Chapter Five - Dan:

It started with blonde, overflowing amounts of blonde, curling everywhere the eye could find- enough to make even Rapunzel envious.

The afternoon was dreary as I sat in the back of the art room, sketching absent mindedly, the sky's funeral-like attitude reveling in its teenage angst- its "grunge" phase. The day was nearly over and I hadn't seen Phil yet, my anxiety growing by the minute.

Since the evening of the dinner with Phil and his family- well, family plus Aphrodite- he'd been giving me rides to school. Rides, that made it so hard to remember the promises I made myself. Because drives with Phil were always unexpected, even when I'd spend the whole night before trying to prepare myself.

Sometimes they were like all the air had been sucked out of the room- Phil's back tense in some hidden anger and arms bare, his tattoo's winking at me mischievously, not a word breathed between us in fear of a cosmic explosion.

Sometimes they were like visiting the ocean- Phil's wild eyes like seashells I wished to collect, his words about something he felt passionate- being caught in the salty wind sneaking in from the rolled down windows, and carried away for the world to hear.

Sometimes they were like sitting in a church- a hundred different parts of Phil's history colliding into each other simultaneously, in a cacophony of shattered glass transformed to chalk, a mosaic of all Past Phil's trying to seep out, while I tried to keep up in rain of words he was weeping.

Everytime was different. Except-

No matter what the mood- repressed anger, bare joy, deep sorrow or enthusiasm- Phil always managed to fill in the awkward silences I couldn't. He managed to be both loud and soft- loud like he was drowning out the sound of rushing water I never stopped hearing, and soft like he was caressing the fragile pages of my old life. I was beginning to become desperately attached to Phil Lester, enough to make me stay up at night thinking about his ghostly face, but not like I had when I was with Aaron. I never wanted anything to be like it was when I was with Aaron.

But with this attachment came obsession. And with this obsession came worry.

So there I sat, in the messy art room, the dull throb of worry in my throat- similar to that of this mornings- when I realized Phil wasn't coming.

And what a humiliating moment that had been.

I was so lost in thought I didn't immediately notice the usual gold appearance- a few students in front of them giving him unintentional cover- and I was too involved with my latest drawing to care. It wasn't until they sat down right across from me, grumbling like an old Chevy truck engine, and muttering quick angry latin under his breath.

I jerked my head up to find Phil in all his shocking glory.

At first, I didn't understand- there was so much blonde! It was covering all of Phil's once black hair, the butter colored locks curled angrily behind his ears and pushed up from his forehead.

I'd admit, it did suit him in a way- although, Phil Lester could probably wear or do anything and manage to pull it off spectacularly.

His face was crumpled into a tight expression, as if it physically pained him to have his hair this humiliating color.

Been messing with bleach again, have we? I signed, forgetting completely the anxiety of this morning.

With Phil, I'd gotten used to being more bold, but never would I be as comfortable as Phil when he spoke. He was able to say everything and anything, and able to execute it as though he was stealing all the words in the room and claiming them, leaving his opponent speechless.

Phil looked up distastefully at his hair, picking out one curl and bringing it down to eye level.

"Fucking Meredith," he said, releasing the curl and letting it spring back to the others. "I knew she was going to be pissed about that prank." He was using his cosmic explosion voice. "She put fucking bleach into my shampoo. Bleach! Sie ist eine psycho!"

He rubbed his hands over his face in despair, mumbling more unintelligible German.

Along with categorizing all of Phil's smiles, I'd spent a great deal of time differentiating languages. Monday's were Latin and Swedish, Tuesday's were Russian, Wednesday's were German, Thursday's were Japanese, and Friday's were Spanish. French was a given everyday.

I sighed, they kind that made Phil roll his eyes.

How did you manage to dye your hair? I signed. I thought dye had to be left in for a certain amount of time.

Phil removed his hands to look at me sheepishly. "I was taking care of something else while I left the shampoo in."

