Dan's POV
Leon's party is already in full swing when I arrive. As soon as I step into the huge flat, I regret every decision leading up to this. It's horridly dark and all I can see are dancing bodies when the flashing lights, all vibrant and neon, graze over the crowd. The music pounds in my ears.
I make a beeline towards where I assume the food is. Sure enough, the open kitchen is stocked with food, all laid out in pile and stacks and fancy plates. It's excessive for a casual party such as this, but if Leon is anything, it's excessive.
There's more alcohol than food, however, which is a staple of Leon's parties. Every now and then he sets up a little bar with a bartender and such, but not today. I pour myself a drink of whatever's in the nearest bottle, as it's much too dark to tell, but don't take a drink and instead resume my usual pose of leaning against a wall silently, judging everyone.
I haven't been standing there for more than ten minutes when I notice Phil. He has one arm slung around a pretty girl with fiery red hair, the other holding an open bottle. He keeps waving his hands around, so a wave of sympathy comes over me for Leon for when he has to clean up all the spilled beer.
Phil's dressed in one of his typical ensembles, with black skinny jeans and a brightly colored tee. He's gesturing wildly to what I assume is another one of his crazy stories, the mismatched gathering of men and women around him finding it hilarious. His hair is mussed and crazy. I notice the girl under his arm is standing awfully close to him. I imagine her running her hands through his dark hair, and jealousy surges through my limbs.
Jealousy? What is wrong with me? I look away, anywhere but Phil and the girl with the head of fire. I stare down at my cup, where liquid sloshes. Just as I'm taking a swig, a short man stumbles up to me, looking half awake. I swallow the drink, savoring the way it burns down my throat and makes things a bit fuzzy, and stare down at him. Leon.
In reality, he's actually not that short. He's probably average height. But as a six foot tall man, everyone seems short. A tiny thought in the back of my mind says that Phil is definitely not short. I push it away.
"Danny!" Leon slurs excitedly. I make a face, somewhere between a grin and a grimace.
"Hey, Lee. Why do you insist on getting drunk at your own parties?" I ask calmly. Leon gasps dramatically. Even when sober he's a drama queen.
"I am not drunk!" He exclaims indignantly, though he tries to step forward and stumbles a bit. "The party has just started! We aren't even halfway to drunk! We need a competition!" He throws his arms up and almost loses his balance. I set my drink on a nearby table and steady him. He grins toothily at me.
"Whaddya say, Danny? Drinks? Drinks? Drinks?" He asks loudly, getting closer to my face, standing on his toes, with every word. On a typical day, I would refuse. I wouldn't even humor him. But today is an off day.
"Fuck yeah." I say, plastering on a fake grin and push his shoulders down so he's no longer on his toes. "Let's do it."
I am so going to regret this.
Three hours later…
Phil's POV
Blogs and fan pages are already calling it something. We already have a ship name, and all I did was walk with him. Phan, they're calling it. A combination of Dan and Phil, two boys with opposite haircuts and heights too tall for their own good. I secretly don't mind it. Although I' finding the whole, 'Love Eyes Lester' thing a bit odd. Am I really that obvious?
Because, in all honestly, I've always admired Dan. Not in a, 'I've been in love with him since I was twelve' way, more so a, 'I admire his parents work and his music is outstanding and hey he's kind of cute too' way. I mentioned earlier in the year it would be great to meet him, though I never expected our first encounter to be quite the collision. He has a hard head.
When I started talking, though, I just couldn't stop. He stayed silent and I just talked and talked and talked. Dan saying he hated me didn't bother me much, as it seemed he hated everyone. But I don't just ramble on about random stuff to someone who, really, is a stranger. I don't talk to anyone about the nerdy side of me. And I mean anyone. Yet for some reason I felt comfortable with Dan, casual. Everything was just so simple. So easy. And he quickly changed from just that cute piano guy with the scientific parents to a tall, gorgeous friend. Though I doubt he thinks of me as a friend. But I'm beginning to think that maybe I don't want to be friends. I want to be more.
I had considered asking him to Leon's party, but he, of course, would already be going. I brought my cousin Bridget instead, just for the sake of bringing someone. She had never been to a party with so many celebrities before, so she was over the moon when I invited her. But when Dan got to the party, he brought no one.
