Not on Fire (Phan AU)

the deal

"So, I've been thinking about it," Louise says into the phone, "and I've decided that if you want me to stop bothering you about your smoking habit, I want you to invite Phil over to your house after school."

Really, he should have been expecting it. After all, this has been something she's been rather persistent about lately, and even when he does try, she still insists that he's "not trying hard enough," which is ironic because he knows that's not what she means when she says it. She means that he's not friends with Phil, and obviously, if he were trying hard enough, they would already be friends according to her, but he begs to differ.

"Why?" Dan asks, groaning and rolling over so his voice is muffled by his pillow. "I've already given Phil plenty of chances and I don't know what you expect to accomplish by forcing me to invite him over to my house."

"Dan, you're forcing yourself onto him in a way that's supposed to make a friendship possible," she scolds, and even though he can't see her, he can just imagine her rolling her eyes, putting her hand on her hip, and giving him The Look.

"You're forcing me to force myself onto him," he responds, frowning slightly, the corners of his mouth facing downward just marginally enough for someone to barely notice.

"No, I'm not. He wants to be friends with you, but what I'm saying is, the way you're approaching it is all wrong. He doesn't stand a chance when you have this preconceived idea that it's not going to work out."

"Why do I have to give him a chance anyway? If I don't want another friend, then I shouldn't be forced to make one."

"You know why," Louise answers flatly, irritated and forceful, and Dan's frown deepens into a scowl, no longer contemplating, now just angry and annoyed because he's practically promised her he'll say yes and, well, it's not hard what she's asking, but it is pointless.

"No, I don't," Dan says, almost whine-like. "Humor me."

"Dan, your parents are worried about you. You only ever hang out with me, and they want you to have a normal teenage life."

It's a little late for that, Dan thinks bitterly, because I'm pretty sure arson isn't on the list of things required to have a normal teenage life. In fact, if he were to make a list of things that disqualified you from ever having a normal teenage life, arson would be pretty high up on the list in big bolded letters that would burn in his mind. He's not a normal teenager, point blank, hasn't been for a while or possibly ever and is already out of the running.

"Well, I think it's a little too late for that," Dan says, sighs and rolls over onto his back so he's staring at the ceiling, his voice no longer muffled, "and plus, this is my life, not theirs. It doesn't affect them."

"They think you're depressed," she confesses, rushed as if it tumbled out of her mouth without consent, quicker than she could catch it.

"What?" he asks, horrified and unreasonably shocked. Really, it makes sense. The concerned glances they threw his way that made him freeze mid-step, the hesitance and worry in their voice when they talked to him and the delicate hand that they treated him with—the missing forcefulness in their words and actions that used to be present once upon a time—they were cautionary measures designed to keep him from self-destructing.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you, but you're being unreasonable." There's a sigh, the sounds of something or someone moving, and then, "I was talking to them the last time I came over and you weren't here, were gone somewhere or whatever, and they were telling me about how you shut yourself in your room and don't talk to them much except for whispered words that don't reach their ears and then they said, 'We think he's depressed.'"

"They—"

"No, Dan, I don't even what to hear what you're going to say because I'm starting to agree with them myself."

"I'm not depressed." I'm an arsonist, he adds in his head, a pyromaniac, even, a liar and an asshole, but I am not depressed, and mouths the words under his breath without even thinking about it. "I'm just—I just like being by myself."

"You like hanging out with me," Louise points out, her voice cocky and smug as if she's found the bomb that'll blow his whole argument to shreds.

"With you, it's different." Dan groans and plays with the sheets on his bed, twisting it between his fingertips mindlessly. He almost wants to add that she's not a friend to him, but that would dig him into a deeper hole and seal his fate with a burning kiss.

"We're getting off topic. Do you promise to at least invite Phil over after school today? You don't have to beg him if he says no, and if you ask, I'll stop bothering you about your smoking habits for at least a month."

"That wasn't the original deal. You said you would stop bothering me, point blank, no fine print."

"Well, you got me mad, so I'm amending my original offer. Do we have a deal?"

He rolls it over in his one evening with Phil and a month free of Louise on his back about his smoking or a free night but a month filled with complaining and constant lectures. The answer is clear before a question is even formed and the word yes slips out his mouth before he has a second to question it, and he can't take it back, pretend like he didn't say it, so he shuts his mouth and his mind.

"Good," she says, smugger than before, if that's possible, and rather cocky. But then her tone slips into something friendly: "I'm just really concerned about you."

"I know."

There's a somber feel to the conversation, even though it's reached a standstill, that borders on melancholy, and then there's the ringing of his alarm clock that breaks through that, pushes past the barrier created and shatters the silence and the moment. It's like waters been dumped all over Dan and he's suddenly awake, walking across his room to shut off the insistent ringing.

"Well, I should probably start getting ready now."

"Bye and remember, you need invite Phil over tonight. The deal is over if you put it off."