I stared uncomprehendingly.

Phil blinked. Then groaned. "God, Howell. Sometimes you're unbelievably thick. I was getting off, duffus!" he said, making some obscene hand gesture that was I guess the representation of him "getting off".

I felt my cheeks warm, as my mind wandered.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

I blushed more. No.

"Yes you are."

No, I'm not. I signed stubbornly.

"You're so imagining it. Dude, I know your lying face."

No, you don't, I signed indignantly, feeling slightly exposed knowing that Phil knew my facial expressions well enough.

"Yeah, I really do. Have you ever tried it?" Phil asked, making the obscene hand gesture once again.

I ducked my head, my ears blushing.

"Oh, my, god. You haven't, have you? Comment voulez-vous même survivre?" He shook his head. "You know, sometimes I forget you're actually a girl," Phil said ruffling his blonde halo in disdain.

I glowered at him.

"Don't we all though, Lester?"

The voice was like when I broke the surface of the water for the first time, in that grimy bath tub years ago- causing fear and adrenaline to course through the hollows of my limbs.

I tilted my head slowly to see Logan and Eli sauntering towards us, their cocky grins peeling away at my skin. I glanced at Phil, worried, his expression blank except for the firm line of his jaw.

"What's up ladies?" Logan said as the two of them halted at our table. They leaned over us like giant trees as Phil and I looked up at them- Phil with a sort of malice and amusement, jaw still firm.

"Melissa's not here today," Logan continued, flicking his forehead up to remove a piece of hair from his eyes. "So I thought I'd join you art geeks."

Eli snickered at the poor attempt at a joke- not picking up on the fact that Logan was insulting him too- and threw himself into the seat next to Phil.

Logan sat down delicately next to me.

My eyes sought out Phil's, trying to convey the panic attack I was having.

Phil looked at me steadily and mumbled, "Ich habe dich."

I closed my eyes briefly, remembering him whispering that to me after he dropped me off at my house, the night of the dinner.

I've got you.

The teacher began giving instructions about our new sketching assignment- his pauses leaving gaps for whispers to be filled.

"Hey, Poof," Logan whispered to me, watching the teacher out of the corner of his eye.

I turned to him, my eyes sliding off his bulky features, everything about him screaming "meat head".

"I never got to finish lookin' at that book of yours," he said raising one dark eyebrow. "You gonna let me see it?"

I blinked.

"Dude, just stop with the sketch book thing," Phil defended, his arms crossed over his chest. "What is it with you and that thing?"

Logan shifted so he was looking at Phil, the arrogance practically strangling the air in my lungs. "Don't you wonder what Poof over here keeps in it? Why he doesn't want anyone to see it?"

"No." Phil said. We all knew he was lying.

"Because," Logan said, snatching my bag from the floor and rummaging around inside it.

I made a noise of protest, but didn't move to grab it back.

"I think I already know what's inside it." Logan pressed, pulling out my sketchbook, his smile sharp and dangerous. "And I want to know if I'm right."

Phil didn't move.

I tried using telepathy to get Phil to snatch it back.

It didn't work.

I wanted to shout at him.

I couldn't.

Didn't Phil know? I thought, distressed. Didn't Phil realize that once he knew what was in there, he'd never want to be my friend again? Didn't he know?

I sat rigid as Logan thumbed through my book, the day in geometry surging back to me- only this time I didn't think Phil was going to save me.

"There. And there. And- oh- there. Woaw. Do you draw anything else?" Logan said.

I knew he was looking at the drawings. The drawings of boys: ones half finished or half naked it didn't matter because he knew what it really meant. And he was going to be sure Phil knew too.

Phil was looking out the window, the line of his jaw becoming more and more jagged.

He was mad.

So why wasn't he doing anything?

"Oh." Logan said, sounding genuinely surprised. Immediately, I knew he'd found the picture of Phil. "I didn't expect this. Although, I did, didn't I?"

