Work Text:
now
It’s mid-November and Phil, the resident adult, is peeling fake cobwebs off the kitchen cabinets.
“You owe me for this,” Phil says, scratching at a spider sticker. “I told you to take down the Halloween decorations two weeks ago.”
“Sorry,” Dan says, not really paying attention. He’s been trying to find a good site to torrent Game of Thrones for the past ten minutes, and is low-key anxious that he just downloaded a virus.
“Well, now that the Halloween season it’s over, we should probably start thinking about Christmas plans,” Phil says. He prods the pumpkin next to the fireplace and then makes a face. “Also, this pumpkin is rotten.”
“Sorry,” Dan says again, still out of it.
“I was thinking that maybe we should go to your house this year? I feel a little bad for hogging you from your family for so long.”
“Sorry,” Dan mutters. “Wait, sorry?”
“I said I think we should go to your family’s house,” Phil says. “For Christmas.”
Dan pauses his download, makes a note to run his antivirus software later, and looks up from his laptop.
“Do your parents not want to have us?” he asks.
“No, I’m sure they’d love to have us,” Phil says. “But you haven’t had the chance to go back home in so long, so I thought that now would be a good time."
“Oh,” Dan says. “Well.”
Dan catches himself trying to find the best lie, the one with the least number of questions. But he knows that’s not the way to do things, not with Phil. So then his brain moves on to trying to find the most neutral statement—not a lie, exactly, but a way to avoid the truth. A diversion.
“I think we should go to your house,” he says finally, which is neither a lie or a diversion. “I like your house,” he says, which is the tiniest bit of a lie, because Dan doesn’t really like any house other than the London flat, the only place in the world that feels like it’s actually his. But Phil’s family isn’t awful, and he knows they should spend the holidays somewhere. “Let’s go to your house,” he concludes.
“What about your family, though?” Phil asks.
“What about them?”
“Dan,” Phil says. “Come on."
Dan looks at Phil, and starts to read his expression, and fuck. Phil's mouth is tight and his head is tilted, and he’s pushing. He’s pushing at something that is none of his business, really. Something that he doesn’t understand.
Dan’s chest is getting a little constricted, so he breathes, gives himself a second.
“Please,” Dan says. The word is hard and his jaw is set, but his eyes are soft. He looks at Phil, sees his face shift, and knows that he’ll back down. “Phil, let’s go to your house.”
Phil purses his lips, like he’s not done yet. But he says, “I’ll call my mum later. Remind me."
Dan doesn’t remind him. Phil remembers to call anyway.
—
then
When Dan first gets into university, he calls Phil right away. Obviously.
“I got into Manchester,” Dan says. His face is flushed and his words are too fast, but really, he’s trying to be chill about it. He’s just failing miserably. “So, you know, we can make a ton more videos together.”
“Yes! Oh my god, that’s such good news,” Phil says. And his voice is so full and sincere that Dan’s heart beats a little faster, because he’s a complete dork.
“Yeah, I’m really excited,” Dan says. “The gap year finally comes to an end, and I get to escape the confines of my bedroom."
Phil laughs, generously. Dan tries to steady his breathing, but the smile won’t go away. Whatever, it’s a phone call, so Phil can’t see anyway.
“Manchester,” Phil repeats. “Wow. Are you going to be scared to be so far away from home, though?”
“What?” Dan says, kind of chuckling. "No, definitely not.”
“Dan,” Phil chides. “Everyone gets homesick."
“Trust me, Phil. I’ll be fine,” Dan says. This is something that’s never even occurred to him, and he knows it’s not going to be a problem. “Besides, I practically live in Manchester at this point anyway.”
Phil pauses, but then concedes with a laugh. “That’s fair.”
Dan laughs too, giddy. “So, I kind of have a few ideas for videos."
—
now
Dan is wearing one of Phil’s Christmas sweaters—he spilled wine on his own. He’s drinking water now, like a reasonable adult person, out of one of Phil’s family’s glasses. And, of course, he’s in Phil’s house, because it’s Christmas, and that’s where Christmas happens.
