Word Count: Approx. 10,500

Warnings: Homophobia, Swearing, Violence, Bullying, Child Abuse, Smoking, Mentions of Suicide, Slightest Hints of Alcoholism (Like, Only Once), [[Cigarettes are referred to as fags in British slang! Just in case that upsets anyone!]]

Tfw you're trying to emphasize eye contact and you're running out of words for "to look at" without it being repetitive as all hell.

Frigid

A Phanfic

Frigid was a good descriptor for a lot of things in life. Ice cream, freezers, rain in the late fall. Winter was usually the first one that came to mind. For most.

For Phil, it perfectly described one Dan Howell.

Daniel Howell was tall, dark, and had one of the coldest personalities Phil had ever encountered. He sat in the loneliest corner of the cafeteria, and nobody sat with him - nobody dared to. Phil had never seen anyone try, but he had heard things. Stories about yelling and violence and it was just about enough to keep anyone away from Dan.

Now, Phil would be the first to admit that he wasn't a perfect person; he was snippy with others fairly often, too, and he often found himself thinking things that made even him wince. About sex, about love, about people and life in general. No, he wasn't perfect, but even he had the common sense to stay away from Dan Howell. He was trouble. Everyone knew it.

Daniel Howell was a great big ball of trouble that reeked of cigarettes and anger at the world.

So, on the day of December 1st, even Phil didn't know what the hell he was doing when he approached Dan Howell after seeing him trip in the hallway.

Now, Phil didn't have many (any) friends, but he reckoned that if he did, they would scold him for this.

Howell was mumbling under his breath as he gathered the couple things he had dropped, and as Phil got closer, he could hear some of what was being said -

"- Jesus on a fucking tricycle, fucking bloody hell, dumbarse shitty fucking shit -"

Well then.

Dan's voice was higher than Phil would've expected, and a thick southern accent was obvious in the way he spoke.

If Phil was more apt to the idea of dying, he probably would have laughed at Dan in that moment.

Instead, he bent down to grab one of Dan's textbooks, holding it out for the brunet to take. Phil nearly shrank back as he was met with Dan's glare, full-force, but he held his ground, shaking the book he held in a signal for Dan to take it.

Howell snatched it from his hands, raising himself to his full height, a couple of inches taller than Phil himself.

Phil thought, for just a moment, that he was about to be punched.

Dan, though, just scanned his eyes up and down Phil's body for a moment before relaxing slightly, "Thank you."

Phil's breath rushed out of him all at once as Dan turned on his heel and walked briskly away, his shoulders hunched and head to the floor: his normal method of getting around. The long black coat he always wore made a nearly imperceptible swish noise with every quick step.

Phil went through the rest of the day with his head in the clouds. It didn't make any sense. Dan Howell being polite? Despite the initial cold reception to his help, the other boy had said 'thank you'.

Phil couldn't even begin to imagine what the school would have done with that if the hallway hadn't been empty when they had interacted.

Phil was curious, and if anybody besides his family had ever been close enough to Phil to notice anything about him, they would be the first to tell you that a curious Phil Lester was dangerous business.

Phil didn't interact with Dan at all for two weeks after that. Then, on December 15th, Daniel Howell once again surprised him.

As many of these incidents began, it started with Phil minding his own business. He was walking down the hallway toward his next class, his backpack hanging lazily off his back by one strap. Too preoccupied by his own musings to notice the way the crowd in the hallway was parting to allow one of the jocks of the school through. Phil did notice, however, when he bumped into the solid chest of someone even taller than him, a hard feat to accomplish. There were only a few people Phil knew of in this school taller than him: Daniel Howell, a kid in the school band named James, and...

He looked up.

Winston Smith.

He was an American teenager with a British name who had transferred here about a year ago and immediately… asserted himself.

He swallowed hard when the jock looked down at him, his eyes filled with testosterone-fueled rage.

Oh perfect, the dick was out to prove something.

Winston leaned down, the sneer on his face prominent. Phil knew that the overly-dramatic attempt to get to his height was meant to patronize him, and it was a completely cliché move. He steeled himself for the encounter ahead of him.

"What's up, faggot?" Winston hissed, reaching out to grip tightly onto Phil's upper arm and hold him in place. No running for him. "You walkin' where I'm walkin'? Now ain't that disrespectful."

Phil clenched his teeth, holding in his retort. There was no need to make this worse.

Suddenly, Phil's breath was knocked out of him, and he found himself hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. A hand in his hair pulled him up until he was face to face with Winston again. The jock pushed him against the locker, his arm held across Phil's neck.

Phil stared at him with wide eyes. He kind of wanted to know what had happened to make Winston so pissed today.

Winston got closer to his face, his eyes narrowing further. He opened his mouth to speak-

And his head snapped to the side as someone punched him across the face.

Phil pushed himself further into the locker as Winston fell to the ground; his grip was gone from Phil's body, yet the fear paralyzed him and he ended up staying right where he had been put anyway.

He looked over to see who his savior was, and…

…Saw Dan Howell rubbing at his clenched fist with his other hand, his eyes narrowed, his long, black jacket wrapped around his body.

Winston stood up quickly, snarling like a feral dog. Phil wouldn't have been surprised if he had started foaming at the mouth.

Phil looked at Dan fearfully; scared not of Dan, but of what he thought was about to happen to him.

Winston squared up to Dan, shoving at the other boy's shoulders in the classic barfight-starting move. "What, you a fag, too? That why you're defending Lester?"

Dan snorted, "Faggot is an American term, genius. You're in Britain now. Are you trying to call me a cigarette? Because that's all you're doing. You think you're badarse because you're intolerant and you surround yourself with fake friends who would leave you at a moment's notice. You think anybody in your little posse actually gives a damn about you? I'm defending Lester because I'm not a fan of arseholes, or of people who go around hurting people who don't deserve it."

Winston gawked at Dan for a moment before his eyes narrowed slowly as his tiny brain finally registered all that had been said to him, "You take that back, faggot, or I'm going to give you the beating of a lifetime."

Dan stared at him coolly, his posture ramrod straight. Frigid. The word came to Phil's mind again. Frigid. Cold.

Phil shivered.

Winston bared his teeth at Dan, and Phil noticed that he was bleeding from somewhere in his mouth, no doubt due to Dan's assault on his face, "You asked for it, bitch!" He struck out suddenly, punching Dan across the face.

