise not to lose that one too.”

“I didn’t lose it, it ran away,” Noah corrects.

“Of course,” Phil smirks, watching the red-haired boy amble over to the drawer and pull it open.

“Nope,” he sighs, before pausing. “Though you do have a- oh my god, where the hell did you get this?” he pulls out a glint of silver, holding it up to the light. It’s a ring with a jewel of sapphire embedded into the gilt.

“Oh- fuck, yeah,” Phil clenches his jaw. “It’s not mine,” he mutters. Shit, he’d completely forgotten that was in there.

Dan glances at him.

“Whose is it, then? I bet whoever it belongs to is fucking minted. I mean, like-“ he squints into the bedroom light, marvelling at the navy glitter that it radiates. “I don’t know a lot about jewellery, but my friend could definitely tell you a thing or two. By the looks of it, this thing has got to have, like, at least a few traces of platinu-“ he trails off upon meeting Phil’s eyes. If looks could kill, Noah would be six feet under by now.

“I mean- erm-“ he drops it. “No. No phone charger in there.”

“Then I don’t have it,” Phil mutters, his eyes still burning into the ring moments after Noah shuts the drawer.

Dan frowns, but Phil refuses to meet his eyes.

The silence that follows is three seconds of torture.

“You should probably check downstairs,” Phil mumbles finally.

Noah frowns. “But I’ve already-“

“Go,” Phil cuts him off sharply. Noah backs up a little, looking as if he’s just been told he has five minutes left to live, but obliges, fixing Phil with a ‘we’re discussing this later’ glare that the other boy refuses to reciprocate. Phil keeps his eyes glued to the carpet below him and listening to Noah’s footsteps padding over to the door.

“See you later, Dan,” he mutters.

“Um- bye?” Dan’s reply resembles more of a question than anything else, and he speaks up less than a second after Noah disappears and the door clicks shut behind him.

“What was that about?”        

Phil’s heart sinks, closing his eyes. There’s no point in trying to hide this in another lie – he might as well tell the truth about something today.

“It’s Liam’s ring,” he mumbles, the name rolling off his tongue with a bitter taste. Dan tenses up.

“What?” he says, his voice hoarse.

“He left it in here once,” Phil explains hurriedly. “When we used to be friends – that’s how long ago,” he adds. “I kept it in there. Forgot to ever give it back to him,” he forces out a chuckle.

“Does he know you still have it?” Dan eyes up the drawer.

“Probably. I don’t know,” Phil shrugs. “He hasn’t asked for it back. And I mean- it’d be kind of awkward to return it now, wouldn’t it? Seeing as- like- we literally never talk anymore and-“

“No, of course,” Dan agrees, and Phil pretends not to hear the tremor in his voice. Fuck, he’s shitting himself. “I mean- is there not anyone you could give it to, to give to him? I mean- just to save you from having to talk to him again, you know?”

Yes, Phil doesn’t say. Noah. Because they’ve very helpfully decided to befriend each other which is really fucking convenient for the two of us in the situation we’re currently in now and-

Phil decides there and then that mental earplugs would be an excellent invention – fuck, it’s 2016. Why hasn’t anyone got onto that yet? – and tries to concentrate on Dan’s voice instead of the sour echo of his own.

“I’ll sort something out,” he says carefully.

He won’t – the ring along with most likely a few more of his forgotten belongings will probably remain in his drawer until the transition to university forces him to finally empty it, but he’s prepared to say anything if there’s a chance of melting the tension that seems to have gripped Dan ever since his name had been dropped into discussion.

“Good,” Dan exhales, throwing Phil a quick smile. “Must have been a while since you’ve cleared that out then, eh?”

“Definitely,” Phil agrees, feeling a knot in his stomach. Ever since Dan had first started working for him, he’d always made an effort of avoiding his drawers.

“It’s not necessary,” he’d reassured him when Phil had stopped mid-phone call to Liam in order to grumble about the privacy this weird guy would be invading if he cleared out the contents of Phil’s bedside table.

“Really?” Phil had been caught off-guard at that.

“Not at all,” Dan had placed the feather duster on the edge of the table. “I wouldn’t want to invade your privacy. Your space is your space, y’know?”