“I really like this ornament,” he says, small talk expert. “What is it, a reindeer?”
“Yes!” Phil’s mum says, overly gracious, because that’s who she is, because that’s who the whole Lester clan is. “It’s Prancer!”
“Oh wow,” Dan says, wincing at his own voice. “That’s, that’s great. Prancer is a top notch reindeer. One of my favorites.” What the fuck is he saying?
But Phil’s mom goes along with it, thank the lord.
“It’s always so nice to have you here, Dan,” she says. “What is this, the third Christmas in a row?”
“Yeah,” Dan laughs. “Yeah, I think so. Sorry to intrude so frequently, you must be getting sick of me.”
“No, no, never apologize!” she says, and he knows she means it. “I just worry about your poor mother, missing out on having you for Christmas.”
“Oh no, don’t worry, I visit her plenty during the rest of the year,” he says, nodding vigorously. “And Christmas isn’t a huge deal at my house. We don’t go all out like you do, with the trees and the cookies and the wine.”
He gives a smile, wide and charming as he can, and hopes that she can’t see the fear in his eyes. Dan is, unfortunately, the world’s worst liar.
“Oh, well I’m glad you visit her,” Phil’s mum says, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s hard, you know, to have an empty house.”
“Oh definitely,” Dan says, suddenly very ready to leave. Or at least to drink more. “Speaking of the wine, I think I’ll go grab another glass.”
“Of course,” she says. “Grab another cookie, too! Gingerbread tastes best fresh.”
“Definitely,” Dan says again. “Definitely,” he mutters as he bypasses the kitchen and heads to the bathroom. “Definitely,” he says, melodramatically gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Fuck.”
He gives himself a minute to watch his hands, smear his palms over his face to cool it down. He’s drunk, is all. He’s just feeling things, getting worked up, because he’s drunk. Drunk and bad at small talk. That’s Dan Howell. And it’s okay.
When he dries his hands he wishes that the towel was a little coarser, that the Lester house wasn’t so damn soft. But then he leaves the bathroom, tries to find Phil.
“Hey,” Phil says, catching his elbow. “You okay?” He brushes a drop of water off of Dan’s cheek.
“Oh shit, yeah, I was washing my face,” Dan says. “Honest. I’m a little too tipsy, but definitely not at the crying stage yet.”
“How many glasses have you had?” Phil asks.
“Um.”
Dan blushes a little bit, knows that he probably shouldn't get in the habit of solving problems with fancy alcohol.
“You wanna go for a walk?” Phil asks. The Lester clan, always gracious.
“Yes, definitely.”
—
then
Dan gets a little emotional saying goodbye to his parents, but the promise of the future is enough to tide him over for the first day. Then meeting all his dorm mates (and going to pubs with all his dorm mates) takes up all his headspace for the first week of university.
But during the second week of university—yeah, he gets ridiculously homesick.
He tries calling home, but it’s two a.m., and obviously no one answers. Then he tries calling Phil, who is probably asleep, but picks up the phone anyway.
“Hey,” Dan says. “How’s it going?”
“Yeah, fine,” Phil says, groggy as hell. Definitely asleep. "How are you?”
“Oh, you know,” Dan says. “Pretty good. Just, you know, bored.”
Phil gives a sleep-deprived grunt.
“Um, yeah,” Dan says. “Just wanted to say hi.” But his voice cracks on the “hi” and he knows it’s all over.
“Oh shit, what’s wrong?” Phil says. “Wait, sorry, that’s not what I meant to say.”
“What?” Dan says.
“Sorry, I’m a little tired. But what I meant to say is, do you want to come over?”
Dan exhales. “You sure?”
“Yeah, definitely. Come over,” Phil says.
“Because if I’m ruining your sleep schedule or whatever, I get it, it’s no big deal.”
