Chapter Text
2022
Dan loves being on tour. There’s no time for anything extra. There’s barely time for sleep.
Which is why he assumes he’s slept through the whole night when his phone rings.
“Phil?” he says, groggily. “S’morning?”
“Uh, hello, good morning, we’re here to work on the ceiling.”
Dan pulls the phone back enough to see the caller ID is not in fact Phil Lester. Dan rubs his eyes. “Oh. Right. Sorry. He forgot to change–I’ll text him. Sorry.”
Dan looks at the time. 2:33 am. That absolute shit.
Phil how many times have i told you to give people my number!!! Answer your phone it’s 2:30am here idiot
Seen 2:34 am
Dan rolls his eyes. He supposes Phil is getting up and talking to the builders. Fine. He’s a nightmare before coffee at the best of times. Some minutes go by scrolling Reddit before Dan looks at the messages again.
your number*
Seen 2:45am
“Seriously?” Dan says. At least he’s in a hotel tonight and not waking up the bus.
Are you ignoring me you shit, Dan texts.
Dan waits but doesn’t get the read receipt. Why should Phil be mad? He’s not the one who got woken up in the middle of the night.
Dan doesn’t remember anything else until he wakes up to his actual alarm some six hours later. He looks at his phone again.
Are you ignoring me you shit
Seen 3:15am
“Passive aggressive bitch,” he’s muttering even as he’s calling.
“Bi-otch,” Phil answers the phone amicably.
“You!” Dan says. “You didn’t answer me.”
“What?”
“Don’t try it, Philip. Leaving me on read like a fuckboy.”
“I was busy with the builders, Daniel,” Phil says in a somewhat jokey voice. He sounds tired. Distracted, maybe.
“Whatever, you’re mad. Why are you mad? You woke me up. Again.”
There’s a pause. Dan is resolute in his silence. He learned years ago to wait Phil out. Sometimes staying quiet is the only way to get him to talk about his feelings. It was probably the hardest thing Dan has ever learned to do.
“You’re the one who didn’t say goodnight,” Phil says eventually.
Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s not irritated. He’s proud Phil told him. “So that’s it,” Dan says. “Didn’t get goodnight kisses and now he’s pouting.”
“Shut up,” Phil says. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
“Okay. Here. Good night, shnookems.” Dan makes kissy noises into the phone. “I wuv you honey boo boo darling.”
“I guess this is a bad time to tell you I’m leaving you for Kyle,” Phil says.
“Who the fuck is Kyle?” Dan says.
“The builder who called you, you horrible menace. Tell me about Cincinnati.”
Dan did. The tour was going so well. Every night was a blur and yet each show was new, exhilarating, terrifying. Even in Ohio. He always has an endless trove of anecdotes to tell Phil. Something cute a fan did. Something weird a fan did. A venue being impossible. Endless tour bus travails.
“And what are you up to, my love?” The ultra-ridiculous pet names have been a running bit, on tour.
“Suppose I’ll keep an eye on Kyle for today,” Phil says, a half-assed joke.
“Staying in again?” Dan says with what he hopes is a neutral tone.
“Don’t start,” Phil says, exasperated.
“And you’re not stress-Googling into the wee hours?” Dan says anyway. He never could keep a neutral tone.
“I’ve been fine,” Phil says. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And the head?” Dan reckons if he didn’t insist on talking about this kind of thing, Phil never would.
“Shit,” Phil grumbles.
“That bad?” Dan says gently.
“Are you happy?” Phil says in a weird tone.
Dan makes a face–Phil won’t see him anyway–but answers. “Like, with the tour?” Dan says. “Yeah, it’s going really well. Are you going to answer me or–?”
“No,” Phil says, frustrated, voice quiet and deep. “Like are you happier now?”
“Now that I’m out?” Dan says slowly. “Of course, it’s so–”
“Dan,” Phil says. There’s something flat and business-like in his tone that Dan is completely befuddled by. “Are you happier without me?”
“What?” Dan pulls the phone away from his ear to look at it, like he might see Phil through the screen.
“You don’t owe me anything, you know,” Phil says.
“What the fuck are you on about, Phil?”
