Dan turns over blearily, and, suddenly, as if a switch has been flipped, the raucous sound of his alarm filters through his head, causing him to sit up clumsily. He somehow knocks his head on the wall. What a wake-up.

The room is dark, and Dan fumbles to switch off his alarm and turn on the lamp on his bedside table. He curses under his breath as the blinding light hits his eyes, causing them to scrunch up at the unpleasant brilliance.

As he stumbles out of bed to his closet, he hears shouting from downstairs, but it's too faint for him to make out anything more than his name. Probably just another argument on how to handle his situation. He's been there plenty of times.

Dan opens his closet, pondering his options of what to wear. Black, black, or black seem to be the only choices. Dark and depressing it is. He pulls on tight jeans and a t-shirt before starting downstairs. He almost misses the third step and nearly has a heart attack.

The kitchen is too loud for his taste, and he wonders how just two people can make so much noise. His dad is downing his second gigantic mug of coffee (based on his glaringly bright, hyperactive-looking aura) while his mum is attempting to straighten his tie while making scrambled eggs. Dan waits for them to say something, and when they don't, he clears his throat pointedly.

"Oh, good morning, dear," says his mum quickly, before turning around and resuming her efforts. Her glow flickers. Frustration, most likely.

"Hi, Mum," he replies, sounding monotone.

"Morning, son," acknowledges his father.

"Hi, Dad." He knows it's pointless to ask why they were yelling. All he'll get is a vague response along the lines of oh, nothing, which is practically the equivalent of telling him to run along and play.

Dan's mum gives up trying to fix her husband's tie and focuses her attention on scraping the eggs from the pan to a plate. "These are for you, dear," she says, placing the food in front of him. There's no fork, so Dan gets one himself. It's little things like that which convince him of his parents' distant attitude with their affection. They're small, but they add up.

"How's work, son?" asks his dad.

"Fine."

"Today's the busy day, right?"

"Mhm." The eggs are burnt.

"Well, you'll do fine." He's clearly at a loss of what to say.

"Yep." It's a monosyllable sort of morning.

"Good. Good." His dad is definitely feeling awkward now, and Dan feels a mixture of satisfaction and wow-you-really-messed-that-up-you-little-{shiz}. He pushes the eggs away from him, unable to stand the taste anymore.

"Well, I should head out," Dan says, an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. The atmosphere in the room is still awkward, and his parents' glows are restless. One could almost say wary.

"All right, have a nice day, then," his mum answers.

"Thanks. Same to you." He doesn't mean it. Not really.

Dan steps out the side door and into the garage. He's still surprised that his parents let him have his own car. He barely trusts himself at the wheel.

As he pulls out of the driveway, he groans at the memorisation that today is a Wednesday.

At the retail store where Dan (unfortunately) works, Wednesdays are "stock days," known by the employees as, simply, "hell." It's when all the products for the week come in and the workers have to stock the shelves. Making the already difficult hours of labour worse is their boss, who constantly shouts such encouragements as, "Hurry up!" and "You're all worthless!" He's a short, balding, blustery man, but everyone fears him. Someone with a glow as forceful as his is not to be toyed with.

Dan cringes with disgust at the thought of him. Having no glow, he seems to receive extra-harsh treatment. Even his co-workers maintain a respectful distance. Although, from the looks of some of them, they feel no respect at all.

Dan hates his job with every ounce of his being. He feels trapped, trapped in a space where he's put on display for everyone to see and be disgusted by. He's received many a tearful look from little children, whose mothers take one look at what their kid is seeing and quickly drag them off with the half-apologetic, half-fearful look that he's been given countless times before.

The worst is when there's pity mixed in.

He pulls into the parking lot after a fifteen-minute drive, and he's already so thoroughly disgusted with this day that he's not sure he even wants to get out of his car. Something inside him wins, however, and he slams the car door as hard as possible in an attempt to release some of his frustration. Needless to say, it doesn't work. He walks to the front door and swipes his employee badge to access the still-closed store.

The store has possibly the tackiest colour scheme ever (magenta and pastel blue), and it smells like a combination of bleach, bad perfume, and something resembling coffee and pizza mixed together. Dan wrinkles his nose as he steps inside. He should be used to the smell after working there for about three years, but an aroma that shocking is hard to adapt to.

The overly pushy voice of his boss cuts through the otherwise quiet air of the unopened store. As he makes his way to the employee check-in area, the loud man comes into view. He's yelling at an employee, who looks terrified despite being nearly twice his size. "I told you!" he screams. "They're coming half an hour early today! You're going to be ready whether you like it or not!" Dan can barely make out a faint yessir from the employee before she scuttles off (she's literally shaking). The boss looks somewhat satisfied with himself and Dan sees his upper lip curl into a more than slightly deranged smile. His disgust at his boss is turned abruptly to shock as he sees the smirking face slowly turn his way.

"HOWELL!" Dan cringes in fear as those beady eyes bore into him. "You're five minutes late!" He's actually three minutes early, but he's not about to argue, especially with employees beginning to peek their heads out from various aisles where they've been setting up. Under any other circumstance, no one would blink an eye at the boss yelling, it happens so frequently. But this time, it's Dan who's getting the full force of the wrath, the guy with no glow, and everyone watches as if he's some kind of monster.

Which he is.

"Sorry, sir," he says, attempting to scrape past his boss to get to the coatrack, where the mandatory employee vests are hung.

"Howell! Don't move when I speak to you! Look me in the eyes!" Dan obeys, and the fear turned to loathing in his eyes must be apparent, because his boss's face flushes quickly, almost frighteningly.

