#time to practice drawing trolls all over my sketchbook I guess

[paotulip]

I still don’t like 100% how I draw them as trolls, so here’s a sketch of human! Branch and Poppy having a pillow fort date or something watching movies and being cute :]

[dansphlevels]

The Subject Series

  This fic was written for her @phandomreversebang with artist @corgi-lester. You can find the art here. This fic has been in the works for a long time but I really like it and I hope you will too!

Summary: Tensions have been rising in Phil’s hometown at the rise in gun violence and string of robberies. However, Phil has bigger things to worry about me, like his newest art assignment to paint a series of portraits showing the true character of a person you know. Phil has his subject, the only problem is, he doesn’t actually know Dan, though he’s more than willing to rememdy that. 

Length: 8k

Highschool!phan au with artist!Phil and newkid!Dan, including the growth of a friendship, Phil being a little stalker-y, and Dan not understanding the concept of stranger danger. Was heavily inspired by my Drabble series ‘Artists’ and recent events involving gun violence. 

“I want to do five paintings, all different sized canvases that link together.”

 Mr. Hebbs shook his head. “Phil, this isn’t that complex an assignment. You only have to do three, and canvases aren’t required.”

 “It’s fine, I get a discount on them at my job,” Phil insisted. “And I like to paint at home.”

 “But Phil—” Mr. Hebbs saw the look Phil was giving him and changed direction. “You have other classes, I don’t want-”

 “I really appreciate everything you do,” Phil reassured with his teacher-pleasing smile. “How about I let you know if it’s too much? Then I’ll go down to only painting three canvases.” Mr. Hebbs started saying something else, but Phil quickly cut him off with a “You’re the best! I’ll see you in class!”

 Phil was already halfway out of the door when Mr. Hebbs called out, “But Phil! Who is going to be your subject!”

 “I’ll figure it out!”

———

 The beginning of the semester was not something to be excited about. You could be the best student in school, but you still wouldn’t cheer about it if someone held a gun up to your head.

 Phil was right in the middle of the spectrum. He definitely didn’t hate school, but the end of winter break meant less free time for art and more brain power having to be spent on things like trigonometry and physiology.

He spent most of Trig staring at the other students in the class. For the art project, he had to find a subject to paint a few times, but no one in his classes stuck out to him.

 As Mr. Goinstein lectured, Phil felt his hands fidget almost on their own merit, scribbling out a design on his travel-sized sketchbook. It ending up being the teacher, with his hairline receding almost as far back as in real life, his suit cheap looking but well pressed. Phil wondered if his hair had gotten greyer in the past few weeks.

 Phil jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” a voice whispered, “do you have a pencil?”

 Phil turned around to double check that he wasn’t hearing things— he sat at the back of the class for a reason, how dare someone move to be further back than him— except no one had moved. The boy sitting before him- or rather, behind him— wasn’t a regular face in the class.

 Phil would know. He’d drawn every face in the class; or attempted to, at least.

 The boy was looking at him expectantly, and his mind snapped back in to focus. “I don’t have a pencil,” Phil replied. The boy looked down to his hand, where he was holding a 2H pencil. “This is special. I can’t— I might have a pen?”

 Phil wanted to frame the slightly wonderstruck expression the boy gave him. With his face a little warmer than it had been before, he dug through his backpack and found a pen, giving it to the new kid.

 Phil looked back at his doodles. Would it be creepy if—. Before he could finish the thought, his pencil was back on paper, sketching out an oval with two lines intersecting it. He marked the eyes, then the nose, adjusted the chin, and added the hair. Before he knew it, he’d drawn the boy sitting behind him.

 If the boy was a troll.

 Phil flipped to the next page, trying again only this time with more space. The problem with drawing faces an inch high was that in real life, they were notably bigger, which meant that details were lost in the drawing. Sometimes the faces turned out fine. And sometimes they turned out looking like the person had just crawled out from underneath a bridge offering to grant your fondest wish in return for your first born child.

 Phil scribbled out another face, this one closer to scale. It was more accurate. This time, the boy looked like he’d ran into a brick wall. He didn’t look ugly, per say, just… flat.

 Phil turned to the next page, drew out another oval to act as his guide, and then turned around, looking at the boy while pretending to be looking at the clock. He was very convincing, too. However, there was no clock on the wall.

 But the boy was new, he didn’t have to know that.

 By the end of class, Phil had made four different drawings of him, all of them barely recognizable. The last one was more accurate, though it still wasn’t quite there.

 Phil closed his notebook as the bell rang, sighing as someone taped his shoulder. “Here’s your pen back.”

 Phil took it, and took the opportunity to look at the boys face again, trying to find where his features lines up with his guidelines. “You’re new, right?”

