Cloudy Eyes and Tongues Like Snakes

Chapter 1 - Juice

A/N Hi there, this is my first fic so I'm sorry if it's horribly cringy.. If anyone out here is even reading this, I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is appreciated (as well as complements ;D jk) but please be nice as I am soft like a baked potato. Thanks.

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I wonder why when I picture someone I've never met, I wish I could just take their face and make a movie with it. To watch for hours on end without ever telling anyone. I read that every face you see in a dream is compiled of faces you've seen in real life, but this image I have is fuzzy. I can't clearly make out features, or how it made me felt. It's not like I can't just daydream but that never seems to be like the real thing, and it's really unfair how some people's faces can just be so enticing to look at. Especially in the dark. But not the pitch black dark. I mean the dark where all you can make out is their irises and the curvature of their lips and some of their facial structure, but what sticks out the most is their eyes. They seem to be glowing, but they're squinted and hazy and tired.

I think about this stuff a lot.

My name is Dan Howell, age sixteen, with brown fringe, brown eyes, and brown walls, living in a town where nothing ever happens— and right now I need to run to the convenience store. Why? Because I can. I am now allowed to walk around and make my own decisions (occasionally) and I have just made the decision that I want to buy some juice. Orange juice, to be exact.

This was what being a rebellious teenager was all about, his sole concern being that it was currently 3am and raining. Still, with his window open and his worn out leather wallet in his hands, he was ready to go. With exactly £2.

He grasped the frame of the window on one side and stuck his right leg out first, starting to straddle the windowsill. He put his hands next to where he was sat and pushed himself up, hoisting his other leg and pushing. Christ, he thought, not knowing it took this much muscular strength to get out a second story window. He knew he'd never start working out though. His soft, tan hands were burning red, and something began to poke his ass. Before he knew it he heard the sound of what he assumed was a tear in the only black skinny jeans he ever wore, which meant buying new ones. A.k.a exchanging currency for goods and services, social interaction, and more opportunities to embarrass himself. He'd just have to cover it up somehow after getting down the wood fence against the brick wall. Dan had a small frame which meant most of his tee shirts—basically what he wore every day— were baggy. It was enough to pull down and hide the tear the branch had made. Now that both knees were on the frame and he had a strong grip, he let his legs slide onto the wood and slowly climb down, the vines adding to the blisters on his fingers. He stomached it and leapt onto the dewy grass when near the ground.

As he marched his way off the front lawn he began to realize he had no way back up to his bedroom, but was a bit too dazed at the moment to care. The only thing on his mind currently was getting his hands on some juice.
It was about a two-minute walk to the nearest twenty-four hour convenience shop, and what convenience store doesn't carry orange juice? A convenience store not worth the time of any practical person such as himself, he thought.
Sometimes Dan wondered why he wasn't that popular in school, and then he realized how much of a massive 'wannabe' he was. At least no one hates me, it's not like I'm an outcast. I get along fine with everyone. It's just that if I were to go missing, there wouldn't be a big search party. My mom loves me, I love my mom. I have an okay relationship with my younger bro. Dan didn't mind not being popular, especially if it meant he could rebel against society, by looking at occult stuff and wearing black most of the time.
With the fresh scent of rain in the night air, Dan was glad he got to experience the feeling of going on a juice run at an ungodly late hour. There was a slight gray tint to the air and the sky its deep dark blue color, was missing stars. It wasn't one of those romantic-looking nights, more dreary, but it worked for him. His cheeks turned pink as the cold mid-autumn air brushed against them, and he approached the bright light of the shop window. A less-than-desirable looking man was sitting with a newspaper over his face behind the counter.