Earlier, I had noticed him, when Leon had loudly challenged him to a drink-off. I lost track of him, however, and Bridget was clinging to me like a scared leech, so, three hours and thirteen minutes later, after sending Bridget home in an Uber, I have no idea where he is. I saw Leon stumble to the bathroom about ten minutes ago, but Dan was nowhere to be found. Concern overtakes any thought I have for socializing, which I don't even want to do, and I begin the hunt for the tall boy.
I nudge my way through the swarms of people and search the kitchen, the gigantic lounge, even Leon's office. No Dan.
I move onto the bathrooms and spare bedrooms. Still no Dan. I poke my head into the master bedroom, and then the bathroom of that. Yet again, no Dan. I hurry back into the lounge and push through the crowds of people (how does Leon even fit all these people into his house?) until I reach a slight clearing. I peer around, my eyes picking apart everyone in the room. My eyes fall on the furniture. There's a boy, resting against one of the sofas. I squint. Dan. He looks almost dead in the dark light, with his crumpled clothing and messy hair. He appears to be half awake, and as I hurry towards him and kneel down, his eyelids flicker. Definitely not dead.
Dan's POV
Fuzzy gray shadows dance in front of my eyes. Clouds of color swiftly pass me by, but all I see are horrifying burst of red and orange and pink, blurred with too-bright shades of blue and green. My vision is rimmed with black. Shadows seem to seep out of the walls and close in on me, dripping from the humanoid shapes in the room and attempt to swallow me whole. Where am I?
I close my eyes, with a hope to block out the vaguely human-shaped creatures of rainbows and shadow. There's a persistent buzzing in my ears that won't go away. Through the bees in my ears and my groggy state, I can hear the thumping of a bass in a distant stereo. A headache begins to pound, like a hammer in my skull.
Over the humming, voices grow and shrink. Too quiet or too loud, deep or high, feminine or masculine, but never silent. Lights flash over the voices and musical noise, scarring my eyes through their closed lids. Talk about sensory overload.
I'm at a party. I think. Why am I at a party? I open my eyes, and the violently twinkling lights become ten times stronger. I hear noise in waves, but I feel as though cotton has been stuffed in my ears. No longer is there a buzzing, but a clear ringing sound that the cotton won't cut out. Bile rises in my throat, and I resist the urge to lurch over and empty the contents of my stomach on the floor.
"I blink a few times, attempting to rid myself of the stormy clouds blocking my line of sight. I slowly look round, careful not to disturb my aching head more than absolutely necessary. I'm definitely at a party. I'm in a vaguely familiar flat, where someone's rigged up a disco ball to the ceiling, fairy lights twinkle on the wall, obnoxiously bright, and someone plays music too loudly for the sake of my eardrums. Whose party am I at?
I shift, and notice my back is against a sofa on a polished wooden floor. The couch is a soft fabric with an expensive feel to it, and my feet are resting on a small shag rug that looks nearly identical to the one in my flat. Leon's party, I realize upon seeing the rug. One of Leon's bimonthly celebrations. Would it be bimonthly? Or biweekly? My head hurts. What are we even celebrating?
The shadows grow once again, and I have to blink and shake my head multiple times, which sends knives into my brain, to hazily observe my surroundings once again.
I stare at a coffee table in front of me, wondering why they didn't just make the whole thing metal, or vice versa. Why glass and metal? Why metal and glass? The beat of the music kicks up again, and excited shouts break over the fluff and the ringing in my ears. My head is throbbing, and I slowly watch the shadows cloud over my vision again. Everything is so dark. Why is everything so dark?
I glance around feverishly, but I can't seem to process anything I see, if I do see anything at all. It's just so dark. So, so dark.
I lay my head back, scrunching my eyes closed tight and praying to anything that I'll just pass out instead of being forced to endure the torture of the party any longer. The shadows close in, but sleep is a long way away.
I vaguely remember Leon and I drinking, and stumbling to the toilet to throw up. I think I won the competition, though. I reckon I collapsed by the sofa, dizzy from all the alcohol, throat on fire, and just fell asleep. That's sensible, right?
