Work Text:
Dan had always run hot. Since he was a little boy he’d been scolded for always running in guns blazing, setting everything in his path alight. His mother talked about him like a fire she was desperate to put out before it burnt down her whole life. He left his bold and brazen personality in the ashes of his childhood.
In lieu of developing any healthy coping mechanisms or self-soothing skills, he’d developed a hot head. Any strong emotions, overwhelming thoughts or feelings seemed to sit like hot stones in his skull. Too hot to handle, unmovable, scorching him from the inside out.
Phil had always run cold. Where others found comfort in warm cups of coffee and woollen jumpers, Phil only felt the intrinsic chill in his bones.
His coolness ran beyond just body temperature. He’d always had a talent for keeping a level-head in difficult situations. He’d sought out warmth, in every sense of the word. He loved happiness, sappiness, movies, fireplaces and people. He managed to always look at things from the most objective point of view, his even-tempered nature helping him keep his composure.
When he was 15 his parents sat him down for the talk. The soulmate talk that is. (The other one, the one you’re thinking of, had been left in the not so delicate hands of his year 8 PE teacher, any nuance left to die as an awkward, pubescent Phil had to roll a condom down a banana in front of the pack of cackling hyenas that were his peers.)
On Dan’s 13th birthday, his grandmother gifted him a book - Everything you need to know about Soulmates and Soulmarks . On the inside cover she wrote ‘Let's keep this gift between us ;) Never forget that He does not make mistakes. Love is God’s greatest gift.’ and signed Nan with three kisses. Dan had smiled softly to himself, unsure of why he felt so excited by the gift.
Beyond receiving his grandmother’s discrete gift, he had never conversed with his family about it. He never got the typical talk that other people seemed to have at that age. Partially due to his family’s religious ties.
Neither of Dan’s parents had managed to find their soulmate, and decided to settle down and have him in their late twenties, after a decade of going to the same church. Safe to say the topic had become somewhat of a sore spot in his household, treated as a dirtier word than any curse he knew at that age and sure to be punished far more severely.
He’d grown up with the mindset that even if he did have a soulmate, he may never have enough time to find them. Or the patience to spend his whole life waiting for them, and missing out on the chance to learn love with someone else. And oh, how he was desperate to learn love. To find a girl with a flame as strong as his, so he could love her without burning, so they could collide and be twice as bright together, blinding everyone but them.
It would take another 3 years and several failed relationships with girls too pretty and too confident for him before he learned that he was wrong. That fire and fire only combine into an inferno, violent and all consuming and destructive. Those two extremes don’t automatically coalesce into something greater.
It would take many more years for him to understand the value of equilibrium, homeostasis, how opposing forces didn’t make them opposites, but more valuable to one another. We wouldn’t need heat if there wasn’t cold to fight. You wouldn’t appreciate the temperate spring if not comparing it to the blistering summer.
He kept that book hidden under his pillow where it stayed to this day. Whenever he felt touch starved or lonely, he’d turn to it for a fleeting sense of hope. Not quite enough to keep him going, but just enough to stop him giving into the thought that his life had no real merit.
In times of need throughout his formative years, he’d often find himself flipping through the pages of the book, highlighting paragraphs and making notes.
A soulmate is like the flipside of a coin. Two halves of one whole, created in perfect balance. Every trait you have, is and will be, perfectly countered by your soulmate. Your lives fit together like a two piece puzzle, each forever incomplete without the complimentary piece to fill the gaps.
And when Dan felt as though he wanted nothing more than to permanently escape from all the hardships he faced, he was always halted by the idea of stealing half of someone else's happiness, of stealing the last piece of the puzzle of their life. He liked to think it is a loss that they, whoever they are, would mourn greatly.
After the age of 21, anyone with a soulmate will be able to leave a soulmark(also known as a soulstain). A soulmark is a bruise like imprint left on your skin by your soulmate. When your soulmate touches your skin with their hands, it leaves a stain on your skin. This stain, similar to the mark of a port wine stain, will remain until they touch you again.
Dan finds the AmazingPhil youtube channel in his last year of highschool. Invigorated by the new found freedoms of turning 18 (and desperate to explore all the things he’d avoided in fear of being branded by them in school) he posts a comment under the newest upload.
Ur hot ;) and I wish I had your editing skills. He didn’t expect a response, screaming into the void as it were.
However, this would be the first of what became an onslaught of comments from Dan as he delved into the AmazingPhil online persona, consuming content across his DailyBooth, Twitter, YouTube, anything he could find, honestly.
He sighed, a deep sound of exhaustion escaping as he closed his laptop, with no expectation of a response. He laid on his cold mattress, feeling the springs poke uncomfortably at his back and stared up at the hypnotic spin of the ceiling fan, thinking of nothing and everything at once.
