Work Text:
March, 2010
“Come on, up, or we’re gonna be late,” Phil says, swinging his feet off the couch and walks into his room, “We’ll have to leave in twenty.”
Dan frowns from where he’s still laying on the soft fabric in the lounge. “Who is this again?”
“I told you, it’s my friend Lila’s birthday.” Phil calls out, walking back out wearing a black jumper. “She was one of my housemates in school.” He vaguely gestures towards his outfit, “good?”
Dan shrugs, “works for me.”
He smiles slightly, rolling his eyes. “Everything works for you.” Despite this, he moves to pushing his fringe into a presentable formation in front of the wall mirror.
Dan finally gets up from the sofa and walks up beside him, leaning his back against the wall. “Do we have to go?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Dan starts, sidestepping in front on Phil so that he’s in the way of his reflection, fixing Phil’s hair himself. Phil lets him, settling his hands on the other boy’s hips. “We already went to a party last time I came. And it was fun, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know,” his eyes trail down, “I kind of wanted to just...hang out. Just us.”
Phil cocks his head to the side, thoughtful. “I thought you liked hanging out with them?”
“No, of course I do. I just...” He absentmindedly picks the lint off Phil’s jumper, “want you to myself, is all.”
Phil delicately tilts up his chin with his index finger, forcing him to look up. “If that’s all you wanted,” he says, “you could’ve just asked. I was scared of boring you while you were up here.”
Dan was already shaking his head before Phil finished. “Not possible,” he whispers, pressing a kiss onto his boyfriend’s lips to end the conversation. And while this is 100% true, Dan doesn't mention everything else: how he feels even more alienated within these crowds of twenty-somethings away from home, his anxiety bubbling up despite Phil’s anchor and the buzz of alcohol. How much it irritates him to realize his parents are right, this topic circulating an argument how embedded into the Howell household:
“It's just a weekend, mum.” Dan would try his best to keep his voice level despite his strong urge to kick and scream at the air in frustration.
“Yes, we’re aware it’s just a weekend,” his father would always interrupt. “But might we remind you that this is the third week in a row? We haven’t seen you in ages, son.”
“We’re just worried about you, love,” his mum would say. “I mean, we have no idea who this friend is, really. Beyond a number and address, you’ve told us absolutely nothing.”
“I’m eighteen, mum.” Tears would prickle behind Dan’s eyes at that, loathing every ounce of indignation he’s feeling. “I’m fine, I’m not stupid, please just let me do this, okay?”
That was when he stormed out, backpack slung over a shoulder. He momentarily relishes jn the silence and the biting wind.
If happy meant travelling three hours just to sit on a couch playing Zelda with a boy who smells like shampoo and clean laundry, if he had to fight his parents, train fares, and his own insecurity for every shred of this real, genuine feeling of contentment, then he’s ready for a whole lifetime’s worth.
December, 2017
December 14th, 2017. Forty-seven days ‘til Phil Lester turns thirty-one. Sitting in the tube at the height of the holiday rush, a blissful moment alone despite the dozens of bodies was where he realizes for the first time how close the day was. And while Dan wholeheartedly rejects the prospect of ageing and finds the stress around it ridiculous and unnecessary, he knows it’s quite different for Phil.
He pulls out his phone and opens up his notes, starting a new list. He pauses for a moment to consider, then starts his brainstorming session.
January, 2018
Surprisingly, the morning of Phil’s thirty-first birthday, they wake up to a snowfall.
Dan wakes up first, and sees the fluttering balls of white hurrying down the air, a little spectacle through their giant window.
He feels the other stir beside him. He nestles back into the duvet and pokes him in the cheek. “Happy birth.”
Phil pouts. “I’m ancient.”
Dan kisses his collarbone, “Life begins at thirty-one,” he mumbles.
He opens his eyes just so he can roll them at Dan. He smiles the kind of smile that Dan wants to pick up and pack away, unfolding it whenever he likes. “As if.”
“I love you.” Dan plays with his anti-gravitational quiff, combing them upwards to keep them facing the sky.
“As I love you.”
“I’m gonna go for a walk, okay?”
“Is it an introspective reflection on life?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Don’t you fucking dare decide to leave me.”
Phil smiles. “No promises.”
“Okay, you cunt,” Dan laughs. “Bye.”
--
The minute Phil leaves the house, Dan sends out a text.
We have about an hour and a half. Are you guys almost here?
—
Two hours later, completely unbeknownst to the celebrant, as he walks through the building entrance, up the elevator and down the hall, fifteen people are sitting in the dark with an air of elated anticipation, excitedly awaiting his return.
