Sometimes Phil would be in a perfectly normal situation-playing video games or watching T.V. with Dan or eating-and he would suddenly remember something that would make him freeze completely. Little things-making cookie dough and later eating it at a sleepover with Dan, playing his D.S. getting a PlayStation for the first time. He'd recall those quiet nights of watching Disney movies, as his and Dan's mums laughed at the innuendos and jokes Phil and Dan didn't understand yet.

It was kind of like having a stroke, or a vision-he'd suddenly stop, overwhelmed with memories of the past.

A feeling would suddenly take Phil in the chest, a swelling feeling that could only be described as being overwhelmed with love. He loved his life and his family and his friends and he was so extremely happy that he had a happy childhood, in the contrary to so many people out there in the world. And although he went through extremely hard times-facing the fact that he was bisexual, admitting to his parents the same thing, bullying-those memories reminded him that happy times existed and that there were more to come in the future. It also made him determined that his children, no matter what sort of people they might turn out to be, would have happy memories to go back to, too.

Sure, most of these memories were generic and blurred together, countless nights of the same board games and jokes, but each of them were laced with love and joy. Although, there was one memory that stood out, sharp and clear, against the mush of his childhood.

The one conversation Phil thought of every day since he realized that he was in love with Dan, his best friend. It was a stupid conversation over five years ago. They were both young and had recently learned what the word "gay" meant. Ignorant. Stupid. Hopelessly innocent.

"Dan…do you think you'd ever be gay?"

"Maybe. It'd be the same thing as loving girls, wouldn't it?"

"I think that I'm gay."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

Dan laughed. "Yeah, I love you too. But we're different."

"Are we?" Phil sat up suddenly and turned to face Dan. His long face peered over Dan's. Dan smiled, and his dark brown eyes suddenly sparkled as he playfully pushed Phil back, making him fall back onto the sleeping bag.

"Hey!" Phil giggled. Dan laughed too.

Suddenly, he stopped and answered Phil's question. "Yeah, we are different. You wouldn't love a girl like you love me, would you?"

Phil bit his lip. Dan was implying that they were like brothers-a love like family.

"I suppose not," Phil had decided, although his belly flopped and the backyard tent they laid in was silent and eventually both boys fell asleep in their separate sleeping bags (although their sides were touching).

Suddenly Phil's cheek was prodded with something cold and wet. "Hey!" Phil laughed, pushing Dan's paintbrush away. "What was that for?" He tried to wipe it away, but only succeeded in smearing it more, which made Dan start laughing.

"You're the one daydreaming!" Dan poked him again, staining Phil's pale, white cheek with a dark green. The paint shone bright against his cheek and dripped down to his chin. "We have an art project to do, remember? That's why we're in here?" He gestured at the big room they were currently sat in, Dan's personal art studio that was nestled away in the middle of the woods behind their backyards.

A few years ago, when they were twelve, Dan finally admitted to his parents that he really liked to draw. So, being the loving and rich parents that they were, they built a studio with big windows, light and air.

"This isn't just for drawing," Phil rolled his eyes, remembering the first day had entered it.

Phil and Dan had looked at it in awe when they first entered, prodding carefully as to not taint the perfect whiteness and organization that was the studio. Their parents had chuckled as the boys marveled at Dan's thirteenth birthday present. Dan's gaze was full of wonder and excitement. Phil could only imagine what works of art Dan could produce here, now that he had a place to do it and the freedom to display them, unlike the messily sketched drawings handed underneath desks. Now Dan had paint and easels. "You're going to be the next Picasso!" Phil had said earnestly before Dan tagged him and they took off, sprinting between the long, light brown, wooden tables.

Their parents thought it might be good place for art projects that needed to be taken home and it was safe place where the boys could play and get out of their hair. Devious Dan was constantly making mischief and innocent Phil was dragged along, motivated only by the thrill of danger and pure love for Dan. In this art studios, people have been victim of merciless pranks, dumped with paint and covered with feathers, and every cliché thing you could imagine.

In the same amount of time it had taken for Phil to become obsessed with Pokémon (which was very little), this studio had become a second home for them.

Easels and half-finished drawings and paintings were strewn across the desks. Buckets of paint were stored on huge shelves and smaller ones in drawers near the big sinks Paintbrushes soaking in water were all across the room, and cleaner ones shoved inside drawers. The big windows showed the views of the forest outside, and of a small river, which were constant inspiration for random drawings. It looked as if they were in the middle of nowhere, cut off from society (which is how both introverts liked it)

With Dan's charms and Phil's puppy-dog eyes, they convinced Dan's parents to install a constantly stocked refrigerator and a T.V., moving Phil and Dan's games and consoles there so they wouldn't clutter up a home.

They put up curtains to block out lights, dragged in old armchairs and couches and their favorite blankets and books. Chargers were added, and basically anything else that convinced Phil and that he would never need to leave that room again. The perfect man cave-a private place for Phil and Dan and no one else.

