I don't really know where this came from, it was just something that was suddenly in my head and I couldn't focus on something else until I've gotten it out, kind of. Slight AU and not so slight OOC, sorry about that. Contains swearing and references to sex, nothing graphic. Title borrowed from the lovely Jens Lekman and his song "Into eternity", do check it out as it's a great song. And lastly, this is purely fictional and all that jazz. Feel free to let me know what you think, whether you like it or not, as it would mean a lot to me!

Trying to make my way over to the bar was like trying to find the way out of a maze; you kept getting dead ends in the form of entwined couples and people dancing so vigorously you risked getting smacked in the face and had to turn around and try some other way. Eventually I reached the semi-circled bar and found a spot at the far end. It was crowded, and I'd been in the absolute worst position to get served if it wasn't for the fact that this was an art I mastered beautifully by now. I leaned in a bit more over the counter, a credit card with the well known design that was sure to make me a prioritized customer casually raised between two fingers. I perfected the technique with a small smile and a raised eyebrow directed at a female bartender, and soon enough I was signing the credit card receipt; Philip Michael Lester in terribly sloppy handwriting that indicated that this round should probably be my last. Should be. It was then, when I grabbed the drinks and looked up, that I saw him again. Sitting right across the bar from me was the boy who had been looking at me intensively the last couple of times I'd visited the bar this evening. However many times that had been, I'd lost count somewhere around the fourth. This time he had an amused look on his face, smug even, and I only hesitated for a second before making my way over to his side of the bar instead of returning to the steady pulse of the dance floor. He didn't turn around when I approached, though I was sure that his attentive eyes had followed me on my way over here. So I just leaned in close enough to his ear for him to hear me and spoke, my voice slightly pointed.

"What?"

He turned around at his stool, still the same smug smile that was starting to get on my nerves playing on his lips.

"Yes?"

"Care to explain what's so amusing?"

"Oh, I was just admiring your way of getting served before everyone else despite being the last one to arrive and simultaneously pissing off half of the people here. It was quite impressive, actually."

"And all the other times that I've caught you staring tonight?" I retorted. "Was that also admiring my way around a bar or was that just general creepiness?"

"No, that was just me admiring how hot someone can look in a plain v-neck shirt."

I was taken aback by the sudden turn of the conversation, and as I took just a little too long to come up with an answer, his smile broadened and revealed a dimple in his left cheek. Thinking back now, I've established that moment to be the one where I started giving in to the persistent boy that was Dan Howell.

"Yeah, well, you're just a kid. I suggest you run along home before mummy gets worried, and I'll go back to my grown-up friend."

I turned around, but got stopped by a pair on slender fingers around my wrist. The touch was fleeting but had a shocking impact on me, making me stop dead in my tracks. It was like the attraction I'd felt towards him from the moment I spotted him across the bar – the attraction I supressed because he was just a kid, wasn't he –it hit me like a ton of bricks now. When I turned to him, he just pointed to something at the dance floor. I squinted, trying to make out what he was showing me.

"Is that the friend you came here with? Because he seems busy with something. Or rather, someone."

"Fucking hell." I breathed out, surrendering and sitting down on the stool next to the kid. I tried my best to ignore his smug smile that made me want to either push him off of the stool or kiss him. Perhaps more the second option rather than the first. Without a word he emptied his own beer and snatched the beer that I've bought for my friend from my grip.

"So do you come here often?"

I groaned at the cliché conversations starter but figured I might as well just give in as the dance floor's appeal had completely worn off. Against all better knowledge I decided to test the water.

"No. Only when my straight friends get the final say. I prefer just about any gay bar to this."

"Same. I don't know my way around the city though, had to settle for the first club I could find."

I snorted.

"Yeah, it was definitely not because they bounced you and your fake ID at the first couple or bars, was it?"

"I'm 18. I don't need no fake ID. Anymore."

"Alright then. Still doesn't change the fact that you're-" and I leaned just a bit closer to him, noticing how his confident smile faltered just a little "-just. A. Kid."

His gaze flickered between my lips and my eyes. I drew up again, my lips mirroring the smug smile that has been playing on his lips earlier that were nowhere to be found now.

"I'm of legal age. Isn't that what counts in the end?" he asked, trying to regain some of the cheeky confidence in his voice but failing quite miserably.

"For someone who wants to fuck you – yeah I guess. I'm not that someone, kid."

"Enough with the kid thing. I'm Dan. Would you care to tell me your name like a polite person, or is everything out of your mouth smart-ass remarks?"

"Phil."

He seemed to ponder that name for a while, like it was trying to figure out if it was a fitting name for me or not. In the end he seemed to deem me worthy.

"Are you at college, Phil?"

"No. I have a job."

"Doing what?"

I thought for a second. I could easily just throw out the title, make it sound impressive, flaunt with my credit card when buying another round. But for some reason, this kid, this fucking kid had some sort of hold on me that made me sure that he would see through that mannerism.

"If you want to beautify it you could say that I make short films. Really short ones."

"And if you'd want to tell me the truth?"

"Then I'd tell you I write commercials for TV. Out of all the ones you've hated for interrupted your favourite shows, I'd say I've written at least a couple of them."

