Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s this thing called “high place phenomenon”, where people get an indescribable urge to fling themselves from a great height.

We get this pull to do the most inappropriate thing our minds can conjure up, like shouting in a silent room, or dropping the precious object you’ve been handed - or jumping off a rooftop just because you’re capable. (and because we’re all a little in love with the unknown)

Dan gets it constantly, and maybe that’s why he loves his rooftop so much, maybe he’s a little bit of a masochist (or a wannabe artist). He likes to encourage that pull just enough to break through his monotonous life into something like inspiration.

It doesn’t make any sense, really, with all the infinite, harrowing power of space - that Dan feels most comforted when he’s face to face with it. Sneaking out past the warning signs on the stairwell door in his building to get as close as he can to oblivion.

It makes his own oblivion: his repetitive loneliness and missed calls from home - seem a lot brighter. Wrapped up in star and street lights and feeling everything like a child in their parent’s embrace, or a teenager in the solace of their room.

He’s a speck in the void, one of many rooftop dreamers who have watched too many indie films, pinpoints on the globe. But he feels like the moon is personally wishing him well, and the wind tugging at his clothes is begging him to play.

There are shelves upon shelves of flowers and herbs on his roof, though he’s never seen anyone tend them before. He’s also pretty sure the little rooftop garden is against regulation, but he’s also kind of in love with it, especially because the plants are struggling hard through London autumn, and the flowers are brown and the leaves are shrivelling away from each other. The whole thing is working spectacularly with Dan’s aesthetic.

The concrete and noise is broken up by sweet, dying flowers and blissful 2 AM silence, and Dan comes up almost every night to think and watch and wonder.

He never tries to write up here, despite the romanticism of it all. The lighting is sparse and the inspiration tends to only run surface deep. When he hurries back to his flat to fill journal pages, they always end up waning imitations of the moon and sad poems about being small that he’ll never share with anyone unless maybe he’s feeling drunk and in the mood for empty compliments.

Right now the rooftop is for settling his cluttered brain, letting the oppressive darkness strip his bad day from his bones. Well, not bad day so much as it was a useless one, where no one talked to him except his landlord and Louise, and lunch was stale bread and slightly old avocado, and it flash rained so that his designer shoes soaked through.

Dan watches the miniature cars whizz by below him, watches lights go off in the complex opposite. He feels a familiar tide rise in him, images of scrambling over the railing and letting the wind whip his face on the way down invading his head. He isn’t at all interested in dying, or rather, he’s way too interested in it and the ways it would suck. He just feels that high place pull like a pop up on his phone every time he’s up here. You’re still human! Congrats! 

He usually backs away and retreats to his flat like he’s putting his phone on silent, closing out of notifications that he already remembered, anyway.

Tonight is cold and biting, and he pushes off the railing to go examine the plants, turning thick strands of grass over in his hands and trying to make them un-wilt. Someone loves these plants, Dan can tell, the soil is always wet and the flowering plants dead-headed. Someone spends time on them. Dan feels a rush of fondness for the slightly crappy gardener, and his cold chapped lips twitch up at the corners.

They fall back in place after a moment, because he has work to do tomorrow, and the propped open door to the stairwell beckons like an ominous, gaping mouth. 

Dan crosses to it, rocks crunching underfoot, and slips through, easing it shut behind him.

His flat is just on the side of too cold when he gets inside, and he tosses his keys on the nearest surface and then dials the heat up. It feels particularly empty for having a couple of stray empty bottles and cluttered napkins leftover from having actual houseguests, and he can’t be bothered to erase the last traces of them from his lonely, lonely house.

He flips off switches mechanically on the way to his bedroom, not bothering to wash his face or brush his teeth, just stripping and collapsing, his day weighing him down into the mattress.

He dreams about long grass towering over him, and his flat walls closing in and crushing him to dust, and when he wakes up he’s pissed off about it. Even his dreams are easy to analyze, even his subconscious is boring. He wishes his life were less straightforward, and then feels bad about it, trying to remember how lucky he is to have anything at all.

_____

Work is work, long and arduous, but Louise waves gourmet sandwiches from the deli next door at him, and Dan clutches his heart jokingly. He tries to pay her back while she titters and shoves his money away.

They slip off onto this building’s rooftop at their allotted break, giggling and speed walking to their spot like they’re still in secondary school.

This roof has nothing on his though. It smells stale and it’s only 3 stories up - not to mention the lack of floral touch to breathe colour into the frustratingly uniform architecture.

Louise is tucking into her cold cut with gusto, smiling around her bites, eyes crinkling, when Dan catches her eye.

He’s so grateful for Louise, as they’re similar in all the best, most comforting ways. Though that can sometimes be overwhelming, when neither of them are willing to venture outside some days, or they dig themselves a conversational hole, neither of them quite socially apt enough to put down the shovel.

They work in this objectively beautiful office space, all tall windows and conference room amenities - but the whole building has a corporate vibe that he still hasn’t stomached. Dan and Louise collaborate for hours upon hours over the pages of her book, until Dan’s eyes feel like they’re vibrating, and even Louise’s lovely disposition starts to needle its way onto his nerves.

Louise is a youtuber writing her first novel, and Dan is her editor, and none of this would work if they didn’t like each other. But sometimes her vlog camera in his face is a little too much, and sometimes he struggles with the multitude of ways that he’s jealous of her. 

Dan is a talker when inspiration strikes, and he so admires the different media you can use words in - video making and novel writing are at the top of that list. And here Louise is, doing both in his face every day, and being infuriatingly kind while doing so.

But she gives him work, and friendship, and her words are so startlingly different from his own, that comparisons aren’t really worth anything anyway.

“Do you think my book is too girly?” Louise asks, sipping her coffee thoughtfully.

Dan scoffs.

“Of course not. Your book is just right for your audience,” he replies. She frowns at him.

“You mean my statistically girl driven audience?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Louise snorts a little, and leans her weight onto the railing, looking out on the bustle all around them.

“I just never thought I’d write a book like this.”

“I never thought I’d edit a book like this,” he retorts and she shoots him a look.

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re much too artsy for my little self encouragement ditty with all the pictures,” she says sourly, but she’s smiling.

Dan smiles back fondly and moves to lean in beside her.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying this much needed break from real books.”

“You twat!” she gasps, jabbing at his ribs with her free hand. He laughs and squirms away, feeling more lighthearted than he has in hours, cool air and non-editing related banter cleansing his palette.

They eat in amiable silence for a minute, and Dan looks down at the pavement.

“Do you think you’d die if you jumped from just 3 stories up?” He asks. Louise startles.

“Jesus, that’s dark. Didn’t know my writing was that bad,” she tries to tease, though she seems genuinely off-put.

Dan rolls his eyes.

“That was such a mom joke.”

Louise shrugs, seeming to take it as a compliment.

Dan continues, “I don’t have a death wish or anything, I was just thinking about my roof-“

“Oh, here we go,” Louise mutters.

“Okay, sorry, I have a favourite spot, you talk about your interior design enough.”

“Because there are new things to talk about! Patterns and measurements and colours - your roof is pretty much always a roof. Except you have a ridiculous superiority complex about it.”

“All writers have superiority complexes, Louise. We’ve got to be narcissists to think people will read the drivel we put down,” Dan laughs.

“Exceedingly well edited drivel,” Louise corrects with a smile. Dan hums in pleased agreement.

“So about my rooftop…” he starts.

“Oh do tell. One narcissist to another,” she says sarcastically.

He tells her about the dying plants and how they make everything seem more personal somehow, like maybe only the sky was supposed to be privy to this secret greenhouse.

“I don’t know, it’s weird. I just feel like I’m waiting for something to happen when I’m up there.”

Louise nods, not condescendingly, to her credit, and takes his hand.

“That’s probably why you keep going up. There’s none of that shiny possibility on the ground, buddy, the only thing it seems like I’m waiting for is the tube. Or for it to rain.”

Dan smiles ruefully and bows his head.

“Maybe I should stop coming down,” he says quietly.

Louise takes it as a joke, laughing and tugging him away from the edge, and back to work, ignoring the drag in Dan’s feet.

Chapter Text

Dan hasn’t seen anyone else up here in his two years as a tenant, but he’s not naive enough to believe no one’s ever tried it. He’s not the only person who disregards explicit signage on blocked off stair wells. Not the only lonely person to watch the stars wink and breathe every night. But he wasn’t expecting anyone’s schedule to coincide with his erratic one.

In retrospect, he should have understood that it wasn’t just his hideout. The mystery gardener, on the other hand, didn’t have any evidence to suggest that they weren’t the only person who was ever there. (except maybe a couple of flowers tweaked out of place by Dan’s curious hands)

It was 11 PM, and Dan was making his nightly pilgrimage to the roof a couple of hours early. His restless mind was preoccupied by tomorrow’s meeting with the publishers, and if he was going to flounder, he’d rather do it in the company of nature.

He takes the stairs two at a time, head down, and as the stair case winds to an end he becomes chillingly aware of something different about this whole routine.

He glances up at the door 6 steps away and sees a panel of moonlight spilling over concrete steps from the open door. He wishes he had been quieter, suddenly, worried that he’s going to come face to face with his landlord shaking his fist and telling him that the sign is there for a reason. Maybe a little more worried that it’ll be just anyone, maybe a kid smoking or a couple enjoying a late night picnic or - Dan’s heart jumps a little - the elusive gardener.

He rolls his eyes at himself. He’d thought about them, obviously, in an abstract kind of way. Foolishly painted pictures of sundress girls with watering cans, or hipster boys in glasses. He’d followed them down pathways in his head and let them fill his mind with things to write about.

He bites his lip. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to be disappointed. 

He shrugs. Maybe it’ll be his landlord.

He climbs the last few steps carefully, and lets himself hover at the doorway, listening.

“Please, Susan.”

Dan frowns at the low timbre of the voice, waiting for whoever Susan is to reply. There’s nothing but empty space, and then, after a beat, humming - low and melodic.

He doesn’t really know what to do with that except keep waiting, so he does, hand hovering over the handle.

“C’mon buddy. Oh, sh-“ the man cuts himself off and makes a tutting noise instead, and Dan’s starting to wonder if this person is sleepwalking, or something.

He decides that it’s ludicrous to eavesdrop on someone who is probably a harmless neighbour, and against his better judgement he pushes the door open.

There’s a tall young man maybe 10 metres away from him, standing in the centre of dozens of plants and gaping back at him. There’s no Susan in sight, nor anyone else, and Dan flushes.

“Um, hello?” Dan says, stepping forward into the pale light and feeling overwhelmingly nervous, for some reason.

The guy waves, awkwardly, and there’s soil on his hands, a smudge just below his messy fringe, and what looks like scissors wedged into his other hand.

“Hi. Uh, hi, sorry, I’m just a bit… no one’s ever up here,” the man says, almost apologetically. Dan wants to laugh, because he really knows that.

When Dan doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I know I’m not supposed to have plants up here… I hope you’re not-“

Dan waves a placating hand.

“No, don’t worry, I’m not reporting you or anything. I’m not supposed to be up here either, am I,” he replies.

The man looks relieved. 

“Thought maybe you were from some rooftop safety organization, or something. I don’t know. ” His own cheeks flush a little, like he regrets the words. “This is so surreal, I’ve literally never seen anyone else up here, and I’m here every night.”

Dan’s heart is racing. Does that mean he could have known who the gardener was months, years ago? Maybe he had brushed by Phil on his way to the roof, maybe they'd stood in the same spot, separated by a breath, orbiting without collision.

He watches him put down his scissors, dusting dirt off his hands and moving out of the circle of greenery.

“I’m Phil, by the way, hello!” He says cheerily, extending one slightly dusty looking hand.

Dan takes it and tries for a polite smile, an introduction.

“Who’s Susan?” He says instead, and he drops Phil’s hand like it’s burned him, embarrassed.

“I mean-“ He can feel his romantic ideas of meet cutes and sharing his hideaway peacefully with someone else crumbling around him.

Phil looks confused for a moment. “Susan…? Oh.” He looks sheepish.

“Susan’s my fern. Sorry, I was… that’s weird isn’t it? That I name them. That I talk to them?” He laughs through a cringe. He’s suddenly even more interesting to Dan than he was when he was a faceless presence overnight.

“Yeah, they’re sort of - well. Dying. I’m not actually much of a gardener, I kind of don’t know how that works? But they’re very pretty. Were. Were very pretty,” he trails off, glancing at his drooping collection.

“I think they’re beautiful now.” Dan says, finally, and Phil looks thrilled.

“Do you? I think they’ve still got something, I dunno. They weren’t even meant to last this long. It’s almost October already. I think maybe-“ he hesitates, glancing at Dan and licking his lips.

“I think maybe it helps when I talk? That’s ridiculous isn’t it, I haven’t done any sciencey plant studies or anything.”

Dan can’t help but smile. 

“I think positive reinforcement helps any living thing, to be honest,” he says. Phil beams toothily, and Dan almost laughs at the force of it.

“Well good, I’ll run the risk of looking a bit odd then. Keep them thriving into December,” Phil says jokingly, and they fall into charged silence.

