#imtt

        "Um..." Dan cringed, scrambling. "It's kind of a work in progress but it has to do with a lot of different things like there's this guy right and um...well, he's kind of confused about a lot of things so he has to figure them out. And yeah," he finished lamely, resisting the urge to turn and slam his head into the wall behind him. He should run a competition to see exact how stupid he could make himself out to be in front of Phil.

      "Sounds interesting," Phil said lightly. If he had any suspicion that Dan was bullshitting his way into next Saturday he gave no indication. "Do you have ideas yet for a title?"   

       "Not really no. I have a working title but it's a line from a song. In my opinion the hardest bit is coming up with a good title. Or even a bad one," Dan said, grimacing. "Basically I just suck at titles."

       "Probably better than anything I'd ever come up with," Phil said, shrugging. "Never was much of a writer honestly."

      "Better not to write at all than to only be able to write the same story."

        Phil frowned. "Hey, I googled you the other day by the way and I read one of your books. It was amazing."

     "Really?" Dan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Thank you."

     "Really," Phil affirmed. "Screw happy endings, the writing alone was different and a lot better than anything I've read in a while."

       "Thank you," Dan repeated, feeling a ridiculous urge to break into a grin like some giggly thirteen year old. Jesus Christ.

      "You know it's okay to get writer's block every now and again--it happens even to J.K. Rowling. There's no shame in that."

      "I know," Dan said more tersely than he'd intended. "God knows I wish it would happen to E.L. James," he added in an attempt to take the bite out of his words.

       "Don't get me started," Phil groaned. "There's another book out from Christian's point of view goddamnit."

        Dan pulled a face. "That's fucking brilliant for the world of literature. What's next--a spinoff series about their child?"

      "Not only does it stick to the formula but it romanticizes abusive relationships," Phil said distastefully.

      Dan's head snapped up. "The formula?"

      Phil flushed. "Sorry, I forgot that's not actually a thing. It's what I call a recurring pattern in mainstream fiction, particularly young adult."

     "No I get what you're trying to say, it's just that I didn't know anyone else thought of it that way either," Dan said. "'Great minds think alike' I guess."

      "You could put it that way," Phil smiled.

      "Honestly I still don't know what I'm doing here. There's the whole happy ending gig but it still seems like there's something I'm missing."

       "You have a problem with happy endings, right?" Dan nodded. "Maybe you could figure out why you have a problem with writing happy endings and work from there."

       "Sometimes I think it's because I'm a sadist and I like sad things, but on the other hand it's an actual problem that needs to be sorted out." Dan stirred his coffee around idly. "Do you have an opinion one way or another?"

      Phil gave a shrug, the smile having long since disappeared. "You remember what I told you about this place not having any secrets?"

      "What about it?"

      "I get the feeling that you're someone who has a few things they'd prefer to keep private," Phil said mildly.

       "So what if I am?" Dan asked sharply. There was a thin line between what he was and wasn't willing to talk about, and Phil was skating it.

     "Be careful who you confide in," Phil said quietly. "Sometimes it's better to kept things to yourself until you know who you can trust."

      Dan rolled his eyes. "Two things: one, I'm not talking government secrets here and two, I have a feeling you're pretty good at keeping secrets."

     "Right," Phil scoffed. "Because I'm completely trustworthy."

      Dan chewed on his lower lip, remaining silent. As someone who'd only met Phil twice, for some reason Dan instinctively trusted him more than almost anyone else he knew.

     “There’s a fundraiser dinner tonight at the town hall,” Phil said finally, breaking the silence. He turned and apparently interpreting Dan’s blank expression correctly. “I’m assuming that means that you didn’t know about it.”

    “Fundraiser for what?” Dan asked, latching onto the subject change.

     “There’s a couple that’s been here for as long as I can remember named the Thompsons. Jim Thompson was recently diagnosed with cancer, and all of the proceeds from the dinner go to the hospital funds. There’s a talent show afterwards, so if you have any secret talents then now’s your moment.”

    “I can play the piano,” Dan shrugged. “I’m not very good though. What about you?”

    Phil was quiet for a moment. “I can flare my nostrils,” he offered.

     “I think everyone can flare their nostrils Phil,” Dan rolled his eyes, smiling. “That’s not to say that it still wouldn’t make an impressive act.”

    “Maybe I’ll take it to national television someday,” Phil said wryly. “Does that mean you’re going to go?”

   “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Dan said truthfully. “Maybe. Are you?”

    “I am now,” Phil smiled.

 …

     ‘Founder’s Hall’ as Dan learned the town hall was called used to be a church before the new church was built across the street. Originally the town had planned to tear the older building down before a group of the townspeople had started a petition to turn the building into something that the community could use.