When Phil unlocks the door, he gets a heart attack at the deafening noise errupting as he steps inside.
"Surprise!"
—
Languid and tipsy, Phil flops down onto the sofa. “You,” he points to Dan, currently picking up rubbish around the lounge, “have outdone yourself.”
Dan smiles, his own buzz starting to wear off as he focuses on sorting everything out before they go to bed. “Did you have fun?”
Phil nods. He shifts his position to lie down completely, sinking his body down to the grey fabric. His eyes are shut when he speaks. “I’m a bit dizzy.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t use to get this dizzy before, though. Remember?”
Dan laughs at that, now moving to cleaning the dining area. His Spotify playlist continues to play in the background, Frank Ocean’s “Chanel” underscoring their conversation. “I dunno, I think you’re overestimating yourself from the past.”
He sees Phil frown. “Come here. I can do all that in the morning.” He takes a second to take in the flush blooming in his cheeks, swirling down to his neck. His top button unhinged long before their guests started to leave. He lets his heart swell at the drunk man passed out in their expensive sofa, making grabby hands at him to come cuddle. It somehow feels like it’s his birthday they were celebrating tonight.
He makes his way back to the lounge, cautiously perching himself next to Phil. He lets his hand fall into his forehead, making haphazard attempts to adjust the stray strands of hair starting to stick to his forehead. He’s convinced Phil’s fallen asleep when he mumbles, “I’m getting old, Dan.”
Dan snorts. His mind filters through different possible answers, unsure of how serious his conversation is headed. He settles for a safe piece of banter. “Are you, now?”
Phil nods. “I don’t think I can keep doing this.”
It was Dan’s turn to frown. He was afraid of hints of existential dread, maybe some impulsive purchases to cope, but not a sincere re-evaluation of his life. He carefully prods. “What do you mean?”
“You know, all this.” He gestured vaguely around their house, still littered with wrapping paper and balloons. The house Phil happily proclaimed “100% unpacked” just a few weeks ago.
“Care to elaborate?” He keeps his tone light, despite some anxiety solidifying at the pit of his stomach.
“I dunno. Just a thought.” Phil swats at Dan. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.” He slowly heaves himself off, and stumbles slightly to their room.
Dan wants, so badly, to drop it. Phil’s drunk, almost nonsensical, and it’s better to have a proper conversation in the morning.
And yet.
He imagines Phil walking along in the gloomy morning, letting the reflection accumulate into insecurity and doubt. About his career, his life.
About him.
He can feel twinges of that cold envy threatening to form in his chest, that feeling long banished from his mind after years of work. That stupid fear that one day Phil will wake up and realize, rightfully so, that he deserves better.
“Hey,” he calls out, voice barely above a whisper. He takes Phil’s hand and twines their fingers together, as if that physical touch will ground the other. “We’re okay, right? Like, you’re kind of freaking me out here.” Once he starts, this nervous ramble takes a mind of its own. He laughs, out of bubbling uneasiness more than anything else. “I actually talked to Kath about this, because I knew these things were a big deal to you—“
“Wait, Dan, hold on—“
“And I obviously love you and respect you, so you can decide on whatever you want, but if you’re having thoughts about...any of this, about us, I really want to talk about it.”
Phil blinks at him, shaking his head slightly in an effort to gain some focus amid his intoxication. “Dan, I’m pretty drunk right now, but seriously, what the fuck are you on about?”
Dan feels his eyes grow wide. “What the fuck are you on about? You’re the one saying you can’t do “this” anymore,” he mocks Phil’s previous gesture, flamboyantly waving his hand. “How am I supposed to react to that?”
“You mean how am I supposed to react when I tell you I can’t do parties anymore?”
Dan’s train of thought stops dead. He feels heat creeping up his neck. “So...you’re not having doubts about me?”
“I literally have no clue what gave you that idea.” Phil starts to giggle. He moves toward him, playfully batting at Dan’s chest at an upbeat tempo. “You thought I was gonna leave you.” His grin is so wide, so playful and delighted that Dan can’t help but chuckle along.
“Fuck you, you fucking motherfucker. How was I supposed to know you were just talking about parties? Which, by the way, lame as hell. I’ll have to go clubbing with the lads myself, and I’ll get whisked away and I’ll never come back.”
Phil doesn’t stop laughing throughout Dan’s entire rampage, doubling over to clutch his stomach. “Aw, Dan, come on, come to bed with me. This old man needs rest.”
Dan’s eyes squint to make room for the giant, stupid grin on his face, warmth taking over his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol he ingested.
That smile never went away until the snow stopped falling.