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It’s the day after Phil’s birthday that they set off for a seaside walk, after a generous lunch of tea with homemade snacks and sweet treats.
The sky is milky grey with little bright slivers of blue peering through. Dark indigo expanse of the sea looks mostly calm, occasionally rippled by the busts of frosty wind that makes Dan's cheeks tingle.
The narrow path padded with wet grass and sand goes along the rocky seashore. There are six of them on this hike: Phil’s mom and dad bravely leading the way, Martyn and Cornelia, hand in hand a few steps behind them, Phil, and then Dan, carefully following his footsteps. After walking for two hours, occasional laughs and light conversations naturally die down as they pair off, peacefully enjoying the view.
The combination of large airy spaces, clean contrasting colours and a variety of landscape textures incites Dan's mind to wander.
***
They are here for Phil’s big thirty and all crappy societal expectations aside, it still feels big, it feels important. Phil and he, they’re long past floating in the void without any direction: plans have been made, career goals outlined. Shared life goals. Thank god they’re so much better at talking things out now, Dan thinks. Yet he can feel the uneasiness pushed to the back of his mind that is making his stomach feel funny.
***
The path leads through the wet marsh where zipper shoes he is wearing, totally unsuitable for hiking, instantly get soaked. Phil looks back, probably checking that Dan hasn’t slipped from a sheer drop somewhere. Phil's face is flushed, straight strands of hair, slightly too long now, pushed back from his forehead. (He prefers his hair longer in winter “to keep him warmer”. It’s anyone’s job to convince Phil that a few centimeters won’t make any difference as Dan gave up on that one.)
“Enjoying yourself?”
“I feel like a rat. You are carrying me the rest of the way,” Dan grumbles.
“I will carry your hand,” Phil smirks.
He catches Dan’s palm with his icy fingers and slides both of their hands into the pocket of his shiny coat, squeezing, searching warmth. The cheeky shit. Dan squeezes back.
***
The path circles around the big pointy cliff that, according to Phil, looks like a mammoth, or at least, a bison ("Those are definitely giant tusks, can't you see!").
They suddenly find the sea much closer to their left, strong gusts of wind making Dan's eyes water. He can hear big waves splashing against the rocks in a slow monotonous rhythm. A ruthless steady countdown: one, two, three.
He can’t recall the moment when he first started to hear it, but it never really stopped since then. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. The brutal waltz. The never-stopping metronome, reminding to move forward, to aspire, to progress, to be. To make the most of the one and only life you are given.
Can Phil make the most of his life while he is beside Dan? Is Dan's depressing ass good enough for that? You can’t but have doubts like that from time to time. Watching Phil practically showered with love and care this entire weekend doesn’t soothe his restless mood either.
***
“I found a gray hair the other day,” announces Phil on the morning of his birthday. His voice is quiet and a little hoarse, brain not fully awake yet.
Both of them are still in bed, side by side, shoulders brushing, eyes still closed, enjoying a little lie-in after an early start the previous day. The cotton sheets of the king-sized bed in the Phil's parents house guest room are very soft and comfortable against Dan's skin. And the entire room is so white, clean and cozy in the dim morning light, Dan considers not moving for another hour (or maybe ever).
“You die your hair black,” Dan mumbles slowly, mind hazy and relaxed.
“I must’ve missed one!”
“It’s okay, maybe it wanted your attention. Maybe that hair does not conform. Let it be.”
“Too late, I have torn it out,” Phil opens one eye.
“Your masochistic tendencies scare me, you old man. Happy birthday.”
Dan turns on his side and plants a kiss on Phil’s left cheek, watching him pout at being called old.
Dan shifts closer, supporting his body on one elbow, brushes slightly wavy mussed bed hair away from Phil’s face and connects their lips together. He softly kisses Phil’s upper lip, lower lip, corners of the mouth. Phil breathes in the kiss. Dan can feel Phil’s arm moving to wrap securely around his waist. It lasts a while, 'cause lazy kisses on the mornings when they don’t have to be anywhere is something to indulge in. And Dan does wants to indulge today, both himself and the birthday boy. Or the old man, he can decide on the terminology later.
After a few more moments of hazy bliss when Dan is absent-mindedly sucking on Phil’s earlobe, Phil hums. Dan shifts.
“What?”
“Hungry. Continue after breakfast?”
Dan makes a displeased noise.
“Less kissing, more eating. That’s how it is with us, old people,” Phil chuckles.
“Huh. Hourly feeding is also popular with babies. Because you’re mentally three, admit it,” Dan smirks, placing one more kiss to Phil’s temple and finally pushing the duvet away.
***
Dan had a stress dream the other night. The details have already faded away, but he remembers panic, erratic breathing and sweating. He was on stage and he didn’t do what was expected of him, he let people down. He distinctively recalls feeling like a giant disappointment. Huh, he is still recovering from the tour, it would seem. Bloody TATINOF, haunting his dreams months after the final show.
