#I may have dropped out of History in Uni but yeah they got the importance of analysing source documents in detail | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redditnosleep · 6 years

Text

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

A few points before we start.

Firstly, I am not the protagonist of this story. I just went to university with her, and though she went on to become a professional writer, I most certainly did not. She'll be taking over from me further down but, until then, please forgive my slightly awkward delivery while I give you guys the necessary context.

Secondly, I don't know what you will make of the following events, and I'm sure many of you might consider it all some sort of hoax. I wasn't present for any of what transpired in Phoenix, Arizona but I can vouch for the person who wrote the following logs. She is not, and has never been, a fantasist.

Ok so I once knew a girl called Alice Sharma. She was an undergrad at Edinburgh Uni the same time I was. My educational poison was History, a degree which has greatly benefited my career as a bicycle repairman. Alice Sharma studied journalism, though perhaps "studied" isn't the word. It's not an exaggeration to say that she lived and breathed the subject. Editor-in-chief of the campus paper, recognisable voice of student radio. She was frustratingly tunnel visioned, and she was a journalist in her own right before anyone gave her a professional shot.

We met in student halls and became friends almost immediately. A meandering waster trying to stay off his parent's farm and an intrepid, ambitious reporter may not seem the most obvious pairing, but I learned not to question it. She was inspiring, and smart and she proofread all my essays. I’m not too sure what she saw in me.

We were eventually flatmates down in London where she chased her dream and I chased my tail. She got a few jobs here and there, but nothing befitting of her skills. After months of fruitless internships and rejections, Alice called a flat meeting, telling us that she was moving to America, accepting a position chasing stories for National Public Radio. The job had come out of the blue, the result of a hail mary application she thought had been dismissed out of hand. We threw her a bittersweet going away party and put the room up for rent.

That party was the last time I saw Alice Sharma. She dropped out of contact a few months after her departure. Complete radio silence. I assumed she was just busy so I carried on with my small but happy life, and waited for her to pop up on television with some important words below her name; Chief Correspondent, Senior Analyst… something like that.

The radio silence was broken last week, and, for reasons you’ll glean further down, I’m less happy about it than I would’ve thought.

Arriving home from work I found a lone email in my otherwise bare inbox. An email that would later be described as "suspicious" by my tech literate friends. Despite being born in the early 1990's I didn't own a computer until uni, and I've missed several important lessons in the world of cyberspace. Lessons like "Don't call it Cyberspace" of course and more importantly, "Don't open emails with no text, no subject and no sender's address."

I realise most of you would have deleted this anonymous, blank email immediately, my friends certainly would have, but beyond my basic ignorance about online safety, something further compelled me to open it. The only thing of substance in the entire message was a zipped folder, labeled:

Left.Right.AS

I don't have to explain what I was hoping those final initials stood for.

Opening the zipped folder I found myself staring at a stack of text files. Each one titled with a date, continuing sequentially from the very earliest file "07-02-2017". (To any Americans in the room this is the 7th of February).

I’ve since read the files a few times, and shown them to some friends. They don't know what to make of it either, but they certainly aren't as concerned as me. They think Alice is just in a creative writing phase and, if I didn't know her, I’d have to agree. But the thing is, I do know her. Alice Sharma only cares about the truth and if that's the case with these files, insane as it may sound, then it’s very possible my friend has documented her own disappearance.

The people who suggested this forum said you discuss strange occurrences etc. If you guys have come across anything to do with the below, or know any of the people involved, then please send any information my way.

Has anyone here heard of the Left/Right Game?

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 07/02/2017

They say great stories happen to those who can tell them. Robert J. Guthard is an exception to that rule. As I sit at his table, sip his coffee and listen to him recount the past 65 years it sounds like he's reading off a shopping list. Every event, his first job, his second wedding, his third divorce, none of them receive more than one or two sentences. Rob plows through the years, the curt, dispassionate curator of his own personal history. Yet the story itself is so fascinating, so rich with moments and so wildly meandering that it somehow stands on its own merits.

It's a great story, no matter how you tell it.

By the time Rob was 21, he'd gotten married, had a son, worked as a farmer, a mover, a boat engineer, and grown estranged from his spouse... Here's him talking about that.

ROB: Course my wife started to get dissatisfied, I was away a while.

AS: For work?

ROB:Vietnam.

AS: You were in Vietnam? How was that for you?

ROB: I ain't never been back since.

That was everything he had to say concerning his first divorce, and the entire Vietnam war.

Rob had four marriages after that, and even more professions. After the war he worked with a firm of private detectives, got shot at once by the mob, then he became a courier, which is how a poor boy from Alabama got to see the world.

ROB: I been to most of the continents with that job. I been to India. You from India?

AS: My mum and dad are from India yeah.

ROB: See I could tell.

He'd been arrested once in Singapore, after one of his packages had been found to be full of white powder. He spent three days locked up before someone got around to checking the substance. It was chalk.

A friend he made during his brief custody, Hiroji Sato, invited Rob to stay with him in Japan. Just getting over the breakup of his third marriage, Rob took the offer. He stayed in Japan for another 5 years.

ROB: The Japanese are good people. Good manners. But they got all these urban legends and ghost stories that Hiroji was crazy for, spent all his free time chasing them down. Like, you heard of Jorogumo?