Phil is quiet, and Dan says, “Turn your camera on, rat.”
But instead Phil says, “You told me once you’d leave me if it was better for me.” His voice has completely lost the facade of calm.
He sounds outright upset and Dan feels a responding pang in his chest. Sharp. Autonomic.
“Phil,” Dan says, as he turns his own camera on. “Turn your camera on.”
“I don’t want to,” Phil says, whiny.
“I don’t care,” Dan says. “I want to see you.”
Phil does. His glasses perch precariously on his nose and his hair is messy. He’s in bed and his face is puffy like it gets from bad sleep. His eyes are perfect, except for the fact that they are sad and red and shining.
“Philly,” Dan says, “what’s wrong?”
Phil blinks. “You look–” He snaps his mouth shut.
Phil shakes his head and his glasses fall even further forward and Dan wants to reach through the screen to fix them.
“I can’t do it,” Phil says. “If you’re happier, then–I just can’t.”
“Do what, you knob?”
“Leave,” Phil says, and he is attempting the cool and collected tone again. “If you are. Happier.” He swallows. Dan watches the movement of his neck, delicate and fragile. “Without me.”
“Are you–fucking–” Dan splutters, still trying to make it a joke, “telling me to start divorce proceedings?”
Phil bobs his head up and down, tears falling down his face. He shoves a hand under his glasses to wipe at his eyes. And then he shakes his head no. “No, I’m telling you I won’t. But I also–” Phil’s voice is strangled. “Want you to be happy.”
“Phil.” Dan, who has never been able to bear Phil crying, decides he is not going to humor another moment of this. “Philly. Philip. We talked about this, sweetheart,” Dan makes his voice as gentle as he knows. “It’s not about that, yeah? I’ll be back for Christmas. I swear. I promise.” Dan blows out air. “I shouldn’t have said all that to you, okay? I didn’t mean it. I was… restless. And depressed.”
“I know,” Phil says flatly.
“I’m sorry,” Dan says, and has to stop himself from going on a guilt-spiral rant. It’s not about his stupid depressed monologues he unfortunately sometimes speaks aloud to Phil. “I was already missing you before I left,” Dan says. “I–Phil, ” He’s abruptly at a loss for words. It’s a rare feeling. And rarer still, that Dan is the one who needs to do the reassuring. “I miss you so much. It’s only–” He thinks about the long, tired days, and no one to go home to. The applause every night from thousands of people who are, all of them, strangers. “It’s only any good because I know I’m coming home to you.”
Phil pushes his glasses up on his head to hide his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m annoying. We already talked about it. I want you to do this. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Oh, dear,” Dan says drily, “however could you expect your partner to deal with a meltdown? Phil,” he says seriously. “Don’t worry about that. What’s going on?”
Phil shrugs and his T-shirt collar falls halfway to his shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“Phil,” Dan prods.
Phil takes a breath, puts his glasses back on. “I feel so ill,” Phil says miserably. “And useless. And you’re being funny and charming and beautiful every night, and I want you to, but I miss you. Usually you’re here when everything gets hard. And yesterday was awful,” Phil complains. “I was there for three hours because the whole place is too incompetent to keep on a schedule. I could have filmed that entire next video.”
Dan sits up in bed. His heart is racing. He had forgotten Phil had the appointment yesterday. It would be so like Phil not to tell him right away if there was bad news. To let it come out in irritation and upset and talk around it–
“The appointment,” Dan says. “Phil. What did they say?”
“Pft,” Phil says, and sniffles. “That they were running late since the morning. A piss-poor exc–”
“Phil,” Dan says. “For fuck’s sake. What did they say?”
Phil is quiet and Dan thinks it’s true that you see your life flash before your eyes. He sees Phil with his beautiful emo fringe and Phil on Skype calls and Phil’s skin shining in the morning light, before they have to join the rest of the world, impossibly his. He had always thought Phil was too good to be true, an ethereal being in his life, transient as all mythical creatures. Like he would be snatched away–
“Nothing,” Phil says. “They still have no idea what any of it is.”
“Jesus christ.” Dan’s heart is going like crazy. “The scans?”