“Sorry, um. What was your name?” Phil asks, stepping a little closer.

Dan blinks hard.

“It's Dan, wow, sorry, I forgot that goes both ways.”

Phil huffs amusedly and goes to shake his hand, before realizing he’s already done it.

“Oops. Looks like neither of us have met many people?” 

Dan laughs, “Literally.”

“So what brings you to my roof. This roof,” he corrects himself, still looking a bit flustered.

Dan cocks his head to the side.

“I actually… I’m here pretty much nightly, too. Being less productive than you, I guess.”

Phil’s eyes widen. 

“Really? Wow, I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before,” he says incredulously.

Dan nods. “Same. We were just missing each other, I think. I did wonder how the flowers were tending themselves,” he jokes.

“Ugh, they’re barely tended at all, I’m so rubbish. I mostly come here because it feels less lonely,” he says, then makes a face.

“Sorry, TMI. Should I shove off and let you have your roof time, then?” Phil asks.

Dan shrugs, more bemused than anything. 

“You can stay if you’d like,” he says boldly, and Phil, thankfully, looks charmed.

“Well, thanks. But I don’t want to get in the way of another man’s star gazing montage.” He backs away, smiling.

“It’s all yours. Nice to meet you Dan,” he says in parting, sidling awkwardly past the door so as to leave it cracked.

The roof suddenly feels too quiet, and Dan huffs out a disbelieving breath.

He met the gardener, and he wasn’t a sunflower girl or hipster boy, wasn’t even really a gardener.

He looks down at the traces of soil on his hand and wonders at that weird boy with blue eyes and laughing shoulders who said a bit too much about space and plants and loneliness.

He’s not really disappointed at all.

Chapter Text

He spends much of the next day debating about whether he should tell Louise about meeting Phil.

It seems so ridiculous, when he literally just bumped into his neighbour, and they didn’t speak for more than 5 minutes. He shouldn’t be parading every social interaction before Louise like an offering, but this one feels monumental somehow.

He spoke to someone and it went pretty well, first of all, and putting a name and stumbling, pretty eyed face to the gardener might as well be the climax of his life in London so far, a mystery solved.

More interestingly, he doesn’t feel like the mystery is 100% solved, he feels like Phil is a mystery in himself, someone he would very much like to bump into again, just to see if conversation is always as unusual and familiar with Phil. Their first interaction was sort of awkward, and not quite feature film material, but also breathless and interesting in a way that Dan’s life never was, lately.

He kept zoning out, anyway, trying not to sink into old habits of projecting love on to anyone his age, trying to make beautiful stories out of meaningless interactions. Mostly, he’s thinking about “the pull” and how it could maybe apply to the way he wants to go to the roof early tonight.

“… so I’m thinking pink and gold for this spread, for contrast, you know? Dan?” Louise’s voice breaches his daydream and he looks up, distracted.

“Hmm?” 

She makes a face. 

“I had some actually good ideas then, and you weren’t even listening,” she complains and Dan rubs his temples with the pads of his thumbs.

“Sorry, sorry. Can we break?” he asks. Louise squints at him, letting the rough draft flop closed with a sniff.

“Alright, what’s going on in your tiny brain?” she asks. He shrugs helplessly.

“I don’t even know. It’s like,“ he sighs, frustrated. “Like I’m trying to talk myself down from this ledge all the time - jump out into possibilities and outside and new things, you know, or stay comfortably trapped-“

“On your rooftop,” she finishes, lips pursed. 

“Right.”

“I get that. I certainly have troubles with new environments, you’ve seen my vlogs. But I’m always so frustrated when I don’t do anything, you know? I don’t want to stay static and bored forever, and I know you don’t either.”

Dan breathes out hard, trying to find the right sentences in his scrambled word search of a brain.

“I know, but how am I supposed to do anything when it always feels so fruitless. Like I finally leave home and there’s? What? Bad weather and break ups, and the same things on repeat,” he says, and avoids Louise’s knowing eyes.

“We’ve got to find you some more positive friends, mate. We’re not so helpful to each other in this department,” she smiles gently at him and he smiles back tightly, not wanting to seem like some ungrateful child in the middle of a fit.

Her suggestion of “positive friends” rings in his ears, and a blinding smile flickers behind his eyes. God, he was in too deep before he even met Phil.

They sit for a moment, Louise waiting patiently through his mindless tapping as Dan fights through the veritable storm cloud of things he wants to say.

“I met this guy,” he says quietly, and watches Louise’s poorly concealed excitement, her posture shifting and her eyes shining.

“Did you, you rascal, who is it?”

“It’s, uh, the gardener from my roof, actually” he admits, and Louise punches him in the arm.

“No way, that’s so romance novel! The man who fills your plain old hideaway with greenery,” she says it like a headline, laughter sneaking in between her words.

“What happened, tell all,” she demands, swivelling her chair so they’re properly facing each other.

He half shrugs, suddenly reluctant to hand over any of his private, half-formed thoughts.

“I dunno. I went up a little early, and he was there, sort of… talking to himself - in a cute way, Louise, don’t give me that look. And he smiled at me so much, and the way he talked about the plants, god, like they were alive. And he mentioned star gazing and - and being lonely, all in the same 5 minutes.” 

Dan looks down, feeling heat creep up his neck.

“I don’t mean to be so-“ he looks for the word, gesturing emptily, “ridiculous.” he finishes flatly, and Louise looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings, I have the silliest crushes all the time. At least yours sounds sweet, and you know. Mutual.”

“In what way- how could you possibly know that, you’re going off of an idiot’s rambling, it was really nothing- just. Ships passing in the night.”

“Pardon? Are you quoting-”

“Sorry, that was. Pretentious and dumb, never mind. God I’m a mess, fuck. Jesus. Do I ask him out or not?”

“Ask him. 3000% ask him. You’ll regret it so hard, otherwise. Cute meeting, cute boy, rooftop companion…” she counts off on her fingers, then shoots him a look. “He is cute right?” she asks, half teasing. Dan rolls his eyes, feeling needlessly protective.

“He’s cute.”

“You’re cute. Great fit,” she says, and tugs at his lapel so he looks at her.

“Yeah, ok. God, I need some more levelheaded friends to discourage me from doing dumb romantic shit.”

“You always have Chris, he’s a wallower,” she reminds him.

“Hmm. I’ll call him up when Phil inevitably turns me down.” 

“Ooh la la the boy has a name.”

“Piss off, did you think his name was ‘the gardener’?”

“Dan and Phil, that’s so precious.”

“Louise and shut the fuck up, my OTP.”

________

Dan’s on the roof at 10 PM, was feeling too antsy in his flat, like his energy was scratching at the walls.

The ambience of outside is less comforting now than it is siren heavy and bone dry, the air biting at him, and his eyes flickering to the plants and the abandoned scissors over and over again.

Phil palms the door open with one hand, a watering can in the other, and his hair is pushed away from his face in a really really good way. Phil’s eyes seem to scan the roof before his body’s even through the door, and Dan thinks he looks hopeful, though it might be wishful thinking.

Their eyes click together and they both look embarrassed at themselves. The reality that they’ve only spoken once rushes in Dan’s ears and he’s so aware that he can’t do this, they can’t do this.

He says, “Hello again,” and pushes off the cold stone wall. Phil looks like he’s going to wave, but his hands are full, so his elbow sort of pops up instead.

“Hi, Dan!”

He remembers my name.

“I was a little worried I dreamed you,” Phil says, and there’s not a hint of deceit or embarrassment in his face. Dan feels his body seize with nerves, but there’s hope murmuring in his chest.

“Pleasantly surprised?” He asks, a bit cheekily, and there’s laughter in Phil’s eyes.

“Ecstatic. Um. Could you help me with this, if it’s not too presumptuous…?” He asks, arms overflowing onto a work bench tucked behind a row of succulents. 

“‘Course. Love to pick up gardening tips from a pro,” Dan jokes, sidling in beside Phil and trying not to think about how he hasn’t seen him this close up before.

“You’re gonna be so disappointed, mate. Unless the gardening tips you’re looking for are ‘ways to spill without even touching anything’” Phil says lightly.

Dan laughs. “That sounds more my speed anyway.”

Phil eyes him, mouth twitching. “Glad my second in command just admitted to being clumsy.”

“The first in command started it,” Dan retorts. Phil grins, distractedly tugging wilted daisies from their stems.

“I’m liking this first in command thing. Are you going to call me sir?”

Dan’s mouth twists against a goofy smile. This conversation dove headfirst into flirtation, and he could barely keep up with the way this guy talked - like he knew people he’d just met.

“Mmm, I don’t think chief gardener quite warrants fancy titles,” Dan teases, watching Phil sprinkle spoonfuls of water onto the succulents and following his lead.

Phil looks mock affronted. “Wow. What about rooftop loser number one?”

“Why do you get to be number one?”

“I assume I was here first, based on the fact that you look like you’re 18.” Phil jokes, but he looks up through his lashes, and Dan feels like he’s fishing for his age.

“I’m 24 but it’s good to know I’m maintaining that youthful glow” Dan says, framing his face and batting his eyes. Phil snorts.

“Ah yes, the youthful glow of a greasy teen.”

“Ouch! You’ve met me twice and we’re already on an extremely insulting basis. I miss the anonymous gardener” Dan laughs.

Phil smiles, but it fades a little.

“Sorry if I - overstepped, I tend to do that,” he says apologetically. Dan shakes his head.

“No, dude, I was just kidding. I really like talking to you.”

He watches Phil’s face lift, and feels his heart contract painfully. 

“Well, you’re a better conversationalist than Susan, for sure.”

Dan rolls his eyes. 

“High praise,” he says, and Phil’s eyes shine, but he stays silent.

“So… why the gardening if you’re not a gardener? And why on the roof, while we’re at it,” Dan asks.

“Asking the big questions. Um.” Phil scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“… I like plants, I guess, I’ve always loved nature and animals and things that can’t - I guess. Can’t judge me?” Phil chuckles to himself, and Dan can’t tug his eyes away.

“Like I love people, but there’s something about a pet or a bonsai, you know, something alive, where there’s a little upkeep to keep my hands busy, but not so much that I kill anything? And it’s just there to listen” Phil finishes, glancing up and then down hastily. 

“I get that. I pretty much talk to myself when no one’s around, to get out of my own head. I like to talk things out. It’s sort of like writing out loud, I guess.” Dan replies.

Phil tilts his head, trying to find eye contact again.

“Are you a writer?” he asks. Dan laughs, high and uncertain.

“Hardly. Yes, actually - I guess? An editor, officially. Anything where I get to rearrange words until they fit.”

“That’s cool. That’s actually really cool. I wish I was doing something even related to what I want to do,” Phil says, and he turns around so the back of his legs hit the counter. Dan follows his lead.

“What do you want to do?” 

“Film.” Phil breathes immediately, catching Dan’s eye again and holding it this time.

“I love movies. I love the creativity and the cinematography and the editing. You know, movie magic? I always wanted to be casting the spells. Wow that was. Less lame in my head.” Phil shakes his head and his fringe falls over his eyes. He’s immediately adjusting the hair, ruffling it from the back forward in a way that’s impossibly endearing.

“I went to school for film, too, and english - linguistics. I love writing, but I’m more about… concepts?”

“That sounds awesome. And hey, I’ll write you a script,” Dan half jokes, but their eyes slant together hopefully.

“Would you? I mean - I don’t have - I’m not drowning in film equipment, am I? I’m working at a greenhouse right now-“ he pauses, like he’s waiting for laughter, “hence the discount plant material.”

Dan nods, stuck somewhere on the fact that this is a film major, and the luck of that. 

They could probably make beautiful things together. Dan has a feeling things from Phil’s brain would be beautiful, anyway.

“I would still write you something,” Dan says. They smile at each other.

“You could write me a haiku and I’d be thrilled. I’d film a stop motion of the words being written, or something dumb. I love collaborating.” His gaze flickers between Dan’s eyes. “I’m glad you came along Dan,” he says.

Dan tries to laugh but sort of chokes, grip tightening on the table top. He swallows a couple of times, and Phil looks at him like he’s not the most awkward person in the world, which is comforting.

“You never answered my question about the rooftop,” he says finally.

Phil laughs. “Oh yeah. I just liked the idea of it, I suppose. I actually assembled some plants for this video I shot a couple years ago, kind of an artsy advertisement for the place I work for. I wanted the natural light. The rooftop vibe seemed like such an effortless backdrop. But then when we were done - I. I still wanted the backdrop. Kept coming up. Used watering the plants as an excuse.”

Dan nods seriously, but he’s honestly sort of in love with this guy. He’s starting to feel like someone’s playing a prank on him, waving this pretty smiled, articulate nerd at him. He’s so open and so kind, already, and smitten isn’t a big enough word for the way Dan’s breathing is fluctuating, his mouth falling over sentences that usually come naturally.

“I thought maybe you just liked rule-breaking. Ignoring signs. That’s my MO, anyway” Dan says. Phil bumps his shoulder with his own, snickering.

“Figured. I - don’t really like conflict, actually. I asked the landlord for permission,” Phil admits.

“That’s. I really should have known. You don’t actually strike me as a trouble maker,” Dan laughs.