Phil had (almost) smiled at that. Things had still been pretty cold between them, every exchange a bit too formal and wooden and uncomfortable, generally, but it was one of the first moments that Phil had begun to realise perhaps Dan wasn’t so bad after all.

It isn’t until Dan speaks up again he realises he’d been spending the last five minutes frowning into space and nearly succeeding in biting a hole straight through his lip.

“Are you alright, Phil?”

No, Phil doesn’t say.

“Yeah, of course,” Phil shakes his head, snapping himself out of the poisonous train of thought that had suddenly leaked into his mind, the this boy is a fucking angel and no-one deserves him any less than you do you piece of shit mantra that’s turning his thoughts to monochrome, stinging him with every silence he has to himself. “Sorry, I was just- um. Thinking.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push the conversation any further, but seconds later Phil feels two warm arms slide around his waist and a sigh of warm breath next to his ear.

“You’d tell me if there was something bothering you though, right?” Dan mumbles into his chest. Phil feels his heart shatter into a few more splinters, and it wouldn’t really come as a surprise if Dan could hear it from where he’s resting his head.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling another piece of his heart crack, “Of course I would.”

-

“Wait, so let me get this straight.”

“I’ve told you Noah, I’m going to-“

“You haven’t even told Dan about Liam finding out about the tag yet?”

Phil sighs, shutting his eyes. Perhaps in the distant future there will be a glorious day where this topic of conversation might actually die out.

“No, but-“

“Shit, Phil,” Noah shuts his eyes. “Why not?”

“Sorry, I think I missed the chapter in my life where my fucking business suddenly became everyone else’s too,” he mutters sourly.

“He has a right to know,” Noah remains calm.

“And I have a right to tell him when I’m ready,” Phil snaps. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it does, but he doesn’t bother going back on his word.

“Come on, Phil,” Noah sighs. “You said yourself that this involves Dan too. It’s only fair that he knows what’s going on.”

Phil stays quiet for a few seconds, thinking about it. The less stubborn, the less righteous part of himself might go so far as to admit Noah does actually have a point.

“Has Liam said anything to you about it?” he finally mumbles.

“Literally nothing,” Noah says. “Like, seriously.”

“What happened after I left?”

Noah shrugs. “He just said you had to go. Didn’t seem like anything was wrong. We just stuck on an episode of Friends for the rest of the evening before his curfew was up.”

“Oh, fuck,” Phil shuts his eyes. “This can’t be good. This really can’t be good.”

“He didn’t seem that angry,” Noah reassures. “Like, at all. I didn’t even think anything was up until you said.”

“Shit,” Phil sighs, shutting his eyes.

“How is that a bad thing?” Noah asks. “Surely if it was bothering him, he’d at least make it slightly obvious, right?”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Phil says again. He feels like that’s all he’s been saying to everyone for the past three years; ‘you just don’t understand him’, ‘he’s lovely, I promise’, or even  ‘just give him a chance, please,’ to people who were so blinded by their own judgemental mind-sets they wouldn’t spare the guy behind a terribly intimidating façade a moment of their time. It’s almost strange how he’s using such a statement for pretty much the opposite effect now. “If Liam’s angry, you don’t always know until it’s too late. He’s been the same for years.”

It’s true. The most terrifying element to Liam isn’t necessarily his short temper, nor the way his eyes glint under his fringe whenever anger strikes, or even his unpredictable violent outbursts. It’s how well he is at hiding all of it.

Noah frowns. “You’re not just- like- putting too much thought into this, are you?” he suggests, before hurriedly adding. “Not that I’m saying you are, it’s just- well,” he shrugs. “I don’t want you worrying yourself stupid over nothing.”

Phil stares at him.

“Do you need reminding of the current situation here?” he hisses. “I- what the fuck, Noah? I hardly think I’m making something out of nothing.”

“I know, I know,” Noah sighs. “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean nothing, obviously. It’s just- I just- I don’t like seeing you like this. You’re too fucking stressed, Phil,” he places a hand on Phil’s arm and gives him a comforting squeeze. Phil doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t exactly reciprocate. “You only saw as much as his ring today and you nearly shat yourself.”

“Oh yeah – I forgot to thank you for that,” Phil mutters sarcastically. “Really convenient. Just what I fucking needed.”

“Sorry about that,” Noah sighs. “I- um. I didn’t know it was his.”