Dan took a single step back, yet his facial expression remained unchanged. Then he smirked. "Alright. If you want to do it that way, then I guess it's my turn."

Dan shoved Winston roughly, causing the other boy to stumble back in an attempt not to fall over. Dan immediately pursued him, hitting him hard in the stomach, just like Winston had to Phil. His abdomen throbbed sympathetically. Winston bent over, groaning. Dan kicked out at his leg, and, just like that, Winston hit the ground.

Phil noticed at this moment that a crowd had gathered; no-doubt it was initially so that these people could watch Phil get beat up, but now they were witnessing Winston, the most popular jock in the school, get the shit kicked out of him.

Dan stood over Winston, and Phil applauded him silently for not kicking a man while he was down. No matter how much of a dick he was.

People began to disperse, believing that the fun was over. The bell rang, but nobody cared about being late. Phil began to move also, when, suddenly-

"You're a pussy," Winston cackled from his spot on the floor. Dan had begun to walk away, but now he paused. He turned his head slightly to look back at Winston in a show that he was listening.

"You're gross. You act all tough but you're just a girly little gay boy. What, did your mummy teach you to like boys after daddy left?" Phil watched Dan clench his fist. "Oh, but daddy didn't leave, did he? Daddy killed himself 'cause daddy couldn't stand to have such a fuck-up son. That's right, Howell. Everybody knows about your dad. Everybody. Everyone knows that you act like a depressed little girl because your daddy hated you. No wonder nobody sits with you. You're nothing. A weirdo. It'll always be that way. You think punching me is going to change shit?" He laughed again, "Fuck you, Howell. Everyone will still love me and everyone will still hate you, that's how it's always been and that's how it'll always be. Forever."

Dan had begun breathing heavily during this little rant, and as Winston spoke the last word, he released a shout of rage and turned around, jumping on top of Winston where he was still lying on the ground and beginning to pound him into a bloody pulp.

Everyone who had turned around to walk away came rushing back to watch this new development. Shouting and cheering and yelling erupted in the hallway.

"Kick his arse!"

"Fuck him up!"

'Barbarians.' Phil thought, 'We're all a bunch of barbarians. We always have been. The Romans watched gladiators maim each other and we watch two eighteen-year-olds drive each other to the brink of insanity until one of them snaps and they wail on each other. Somebody help us.'

The display of violence was short-lived, however, as the principal suddenly burst through the ring of students onto the scene, the rugby coach standing behind him serving as backup. The coach stormed forward, yanking Dan off of Winston by the back of his collar. Dan snarled at him.

"Put me down! Put me down!"

The principal glowered at him, "Mr. Howell! Quiet down, don't make this worse for yourself!"

The principal took Dan by the arm and pulled him from the coach, "Coach Wygant, take that boy to the nurse's office." He looked at Phil, "You, come with me."

Phil followed willingly behind the principal, head ducked down to avoid the gazes of the surrounding students. Before he and Dan were pulled into the principal's office, he heard Coach Wygant yelling at all of the students to hurry up and get to class. The door shut.

The principal spoke to him first. He told Dan to wait in the chair by his office door and steered Phil in by his shoulder, not caring to close the door. He parked Phil in a seat in front of his desk and took a seat behind it, motioning for Phil to wait a moment before picking up his phone.

"Hello, Ms. Howell? Your son, Daniel, is in my office right now. Please come to the school as soon as possible, we need to discuss his behavior right away. Yes Madame, thank you for your cooperation, I'll be seeing you shortly."

He hung up the phone and gave Phil a severe look, "Now then, Mr. Lester. Would you care to tell me what exactly happened out there?"

Phil swallowed. He had a feeling that that wasn't really a question so much as a demand.

"Well," He began nervously, "Uh, I accidentally bumped into Winston and he got angry and started beating on me, then Dan came and stopped him."

The principal raised an eyebrow, "He seemed to be doing a bit more than stopping him, Mr. Lester."

Phil's eyes slid to rest on the floor, taking in the design of the principal's office carpet, "Uh, Dan only hit him a couple of times, then, when he was walking away, Winston said some really nasty things, but, uh, they're not really my business to say. They weren't nice though." He looked up, "Please sir, if somebody had said the things Winston was saying to Dan to you, you probably would have done the same thing. It was really bad. And he only started fighting in the first place to help me. Please don't expel him."

The principal leveled him with an even stare, seeming to gaze straight into his soul, "I see. A little bit of name calling is no excuse for what Mr. Howell did, Mr. Lester. No matter how bad it is -" Phil opened his mouth to argue, "- But," the principal gave him a look that stopped his words before they could make it out, "I will consider not expelling Mr. Howell. Now, did Mr. Smith harm you at all before Mr. Howell interfered?"

Phil nodded hesitantly, "He punched me in the stomach, pulled my hair, and slammed me into the locker. He would've done more, but Dan stopped him."

The principal sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, "I see. Alright, Mr. Lester, you're free to go. Go sit outside of my office with Mr. Howell while I call your parents to pick you up. Someone will bring your things."

Phil nodded, hurrying out of the room, his eyes on the ground. When he got out of the door, he exhaled heavily, looking up…

…And immediately regretting it when he was met with Dan's cold gaze.

Phil flushed. He had completely forgotten that Dan could hear their entire conversation from his seat near the open door. He looked down.

Dan cleared his throat lightly, patting the spot next to him.

Phil glanced up hesitantly.

Dan turned away. "Thank you." He said, shortly.

Phil remembered the last time that Dan had said those words to him.

Still, "Why are you thanking me? I'm the reason you're hear in the first place. I should be thanking you."

Dan gazed at him for a long moment. "I would've punched Winston eventually. I just had a good reason this time, that's all."

Silence settled over the room like a suffocating blanket of smoke. Phil's face warmed. A good reason.

"Well?" Dan stared into his eyes steadily, "Take a seat. We'll be here a while."

Phil did.

After some time in silence, the door suddenly burst open, only just avoiding hitting the wall. Phil jumped, startled, and looked up.

An average-height woman stood in the doorway, her dark brown hair an unkempt mess atop her head. She had on a wrinkled white blouse that had the top few buttons undone, her breasts prominently displayed, practically falling out, like an anime girl. A black pencil skirt covered her legs to her knees, and she was wobbling slightly on a pair of short heels. Her fingernails were painted pink, the polish chipped and barely even there anymore. A purse dangled carelessly from the tips of her fingers. Her pantyhose had runs in them in several places. She had bright blue eyes and a permanent frown on her face.

