Dan was clicking his pen at a rapid fire pace –click-a, click-a, click-a, click— in the back of the lecture hall where it went unnoticed by his fellow classmates. His professor saw him thumbing frantically as he pondered his exam paper, but said nothing. It was the most noise Dan had made all term, and judging by his overt anxiety, it was best not to interrupt. More than once in the last hour, Dan had considered getting up and walking out with his paper blank. He'd have no qualms about it later; he was going to fail anyway, he was certain. But something was keeping him in his seat, wracking his brain for an answer. There was only a half hour remaining, and Dan had bullshitted an answer –just seventy-four more to go.

Dan didn't hear his professor announce that it was end of time, nor the clacking of his classmates' pens on their own small desks. He'd answered ten questions: ten questions of seventy-five because he had no idea what the hell he'd been doing all semester. He'd failed. Even in a class he'd enrolled in simply to buy time to figure out what he was doing, he had failed.

Most of the students had left to go happily about their day, and Dan was still in his uncomfortable chair, staring at the paper even though he was no longer able to give any feeble attempts in ignorance. Something, though –anything— still would've been better than the blank sheet before him. But he was too late; his professor was approaching his seat. Dan clutched his exam tightly, letting it crinkle in his grip, as if not letting it go will allow him to pass the course.

His professor gave Dan an almost piteous look, and Dan had never felt more pathetic. "Mr. Howell, exam time is up. I need your test."

Dan felt his defeat imminent, and handed the paper over, not thinking about the test or his marks or anything. The first thing he remembered were the weeks of hours of cramming, on top of classes, and meetings with a friendly speech therapist that was wasting his time with Dan. Dan was a lost cause, and if this- if this didn't prove it to the world, he wasn't sure what would.

Dan stumbled meekly out of the center, bag strung heavily over his shoulder as he went for the same route as his peers. He wasn't sure if he'd walk or ride the bus home today; he really wasn't sure he was ready to go home yet at all. The weather was warm if a bit dreary, and it might rain but Dan didn't mind the wet. He needed to take a walk first, and clear his head.

It was a mistake to walk by his old dorm hall, and ashamed to not have been looking where he'd been going, Dan turned on his heel to head in the polar direction before he was spotted by someone he'd once known in passing, some vaguely familiar face of an unfamiliar student. But he was too late –Ethan Anders was standing at a bench in front of the building, puffing at a cigarette and a small bottle of vodka in reach, when he saw his old roommate. And with a glint in his eye and malevolence in his heart, he stood and followed after him.

Dan felt himself being followed, and knew exactly who it was. It took all his will to not turn and beat the shit out of his pursuer, his boyfriend's rapist. He couldn't risk going to jail for it, couldn't do that to Phil, knowing he wanted to think as little as he could of it anymore. So Dan trudged on pushing his hands into his pockets with Ethan still at his heels?

"Hey, Howell, where've you been?"

Dan said nothing. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. This was an Ethan he hadn't known on the night of the attack: this Ethan had no worries of being found out, had nothing he immediately had to hide. This Ethan wasn't innocent, this Ethan was taunting, vile, a monster relishing what he'd done.

"You left so suddenly I thought you might've dropped out, with your marks and all." Again, no response. Ethan jogged forward to catch up, but continued to lag behind, grating over his victim's shoulder. "How's your boyfriend –is he okay? I've been thinking about him ever since the night someone came in and hurt him while you were out." Dan kept walking, feeling his blood boiling. "God knows who could've done it."

Yes, God knows, and so do I.

"What's the matter, dude, not gonna talk to me? I'm just being friendly."

Dan shook his head furiously, tears welling in his eyes, not turning his head to face Ethan, continuing to march toward the bus stop. Not much farther now.

"Oh well, I've gotta get going, anyway. Say hi to Phil for me."

"FUCK OFF. You've done enough, haven't you? Leave him alone, leave us alone, and fuck you for hurting me. You can go fuck yourself because I am so fucking done with this shit. And you better be careful, because I'm looking for anything that will put your sorry arse in jail. Don't you ever speak of think about him again, or so help me—"

Tears cascading down his face, Dan turned and ran up the hill to catch the bus just in time. He threw some change into the tin and plopped heavily into a seat in the back. He leaned his head against the window and looked outside without really seeing, mind too laden with other thoughts to notice the city around him pass by in a blur. That had been the most clearly he'd said something in- maybe ever, but he didn't even notice. And no one would.