 “Um, yeah.” When he smiled, little dimples formed on the sides of his cheeks. “I transferred from AHS. I’m Dan.”

 “I’m Phil. Could I take a picture of you?”

 “Um, what?”

 “I’m in Photography,” Phil quickly lied, the muscles in his face hurting from the effort of smiling. “We just needed to take a picture of someone for a warm up.”

 “Oh, I’m in Photography too!” Phil tried not to let his panic show through. “And sure, I guess. As long as it’s not for a big project or anything, I don’t really want to see my face framed in the middle of the hallway or anything.”

 Phil smiled, grabbing his phone and clicking the video button. “Don’t worry about it.”

 He kept the video recording for just long enough to catch Dan’s dimple on camera before turning off his phone and stuffing it in his bag.

———

 Dan’s nose was practically perfect. It was very proportionate to his face. The problem Phil had been running into, Phil later found out, was his eyes. Dan’s eyes were more almond shaped, with discreet eyelids. Phil had been emphasizing his eyelids too much.

 That night, in his room, Phil played the video over an over, screenshotting it at the best moments. Then he pulled out a piece of drawing paper and sketched out his face, this time with a reference picture, and kept erasing and adding to it until it was clear who the subject was.

 The paper still felt too empty, so Phil sketched in some flowers around his head. He got his blending stump and darkened his cheeks, making it look like he was lightly blushing. “Yes, very kawaii,” Phil muttered.

 That would be his project. And Dan would be his subject.

 Though he’d have to get Dan to agree to it first. Because unlike Photography warm ups, this project would actually be hung up in the school hallway.

———

 “Hey Dan!” Phil called out, jogging up next to Dan in the hallway. He turned around, smiling a little uncomfortably.

 “Hey...”

 “Phil,” Phil reminded him.

 “Right, I knew that. Hey Phil.”

 Phil would do one of the paintings with Dan laying in coffee beans. He would still do the flower one, but each painting would have a different background, Phil decided, all very soft, aesthetic things. Dan seemed very soft and aesthetic, even though he was wearing all black. Phil bet he ran a pastel tumblr blog.

 Dan turned to head towards one of his classes, and Phil kept in tow with him, even though his class was on the other side of the school. “So, I was wondering. We have this project—”

 “In Photography?” Dan finished. “The rule of thirds thing?”

 “Um, no. In ADAPA-”

 “What?”

 “It’s, um, Advanced Art Design and Presentation but the letters are in the wrong order because AADP doesn’t roll of the tongue that easily. I’m doing this subject series, where I paint a person a few times. It’s very low key, and I was just wondering if I could paint you.”

 Dan stopped in front of one of the English classes, giving Phil a weird look. “Why?”

 “I dunno. Why not?”

 Dan considered this. “Wouldn’t that be weird? You, just… painting like, two pictures of me?”

 Phil didn’t correct him. “Nah, it’s pretty normal. Everyone in ADAPA is doing this project, so you won’t be the only subject or anything.”

 Dan hesitated, squeezing the strap of his backpack.

 “I’ll just need to take a few pictures of you. And I’ll pay you fifteen pounds,” he added.

 Dan glanced into the classroom, still hesitating. “Only if you let me take a picture of you for the photography project,” he conceded, “and help me with the camera. They wouldn’t let me in the Beginning Photography class because I’m a senior, so I kinda lied about my skills. And since you’re in Photography too…” he trailed off, looking hopeful.

 “Sure, no problem.” Phil hadn’t touched a camera since 6th grade. “Here, let me give you my phone number so we can set it up.”

 “Great.” Dan’s cheeks were the same shade as they’d been in Phil’s drawing, only Phil’s drawing was in black and white. In real life, Dan was in full, vivid color.

———————-

 “Are you okay?” Phil asked with a comforting smile, leading Dan up the stairs to his room. “You look kind of pale.”

 Dan ran a hand through his curly mocha hair— it was mocha, Phil had decided— following him up the stairs. “I’m fine. I walked past the bakery on Main and it was closed. Do you think anything happened?”

 Phil shrugged, leading him into his room. His dirty laundry was kicked into a corner by his bed, which was little more than a cheap box frame and small mattress. Most of the room was taken up by his art supplies, paint splattered tarp spread out underneath his desk and two easels. Notebooks and canvases sat in piles along the wall, some blank, others completely filled, mostly with paint.

 “Wow,” Dan commented as he looked around. “You're a very convincing artist.”

 Phil laughed. “What else would I be? Do I look like a sportsman to you?”

 Dan looked him up and down, biting his lip. “No. But the tarps do suggest you may be a serial killer.”

