Without love ~ phan

Chapter VIII

Dan's POV

It's Sunday again. You know what that means! Another nice, long, anxiety filled walk in the freezing cold. I thought I had prepared this week by scheduling a date with a new admirer on Saturday, but all I could think about while her clammy hand held mine was the inevitable routine for today. Suddenly, it's like these weekly walks aren't just ruining my Sundays.

As Link and I get inside the park, we find Tracy and Phil in the middle of the field. While walking towards them, I take the time to look around. Besides some hot-blooded joggers and puffy jacketed dog walkers, there isn't anyone else willing to come out here today. Let's hope it stays this way.

So far, things have been going pretty smoothly at school. Knock on wood. Word did get out that Link and Amber broke up and considering the amount of flirtatious smiles Tracy is sending Link right about now, she's heard as well. Word hasn't gotten around about last Sunday or last Monday in the detention room, but I have heard some things about Link. Rumors have been going around that he found himself a new chick, someone much more suave and well read than Amber. She has sleek brown hair and very red lips. She's from Paris and goes to private school. She wears gray and can burn you with her eyes. I've heard other variations of Link's mystery girl but that one has captured my attention the best.

No matter how many girls Tracy has heard about, I'm sure she's being an optimist. She's probably choosing to believe that all of our classmates are unknowingly talking about her, and she wouldn't be wrong. She looks so happy, she's always so happy. Even before she had Link for herself. It's inspiring and frustrating all at once.

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We're walking along the same trail now, this time we leave patterns of varying sized footprints in the thin blanket of snow. Usually I shun the snow and bundle myself up as if to say, "in your face, snow! You can't hurt me!" Today however, I wish the snowflakes contrasting brightly against my dark gloves would stay in their lacy pattern a little longer.

I don't know why my point of view has changed so drastically since I arrived here just a little while ago. Tracy hugged me when we first got here. Her hold was tight, she didn't let me go until I hugged her back. We learned in science that oxytocin, the feel good hormone, is released when you hug someone. That must mean it doesn't matter who you hug, it's scientifically proven that it will always be satisfying. Or maybe it's the simple fact that the only friend I've gotten a hug from in years is Link. I hadn't realized I needed one until now.

Geez, I sound as soppy as Link. Even just looking at him from behind, I see him lighting up with glee. With Amber he resembled a success story in a tabloid magazine but with Tracy he presents himself like a real life prince. When he's with her he's the third most smiley person I've ever seen. After the two most underrespected people at that demon school. For the first time ever, I think that maybe losing the acceptance from our fellow students wouldn't be Link's, Phil's, or even Tracy's fault.

Phil's POV

Daniel is silent and blank just like last week, but in a new way. Instead of hanging his head, his focus is on the couple walking a few paces in front of us. Not only that, but he's smiling too. Last week he looked lost but today he looks like he's found something I can't see. It's a nice thing to think about after he talked to me so bitterly before.

Right now is a perfect time to act on the promise I made to myself on Monday. Cracking Daniel Howell won't be easy but I gain new hope with every step of the way. Pun intended. So I'll get right down to it and ask him a new question. "Hey Daniel, would you rather, have no teeth or be married to a goat?" That's right, would you rather, the perfect icebreaker. Not to mention it's fun and a great way to get someone to confess personal facts/feelings to you. He laughs and looks at me with the same air of whimsy that was upon him when he was transfixed on Tracy and Link. Am I dreaming?

"I think I'd rather be married to a goat. At least that wouldn't be as obvious as having no teeth," he says. I smile at him in amazement and pride. My question was pretty good but I didn't think it would work this quickly. Only six days ago he acted like he wished I never existed. Now we're having fun and making jokes, as if nothing had ever split us apart.

He's asking me a would you rather question back, and I'm thinking just maybe this is more than luck.

Dan's POV

I've done it. I've made it through our second get together, all for my best friend Link. He better be happy.

Yep, it was entirely for Link's sake. The answering Phil's question truthfully? Link's sake. The laughing and encouraging Phil to hold a conversation with me? Link's sake. The question I asked Phil in return that involved plants because I remember his dorky obsession from last week? Link's sake. The last glance back at Phil as we left the park? Link's. Sake.

I endured it all, just so he could have a nice time. Am I the greatest best friend or what?

Phil's POV

After a long, unforgiving Monday, my dad has taken pity on me and brought me to the nearest library. Coming back was crucial considering I've just finished the last book I took out and an acceptable amount of time has passed for appreciating it. I believe that you can say you understand the book as you read, but true enlightenment doesn't reach you until you look at the cover for the last time and the fingerprint stained title is no longer so out of the blue.

Today, I've decided to explore a new section of the high ceilinged, echoey, two and a half floored palace of stories. It's the half floor I just mentioned, located exclusively above part of the first floor. I've been in this area before but my intentions have changed from gaping at the nearly transparent floor and the studiers from the balcony to finding something to read. From past experience I realize that this sector is reserved for nonfiction, specifically the kind college students read for research, but the extensive subjects throughout the narrow aisles convince me to try one of them out. I've always wanted to be someone who knows something about everything, this looks like a good place to start.

Just to stay safe, I look for books regarding a topic I'm already interested in. In this case, animals. Entire shelves are occupied by books about dogs and cats, the most common of the common household pets. My eyes skip over their titles incessantly as they are certainly not risky enough. Moving on from those, I crouch down to get eye level with a noticeably green grouping of books. A casual font grabs my attention and the colorful pictures of woodland creatures as pure and flawless as Snow White's helpers hold on.

I pick myself up off the floor and head towards the stairs, avoiding the aisles taken up by other people. Down the steps and through a heavy door I go, passing sitters consumed by their books and puzzles, so much so that their human instincts must have taken a rest. The noise of my walking feet in a crowd of crossed legs creates not a single reaction. Perhaps the background noise has become elevator music accompanying the movies in their heads. Isn't it funny how strange people can be.

As if I'm attending to important business, I round a landmark corner with my only intention being getting somewhere efficiently. Just a doorway away, my lips are involuntarily whispering a song, the one that always pops out at the quietest moments, but I don't change my tight hold on the book. An old lady walks past me and smiles at the tune.

I stop outside of the giant, wooden door. Entering the little room of cushions is always pleasant. Everything is a shade of red or brown and considering how plentiful the dust is, one could easily mistaken the place for a storage room. Actually, maybe it is. No one has ever stopped me from going in but the books in there proudly display parchment-like, gold engraved spines and it's always slightly darker there than the rest of the library. Although realistically, that's most likely due to the lack of windows.

It's cold in there, the room is too full of ghosts rereading their life stories to make room for the living.

The door opens with slight difficulty given how big it is, and the air sings salutations to take the place of anything I was muttering before. I turn towards the room, into an energy that's eerily familiar and completely unexpected. It's a figure. Another person.