#i have like two to four wips like that.. just entire gibberish for me to decode in the morning when im fully conscious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danfanciesphil · 6 years

Text

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER NINE] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, heavy drinking, drug mentions, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Chapter Eight]

[Ao3!]

Phil paces up Dan’s driveway slowly, the car keys digging into his palm. He’s sweating with nerves already, making his t-shirt cling to his shoulders. It’s only a few degrees outside, but he’s warm through and through. He glances behind him to check once again that the car looks unscathed.

He takes a moment to psych himself up, then knocks on the flaking wooden pane. There’s a muffled woman’s voice yelling from inside, telling someone to ‘get the bloody door’. Nobody answers her. Then, footsteps stomping, and the door is wrenched open, revealing a woman, her straw-blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a onesie, pushed down so it’s bunched around her hips, and a ‘Blondie’ t-shirt. At first, Phil assumes she must be a lodger, or a guest, but then he catches sight of her chocolate brown eyes, and the chestnut colour of her roots.

“Hi,” says Phil. “Are you Dan’s mum?”

“Unfortunately,” she says, looking Phil up and down. “Who’re you?”

To begin with, Phil had found it strange that he’d never met Dan’s mum, considering the amount of times he visited Dan’s house. Dan never liked bringing him over, always preferring to meet up elsewhere, or at Phil’s, but he couldn’t always make an excuse. Each time Phil managed to weasel his way into Dan’s place, his mum was nowhere to be seen. Phil learned, eventually, after pressing Dan, that his mum worked night shifts in a care home, meaning she slept in the day. He notes the dark, purpling circles underneath her eyes now, and swallows guiltily.

“Sorry,” Phil says. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I’m Dan’s friend. Is he here?”

She frowns. “Dan’s friend? He’s never had no friends come round before.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. She sighs, wiping a hand across her exhausted face. “Look, I dunno where he is. Haven’t seen him since-” She stops, latching onto something in the distance, beyond Phil. “Bloody hell, is that Ricky’s car? Did you bring that here?”

“Um, yes,” Phil says, nervously. He unfurls his fist, revealing the keys and holding them out to her. “I’m returning it.”

“Returning it from when you stole it?” She’s quick to anger, Phil realises. “You’ve no idea what I’ve had to put up with, Ricky’s been ranting and smashing shit. Dan thinks he can do whatever he likes, treating this place like a hotel- I should throw him out for this.” She snatches the keys from Phil, face growing crimson. “And you’re the accomplice, are you? Fuck’s sake, and he’s sent you here instead of facing up to me himself, is that it?”

“Actually,” Phil says softly. “I haven’t seen him since last night. He left Prom early. I don’t know where he went. A friend drove me home.”

“Well, when you see him you can let him know that he can deal with his brother when he shows up here,” Dan’s mum says with a snarl. “If he thinks I’m gonna hold Ricky off, he’s got another thing coming.”

Phil frowns, shifting from foot to foot as he struggles for a response. She doesn’t seem to care that Dan hasn’t been heard from all night, and it’s baffling to Phil. He imagines his own mother in the same situation - she’d be frantic with worry. He senses Dan’s mum staring at him, as though she’s puzzling over something. He meets her quizzical eye, self-conscious.

“Oi, haven’t I seen you before?”

“I don’t think so.”

She stares a while longer. “Hang on, you’re the little rat I saw sneakin’ out of Dan’s room the night before last.”

Phil flushes bright red, a load of gibberish beginning to spill out. He’d thought nobody had caught that shameful moment.

“You his boyfriend? Or just a quick shag?”

Phil’s cheeks burn. “We- we’re just friends.”

She snorts, then reaches into her pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “I know a walk of shame when I see one, love.” She shoves the cigarette between her lips. The movement is startlingly similar to how Dan does it. “Don’t blame you. That boy’s a fuckin’ nightmare.”

