After James // phan

confidential pt. 1

"Hey! It's, uh, Dan, right?" My body froze. My throat tightened. I couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. Not already.

I just tried to stay calm, turning slowly with a smile, my heart pounding to a crescendo, it felt like I was in the climax of a horror movie. Everything was silent, like we were underwater, and all else faded away but that voice, that name. Dan?

They said we'd be safe. That this place was far enough away from everything that no one would recognise us. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone figured out my real name. But in the first week?

"S-sorry?" I mentally cursed myself for stuttering. I could be strong. I was not Dan. No, I was no longer Dan. I was someone who could hold a block of cheese and two packages of toilet paper in this bustling super market on a lazy Tuesday night, unafraid and unashamed and definitely not hiding anything. I could smile at this stranger who mistook me for someone else. My hands were not shaking. I was not sweating.

Come on.

"Dan... Howell? We went to primary school together, I think." The stranger, a very familiar stranger I realised as I glanced him up and down, his grin, his hair, and especially those eyes, cold and swirling blue like a pond on a lazy, cold day like today, just smiled wider. Yes, it would be hard to forget this boy. Though, I was having trouble remembering a name. No. It's Phil. Phil Lester.

If he were in my position right now, he'd never be able to breathe easy, think himself to be safe, allow himself to settle down and start over like he was supposed to. He was too unforgettable.

Luckily, I was the one in my shoes, standing, affronted, in the cereal aisle of the local Tesco's at six pm. Lucky, because I was utterly forgettable, a fact I had begun to appreciate in these past few days, as they finally turned to a week in my new location and no one even batted an eye. Maybe I'd be safe here.

At least, that was my thought before this boy sought me out like a fucking bloodhound, a boy I hadn't even thought about in years but now came flooding back into my brain in waves like a idiosyncratic ocean. Apparently, he had remembered me. And we could not have that.

Manchester has always been a dream of mine, though these circumstances made it a little stressful. I loved this city, the name, the status symbol it gave its residents, the buildings and the old shops. I had visited once, with my mum when I was really young, and marveled at everything; the people, the pavements, the way no one seemed to be frowning. Manchester was were I was going to go, one day.

But I never actually worked up the courage to move here. I had to be pushed, forcibly propelled, constantly reminded that it was for my own safety. I had gotten new hair, new clothes, a new way of speaking. A new name. A name I was currently forgetting as I sputtered to try and convinced this boy that I was not Dan Howell.

"Oh, ah, no, sorry, you, uh, must be thinking of someone else," I stuttered. Keep it together, whatever-your-name-is. He's harmless. He's not the one you're supposed to worry about.

My soothing thoughts had no place amongst the utter chaos ricocheting around inside my skull. Alarm bells were going off, the system in my brain going into "code red", the little Dans that were supposed to keep my mouth working and my cover in place throwing all the papers into the fire. Nothing productive was happening up there.

The stranger squinted his eyes, politely, a smile still adhered to his lips.

"Sorry, then. You look... exactly like this guy I know."

"Yeah, well, I guess I have one of those faces," I muttered, the chaos inside my head suddenly turning my hyperdrive into shutdown mode. There was no way I could remember my own name; or, at least, the one that had been supplied to me. But I could remember "Dan Howell" perfectly, thanks to this stranger.

"Sorry again, to have bothered you, uh..." He held out his hand, asking my name by dragging out the last syllable and smiling, patiently.

Luckily for me, something clicked, and my acquired pseudonym reappeared on my tongue.

"James. McCloud." A look of shock registered across the man's face, but he shook my hand without missing a beat.

"Phil Lester." His grin was infectious, just like I remember it to be, so I smiled along.

"It's nice to meet you, Phil," I said, the toilet paper I had shifted under my arm to free up my shaking hand, my right hand, slipping due the the slick side of my windbreaker.

"And you, James." He still surveyed me with a funny look, why evident moments later when he blinked and shook his head slightly, finally releasing my hand and allowing me to rescue my groceries.

"Sorry," he repeated. "You just look... exactly like him. Same eyes, same face. Different hair. Though, come to think of it, James does sound familiar. Did you maybe attend St. Jude's? In Surrey?" I shook my head, probably quicker than I should have.

"Nope. Sorry, I, uh, just moved here from..." Pick a city. Any city. There are loads. Come on! "Rossendale."

The boy, Phil, smiled, his face lighting up, leading me to the conclusion that "Rossendale" was not the right answer to get him to go away and forget about me.

"Hey. I'm from there! What part of Rossendale?" Of course he was. Of course I had chosen the one city I knew nothing about and he was an expert. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Oh, you know, I moved around a lot so I... I, uh, I have to go. Yeah, gotta go get this stuff home to the missus."

Phil seemed slightly upset I was breaking this up so soon, but he just raised a hand, saluting me away with two fingers.

"Maybe I'll see you around, then, James," he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, the hair I had copied back in grade school and wanted to copy again, my distaste for my new haircut boiling within me at all times. His eyes were twinkling. No way he knew. I had him. I had him, and he didn't know I was lying. Right?

"Maybe..." I mumbled awkwardly, hoping my thoughts weren't so evident on my face as they were in my head. Not in a million fucking years, Lester.

"It was nice to meet you. Sorry about the whole..."

"What? That? Oh, it was nothing, it's fine. Well, I gotta..."

"Yeah, yeah, see you. Welcome to Manchester, by the way." I was already walking away, my heart hammering too fast and loud in my ears for me to formulate a response.

No, he would not be seeing me around. Because as far as I was concerned, just that little encounter had endangered mine, and Louise's, life.

They said we'd be safe here. No one would know a thing. Once the trial was over, and it would be, soon, we could go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

Yeah right.

Fuck the WPP.