Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dan lied awake under mountains of soft covers, gazing thoughtfully at the ivory ceiling, with gusts of wind passing through the yawning aperture beside him. The screen protecting him from the wild forces of nature had been demolished by his mischievous feline, Cindy, so the air from outside cooled the living space.

The crickets and cicadas of summer were chirping on the opposite side of the window, loud enough to wake the dead, and the sound echoed around his nearly vacant room. It was replete with only the most modest necessities, a couple books sat unread on a chipped bookshelf, and an oaken bed with a rigid mattress was set in the corner of the condensed room.

The faint sound of a coyote calling out made him smile. He loved the rough bark of those animals, their sure way of signaling the others, or whatever their logic was for howling. He enjoyed listening to the way they communicate, like they’re not afraid of anyone hearing them. So unlike humans.

The light emitting from a lamppost outside sliced through the pitch blackness of the night like a blade, forcing Dan to avert his eyes when the curtains flew forward and the brightness of the lamp set his room ablaze. This was the sole light source Dan had at that moment, and the light bulb set in the hallway was dull, and close to dying altogether, so he didn’t bother to flip the switch on it. He’d rather die than admit it, but Dan had a slight fear of the dark. Or rather, what lurked in it.

It was difficult to believe that there was room for a brain under that mop of that boy’s curly brown hair, but it was certainly there, and thoughts were racing through it faster than a sailfish. It was in times like these where he pondered various ideas the most, late at night, where no one expected anything from him. He could even glare at a plain, cream colored wall for hours on end and nobody could say anything about it. Besides his mother, of course, who could yell at him to go the hell to sleep.

He often thought about himself, about who he was, though these weren’t lighthearted ideas. These were the thoughts that plagued him every night and day. These were the anxiety provoking worries that darted around his head at the speed of sound, so fast, he couldn’t begin to grasp them. He contemplated who he wanted to be. Whether he wished to be everyone else’s ideal, or his own person. He was dubious on whether or not he wanted to live up to others seemingly impossible expectations that were continuously changing and shifting. All people had separate expectations for him and who he should aspire to become.
He was hesitant to attempt to be his own person, because it was unclear who he was. Was he whimsical and likeable? Mysterious and reserved? A mixture or the two? He had no clue. It was all very confusing to him, as he was a fairly normal teenager, as far as normal goes. Perhaps he had no personality, and was condemned to be a useless twig for the remainder of his life. This idea frightened him.

He strained to speculate upon the subject of what many have named ‘love’. He wondered who he’d like to kiss, who he’d tolerate marrying. The most terrifying part, is that after mulling it over for several months, he discovered something about himself: He’d like to kiss a boy. Or two.

Many have informed him that this was sinful, and if he ever had the thought of being intimate with one of the same sex, he would dishonor his family. He had grown up in a violently Christian family. He was taught that boys who kiss boys are dangerous, and could kidnap and kill you if you aren’t cautious. Being told this throughout the entirety of his life, he had come to believe that it was a choice. He learned that this was possibly the most untrue thing he’d ever been taught. He did everything in his power to try and arrest these disgraceful feelings, but to no avail.

He regularly gazed upon boys (especially in the locker room, not that he’d ever voice these thoughts), and seldom stared at girls, even the pretty ones in school. The teachers eventually took notice and gave him detention. Dan was immensely glad he didn’t receive a worse punishment. He grew to accept himself more than he did when he first realized it. He learned that it wasn’t a decision for him to make, and there was nothing in the world he could do to stop it. It didn’t mean he liked it.

He didn’t like feeling like a foreigner when the other boys in his school spoke of the girls in hushed voices, and the the girls would stand in little groups, giggling and blushing and whispering amongst themselves. The boys would grasp the girl’s hands in their sweaty ones on February 14th. But Dan had never longed for a female’s hand, instead preferring the, in his experience, rough, calloused hand of a boy, which he’d only felt during rounds of “Ring Around the Rosy” when he was young.

Dan pushed away these distasteful thoughts and tried to sleep, enjoying the feeling of the cool air prickling his skin. His mind raced as he was falling asleep, and it made him all the more drowsy. Boys. Girls. Good. Bad. Right. Wrong. It all blurred together as he delved deeper into the temptation, he finally succumbed to the Sandman and fell asleep to the sounds of summer.

