#we were painting a vase and flowers. y’know. as you do in art class

[malachitezmeyka]

The day I found out people actually find writing and drawing and generally creating art enjoyable is the day my perception of the world broke

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Monet & Van Gough

pairing: Jimin x you x Taehyung genre: fluff. love Triangle. artist au. summary: You are assigned seating between two of the best art students in class. They feud over two things, art and you. a/n: I actually controlled myself. I made a one shot instead of starting a whole new series yayy 🌸

Delicate strokes of your paintbrush, classical music flowing through the earbuds as you glanced at the vase of flowers on the table. Dipping your brush in the water you tap it on the side of the glass cup, getting the excess water off. The professor instructed the classroom to paint the flowers the way their mind interprets. You used watercolors and painted on the off-white canvas, your art always looked a bit different. Not bad, just not common.

“That’s really pretty Y/N.” Jimin, the boy who always sat to your right smiled genuinely, cleaning off his brush to continue with a different color. You smiled, taking a peek at his canvas and you were always impressed with his work. It was so stunning, the watercolors were so precise and skillfully painted—you’d like to paint as well as him one day.

“Really? I think yours is much better than mine.” You went back to painting, gaining a bit of confidence form the simple compliment. “But thank you.”

“Yeah, you paint so well.” Taehyung, the boy who sat on your left leaned back in his chair just to get a better look at the picture, yellow paint on his fingers as he pointed at your simple vase.

“Thank you, Tae.” You smiled, adding some white to the purple paint to your paint palette. The flowers were fairly easy but you found yourself struggling to start the petals, in fear you would mess them up.

“What's with all the yellow?” Jimin commented. You saw he was looking at Taehyungs canvas, there was a lot of yellow but it was still pretty in your opinion. “The flowers are purple.”

“He said to paint them the way I perceive them. I perceive them as yellow.” He cooed, continuing to do his own thing. 

“You can’t perceive a different color,” Jimin mumbled.

“Why do you have a pond in the background? Last time I checked we weren’t outside. You perceived a whole new fucking backdrop...” Tae defended as he cursed innocently in your eyes and Jimin glared at him.

“A different scenery is practical. That’s what you call artistic, it’s creative.” Jimin put down his paintbrush, reaching for a different one to portray a thinner line of paint.

“y/n, which do you like better? His or mine?” Tae broke you from your concentration by tapping your shoulder. You couldn’t understand why they needed to win so much, they both painted beautifully.

“I’m not going to choose, they’re both good in their on way.” You were about sick of them fighting over this, you focused on your painting, trying your best to ignore them and make the teacher believe you weren’t apart of this fued.

Jimin grinned. “You know you like mine better, you can say it. It’s okay to hurt his feeling a little bit. My art is-”

Tae flicked yellow painting on him before he could properly finish, some of that yellow pain got on his painting. “Oops, my fingers slipped.” He chuckled.

“What the hell?!” He looked down at his white sweater, “you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Mr. Kim and Mr. Park, since you two paint so much you can stay after class to clean up.” He glared at the two, seeing that their attention was more of each other than him. “Class dismissed, put your paintings up and we’ll continue next class. Have a nice weekend.” He packed up his things and he was out of here.

Meanwhile you watched the two of them passive aggressively putting up their material. The class room slowly started to empty but you purposely took your sweet time, watching them argue like children.

“That’s the wrong one, put the blue one there.” Jimin mumbled, pointing to the correct cabinets.

“You do it.” Tae shoved the bucket into Jimin’s arms and he had no choice but to hold it as he glared at that kid. “Quit bossing me around...” 

Jimin leered at the eccentric boy. “If you stop half doing stuff I wouldn’t have to-”

“Guys, do you want me to help?” You offered, you wanted to calm some of the tension between them.

“No, it’s okay, there’s no reason for you to be punished too.” Tae looked at you with a genuine smile but you grabbed the brush from him anyway.