 “Well, I'm not. Unless you consider killing trees as being a serial killer. With all the supplies and paper I use, I'm probably one of the leading causes of deforestation.”

 Dan snorted. “Nice.”

 Phil found his phone, waving it triumphantly. “Got it. Let's go take some pictures?”

 “Sure.”

 “Come on. The basement has really good lighting.” Phil lead him downstairs, the silence getting awkward quickly. “What was that you were saying earlier? About… the cake shop on Main?”

“The bakery. It was closed. Do you think it could have been the same thing that happened with the funeral home?”

 Phil sighed. “I hope not. I hated it enough the first time.”

 “Right? I hope the police find whoever is doing it and lock them up for life. I don’t care if Mrs. Roes will recover, it’s not fucking okay.”

 Phil glanced back at Dan who was following him tensely, his arms crossed. “You good?”

 “‘M fine. It’s just frustrating, it’s like, what are we supposed to do about it, you know?”

 Phil knew what he meant, he did. But he was more focused on the way Dan’s features curled when he was frustrated, the way his eyes changed with intensity. Dan looked angry and helpless at the same time and it was so contradictory, Phil had to do one of the paintings with this expression. He’d paint it so Dan was surrounded by blooming flowers and scowling like they did something to personally offend him.

———

 Phil didn’t make a habit of lying, but he found himself lying to Dan almost as often as he told him the truth. Dan sat down on the couch and Phil adjusted his phone lense until it was just right, then pressed the record button.

 “Let me know when you’re taking a picture,” Dan requested, squeezing his hands.

 Phil nodded. “Three, two, one…” He twitched his thumb, pretending to touch the screen. Dan smiled falsely, holding it for a few moments then breaking it.

 “So natural,” Phil commented from behind the camera. “Hey Dan, what do you call fake spaghetti?”

 “I don’t know, what?”

 “An im-pasta.”

 Dan laughed, smiling widely enough for both of his cheek dimples to be on full display, and Phil knew he was going to be screenshotting that later.

 “That’s horrible. Phil, what’s the difference between a snow-man and a snow-woman?” Dan waited a second for dramatic effect before answering: “Snowballs.”

 It was Phil’s turn to crack up, the phone shaking in his grip.

 “Hey, just take the pictures without telling me,” Dan decided. “Otherwise it’ll feel too fake.”

 “Okay, I’ll do that. Why did the farmer win an award?” Pause. “Because he was outstanding in his field.”

———

 “You certainly don’t waste your time,” Mr. Hebbs commented, peering over Phil’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”

 “He’s a new student,” Phil replied without looking up from his work. He was just adding the final touches to Dan’s painted face, carefully adding a highlight. “He’s in one of your photography classes.”

 “Oh. I suppose I’m just not used to seeing him with the flowers.” Mr. Hebbs scratched his jaw, thinking. “I would make sure to highlight the glabella,” he suggested after a moment.

 “The… what?”

 “The glabella. Right… here,” he said pointing to the space in between the painting’s eyebrows, careful not to touch it.

 Phil dabbed his brush back in the paint, adding some of it to the area Mr. Hebbs had been referring to.

 “How long are you planning on staying?”

 Phil glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 2:50 and school got out at 3. “How long are you going to be here? I won’t need too much more time.”

 “I need to leave at the bell, but you can stay as long as you clean up, and turn off the lights and lock the door when your done. If anyone asks where I am—”

 “—I’ll just say you’re in the bathroom,” Phil finished, smiling down at his painting. “As per usual.”

 “Perfect.” The art teacher looked at the painting again, tilting his head to the side. “I’d add more lowlights to the hair too.”

 “Can do.”

———

 It happened again. Sometime that afternoon, a man had broken into the garden store a few blocks away from Phil’s neighborhood, brandishing a small handheld gun and demanding the cashier on duty give him everything in the till. The cashier went to get the code for the safe— apparently he wasn’t a very smart cashier— and the shooter opened fire. The gun only had a few rounds in it, but it was enough to shatter the front windows and stun the cashier.

Phil saw the destroyed storefront as he biked home from school, his completed painted sticking out of his book bag. The next morning, he listened as his mum read to him the article in their local paper describing the events.

 “‘We recommend all small shops in the downtown area invest in panic buttons and try to have more than one person on staff whenever possible. And, until this situation is under control, we ask that all students avoid walking or biking through town on the way home from school.’ Sorry Philly, it sounds like you’re going to have to find a new way home.”

 Phil slouched, cupping his cooling coffee in his hands. “Do I have to? We don’t know if they’re going to rob another shop.”

 “They’ve got a gun,” Kath reminded him. “And there’s already been four incidents now.”

 “They may not have all been the same person!” Phil argued, but it was futile. Kath shook her head.