He found Phil at home in a cheerier mood than himself. He stood in the doorway, smiling fondly even as his face was streaked with tears, watching his boyfriend do a bit of tidying up. He crept up behind Phil and wrapped his arms around his waist, craning his neck to press his lips to the man's cheek. He simply adored him.

Phil smiled and turned around in Dan's arms for a proper kiss, though still only a quick peck. Deeper kisses were as intimate as they'd been since that sudden blowjob, and needed to be saved for more appropriate times. They were both content with that. 'How was your exam? Do you think you did well?'

And the day's events came rushing back to Dan. He let go of Phil's waist, staggering back and awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. He brought his shaky hands up to respond. 'I failed.' He fell back onto the sofa behind him.

Phil followed, sitting close next to his boyfriend. 'What makes you think you failed?' he asked, optimistic but cautiously so. 'I'm sure you did fine!'

'I answered only ten of the seventy-five questions. And even those ones I had no idea. My marks in the course weren't at all high enough to pass after failing the exam.' He leaned back against the cushions that would swallow him up if he wasn't careful, sighing heavily. 'I'm dropping out.'

Phil nodded slowly. He couldn't say he liked the idea of Dan giving up his education, but it wasn't something that suited everyone, and ultimately it was nobody's decision to make but Dan's own. And even if Dan couldn't find a job for a while, they could still live on Phil's modest income. Maybe Dan's parents could help out, too.

'So how was speech today?' Dan asked, desperate to change the subject now that his decision was made. Dan himself had speech therapy after class on Mondays and Thursdays, and Phil while Dan was in class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Phil nodded thoughtfully. 'It's… going,' he signed at length.

Dan scoffed. 'Probably a lot better than mine is. I'm proud of you, really. You've spoken already, haven't you? You're so wonderful to learn to form words for the first time in your fucking life, and I can't even get a damn syllable out without tripping all over it!' Dan didn't notice his tears were falling freely again. His failures were just too numerous to be avoided. He noticed the sort of hurt look in Phil's eyes and had to leave the room before he grew more hostile in his frustrations. This wasn't about Phil, this was never about Phil. This was about Dan's miserable failed attempts to be at least somewhat normal. He hated himself for all of it, and headed to the bedroom in his shame, locking the door behind him even as he felt guilty for locking Phil out of his own room. He couldn't do anything right, could he?

Phil followed immediately after him but wasn't quick enough to make it into the room. He stood on the other side of the entrance, concern etched in his features and worry taking into his heart. He knocked quickly, firmly, on the door. He needed to get inside, to comfort Dan. The door didn't budge, and the knob wouldn't turn. He huffed a deep breath, and decided he had to try something else. He had to get to Dan.

Dan, meanwhile, was in bed, face buried into the pillow as his eyes left it wet. It was Phil's pillow –he'd grabbed it by mistake instead of his own, but he was somewhat comforted by the smell. He breathed the scent in deep, and regretted running from the one person so able and willing to help him through this.

The knocking on the door ceased, but there was another sound. At first, Dan was unsure what it was, and then certain he was mistaken. But it came again –a meek, croaking voice weakly calling out a broken syllable –each sound separate, and beautiful.

"D-a-n..!"

The moment he pulled his wits together Dan scrambled out of bed and stumbled to the door, fumbling to unlock it and pulling it open. Phil stood on the other side, eyes wide and uncertain. Dan wanted to pull him close and never let go, but he needed just one thing before he could. 'Say it again?'

Phil concentrated hard on the delicate movements of tongue and lips he'd been rehearsing, careful not to mess up. He wasn't sure he was even getting it right, but Dan seemed happy, and that was enough to force the sounds from his throat again –softer, more private between the two of them now. "D-a-n…"

Dan's tears of anguish had laid way to ones of joy as they flooded down his cheeks twice as quickly. He choked on a sob as it lingered in his ears –the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. The love of his life… this was his voice. This was his own sound that had been silent until now, until he was in his late twenties. And Dan –the love of Phil's life in turn— had been his first word.

Dan pulled his boyfriend into his arms, squeezing tight, determined to never let him go. Phil held him just as close, lips tingling with the remnants of the name of his soul mate.