The woman's gaze scanned the room before landing on Dan. Her eyes turned icy. Phil shivered. If this was Dan's mother, he finally knew where he got that cold look from.

"Daniel." She greeted disdainfully, "What did you do? You pulled me from work."

Dan stared at her silently.

Phil shifted uncomfortably, the palpable tension killing him.

Thankfully, the principal appeared at that moment in his doorway, nodding at who must have been Ms. Howell before motioning both of them into the office. Dan got up wordlessly, shooting Phil one last sideways glance before following his mother in. Phil saw Dan attempt to close the door, but the principal's voice rang out and stopped him: "Leave it open, if you please, Mr. Howell."

Dan nodded calmly before turning and disappearing from Phil's line of sight.

Now, Phil didn't mean to listen - in fact, he felt incredibly bad about eavesdropping, but he couldn't help but hear everything that was said during the conversation.

A shuffling of papers.

"Ms. Howell, I'm sorry to call you here under these circumstances, but I'm afraid I caught your son, for lack of a better term, beating the snot out of one of our rugby players today." The principal.

He hears a loud, feminine sigh, and, for a moment, can't tell if it came from Dan or his mother.

"I'm sorry my son is causing you trouble, sir." His mother, then. "I can assure you, I don't tolerate violence in my household. I don't know what got into his head." Somehow, Dan's mother sounded even more southern than Dan did.

A pause. More shuffling papers. "Well, Ms. Howell, normally Mr. Howell would be expelled for his actions… but… it's been called to my attention that the fight started because Mr. Howell was defending another student of this school. Now, that doesn't excuse his actions, but I will lessen his punishment to a week's suspension."

His mother sighed again, aggravated, "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"But," The principal continued, "Please be aware that if something like this happens again, I will have no choice but to expel Mr. Howell."

"I understand, sir, thank you for your patience."

"Good. We're done here, Ms. Howell. Thank you for taking the time out of your no-doubt busy schedule to speak with me. You may take your son home. I will see you in a week, Mr. Howell."

"Yes, sir." Dan.

Phil watched as Dan and his mother walked out of the principal's office together, Dan lagging slightly behind her. A prominent bruise was beginning to form on his face where Winston had punched him. Phil waved at him. Dan looked at him, and Phil's stomach turned at the look in his eyes. The wintery coldness was gone, now, and he just looked… sad.

Phil watched him go, a nearby window allowing him to see Dan and his mother walking out of the school and into the snowy parking lot. His heart leapt as Dan's mother turned to him, said something to him with an incredibly enraged expression, and hit Dan hard against the back of his head. Dan's head snapped forward. Dan wrapped his arms around himself. His mum drew a cigarette from her blouse pocket and lit it, continuing to march to her car.

Phil's stomach rolled again as he watched them drive away. Nausea overwhelmed him.

Suddenly his mum and dad rushed into the room. The two of them fussed over him, asking again and again if he was alright.

Phil just stared out the window.

The day that Dan came back was December 22nd, which also just so happened to be the last day of school before Christmas break.

Phil decided that today, he would befriend Dan.

Or at least try to.

So, during lunchtime, he approached Dan's table and plopped down right next to him. Dan was reading a collection of Edgar Allen Poe works, or at least he had been, before Phil had sat down.

Dan looked up, closing his book as soon as he saw that Phil had sat by him. He stared at him for a minute, his eyes melting from their normal iciness to a light frost. Phil counted this as a win.

When Dan's lips quirked up ever-so-slightly at the corners, it was an even bigger one.

Despite what, to Phil, seemed like startling progress earlier in the day, he was still surprised when, at the end of the day, Dan asked him if he wanted to go somewhere with him.

Phil agreed, albeit a little hesitantly, and now here he was, shutting Dan's car door and watching his normal bus drive away. Phil looked over and was met with Dan staring right back at him. Phil's face flushed lightly as he gazed into Dan's chocolatey, warm eyes. Tension filled the car.

Dan cleared his throat quietly, turning to start the car, driving away from the school and toward an unknown destination. Phil sat quietly for as long as he could, but eventually, he just had to turn toward Dan. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find words to say.

He swallowed.

"Why did you want me to come with you?" He asked softly. Turned away. Quiet rang out in reply.

Dan's eyes stayed focused on the road, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. He seemed to also feel the tension as he paused to think of how to reply.

"I don't know." He finally decided on.

Phil laughed weakly, "Good reason."

"I'm sorry."

"No," Phil declined, "I get it."

"Oh?"

Phil looked back over to him. He was pretty like this, Phil noticed. Outside of school, he was still cold, but he looked less angry at the world, and more like this was just how he always was, always had been.

It was sad, too, Phil went on to think.

He had an idea of why Dan was like this, but he knew better than to assume.

"Yeah," Phil whispered, thinking back to the day that he had decided, on impulse, to help Dan pick up his things, "I get it. I don't know either."

"Oh." Dan breathed, and Phil got the feeling he understood.

Eventually, Dan stopped the car at a park. It was surrounded by buildings that had been broken down by time. They're old and sad. Like Dan always seemed to be. Older than his years. Sadder than he should have been.

Phil remembers that he used to think Dan was just bad news. He mentally scolds his past self.

"So," Phil began hesitantly as Dan parked the car and they both got out.

"So," Dan agreed.

Dan slid a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

Dan lit up a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and breathing in the nicotine like it would never harm him. He exhaled the smoke into the sky, away from Phil. His shoulders sagged.

They walked in silence until Phil decided that he had had enough, "Are you excited for Christmas at all? If you celebrate it, that is."

Dan tilted his head at him; he pulled another drag from the cigarette in his hand. "Not really. I'm not much of a Christmas person. I used to be, when I was little, but not so much anymore. You?"

Phil nodded, expecting an answer like that, "I like Christmas. My family is mental about it. My mother bakes way more than anyone in our family could ever eat, then freezes it all after a couple weeks and then we still have cookies by the time Christmas rolls around again the next year." He smiled at the memories.

