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“Okay, what would I have been called if I was a girl?” Dan said, reading from the screen behind him. Phil blinked at him, bright red lights shining on half his face to create long shadows of his eyelashes that only Dan was close enough to see.
“I swear I knew this!” Phil exclaimed, shuffling around where he stood and glancing nervously at the audience, a wide smile never leaving his face.
“It was in the book, right?” Dan asked, staring at Phil amusedly. On cue, tons of small shrill voices shouted “yes!” from the front of them. Dan paused, waiting for the noise to die down to quiet mumbling.
“Uhh…” Phil mumbled, staring out into the crowd. Dan knew that look, full deer in the headlights confusion, and he felt a bout of satisfaction. Phil knew this answer, Dan knew that, but he was helpless under such pressure.
“You wrote it, you should know. I’m getting nice and ready here, put out that hand.” Dan motioned with his small little box towards the zapper on Phil’s palm. Phil just shuffled around more, nervous energy exerting from him.
“Suki!” He finally shouted, and the screams from the audience was a clear indication he was wrong. His arm tensed up.
“That’s the name of my hamster!” Dan shouted, looking back and forth from him to the audience, laughter answering his enthusiasm.
“What?” Phil blurted out, a momentary distraction before he felt the familiar zap to the palm of his hand.
Phil shook his arm wildly when Dan pressed the button, as though trying to reflexively throw it off his hand, and then he took a step back.
Everything happened too fast for Dan to yell as he watched Phil’s foot hit the bench surrounding their set. Phil’s eyes widened and they made eye contact for just a second before he lost his balance. As though in slow motion, he fell back, flailing his arms and letting out a sharp intake of breath that echoed through the speakers before he hit the ground, hard.
Phil’s tailbone took the biggest hit, the hard ground resonating through his spine in a flash of pain, but momentum rocked him back further. His neck snapped backwards and his head smacked the floor. His back was flat against the ground now, one leg still propped up on the bench. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and cringing.
A small shriek bubbled up from Dan’s chest and he held his arms out in a grabby motion despite being on the opposite side of the stage. He heard his heart beat faster, drowning out all the commotion and noise in front of him. As soon as his legs seemed to be working, he jogged over, slowing right before he reached Phil to walk closer timidly. He felt an urge to fall to the floor with Phil but he was hyperaware of hundreds of eyes staring eagerly to see what happened.
“Oh fuck, I mean, shit, sorry!” Dan muttered, eliciting more commotion from the audience. “Phil, you okay?” He said, softer now, his voice so high-pitched it was nearly cracking.
Dan glanced up at the audience to see some people standing, faces wide and worried, hands covering mouths. The shocked laughter seemed to die away as Phil stayed on the ground, eyes closed.
“Phil. Phil!” Dan said, wishing his voice was as quiet as he wanted it for Phil without the microphone strapped to his face. Panic bubbled up in his chest, and an image of dark blood spreading behind Phil’s lifeless face flashed through his mind. That didn’t happen, he saw Phil’s eyes pop open and he pushed himself up as fast as he had fallen.
“I’m okay!” Phil shouted, facing the audience, but Dan saw the unmistakeable cringe on his face as he put pressure on his butt. His torso swayed and his arms shook holding himself up, Dan worried he might collapse again. They had to get off the stage.
“Okay, uh, Phil’s alive, I mean we never exaggerated about him being clumsy, now you know! But I think we need a short intermission, just to make sure Phil didn’t break his butt.” Dan called out, waving to the audience, hoping the humour was clear in his voice, and that his assurances came through despite it all.
Dan finally kneeled, avoiding looking at the audience, all the ways of getting Phil off stage running through his mind. Could Phil get up on his own? He just sat there, staring forward, pain evident in the cringe on his face.
He heard footsteps behind him and swung his head around to see his manager jogging out, running to the other side of Phil. On her cue, he grabbed Phil’s one elbow and they lifted him up. Phil leaned towards Dan more, who he could feel had most of his weight compared to his much smaller manager, so he clung on to Phil’s elbow tight until Phil settled on the soles of his feet and started hurrying off stage.
Some clapping erupted behind them as they shuffled off stage but Dan stayed staring forward, the dark backstage in sight.
Red lights no longer shone on them, they were hidden, and he switched his hands to the small part of Phil’s waist, holding him sturdy. Better the random crew than hundreds of fans. Phil’s limbs trembled, the anxiety and adrenaline clear.