“I’ll help you anyway.” You took the brushes from the back of the class so you could put them in the sink. 

“Thanks, Y/n.”Jimin walked behind you. “Y’know, I saw the mural at the dance center, you did a great job.” He stood beside you, getting a cloth to dry the brushes you’re washing. He referred to the mural you did last week, they told you there was a paid mural painting opportunity for art students, getting paid was enough for you to volunteer. 

“You did? Thank you, I tried my best.” That the first time anyone had complimented you on them,it took a lot of time so a compliment like that means a lot from an artist like Jimin.

“So,” Taehyung came to lean against the sink counter and smile. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to go to that new museums grand opening, I hear it’s supposed to be really nice. It’s tomorrow, at 5. Do you want to go?” The mere mention of a museum had you smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh my gosh Tae, are you serious? I’d love to go.” You giggled, giving Tae a big hug despite your wet hands getting on the back of his shirt a bit.

Jimin had to quickly but in, seeing as his plan to ask you was being ruined. “What a coincidence, I have tickets to the same museum.”

“Oh yeah?” Tae said sarcastically. “Well, pity you’ll have to go alone.” He snickered.

“Y/n, do you want to go with me?” Jimin had to ask, with those puppy dog eyes and the sweet way he asked, how could you turn him down?

“No, she wants to go with-”

“How about we all go together!” That was a brilliant idea. “It’ll be fun!” 

Tae made a slightly disgusted face. “All three of us?”

Jimin cringed at thought. “Together?...”

You nodded eagerly, running over to the desk to grab your backpack with delight thoughts of you and your two good friends going out to look at art. Going with one of them would be more than enough but the both of them would make it all the more exciting.

"I'll see you guys 5 o’clock sharp!” And you left them, leaving them speechless.

The two of them stood there glaring at each other, trying to adjust to the fact that they’d be shoulder going out with each other and not just you like they had in mind. Of course, you were oblivious to that, you just thought you were going out with you good friends and having fun. But little did you know, they’d be at each other’s throats just to get you to themselves. The two of them would be competeing for your affection—but how could you pick between them?

[itfandomsecretsanta]

Richie Tozier's Mistletoe Fiasco (Hanzier)

for @finnsjack

from @stnbrough (pastelstanuris)

The snow fell gently in front of Richie’s eyes as he skidded through the snow, clutching something in his hand and trying his best to see through the icy haze. Typical to him, rather than wearing clothes that would suit the weather, the lack of a scarf, coat and hat made his teeth chatter and left his face flushed. A warm orange glow in the distance caused a more satisfying heat to flow through his body in anticipation of seeing who was behind the door of the house his eyes were locked on.

Pure snow was tarnished by Richie’s clumsy steps, and the crunch of his boots in the white blanket was a symbol of the perfect winter.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The item was clenched harder in his fist as the door swung open, leaving Richie faced with a warm smile and a welcoming aura.

“Hey, Richie.”

“Hi, Mike.” Richie croaked, having to clear his throat at least ten times to spit out only two words.

“You coming in, or are you just gonna stand there?” He chuckled. He stepped aside and waited for Richie to tap the snow off of his boots and walk into the Hanlon household.

Richie walked cautiously through the hallway, eyes darting around nervously. “Are your mom and dad home?”

“Is this the setup for a joke?”

“No! I just. I wanted to-” He was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, which left Mike confused.  “This was supposed to be smooth.”

He frowned at Richie’s nervous nature. “What was?”

Without thinking, he thrust the item in front of Mike’s face, holding it there for a few seconds. Once he realised it was in the wrong position, he lifted it up so it was above their heads.

It happened fast, so Mike didn’t get the chance to see it. But when he did - oh.

Mistletoe.  

Although he hadn’t gained a reaction yet, Richie was slipping back into his usual persona. “You gonna leave me hanging?” He winked.

Mike’s lips moved wordlessly for a second. “I…”

The mistletoe was crumbling in Richie’s hand.