Phil grabbed a napkin and scrubbed at his cheek. "Can you do mine?" He pleaded, a question commonly asked when it came to art projects. "I did horribly." He waved his hastily painted page in the air for effect. The green paint dribbled, ruining what was once a C-worthy tree. He was tempted to toss it outside, into the rain and then force Dan to paint him another one quickly. He knew that the paper would grow soggy and mud would seep in and stain the white page. The green paint would become watery and spread until there was nothing but a ruined piece of paper on the ground just outside the studio.

"Fine," Dan rolled his eyes. Phil put down his painting in surprise. Dan must be feeling particularly sympathetic towards Phil today. Usually, Dan argued and resisted for hours before giving in (although he was quick to ask to copy off Phil's English homework).

Well, it was a rainy day. Dan knows how Phil feels on rainy days.

The weather was gloomy, and although most of the time it was perfect for cuddling underneath a blanket with Dan and watching countless films, the guilt of not doing anything productive piled up on Phil's shoulders and soon he was in a constant bad mood. It happened almost every day; the stress of projects and inability to take a break and go outside irritated Phil. Outside, where he could escape his stress for a little while and just have a picnic without worrying about school or friends, was heaven for Phil. Bright and beautiful days gave him a constant good mood.

But, Phil also knew how much Dan hated sunny days. It always confused him; the sun and the sight of plants gleaming and the call for adventure out in the forest was Phil's favorite kind of days. It was those days where they took a small picnic with them after school and trekked out where they've never gone before, or visited that small waterfall Dan loved to draw and they sat together, watching nature before them and appreciating the beauty of life that Phil loved the most.

Although, admittedly, most of the time, Phil would also stare and appreciate the beauty of Dan. Who could blame him, though? The subtle greens and blues in Dan's hazel eyes came out only in the sunshine-like drops of colorful paint on a chestnut-colored base. His dark hair would shine and Dan would flick the fringe out of his eyes and smile, and his smile would shine brighter than ever before and Phil would get that feeling in chest again. Completely and utterly overwhelmed.

"Earth to Phil. Are you daydreaming or something?"

Phil scrubbed more furiously on his face, hoping that it would mask how hard he was blushing and secretly wished for a mirror and the ability to control when he had flashbacks.

"Try water," Dan suggested, a smirk on his face. "Wow, green really isn't your color, is it?"

"You sound like a girl," Phil said lamely, but he walked over to the nearest sink anyway, which was still several desks away. Phil subconsciously stared at Dan's creations as he went, grappling with his own thoughts and feeling the ever-constant inner turmoil about Dan arise once more. Dan was his friend-but Dan was also extremely hot. And sweet. And caring. And he loves Buffy. And-

Phil focused on the paintings.

Beautiful images of light filtering through the trees or of a flower beginning to blossom, or even of Dan's dog, Sophie, as she raced through tall, green-yellow grass would litter the tables, probably already forgotten. These were Dan's more common ones; the easy sights he saw so many times he could just visualize in his mind and stroke it onto paper. Dan's hands, thin and long from playing piano for so many years, would caress the paintbrush lightly with these ones, and he would talk to Phil as he painted them, as if he wasn't really paying attention. He'd dab at paint without looking, and whenever he got the wrong color, he'd just incorporate into the painting.

Half-sketched ideas, already forgotten, appeared here and there. Phil always tried to guess what Dan meant to make when he drew them-a half octopus, half-shark? A tornado threatening to wipe out the village of words?

Then, special ones would pop up. Although he would not easily admit it, Dan loved to draw people as well as nature-Dan's mother in mid-laugh, Phil's father in that rare moment when his brow wasn't scrunched up from stress or worry. Phil's favorite ones were of random classmates when they were unaware, a thought caught striking their face or in the middle of class. Beauty caught when they were unaware-classmates that you never really looked twice at and suddenly, you really saw them. They always started out as sketches in Dan's math notebook, ending up somehow in the art studio. Sometimes, a thought could be seen crossing their faces. It was one of Phil and Dan's favorite games to guess what they were thinking once the painting was finished.

Gossip, Dan would say for some of the more loud-mouthed and slutty girls. Secret romance, Phil liked to say for the especially beautiful girls and handsome boys. It was as if it was T.V. show Dan and Phil liked to watch-what's really going through the mind of Susan during biology?

Definitely dinosaurs and placentas, Dan would tease, pointing at that one quiet kid who never spoke. Phil would burst out laughing, but secretly he would think about what that quiet kid would say if he ever saw that drawing. Would he be pleased that someone really paid attention to him and found the amazing side of him, when he was unaware? The side of him that had sparkling green eyes, and curly brown hair that was swept to the side? Or would he hate the fact that this painting exists, wanting to throw it into the fire like Dan did to those he felt weren't good enough.

Phil's hand lightly traced the dry ones as he remembered past conversations he had with Dan about them.

"Oh, her? She probably was wondering what was for lunch. To be honest, I was thinking the same exact thing." Dan laughed, as they huddled around the desk. Sun trickled through the windows, warming Phil's back.