“Normal,” Phil says. “I’m sorry. It’s been a bad week. Too dizzy to do anything. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine.”
“You just said you’re not fine. Why didn’t you tell me?” Dan says, his voice irritated, revved up from the adrenaline.
“I tried to,” Phil says primly. “You fell asleep.”
“Right.” Dan closes his eyes, forces himself to take three breaths. “I wish I was there with you.”
Phil hugs a single pajama-clad knee to his chest. “I do, too.”
“Did you tell them how bad it’s been?”
“Yeah,” Phil says. “They gave me something new.”
“But it’s not working?” Dan presses.
Phil takes his glasses off and presses his forehead into his knee. He shakes his head. “Feels like it’s splitting in two,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, Dan. I’m just–feeling bad.”
“I’ll cancel Detroit,” Dan says, abruptly determined. “I can be home by tomorrow. We’ll go to A&E. Make them do the other scans. Like you said, that doctor’s incompetent. And you never tell them how bad it is.”
“Dan, stop,” Phil says. “You’re not doing any of that. I’m being silly.”
“I will,” Dan says. “People cancel tour dates all the time. There are things they haven’t ruled out. And they said if something changes it can be a serious–”
Phil is shaking his head again. “I haven’t even tried the new medicine yet.”
“Phil.”
Phil pouts, blinks at him again. “Be nice to me. If you want to do something for me.”
“Be nice to you?” Dan repeats. “How am I not being nice to you? I’m trying to take care of you, you impossible twat!”
Phil looks at him. Blinks.
Right. Of course. For God’s sake. “Phil,” he says slowly. “Darling. Love of my life. Sunshine. I love you and I miss you.”
Phil smiles just a little. “You do?”
“Yes,” Dan says, and is almost surprised at himself with how little sarcasm there is left in his voice. “I do. Do you have any idea how annoying I am with everyone? All I do is talk about you. I hear myself doing it sometimes, and I can’t stop.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Dan says. “Do you know I look over when I’m on stage sometimes? Like you’ll appear.”
Phil has his glasses back on, and his eyes seem bigger through the lenses. Dan hates that he can barely make out their color in the low light.
“This reminds me of the early days,” Dan says. “On Skype. Thought I’d die if I didn’t see you.”
“It’s not like that anymore?” Phil asks.
“Earlier, when you asked me if I was happier without you,” Dan says, “you sounded so upset. I could feel it in my chest, too. And then you mentioned the appointment. I thought maybe they’d given you bad news and you didn’t want to tell me. I could feel it like it was real. It’s worse now if anything. Phil. I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”
“You have tried,” Phil says.
“Yeah,” Dan says without thinking, “and it would have killed me.”
Phil frowns and Dan knows it means, You’re not allowed to get dark when you’re meant to be cheering me up. He tries again. “I’m happiest with you.”
Phil looks so vulnerable with his eyes still red and wet and his mouth pressed into a thin line that means he isn’t going to let himself say whatever it is he’s thinking. And Dan knows he’s the cause of it. Because he still didn’t quite say what it is Phil wants to hear. Both of them know that Dan does not always choose what makes him happiest.
Dan almost keeps talking until Phil stops looking like that. Dan’s never given him all the usual promises. Like always, like forever. How can he? He still can’t give him the bare minimum of being publicly together. The thought is still terrifying and impossible.
“I love you more than anything,” Dan says, because it is true, the truest thing he knows about himself. “More than everything. I always have. I’d choose you over any of it.” It’s also true, but it’s an empty statement. Phil would never make him choose.
“I love you,” Phil says, and scrubs at his eyes again. He snorts. “You know what that sounded like?”
“What?”
“I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel–”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dan says. “Now can you please go get your new medication so I can decide if I need to book a flight? Before my heart gives out?”
“Worried about me?” Phil says, perking up even more.
“Of course I’m worried about you, you fucking idiot,” Dan says and Phil giggles softly. “I’m always worried about you. I’ll be turning over in my grave worrying about you.”
“You’ll still be keeping me up at night beyond the pale,” Phil says.
“Phil,” Dan prompts again.
“All right, all right.” Phil drops the phone on the bed.