She hangs up the phone and the sound rings in his ears for just a second before he sets his phone down on his desk and starts getting ready.

The first thing he does is put on some clothes. He sleeps in his boxers even in the winter because he can't get comfortable with pajamas on and only wears them when Louise is staying over. Black clothes are what make him feel the most comfortable and clothes that interfere with his monochrome look make his skin crawl as if all attention is on him, so he reaches for his black skinny jeans a gray shirt, slinging his favorite black jacket over it. His feet are cold, even on his warm carpet, so he slips on some socks, too.

He feels more closed off with his clothes on, less exposed even in the privacy of his own room, and for some reason, he feels more at home, too, oddly enough.

Distance from the call gives him enough room in his mind to turn it over in his mind, analyze every side of it, and decide how to go about things. First off and for most, he's not quite sure what Phil and he would do if Phil agrees to go over to his house. They could play video games or watch movies (but Phil hates movies) or both do their own things, which is the ideal option in Dan's mind, but Phil might beg to differ. Second off, his parents' think he's depressed and he can't exactly go up to them and say, "I'm not depressed," without sounding as if he's covering up nonexistent tracks. So he's stumped before he's even got started and he can't exactly stop setting fires just to please them and leave his anger to build and build until it bubbles up and exits through his mouth in a violent explosion.

After a brief pause in his movements in the middle of his room, he goes to the bathroom. Dark circles are under his eyes, and his hair is curled and messy. His eyes are open, but barely, and his reflection blinks back and him sleepily. His back is slumped over and he places his warm hands on the cold edge of the bathroom counter for support. The edge of the counter digs into the skin of his palm and the harsh cold of it shocks him, waking him up in the process.

Once he splashes cold water on his face, he's as awake as he's going to be, and he straightens his hair as quickly as possible, watching as the curls in his hair become nonexistent. It doesn't take him that long to straighten his hair, just a few minutes because his hair isn't that long.

But still, his mom walks past just as he's finishing up and says her famous line, "Has it worked yet?" with a smile on her face and a ringing laugh at the end of it.

"Well, my hair is straight, isn't it?" he answers, with less venom that normally, but she's gone before he finishes and probably missed the change of tone.

His mom is in the kitchen when he enters it after finishing up with his hair. She's reading the newspaper from the day before, and he catches the words "Arsonist Still at Large" on the front page in big, dark words that seep into his mind and leaves its imprint. It's funny because he hasn't set a fire in a while and although the urge has been building up inside of him since the last time he gave into his twisted desire, he hasn't let go yet.

"Anything good in the paper?" It's a calculated question because it means that he can learn about the article is mom has no doubt already read and it's one step closer to building up a better relationship with his parents that doesn't involve them thinking he's depressed.

"Nothing all that interesting," she says, shrugging, "but the police have released more information on the suspected serial arsonist." It's almost as if she doesn't realize the unusualness of the situation until she gets to the word arsonist, at which points it fades, as if the pieces are coming together in her mind. It reminds of how he images her finding out that it's him; the disappearing sentence that ends when she realizes that she doesn't need to tell him because he's the arsonist, her face freezing with the connection.

"Are they any closer to catching the person?" he asks casually, grabs a box of cereal off of the fridge and pours himself a bowl.

"They say they think they're getting closer every day, but I wouldn't buy it for one second. They've been saying that since the arson started."

He shakes his head, as if he's disappointed, but on the inside, he's relieved. There's no sense of surprise that comes when she says these words, but they're calming to here and some of the tension in his muscles releases.

The conversation drops off after that. Silence envelops them, save for the sound of the newspaper as his mom crinkles and turns its pages and the sound of his feet moving across the tiled flooring. He sets his bowl down on the table with a soft clink, eats in silence and tries to forget about the consequences of getting found (because he's safe, he tells himself, so safe that they'll probably drop the case before he even comes back after one year of being away at college).

Phil lingers in the back of his mind, refusing to go away and let him breathe, so he drowns in his thoughts while he eats with his mom sitting across from him, until finally he comes up for a breath, says, "I might have a someone come over later if that's okay."

He can barely remember the last time he brought someone home who wasn't Louise. There was PJ and Chris, but those were for school projects and they hardly count, so he doesn't think about them, shoves them to the back of his mind and forgets. In fact, his memory fails him and all he can think about are snippets of the last few times that Louise came over, so he's not surprised in the least bit when his mom gasps, smiles at him.

"Oh, do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend that I don't know about?"

"No!" Dan says defensively. "I just—I'm trying to make new friends, like you want."

"I don't care if you make friends or not I just want you to be happy."

"I know you want me to be happy, but I also know you think making more friends is going to achieve that."

She sighs and then she says, "Listen, I'm just—"

"Worried about me, I know. I also know that you think I'm depressed, which I'm not, and I'm perfectly happy with the way my life is right now even if I don't have a lot of friends or the normal teenage life, but I'm inviting someone over today, so I just want you to know."

"Okay, just, as long as you're happy."

"I am."