Work Text:
They say my system is overloaded
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
I'm too much in my head, did you notice?
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
My body's here on Earth, but I'm floating
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Disconnected, so sometimes, I feel frozen and alone
There are people around you, looming over your body like watchful hawks, their bodies nothing more than blurred out shadows in the barely lit room.
There’s a lot of talking going on, too - voices sprinkled with concern, questions and suggestions, tone low and careful not to reach you - unknowing of how hyper-aware you are of even the smallest sound, like the tiniest drop falling into a bucket that is slowly overflowing.
Dan’s voice is the only one you can’t hear, the lack of his distinct timbre that you feel like a pang in your heart. He is there, you know he is - you can feel his body heat on your right side, the nervous up and down of his leg as he shakes it in the useless attempt to let the anxiousness out of his body.
Even in the midst of a high fever, body assaulted with waves of hot and cold and never the in between, when people in the same room as you are trying to decide just how sick you really are, medical jargon coming from a doctor that was called in overnight - even in the middle of all that chaos and beyond, you want to comfort Dan, to soothe whatever bad thought is going on inside his beautiful head, take his worries away and carry them on your shoulders, just so he will be free of them.
So that’s what you do, croaking out a weak, “Dan-” before your hand clasps around his, a feeling of relief washing over you at the immediacy with which he returns the gesture.
“Phil? What is it?” he asks, leaning over you so that you can finally see his face, the scrunched up way his nose looks, the way his eyes are red and almost watery. “Are you okay?”
Before you can open your mouth to talk, there’s more people coming over, hurried steps covering the short distance between the door and the bed that you’ve been confined to for the past couple of days.
“I’m fine,” you say, then start coughing right after, just to prove your point. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the doctor shake her head, the movement enough to make you dizzy just by watching her.
“We’ll have to cancel the show,” Martyn informs you, his voice almost as familiar as Dan’s, a voice that has been the companion of yours for your entire life. It makes you want to ring your mum and ask her for a hug. “Just need to figure out how to break the news.”
Except you’re an adult, and you have to make your own decisions, both good and bad. This, you know already, Dan will deem bad. “No.”
“Phil,” Dan starts reasoning, squeezing your fingers just enough that you will focus on him, at the way he softly looks at you, the way he’s biting his bottom lip - everything about his features designed to entice you into giving in to him.
“We’re doing the show.” You’re surprised by how steady your voice sounds when nothing about your body feels like it - when you feel like your limbs are made of slowly melting butter, your mind a floaty cloud of cotton candy thoughts.
“You’re too sick.”
It seems like everyone around you is holding their breath, waiting for the verdict - like watching a battle that is getting close to the final fight, only for one of them to be crowned the winner.
But you know better. This isn’t a battle - at least, it’s not a battle you are fighting against Dan, but rather, one that you’re fighting with him.
Babe, you gotta take care of your body, yuh yuh
Ain't no time to deny it, that is why we talking about it
Yeah, we talking about it
So deal with it, don't try to get by it
Ain't no time to deny it
So we had to sit down and just write it
The roar of the crowd inside the theatre is too much to handle - a terrifying reminder of so many people waiting for you to do something, to perform the one thing they’ve paid to see, to cheer and scream and judge your every move.
You feel like a broken doll, your body stiff and not moving like you want it to. Dan looks at you from the other side of the dressing room, seemingly ready to jump up and cancel the entire night if only you hinted at it.
It makes your heart swell with fondness, the constant confirmation that he loves you, so much, that he cares for your well being even more than he cares about pleasing the so adoring audience that usually appears like a monster to him, ready to bite at him and swallow him down.
And that knowledge is also what makes you feel worse, in a way. It’s what is pushing you forward, what is making you so stubborn to go out and perform, despite the pounding headache gathering at your temples, the stuffiness of your nose and throat, the way everything sounds muffled as soon as it reaches your ears.
But Dan is ready to perform - Dan, who battles with his own illness almost daily, who has spent more days buried underneath comfort blankets than you could ever imagine, Dan who has pushed himself over and over for the past year just to be able to put this show together, moved by the sheer force of his stubbornness of not disappointing anyone, not even himself.
You owe it to him.
Want you to get better (woo!)
My life is so controlled by the what if's
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Is there anybody else whose mind does this, mmm?
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Down, down, down, down
“Ten minutes to showtime,” says the voice on the intercom, their last warning before the show officially starts.
Dan turns to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open to say what you already know.