The obvious disdain rips through the soft, supple skin of Phil’s heart. Hearing Dan’s own mother talking about him this way is awful. If this is what Dan has to endure on a daily basis, it’s no wonder he hates being at home. Phil had always assumed that it was more to do with Ricky, but having this on top must make it near unbearable for him. It makes Phil want to wrap Dan in his arms, to yank him out of this house, and keep him safe somewhere, perhaps sat at the stool of his piano that Dan quietly loves so much. Or in Phil’s bed, dressed in a stupid big t-shirt, sipping hot chocolate his mum makes. The guilt surges up inside Phil’s body, choking him from the inside out. What scum he is, for adding to Dan’s pain.

“He’s fucking awesome, actually,” Phil finds himself blurting out, voice louder than he initially intends. “I’m lucky to be his friend, let alone anything else. You should be grateful Dan turned out as selfless, and intelligent, and sensitive as he is. Because he obviously doesn’t owe anything to you.”

He sees the furious retort brewing in Dan’s mum’s throat, but he doesn’t wait around for it. He storms away, blood roaring in his ears, drowning out whatever she might be yelling after him. It only occurs to Phil as he’s halfway back to his own house, that he potentially just made it even more difficult for Dan to return home.

Three nights after Prom, and Dan hasn’t slept in his own bed once. He’s stopped home briefly, during the hours he knew his mum and Ricky would be out or asleep, to gather a load of belongings – changes of underwear, a jacket he’d forgotten to take on Prom night, a toothbrush, etc. To his mild intrigue, he noticed that Ricky’s car had been returned to the driveway. Lee must have dropped it back there, after dropping Phil and Amanda home. At least Dan won’t have to track it down.

The Ozone band is shit tonight. Maybe the out of tune, dissonant noise blaring out of the speakers is the fault of the tone-deaf bassist on stage. More likely, it’s due to the fact that the sound technician currently has his tongue down Dan’s throat. He’s not that attractive, but Sam is easy, and lusts after Dan like a bloodhound. Right now, all Dan wants to feel are grabby, insistent hands and the clack of teeth against his. He needs violent distraction. Sam is all too happy to supply it.

It’s a shame he tastes so vile. Like the cinnamon vape stick constantly stuck between his lips, and warm, ashy beer. Dan pulls back once he can no longer stand it, and shoves Sam’s head into the crook of his neck.

“Bite me if you want,” he mutters, swigging the beer Sam has left on the sound desk. “I don’t give a shit.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Sam sinks his teeth in. Dan shuts his eyes as the pain lances through him, picturing the blood vessels bursting, purpling his skin, obscuring the mark that Phil left, that refuses to fade, covering it with something darker, worse.

And then, in an instant, Sam is being wrenched off him, pulled back with such force that Dan nearly slips off the desk entirely. Sam yelps, not expecting it, and falls flat on his ass. Bleary and vaguely nauseous, Dan fixates on whoever it is that has so rudely interrupted them. Phil stands there, the lines on his forehead pronounced, club lights dancing across his blue eyes as they flick between Sam and Dan, not quite sure how to proceed. Sam is struggling on the floor, clearly too wasted to haul himself up again in the tight space of the sound booth.

“What the fuck’re y’doing?” Dan spits.

“Me?” Phil asks, incredulous. “What about you?! Who even is this guy?”

Just then, Sam manages to wrench himself back to a standing position. He shoves Phil in the chest, hard. Dan rolls his eyes. If he has to jump in the middle of this to prevent a fight, he’ll punch Phil afterwards for making him.

“What’s your problem, dickhead?” Sam yells, spittle flying from his lips.

Phil takes a step backwards, but doesn’t flinch. He ignores Sam, eyes furiously boring into Dan’s. “Come with me.”

“Uh, no.”

“Dan.” Phil’s voice is a warning. Dan’s never heard him sound so serious. It might almost be funny, in another context.

“Listen, pal,” Sam butts in, chest puffed out as he gets closer to Phil. “I dunno who you think you are, but the kid’s not going anywhere, alright?”

“He’s not a kid, you sick fuck,” Phil snarls.

