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venusgfs · 7 years

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Southside Rules

summary:

based off of the tv show Shameless

Phil Lester works in a diner and steals cars, and Dan can't ignore the intrigue of a Southside boy.

genre: angst

tw: drugs, gun mentions, swearing

word count: 1.8k

“Have a good night Phil.”

“Thanks Sierra.”

Phil shrugged his coat on as he stepped into the chilly Chicago air, leaving the comfort of the warm diner. The buckles on his boots jingled softly as he walked across the street to the silver Lexus he had spotted a few minutes before. The cars around here were getting more and more expensive. Although it benefitted Phil, he couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place in his own home.

He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing but an old homeless guy down the street and the distant sound of fireworks or, more likely, gunfire. The shop the car was parked in front of was boarded up with planks of wood, advertizing a new yoga studio opening up. Phil frowned at the incriminating sign while he carefully pulled the crowbar out from under the sleeve of his jacket.

He pried the car door open and slid into the driver’s seat, fiddling with the wires under the ignition. He turned back to the diner and caught Sierra’s eye. She waved goodbye as Phil pulled out into the street.

The Southside of Chicago was rarely quiet, always filled with motorcycle engines, dogs barking, or fights breaking out. After living here his entire life Phil had grown used to the noises. They were a sense of comfort for him now, however odd it was to find comfort in the sound of a gunshot a block away.

Phil parked the car outside of his house. He would drive it to the garage and sell it off after school then next day. He thought briefly about his AP Calculus test in a few hours, but decided that he would be fine without studying.

“I’m here!” Phil called, pushing open the door.

“You're late,” said his colleague Emma, carrying a tray loaded with slices of pie on the palm of her hand.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Phil weaved through the restaurant tables and into the back room, where his apron was waiting in his locker. “I had to take care of an errand.”

“An errand? Does that mean selling that Lexus from last night?” Sierra quipped, filling up a cup with iced tea.

“Yeah, got a pretty good deal for it too. Almost two grand over asking price.” Phil reached behind him and tied his apron into a neat bow.

“Well good for you,” Sierra replied. “But table four needs drinks.”

“Coming right up.” Phil dug into his apron pocket for a notebook and walked to the table.

By 11 pm, the dinner rush was dying down and Phil’s shift was almost over. He had one last table to cover, in the corner of the restaurant, a group of four kids around his age wearing skinny jeans and Timberland boots. One of them even had a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Phil rolled his eyes before arriving at their table.

“Hey guys, my name is Phil and I’ll be your server, can I start you off with some drinks?”

“Damn, you’re right Howell,” said the thick-rimmed glasses girl, drawing her magnified brown eyes across Phil’s features. “He is cute.”

Another kid punched the one sitting next to him, a guy with curly brown hair and delicate brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose highlighted by the blush on his cheeks. Phil grinned.

“Nice to see I have a reputation. But I’ve never seen you in here before Howell,” Phil commented.

“We have Calc together,” Howell told him, playing with the black stud in his ear.

“Oh shit do we?” Phil laughed wholeheartedly. “I don’t really pay attention in that class.”

“But you get A’s on every test!”

Phil shrugged. “Just lucky I guess. Anyway, drinks?”

Phil took the drink orders and took a final glance over his shoulder at Howell, almost colliding with Sierra in the process.

“Woah there. A bit distracted, Phil?” she teased.

“What? No.”

Sierra raised her eyebrows. “He’s cute. You should go for it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phil responded smugly, collecting cups for his table’s drink order.

“Right.”

Phil smirked at Sierra and glided back to the table, setting Howell’s ice tea down with a wink. “So have we decided on what we want?”

The table gave their orders and Phil wrote them down in his scraggly handwriting.

“By the way,” Howell said before Phil walked away. “My name’s Dan.”

“Nice to meet you Dan.” Phil grinned.

At the end of the night, Phil brought Dan a slice of cherry pie with his check. “On the house,” he said, setting the plate down gently. “Also, I’ll be out back when my shift’s over. I've got some primo shit, if you'd like to join me.”

Dan blinked. “Okay, yeah. Thanks for the pie.”

“No problem.”

Dan watched as Phil walked off again, and his friend Ian waited until he was out of earshot to lean across the table.

