Dan's POV
It's dreary morning, a light drizzle dusting the streets of Manchester , sky blanketed by a dense sheet of stormy blue cloud. Nothing different, just the same.
As usual I'm sat in the local Starbucks, staring into a warm, life - giving caramel machiatto, Ice-cold hands tucked into the sleeves of my worn black jumper, peoplewatching. Life's so dull, each day so similar you might as well be living the same one over and over again. It's like a song you don't paticularly like stuck on repeat, played over and over again relentlessly. From my Window seat in Starbucks, I see everything. from Life to death, blossoming romances and their breakups. And him. Always him.
Who is he?
The boy with the jet black hair, standing at the bus stop. He's always there, waiting for a bus that never comes.
I don't know why I noticed him in the first place, but he's mesmerising. The way he just stands there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his wear - faded skinny jeans, rain rolling off his almost emo fringe onto his muted dark teal high top converse, bright sapphire eyes trained on the pavement like it's the most interesting thing around. He has this aura of mystery about him and I need to find out why.
Wincing, I gulp the over sweet dregs from the bottom of my mug, put on my coat and walk into the drizzle.
The spray of the rain dampens my dark chesnut hair a little, making my fringe curl slightly at the ends. I hate it when that happens. Trying, and ultimately failing to flatten it out, I jog across the road toward the safe and dry refuge of the bus shelter. When I do eventually to get inside, I somehow manage to trip over my shoelace face first into the aforementioned male. Shit.
I mumble a string of apologies and try to regain what little dignity I have left. Internally cringing, I pluck up the courage to look up at him from the floor. My face is on fire. Dan, why do you have to be such an awkward human being? The face I look up to see is laughing, his tongue poking out of the side of his teeth.
"Are you okay?" He enquires, his once laughing face now full of concern, "You took quite a fall," His voice is friendly, northern almost.
"Yeah I'll be fine," I reply, even though my leg is killing me. He offers a hand to lift me up and I take it. His palm is warm to the touch and firm. Once I'm back on my feet, he helps brush off the various leaves and bits of gravel off my jacket.
"No you won't, I can clearly see you're hurt." Before I can object, he interjects.
"Name's Phil by the way. Phil Lester. What's yours?"
"Dan. Dan Howell."
A/N
Oh why hello there! If you've got this far it means you finished the first chapter of my first phanfic. Sorry if it was crappy because I wrote it at 3am (don't judge me)
I will try to update whenever I get the chance, but if I don't pls don't kill meh.
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The Boy In The Rain (Phan)
Fanfiction"And him. Always him.The boy with the jet black hair, stood at the bus stop. He's always there, waiting for a bus that never comes." Have you ever felt a pull to someone that you can't describe? This is the incredible story of two boys, fighting fo...