“Should we go watch a movie?” Mike blurted out.

The mistletoe had now been dropped to the floor.

“Sure.”

As Mike smiled nervously and made his way to the living room, Richie made sure to crush the plant under his boot as he followed.

♡

“It’s because you freaked him out, genius. Who wants a plant thrust in their face for no reason, a kissing plant, when you think you’re just friends?”

The losers, aside from Beverly and Mike (they were going on their weekly trip to the bakery to pick up some cupcakes) were at the quarry, bikes at their feet.

“That was the whole point! For him to realise we’re not just friends!” Richie protested, kicking the dirt and causing dust to swirl around the immediate environment.

Stan and Eddie flinched at the oncoming filth, but still managed to provide an answer. “Maybe you should get him a present rather than shoving foliage in his face?” Stan suggested. Ben, Eddie and Bill nodded vigorously.

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll do some extra chores this week.”

“Guh-G-Good luck.”

♡

Sure, Richie had the money after two weeks of saving, but now he actually had to buy Mike something. Something that was sincere enough to make him fall in love with him, but not expensive enough that he had to sell his kidneys.

Wonderful.

♡

Stan

“Stanley, Stan. What’s a good Christmas present? You’d know.”

“I literally wouldn’t.”

A pause.

A sigh.

“I’m Jewish.”

♡

Bill

“Well, I’ve nuh-huh-ever bought a present for s-someone I liked before-” Richie rolled his eyes when he saw his gaze drift over to Stan frowning at some tinsel in the corner, “-but e-e-everyone likes my druh-awings? You might h-have a hidden talent.”

“Hey, y’know, if you’re looking for something you could give Stan-”

“I’m n-not taking that Menorah sweater f-f-from you.”

“Fuck.”

♡

Eddie

“Well he doesn’t have a well-stocked medicine cabinet, I’ve checked. Cold medicine never hurt anyone.”

“Thanks for the fucking useless advice, Eds.”

“Beep fucking beep, Rich.”

♡

Beverly

As Beverly walked into Richie’s bedroom, she scoffed at the scene.

He was contorted into an awkward position, a bow nestled in his messy hair, attempting to fit into a box.

“Richie, you can’t be the present.”

A muffled scream came from her friend.

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

Beverly sighed and walked slowly over to Richie, pulling the bow from his hair (prompting an “ow!”), and saying “I don’t know, maybe talk to him, like a human being?”

He was currently the epitome of grumpiness and frustration. “Sure, I can do that,” he responded sarcastically, “just let me turn into Stan, and be an actual functioning person. Wait, fuck that, now isn’t the time to compliment him.”

Beverly snorted and pushed him to the ground from his crouching position. “Not everyone is like you, Rich. Mike doesn’t want grand gestures or expensive presents, he wants honesty. Look, the guys told me about the whole present thing, and they’re useless, so don’t listen to them. It’s about what Mike wants, not what they think he wants.”

While rubbing his ass after it landed so abruptly on the ground, he nodded absentmindedly. “Sure.” He still had one very romantic option left.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Yes, Bev, your hair looks very nice. I gotta go.”

“Richie!-”

♡

Ben

“I could write him a poem?”

“Haystack, you’re my saviour. Be sure not to make it too good though, okay? And this is about Mike. Mike. Not Beverly.”

“I think I know the difference between the two, Richie.”

“You keep telling yourself that, loverboy.”

♡

The presents were all scattered across Richie’s bedroom floor. None of them were right.

First of all, the painting was terrible. He hadn’t been in an art class for years, he could barely draw stick figures. Still, he knew Mike’s favourite flowers were daffodils, so he tried to go all Van Gogh and draw some in a vase. They looked more like deformed creatures from outer space.

Stan was no help, so that meant he was one present down.

He couldn’t actually believe he’d listened to Eddie - he’d bought a huge bottle of cough syrup, and wrapped it with gold ribbon. Mike never got sick, what was he thinking?