“You've got to be insane, Dan, there's no way you're going out to do drugs with that ghetto creep.”

“He's not a ghetto creep,” Dan replied indignantly, slipping his credit card and a twenty dollar bill next to the receipt. “He works here.”

“Yeah, and the only reason we're here is because we saw it on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives,” his other friend Jasmine pointed out. “When I drove over here I was worried I was going to get shanked or something.”

“Yeah, how do you know this kid won't stab and mug you if you go out there?” Michael pointed out.

Someone grabbed their check. It was Phil. “This is the Southside you hipster pieces of shit. Get used to it or get out.”

Phil stormed over to the cash register and swiped Dan’s card, delivering it back to him angrily.

“You jerks,” Dan grumbled, grabbing his card and pushing out of the booth.

He followed Phil out to a stoop in the back. The sharp smell of weed flooded his nose. Phil was almost indistinguishable in the dark, with his nightmare black hair and faded gray jeans.

“I’m sorry about my friends.” Dan sat down next to Phil as he took a drag from his joint.

“It's terrifying out here for fucking Northsiders. I get it.”

“They didn't have to be rude though.” Dan cleared his throat. “Can I have a hit?”

“Have you ever smoked before?”

“Jeez Phil might be from the Northside but I’m still a high school student.”

Dan grinned and Phil handed him the joint.

To no one’s surprise, Dan started going to the diner every night.

Phil always waited on him, serving up free pie and coffees. The other waitresses got to know him and his orders, the true sign of a loyal customer. They flirted with him too, it was hard to avoid. Dan was, by every definition of the word, attractive. And he was Phil’s.

The deal just hadn't been sealed yet.

The night before Phil’s midterms he asked Sierra to cover the last hour of his shift so he could study. As soon as she arrived she leaned in closer to him.

“Black Subaru, a couple blocks south. All alone, if you're interested.”

“Thanks. Can you get Dan his check?”

“Sure.”

Phil turned and waved goodbye to Dan and swung open the diner’s door, the tiny tinkling of the bell out of place in the violent sounds of the night. Phil ducked into the alley next to the laundromat across the street and grabbed the crowbar he stashed behind the dumpster, making his way towards the Subaru.

As soon as he started to pry the door open, the car alarm started wailing loudly. Phil cursed and jiggled the crowbar, finally getting the door open and his finger on the unlock button. He jumped into the driver’s seat, breathing deeply. No matter how many times he dealt with them, alarms always got his adrenaline pumping. He started the ignition and looked over his shoulder to make sure the road was clear for him to pull out.

It wasn't. Dan was standing right outside the window, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Why the fuck are you stealing my car?!”

“Shit. This is your car?”

Dan scoffed. “Yes it's my car! And you're stealing it!”

Phil opened the door and stepped out. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry?! You can't just say you're sorry you tried to steal something! And not just like, something you shoplifted but a fucking car!”

“Not all of us have parents that give us money Dan…”

“So you do this often?!” he yelled. “You can't just steal cars! You'll go to jail!”

“I won't…”

“Yes you will! You'll get caught! And you can't go to jail, Phil, you have to go to school! And do great things with your life!”

“I wouldn't go to jail, I’d go to juvie,” Phil cut in. “I’m only seventeen.”

“Well… maybe you have to,” Dan muttered.

“What?!”

“You need to go. So you won't steal shit ever again and you can learn your lesson.”

“HA!” Phil shouted. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Dan’s blood was boiling with fear. There was an indescribable hardness in Phil’s eyes. Hardness and pain that came from a lifetime of being misunderstood.

“I don't know what Northside town you crawled down here from, but here, in the Southside, things work a lot differently than I think you're used to. And just because there's a Starbucks and some Zen Buddha shit down the street and these rich fuckers are running my friends and family out of our home… doesn't mean you fit in here. Here, it's Southside rules. You watch your friend’s back. You don't snitch. Or you get yourself killed.”

Phil slammed the door of the car closed and stormed off.

Dan was waiting outside of the diner the next night after Phil’s shift.

“Come to lecture me again? Not in the mood.” Phil stormed down the street.

“Wait, Phil,” Dan called. Phil kept walking. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Almost calling the cops on me?”

