He could say he had a best friend. It was a friend he cared about, who enjoyed all the same things he did and he knew everything about this boy. All but one small detail, his name.
Dan had written to this mysterious sixteen-year-old boy from Lancashire who had the same interest as him. Through the time they had wrote back and forth, Dan had yet to discover his name. The boy didn't know Dan's name either. The two had come to an agreement that they would stay anonymous for the time and that maybe one day they would learn each others names.
After several years of writing to one another, the letters stop coming. Dan would go out to the mailbox every day hoping for a new letter from his friend, but no more arrived. It worried him, but Dan had convinced himself that the boy must have had a good reason to stop writing him.
He would admit that he missed the weekly letters. He missed talking to the boy he had learned to much about. They had intelligent, drawn out conversations through these letters that Dan could never have again with anyone else. He would do anything to have one more letter from the boy.
Through these letters Dan learned so much about this boy. He learned that this boy was beautiful, well at least that's what he got from it all. Dark hair styled much like his own with eyes that were the opposite of his brown ones, bright blue. He didn't learn much more of his appearance, but tidbits of what he looked like came up in some other letters. From all the information he had gathered from the hundreds of letters, the boy he had created in his head was beautiful.
When Dan had stopped getting the letters, he spend hours upon hours looking up the boys address, trying to find his name. He wanted to find who he was writing to, he wanted to know even though he could no longer talk to him. With no luck, he couldn't find anyone's name from the address he had been mailing to letters to. After a few months, he gave up.
Now years later, he rarely thought of the letters or the boy who sent them. He had given up on writing anymore to the boy as well, for however many he sent, Dan would get none back. He had University to worry about now, not letters that had ended 3 years ago.
Textbooks cluttered Dan's desk as he tried to study what he thought he missed today in one of his classes. Usually he wouldn't be this worried about studying, but finals were happening soon and he has already been threatened by his parents. If he didn't pass what he needed to they were going to kill him. Dan didn't want to retake anything either, so he was studying for the sake of everyone.
After two long hours staring a hole through the two pages of his textbook, Dan gave up. There was no way he would be able to learn anything from that stupid book alone. Closing the book and shoving it back in his bag, he glanced at the clock to sighed at the time it showed. Ten o'clock.
Changing quickly into pajamas, he climbed into bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin. He quickly sunk into a deep sleep, being exhausted even after having a full day home sick. Dan had decided that he would just ask to borrow his friend's notes tomorrow, he just hoped Phil wouldn't mind.
In the morning, Dan woke up to the ringing sound of his alarm clock. He turned in his bed, moving his hand towards the alarm managing to swat it off the nightstand. It crashed to the floor, turning off once it collided the carpet. Dan jerked the comforter over his head, creating a barrier between him and the sunlight that was seeping in from behind the blue curtains.
Class started at ten which was great for him. He never had to wake up early. Most the time he did anyway. Like now, for example. It's 8:10, Dan is awake, thinking about classes that he might fail, then what his parents are going to do to him.
With waking up at the early hour, he got things done he couldn't the night before. Breakfast could be taken at a slower pace and not just scarfed down as he walked out the door. Also, lucky for him, the college was a pleasant 6 minute walk from where he had lived for the 4 months. Meaning as long as he left with all his things at 9:45, he could easily make it to class before another boring lecture started.
Deciding that it was probably a good idea to get up, Dan slid out from under the pile of blankets and went to get a change of clothes for the day. He showered quickly before changing into his usual black jeans and random t-shirt he had pulled from his dresser. He ate breakfast before trying to straighten his hair.
Oh, so how he wished his hair was just naturally straight. It was a pain to take time to straighten his hair almost every day. His friends told him that he shouldn't worry about it, that they liked it. But he didn't, so he took the time.
After his battle with his hobbit hair was won, and it was straight once again he grabbed his bag and slipped his coat on, heading out the door.
He walked down the one flight of stairs and out into the frigid air. He had forgotten how cold it had actually been after being tucked warmly away in his apartment. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to pick up his pace. He thanked God that he didn't live any further away than this.
Dan wished at times that he lived on campus, but living in a building where they didn't party every weekend was nice. He enjoyed his time sleeping more than he did staying up late, getting drunk and having sex with a girl he's never met. Dan was never really the partying type anyway, he never felt like he fit in when he was drug to a party after some sporting event. Several of his friends in high school had loved to go out on weekends. They would call Dan and beg him to come along, but he would decline by giving them some ridiculous excuse. Later he would receive drunken text that made him even more glad that he had rejected the invitation.
Dan finally made it to the school with five minutes to spare, finding his way to his first class and sliding into the seat beside Phil. He dropped his bag by his side after pulling out a textbook and a notebook.
"You better not still be sick," Phil joked. "I don't need that right now."
Dan just rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, but could I borrow your notes from yesterday?" He leaned with his arms on top of the table, watching his friend fiddle around with his notes. "I can give them back to you tomorrow."
Phil just nodded, handing the two sheets of paper to Dan who slipped the pages into a folder.
Class began shortly after, only leaving the two to get a few more words in with each other. Dan hated that this was the only time he got to talk to Phil. Sure they were friends, but they never really did anything out of this class or talk about anything other than this class. Before the start of the class, Dan didn't really know Phil. After about three weeks of sitting together, Dan started small talk and they went out to Starbucks after school that day. Their friendship really didn't bloom. It wasn't that Dan didn't like Phil, he adored the guy, but they really didn't have time to do anything. If Dan wasn't doing anything then Phil was, and vice versa.
The previous day, Phil had texted Dan to make sure he wasn't dead because Dan never misses, but they usually don't text much. It was something that only happened in emergency situations or when there was a simple question for the class. Usually the latter of the two.
Dan would love to hang out with Phil more, but their situations just didn't seem to work out. He enjoyed the time they went out to Starbucks, but that had been months ago. He told himself hundreds of times that he would ask Phil if he wanted to go out for coffee again, but backed down out of the fear of being rejected.
The rest of Dan's day was spent either in a classroom chair or one placed at a library table. He had retreated to the partly quite library after his classes were over. The table he set at was now cluttered with notes, an open textbook, a notebook, and binder. A few more binders and textbooks were stacked on the opposite side of the table.
He ran the highlighter over the most import things, turning the page into a neon yellow mess. When he had finally finished with whatever math he had, he slipped the pages away, shutting the open textbook and placing it with the others. He pulled out the notes Phil had let him borrow, setting them to the side while he reaches for another notebook to copy what Phil at written.
He slides the pages close together, reading over what was written and rewriting what was most important. He was halfway down the first page when he froze, his pen still gushing ink onto his paper.
The small notes that Phil had written on the margin of the paper reminded him so much of the letters he once received.
They would be written with a pen that couldn't be erased, whenever the boy had once written he'd wanted to add something, he would jot it off to the side. Just like Phil.
Dan let the thought slide. Lots of people did that, write sideways on the side of the paper, creating a mess of black ink. It just reminded him so much of the letters he missed getting.
After he finished copying what he had missed, he shifted all his stuff in his bag. Standing from the library table, he swung the bag over his shoulder, heading back out into the brittle winter air.