The noise surrounding has faded to a dull roar, but the ringing vibrates throughout my skull. It's almost intolerable. I clench my jaw, resisting the horrifically strong urge to scream.
I suddenly feel two strong hands clamp down on my shoulders. A deep, clear and definitely Northern voice pierces through the dim veil of noise and lights. Aren't we in London?
"Dan?" The voice says, questioning and concerned. I force open my eyes. Kneeling in front of me is none other than Phil Lester. I think back to earlier in the night, when he his arm around that girl with the hair like a match. I hate this boy. Don't I?
Gone, however, is the coquettish grin, which I had assumed was a permanent fixture on his gracefully sculpted features? His eyes have never looked so blue. It's like they're endlessly deep, and they glimmer with a compassion and kindness I don't understand. Why is he looking at me like that? I never would think something so soft, so sweet, so kind would come from careless, famous, ladies' man Philip Lester. I think back to that afternoon. Details are hazy, but I remember his smile. He shined when he smiled. He looked like the sun. A sun you wanted to look at, a sun you wanted to appreciate the warmth and glimmer of. Maybe?
His perfect lips are pressed in an exceptionally straight line. I want to kiss those lips. His forehead is creased with worry, but I feel my lips begin to smile. The fog has not lifted from over my mind and my eyes, but the presence of Phil and his handsome face make everything seem a bit more bearable.
"I hate you," I mumble. His lips become an even straighter line. "I hate you and your perfect, kissable, wonderful lips." His lips part slightly when I say this, and a tiny gasp is audible. They look even more kissable now. Is kissable a word? My smile grows.
I feel Phil's arms wrap underneath mine and hoist me up. Hardly aware of what's going on, I drape myself over Phil and stumble in what I think is in the vague direction.
I like being this close to Phil. He smells nice, all masculine and perfect. Again, I feel the need to kiss him.
People slow and stop, attempting to talk to Phil, maybe even me, but Phil looks determined. He responds to no one. My mind is together enough now to wonder what the hell is going on.
We're pushing through the dark and the crowd and my ears are ringing and suddenly we're outside the flat. The lights are unexpectedly solid and still, and when the door shuts behind us all is quiet but for the sounds of our breathing. I expect Phil to let go of me, but I'm glad when he doesn't. I'm unstable and confused and need as much support as he has to offer.
Walls and lights and doors blur together as Phil drags me along. We end up outside, and I am once again dreadfully confused as I'm assaulted by new lights and sounds and colors. I hear Phil begin to say soothing nothings in a calming voice, but words stick together. I appreciate the thought, though, even if I can't make out a third of what he's saying. His voice drones on, and I realize the ringing has faded to the back of my head. I can breathe. I lift my face to the sky and stare at the stars. The sky is dark, but the stars are beautiful and there's so many. I attempt to blink away the artificial lights of the city. I just want to look at the stars.
Phil has begun pulling me along again, and I direct my gaze down. He still has that determined look about him, but his concern is more prominent. I notice him flickering his blue, blue eyes towards me every few seconds. I do not know how to feel about this.
I'm being nudged into a car now, and I take one last look at the ever-expanding night sky before clumsily sliding in.
If I had been fully functioning and sober, I would've stopped to see what, exactly, I was getting myself into. But I'm not, and all I know is that I'm in a big car, and Phil is next to me, closing the door behind him. The clouds resurface for probably the last time.
"I hate you." I mumble as I lean into Phil, cold all of a sudden; he radiates warmth. He chuckles softly.
"You don't hate me." He replies, his voice quiet. I close my eyes.
"Yeah I am." I say. Dan, a voice at the corner of my brain says. That makes no fucking sense. Phil laughs again. I nestle my head into his shoulder, and I feel him tense then relax and shift underneath my heavy head. The lights in the car dim, and we're suddenly moving (of course Phil Lester has a goddamn chauffeur).
"Please don't murder me while I'm asleep," I whisper, my words sticking together. The last thing I hear before I slip into an oblivion-like sleep is Phil's quiet laugh. I think I feel his arm wrapping around my shoulders almost protectively, but I'm too far gone to be sure.
A/N: Wow! I typed up both this chapter and Chapter Two today. *is slightly proud of self* Hope you guys enjoyed!