“Yes!” Dan jogged to catch up to Phil, breathing heavily. “And for not understanding you.”

“I didn't expect a Northside pussy to understand me anyway.”

“But I want to.”

Phil stopped.

“Or I want to at least try,” Dan finished.

Phil turned towards Dan, inhaled deeply, and closed the gap between their lips.

Dan froze, eyes open, before slowly melting into Phil’s mouth. He tasted like smoke and coffee, his lips cold and soft. His hands were strong on Dan’s face and back, pushing him closer so Phil could kiss him harder, move his chin in just the right way so it felt like Phil was consuming Dan, taking everything from him. Dan never wanted it to stop, and when Phil pulled away, Dan was ready to beg for more.

“In that case I’ll give you another chance, Howell.”

#haha i'm back #it's been awhile since i've written phanfic and you can totally tell lmao #yikes #anyway i just finished season 7 of shameless #and loved it obviously so that's where this comes from #mickey and ian fucked me up tbh #phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #phan angst #phan #phandom #franfic

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thisdudewalksintoabar · 7 years

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Grouchy

What else is new, lol? Not sure what this was all about, though there is another “Miller Low-Life” joke wheeled out. Read further to find out!

https://www.fwweekly.com/2009/09/23/grouchy/

Here’s the thing: I applaud anyone who opens a business right now, especially if the business is in booze. Economists look at the construction industry as a means of gauging the health and well-being of the nation’s proverbial wallet, but I think they ought to look at bars. When people aren’t drowning their sorrows anymore, it means we’re out of hope. So I wish the best for anyone’s new business venture, particularly if it puts a frosty, delicious Miller Low-Life in my hand. As I’ve said before, we’re all in this together.

On the other hand, I’m kind of a grouch, and I still like what I like. Oh sure, I’ve gotten more charitable over the past year (though The Library remains beneath my contempt), but I’ve gotta be honest. When a bar doesn’t do it for me, I can be only polite. This is sort of what I felt when my buddy and I strolled into Oscar’s Pub.

We had five or six drinks, and my tab was under $20, so no complaints there. If you’re wondering what the crowd was like, I’d say that Oscar’s appeals to older “swingles” and dudebros partial to Affliction t-shirts and faux-hawks. I guess if you’re too mature or classy for The Library, this is where you go. Not exactly my native land, but I try to be a citizen of the world, at least where bars are concerned. Overall, everyone was nice, no one shot us the stinkeye (that I noticed), and the bartenders were efficient and pleasant without hassling or interrupting us. Oh, and also, there were lots of comfortable chairs.

But here’s what I didn’t like. For starters, the place was clean, new, and tastefully tiled. It reminded me a lot of that posh breed of bar found in places like the W Hotel in Dallas and the Omni downtown. Except with more TVs. If I were into football, I’d probably go to Oscar’s, since the gladiator sport glowed in HD from just about every available inch of space. And what’s that all about, anyway? Do you get a tax break for every flat screen you hang on the wall? I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, but I’ve noticed that it seems to be the hallmark of every new bar. A ton of televisions, in my humble opinion, saps whatever character your joint might build, but don’t listen to me. I know everyone’s margins are important, and if the all-sports-all-the-time-everywhere-you-look approach boosts your volume, then keep at it, I guess.

But then there was another thing at Oscar’s on boosted volume, and this I cannot understand. Why does every allegedly upscale bar blast that abrasive, annoying, shout-y rap? I lost interest in rap after Tupac went into hiding, and from what I observed on the patrons’ faces at Oscar’s, so had everyone else. In other words, for all of T. Pain‘s enthusiasm, he was nothing more than background noise. Annoying background noise. Like a barking dog. I posit that if music becomes Muzak, then play, I dunno, Thievery Corporation or something. Seems to work fine for those Dallas places.

Given the economy, I’ll give Oscar’s a pass for trying to please as many people as possible. And, of course, if Oscar’s is too much this or too much that for you, you can always go to its reliable older sister, The Mule, owned by the same guy. As long as you’re putting money in local watering holes’ cash registers and tip jars and also (hopefully) in cabdriver’s wallets, I don’t care where you go. Just remember that the best sorrows are the ones sunk at the bottom of a glass. – Steve Steward

#stevestewardfreelance

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