Opposites Attract ➣ Dan X Phil

Chapter Two ➣ Dan

A loud ringing echoes through the wall, forcing Dan awake.
He groans out, glaring at the ceiling in annoyance. His fringe has curled from a night of twisting and turning. As the constant clangorous alarm continues, he throws his fist at the wall, ignoring the pain that comes with it.
"TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF!" He yells at the neighbour.
His building is way into the worse side of London. It has about twenty people living in it, whom he doesn't tend to converse with. Quite unlike the others who, unfortunately for him, tend to leave their doors open so they can yell at anyone who passes. Almost like college dorms, but less friendly, and much less lawful.
On that side is Ian, who is pretty much always too high or hungover to function properly. He annoys the shit out of Dan.
Much to his relief, the noise stops, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes before stumbling to his feet, and getting ready.
Black jeans as always. His black eclipse top. He re-inserts his piercings, and straightens his hair best as he could with the straightener.
As someone else starts playing 'Bad religion' that booms so loudly it shakes the flooring, Dan decides to go out.
He strolls down the street, licking his spider bite lip piercings out of habit. He ignores the biting wind of October, instead glaring ahead intensely. Everyone moves out of his way - some crossing the road, others staring at the floor so they didn't make eye contact passing by him.
He has that kind of affect on people. They're terrified of him. Honestly, he doesn't care. He used to be socially awkward. You can't be socially awkward if you aren't social.
As he approached the tattoo parlour, 'Buzzart', he sighs in frustration as his eyes spot something, or rather, someone.
That kid from yesterday, Phil, with the emo fringe, sat on the same wall. Today he's wearing a pink, fluffy jumper and some white coloured jeans. Matched with a pale flower crown.
Could you sink any lower? Seriously. He thinks bitterly, speeding up his pace, hoping he isn't seen.
"Dan!"
Fuck.
Phil's eyes seem to fill with excitement. He practically leaps down the wall, bounding towards Dan, like a puppy eager to please it's master.
"Fuck off," Dan mutters, keeping a stony-face as other boy frowns at the word.
He pushes open the parlour's front door, and nods to the dude behind the counter.
Dan comes here often. The pain of a needle repeatedly attacking his skin is almost as addictive to Dan as the cigarettes in his pocket, in his opinion. He feels like nothing but a blank canvas sometimes.
"What will it be this time? A picture of Justin Bieber on your ass?" The owner teases with a small smirk.
He only rolls his eyes at that, the corners of his mouth not even lifting a millimetre. He glances at the hundreds of designs littering the walls, thinking.
And then, Phil walks in. He must have hesitated at the door.
"Dan? What tattoo are you getting? Why?" Phil asks curiously.
Nosy fucker.
The owner suddenly picks up on the annoyance on his face, and turns to Phil with a frown, "Kid, either get a tattoo or get outta here."
That'll do it. Dan focuses on trying to find something decent to have inked into his skin.
A pause, and then a single word that makes Dan's eyes widen in surprise.
"Okay."
Phil sounds far more confident than he looks.
The owner too is taken aback, but grins a little and heads to the back door, yelling for one of the workers to get their lazy asses downstairs.
"You're an idiot, you know," Dan comments, not even looking at him. He finally settles on a picture of a man holding a gun, with the gun pointed outwards, at the onlooker.
Phil doesn't respond, nervously shifting his weight between his feet as he stands.
The owner returns, with another, who is slightly younger, and has their entire arms and legs covered in tattoos.
The owner waves the worker off towards Phil, before glancing at the tattoo Dan picked and nodding, "nice choice."
Dan sits back in the chair as the needle is prepared, and finds himself watching Phil, debating between two different tattoos of flowers - clearly stalling.
"Lester. Just leave," Dan calls to him coldly.
Phil looks over at him hesitantly but shakes his head, finally selecting the pale blue one over the pink one, "Where does it hurt least?" He hears him ask shakily.
"On your wrist, or on the top of your shoulder probably," The worker replies boredly.
Dan barely even feels the needle. He'd gotten so used to it by now.
Phil sits down next to him, having decided to put the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was only a small one, but still, he was determined.
He's shaking.
Dan sighs, his expression faltering a little at Phil's fear. Eventually he resorts to leaning over and taking Phil's spare hand, squeezing it. The owner glares at him for the movement but says nothing.
Phil looks over in surprise, and a small smile forms on his lips. Which is quickly replaced with a shriek of surprise as the tattoo gun begins doing it's work.
The whirring is the only sound in the room, and Dan and Phil sit in silence, their hands intertwined loosely.
Phil is finished far before Dan, and sighs in relief as he stands up. He nibbles his lip a little seeing the new decoration on his wrist, but he's holding back a small smile.
Dan has to admit, it does kind of suit him.
Phil is then shocked to find out the price of the small flower, but reluctantly pays with his card.
After a while Phil takes a seat opposite, looking a little queasy, but pretty proud of himself. Then, after an eternity of more whirring, Dan brings himself to speak.
"So."
"So," Phil is quick to respond, his face lighting up a little at the fact he didn't have to start the conversation.
"Why'd you do that?" Dan wonders, looking at him. His usually hard expression now held a little curiosity - nowhere near as much as Phil usually has, though.
"Well, I wanted to spend more time with you before you pushed me out again," Phil resorts to a mumble, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.
Dan has to look away quickly, not wanting the walls he'd built up over the years to come crumbling down just over one silly tattoo.
Dan's tattoo is finally finished.
The owner waves as the two walk out together, met by the bitter weather that causes goosebumps to run up Dan's arms.
Phil notices, and smiles a little as he comes up with an idea, "How about we go to a small cafe and buy some lunch? It'll be warmer, and you look like you haven't eaten in weeks."
Dan narrows his eyes a little, "I can't pay for it."
"I will, don't worry," Phil's attempt to reassure him only irritates him further.
"That's exactly my problem," Dan mutters, glaring at the floor.
"No, it's okay! You can pay me back," Phil shrugs a little.
"In what? You know I don't have any fucking money," he practically hisses, shooting Phil a small glare.
"In answers," Phil grins triumphantly, fiddling with the sleeves of his pink jumper. "You can tell me about you."
"Oh for fucks sake," Dan shakes his head.
"I'm serious! Please?"
The rumble of Dan's stomach seems to answer for him. "Fine. Whatever."
Once again, he's given into Phil's stupid begging. The first time he'd just surrendered his name. Now, he'd surrendered possibly his entire life story, just over some stupid food.

Yayy, second chapter!!
Can you imagine actual Phil with a tattoo? I mean, he probably wouldn't actually get one, but still.
I have honesty no clue what to write here, so...
QOTD: If you were getting a tattoo, what would it be of?
- Wolfie xx