Ben’s present was nice, sure, but it was clearly his handwriting, and it was clearly about the wrong gender, and the wrong person entirely.

It was December 23rd, and he’d arranged for he and Mike to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve. With the stress of present-buying, he hadn’t actually been able to hang out with him in a while. Richie was either busy mowing someone’s lawn, or Mike had chores at the farm.

It was cheesy, but he missed him so much his heart ached. He missed Mike’s soft laugh when he managed to spit out a decent joke, and the way their hands brushed against each other when Mike walked him to his door, the blinding grin that always replaced a goodbye which left Richie weak in the knees.

If he could bottle those thoughts, that would be the perfect present.

♡

December 24th

There was no mistletoe in his hand this time as he approached the house. That was half because he had an armful of clumsily wrapped presents, and half because he was expecting the outcome to be negative.

Mike still managed to take his breath away when he opened the door, despite him seeing his face almost every day.

“Presents!” Richie yelled. Maybe if he was loud enough, Mike wouldn’t realise what an idiot he was being.

“Presents,” Mike repeated with an amused smile.

“Do you wanna go first?” Richie asked. If Mike only bought him, like, a cactus or something, maybe he’d feel better about his gifts.

Mike handed over the small parcel without hesitation. The box was purple (his favourite colour), and the item was nestled in pink tissue paper.

It was a mixtape.

RICHIE was written in block letters with a sharpie.

“It’s not much, but I know how much, you love your music, and I’ve listened to a few of your records before, so-” Mike was the one babbling now.

“No, it’s perfect.” He whispered. He could feel his throat getting tight and tears forming in his eyes. “I feel so bad.”

Richie probably shouldn’t have been focusing on this in particular, but Mike’s Christmas sweater was the perfect shade of blue. Blue always looked the best on him. He was moving towards him, getting so close their hands were touching. Only Richie’s armful of presents were stopping them from going any further. “Why?”

Seeing that they were close to the couch, Richie sprang back from the warmth of Mike’s presence and dumped his gifts on there before slumping into the cushions defeatedly.

“You can open them if you want,” he mumbled. “But they’re awful. I got you cough medicine, a painting that looks like a five year old did it, and a poem. I gave Ben like ten dollars to write it, and he mentioned red hair! Red hair! I tried to make myself the present but Bev said that was stupid, and, and-” Mike didn’t interrupt, just sat in the armchair across from him and listened.

Richie shifted awkwardly and tried to clear his head.

“When I was wrapping the stupid presents - nearly maimed myself with scissors, by the way - I realised none of them were good enough. And I thought that was just because I don’t know you well enough, or I needed to spend more money. But Bev was right, you don’t want presents, you just want honesty. So.” He breathed out slowly. “I have the most embarrassingly huge crush on you. One time I actually gave Bill twenty dollars to stay at home when we were supposed to go to the movies together so I could be alone with you. Every time someone asks you out I feel ill. I asked Stan, Bill, Ben and Eddie to give me ideas for presents so I didn’t disappoint you. And you just made me a mix tape and I cried. Shit.”

Mike was quiet for a while. “I have another present for you, actually.”

Oh. So he was just going to ignore it, like last time. “Sure,” Richie sniffed. “Hit me with it.”

It was another box, but blue this time.

As he opened it with shaky hands, he saw that nestled inside it was-

Mistletoe.

Mike took it out of the box and held it over their heads.

Richie couldn’t breathe. Surely this wasn’t happening. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You gonna leave me hanging?” Mike grinned.

As the snowflakes drifted to the ground for the 5th time that week in Derry, Richie Tozier wrapped his arms around Mike Hanlon’s neck and kissed him like his life depended on it. As the taller boy’s hands settled on his waist, the mistletoe was left to fall to the ground.

Maybe someone else could find some use for it - but they didn’t need excuses to kiss anymore.