"Who do you think you are, Howell?" he growls, pulling Dan close to him by the front of his shirt. They're close enough to kiss, if either of them wanted to, but all Dan can see is the livid, yellow-toothed mouth before his eyes. He suppresses a choice comment as utter hatred like he's never felt before (except for when looking at himself) fills him, nearly choking him with its utter depth. It's surprising enough that he has the balls to touch Dan; most people don't even get close.

"I said, who do you think you are, Howell?" he spits again when Dan doesn't answer the first time.

He's not about to give him the satisfaction.

He's closer and his tone is deadly, all the more frightening for it.

"Listen to me, Howell, and listen good."

Well, Dan wants to say. Listen well.

"It's a miracle I even let you work here. You're disgusting, Howell, absolutely disgusting. This is the only place that'll take you in, and it's about {goshdang} time you realised that. Start being grateful, or you will not have a job, and that I can assure you of."

Dan glares at him.

"You've got unloading duty today. They're coming in twenty minutes, so get on it. Now."

"Yessir."

"I can't hear you, Howell!"

"Yes. Sir."

He's pushed roughly away. His boss walks off to terrorise someone else and the store slowly regains the soft buzz of preparation for the day. Dan wants to collapse against the wall. Utter helplessness, exhaustion, rage, and desolation come together in a horrific cocktail that drains him quicker than he'd ever thought possible. However, he's not about to let his boss-or anyone else, for that matter-see that he's got the best of him. He takes a deep breath that shudders slightly at the end and puts a vest over his head.

Time for work.

On a typical Wednesday, Dan has stock duty, which means he just fills the shelves with products. It's not that hard of a job. He's left to himself, he just listens to music on his phone, and he's got a cart to wheel the things around on, saving him from any truly strenuous work.

But today will be different.

Dan's never been the most athletic person, to put it lightly, and unloading requires people who are just that. It's a labour-intensive job, and most of the people who have it on a regular basis are big, burly men who are about seven feet tall, weigh about three hundred pounds, and never speak to anyone. They're huge rocks of people, and, quite frankly, Dan's scared of them. He's heard quite a few horror stories from employees who've had to work with them only once and never want to go back again. It's literally the worst thing Dan can imagine-work that requires physical activity, being outside, and actually talking to people-and if he didn't need this job, he'd leave right now.

All of these thoughts whirl chaotically around and around in his mind as he walks through the store to the unloading dock outside. A few men are already yelling at each other, and Dan takes a deep breath as he braces himself. Only six hours (plus a lunch break) and he's done. How bad can it be?

The answer is horribly, terribly bad.

After just the first hour, he was gasping for breath and his arms felt like wilted cabbage leaves from loading boxes onto carts. He's not sure how he was physically able to survive, but he's done it somehow. He collapses against a wall, breathing laboriously and thinking somewhere in the depth of his mind that isn't preoccupied with his pain that he needs water.

He leans there against the wall until his head stops spinning and his legs can carry him sufficiently. There's a water fountain by the men's employee restroom in the back of the store, and Dan walks as fast as his legs can carry him to the shiny bearer of joy. The tepid, metallic-tasting water has never been so refreshing as now, and Dan guzzles the water thirstily. His head clears and he feels a small strength begin to flow into his limbs. Better.

He raises his head and looks at the clock hanging slightly crookedly above the water fountain. Exactly forty-five seconds until the day's over and he can drive home and crash in his bedroom. He's got a long, well-deserved nap awaiting him there. Just imagining the bliss of sleeping off the utter exhaustion of the day makes him smile as he goes in for another drink.

He finishes slurping up the water with ten seconds to go and starts making his way to the vest rack, going slowly because he knows the boss prowls the area before closing, making sure no one can leave even a second before they're supposed to. After a few seconds of waiting in the cereal aisle, a shrill ring sounds around the store, emanating from the various clocks on the walls. A tired, relieved smile makes its way softly onto Dan's lips. Time to go.

He could almost run out of the store if he wasn't so tired. Instead, he walks outside as quickly as his deadened legs will allow him.

Just adding to one of the many inconveniences of this near-hellhole is that the parking lot is a full quarter-mile away. Dan steps into the darkening afternoon sky. He checks his watch. Five o' clock. The air is cooling slightly, and he wishes he had brought a jacket as he sticks his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. His attempt to warm himself slightly doesn't help, and his t-shirt flutters in the wind picking up. He shivers, hunching his shoulders and looking down at the pavement. An empty crisp bag rasps over the cement before Dan, and he's hit with a sudden feeling of loneliness. He scuffs the ground with the toe of his shoe as he continues walking.

And then, out of nowhere, he runs into something soft but also solid. He's knocked to the ground and the air in his lungs whooshes out. It's only when he hears a stifled oof that he realises he's just run into a person.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I just-" The voice is cut short as Dan looks up to see who he's collided with.

The young man's face is unfamiliar. He looks to be a few years older than Dan. Wintry white skin, vibrant blue eyes, and jet-black hair all combine to make up an interesting facial palette. His eyebrows raise slightly as his eyes meet Dan's. Most likely a response to seeing him without a glow. Dan's surprised, actually. Most times it's worse.

"Oh, um, I'm Phil. Care for a hand up?" Dan looks at his extended arm cautiously before reaching out and latching his fingers to Phil's. The boy tugs him up and starts talking again.

"What's your name? You kind of look like a...Winston, or a-"

"Dan. My name is Dan." No comment on his lack of brightness.

"Oh, Dan! That suits you much better. You know, I really am sorry. Could I make it up to you somehow? I could-"

All of a sudden, his babbling is cut off as his eyes widen so much Dan thinks that they might pop out of his head.

"You-you're-" he points his finger at Dan's legs. Dan looks down and nearly passes out.

Because there, right in front of his eyes, a reddish-green glow is enveloping his body.