“Take me with you,” Dan demands. “I want to know if you pass out trying to get it.”
Dan watches Phil’s face as it jolts around at the terrible angle. He’s close enough to see a small cut on his chin. “You cut yourself shaving, dumbass,” he says. He feels even more proprietary at the intimate, domestic sight of it.
“I went to some barber,” Phil says. “Gave me a discount for the nick.”
“‘Course he did,” Dan says sourly. He imagines some man with his hands all over Phil’s face. “Did he nurse your wounds, too?”
“Yeah,” Phil says happily. “Said I should follow him to his bedroom so he could do it right.”
“Do what right?!” Dan yelps, and then, “You’re a fucking cunt, Phil Lester,” because the fucking cunt in question is giggling.
Phil settles on the cream couch in the lounge and takes his pill. “Dan,” he says.
“Hm?”
“You don’t need to dramatically fly back home to save me but, are you very busy today?”
Dan knows without looking that his schedule is full. No show tonight, but he’s supposed to meet with at least four different venue people online, and he promised a touch-base with the director. He’s pretty sure he agreed to a dinner with the crew tonight, and he probably has other stuff that he forgot about. He also knows Phil knows all that.
“Not at all,” Dan says. “Scheduled free day.”
“You could keep me company,” Phil says. “For a while?”
“Yeah,” Dan says, and settles back into the fluffy hotel bed. “That’d be nice.”
“I had this dream you said you’d be on tour until 2026,” Phil says, “And I asked you why and you said you had to or we’d lose the house.”
Dan laughs a little. “Were you mad at me from your dream?”
“I don’t know,” Phil grouses, “are you ever coming back?”
“Yes,” Dan says, smiling. “Soon.”
“Five weeks.”
“Four and a half.”
“Four and four days,” Phil corrects, incorrectly.
“That’s a half!” Dan yelps.
“I’m too pretty for numbers,” Phil says.
“Would you wait for me, then, until 2026?” Dan says airily.
“No,” Phil says. “I haven’t been waiting for you so far. I’ve had my hands full with Kyle.”
“Okay, is there really one of them called Kyle? I don’t remember a Kyle.”
“I’d tell you to come back to me of course.”
“Huh?” Dan says.
“If you had to stay away or we’d lose the house.”
“Oh.” Dan feels a grin stretch across his face. “You do miss me.”
“I shouldn’t have let you go this long. It’s bad for my health.”
“Shut up,” Dan says. “Don’t say that like it’s a real thing. You’ll give me a complex. You’ll give you a complex.”
“I told you. Next time I’m coming with you.”
“Yeah,” Dan says, agreeing now. “We weren’t built for this. Pathetic.” He breathes. He watches Phil. “Listen. Phil. It’ll get better.”
“Maybe it won’t,” Phil says. “Maybe I’ll have to get used to it.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Dan insists.
“You’re the depressing realist,” Phil says.
“Poser emo,” Dan disagrees.
They chat for an hour or so. Dan orders room service. The sun is setting in their living room back home, and Phil’s hair glows red in the dimming light. Eventually Phil starts nodding off.
“You’re feeling better?” Dan says. “New med working?”
“Yeah,” Phil says. “Better. Sleepy.”
Thank God. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep,” Dan whispers. “Lie down.”
Phil does so, propping his head on the cushion and the phone next to him. “Thank you.”
Dan hopes the phone will stay up after he falls asleep. When’s the last time he saw Phil sleeping? Too long. “You don’t need to thank me, baby.”
Phil yawns. “No,” he says, and smiles, “I do.”
+1 2024
Phil feels great. Really! He feels so much better these days, after the medication changes and therapy, ass bleeding incident or no. The ass is completely fine now, actually, and rehearsing for tour has been great for his anxiety. Gets his mind off things like Lyme disease or immune-mediated blood transfusion reactions. That they assured him wouldn’t happen. And his rib isn’t broken. Ribs don’t break from light roughhousing, that’s ridiculous.
“I don’t want to go,” Phil whines for the fifth time to Dan. They’re in an Uber to A&E. They’re heading to the same A&E as Ass Bleeding Day, in fact, which is also fine! Except that Phil doesn’t need to go.
