The Criminal's Eyes - Daniel Howell

Chapter 4

A/N: Hi! I just started writing a new Brendon Urie fic called 'Vanilla' if any of you are interested. Thanks :) 💕 #selfpromo
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"Oh, look, she's waking up. Finally." She hears a familiar voice, waking up in a familiar room with a familiar feeling, the daring scenario from last night a blur. 'Wait, I'm waking up? Was it all a dream; A beautiful fantasy created by her mind to keep my mind in a state of happiness?' She thinks, trying to regain her blurry vision.

"W-what... Dan..." She says, the boy with the mesmerising brown eyes the only thing on her mind.

"Dan? Who's this Dan?" She hears the voice again, which she soon identifies to be her mother.
Any sense of relief to be home is dismissed, and she looks around what she recognises to be her room, instead wondering what happened, and where her criminal was. Was it right of her to think that? 'Her criminal?' She didn't know, but she didn't care.

"M-mum? What happened?" She asks, not really caring about the bigger picture, just if they had seen her with Dan.

"Sweetheart, we found you asleep in an-" Kira's mother pauses, before finishing the sentence with distaste "- alleyway. When we called and asked her about why you were there, Ciara told us you had gone out to the shop and she assumed you had just come home because you had felt uncomfortable. She had no idea you were in that disgusting alley." She finishes her story, and her daughter smiles at how easily lies can spill from the tip of Ciara's tongue like a sickly sweet melody.

"When you found me... was there anyone else there?" She asked, strategically trying not to sound hopeful about it.

"No, just you... but you were covered in someone else's jacket - a boy's jacket, too. It was Pretty. Odd... Why, were you expecting anyone else to be there?" Her mother informs then queries her, making her heart warm at the thought of the jacket, but then race at her mother's tone of suspicion.

"No, no, I was just asking in case a creep or something was trying to touch me... you know how rough the streets can get at night, mum. Oh, and don't worry about the jacket, it's Ciara's. She... uh... It's her ex-boyfriend's. From a while back. She didn't like seeing it in her room, so she gave it to me. Someone must have seen me asleep in the alleyway with it in my arms and just... covered me with it." She says hoping her mother will believe her very unconvincing story, but she lets her mind wander and thinks of how Ciara would be proud of her automatic compulsive lying.
"Also, granddad is narcoleptic. Maybe I have a hint of it in me and last night I accidentally tapped into it?" She adds without thinking. At this point she's trying to convince herself she sounds believable, let alone her mother.

"Oh, Kira, right now I don't really care what it was, just that you're here safe. Thank goodness your father was doing his early morning deliveries." Her mother says with a sigh.
"What time did he find me?"
"Roughly five," her mother puts her head in her hands.

"The first time he's been in this house in four months, and it's to drop off your seemingly unconscious body. He must think any sense of good parenting has gone out the window. God, Kira, what if he uses this to re-open the custody case-"
"Mum," Kira cuts her mother off, knowing she has a tendency to ramble when she's distressed.

"We're going to be fine, everything's going to be fine. Everyone has their fair share of accidents, this was one of mine. Yours was letting that man treat you how he did," Kira says with a soothing time while rubbing her mother's back to comfort her, yet not noticing how her tone hardens at the mention of her father.

"Kira, I know you and him aren't on the best of terms at the moment, but you should still call him 'Dad' as you used to," her mother tries to persuade her.
"Mum, the key words here are 'used to'. I 'used to' call him Dad because I 'used to' have respect for him. Not anymore. Why are we even wasting our breath on him?"

Her mother lets out a deep sigh. "I don't know, Kira. I just... don't know. I'll leave you to rest for a while, you were obviously tired last night. When you're rested, we can bake, okay?"
"That sounds great, mum. Thank you." The daughter responds with a warm smile. Kira's mother is about to leave, before her daughter stops her.

"Oh, mum?"
"Yes, Kira?"
"Do you still have Da- I mean, Ciara's jacket...?" Kira asks, internally scolding herself for almost exposing where she really was last night. A small pang of guilt begins to form inside her for lying to her mother, but she tries to ignore it and stay casual, hoping the jacket is still there.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot, it's in the closet (A/N: like Dan)" Kira beams back at her mother when she is told this, and feigns a yawn for effect, her mother hastily leaves her to rest.

As soon as the sound of her mother's footsteps dies down, Kira practically leaps out of her bed and bounds over to the closet, opening it and feeling the worn out leather of Dan's jacket in her hands as soon as she sees it.

She cautiously takes it from the hanger, as if it'll tear at the slightest amount of pressure, and carries it back with her to her bed.

It feels special. As if every memory from last night was held in the fabric, every laugh and kiss embedded into the leather. Reminiscing about the previous night, Kira finally comes down to what has been in the back of her head since she woke up - 'Where is Dan?'

'He mentioned about each of his hiding places only being a pit stop, but why didn't he leave a hint as to where he might be? Maybe he just doesn't want to be found. Or at least... Not by me?' She thinks, trying to pace her thoughts. She knew it was much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

No matter how hard she tries to retrace everything, her thoughts always wander off to something else, like his laugh or his eyes. God, that boy was worse than nicotine.

She makes a promise to herself - she has to find Dan. She isn't going to disappear from his life, and, if she is, she's going to do it with style. She feels as if it's better to burn than fade away, better to leave than be replaced.

Time passes quicker as she sat with the jacket, once again as if it possesses mystical qualities. Then, as if her prayers had been answered, she feels around in the pockets, to find they're not empty - there's something buried at the bottom of the pocket.

She takes it out and sees it, scrawled in messy handwriting with clear marks where raindrops have fallen.

It's a note.

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A/N: I'm sorry for all the panic references I CANT HELP IT I love Brendon Urie with all my SOUL