“Dan,” Phil says. “Come over.”
“Yeah okay."
When Phil opens the door, Dan plays it cool for a second, fakes a smile. But then they get into the living room and Dan collapses onto the couch and shoves his face in his hands, and his shoulders give him away.
And Phil knows exactly what to do, doesn’t even hesitate. He just slings an arm around Dan and pulls him really close. He leans his head into the perfect slot, somehow. Puts his other arm around to cup Dan’s other shoulder. Sideways hugs are hard but Phil is a fucking expert.
“Sorry,” Dan says. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“No worries,” Phil says. “Transitions are hard.”
That’s such an easy out. Transitions are hard. Dan is so grateful for that line, for that excuse. Because there’s more to it than that, there has to be. The deep ache in his stomach can’t just be due to moving out like every other kid. But hey, it works.
Dan stops shaking, but he doesn’t want Phil to let go. So he kind of gropes at Phil’s arms, pulls him closer.
“Love you so much,” he says.
“Love you too,” Phil says.
—
now
It’s cold enough outside for Dan to see his breath. He exhales purposefully, squints to try to make out the smoke. The street is pretty dark—it’s a neighborhood, so there aren’t street lamps—but enough houses have Christmas lights that Dan can see most of the smoke.
“You all right?” Phil asks, interrupting Dan’s breathing adventure.
“Yeah,” Dan says. “Sobering up.”
“The cold is good for that,” Phil nods.
“Is that conclusion backed by science?”
“Oh totally,” Phil says. “Everyone knows that cold molecules slow down alcohol molecules.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” Dan says, taking Phil’s hand. “We’ll see if you’re as convinced of that after I throw up in this bush.”
“Oh no!”
“I’m kidding, Phil. I don’t throw up when I get drunk.”
Phil gives him a look.
“Okay,” Dan concedes. “Maybe sometimes. But not right now.” His stomach grumbles.
Phil clicks his tongue. “You’re just full of lies tonight." His tone is light enough, but even drunk Dan knows when he’s getting judged hardcore.
“What do you mean?” Dan says.
“Dan, come on. You just told my mum that you’ve visited your mum this year.”
“I have,” Dan says.
Phil gives him the look again.
“Okay, well, I visited her last year.”
“That’s not the same.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Dan says, letting go of Phil’s hand, feeling something creeping up his throat. “I need to throw up in this bush.”
Phil sighs. But when Dan actual starts heaving, Phil pats him on the back, gentle as always.
“Okay,” he says.
Dan doesn’t turn around to look, but he’s pretty sure Phil’s eyes are saying “we have to talk about this eventually,” which Dan knows is true. But he’s going to take any excuse he can to put it off, and if that means anxiety-induced vomiting, well. That’s what bushes are for.
—
then
After his first semester, Dan goes home for Christmas. Of course he does. Every first-year goes back to their family during the holidays, reunites with their hometown friends, reflects on how things have changed. It’s supposed to be a nice break from coursework, a warm couple of weeks with loved ones. It’s Christmas.
And that first year, that’s what it is. Dan is happy to be home. His brother is getting deeper into his angsty phase, but is still definitely happy to see him. His mom and dad dote, let him know how badly they’ve missed him, ask him all kinds of questions. It’s a little claustrophobic, but Dan is reasonable and knows that they’re being the good kind of intrusive. The loving, involved parent kind. So, for the first time in memory, it's actually nice to be home.
The next year, Dan goes back. He knows things are going to be different. He’s different. He dropped out, which is, yeah, a big deal. But he’s excited for the future now, rather than filled with dread, so that’s good.
But he’s also terrified. First of all, he's scared that things won’t work out with Youtube and he’ll end up on the streets. Second of all, he’s scared that his relatives are going to be shitty about it, that they won’t understand.
And, of course, they don’t understand. No one fucking understands.
Christmas is a disaster. Everyone is yelling at everyone else. People are drunk and say things they don’t mean. People are sober and say things they do mean, but still shouldn’t say. Dan gets ignored half the time and harassed the rest of the time. And, fuck.