AS: I don't think so"

ROB: Well she's this spider lady lives in the Joro Falls round Izu. Meant to be real pretty but real dangerous. Hiroji took us out there to get a picture of her.

AS: Did you ever meet Jorogumo?

ROB Nah she didn't show. None of them did. I didn't believe at all until we went to Aokigahara

Aokigahara, affectionately titled the Suicide Forest. The next stop on Rob's adventure. It's an area of woodland at the base of Mount Fuji, a notorious hotspot for young people looking to take their own lives. Hiroji, Rob's ghost obsessed jailmate turned best friend, took him to Aokigahara to chase "yurei" the ghosts of the forest.

AS: Did you find anything? In Aokigahara?

ROB: Well I ain't gonna ask you to believe me. But I was a PI. Professional cynic. Even I can't deny there was a spirit in those woods.

From that moment on, Rob's sentences start getting longer. A childlike excitement creeps into his voice. I get the distinct feeling we're moving beyond background, beyond Rob Guthard's old life, and towards his new one. The one he wants to talk about. The one that led him to contact the show.

ROB: It walked up to me through the trees. Looked like static you see on a TV screen but it had a human shape almost.

AS: Almost?

ROB: It was missing an arm. It reached out to me but I bolted outta that forest so fast. Hiroji never saw it, holds it against me to this day.

Hiroji had good reason to be annoyed. Rob says that Mr Sato had been going to the forest 2-3 times per year for three decades. To have a rookie come along and claim to have seen a yurei on his first trip? I'd be more than a little cranky.

But Rob didn't stay a rookie for long. In fact, it was in those woods that he discovered his current passion. The supernatural, or more accurately, the documentation and investigation of urban legends. Legends like Bloody Mary, the Jersey Devil, Sasquatch. Rob has looked into them all.

ROB: I figured if one was true then who knows how many others could be.

AS: How many have you proven so far?

ROB: Since Aokigahara? Ain't none of em had any proof to em. Except for one. That's why I called you guys up.

At this point, Rob can’t hope to repress his smile.

The Left/Right game appeared on a paranormal message board in June 2016. Only a few people frequently visited the forum and, of these regulars, only Rob took an interest in the post.

ROB: The whole thing had a level of detail you don't see in other stories.

AS: What details grabbed your interest?

ROB: Logs. High quality pictures. The guy documented everything, said he wasn't gonna play the game anymore. I think he wanted somebody to keep investigating.

AS: And you were that somebody.

ROB: That's right. I set about trying to verify his information right away.

AS: And how did it go?

ROB: Well... It didn't take long to realise the Left/Right Game is the real thing.

The rules of the Left/Right game are simple. Get in your car and take a drive. Take a left, then the next possible road on the right, then the next possible left. Repeat the process ad infinitum, until you wind up somewhere... new. The rules are easy to understand, but Rob says their not so easy to follow.

ROB: There ain't all that many roads where you can turn left and right and left and right and keep going. Most of the time you find yourself at a dead end or needing to turn in the wrong direction. Phoenix is built on a grid system so you can keep going left and right as long as you need to.

AS: Did you move to Phoenix for the Left/Right game?

ROB: That's right.

I try not to seem incredulous. Selling your house in another state, packing up and moving your whole life to Phoenix, Arizona just to play a game you saw on the internet? It seems like insanity. Rob smiles as he reads my expression. I can clearly read his expression too. "You'll see." It says. "Just wait."

I wouldn't have to wait long. Included within the 9 page submission Rob sent our show, was a long list of suggested items the chosen reporter should bring with them. Clothes for three days, a pocket knife, matches, bandages. There were also a set of qualifications the reporter should have. The ability to drive, basic vehicle maintenance and its human equivalent... first aid training. He didn't just want to talk about the Left/Right Game. He wanted to take one of us along.

Rob leaves a short while later to embark on a few errands, "Prepping the Run", as he calls it. He shows me to the guest room and we part ways, on good terms but very much aware of the other's poorly veiled opinions. He knew I saw him as a charming obsessive, chasing after a fairy tale. He saw me as a naive cynic, on the cusp of a new world. All I could think as I heard the front door close is that by tomorrow afternoon, one of us would be right.

More after this.

When I wake up the next morning, Rob is in my room, holding a tray which he'd knocked on the bottom of to rouse me. I don't manage to record the start of our conversation.

ROB: - I got bananas, strawberries, chocolate syrup. We got some more downstairs but I wanted you to wake up to something good. We won't be eatin' this stuff on the road."

Rob has made me waffles. He sets them down on the night stand and talks through the coming day as I eat. I'll admit it feels a little uncomfortable, waking up in a stranger's home to find said stranger already standing over me, but I quickly move past it. I tell myself that he’s an older man, accustomed to living alone in his own house, not usually having to think about boundaries. Anyway, he certainly knows his way around a waffle iron.

ROB: We hit the road at 9. I wanted to give you time to get ready before everyone shows up.

AS: There are other people coming?

ROB: We got a 5 car convoy on the road today. They'll be here in an hour.

This is the first I’ve heard of a convoy, and to be honest I’m surprised. The game is Rob's obsession, and I’m here at his request. The idea that anyone else would have an interest in today's drive is a little perplexing.

Half an hour later, sated, showered and dressed in the "functional clothing" Rob had so painstakingly outlined, I take my pack out to the porch. Rob’s already there, waiting for his associates to show up.