Phil narrows his eyes, bless him.

“I’m not above cheating at mario kart,” he tries, and Dan shakes his head - but warmth curls in his stomach. That’s another thing they have in common.

“You’re too adorable for a life of crime, soz.”

Phil flushes, for once, and Dan’s like, 5 seconds from asking him out, when Phil’s averted eyes find his watch.

“Oh, god, it’s past 11. I’ve got to get going!” 

Dan watches helplessly as he starts gathering his supplies, backing away from the table.

“Sorry Dan. We should… can we do this again? Hang out on the roof? I dunno if I’ll be able to go back to solo gardening. You make such a great second in command,” he says, eyes sparkling.

“I can make time,” Dan answers smoothly, like he won’t be here every night anyway.

Phil looks like wants to say something else, but a car horn grabs his attention, and the moment’s gone.

“Remember you owe me a script, Dan,” Phil reminds him, turning to go, “stay warm!”

He lets himself track Phil’s movements as he disappears behind the door, smiling intermittently in Dan’s direction as he jostles his watering cans and trowels squeezing through the door.

Dan lets his shoulders relax, heaving out a sigh. 

He alternates between two stark thoughts:

1. He didn’t ask him.

2. He’s got to write about this boy.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks Phil becomes sort of a fixed point in Dan’s life. Maybe even a focal one, if he’s being honest. He keeps circling back to him, and their roof, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend like he’s okay with never seeing him during the day.

He didn’t mean for their relationship to drift so comfortably into friendship, wasn’t really prepared for the way that he wanted to maybe spend his life smashing Phil at mario kart and naming every last bud on every last plant. They just fit so well, compatibility oozing from their conversations like they’d been matched up on some dating website.

Phil is starting to become three dimensional to Dan, smashing past unattainable artsy film boy and into oh no, I think he might be my best friend territory. The grass is admittedly greener, affection is freer, and meetings are nightly on the friendship side of the fence. 

But it’s like neither of them are 100% sure why they’re confined to the roof, like maybe going back to each others flats will break the spell or put on pressure. Dan is comfortable to talk about their hometowns and lament about the particularly nasty sadness of isolation, and enthuse about their favourite animes and video games. But he also thinks that Louise would love Phil, and that his eyes would look even better in sunlight.

He still hasn’t asked him out, obviously, can’t even ask him for a daytime meet up, and now he feels like romance is in a nebulous area that neither of them really delve into. They do like to graze it though, constantly flirting, and he thinks he would be exhausted of the sickly sweetness of it if he weren’t so blissfully involved with Phil.

One night they’re pressed, hip to hip in the corner behind the garden, using the shelves like a windbreaker, teeth chattering as they trade myspace regrets and failed youtube channels.

“I can’t believe you deleted when you had a hundred followers!” Dan exclaims, one hand pressing over Phil’s lightly. Phil’s gloved hand turns over and interlocks their fingers like that’s normal, and he’s not even looking down, too busy shaking his head and grinning at his outburst.

“A hundred people who liked content that I didn’t even enjoy making! I didn’t want to get in too deep, I didn’t want to be inauthentic. Besides, those sorts of videos don’t really make it on youtube.”

Dan shrugs. “I would have watched you. Your videos are brilliant.”

“You’ve seen 3!” Phil says, voice creeping up onto the side of too high. Dan gives him a look.

“3 is enough to recognize talent, idiot. Let me compliment you,” he says. Phil goes pink in the cheeks.

“Okay,” Phil mumbles, looking down at their hands. “So what’s your excuse for not having a channel, huh? I know you wish you were like Louise,” Phil says.

“Okay, not like Louise, just. I wish I had the courage to start, back when it wasn’t all politics and competition and selling out. I wish I had someone telling me I was good back then. Maybe I could have… “ he trails off and feels a pang for the path he could have followed.

Phil looks pensive. “Is it… I mean it’s not technically too late? I would certainly encourage you, now,” Phil says. Dan feels that dumb hope creeping up again.

“You don’t think we’re a little old?” he asks, and Phil rolls his eyes, groaning.

“You’re 24, you’re not exactly over the hill.”

“I do actually have a job-“

“Yeah, ‘cause youtube is going to tear down your career.”

“What content would I even make?”

Phil smiles, clutching his hand tightly.

“Whatever you fucking want. Script some videos. Perform some of that poetry you told me about. Have a story segment, you’re so good at making innocuous stories fascinating. You’d be so interesting to watch Dan,” Phil says, eyes so bright Dan can see stars in them.

“Says you.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Phil laments, his other hand coming up to flick Dan in the temple.

“Everyone’ll love you. You’re a cute british boy, at the very least.”

Dan feels his hand go clammy, and he’s glad there’s a glove between their palms.

“You’ve never seen me in proper lighting, I could be hideous,” he reminds him, and Phil looks startled at the reminder.

“Doubt it,” Phil says absently, but his eyes are elsewhere. He focuses back in on Dan’s quizzical expression.

“Hey, would you have brunch with me tomorrow? And then maybe we could make use of my shitty camera?” Phil asks. Dan wiggles his eyebrows, and Phil huffs, annoyed.

“Don’t be gross. Is it a yes to the scandalous day time meeting?” 

“I suppose,” Dan sniffs. 

Phil's face breaks open, sunshine cresting past dimly lit features. 

Yikes! I'm a school girl!

"Awesome. All this coming to the roof at 12 AM in the cold to hang out with you - leaving me a bit knackered to be honest" Phil admits.

Dan's sure his face looks manic, he feels it.

"Now the question is - just how many dying plants has Phil crammed into his flat - Dan finds out tomorrow at 11" he puts on a newscaster voice, and Phil, thrillingly, loves it, laughing and sparkling and effervescing all over the place.

Just then, the first whispering flake of snow lands in Phil's eyelashes. He looks up to the opening heavens, flecks darting through the light of street lamps, clouds stark and heavy above the torrent of dainty white. Dan's eyes stay on him, and Phil must feel it, because he gestures up with his free hand.

"Dan, look at this."

He sounds breathless, like he is when he talks about his favourite films. 

Dan scoots in closer under the guise of matching his perspective, and their cheeks are a breath away, matching pink with the bite of cold.

Their hands are still wound together, and he can't imagine that this is just friendly, can't think of a teammate or coworker that would pull together like this, like drawing a shoelace tight, crossing two sides into one knot.

Phil looks back down at him, crows feet popping against the blue of his eyes, and his breath hitches.

Dan grins at him, can't help it, and Phil looks a bit wrecked, actually.

"Dan…" he says in that same, breathless voice, and this is it, he's never been so sure he's not going to get rejected, there are barely 3 fingers distance between their mouths-

Phil's eyes slide past him to the shelf nearest them.

"Dan" he says more firmly, "The plants, they're-" he lets out a wild giggle, "they're going to be covered in snow, you've gotta help me save them."

He pushes himself away, away from Dan's lips and hand, and the safety of their alcove. He watches Phil's hair get whipped about by the wind, and he can't be disappointed - Phil's laughing and trying to keep his scarf on straight, stumbling between aisles of his own ridiculous garden, shoving potted plants under his jacket.

Dan stands up to join him, and the wind catches him like a tidal wave.

He lets out this teeth chattering whoop, embracing the cold as it rushes into all the crevices he'd been locking down, blowing his jacket fully open and plastering his thin t-shirt to his chest.

Phil's eyes are burning into him, hands slipping a bit around his plants, smiling at Dan incredulously.

"You're as crazy as me." Nothing has ever sounded so much like a compliment.

They come together over the central table, heads bowed against the weather.

"What's our plan here - smuggle our favourites inside and leave the rest?" Dan asks, and Phil shoots him a look.

"How dare you, I don't pick favourites" Phil tells him, "Leave no man behind, alright. Or woman - or non-binary plants," He adds, thumbing over a fluorescent orange ceramic. Dan nods.

"Right, so - we cart them all in. And then what?" he asks. Phil looks sheepish.

"Could you, I don't know. Could you keep a few of them, just overnight? I don't think I can cram them all into my apartment, but I can salvage some back at the shop in the morning, probably," he explains. 

"You mean I don't even get to keep a plant for my troubles?" Dan asks, teasing, and Phil seems caught off guard.

"Well of course - of course you can keep one, oh my god, please do, I-" He seems to catch on to Dan's joking, and his tone changes to match: "I could make a recommendation, we have some fine succulents on right now, 100% off as of right now," Phil jokes, and Dan is dissolving.

"An intriguing offer, I'll let you know," he replies, straightening plants and flipping up guards on the carts so that the wheels can move.

"This is gonna be a bitch to get down the stairs."

"Tell me about it - the upstairs haul was about as fun as it sounds. Two people should make things better, though," Phil says, and searches for Dan's eyes again. Their eye contact seems to get longer every time, maybe inappropriately so.

"I've always found that" Dan says, smiling softly.

The next half hour gets colder and colder as they sink towards the earliest hours of morning before dawn breaks. 

There are only actually four main carts of greenery, but there are three flights of stairs down to Dan's flat, and one flight to Phil's, and the up and down is starting to make Dan lightheaded. Not to mention sweaty. There aren't actually that many guys he would do this for, but Phil keeps singing like he doesn't know he's doing it, cheerful little nonsensical melodies. It makes the work a bit easier.

They move the last couple small shelving units with an air of relief, clumps of snow sticking to their hair and collars, conversation finding its way, impossibly, to first kisses.

They end up walking through the corridor towards Phil's, talking a bit too loudly about how gross inexperienced tongues and ashtray mouth were, how weird navigating romance is, still is, with a bit too much sideways glancing.

They tucked line upon line of flowers into Dan's dark apartment, never moving from the front entryway, and he's glad that Phil's curious eyes didn't fall upon anything too incriminating.

Now they're practically bursting into Phil's place, disturbing the darkness, sidling past his own mess of leaves towards the promise of thank you coffee. He almost forgets that this is very new territory for them, that it's nearly 4 AM, and they're both delirious and over-sharing, brushing hands over and over.

Dan's trying not to snoop, but everything is colourful and eye-catching like Phil, every adornment on the wall is a little nerdier than the last. Every knick knack is placed in a creative way - googly eyes on his light switch, spiderman swinging from the pulley on his shutters. 

Dan feels a bit alice in wonderland, wandering through this tall and outlandish world, and when a cup of coffee in a hello kitty mug is pressed into his hand, Phil's grin looks very Cheshire.

"Hope you don't mind, I know this place is a lot. My mum says I don't need to grow up, I just need to 'look it'."

Dan shakes his head quickly, smiling. 

"No, it's- it feels a lot like my place, actually. Or what I wish were in my place."

"That's actually not that surprising considering we apparently have the exact same taste in everything," Phil says, and he folds his limbs into the couch. Dan follows instinctively to the other side of the same couch, settling in.

"Except formula 1" they say at the same time, and laugh at themselves, sipping at their coffee in similar unison.

Phil laughs again, startled. "Who would've thought I'd find my doppleganger on my rooftop. Skinny jeans and emo fringe and everything."

Dan shrugs. "I think we're different. In all the ways that matter, anyway."

Phil leans his head onto his hand, looking at him. "How do you figure?"

"Well," he starts, eyes flickering towards his audience, "you're more of an optimist, for one. Generally more sociable and less sarcastic. You're the filmmaker whereas I'm the writer, I could go on…"

"So we're compatible, is what you're saying," Phil teases.

Dan purses his lips, looks into hello kitty's brain where his coffee is swirling.

"I suppose."

Phil grins, just like last time Dan said those words, and he half expects snow to curl around them again.

"Excellent. I was getting so tired of all my other optimistic, sociable filmmaker friends. You're a breath of negative air," he says, tongue creeping between his smile as he waits for Dan's reaction.

And Dan can't wait to give it to him, sarcastic grin climbing onto his face eagerly.

"I would say I'm happy to help - but that kind of defeats the purpose. Gotta maintain, you know, my angsty writer image."

Phil's features twist tighter, happier, and he squints at Dan. "That reminds me. Tell me about that writing of yours."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me all the behind the scenes things. Tell me about your process, you know, the-uh, the inspiration. I love hearing all that sentimental art shit" Phil laughs.

So does Dan, and he wonders if they're both under the influence of moonlight, wired with soft yellow lighting and sweet coffee. 

He gets straight into it, "I'm a procrastinator, by nature, you know, and I don't write unless it's - unless it's begging to be written. Like I'm not wandering outside inspired by every changing fucking street light- but. There's poetry in a lot of things. Sometimes words - it's like I'm watching them go about their business, I'm, like, chasing after them. I'm going through prose in my head, stories that could be good, bits and pieces. But I don't put them all down, I lose most of them by the time I get to my journal," Dan glances up, feeling raw, wondering if Phil will ask, like they all do, to see his journal. They might as well ask to cut into him, his writing is as much of his brain as he can get down.

Phil's eyes are buttery soft and kind, and he nods for him to continue, doesn't look like he's interrupted a soul in his life.

"But, yeah, I'm writing all the time, you know. In my head. But right now its all about…"

"Louise's book, right," Phil finishes. "That must be frustrating. Like- like waving a chocolate bar under someone's nose when they're on a diet."

