Chapter Text
It was the winter of 2015 and Phil Lester was sat at his beloved desk in his office, where, despite the slightly peeling walls and the dead plant that gathered dust in the corner, he loved it. Following his internship in his first year of A-Levels with the BBC, he was offered to return and with the guide of his current manager, he was picked up directly into a team and led his way through. He spent a few years in university picking up a master's degree in English Language, but he always knew he wanted to be a journalist, and that's what he'd been able to become.
He had a handful of articles due in by the end of the day, most of them half-finished or only needing the final edits complete, before he'd send them to John to be checked over and then published on the BBC's website. To anyone else, the job could seem mundane, but he found something appealing in the rhythm of his work: interviewing people, researching, then writing everything he'd learned. The people he spent his time with as part of his tasks were mostly wonderful, and he was liked because if you didn't like Mr Lester, then everyone knew that you were the one to blame. You can't dislike a smile and a positive attitude, even as he sat at his desk glaring at his laptop with his pen between his teeth.
He stood up, letting out a sigh and heading over to the window to draw the blind on the intrusive sun. Every day, in the winter, at two o'clock, it would peer through at exactly the wrong place and grab at his eyes. When he couldn't focus on his work, he often spent the time dreaming up an invention that would pull the material over the window so that he didn't have to stand up, although he also needed a refill of coffee this time. His hands gripped the blind and hovered there as his eyes fell out of the window and down at a nearby bus, displaying an advertisement for the new series 'In Seven Different Ways'. He didn't research much into it; he wanted to watch it because it was supposed to be the most awaited show to date, but it was hard when his ex-boyfriend was plastered against every poster as one of the main characters.
He was overwhelmingly happy for him, of course, and his success in America, but nobody ever smiled quite like he did, or spoke like he did, or tasted the same way to the point that he didn't see the worth in trying to replace him. He was happy with his job, so that's what he'd focused on for four years, but even more so over the past six months.
Phil grabbed his mug from his desk, turning around to see his manager standing in the open doorway with a smile, "Phil?" he asked, still focusing on the papers in his hands.
"Hey, John." he chuckled, "Everything alright?"
His manager gave him a look and they both smiled, knowing they were all slightly overwhelmed at the moment, "Look, I know you're busy, but I have two interviews booked in for this afternoon, but I only have time for one."
"I have five articles due in by the end of today and we'd already agreed on overtime-"
"I know, I know." John pushed his glasses up, "It's one of your interests, though-"
"Another charity?" Phil asked.
"Not quite, there are two interviews with some actors from a new series. We just need some quick, half-an-hour meetings with them to get their visions on the show and to write an eight-hundred-word piece for the BBC on it."
"For advertising?" Phil circled his empty coffee mug in his fingers, organising his day in hopes he could fit it in.
"Yeah! So, can I count you in?"
"Sure, who have we got?" Phil laughed, "And can we walk to the coffee machine?"
They walked down the slim hallway into the open space, where Phil eyed the machine in the corner as his manager spoke, "So I have sheets for Megan Meiyer and Daniel Howell-"
"Daniel Howell?" Phil whispered, hearing the name run against his lips as he stared at his drink.
"Right. I'm assuming you've heard of him?"
"Something like that." he nodded.
"Who do you want?" John asked.
Phil was silent for a moment, letting his thoughts fight back and forth until he muttered, "Yeah, I'll take Howell."
"Great. Phil?" his manager smiled, "Thank you for this. I know I overwork you-"
"I don't mind it. Seriously," he spoke truthfully: he didn't have much else to do. He was passed a sheet with his old best friend's name printed at the top, along with brief details about him and what was expected from the interview. It was only a few lines, but he repeated them in his head until his laptop was in his hands and he was seated in the meeting room with his arms shaking at his side.
He wasn't sure why he accepted the interview: it was surely unprofessional, and what if Dan specifically didn't want to see him again? His old housemate would've surely have contacted him again at this point, being back in the UK for the first time since secondary school, if he wanted to? But then, maybe, he simply didn't know where to start?
Phil wrote his questions onto a piece of paper until he heard a small commotion outside, followed by the door slowly opening and his co-worker continuing down the hall, past the privacy-screened glass to his right. He stood up, but his eyes were delayed and took a moment to follow the movement until he was smiling at the slim figure in front of him, dressed in a black suit with his blazer sleeves rolled up and a white shirt without a tie.
They both stood there, the younger man's eyebrows furrowing and the corners of his lips slightly turned upwards as he glared at the journalist. Phil wasn't even sure Dan would recognise him, but he noticed the curls where his old friend's straighteners once ironed his hair out, and his skin which seemed to have paled over the years, "Phil?" he asked, although his tone was uncertain.
Phil chuckled, biting his lips and taking a step forwards. He offered his hand out, letting it awkwardly hover between the two of them before he felt arms wrapped around his shoulders and his friend back in his chest, "You're taller." Phil whispered as they remained in an embrace. His own hands had snaked around Dan's waist and he wasn't sure if he was still holding onto the boy to keep himself from collapsing or to capture him. He'd changed his shampoo since they last hugged, or maybe it had been too long since he last smelt him. His cologne changed the scent as well and if it wasn't for himself pulling away, he was sure he'd have been allowed to smell for longer.
"Are you sure you just haven't shrunk?" Dan giggled, tilting his head to the side with a smile wider than Phil had ever seen him grin before. His best friend from his teenage years was truly happy and anyone could see that, not just him. They'd both stood slightly back, but they were still closer than anyone Phil had interviewed before, however it allowed the black-haired journalist to properly analyse how the boy he'd always known to be smaller than him now stood about an inch taller.
"I'm sorry," Phil muttered, shaking his head and taking a seat.
"For what?"
"I mean, this isn't exactly professional of me," he admitted.
"Sure it is." Dan shrugged, his accent undamaged from the last eight years, "I mean...it depends what you're planning to do."
"Dan," Phil warned, but he was grinning with pinkened cheeks. He could still feel his heartbeat race in his chest and he wasn't sure if he was hearing the hum of the radiators or the vibration of his own blood, "You look like you're doing well." he spoke calmer than he felt and it took the younger man by surprise, who was also overly giddy and hadn't caught up with himself.
"I don't regret it," Dan whispered. He felt his breaths in his nose as his eyes walked directly into his friend's, watching the way the blue still shone through them and lit Dan's face on fire. He simpered, his eyes ducking to his fingers that fought their own battle in his lap. It wasn't a lie: he didn't regret it because it led him to this moment right now, and he had everything he could've dreamt of.
"I'm glad." Phil whispered, "Although, I really do need to interview you." they both chuckled, glancing away from each other, "But, uh, do you...are you free later?"
Dan shot his eyes up, chewing against his bottom lip before he asked, "Is that for coffee or for dinner?"
"Either, I guess it depends on how long you have, considering you asked for this interview to end before half-three." he tested his shot at the figure sat falsely composed in front of him. He could see through him: he might have not been around him for longer than they once knew each other, but they could still read each other like books. Daniel Howell was in no way calm right now and Phil wasn't sure how he could tell because even the media wouldn't, but there was something about the way they could navigate themselves.
"That was before I knew it was you interviewing me." Dan untruthfully admitted, "Kermana at eight?"
Phil nodded, recognising the name of the restaurant but knowing nothing more of it, "How did you get to be in In Seven Different Ways?" he asked, reading from his sheet. He watched his friend slyly smile, swallow, and then answer the question for the interview.