“Clearly,” Phil rolls his eyes, his tone still bitter.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Noah protests. “How was I supposed to know?”

“It doesn’t matter whose it was, for Christ’s sake,” Phil snaps. “I just would’ve thought you capable of looking for a phone charger without snooping through my fucking belongings.”

“I’m sorry,” Noah sighs, and he sounds like he means it. “Like, really. It was wrong of me to do that.

“It’s fine,” Phil mutters a little sharply, trying to ignore the nagging feeling deep down that reminds him this isn’t Noah’s fault at all. And he knows that; he knows Noah’s only looking out for him, only trying to prevent him from having a literal fucking heart attack, but it’s hard to think rationally when you’re so wound up, so tightly knotted in the ropes of tension and stress and overthinking until you can barely breathe and-

“Oh, fuck it,” he gets up suddenly, feeling the room whirl around him.

“Where are you going?” Noah frowns.

“I need a- a minute,” Phil mumbles.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Noah offers, frowning. Phil almost envies how fucking benign he always is, how calmly he approaches problems, how tolerant he is to Phil’s transient moods, swinging in black and white.

“No, I just-” his vision tilts as he stumbles over to the door. He knows this is a bad idea, that he’s going to wake up tomorrow with an awakened addiction and a weight of guilt on his chest, but he’s felt the familiar cravings crawling back, clawing up and up his throat until he can’t focus on anything else. “I need a cigarette.”

-

phil: i didn’t mean to snap like that

phil: i’m sorry

noah: its okay u dork

phil: i was a dick

noah: don’t worry about it

noah: go and get some sleep we’ll talk about this properly tomorrow or something

phil: ok

phil: thanks <3

Phil locks his phone, pockets it, and steps out into the night.

-

He shouldn’t be doing this, really.

The lights have been turned off for the night and the moon is hiding behind a black shield of clouds, so Phil is heavily relying on blind instinct and prayers to any deity listening that he doesn’t trip over a protruding tree root and fall to his death. The school is asleep, there’s little to no light anywhere (with the exception of the ruby glow on the tip of his cigarette), and the air is blanketed with silence.

He’s kicking the dust up the path somewhere behind the school, miles away from civilisation but a stone’s throw away from the bench he and Dan sat on together, when he tasted his lips for the first time and secrets spilled like wine.

The grass beneath him is dusted with a glitter of frost. His breath curls out in clouds of mist with every exhalation, and at this time of year it’s difficult to tell the difference between smoke and vapour.

His lips close around the filter and he inhales, filling his lungs with something disgusting, something he’s only just stopped craving, but something that just fucking melts away the tension in a way that nothing else really can. He breathes in, and the spike of anxiety in the pit of his stomach softens. He breathes in, and his vision blurs and he feels the rush of nicotine in his veins. He breathes in and fuck, as much as he despises himself for doing so much as touching the half-empty carton of cigarettes he hasn’t looked at for weeks, he can’t deny he’s actually really missed this.

It isn’t long until he begins shivering and the silence begins amplifying the darker of his thoughts, thoughts of Liam and Dan, poor Dan, and Noah caught like a fly in the middle of this web, this tangled network of issues and problems and complications that seems to have doubled in size over the past couple of weeks.

Phil sighs smoke into the dark air. At least, he supposes, it can’t really get any worse than this. It’s always a weird optimism he’s had, a glimmer of hope that at least when you hit rock bottom, you can’t go any further.

He chews on the inside of his lip, taking another drag of his cigarette and seriously wondering if there’s actually any possibility of this situation getting any worse – it’s pretty fucking terrible as it is; he only needs to spare it a second of thought before stirring nausea wakes up in the pit of his stomach, and-

“Well, if it isn’t Mister I’m-Too-Busy-To-Breathe,” a voice made of ice shatters the atmosphere.

Phil jumps and spins around, dropping the remains of his cigarette onto the grass. His heart is hammering.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night, eh?” another voice, silkier this time, drops in.

Two figures, silhouetted by the looming darkness of the night emerge; one taller than the other, one with longer hair than the other, but both with smoke pouring out of their lips.

Of course it could, Phil thinks to himself. Of fucking course it could.     

