phan oneshots

art (fluff)

credit goes to @//FEMINISTDAN on Twitter.

summary: Dan is a painter who has a passion for art museums, Phil is a rich man who has a passion for buying paintings.

(a/n: ty for 1k!!!)

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I always loved to paint. Feeling the wood in between your fingers, adjusting to your hand movements as you flick the brush across the once blank canvas.

Painting to me was never just making a drawing. It was expressing yourself in the most creative way possible- through art.

Not only were the colors beautiful, but the drawings in general. You could splatter paint all over that sheet and have it sold for thousands.

So here I was. Standing in the white room covered with hundreds of frames decorating the peeling walls.

Different pieces were strung across: colorful ones, self-portraits, splatters, etc.

I dreamed of having mine on the wall one day. I wanted people to look at my paintings and think to themselves, "wow, this guy is good."

I wanted my art to mean something.

And to Phil Lester, it did.

The man I have named above is standing across from me, formal clothing on and hands in his pockets. He strutted around the room, his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on all the pieces.

He was known for buying the most expensive paintings here, and for visiting almost every day.

He was attractive.

I chuckled to myself. I'm in a room full of a art, and I was staring at him?

Either way they're both masterpieces, the only difference is that one is living, the others are not.

I dared to walk over to the stranger, reach my arm out, and tap his shoulder with a single finger. He turned, a small grin masking his lips.

"Sorry to interrupt," I spoke. "But you don't seem like the type of person to like art?"

He flashed me a lopsided smile. "You don't either," he playfully challenged. I smirked.

"Actually, I'm a painter."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? How much?"

"I'm not a professional painter, they aren't in here-"

"Well where are they then? For such a pretty boy like you, you must draw pretty as well."

I blushed. "I- uh- o-okay. Stay here, I'll go get my paintings from my car."

And he did. He stayed in the exact spot. I came back with my paintings, handing them to him. He flipped through the pieces, nodding at all of them.

"They're beautiful," he whispered, looking up at me. "How much?"

"I-I don't really know, I've never-"

"I'll take them all."

My eyes widened. "What?" I gasped.