Dan smiles ruefully. "More like making me eat this one kind of chocolate bar every day, and then being too full to have dinner when I get home. It's like - I love proofreading, collaborating, I always have - but I also know that I love being on the other side of that dynamic. Someone pouring over my words, tucking into them every day, tweaking them like- I dunno, tuning a guitar. Watching it get better and better, watching your ideas come into focus. I miss that so bad sometimes. All the time, actually."

Phil's face folds up in sympathy. 

"I wish I could give you that. I know what it's like to miss your craft, obviously. I had access to all this equipment in Uni, all these actors and scriptwriters and it was like this constant buffet of talent. And I'm not so much like you, like - I love being the conductor, not the musician, you know? I really don't - I can't even practice, it's film, I don't exactly have a journal."

Dan hmm's, and they look at each other like they're deciphering pieces of art, trying to see past exteriors into the beauty trying to worm its way out.

"I want to see what you could do with an infinite budget," Dan says, dimples popping out. "I want to see Phil, uncensored."

Phil's eyes widen a little and then he's fighting a smirk. "That's awfully forward."

Dan opens his mouth and then lets it close, eyes falling shut with it, half amused, half defeated.

"Phil."

"Ok you led me by the hand to that joke, I hardly ever make innuendo's, that's your thing."

Dan shrugs. "You make it hard not to- don't" he warns when Phil's grinning mouth opens at the mention of "hard".

"Oh, fine. Boring." Phil shifts closer, crossed leg brushing at Dan's.

"So have you written anything about the rooftop?" Phil asks, and Dan can see it in his eyes, the laced undertones of me, me, have you written about me, am I important enough? He's seen it in a lot of people, and a lot of ex's but it's strange and endearing in all the ways that Phil didn't outright ask.

"I have," he replies lowly, feeling the phantom heat from Phil's leg.

"Any good? Or all twinkle twinkle rip offs."

Dan watches the way Phil tenses up in anticipation of a laugh, tongue back at his teeth. 

"Art is subjective" Dan says, just barely keeping the keen of laughter out of his words. Phil slides on a mask of faux seriousness, nodding in agreement.

"You know I actually barely wrote about the roof? I'm more into the feeling than the art of it. It's the reasons I go up there, that's the stuff I write about," Dan says and then blinks at himself, unsure if it's the hour or the person that's making him speak so freely.

"Hmm. I guess we have to meet outside of the roof more often so I can see what you write about."

It's flimsy, and sweet, and Dan smiles.

"If I remember correctly we do have a brunch date tomorrow-today," Dan says.

"You might as well stay over, then" Phil says, eyes down.

"Might as well," Dan repeats, and Phil's eyes flash back up.

"Well if you're staying I expect a sampling of your writing." He stands up suddenly and takes Dan's mug, trotting off in the direction of the kitchen.

"What am I supposed to write about in here?" Dan calls, bewildered.

"I dunno, I thought you were writing all the time in your head? Write about something beautiful. I'm a harsh critic, mind you, there will be letter grades," he calls back.

Something beautiful. Dan's eyes find scattered photos of Phil, sees the larger than life shadows of flora in the hallway, lovingly tucked in away from the cold. He can hear Phil singing Muse, poorly, in the kitchen, calling out questions, does he want biscuits, a ribena, more coffee, is he cold.

He ends up writing about time, about the strangeness of it, doesn't even touch on the subject of glowing personalities in electric boys.

Phil almost cries reading his time poem, tells him over and over how much Dan deserves, how he's meant for more, meant for fame. They start in on time travel after that, drooping into morning over ribena and paradox talk. Somehow they start holding hands again, loose over the back of the couch, and when Phil falls asleep, his glasses fall off but his hand stays - tightly gripped - in Dan's.

Chapter Text

"Louise, I love him," Dan declares over Sunday morning coffee. 

Saturday brunch had been warm and wonderful, he had woken with his hand open and lax around nothing, smelling eggs and butter and something sugary sweet from his spot on the couch.

Phil had come in looking beautiful, hair waving ever so slightly without product, thick framed glasses perched on his nose and bare feet curling into the carpet.

His smile in the sunlight didn't stop delighting Dan all through the morning, and they had watched and watched each other over sugar dusted waffles, lips bitten bashful, loving the things the sun did to each other: trailing over Dan's collarbones and yellow ribboning through the pools of Phil's eyes. 

If the conversations of Friday night had been cresting waves, brunch yielded ripples, bubbles, conversation bobbing over mouthfuls. 

When Phil brought out an antique looking camera, hopeful and flushed, Dan had bailed, excuses scattered behind him, heart pounding at the thought of creating content again, of the stress that came with that.

Louise looks at him, and he watches fondness and skepticism war for dominance in her features.

"You love him."

Dan nods and her eyes burn into him.

"Okay, fine I like him a lot," he concedes, "A lot a lot. Like, 'please please never stop being in my life I might actually die' sort of like."

Louise raises her eyebrows. "That's a lot of like."

"He's a lot to like, he's-" he struggles to keep the dreamy out of his voice. 

"He's really cool, Louise, he's so good for me," Dan admits. Louise flushes with happiness.

"Ohh, I love when things work out like this, I love this. Have you gone out yet?" she asks, peach stained lips turned up, eyes bright.

Dan doesn't want to disappoint that face, so he looks at his shoes.

"Not 100%, no."

"What percentage have you been on a date, then?" she asks flatly. He glances up at her face, so motherly and disapproving now.

"None, god, mom, let me do this in my time. He's actually important to me, I'm letting things develop naturally."

She hums in acknowledgement, chewing absently at a thumb nail. Her eyes light up after a moment, clearly idea struck and eager.

"Or," she draws out the word for suspense, leaning into his space, "You could introduce us. Have a little partay. I could be your wing woman, I'd be fantastic." She grins madly.

He hesitates, trying to swallow the reluctance that's pooling in his mouth, forming disapproval before he can really think about it. He's trying to pair Louise and Phil in his mind, trying to mix the dreamy whirlwind friendship with a regular party atmosphere and fighting the way it feels wrong.

Phil isn't his, or anything, shouldn't be kept on rooftops by any means, not when he has so many mannerisms and lovely thoughts that he would love for his friends to overanalyze. Dan feels his hands fluttering, like he's physically grasping for words.

"I suppose I could have a soiree. A few friends, slip Phil a casual invite," he says slowly.

"So you can slip him…" Louise nudges him, starting in on this gross over the top winking routine. Dan wrinkles his nose.

"You're uninvited, perv."

"How dare you, I suggested it, I should be the guest of honour-"

"Okay, I'm not exactly a social butterfly but even I know that's not how that shit works," Dan interrupts, lips quirking up.

"I can't even hear you, I'm planning a party," Louise mutters, flipping open a periwinkle notepad, and snapping at Dan for a pen. 

"Ugh, wait, Louise, why would I even be throwing this party, there's no occasion, this is stupid-" he groans.

"You're over thinking darling, people have get togethers, it's a thing." She ends up giving up and snatching the pen straight from his reluctant fist, jotting down notes on catering and asking for names absently.

Dan tries to un-tense his shoulders, scripting a casual invitation to Phil in his head. He was already anxious about tonight, unsure if Phil would be mad about Saturday morning's dine and dash, so to speak.

He doubts it, honestly, can't even picture anger on Phil's features, but worry is written into every line of Dan, and no matter how many flirtatious grins and hand holding episodes he participates in, he's always going to be scared.

He watches Louise tooth-gapped smiling at her loopy scrawl and feels his chest clench with affection.

Might as well risk it.

_______

"Why would you think that that was a good idea?" Dan says into the phone, voice edged with steel.

"I dunno, I thought. Oh, I don't know what I thought. I guess that you were friends?" Louise says timidly and he almost feels bad for the way he's about to ream her out. 

He scrubs a hand over the buzzed back of his head, grappling with latent anger.

"We're not. We're pretend friends, we're break up buddies at best, ok. I don't need my ex to come in and make things weird- oh god it's going to be so awkward with Phil Louise," Dan says, and his voice is breaking and slipping the more worked up he gets. Louise shushes him anxiously.

"No, no no, it doesn't have to be, chummy, just keep things light with Lily, and make it clear that you're interested in Phil. Don't leave any room for mixed messages."

"Right," Dan says skeptically, sighing.

"Maybe I shouldn't invite Phil."

"Dan, come on. We planned this for Phil, right? I want to meet him, you want him there. Don't be dumb," she says, and he sighs even harder, but it's more joking this time.

"Fine, you're right, ok. I'm going to his flat now, anyway."

"Do you have the invitations I gave you-"

"There's literally no chance I'm giving out gold filigree envelopes, oh my god."

"Oh, fine. Basic."

"I'm hanging up - try not to invite, I don't know, my boss? My childhood bullies? People who could make this party even worse," he jokes, hanging up before she can retort.

_______

He takes the stairs to Phil's floor two at a time, tamping down his nerves and fiddling with the too long sleeves of his sweater.

His footfalls are heavy on the carpet as he rounds the corner, and he taps lightly on Phil's door before he can reconsider. There's a long silence, and Dan listens for signs of his long, clumsy strides, a reassuring yell, anything. 

The silence stretches on, and he knocks more firmly, self consciousness creeping around his neck.

There's still nothing, and he frowns. It's 9 PM, so he's definitely done at the shop. Maybe he's out with friends? Maybe on a date. He's not made for you , he reminds himself, he's not home at all hours, waiting to fulfill your boy next door fantasies.

He can feel disappointment pulling his hand back from the doorframe, making him sag a little.

He's turning from the door when his eye catches on the door to the stairs and he nearly kicks himself.

The roof, obviously.

_______

Phil's back is to him when Dan finds him, and even though he knows that Phil heard the door scream open, neither of them speak right away. They stand, parallel and comfortably silent, Dan watching Phil watching the universe. 

He watches the lines of Phil's legs recrossing, the shiny fabric of his jacket hanging off of his frame, wind tousled hair spilling over his upturned face.

"Hey, you," Phil says finally, smiling faintly even though he hasn't looked at Dan yet.

"Hey," Dan says hollowly. Nervousness is cracking into him like spidering glass before it shatters.

"You're…" he swallows. "You weren't in your flat."

Phil turns to look at him, confused. "No, I - I thought we always met here?" 

Dan laughs, breathless. "No, of course. Of course we do. I just, I didn't know. I thought maybe we were past that. We were in inside territory."

Phil's smile sparkles, and he steps closer. 

"Is it silly that maybe I want to keep meeting here sometimes? We came here when we were lonely, and it's sort of nice that now… that now we have something tangible that - isn't. Lonely," he finishes lamely, eyes flickering in and out of focusing on Dan.

"Nah, I get it. Feels very cosmic up here. Like maybe wishing on stars works." 

Phil nods eagerly. "Yeah, exactly. I like. Wished I had someone to hang out with up here. Or anywhere really - and then the universe was like 'yo we heard you Philip, here's a Dan'" he laughs, and Dan laughs too, and they're losing it, probably.

"Beautifully said. Come here," Dan says softly, pulling Phil in by the back of his head and holding him close. They hug for a minute, feeling very solid and close in the bite of cold around them, and when they separate, it's a bit like being submerged in icy water.

"What was that for?" Phil says, quiet and blushing, and there's something about the energy between them that's very, very different tonight. 

"Come to a party at mine? On Tuesday?" Dan asks breathlessly, and Phil beams.

"Yeah."

"Great." Dan says, and then kisses him on the mouth.

It's chaste, and brief, he's leaning all the way in and feeling blood rushing in his ears, Phil's mouth open beneath his. 

He pulls completely away from his warmth before Phil can say anything, darting towards the door and trying not to dwell on his wet lips, the scrape of stubble, the solidity of a body ghosting against him - even though it's beating further into him with every step.

He feels insane, he feels like he's riding the worlds biggest rush, it's screaming through him and hot in the palms of his hands where they touched, and he keeps thinking that that was a way fancier invitation than the filigree. 

It's silly when he would probably be kissed by his grandma for about as long, and he's sure Phil won't be head over heels from less than a full second of touch - but. But. 

He gets home smelling like him, and he spends the night trying not to make a big deal out of it, cleaning his flat and pretending it's not so Phil will be impressed. 

Louise sends him winky faces and hearts, and a handful of friends RSVP over text, PJ and Mitchell and Chris and - regrettably - Lily among them. 

He arranges his gifted cactus to be the centrepiece of his coffee table, makes sure any traces of his relationship with Lily are tucked into the backs of drawers, and feels a little less cluttered both in his head and out.

At 1 AM, Dan's phone buzzes with a new text.

Can't wait. x

Chapter Text

Anxiety creeps up on him before 9 AM, every filtered piece of sunlight through the slats of his shutters feeling like a bullet point on his to do list. 

Phil flits across his mind and Dan breathes through his nose slowly, living inside the feeling that's been growing on him like moss the past few weeks. (Part of him wants to laugh at himself for wearing this suit of cliches)

He lets himself forget what kind of cups he's going to get for tonight - and sinks down into the dewy light of morning. He hasn't felt this involved with someone in ages, not in this waking up thinking of them kind of way, dreaming of wild overgrowing forests of potted plants, of him and Phil twisted together in the centre of it all.