On tour, they had the best times and they had the worst times. They have made it to the other side, and they’ll be ok. He’ll be ok.
In fact, he can swear he can make out Phil humming something very similar to The Internet Is Here as the birthday boy puts his foot right in the middle of a deep puddle. (Must be some mind-meld shiz at work here.) The dirty splashes go all over Phil’s own shoes and likely Dan’s shins as well.
“Sorry!” Phil offers, proceeding with a painfully familiar melody, and... no, nope, absolutely not. It can’t be Britney, can it.
He can't say with certainty if the tour was harder on him or Phil. It appears that being social comes easier to Phil. He enjoys light conversations with total strangers; he thrives on being around family and a tight circle of close friends, it grounds and recharges him, Dan noticed. Yet the tour held its challenges for Phil, too.
At thirty, Phil still has superstitions and reservations about him, and sometimes requires a lot of personal space which Dan has learned to respect. Phil can be very insecure and give robotic fake-looking reactions, because… he is not smooth at it. In fact, he’s so un-smooth, you’d never guess he’s an experienced presenter if you first saw him five minutes before the show.
So many times Dan saw him start the closing song in front of thousands of prying eyes. With his clumsy half-swirl-half-tumble, swaying clenched fists in attempt to collect himself, mustering a tight smile and then… start anyway. He watched Phil gradually grow more confident, voice becoming deeper and more relaxed, and gain that quiet magnetizing charm about him. Winning over people's hearts, one by one. Then, it’s so, so easy for Dan to join in. And each time Dan witnessed this, he was amazed. He feels so much for this man.
***
"Have you decided on the dates you want to celebrate your birthday with our friends?" Dan asks, glancing up from his phone, a calendar app open.
Both he and Phil have been cooped up in the office for the past few days, catching up on some work before the long weekend offline.
Followed by uncertain "Hmm?" from Phil and then a minute of silence.
Phil is making some final changes to his latest sponsored video - for the fourth time. It might not be obvious, but out of the two of them, Phil is the one setting up goals, making schedules, talking business with serious looking people. While Dan will brainstorm the ideas, carry the video with his sharp sarcastic delivery and make funny edits, scattering away from the tedious admin work. This time the roles are reversed.
"Phil, Phiiil, I asked you something."
The weariness must have taken the best of him, he's not as whiny when they are working. Usually.
"Sorry! I just need a minute to finish this."
"Come on, this was already perfect a week ago. What else do they fucking want?" Dan stands up from his chair to look at Phil's monitor, leaning down and lightly placing his hands on Phil's slouched shoulders. This particular company is especially thorough about the smallest details.
"Just editing in the company name in bigger font," he hears Phil reply. "Aaand... done!"
"Birthday celebration plans? I'm scheduling the next month," Dan applies a bit more pressure, feeling the tension in Phil's upper back and rubbing in small circles with his thumbs.
This trip is very timely, they both could do with some rest. Good job for being born at the end of January, baby Phil.
"Who said you're going at all? Wait for your invitation, Daniel," Phil laughs, clicking save and starting the video rendering process.
" 'scuse me, Mister?!" Dan's hands are now moving from the shoulders to the warm freckly skin on Phil's neck, exposed by the loose soft t-shirt Phil is wearing.
Dan is really good at pretend-choking. He is the best. Phil can test this skill any time.
"Oww. What you were doing before felt good," Phil mumbles. He is now leaning into Dan's hands and tilting his head back, meeting Dan's eyes.
That's the thing, the spiderman kisses are never well coordinated. Especially when a person is wearing glasses. But why the hell not.
***
"So, what about the dates, then?"
"I'll let you know. Don't forget to RSVP!" Phil answers, playful upside-down grin across his face.
***
The crisp northern landscape will make his top ten views, Dan decides, filling his lungs with big gulps of icy air until he’s dizzy.
Dan catches himself absently thinking that there’s nothing about the land that resembles Phil, the self-proclaimed Northerner. The land is desolate, rough, cold, reluctantly opening its charm to an outsider. While Phil is a generous, kind person, complex, subtle, quirky, fun. (The clue to this metaphor eludes him, Dan's brain is just too damn tired to look for it.)
Phil.. Dan will write a book about him one day. Just you wait. He suddenly pretends he is the only person who possesses the secret knowledge to how Phil Lester is wired, with an ultimate world-saving mission to share it with the others or die. He starts outlining the chapters in his head as if it's a thing that could actually be happening. Because that’s how Dan is: the mushy crap other people write in greeting cards he would make into a book. Into the fricking Phil Lester Encyclopedia. Dan would probably go to the trouble of actually writing the dedication for this one:
The Phil Lester Encyclopedia
“For Phil. I hate the A-Z of you.”