He passed the book to Eli. He whistled.

"Dude," Eli said, his similar blocky features making his mouth that of a hippopotamus'. "That's one naked dude."

That caught Phil's attention.

He snapped his head over to look at the cover, the cover that was blessedly hiding the life-like drawing of a certain boy's anatomy.

Phil continued to look at the book as Eli handed it back to Logan, Phil's out of place black eyebrows, raised.

"Oh, yeah." Logan said, not missing a beat as he tore out the picture of Phil I'd worked so hard on, folded it up, and shoved it into his pocket. "Didn't Poof tell you?"

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see Phil's betrayal when Logan told him.

Ich habe dich. What a bunch of bullshit.

"He's a queer." Logan said, finally. I could hear the pure satisfaction in the statement, that he'd been the one to break it to Phil- and in turn fracture me.

And then- the silence.

I felt my heart shrivel up. I closed my eyes and for the first time in my life, wished I was in the grimy bath tub- just so I could cry where no one would hear me.

"And?"

I cracked my eyes open.

Phil was staring at Logan and Eli with his face completely messed up. It was as if Picasso himself had decided to reconstruct Phil's face right then and there.

"And!?" Phil repeated.

Logan and Eli shared stunned expressions. This was obviously not how it was supposed to go.

Ich habe dich.

"What? Were you expecting me to be agast? To be disgusted? To high-five you two and shout 'Fag!' in his face as we waltzed out of here like assholes, slapping one anothers shoulders and fist bumping like a bunch of fucking meat heads?"

I stared in wonder at the remarkable creature Phil Lester was.

Phil leaned over his desk, arms braced on the sides, getting right up in Logan's face.

"I don't know when you'll get it into you guys thick fucking brains that I'm. Not. One. Of. You. I never want to be some stupid fucking crow."

Logan sputtered. This was obviously not how it was supposed to go.

"Apologize to Howell." Phil hissed.

Logan, regaining some of his pride, narrowed his eyes.

They stared at one another, Eli and I nothing more than background noise at this point: it was just the two of them, and their robust loathing.

"No." Logan said.

Phil smiled, his face crumbling even more, almost completely distorted. It was terrifying.

Suddenly, Logan shot up with a yelp, grabbing his hand, shouting profanities, and dancing around in the center of the room.

Everyone in the class stopped what they were doing to gaze upon the spectacle he was making of himself.

Phil laughed, barbed and fatal, head thrown back. It was the kind of laugh that came from the misery of another, not from amusement.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Logan said, still clutching his hand. Eli and I looked at Phil and Logan, confused as to what transpired.

"I told you to apologize," Phil said.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to go and stab me!" Logan said indignantly.

I looked over at Phil, twirling a pencil, the point of it red and stained.

Phil stuck it behind his ear as he stood, like he would do one of his cigarettes, as Eli and I sat uselessly along with the rest of the class, captivated by the scene.

What an unusual day it was turning out to be.

"I don't know if you're aware, Marters," Phil said, walking over to Logan, who still clutched his semi-bloody hand and eyed Phil warily.

"But," Phil urged. "I'm not someone who takes 'no' for an answer."

Logan's lips quirked as he dropped his hands, both of them now covered in crusted blood.

"Well, that's good to know, Lester," he said, his smirk turning into something nasty. "Because I'm not one who apologizes to queers and their lapdogs."

There was an awful sound- bone hitting bone- and then Logan was on the ground.

Everyone stared stunned, even the teacher with the receiver of the phone half raised- probably to call the principle.

Logan grunted, and pushed himself up, before taking a swing at Phil, just barely grazing his shoulder. Phil smiled and he dodged Logan's every strike- until Logan got the other fist involved.

Again was the sound- bone hitting bone.

Then it just became brutal combat- the kind that was meant, and felt, and purposeful. It was just fists and arms and legs and horrible splintering sounds. I'd never seen so many colors.