 “I’m sorry, but it’s just not safe.”

———

Phil was wheeling his bike out from the rack when a familiar voice called out his name. He looked up and was met with an even more familiar face- one he’d studied and recreated a few times over various types of papers and a canvas.

 “Phil!” Dan called out again, jogging over, smiling widely.

 “Hey!” Phil called back when Dan got closer. “What’s up?”

 “Absolutely nothing,” Dan said easily, “Do you want to hang out? I’m biking home too.”

 Phil smiled back. “Sure! I have work soon-ish, but I can hang out until then.”

 “Nice.” Dan pulled out one of the bikes a few away from Phil, walking it around the rack. “Where do you work?”

 “Hobby Lobby. It’s not very exciting, but I do get a pretty good discount on art stuff.”

 “And you get money for art stuff,” Dan added. “I thought only professional artists used real canvases, aren’t they like, super expensive?”

 “To someone getting paid minimum wage? Yes. But they’re not that bad.” Phil mounted his bicycle, buckling his helmet on under his chin. Dan got on his own bike, except was missing something vital.

 “No helmet?”

 “I’m not seven,” he teased. “No offense.”

 “None taken. Because unlike you, I’m not going to crack my head open on the concrete and die before I can even graduate secondary school.”

 An image flashed before Phil’s eyes of Dan laying on the pavement with a perfect stream of blood coming down from his temple. For a moment, he really wanted to paint it, before he realized that was probably not the appropriate reaction. He shook the thought away.

 “Ooh, fighting words,” Dan teased as they carefully pedaled away from the school. “Do you wanna race?”

 The image flashed before Phil’s eyes again, except this time Dan was smiling, his lip bloodied. Imagination-Dan winked at him.

 “You’re on,” Phil responded to Real Life Dan, the one that had just challenged him to a race. “After this street, we race until we get to the park, deal?”

“Deal.”

 As soon as they crossed the street, Dan took off, speeding down the way. Phil pushed harder, pounding at the pedals until he was almost in line with Dan. Dan glanced behind him, and upon seeing Phil, laughed, pushing to go even faster.

 “Slow down! Let me— let me pass!”

 Dan let his feet up from the pedals, the wheels still spinning at about 200 rotations a minute as he thundered down the street. Phil kept pushing until he was side by side with Dan, the park within view.

 Then Dan’s feet hit the pedals again and it was all over.

———

 Phil arranged the canvases in the way they’d be set up once he was done. They were all slightly different sizes and lined up perfectly with about two centimeters between each one, so they ended up as a large square shaped collage. Only one was done so far, the one with the flowers. It had Dan with his head slightly tilted, looking off to the side with his lips pressed closed. Dan’s skin ended up a little paler than it was in real life, with his cheeks and lips a little extra pink to complement the flowers. His hair was softer looking than real life, the individual hairs not emphasized. All in all, he looked more like a porcelain doll than Phil had intended, but he wasn’t one to complain.

 Phil typed up the card for it:

Phil Lester Subject Series: Ethereal (adj): extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.

 One down, four to go.

———

 Phil waited for most of the students to leave the classroom, looking out for one in particular. But soon no one else really seemed to be leaving, so Phil shuffled over to the door, peeking in carefully like he was doing something he could get in trouble for. In reality, the only person he could actually get in trouble with was Mr. Hebbs, for leaving his independent study early to walk to the other side of the school. Except Mr. Hebbs didn’t care about things like that, so really, Phil’s caution was very unnecessary.

 A few people remained in the class, putting away props or talking in small groups. Phil scanned it until he saw the familiar black shirt and brown hair. He hadn’t ever draw Dan from this perspective before- well actually, he’d really only drawn his portrait. Phil could do one where Dan’s arms were crossed in front and his back was bare. Backs were so cool to draw.

 But that might look like Phil was looking for an excuse to draw Dan shirtless, which was not a normal friend thing to do, so he scrapped the idea.

 (That was a lie. He actually put it in the ‘Work In Progress’ folder in his brain.)

 The group Dan was talking to dispersed, and he looked down at his phone, completely oblivious to Phil creeping up behind him.

 “Rah!”

 Dan stumbled forwards, fumbling with his phone. When he met Phil’s gaze, his eyes were wide. “Phi-il!”

 Phil stuck out his tongue as he laughed. “You voice just went up, like, two octaves!”

 Dan brushed off his pants dramatically, not smiling, but not quite scowling either. “What do you want, pleb, now that you almost made me piss myself.”

 Phil was still smiling. “You biking home? We could go together, you could come over if you want. It’s a lot more boring biking now that I have to go the long way around town.”