AS: I thought you'd be conducting a few more errands.

ROB: If you ain't prepared by the morning of, you ain't prepared.

AS: Hah ok I guess that's fair. Oh, Rob is the garage locked? The inside door won't budge and I wanted to mic up the car.

ROB: Yeah it's locked up I'll open it for ya.

AS: Thank you.

ROB: In fact it's about time I wheeled her out. Fair warning Ms Sharma, she's a thing of beauty.

To Rob Guthard, beauty took the form of a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Rob climbs in and lets it roll out of the garage, where it dominates every inch of driveway. The car is large; four doors with a roof enclosing the entire compartment. It’s also been modified extensively, yet another example of Rob's dedication to the game.

ROB: What're you thinking?

AS: I think you're two caterpillar treads short of driving a tank.

ROB: Hah yeah I fixed her up good. I put the winch in, heavy duty tires, the light rig on top is LED's. They'll make midnight look like noon but they don't use hardly any power.

AS: Aren't Jeeps open top usually?

ROB: Not all. This is the Unlimited. I like to have a covered car when I head on the road.

I climb in and stow my pack. Rob had removed the back seats to afford more storage space. The place is packed to the brim. Jerry cans of gasoline, barrels of water, rope, snacks and his own neatly packed set of clothes.

I wonder if the rest of our convoy would take the game so seriously.

ROB: We got Apollo coming up in 10 minutes. No one else has given me a time. I sent the schedule weeks ago, this always happens.

AS: His name's Apollo?

ROB: That's his call sign. Apollo Creed I think he said.

AS: Why are you using call signs?

ROB: Did I not tell you? Oh yeah we're gonna use call signs on the road, keep communication clear.

AS: What's your callsign?

ROB: Ferryman.

AS: ... What's my call sign?

ROB: I thought about it. I was thinking London, you're from London right?

AS: I'm from Bristol.

ROB: Bristol? That’s fine I guess.

It’s less than ten minutes before Apollo turns the corner. Rob jumps out of his chair and paces briskly over to the edge of his property, as his first guest pulls up and steps onto the sidewalk.

Apollo vaguely resembles his namesake, dark skinned, tall and noticeably well built, though it’s clear he couldn’t be less of a fighter. This Apollo Creed is all smiles and seems to have a penchant for laughing at his own jokes.

AS: How far have you come?

APOLLO: I've come out of Chicago. Took three days hard driving.

AS: And you know Rob from the forums?

APOLLO: Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

Rob walks over to Apollo's car, gesturing him over to talk shop. Rob’s clearly impressed with Apollo's choice of vehicle, a blue Range Rover packed to the ceiling with kit. I was more impressed with Rob himself. Somehow this 65 year old farmer's son had become respected in a vast online community. My dad is Rob’s age and he's just discovered copy and paste.

The rest don't take long to arrive. Two Minnesotan librarians, also around Rob's age, pull up in a grey Ford Focus. They’re brother and sister, and they've shared ghost hunting as a hobby their entire lives. I find it hard to suppress a smile when they meekly introduce themselves as Bonnie and Clyde.

CLYDE: We would have gotten here sooner we had to drop by to get some blankets. Pleasure to meet you ma'am.

AS: Pleasure to meet you too.

CLYDE: Would you be the journalist?

AS: That's right.

CLYDE: You used to write for the town paper didn't you?

He's talking to his sister there, she nods. Clyde is clearly the spokesperson for the pair, yet they both seem incredibly shy. Whether they admire the famous outlaws, or just the name, it's pretty clear they couldn't be more different from the real thing.

Next to show up are Lilith and Eve, English Lit students at New York University and proprietors of the YouTube channel Paranormicon. Unlike Bonnie and Clyde, Lilith and Eve have no issue holding a conversation. As soon as they learn who I am, and what I do for a living, they attempt to conscript me for an expedition to Roswell.

LILITH: We have a friend there, he's been seeing some-

EVE: -He's a seismologist

LILITH: Yeah and he's been recording readings over the years that show subterranean movement. Predictable movement.

EVE: We're going to see him in July, but we could work it around you if you're free.

AS: I'll have to check my schedule

EVE: OK cool let me give you my email...

They quickly hurry off to film an intro for their latest video, featuring a quick interview with Rob, who seems pretty welcoming of the attention.

The last two cars arrive within a few seconds of each other. A lithe, strong willed older lady who goes by Bluejay and a younger man going by the callsign “Ace”. Bluejay has arrived in a grey Ford Explorer. Ace, much to Rob's annoyance, has arrived in a Porsche.

ROB: Did you think that's gonna help on the road? I didn't write that-

ACE: It's my car. What am I meant to do,? It's my car.

ROB: You didn't read my itinerary, you got nothing packed in there.

ACE: I did read it sir OK? Calm down. I have a bag, I won't ask you for anything.

ROB: Well I know that's true.

Ace and Rob were off to a bad start. Ace takes a phone call, and despite my best efforts to get an interview with Bluejay, she doesn't seem interested in talking to a journalist.

With five cars, and seven travellers waiting for a green light, Rob hands out radios and charging packs, then launches into a quick safety briefing. Wear seatbelts. Stay in position. Communicate clearly and often. It’s at this moment I start to feel a little dismay. I like Rob, and clearly so does everyone else. He'd convinced all of them to drive across the country to join in with his game. I start to worry what will happen in the likely event that the whole thing isn’t real. Would Rob lose the respect of his peers? Would he accept failure when it comes? After seeing the effort he’s put into these runs, the next few hours have the potential to be wildly uncomfortable.

