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hello my old heart - The Oh Hello’s
2009
Silence and darkness presses in on Phil, suffocating the hope and warmth in his chest.
The blues and reds colouring the inside of his eyelids are his only shields from reality: he doesn’t want to open them, for he fears the empty room that’ll meet him when he does.
After leaving Dan at the train station last night, he retreated back into his room and stayed there, curled up on his bed, wishing for that dark hole in his chest to be filled. When Dan left on that train back to Wokingham, he took Phil’s heart with him.
And that hurts now, as he lays on the sheets, as they did together just hours ago. As he’s in the room and house they occupied together for such long hours at a time.
He dreads seeing the indoor sky they kissed beneath.
Still, after an eternity has passed by, he lets his eyes open. They brim with crystal droplets the second that tinted ceiling slams into his view, crashing into his lonely existence.
Instinctively his arm flies to the side, grasping for a warm body that’s not there. Instead Phil has to grasp for his phone, which he finds, safe and sound under the pillow next to him.
He finds there’s at least one reason to smile today when he opens his phone, even with the longing tugging at the strings of his heart.
3 messages, one missed call - Dan <3
2010
Phil doesn’t breathe for the first few seconds he looks upon the monochrome world. When he does, he breathes in the familiar smells that seem to drift away each time he wakes up here alone, and wishes for Dan’s warm body to be next to him.
Of course he won’t be here. He’s across the world, in India.
The alarm clock tells Phil it’s ten past ten, the 15th. 15th of February.
He vaguely remembers last night, when he finished drawing for the video and editing it, and pressed upload. How these same walls pressed into him, how his hands were shaking and clammy afterwards. It felt like ripping his heart out of his chest, and then throwing it into cold water, waiting for it to sink to the bottom of the ocean or for a lucky sailor to pick it up and give it back to him.
That lucky sailor would be Dan, he hopes.
He remembers sending the link to Dan over msn, with no note but a little heart next to it. After all, they had said they shouldn’t be obliged to do anything special for valentine’s day.
But what if he had now responded? Dan should be awake at this hour-
With a new spring in his step Phil jumps off the bed, throwing the blanket off himself and sprinting to the cupboard he’d put the laptop in. His heart had been racing too fast to put it somewhere he’d himself see it. It just induced too much anxiety at the time.
He clicks open youtube, saved on his homescreen for easy access.
There it is. A notification, from Dan’s channel. A redirect to a comment.
Deep breath, in and out. Steady your heart.
Phil clicks. Fast.
2012
He’s not sure how long he’s been awake. Time is not real when Dan’s not in the sheets next to him. It’s too lonely, then.
White moonlight dances on the windowsill. The circular orb sits high in the sky above London, shining into the flat with a certain pristine unknowingness. An ignorance of Phil’s loneliness.
A headache pounds like a hammer and nail into the side of his head, but he has nowhere to go for comfort or help. Dan is most certainly still asleep in the other room, and even if it may be an uneasy sleep, he’d not want to disturb him.
The green sheets feel unfamiliar and icy on his skin, as they’re usually cuddled together in ‘Dan’s’ bed at this hour in the night. After the discourse yesterday around some nasty comments he’d gotten regarding the video, Dan had said he needed to be alone.
Phil respects that. He can handle it, and he always says so when Dan asks if he’ll be okay. It’s just one night, he responds. Always.
Truth is it hurts too much, to lay here alone, and even worse to tell him how much it aches. If he can make sure he is the only one to make personal sacrifices, then Phil always will. Always, for he doesn’t like to see his boyfriend hurting any more than he already is.
Click!
The light switches on in the hall, pulling him from his trickling thoughts, reaching his ears before the sound of the door creaking open is able to.
A hand pulls the sweaty sheets away from him, and once the warmth comes up close, a wet pair of lips attaching to his cheek and two strong and tan arms wrapping around him, he recognises the way Dan moves and the way he smells. It’s strong and intruding, and for a moment his hazy, sorrowful mind could not comprehend it.
“‘M sorry..” Dan whispers, snuggling up close into his back, his hand tracing along the freckles on his side.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Phil whispers back, the heaviness still there but the sadness lifting.
The snoring is loud, and before long the light returns, waking them once more.
2015
Hotel room sleep during their tour has been awfully silent, and awfully cold, and too short for the work they do during the day.
Phil knows why they do it, he knows why the decision was made to book separate rooms, and yet his blood runs cold and pained through his empty, beating heart as he thinks of the body that he is not tangled up with. Of Dan and his warm chest, his tan skin, and the way his straightened hair re-tangles itself as he twists and turns in his sleep.
They’re not far away from staff and many prying eyes. Hell, they’re in their home country, where their second largest following resides. And that’s the problem .
You can never be too safe when you’re still in the closet, he thinks to himself. That’s the type of conversation they’ve had manier times than you could count on one hand.
That doesn’t mean it hurts Phil any less. He wishes they didn’t have to hide in such private situations, and that Dan could just be allowed to be himself, for once. Be free from his trauma, his anxious-ridden head, and the world.
Phil wipes a tear away, and then another, before glancing down at the clock. In six hours they’ll be on set, preparing for the next show.
He takes a deep, shaky breath, pulling the air in and then pushing out. Hugging the pillow tighter to his chest, he closes his eyes hard, holding the intrusive thoughts and the pastel hotel walls outside his fragile memory.
He falls back asleep to deadly emptiness, and promises of warmth in the rising Britain sun.
2017
There are flowers and grass tangled in his messy nest of hair. One deeply sorrowful blue forget-me-not is clasped in the gentle grasp of that one dark pigtail curl. Phil’s hands itch to reach out and play with it, to push it away from that glistening forehead.
