#snaf

Phil and time have always had a strange relationship.

Often, he senses it slipping away from him in heaps, like the moment it hit him that he was twenty-two years old and still living with his parents. Hadn’t he just pulled into the University of York yesterday, pulling his mum in for a final trembling hug once his room was set up? You should be doing something with your life by now, his brain keeps reminding him. You’re never going to get any job offers if you keep fucking around on Twitter and Dailybooth.

Funny thing is, Phil’s brain and his heart never quite saw eye to eye. Especially when that fucking-about led him where he is today: red and white poinsettia blanket pulled up to his chin and black jeans pressed against a pair of grey sweatpants as the gentle cadence of Dan’s voice sends Phil drifting through his chocolate seas. It’s one of those moments where he can’t fully internalise Dan’s rambles because he’s so damn beautiful and it really does knock Phil senseless sometimes.

A jumble of words hovers above the tiny space between them, nearly fluttering off before Phil grabs hold for just a second.

You’re the best person in the world.

They push and tug at the corners of his mouth, dying to fall out, but...not now. Phil can’t bear to cut into the soft scratches that slip into Dan’s low voice when he’s been talking for a while.

So he locks it away for another day when the time is just right. Dan deserves a long moment to savour the strongest emotion Phil’s ever felt.

Is that man enough for you, Dad?

--

It hits him again a couple nights later in a wave of stickiness and euphoria.

Perhaps it’s just the hormones but deep down, Phil knows none of his experiments left him in this state. Something always felt empty, like each of the guys (and the odd girl or two) had chipped a piece of his heart as they slipped from the sheets.

Now, though, he’s filled with Dan, Dan, Dan in a way those desperate Skype sessions could never touch. It doesn’t matter what Phil does with his life anymore. If he can always make Dan feel this gorgeous and sexy and loved, then he’s accomplished all he needs in life.

Creaking open the rusty gates of his heart and letting these feelings flow in is the best decision Phil’s ever made. He’ll take soft over “strong, stoic man” any day.

--

The culmination of all this arrives with their Starbucks drinks at the end of that perfect week.

It isn’t anything Dan does or says that clunks the final piece into Phil’s languid brain, rather it’s the sight of him curled into their green and blue sofa, fringe still stubbornly straight and an inch away from flopping over his eyes even after he chased Phil and his straightener around the house. How Dan can look even more beautiful and still brand new after a whole week together is a miracle to Phil.

His miracle. (Gross, Phil.)

But it’s true.

Dan smooths out his every crinkle, wipes away every jangled nerve that pops up when he glances at the clock a few too many times. Sure, Dan’s train may be leaving in an hour, the memory of clanging bells filling his heart with lead, but until then…

Until then, Phil’s got one more hour in Dan’s presence. Really, could he ask for anything better?

Especially now that the foggy image from the beginning of this week has sharpened before his eyes as if he’d just wiped his glasses clean.

Phil would do anything for Dan. In that moment and forevermore.

It’s a terrifying, stomach-punching thought. But it’s exhilarating too. And that’s what Phil chooses to focus on as he tugs at a loose sofa thread just beside Dan’s leg and starts up a story about the time he beat Crash Bandicoot 3 in two days.

If this is love, Phil’s perfectly content to dissolve his every particle in it. Dan may not be the girl his parents always dreamed of for Phil (and that Phil imagined for himself before he knew better), but he doesn’t need to be.

He’s just Dan. And best of all, he’s Phil’s.

--

So is it really a surprise he finds that same boy at his apartment door nine months later?

“Dan. Holy--Dan. Have you dropped out, are--are you moving in, just...what?” Phil splutters, cursing himself for entertaining the possibility.

Dan just pushes past him and flops onto the black leather couch, holey socks and discount boxers spilling everywhere. “You don’t wanna know the day I’ve had. You’re not using your washing machine right now, are you?”

The wisp of a sniffle punctuates his question, cracking something open deep in Phil’s heart and guiding his hands to Dan’s pallid face, lips chasing after puffy chapped ones and fluttering there for a second before pulling away with a soft, “No, ‘course not. What’s mine is yours, always. Keep some things here, I can tell we’re gonna need them. I’ll clear out a drawer for you, yeah?”

It’s probably just Dan’s lingering illness, but regardless of its origin, the smile that drips onto Dan’s face is enough to chase Phil’s worries away. It really is crazy how Dan’s presence can continue to draw this out a year later. If anything, it’s stronger than ever. “Fuck. I have the best boyfriend. Have I ever told you that?” Dan says.

