the moon.
god if dan howell hated anything it was himself. he hated his pitiful soul and broken words. he hated his horrendous singing voice and ability to flow when he spoke. he hated the world, too, but not nearly as much as he hated himself.
it was pretty cold.
not quite cold, pretty cold.
as in pretty as in beautiful, although dan howell didn't quite think they meant the same thing. it was a winter where the snowflakes danced down onto the grass, sparkling condensation decorated the windows and aristocrats breathed snowy breaths.
dan howell supposed he was an aristocrat. he didn't have hereditary bonds with anybody significantly important, but the way he carried his soul and his body, with not confidence but superiority, screamed aristocracy. he danced with pretty men and charged filthy twinks for a good time. his musky town considered him a lady of the night and despite his raging hormones and homosexuality, he was considered classy. his eyelashes, combed with thick black gunk, were batted at any lonely soul and he seduced them into selling themselves for the night. sure he was pretty, especially because he could dance to the classics and he carried more grace than any woman, but his soul was grotesque.
"jesus- shit, sorry." phil lester apologises as he slams backwards into dan howell. dan wants to cuss him out, but one glance into his pretty blue eyes has him shunned into silence.
"it's fine, baby," he purrs. "you lost?"
"i was just looking for olivine terrace, actually."
"down the road, love," he smiles. "you new here?"
"how'd you know?" phil lester laughs and dans knees go weak.
"i'd never forget a set of eyes like that."
"oh," he blushes, "thank you."
"what brings you to our shit hole?"
"i was just passing through with a friend."
"what a shame. i would've liked to see more of you."
phil ignores this comment. "do you always stand in front of convenience stores in the middle of winter?"
"i'm waiting for someone, actually."
"a friend?"
"a client."
"oh, what do you do for work? you look so young."
"people pay me for," he ponders this for a moment, "elicit pleasure."
phil is gobsmacked for a few moments and dan laughs while he recovers.
"a prostitute?" he blurts.
"that's such an ugly word," dan mutters, "i like to think of myself as a hireable lover."
"oh, how," phil goes quiet, "interesting."
"well, you gotta keep warm in this fucking winter somehow, hey?" dan laughs. "can i buy you a coffee?"
"oh, i'm not interested in, uh, your, um, work-"
"i'm not trying to fuck you," dan snaps, "i need a friend. i'm lonely and it's cold."