He laughs at himself, turning his smile into his hand. He feels a bit ridiculous by the time his phone calls him back to reality, chirping 9:00 AM at him. He lets it sing, the day's itinerary swimming behind his closed eyes, sparking vigour into his leaden limbs.

He reaches for his journal before he can even contemplate standing, like a reflex. Jungle dreams on top of morning sunshine on top of steely blue eyes crop up in his head, hopping up and down until he writes them, stubby pencil to already half filled page. He crosses his legs and leans back into his nest of pillows, graphite scratching little phrases, baby free verse poems.

He wishes, on a whim, that someone could be inhabiting this golden bubble of morning with him, watching him be his very artsiest and cutest, morning stubble and soft t-shirt and all. 

As if on cue, there's a series of sharp taps on his front door, a little winding rhythm of knocks.

He frowns, puzzled by the hour and the specific pattern of the raps.

He shoves the pencil behind his ear and swings bare feet over the side of his bed, hoping that he looks less pretentious and more endearing. He darts through the couple of doorways to his entryway just in time for the knocking to start up again, and he throws the door open mid-beat.

Phil blinks at him, fist suspended midair like he's straight out of a romantic comedy. He withdraws his hand hastily, fixing his glasses and smiling nervously.

"Oh, hey Phil," Dan says brightly, surprise colouring his face. 

Embarrassment catches up to shock as he watches Phil's eyes trail over him, and he's suddenly hyper aware of every un-coiffed inch of his body.

"Oh, hi, sorry. Early-today, sorry," Phil says, stuttering over what seems like pre-prepared words that are anagram scrambling on the way out.

"I was just on my way to work- I know I should've called," he says carefully, and Dan scoffs at him.

"It's just me. Come in," he says, side stepping the doorway to make room for Phil.

They arrange themselves so they're opposite each other in his little foyer, and Phil sweeps his eyes over the room, flitting beyond Dan to the pieces of art and sides of instruments that he can make out, finally settling on looking at the pencil tucked behind his ear. 

"You look good," he says airily, and Dan feels laughter bubble up past his lips.

"You're joking."

"No," he replies simply. There's a beat of silence and then Dan reaches out to touch his hand.

"You don't have to be this nice to me, you already gave me that thank you cactus."

Phil laughs. "Thank you cactus was the tip of the iceberg. And I thought we agreed to call him Angus?"

"I was obviously humouring you, no cactus of mine will be named something that fuckin' weird."

"Wow, okay," Phil starts, "I hardly want to give you your super thoughtful present now."

Dan cocks an eyebrow and Phil takes it as a cue to continue.

"Okay, I know I could've brought you this tonight, but I couldn't wait. Well. Didn't want to, really."

He produces this pocket notebook from behind him, three little potted plants set out in a row on the front, all clean lines and subtle colours.

Dan looks from the book up to Phil just in time to see the most sincere, hopeful look on his face before it's turned to the floor

"It's to write in. If you want. Or anything else I suppose, I thought- I thought it could be a project book if you wanted to make something with me," he says, shrugging.

Dan bites at his smile and looks down. 

Phil seems to take his silence as a no, and his voice cuts back in again, 

"Doesn't have to be, I dunno if that was presumptuous, like. You can use it for any writing you want, and be reminded of your weird, generous friend."

Dan laughs then, and his hands are starting to sweat around the book.

"I'll use it. I'll use the crap out of it, thank you," he says sincerely, and they beam at each other.

"Great," Phil says, and he seems elated, hands flitting from his hair to clasp together, then across the space between them to tug at Dan's sleeve playfully. His palm slides across Dan's morning warmed skin for just a moment and they both inhale sharply.

"Great," he repeats, "I better see that sucker full by the end of the month," he warns jokingly, and Dan rolls his eyes.

"Sure. I'll put one word on every page."

"Good enough. Anyway I… I've got to go to work. I don't want to, but," he trails off, and Dan picks the sentence back up, shaking his head.

"You have to. It's fine Phil, I'll see you in like 10 hours or something. Try to contain yourself until then."

Phil nods stoically, but a smile catches at the corners of his lips. "No promises. I'm a party animal. Can't help it, it's my element," he teases, backing towards the door a little, watch heavy on his wrist.

Dan purses his lips. "Yeah right, only a rookie would bring their gift," he waves the notebook under his nose, "10 hours early. Now you're going to be empty handed. Think ahead." He taps Phil over the head with it then, and Phil looks suitably chastised, shrugging all over the place, trying not to bump into the door when Dan reaches past him to open it.

"At least I stand out, now?"

Dan scoffs, "Like you didn't before."

Phil's eyes are doing that thing where they have stars in them, roving over Dan's face, smile bursting.

"Now get out of here, nerd, you're going to be late for work, and your excuse is rubbish."

Phil sidles past the door, groaning. 

"Fine, mom. I'll see you tonight, anyway, alright?" he asks, 

Dan leans against his doorframe looking at him, feeling his chest bursting with fondness.

"Can't wait," he says, echoing Phil's text from the night before, and actually, startlingly, meaning it.

Phil's eyes get even softer then, and he puts a palm over his heart in answer, backing away until he reaches the stairwell, and then turning into the doorway.

Dan lets himself feel it: the pull in his chest like his heart is trying to follow after Phil as he disappears. Him slipping away from his flat in the early morning feels acutely like the end of a successful date, and these little unnecessary gifts are starting to dot the timeline of their friendship with colour. He loves that they have this, this theme, these inside jokes now. Leaves and stars and planets and flowers wallpapering this Dan and Phil era that feels like it's beginning.

He turns back into his apartment, nudging the door closed with his hip, eyes back on his notebook.

It's got a heft to it, and when he flips it open, the pages are unlined just how he likes them.

He flips through, revelling in the flutter of pages, the new book smell, until it lands on the very first page.

There's a crooked scrawl in the centre of the page in blue ink:

To my second in command,

A "budding" gardener (har har),

and the most interesting talker I've ever met.

Hope you get to write in here like that too,

Phil 

He puts the book on his foyer table like he's laying down a bible, hand at his mouth and burning from the inside out.

He kind of loves him.

And he's starting to think maybe it's mutual.

Chapter Text

"What's that?" Louise asks, nodding towards the notebook on the coffee table.

Dan scoops it up before her rose gold talons can pierce it, cradling it to his chest.

"It's just a notebook."

"Rubbish, you have that black scribbler of yours, what is that-" she swipes for it again and he slaps her hand away.

"It was time for a new model," he says defensively, legs and arms crossing, caging the book in.

"Yeah right, you're so sentimental about junk like th-" something in her eyes clicks, and she's smirking at him, buttery and knowing.

"It was Phil wasn't it."

"What was Phil?" He asks innocently. She hits him.

"Piss off, 'what was Phil'," she mocks, "he gave it to you, yeah?"

He nods reluctantly and Louise makes a face at him.

"So you're getting prezzies out of this situation now? I gotta get myself up to the roof more often," she says.

He shrugs. "Or maybe you need more thoughtful friends?"

"You're right, I let any old riff raff in, as is," she gestures to him and he concedes with a nod.

She huffs out a laugh and turns back to organizing crackers in concentric circles, concentration taut in her features.

"Do you have to maintain your pinterest aesthetic to like… live?" Dan questions, and she ninja stars a triscuit at him, licking salt off of her fingers primly as he dodges.

His house is starting to look cozy and party ready, little trays of food and cups and bottle openers and everything he could think of - like a bowl of limes and little drink umbrellas nestled somewhere in this organizational nightmare.

He sets up a bar on his coffee table, organizing bottles on Louise-approved tea towels, and wondering if he's overdoing it. He can see Louise settling a vase of gardenias onto the kitchen counter in the periphery of his vision though, and he finds he doesn't really care.

At least he can rub all the ways his life is flourishing in Lily's face. Even more satisfying - he can have this rosy lighting and well taken care of plants and showy astronomy textbooks (that he might have had to dig out of storage) as a setting for him and Phil's inevitable flirting.

Everything feels very calm, like the tide is out, and Louise's off-pitch humming makes him think of home, and Phil's profile in the dark on the night they met.

There's a knock on the door at half past six, and Louise runs to get it, curls bouncing and hands smoothing over her skirt.

Dan cranes his neck to see the doorway and for a heart-pounding moment he wonders if Phil has come back. Maybe to complete that romantic comedy scene from this morning with a proper confession of love.

Chris' grinning face pops around the door and Dan has the most peculiar feeling of excitement and dripping disappointment, battling for dominance and making his face twitch. His features settle in time for Chris' gaze to find him as he's loping towards the living room.

"Hello, mate," Dan greets him, and Chris holds up a six pack with one hand, wiggling his eyebrow.

"I brought grog, and I hear," he draws out the e until Dan rolls his eyes at him, "that you're bringing your new boyf."

Dan shoots a glare at Louise who is equal parts shrugging and beaming at him.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"But you do have a Phil," Louise singsongs like she can't keep it in any longer.

Chris nods, and a bit cheeky and a bit unsure he says, "Who I hear is fern-tastic. Anyway I was roped into the set up so. Here I am," he does this weird jazz hands sort of gesture, as always looking too tall to be a real person, particularly in Dan's old-timey arched doorways.

"Lovely. Not much left to do though-" Dan starts, but Louise cuts him off easily, two fingers to his lips.

"Actually, there's loads. I suggested that Chris, um, distract Lily, and, and-"

They look back at her with twin confusion.

"I thought we could have someone designated to keep things civil, and while obviously I'll do my part, I will be busy hosting-"

"It's my party-"

"-And I thought the conversation could have some padding. Hence. Chris."

"That all sounds a bit reality TV for me," Chris says, but his mouth is quirked up.

Dan picks at a fraying thread on his couch cushion, and refuses to admit how much that would help him.

"It's not like she's going to be attacking me, is it?" he mumbles, and Louise purses her apricot lips.

"You might be surprised."

______

As it turns out, Louise is both wise and gifted in foresight, because Lily's arrival comes with more predatory eye contact and revealing clothing than Dan is strictly comfortable with.

She is one of the first guests to arrive after Chris, and she walks in with the distinct air of a runway.

She is severe, and beautiful, dressed in a monochrome tunic and lips painted red, dark bangs chopped straight across her forehead. Her sparkling smile clashes beautifully with her aesthetic, and that's one of the things that so attracted Dan to her.

She is warm and oozing conversation before she's shed her coat, trying to catch up more with the memory of Dan than the actual man in front of her.

He greets her with civility, nodding and keeping his stilted sentences to a minimum, finding, with great satisfaction, that he is no longer in love with her.

Chris swoops in almost every minute like a rodeo clown, waving hands and making jokes, her eyes trailing all the way up to the beanstalk top of him with amusement.

The get together is in full swing now, glasses sweating on coasters and laughter warming the room, clusters of friends orbiting each other and joining.

Dan, for his part, is doing remarkably well, avoiding Lily's searching eye contact and the hurt crease of her eyebrows when he walks past her, refreshing drinks when Louise will let him. He's also fetching things and making jokes as hosts do, and he finds himself sinking into the comfort of his friends' easy jokes. Louise chose well, for the most part, and he finds himself drawn into one interesting conversation after another, flitting around to catch breadcrumb sentences from these inventors of worlds and followers of dreams. He's almost having fun.

Except Phil isn't here, and it's been an hour.

The room is starting to feel hot, alcohol flushing cheeks and amplifying voices, and he cracks all the windows, bugs be damned.

He keeps starting to enjoy himself only to circle back to Phil, why isn't Phil here, why wouldn't Phil have texted him…? He straightens the plants and textbooks compulsively, and people start to take note, Cat jokes at him and pokes his side, and he tries to smile. He can feel his neck flushing, and he wishes Phil had seen him at the beginning of the night when he wasn't sweaty. He also wishes that Phil could see how much he actually has people, friends even, and cool ones at that. He wishes Phil knew this party was for him, really, so he could've arrived fashionably early. Phil, Phil, Phil.

He sees Lily approaching him out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes with a sense of urgency that he isn't actually talking to anyone else, he'd been contemplative and sullen, and Lily, damn her, still knew him, a little.

She sidles up to him, closes a comforting hand over his wrist, and frowns.

"What's going to happen that you're waiting for?" she asks, and he gently extricates himself from her grip.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies.

She cocks her head at him, eyes big and knowing, eyeliner sharply winged and slanted towards him.

"Yeah right, Dan. Are you waiting for a girl?" She asks, and his chest throbs angrily.

"A boy, actually, thanks for the erasure," his voice is laced with hostility, and he immediately regrets telling her about Phil. He's not for her, he is not to be touched.

She flinches. "Don't be political, Dan, this isn't about that-"

He can't believe they dated. He laughs harshly, and he can see that Louise has noticed with some panic, can hear some conversation nearby drop out as they too see the exes at odds.

"Like that wasn't a factor, like it didn't bother you-"

Lily looks like she could slap him. "Of course it didn't, what era am I from? I will not have you chalking this up to homophobia when you know it would never, ever be a reason for me."

