Phan One-Shots

A Library, a Red Couch, and a Letter

Every day at promptly 4:00, the brown-eyed boy would come to the library, find a good book, and curl up on the worn red couch in the back corner of the building, where he would stay for hours.

Every day at promptly 4:00, the blue-eyed boy would just happen to have some reason to be working in the back corner of the library, stacking books or cleaning the shelves closest to a certain worn red couch.

Some days, the brown-eyed boy would come in looking battered, brown fringe curling as it dried from the pouring rain or unexplained limp barely concealed, and the blue-eyed boy would struggle to restrain himself, wanting nothing more than to approach the brown-eyed boy and hug him tightly. He never did though, because he was scared. Scared of being rejected, scared of embarrassing himself, scared of finding out that the brown-eyed boy was not in fact the person the blue-eyed boy had imagined him to be.

So the blue-eyed boy decided to do the next best thing. Every day at promptly 3:55, a small piece of paper mysteriously appeared on the worn red couch, containing a small handwritten letter. The first few contained only basic questions:

Hi! How are you?

Hello! Are you enjoying your book? :)

Hey there! This might sound strange, since you don't actually know me, and all, but you're very good-looking. <3

The first few were short and sweet, and the brown-eyed boy never responded, simply assuming they were meant for someone else, someone actually good-looking and worth talking to. Eventually, however, the brown-eyed boy realized, there was no one who ever sat on the worn red couch apart from him, so who else could the sweet little notes be for? Although it was hard for him to believe, someone had taken interest in the brown-eyed boy and actually wanted to get to know him. Retrieving a small piece of paper and a pen from his backpack, he started his first reply.

Hi! I'm good, how are you?

Choosing to simply leave it at that, the brown-eyed boy folded the piece of paper neatly and tucked it away in the fold of the couch where the notes appeared each day.

The next day, the blue-eyed boy was beside himself. The brown-eyed boy had actually responded to his note. Though it was basic and short, the letter opened so many new doors- they could have conversations and then they could meet in real life and then they could become friends and then they could da- no. The blue-eyed boy scolded himself for being too hopeful, forcing himself to think only of the present and think of the future when the time came.

The letter the blue-eyed boy left on the worn red couch that day contained many more words than its predecessors, as its writer felt much more confident now, asking questions about the brown-eyed boy and giving answers of his own.

Thus, the beginnings of a beautiful friendship were formed, as the boys bonded quickly over mutual loves of books, anime, and music. Through these letters, the boys learned that the brown-eyed boy was 19 and that the blue-eyed boy was 23, and that while the blue-eyed boy loved lions and was fond of bright colors, the brown-eyed boy preferred llamas and lots of black. Strangely, neither gave their names, and neither asked; they were content, not knowing, not caring. They simply existed, enjoying the other's sort-of company, free of their identities and the stressful lives attached to them. This exchange of letters rapidly became the highlight of each day for both of the boys.

But while the letters made the boys very happy, one small, positive thing that only they knew about could not solve all the problems they faced on a daily basis.

One day, weeks after the first letter, the brown-eyed boy came into the library, looking even worse than usual. His jaw was tinged a suspicious purple color, and even years of practice could not hide how difficult- and painful- it was for him to walk. And he was crying. He never cried.

The blue-eyed boy watched him limp toward the bathroom, and quickly scribbled a two-sentence note to go with that day's usual novel-length letter.

Are you okay? What happened?

The brown-eyed boy returned and sat down carefully on the couch, appearing to have just as much difficulty doing so as before. After reading both notes without revealing even the smallest of smiles as he normally would have, he bent over to tear a piece of paper from the notebook stored in his backpack, wincing almost undetectably in the process. Only the blue-eyed boy, watching discreetly, worriedly, from behind a tall shelf, noticed the small gasp of pained breath, the way the brown-eyed boy's face contorted in discomfort for a split second before returning to the impassive mask. He quickly wrote a reply, leaving it on the couch behind him when he stood up to find today's book. The blue-eyed boy, as soon as the brown-eyed boy had moved far enough away, grabbed the note and read it hungrily.

Some jerks from school happened. I don't know if I'm okay, honestly. If you're still here and reading this today, can I talk to you in person? I kind of need somebody right now...

The blue-eyed boy blinked. The brown-eyed boy wanted to meet him? In person? Though the blue-eyed boy had never thought of himself as a great giver of advice or comfort, the part of his mind that quietly fed him insecurities and reasons never to communicate in person was suddenly squashed by a greater part, the part urging him to wrap the smaller boy in his arms and whisper nonsensical words of comfort to him until those gorgeous brown eyes lit up again and that beautiful smile returned to his face.

The brown-eyed boy soon returned, and before the blue-eyed boy could stop himself, he was approaching the shorter boy cautiously, tiny smile upon his face.

"Hi, I'm Phil."

The brown-eyed boy looked up at the blue-eyed boy, Phil, and despite the way his eyes were still bloodshot and watery, he smiled too.

"I'm Dan."