Phan One-Shots

Symbols and Soulmates

All around the classroom, there were symbols. There was a green triangle on the back of the creative curly-haired boy's neck as he mindlessly doodled fantastical creatures all over the margins of his page of notes. There was a red diamond on the calf of the girl with the blonde hair that faded into a shade that matched her mark, who giggled as her best friend, sporting flawless lipstick about her mouth and a pink heart upon her ankle, whispered in her ear. There were purple stars on the collarbones of the optimistic green-eyed boy and the blue-eyed boy with a curly mop upon his head who watched so lovingly as his companion listened raptly to their teacher. There was a boy in the back of the room whose brown fringe fell into his face slightly as he sat amongst his friends but paid them no mind, instead gazing out the window and
watching birds dance through the air and vainly wishing he could join them, and upon the inside of his right wrist was a royal blue design. It was impressive, his mark, curling and spiraling beautifully across the skin from the crease of his elbow to the palm of his hand as if a blue tree grew out of him.

Each student displayed their birth-given symbol openly, for the marks were something to be proud of. Every symbol was nearly unique, though each came with a single identical partner- the one that belonged to one's soulmate. Most loved to show theirs off in hopes of finding its twin on the skin of the one meant for them, and each year as the weather warmed and showing bare skin came into fashion, young love began to blossom.

But there was one boy who sat at the front of the room, paying attention only to the teacher. He spoke only when spoken to, and he arrived first to the classroom and left before any of his peers had even had a chance to put their supplies away. His blue eyes were full of intelligence, creativity, and a twinge of misery, not that anyone ever looked into them directly, and the fringe that hid them was a deep black as a result of repetitive dyeing. Strangest of all to his classmates, he always wore long pants and long sleeves, never allowing any to gaze upon his mark. Others often wondered aloud why he refused to reveal it: Did he know who his soulmate was? Did  he think it was ugly? Did he even have one at all? It was rare for someone to be born without a symbol, for it meant that they had no soulmate, but it was still possible.

For a reason even he could not understand, the boy with the brown fringe never participated in conversations about the strange, quiet boy. There was something about him that peaked his interest, but in a nice way. Where others found his dyed hair and quiet mannerisms strange and almost threatening, the brown-haired boy found them intriguing and felt an increasing desire to know more about the mysterious boy with the hidden symbol.

"Dan?" A voice cut through his train of thought like a knife, startling him back out of his mind and into his surroundings. "Class is over, we have to go. Lou and Peej and all the rest have already left."

"Oh! Thanks, Zo."

As they exited the classroom to join the river of people flowing through the hallway, she spoke up again.

"Where were you today?" Ever-curious about his daydreaming tendencies, she asked similar questions quite often.

"Outside in the sky with the birds and wherever that black-haired guy exists, I guess," he replied truthfully.

"Again?" Zoe laughed. "You think about that guy a lot."

"He's so mysterious! Like... I don't even know his name! I don't know, I just find him interesting," Dan retorted, defensive but still giggling, for he knew Zoe was right.

"I bet he's your soulmate," Zoe teased. "That's the only reason why you'd be so obsessed with him. By the way, his name is Phil."

"I'm not obsessed!"

Zoe just laughed.

---

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, giving Dan even more time to daydream about anything and everything.

When his last class had finished, he walked upstairs to his locker to pick up his backpack and go home. The hall was nearly deserted, only a few stragglers remaining at their own lockers. It was a Friday afternoon, meaning Dan had nowhere to be and no work to do, so he could take his time and get himself organized for the week ahead.

As he moved various binders and papers from where they lay (or, more accurately, the bottom of his locker, where they were thrown in a careless rush) into new, moderately organized places, Dan heard the sounds of scuffling coming from the opposite end of the hall. Curious, he moved to investigate, emotions shifting from intrigued to entertained to shocked to furious within the span of less than a second. For trapped against the lockers, both physically and emotionally battered, stood the black-haired subject of his daydreams, cowering and surrounded by evil-looking boys --- football players, Dan assumed --- who appeared to be taunting him mercilessly.

The biggest and cruelest of them all smirked down at his prey. "Want to tell us why you've never shown your symbol to anybody? Have you even got one? Or are you just a stupid loner who doesn't even have a soul mate?"

Phil flinched noticeably, and the football players all guffawed and jeered at his pain. They all eyed him as one would eye a bag filled with stinking, rotting garbage, whispering "loner" and "ace" at him. Their name-calling gradually increased in volume, until the noise was deafening and the black hair was allowed to fall into Phil's face in an attempt to hide the tears streaming down his face. Laughing cruelly, the boy who had first spoken raised his left hand, marked on the back with an x as red as blood, and punched Phil in the cheek. Hard. Dan watched as Phil was thrown to the ground, cradling his rapidly bruising cheek with his left hand.

Dan had had enough. Blazing with fury, all sense of poise and rationality had been obliterated, and he let his fire carry him right up between his dear black-haired boy and the ringleader of the group.

"What the actual fuck are you doing?" Dan bellowed.

"What's it matter to you? You friends with this ace?" The football player cracked his knuckles, a clear reminder of which choice was the safer one.

So Dan didn't make a choice. Instead, he punched the offending jock square in the nose. Then he brought his knee up and the boy went down much more quickly than Dan could ever have expected (though when he opened his mouth to speak his mind, his voice had gone up an octave or two).

Dan cut his opponent off before a full syllable had even had a chance to escape his lips. "There's more where that came from, I can promise you that. I suggest that you kindly fuck off so this situation doesn't have to get any uglier. Though, based upon your incomparable beauty, I don't think that's exactly possible." His tone oozed dry sarcasm and barely-veiled fury as his eyes burned holes in the football player's shirt.

He had expected some sort of resistance, maybe even a bit of bloodshed, but never the complete and utter cooperation he received in that moment. The offending boys quickly helped their fallen leader to his feet and fled down the hallway, though Dan noticed a few gestures made in his direction at which he just chuckled darkly. Their obscene method of trying to get the last word did nothing to mask the fact that they were running scared from a fight they had started.

Suddenly, Phil stirred and Dan tore his eyes off of the football players' retreating backs and turned them to Phil, feeling his hatred-filled glare soften immediately. The black-haired boy wasn't terribly hurt, but the way he remained curled in a ball on the floor told Dan there was more than physical pain going on.

"Need some help?" Dan looked down at Phil and offered his right hand. Phil jumped slightly, clearly dragged out of some place deep in the back of his mind, and turned his faraway gaze on the brown-eyed boy. He hesitated almost imperceptibly, then stretched his right hand out to join it with Dan's.

As soon as they touched, Dan felt his symbol begin to burn. It was hot, but not uncomfortably so --- it was more of a warm, beautiful feeling, as if something had been missing from him and they were being welded back together. Phil yelped and pulled away, terror etched in his features.

Dan had no time to inquire about why Phil was so afraid or why such an occurrence had happened before it was all made clear. For Phil's sleeve had been pushed back when Dan grabbed his hand, and there, upon his right wrist, was a blue swirl that stretched from palm to elbow.

[To Be Continued]