The sun rose without Dan, and when he finally woke, the star temporarily blinded him with the brightness seeping through the open window, casting shadows on his pale skin. Dark freckles dotted his arms and chest. Angel kisses, as his mother dubbed them. He wondered, would he have any of these moles if the angel knew who he liked to kiss?

He elected not to allow that thought the satisfaction of ruining his day, and instead listened to the bird’s calls. One of those winged animals could soar right into Dan’s room if it wanted to. He turned to close the window, and it was secured with the sharp noise of wood hitting wood.

He lied in bed for roughly fifteen minutes before finally deciding to roll off the mattress. He stepped out of his room tiredly, closing his door gently behind him. He trudged into the kitchen, where his father was already up, reading the newspaper and drinking orange juice.

“Good morning, Dad.” Dan greeted his father, trying to muster as much cheerfulness as he could, which wasn’t much, due to his lack of a good night’s sleep. His father grunted in reply, not taking his eyes away from his paper.

Dan clambered into the room and to the table where his father was sitting, and took an apple from the fruit basket. He took a seat in a chair and munched on the fruit reticently.
“What’s the matter? You’re acting quieter than usual.” His father barked. Dan straightened his back, and shook his head.

“Nothing, I’m just tired. It’s fine.” He responded. His dad grunted again and retreated back to his article. Dan finished off his apple quickly, then got up to throw the core away.

“Where’s Mum?” He inquired, sitting back at the table.

“Sleeping.” His father replied curtly. Dan shrugged and ambled back to his room, enervated. He toppled onto his bed, groaning in exasperation. He remembered that he had church the next day, and lamented the death of his freedom. He figured his parents would allow him to leave the house for once, as it was the day before church, which put them in a relatively pleasant mood. He, once again, staggered clumsily down the steps, taking a quick deep breath.

“Hey, Dad?” Dan approached his father cautiously. It appeared the man hadn’t moved an inch, still plopped in his chair, reading the paper as he always did on a Saturday morning. He grunted. That was his signature sound, a grunt that answered anything and everything. Dan’s dad was not a man of words.
“Could I go into town and do something today?” He asked, feeling small.

Grunt. “I guess. Be back by five sharp.” Another grunt.

Dan nearly toppled over in excitement. His folks nearly never let him leave the house unaccompanied. He dashed to his room and grabbed his cellphone, an old flip phone his parents lent him when he was alone. It was tragic. He darted out the door with a quick goodbye, ideas of what to do flooding his brain.

As he strolled down the pavement, he latched onto one idea: the park. He didn’t have any money, so going to the store was out of the question. His parents would always pester him about getting a job. He always refused.

Dan broke into a run as the Franklin Park came into view. He halted once he reached the playground, doubling over in pain. Too much running. Dan heard a deep laugh, and a voice called out, “You okay?”

He glanced up, still breathing heavily, and gave a thumbs up to the disembodied voice. Finally, regaining his ability to use his lungs, he walked toward the park, hoping to find the source of the voice.

Sitting below the rusty metal slide was a boy who appeared to be about Dan’s age. He had shiny black hair, with little strands of ginger poking out. The stranger was staring at the bee infested sand. Dan got the privilege of seeing the boys stunning beryl eyes when the boy lifted his eyes. They were wide with amusement, and his eyebrows were raised. He looked Dan up and down, a small smirk on his face, and crossed his arms. Dan swallowed nervously.

“Why are you smiling like that?” He asked the boy.

“You’re funny.” He replied, unfolding his arms and shoving them into his pockets.

“You don’t even know me.” Dan argued, his cheeks heating up. The boy shrugged.

“What’s your name?”

“Dan.”

“I’m Phil.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Dan challenged, not exactly trying to pick a fight, he just wanted something to happen on his day out. Phil chuckled.

“What question?”

“Why are you smiling like that?” Dan repeated his question from earlier.

“I did answer that. You’re funny.” Phil took a moment to look over Dan again. “Cute.”

Dan went completely red. Cute? He had no idea what to say. This Phil character was really something.

“What? Are you queer or something?” He said, then regretted it.

Phil, who Dan had thought was cool and collected, was speechless and red. He fumbled for words, but instead spewed out nonsense.

“Hey, don’t strain yourself.” Dan thought that this was the most normal and self assured he’s sounded throughout this entire encounter.

Phil suddenly got very angry and scowled.
“What? You have something against queers? Is that it? You fucking prick!” He spat, and Dan was taken aback.

“No.” He muttered, attempting to save himself. “I’m okay with it. Well, are you? Queer, I mean."