Dan grinned weakly at him in response, and, Phil noted with no small amount of surprise, he had dimples. It was a startling revelation. He shifted. It seemed odd that someone who smiled as little as Dan could have something that so many people associated with happiness. He wondered how often those dimples came out to play. He wondered what it would be like to see them in full-force - to make Dan smile large enough for it. He was struck by the sudden urge to protect the taller boy. To make him like Christmas again.

"My mum used to be like that," Dan said quietly. "A long time ago. She was so pretty back then."

Phil swallowed down the lump rising in his throat. "That sounds nice," He whispered, desperate not to shatter the moment.

Dan pulled hard on the cigarette. It was halfway gone, Phil noticed. "Sorry."

Phil shook his head, staring hard at Dan. "Don't be. Please don't be."

Dan looked over at him. They met eyes again.

"I won't."

Phil couldn't bring himself to smile at him, no matter how much he wanted to. He tried, but it was like movement wasn't possible in this moment. He was just stuck staring at Dan's face in awe. He really was gorgeous, surrounded by all of this snow, more having begun to fall just a second before. His coldness looked normal, surrounded by the snow and ice, right at home in the environment. At the same moment, Dan and Phil stopped walking. Dan's hand fell to his side, the cigarette hung loosely in his limp fingers.

It reminded Phil of Ms. Howell, standing in that doorway, her purse hanging from her fingers as if it would fall at any moment. It reminded him of the woman breathing in her own dose of nicotine just after hitting her son, like it was nothing. Like that was what mothers did.

He hoped Dan never ended up like her.

Phil stared up at Dan, swallowing hard. His eyes stung. He reached out a shaking hand - it was so cold. Dan was so cold. Phil wanted to warm him. Help him.

His fingers were just a hair's breadth from Dan's arm - his black trench coat-like jacket was much thinner than it had initially looked, he noted absently - when Dan's eyes darted down to stare at the approaching touch, and Phil heard Dan's breath catch at the same time as his. He drew back. Aborted the attempt to see if Dan was just as frigidly cold on the outside as Phil had thought life had made him on the inside.

Dan was shaking. Phil was shaking.

Dan's cigarette finally fell from his loose grip. Dan looked at it as it melted through the snow for a moment before sputtering out.

"Shit." He cursed softly.

Shit.

Phil mentally agreed.

Shit.

They got back in the car. Dan sat frozen in his seat for a second, his door hanging open for a long moment after Phil had closed his own. He stared ahead like the view outside the window held the answer to all of the world's questions.

He pulled the door shut.

Dan drove slowly, carefully. Phil wouldn't have expected it from him, but he was slowly learning that he was all kinds of wrong about Daniel Howell. He liked this version better than the one his mind had previously held.

Eventually, with Phil's direction, Dan pulled up in front of Phil's house.

Phil opened the door. He sat there, still, like Dan had just a little while earlier. He looked at Dan, who was watching desolately out his window, searching for something he would never find, evidently. Dan turned his head; they made eye contact.

Phil drew his phone from his back pocket, handing it to Dan.

Dan's breathing went shallow.

The brunet boy stared at it for a long moment, like it was a wild animal. Like it would hurt him. He took it - tested the buttons on the side until one turned the phone on. Phil watched him steadily.

"Sorry," Dan exhaled shakily, "sorry. I've never used one of these."

Phil raised an eyebrow, not judgmental, just curious.

Dan reached a shaky hand into the inside of his coat, pulling out an old flip phone you could buy for ten dollars at practically any store. He ran his fingers over the buttons for a time before extending it toward Phil. When Phil took it, it felt odd in his hands.

They entered their numbers into each other's phones.

As Dan handed his phone back, he warned him, "I'm not much of a texter. Just so you know. And my phone doesn't have a calling plan, except for 999."

'Yeah,' Phil thought, 'but would you call that number if you needed it?'

Phil smiled reassuringly at him.

He had the feeling, as Dan looked at him, that Dan's eyes would always be at least a little guarded - at least a little iced over. He would try, though, to thaw the snow as best he could.

A gust of cold wind blew in through Phil's open door.

Dan shivered.

Phil climbed out, resting his hand on the door.

He hesitated.

"Goodbye… Dan."

Dan's eyes widened.

Phil closed the door.

He turned, walking up the path to his home, opening the door to be greeted with a hug by his enthusiastic mother, who immediately started fussing over how cold he was.

His phone buzzed with a text.

'Bye.'

He wondered what Dan would be greeted with when he arrived home.

Two days later, they met again at the same park. Phil took the bus, and when he got there, he saw Dan's car parked in the small lot.

Dan was leaning against the side of the vehicle. No snow fell, but his face was still obscured by the cloud of smoke that floated around him. Phil approached him slowly. His footsteps in the snow seemed, to him, far too loud.

When Dan lowered his cigarette, he knew he had been seen.

Dan waved the smoke from his face then raised his hand in greeting. Phil returned the gesture.

Again, Phil found himself tongue-tied by Daniel Howell.

Dan was wearing a scarf around his neck, black and gauzy and looking like it didn't keep much cold out or warmth in. What was the point? Two black studs were stuck through his earlobes.

Phil cleared his throat, "I like your earrings."

Dan reached up with his free right hand to mess with one of them. His lips turned up slightly in that little weak smile that Phil had seen previously.

"Thank you. My father let me get them when I was little. Looking back on it now, it was pretty cool that he didn't tell his son that it would be girly to get them both pierced." Dan's eyes looked somewhere far away and unreachable.

Phil wondered if he would want to go there. If the place Dan looked to was nice, or if it hurt.

Dan's gaze snapped from that far off place back to the present. Back to this cold winter, the snow-covered park. Back to Phil. He tilted his head at him. "Let's go."

Phil followed Dan as he set off ahead, snuffing out the butt of his cigarette in a covered ashtray on top of a garbage bin.

Soon, they were walking side-by-side. Dan stared at the sky and Phil stared at Dan. His brown eyes looked milky with the way the stark white, clouded sky reflected off of them. They came to a snow covered park bench, and Phil stared at it contemplatively for a minute before stooping over to wipe the snow off. He took a seat; motioned for Dan to sit next to him. Dan raised his eyebrows at him. Then his lips quirked up and he sat next to Phil.

Dan shoved his hands in his pockets.

"My arse is wet."

Phil snorted.

The lightness was nice, in that moment.

Then a thought struck Phil.

"Dan?"

"Hm?"

"What does a cigarette taste like?"