 “I should shun you for scaring me like that. Alas, you still owe me fifteen pounds, so I shall wait until I’ve been paid to shun you.”

 “Fifteen pounds?”

 Dan smiled. “For modeling for you,” he said sweetly, pushing his curly fringe out of his face flirtatiously.

 “So you’re not just doing that out of the goodness of your heart?” Phil joked.

 “The goodness of my heart?” Dan scoffed. “Nonsense! I’ll have you know, Lester, that my heart is made out of pure coal.”

 “Right. So, are you biking with me or not?”

 “It depends. Do you have the money?”

 “At home,” Phil promised, then cringed. “This feels dirty. Like you’re my drug dealer or something.”

 “Daniel?” The teacher called out from behind her desk. “Are you leaving now?” A quick scan around confirmed that besides the teacher, they were the only ones left in the class.

 “Oh, yes, sorry!” Dan rushed over to grab his backpack and he and Phil sped-walked out of the class. When Phil looked at Dan next, his cheeks were the same color as the tulips Kath liked to keep on their kitchen table, or #15 in his acrylic set. “Oops.”

———

 They rode their bikes back to Phil’s house, then played video games there until Dan had to go home. He said a polite hello to Kath on his way out, and gave Phil a little wave goodbye.

 “Who was that?” Kath asked after Dan had left.

 Phil smiled casually. “That’s Dan, he’s a new student at school. I’m doing a painting project with him- well, of him.”  

 “Oh, what will it look like?”

 “A few different pictures of him with different backgrounds that represent him. It’ll be mostly really soft pastel things.”

 Kath looked back at the door even though Dan was long gone. “Huh. He didn’t really strike me as soft, especially with all that black.” Phil was about to argue when she cut him off. “But you’re the artist, do whatever you think would look best.”

———

 Phil had set up his phone when Dan had left to go to the bathroom. The video was only four minutes long, but it had some good moments in it. Phil had stationed his phone under the tv so it filmed their faces straight on. He paused it a few times, screenshotting, until he got to the perfect point.

 Phil stared at the image for a few moments. No. He couldn’t.

 The picture was of Dan biting the video game controller, his competitiveness getting the best of him. Originally, he’d bitten the controller as a way to make fun of Phil’s habit of doing just that when the game got too stressful, but before long he was doing it without realizing it. The shot was very, very real, very candid, very original. It was also not pastel.

 Oh well. Surely, Phil could put some sort of spin on it so it’d fit his theme. He wanted these painting to really represent Dan’s personality, that soft side he’d seen earlier in the day when the teacher embarrassed him. The real Dan.

 He pulled out canvas number two and got ready to go to work.

———

 Another store was broken into, though this time the criminal left without stealing anything. Phil didn’t bother reading the full article, scanning for the important parts. He’d have to continue taking the long way home, and the small store owners downtown would have to continue spending their money on security that shouldn’t be needed instead of more important things. The identity of the shooter remained unknown.

 “I hate this,” Dan ranted, dumping out the dirty water with so much force that Phil almost felt the need to protect his canvas. “How dare they? I heard that it might be more than one person doing it, too.”

 “Like, a gang?”

 Dan scowled, shaking his head. “Worse. People saw one person doing it and getting away with it, plus getting a bunch of media coverage. It’s a low life’s dream.”

 “I heard there’s going to be a protest later,” Phil recalled. “A bunch of the business owners are marching down to the police station and asking them why they aren’t doing more.”

 “Meanwhile, people are in the hospital, and the government hasn’t even mentioned it.” Dan sighed, rubbing his hands on his pants. “I don’t hate the government or anything, but they’re completely pointless if they’re idle. There are people out there with guns, literally shooting people and causing chaos, and our leaders are silent.”

———

 The second painting took longer to make. Phil wanted this one more realistic and it as harder to paint the way Dan was biting the controller.

 When it was done, he typed up the description on the document with the other one:

Phil Lester Subject Series: Zealous (adj.): having great energy or enthusiasm in pursuit of a cause or an objective.

———

 “We don’t think that there will be any attempted robberies on our store, armed or otherwise,” the balding manager explained. “However, it is important to go over procedures like these from time to time. If an armed robber enters the store and demands money, we ask that you are complacent. There is a panic button under each of the registers that you can press, which will alert the police station.”

 “Will an alarm sound?”

 The officer standing next to the manager adjusted her ponytail. “No. The panic button won’t set off any alarms or give you away.”

 Someone directly behind Phil spoke up, startling him slightly. “Has a panic button ever worked?”

 The officer smiled reassuringly. “They haven’t been used much in our city, but earlier this week one was pressed by mistake, so we are assured that they work just fine.”

 Phil’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he slipped it out, checking the screen.

