pastel prince ; phan

ii; this seems like a jason todd problem

ii; this seems like a jason todd problem

This seemed too much Jason Todd problem, like the second Robin incarnation from Batman, where he'd gone insane after Talia al Ghul had thrown him in the Lazarus Pit. He'd then gone and turned himself into the second Red Hood, a mantle The Joker had, and practically ruled Gotham behind the scenes.

Dan scolded himself for the comic book knowledge that had suddenly piqued in his mind, and he had to tell himself that it was not the right time to think about that, so he decided instead to write a blog post about some new candy shop downtown with a pastel theme that he'd try out and post about. Although posting about pastel candy shops were not on the front of his mind, he couldn't just post about the killer rampaging in London; that would scare people.

So he'd take his mind off of it, and think about pastel things and Batman comics, because that was easier to think of than creepy criminal masterminds. He'd seen the one person no one wanted to, and he couldn't believe that he had. Dan was normal, or as normal as celebrities got, so why would he see a criminal?

Maybe it was just bad luck or something, but he wasn't sure anymore. He didn't have good luck, so why would he have bad luck?

Boo hoo, maybe he just did, but either way, he wasn't going to sit here and break down. He finally decided he was okay, but then a knock was at his door, and it almost felt sinister.

He stood on wobbly feet and headed over, sniffling, and twisted the knob and yanked it back. It opened, swinging to reveal his neighbour, the one with calculating and sharp blue eyes. He blinked, about twice, before he leaned on his door. "Do you need something?" He asked, voice hard and almost scratchy.

"Came to tell you something," The other man began, "I think it'll be of importance to you."

Dan hummed in reply, not bothering to read too far into the conversation, but the man's next words knocked the breath out of him.

"The devil always dresses in red."

Dan panicked internally, taking a step back and attempting to shut the door, but the man stopped it and grinned, raising a brow. "I was kidding, sorry." His palm was still pressed flat on the wood of the door, grin tipping at the side of his lips. "Did I scare you?"

"Just a bit," Dan admitted softly, averting his dark eyes to the window before back to the blue eyed man, "Do you need something?" He added, confused as to the real reason behind his neighbour being there.

"I just wanted to say hi, we do live in flats right next to each other," The man teased, raising a brow, "Is that so bad?"

"I've lived here for a year, and you've never bothered." Dan replied, but extended the door further open and stepped aside. "Come in?" He finally invited, and his neighbour took a daring step inside, head held high. He tossed Dan an almost sinister grin, one that made his stomach clench.

"Going 'round for some greetings, that so bad?"

→ →→

Phil, Dan finally learned, was not all that bad. He was flirty, way too confident and overall a coffee lover, but he wasn't bad. He had various tattoos lining his arms, all the way to his wrists, and he just seemed like a very punk-like person all around. He wasn't bad, Dan would like to repeat, and he was sort of hot. Not sort of, he was hot.

"Shit, really?" Phil was laughing at something Dan had said, but the brunette couldn't recall exactly what had slipped from his lips, so he nodded and laughed along.

He could feel eyes on him after the laughing had died down, so he cleared his throat and shifted, glancing away. "Uh, tea?" He suddenly offered, and looked up to the blue eye's he'd been avoiding, just because they were so striking.

"I could go for a cup, if you're offering." Phil replied, and raised his eyebrows, "Thank you, 'Pastel Prince'."

Dan groaned aloud as he stood up, tilting his head back and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "You know?" He practically whined in annoyance, hoping he could escape the officially dubbed nickname and title he had almost everywhere he went. Home was usually void of it, but apparently not anymore.

"Of course," Phil drawled, rolling his eyes in an 'that-was-so-obvious' way, "I don't live under a rock."

"Patrick does."

It was Phil's turn to groan, head going forward into his hands. "Spongebob references?" He muttered, and shook his head, "Seriously."