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After an undeniably awkward cab ride to downtown London, Phil thanked the driver, paid him, and held Dan's hand as they got out of the car.

Their hands never disconnected, fingers intertwined, Dan's cold hand clutching Phil's warm one.

"So, do we have a plan for today? Or are we just walking?" Dan asked, looking over at Phil, whose eyes were glued to the busy ongoing traffic.

He looked over at him, blue eyes meeting brown, and smiled. "Just walking. Being tourists in our own town."

"Well, I definitely won't complain." Dan replied.

They walked a few more minutes in silence. But not a bad silence. A sweet silence. The type of silence with somebody that just seems to say: 'you give me comfort.'

As they crossed a street, Phil spoke up.

"I never understand why people say that they prefer the 'quiet countryside' over the city. Especially cities like these." He said, staring in awe at the flashing lights and bright colors all around him.

"Everyone's entitled to their own opinion." Dan replied with a small shrug, smiling at a woman walking by with a dog trailing next to her.

"Well, of course. But I just.. I don't know. The city has so much life put into it. How people are always bustling around, having places to be, stories to tell. It's so charming, too. With it's pretty buildings and cute diners and fancy gift shops. Everything about the city is so appealing to me, every little thing is so eye catching, Dan! Why choose quiet and boring when you can choose lively and ecstatic?"

Dan pulled off another lame shrug before replying. "Maybe it all depends on personality, or interests. What they like and do not like. What they prefer and don't prefer. Maybe it depends on how and where a person grows up. That all should affect your opinion. Or at least, I think it should."

Phil turned to him, and couldn't help but feel his smile grow. Dan looked adorable. With his black jeans and a Muse hoodie, he looked.. small. Tiny. Precious. The hoodie covered him, like all of his shirts usually did, and seemed to be big on him. His brown hair was neatly straightened and combed. His slightly chapped, pink lips were pressed together in a small smile. The cold was clearly nipping at his ears, as they were red at the tips.

But one thing Phil really couldn't take his eyes off of were Dan's eyes.

While Phil could only help but think that they were beautiful, if only he really knew the type of eyes Dan really had.

Dan Howell's eyes were the type of brown that was sweet like chocolate. The chocolate that melts at the slightest bit of heat from love, or from happiness. But that chocolate can also grow hard from the cold harsh reality that is apparent in this world. His eyes expressed heart break, or the sadness that he hid from those around him so well.

If only one could really look into Dan Howell's eyes, they would discover how fragile he actually was.

But while Phil was staring at Dan's eyes, Dan didn't hesitate to stare right back and fall in love with Phil's blue ones.

Phil's eyes were an electric blue, but not in the recurrent way the phrase 'electric' was used. Little did Phil know yet, Dan was an artist, and true artists knew the colors and many different layers there were to them. For every shade there were 10 more shades abaft it, and Phil's eyes were the perfect electric blue for him. Striking yet soft. No, not the electric shock that paralyzed you or crawled under your muscles, but the kind that made your feelings dance.

To say that his eyes were just "blue." Was like saying the sun was yellow.

Sufficient, but not accurate to capture the burning.

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A/N:
thanks for 3k :,)

~🌙

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