Dan paused. The air seemed to thicken. Phil stared at Dan's skinny-jean clad legs.

"Like shit."

Phil tilted his head, "Why do you smoke, then? Does it feel good? What's the point?" He wasn't trying to be pushy. He was just curious. He was thankful that Dan seemed to understand that.

Dan pursed his lips. "It feels good for about ten seconds. Then it just feels like you fucked up. Then you smell like nicotine all the time. It's a nasty habit."

Phil stared at him, "Why don't you quit?"

Dan laughed bitterly, "That's funny, Phil."

"What?"

"I can't quit."

Silence settled for a moment. Then:

"What about you then?"

"What about me?"

"Has Philip Lester ever smoked? Drank?"

Phil frowned, "No, never. I thought about trying fags a few times, but I never have."

Dan nodded, "Don't."

Phil stared at him contemplatively, and Dan looked right back, something hard in his eyes.

"Alright."

They had been walking for hours. Most of their time was reined by silence, but they had their moments of talking, and both of them were introverted enough that they were content with the quiet.

They were on their way back to the car when Dan's fingers started twitching. He tapped lightly against every part of his body he could. He unbuttoned and re-buttoned his coat, fiddled with his scarf. His eyes darted around unsurely.

Phil cocked his head at him, eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?"

Dan sighed, wringing his hands in front of him, "I forgot my cigs in the car and I want one."

Phil glanced at him, remembering his words from earlier.

'I can't quit.'

What did Phil know about smoking? How could he judge Dan for saying something like that when he didn't have even the faintest clue about what addiction was like?

Phil struck out and hooked his pinky through Dan's. Dan froze, his entire body tensing for a moment, then relaxing. They continued walking, Phil fully aware that Dan was ogling at their (sort-of) linked hands.

Phil glanced up at Dan's face, hoping to see the expression on his face. Hoping it was a good one.

Then he froze.

Dan was pulled to a stop by Phil's sudden cessation of movement, and he looked back at him, puzzled.

"Phil?"

Phil couldn't answer, though.

He was too busy staring at Dan's neck.

Oh lord, Dan's neck.

In all of Dan's fiddling about with his scarf, he had managed to pull it out of place on his neck, and-

Oh good god.

"Phil…?"

Phil's chest hurt.

Even with how little the bit of skin that had been revealed was, Phil could clearly see the dark purple bruises on Dan's neck.

He wondered, grimly, whether they ended there, or if they wrapped all the way around his neck. If he'd been strangled. He shuddered.

"Dan…" Phil whispered shakily, "Dan, your neck."

Dan's hand shot up to sit against his throat. His eyes widened. Then he took a step back. His eyes narrowed. They froze over. He snatched his hand back from Phil, cradling it against his chest like a wounded animal.

"Dan…"

"What?" Dan hissed angrily, "I just piss a lot of people off, okay? Shit happens."

Phil looked at him dolefully.

"Are you going to leave me alone, now? Desert the little freak, Daniel Howell? Bitter little gay boy who gets into fights that aren't any of his business and shows up with weird bruises. Maybe he's into BDSM. Maybe his dom was a little rough on him. That must be it. Isn't that right? Huh?! Isn't it time for you to leave like everyone else?" Dan was right up in his face.

Phil pushed down the hurt that rose up inside of him at Dan's words. He could tell just from one look into Dan's eyes that the taller boy was about a thousand times more hurt than he was. He had just been counting down the moments until Phil left him. Just like everyone else.

Just like his dad.

Phil was struck by the thought.

He stared up at Dan solemnly. He just looked sad. Lost. Too young. God, they were both so young.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

Dan's eyes widened.

Then, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan's waist, hugging him tightly.

When was the last time someone touched Dan this much without intent to harm him?

Then Dan's arms were wrapping around Phil's chest and his head was tucked into the space between Phil's shoulder and neck. He trembled, and Phil felt wetness against his skin.

"Come to my house for Christmas." Phil mumbled.

"What?" Dan's voice was rough and scratchy, shaking badly.

"Come to my house for Christmas." Phil repeated, louder.

He drew back, holding Dan at arm's length.

Dan was a mess. Tear tracks shone on his face, his eyes rimmed red, cheeks flushed the same color.

Phil reached up and pulled the scarf from his neck. The material hung loose in his grip - dragged on the snowy ground at its end. A necklace of bruises hung off Dan's throat.

Dan cleared his throat harshly, staring at the gauzy black material in Phil's hand, "Your family doesn't want me there."

Phil reached up unsurely. Touched Dan's chin lightly. Brown met blue.

"They will if I do."

He paused.

"I do, Dan."

Dan looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

"Please."

Phil tilted his head, "Please what, Dan?"

Dan reached down to touch Phil's hand. The black scarf carded through his fingers when he brought it back up.

"Don't… I… Don't…"

Phil peered at the anguish in Dan's eyes. He didn't know what Dan was trying to say, but he knew that he would never do anything to hurt him. Never on purpose. Not now, not when he was finally starting to figure out who the real Daniel James Howell was.

Phil glanced down at the scarf in his hand. He raised it up to Dan's neck, straightened it and draped it around him.

"I won't. I promise."

The next day, Dan showed up at Phil's house at 5am, as per Phil's request. Phil had told him that he wasn't allowed to arrive later, as the Lester household's Christmas festivity started at 7 (though, at least in the morning, it would just be them and Phil's mum, as Phil's dad and Martyn were working) and they could watch a movie beforehand to get into the Christmas spirit.

At least, that was the plan. The two boys went up to Phil's room, and Phil put in The Nightmare Before Christmas, but they only watched it for about five minutes before simultaneously turning to face each other.

Phil's face flushed lightly as he met Dan's eyes. He didn't know why he had turned to him, didn't know what he had wanted to say, just that he had wanted to say something. He scooted toward Dan slightly.

Dan was staring at him in an odd way. His head was tilted, a glint in his eyes that Phil had never seen before. He was wearing a soft-looking, thin black jumper and red flannel pajama pants. It was the first time Phil had seen him in something other than his long black coat, and while he would probably always associate that coat with Dan, he liked this too, maybe even more. He looked soft in the light of the TV, with all of the room's lights turned off, leaning casually, tiredly, against Phil's bed as he sat next to Phil on the floor. The sweater was about two seconds from slipping off of his shoulder, exposing his sharp bone structure.