Red and raw knuckles. Swing.

Purple and blue eye sockets. Crack.

White exposed limbs with black stenciled patterns. Crunch. Snap. Thud.

There was nothing but a blur of two bodies, sweating and moving and alive.

It was like a room of wild and violent animals had be let loose.

It was like watching two worlds that had collided.

It was like cosmic explosion.

That continued

and continued

and continued

and-

"STOP!" someone shouted.

Ich habe dich.

* * *

I sat quietly in an uncomfortable office chair, the kind you would find in a children's doctor office or the dentist. I stared at my faded shoe laces while I waited for Phil.

After the principal had walked into the art room, the fight was over as soon as it had begun. Logan and Phil had jumped apart, both bashed and dripping fluids that should have been in their bodies. The room was still.

The principal had had some select words to say, but Phil and Logan had both gotten off easy; Phil because of his unnatural charm and Logan because it was, surprisingly, his first offence.

Class was dismissed after the principal had walked the two of them down to the office. I'd snatched up my sketchbook, leaving dumbfounded Eli, and had ran to the office, purtching myself on a crinkly office chair.

As I waited, my head was mess- worry and adoration duking it out in my skull. I kept hearing Phil's voice when he said "And!?" to Logan.

And what? I thought.

I'd never felt so paranoid in my whole life. I didn't know whether I should be happy that Phil knew, or unbelievably terrified. Probably both.I knew that I didn't have too much to worry about though- otherwise I'd be the one wearing the marks instead of Logan.

The door to my left opened and Phil stepped out, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at a folded piece of paper in his hand. He looked over at me, before jumping slightly, the empty hand coming to rest over his heart.

"Fuck!" he said, blinking a few times. "Dude, you scared the shit out of me, god."

He smiled a little, looking at the ground before shaking his head, stuffing the piece of paper in his coat pocket, and taking a seat next to me.

We didn't look at each other, both of us finding our shoe laces fascinating.

"Have you been waiting for me?" he asked softly.

I nodded even though he wasn't looking at me.

"I would've thought you'd have gone home by now."

I nodded again.

"Was it true?" Phil said, in the same soft voice.

I nodded repeatedly. We both knew what he was talking about, even though we didn't want to say it.

Phil shifted towards me and I could tell he was looking at my face.

"Dan?"

My neck snapped up at the sound of my name, my real name. I looked at Phil, his shoulders hunched and body beaten. He looked so tired then.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't say anything.

"Were you scared?"

I looked down, eye contact proving to be too difficult for this kind of conversation.

I nodded- it was all I seemed capable of doing at this point.

"Did have something to do with this?" he asked. I felt the lightest touch of fingers at the base of my jaw, almost like a kiss.

My eyelashes fluttered.

"With the reason you don't talk?"

I noticed how he specifically used the word don't instead of can't.

I nodded multiple times.

I felt his fingers leave, and selfishly wished them back.

It didn't work.

"But that still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me?" he said, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

I felt the weight of the question- it's importance- baring down on me.

I shook my head.

I heard Phil sigh.

"You know I don't care that you're gay, right?" Phil said. He said the word gay like he would say pretty or delightful or cake. It wasn't how other people said it- like they meant to say repulsive or filthy or garbage.

I know, I signed, gathering the courage to look up at Phil.

He was smiling, the same one he'd given my the day he'd drawn me- open and closed at the same time.

He knocked our foreheads together briefly and whispered, "Ich habe dich, Dan."

It felt like the sun had nested itself into my cheeks.

"Alright," Phil said louder, standing up. "Alright, I'm fucking starving and I don't know about you Howell, but I could go for some burgers."

I nodded at him, still slightly uneasy.

I wasn't sure if it was the unfamiliar touches, or how he'd stopped using my given name, or how we still hadn't talked about the book of drawn naked guys and naked him.

But for some reason I felt like the conversation was unfinished.