Phil’s beautiful eyes were cast down, and Dan missed them.

“I’m figuring it out.” Phil murmured awkwardly. Dan thought about this. He’s known for a while. Why hasn’t Phil figured it out yet? He stared at the boy a bit, taking in his appearance.

“It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.” Dan said in an attempt to console him.

“Whatever, I don’t wanna talk about it.” Phil said, a frosty edge to his voice.

“Alright, it’s all good.” Dan said, relieved he didn’t have to talk about this anymore.

“Do you want to play tag?” Dan asked, trying to take the awkwardness away from the situation.

“After how you reacted to running for about a metre earlier? No thank you.” Phil said, back to his cheerful tone.

Dan laughed. Then Phil. They laughed. They laughed so hard that they had to sit down below the slide, and Dan noticed how beautiful Phil looked when he laughed. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing. Under the slide, with his new found friend, laughing impossibly hard, is where Dan started to accept who he was.

Chapter Text

Dan and Phil exchanged phone numbers before they left the park to go to their respective homes. Dan walked home, feeling fuzzy and warm despite the chill temperature. He’d made a friend! A real friend. Dan never had too many friends, choosing to stick to a few people he could make small talk with. Nobody had taken an interest in him. He’d given up attempting to get people to enjoy his company a long way back. He’d felt as if he’d crossed the Rubicon in a way when he asked Phil about his sexuality. It was kind of forward, he supposed.

Even the fear of being rude didn’t shake his giddy feeling. The breeze blew his hair to the side, and he brushed it out of his face. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It wasn’t necessary, but it was something to do. Dan liked to keep his hands busy.

He decided to text Phil, even though he just left the park. He worried it’d look desperate and stupid, but did it anyway.

Hey Phil If u want 2 come over sometime, I live right near the park. 342 Cherry Street :)

The face wasn’t necessary, but Dan thought it would make him seem less boring, possibly childish. He pressed send and slipped his phone in and out of his pocket nervously. He received a reply a few moments later.

Hey, Dan! Thanks for the address, I’ll stop by sometime :D

Dan smiled down at his phone while walking, almost bumping into a scowling lady.

“Sorry.” He muttered, the smile still present on his face.

He finally arrived home, but struggled to shut the door due to the wind. He heard a snort from behind him.

“Having trouble closing the door, are you.”

There was that annoying voice, coming from the most annoying kid Dan had ever met. William Schmid. William Schmid had bright orange hair, pale skin, and a face full of freckles. He was big and muscular, and used this to his advantage when beating Dan up. His eyebrows were incredibly low on his face, almost covering his squinty blue eyes. His lips were perpetually cast down into a frown. He was almost always crossing his arms, giving off an uneasy and unwelcoming vibe.

“It’s windy.” Dan muttered. William scoffed.

“Why are you here?” Dan knew why William was there.

“Dad’s got a meeting with yours. Don’t know why I gotta come along, too. I’m twelve. I ain’t a baby.” William’s father worked with Dan’s, and Mr. Schmid always insisted on bringing his son along.

“A big scary twelve-year-old.” Dan said under his breath.

“What was that?” William put a pudgy white hand to his ear. He was three years younger than Dan, and quite a bit shorter. But he was large and strong, and Dan was scrawny and unathletic. He could beat Dan to a pulp. And he has. Multiple times.

“Nothing.” Dan tried to escape, ducking behind Williams giant body. But he was too fast, or Dan was too slow. William aimed a punch at Dan’s face. His fist connected with Dan’s lower cheek. He clutched it and knelt down in pain.

“Fuck.” He muttered. He knew there would be a bruise there. He couldn’t tell his father about William’s abuse. He’s never believe him. To all adults, William was a perfect angel who could do no wrong. Dan knew the truth, as did the dozens of other boys William bullied mercilessly.

“Just get the fuck outta here, faggot.” William spat. Literally. The saliva hit the ground right next to Dan. He looked up.

“This is my house.”

“Think I don’t know that? You think I’m dumb?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” Dan stood and brushed imaginary dust off his clothes.

William said nothing more and waltzed out of the room. Dan scowled and ran back outside. He hadn’t seem William for a while (thankfully) and the last time he had, he’d been clueless as to what his sexuality could be. The homophobic slurs didn’t really affect him. This time, though, it hurt a lot.

“Fuck…” He muttered, tears stinging his eyes.

“No.” He said, wiping the corners of his eyes delicately. “I’m not going to cry.”

