Brief Description: {4528 words} Coming of Age/Childhood AU; Angst; Fluff
The story of Phan in four different scenes from four different summers, and from the blissful ignorance of childhood to the heart pounding awakening of young adulthood.
••••••
It was one of those rare summer days in England where the air was thick and the sun was hot and the bugs were loud, yet you couldn't resist splashing in your neighbor's pond and running barefoot through the grass singing with crickets.
Phil Lester was doing exactly that when his mother's voice broke the silent symphony of fruit flies buzzing in the sunny afternoon.
"Philly, come in for lunch! The bus will be here soon!" she shouted from the kitchen doorway.
Oh, yes, that's right. How could Phil forget? The bus that will take him to that awful summer camp (that he did not want to sign up for, but mothers are hard to persuade) will come at any minute now.
He took his time walking up to the back porch, hoping that each step will take another hour and he will miss the bus and won't have to leave home for four weeks. His mum turned her back and walked back inside the kitchen; Phil saw this as a splendid opportunity.
He was a child, and children love to disobey their parents, and disobeying their parents means causing mischief.
He immediately ran over to the window box where his mum had planted a row of tulips, but now it was hot and they were starting to wilt. He stuck one of his hands in the moist dirt, freshly watered, and smeared it all over his cuffed blue capris. He tramped inside the kitchen, his feet bare and caked in mud and grass. His mum walked into the room and gasped at the eight year old; clumps of dirt spotted the white tile floors. She placed a hand on her forehead and sighed heavily, rubbing her temple.
"Phil, go up to your room and change. You're not missing the bus, whether you like it or not. Now hurry, or you will have to pay for all of the money we spent on that camp, okay?"
Phil grumbled a defiant "yes ma'am" and went up to his room. He exhaled through his nostrils and ripped off his capris, staring out the window. He slipped on a pair of fresh jeans and scrubbed his hands and feet in the bathroom. He tromped down the stairs and met his mum, who was clutching a large black duffel bag.
"You have a jacket, right? And your toothbrush?"
Phil nodded, taking the bag from his mum. She kissed him on the forehead and held his face tenderly in her hands.
"Be good now, alright? Promise you'll try to make friends?"
Phil exhaled through his nose and mumbles a simple "yes, mum," and it seemed that nearly no time passed before he found himself dragging his bag through the cramped aisles of the un-air-conditioned bus with the words "Camp Kingfisher" painted on the side. He navigated the roaring sea of 8-through-12-year-olds until he finally found an empty spot. The leather on the seat was starting to peel, and the window was only a quarter open. A boy who looked about his age with wavy brown hair and deep brown eyes sat playing something on his Nintendo DS. Phil tentatively sat down next to him, placing his bag under the seat.
"Don't bother opening the window, I already tried. It won't budge." The boy barely glanced up from his game.
"Are you sure?" Phil asked. The boy nodded. Phil bit his lip and sat on his knees, leaning over the boy. He grasped the window latches and pulled down as hard as he could. The window screeched and suddenly fell open, blowing wind through the boys' hair. He paused his game and stared at Phil, his mouth agape.