Maybe he can believe that they dated. She is passionate and good, at her core.

"Right. Sorry. Actually no, I'm not, because you still really hurt me, and you look- you look frustratingly nice, on purpose," he lets the words escape because her beauty has no power over him anymore, it's like he ingested that poison enough to be immune.

She purses her lips and regards him wearily.

"Well maybe that's all I have left. I have control over my looks, at least."

"Well maybe you shouldn't have been trying to control people," Dan says acidly, and it is at this moment that Phil steps through the door.

She's in the middle of a response but all the acidity has been leached from Dan's body upon spotting Phil in his doorway. He's un-looping a scarf from his pale neck, and looking around with wonderment, scanning the crowd and smiling at everyone who catches his eye.

He moves past Lily, feels only slightly bad that her voice is white noise to him, scrabbling at his ears and falling away.

Phil catches his eye and he feels magnetic, their mouths turning up in unison.

He reaches the doorway where Phil is standing and feels brave, four cocktails warm in his stomach, party atmosphere fuelling his flirtation.

"You know gifts do not excuse lateness, no matter how thoughtful," he opens, hoping the underpinned 'thank you' is obvious. He's maybe too far into Phil's space, a friendly arm slung around his shoulder suddenly seeming like a proposal of marriage.

Phil, for his part, melts into him, breathing hard and smelling of cinnamon gum.

"I figured I should maintain the mystique. Maybe I was at another party? Maybe I was slated with inventory at the shop? Who knows?" Phil jokes, and they are balloons, both of them, buoying each other up and away.

"Well I'm glad you're here, there are loads of people I want you to meet. You're basically the guest of honour," Dan says honestly, and the look on Phil's face is delicate and beautiful.

"Really?" He asks, incredulous.

Dan grins, all his teeth and popping dimples and says, "Completely."

"Can't disappoint the masses then," Phil laughs, "Introduce away."

Dan takes him in a little circuit of the room, hand always on some part of him, knowing glances and friendly hello's passed around. Phil looks slightly overwhelmed but endlessly kind, nodding eagerly and contributing with understated wit. Dan thinks he looks like a firecracker going off, bursting into Dan's sky, littered with the stars of his friends.

Lily is steaming in the corner, but she looks relatively tame for the moment, mollified by Louise's beautifully crafted margarita, and even more beautifully crafted reassurances.

Dan can't even see her, can't imagine dragging his eyes from Phil's earnest expression to her cloudy one.

Dan and Phil are suddenly a unit, and it feels easy and obvious to be flanked by him, sentences flowing together without either of them planning it.

PJ whispers his approval furiously in Dan's ear when Phil starts talking about filmmaking, and the night spins out before them, all the better for Phil, the constellation complete.

Lily approaches him again, and this time it feels poisonous, her kindness giving way to steely hurt. Dan considers for the first time that maybe this was a bit cruel. Parading his budding relationship in front of her, ignoring her, all of his friends following his lead so she's alone, abandoned, unwanted.

His hand slides from Phil's shoulder and Phil turns bright eyes on him, a question floating in them. Lily clears her throat.

"Can I borrow Dan, please," she says to the group at large, but her eyes are narrowed at Phil.

Phil murmurs awkward consent, because everyone else is frozen, and Phil can't seem to physically leave questions unanswered, people unsatisfied.

"Great. Daniel," she prods, and Phil raises an eyebrow in confusion as Dan's expression goes sour, his movements choppy and reluctant as he follows her to his bedroom.

She closes the door behind them, makes wicked eye contact with Phil as she does so.

"I really don't want to do this right now-" Dan starts to complain but Lily fixes him with a quieting glare.

"I'm sorry, you know what, I was invited here, I was trying to be nice and I wanted to make sure you were ok because last time I saw you you were drowning your sorrow in rum-"

Dan shushes her angrily and she falls reluctantly quiet.

She steels herself, selecting her next words very carefully.

"Dan, I. Miss you. Actually. And I just-" she falters, "I just wanted to see you."

Dan's face falls, and he lets himself step close enough that they're at an actual conversational distance from one another.

"Sorry. Me too, really. I mean, no. I didn't want it to be like this, not when-"

"Not when he's here," she says, nodding and tucking hair behind her ears.

Dan nods awkwardly in response, mind still halfway out there with Phil.

"Well I won't keep you. I'll shove off," she says precisely, and he can hear the fishing in her words.

"You don't have to," he replies without weight, and she breathes out through her nose, frustrated that she got what she wanted but she can't take it.

"I actually do, because this party sucks."

She crosses to the bed to search for her coat, mumbling, "at least for me it does."

Dan feels shame heating the back of his neck.

She shrugs her jacket on and looks at him sadly.

"Don't fuck it up with any more perfectly reasonable people," she sniffs. He raises a surprised eyebrow at her positive appraisal of Phil and then she's up in his space, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and smiling when she pulls back, though it's nowhere near reaching her eyes.

"See ya Dan." She tugs on the door, letting the muffled burble of sound from outside cut loudly into his room.

She slips away, and Dan gives himself a moment to regroup, a moment for her to find the front door so he doesn't have to see her again.

Only a moment though.

He shakes his limbs out, slides his game face on. He closes his bedroom door gently behind him, feeling eyes on him as he turns to face the room.

He makes a beeline for the group where he left Phil, already cycling through cleverly nonchalant ways to reincorporate himself. They turn to look at him and his speed slows as he notices their dawning expressions. Louise's mouth is opening and closing and her hands are twitching on her glass like she wants to reach out to him. The others are politely averting their eyes, smiles a little like carved wood. Phil's face is inexplicably miserable, eyes drooping, not a single supernova in them.

"What's wrong?" Dan asks Phil uncertainly, and he can feel Louise tugging at his arm now. Phil shakes his head, trying on smiles that look more and more manufactured, backing away.

"Nothing, I just- I've just realized that it's my mum's birthday, I have to-" he gestures towards the door and Dan's heart sinks to his feet. He doesn't know what he did wrong, he can't have Phil leaving now, he has wooing to do yet.

"Hey, c'mon," he catches up to Phil, who looks flushed and embarrassed, eyes darting around the room.

"Where's my coat?"

"Phil." Dan's eyes are probing and his hand is reaching, but Phil jumps away.

"No, ha, I'm fine, Dan, I just need my coat," he's almost backed into the wall, and his eyes are glittering with tears, and Dan doesn't understand.

"Phil, hey, you're a terrible liar, just tell me what's up. Are they too much for you? Did Lily say something to you?"

Phil looks down at the mention of her name.

"No, no. She was nice. You're both-" he trails off, looking beyond Dan to the closed bedroom door. He laughs emptily.

"I left it in there, sorry, I'll grab it." Phil whips past him and Dan feels extraordinarily small as he watches him go.

Phil returns triumphant, wielding the shiny material like a weapon, smile too big and eyes wet. He aims that mangled smile at Dan, who frowns back at him.

"I really don't think you need to leave, everyone loves you, I lo-" Dan cuts himself off just in time for Phil's mouth to curl up, face contorted with the effort of keeping it together.

"I'd love for you to stay," Dan says softly, and Phil shakes his head, moving past him to the front door. Everyone's watching them over their drinks, conversation halfhearted.

"Like I said, Mum's birthday, and I-" he looks at Dan properly. "I just misunderstood."

He claps Dan's shoulder in a gesture that is very un-them, eyes catching on the notebook on the foyer table and face crumpling like a piece of paper. He opens the door and leaves Dan standing there with his heart in his hands.

The room picks up volume again almost out of obligation, and he can sense his closest friends weaving towards him for damage control. He feels his own eyes go tight and watery, everything he had said that night suddenly seems weak and offensive, something to set Phil off.

He glances up and catches his reflection in the hall mirror. He stares.

His eyes are dark and stormy, and he looks as hurt as he feels, but that's not what he's looking at.

On his cheek, in by his mouth, is a smudged red lip print.

Chapter Text

Dan finds him on the roof, of course.

He passes by Phil's floor without hesitation, urgency beating wildly in his chest.

Louise had dabbed at his cheek with a wet napkin, and he'd felt like a caged animal under her comforting hands. He had that terrible, sick feeling of misplaced guilt, of misunderstanding. He couldn't waste time there with all those tilting heads and nervous laughs when he could feel the open wounds from where Phil had ripped their touching hands apart.

The door isn't even propped open when he reaches it, Phil had clearly assumed that Dan would be behind him, and the thought is comforting, somehow. As usual, it wails when he pushes it open, but this time it feels unwelcome - sad in the way that Phil's eyes were when he thought he was unwanted.

Phil's arms are outstretched on the railing to either side of himself, almost halving his torso to peer out over shocks of headlights in the dark.

"Do you ever want to jump just to see what it would feel like?" Phil asks, voice soft and level, fringe ruffling and flattening against his face.

Dan frowns and doesn't answer. Sometimes it's like Phil plucks the words from Dan's brain, and that unnerves him a little.

"Phil."

"It's alright, Dan, I know I seemed upset down there, but I'm fine. Fine."

The words seem hastily prepared, like maybe he picked them from the taillights below, or the stars spread out around them like mobiles.

Dan whispers closer so as not to startle him.

"I thought you said it was your mum's birthday," he prods. Phil's shoulders deflate a little, and he spins around.

"Dan you know that's not- you know," he says, frustrated.

"Know what?" He needs to hear him say it, although the truth is humming through him, obvious in the way that Dan has been obvious this whole time.

"Do we have to do this? It doesn't matter anyway, you - you have someone, and you know I-" he closes his eyes, still can't say it.

"You know I've been an idiot. You don't have to explain anything. I guess you're just an affectionate person," he smiles, and it plays like a grimace.

Dan feels his heart thundering with the way he wants to prove Phil wrong, but he doesn't know quite how to go about it.

"I'm… I'm not actually," he says, and as he does he closes the gap between them, threads their hands together, palm to palm.

Phil looks at him sideways, mouth twisting like he's trying not to be hopeful.

"You have a - a girlfriend. And I don't feel… I don't think I'm quite as platonic as I need to be for us to do this." He untangles their hands.

Dan shakes his head violently, feeling nauseous.

"No, it's not-"

"Dan, can you please let me get over you for one second?"

"Phil," he says thickly.

"This is silly, I'm sorry. It's not your fault that I made things up," he shakes his head weakly.

"Do you even like boys?" he asks and then swallows hard. "No, actually, I don't want to know."

"I do," Dan says frantically, but it doesn't have the desired affect, Phil steps further away from him.

"Just not me?"

"Shut up, of course you, listen to me." He crowds him into the railing.

He wants to cup Phil's face but he doesn't think he can handle him shaking that off too, so he settles on his bicep.

Phil stares at his hand and then bracelets his wrist with his fingers. They're soft at his pulse point, handling him like the stem of a wine glass.

"She just kissed my cheek. You can blame the rest on smudging and her devious ability to wreck everything I care about." He knows that's not fair, but the tears drying on Phil's face are technically her doing.

Phil won't look at him, eyes pinpoint focused on where they're still touching.

"And you…" the question is in the way his eyes jump up to meet Dan's. He feels burning hot.

"I don't want her," Dan insists.

"You want-" Phil's voice hitches.

"You, obviously." Dan does touch his face now, featherlight and odd. Their relationship is shifting ground beneath them, they're tearing down boundaries that were halfhearted in the first place.

"Oh," Phil says softly, mouth parted, eyes still down. His face turns slightly into Dan's open palm.

"Yeah."

Dan can feel himself careening off a precipice. The exhilaration of stubble scraping his palm is suddenly everything like launching off of a building.

Phil looks out to the bustling night, away from Dan, but the set of his mouth is tugging up, and his grip around Dan's wrist is tight.

"I can't believe I could've met you months earlier," he whispers, because it feels sacrilegious, breaking the simplicity of being looped together, the quiet knowledge of reciprocated feeling.

"I'm glad we didn't. I don't think you would've liked me before."

"I don't think there's a bit of you I wouldn't like," Phil replies, and he ducks his head.

"That was a bit much, I'm sorry-"

Dan's hand slides around to the back of Phil's neck, and he's grinning, heady with the thrill of being allowed.

"It's good, I like it, I'm a fan of too much. I'm a fan of you."

Phil beams.

"Be honest, were you one of those 100 subscribers?" He asks seriously. Dan laughs, choking a little when Phil's hands ghost over his sides to settle about his hips.

"What, do you think it was a coincidence that I was up on this rooftop? Stalking you since '07."

Phil smiles, but he doesn't laugh, preoccupied with shy dimples and thrumming warmth.

"Do you have to go back to your party?" Phil asks, and they've started to sway together, just a little, to the soundtrack of frozen breaths and night noise.

"I don't have to do anything. Well. Actually - "

Phil cocks his head, and Dan leans in, finally, finally.

They meet in the middle, his cold-chapped lips against Phil's.

The heat is gorgeous, Dan pressing as close as he can without actually climbing inside, every line of them clicking together like bricks of lego.

Dan's wandering hand tilts him further into the railing, and Phil's are sliding around his back to plaster over his spine, kissing his mouth open until they're gasping into each other.