The bruises around Dan's neck marred the image, though. Reminded Phil that this was still the same hurt boy he had begun to befriend. Not that there was anything wrong with that boy. Phil just wished that he didn't hold so much hurt inside.

As he stared at Dan's throat, his collarbone, his mostly-exposed shoulder, he found himself wishing that he could take away the bruises Dan's mother had given him and instead paint Dan's skin with his own, far more pleasurable marks. Suck on his skin and taste him until there were dark purple splotches forming all over Dan's body a few moments after he pulled back.

He started at the thought.

"Something wrong?" Dan asked, nothing in his tone or expression letting on that he had any idea of what Phil had been thinking.

Phil swallowed down the lump in his throat, "No, nothing."

Dan stared at him skeptically, his eyes calculating, "You sure?"

He reached out to lightly touch Phil's knee. Phil's skin burned at the contact.

"I'm sure." He murmured. He glanced at Dan's hand on his knee, dazed.

Dan tensed, his hand creeping back slowly, eventually resting in his lap, its partner soon joining. Phil followed with his gaze down to Dan's clasped hands.

"Dan?"

He wanted to distract himself and Dan from his confusing thoughts, but he also just wanted to know…

"Yeah?"

"What was your dad like?"

Dan's eyes widened and Phil believed, for a moment, that he should never have asked.

Then Dan's posture relaxed, and his head dropped back to rest on Phil's bed behind him. His neck, bared, lit by the soft blue light from the TV, made it look like the bruises had faded away, like they were never even there.

Dan stared at the ceiling, "I didn't look like my father. Never did, not even as a baby. He had this raven black hair and it was always straight as a board - always obeyed him and went wherever he wanted it to. He was more tan than I was, though I would probably match him if I ever went outside."

Phil's lips quirked up.

"He had much more angular features than I do, too. I always got told I looked like my mum - my hair brown and curly when it's not straightened, just like hers, my features much softer, my skin paler. The only physical features I really shared with dad were my eyes. Mum used to tell me that I had his eyes when I was younger."

Phil's breath caught at the mentions of Dan's mum.

"When I was five, my dad got this tattoo of my mum's name on his arm. I don't remember what it looked like, just that my mum loved it, even though she kept calling him an idiot for the next two weeks for getting her name permanently put on his body where anyone could see. He loved her a lot."

Dan's voice cracked. Phil went to reach out to reassure him, to tell him that he didn't have to keep going if he didn't want to, but Dan cleared his throat and barreled on.

"Dad had the worst sense of humor. It was all anti-comedy and bad dad jokes that made me laugh when I was little and roll my eyes when I was older. His favourite colour was red. Once, when I was little, I went to this corner store and bought him this bright crimson, garish, ugly women's wallet for Father's Day, and you know what? I never saw him use anything else from that day on. Not once. He would pick me up all the time and give me piggy-back rides everywhere when I was small. He wasn't a really tall guy, only a couple of inches taller than my mum. Everyone in the family used to say that I got my height from my grandfather on my mum's side. He had this really booming laugh, though, and when he sneezed I used to think people on the other side of the world could hear it, it was so loud."

"He sounds wonderful," Phil spoke gently.

Dan jumped, as if he had forgotten Phil was in the room. "He was. I loved him a lot. I told you how he let me get my ears pierced when I was little, and he was like that with everything. He let me pursue any interest I wanted to when I was small; I wanted to play with Barbie dolls? Sure. I wanted to bake with my mum in one of her frilly pink aprons? Go for it, sport. I wanted to try on my mum's makeup, go as Princess Peach for Halloween, and pierce my ears? That was my prerogative. As long as I was happy, he didn't care what I did. He was a great father."

Dan's gaze drifted to the window as the sky began to lighten outside. Phil heard him sniffle.

"He was a great father, but he always thought he was the worst. He tried so hard, and succeeded, to do everything right, yet he always felt like he was doing it wrong. Like there was only one way to parent and the way he was doing it wasn't the right one." Dan looked down to his lap, clenched his hands together. "Dad never wanted a kid. Not when it started out. I think if he had had the choice, he never would have had children, period. He didn't trust himself to take care of another human being, I don't think. I heard him talking about it with mum sometimes. It used to make her upset. For a long time, that was the only thing I ever heard them fight about. In everything he did, when it came to me, dad thought he was failing.

"When I was twelve, mum and dad started fighting more. Dad got laid off from his job, and it was like he finally got that confirmation - like the universe was finally agreeing that he was a bad dad. It hurt him. Mum didn't like seeing him upset, but it was like they never figured out how to properly comfort each other. They never talked anything out properly; they just yelled. Like that was the way to solve all of their problems. That just made everything worse for my dad. He loved my mum and he hated fighting with her. He loved me and he hated himself when he felt like he wasn't doing everything exactly as it should be done.

"I think the last straw was the night that he found me crying in the hall closet after I heard them fighting. Somebody threw something and I heard the glass shatter. I couldn't understand why they seemed to hate each other. Twelve is old to some people, but I was still just a kid. I didn't understand love, or what my dad was going through. I just knew that, in my mind, mum and dad didn't love each other anymore."

Phil held his breath. He knew what was coming. He remembered Winston's mean-spirited words:

'Oh, but daddy didn't leave, did he? Daddy killed himself 'cause daddy couldn't stand to have such a fuck-up son.'

"A couple of weeks after I turned thirteen," Dan began, his voice low and hurt, "Dad killed himself. He left a note on the dining room table then left while mum was at work and I was taking a nap in my room. An hour later, my mum rushed home, shook me awake, and told me that the hospital had called. My father had been hit by a car on the street in front of the office building he used to work at. He was still breathing when he got to the hospital, but he had gone into cardiac arrest twice in the ambulance.

"We left the house immediately, but we weren't allowed to see him when we got to the hospital. Dad was in surgery. Doctors were attempting to save his life; he was in critical condition. I never quite found out what the damage was, but two hours later, a doctor came out and told us that he had died on the operating table. There was nothing they could do for him.

"When my mum and I got home, I found the note. My mum was so angry. At my dad, at herself, at everything. She broke a chair by slamming it onto the sidewalk outside. The neighbors called the police and they called my grandma to pick me up. Of course, mum didn't get in any trouble. It was understandable, what she did. She had just lost her husband. But I had just lost my father."