“Keep saying that and maybe you’ll get some--if you ever get better, anyway.” Phil smacks Dan’s thigh, as close to his ass as he can get, and scoops up his bulging suitcase with a grunt. Dan sure does wear a lot of clothes in a week.

The next few months pass in a flurry of papers and creased brows and far too many weekends spent catching Dan up on Buffy instead of his revision. As the nights drew earlier and earlier upon then and the intoxicatingly festive blend of mulled wine and mince pie bubbled in his stomach, one thought pushed against the corners of Phil’s brain until he was forced to pull it forward and examine it.

“Hey, Dan?” he asks one night, tearing his eyes away from the twinkling blue tree lights after a few moments to fix a searching gaze at the squishy form curled against him.

“Hmmmm?” Dan barely opens his mouth in reply, but his eyelashes flutter open with a glimmer of peace and contentment. Phil can’t bring himself to break the silence, so he allows it to linger a bit, stretches it out like the ribbons atop the lumpy packages across the room.

Fingers tangle through fluffy fringe for much longer than Phil intended, but is it his fault he can’t stop? Dan complains every day about the length, but in times like this, it’s Phil’s favourite thing. “Have I ever mentioned how happy I am that you met my family so quickly last year?”

The happy clouds disappear from Dan’s eyes, replaced with a question and a hint of fondness reflected in a dimpled smile that somehow only makes him appear more youthful.

“I’m serious!” Phil insists. “You helped me show my dad a man doesn’t have to be all tools and muscle and stoic all the time. And you helped them both see that their little boy doesn’t need a pretty girl to bring home. All he needs is you.”

Phil knows he’s about to earn a mighty eye roll at those words. Something in the back of his slippery, warm mind tells him it doesn’t matter, though.

Dan just shakes his head. It tickles Phil’s neck.

“You really are something else.” His eyes travel over Phil’s face, and Phil knows he’s gauging his temperatures, searching for a hint of the boy who gazed at green walls long into the night, trying everything in his power to shove this part of him far, far away because it wasn’t right and it wasn’t him, it wasn’t how a Lester should be.

But it is right. It has been since that October afternoon last year when he first wrapped his arms around Dan and felt the delicious melting of those spaghetti limbs. It took everything in Phil to keep himself from picking Dan up and spinning him around and around the train station. He knows it’s right every time he gets to see that round babyface or hear those low chuckles on the phone.

And Lesters can be anything they want to be. That’s what Phil learned when he first whispered Dan’s true identity in a broken whisper to his mum. Kath had cried, dropping an anvil in Phil’s stomach, but her soft “Oh, Phil. You know I could tell from that very first moment. Of course I’ll love you no matter what,” taught him that even the most traditional of people could accept you with open arms.

“You know we’ll never make your parents’ mistakes,” Dan finally says. “The world’s changing every day. It’s our mission to catch people up with the times, make it easier for people like us to accept ourselves. It’s what we all deserve, isn’t it?”

--

And so it was Dan and Phil against the world (or Manchester, mostly) for a while.

Until one night it’s Dan and Phil against each other.

Maybe Dan shouldn’t have said anything. 2:30 AM is never the best time to bring something up. But how else is he to shove off the elephant that’s been curled up on his chest all week?

“Hey, Phil?” Dan knows it’s ridiculous and he’s free to scooch over any time, but something about those extra few inches of couch space tugs and his stomach and keeps his knees pulled tight to his chest.

The half asleep “Hmmmm?” should be telling Dan to give it a rest, yet it has the opposite effect. Dan wants Phil to be as wide awake as he is, needs someone to ease away the pain tearing at his heart.

Dan’s hand flies to his wrist only to remember he’s wearing short sleeves. Oh. Right. His fourth finger finds his thumb and rubs back and forth until a tiny callus opens up.

“Do you ever feel like...we’re just playing at being adults? I mean, your dad helped with the down payment of this place and your last one. And he and your mum have both said they’d step in if we ever needed it.” His finger scratching grows deeper. “Neither of us have real jobs, we’re just waiting around for the next opportunity. What if I just threw out my one chance for a semi-successful life where I can actually support us? When is my real life gonna start, you know?”

His words sure have done the trick. Perhaps a little too good, as Phil whips around with a dull flash to his eyes. “You’re saying this,” Phil’s fingers wiggle in the general direction of the rest of the lounge, “isn’t good enough for you?”

Dan traces his eyes over the open space, each piece of cheap modern furniture and pointless trinket a reminder of projects started with a glimmer and a hope, only to fall through more often than not. Even the camera and microphones and scribbled-on notebooks in the corner appear to mock him.