“Crying, faggot?”

Dan turned around. William was smirking, his hip cocked.

“Go the fuck away.” Dan’s voice cracked as he said this.

“Aw, the little homo’s gonna cry.” William taunted.

“God,” Dan could feel the tears rushing down his face. “Why do you always call me that? What’s- What’s wrong with being- I mean- I mean-”

“What?” William snickered. “You gay or something?”

“N-no.” Dan wiped his cheeks furiously. So weak. So weak.

“Ahah!” William’s eyebrows lifted on his sloped and freckled forehead. “You’re a faggot!”

“Stop!” Dan tried to yell, but it came out a pitiful meow. Fucking pathetic.

“So what if I am? What’s wrong with it?” He attempted to be angry. His voice dripped with sadness. So weak. So weak.

“Daniel likes boys!” William shouted, chortling. “He’s a faggot! Daniel’s a faggot!”

“Stop! Just… Stop.” Dan collapsed to the ground, his hands covering his face. Pathetic and weak. Pathetic and weak.

William paraded away with chants of slurs and swears, leaving Dan to his tears.

He’d had such a pleasant day. He’d met Phil. He was giddy with the prospect of a new friend. He’d gone out alone. He’d started to accept himself. The acceptance was crushed and smothered by William with punches and slurs.

“Why me?” He wiped his eyes and moved to lean against the house. A spider crawled next to his head, but he paid no attention to the little beast. He closed his eyes and groaned. Tears were still streaming down his face, and his shoulders were shaking. He sat there for what felt like seconds, but could be hours or days or weeks.

“Dan?”

Dan’s eyes shot open. What the fuck? Who could that be? The sun had almost gone down, making the sky pastel with pinks and purples. Phil stood in front of Dan, a rusty bike propped up against his hip.

“I just thought I’d stop by. I had nothing better to do.” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Dan swallowed. How could he explain why he was sitting outside? At this time? Dan’s father probably forgot about him. He did that quite a lot.

“What are you doing?” Phil asked, a slight smile on his face.

“I-uh- I just fell asleep.” Dan rubbed his face and yawned for affect. It was probably true. He felt like he’d slept, but he didn’t feel refreshed or relaxed or whatever you feel like when you wake up.

“Oh.” Phil let his bike fall to the ground and sat beside Dan.

“You’re eyes look red.” He murmured, leaning close to Dan’s face.

“Allergies.” Dan’s breath hitched. He was impressed at all the excuses he was coming up with.

Phil hummed as a reply and leaned his head on the house. Dan did the same. They didn’t say anything. Dan didn’t think they needed to, but Phil couldn’t take the silence.

“So… We haven’t really gotten to know each other.” Phil drawled.

“Ask me a question.” The boys didn’t speak loudly. They were right next to each other. Dan didn’t admit it, and never would, but he enjoyed the intimacy of whispering.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Black.”

“Come on, that’s not a real colour!”

“Sure it is.”

“Choose a colour that’s not totally boring.”

“Fine. Navy blue.”

Phil laughed softly, and Dan smiled.

“Mine is probably blue. Bright blue.” Phil answered his own question.

“Of course it is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re just so positive and bubbly. Of course your favourite colour’d be blue.”

Dan had a hard time explaining this, because he was staring directly into Phil’s eyes. Blue. Like the ocean and the sky collide and blend to create the colour that inhabits this boy’s eyes.

“Oh. Uh-” Phil didn’t mention that he definitely noticed Dan’s staring right at his eyes. No. Dan wasn’t staring at Phil’s eyes. He was staring into them. And Phil was staring right back.

“I-” Phil started to say something, but couldn’t. They were staring into each other’s eyes, completely transfixed.

“I- I- um- What’s your- your favourite colour?” Dan asked, swallowing and glancing down.

“I already asked that.” Phil replied, giggling.

“Oh, uh, shit.”

“It’s okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” Phil’s breath hitched as Dan lied his head on the black haired boy’s shoulder.

“Do you mind?” Dan murmured. Phil could feel Dan’s breath tickle his neck. He tried not to squirm.

“N-no.”

And there they sat. The sun eventually went down, and Dan fell asleep. Phil sat in the dark, wanting to go home, but not wanting to wake Dan up. So he got comfortable and wrapped an arm around the other boy. Phil drifted off, too, his feeble attempts to keep his eyes open failed. He didn't really want to stay awake. Who would?