 From: Dan  Do you wanna hang out Saturday?

 From: Phil  I thought you had work?

 From: Dan  Lol  I was fired

 From: Phil  Why???

 From: Dan  …  They didn’t like the way I dusted  We on for Saturday??

 From: Phil  Sure

———

 “It’s perfect. Phil, can you help me get the camera ready? I want to take your picture under the cherry blossom tree.”

 Phil made a face. It turned out Dan hadn’t just intended to make Phil pay him for his ‘modeling’, but planned to make Phil follow through with the entire deal. That meant Phil had to be the model for a change, so Dan could take pictures of him for his art project, in the advanced photography class Dan was underqualified for. And Phil had to help him use the camera, because, oh right, Phil had lied to him about being in a photography class too. Phil couldn’t even remember why he lied, but he did, and now he was eating his words.

 They went up to the tree and Dan inspected it with a critical gaze. Phil did too, but for a different reason. “No way this is a cherry blossom tree. Do those even grow here?”

 Dan shrugged, tilting his head to the side as he looked at the tree. “I don’t know what it is, but here it is. Can you stand by the trunk?”

 Phil stood by the trunk and Dan handed him the camera expectantly. Phil fiddled with it, pretending that he knew what he was doing, though he probably wasn’t very convincing, as it took him about three minutes to realize the reason nothing was showing up on the screen was because the lense cap was still on.

 After at least another ten minutes, they had the camera working and adjusted to the sunlight.

 “What was the assignment again?” Phil asked, getting progressively more nervous the more Dan fiddled with the camera.

 “Rule of thirds or something, idk. I’m pretty sure it’s just making sure you have three focal points, which I have. You, the tree trunk, and the flowers.”

 Phil shuffled uncomfortably. He may not have held a camera since sixth grade, but the rule of thirds was not exclusive to Photography. “I think you’re thinking about something else. The rule of thirds is where the subject of the art only takes up one third of the space.”

 Dan looked up from the camera, genuinely surprised. “Oh. I guess I’ll have to back up then.” He ducked under the drooping ribbons of pink flowers and Phil listened to his footsteps walks away, chewing on his lip nervously.

 “Should I come out, or—?”

 “No, that’s perfect! Move your feet together!”

 Phil did as he was told. He stood so his feet were almost together, with both of his hands hanging limply by his side. He tried to make a normal face, though he wasn’t sure how Dan could see him through the thick flowers.

 After a long minute, Dan exclaimed “Got it!”

 Phil happily ducked under the flowery branches, meeting Dan on the other side where he showed him the viewfinder of the camera. Phil blinked. “It’s…”

 “It’s cool, right? I feel so hipster and artsy.”

 “It’s cool,” Phil agreed, still taking it in. The picture didn’t have his face- in fact, it hardly had his torso at all. The picture showed the entirety of the blossom tree, framed on either sky with an intense blue sky, darker than normal as the sun just barely began to set. Underneath trees flowers were Phil’s legs with his hands on either side. “Yeah. I like it a lot.”

 Dan smiled widely, taking the camera back and flipping through the pictures. “Thanks! I’ll have to choose my favorite one and then edit it, which I don’t actually know how to do-”

 “Hey Dan?”

 “Hmm?”

 “Can I see the camera for a second?”

 Dan gave him a curious look but handed it over. Phil messed with it for a second before finding the off switch and putting it back in its case, carefully hiding in in his backpack he’d left on the grass.

 “Phil-”

 Phil looked up, giving Dan a small, almost sad smile. “Hey Dan?”

 Dan swallowed. “Yeah?”

 “You’re it!” Phil clumsily tapped Dan on the shoulder, sprinting past him.

 Dan was so shocked it took him a moment to react. “What! Lester!”

 Phil laughed, trying to run faster, but within moments Dan was gaining. “How are you so fast?! On a bike is one thing, but-” Phil cut himself off with an annoyed noise as Dan smacked him on the arm, turning and sprinting in the other direction. “Agh!”

 Dan’s laugh echoed as he ran away, Phil in hot pursuit. “You’ll never catch me! I am the jolteon of humans!”

 Phil cupped his hands around his mouth as he yelled “Nerd!”

 Dan turned, running along the edge of a small grassy hill. “Slowpoke!”

 Phil forced himself to run even faster, despite his aching lungs. He refused to lose to Dan again.

 He swiped at Dan, mumbling in annoyance when he missed. Dan cackled, turning his head to look back at Phil. He turned back and immediately stumbled, tripping and rolling. Phil tried to stop so quickly he ended up stumbling over the same rock and found himself toppling down the hill, the entire world becoming a blur of grass and sky. He’d seen photos that people had taken as then rolled down grassy hills like this one, and for the first time in a long time, he found the urge to get into photography again.