     The stained glass remained in the windows, although the pews were long gone. A raised dais was at the head of the room, an upright piano sitting off to the side. The only other room was a kitchen, the bathroom squeezed into the corner.

     Dan stalled by the door, eyes flickering around the room and looking for anyone that bared any resemblance to Phil. He edged further into the room, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Out of habit he reached for his phone, unlocking it and pretending to check his text messages.

     “Hey.” A tap on his shoulder jolted him to attention, and he slid his phone back into his pocket. Phil was leaning against the wall beside him, looking completely at ease. A coat patterned with galaxies hung unzipped over a plaid shirt.

    “Nice coat.”

    Phil laughed, glancing down at his ensemble. “Thanks. I think so too, but I’ve gotten some mixed reactions on it.”

    “I think on most people it would just look incredibly pretentious and like they were trying to be a hipster, but on you it just looks like a nerdy guy who likes space.”

    “That last one wouldn’t be incorrect,” Phil said. “Have you eaten yet?” Dan shook his head. Come on,” Phil grabbed Dan’s hand, pulling him alongside as he headed in the general direction of the kitchen. Dan tried not to focus too much on the fact that Phil’s hand was warm against his, and that his hand was probably sweaty and gross. “I’ll introduce you to a couple of people.”

    Despite the fact that Dan hated introductions and that he had purposefully avoided entering the kitchen for that very reason he followed Phil without complaint, partly because Phil was still pulling him towards the kitchen and partly because he didn’t want to seem completely spineless.

     A long collapsible table was in the middle of the room, a white table cloth draped over it that was laden with food. Dan and Phil joined the back of the line, Phil offering each person in line a smile in typical Phil fashion. Far less cheerily Dan began to dump food onto his plate, forcing a somewhat pleasant expression on his face.

     “Dan, Hazel,” Phil introduced.

     Hazel had dirty blonde hair and a friendly smile that was currently directed at Dan. “Hey.”

    “Hi. It’s nice to meet you,” Dan said, sticking out his hand for a shake. Hazel accepted it, shaking it firmly.

     “You too,” she said. “Phil tells me you’re new here. What do you think so far?”

    Dan searched his mind for something halfway interesting or witty to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind it dawned on him that Hazel was quite pretty. “Everyone’s been lovely so far,” he finally settled on, neglecting to mention that aside from Phil he hadn’t really met anyone else.

      “Do you want to join us?” Phil asked.

      “I would love to,” Hazel said brightly. “I’ll go grab a table.” Phil nodded and she disappeared back into the main room.

      “Hazel and I were classmates,” Phil said. “After university we both ended up moving back here and we’ve stayed in contact.”

    “You must really like the town,” Dan noted. “I couldn’t wait to leave where I grew up.”

    “Sometimes it’s harder to leave a place than you might think,” Phil said, the smile fading. “The place latches onto you and it won’t let go.” He set down his plate, pouring water into one of the plastic cups. When he looked up again his smile was back in place. “You finished?” Dan nodded, following Phil out of the kitchen. Hazel had snagged a table near the front of the room, two empty chairs sitting on either side of her.

     Dan ate his dinner in relative peace, Phil and Hazel carrying most of the conversation with small talk and reminiscing. Every now and again he’d add a comment, but for the most part he was content to listen. Dan had never been one for socializing anyway, and for some reason there was something about Phil and Hazel that made him feel that he could listen to them talk all day.

     The entertainment started shortly after, a red-headed woman announcing the various acts and drawing in last minute volunteers. Dan moved his food around his plate with his fork, studiously avoiding Phil’s pointed look as the woman addressed the crowd for any other performers. Playing the piano in front of Phil was one thing, playing in front of Hazel was another thing entirely and one he wasn’t sure he wanted to get in to.

     “I should probably be getting home.” Hazel pushed her chair away from the table, grabbing her empty plate and offering a final smile. “It’s getting late and I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

    Phil gave a smile of his own, wrapping Hazel in a hug. “It was great to see you outside of the office,” he said.

     “You too. Nice meeting you Dan.” Dan inclined his head and Hazel was soon lost in the crowd massed by the door.

     “Anyone else?” The woman’s eyes searched the crowd with an air of hopefulness in her expression.

     Phil nudged Dan with his shoulder, dropping him a pointed look. Dan feigned confusion, giving Phil an innocent blink in return. Evidently not taken in by his farce, Phil nudged him again more pointedly.

     “Stop it Phil,” Dan hissed.

