and having people throw glass bottles at their head

I am so disgusted and angry at the fan who threw a glass bottle at yixing 😡😡😡?!?! Do people not know that THROWING glass towards someones HEAD from a DISTANCE can KILL or SERIOUSLY INJURE the person?!? Honestly, this boy did nothing to deserve this hate. I hope yixing knows that even if some off the fans in Asia may dislike him, he always has his xingmi’s (esp the international exo-l’s) who love him unconditionally 💗

First Impressions

Summary: pastel!Dan has to sit next to the new student on the coach on their journey to a school field trip. cue jealous boyfriend punk!Phil. There’s also a food fight and protective!Phil.

Word count: 1600

Warnings: miniscule violence.

“Daniel, come here” Mr Lewis said as the year eleven students began to make their way on to the coach.

Dan walked over to the teacher. He was stood with a rather nervous looking person who he’d never met before. They were looking down at the hands that they kept lacing and un-lacing.

Mr Lewis began to explain, “this is Christopher. He is a new student here and I thought that you would be the perfect person to introduce him to the school, especially as we are taking a field trip today. I would like you two to sit together on the coach”.

Dan smiled at Christopher in an attempt to make him feel less nervous, however the boy didn’t smile back but just stared blankly at him. Almost a scowl. That didn’t effect Dan’s attitude towards welcoming him though, he just needed someone to warm up to, Dan thought.

They entered the coach where most of the students were sitting in the seats towards the middle and back. Christopher decided to sit right at the front, so Dan just followed and placed himself in the seat right next to him. It was a pity that the coach didn’t have a side with three seats, Dan thought as he watched other students file in. What was Phil going to think?

It was just as he thought of Phil when the said person stopped abruptly beside them, causing a few people to bump into each other behind him. He placed his hands on the top of the seats either side of him and exclaimed “is this some kind of joke?”.

Dan looked up, now slightly anxious about the seating arrangement. He put his hand on top of Phil’s (which was on his seat). Phil’s harsh expression faltered for a second as he brushed his fingers against Dan’s hand, holding it delicately. His voice a contrast to his previous actions, Phil aimed his question at the boy sitting next to his Dan “who the fuck are you?”.

“Phil, this is Christopher. Mr Lewis asked me to sit with him as he’s a new student” Dan explained, more confident now that he knew that Phil wasn’t too angry with him. He just gets very jealous.

The people that were stuck behind Phil were all watching the scene unfold. Some were whispering things; ‘looks like Phil is gonna punch the poor guy’, ‘unlucky, being on Phil’s bad side on his first day’. A teacher at the front realised that there was a hold up and shouted “come on, sit down now everybody. We’re going to be late”.

Phil whispered something to himself about talking to Mr Lewis later. He knew that Dan was just trying his best so he lent down and kissed his nose, then the top of his head. He whispered “I’ll see you later, sweetheart” to Dan then walked to the back of the coach to join his ‘gang’ mates.

As soon as everyone was seated, the coach started to move out of the school car park and they were on their way. Christopher turned to Dan.

“Hey” Dan said a little apprehensive as he was embarrassed about the whole Phil situation.

“Who was that guy? Your cousin?” Christopher questioned bluntly.

Dan blushed. Did this person think that Dan was not good enough to be Phil’s boyfriend? And anyway whos cousin calls them sweetheart? “Urm, no. Phil is my boyfriend”.

Christopher just looked him in the face. He looked somewhat shocked.

“That’s okay isn’t it?” Dan asked. Oh God, what if this boy was homophobic?

Christopher shook his head and quickly answered “oh, yeah of course. It’s just. Well. You’re-”

“Different”

“Yeah”

Dan looked down to what he was wearing. A grey long sleeved t-shirt and white skinny jeans with lavender coloured ‘vans’ shoes. He also had a small pink hairclip in to keep his fringe from annoying him in the journey and matching pink circle earrings.

This was very different to the first impression that Christopher had had of Phil. The leather jacket wearing guy who had a dyed blue fringe and black eyeliner. The guy who had almost punched him in his first encounter with him.

“You know, he isn’t as scary as he seems”, Dan attempted to defend his boyfriend.