“Phil,” Dan says in Fake-Zen Take-Charge Dan Voice, “We’re already going. You said you’d go.”
“We could go to that patisserie instead,” Phil says.
Dan blinks once.
Phil sighs, which makes his rib hurt, which makes him wince. He tries to stop the wince but he can tell Dan sees it because his face goes worried first and smug second.
Phil sits up straighter to stop it hurting and gives Dan a stink face. “Fine. We’ll spend the next twelve hours in the waiting room.”
Dan doesn’t say anything, not even, You’re so annoying, or Shut the fuck up, cunt, which is too bad because it means he doesn’t want a scene in front of the Uber driver. In back of the Uber driver. Phil tries to think of a joke. Backshots in an Uber. That would get Dan’s attention. Maybe he shouldn’t say that behind said Uber driver. Is he panicking?
Dan’s still not looking at him. At least the Uber driver is talking to someone on the phone in a language Phil doesn’t recognize. This guy doesn’t know Dan and Phil. Wouldn’t care if they argued or used pet names or kissed. Phil doesn’t really want to do any of those things behind the Uber driver, but it hits him as odd, once again, that Dan and Phil pay attention to strangers more regularly than strangers notice them back.
Dan’s looking out the car window like he’s never seen London before. Phil prods him with his shoe. Dan concedes and looks over and he’s only genuine when he asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Phil says softly, and doesn’t say, behind the Uber driver: “It’s not your fault,” and “I’m a clumsy idiot,” and “I wanted to keep practicing until we got it right,” and “You would never hurt me.”
“We’ll leave that for the professionals to decide,” Dan says. And then, “Better thumbnail this time. ‘How Dan nearly killed Phil.’”
“Dan,” Phil says.
“What?” Dan says. “You have a better one?”
“I’m fine,” Phil says again.
“That’s what you said ten minutes before you passed out from blood loss,” Dan says.
“I didn’t know,” Phil says. “I would’ve told you if I knew.”
“Okay,” Dan says, in his Yes, dear, voice which means he doesn’t mean it, but still doesn’t want to squabble in the back of an Uber.
Dan forces the Uber driver to take them as close to the A&E entrance as possible, this time. He rushes around the car to open the door for Phil.
“God forbid I let you faint without catching you this time,” Dan says.
“Aw, I should crack a rib more often.”
“You are the worst kind of person,” Dan says, and doesn’t let go of his arm until they’re in line at the triage.
“Glitch in the Matrix,” Phil says in Dan’s ear, because it might be the center of London but even at the A&E people are very British. Someone’s arm is bent in a way that Phil can’t look at for long and she’s not even crying. The deja vu is strong. Does Phil feel like he’s going to pass out? He’s fairly sure not. He steps closer to Dan and wishes he’d take hold of him again.
“Like we were just here,” Dan says drily.
The line doesn’t take long. When they get to the nurse, Phil says, “Hello,” and stops. What’s he supposed to say? He’s hurt? Is this where he passed out last time?
Dan doesn’t wait long to cover for him. “He hurt his rib. We think it might be broken.”
“Trouble breathing?” she says.
Dan looks at Phil. Right. He’s meant to answer. “No,” Phil says.
“What happened?” she says.
“Uh–” Phil looks at Dan. Dan raises his eyebrows like, You can handle this much, bub. Phil rolls his eyes but tells her, “We were practicing this fight choreography? We have a stage show. And I lunged when I was meant to stay in place. And Dan was trying to keep me upright but instead I–” Phil attempts to elbow his own rib in demonstration.
“Pain on a scale from 1 to 10?”
“Four,” Phil says.
“Six,” Dan says.
The nurse looks at Phil.
“Maybe a six,” he admits.
“It sent him to the ground when I did it,” Dan adds. “And he winces when he breathes. And we were just here several weeks ago. He had to have a blood transfusion.”
“For what reason?”
Dan explains and Phil lets him.
The nurse nods. “Alright, love,” the nurse says, “you can help him to a seat.”
Dan nods back like this is a very serious task and leads Phil by the arm. “Don’t get used to this,” Dan says. “I’m only doing it so you don’t hit your head and bleed out again. We couldn’t show our faces here if it happened again.”