With a smile and a few encouraging words, Rob ends his briefing and beckons me over to the Wrangler. I clamber inside and make myself as comfortable as possible.

ROB: You ready for this Bristol?

AS: I'm ready.

ROB: Ok then let's hit the road.

The Wrangler pulls out of the driveway, and the convoy follows in order of arrival. Apollo, Bonnie & Clyde, Lilith & Eve, Bluejay and Ace keep a steady pace behind us as we come up to the first corner.

Rob slowly and deliberately turns left, checking on the others in his rear view mirror. He looks back to the road as Ace’s Porsche completes the first turn of the game. Shortly afterwards, Apollo checks in on the CB radio.

APOLLO: This is Apollo for Ferryman. How many to more go Rob? ahahaha

ROB: Hah as many as it takes.

I can tell Rob wanted the to reserve the radio for something other than Apollo's quips. But he seems to like Apollo enough to let it slide. I'm not sure Ace would have received the same treatment. We take the next right, then another left. Now safely assured that everyone's following correctly, Rob speaks my thoughts aloud.

ROB: You're wondering the same thing Apollo is.

AS: What do you mean?

ROB: You're wondering how many turns we're gonna take before we hit some wall or something. Before you find out this is all just a story.

AS: Does that disappoint you?

ROB: I'd be disappointed if you weren't thinking something like it. But now we're on the road I gotta say something and you gotta listen to it.

AS: OK...

ROB: We're coming up to a tunnel soon. Any time before we reach it you can get out, walk in any direction you like, and you won’t be in the game no more. Once we go through, you gotta retrace the route we took to get yourself back out that tunnel. That's when you’re home. And you gotta convince someone to take you back in a car coz I ain't ferrying you back 20 minutes in. You got till the tunnel to skip out on this, understand?

AS: I understand. Though I have to say I'm getting little nervous.

ROB: Ain't nothing wrong with a little nervous.

We've taken 23 turns by this point. Already I feel like we're traversing the city pretty effectively. Rob's heavily modified Wrangler solicits a few impressed glances from passersby, as well as several honks of respect from other Jeep drivers. Other than those few moments, everything seems completely indistinguishable from a regular morning drive. I even start to worry if there’ll be anything at all for this story. “Reporter Takes Drive With Interesting Man” isn’t exactly Pulitzer worthy.

Turn 33 leads us onto a short, unassuming street. A row of small businesses in a quiet Phoenician neighbourhood; liquor, second hand clothing, tools and, at the end of the street, a little shop selling antique mirrors. Ten or so people shuffle along the sidewalk, smiling, talking, planning their weekends. The only lone person is a young woman in a grey coat..

I briefly glimpse her at the end of the street, standing on our next corner, the back of her coat reflected in fifty old mirrors. Even from a distance I can see that she’s sullen, wide eyed and nervous. She shifts constantly on her feet, tugging at the button of her coat.

I look away to write some notes as we roll down the street. When I look up again, the woman is standing by my window, staring right at me. She’s smiling, a wide, unfaltering grin that seems almost offensive in its complete insincerity.

GREYWOMAN: Lambs at the gate. Hoping for something better than clover when all they find are things worse than slaughter.

AS: Rob what's happening?

ROB: Ignore her.

GREYWOMAN: He wanted to leave me so I cut him out. The lake was hungry it drank the wound clean.

AS: Miss, are you alright?

The smile vanishes, it snaps from her face and suddenly, the woman is furious.

GREYWOMAN: What do you think you're doing?! Have you gone mad?!

I reflexively press myself back in my chair as the woman, wild eyed and gaunt, slams her fists against my window, with every intent of breaking through.

GREYWOMAN: Would you dance down the lion’s tongue? It will shred you, you whore! It will shred you down to your sins! You fucking bastard!

Rob puts his foot down, and the Wrangler rolls defiantly away from the woman. As we turn the corner I watch her as she wretches, her every movement cradled in abject hysteria. She yells despairingly at the rest of the convoy, bursting into tears when the last car passes her by.

As she shrinks into the rear view mirror, I see her turn to a large mirror on the side of the shop, which the owner is in the process of polishing. I watch as she walks up to it, and with a convulsant scream, slams her head into the glass.

The mirror cracks around her forehead, the owner jumps back in shock, and as the woman pulls her head from the mirror's surface, the fractured spider’s web is dripping red. It all happens in a split second, and she quickly swerves from my view as we take the next left.

AS: Rob, what was that?

ROB: She's there sometimes.

AS: On that street?

ROB: On the 34th turn.

AS: Who is she?

ROB: I don't know. She's never acted out that much before though. Must be a special trip.

I find Rob's lack of concern a little unpleasant, and his implication that this woman's ravings were the symptom of an internet game leaves me more than a little perturbed. As I see it, there are a few explanations for what just happened, and none of them lead to a comforting conclusion.

If we had just encountered a bonafide crazy person, then one could argue that Rob is just seeing what he wants to see. Maybe he'd bought into the game’s story so much that every strange but explainable occurrence would be rationalised as the next step in his favourite paranormal narrative.