“Come on over here, let’s sit for a minute.” Marianne, their manager, said, pulling Phil’s arm gently. He sat on the chair, balancing awkwardly on the side of his hip, holding onto the armrests so hard veins popped out of his forearms.
Dan ran around to his back, shuffling Phil’s hair around and checking his palm for blood, relieved to see nothing.
“What, blood?” Phil said, twisting around quickly.
“No, no, you’re good. You’re fine. Everything’s alright,” Dan said, hand back in Phil’s hair, running his fingers through gently. He put another hand on Phil’s shoulder, strong and sturdy, gently pushing Phil to settle down in his chair.
“Shit. That hurt so much. My ass is aching, it’s like all through my spine. I’m dizzy.” Phil grumbled, his head falling into one of his hands.
“How do you check for a concussion?” Dan asked, looking up at Marianne and glancing around at the crew standing around, peering in curiously from a few feet away.
“Really, it would be best to go to the hospital and get checked.” She said, bending down to look at Phil.
“No! No, just give me a minute, I’ll be fine. The pain is subsiding,” Phil said, straightening up instantly.
“No, Phil, you hit your head.” Dan came around now, kneeling at Phil’s side.
“We have a show to do. I’m going to be bruised, that’s all, I can finish it.”
“You’re going to the hospital, Phil,” Dan said sternly, trying to peer up in Phil’s eyes. Pupils dilating, that was a concussion thing, right?
“Let’s go after. We’re halfway through the show, I can finish it. I promise.” Phil stared back, pleading in his eyes. Dan looked back and forth between Phil and his manager, looking for some authority.
“I’ll leave it up to you, we could even offer refunds if people are upset. I won’t force you to stay or leave.” Marianne said. “Take a few minutes, talk it out, and drink your water.” She pushed herself up and walked a few feet away, on her phone suddenly, undoubtedly doing something business-y. Probably planning the aftermath of the fall already.
Dan passed up Phil’s water bottle and settled on the floor with his legs crossed, peering up at Phil who was squeezing his eyes shut and breathing slowly and deliberately.
“I think we should go,” Dan said.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll decide,” Phil said, relaxing back in the chair, his features relaxing already.
Dan did wait. He sat on the floor and peered up, watching Phil’s every move, any indication that he was too dizzy or hurt to go out. But Phil slowly calmed, the shaking in his fingered slowed and his breathing went back to normal. His face switched from bright red to a calm pale tone and he sat easier in his chair, letting the minutes pass. There was lots of mumbling and the odd scream from the crowd, he could only imagine the Internet right now.
“I’m sore, not going to lie, but I want to finish the show. We’ll go to A & E after, okay?” Phil finally said, pushing himself up already. Dan jumped up, grabbing his shoulders.
“Okay, if you’re sure. But I think you’re kind of being an idiot.” Dan said, following Phil nonetheless. Phil stared straight and nodded to the crew behind the stage, who all hurried back to their places behind intimidating looking control pads and screens to control every light, screen, and audio recording.
“I’m fine,” Phil said.
With no warning to Dan, Phil was leading them out onto stage quickly and the crowd erupted into screams reminiscent of the ones they got when they first ran out. Phil smiled and waved, mouth opening and closing until it was finally quiet enough to speak normally.
“I’m okay! I’m just a clutz, I always told you guys I was! And look at this set, I should have known it would happen eventually. Next show I’ll be out here with knee pads and elbow pads and a helmet and a butt protector.” Phil said and the crowd laughed, smiles back on everyone’s faces, lots of phones hidden on laps with lights shining out of the cracks in the seats.
Dan glanced nervously at Phil, at the benches behind him. He forced a smile on his face at Phil’s light comments, trying to calm his own nerves now.
It was a long show. Dan knew there would be comments on how much he watched Phil, but it seemed like Phil would go crashing down at any second. Or maybe he’d shoot a pleading look at Dan and let Dan come up with an excuse to leave and go to the hospital. He didn’t, they finished the show, nerves a bit higher than usual, dialogue a bit more fumbly. Phil especially began tripping over his words and slurring over his sentences and Dan couldn’t help but rush through each segment of the show that he could.
His hand was back on Phil’s waist once they exited the tunnel off the stage, whether he needed it or not.
“You’re going to the hospital now, no matter what you say,” Dan said firmly, mind already running through how to debate the things Phil would say about how he didn’t need to go. To his surprise, Phil didn’t fight, just nodded and walked the way Dan led.