On the third day Dan locks himself in his room, screams into a pillow, feels like a fucking fourteen-year-old again. And he asks whether this is worth fucking doing. He asks what keeps him coming back here.
—
now
Dan wakes up in Phil's guest room. He’s not wearing a Christmas sweater anymore. Good sign. Phil is still sleeping, which is surprising, because Dan holds the record for sleeping past five p.m. But it’s a welcome change, maybe. It means Dan is a real human, rather than a perpetually sleeping gremlin. Weird. Anyway.
Dan gets out of bed quietly, tries not to rustle the blankets too much. He throws on a shirt and heads out to the kitchen, expecting to pour himself some cereal and watch anime. But of course, this isn’t their flat. And of course, even if waking up before 10 is a feat for him and Phil, it isn’t at all impressive to actual real life adults. So, of course, Phil’s parents are there to greet him in the kitchen.
“Oh Dan! Welcome to the world of the living! We didn’t expect to see you up and about so early,” Phil’s mum gushes.
Instinctively, Dan wants to say something rude. He isn’t used to interacting with Phil's parents without Phil. He’s never really sure how to handle parents, generally. Phil talks to his family in a way really different from Dan. And, it’s weird. He feels like it’s a skill he’s never fully developed.
“Good morning,” is what he decides on. “Would you mind if I grabbed some cereal?”
“Of course!” Phil’s mum says. “Let me pour it for you.”
“No,” Dan interjects, a little too harsh. “I can grab it, I don’t want to trouble you.”
And before she can counter him with another polite offer, he moves in and grabs the most sugary cereal box on the shelf.
“Good choice,” Phil’s dad says, looking up from the television. “Glad to see you aren’t a health nut like this one.” He gestures to Phil’s mum, who swats him gently.
“Aha, definitely not,” Dan says. “I’m well on my way to diabetes by thirty."
There’s a fear-filled moment where Dan tries to remember if Phil’s dad has diabetes, and whether or not he needs to backpedal like crazy to make up for his dumb joke. But then both of Phil’s parents start laughing, and Dan is pretty sure he’s in the clear.
“You’re just so funny,” Phil’s mum says.
“Thanks,” Dan says, even though he knows that’s probably not the right response.
“Really, you’re so delightful, and we really just love having you here,” she says. “Don’t we, George?”
Phil’s dad nods.
“Thanks,” Dan says again, offering a small smile, still unsure whether or not he’s responding correctly.
“And we really hope that when you come here, it feels like home,” she adds.
Ah.
There’s only the tiniest bit of pity in her tone. Really, just a smidge. But Dan hears it like it’s booming, and fuck. He knows she doesn’t mean it like that, but really, she does. Because here he is, the fucked up kid, estranged from his family. Drinking too much wine and eating sugary cereal. So here’s Phil’s mum, thinking she can fix him. Thinking she can make him feel like he’s in a happy home.
“Yeah,” Dan says, toneless. He’s already poured out his cereal, so he takes a few spoonfuls, but it’s no use. His brain is still coming up with all types of awful things, and he knows it’s time to leave. “Um, better brush my teeth.”
He leaves his cereal bowl on the counter, which is admittedly pretty rude. But he needs to get out of the kitchen before he says something dumb.
Phil is awake and sitting on the bed when he gets back to the guest room.
“Hey,” Dan says. “When are we leaving?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Phil says, stretching.
“Sorry,” Dan says, and he kind of bows his head.
“Come on, it’s Christmas, don’t be grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
Phil laughs. Dan winces.
“Are you hungover?” Phil asks.
Dan has to think about it. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Hungover and grumpy,” Phil sing-songs.
“Yeah, okay, well when is my hungover and grumpy body going to be carried back to the city?”
“What?” Phil asks, squinting.
“When is the train?” Dan deadpans.