[flippyphil]

The Boy With The Beautiful Blue Eyes {Phan}

read it on ao3: [x]

Relationship: Dan Howell/Phil Lester Word Count: 2200+ Summary: “Dan never saw eyes so blue or so beautiful. They were more captivating than anyone else’s and Dan felt like he was both drowning and floating in them.”

in which Dan falls head over heels for an artist with amazing eyes

Dan Howell had it all. He was the king of his high school, captain of the rugby team and dating the head cheerleader. He was a cardboard cutout of every perfect jock in a cheesy teen movie. He was the one that the nerdy girl-turned hot would fall head over heels for.

He had everything he could want and he knew it. He and his two best friends, PJ and Chris, had the perfect high school careers. No one could take them down.

That’s what Dan believed, anyways.

“Danny,” purred Clara, her slim fingers were twirling around in his dark brown hair, “you are coming over tonight, aren’t you?”

Dan’s lips found their way to his girlfriend’s neck, sucking it softly, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make her squeal.

“I wish I could, baby,” he replied, his hand around her waist, holding her tightly to him, “but you know my dad’s coming home today. Me, him and my brother are gonna have dinner with him.”

Clara pouted, her lower lip jutting far out for effect, “that’s not fair, Dannybear, you never come over anymore.”

Dan chuckled, sheepishly, “I know, lovely, I’ve been busy lately. But we will…get together…soon.”

Clara opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the shrill of the bell. Dan smiled at her and winked before bounding off to his fourth-period class.

Art was his fourth-period class and, coincidentally, his favorite. He loved drawing people, especially eyes. Dan always believed eyes were so captivating, the different colors, the way the pupils dart around when they’re looking.

Dan didn’t love Clara, but he did love her eyes. They were dark green, hypnotizing. He could stare at them all day, which she usually mistook for a loving gaze.

The sad truth was, Dan was a lonely king. He pretended to be the best of the best, the best rugby player, the most handsome. Inside, though, Dan was longing to escape high school and leave the dump behind.

He liked to believe he was made for more than to be a high-school has-been. He imagined a future for himself that was no longer fake, suave smiles or fist bumps. To marry someone with substance (and beautiful eyes) instead of someone he was expected to.

As Dan was opening his art portfolio, someone sat down in the seat next to him. Someone Dan had never seen before. He looked over and the boy was staring down the tables, a pack of oil pastels in his hands. His hands were dirty, paint and charcoal covering his pale skin. The hands of an artist.

He had dark black hair that covered his ears.

The boy shifted in his chair and a few colored pencils rolled out of his backpack. Dan leaned down and picked them up. He tapped the new boy on his shoulder.

When the boy turned around, Dan’s heart stopped beating. His face was well drawn, a sharp nose framed it together. A pair of big, round glasses sat on the bridge of it, slightly crooked in an endearing way.

But his eye. His fucking eyes.

They were blue, a deep, icy blue. Like a cold pool in the middle of summer or a melting pond in the arctic.

Dan never saw eyes so blue or so beautiful. They were more captivating than anyone else’s and Dan felt like he was both drowning and floating in them.

“Can I help you?” the boy asked, pleasantly.

With a shaky hand, Dan held out the colored pencils.

“These…these rolled out of your backpack.”

Beautiful-eyed boy took them from Dan’s hand and inspected them, using one finger to push his glasses further up his nose. He looked up, mystic blue eyes locking in Dan’s and gave a wide open-mouthed smile.

“Thank you! I’m Phil Lester, by the way.”

“Dan Howell,” Dan replied. Phil shook his hand and looked away. Dan glanced down at his palm to see it was covered in all the colors Phil had on his. He felt his cheeks growing hotter and hotter.

As Dan buttoned up his nice black shirt in front of his full-length mirror, all his thoughts were filled with Phil Lester. More specifically, his eyes. His eyes would be the death of Dan Howell.

