phan one shots

stalker

Summary: Dan loves Phil, but he's never talked to him before. What happens when Phil finds out about Dan's obsession with him?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: bullying, depression, anxiety, mentions of self harm

Maybe it was because he was pretty.

It didn't really explain why Dan was so obsessed with him, so infatuated.

He'd seen pretty people before.

But there was something different about him.

A kind of aura, a feeling, the way all eyes went to him when he entered a room, and not because he demanded it, because he was definitely not the type of person to make demands, but because he was just that captivating.

He was addictive, and seemingly not just to him, as half the girls and boys in the school were crushing on him and he had people waiting to please him, constantly complimenting him and asking if they could sit with him at lunch.

No one seemed to be able to hurt him.

He was just too kind.

Too gentle.

Everyone seemed to make an unspoken promise to protect him.

Phil Lester.

The gentle boy with gentle hands, a gentle voice and a gentle spirit.

There was even a group called the Phil Lester Defense Squad, dedicated to keeping him safe and ready to kill anyone who even dared to throw him a disgusted look.

Dan wished he could at least be apart of that.

It would be something.

Some form of connection to the boy who couldn't stop thinking about.

But no, Dan Howell was the opposite of Phil Lester.

He was invisible, unnoticeable, forgettable, an outsider. He only had one friend, a girl named Louise, and she had a whole other group of friends who were much less awkward and more sociable than him.

He always dressed in all black, covered in the night, a starless night with no light, no sign of escape. He straightened his light brown hair, ashamed and afraid of being further ridiculed for his bouncy curls. He tried to keep his hood up and his head down, barely speaking, and when his words did fall, they were quiet and timid, like he was scared to use his voice. After all his bullies found absolutely anything to torment him with.

And yes Dan was bullied.

There was no one lining up to protect him, no one willing to step in and say something when they saw him cornered and kicked to the ground, twisted sharp words flung at him like they weighed nothing until they broke his skin, and he had to run away before he bled out in front of them.

He sat alone at lunch, long slender legs pulled to his aching chest, gaze on the ground as he ate slowly from his plate, trying not to linger on the cold deep in his bones, the freezing hands around his throat, or the loose seams, the stuffing pouring out of him with every step.

He bit his fingers until they were raw and bleeding, tearing at the skin with his teeth and hiding more blood red roses in his pockets every time he shattered on the bathroom floor, silver blades cutting across his soft skin.

He felt boring. He never did much with his life except hate his own existence, and the same cold in his bones drained the color from his eyes and his life turning every passion he'd ever had into a faded photograph.

But there was one strong passion of his that his demons had yet to touch, the only thing that had the ability to bring him true joy.

Art.