“Oh, this evening. Six, I think.”
“Dammit.”
Phil throws out his hands, grabbing Dan and seating him on the bed.
“Why does your body need to be carried back right now?” Phil asks, resting his head on Dan’s shoulder, master cuddler.
“I embarrassed myself in front of your parents,” Dan says. “I didn’t wash my cereal bowl."
“Wow, you really messed up this time.”
“I know,” Dan says.
“What did you actually do?”
Dan groans. “I don’t know. I just, existed I guess. Acted like myself. Pretty cringe.”
“You’re not cringe,” Phil says, running a hand lazily through Dan’s hair. “I’m sure everything’s fine. You’re overthinking.”
“Yeah,” Dan sighs. “I guess."
He really wants to leave, obviously. Getting out of the kitchen isn’t enough, he has to get out of the fucking province. But this is Phil’s family’s house, and it was Dan's idea to come, and it’s really for the best. Family time is important. Even if it’s cringe, and awkward, and makes Dan want to pull out all of his hair. Okay, so maybe it’s not important to Dan. But it is for Phil. And Phil matters too. Ugh, fuck.
“Can I nap?” Dan says. “So that you can get some time with your parents, while I slowly fade out of existence.”
Phil laughs, and Dan can’t even tell if it’s the sad kind.
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll get you for lunch?”
“Try dinner.”
Phil gives a look, and he usually wouldn’t let Dan get away with this, but maybe the bags under his eyes look worse than usual this morning.
“Okay,” Phil says. “Rest up. I’ve read that sleep molecules slow down alcohol molecules.”
“Phil,” Dan says, but he’s smiling, and he pecks Phil on the cheek before he leaves.
—
then
Dan gets back to Manchester and promises himself that he won’t cry, that he won’t think about his family, that he won’t think about anything. That’s the solution here. He can just distract himself forever, until December is too far away to even remember. The Internet is full of enough shit to keep his mind occupied long enough. Great plan. Super effective.
And then, of course, Phil gets back.
“How was Christmas?” Phil asks. He stumbles through the hallway, all smiles and red cheeks. 'Happy Holidays’ personified. “How’s the family?”
“Fine,” Dan says, toneless. “How’s yours?”
“Really good! I ate so many mince pies I thought I might explode. And I brought some back with me!”
“Nice,” Dan says, because maybe that fits.
“And you should see the weird gifts I got!” Phil says, reaching for his suitcase. "I think I’ll do a haul video.”
“Nice,” Dan says again, and this time there’s something else in his voice. “I’m glad you had a good time.”
Phil looks up. “Is something wrong?”
Dan catches himself before he starts getting unfairly harsh.
“No,” he says. “Sorry, just feeling a little weird. Post-Christmas, you know?”
Phil gives a small smile. “Yeah, definitely. It’s weird when the most joy-filled season is over.”
“Yeah,” Dan says. Joy-filled.
Phil goes and unpacks, and Dan spaces out on the Internet, and that’s the end of the Christmas conversation.
But then they’re watching TV later in the night, and there are still advertisements for Christmas sales. And they go to Starbucks the next day, and obviously they get Christmas drinks. And the streets still have lights and tourists, which are mostly families. And the tree is still up. And it’s kind of hard to ignore the holiday and the memories and the romantic notions of family when they’re literally everywhere.
So on December 29th, they’re back on the couch, and Dan very awkwardly makes his move.
“Um, Phil,” he says. He doesn’t even make eye contact, just keeps looking at his laptop. “Can I go to your house next year? You know, for the holidays?”
He still doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see what Phil’s eyes say.
“Sure,” is what Phil’s mouth says. “Of course. I’m sure my parents would love to have you."
—
now
“So does this mean we’re going to your house next Christmas?”
They’re on the train, speeding over the countryside. Dan has always liked trains. He falls asleep pretty easily on them, which is nice. There’s usually a semi-pretty view, or at least a nice gray sky, which is ideal zoning out weather. Best of all, though, there's no pressure to do anything on trains. It’s a couple hours removed from the world.