Christopher laughed, “sure, tell me that again when I’ve seen him and he doesn’t look like he wants to knock me out”.

***

It was about twenty minutes through the hour journey when Phil went up to Dan again. He wasn’t stopped by the driver who was too focused on the road, and the teachers were all chatting amoungst themselves.

He was taking Dan some food as they weren’t allowed any on the coach, so he figured Dan hadn’t brought anything. “Here you go, love” Phil whispered as he dropped two packets of Dan’s favourite flavour crisps (chips, for you Americans) and a twix on to Dan’s lap.

“Don’t worry. You can eat them now, no one will notice. And if they do then you can come to me”. Phil spoke the last few words loud enough for Christopher to look away from them and gaze out of the window.

“Thank you” Dan said, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck so that he would kiss him.

“Alright, make sure to tell me if you want something else. We have loads more. And if you want to come and sit down here I’m sure someone will move” Phil made sure to tell Dan, even though they were only a few meters away from each other.

“Love you” Dan said happily, opening the twix.

“I love you too” Phil replied, starting to walk away. Although he couldn’t help but glare at the back of Christopher’s head when Dan offered him half of his twix.

***

It was another twenty minutes later and the back few rows of the coach had delved into a food fight. Empty wrappers of sweets were thrown. Half full packets of crisps were having their remaining contents emptied onto people’s heads. Even drinks bottles and cans were being thrown. Somehow the teachers had managed to remain oblivious to the whole scene.

Some of the more obnoxious people were throwing things to hit students that were sitting in the middle and front of the bus. One bottle knocked a girls glasses off, to which she looked back angrily at them.

In a rather unfortunate circumstance. The moment that Dan decided to stand up to straighten out his shirt, was also the moment that a guy decided to throw a full can of coke in his direction. And of course, it was  just his luck that it hit him right in the back of the head.

It wasn’t quite enough to knock him out, but it was a hard hit and it hurt like hell. It caused a few people around Dan to turn and mumble to their friends; 'isn’t that Phil Lesters boyfriend?’, 'who threw that? Well they’re in for it now’.

Dan closed his eyes, putting his hands over his ears that had started ringing. The back of his head was pounding, but it also felt numb and weird. Christopher was sat next to him attempting to gather his thoughts on what he should do.

A few tears slipped from beneath where Dan had his eyes closed. Christopher placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder, Dan moved a little closer and mumbled “Phil”.

Christopher moved a hand from Dan's ear to whisper “do you want to go to Phil?”

Dan nodded his head, to which he immediately regretted when it made him feel even more dizzy. He tried to open his eyes but the light seemed blinding, so he shut them again. Christopher held his wrist as he led him to the back of the coach which was still in chaos.

When Phil saw the state that Dan was in, his eyes widened but then narrowed a few seconds later. “What the hell did you do?” He directed at Christopher.

“It wasn’t me, one of your mates threw a can of coke at his head” Christopher answered defensively. He handed the can over to Phil.

Phil looked turned around and shouted “who the fuck was this?!”, effectively ending the food fight. He held the can of coke and pointed at Dan who was now whined 'oww’ at the loud noise Phil had made.

A boy called Tom seemed to recognize the can that he had thrown. He mumbled “oh, Shit” when he saw who it had hit.

Phil noticed and walked over to grab the front of his jacket. He said “move, now. And don’t think this is over”. Tom quickly got up and tried to find a seat that wasn’t occupied.

Phil also made the two people that had sat either side of Tom move so that he, Dan and Christopher could take their seats. Phil between them. “You okay now, baby?” Phil asked Dan.

“Better” Dan happily mumbled.

For the rest of the journey, Dan leant on Phil, wrapped up in his arms. Phil slipped his hand under Dan’s t-shirt so that he could rub circles into his tummy. Phil’s hands were warm and relaxing, paired with the quiet hum that could be heard from the coach, making Dan feel more and more tired until he eventually fell asleep with ten more minutes of their journey left.

Phil decided to make conversation with Christopher, who he found out was actually pretty cool. He made great jokes. He’d also been the person to bring Dan to him when he was hurt.
Maybe first impressions weren’t that reliable.