Alternatively, the woman could have been an actor, a more elaborate theory sure, but not unheard of. People have lied to the show before and Rob was receiving a tonne of publicity for this attempt from Lilith, Eve and I. I admit, Rob didn't seem like a liar, but good liars never do.

There is a third alternative however. An alternative which, if you put logic aside, explains the all troubling little details that I couldn't help but notice. Because as strange as the grey woman was, isn't it stranger that no one on the street would react? I couldn't recall a single glance in her direction by anybody on the sidewalk. Perhaps that theory falls apart when you consider the shock on the mirror seller's face but, when I think about it, he only reacted once the mirror shattered, and even then, I feel like his attention was on the mirror itself.

The radio crackles.

LILITH: Lillith to Bristol. Sara... Eve got that on camera! Do you have audio?

AS: I think it picked her up.

LILITH: My god that was so weird. Can you send us the file when we stop? Can you ask Ferryman when we're stopping?

AS: When's our stopping point?

ROB: For them, in about 30 minutes. For you? Well, you tell me.

Rob turns off a busy street just before a large intersection, onto a much quieter stretch of two lane road. Ahead of us the road slopes downward, leading into an underpass, which disappears into darkness.

We'd arrived at the tunnel.

AS: What is this supposed to pass under?

ROB: Ain't supposed to pass under anything, it's just there.

AS: And if we weren't playing the game?

ROB: Then it won't show. The question is, are you playing the game or not?

Rob turns to me. It’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the road since we started. He pulls the car to a slow stop at the mouth of the tunnel.

ROB: You get out now you can go wherever you wanna go, but through there you'll need a car to get yourself home and, like I said, mine ain't turnin round for a long while. You understand?

It’s a dramatic statement, but unsettlingly, it doesn’t feel like he’s attempting to dramatise. It feels like I’m having something genuinely asked of me. Am I ready for what’s to come? Do I accept the risks involved? Do I consent to be taken down this road, and the next road, and the next? Am I prepared to see this game through, real or otherwise, to its end?

AS: What are you waiting for?

Rob smiles, and turns back to the road. He picks up the CB radio holds down the button on the side. The microphone crackles.

ROB: This is Ferryman to all cars. Anyone want to step out then pull to the side now. Otherwise, stay in formation and have some supplies at hand. We got a long ways to go.

Much like the game I’m so tentatively playing, my view of Robert J. Guthard seems to change direction frequently. I’d heard all about his life, but I’m sure that I know him. I like the guy, but I’m not certain that I trust him. And though I admire his dedication to the Left/Right Game, I’m not sure I’ll like where it might lead us. Yet as he takes us into the tunnel, his face vanishing and reappearing under the dim sodium lights, I can that tell he expects this trip to be a major step in his already impressive story, and this time, for better or for worse, I’m along for the ride.

#creepy #horror story #series #left right game series #author: NeonTempo

164 notes · View notes

phan-of-the-pen · 6 years

Text

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 6

Hello!!! This chapter is later than I hoped to get it out, but it got much much longer than I planned, and I decided to cut the chapter into two so I could get this chapter out now. Enjoy!

Tags for chapter: fluff, very faint themes of unwanted flirting, protective!phil

Words for chapter: ~4k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<-- Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan and Jaime had both played hookie and taken off the next day, on Sunday. They ended up going to the movies like they had originally planned the day before, and walked around Manchester after, buying way too many snacks from street vendors and whirling through stores, sometimes purchasing things, sometimes not. Dan ended up with a new jumper and a pair of ripped jeans that actually made his legs look good and not just like he'd robbed his trousers off of a homeless man.

However, Dan couldn't just afford to take days off on his schedule whenever he wanted, and he was right back in that caffeine-saturated building bright and early Monday morning. Jaime wasn't with him—she was scheduled for a later shift and would arrive sometime this afternoon—so it was quieter than normal, and a perfect recreation of last Monday's morning.

Hopefully I won't dance in front of any strangers, then, if this is Last Monday Pt 2.

With that thought, Dan's brain immediately switched to thinking about the downright mysterious man who had found his way, literally, stumbling into Dan's life.

Phil had very obviously been in last Monday, and the Wednesday after, but he had also ended up showing up this past Friday as well, and god, Dan wished that that encounter hadn't happened. He had been in the bathroom only to come back and find Jaime talking with Phil as if they were the closest of old friends, laughing together, Jaime's hand close to her mouth as if she was telling him a secret. Dan still didn't know what they had talked to each other about, but when Jaime went to go "see about something in the back" when she noticed Dan, she had given him a wink. Phil's face had also been flushed, and he had had what Dan could only equate to a slightly embarrassed, slightly pleased smile.

Dan flicked his eyes to the glass door. He had opened the store all of four minutes ago, but there was still a little part of him that was wondering…

Maybe he'll come back today?

Dan wasn't sure if he wanted to get his hopes up, not really. Sure, Phil was entertaining, a really fun guy to be around, the fucking weatherman, mind you, and he was really damn attractive, but Jaime had told him a lot that Phil had been flirting with him, and the thought that Phil wanted a romantic relationship with him turned his stomach. Dan didn't date people because of his horrid-at-best history with significant others, and he really didn't want to have to go into anything like that with Phil. He was content to try a friendship with the guy if it happened, but other than that, sign him the fuck out.