Usually trains are not places for tense interpersonal conversations. Dan loves that.
Phil is about to ruin trains for him.
“Um, no,” Dan says. “We’re definitely not going to my house next Christmas."
“So, you want to go back to mine again?” Phil says.
“Um,” Dan says. “Sure. Yes."
“Come on, Dan,” Phil says, sighing. “You were miserable."
“I was not.”
“You fake napped for seven hours.”
“I was tired.”
“Dan,” Phil groans.
“It’s true!” Dan says, and technically it is true. He’s always tired.
“Dan,” Phil says, again. “I just. I want to understand what your problem is with your family. And also my family.”
“Your family’s fine, Phil,” Dan says.
Phil sighs again. “Okay, well then what about yours?”
“My family is,” Dan says, pausing only the tiniest bit, “also fine.”
“Dan,” Phil says, a third fucking time. “I don’t know what emotions you’re bottling up right now, but I do know that it’s not good for you."
“Wow, thanks for your professional opinion, Phil.”
“That’s not fair, Dan,” Phil says. “Come on, this is serious. Family is important. Feelings are important. Out with it.”
“Phil,” Dan says. “We’re not talking about this right now.”
“Why not?” Phil challenges.
“Because,” Dan says, “this is not a conversation for a fucking train.” (He whispers the f-word because there’s a small child a couple rows forward.)
“Okay, when are we going to talk about it?"
“I don’t know,” Dan says. “When we get home, I guess.”
“No,” Phil says. “We can’t keep putting this off. We’re getting off at the next stop.”
“Phil,” Dan says. “We have tickets, we can’t just get off wherever we want.”
“We’ll get more tickets,” Phil says, resolute. “We’re getting off this train and we’re talking about this, Dan.”
Dan rolls his eyes but he knows Phil’s tone, and he knows that there’s no real use arguing. He wants to argue anyway, but some combination of anxiety and exhaustion keeps his mouth shut.
“You’re paying for the tickets,” he says, petulant.
“Obviously,” Phil says, because he knows Dan.
They sit through five minutes of silence. Dan tries to stare out the window and pretend he’s literally anywhere else, but the fear of the Looming Serious Conversation digs too deep for anything to really distract him.
Finally, the train rolls to a stop. Phil stands up immediately, and Dan reluctantly follows. They grab their luggage. Dan’s suitcase falls too quickly and crushes his foot. He wants to complain loudly, but doesn’t.
“Okay,” Phil says once they’re off the train.
They’re in some random station that is decidedly not London. There aren’t a ton of people around, but Dan walks as far away from the handful of passengers as possible. He doesn’t want to do this, but if he has to, he at least wants to be out of the general public’s earshot.
“Okay,” Dan says. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Your family,” Phil says.
Dan rolls his eyes.
“What about them?”
Phil gives a very small and polite sigh. But he responds easily.
“Why don’t you like visiting them?” Phil asks.
“I just don’t.”
“Dan."
“Listen,” Dan says, gripping the handle of his suitcase a little more firmly. "I know you’re not going to understand this because your family somehow gets along perfectly, but I don’t like my family. And they don’t particularly like me. So why would I bother spending time with them if it just leads to infinite stress?”
“My family doesn’t get along perfectly,” Phil says.
“Shut up, Phil. You know it does.”
“Okay, maybe,” Phil says. “But I’m sure yours could, too. Maybe you just need to—“
“Phil.” Dan feels the distinct urge to pull every hair follicle out of his scalp, to scream as loud as he can. But he speaks slowly and carefully, resisting that urge. “This isn’t something that can be changed. It’s been this way my entire life. It will continue to be this way for the rest of my life. That’s fine. I just don’t want to deal with it anymore. Do you understand?"
Phil purses his lips.
“No.”
Dan deflates. “What don’t you understand?”