The contrast of hot and cold is almost too much, Phil's hands feel blisteringly hot through his t-shirt, but the wind is lashing at his bare arms, biting at the tips of his ears.

He tries not to, but he can feel himself smiling into it, their teeth knocking, and Phil pulls back to laugh at him.

"You're a terrible host."

"But?" Dan prompts, folding his hand through Phil's windblown hair.

"A good kisser." He shrugs.

Dan grins, kisses him twice, lingeringly like he's proving it, or maybe he was just reminded he could.

"But really. Should we go back?" Phil asks, scrunching his face up like the idea is distasteful. Dan throws his head back dramatically, and he can feel Phil's eyes on the column of his throat.

"No fucking chance. I have fulfilled my hostly duties, and your reentry might be weird considering half the party heard your birthday story."

Phil flushes a delicate pink.

"Like anyone believed that," he mutters. Dan links his other hand behind his neck and watches the spread of Phil's fluttering eyelashes.

"Doesn't matter. You have a new objective," Dan teases, and Phil kisses his smirking mouth.

"Am I dating a PS3?"

Dating.

"Basically. Fun to play with, vibrates when something big is coming," Dan says, biting at his lip when he thinks he might have gone too far.

Phil sputters and makes to break away from Dan, who catches him around the waist again, and they end up sort of twirling in a circle, laughing breathlessly before they're pressed flush back together.

"Disgusting. I can't believe you got after me for innuendo's," Phil says, Dan shrugs.

"Yours were bad."

Phil tries to look mad, sucks at it. He kisses him instead, cupping his jaw and sliding his thumbs over his dimples.

"Remember that whole rooftop wish granting theory?" Phil gets out when he finally pulls away, foreheads resting together, cold noses brushing in the humid space between them.

Dan nods and Phil presses his smile into his neck.

"I definitely believe that now."

"Oh what, did you wish for me?"

"Well don't say it out loud like that," Phil grumbles. Dan lets out a disbelieving laugh and pats at Phil's ducking face fondly.

"I think I wished for you too," he says, like it's the first time he's thought about it. "Not like - on stars, or anything, more like. To my friends. In my writing."

Phil narrows his eyes.

"What's wrong with star wishing?"

Dan gives him a look, and continues like he hadn't spoken, "I just think I wished for you to wish for me, is what I'm saying."

Phil watches him carefully, a smile drawing his whole face together like a bow.

"I love the way you put words together," he says, and Dan tries to stop being surprised by all the beautiful things they're allowed to say to each other now.

"Do you want to…" he fiddles with Phil's fingers, "film something? Maybe? Now?"

Phil's smile could power cities, probably.

"Yes," he breathes; reverent, wide open, like he'd been waiting to be asked, "And I know exactly what it should be."

Chapter Text

They're skirting around each other now - in the rosy light of Phil's apartment there is too much eye contact and not enough skin. There's just enough space between them to be respectable at a middle school dance, which is the absolute opposite of ideal.

Dan thinks maybe the roof is like a battery pack for the pair of them, making them brave, live wires sparking when they touch. Making them trust strangers and tend plants and kiss friends.

He's still warm from it, still burning on his lips and back and neck - everywhere Phil was and everywhere Phil's looking now - eyes tracing the pathways his hands were just learning. His gaze is warm and invasive over his mug and Dan tingles pleasantly.

"Stop staring at me."

Phil's mouth quirks.

"You're staring back, we just call that eye contact."

"Well you weren't doing anything about it," Dan retorts, feeling his face go warm when Phil crowds into his space on the sofa.

"I was having a moment," Phil laughs, "but I'm doing something now." 

He splays his fingertips over Dan's neck, presses in.

"I feel like I've been rationing how long I can stare at you for like, months. It was all glances at 10 second increments. Very strict," Phil nods a little at his own words, and Dan watches his tongue wet his lips as his hand moves down his neck to his chest.

Dan feels himself relax a little. Maybe they brought a little of the roof with them. (Maybe it wasn't the roof that made them brave)

Phil traces the lines of his collarbones through his shirt, and Dan tamps down the embarrassing full body shiver he feels beginning at the base of his spine.

"Hey, I still want to film, perv, I'm losing inspirational momentum here," Dan laughs. Phil shrugs, moving in to push his collar aside and mouthing lightly over his neck.

"We could film this."

"We literally just kissed for the first time and you want to make a sex tape?" Dan can feel himself flushing, and Phil pulls away, looking chastised and amused in equal measure.

"Not really." He kisses his neck once more, soft and barely there, eyelashes grazing the hinge of his jaw.

He pulls completely away now, dropping to kneel on the floor and retrieve that same ancient camera from the table. He sets it carefully atop a precarious pile of books, glancing from the lens to Dan until he's centred. He catches Dan's gaze and smiles, sheepish.

"I don't exactly have a tripod," he explains. Dan snorts.

"You make films and you don't have a tripod?"

Phil rolls his eyes, but there's no heat in his voice when he says, "I also work at a flower shop. Film equipment didn't seem like the best investment." 

He pauses, eyes buttery when he adds - "Until now. You seem like a really good investment, actually."

Dan feels his heart doing something complicated, and he reminds himself to be neutral for a second before he realizes they're together, and neutrality is dead.

"Oh what, I'm the talent am I? Didn't realize this was a business arrangement," he gestures between them.  

Phil understands the sarcasm, obviously, but he still shakes his head. He scoots closer, hands warm on Dan's knees and sliding up to his thighs as he leans in to kiss him properly.

"Up 'til now, plants have been the stars of my films. And you know how I feel about plants," Phil murmurs when he pulls away, nodding faintly at the jungle-like atmosphere around them. Dan thinks madly that he's had dreams like this, plants and kissing and Phil, and he feels a thrill go through him.

"Guess I can't compete," Dan says, feigning sadness with a slow shake of the head.

"I'm not making out with potted plants though, so I think you've got a leg up." Phil squeezes at his thigh as if to prove it, and Dan doesn't remember what he was going to say, can't remember having had a complete thought in his life.

He allows himself to fall back into kissing instead, only now the chill of the wind is gone and it's just heat chasing heat. Phil nudges Dan's thighs apart so that he's kneeling between them, rubbing up and down his legs like he's trying to soothe him. They kiss until Dan's pushed back into cushions, and the camera's turned off from inactivity, and he's embarrassingly hard. 

Phil pulls back, and he looks like he's forgotten where he is, his lips swollen red and his hair mussed. He nudges his fringe back in place, and Dan laughs at him, reaching out to flick it back into his eyes.

"No point. I'm just going to mess it up again." (Turns out Dan's a grabber) 

Phil grins at him and scrubs a hand the wrong way through Dan's hair, forcing it into conflicting tufts and sending Dan scrambling.

"Uncalled for and rude, I cannot believe -"

"Maybe we should film a hair tutorial, since you're so passionate about it," Phil interrupts, all lit up like it's the first joke he's ever made.

Dan frowns at him. 

"Ok, first of all, hair and make up tutorials are the backbone of youtube, so, bad joke. Second of all. Do you actually… have an idea, or are you stalling so you can come up with one?"

"Of course I have - you're so mean to me, why am I attracted to you," Phil complains, focus half on the camera again, fiddling with dials and setting microphones up.

"Here's the plan," Phil starts, turning to face Dan, "We re-film 'hello internet', but with modern day bells and whistles. And my top shelf editing, of course."

"… That's it?" 

Phil's face drops. "Is that not…"

"No it's." He stops. "How do you even know about hello internet?" Dan asks, focused on picking imaginary lint from the couch.

"PJ told me today," Phil admits, biting his lip. "He said you filmed something years ago but never… you never posted it. Or even edited it. I thought I could, you know, since I'm so good at encouraging you, I could-"

"No," Dan says simply.

Phil completely deflates. "No?"

"No, because we're doing this together. I'm not gonna be youtube user danisnotonfire from 2006. We're gonna be Dan and Phil."

Phil looks like he might cry. "Are you serious? I'm not sure, I'm. I'm usually not on camera, remember how that worked out before?"

Dan rolls his eyes, taking Phil's hand and slotting their fingers together.

"Do I remember how you had 100 subscribers even with your shitty film quality, yeah I do."

Phil smiles, looking down at their hands and breathing out slowly.

"I dunno if I-"

"I do." Dan tilts his head so their gaze clicks together. "We can do this. We can do this. People love to see creativity- boom, we doubled it. They love the accents, at least, and they love to ship people - which. We give a lot of fuel for, if my friends are to be trusted. And they love duos! We could be such a great duo, Phil, please. A space writer and his gardener, that shit is an excellent brand. Come on."

He's holding Phil's face now, eyes flickering between his, imploring.

"I would love to watch you, and you, for whatever the fuck reason, like to watch me, so," Dan raises their linked hands. "We're better together."

Phil turns his face in Dan's hand, presses a kiss, warm, to his palm.

"Yes."

"Yes? Yes. We're doing this. Ok." Dan can feel excitement tying his veins in knots, suddenly envisioning an empire of Dan and Phil spread out a second away from their grasp, kissing and filming and rooftops and journals and people, maybe, maybe - liking it as much as they do.

"Ok," Phil echoes, and his smile is blinding, "We can make films, real, creative films, with backdrops and music and editing tricks, but we can also do… Q and A's, and, and, dumb videos of just you and me - we could game! Dan versus Phil, and-"

"We can do whatever the fuck we want, it's youtube, no one's employing us or firing us, no one's putting us in any boxes," Dan says, voice joyful and wide open. 

"And if it flops it flops but- I think," Phil grins.

"- we have something. No matter what. There's something here," Dan finishes, and kisses Phil's smile, teeth clacking together and eyes open, but sincere and sweet and thrilled.

"Let's start, let's film - something," Phil says, hand poised over the record button. 

He presses down at Dan's nod, and it's like there's a gravitational shift, they're pulled together and into performance versions of themselves, smiles careful, sidelong glances less so.

They say 'hello internet' and 'hey guys' at the same time, and then laugh at each other, moving on, hands clasped out of frame. 

Chapter Text

It's way too early to be outside, way too far from his bed to be comfortable, but Dan finds himself humming with happiness anyway, early sunshine gilding the rooftops and warming his face.

People are starting to peek out of windows and shuffle into the sunday morning, and he's uncharacteristically smiley - lazily at strangers, and despite his fingers numbing around tesco bags.

His eyes catch on a young woman laughing and juggling a bouquet and a shopping bag. Her eyes meet Dan's and widen.

"Dan? Dan and Phil Dan?" she asks breathlessly, rushing forwards with her bags bobbing and smacking together with each step.

Dan feels the by now familiar thrill of excitement and disbelief, grinning and waving and trying not to drop anything as she screeches to a stop in front of him. Her friend is trailing behind her with the polite frozen smile of someone who hasn't a clue who he is.

"It is you! God, that's so cool, you're my favourite youtuber!" she gushes and hesitates on her way into a hug. Dan happily closes the gap.

"Sorry if you get a bag to the face," he apologizes, and she giggles into his jacket a little.

"Worth it," she jokes as she pulls back, untangling their overflowing arms.

"Where's Phil?" She asks, and then flushes, an apology under-lacing her curiosity. "Not that you have to be together always, sorry, I just-"

"He's at home where I left him, probably still asleep," he shakes his head fondly and the girl looks like her head might burst she's smiling so hard.

"Would you tell him I-" she clears her throat, "he inspired me to go to film school. You guys are so important to me," she finishes, looking inexplicably embarrassed. Dan almost laughs out loud at the surreality of it all.

"Of course I will. He'll be thrilled. Might be a bit much for the first news of the morning actually, he'll probably cry." He can't help but tease him a little, he knows that this girl will probably pour this whole conversation into a blog post, and he and Phil are constantly trying to out cute each other.

The girl laughs, shaking her head slowly like she's still trying to wrap her head around meeting him. (The feeling is mutual)

"Anyway, I'll stop harassing you. But you're lovely. I loved your stop motion draw my life, the black and white and then all the pastels when you met Phil. That was the sweetest thing. Anyway. Anyway," she backs away, eyes bright. "Thanks for stopping!"

And then she's gone, and Dan is warm to his core. Almost 100 videos and 1 million subscribers later, and he's never felt more like he's thriving. All that jealousy and disappointment isn't even in his vocabulary anymore. 

He tries to restart, keep walking, but he's locked in place for the moment, watching the girl's retreating back. She's grabbing onto her friends arm now, whispering furiously and joyfully into her ear. 

They have fans. He's made youtube friends, he has Phil, and he's more proud of each new video than the last. He is thriving. They're thriving. They're beanstalks twisting together in the sky, or a successful harvest or a bursting flower shop. 

He laughs out loud at that, his own meandering poetry, the musings of a man struck dumb on the side of the road. He reboots his legs into motion, setting off, buildings piping people out onto the pavement until it's bustling in that way that London does.

The bags are cutting off his circulation for real now, and he's grateful for the looming shape of his apartment building against the pale sky.

He shoulders past heavy doors and takes the stairs, almost stopping at his old floor before remembering himself and climbing the final couple of stair cases to Phil's. Their's.

He does a double take when he rounds the corner and spots Louise tucked in by their doorway, sitting on the floor and examining the beads on her bracelet with disinterest. 