     “Come on,” Phil widened his eyes, somehow managing to emphasize the blue even more. “You said yourself that you’ve been playing for a few years.”

    “That doesn’t mean that I’m any good at it.”

    “Are you scared?” Phil asked challengingly, raising an eyebrow.

     “No,” Dan said defensively.

    “One song,” Phil wheedled. “What’s the worst that could happen? Actually don’t answer that—what’s the best that could happen?”

    Dan sustained the eye contact for another couple of seconds before relenting. “One song,” he said firmly. “And that’s it.”

    Phil’s following grin was almost enough to make it worth it. “Good luck,” he said. “I’m sure you’re going to be brilliant.”

    Dan rolled his eyes dubiously, sucking in a breath and stumbling to his feet. “I’ll play something on the piano,” he volunteered, feeling everyone’s eyes move to him as a hush fell across the room. The woman nodded and he cleared his throat self-consciously, making his way to the front of the room and stopping in front of the piano.

     He lifted the lid and slid the piano bench far back enough to be able to sit comfortably. Hands poised over the keys he paused, mentally running through a list of every done he'd ever learned. Finally settling on one of the only songs he'd memorized and felt reasonably sure he could play, Dan found the pedal underneath his right foot and began to play.

     It had been since he’d taken piano lessons, and though he’d continued to fiddle around on the piano he was hardly a great talent at it. Unsurprisingly he’d barely made it thirty seconds in before he stumbled, right hand falling a note short as the melody jumped an octave. He flushed, biting his lip as he frantically tried to recover. The next chord sounded dissonant, and after struggling through another few seconds he abandoned the left hand entirely and continued to play the melody.

     The entirety of the song was roughly a little over three minutes long, but he gave up a fourth of the way in, ending the song abruptly with a somewhat flat sounding chord. Resisting the urge to cringe, Dan settled for keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he slunk back to his seat. He evaded Phil’s gaze, staring at the char in front of him.

    “That was amazing,” Phil said in a low tone, and when Dan dared to look at him he was smiling.

    “Shut up,” Dan mumbled. “That was fucking awful.”

   “As someone who limped through a year of clarinet lessons and to this day still doesn’t know how to read music that was incredible.”

    “I messed up at least fifty times,” Dan snorted. “It was hardly remarkable.”

   “There were a few rough spots,” Phil acknowledged. “But give it another run through and I’m sure it’d be perfect.”

    “Thank you,” Dan said quietly.

    The last thing Dan wanted was to spend two months holed up in a cabin, but disobeying both his editor and publisher was a sure way to find himself out of a job so in the end he had agreed.

    The keys jingled in his hand as he fumbled with the lock, jamming them into the keyhole and turning the knob. After wrestling with the handle for another few minutes the door finally opened, and Dan couldn't help but think that if this was how the rest of his stay here was going to be the next two months were going to be hell.

     He dragged his suitcase up the stairs after him, setting it just inside in the house. The door opened into a small kitchen, a table with two places set at either end shoved into the corner. He continued into the the next room--a living room followed by the bedroom which was across from the bathroom. It could hardly be considered big by any stretch of the imagination, but he supposed at least it would be somewhat easy to maintain.

    He could make it work, but at the moment the only thing he could think about was getting caffeine into his system as soon as possible. Dan returned to the kitchen, shoving the key into his pocket and heading for the door. He paused, making a face and grabbing his laptop on second thought. Fuck deadlines and fuck happy endings.

    He slammed the door behind him as he headed in the general direction of the café he'd passed on his way to the house. The town was considerably smaller than anywhere he'd lived before, a few shops and the odd restaurant here and there. The local grocery store was sandwiched between the florist shop and the gallery.

    The Bagel Shop was on the other side of the gallery, a blackboard sitting out front advertising the latest specials in bright yellow chalk. Dan pushed the door open, joining the back of the line and reading the menu.

     A few tables and chairs were scattered amongst the room, the majority of them occupied. Quiet conversation buzzed around him as he stepped up to order.

    "I'll have a large coffee with extra cream and sugar," Dan rattled off.

    The girl standing behind the counter had dark brown hair, the ends dyed a brilliant shade of red. She had a distinctly bored expression on her face as she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Extra cream and sugar or just extra cream?" she asked.

     "Extra cream. Thanks," Dan added. The girl nodded wordlessly, slipping into the backroom. She emerged a few minutes later bearing a large styrofoam cup.

    "Three fifty," she said in a flat tone. Dan fished the money out of his wallet as the girl watched him unblinkingly. "Do you want a receipt with that?"