[NEXT CHAPTER]       

-

IM SO SORRY FOR ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER I PROMISE ITS GONNA MAKE SENSE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER EVERYHTING WILL MAKE SENSE XXX

Louise’s gingerbread house collapses. Noah hoots with laughter. Phil tells him to shut up and stop being such an insensitive prick. Dan threatens to walk over to the chemist across the road and purchase a pair of earplugs. Phil puts his hand over Noah’s mouth in an attempt to shut him up, and then shrieks when Noah licks his palm. Dan glares at the two of them through his fringe, and then part of Val’s gingerbread door snaps off.  

All in all, though, despite Dan only being able to hear every third word and Phil getting on every one of Noah’s nerves, it turns out to be a somewhat pleasant evening. They say three-way friendships are infamous for never working out as perfectly as they do in the movies, but as the weeks have passed, the three of them seem to have really gelled together nicely.

Of course, it’s never that simple. It’s not always baking programmes and cute evenings in front of the telly, nor is it tears of laughter and the taste of beer in a bottle and late-night whisperings at three a.m. It’s also arguments over who last had the dorm keys, throwing the blame like a hot potato, complaints about how much respect they must have for Dan when Noah and Phil leave the bedroom littered with crisp packets and empty bottles, and, perhaps on a more serious note, Dan sobbing into Phil’s shoulder until the night turns light blue.

Phil’s learning how to deal with Dan’s breakdowns. They’re not overly frequent – there are some nights Dan will fall asleep grinning and wake up in the morning with freshly-washed hair, sporting a newly-ironed shirt and a perfectly adjusted cravat and Phil will see a glittering smile meet his eyes, real genuine happiness. There are just some nights where things begin to catch up with him and Phil will wake up in the middle of the night to quiet sobbing from the pillow next to him.

“I don’t- I don’t deserve you-…“ a voice would mumble against his chest, scratched up from sobbing.

“That isn’t true,” Phil would insist, continuing to stroke his hair. He’d been carding his hands through it so much it’s a wonder how Dan has any left at this point, but he’d told him it soothes him, so Phil’s in no position to stop.

Dan chokes on a sob, coughing into Phil’s pyjama top. He folds his arms against Phil and it only takes a moment for him to realise Dan’s fingernails are digging viciously into his arm, clawing up his delicate skin

“Don’t do that,” Phil took hold of his hand, keeping it in a tight clasp. He felt Dan’s nails begin digging little crescents into his palm, subconsciously almost, but he didn’t care. He’d let Dan pierce his skin all the way through if it meant keeping the damage away from himself – broken skin heals a lot faster than a broken childhood.

It’s pushing five a.m. by the time Dan finally drifts off to sleep, having spent the last hour or two tangled up in Phil’s arms, trying to even out his sobbing and recognise the letters the other boy writes into his back. Phil tends to write on Dan’s skin quite a lot – sometimes being verbal doesn’t quite cut it.

(He writes onto Dan’s skin things he associates with him.

HAPPY

ALIVE

SAFE

AT HOME

And before dropping off to sleep, Dan rolls over until they’re body-to-body and his fingers find Phil’s thigh.

THANK YOU)

He’s getting used to comforting him, whispering soft promises and reassurances and sometimes even nothing at all, but he’s not quite there yet – there are some nights he stares up at the ceiling, feeling tears on his shoulder and fingers clutching at his pyjama fabric, wondering what on earth to do, to say, to anything when there’s no magic spell he can do to automatically make Dan okay again. But he’s learning.

-

Phil doesn’t really know why Dr. Lake needs this to be done now. Maths started five minutes ago and he’s walking in the opposite direction of the Maths block, clutching some brown envelope he’d been ordered to give to his father. He doesn’t quite know how or when being “son-of-the-head-teacher” had suddenly become “universal-messenger-of-said-head-teacher”, but it’s an excuse to miss lessons, so he isn’t too distraught.

He makes it to the senior management block, slightly out of breath from the exercise (fuck, has the path always been that long?) but his attention is soon captured by muffled shouting from behind one of the doors. It doesn’t take a genius to work out which door it’s coming from.

“It’s just not good enough!”

“Well it never fucking is with you, is it?”

“You know the rules.”

“I was fucking obeying them, too!”

“Don’t swear, Liam-“

Phil blanches, the wall cold against his back. What the fuck did Liam do this time?

“So leaving the premises at two o’clock in the morning is part of the rules, is it?”

