It was only a cold, Dan told himself, coughing into his gloved hand. His body rattled with cold, his chest ached, and his heart pounded a dull uneven beat overwrought rhythm. He sat on the holey couch curled up into a tight ball. The grime of the couch cushions matched only by the grime scattered along the alley floor. The couch was covered in bugs that had made their home within the holes just as Dan had, the rainy London weather left the faint scent of mildew in the cushions. The muddy ground covered in wrappers from various shops nearby and the remnants of drug users who had moved on, old needles, used condoms, little baggies. Dan tried to avoid the trash but it isn't as if he didn't live here.
Dan coughed again, a shiver running through his body. He pulled his ratty blanket rather up his body, exposing his feet to the weather. He wore old shoes that had holes in the soles and took up water faster than a drunk takes up alcohol. He had a pair of skinny jeans with holes in the knees, a couple T-Shirts, a sweater and an old ratty coat. All of these items had been soaked through time and time again, chilling Dan to the core. He didn't know what it was to be warm anymore.
Dan started sneezing, his body convulsed on the couch. It was January, it was cold and wet. This wasn't the first cold Dan had had out here. From what he could gather he'd been here about 18 months. He got sick a lot more often on the streets.
He left of his own will. That much was certain. But it still wasn't his choice. He and Phil had had a fight, a fight to end all fights, he couldn't even remember what it was about anymore, but Phil had wanted him gone, to leave and never come back, and so that's what he did. Dan still had family, but no one who could take him in, so he took to the streets. His parents had died in a car crash the year before, the rest were unable or unwilling to help. What the Phandom had done to Adrian had turned him against Dan, there was no hope there.
Dan had tried to get apartments and hold them, but he couldn't afford the rent alone and without electrical outlets he had no job. He sold his cameras and equipment trying to make rent, with the knowledge that his money was almost gone and desperation had set in. After three weeks of eviction notices, Dan packed up what he could and left for the streets.
The Phans wanted to help, as Dan had posted a farewell video not stating much other than he regretfully had to leave Youtube, but he knew he couldn't accept their money. Even if he could Phil had the key to their shared P.O. Box. Dan coughed again, his throat raked with the germy hurricane that was ripping through his chest. He grabbed his throat, trying to calm his body.
Dan sat up against the back of the couch, breathing deeply the icy air trying desperately to fill his lungs before the next attack. He pulled his legs up to his chest and stuffed them under his sweater, all he could do was shiver and wait for sunrise.
8 hours of agony and the sun was finally rising above the shops, Dan let the sun's warm rays glide over his icy fingers.
Dan wasn't okay, like it or not being sick on the streets was destroying his body slowly but surely. The lack of proper clothing and medicine meant he felt worse than he had in a long time. The cold was recurring and unfortunately for Dan this likely meant he had some form of sinus infection. He hadn't been throwing up or anything of that sort but he was likely running a fever and he sounded about as healthy as the BDSM relationship in 50 Shades of Grey.
Dan rubbed his nose, looking up at the sky; at least with the rise of the sun things would be slightly less bleak. The clouds however suggested a storm was on the way and that didn't make for a fun night. A shudder ran through Dan despite the end of the night. He looked bleary eyed at the street beyond the alley. He was so close to society and yet could never come close enough.
He remembered complaining in the past about "peasants were sneezing on him" on the train and yet he would give anything to be back on that bus being sneezed on by a peasant. It would signify that everything was okay; he was coming home from the shop to see Phil. His throat erupted in sharp painful coughing, he couldn't hold it back anymore, and it wracked his chest every time. When people would walk by they would stare at him from the streets in silent judgment. They saw him and thought he was a drug addict or alcoholic, it didn't help that it had been over a year since he received a proper haircut. Truth be told he looked like the average stoner kid, the coughing almost sounded like a smoker's cough. He could see why people would avoid him although admittedly he did miss the company. Dan had decided that if he did survive this he would be nicer to people, homeless, sick and the like.
Around lunch time Dan's stomach began to cramp up from three days of no scraps so he rolled off of the couch and began walking around the restaurants in the area. He found Antonio's Pizza Pasta Salad and hors d'oeuvres and walked around the back. With what energy he had he opened the dumpster quickly while no one was watching. He leaned over the bin to try and find half finished or expired food when someone from the restaurant came out into the area surrounding the bin.
"BOSS! WE GOT A LURKER" he screeched, running inside quickly to grab a manager, Dan grabbed what he could and made a mad dash to get out of the corral area. When the man and his manager returned trash covered the floor in mottled disarray but Dan was nowhere to be seen. The two checked the bins thoroughly but Dan had disappeared.