They ventured slowly to their dressing room and locked the door. Dan sucked in a deep breath before stripping off his clothes and pulling out Phil’s backpack, getting changed in record time.
“Come check my bruise, Dan?” Phil asked, unbuttoning his jeans and wincing. Dan frowned. He had hidden any sign of pain through the show but was now breathing heavily again.
He walked behind Phil and helped him push his jeans down over his ass. Dan lifted the back of his shirt up and dragged down Phil’s underwear the rest of the way, hoping no one walked in at this strange moment.
Dan’s mouth fell open, the nasty red tint a striking contrast to the pale skin, stretching across the space right above his ass. He gently ran his fingers across, checking for scratches, too nervous to put any pressure.
“Dan? Is it bad?” Phil tried to peer behind his shoulder in the mirror, eyes furrowed.
“Yeah, it looks pretty painful.”
“It hurts like a motherfucker, right on my tailbone. I can’t believe I fell.” He stepped away and pulled up his pants.
“You didn’t have to finish the show.”
“I know.” Phil stared back exasperatedly.
“Hurry and get dressed. How is your head?” Dan quickly tossed over Phil’s change of clothes, old jeans and a light black sweater with glittery lines patterned across.
“I have a headache,” Phil said, and Dan stopped his movements to stare back.
“Phil! You should not have gone back on that stage! What about the flashing lights and stuff, you might have a concussion!” Dan shoved his clothes in the backpack roughly, shaking his head.
“It’s fine, Dan, I survived the show.” Phil peeled off his jeans, rolling the pant legs inside out.
“I just, God, I was so worried. We have to take care of ourselves out on the road.” Dan said, a whine seeping into his voice. Phil stared up at him, a slight pout on his lips.
Dan stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and kissing the side of his face on his way in. Phil clutched back, taking fistfuls of Dan’s shirt in his hands and dropping his head down affectionately.
“It’s all going to be all right, promise.” Phil whispered. Dan blinked quickly, breathing in a long breath.
“I should really be comforting you right now, not the other way around. You’re the injured one,” he said, pulling back.
“All we know is I have a couple bruises, it might not be that bad,” Phil said, rubbing Dan’s arm tenderly for a moment. They both began unbuttoning Phil’s shirt, Dan from the bottom, Phil from the top, until they were changed with a backpack bursting of unfolded clothes.
They ventured out, walking through confusing back hallways lit with bright lights until Marianne found them, car and address to the nearest hospital ready on her phone.
In the car, Dan massaged Phil’s temples himself, reaching around the back of his seat and ignoring the people around him. Phil leaned forward, looking more tired and pained than before. Dan told the driver to go calmer as Phil swayed along to the roundabouts and twisting roads of Scotland.
He was on his phone after a few minutes, texting Phil’s brother, mum, and a few friends their situation, assuring time after time that things were okay and he’d call later. He knew Twitter would be overwhelming and decided getting answers from a doctor first would be best. He just didn't want to log on.
It was dark by the time they pulled up to the drop off section, bright, white lights of the hospital reception shining out against the skies. Phil squinted as they walked in, Dan immediately rambling to the receptionist until she started pushing a clipboard in his hands.
Dan filled out the form, quickly recalling all of Phil’s identifying details and allergies, feeling Phil just loll his head on his shoulder eventually. Marianne was on the other side typing out long emails to venues about possible cancellations, rescheduling and refunds.
Phil had Marianne’s scarf tied around his eyes while they waited for a doctor. Dan stared in worry as Phil massaged his temples over and over again.
“Mr. Lester? Aye, we have a room fer ye.” A man said, a strong accent immediately pulling them to attention. Dan hopped up, grabbing Phil’s shoulders as Phil yanked off the scarf. The doctor stood smiling and waiting, nearly as tall as them with a kind, young face. Dan started walking with Phil.
“Och, actually, I’ll only have th’ patient come back fer now,” he said, putting a hand up to Dan.
“We’re family.” He said, not making a move.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just protocol so I cannae allow ye. You’re welcome tae wait here.”
Grudgingly he sat back down, watching Phil walk away, shaky legs and fidgeting hands. He leaned his head back against the wall.
***
Marianne left at the insistence of Dan, the clock ticking by until it was nearly midnight.
A man wouldn’t stop moaning a few seats down from him, holding his stomach and leaning forward like he might vomit. Someone else came in stumbling, young adults running after and talking about alcohol poisoning. A baby was rocked in a mother’s arm, crying then cooing, over and over again. People were spread around the whole reception, injuries invisible, but anxiety emitting from every corner, the smell of antiseptics only making Dan more antsy.