Thankfully, the day didn't start out completely just like last Monday. The shop was anything but dead, and Dan would think that it was a holiday or something with the stream of people that wouldn't stop coming in. It was a bit much for just Dan to manage, and if he hadn't been working for as long as he had as a barista, he was certain that it would have been hell to deal with so many people in such a short time. The good thing was that all of the traffic kept him busy. He was making lattes and espressos and dinks with little foam designs, and before he knew it, time was flying by. It was no longer early morning, but a little past one in the afternoon and the past six-ish hours felt like a blink, but Dan was glad for the lull. He had been on his feet rushing around to fill orders all morning, and it kind of sucked, so Dan just slumped against the counter, exhaling for what seemed like the first time all day.

Dan's stomach grumbled angrily and he pressed his palm to his abdomen, the corner of his lip pulling down. He'd forgotten about breakfast this morning.

He looked around the coffee shop. There were about a half dozen people besides himself, and none of them were paying Dan any attention, nor did they seem like they were going to need his assistance anytime soon.

Dan made himself a coffee because after six hours of non-stop labor he deserved it, and picked out one of the wrapped sandwiches that they sold. He couldn't take a full on lunch break like he may have wanted to because there was no one too cover the store while he ate and took a half an hour to relax, so Dan just dragged a chair up next to the counter and sat down, letting out a deep sigh.

Working a double shift all alone sucked ass, but Dan didn't mind too much in the instance that the only other person who would be able to work a shift like this with him besides Jaime was Steve. And fuck, that guy was an asshole. So really, Dan would take working himself harder than normal then having to subject him to shitty company when he didn't have to.

He ate quicker than normal, the hunger in his stomach multiplying once he started eating. God, he should never skip breakfast. It only fucked him over later. Oh you're hungry? You skipped a meal? Well you better eat twice your weight if you want any chance of feeling full ever again.

Dan's sandwich was gone from his hands before he knew it, so he sipped his coffee, too lazy to get up and grab another. He'd eat something small later when he had a moment while working. The caffeine was starting to work through his system now too, and he could feel a bit of his lost energy coming back.

His break didn't last all that long, though—barely fifteen minutes—before the crowds were back and he had to help his fellow human beings get their caffeine fix.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Dan was back to working just like he had this morning with the amount of people walking into the store. He had to have sold a record amount of coffee for a single day, and he still had several hours left to his shift when Jaime would take over. It was kind of incredible, and if Dan maybe wasn't the one behind the counter, he might have found it a little impressive.

The next lull he had was some time later, at about four-thirty, and once the girl he had just served walked away, Dan had his hand in the opened bag of crisps behind the counter. He was starving and really wished that he had eaten something more than a medium coffee and a small sandwich.

Dan had his face full, mid-chew when someone walked up to the counter. He had the undeniable air of a uni student, a bag slung over his shoulder and wearing some sort of combination of pajamas and street clothes that only broke and in-debt twenty-something university college students would deem acceptable.

Not that Dan really had any room to talk. He looked like a hobo at the best of times as well.

"Hi, could I bother you for another shot of espresso? Or two, actually? I have a late shift tonight that I've got to get to, and I won't be able to study for my test until like, 3AM. I need all of the caffeine I can get right now." he said sheepishly, holding out his drink. Dan raised his eyebrows. He remembered this guy the first time he had served him, and Dan had already put three shots of espresso in initially at his request.

"You sure?" He asked, taking the cup. It was about half empty. "I mean I get it crash studying is pretty important but jeez that sounds like a death wish. Not to mention pretty tasteless."

The guy laughed, a wide smile on his face. He looked a lot nicer when he was smiling. Less glum and like he was about to keel over.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. The sacrifices we take for a degree, huh?" He yawned before he could add anything past that, a hand covering his mouth. "You know what? Make it two, please. You don't have to bother refilling the drink, I'll just take the espresso. Pray for me, I might not make it out of this alive."

Dan snorted as he popped the lid off of the cup and put it under the espresso maker. Two shots. Dan used one of the little straws to mix up the still-steaming contents of the cup. He looked over at the guy standing there, watching Dan work. He had about the same build as Dan did and if just being able to smell the drink seemed to alert Dan's senses, this guy was definitely going to not be sleeping for quite a while. Dan pitied him for the caffeine crash that was going to fuck this guy's ass like a speeding truck. Dan reached out for a new lid for the cup—company policy—but there weren't any more large-sized lids and his hand grazed the bare table-top. Fuck, he must have run out.

"Here, one sec," Dan said, passing the open coffee cup to the guy. Dan dropped down, opening the cabinet under the counter and moving aside. He heard the glass door open, the little bell ringing for the millionth time today, and internally groaned. Can't even get a fucking break.

He came back up, a stack of the little plastic lids in his hands, grabbing one and depositing the rest off to the side where the medium and small lids were. Dan noticed the guy's eyes following his body, and it rolled his stomach and tied it into knots simultaneously, but he tried to ignore it and handed the lid over. The guy clicked it on.

"Do I owe you anything for that..?" He asked. Dan could feel his skin crawling, but he didn't try to kill the friendly smile on his face even if it was strained.

"Nah, no need to pay your executioner," he joked, silently hoping that this guy would go away. He laughed, but Dan didn't, just still choosing to stand there with that god-awful feeling rising in his chest.

"Thanks. My name's Jon, but my friends call me Jonny." He bit his lip, and while Dan might have been oblivious, even he knew that this guy was now flirting with him. He had had his suspicions when he noticed Jon's gaze on his ass, but Dan's hopes that this guy would stop at blind lust were apparently in vain.

