Guess who took almost a year to finally get round to writing more for this au, even if it is a backstory instead of a continuation... (almost forgot the word 'continuation' and called it a 'forward-story'... skills)


chapter 1: happy enough


Phil had nothing to complain about.

He really didn't.

Sure, he was on his own more often than not and his food was pretty much always stolen but that was okay because his little garden made up for everything.

Said little garden is where Phil finds himself waking up yet again. It wasn't his fault this time, they'd locked him in the greenhouse because they thought it would scare him but the joke's on them because being surrounded by plants is a small heaven for him and he's never slept better.

"Phil? What are you doing in there so early?" One of the older girls asks, dressed for her morning jog.

He shrugs. "I fell asleep."

"I can see that!" She grins at him before unlocking the door – which can only be opened from the outside – and ruffling his hair, the flower crown on his head almost falling off. "Go and get some breakfast."

"Thanks, uhm, Jade?"

He fixes his borderline-tattered flower crown, making sure it's not on the verge of falling off as she – now confirmed to indeed be Jade – nods. "Catch you later, plant boy."

Phil smiles at her and yawns, glancing around the small home he's made for himself before heading back to the house and slipping into the kitchen where he hopes nobody else has arrived yet. They haven't, thankfully. Not wanting to risk being seen by the older boys, even though they're not really that much older and shouldn't scare him as much as they do, he grabs two of the brioches from the drawer - one for breakfast now and one for later - then finds himself a bottle of water before leaving again.

The back garden is honestly more or less a gamble. It's less of a garden and more of an empty space nobody had claimed. It had obviously belonged to someone at some point because the little greenhouse couldn't have built itself but the overgrown grass and untamed weeds had made it clear it'd been abandoned, so the orphanage had claimed it. They'd claimed it but done nothing with it, using it as an excuse to get everyone outside and remove some chaos from inside the house.

Frankly, you had to either really love nature or really hate other people to venture into the garden. Luckily for him, Phil fell into both of those categories and he was the only one who did so it became an unspoken rule that the greenhouse was his and his alone. This unspoken rule also meant that he didn't have a bedroom for himself inside but it didn't bother him as he was outside most of the time and sleep doesn't exactly need a bedroom to take its toll anyway.

His makeshift garden is his safe haven and has been for a while. The other kids don't like him and none of them wants to get their hands dirty just to taunt him so gardening is out of the question, meaning that he can spend his days in peace as long as he stays inside the greenhouse.

So, as usual, he pulls out his almost-full scrapbook and starts drawing the closest plant to him while humming quietly. He loses track of time entirely, taking only one small break to eat the other brioche and occasionally water his plants. His bubble of concentration is only broken when something like solidified thunder falls onto the glass roof and scares the breath out of him.

It's rain.

He frowns, noting that the sky has darkened considerably, moving to get up but changing his mind as soon as the rain becomes heavier, too heavy for him to make it back to the house without being soaked to the bone. Sighing, he sits back down and closes his eyes, wrapping his faded, sky blue hoodie closer around himself smiling at the sound of rain striking the glass above him.

He's almost lulled to sleep when something crashes, someone swears, and something else falls against the greenhouse.

He squeezes his eyes shut and stays as still as possible, hoping that if he dies, his death will be quick. Dimly, he wonders if anyone will even notice he's gone, if they'll realise he's not around for them to tease, if they'll find his body before he's a pile of bones.

"I bloody hate the rain." somebody mutters darkly.

Phil's heart freezes when he realises he doesn't recognise the voice, which means there's someone new inside his greenhouse, there's a stranger in his garden, he's probably going to die, this is it, his whole life has led to being killed in a greenhouse and he's going to be killed before he's had a chance to watch his flowers blossom and his grave will be a garden inside a greenhouse and-

There's a high-pitched shriek.

He's ever heard of a murderer shrieking in a pitch high enough to be part of an opera performance before so Phil lets himself relax a little, opening his eyes as slowly as he can but still staying huddled in the corner. After a moment, his gaze focuses on the boy standing with a hand over his chest, clearly recovering from shock.

"You scared the life out of me! Do you have flowers on your head? Wait, what are you doing in here?" The boy asks, raising an eyebrow at Phil.

