PART FOUR [4]
Dan liked Tom Felton.
Two weeks had passed since his outing with Rupert and Emma—the outing in which Emma had made her opinion on Dan's feelings towards Tom remarkably clear—and Dan was no longer able to deny it. Emma had called earlier that day and asked if he'd gotten past the depression stage, yet, and Dan had glumly told her yes.
He'd spent the first few days in complete denial of it. Emma was wrong and he didn't like Tom. It made no sense to like Tom. Hell, he didn't even like blokes. And then he'd realized, after (effortlessly) trying to imagine the feel of Tom's lips on his (in an effort to prove himself) and getting hard, that he could like blokes if they were fit enough, and Tom was fit. And then it'd been anger. For days he'd walked around with a terrible temper, blowing up at nearly everyone (including his poor Mum, who'd only called to see if he was eating alright). He didn't understand why he didn't see it before. He'd been upset at himself, and irate at Tom for practically forcing out something that was probably never meant to have been forced out. If the bloody moron had never started that Drarry shite, had never kissed him, he would have still been fine. Still have been normal.
He supposed the next few days, with his endless promises to be a better person and donate to more charities if he'd only just go back to being bloody normal, was the bargaining stage.
The last three days had been plain awful, spent in what acutely felt like a murky fog. He was constantly tired, constantly down, constantly feeling detached from everything. He spent his days in his bed, too tired to eat, thinking what was the point. What if his apparent bisexuality turned to all out gay and he was never able to marry someone, or have kids? Or what if his Mum found out and disowned him? Or worse—the media, and he was forced to quit stardom and live a life of a recluse in some valley. He considered Yorkshire—upper Nidderdale had always been one of his favorite places to visit. If he was to become infamous he might as well move into some isolated location he actually liked. And leaving the UK and possibly living with Americans (or worse—Canadians) was simply out of the question.
Dan had woken up yesterday morning with golden sunshine pouring through his windows, drenching his bed in brilliant warmth, and had finally come to the conclusion that yes, he was bi, and yes, he fancied his best friend, and that no, it bloody well wasn't the end of the world. He'd simply live with it, like every other gay or bi person had to live with it. And eventually, if he took care to not think about Tom inappropriately, he'd get over his crush on him and things would go back to normal. He'd just have accept things and try to be optimistic.
The Acceptance stage.
Emma had asked him on the phone a few hours ago if he realized that the Kuber-Ross model was designed for people who were dying or suffering from catastrophic loss ("It's called "The Five Stages of Grief" for a reason, Dan"). Dan had told her, very seriously, that he'd been ruthlessly deprived of his ability to refer to himself as "straight", and if that wasn't enough cause for grief he didn't know what was.
Emma had huffed at him, fondly called him an idiot, and asked him what he was going to do.
He'd answered honestly: he didn't know.
Laying on his couch with his feet perched on the arm and re-runs of Monty Python flashing across the muted telly, Dan figured his first step should be to call Tom. He sat up, grabbed the remote, and switched the telly off. He sat staring at the black screen for what felt like ages before he huffed and fished between the cushions for his cell. Dan flipped the bulky device open, unlocked it, entered the Contacts Menu and scrolled for Tom's number, and clicked on it.
Two buttons—a green one that read "Call" and a red one that read "Cancel"—popped onto the screen. He froze for a moment before sighing explosively and hitting the red one.
"Coward," he said aloud.
Not that he thought it would, but it didn't make him feel better.
Dan shook his head and stood. He needed a plan B.
Plan B ended up being thought up by Emma, who all but threatened Dan with castration if he didn't follow through with it. And now Dan was standing on Tom's doorstep, finger hovering inches in front of the bell button, wondering why the hell he'd decided to call her of all people.
I've been avoiding him for a month, Dan thought guiltily. He's not going to want to speak to me.
He'd told that to Emma, too, and she had unsympathetically asked him whose fault that was. Dan had hung up on her after that.
Dan exhaled from his nose, closed his eyes, and pressed the button. The sound of the bell rang loudly throughout the yard. He stifled the urge to turn tail and flee, shifted his feet, and waited.
A few seconds later Dan caught movement from the keyhole, and then the locks on the door began to click and slide. The door was pushed open, and an irritated looking Tom stepped out.
"Er," Dan found himself saying, stupidly. There went the nice speech he'd been planning on making.
Tom, hair wet and wearing a dark green bathrobe, narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
He swallowed. "T-to talk."
Tom snorted. He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned his back against the open doorway. "Funny, it didn't seem like you wanted that when I tried calling you five times a day for the past month."
And how was anyone to respond to that?
Dan looked down, guilt making his stomach churn.
Moments passed and Tom sighed. When Dan looked up, the pinched expression on Tom's face was replaced by weariness. With his eyes closed, he turned around and started walking in.
"Come in, then." He muttered over his shoulder.
Sighing in relief, Dan did. He closed the door behind him, toed his white trainers off at the door, and followed Tom down the hall and into the sitting room. Without a word Tom plopped onto the sofa. Hesitating, Dan faltered for a moment before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.
"So."
"I'm sorry," Dan blurted. His heart was pounding, and his throat had gone almost agonizingly dry. What if, even after he apologized, Tom still didn't forgive him? What if their friendship never recovered simply because Dan had acted like a complete idiot? "I'm really, really sorry, Tom. I acted like a prat—" Tom snorted, but Dan pressed on "—and I'm sorry I avoided you this past month. I really, really am."
He exhaled, glanced down at the transparent coffee table, and admitted in a small voice, "But I really missed you. I missed my best mate. I—I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore, but… I just wanted you to know. So… yeah." He trailed off, ears burning.
