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Phil has his heart. Dan has his mind.
A lot of the times, it works. Two separate organs working in unison, forming a whole different system. An ultra-human with a heart that gives, and feels and protects and a mind that stops, solidifies, and commits. When they were together, they were more than the sum of their parts.
—
It works really well, oddly enough, for their careers. Marianne was really the first professional in the business who saw this dynamic and worked to preserve it. Anything they did, Dan initiated. They worked on the middle, both apart and together, but Phil always liked to wrap things up. Pull all the flitting, incongruous parts and shaping them into the final product. Dan’s ruthless when editing and eliminating aspects he thinks won’t do, while Phil fights to keep them. Dan negotiates, Phil charms.
—
Phil loves the way Dan makes him laugh, still drawn to that softness at his core despite all the thorns that may have grown over the years. Loved the elation that comes with watching Dan look at him like he’s the centre of the world. He loves how deeply Dan feels.
Dan loves Phil’s stability. The way he stays quiet before he speaks, waiting to form all his thoughts completely before opening his mouth. Phil’s zero tolerance for bullshit, his tactic of asking Dan how he feels and asking how he wants rather than trying to feel it out. In a way, Phil taught him how to communicate.
It works really well, except when it doesn’t.
Phil buys a gold figurine in the shape of a Ferris wheel custom made on their third Valentine’s Day. Dan suggests Phil return it because he was never gonna use it, and Phil gets hurt.
Dan leaves the room when they argue, running a hand down his face and settles into isolation. Phil tells him to come back to talk things out.
Phil apologizes through hands. Holds. Lips. Touches. He expresses regret through tracing his finger along Dan’s collarbone, touching his forehead onto his, and hugging him so tight without intending to let go.
Dan talks. He rambles, and repeats, and validates him over and over, and insist they do something fun to make up for it.
—
“I love you.” He whispers in the dark. It feels like he’s admitting a secret, a thought carefully tucked away in the absence of light.
“I love you more.”
“I love you forever.”
“I love you now.”
Phil frowns. “That’s not better.”
“To me it is.”
“Oh?” He shifts to his side to face Dan, even though it’s too dark to see his face. “Do tell.”
He hears Dan yawn before replying. When he speaks, his voice comes out quiet and soft. “‘I love you forever’ feels like an obligation. It’s a blanket statement you say in a moment. But I choose to love you over and over and over, even though you’re a total loser and a flop and you snore.”
“Huh.” Phil stays quiet after that. When he notices his eyes have completely adjusted in the dark, he catches a glimpse of a framed photo of them last them the Christmas before, a gift from his mum. He knows Dan’s still awake when he speaks again. “Are you choosing to love me right now?”
“I choose to tell you to shut up, because I’m falling asleep.”
“Okay.” Phil thinks about it some more. He’s starting to nod off when he feels the need to whisper something else. “Dan?”
“What?” He grunts sleepily, barely audible.
“I’ve decided I stand by it. I’ll love you forever.”
Dan inches his foot to touch his, and Phil yelps at feeling the cold skin. “That’s nice.”
Phil smacks him wherever his hand lands. Somewhere on Dan’s middle, apparently.
Dan chuckles and takes a deep breath, releasing an exaggerated grunt. “You’re the love of my life and I adore you and I’m willing to say this crap to settle your weird fixation with infinity. Will you please let me sleep?”
“It’s not a weird fixation,” Phil grumbles, dropping the subject. He wraps his arms around the other, drifting into sleep.
Morning came, a glorious Saturday where the room was chilly, but the duvet wrapped tightly around their joint cocoon. Phil wakes to the streams of light shining down through the window. He notices Dan watching him sleep, his face only inches away. “Hi,” he smiles.
Phil squints his eyes, willing them to focus at the blurred image of Dan. “Can I help you?”
He smiles wider. “It’s morning, it’s a new day, and I’d like to report that I indeed still love you.”
Phil groans and turns away, already letting himself fall back asleep.
—
Phil has his heart. Dan has his mind. It works most times.
One has luck, and passion, and a deep desire for roots. The other has intense tenacity, a love for dogs, and laugh lines that draw a map of happiness down the temples.
Over the years, it grew harder and harder to decipher who exactly has what.
It simply became a mind, heart, and an entire life in between.