He paced for a few minutes but he was slowly crashing, the post-show exhaustion waving over him and presenting itself through the aching in his legs.
Where the hell was Phil? How long did these checkups usually take? Could he go back there now and find his room?
Eventually, Phil walked out, the doctor just a step behind with a piece of paper in his hand.
“Have a seat, Phil, I’ll explain everythin’ tae, er…” the doctor began.
“Dan,” he said, shaking his hand.
“Dan, I’m Doctor Young. Sae, Phil here has a wee bit ay bruisin’ on his back but is alrecht there otherwise, an’ he has a mild concussion.”
“So, what is there to do for that? We have a show, can he make that still?” Dan asked, sitting up straight.
“There isn’t much tae do but rest. He’s had some trouble remembering th’ events this night and there might be some continued confusion or loss ay concentration. Nae extended period on phones or watching TV, an’ nae bright lights, he’ll likely be tay sensitive. There may be headaches, ye can take over the counter pain medication fer that, and there may be some loss ay coordination an’ balance sae just be careful. Depending on how ye feel, you can go back into yer work in a few days, just take it slow.” He said, smiling and nodding.
Dan glanced at Phil and the doctor back and forth but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He thanked the doctor while he was already walking away then grabbed Phil’s hands to pull him up.
“I’m fine, I can’t be any more clumsy than I already am, right?” Phil said, smiling lightly at Dan. He wobbled slightly and Dan walked close to his side as they ventured outside, already calling a taxi.
Once they were settled in the back of a small car, Dan stared at Phil.
“What?” Phil asked.
“Was that true, you’re having trouble remembering?” Dan asked, watching Phil open and close his mouth a few times.
“Yeah, I…I can’t remember much of the show, like after the fall. It’s a bit of a blur. He said it’s normal, though, Dan.” Phil looked at him guiltily and Dan rubbed the side of his head.
He didn’t say anything back, just picked up his phone and called Phil’s mum to leave a voicemail, then his brother, though Cornelia answered instead, then left another voicemail for their manager. He then ventured to Twitter, avoiding his notifications and just typed out a quick tweet saying Phil was okay and he’d talk about the shows coming up the next few days soon. There were probably typos but he didn’t care.
“Do we have a show tomorrow?”
“No, the day after. Might have to cancel.” Dan said, and Phil frowned at him, putting his head on the window for the rest of the trip to their hotel.
Dan walked with their arms brushing all the way to their room, focusing in on his peripheral and ready to grab Phil if anything happened. Phil was clearly exhausted, swaying ever so slightly in his footing.
Phil went straight for the bed when he got in his room and Dan didn’t bother nagging him about brushing his teeth, watching as he just stripped his sweater and jeans and crawled under the covers without a word.
He brushed his own teeth and washed his face, the sweat from the show probably making him salty all over, and he hurried back in the room to see Phil curled up in the middle of the bed.
Dan grabbed his small laptop and ventured to put it on the other double bed before he heard a small mumble.
“No, sleep with me,” Phil said, squinting his eyes.
Dan obliged immediately, running to shut lights off before stripping his clothes and crawling in next to Phil. He only had a small sliver of the bed and Phil moved even closer, curling his legs under Dan’s propped up knees and hugging Dan’s chest.
Dan kissed his forehead and put his laptop on the lowest brightness he could. The exhaustion was apparent in every one of his aching limbs and drooping eyes but he wouldn’t really be able to sleep right now.
He googled whether you can die from a concussion, whether you can slip into a coma or get any permanent side effects. He read medical forums and health pages on the effects to the brain and symptoms and treatments, the odd horror story coming up of some football player who passed away from what they said was a minor concussion. He tried to remember if this was Phil’s first concussion, it almost seemed unlikely.
When Phil shifted to his other side Dan finally set his laptop on his side table. He wanted to be close enough to feel Phil’s steady breathing and every move in his sleep. He pulled himself up against Phil’s back, fitting his knees and chest to Phil as much as he could, pushing the heavy hotel duvet down so they wouldn’t overheat. He wrapped his arms around Phil’s chest, deciding he could deal with a numb arm for the night, and he felt Phil’s heartbeat ever so slightly against his right hand.
The exhaustion crashed over him more and he slowly drifted off into a doze.