Then he turns back to Phil, and Dan’s insides crumble to even finer pieces, if that’s possible. His face is as soft as ever, calling to Dan to reach out and touch it, but his wounded deer look only drives his fingernail further into the pad of his thumb.

Shit. Dan’s waited too long to respond again. The flick of Phil’s eyes to the floor and the set of his jaw tell Dan better than words ever could.

“I--of course, it’s enough, I’ve g--” Dan’s about to say “I’ve got you here,” but Phil slices in before he has a chance, leaving the words to sizzle atop Dan’s tongue.

“And anyway, I thought you loved my parents! Aren’t you always saying they’re a thousand times more competent than yours ever were?”

“Well, yeah. I just don’t want to be treated like a charity case, Phil. My parents may have been shit, but at least they raised me not to beg.” Dark, fuzzy static crackles around Dan’s mind, whether from the late hour or the emptiness that’s been creeping along the edges all day, he’s not sure. He’s not too sure of the words tripping from his lips either.

Judging by the way Phil’s lips purse like the final push on a padlock, they can’t be too good.

“I’ve been working my ass off here, and I thought you were, too, Dan. You know I’ve only ever asked them twice, after we ran through all our other options. I know it’s not easy for you, and I’ll never fault you for that, but you do know that part of being an adult is learning to fit your life with someone else’s. I don’t know what’s been happening recently, but it feels like Super Amazing Project is the only thing connecting our lives sometimes. What’s going on, Dan?”

Dan’s so used to hearing a ripple of concern in those words, so used to the gentle rub of his shoulder that the flat tone pushes the bubbling in his stomach up to his lungs, draws his arms tighter around himself as blackness encroaches at the edges of his vision. In movements that don’t feel his own, he bolts off the couch and reaches the balcony doors in two strides. It takes his shaking fingers far longer than he’d like to undo the lock but soon enough, he’s screwing his eyes shut against a biting spring night. Freezing metal bars cut into his palms, reeling his brain back to his crushing reality.

He knew this would happen. It’s a miracle they even survived two and a half years, honestly. Everything he touches crumbles beneath him.Everything. Why the hell would Phil be any different?

Manchester traffic beeps and whooshes below him, deafened by the roar of a thousand voices in his head. Still-trembling hands pull his knees to his chest as the corner of the balcony pushes into his back. He doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve a single Shreddie in their kitchen. Phil will be coming any second now to make him pack his things and leave.

That’s what Dan deserves. Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to start this conversation anyway?

Breathing comes faster, each gasp convincing Dan his organs are disintegrating one by one, because why the hell else would everything hurt this much?

His brain’s got him in such a chokehold that he doesn’t even hear the glass door sliding open, nor does he see the figure crouch just beside him until it speaks. The words almost flutter away with the wind, but they’re there.

“Dan. Dan. Dan, I need you to look at me.”

It takes a herculean effort but finally Dan blinks his eyes open to meet wide blue ones. The green is especially prominent tonight, snapping with something fierce yet soft.

A stuttering breath breaks from Phil’s lips. “You remember what I told you that November night, back before we even lived in the same city, when the loneliness was getting far too much for you?”

Dan can only blink. His mind is one big question, pushing and pounding over and over: Why aren’t you asking me to leave? Hell, why are you still here to begin with?

Phil pushes on. “I said I’d never leave you alone. And I meant it, Dan.” The force and sincerity of his words pierce a tiny hole in Dan’s head, flapping around and attempting to force themselves to sink into his brain. His eyes bore deep into Dan’s, a plea starting in the yellow corners and spreading across his entire face.

Dan still says nothing, but the tiniest golden thread pulls at his heart.

“At the end of that week we spent together at my house...I told myself I’d do absolutely anything for you. And that’s never going to change. I still see that boy I scratched and bit at all those months ago, who stayed through my weirdness that day and all the ones after, every time your eyes go all wide like that.”

There’s a wiggling in Phil’s fingers for the briefest second, but he snaps them back against his wrists so fast Dan’s sure it’s his imagination.

“I love you, Dan. I love your rants about music and films and nothing at all, and I love the way your dimples show when I do something stupid, and I love your hyena laugh and how you get all blushy whenever I compliment you--which you absolutely deserve, by the way. But most of all, I love sharing my life with you, no matter how hard that gets sometimes.”

It takes a moment to settle in--so he’s really not leaving, then--but once it does, Dan’s muscles all melt, sending his butt crashing against the hard concrete. “So you’re...you’re not upset about what I said, then?”