Sam grits his teeth, and Dan can see the flash of fury in his eyes. “You asked for it, ponce.”

Sam grabs Phil by the lapels of his bomber jacket, seething. Dan’s heart leaps into his throat. Mind whiting out, he lurches forwards, shoving himself in between the two of them before Sam has a chance to do anything more.

Facing Sam, Dan uses his body as a barricade. He stares straight into Sam’s eyes, heavy and firm. “Don’t touch him.”

In the back of his mind, Dan wonders vaguely how many instances there will be where he’ll willingly put his own health at risk to defend Phil Lester. Infinite, probably.

“You told me you’re mine tonight, kid,” Sam growls. “I’m doin’ you a favour. I don’t like being messed about.”

Dan grimaces, unmoved by this vague threat. Dan towers over Sam, despite their age difference. It wouldn’t be the best idea in the world to get in fight with the sound tech at his favourite club, but if it came down to it, Dan could definitely take him.

“Tuck your dick away for five minutes while I deal with this,” Dan tells him, irritable. “You’ll survive.”

Then Dan turns, grabbing Phil by the wrist and pulling him away from the booth. He’s looking for Ben, the security guard, hoping to hand Phil over to him, but Phil isn’t having any of it. He tugs free of Dan’s grip once they’re at the edge of the dancefloor, forcing Dan to spin around.

“Dan, just stop a minute,” Phil says, loud enough to be heard over the music. “I need to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t wanna hear it,” Dan says.

His voice is slurring a bit, but he’s sober enough to know he needs to get out of this situation. Talking to Phil is an ache. It aches more than the bruises on his face, more than the cut on his lip, or the soles of his feet from spending three nights on a dancefloor. He can’t stomach the pain of it, can’t bear the thoughts that plague him, so he needs to get Phil away. Again, Dan scans the immediate vicinity for Ben, but in the dark, swirling lights and packed bodies, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Why are you doing this?” Phil asks, apparently incredulous. “That guy is a creep!”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“I care! I care about you.” Phil tries to reach out and touch him, but Dan is quick to move out of his path. “That’s why I’m here,” Phil persists, “because I’m worried. Because I want to make sure you’re okay-”

Dan steps closer to him, and whatever Phil sees in his face makes his sentence fall away. “No,” Dan grits out. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t’ve stuck your hand down my pants and then pretended it never happened. You wouldn’t’ve coerced me into hauling your ass around town all night so you could get with some other girl.”

Phil’s eyes, usually bright and exuberant, grow dull; he looks dreadful, Dan notices for the first time. His eyes are bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles. His hair is lank and messy. His clothes look a day old.

“Please, don’t,” he says quietly. Over the music, Dan can barely hear him. “I’m sorry.” He bites his lip, and Dan’s gaze falls to it. “I’m so sorry.”

Some small chip of ice flakes away from the block encasing Dan’s heart. He feels his resolve breaking, feels the traitorous affection he feels for this one, infuriating person melting his anger. And then, Dan is being grabbed by the arm, yanked away.

He sees Sam at his side, grumpy and livid. “Right, time’s up. You’re mine now.”

Dan’s about to shrug him off, to placate him with promises he’ll make it up to him later, but then a blur rushes past, and Sam is being tackled. Dan’s mouth falls open as he watches Phil pin Sam to the sticky, disgusting bar floor. Snatches of the things he’s shouting bounce off Dan’s ears, partially drowned out by the terrible band.

“…not fucking yours… your grimy hands off him… taking advantage… my best friend…”

Clumsily, Dan reaches for him, grabbing Phil by the upper arm and pulling. At first, he doesn’t move, but then a second pair of hands join him, then a third and fourth, and Dan looks over to see Ben, along with two other bouncers Dan vaguely recognises, hauling Phil to his feet. They grab Dan too, shoving them both through the crowd towards the fire exit door.