Tom didn't say anything, and just when Dan was about to get up and leave, because surely the whole fucking thing was just pointless, Tom said, "Just—just don't fucking do that again, yeah? Next time… next time I won't be so forgiving."
Relief crashed into Dan like a deluged wave and had he not been sitting he was sure his legs would have given out. He gave Tom a small, hesitant smile, and all out grinned when Tom returned it.
"Dork," Tom said.
Dan grinned harder.
It turned out that Dan's plan to not think of Tom in that way was a lot harder than he initially thought. The first few days after Dan's apology had been strained, consisting of forced laughs, tentative quips, and awkward touches. As the month of October flew by, and Halloween drew near, however, Dan found his and Tom's relationship to have slightly improved. While the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end whenever Tom so much as smiled at him (and not in a particularly bad way), Dan rejoiced in the fact that the smiles came a lot easier. It wasn't before long that Tom was (torturously) slinging his arm over Dan's shoulder and punching him on the arm, just like he used to before the incident ever occurred.
In fact, Dan thought suspiciously, watching Tom who was stretched over his bed with his nose in his e-reader (and what he was reading, well, Dan didn't dare to ask), it was as if the incident hadn't happened at all.
But that's a good thing, he reminded himself, unfolding his legs and crossing them the opposite direction. No need to stir up trouble.
"…Halloween, Dan?"
Dan startled and swiveled his head in the direction of his bed.
"What?"
Tom rolled his eyes and sat up, placing the reader beside his lap.
"What are you wearing for Halloween?" he said again.
"Oh," Dan said, then shrugged. "No bloody idea."
Tom quirked a dirty blond brow. "You are going to the Halloween party this year, aren't you? Bonnie is hosting it."
Tom wrinkled his nose after he said it, as if attending anything Bonnie was hosting made his skin crawl. Quite sure that it probably had something to do with the fact that Bonnie was playing Ginny, Harry's to-be wife, Dan chose not to shake his head in exasperation and demand that Tom be nice to her.
"I guess," he muttered, and reached up to scratch the back of his head. To be honest he had completely forgotten about the annual Halloween party that members of the Harry Potter cast took turns hosting each year. He figured he was entitled to being a bit forgetful about things considering all the crap that'd been on his mind as of late.
Namely one Tom Felton, who was looking at him as if he'd gone insane. Halloween had always been one of Dan's favorite holidays, so he supposed it was to be expected.
"You alright?"
"Have you already decided on a costume?" Dan asked instead, steering the conversation in another direction.
Apparently allowing the change of subject, Tom nodded and grinned.
"I've had my costume ready since August."
Dan's brows shot upwards. That was early, even for Tom.
"What are you going as, then?"
Tom looked pleasantly pleased with himself, and only a slight bit nervous, when he blurted out "Draco Malfoy."
Dan very nearly almost choked on his own spit.
Since the day Tom had forgiven him for being a prat, there had been certain subjects that the both of them had taken care to avoid. The incident was one of them. Dan's obsession with fan fiction was another. Just to be safe, they'd wordlessly counted certain words as "unsafe words", and "Harry" and "Draco" (especially out of canon context) were two of them.
Swallowing heavily, Dan regained his composure and tried for a nonchalant look. He wasn't sure he was succeeding. "Why in the world would you go as Draco, Tom, when you play his character?"
The tension in Tom's shoulder visibly seeped away, and he grinned a little brighter. "No, see, I play canon Draco with all the loose robes and gelled hair and whatnot. Fanon Draco is a whole other story."
Curious despite himself, Dan asked, "Oh?"
Tom nodded. "Yeah."
Dan frowned. "I don't understand how you can condone random people changing your character so much. I'd be right angry if they did the same to mine."
The corners of Tom's lips tugged upwards, transforming his grin into an amused smirk.
"What?" Dan demanded.
Tom rose his hands. "Oh, nothing. Just thought of something funny."
Dan glared at him but chose not to push.
They spent the next hour browsing the 'net for something Dan could wear and talking about all the crazy stuff that happened at the last party. It was eight o'clock when Tom folded up his laptop and got himself ready to leave.
Tom was pulling on his trainers by the foyer when his face scrunched up and he let out a deep breath.
"Crap. I forgot to let you know that I'm going to be out of town for the next week."
Dan looked down on him in surprise.
"What? Why?"
"I've got an audition for a play."
"Oh. Where?"
"Durham."
"Oh." Dan's stomach squirmed with displeasure, even while knowing that it was only a bloody week. He and Tom had gone longer without seeing one another.
Trying not to scowl, he said, "I guess I won't see you until the Halloween party, then."
Tom nodded. He pulled on his jumper, then the coat over it, and fixed his long grey scarf around his neck. He pulled a pair of fingerless gloves out of his pocket (he remembered telling Tom once before that he didn't get the point of them, and Tom had replied that he didn't like the feeling of his hands being restricted) and pulled them on, then secured his sack over his shoulders.
"I'll be off, then."
"Yeah. Good luck with the audition, Tom."
Tom gave him a saucy wink that made heat pool in his stomach. "Not that I'll need it, but thank you."
"Cocky bastard," Dan retorted. He immediately regretted his choice of wording when his pants became a bit tighter at the word "cock".
Tom, ignorant of Dan's current inner turmoil, slapped him on the shoulder and opened the door. A blast of cold air rushed into the house and Dan shivered.
"Bugger it's cold," Tom whispered before shoving his fingers into his coat pockets and stepping outside.
Dan waited until he was down the front steps before he closed the door with a shudder.
It didn't make any sense, but he felt like he missed Tom already.
Shaking his head in disgust, he locked the door and headed into the house. He had a phone call to make.
Note: If the American/Canadian comment bothered you any, please refer to chapter 7: Notes. Underneath the notes for part4 there's a detailed explanation. Thank you.
TBC.