"But you'd want to make films. Proper ones. That's what would make you happy, isn't it?"

I met his stare and this time didn't break contact, wondering why I would tell him something that I never told anyone, ever, but at the same time finding the answer to that question in his eyes. Behind the glittering surface of all jokes and forward remarks I thought I saw warmth and understanding. Still I felt vulnerable as I ran my hand through my hair in a, I hoped, seemingly nonchalant gesture.

"You don't always get to do what would make you happy in life, Dan. It doesn't work like that"

"I know."

"You're 18. You think life is a playground. You think you can get exactly what you want in life if you just reach out and grab it. Exhibit A: you thought you could get me." I bit back, glad to have steered the conversation away from a dangerous edge.

"I study law and spend every day wondering what I'm doing with my life, if I'm wasting away already at age 18. And also, the night's not over."

It was well past 3 when I decided that the sensible thing to do was to end this night, and this thing that I didn't know what it was, before the mixture of alcohol and want made me do something I'd regret in the morning. Despite my faint protests, Dan insisted on following me out, so we took on the mission of finding my friend and letting him know I was leaving. At some point in the messy crowd of people I grabbed hold of Dan's hand, purely to make sure he didn't get whisked away before we'd even said our goodbyes. Despite what he seemed to think, I am quite polite. And spending hours talking to someone – even though it was someone who you'd never see again and definitely wouldn't sleep with at some point because the age difference, Phil – and then not even say goodbye seemed rude. I pretended I didn't see Dan's smile growing when our fingers intertwined. Damn this kid.

We eventually found my friend and had to go through the awkward process of interrupting him and the girl from earlier wordlessly "getting to know each other".

"I'm leaving now." I said in his ear.

"Yeah, your little friend must be out way past his curfew."

He suspiciously eyed Dan who was positioned right behind me, still clutching my hand as if I was a lifeboat in the stormy sea that was the dance floor. It was a nice feeling, though I would never admit to it if confronted. Though the point Jake, my long time and "I know you so don't even try to lie" kind of friend, was making was the exact same one I'd been stressing to Dan all night, I surprisingly felt the need to defend him, or myself, or us. Though I didn't know when the fuck an us had been created.

"He's not that young. He's a law student." I pointed out, realising I sounded exactly like Dan now. I was glad my words wouldn't travel far in this climate and were sure to never reach Dan's ears – I could just imagine the self-satisfied look on Dan's face if he'd heard me repeat his arguments. "And also, we're going our separate ways. I've made that clear."

"In words, perhaps. But you're not fooling anyone – neither yourself nor me. Just, be safe and all that, alright?"

With that he turned his attention back to the girl, and I was left feeling incredibly frustrated. My grandma's words in my head: if you're bothered by someone's words, they most likely contain some extent of truth and shouldn't be dismissed too quickly.

The cold breeze was heaven against my skin after hours of the club's stuffy air. I looked down at our entwined fingers instead of meeting Dan's stare, realising that this would be the right time to let go – both literally and figuratively. With every breath of fresh air I felt a little more sober and able to start sorting through tonight's events and make sense of them. It should mean that the alcohol fuelled want and the almost electric sensation I'd been experiencing every time our skin touched – the one that hadn't stopped sending shockwaves through me since I first took his hand – should subside with every breath as well. It didn't.

Instead it was like the more my body and mind fought through the alcoholic numbness, the more aware I was of everything. I noticed how his skin seemed to have an almost golden glow in the otherwise unflattering light of a street lamp. I noticed how his cheekbones were sharp and beautifully prominent and how his hair seemed to be curling just a little by his temple as if that was it's natural state and a thin coating of sweat emerged from being packed into a crowded club attested that. I noticed that his neck must have been design for the sole purpose of planting a trail of kisses on, and how if I would to kiss him he'd have to tilt his head slightly upwards to make up for the few inches of advantage I was carrying.

"I'll get you a cab." I said reluctant, wanting to say something completely different. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I was staying with a friend, but he kicked me out. My train home leaves tomorrow around noon."

"Why did he kick you out?"

"Is that important?"

"It is, if you're bullshitting me. It is, if you're just trying to appeal to my soft side so I'll take you home like a stray puppy."

"I'm not. And I'm not a stray puppy. I can take care of myself. But there's other reasons to take me home than to save me. Because you want to, for example."

"You don't know I want to."

"So if I was to kiss you, then you'd push me away? And if you were to bring me home out of pity, you'd let me sleep at the couch without once wondering what it would feel like to have me in your bed? If I-"

He had been gradually moving closer, his words and breath ghosting upon my skin and some time in that little speech my heart had completely outvoted any attempt of logic and my lips upon his – his back against the brick wall and only thin layers of fabric and nothing more separating us – had proved him right all along and I didn't even care about losing the on-going battle. I only cared about the way our bodies seemed to fit perfectly together and the way his cold fingertips just barely brushed against the skin on the small of my back and- oh god we needed to get home now so that I could mark him as mine at least for tonight.

I think I knew from the first words exchanged between us that he would nestle his way into my bed with his persistence and his electric touch. What I didn't know was that he would also nestle his way into my heart and my life and fill a space that no one else had quite managed to before him. With his persistence and his electric touch, and a thousand more things of which I loved all.