Title: Ivory Boy

Word Count: 1025

Pairing: Phan

Summary: Dan Howell competes nationally in youth piano competitions all across America with his father at his side. One glance changes everything. Phan. Rated M for mature content. Based on a prompt given to me by tumblr user phansturbate.

Chapter One

I have a home nestled in between deep cracks of ivory. I have a song hidden in my heart that needs to be sung. I have a twitch in my fingers and a skip in my step as the constant melody plays through my head. It forces me to be alive, yet I have no clue how to live. My chest aches and my feet tap uncontrollably. I shiver until the song pours out of me through my fingertips, and for the first time in forever,

I feel alive.


There's no particular reason why I started to take piano lessons, I think I just wanted to be able to control something larger than myself. That's always been a problem for me, being out of control, even when I was a little kid and just starting off. Piano allows me to express myself without talking for the most part; it's my favorite part. I'm only loud when I'm touching the white or black keys, and sometimes not even then. Part of me finds this to be fine, but the other, more honest part, wants to call me a freak.

Maybe that honest part is correct in some aspects.

"You ready to win?" My dad shoots me his familiar, cocky smile, and I nod, because if I don't, he'll be upset. My mom probably knows I'm nervous, but I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to her in five years. It hadn't been all about competition when she was around, and it still isn't for me. But it is for my dad, who's supporting me through this financially. He pats me on the back and kisses the top of my head before leaving me alone behind a long, red curtain. It's just me. Plus the hundreds of people in the audience, which is almost nothing compared to nationals last year, which I had lost.

I swallow my nerves and bottle my frustration because I can't afford another loss.

I can't survive more mental tormenting.

"Contestant number 238," My number is called, not my name, because that's all I am to these people, a number. I crack what seems to be every joint in my body just by twisting my core. My feet carry me to the grand piano that sits center stage, and I find myself center stage. Beads of sweat start to form on the nape of my neck as I sit and the heat from the lights hits me. My formal attire never has been pleasing.

I cough, look offstage, and then back to the piano. My sheet music already sits before me. The whispers beg for me to begin playing, so I do. My fingers hit the ivory, and I find my home. I can feel the notes leave kisses on my cheeks as they fly out of the piano and string together into a song. My heart sings along, beating to the rhythm my own foot creates.

I look up for a brief moment, for I know this piece note for note, and I know I can improvise if I mess up anyways, and in that brief moment…

I see him.

He stands offstage, out of the spotlight. I believe his hair to be dark, but I honestly can't tell because of the lighting. He wears the same as I do; a suit and tie. I'm breathless and relaxed yet so stiff to the point where my fingers have no clue where to turn. He makes eye contact with me and I swear I see sparks that blind me and put me out of it for an indefinite amount of time. Wasted time. I don't recover until I find my fingers twitching back to life and making a recovery. I do not look at the keys, nor do I look at my music. I look at this boy and the bag of chips in his hand and I let my fidgeting fingers play. I let my heart sing and I let droplets fall from my eyes because for the first time in forever the sweeping sensation of adoration has completely blown through me. All I can do is play and become a human fountain.

He must see the look on my face, because he gets this smirk that makes me want to get up from this damn instrument and learn all about him.

I play until I can't, which ends up being ten minutes later, right before the time limit. I take a breath, and I drown in applause.


"I don't know what the hell that was, Dan, but it was stupid and gutsy, even for you." My dad spits in my face his hand wrapped tightly around my wrist.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but you heard them, the crowd. They were cheering so loud, Dad."

"I don't care about the crowd!" He drops my wrist and runs a hand through his hair. "The judges, w-what did the judges look like when you finished?" I bite my lip and look at the poster hanging behind my dad that reads "Mind the Hatred".

"I'm not sure, really. I wasn't really looking at them."

He groans. "You must pay attention, Daniel." I cringe at the formality of my name.

"Yes, dad."

We wait for the results for three hours. I do not see the boy who caused me to mess up. I'm starting to forget what he looks like and the feeling of euphoria is fading fast. I don't want the unexplored emotion to fade, no not yet. I refuse to let it fade. I refuse to forget the image of the boy, and I refuse to listen to my dad's terrible chatter.

Black hair, black hair, black hair…

Suit, tie, suit, tie, suit, tie…

Eyes… eyes? Green eyes? Blue eyes?

Shit.

"Pardon our interruption but entry numbers 238, 397, 002, 195, and 1633 are requested to return to the concert hall. Numbers 238, 397, 002, 195, and 1633 to the concert hall please.

I've made top five. I've made it to the state competition. But I can't relax, because I haven't found that boy, that beautiful boy.

And maybe I never will.