“Don’t,” you warn, hating the way your voice sounds, raspy and broken, like you’ve spent the entire day sleeping in hope that you would recover enough to not collapse on the stage.
Briefly, you wonder if that’s going to happen - if the brightness of the lights and the sweating from running around will be enough to push yourself over the line of fine and shut your body down. You wonder, for just a second, what would happen next.
Would the crowd scream or think it’s part of the show? Would Dan stay calm, crack a joke to keep everything under control, or would he panic right away, rush at your side just to make sure that you’re okay?
What would you prefer? What would that look like, what would people think?
You hate looking weak, hate giving people even the smallest peek at your emotions, knowing too well that there’s no way they would keep them safe.
Is there such a ladder to get above this?
(Down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down)
(Girl, what’s wrong with you? Come back down)
Maybe I should ground myself where the mud is
Before I'm gone
For a moment, you want to run.
For just a moment, you don’t care about how bad that would be - you just don’t want to face it, the scary monster outside the room, the greedy heap of people screaming your names, hungry for whatever piece of you that they can get.
For the first time, you think you can understand what Dan must be going through when he feels dipped in the dark abyss - and that thought makes you feel so guilty.
Why are you being dramatic?
“We can cancel,” he repeats, louder, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.
“No,” you say, shaking your head for emphasis, regretting a second later when it feels like the world around you is now spinning. “I - we performed when you were having an episode, Dan. I don’t - I’m fine.”
Dan looks at you with confusion all over his face. “It’s - it’s not the same thing.”
The burning feeling of shame drips from your head to your toes. “I’m sorry,” you croak out, a sudden feeling of desperation running through you, the need to apologize for a crime that you haven’t even committed, not really.
You don’t deserve having these thoughts, you don’t get to compare what you’re going through with what Dan feels, do you? It’s just a fever, just your body trying to fight itself in hope to keep you going. It’ll pass.
“What for? Phil - you’re worrying me.”
“Just - I didn’t mean to - I’m fine, really. I know it’s not the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
Well here's one thing you can trust, yuh
It takes you and me to make us
One of those days you had enough, I'll be there, yuh yuh yuh
If it ain't one thing, it's another
When you need someone to pull you out the bubble
I'll be right there just to hug you, I'll be there
If possible, Dan’s eyebrows furrow even more, and he does stand up then, taking a careful step towards you - at the same time you take a step back. You tell yourself that it’s because you might be contagious and you don’t want him to get sick as well, but buried deep inside you is the knowledge that you just feel like he is going to comfort you, and you don’t feel deserving of that.
For a moment, hurt flashes on Dan’s face at the subtle rejection of his closeness. It doesn’t last long, however, his feature smoothing down into a look of affection as he resumes walking, closing the distance between the two of you - only a couple of steps that felt like miles and miles.
There’s a weak protest on your tongue as he wraps his arms around your neck, placing his forehead against yours - but it dies in your throat, the feeling of him, next to you like every other day, calming you down almost instantly.
“You’re allowed to feel bad, Phil,” Dan almost whispers, warm breath tickling your nose and soft voice feeling like a caress to your sore soul.
“I -” you try to say, but Dan’s lips are on you, a chaste kiss chasing away whatever objection you were going to say.
“I know what you’re thinking. I know that you fell like you can’t complain. But you don’t get to think that, not with me.” His voice gets serious at every word, until it feels like he’s scolding you - in that gentle and loving way that a parent would use with a child, out of love and hope for them to learn, to be better.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat, unable to say anything else around the knot in your throat.
“You’re always gentle with me, when I’m not being nice to myself.” One last kiss on your lips, and then he’s stepping away. “Please, let me be gentle with you. You deserve it, too.”
There are things that you want to say, words of love and adoration and gratitude, declarations that Dan probably knows too well. But you don’t have time - there’s a loud knock on the door, and suddenly it’s time to go, time to perform, the reason why you’re even here - you and Dan, together.
Dan looks at you and for the first time today, you don’t feel judged, don’t feel like anything is expected from you - you can be honest, and free, knowing that this person right in front of you will be there, no matter what.
“You ready?”
You nod, taking a final steadying breath and squeezing Dan’s hand in yours, a sudden intake of energy that you just know is gonna last long enough for you to perform - and then, hopefully, you’ll fall in bed, Dan’s arms wrapped around you, and you’ll finally, finally rest.
“Let’s go.”
You can work your way to the top
(You can feel it, feel it, woo)
Just know that there’s up and downs and there's drops
(You can feel it, feel it, woo)