Dan gave him a strangled smile. Walk away walk away walk away-

Jon opened his mouth to say something else, but behind him someone cleared his throat. Jon jumped a little, clearly expecting it just as little as Dan had, and gave Dan a nervous smile, but stepped away.

"Sorry, I'll let you get back to work. Maybe I'll see you around, then-" he said, dragging out the 'n' and squinting at the nametag on Dan's shirt, "-Dan."

Jon gave Dan one last toothy grin and a wave, turning on his heel and walking towards the exit. Dan still felt uncomfortable, still had the lump in his chest, still wanted to duck behind the counter and hide, but he tore his gaze away from Jon. Dan had a job to do and apparently Jon's flirting had pissed off the person behind him, so Dan would be better off not adding fuel to that fire. He didn't want to deal with a miserable customer on top of it all.

"Uh, hi how can I-Phil?" Dan sputtered, his eyes going wide as he saw Phil standing there, head turned towards Jon's retreating form, a frown on his face, something fiery in his eye. Phil was the one that was behind Jon? Oh fuck that means he saw him flirting with me. Shit what if he thinks I'm okay with that and he tried something shit shit shi-

Phil's attention flicked to Dan's and god those blue blue eyes were stormy. His shoulders were tense and his face wasn't anywhere close to how open it always was. It was closed off behind what seemed like a brick wall.

In short, Phil looked pissed at best, ready to deck someone at worst.

"I-are you...okay?"

Phil let out a breath—a massive sigh, really—and let his eyes close for a moment. When they opened they weren't as dark, and the lines of his body weren't as sharp, but it still seemed strikingly obvious to Dan that something was up with him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just, ah, just tired, that's all."

Bullshit. It wasn't even a convincing lie. Dan opened his mouth to call Phil out on it and ask what was really wrong and why he looked like he had just been thirty seconds from fighting someone (that someone who was yet to be determined) but he stopped himself. He and Phil didn't really know each other—not really—and they certainly didn't know each other enough for Dan to call BS, right? That was something that friends did. Were they even friends?

Dan didn't know, and he didn't know if that was a question that someone just asked another person, so he just dropped it, nodding a little robotically and giving a non-committal hum that could mean either "I know exactly what you mean, very relatable" or "we both know you're lying" and decided to let Phil figure it out.

"Okay. Would you, uh, like a coffee?" Dan asked. His voice sounded all wrong in his ears and his entire mind seemed to just be screaming the same thing: Why are you so damn awkward?

And to that, Dan didn't have an answer.

"Yeah, a caramel macchiato, if you wouldn't mind."

And like every other drink he's made today, Dan's hands almost flew on their own accord, but his mind was elsewhere, entirely.

Phil certainly had quite the ability to appear out of nowhere when Dan was the least prepared for dealing with him. No, that wasn't right, that made it sound as if Phil was a problem. And he wasn't, not at all, not even close, he just...was so different. It was as if Dan didn't know how to act around the guy, and could anyone really blame him? Dan's run into him mid-sink into a depressive episode, been caught dancing—which he didn't do—to Muse by the guy, and just now, too, when Dan was uncomfortable as fuck and being flirted with, Phil was there.

And fuck, why did it matter so much to Dan? Why in hell was it apparently important enough for Dan to stress himself over it while he was making Phil's coffee.

Phil looked much more relaxed when Dan handed him the coffee, and the faint smile on his lips was enough to assure Dan that whatever had angered Phil wasn't too bad, if he was smiling already.

"This is probably going to sound weird, but do you not work Sundays?"

Dan looked up from the register where he was ringing up Phil's order. He felt a little bit of heat crawl up his face. Jaime saying he's flirting with you seemed to bounce around in Dan's skull, but he prayed that it didn't show, just letting a little smirk on his face and throwing up the first defense mechanism that he used when he wasn't sure if he was reading a situation wrong: sarcasm and humor.

"You haven't even told me your last name yet but you're asking me for my work schedule?" Dan cocked an eyebrow to make the ruse work. He was still feeling a bit off, and he didn't need Phil to know that.

Phil's eyes went wide and if he had been drinking at the moment, Dan was sure that he would have spit it out.

"What no, no! I didn't—I mean—not like, I-"

Dan laughed and waved away Phil's panic.

"Phil, I'm joking, it's okay. I work everyday except for Saturday, more times than not. Every once in awhile my schedule will get altered or something, but I pretty much am in day in and day out." Dan said, giggling uncontrollably, trying in vain to calm his laughter because frankly, Phil freaking out over possibly offending Dan or something like that was funny as shit.

(and adorable, but that thought didn't even have to be acknowledged by Dan himself)

"Wait a minute, did you come in yesterday to come see me or something?" Dan said, stopping himself. Phil's face went bright red and his eyes went wider, and Dan couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face as Phil tried to find some excuse. He seemed to give up, however, after a moment.

"Uh, yeah, I might have," Phi squeaked out, rubbing the back of his head. He looked like a goddamn little kid admitting to stealing biscuits before dinner for fuck's sake.

Dan didn't really know how to respond to that—did anyone?—so all he did was keep the smile on his face and roll his eyes a little.

"And, it's Lester."

"Excuse me?"

"You mentioned that you didn't know my last name, and it's Lester."