     "No thanks," Dan muttered, grabbing his coffee and glancing around the room. The conversations were just loud enough to grate on his nerves, and he wasn’t in the mood to introduce himself to anyone. He left without a second glance, readjusting his grip on his computer as he walked down the street.

    A small hill gradually began to appear as he walked, and at the base of it lay the town park. A few rickety, wooden picnic tables were stationed by the playground, and to Dan's relief it looked deserted. He sat on the ground in front of the tables, popping the lid off of his coffee and taking a sip.

    The liquid was still scalding and he jerked the cup away from his lips with a scowl, sucking in a sharp breath in an attempt to cool the inside of his mouth. Dan sat the cup carefully down on the ground beside him, pulling out his laptop and opening the few paragraphs he'd started writing.

      He skimmed it, the frown growing more pronounced as he read on. He could say with no small degree of pride that while he might have written a lot of shitty things during his life so far this wasn't one. On the other hand it wasn't exactly happy ending material, and Dan grudgingly had to admit that regardless of how good it might be there was a certain redundancy to his writing even just in the repeatedly sad endings.

      Dan chewed at his bottom lip, staring at the document and tapping his fingers against the keyboard as he wracked his brains. What kind of writer was he that couldn't manage a happily ever after? It was hardly brain science; white higher middle class cisgirl meets white wealthy cisboy, they fall in love, tragedy strikes and they learn a valuable lesson about life and love.

     Writers had been using the formula for ages and it hadn't failed yet, but something about it struck Dan as being empty and unrealistic. Maybe it was because he was too cynical to believe that anyone could find their true love at the age of sixteen, or that by this point it was so overdone that it was predictable, but he had avoided the formula for over fifteen years and he planned to keep it that way.

    He shut the lid of his laptop, laying back in the grass and closing his eyes. Absolute silence surrounded him, broken only by the quiet exhale of his own breathing. For as long as he could remember Dan had been engulfed in noise, from the traffic to conversations to television to music, and he had almost forgotten the sound of silence.

    Dan opened his eyes and stared up at the clouds drifting lazily overhead. Cloud gazing had always been one of his tricks for ridding himself of Writer’s Block, and out of the current clouds in the sky he thought he could make out the outline of a dinosaur. Not particularly novel worthy. He shifted positions until his arms were tucked behind his head, stretching his legs out in front of him.

     "Pretty, isn't it?"

      Dan sat up so quickly he was pretty sure he heard his neck snap. "Jesus Christ."

     "Phil Lester actually."

     "Funny." Dan's heart began to slow back into a somewhat normal pace.

     "Are you Jesus Christ?"

     "Dan Howell," Dan answered, turning to give Phil a closer inspection. Black hair fell across his forehead in a fringe, dark against pale skin.

     Dan's gaze traveled down and fuck because Phil had some of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Blue wasn't even an adequate adjective, Phil's eyes deserved a word of their own because they were cerulean and azure and an impossible, ever-changing blend of varying shades and hues. Dan’s job was to work with words, yet he couldn’t think of anything that would even come close to being descriptive enough.

     "So tell me, where are you from Dan Howell?" Phil said, jolting Dan out of his thoughts.

      "How did you know I'm not from around here?" Dan asked, eyes narrowing. There was a sort of accent to Phil's voice that he couldn't place, although if he had to hazard a guess he would've gone with northern.

      "You live in a place like this and soon enough you know everything about everyone. Secrets are hard to keep here."

      "I'm from London," Dan said. "Have you lived here your whole life?" He'd been enjoying the quiet from before and normally he wouldn't have bothered to keep a conversation going, but there was something about Phil be it his eyes or something else entirely that made Dan want him to stay for as long as possible.

     "Mostly," Phil shrugged. "I lived further up north for a few years but we moved here when my brother started school. You get to know your way around here pretty quickly."

     "I'm not moving here," Dan said quickly.

     Phil smiled quietly. "Still, I'm assuming that you'll still want to know where you're going even if it's only temporary. What brings you here if you don't mind me asking?"

    "I was banished," Dan said with a straight face. "I'm actually from Mars, the London part was all a farce." Phil's smile widened and for some stupid reason Dan couldn't help but feel proud that he'd elicited that reaction. "Actually I'm here because I'm supposed to write a happy ending by my next deadline."

    "Are you a screenwriter?"

    "Novelist. You?"

    "This and that," Phil shrugged. "You know the likes, right now I'm working at a stationary store but it depends. And before you ask I did go to university but it's harder finding a job I like centered around English and Linguistics than you might think."

    "I didn't finish Uni," Dan said. "My first book was accepted while I was still in college and though I went for a year there wasn't much point, and eventually I quit to pursue writing full time."