“Planning on turning this into a date spot?” Phil says.
But Dan is already grumbling, “She didn’t seem to think you were on death’s door.”
“Well, I’m not.” Phil tries to get comfortable in the horrible plastic chair. He wishes he could put his head on Dan’s shoulder. He settles for scooching his knees close to Dan’s.
“You were fine until you weren’t last time,” Dan says again.
Dan is bouncing his knee, which is not making it a comfortable place for Phil to rest his own. Phil has to move away to keep the bouncing from jostling his rib, which is hurting more now that he thinks about it.
“That’s where you took a nose dive,” Dan says, nodding to an unremarkable bit of tile in between the front desk and the swinging doors back to the rest of the hospital.
“Do you think anyone more famous than us has bled out in this waiting room?” Phil asks because he can imagine the scene all-too-well, really, seeing it all again in washed-out fluorescent color, and he’s not sure he appreciates the feeling.
“You want a plaque on the wall, do you?” Dan says. “Phil Lester Memorial Plaque. The twat nearly died here, 2024.”
“Least they could do.”
“You mean least I could do,” Dan says. “When I do get rid of you for good I’ll put one up. It’ll say, ‘He was annoying.’” Dan’s face twists up.
Oh, Phil thinks. “I’m gunna be fine, Dan.” Phil resists the urge to put his hand on his knee.
“You were the one googling ‘pneumothorax.’”
“Don’t look at what I’m googling!” Phil says automatically.
Dan huffs. “What? Were you salivating at Jonathan Bailey’s ass again?”
“Noo,” Phil says in an exaggerated lie.
“You think Jonathan Bailey would put up with all this?” Dan says, flicking a wrist around the hospital. “I’m sure he’ll jet over from Hollywood and wait here with you for thirteen hours for that ass.”
“He would,” Phil says primly. “You can leave before he gets here.”
Dan huffs again and takes out his phone. “Sure. You can show him off to the nurses.”
Phil looks at him, but he’s staring resolutely at his phone. It’s the sort of thing they joke about all the time, Phil tells himself. But suddenly nothing feels right and Phil feels unwanted, unwantable. Ill and tired and burdensome. He takes a deep breath. “Ow,” he says quietly.
He looks at Dan again. Nothing. Not even a cursory worried glance.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Phil says before he has thought it through.
Dan doesn’t react at first.
“Did you hear me?” Phil says.
“I heard you.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Dan says.
“Just what I said.”
“You’re being weird.”
“If it’s such an inconvenience you can go,” Phil says. “I’ll stay and do as you told me.”
Dan just looks at him. “What? You’re angry with me now?”
“Just go home,” Phil says. “You don’t want to be here. And I don’t like how you speak to me when you get like this.”
“Get like what?” Dan says, his voice getting squeaky.
Phil looks pointedly around the waiting room. He takes a breath. “We’ll talk later. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“They’re not paying attention to us,” Dan says, nodding at the room. He’s clearly right, and that irks Phil even more. So Phil isn’t allowed to use being in public as an excuse this time?
“I don’t want to do this now,” Phil says. “I’ll be fine. Go home.”
“You don’t seem fine,” Dan says.
“I’m at A&E,” Phil says. “I’ll get checked out. There’s nothing you can do.” Phil looks down at his phone. “Still on 50%.”
Dan finally looks stricken. It was the goal of Phil’s needling, but he already regrets it. Before he can say anything, Dan’s up and out of his chair. “Fine,” he says without quite looking at Phil. “You’ll call me if you need–anything.”
He strides through the room with speed only Dan can manage with his ridiculous long legs. Phil looks around. No one is looking. They all have their own troubles. No one here cares whether Dan and Phil are together or father-and-son or having a row. No one here cares about Phil at all.
Phil lasts maybe sixty seconds. He isn’t counting.
He finds Dan standing outside the A&E. It’s loud, with a busy street nearby and people coming in and out of the hospital doors. Dan isn’t on his phone or doing much of anything. He’s standing there looking into the middle distance. He doesn’t notice Phil until he touches Dan’s elbow to get his attention.