"Oh. Phil Lester. It has a nice ring to it." Dan seemed to be rambling, but he doubted that he could stop himself at this point.

"What about you? Or should I keep think of you as Dan The Guy Who Makes My Coffees?"

"It's Howell." Dan muttered, breaking their eye contact.

"Dan Howell?" Phil asked, a sudden serious glint in his eye. Dan gulped.

"Yeah?" Fuck there goes his anxiety. Off the charts once again.

"Can I have a donut?"

"Oh fuck you!" Dan whined, poking Phil in the shoulder, who was giggling like a mad man, a hand in front of his mouth. "Here I was, thinking you were going to ask me something all serious and all that, and you ask me for a fucking donut? The nerve!"

Phil was laughing hard enough that almost no sound was coming out, and his eyes got all squinty. His hand had dropped away to lay on his chest and Dan could see the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he giggled.

"You should have seen your face!" Phil breathed, and Dan poked him again, but it wasn't with malice. He was smiling himself. Widely, in fact.

This shithead…

When Phil stopped laughing, he looked up back at Dan, a grin splitting his face.

"I hate you." "No you don't. At least, you do a really bad job at showing it, Dan."

"Mhm. You say that like we're friends. True friends would tell each other things like the fact that they're the weatherman, or not try and lowkey stalk them at work, or-"

"Wait a minute, how do you know that I'm the weatherman?"

This time, it was Dan's turn to blush, and he did, heavily, the events of Saturday jumping to the front of his consciousness.

"Saturday I was hanging out with Jaime, and we uh, wanted to know when it would stop raining? So she must have found the local channel, and low and behold you were on it, broadcasting the fucking weather."

Phil blushed, a nervous little laugh bubbling out from his chest.

"I wouldn't give myself that much credit, really. I'm just a part-time unpaid intern part-time employee trying to earn some experience out there and put my name out. I wasn't supposed to actually be telling the weather, but turns out the camera must, ah, love me. At least that's what my boss says."

"Still, Phil, I quite literally choked on a piece of popcorn when you're smiling face just appeared on Jaime's TV with a cloud themed tie."

"You what?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe it myself. But there you were, and there I was, like, dying. I should demand compensation for the trauma I've been through."

"What are you going to do, take me to court?"

"Hmm, maybe. You'll hear from my attorney, certainly. Or, probably. I dunno, I've still got to think about what kinds of charges I'm going to press against you. And get an attorney." Dan said, and really, the levels of sarcasm they were single-handedly projecting were astounding.

"Okay, here," Phil said, reaching over and easily picking Dan's phone out of his jeans pocket the sides of his fingers brushing up against the black denim. The action so casual and Phil was so damn confident about it, that Dan just sucked in his breath and watched, open mouthed, as Phil clicked the phone screen on.

"Password?" he asked, turning the phone around. Dan reached out, typed it in, but it was like he was in a daze. Was this really happening?

Phil started typing something, and then snapped a photo of his coffee. He handed Dan his phone back, and bright and new on Dan's screen was a contact titled Phil Lester (is amazing!!). The icon was a picture of the top of Phil's caramel macchiato, only his pale hand visible.

"There you go, let me know when you figure it out, okay? I've got to get to my part-time at Tesco's, but I'll see you around?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes. See you, Phil."

Phil smiled, and Dan smiled back before he even realized he was completing the action. Phil smiled so he smiled back. It was that simple.

He turned and walked away, and Dan's eyes followed his lanky frame the entire time. He watched as Phil opened the door—that tiny bell sounding—and stepped outside. And when Phil passed by the huge floor-to-ceiling window that made up the majority of the one wall and waved to Dan, that big grin still on his face, Dan couldn't help the laugh that spilled from his lips just as much as he couldn't stop his hand waving back.

~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Dan was serving two girls when he caught sight of a forgotten pastry, pushed off to the side of the counter. It took him a moment, but the dots connected almost simultaneously, and as soon as the two girls were gone, Dan was whipping out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to the newest one. He typed out a message and his thumb hesitated over the send button, but Dan shook his head and pressed it. Too late to go back now.

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

I still havent figured out the charges

but

you forgot ur donut you spork

[Multimedia message]

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

I'm at work rn, what time do you close?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

um real late, like 10

but my shift's over at 6

so it'll be jaime and some teenager probs

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

:'(((

fiiiiinnnnneeeee

I'll have to pick up my donut later won't I?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

uh yeah, i guess

or u can come in tomorrow or smth if like

u dont want to be wandering into a coffee

shop at 10 at night

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

what, you would like save the donut or smth?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

lester if u think if ur coming back tomorrow

im not going to eat this donut u are gravely

mistaken

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

wow dan I cant believe you dan

actually no I can

I've got to get back to work

see you tomorrow?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

have fun

and yeah i'll still be here in this caffeinated

hell, so, see you, lester

Dan looked up from his phone as a trio walked in, chatting among themselves. He slipped his phone in his pocket (his back pocket this time, thanks a lot Phil) and threw a smile on his face. It was the easiest he had smiled all day.

#phanfiction #phanfic #my fics #dan and phil #dan howell #phil lester #phan #fluff #tw: faint touch upon unwanted flirting #chaptered #i dare you to stay #i dare you to stay: chapter 6 #au #ace!dan #weatherman!phil #allyssaTM

6 notes · View notes