Dan Howell had always hated the tabloids. They were constantly delving into the personal lives of the disgustingly rich and famous, typically those of people who just didn't exactly matter in the grand scheme of life. Sadly, they were the ones who produced the so-called "just right" amount of drama for the crocodiles of the media to hungrily feed on. They slurped up gossip and rumors, and fed it right to the public. The public, who were so starved for anything of even mild interest, ate it all right up. Just like with candy, they were always ravenous for more. Dan Howell found it disgusting. But it was quite possible there was another reason behind Dan Howell's hatred.

Dan Howell, the son of two brilliant scientists known throughout the world as saviors. They were the discoverers of the cure, after all. Maybe it could be said they weren't as important as whoever would find the cure to cancer, but it was argued that the termination of the common cold was just as important. And when "little" illnesses such as that started getting cured, people began to feel hope. And when people started feeling hopeful, things could be accomplished.

Dan's parents were worshipped throughout the scientific community and beloved by humanity as a whole. No one could find any fault in them. Not even the celebrity shows and magazines, who picked apart anyone in the spotlight. No one, that is, except their very son.

Dan had grown up raised more by nannies and sitters than his own parents, and knew more about his caregivers than his mother or father. Up until he was eight years old, his parents spent most days working at their labs or meeting with other scientists. They were already known as the greatest couple in science in the new age and had their own company full of sterile laboratories and employees in stark white coats before they even made their revolutionary discovery. All the details on how they came across the cure were never fully revealed, but it was a mass breakthrough. A few weeks after Dan's lonely eighth birthday, which his parents had been yet again absent for, his nanny got an excited video call from his mother.

"We did it!" his mother had cried excitedly through the screen. "We finally found a cure!"

Dan's parents, the power couple of the sciences, had found the cure for the common cold. After years of tests and trials unmentioned by the news, they finally did it. Perhaps Dan's perpetual loneliness growing up could be considered a minor casualty in the grand scheme of things, considering what had resulted in his parents' constant absence.

Dan only remembered bits and pieces of that day. He remembered his mother squealing a whole lot, her face red and flushed, and tears running down his father's cheeks. By then, he understood they were tears not of sadness but of joy, which only caused himself more pain. His parents had never been that emotional about him.

In the days and weeks and years that followed, Dan's life drastically changed. He was moved from their mansion on the outskirts of London, to a grand penthouse in the center of the city. He was hustled from gala to gala, party to party. Always dressed up and clean-cut, he was the adorable and well-behaved little boy of the esteemed Howell duo. As he grew older, he changed into a handsome young man with a genius knack towards music and a great talent of being the best-looking person at events. One thing, however, remained the same: his parents and their lack of love.

His parents were a little disappointed that he didn't have an affinity towards the sciences like they had, but spent so little time with him to even think about his life choices. Dan had few memories of his childhood that actually involved his parents.

The media branded them as "The Family of Science" and never, in the years that followed their great discovery, did the magazines and television shows find something wrong with them. The Howells were an exceptional pair, and Dan was their quiet and almost angelic child. But as much as the world talked about their success and glory, they always seemed to gloss over the fact that Dan was neglected by his parents, who loved science and fame more than their own son. And Dan hated the tabloids because of it.

Never did they focus on how his family was just stapled at the seams, or how they were made of the fakest love. Never did they focus on the emptiness in Dan's eyes, or the false smiles plastered across his face. Never did they focus on how Dan didn't even know his mother's favorite food or his father's favorite color. Instead, the highlights went to their minor discoveries, and constant mentions of their greatest. And when they weren't in the news, phony movie stars and over-the-top singers scrambled for the spotlight.

However, Dan was actually quite content with staying home and doing not much of anything. He had his piano and a huge collection of books and movies to pass the time with, and he had school growing up. An elite private school, of course, but a school, and an escape, nonetheless.

When he turned eighteen, his parents bought him his own flat, and secured him a spot in prestigious law school. However, this just caused prominent misery, and soon Dan dropped out. He continued to attend events for the sake of his parents, and he also became more public about his music.

