When Light Met Dark // Phan

Twelve

Mentions of rape. If you are severely affected by this, please skip this chapter.

*three months earlier*

"I love you, Dan." Chris watched the other boy with lustful eyes, like he was carefully planning his next move, like a lion hunting it's prey. Upon hearing those three  words, Dan froze, the previously pleasant cool air of the night now seeming to freeze everything, including his mind.

"What?" His voice cracked.

Chris smiled, but it wasn't the kind grin Dan was used to; it was twisted somehow.

"I love you. Always have, always will." He smirked before leaning in suddenly, forcing his lips onto Dan's, and in theory, Dan should have liked it, but there was something wrong about this; he didn't want Chris in that way.

He lifted up his arms in an attempt to push the other man away, but in turn, he was pushed against the cold brick of the convenience store's wall and held there with a vice like grip.

He wanted to cry out, to run away, anything, but Chris was kissing him roughly, so hard that all Dan could do was make a pathetic sound in his throat that was somewhere between a whine and a cry. If it was possible for Chris' grip to get any tighter, it did, damn near cutting off all blood supply to his hands, which were now pinned above his head, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than he'd ever been before. 

Dan clinged on to the vain hope that Chris would stop soon, that someone would come to save him, despite being in one of the quietest parts of the neighborhood, or maybe this was just a horrible dream. He just had to wake up.

Chris unconnected their lips, but instead, reattaching himself to Dan's neck, sure to leave angry bruises that would haunt him for weeks to come, if he were to survive, that is.

"Stop! Please!" Dan's desperate voice must have been carried away by the wind, and his struggles must have gone unnoticed, for his request was ignored, or maybe it only pushed his attacker to become stronger, to assert his dominance.

"Please..."

It didn't matter to Chris that his feelings clearly weren't mutual, it didn't matter that Dan wasn't being compliant, it didn't matter that Dan was scared out of his mind, all that mattered was how much he wanted to touch the boy he'd been pining after for years; he got tired of waiting.

"No one's going to hear you, you know." The words sent chills down Dan's spine, a final wave of hopelessness washing over him as Chris pulled down his jeans.

*

Dan walked.

Back to his father.

Pretending everything was okay.

But it wasn't.

You don't think these things will happen to you. Especially not to a guy.

With every step he took, Dan was filled with overwhelming dread; he couldn't say anything. Who would believe him? That man... Was supposed to be his best friend, why would he do anything like that to him? There was no point reporting it to the police. He could already see the judgemental looks, the raised eyebrows, the constant questions of 'are you sure you didn't misunderstand the situation?' for what is there to misunderstand? That man had forced himself on Dan, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried, but his attacker was too strong.

Dan hesitated at his front door, the paint now withering away, much like Dan's hope in humanity, like his will to carry on living in this world. His father was on the other side, unaware that his son was two hours late back home, busy drinking his life away, not that Dan cared.

He wiped his cheeks of the tears that had escaped the constraints of his eyes before opening the door to see his father sat on the stairs, bottle of beer in hand, but his eyes trained on his son.

"Where have you been?" His voice was slightly slurred, so he was obviously drunk, as usual.

"Out." Dan couldn't bring himself to elaborate; he just wanted to go to sleep in the vain hope that this whole thing was, in fact, a nightmare, and he just needed to wake up again, but his father was having none of it. He stood up, stumbling over to Dan, though able to maintain his threatening, domineering appearance.

"That's not good enough, son." What should have been an affectionate term of address was injected with ice, making Dan's blood run cold; he was frozen in place.

"And what's this?" He lifted his hand to Dan's collar, pulling it down to reveal a trail of bruises that should've been called hickies, if they weren't left with such force.

Shit.

"Who were you with?" His voice was low, sneering, like he knew the answer already, he just wanted to hear the words come out of his son's mouth. But how was he meant to say that he had been assualted, let alone by another man?

"You were with Chris, weren't you?" His eyes burned into the bruises, the hand on Dan's collar gripping so tightly that he wouldn't be surprised if he was choked. That's probably what his father wanted at this point, anyway.

He was tired of being thrown around by other men.

His silence must have been enough to prove his point, for not a moment later, his eyes squinted with an odd mix of triumph and anger, throwing Dan down onto the floor.

For far too long had Dan had to put up with this sorry excuse of a father, putting alcohol before his own son. Sure, they were both pretty depressed after the passing of Dan's mum, but that was no fucking excuse to completely ignore him unless he had some drink inside him.

He pushed himself up from the floor, looking his dad straight in the eye, adrenaline the only thing forcing him onwards.

He was tired of being thrown around by other men.

"So what if I'm fucking gay, what are you gonna do about it?" He spat, "beat the gay out of me?"

Never had Dan stood up to his father like this, so it was no surprise that he was at a loss for words, but only for a second before he bounced back.

"Maybe not, but I can kick you out!"

"You can't do that! I'm your son!"

"Get the fuck out of my house, you faggot!"

"What?"

Everything seemed to be crashing down all around him. He had nowhere else to go, what the hell was he meant to do?

"You heard me," his father snarled, "I don't want a faggot living under my roof"

And just like that, Dan was homeless, only with a backpack with hastily thrown together clothes and only twenty pounds to his name.

He had nowhere to go; he wasn't in a rush, so he headed to the park, the place that would be there for years to come, even if he wouldn't.

*

"Hey Phil?" Dan whispered at the lump in the bed, which responded with a grunt at the sound of his name.

"Nightmare?" He asked groggily,  turning to face the man stood shaking next to his bed.

Dan nodded.

"Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

"Please."

Dan just wanted someone to hold him, to ground him, to protect him from himself, and though that might be a lot to ask, it was a nice thought, so he slid under the covers next to Phil, both the duvet and the extra body next to him filling him with warmth so pleasant he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of bed in the morning.

But it hadn't just been a nightmare, he thought as he curled in on himself for comfort, it's what actually happened, and they're not memories he would be able to forget.

He looked over to Phil again, who had managed to fall back to sleep with no trouble, completely oblivious to the torment in Dan's mind. Phil didn't need to know.

Not yet, anyway.