A/N: Hey everybody :3 So this is my first Phanfic and it's pretty AU. I'd love to know what you guys think, if this story is worth pursuing, so feel free to drop a review. This story is also unbeta'd, so I'm sorry for any mistakes you find. Let me know and I'll make sure and edit it. Story title is taken from The 1975's song "Chocolate." Hope you enjoy reading!

Chapter Zero

"Be safe, right?"

"Yeah, no problem." He smiles as assuredly as he can, all white teeth and dimples and confident eyes. Phil worries too much.

"Hey kid." A boot toe digs its way between his ribs and he flinches, pushing miserably at it. "Wake up time. Big man wants to see you."

He heaves himself off of the floor, staggering away from the guard. Everything in him says no but everything around him says yes and can't you guess which opinion matters most?

Phil smiles back. It's weaker, heavier around his eyes. "And take care of Lion, yeah?"

Dan reaches out, ruffles Phil's hair and rolls his eyes. Phil catches his wrist and holds Dan's hand to his lips. "You got it," Dan says, letting his free hand tap on Lion's snout. "He can take care of himself, though."

"That he can," Phil agrees, his words moving against the back of Dan's hand like living creatures, implanting the word stay in his blood. Stay, Dan.

But he can't. He's got a responsibility. "So can I."

And Phil nods. "That you can."

"Boy, you musta done something special. He's awful angry," the guard says. He spins Dan around, cuffs his hands behind him. Cold metal chafes at his skin, chains shiver between his wrists. They sound as malevolent and cheerful as the guard. "I'd warrant today's not gonna be a pleasant one for you, bud." You warrant? he thinks weakly, stepping where the guard pushes him to. Out of the cell, down the hall, past other prisoners, past hopeless words and rotting bodies, down to the Door.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. Advice long ago taken. What is hope? Hope is the thing he left behind one too many times. The guard knocks on the Door. Dan tries to keep his body from shaking, but he's a coward, really, and he's petrified. "Come in," the jailkeeper says.

They go in.

"Sorry, not doubting you." Phil nuzzles his nose against Dan's.

"I know. I should go." But he stays there. Just for a little while.

"Yeah." Fingers stroke through his hair. Stay, Dan. "I love you." So stay.

"Love you too," he says. I can't. They kiss. Dan leaves with Lion trotting on his heels. Tries to make himself understand that their parting isn't forever-it isn't even for a whole day. He'll be back by morning.

"Good evening, Mr. Howell," the jailkeeper says. He smiles-white teeth and dimples. "Dismissed, Monrue."

"Yes sir," the guard says, stepping out of the jailkeeper's office and closing the door with a final, resonant click.

The jailkeeper rises out of his chair, moves away from his desk and towards Dan. "So," he starts, stopping when the polished tips of his shoes meet Dan's bare toes. He smells like peppermint and cologne. "I assume you've heard about the recent break-out? And the one last week? And the week before that? Hm?"

Dan nods. "And you know what YouTube's been saying?" the jailkeeper asks. His breath is warm and spicy against Dan's face. "They're saying to release all the YouTubers we have here. Now how do you think they know we have YouTubers here?" Dan waits out the silence, trying hard not to look away from the jailkeeper's eyes. He's not guilty. He's not. "Up until we took you, they seemed content to think that YouTubers just died. Come on, Mr. Howell, give me a reason. Why'd they change their minds all of a sudden?"

Who's he kidding? Of course he's guilty. It's all his own damn fault. He's a stupid, worthless prick who's managed to endanger other lives because he couldn't pull off his own job right. Goddam him. "I don't know, sir." But he does know better than to ignore the jailkeeper. He tried that before, at the beginning. He hasn't since. He's not above lying, though. He's going to hurt no matter what he says. At least if he speaks he can keep his tongue.

"Of course you do." The jailkeeper smiles again, all the way up to his eyes. Dan hates his eyes. Hates everything about him, really, but his eyes the most. They're beautiful. They're hateful.

"I have suspicions, sir, but I'm not quite certain of any reason."

"Good save, Mr. Howell. Would you like to hear what I think?"

"Yes sir."

"I think you weren't the only one on your job." The jailkeeper arches an eyebrow, puts his hands on Dan's shoulders. Dan flinches. "Yeah? Opinion?"

"What makes you think that, sir?"

"You know what makes me think that. The only reason they could know you're here is if someone went back and told them. If you were the only one they'd think you were dead. We made sure the evidence was there but-well, you know, they don't seem to have bought it. Actually, they seem to be onto us. How long do you think it'll be before YouTube attacks this base?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"Maybe not. Anyhow, there's really nothing we can do about it now. We'll have to move all of you." The jailkeeper sighs and pats the side of Dan's face. "Damn stressful on everyone. You know, it makes me really kind of angry. Who else was on your team, Mr. Howell?"

"There was nobody else on the team, sir."

The jailkeeper shakes his head and steps back. Dan takes a shivery breath in through his nose. "You'd think you'd learn after so many months. Pity. Come on."

He crosses his room and Dan follows him, through the side door. The next room smells like metal and blood and burning flesh. Dan gives up on trying to look like something he's not and lets the shivers overtake his body, the panic close his throat. The jailkeeper smiles. His eyes, blue and bright, smile with him and he reaches for a knife.

The evening they catch him is cool and dark. Lion crouches beside him, breathing hard, listening to their shouts and the flickering of their lights. Dan tangles his hand in Lion's mane, tugs it for attention. "Go home, Lion," he says. Lion's ears twitch. "Go home to Phil. To Phil, hear?" And he pushes on Lion's rump, shoves him out into the streets. "Phil."

There's a gunshot. Lion's body jerks and Dan's eyes widen, but then Lion is staggering straight and then he's running. "Phil," Dan says under his breath, looking towards the flashlights and standing up. If he's going to die, then by God, even if he's shaking like a freezing kitten and he wants to puke his guts up, he'll die standing up.

"Phil, Phil, Phil," he murmurs to himself. Around him their shouts grow louder, their lights brighter, their anger thicker. But Dan thinks of dark hair and blue eyes and he steps out.