Oh, he fucking didn’t did he?

“I fucking- he was-“

“I don’t care who was doing what. You knew your curfew, you knew the consequences, and you chose to breach the rules.”

“I didn’t choose to- James needed me to go to the-“

“If James told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

“If it meant getting out of this fucking school, yes.”

There’s a screech. Heavy footsteps. A voice of steel ordering him to ‘come back here at once!’. Then the door opens and Liam shoulders past, practically shoving Phil out of the way.

“Li?” Phil’s voice comes out smaller than he’d expected.

“Fuck off!” Liam shouts without stopping, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. He probably doesn’t even know it’s him.

Phil’s heart thuds as he stares after the boy, the letter shaking a little in his clammy hands. Well, shit.

A few seconds later, he manages to pluck up enough courage to bring his knuckles up to the door. If he makes this exchange as brief as possible, there still might be a chance of catching Liam up before he vanishes again.

“Yes?” the voice on the other side of the wood is still edged with irritation.

Phil digests a jolt of anxiety and pushes the handle.

“Only me,” he gulps, avoiding eye contact like the plague. “Doctor Lake told me to pass this onto you.”

“Ah,” Phil’s dad nods, holding his hand out for the letter. Phil hands it to him quickly, throwing his father an experimental glance. His face is still burgundy and there’s a vein sticking out of his forehead. Shit, Liam really must have been giving him grief. He hasn’t seen his dad this wound up in a long while. “Thank you.”

“You’re- um, you’re welcome,” Phil mumbles, staring down at his shoes. He’s itching to ask about the argument, to hear it from a more reliable source, but he doesn’t want to lose Liam. “So, um- I’d better- Doctor Lake will probably be wondering where I am.”

His father waves him away. “Yeah, you go.”

Phil gulps, slipping through the crack in the door like a sheet of paper.

As soon as it falls shut behind him, he bursts out of the Senior Management block, and runs.

-

He feels like he’s just inhaled about three kilograms of chilli powder by the time the blue-haired boy struggles into sight, scuffing along one of the paths, clearly skipping a lesson of some description, but he breathes a sigh of relief. His heart is hammering and every breath of air never quite feels like enough and fuck, maybe he should go and see Mr. Cartwright about that gym membership after all, but he keeps going until he’s within earshot of the other boy.

“Liam!” he shouts. “Liam, I-“ he all but keels over, clutching his knees and breathing hard.

Liam stares down at him for a few seconds, his expression blank. “Um. Hello?”

“You probably… didn’t-… see me but-… what the fuck was-… like, all that about?”

“What was all what about? Get up, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t run that far,” he holds his hand out.

“I-“ Phil gasps for air, but clutches Liam’s hand. His rings dig into his skin as he pulls himself off of the ground. “Thanks.”

“God, I forgot how much of a drama queen you can be sometimes,” Liam mutters, almost to himself.

“Drama queen?” Phil repeats. “Coming from the same boy who cried after the five hundred metre race on sports day?”

“That was years ago,” Liam hisses. “And it was only because I’d been smoking too much.”

“Bet you miss that,” Phil rolls his eyes, his breathing finally beginning to steady though he really isn’t one to talk. His cravings have been driving him up the wall.

“Tell me about it,” Liam mutters bitterly, before throwing the other boy a glance. “So,” he begins, leaning his weight on one foot. “Is there a particular reason you came racing up to me?” he scoffs. “I mean, it looked like you were just desperate to see me, but judging by the way you’ve been acting these past couple of weeks, I find that pretty difficult to believe.”

Phil’s throat goes a bit dry, thinking about the piles of missed calls from Liam he’d just ‘pretended not to see’.

“Sorry,” is all he can mumble. “I just- I got caught up. With other things.”

“As you always do,” Liam sighs airily, but the bitterness in his tone is still cutting.

“Yeah, I-“ Phil gulps, desperate to change the subject though he has no idea how to do that now. “Exams, and stuff-“

Liam rolls his eyes. “Is that all you came here for, then? To acknowledge the fact you’ve been ignoring my calls for weeks?”

“Liam,” Phil gulps, feeling a stitch of guilt in his stomach. He knows Liam’s been a complete and utter bellend these past couple of weeks and he has every right to distance himself from him, but he isn’t exactly making this easy. “I’m sorry. I told you, I-“

“It’s fine,” Liam waves his apology away though he sounds like it’s anything but.