“I’m sorry,” Phil says. “Don’t leave.”
Dan turns and looks at him and Phil can see the relief on his face so acutely it’s like Phil’s feeling it himself.
“I was trying to think how to come back in and apologize,” Dan says. “I really hate being here again,” he admits.
Phil wants Dan to wrap him up in his arms so badly that he almost asks for it. If he did, Dan would comply. He would call them a car, would take Phil home and then to bed and would cradle Phil’s head on his chest. Phil knows that if he asked–really asked–Dan would do whatever he wanted.
Dan is looking at him so big-eyed and grateful that Phil is worried he might do something insane like try to make out in the busy public street. Instead, Dan says, “Come on,” and leads Phil back through the doors and through the waiting room and down one long hospital corridor to another until they find a stretch that is quiet and empty.
Dan does gather Phil in his arms, then. He lays a hand gently on Phil’s hair until Phil relaxes into his shoulder. Phil wraps his arms around his waist and exhales.
“You never tell me to leave,” Dan says, after some time.
“I never want you to leave.” Phil tries to extricate himself, but Dan keeps his gentle, steady hold on his head for a moment longer, and then lets go to see him.
“Why’d you say that then?” Dan says.
Phil looks up and down the hospital hallway. There’s still no one in sight, but he keeps his voice low, just above a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t like being back here. And I don’t like you being back here. Having to wait for me. And I thought, if you left, at least it would be different, and you wouldn’t have to be all grouchy from staying here for twelve hours because I’m an idiot, and I know it’s stupid because you were feeling guilty and like you hurt me but of course you didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself. And I know you’re trying to take care of me, but I just–I don’t want to be sick anymore and I don’t want you to have to take care of me and I know you’re scared because of the whole ass bleeding incident, and I’m sick of thinking about any of it.”
Dan stares at him. There’s nothing new in Dan staring at him, but Phil tries to never take it for granted. Everything will be all right if Dan is looking at him like that.
Dan reaches out and cups Phil’s face in both hands for a single moment, only long enough for Phil to say, “Dan?” and look around the hallway again.
Dan lets his hands fall. “What if we came out?”
“What?”
“I’m sick of all this,” Dan says, looking around the hospital hallway like it is the thing that has been watching them for fifteen years.
“You mean–?” Phil giggles despite himself. “Dan,” he says.
“Sorry,” Dan says again, kind of grinning. “Of course you were right. What you were saying. Except that it’s me that’s made you wait. For so long. Phil. It’s all I’ve thought about since the last time we were here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Dan runs a hand through his perfect curls and they bounce back like they always do. “I don’t know why. I’ve been worried about you since–the day we met, probably. I was always terrified of losing you. I thought you’d get tired of it. The closet. The depression. And then you started getting ill. And then this last time when you managed to nearly die. And I thought, I’ve squandered it all. I found Phil Lester and I lost him and I never even gave him everything.”
“Nice use of squandered,” Phil says weakly. And then shakes his head. “No. I take it back. It’s never been like that. There’s not a day that’s been squandered. I was happy. We were together.”
Dan bites his lip. His eyes are shining. “Yeah.”
“Do you mean it?” Phil whispers.
Dan nods. “I don’t want to wait any longer. We should do the whole thing. YouTube. All of it. It’ll be–” He waves his hand. “Good.”
Phil giggles more this time, even though it hurts his rib. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” Dan gives a shy, real smile that Phil has known a long, long time. “Easy for you, is it?”
“It is,” Phil says.
Dan laughs long and loud and easy. He looks up and down the hall again, and leans in for a quick kiss. “Wish I could do it properly.”
“Later,” Phil says.
“Soon,” Dan promises. “Before Jonathan Bailey shows up.” He starts walking down the hall, waits for Phil to follow. “We’re still getting you checked out. I saw that wince.”
Phil follows, pulls at Dan sleeve until he slows down.
“Sorry,” Dan says, and walks beside Phil. “I know you hate that.”
Phil beams and teases him, “Do you even know where you’re going? I don’t.”
“Yes,” Dan says confidently, and keeps saying it until they’ve reached the Labour Ward and some nice lady points them in the right direction. They’ll get there soon enough.