Dan panted furiously sitting on his couch, trying to manage coughing and breathing at the same time. He had managed to grab some lettuce remains, a half eaten slice of pizza, and a soda cup that had a piece of gum and a little bit of orange colored soda left in it. Dan carefully picked the gum off the cup and drank the soda, setting the cup aside for later. He then devoured the pizza in three bites; he licked his fingers savoring the flavor. The lettuce was all that remained. He looked at it hungrily. He wanted to eat it, he really did, but he tried not to go to the shops too often because if they realized he was going to be a problem they would have the bins locked off and his entire food source would be destroyed. He couldn't risk that, he set the lettuce on the side of his couch and decided to set it off until tonight or tomorrow. He was covered in dumpster juice and realized he needed to get some of it off. Dumpster juice was his name for the secretion produced by the older rotting foods found in the dumpster. It wasn't extremely unpleasant considering the scent meant food was nearby but at the same time he didn't want to give people more of a reason to avoid him. He took his big coat off and shook it out, hanging it up. His body felt worse without the coat but at the same time he couldn't manage not trying to be an acceptable member of society. Even after this long he still hoped that this could end.
Many hours had passed sense Dan's escapade at Antonio's. He had rested a while and watched people walking by most of the rest of the afternoon. He hated begging. He couldn't stand the disdainful looks that people often gave him so he took to hiding out and stealing at will.
Dan sighed, things weren't meant to be this way. He and Phil should have made up ages ago just like before. Unfortunately that hadn't happened and wouldn't happen. Dan hadn't seen Phil sense he left home and had no intention to now. Not like this. He sighed, looking down at his worn Converse. They used to be black but now sported a dingy grey color and grey brown laces. You could see the rubber around the edges cracking from exposure. There were holes in the fabric where the strings had no more hope to hold together, the rubber soles had holes walked into them day by day to where there was no water resistance anymore. The shoes reminded Dan of his life. These things that once were worth something now useless and decrepit on the streets. He sighed, looking back to his lettuce.
"Hey, wait, what? SHOO!" Damn screeched, seeing a rat nibbling his lettuce. Dan sprang towards it, it hissed and ran off. Dan looked to the lettuce, it was covered in little bite marks from where the rat was gnawing on it. He chucked the lettuce angrily into the street as a man was walking by. The man looked over startled as Dan began to cough in a manner so ridiculously awful he fell to his knees. The man walked quickly past, he was wearing a nice suit and tie, Dan wanted to think he was late to a meeting or something of the sort, not speeding away to avoid the sick youth in front of him. That would have been insulting but Dan was sure that had not been why he had sped off so quickly. Dan waddled back to his couch and lay down. He'd lost a lot of weight out here; things weren't easy on the streets. That being said things could have been worse - he could have a terminal illness after all, Dan thought to himself, smirking at the reference to the job he had lost. He couldn't say given up, he couldn't think of it that way.
Dan looked over to the corner; it's where his signs were. These were the signs that were asking for money. He hated doing it, but he was so desperate. The charity of others was often the only reason he would be able to get a hot meal. After about 6 months he had saved up enough from the charity of others to purchase a coat. He had remembered walking into the store with the money gathered in his coat pocket, but one look from the storekeeper and it was all over. The man rushed him, with wild eyes and limbs flung this way and that, screaming at Dan to get out of his store. Dan had stammered that he had only wanted to purchase a coat but the man wasn't having it and shooed Dan out of the store. The worst piece of the pie was that as Dan ran a lot of the money fell out of his pocket, Dan had scrambled to pick it up but the shopkeeper began kicking him in the side. He then ran out the store with what money he could salvage and an aching pain in his ribs from where the man's combat boot had met his flesh. All he had wanted was a coat.
Dan grabbed his side, remembering the strenuous bruising that the man had left there. He could still feel the humiliation from that day burning in his heart, on his face; he couldn't bear how that man had made him feel. Dan lay down on the couch, sprawling out gently. He really didn't feel well. His nose, his throat, his heart, his chest - everything about him felt sick or wrong. This wasn't the first cold he'd gotten out here but lately they'd been getting worse and worse, they were starting to reoccur. He would've worried about it were there anything he could do but honestly there really wasn't. Not like this. No one wants to hire someone who sounds like the plague had taken hold of their chest and decided never to let go. He couldn't get hired on before this let alone now. His hair hadn't been this long since 2009. Dan could barely move at this point. His body felt like it was on the edge of collapse but he knew if he didn't keep going there was no "net" to catch him. So he kept going. He kept trying to live because if he didn't, he would simply lay down and die.