 He gave up trying to slow his descent and gave in, tucking his arms in to protect his face and letting his body speed up.

 There was the blue and there was the green, the green that was the true definition of ‘grassy green’ and Phil had never thought it was that nice of a color but it really was. Then there was the slight dizziness, and the unmistakable sound of Dan laughing, and Phil found himself not minding the downhill lull anymore.

 He slowed to a stop as the hill flattened out. One more half roll and he was face to face with Dan, laying on the soft ground with grass in his hair, trying to hide his wide smile with his hands.

 Phil didn’t even try to hide his smile, rolling over a little and tapping Dan lightly. “You’re it.”

———

 The painting showed Dan with grass in his hair, grinning from ear to ear as the bright blue sky blurred behind him.

Celeste (adj): belonging or relating to heaven.

———

 Phil pushed the door open hesitantly, looking around. As soon as they heard the door open, a large woman hurried over to the sandwich counter. “Hi, how can I help you?”

 Dan followed Phil in, both still looking around. “Um, hi, are you open?”

 “We are. Though we haven’t been getting much traffic lately.”

 “Since the shootings,” Dan translated grimly.

 She nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately. But the sandwiches are as good as ever, what can I get for you?”

 They ordered, paying individually then going to table to eat their sandwiches. “I’m getting closer to finishing the paintings,” Phil announced. “The theme I was going for was kind of lost, but I think it will still be fine. What’d… the Photography teacher say about the cherry blossom picture?”

 Dan had just taken a huge bite of his sandwich right before Phil asked him, and he made a face, trying to swallow it but failing to. “She liked it,” he answered when he’d gotten most of it down. He wiped his mouth, swallowing again. “She wants to hang it in one of the hallways for the rest of the semester.”

 Phil choked on his sandwich. “Actually?”

 Dan smirked. “Literally all you can see of you is your legs and hands. And it’s a good picture, you shouldn’t be self conscious.”

 “But still… I don’t know how I feel about my picture being in the hallway.”

 Dan leaned on his elbow, smiling at Phil a little too sweetly. “Mr. Hebbs was setting up the folding panels to display your classes latest project on. Which I believe is the Subject Series, with my face in literally every single painting of yours.”

 “Oh.”

 “It’s fine. You can hang up my pictures if I can hang up yours.”

 “Deal.”

 They talked for a little longer until they finished their sandwiches and brought the wrappers to the trash. The woman from earlier came over, wiping down the table. “Thanks,” Phil said. “The sandwiches were great.”

 “I’m glad you liked them!”

 “Do you mind if we hang out here for a while?” Dan asked, looking around. Besides the sandwich counter, there were a few rows of shelves with different fancy looking foods stacked on it.

 “Go for it, I’ll just be cleaning up back here but if you need anything, let me know! My name’s Bertha.”

 They looked around for a while. There was a shelf full of fancy olives that they looked at, making fun of the names and trying to make bad innuendos with some of them.

 “Extra stuffed. Mmm.”

 Phil shoved him gently, smiling. “What about this one? ‘Chopped red’.”

 Dan shivered, “it sounds like a murder scene.”

 “Did I show you that thing?” Phil wondered aloud.

 “‘That thing?’”

 “The… goose thing? Here, I’ll show you.” Phil pulled up the article on his phone, handing it over to Dan who began to read it quietly. It was so quiet that when the door opened, they both heard it clearly.

 Loud footsteps and then the sound of something being dropped on the counter. “Anyone there?” A gruff male voice said.

 “I’ll be right there!” Bertha replied, hurrying over. “What can I-” she stopped mid sentence.

 Phil peered through the wire shelves, trying to see what was happening. There was another row of shelves between them and the other customer, making it difficult, and even when Phil managed to see through them, it took a moment to process. He’d seen guns on tv, and he’d seen bigger guns carried by police in other countries, but it was the first one he’d ever seen in England. It was so small, so unassuming, but still it made Bertha’s smile drop and the color from her face drain. He gestured towards his bag and she opened the cash register, slowly moving the money into his bag. There wasn’t much there.

 Phil tapped Dan urgently, covering his mouth for a second when Dan opened it to say something. He pointed to what was happening, and watched as Dan went from confusion to shock to something else.

 The man turned around, walking over to the shelves where they were hidden. Phil gestured for them to crouch. That was what you were always supposed to do, you were supposed to crouch, make yourself smaller, do your best to hide. Escape if you could, but if that wasn’t an option, then learn to breathe a little quieter.

 And Dan, poor Dan. Poor pastel-souled, gentle Dan, with his soft curls and brushed pink cheeks. He stared at the man through the shelves intensely, not even blinking. He held his phone so tightly his knuckles were white.