* * *

"Have you ever tasted something so greasy in your entire life?" Phil said, mouthful or burger. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other wrapped around said greasy burger.

I wrinkled my nose at the smell, continuing to shovel my large portion of fries into my mouth.

"Don't be such a-" Phil waved the burger hand, not elaborating.

I could think of a variety of Logan-like words that could fill in that blank: pussy, girl, prude.

"-Burger hater." Phil said.

I laugh despite myself, nearly sending potato up my nose. He smiled, as if he had accomplished something.

We kept munching and thinking as Phil drove past familiar street signs to my block. He rolled the Benz up by my house and turned off the engine.

He finished his burger, crumpling up the wrapper and stuffing it into the paper bag.

I watched him as he reached up onto the dashboard to grab his cigarette packet and pull one out. Phil twirled it, like he had the pencil when he'd stabbed Logan.

I thought about his tone again when he'd said "And!?", not even noticing as Phil leaned over me and stole one of my fries.

"Whach ya thinking about?" Phil asked as he chewed.

Nothing, I signed.

"Liar."

I looked a Phil warily as he pinched the cigarette between two fingers, tapping the end of it on the steering wheel, before flipping it and tapping the other end. Tap, pause, tap.

Phil looked at me. Tap, pause, tap.

I was just thinking about the fight, I signed.

"What about it?" Tap, pause, tap.

Why didn't you agree with Logan and Eli?

Tap, pause.

Phil stopped moving as he stared at me. "What's in your book, Howell?"

I didn't like the way he said my last name.

Nothing, stop avoiding my question, I signed annoyed.

"Stop avoiding my question. Because it seems to me that I've answered all your nosy questions,, but you've refused to tell me anything. Because you don't trust me."

I thought back to when I'd punched him in the school parking lot.

Phil leaned over his seat, getting right up in my face, all of his soft features turning sharp.

"Why do you hate showers, Dan? Why don't you want to show me what's in your book, Dan? Why don't you talk, Dan?"

Each mocking question felt like a blow to my gut.

"If you want answers, Dan, you're going to have to start learning how to trust me." Phil snarled.

I felt his hot breath ghost over my embarrassed face.

Well, fuck you Phil Lester, I signed with my last shred of pride, as I backed out of the car and slammed the door.

I felt wet trails down my cheeks but ignored them, shoving my bag up my shoulder.

Stupid Phil Lester.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I stomped up the steps and reached my door. I was so mad at myself- I knew Phil deserved answers, but I couldn't bare to give them to him. I had box of fragile things inside me for a reason- another secret I couldn't tell Phil.

I took several deep, choked breaths, trying to convince myself not to turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

I turned around.

I saw Phil through the passenger window, his head pressed against the steering wheel, his eyes scrunched close. The cigarette was behind his ear, my fries still on my seat.

He looked so sad, and tired- not like the boy who was beating Logan earlier. He looked like the boy who sat with the crows, trying to do the right thing when everyone else wasn't.

He looked up then, as if he knew I was watching him.

We just gazed sadly at one another, regretting both what was said and what was not.

He mouthed something at me, before starting up the car.

By the time he had pulled away from the curb and was nothing but red tail lights at the end of the street, I'd finally figured out what he'd said.

Ich habe dich.

A/N:

Holy shit i think this is my longest chapter yet. Sorry if you felt this chapter was a bit fillery again because it kind of was BUT OH MYGOD PHIL KNOWS DANS GAY THOU!!

Also holy shit about 1.4K reads!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! it feels like it was only yesterday and i had like 200 and i was freaking the fuck out. thank you to everyone who's stuck by me even with my inconsistant posting. i'll try to be better about posting more often lol

translations:

Sie ist eine psycho! = she's a psycho

Comment voulez-vous même survivre? = how do you even survive?

Ich habe dich. = I've got you

thank you all again love y'all!

EddyXxx