"You always think about food!" Phil told Dan. "It's kind of annoying."

"Speaking of food…I recently got a new stash of Malteasers." Dan grinned mischievously. "Want to help me finish them before Mum gets home?"

"As long as we don't eat them as fast as we did last time," Phil cringed at the memory. "I don't think I ever felt so sick in my life!"

The memories were probably half the reason why he loved these paintings so much. Phil grinned and suddenly his bad mood was lifted. Oh, how liberating it was to be able to escape in a memory. A gift and a burden all at once.

And then, his fingers caught another painting. One…of him.

It was painted in only shades of blue and caught Phil mid-laugh, hand reaching up to cover up his mouth. His indigo tongue poked out between pastel blue teeth and his eyes twinkled in different shades. Periwinkle, sky blue, countless others. The background was a solid pastel blue, so light that the darkness of Phil's favorite checkered shirt contrasted well. It was amazing, but also…weird. Dan hated painting in only one color, and it wasn't in any definable moment-and Phil was sure there wasn't any picture of him like that. Did Dan sketch this when they were in class? Wait, why would he ever laugh in class?

Phil stopped, suddenly remembering something. His heart thudded against his chest.

"Hey, Dan," Phil asked lazily, leaning over from his chair to flick Dan on the shoulder. He yawned-he'd just pulled an all-nighter the day before in order to study for a test that he most definitely failed.

"What?" The corner of Dan's mouth turned up in a smile even though his voice was irritated. He continued his drawing, a huge black storm with one streak of white lightning. Differently shaded gray and black pencils covered his desk, as with crumpled up attempts and half thought-out ideas.

Phil spun around in his office chair that was right next to Dan's and chewed the inside of his lip. Suddenly, he felt really nervous. "Um…" he cleared his throat. "I was wondering….if you could draw me?"

Dan stiffened and his half-smile froze. "Draw you?" He looked up and his usually sparkling eyes were dull. "Why do you want a painting of yourself?"

"Uh… I don't know," Phil shrugged. "I guess I just always wanted to see what one would look like."

"Well, I already live with one of you," Dan teased, elbowing Phil. "I don't see why I need another one."

"Will you ever draw me?" Phil had asked.

Dan shook his head. "I draw the things that are either everyday views that could be seen as more beautiful, or special moments that I never want to forget." He cocked his head. "I practically live with you, and you know that we're definitely going to get an apartment after college, so I don't think that you're necessarily a 'special moment'."

Phil had agreed silently and left the topic alone, but secretly he was rejoicing the fact that Dan wasn't planning on leaving Phil's life anytime soon.

Truth be told, the painting was amazing. Well, more amazing than usual. It made Phil look beautiful, fun, humorous, like someone you wanted to be friends with. Huh. Phil thought, his smile fading with him realizing it and replaced with a look of awe. What an amazing Phil to be.

"Something wrong?" He vaguely heard Dan call, but he wasn't paying attention.

Dan had painted him. A smile traced Phil's lips, just as gentle and light as Phil's fingers over the painting. Dan had painted him. But what for? Was it for a present? Was he even supposed to see it? Phil took a step back. Wait, what if it wasn't even for him? What if it was for-

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around, only to see Dan, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Whoa, calm down. I just wanted to see what was wrong. You stopped all of a sudden and-" Dan trailed off as his eyes caught sight of what Phil was staring at.

Dan froze and he muttered, "Shit. You were not supposed to see that."

Phil stammered, "Uh…is this…"

"Sorry, I'll just, um,"

"It's great, um, I love it…but…"

"No. Shit. Shit. I'm sorry, I'll just.."

"Who is it for?"

"Um…Listen, um, I'm not good with…like,"

"I just want to say-"

"-sorry-"

"Just listen, Dan."

Dan looked up, and a shaft of light his hazel eyes and suddenly a green just like the one on Phil's cheek shone brightly on the edges of his iris.

"I….um…I just don't understand why you painted it. It's fantastic-it really is-but…why?"

Dan mumbled, "Maybe it's because one of you just isn't enough…"

There was a silence.

And then, all of sudden, their foreheads were touching and Phil's hands were Dan's waist and they looked into each others eyes, Phil was wondering who made the first move and was about ask but was cut off by Dan closing the space between them with a kiss.

It was a colorful kiss, painted with reds and pinks and blues of every shade until Dan pulled away, and Phil gasped for breath and that conversation they had, all those years ago, ran through his head again.

"I think I might be gay," Phil heard himself say.

"Why?" Dan recited and Phil knew, he knew that Dan also played this conversation in his head, every day.

"Because I love you," Phil whispered.

Dan laughed. "Yeah, I love you too."

Phil's breath caught.

Dan went in for another kiss, but just before their lips touched, he said, "But we're different."

"Are we?" Phil asked.

"Yeah," Dan said and the following answer was the opposite of what Phil expected. "Because gay is wrong-" He pressed his lips against Phil's and pulled away, smirking. "And this is so right."