Phil sighs, giving his watch a glance. There’s only half an hour left of Maths.

“I, er- I was just gonna ask you about, well, the run-in you had with my dad anyway. What was that about?”

“You heard, did you?” Liam scoffs humourlessly.

“Yeah, I was- er, I was waiting outside for a bit. I tried to call after you.”

Liam smirks again, but his gaze is hardening.

“Yeah. Well.  Your wonderful fucking father’s only gone and extended my tag by another two months. That’s what all that was about.”

Phil blanches. What the fuck?

“Seriously?”

Liam nods. “Mhm. Tried everything to reason with him, but after years of experience perhaps I should’ve known better than to think your fucking father would ever listen to me.”

Phil’s heart sinks, the absence of his tag feeling a bit heavy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he mumbles, inspecting one of his rings. “Just your relative’s fault, I guess.”

A silence looms between them as Phil tries to digest his words, this entire situation.

“How?” he asks. “Did you like- just not make it back on time or something? Did you leave your boarding house?”

“You’re gonna love this,” Liam’s fists are balled again, white, jewelled knuckles poking out of frayed sweater sleeves. “One of our housemates- Freddie’s mate- James, I think his name is? You know him right?”

Phil nods. He’s never really talked to James – all he knows about him is that he’s in the trainspotting club along with about two other members, but that’s it.

“He was having an asthma attack, right? So he has this inhaler thing that he’s supposed to keep on him at all times, but he left it in the sports hall, the fucking idiot. It’s only us in the boarding house and there’s me like, freaking the fuck out, and he manages to just about tell me where it is so I can go get it,” he grits his teeth. “So there’s stupid old me, forgetting about the tag thing for two fucking minutes while this guy doesn’t drop to the fucking floor and die, and-“ he shrugs, “yeah. Obviously got back to old Big Brother, and he goes and extends my tag by two months.”

Phil bites back a smirk at the stupidly appropriate Nineteen-Eighty-Four reference, but his heart is thudding. He can’t fucking believe this.

“You tried to explain it to him, right?”

“Oh, believe me, I fucking tried. I did everything I could. I even got that weedy little kid to come in and explain to him himself what I was doing. Nothing worked.”

Phil shuts his eyes. His stomach feels like concrete.

“That’s so fucking unfair,” he mumbles truthfully.

“You don’t say,” Liam’s eyebrows twitch upwards, glaring into space. Phil studies him briefly.

“I’m- I don’t- I mean,” he sighs. “Shit, Liam. I could try and talk to him I suppose? I don’t know what good it will do if even James won’t get through to him, but,” he shrugs. “I mean- this is seriously out of order. He just- he can’t do that.”

“You said it,” Liam scoffs sarcastically. “I just- Jesus fucking Christ,” he squeezes his eyes shut, resting his head in the palms of his hands. “I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe he can do this. He can’t do it, can he Phil? Even the fucking caretaker said it was wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Phil agrees. “Your actions were perfectly justified, yeah? Would he have rather James fucking- I don’t know, literally died or something?”

“Is that what even happens during an asthma attack?” Liam smirks.

Phil shrugs. “If you didn’t get that damn kid’s inhaler then you could’ve found out, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, Christ, I’d still be fucking free,” Liam shuts his eyes, resting his head on the brickwork of a nearby block, head tilted up towards the sky. “God, Phil. I don’t think I can take another two fucking months of this. I mean, like- is there anything you could do to get him to change his fucking mind? Anything at all?”

Phil shrugs helplessly. “I’ll do what I can.”

Liam’s lips twitch upward in a grateful smile, and he outstretches his arms. “Give us a hug, will you? I need comfort.”

Phil, reluctance dissolves for a moment, and he leans into the embrace. Liam’s warm and smells of incense and aftershave and Phil can’t help relaxing into him a little. Despite everything that’s happened, despite Liam behaving like a total and utter knob, Phil can’t deny this is really quite fucking unfair on his part.

They pull away in a subdued silence that Liam eventually breaks with a quiet giggle, as if sharing an inside joke with himself.

“What?” Phil frowns.

“It sucks that I’m literally imprisoned, but-…” he cuts himself off with a giggle.