    "I haven't read any of your books," Phil said sheepishly. "But I'll definitely look them up once I get home."

     "You really don't have to do that," Dan said, inwardly cringing at the idea of Phil reading anything he'd written. "Most of them aren't very good."

    "I want to," Phil persisted. "I'm sure they're amazing."

    Dan made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. Further refusal of the point seemed both obnoxious and ungrateful regardless of how much he might disagree.

    "So what do you think of the town?" Phil asked. Dan hesitated. "You can be honest," Phil added, the corners of his lips quirking up. "I doubt it's anything that I haven't thought before myself."

    "No it's fine, it's just that it's very small isn't it?"

    "Like I told you, there are no secrets here. We know someone's business before they do."

    "Isn't that hard?" Just off of the top of his head Dan could think of several things he'd no sooner tell someone than cut off his hand.

    Phil shrugged. "It goes both ways I guess. Besides, if you don't tell anyone then it's not really anyone's business is it?"

    Dan frowned. "I'm not sure that's how--"

    "You said you were banished to learn how to write a happy ending," Phil interjected, changing the subject. "Does that mean I should be prepared for a lot of angst?"

     "Death mostly," Dan said reflectively. “A lot of dying.” He had to admit that maybe he did have a bit of an issue where death was concerned, but that didn’t mean he had to go to the ends of the earth to solve it.

     “There’s nothing better than a good helping of death with my morning coffee,” Phil said dryly. “Do you have any ideas for your happy ending yet?”

     Dan sighed, picking up his coffee and taking another sip. It had cooled considerably although it was still a little hot for his taste. “Not exactly.”

      “Not exactly?”

     “I wrote a few things but none of them are really happy ending material,” Dan said.

    “What do you mean by ‘happy ending material?’ Anything can be made into a happy ending, in my opinion the best stories are the ones where do you don’t think there’s going to be a happy ending but it all works out in the end,” Phil said. “It’s always nice with as few cliches as possible, but that’s just personal preference.”

      “I hate mainstream fiction the majority of the time,” Dan said. “It gets a little repetitive after the first twenty-thousand romances.”

       Phil laughed, pink lips parting in a smile as he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “True,” he agreed. “I take it your stories aren’t like that?”

      “I’d like to think that they aren’t,”  Dan said, mentally summarizing everything he’d written and searching for cliches. The first kiss scene he’d ever written had utilized the fireworks cliche, but his editor was quick to scrap it and he was forced to come up with another metaphor.

     “I don’t think you could ever write anything that was seriously cliched,” Phil said confidently. “You seem too creative for that.”

      “Thank you,” Dan said, offering a smile. He couldn’t help but feel slightly suspicious, as Phil seem to hand out compliments as easy as he breathed and in Dan’s experience most people were never that complimentary unless they wanted something. “I’m surprised there aren’t more people here.”

     “Not many people come to the park.” Phil lay back in the grass and closed his eyes. “Not anymore at least.”

     “Why not?”

    “I don’t know,” Phil answered with another shrug, not opening his eyes. “Sometimes school groups will come here or you’ll see the odd child playing on the swingset, but most people tend to avoid here. There was some vandalism a while back but the town replaced the slide.”

     Dan moved his cup out of the way and mirrored Phil’s position, lying down and closing his eyes. “What brings you here?”

     “I like the quiet, and on a clear night the stars look like you could pluck them out of the sky. There's not much else around here to do really."

    "Except nose into other people's business," Dan said.

    Phil smiled. "That too."

    "At least I won't have to worry about getting lost," Dan said. "There's nowhere to get lost."

   "That's literally speaking. Figuratively you never know. Sometimes the trick is to escape from your own brain." Phil eyes flew open and before Dan could say anything else he climbed to his feet in one fluid motion. “Good luck with your happy ending,” he said with a smile.

    “You too,” Dan said automatically. Phil’s abrupt farewell had thrown him, and he scrambled to recover. “I mean, thank you.”

    “‘And they all lived happily ever after’ is always a good note to end on,” Phil said contemplatively. He turned on his heel and began walking towards the forest that bordering the park, hands shoved in his pockets and head tilted slightly towards the ground.

      “See you later?” The sentence emerged sounding more like a question than a statement of fact, but if Dan was going to be stuck here for another two months dammit if he wasn’t going to at least try and befriend Phil Lester.

    “I’ll look you up tonight,” Phil said instead of answering his question. He didn’t look back as he continued to speak, and Dan had to strain to catch the last of his words. He continued watching until Phil disappeared between the trees, and wondering where it was that Phil lived. Most of the houses that he’d seen so far had been lined up side by side a few feet away from the centre of town.