Dan was silent for a moment, and Phil thought he was done. That he had said everything that he needed to, or wanted to. Then Dan continued, voice thick.

"That morning when my dad drove me to school would turn out to be the last time I ever saw my father. The funeral was closed-casket.

"Over the next few years it became obvious that the person my mum was angriest at was me. After all, if I had never been born, my father never would have blamed himself for being what he thought was a bad father. He never would have killed himself. She never would have lost the love of her life."

Quiet settled over the room as dawn began to light up the room. Bird song played on a continuous loop outside. On the TV, Sally's Song began to play. Phil was surprised that they had gotten to that point in the movie.

'I sense there's something in the wind

That feels like tragedy's at hand.'

How fitting.

Phil would have laughed if that would've been anywhere near appropriate at that moment.

Instead, he looked over at Dan.

The brunet was staring hard at the ground, his fists clenched and trembling. Phil's chest constricted.

"Dan," He said gently, "None of that is true, you know that, right? What your dad did wasn't your fault."

Those seemed to be the magic words.

Dan brought his hands to his eyes as he leaned forward and let loose a heart-wrenching sob. His shoulders heaved with each shaking breath.

Phil didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He just leaned over and wrapped Dan up in his arms.

It was strange. Just a month ago he wouldn't've touched Dan with a stick, and now here he was hugging him. He felt like he had grown up ten years in this one month. He tightened his arms around Dan. He didn't shush him. He didn't want to make Dan feel like he wasn't allowed to have this. Like he needed to stop.

He had read somewhere once that crying didn't mean you were weak - it just meant that you had been strong for too long.

How long had Dan been forced to be strong?

Yeah, he had shed a few tears in the park yesterday, but that wasn't proper crying. That wasn't a true release; it was just a leak in the pipe. Sometimes, everyone just needed to let out whatever they had stuck inside the bottle in their head for so long with a good, proper cry, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Dan inhaled sharply, turning to wrap his arms around Phil in turn, burying his head in Phil's chest. "Sometimes…" He cried, "S-Sometimes I hate him."

Phil's breath caught, and he held Dan closer.

"I hate that he left me. I hate that he made m-mum so angry. I hate that he was so selfish. I hate that I hate him; why can't I just be like a normal human being and love him unconditionally? He's my father, for God's sake." Dan hiccupped and coughed, choking on his own tears.

Phil rubbed a hand up and down Dan's back, his own eyes tearing up, "Dan," He whispered soothingly, "You have a right to be angry. There's nothing wrong with that anger. It isn't inhuman to be angry at him for leaving you. It's the most human thing you could feel. But you need to let it out in a healthy way. You can't let it fester, or you'll never, ever be happy."

Dan laughed tearfully, "I don't suppose smoking is what you would consider a healthy way?"

Phil paused, unsure what Dan wanted him to say. Then he took a breath, "Probably not, but it's not my place to tell you if or when to quit. I couldn't make a decision like that on your behalf. If you ever decide to quit, it needs to be your decision, or it won't mean anything."

Dan squeezed him tighter, "I want to… But I can't…"

Phil's heart broke for him, "You can. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Dan coughed, his voice weak when he answered, "You barely even know me… We only met a month ago…"

"Maybe that's true, but I think you've told me enough about yourself for me to know that you are a strong person Dan. Even if you don't think so." He pulled back, and his eyes fell back to the bruises on Dan's neck. Thankfully, he didn't get any dirty thoughts this time, as they would've been completely inappropriate. "You have to be when you…" He stopped himself. "…When you get handed such a shitty hand in life."

He met Dan's eyes and knew that Dan had seen him looking at the bruises, but the other boy seemed thankful that he hadn't said anything about them, so Phil thought he had made the right decision in not mentioning them explicitly. He hoped he had.

"Phil…"

Phil leaned forward toward Dan slightly, and Dan seemed to be on the same page as he did the same.

Then, "PHIL!"

The moment fled, and they both flushed, sitting back, their arms falling from each other's bodies.

"Phil, sweetheart, you haven't forgotten about Christmas, have you? Bring your friend downstairs so we can get started!"

Phil stared at Dan. Soft brown eyes bored into his.

"Alright, Mum!"

"Where's your friend?"

Phil's mum tilted her head at him, her eyes quizzical. Phil swallowed.

"He had to use the bathroom. He'll be down in a minute."

In truth, there had been a bit of a panic just as they were about to leave Phil's bedroom. Phil had had his hand on the doorknob when he had heard a gasp behind him, and, turning around, saw Dan's hand touching his own throat, eyes wide.

Phil had been confused for a split second, before realizing what Dan's problem was. He had rushed Dan into the bathroom, shown him where his mum kept her foundation, and left him to it, aware that his mum would get suspicious if he wasn't down quickly.

"Oh, alright!" Phil's mother smiled sunnily at him. "We'll just wait for him, then."

A few minutes later, Dan came walking down the stairs, freezing in the doorway when he found Phil and his mum's eyes on him. He lifted a hand to wave awkwardly.

"Hello, Mrs. Lester," He mumbled, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

He looked startled when Phil's mum bum-rushed him, pulling him in for a tight hug, "Oh, sweetheart, you can just call me Kathryn!"

Phil nearly laughed aloud at the way Dan's arms flew around for a moment, Dan unsure as to what to do. He had seen Dan cold, uncaring, sad, shy, angry, and as close to happy as he ever seemed to get, but he had never quite seen him be this awkward. It was hilarious. Big, bad, scary Daniel Howell reduced to awkward confusion and disorder by Phil's northern-born mum.

"Now then!" Phil's mum exclaimed, pulling back, "Let's open presents right quick, then we can have a proper English breakfast!"

Phil felt a little bad about opening his presents in front of Dan, but he took comfort in the fact that at least Dan wasn't home with his own mum; plus he had a little something for Dan upstairs.

Dan didn't seem particularly upset, though, as Phil's mum continually apologized for having not gotten him anything, and kept him busy by stuffing his mouth with enough food that Phil could already tell that he wouldn't be hungry when that "proper English breakfast" came along.

After Phil was all done, he and Dan escaped upstairs as his mum bustled out to the kitchen to begin cooking.

Dan got in the room first, and by the time Phil was closing the door, Dan already had his box of cigarettes pulled from the pocket of his pajama pants. He shoved Phil's bedroom window open as Phil settled on top of his bed to watch him. Dan pulled a cigarette from the box and lit it up, pushing his head way out the window to breathe the nicotine slowly in; out.