Phil watches as the dim sunlight crawls in through the roof of branches and leaves. He follows its path with his gaze and marvels in the way it washes across Dan’s brown hair, a colourful wave caressing the earth.
They sit, still and serene, in the wet moss on the bank of the skipping brook. His feet ache yet his heart is warm, and still some sorrow runs in his veins.
Rest is not just for the weak. It may be for the longing, too.
The stream is small, and a blossoming teal, reflecting the greens and the browns of the forest on its clear, glistening surface. It skips and jumps over stone and through crook, alive in its own right.
Cold and refreshing, the small breeze dances with Phil’s dark fringe.
It doesn’t touch Dan’s hair, which is cemented on his pretty head. Instead it raises the forest of grass he’s put in there, the tuffs standing and falling with the beat, matched with the rise and fall of their silent chests.
The cry of a bird wretches itself from the heart of the forest, stirring the carefully crafted silence. It shakes Phil to the very core, and he shoots up from his spot on the beach.
Looking frantically around, he sees and finds nothing unusual. That tingle in the tips of his fingers is back, however, and it’s spread to his lips and his eyes and his-
Gone.
Dan is gone.
Gone.
Dan is gone, the forest pounding with deadly silence in his absence.
Nothing behind the trees, nothing hidden in the moss, not a single strand of brown hair seen a mile away...
A scream threatens to fly out of his throat as his eyes pry themselves open. It’s with pained difficulty that he reminds himself Dan is not here, that he is not on the Isle of Man but way down in Wokingham.
He misses the love, he misses the kisses he can give and take, the hugs they share. He misses everything about Dan, and the both of them together.
He breathes gently, steadying his racing heart. He could text him, that’s all he has to do.
Phil does. Afterwards it doesn’t hurt as much, and he forgets about the dream within short. Being alone, however, still has side effects. And they’re hard to simply erase.
2019
Their legs are tangled together, a heap of sweaty skin and bony angles, when Phil opens his dreadfully tired eyes.
The faint sunlight dances behind the blinds. Specks of it reaches into the room through the soft fabric, not strong enough to light it up, but enough to cover Dan’s tan skin with golden kisses.
All the familiar objects are simple blurs, until he’s able to put his glasses on.
He looks over at the sleeping form of his boyfriend. A freckle or two has grown onto his skin over the summer, and they’re accentuated by the mingling October and November suns, which they have been crossing an awful lot lately. Not a bad awful, but an awful lot.
He deserves his rest, so all Phil can do is place a gentle peck between his shoulder blades.
Phil sits silently up in the hotel bed, the view of tall skyscrapers and the birdsview of Tokyo greeting him. There’s a hitch in the breathing of his boyfriend as he gets up and out of bed, but there’s no need for him to be concerned about it.
Digging through the baggage is something he doesn’t stop with until he’s sure he has felt the velvety box in his hand. He lets it fall back into his bag almost immediately, sensing Dan’s footsteps behind him.
It’s still there, and he’s sure they’re prepared.
Greeting Dan good morning with a kiss and a long hug, he hums his hearts song. Today is the day. He knows it’ll be okay.
2022
January carries a feeling in its arms. A loving one with a tint of cold-hearted longing that means you’ll have to wait ‘til spring for the rest of the emotions you crave.
Not this January. This January carries an exuberant warmth with it, one which flows through Phil’s veins and into his heart, keeping him alive and strong, and breathing for long enough to realise he can.
Or maybe that warmth is just the one coming from Dan next to him.
As he wakes even more in the sunlight and chilling breeze coming from the open window, the memories come flooding back to him.
They got married last night. They took each other’s last names tonight, him and Dan. It still makes his heart flutter, and his stomach flip, and as his eyes graze his tanlines and gorgeous body.. he realises he couldn’t be any happier.
In a couple of days they’ll be moving into their forever home, for forever . Yesterday they got married. They met what feels like a lifetime ago, and they’ll stay together for one more whole of those. Fate said so.
2025
He hears muffled voices when the ceiling of their forever home enters his blurry vision.
Phil wipes his eyes, as one deep and groggy, the other dribbling and pitchy, come into focus and is caught by his ears. He recognizes the musky smells of Dan and their bedroom, and the sweetness of a nest of hair which has recently touched floral soap.
Turning to his left, Phil props himself up on his elbows as he puts his glasses on, and a sight of beauty hits him.
Dan’s laying on his back, swinging Alice back and forth in the air, holding her only by his muscular, fit arms. They’re giggling, the noises echoing gently in the room. He’s beautiful, his curls tangled up in themselves, and his plump pink lips poking out at her.
Her rainbow baby clothes shine brightly, and the contrast between her skin and hair makes her stand out in the monochrome, minimalistic room. Her wide cheeks stretch as she laughs, a perfect match to Dan’s face, and her blue Phil-esque eyes are lit up, brighter than the sky.
At Dan’s feet lays a blonde shiba-corgi mix puppy, wafting tail and tired eyes. His hair stands on end and his soft tongue pokes out. Claude also looks beautiful.
A light dribble rolls from the dogs open, half-asleep mouth. Beautiful.
Phil coos in awe at the loves of his life, and it makes Dan stop. His face falls and he pulls their daughter down and tightly to his chest, blushing crimson and averting his gentle brown eyes.
“Sorry babe,” he whispers, one hand tangled in her ginger hair. “Did we wake you?”
Smiling back at him, his eyes crinkling and tears growing in the bottom corner of each one, Phil reaches a hand up to caress Al’s head. The shyness of his husband makes him even more adorable, and the way he smiles at Alice giggling when he strokes her head makes Phil’s heart grow ten times.
Afterwards he moves his hand down and onto Dan’s face, squishing his smooth and soft cheeks, which spread warmth into his palm.
If he is going to wake up and live the rest of his awake life like this, then he’d rather never sleep again.
“In the best way.”