“What?” Phil urges, uneasiness swirling in his stomach. There’s a devilish glint in Liam’s eye, one he’s definitely seen before, and it sends a swirl of uneasiness to Phil’s stomach.

“As if I didn’t have enough of a reason to get back at your fucking cleaner,” Liam raises an eyebrow. “But now…” he laughs again, a real evil cackle.

Oh god. Oh fucking god, Phil’s going to be sick.

“Liam,” he protests, pulling out of the hug. “No- don’t- no.”

“What?!” Liam frowns as if Phil’s just announced he’s going to axe a puppy to death.

Phil swallows. “This isn’t Dan’s fault.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, did I hear that correctly?”

“He-“

“Look, if it wasn’t for that snide little cunt, we wouldn’t even be in this position!” Liam hisses.

‘We’. It’s then Phil remembers Liam has yet to discover that he’s recently been made tag-less (and he doesn’t think now would particularly be the best time to bring that up).  

“But-“

“Don’t give me any of that, Phil. I don’t care how well he fucking tidies your room or whatever. That little shit has a lesson to learn.”

Phil’s raging a little bit and only half-desperate to grab Liam by the shoulders and start screaming about how such an ordeal could remotely be in Dan’s fucking control and it’s hardly like he fucking put you up to it you egotistical twat.

“Liam- no. You can’t blame him for this.”

“What’s got into you?” Liam pulls away, staring at Phil through narrowed eyes. “A few months ago you were ready to hang, draw and quarter that stupid twat. We all were. And now you’re telling me none of this is his fault after all?”

Phil doesn’t quite know the best way to explain how he’s learnt a thing or two over the course of these few months. “Sorry, I was busy discovering said ‘stupid twat’ is actually a lot better company than you’ll ever be,” “what’s got into me is some fucking common sense and perhaps a bit of compassion along the way, as alien a concept as it is to you” and that poor kid’s been through enough literal abuse I don’t think he needs you adding to that let alone me for fuck’s sake’ all fit, but they’d probably give him a black eye if he does so much as think about muttering them.

In the end, he settles with “there’s never an excuse for violence. What if they find out and extend your tag even longer?”

He feels quite literally terrible trying to flip this on its head and show Liam there’s something in it for him if he doesn’t literally beat Dan to death, but it’s the only way he can simultaneously get through to Liam, and live to see another dawn.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Fuck’s sake, s’probably true. That little shit will jump at any chance to fucking grass on me again, wouldn’t he?”

Phil shrugs, choosing not to comment on that.

“Just don’t do it,” Phil says. “Please?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Promise?”

Liam stares at him. “What are we, twelve?”

“Just fucking promise me you won’t,” Phil pleads.

Liam nibbles his lip, before weakening.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. “I promise.”

He doesn’t sound terribly convincing, but Phil breathes a sigh of relief.

Liam throws his watch a glance. “Shit, we’d better go. My Geography teacher will kill me if I don’t turn up for the third lesson in a row.”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbles. Showing up to Biology would probably be a good move, he reckons.

“We can hang around soon though, right?” Liam offers, brown eyes shining.

If Liam hadn’t gone and knocked himself right back down in Phil’s estimation, he’d would’ve probably been a little less reluctant to oblige.

He just gulps, and says “I’ll see.”

-

Whether related to the interaction with Liam earlier that day or not, Phil finds himself slightly more affectionate around Dan that evening. He feels weird, protective almost, which he knows is ridiculous because he knows that beneath Dan’s shy interior beats a strong, independent heart and Phil doesn’t think anyone that can walk straight through hell with a smile needs ‘looking after’, not necessarily.

That doesn’t mean he can’t pull him into unexpected cuddles though, right? It doesn’t mean he can’t peck his cheeks with shy kisses whenever Noah’s back is turned. And it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t trace the moles on his back and up towards his neck underneath the blanket when the three of them are cuddled up on the sofa watching Clueless (Noah had insisted on it much to the ridicule of the other two boys, and despite Phil’s grudge against the whole chick-flick-90s-American-high-school genre, it’s actually not that bad a film), creeping further and further up his neck and grinning every time Dan shivers underneath his touch.

Dan doesn’t need looking after, Phil thinks, but he desperately needs support.

(And love. Maybe)

[NEXT CHAPTER]

-