“Ben, mate,” Dan tries to garble as he’s being marched. “Listen, I’m sorry about him, he’s just wasted, you don’t need to kick us out-”

One of the bouncers open the fire exit, holding the door wide. It leads out into a narrow alley at the side of the club, where the bins are. It’s certainly not Dan’s first time in this alley, but he prefers to visit it of his own volition. Ben shoves Phil out first, sending him stumbling against the far wall. He turns to Dan, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder. “Don’t come back here for a while, Dan. You’ve been causing trouble for three nights running. Get your shit together.”

He gives Dan a push outside, then slams the door shut, leaving he and Phil alone in the cold night.

“Fuck!” Dan kicks one of the wheelie bins, and a loud clatter of glass bottles echoes through the alley. “For fuck’s sake, Phil! What the fuck am I gonna do now?”

“Go home?” Phil suggests, panting. He’s leaning against the damp brick wall, catching his breath.

Dan falls back against the opposite wall, head in his hands. “Oh, right, yeah. I’ll just barrel straight into Ricky’s fist, shall I?”

Phil is silent for a while, then Dan hears him step across the space between them. He takes one of Dan’s hands and moves it away from his face. Dan pulls out of his grip sharply, but it doesn’t seem to deter him.

Phil sucks in a breath once he catches sight of Dan’s face, the lines around his eyes crumpling. “Shit, Dan,” he says.

For a moment, Dan doesn’t know what he’s so upset about. Then he remembers the bruising. From the light of the street lamps lining the road beyond the alley, it’s probably all too easy to see what a mess Dan is right now.

“Yeah,” Dan shrugs. “Hardy’s lacking brains, but he’s got some brawn, I’ll give him that.”

“You should see him, though.”

Dan lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you fractured his nose.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s the rumour. He’s got a bandage over it.” Phil’s eyes remain fixed on the right side of Dan’s face. “Two black eyes. He’s going around school telling everyone it’s a ‘gym injury’, but pretty much everyone saw you beat him up, so...”

Dan stays silent. This is the first good news he’s heard for days, and he doesn’t even feel anything other than self-loathing for it. Beating up some rich kid is nothing to be proud of. Even if he absolutely had it coming.

“Is he giving you any more trouble?”

Phil shakes his head. “What did you say to him? He won’t even look at me anymore. Or Amanda. Just scurries off if he sees us in the halls.”

Amanda’s name is a sharp stab in Dan’s left side. He lifts his gaze to Phil, wondering if he should tell him the truth. In the end, he can’t be bothered to lie.

“He got a boner.”

The look of pure astonishment on Phil’s face is almost incredible enough to make Dan smile. Almost. “What? When?”

“When I punched him,” Dan replies. This time, a smirk manages to creep onto his face.

“Fucking hell,” Phil says, blowing a puff of air upwards. He has an odd look on his face when he settles back on Dan. “You’re not…” he trails off.

“What?”

“You’re not, like… into that, are you?”

Dan makes a retching noise. “Fuck off, we’re not all into snobby douchebags.”

Phil frowns, looking away.

Dan runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Dan pushes off the wall. He’s already feeling a chill, and he left his jacket and bag in the club. He’ll have to beg Ben to let him in to grab it tomorrow. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and starts picking through the litter to the end of the alleyway.

“Where are you going?” Phil calls after him. There’s a clattering sound, so Dan knows Phil is following him.

“No idea,” Dan says. “You ruined my plans for the night, so I’ll have to make other arrangements.”

“If your plans were to let that creep take you home with him, I’m glad.”

“Look, you don’t get to be jealous of me,” Dan spits, bitterly.

Phil swallows, eyes fixed to the floor. “You deserve better, that’s all.”

“Sam’s not that bad,” Dan says in a sigh. He’s on the pavement now, stood under the yellow glow of a streetlight as he fumbles for a cigarette. “He lives in his parents’ outhouse. Hardly dangerous.”

“So what?!” Phil says, approaching him. Dan sticks the cigarette between his lips, fingers shaking with cold. “He doesn’t get the right to touch you just because he’s willing to let you sleep over after you- you-”

Dan waits for the sentence to end, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck?”

