Phan One Shots - jilliancares

Scary Storms

Daniel Howell was no ordinary kid, but if he had to boil himself down into three simple facts, they'd be this: First of all, he absolutely hated being called Daniel. Unless you were his parents or a friend trying to get kicked in the shin, you were calling him Dan. Second, he was eleven years old and proud of it, having finally gotten past being a ten year old, which was practically still a little kid. And finally, he was absolutely, irrevocably, terrified of thunderstorms, and happened to be caught in one right this very moment.

Seeing as he was eleven now, his parents had given him permission to go into town by himself. That's exactly what he'd been doing, although he hadn't known that the weather was going to turn inclement. If he had, he would've stayed indoors and locked in his room, preferably underneath a big blanket.

However, this was not the case, and Dan was currently inching along the sidewalk, his body hugging the building beside him. There was barely anyone on the streets, which made sense, seeing as it was pouring.

Dan gasped as thunder boomed in the sky above him, quickly followed by the crackling flashes of light, throwing the dark clouds into a sharp, scary contrast. He froze for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest nearly as loud as the thunder, before stumbling forward a step, trying to push his fear out of his mind. He was eleven now, he had nothing to be afraid of.

Still, he couldn't help the way he squeezed his arms tightly around himself, more from fear than from the cold. And he was cold, what with the way his clothes were sticking to him, sopping with water and freezing him to the bone. He supposed that he'd be able to make it home in just about ten minutes if he walked briskly, but that was near impossible, not with the way he had to stop, cowering under awnings every time lightning lit the sky.

It was as he was hiding in a doorway, shakily brushing his soaked hair out of his eyes, when he saw his salvation (or more possibly, his doom): Phil Lester.

Phil Lester was about the scariest, and possibly coolest (in Dan's objective opinion), kid in town. He was fifteen years old and went to high school, which was terrifying and foreign to Dan. Not to mention, of course, that he had ear piercings and an eyebrow piercing. Sometimes Phil's parents let him dye his fringe different colors, and every time Dan laid eyes on him, he was convinced he was in love.

See, not only was Phil Lester the coolest, most-popular person Dan knew, he was also a regular at Dan's favorite coffee shop. Occasionally Dan would see him in line, ordering a coffee to go and fingering his piercings as he waited. On even rarer occasions, he made eye contact with Dan, and shot him his signature smirk. Dan, of course, could only react as any head-over-heels eleven year old would, and positively melted into a puddle, his face flaming red, as he tried to make his face smile back.

Phil was all piercings and jeans with rips (Dan's parents refused point blank. Why buy them already ruined?) and dyed hair and leather jackets. Dan, on the other hand, was pink sweaters and white jeans. He was pink converse with flowers on them, sometimes even flower crowns, perched atop his curling hair. They were absolutely nothing alike in appearance, and Dan loved everything about Phil, from black and blue head to his steel studded toe.

Dan half had an urge to come out from the alcove he was hiding in, to be calm and cool and collected and to make his way down the street unbidden, terrifying thunderstorm or not. It was as he took a tentative step forward, however, that the thunder clapped so loudly that Dan swore the ground shook, and he scrambled backwards once more, back pressed safely against the wall. To hell with looking calm and cool, Dan liked survival much better, thank you very much.

He stared at the rain sloshing onto the ground before him, splattering his already soaked-through shoes. He was solemnly trying to think of a solution, whether that be to run home with his tail between his legs or to hide in a shop and call his parents, when a head peaked around the corner of the alcove, equally wet hair falling into all-too-familar eyes.