Phil takes a breath. “I don’t understand how we’re going to have a family if you hate family.”
Dan's eyebrows narrow, because he wasn’t expecting the conversation to go in this direction. But hey, he can go with it.
“No, Phil, listen closely. I don’t hate family, right. I just hate my family. There’s a difference.”
“Okay, well Dan, you only get one family, so how you feel about your family is pretty indicative.”
“What the fuck does that mean,” Dan says, and his voice gets louder, but it’s not anger, it’s hysteria. "I’m allowed to hate my miserable family. That’s not what ours is gonna be like.”
“Well how do you know that? How do you know our kids aren’t going to hate us the way you hate your parents?”
Dan sputters, because that feels like a dig, somehow. Because that feels like Phil doubts him, and maybe blames him, and this is all about future shit. Shit that isn’t going to happen. Shit that Dan won’t let happen.
“We’ll actually be good parents, Phil,” Dan says. His mouth is tight and his words are sharp. "That’s how I know.”
“Yeah?” Phil asks, and maybe it’s a challenge, Dan can’t tell.
“Phil,” Dan says, and he feels heat building up in his face. "We’re going to be the best fucking parents of all time. Literally, everything is going to be fantastic. There will be absolutely no traumas carried over, because I will deal with all of my shit, Phil. I will go to as many therapists as I need to. And our family will be amazing, Phil. Fuck, that was a pun. But no. Phil. Our family is going to be so, so good.”
“You’re sure?” Phil says.
“Yes,” Dan says. And the wind is biting at his eyes, so he wipes at them. "I’m sure."
“Okay,” Phil says.
Dan blinks.
“What do you mean, ‘okay?’”
“I mean,” Phil says. “If you’re going to do what you need to do, and if you feel good with the way things are, then I feel good with the way things are.”
“Oh,” Dan says.
“And we can get back on the train now,” Phil says.
“Yeah,” Dan says, but he doesn't move. “I mean, I don’t feel great about the way things are, obviously. It’s kind of, you know, weird to have such a tense relationship. You know, with my family.”
“Yeah?” Phil says.
“Yeah,” Dan says. “And I mean, I wish that things were better. But like, it’s hard.”
“Mm?” Phil says.
“Like,” Dan says, and his voice cracks, “really hard."
And then Dan is low-key crying at a train station in the middle of nowhere, because he is a mess. And Phil brings him into his arms, because he is gracious and emotionally stable.
And so Dan gently sobs into his boyfriend’s shoulder, because it’s Christmas, and it's cathartic, somehow.
—
—
later
It’s mid-November, and Dan and Phil are taking down their Halloween decorations. Phil is getting the cabinets while Dan gets the countertop. Teamwork.
“Dammit, Phil,” Dan says, arms full of pumpkins. “Why did you buy so many pumpkins?"
“They’re festive!” Phil says.
-
It’s early December and Dan and Phil are putting up their tree. Dan breaks three baubles and somehow blames them all on Phil. But Dan also compliments Phil profusely on his garland skills, so it all balances out. The tree looks nice, missing ornaments and all.
-
It’s mid-December and Phil goes to visit his family. His parents dote on him and feed him and ask about Dan. Phil explains Dan is visiting friends in Manchester, but only for a night or two. They tweet at each other. Phil brings home gingerbread.
-
It’s Christmas and Dan and Phil are in their London flat. They put on their Christmas sweaters and unwrap their presents. Dan gives Phil a lot of crap for how weird some of his gifts are this year, but starts to tear up a little when he opens a new stuffed Tonberry (he’s somehow lost his original earlier in the year).
“Are you seriously crying?” Phil asks.
“Shut up,” Dan snaps. “It’s Christmas.”
“I was hoping this would be the first Christmas you didn’t cry,” Phil says.
Dan shoves Phil, hard.
“It’s a different kind of crying, idiot."
And then they’re both laughing, but Dan is still also kind of crying. And it’s Christmas. And they’re home. And they’re family.