Identity (Phan)

Chapter 8

Quick A/N: This chapter could be somewhat triggering. Mentions of self harm and blood. >.< Stay safe <3

As it turned out, Dan had almost no serious damage to his body. No broken bones, no fractures. Just quite a bit of bruising, which was hardly surprising. He was released a few hours later upon being asked questions about what had gone on and how he came to got the injuries, which he was completely honest about.

But it wasn't Dan who had answered those questions carefully and thoroughly, no. It was Nicholai, telling the story of how the men attacked Dan and how Dan (although it was probably a different personality, looking back on it) had acted purely on self-defense and beat the men senseless.

Phil stayed quiet most of the time, watching as the familiar brunette had spoken, watching the story form on pink lips, an unusual calm expression adorning his face as he told. Phil had to keep reminding himself that the boy in front of him was not the Dan that he knew. Dan was the scared boy who stumbled over his words and shook in fear and could barely meet another person's eyes.

It may be Dan's body that was moving and speaking and reacting, but it was not Dan. It was Nicholai, a confident persona who thought of Dan as a friend and was too nice to function.

Phil pondered upon that fact as the two walked back to their flat after being released at eight that night. He pondered about when Dan would make his appearance again, about why Dan had different people inside his head in the first place. About whether Phil should tell him about this or not, in fear of damaging him even more.

"I wouldn't tell Dan about us," Nicholai said loudly beside the blue-eyed boy, to which Phil regarded with a strange expression. It had been as if his mind had been invaded. "He's very fragile, you know. I fear for him a lot, especially when he's on his own. It's like he can't really function by himself." Their footsteps were loud in the growing darkness, and Phil nodded in understanding, waiting for him to go on. "That's why I'm glad you're there for him. He needs someone stable to help him just live. I can't be there to help him all the time, you know, and neither can the others." Nicholai let out a bitter laugh. "In fact, I don't think the others even particularly like Dan. They think he's pathetic."

The two came to the dorm then, and Phil let them both in without rush. It was like his mind wouldn't shut up, playing a never ending recording of Nicholai saying, 'the others.' Phil wondered how many there were, who else was residing inside of Dan.

The others.

Nicholai turned to grin at Phil, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm going to go dance. Would you like to watch."

Ah, Phil thought, Nicholai was the dancer. But he didn't voice his inner comment, instead just nodding politely before following the younger boy to his room.

Nicholai pushed a few things around to make room for himself, tossing clothes onto his bed and moving his desk chair so he wouldn't trip over it in the process. Alas, he grabbed his little iPod and plugged it into his small, black radio. "What am I feeling today?" He murmured to himself, a slight grin on his lips as he tugged on ballet shoes one at a time. "What do you think, Phil? Am I feeling calm or am I feeling fierce?"

"Uh... Calm?"

The brunette cast a quick glance at Phil, smiling so wide that the dimple appeared in his left cheek. "Fierce it is!" And then he clicked play. There was a moment of very slow violin, which Nicholai immediately reacted to, moving his torso and arms as if they were smoothly rushing water and eventually moving his right leg slowly into a rond de jambe. That's when the music faded slightly and began an all-new tone, one of fierce passion and chaos that Nicholai literally collapsed into.

Then he was kicking his legs this way and that as if he were made out of putty, the calm expression never leaving his face. His moves were sharp and precise, as if making a wrong turn or a wrong flick of the wrist would result in a broken leg. And yet somehow, while his feet were jumping and pointing and unbelievably quick, Nicholai's arms were smooth and relaxed.