Rest in Peace Dan Howell, he thought, he lived a good life. Loved brother, son and rugby player. Death via a beautiful boy and his goddamn eyes.

“Dan!” his mother called, just as Dan was tugging on his socks and slipping his sneakers on, “your father’s car is outside! You better come quick, he’s double parked.”

Dan heaved a sigh as he walked down the stairs. Adrian was already at the bottom of the stairs and tapping his foot, impatiently, waiting for Dan.

“Have fun you too,” his mom smiled, kissing Dan’s forehead and Adrian’s cheek.

It was a messy divorce, his mom and his dad fought too much. They were both good people, but their personalities clashed far too often. It was mutual too, but that didn’t ease any of the pain that Dan felt when his parents told them they were splitting.

It made no sense to Dan, how two people could declare their undying love for each other and vow their lives to one another and just…take it back. Love is love, Dan thinks, and it should be unbroken. Too bad Mom and Dad don’t think that way.

He and Adrian made their way to their Dad’s maroon car. Dan got in the passenger’s seat and Adrian in the back. His father smiled at the two, fist-bumped Dan and high-fives Adrian and they headed out to the diner.

Adrian was babbling about some middle school affair that Dan couldn’t care less about. His elbow was on the car window and his face was pressed into the palm of his hand. As he stared out, watching cars and buildings zoom by, his and began to wander to Phil Lester, as it had the entirety of the day.

He wondered if anyone ever had a heart attack from seeing Phil’s eyes, dying instantly. Dan bitterly wished that had happened to him because now he was suffering. All he wanted to do was kiss those rosy lips that bent into a perfect smile and god, just get lost in those eyes for hours.

When Dan walked into art class the next day, he gave a half smile when Phil was already sitting next to his seat.

“Hi,” Phil said, opening his portfolio and pulling out a picture of a flower vase. Dan peered over at it and laughed.

“Why just the vase?”

Phil shrugged, “I couldn’t find flowers pretty enough to put in the vase.”

Dan was silent. Phil wasn’t a normal new kid, not desperate to get in with a good crowd. His art spoke numbers though, the coloring especially.

“Alright class, today we’re going to start a new project. And it’s a partner project!”

Dan’s breath hitched and he looked over at Phil, “do you…wanna be partners?”

Phil gave him that smile again, the million dollar one which made Dan want to jump out the window, right then and there.

“Sure!”

“The project is a joint painting. You have to work together, really make your art style flow together to look like one, cohesive painting. You may take it home if you don’t finish it by the end of class…BEGIN!”

Phi stands up and comes back with a paint palate. It’s filled with light yellow and pink pastels. Mint green and dark green. And blue, an icy blue. Just like his eyes, Dan thinks, his breath softening.

“I thought,” Phil brushes at his bangs, shyly, “we could paint some flowers. Y’know…for my empty vase.”

Dan looks at him and beams as well (god, this boy makes me a weak sap), “good idea. Start sketching it?”

Dan finds their art styles blend together perfectly, they compliment each other to the point where it seems like one, talented artists had done it instead of two teenagers who barely know each other.

It makes Dan happy, to see Phil’s gorgeous eyes with a determined set to them. The way he sticks his tongue out slightly in concentration, his west flicking back and forth as he paints.

Dan feels a blush creeping up his neck and coloring his eyes a light pink as his hand nudges Phil’s accidentally, and their paintbrushes hit.

Phil looks up, a red blush dusting his cheeks as well. Then, he giggled (this really is the day I die, Dan swoons to himself) and continued to work.

They didn’t end up finishing in class, to Phil invites Dan to his house. Dan drives him.

They sit in Dan’s fancy silver sports car, Phil’s hands are held together in his lap and he stares straight ahead.

“It’s a nice car,” Phil comments, fiddling with the lock on the door. Dan chuckles, backing out of his parking spot.

“I suppose it is. My parents got it for me, sort of a ‘sorry we’re splitting up, take a car’ present.”