The flush whips onto Phil’s cheeks. It makes Dan laugh, hollow though it is.

“No guys should get to touch you unless you really want them to,” Phil says softly.

Dan finds his lighter at last, then looks Phil in the eye as he sparks up. “Oh right, and you’re the exception to that rule, are you?”

It’s as if Dan struck him across the cheek. He doesn’t try to defend himself, for which Dan is both grateful and annoyed. He has more argument in him. He’s pissed at Phil right now, for a plethora of reasons, and would love the opportunity to drag him across the coals for all of it, but at the same time, he never wants to witness the hurt little look on his face again.

“Come over,” Phil says. It sounds like begging. “I know you’re mad at me, I know you should be, and that I’m a dick, and every bit as bad as that douchebag in the club, and Hardy, and everyone else. But I won’t touch you. I just want to give you a place to stay. To make sure you’re safe.”

Dan takes a deep inhale, letting the nicotine wash the exhaustion from his bones. He wishes he had the privilege of saying no, but he has nowhere else to go. He nods once at Phil, then turns on the spot and begins walking back towards their side of town. For a moment, there’s silence, and then the distinct sound of Phil’s stupid nineties Converse All Stars patting the pavement behind.

Phil’s room is usually a safe space. It’s calm and quiet, with muted colours and familiar objects. It’s somewhere Dan doesn’t have to be anxious, or cold, or concerned with anything other than which Buffy episode they’re going to watch next. Tonight, he feels out of place here. Perhaps it’s to do with the fact it’s gone 2am, and the light is on, and Dan’s sat on Phil’s big bed, all alone. Perhaps it’s because when they crept in ten minutes ago, Phil had apologised, then moved a girl’s jacket off the bed to make room. Perhaps it’s because Dan doesn’t feel safe around Phil anymore, since four nights ago, when he’d reached into Dan’s well of insecurity, into the part of himself he hates the most, and torn out his heart.

Dan is staring blankly at the far wall. There are twelve photos tacked to it. Three are of Phil’s old rabbit Holly. One is of Phil and his mum. One is of Phil and his older brother Martyn, who moved to Australia before Dan ever had a chance to meet him. There are six of Phil and Dan. Annoying selfies mostly. Driving Susan around town. Sat in a Starbucks at Christmas time because Phil’s one of those ‘festive coffee’ kind of guys. Mucking about in the art studio, Dan annoyed because Phil is using Snapchat filters to give him kitten ears.

The last one – a new addition – is a Polaroid of Amanda. It’s one of those stupid small ones, from the cameras they sell in Urban Outfitters at an absurd cost. But it’s only of her, tiny and perfect, sat on Phil’s bed, right where Dan is now. Just then, the door creaks open, and Phil walks through. He’s holding a blue plastic bowl, moving slowly. There’s a bottle of disinfectant and a few washcloths tucked under his arm. As he sets everything down on the desk, he shoots Dan a questioning look.

“You’ve still got your shoes on.”

Dan looks down at his wet Doc Martens. “Oh. Yeah.”

Phil doesn’t push it. He places one of the cloths in the bowl and squeezes it out. Then he brings it over to Dan, along with the bottle of disinfectant.

“Hold still for a sec,” Phil instructs. He’s kneeling on the floor beside the bed, right in front of Dan’s knees.

Dan’s decidedly not going to picture any of the other times he’s seen someone in the same position, under entirely different circumstances. Instead, he thinks of the old piano in the corner of Phil’s room, imagines it being happy to see him. Nobody else plays it, as far as Dan knows. But then, maybe Amanda sat there when she came round. Maybe she’s a phenomenal musician, with perfect pitch, Grade 8 piano, voice like a damn skylark. Phil pours some disinfectant on a dry cloth, and rises up on his knees, bringing it to Dan’s face. Dan flinches back at once.

“I’m just-” Phil starts to say.

“Yeah, I know,” Dan says. “Sorry.”