Phil took the opportunity to let his eyes stray to Dan's body. His back was bent into a graceful arch as his front half hung out of the window. His jumper hung down, loose, from his frame - too big to fit tightly to him. A small sliver of skin peeked at Phil from the space between where his jumper ended and the waistband of his pants began. His legs stood at an angle, his body bent forward at the toes for maximum distance from the open window on the outside.

Despite Dan's efforts, the smell of cigarettes still drifted into the room, if only faintly. Phil breathed it in deeply, wondering off-handedly if this was what people meant when they talked about second-hand smoking. Nicotine, he decided, was one of those bad smells you just couldn't stop smelling. Like gasoline.

'Or,' he thought as Dan drew himself back into the room, tapping at his cigarette so the ash fell onto the snowy ground outside, 'Maybe I just like it because it reminds me of someone.' Dan's cheeks and nose were flushed red from the cold, and his skin had gone extra-pale. If Dan were to lie down in the snow, Phil wondered, would he be able to make him out against the stark-white backdrop?

The black of his jumper stood out more than ever against his skin. It was just odd, seeing someone like Dan wearing black- a color that had always been synonymous with evil- he thought now, but just earlier he had also thought it odd for Dan to be wearing anything but his normal black overcoat.

What had changed?

Regardless, Phil decided to attempt to rectify the mistake the universe had made in always decking Dan out in black clothing.

"Dan."

Dan's head immediately snapped to him, afraid he had done something wrong. He continued to hold his cigarette out the window, but his attention had been drawn from the siren's call of nicotine for now, by Phil.

Phil tried not to allow himself to be pleased.

Phil reached under his pillow and pulled out a large, messily-wrapped red package. It wasn't perfect, he decided, staring at Dan, but he thought it was better than all of those regular, run-of-the-mill perfect wrapping jobs that everyone else was obsessed with.

Dan's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, quickly snapping it shut at the look Phil gave him. Phil slid the package toward the end of the bed.

Dan glanced at it warily, like it would burn him.

Then he looked at his cigarette.

Back to the gift.

Dan cleared his throat, "Where can I put this out?"

"There on the windowsill is fine, I'll clear it away later." Phil waved his hand dismissively.

Dan huffed, hesitantly snuffing the cigarette out against the thin layer of snow built up on the outside windowsill. He stepped away from the window and picked up the package. He squinted at it cautiously.

"Well go on then," Phil urged, "Open it."

Dan smiled at him, and Phil's breath (and heart, he thought) stopped for a few seconds. Dan had never smiled at him like that before, with his dimples prominently displayed.

Dan carefully pulled at the paper, managing to treat the wrapping reverently, the same as Phil imagined he would an art piece.

Dan made a choking sound.

The crimson wrapping paper fell to the ground and pooled by the bedpost.

Phil's chest began to hurt from holding his breath for so long.

Dan slowly unfolded the garment in his hands, and so most of it sprang from them, falling, stopped from again embracing its wrapper only by Dan's shaky hold.

The coat was a snowy white.

Its buttons were dark brown, as was the trim. It would most likely turn out to be longer on Dan than his old coat had been, was probably going to fall to his knees, and it was much thicker, much more suitable for the cold weather. It had cost a pretty penny, but seeing the expression on Dan's face, Phil didn't regret it at all.

Just to be sure, though:

"Do you like it?"

Dan's head darted up, eyes wide and astonished.

The accents on that coat would bring out his eyes.

"I-" Dan seemed to have difficulty getting the words out, "God, Phil, I love it. You didn't have to waste this much money on me. I can't even imagine how expensive this was."

Phil waved him off, "Doesn't matter. You needed a thicker coat, so I bought you one. Try it on?"

Dan nodded absently, sliding the coat on until it draped itself around him, making itself at home on his shoulders.

"Does it look good?"

"You look gorgeous - It looks gorgeous."

Dan looked up at the unexpected compliment given him, face flushed.

"I'm worried I'll dirty it."

Phil understands the double meaning immediately.

"You could never."

Phil crawled forward on the bed, reached out to button the coat, top-to-bottom.

"There."

Dan stared at him, his chest heaving.

"Thank you, Phil."

"For what?"

"Everything."

It was January 7th when, with school back in session, Phil was running late to his second class.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard a thud and a loud, "Dammit!"

Phil turned and peeked back around the corner he had come from.

Dan was kneeling on the ground, pushing all of the papers that had fallen out of his binder into a messy, disorganized pile.

Phil hurried over to help him.

Dan looked up when a pair of skinny-jean clad knees came into his view. Phil grinned at him, and he was pleased when Dan smiled back. Phil hurriedly helped Dan get all of his things back together, and stood, offering Dan his hand to pull him up. Dan took it.

He swore as he overbalanced and nearly fell over again.

Phil laughed loudly, "You need to get shorter legs."

Dan snorted, "You and me both."

They stood in silence for a minute.

Phil watched Dan's eyes travel up and down his body. His skin tingled pleasantly. Phil took a step closer to him.

Dan's gaze traced back up to rest on Phil's face.

Phil's hand reached out of its own accord and settled itself comfortably on Dan's hip. Phil straightened up, raising himself ever-so-slightly on his tiptoes. Inclined his head upwards.

Dan watched calmly as Phil neared, then, when most of the work had already been done for him, leaned down to capture Phil's lips with his own.

They held the kiss for only a few minutes before they both backed away from each other.

Dan smiled at him, shifting his things in his grip and reaching out to lightly punch him on the arm.

Then he turned and walked slowly away in the direction Phil had been going. His white coat flowed smoothly with each step, ocean waves made of snow.

Dan glanced back over his shoulder, shooting Phil one last smirk, his eyes filled with warmth for him, Phil Lester, of all people.

"Thank you, Phil."

And things were far from perfect; when Dan reached to tuck a hand into his coat pocket, Phil knew there would be a tempting box of cigarettes to be bumped into so that it could grate on Dan's mind for the rest of the day. Something still needed to be done about Dan's mum, but Phil knew that Dan thought that she didn't deserve the slammer, and so Phil, for now, said nothing, but he knew one day he would be forced to. Dan still needed a steady source of warmth to keep those pretty eyes of his from freezing over again.

But, for now, this would do just fine.