 The man was less than a meter from them. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, staying perfectly still as the steps got closer. A small gun and an even smaller bullet and just like that, it would all be over.

 But the bullet didn’t come. Phil opened his eyes and immediately caught onto the dirty jeans on the other side of the shelf. He hadn’t seen them.

 Dan nudged him, making intense eye contact and holding a finger in front of his own mouth, then he stood. Phil tried to pull him back down, but Dan just carefully stepped away, knowing Phil wouldn’t dare make a noise at a time like this.

 “That’s all there is,” Bertha announced in a monotone. The man turned around quickly and for a moment Dan was frozen. Then he kept moving, walking slowly to the side of the shelves.

 “You think I’m fucking stupid? Where’s the rest?”

 “There isn’t any—”

 The man pointed the gun straight through the shelf, right at her. “I know how these businesses work. There’s always a safe.”

 Bertha was a statue. “There isn’t a safe. Or if there is, I don’t know where it is, I’m new—” the man cocked the gun and Bertha became more desperate. “Honest! I have money, I’ll get you that, but there isn’t—”

 “Get me your money. All of it. Then we’ll take a look around and see if we can find the safe, and you’d better hope we can.” He brought the gun back down, but didn’t put it away.

 Phil didn’t dare turn around, but he could feel Dan standing next to him, as still as a statue. The man turned around, picking something up off of the shelf, and that’s when Dan made his move.

 He walked forwards quickly, raising his phone in his hand and slamming it down on the man’s head. He stumbled forwards, more annoyed than hurt, and Dan jumped on his back, wrapping an arm around his throat. Then it was all a blur- the man yelled out, Bertha was calling 999, the man lifted the gun, Phil stood up, Dan grabbed a can of extra stuffed and broke it over his head. The gun went off, another broken jar of olives to the man’s face, there was a fight and it didn’t seem anyone was winning and then they toppled into the first metal shelf and five dozen jars of fancy sandwich toppings rained down on them, followed by the shelf. They fell to the ground, crushed under the heavy shelf. Then Dan was free and the man was almost free, but Dan had an aluminum can of something in his shaking hands that he brought down on the man’s head with a “Fuck! You!”

 Then there was the police and Dan was in handcuffs and the man was unconscious and Phil was still just standing there.

———

 Phil had finished all five of the paintings.

 They were completed, all with their printed out labels. The hallway was quiet as Phil carefully hung them on the folding platform, arranged just as he’d planned from the beginning. There was the Ethereal painting with soft, porcelain Dan; the zealous painting with Dan gnawing on the gaming control; and the celestial painting, with a smiling Dan laying at the bottom of that hill with grass in his mocha curls.

 Then there were the two other paintings, the newer ones. The fourth painting was a side profile of Dan with shadows covering half of his face. The side of his face that could be see was deathly intense, a somber anger that Phil had failed to identify that day in the sub shop. That painting was tilted Undaunted (adj): not intimidated or discouraged by difficulty, danger, or disappointment.

 The final painting was of Dan a week after the incident. They were walking along an empty school hallway after class had ended. Dan was wearing a black hoodie, his hands in his pockets. He stood tall with a confidence that Phil supposed was always there, but he’d never really noticed. The painting was from the front perspective, with Dan smiling that smile he only really gave to Phil, his head tilted to the side.

 Dan had been walking beside him, maybe a little in front. He turned around, giving Phil that fond smile. “I feel like you have the wrong idea of me. Like, you think I’m this shy, timid person or something, or like I’m really innocent or soft or something.”

 Dan hadn’t gotten in trouble for attacking the man with the gun. He’d been told he should’ve avoided confrontation if possible, but he didn’t get in trouble with anyone besides his mom, who’d given him a ‘stern talking to’.

 Phil had wiped his hands on his shirt. “I don't think that,” he lied. Sometimes it seemed as though he only lied around Dan.

 “Okay. Just checking.”

 Phil adjusted the last canvas, the painting from that day.

 Enigmatic (adj): difficult to interpret or understand.

 He stepped back, admiring his work. It was the first time he’d seen them all together. Ethereal, zealous, celestial, undaunted, enigmatic. Soft, competitive, radiant, unyielding, mysterious.

 Mr. Hebbs came up beside him, admiring the work with a quiet appreciation. Phil crossed his arms, feeling the exhaustion from the last few weeks finally set it.

 “He looks so different in each one,” Mr. Hebbs commented quietly. “Which one is he really?”

 Phil looked at each painting again, individually. Soft, competitive, radiant, unyielding, mysterious.

 He sniffled. “I don’t know.”

  The End.