Dan holds still this time, letting Phil dab the disinfectant on his split lip. He’s careful, and impossibly gentle, almost cross-eyed behind his thick glasses as he concentrates on the task. It stings, obviously, but Dan’s been feeling pretty numb, so he doesn’t make a fuss.

“You lost your lip ring,” Phil says, sadly.

“Is it gross?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. “No.”

He continues for a little longer, then sits back, hand falling away. Dan can taste the acidic, metallic flavour on his tongue. Phil picks up the damp cloth then, the one he’d dipped into the bowl on the desk.

“Here,” he says, then presses it against Dan’s face, over the bruises.

Dan hisses in surprise. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”

“Yeah, it’s ice water.”

“Oh.”

It’s surprisingly relieving. He imagines there must be some swelling, but he hasn’t looked in a mirror for a while. Phil presses it over his forehead, then his eye, then his cheek, taking his time with each area. He gets to Dan’s chin, then shifts Dan’s jacket collar and sucks in a breath.

“Did he get you in the neck, too? I didn’t see that.”

Dan stares, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

Phil just stares back, dumbly. He’s so close, it’s difficult to read him.

“You did that, you pillock,” Dan says.

It takes a minute or so for the realisation to hit, but when it does, Phil draws backwards, blushing. “Oh,” he says, then stands up to rinse out the washcloth. “I didn’t see it before… on Prom night-”

“No, I covered it up,” Dan tells him, sourly. “Thought you might not want Amanda seeing.”

The only response Dan gets is the tinkle of the water falling back into the bowl as Phil squeezes out the cloth.

“So how’s it going up on cloud nine?” Dan asks, though he really, really doesn’t want to know.

Phil turns back to him, smiling sadly. He walks over and gives Dan the fresh cloth. This time, Dan holds it to his own face.

“It’s going really good,” he says, sitting down on the bed. “She came over yesterday. We just hung out. It was nice.” Dan looks towards the jacket Phil had moved, now slung over the back of his desk chair. “She left her jacket behind,” Phil says, answering the obvious.

“Cool,” Dan replies. He doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness.

“Shall we go to bed?”

Dan lowers the cold flannel. “I guess.”

As he unties his shoes, shucks off his jacket and jeans, Dan can’t help but notice how steadfastly Phil is not looking at him. He never deliberately averted his gaze all the other times Dan has changed in front of him. Too exhausted to read much into it, Dan just clambers into the bed, ensuring to keep a sizeable distance between their bodies. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t entirely glorious to slip between thick, warm covers and fresh sheets.

“I’m sorry I got you kicked out of the club, Dan,” Phil says into the dark, once he’s switched off the light.

Dan sighs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not really okay. Ozone is not just Dan’s favourite club, it’s the only place he can hide out indefinitely when there’s nowhere else to go, where he won’t be judged, and his family won’t find him.

“And I’m sorry for…” Phil pauses. He sniffs. “For what I did. The other night. I never meant to use you like that. You trust me, I know you do, and I abused it-”

“Phil, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not fucking okay.” Phil’s voice is raised. “I don’t know why I did it, Dan, it’s like… like I couldn’t help it. It sounds nuts, and I don’t expect you to understand it, or forgive me, but I promise you I’m sorry. I’ll never do that to you again, Dan. I’ll never be like those other guys who use you, who treat you like an object-”

“Phil, stop,” Dan says. He puts a hand on Phil’s shoulder, though it burns him to do it. He tries to keep his voice level, so as not to give away how hard he’s crying. “Please stop. You’re sorry, and I believe you. We can forget it ever happened.”

“We can?”

The lump in Dan’s throat shifts, jabbing its jagged edge into soft flesh. “Yeah. If you want.”

A rush of breath escapes Phil’s lips. “And we can go back to being friends?”

If he tries to answer, Dan knows a sob will escape. Instead, he rolls over, remaining quiet, and shuts his eyes, tight.

“Dan?”

(Chapter Ten coming next Tuesday at 8pm GMT!)

#The angst is almost almost over i swear #next chapter #phanfic #phan #some kind of folliful #skof

47 notes · View notes