"Um?" he starts, raising his eyebrow, bags slipping dangerously on his wobbling arms. Louise glances up and melts into a sigh.

"Finally, god I was sure there had been a double murder, why else would you keep me waiting for 20 minutes," she says pointedly, sliding her legs under her body to push herself up.

"Right, sorry, I forgot about the company we never planned on having," Dan says, bewildered. He fishes for keys awkwardly in skin tight jeans with full, rapidly failing hands. Louise scoops bags out of the way and plucks the keys out herself, ignoring Dan's yelp of surprise.

"Well in case you've forgotten, it is actually your anniversary today, and I wanted to be here-"

"You're right, anniversaries are usually a three person affair, how could I have forgotten."

"- I wanted to be here to make it nice. I brought cupcakes from that place you guys like, and I also organized a little something from your subscribers." Her eyes are wild and excited, and he just now notices the two ribbon bound boxes in her hands.

"Oh. Well that's. Lovely." 

She waves him off, carefully disinterested but beaming as she slots the key in the lock, leading the way into their sunlit apartment.

Phil's flat has been buried in Dan in the year they've been together, plants tucked in next to countless shared books and games, his amber lamp centred next to little buffy figurines on the coffee table.

Dan spots curled up socks on the floor next to the couch and he sighs. 

Louise sets her boxes down on their countertops and - already as seamlessly at home as she was in Dan's old place - breezes by him to set the kettle boiling.

"Phil is home, isn't he? That boy could sleep through a stampede, I knocked for 5 minutes," she mutters. 

He hums in agreement, finally letting his hands go lax around shopping bags once they're balanced on the counter. He unloads groceries and listens to Louise singing along to the radio, feeling the cool morning air curl around him and soothe his fraying edges. 

He gives Louise orders on pancake making, setting out pans and ingredients and filling the kitchen with cluttered sound and laughter. He slips away when she's greasing the pan, padding to the bedroom and slipping through the cracked door.

"Phil," he whispers, watching the comforter rise and fall with his breaths.

"Phil," he says louder, exasperation colouring his voice.

He crosses to the bed and yanks the covers back, watching with satisfaction as Phil squirms away from him. His hair is slanting up away from his face ridiculously, arms crossing over his bare chest when the cold air hits.

"Don't," Phil mutters, pulling at the comforter with sleep stupid hands. He yelps when Dan puts his own freezing hands to his neck and stomach, and Dan laughs madly, groping at more and more of him until Phil struggles upright.

"I hate you."

Dan nods seriously. "Yeah right. Happy anniversary or whatever," he says, feigned disinterest like saran wrap punched through by Phil's delighted laughter and embracing. Phil folds himself into his space, nosing along his neck, bare limbs curled around Dan's full jacket and scarf ensemble.

"A year. What the hell," Phil whispers and Dan laughs.

"I know right. We're hurtling towards death." 

Phil squeezes tighter, shaking his head. "Way too early for that kind of talk."

Dan lets his hands stroke down Phil's back, heart jumping into his throat. 

"Hey," he starts, pulling back so he can look at him, hands coming up to curl around Phil's reaching forearms. "I love you. Thanks for. You know. Changing my life," his voice cracks and Phil cards a hand through his hair, fond.

"You too," he replies simply.

There's a bang in the kitchen and Phil startles.

"Early Sunday morning robbing?" He questions and Dan grins.

"Wouldn't put it past her."

Phil narrows his eyes. "Louise. Of course she's here. Do you think we should invite her to live with us? You, me, Louise and Darcy?" Phil jokes, hands still warm around Dan's shoulders.

"This is just her punishment for us surpassing her subscriber count in like half the time."

Phil nods sleepily, pulling Dan towards him so that they sink back into the pillows.

"Can she at least give us 10 minutes?" He asks around a yawn. 

"We have at least until the kettle beeps." Dan concedes, throwing a leg over Phil's hips. He's thankful for his foresight in taking his shoes off, at least.

Phil turns his cheek into Dan's hair and they lay there for a moment, cold toes nudging calves, the newest taylor swift song filtering in from the kitchen, the smell of butter and fresh flowers in the air.

"So I was thinking," Phil starts, "Rooftop picnic?"

Dan laughs disbelievingly, "It's gonna be so cold, Phil, are you joking?"

"Cold yes, but also romantic and nostalgic and we love those things. Please?" Phil nudges him, insistent.

He breathes out into Phil's chest, caught between practicality and blind adoration.

"Fine, you know what, I love the freezing cold."

"Brilliant," Phil breathes, "I already set it up."

Dan laughs, feeling more content than he can remember, his best friends in the world tucked into his flat with him, people he inspired apparently roaming the streets. 

The telltale chirp of the kettle is almost immediately followed by Louise's singsongy voice announcing tea's on, and he untangles himself reluctantly from Phil. Peering down at him, Dan's jaw aches from smiling.

"You're going to need to do something with yourself," he gestures at Phil's rumpled hair and exposed skin, leaning down to press his fingers into the purpling hickey at the base of his neck.

Phil grumbles something about 'your fault' but he gets up anyway, collecting clean underwear and pyjama pants off the floor on his way to the bathroom.

"Oh, by the way, I met a subscriber today," Dan calls, and hears Phil's responding noise of interest around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"She said you inspired her to go into film," he continues, and the next noise is choked and touched. Phil pops his head around the corner after a beat, toothpaste froth at the corners of his mouth, eyes wide. Dan loves him.

"Really? That's so nice. What was her name?" He asks, disappearing again.

"She didn't say."

"You didn't ask?" Phil's tone is disapproving.

"I was busy trying to get back to my boyfriend on our anniversary, I know, what a dick move," Dan says sarcastically, tugging the comforter up so it at least looks like he tried to make it.

Phil emerges with clothes and glasses on, hair still beyond hope. His eyes are warm in that way that never fails to make Dan feel like he's being taken apart one ventricle at a time.

"As long as you don't do it again," Phil says, and Dan's pretty much forgotten what they're talking about, mind wandering back to the year, the year they've been together and a year since he felt anonymous and unwanted. He's almost forgotten the taste of that, the taste of an empty apartment or inbox, the bitterness of alcohol and unrequited love. 

"I love you," he says again, because Phil got rid of that shit and replaced it with coffee in bed and giggly home videos that they got to call vlogging. He brought him budding roses on a platter and showed him that stars weren't the lonely creatures he always thought they were.

"I've heard," Phil responds, pulling him close and holding both of his wrists. Dan smiles softly, and tugs Phil towards the door. He doesn't budge for a second, eyes still trained on Dan's.

"I love you too" Phil adds, "just so you know."

"Yeah," Dan says, beaming, "figured."

They walk out to the kitchen hand in hand and Louise's narrowed eyes are a bit ruined by her quirking smile at the sight of them.

"Took you long enough."

Dan shrugs. "Wanted a quickie before breakfast."

Phil and Louise wrinkle noses identically at him, and then Louise is pressing a mug into Phil's free hand.

"Here y'are love. Happy anniversary." She winks at him and Dan huffs.

"Why are you, like, eons nicer to Phil than me?"

"He's my favourite," she shrugs, turning back to where pancake batter is dripping onto linoleum.

"Mine too," Dan says under his breath, and glances at Phil, who can't seem to decide who he wants to smile at more, and is looking back and forth between them. Dan rolls his eyes, squeezing his hand and letting it go so he can swoop forwards and spoon batter onto the bubbling pan.

Phil fumbles in the fridge for ribena, and Louise stepped out of Dan's way when he started to fuss, so she's just standing there sipping her tea and smiling like she's remembering a joke.

Louise and Phil evacuate the kitchen with stacks of plates and precarious handfuls of cups, setting the table and chattering, and Dan's relieved he won't have an audience for his abysmal pancake flipping.

He ends up with a slightly mangled stack, and he makes a big show of setting it down in the dining room, flourishing and spitting equally mangled 'bon appetit's'.

Phil has that look on his face like he's swallowing a smile, and Louise just makes a strangled noise of disapproval.

There's the usual fight over the least burnt cakes, plucking honey and jam and lemon from the assortment of condiments and tucking in. They eat in scattered silence, teasing and affection threading through the quiet. Louise clears her throat after a few minutes, dabbing at her already pristine face with a serviette.

"Look, I didn't come here for your phenom cooking, believe it or not," she says, reaching for her mysterious box and sliding it towards them.

"I may or may not have had a cheeky poke around tumblr," she begins.

Dan shoots Phil a look and Louise lets out an irritated tsk.

"Your fans obviously know about your anniversary-"

"Obviously," Phil echoes, eyebrows arched.

"They figure things out, you know this," she says, exasperated, "and they wanted to do something, so."

Dan pulls the bow loose and raises the lid, cocking his head quizzically at the contents.

"Is this…"

"It's just letters, nothing fancy, but. They were organizing this on tumblr, and I got involved and. Well. it's basically handmade anniversary cards. Little well wishes and thank you's for the channel and -I think there are a couple of USB's with montages and favourite's reels? There's some art in there as well, I think," she looks between them nervously.

Phil's eyes haven't left Dan's face, as open and vulnerable as ever. He can never seem to believe that people care about him, and this is physical proof.

When he looks up at Phil, his eyes are wet and his hands are full of colourful shards of kindness.

"They're all full of constellations and cactus drawings," he says thickly, "and little cameras and youtube logos, and I haven't even read them."

Phil brushes the back of Dan's closest hand with his own, and Dan grabs it like a lifeline.

"Louise this is-"

"Wasn't me," she says, hands up, "You have a lovely little fan base."

"Thanks anyway," Dan says firmly, and Phil nods his agreement.

Louise flushes happily and waves them off.

"I can't take much more of your domestic bliss, I need to go squeeze my baby," Louise says, and Dan can see her lip quivering a little.

"We love you," Phil says, and Louise rolls her eyes skyward like she's trusting gravity to keep tears in.

"God, I get it," she says, fluttering her hands uselessly at her tear ducts. "Mmm. Okay. I should go."

They protest at the same time, but Louise is already swinging her coat up from where it's draped over the back of her chair and shrugging it on.

"Thanks, chums, but I'll let you have your anniversary. Flip through your box of emotions." She shows herself to the door, waving behind her.

"Love you both, doves." 

They glance at each other when the door closes behind her, smiling wetly, hands linked over the box."Congrats on one year!" is stamped on everything, smiley faces from strangers who know everything about them, unadulterated joy in every dot on every exclamation point.

_____

It is, as expected, fucking freezing on the roof.

They're pressed together side by side on a quilt behind Phil's downsized garden, and their picnic spread is officially cinnamon spread on burnt toast and a thermos of cocoa.

Wind is kind of ridiculously whipping their paper plates around, and they've had to weigh everything down with baskets and mugs and hands. They're also kind of having the best time, in spite of all that, feeling the hollow chill meet their bubble of warmth and skitter away. Phil has cinnamon residue clinging to his lips, and Dan keeps getting slapped with the frond of the nearest plant. They're both finding everything absolutely hilarious, giddy and up high and together.

"You remember when you asked me about jumping off the roof?" Dan asks and Phil tenses.

"You know I didn't mean-"

"I know, I know," Dan reassures, and thumbs the sweetness from Phil's lips, flashing a smile sideways at him.

"I just mean, that pull. Like- you wanna do something superficially for the thrill of it? No matter how much the consequences would suck you're still-it still reels you in. It seems beautiful and romantic and everything, but it'll kill you."

"Like colourful poisonous fish," Phil agrees, and Dan smiles.

"Exactly. I always thought relationships were kind of like that too. Jumping off a building, fall in love, whatever. But, wait, we're about to get sappy-"

Phil crosses their ankles together as if to ground him.

"You're sort of... the antithesis of that. No. Not exactly, I mean - you are beautiful, and I am drawn to you," Dan's stuttering now, words scraping out wrong.

"I mean."

Phil smiles calmly at him, waiting. 

"I just mean. Obviously. Probably- you're not going to kill me. I think you just proved that there's a healthy version of 'the pull' like. You know, the urge to eat or to breathe, the biological sort of compulsion to do stuff. That's what you are."

"I'm like eating?" Phil asks, deadpan.

"You're like eating. I have to do it to live."

"Nice."

"Whereas all my other relationships were like jumping off a roof. I had to do it to die," he finishes emphatically.

"That sounds kinda cool and Shakespearean, can I trade?"

Dan shoots him a look. "You're putting a damper on this anniversary speech."

"Because it was going off without a hitch before," Phil says sarcastically, gesturing to the windblown plates and messy hair and Dan's insistently waffling self.

"Whatever. Kiss me for trying."

Phil obliges enthusiastically, snaking him in with both arms and licking into his mouth.

When they pull apart they're shivering, smiles chattering.

"Couldn't we have met in front of a fireplace or something?" Phil asks as they struggle to their feet, battling the wind.

"That would've been a rubbish story," Dan says.

Phil hums his agreement, focused on keeping his hair lying flat and his sleeves secured over his fists.

Dan tweaks the nearest petal so it's pointing up, feeling nostalgia to the tips of his toes. 

The gardener slips his hand into Dan's and pulls him home.