"It's called a flower crown," Phil says defensively, wanting to sound annoyed but the tremble in his voice making him sound scared instead. Not that he's not scared. But he doesn't need anyone else to know that, especially not a ridiculously charming anyone who's acting like he owns the world.

"And this is my garden," Phil continues as his voice strengthens, now sounding too strong to be his own and serving as a direct contrast to the fear in his heart, "so I think I should be the one asking you that question."

The boy blinks. He then laughs, letting his hand drop away from his heart before sitting down opposite Phil, cross-legged.

Phil stares at him, amazed at his nerve and nonchalant attitude to trespassing. He's dripping wet, clearly having run through the rain, and his hair is curling where it's been soaked. Those curls, Phil thinks, could give the ocean's waves a run for their money. He's just admiring the way droplets of rain are balanced on his curls when the boy clears his throat.

"So, you live here?"

Phil nods, tearing his gaze away from the brown locks to the darker, brown eyes.

"Do you have a name?"

"For what?" Phil asks, promptly going red as he realises his mistake. "I mean, um, yeah, I'm- I'm Phil."

"Pleasure to meet you, Phil." The boy still looks too amused for his own good. "I'm-"

Whatever his name is, it gets cut off by a clap of thunder. Both boys jump, Phil automatically hunching over to cover his ears. When the thunder stops and he can hear his own breathing again, Phil looks up to see the other boy leaning forwards, his head on his crossed legs and his arms curled around the back of his neck like a shield.

Hesitantly, Phil coughs. "Are you okay?"

The boy doesn't move.

Worried, Phil uncurls himself and inches forwards, reaching out an arm to touch the other boy in case he needs comforting. As soon as the tip of his finger touches the boy's arm, the boy jerks upwards, his arms flying up, accidentally hitting Phil in the process. Phil yelps, cradling his nose and hoping it hasn't broken again.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit you! Please say nothing is broken, I'm so sorry!" The boy blurts immediately.

"Nothing is broken," Phil says instantly, the words slightly muffled by his hand. When he's sure his statement is actually true, he removes his hand and sighs. "It's fine. I'm okay."

The boy bites his lip before sighing remorsefully. "I'm sorry, it was just a reflex and-"

"Don't worried- uh, don't worry about it. I'm guessing you don't like thunder?"

"Not really, no." The boy grins sheepishly. "I'm Dan, by the way. This is like those introduction things we had to do in primary school, isn't it? Hi, my name is Dan and I don't like thunder."

Phil laughs. "I'm Phil and I like plants."

"You also have a lopsided flower crown..." Dan's voice is hushed as his eyes focus on Phil's hair. As if on autopilot, he leans forward and gently pushes one side of the fabric up so that it's central again, his fingers lightly brushing Phil's forehead as he does so; Phil has to resist the urge to shiver at his touch.

There's a silence after that, the two of them listening to the incessant rain. Phil calms his heart down before debating whether or not to ask where Dan had come from, eventually saying, "If we ever did a performing act, we could call ourselves 'the thunderless plants'."

He half expects Dan to scowl and turn away from him like everybody else but he's pleasantly surprised when that doesn't happen. Instead, Dan smiles as if he appreciates Phil's comment, seeming to genuinely consider the idea.

"Maybe; that's a pretty witty stage name. But it's not like I can do anything anybody would want to watch."

Phil frowns. He wants to argue otherwise but he doesn't know Dan well enough so he just shrugs. "Neither can I so it's okay."

This time, their rapid descent into silence is due to a mutual lack of interest in small talk. Their silence only breaks once more when Dan gestures to the succulents on the floor. "What are they?"

"The succulents?" Phil frowns.

Dan nods. "I guess? I've never seen them before but they look pretty cool. Are they rare?"

Phil giggles. "They're not pokemon."

There's a moment where Phil regrets saying anything but Dan's knowing smirk causes his doubt to disappear and so he explains what he can remember about succulents and where they come from. By the time he's exhausted his knowledge, having stumbled over his sentences far too often for his liking, the rain has stopped and the sky has gone dark but Dan hasn't stopped staring at him in wonder, still giving Phil his undivided attention.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have talked for so long!" Phil bites his lip, guilt settling in his stomach at the thought of Dan having to walk home in the dark.