His unique piano work soon became all the rage, and he was suddenly a rising star. He was beloved by fans of the instrument, of course, but his family status brought him the attention of the younger generations and soon his music was somehow mainstream. Born into a celebrated couple and raised amidst the fame, the stardom was nothing new. However, he was still disgusted by his fellow celebrities, especially in the music industry, and for that he was set apart.

He attended social events and get-togethers just for pure cheese and the applicability to his growing resume, but never for actual enjoyment. He spent most of the time leaning against the wall, untouched drink in his hand, loathing each and every one of the people practically wherever he went. He had an ever-evolving list of people he would despise even if he were the last human on Earth, and was constantly replacing people with those worse than the previous. He did, however, have a common subject for his antipathy. It was a boy who never got knocked off the list, forever to be the front most target of Dan's hatred. His name was Phil Lester.

Phil Lester was the younger of two spoiled sons, the little boy of a glamorous has-been movie star married to a wealthy politician. One might think, being yet another child of a newsworthy couple, just a few years older than Dan, Phil would've experienced the same isolation that Dan had growing up. One could never be more wrong.

The boy basked in the fame. He lapped it up like a cat with cream, purring in the spotlight. He did work in the movies here and there, but his fame came from, not only his family, but the many relationships he constantly found himself in. Many different relationships, occasionally at the same time. He became infamously known as the young Casanova of the new age, with gentlemanly manners and dazzling blue eyes. His black hair styled always in his iconic fringe, pale skin, and gorgeous eyes were practically legendary, and he acquired more fangirls than he could count.

That's why, on a fine February afternoon at a premiere for a movie he played a sidekick, the whole world was floored as he strolled in hand in hand with one of his male costars. That completely changed the game, as no one would be safe anymore. Anyone could fall for him, and now anyone had the chance he would reciprocate the feelings. Just his blue eyes alone could entice anyone.

Nearly every time he was seen in public, he had someone new under his arm. Whether it was male or female really seemed to depend on the day. He seemed to be making his rounds through the world of the famous, but not once did he manage to charm Dan. But that was because Dan hated his fucking guts.

It wasn't specifically Phil, per say, more so his actions and the reputation that followed. Dan hated people like him. Passionately. Love was supposed to matter, he'd decided years before, not be thrown about like an old ball. And to Dan, Phil did exactly that. He loved easily, and lightly, and casually, and it repulsed Dan to no end.

Never had the brunet spoken to the dark-haired actor, yet he burned with a hatred for him so strong that it seared the skin and caught sparks on his fingertips. In all honesty, Dan probably spent too much time thinking about the blue eyed boy, no matter how hateful the thoughts may have been.

But Dan's thoughts could only be filled with hostility so much, and he often spent his time thinking about no one at all.

Until one day, the paths of the two boys met. Quite literally.

...

Dan's POV

I grip my cardboard coffee cup from Starbucks close to my chest. Steam is rising from the hot liquid through the tiny opening, fogging up my glasses. It's really quite irritating, and it takes quite a bit of self-control not to rip them off and toss them to the side. It's not like they help me see anyways.

The lengths I go, I silently think. Standing in the middle of London, it'd be hard not to be recognized as the great Dan Howell, famed pianist and child of the even greater Howell duo. For a disguise, I'm clothed in all black, which in itself is not different from my typical attire at all, but an orange-brown workman's coat is slung over my shoulders along with matching boots, and glasses and a cap adorn my head.

I glance up from my coffee and peer impassively around me yet again. I'm leaning against a nearly barren tree, leaves skittering around me. I'm on the edge of a park, a park whose name has escaped my brain and I can't, for the life of me, remember. People mill around me. I can hear laughs and shouts from every directions, and the air is bright and crisp. October winds brush across my cheek, and leaves whirl around me. It's a ridiculously stereotypical autumn day; the smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon has run rampant since the 1st and London has been very orange with the changing of the leaves.