END

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write one that is set on a coach for a while now. And I got a really great reaction to the last pastel/punk fic that I wrote so here’s another! Thank you so much for nice comments and all of the reblogs! It really motivates me :)
    Also, remember that you can prompt me something that you’d like to read.

More Pastel/Punk and other phanfiction that I have written

Thanks ^ω^

yesterday i woke up with my throat hot and blistered, like it had been holding the heat of my anger throughout the night. small town main street. there are red paper lanterns hanging just inside the entrance of the restaurant. there is no reason for this; the restaurant serves american cuisine. but i laugh. my friend and i both know, there are worse things. there are worse things. there are. they are using joss paper as doily-napkins. i grab it from under the bowl as soon as i see it. i am in disbelief. i ask my friend, do you know what this is. he says, yes. he covers it with his hand, and after a moment, takes it from me, flips it so the square of silver is hidden, and that’s when i think of my grandmother’s face in the coffin, a knitted blue flower in my hair, smell of incense on my shoulders, the way my aunt kept looking towards the door because in her grief she could not remember where she was but not once did her hands stop folding paper. i should have said something. i think of the stacks of joss paper they must have sitting in their backroom, a vast, sweeping swath of my cultural identity reduced to something pretty to wipe their fingers on. i should have said something.  i fold it at the table because there is nothing else to do with it. we take it with us and he offers it to his grandmother later that night. it goes up bright and quick over the open fire, under the sky full of stars i never get to see. the next morning, my hair smells like smoke and it is familiar.
one summer, i am traveling alone in southern italy. a man comes up to me in the bari train station–empty–and asks two questions, in english. are you chinese, maybe japanese? and then, how old are you? he wants to take me to the beach, there are beautiful beaches in bari and there is one close by, and he won’t take no for an answer. i take my bag to leave but he follows, tries to force his way into a public restroom with me, tries to kiss me before i manage to slam the door in his face. when i exit, he is waiting for me. the people around us stare but do nothing. he follows me back to the station with an arm around my shoulders that i cannot shake, tells me i am a nice girl, you are all such nice girls, and it’s not until i run up the steps to the now crowded platform and a waiting train–the last one out of bari that night–that he finally lets me go. the sky is getting dark. on the train, all i can think about is how i can never let my parents know. someone once proclaimed, you’re hardly even asian. she means that my mother tongue is losing ground to english. as if the man in bari cared about my vocabulary, as if the people who throw glass bottles at my head on the street in the city i call home care about the flow of my speech when my eyes still hold their shape and my hair is not any less black. but it is because for years i have been mortified into silence by my peers and because english is the only language that can fight back in the u.s. where i live and because in fourth grade we read in the year of the boar and jackie robinson and i felt crushing terror at shirley temple wong’s inability to pronounce three. other things. they ask me, are you oriental? as if my genetic material is something to be commodified and traded along with silks and rugs and spices and tea. others used to corner me on the bus, call me chink, and to this day it’s a word i cannot bring myself to say out loud because it still tastes like poison and even writing it makes my vision blur. and years ago. walking by columbus park, she says to me, haltingly, you know, someone told me that the people in that park are dirty. i know she is telling me this because we are in chinatown and i am chinese and so are the people in that park. she looks at me as if she expects me to explain myself, as if i should be embarrassed, as if i need to apologize. i am shame-faced. i am. i don’t know better. but today i do. i can speak of the eviction of 81 bowery, of the small business owner i interpreted for, whose store has been operated by his family for nearly 100 years, who is being forced out because of “redevelopment” in seward park, of statistics of asian poverty in nyc and in the u.s. that are ignored in favor of perpetuating this toxic model minority myth that leaves us stranded, how people come from nothing to nothing, how a 64 square feet space can serve as a home for a family, how rooting through the garbage for plastic bottles to trade in serves as your only source of income because this country deems you unfit for anything else. you’ve come all this way and you still cannot ride the train and speak your own language without the risk of being mocked for the words that leave your mouth sounding too harsh, too jarring for those who think nothing of what you’ve left behind. i don’t hold apologies in my throat anymore.