"It's okay; you're cute when you're explaining plant stuff."

Phil blushes as red as the flowers next to Dan. He appreciates the kindness more than he cares to admit, knowing he'd probably made a fool of himself. He hopes that the relative darkness means Dan can't tell he's blushing but he doesn't count on it, knowing firsthand that false hope is one of the most dangerous weapons to ever exist.

"Can I stay here for the night?" Dan asks as if he hadn't just caused Phil's heart to flip. "I'm rubbish at navigation even when I can see."

"Stay here?" Phil echoes, still reeling from the compliment. He then clears his throat and nods. "Uh yeah, sure, okay. As long as you go really early in the morning. I'm not allowed any visitors."

"I'm not some old visitor," Dan scoffs.

"Try explaining that to the boxing glove incarnates," Phil mumbles to himself.

Dan makes a face but either doesn't hear him or pretends not to hear him correctly, choosing to then send Phil a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, I'll be gone before you can get in trouble."

Nodding his gratitude, Phil leans back again, stretching his legs out since he finally feels comfortable enough to do so. Dan leans against the door and does the same, crossing one leg over the other and lazily cracking his knuckles.

"How did you get here?" Phil asks quietly.

Dan starts for a second, then relaxes once again. "I was out and it started to rain when I saw this roof so I climbed over the fence."

It's not really an explanation that properly satiates any kind of curiosity but it's enough for Phil, who's just happy his question had been answered at all. He says nothing as Dan slowly closes his eyes, his breathing becoming steadier and steadier as Phil watches. When he realises Dan is asleep, he blushes again, not wanting anyone to see him watching another boy sleep and find him creepy, not that anyone is around to see them.

He wraps his arms around his scrapbook so Dan can't steal it if he wakes up first - not that he expects someone as nice as Dan to steal anything - and curls up, shutting his eyes and trying his best to fall asleep.

It must work because, when he feels the sun on his eyelids, he feels rested. He also notices the lack of company he has and sighs, wondering if Dan was actually here or if he was, as they say, merely a figment of his imagination.

He settles on Dan being a figment of his imagination because the conversation he can remember having is too good to be true and he's never met anyone who can tolerate him talking about plants, or anything else really. As he sighs and shifts to get comfortable so he can go back to sleep, he spots an empty space that shouldn't exist.

One of his succulents is missing.

A figment of imagination or not, Dan asking about succulents and one of them going missing the morning after can't be a coincidence, can it?

"Hey, plant boy, get up!" Eric yells as he bangs on the greenhouse door, pulling Phil back into the moment.

He scrambles to his feet, surreptitiously sliding his scrapbook under the bench and stepping outside, slightly confused.

"Some of our stuff has been stolen, have you seen anyone suspicious?"

Oh.

Phil's not sure but he thinks his heart breaks a little. The first person he'd found who seemed genuinely nice hadn't really been escaping the rain, but distracting him to avoid admitting he was a thief?

"No," Phil replies anyway. Even if he had imagined another boy and Dan was just a thief, Phil won't be the one to sell him out. Especially not to Eric.

"Right, of course not. Useless as always..." Eric mutters, and that's the end of that conversation.

Phil just sighs and retreats to the safety of his corner. If there's been a robbery, everyone will be downstairs and the kitchen won't be empty so he can't get away with taking any food for breakfast. He just hopes the police don't show up because then they all have to act as if everything is perfectly normal and there's nothing as draining as that.

He shuts his eyes, trying not to cry at the thought of losing yet another potential friend. As he falls back into sleep and wraps his arms around himself to try and get warm, it's definitely harder than before to convince himself he's happy enough not to complain. He still does it though, feeling the coolness of the glass against his side and being thankful he'd been sheltered from the rain. Being alive and unhurt - and able to still feel the ghost of the kindest touch to ever exist hours after the incident itself - sometimes has to be sufficient for a reason to be happy enough, right?


Please leave a review! Let me know if you see mistakes or are interested in me continuing this! Thanks!