It takes a long moment for Phil to answer. Dan’s eyes don’t leave his face the entire time. “You brought up a valid point,” Phil sighs, “and I’ll admit, there have been some things I’ve felt too scared to do because yeah, it is adulting and figuring our life out and it’s terrifying. But tomorrow I’m going to look into opportunities with the BBC, since they really seemed to enjoy our Christmas show. I’m not about to let that be a one-time thing if I can help it.”

Dan shakes his head, but there’s a smile cracking at the edges of his lips. “Phil Lester. God...you really are the best thing in my life, you know that?”

Phil grins, reaching out a hand to pull Dan up with him. The wiggle of his fingers against Dan’s is nice. Warm, too. He’s missed this.

“I can say the same for you, big guy,” Phil mumbles into Dan’s shoulder, spreading a trickle of warmth that the early spring wind can’t touch.

As they stumble into bed, it hits Dan with a start. He forgot a Rule. “Weekdays bed before 2 AM.”

3:12 blinks back from his phone, but it doesn’t taunt him this time.

They needed that extra hour. And if anything, it’s worth it because he’s going to bed with Phil for the first time in weeks.

Things may not be perfect. But for Dan and Phil, they don’t have to be. They just have to be Dan and Phil. And that’s enough.

--

Years pass in a jumble of lights and lit-up faces and far, far too many boxes and more screen time than should be healthy for any human. There’s longing and wholeness and a tickle of anticipation that rarely leaves Phil’s chest.

Somewhere in the stretch of quiet between completed deadlines and announcement dropping, Phil’s jerked away from yet another panda video by a jingle of tags and the most pathetic of whines.

Phil’s heart stutters. Dan knows what time it is, doesn’t he? He should know it’s time for Loki’s dinner. There hasn’t been a peep from their room in hours, come to think of it.

Dan’s bad days have dropped considerably since this little fluffball entered their life. It doesn’t mean they’ve been eradicated entirely, though.

Phil sighs and shifts his laptop to the other grey cushion, but it’s impossible to keep himself from smiling as he pushes a hand between those perky corgi ears and down the blankety puppy fur.

Loki scampers into the kitchen, only just stopping himself from sliding across the smooth wood and crashing into his bowls like he had those first few weeks. It sends a shot of joy through Phil’s heart to find the dog standing proud instead of splayed out on the floor. Even Loki himself has a glimmer to his eyes that seems to say, Look Dad, I did it!! Do I get extra treats now?

Phil pours out an overflowing blue measuring cup and watches Loki chow down for a few seconds before turning for the stairs. Really, you’d think that dog had never seen food in his life.

A litany of condescension follows Phil upstairs. He’s probably just caught up in something. You know those years are long behind you. Didn’t he just say he had another breakthrough with his therapist yesterday?

His eyelids still burn with the memory of a ghost-faced 21-year-old Dan, though. No matter how much he shoves it away.

And maybe that’s why he dissolves in giggles upon finding a grin to rival the serenity of the Mediterranean beaches they’re keen to revisit soon. There’s something else in his eyes, something bursting, that wipes the “Just wanted to check on you” from Phil’s lips, replacing it with a soft, needling, “Daaannn? What is it?”

Dan twists his laptop around, catching his twitching bottom lip with his teeth. Phil scans the email, then reads the whole thing over. Slowly, then faster. The words still hang somewhere between Phil’s fantasies and his full understanding.

“Dan? Is this...for real? Are we…?” Phil can’t bring his voice above a whisper, lest he tear the seams of this reverie.

“Yes, Phil.” Dan reaches his arms out and pulls Phil close against the grey bed sheets. “We’re going to be parents. The best parents.”

As Dan’s lips find their favourite parts of Phil’s face, a tingling warmth begins its dance in Phil’s stomach and travels throughout his body. A memory flits before him as he closes his eyes, just begging Phil to reach out and grab it.

It’s a moment just like this from late 2009. He’s tucked up in bed, eyes still wide open an hour after ending another marathon Skype call. His mind’s landed once again on his dreams of his future with Dan. Dogs, dogs, dogs, a big house, enough marshmallows to feed an army and...maybe a kid or two in the late, late future?

He squirms with happy tingles, but icy tendrils still creep at the edges of these fantasies, as the night so often does to him.

What if it doesn’t work out somewhere? What if...what if they can’t live together, what if breaking that distance once and for all only causes all sorts of problems? Are they strong enough for that?

As he opens his eyes to Dan’s glowing face and pushes a single curl aside, an explosion sets off in his chest and he catches Dan’s lips in his before sending a single message up to 22-year-old Phil.

We’re gonna make it now.

Hell, they did make it. And they’ll continue to make it through tears and tours and dogs and kids and who knows what else.

Sure is nice to have those childhood fantasies realised, isn’t it?