No one has stopped to stare at me in curiosity, and I've hardy received any suspicious looks from passerby. I decide I've been in the cold for long enough when a particularity harsh breeze presses against my face, and I push myself away from the tree with one hand. I take a quick sip of my coffee, which is in the other, and immediately regret it.

"Fuck!" I hiss under my breath as the burning liquid scalds my tongue. With a grimace still on my face, I begin to walk back to my flat. My gait is unhurried but not obnoxiously slow, and, after confirming with a brief glance around me, I have not drawn any unnecessary attention to myself.

I walk out of the park and through London, my head down. I ignore everyone and everything and instead keep my eyes on my shoes. Noise grows as I head further into the city: traffic full of buses and car horns paired with the constant rumble of people laughing, shouting, talking. I pick up my pace; I cannot wait to get home.

I'm so focused, however, on getting home, that I don't even see a dark haired boy a little older than me right in front of me.

First I'm just walking, adjusting my fake glasses for the hundredth time, and then I'm plowing into somebody else, heads colliding. I almost drop my drink as I stumble backward, just in time to see an expensive silver iPhone crash to the ground. Concern for the coffee automatically fades and I immediately drop to my knees, mumbling apology after apology. The phone doesn't seem to be in too bad of shape as I pick it up, but as I stand and lift my head to face the person, I immediately wish it were. Standing in front of me with his practically copyrighted smile and perfect hair, is none other than Phil Lester.

I groan and shove the phone at him, before turning on my heel and walking the other way. My flat is actually the other way, but I would go far out of my way if it meant avoiding that boy. My steps now hurried and quick, I keep my head up. My glasses, crooked and bent from the collision, hang loosely on my face. More irritated than ever, I yank them off and shove them in my pocket.

I hear Phil calling out from behind me, but I ignore him. I hope and pray he's not following me.

After a moment, I decide I'm probably in the clear. I turn around to look behind me, and find in dismay Phil still attempting to jog through the crowded street to catch up with me. I groan again, irritation wafting off of me.

I try to turn around again, but he somehow reaches me and grabs the sleeve of my coat. I glare at his hand on my arm with a sneer, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Dan!" He exclaims breathlessly, as though we're old friends on a first-name basis. I feel my face shift into a mask of disdain.

"We've never actually talked to one another, but I absolutely love your music!" He gushed. "Oh! And kudos to your parents, too!" My lip curls in disgust when he says this, and I yank my arm away.

"It's so great to finally meet you!" Phil babbles. I straighten my coat.

"The pleasure's all mine." I grumble, sarcasm dripping from every word. I take another sip from my nearly forgotten coffee, which has cooled down to a more acceptable temperature. He just smiles big, not picking up on my tone. I'm feeling horrendously awkward standing in the middle of crowded London, so I decide, since I'm probably never speak to him again, I'll tell Phil what I think of him.

"Actually, I hate people like you. People who think love is a game. People who go through other people like models go through clothes. Really, I hate you. So no, fuck off, it's not great to finally meet you." I snap, channeling my dramatic side. Phil blinks, smile frozen. I turn away and begin to walk away, but I hear Phil burst out laughing behind me. Next thing I know, he's next to me, matching my steps stride by stride.

His smile is even bigger now, and his eyes shine. I jerk my attention away from him, and continue walking. I ignore him, despite the fact that he just seems to have a sort of bright presence about him. I glare at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Nah," he starts. "You don't hate me. You just haven't warmed up to me yet." I turn my head and look down on him scornfully. He's smirking, almost smugly.

"I'm pretty sure I know who I hate and do not hate." I retort. Phil just smiles. Arrogant prick, I think to myself antagonistically.

"You don't hate me. You just don't know me yet." He reiterates. I roll my eyes and toss my cup into a bin we pass by. He nudges my shoulder, and I immediately recoil. He doesn't notice. "But you will. It'll be great!"


A/N: Hey everyone! So this is something I've been thinking about for a while, and I finally decided to finish it after days of procrastination. I have lots of ideas for it in the future, so let me know in the reviews what you guys think! See you all later!