A/N: i found another one of my old stories and i decided to turn it into phan nice. this is another NonYoutuber!Phan (so many of those oh my god im sorry), with Dan working at a convenience store in the middle of nowhere and Phil, a successful indie artist. Their paths cross once more, for better or worse...
Convenience store commerce is surprisingly easy to keep a track of. Maybe it's just because I've been working here for so long, but I can count off my fingers how many Twinkies sit on those shelves, collecting dust. Toothbrushes in stock? 24, give or take a few. And that Slurpee machine has worked as well as it had when it was first installed about twenty or so years ago. The sheet blanket enveloping this town in peace has never once been disturbed. The same people have lived here for as long as I can remember arriving, and everyone has the dirt on each other. Alex, the person who lives next door to me, has a son, and they've been there for seven years. They does homeschooling with him. The guy at the end of the hall is into satanism, and I don't talk to him much... but I know he's in there, or else I would've seen Stan and the hospital workers carry his body out of his apartment. That hasn't happened yet.
So, as I've mentioned before... this town never gets attention from the fast-paced world surrounding it. I suppose that's a good thing. Sometimes I long for something great to happen, for someone to come into this place and exclaim that they run this town now. On good days I hope for that. Today was not a good day.
There was an early morning thunderstorm, so I closed the store - not like I'd get any customers anyways - and went outside to sit under the gas pavilion. My car was parked at tank two. Tank two is broken. I've known this for as long as I can remember. Anyways... tank two, my El Camino was sitting there, away from the rain. I hoisted myself up onto the roof of the car and sat indian-style. Then I just stared out along the horizon. I never knew how many grey rain clouds could produce so much lightning. Strike after strike after strike. Boom. Flash. Rumble. My grandmother would have told me the angels were playing bowling; my mom would have said God was messing with the light switch. I know the scientific reason behind the lightning, but today I didn't feel like putting my trust in fast-paced science. I settled on the light switch game and walked back to the automatic doors when the storm had concluded. Then I went into the store and felt redundant again.
I didn't want big events today, but I have no control over that. Not really, anyways. But I'll give you the jist: he arrived. A boy I once knew, the same beautiful son of a bitch I met back in junior high. His face was so perfect I wanted to punch it.
I was behind the counter on a stool, guarding the cigarettes and tobacco with my nose in a book and defenses lowered. Obviously I heard the chime go off, announcing someone had actually walked into the store. But this person didn't say anything. No greetings like all my neighbors would do. Odd. When I didn't hear a ruckus and didn't feel like anyone was standing in front of me waiting for assistance, I glanced up and only saw the back of his head. I'm not too caught up with current events as I've lost track of time in such a sleepy town like this, but it rings a bell somewhere in the back of my mind. That hair... it's shaved and dyed an indigo colour and looking "dang fine" as one of my old friends would say. But that's of no importance; I get back to reading about Atticus Finch defending a Negro, same book I had read years before. The stranger shuffled around in the isles a bit more before strutting up to the counter to pay. Yeah, there's no way I would have let him get out of here without paying. He already stole my heart, I don't need him stealing toothpaste and a bag of Doritos also.
He clears his throat. Never really was much of a talker. "Hi ma'am, found everyth-" I stop in my tracks. Phil Lester, still sexy as hell and looking as sick and bored as I remembered. Jesus. His smile could make flowers grow and his laugh could cure cancer. Instead he's drumming her fingers on the scratched counter and cracking his gum as loud as the thunder. Impatient... I don't remember that... maybe he's been around Sean for too long. "Get out of my store, Phil" I say, looking away from his intense gaze. His eyes are fixed on my face; he's not going anywhere. "Dan, I can't believe it's you," he breathes. Phil smells of airport and angst. He's changed... but I haven't. "I'm the manager here, Phil! I run this joint! I'm asking you to get the fuck out or-" "Fine, I'm leaving," he said, turning to the sliding doors at the front of the store. For a split second I feel a pang of guilt in nearly chasing him out, but if I've learned anything from school, it's that history repeats itself... I'm not putting up with that pain again. "I'm staying in an apartment here for a little while," he warned. Then he's gone. And once again I'm alone. But this time, I've been struck with lightning.
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what do you think?? i haven't seen this story in ages... I actually wrote it about something going on in my personal life, but aNYWAYS i'll post the rest of the chapters. it's a short story, don't worry.