***
Phil was still asleep when he woke up, sun shining through the cracks in the blinds, blankets twisted around his legs. He could hear people bustling around in their rooms and walking down the hallways, talking loud enough so he could hear the mumbles. He reached for his phone, a bit surprised to see it was half noon. The notifications on his phone scrolled down for miles and his stomach sank with memories coming back to him.
He looked back to Phil, shoulder rising and falling, face peaceful. Things were okay, it was only a minor concussion. This wasn’t going to be a horror medical story, this was just an ordinary injury for an ordinary guy.
Dan laid back on the pillow for a moment, waiting for his heart to steady, but the responsibility was only weighing on him more so he walked to the other side of the room and started making calls and texts, pulling up his calendar of all the shows they had in the next couple weeks, all so close together. God, what was he supposed to do? Planning and business calls were Phil’s forte, not his.
Phil started stirring in his sleep. Dan searched around on the floor, looking for clothes to pull on so he could wander out in the hotel. In a quick glance backwards, he saw Phil reaching his arms out to Dan’s side of the bed.
“Actually, can I call you back? I gotta go,” he said, throwing his phone down before his manager could reply.
He tucked himself back into his spot, still warm and slightly damp from sweat. Dan wrapped his arms around the small part of Phil’s waist and felt as Phil climbed halfway on him, leg over his thighs.
“My head hurts,” Phil grumbled, shoving his face into the crook of Dan’s neck more. Dan realized he was searching for darkness.
“Let me get the ibuprofen.”
After a few minutes of searching messily through Phil’s suitcase, he came back with a small pill bottle, complimentary water from their mini fridge, and at last decision, some sunglasses.
He helped Phil lean up and take two extra strength tablets. Then he slipped the sunglasses on Phil’s face just as he was sinking down again.
Amusement bubbled up in his chest and he tried to keep the smile off his face, staring down at Phil.
“Do I look cool?” Phil asked, voice raspy and cracking with sleep while he adjusted the shades on his face.
Dan let a laugh out at that, more giggles ripping up from his chest as Phil started smiling too.
“Now we have to take this opportunity to make ‘I wear sunglasses at night’ jokes, Helen Keller.” Dan said, reaching for his phone to take a picture of Phil laying in the dark, staring up, with black sunglasses covering his eyes.
“I really am a mess,” Phil said, rubbing his temples but laughing softly. “This is going to be a good anecdote, at least.”
“I really shouldn’t find this so funny, I think I’ve gone crazy after so much worry and stress,” Dan said, crawling back into the covers to wrap Phil up in his arms.
“Dan, what about the shows?”
“I’ll figure it out, okay? What you’re not going to do is go and make it worse or fall over again because you’re so disoriented by neon lights. Okay? We can reschedule and refund shows, people will forgive you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“If you’re not more careful next show, I’m wrapping you up in bubble wrap. I’m not going to lose you to your own damn clumsiness.” Dan said.
“You’re not going to lose me at all. I got a hard head.” Phil muttered.
“You’re very nerve-wracking to love, you know that Phil?”
Phil just nodded, hugging Dan, his sunglasses falling wonky on his face. Dan wrapped his arms around Phil, not daring to release his grip until Phil was sweating and clambering away.
***
It was only a few days before Phil was insisting he was fine despite the skepticism of Dan, his brother and their crew.
He’d grudgingly restrained from looking at screens each day, limiting himself to only a couple episodes of the Santa Clarita Diet. He fell asleep to countless podcasts, napping every few hours while Dan made sure to be more active on Twitter to calm the masses. The room service dishes piled up in their room, do not disturb sign never leaving the door. Instagram stories became like fever dreams, silly little videos in the darkness of their room.
They ended up back on stage soon after Phil’s begging. Just one show and he wouldn’t glance at another light source all day, he said.
It went good, a similar show to all the last but with jokes about Phil falling at every segment. Dan took it as an opportunity to remind Phil to be careful every time he got within a couple feet of the benches surrounding them. He glanced nervously every few seconds, but Phil himself was hovering near the centre, not bouncing around as much as usual. It was for the best.
They kissed in the dressing room, more exhilarated than ever before, the anxiety raising their adrenaline and making such a success feel momentous. They fell back on the love seat provided, kissing sloppily and grabbing at each other hair like they’d never get enough. They stripped off each other clothes, dramatic enough to fantasize before pulling on their change of clothes to hurry to the hotel.
Their lives weren’t that exciting, really.