“You’re parents are separated?” Phil asks, peering at Dan with wide, curious eyes. Dan notes in his mental filing cabinet that when he wants to know something, Phil’s eyes almost glow. Like an aquamarine gem in direct sunlight.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I guess. I don’t understand it, but I live with it.”

“Ah,” Phil says and the two head out on the road, Phil directing Dan where to go.

“Phil? Is that you?” a woman’s voice rings out from what seems to be the kitchen. Dan and Phil slip their shoes off and Phil’s mother comes out. She spots Dan and her happy expression turns into a suggestive one, as she winks at Phil, “oh! I see you brought a friend…”

Phil’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, groaning, “oh god, MOM! He’s my art partner!”

Dan chuckles and extends his hand, “I’m Dan Howell,”

“Ooh, good manners too,” she says, her handshake was firm. Then, she nudged Phil, “he’s a keeper.”

“I’m sorry about my mom,” Phil said, once they got to his room. His walls were lined with posters and drawings, along with strings of fairy lights, “she thinks that because I’m gay, she should set me up with every good-looking boy in existence.”

Dan laughed, “it’s nice your mom cares…also, thank you, I have been told my looks are second to none.”

Phil blushed at the comment, but then began to set up their supplies on the floor. Dan was staring at him all the while.

He liked to pick up on small details. Like the tiny, hardly noticeable freckles that dotted the tip of his nose. Or how his hair would fall, shadowing his eyes when he leaned down.

But when he looked up, Dan’s heart would always pound a million times a second. Dan noticed there were specks of green floating around in the blue ocean. They were like two perfectly set sapphires, adorning an already perfect face.

“You’re staring at me,” Phil’s voice was hushed and his fingers come to Dan’s cheeks, “again. Do I have something on your face?”

“W-what?” Dan was flustered as he struggled to find a reason to give, though there really was no explanation there, “no, no! I was just…um…”

“Dan,” Phil looked up, he was holding a long paintbrush and you could almost see the shyness radiating from his lovely pupils, “I’ve seen you staring at me, ever since you met. Why?”

Dan let out a shaky breath, “your eyes. They’re, um, they’re almost hypnotizing…it’s a little crazy actually and I-“

“Everyone in the school says to watch out for Dan Howell,” Phil cut him off, fiddling with the paintbrush, “that he rules the school. You’re the king, don’t give two shits to anyone. But then I meet you, and you stare at me. And it’s so tender…and I start to wonder. I wonder if you’re really the Dan Howell everyone says you are.”

“Phil,” Dan begins, then he realizes he has no explanation. None, except for one. He was in love with Phil, he wanted to stare at his eyes forever. So he doesn’t the most rational thing possible, he kisses Phil Lester.

Phil’s eyes fly open in shock when their lips meet. Then, he closes then and his warm lips begin to kiss back.

Dan’s fingers inch their way towards Phil’s hair, running through the soft tufts on the nape of Phil’s neck. His kiss is deep, passionate and Dan focuses on channeling every ounce of emotion he feels towards Phil in the kiss.

He knows Phil can feel it because Phil its out a soft moan and then a giggle. That same giggle that has the power to paralyze Dan. Phil’s still holding the paintbrush and it tapes against Dan’s back, Phil’s arm was slung over Dan’s shoulder.

They kissed and they kissed and it seemed like time stopped. It wasn’t like when Dan kissed Clara or any other girl at the school. It was special, because what Dan felt for Phil was real.

He was the mysterious new boy, who drew vases that were empty and was kind. The one that read people like a magazine and wasn’t afraid to confront the most popular boy in school. He and his beautiful eyes had drawn Dan in and it was fucking real.

When they pulled apart, they were breathless. Their foreheads pressed together and Dan rubbed his thumb underneath Phil’s right eye.

“So are we gonna draw some flowers for your vase now, or what?” Dan asks, and Phil laughs.

Dan’s flower is blue. The same blue of the boy he fell in love with.