His last year of school was coming to a close, only about two months left of the term before he turned the page on the final chapter of his high school education. A book he never wanted to reread, save him needing a good reason to cry.
He’d been miserable since he turned twelve, having to fight back every fibre of his being to drag himself into classes the last 6 years. His peers talked about university like it was a glistening yellow brick road of opportunity. They lit up as they talked about their courses, discussed the subjects they’d be taking and how it all lined up with their future plans. He wished he had that same bright eyed optimism for his future, a passion that unfurled into action.
But the idea of starting law at Manchester Uni next year made him feel completely hollow. Despite being the first achievement of his to prompt any semblance of pride from his parents, it was a complete non-choice to Dan. He chose between doing nothing and doing something, giving up where he stood or signing up for a few more years of the same great war with his own mind.
Enlisting to fight in the frontlines seemed like the only respectable choice.
He fell into a fitful sleep like that, sprawled across his mattress, over the sheets staring at the hypnotic spin of the ceiling fan. The light breeze it created doing nothing to quell the fire Dan felt as he thought of the next four years.
He considered another chunk of his life forcing himself to do something he felt no joy in, working towards a goal he did not have, unmotivated to succeed and yet crushed by every failure.
When Dan arose from his unsteady sleep, he rolled himself off the bed, walked to the bathroom and then crawled straight back under the duvet. It was a Saturday, the day after his 18th birthday, so despite having just woken up, he had already resigned himself to a much needed day of rotting in bed and scrolling online.
While he wasn’t a complete social recluse, he wouldn’t exactly call his friends in it for the long haul. In the world of all-boys private schools’, there was safety in numbers and Dan had drifted into a group of all the other leftover people, the last ones standing up against the wall. They never hung out socially, and no one had made any plans to see Dan on the day, though he did get some obligatory ‘Happy Birthday!’ messages, which he’d respond to when it felt like less of a chore.
He was far more aroused by the response on his YouTube comment. AmazingPhil replied to your comment: ‘Dm and i’ll give you some editing tips ;)’
They began a somewhat public flirtation, dming casually and commenting on the others posts until Phil asked for a mobile number, which he received in seconds. Texts and calls turned to hours long Skype calls as May stretched to October. To be completely fair, Phil did actually give him editing advice and ideas, just not as often as he gave unsolicited compliments and flirtatious comments. By October 16, Dan had posted his first video. By the 19th, Dan would be on a train, arriving in Manchester to spend a week with Phil, because apparently just a first date wasn’t enough for them.
Dan’s foot anxiously tapped against the worn floor of the train platform. He barely registered the posh voice announcing over the PA system as he blankly stared off into the distance. He had his ticket gripped tight in his hand as he waited for his train to arrive.
It was the middle of autumn and the everpresent grey had finally started to dissipate, leaving the sky clear enough for the morning light to warm his olive skin. There was still a crisp bite to the air, but Dan didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice. He felt on fire. A ball of static electricity bouncing through him, like he could feel each of his nerves firing off.
He found it difficult to register his own excitement even though he knew it was there. A cacophony of anxious thoughts building pressure in his head. Like Mount Vesuvius to Pompeii, his self doubt and trepidation erupted out, a rain of ash and toxic steam billowing to the forefront of his mind and making it impossible to navigate his thoughts through the haze.
He’d packed plenty of things to try to keep his mind occupied during the three and a half hour train ride. He had his gameboy in his backpack, his iPod fully charged and his copy of Ready Player One (which Phil had heavily recommended). But as the minute ticked over into hours, he couldn’t seem to hold his concentration long enough to engage with any of it. By the time the carriage pulled up to its final stop in Manchester, Dan had seemingly stared off into space the entire journey, trying uselessly to calm his burning fears.
He was the last person to step off the train. His feet dragged like lead as he made his way across the yellow lines, a long while after it had stopped. His rucksack felt heavier than before as he slung it over one shoulder. His eyes scanned the platform, most of the passengers had already walked off towards their individual destinations.
He searched for the tall silhouette of the bottle-black haired boy who was meant to meet him, and as he turned up nothing, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Phil wasn’t there.
He sat down on the nearest bench feeling winded, as though he’d just been kicked in the gut.
He felt foolish, like a textbook example of catfishing. Left alone at the train platform waiting to meet a man he’d only ever spoken to online. The coals of his mind burned as he fretted over the implications of having just travelled 3 hours to Manchester and no idea where he’d go. No back up plan, no place to stay and not enough pounds in his pocket for another ticket.
The burning haze of steam that clouded his mind suddenly cleared, as though a bucket of water had just ousted the fire in his mind. He could think clearly, and define what he was feeling for the first time all day - disappointment . Tears stung his eyes as he dropped his head to his hands and stared at the floor, trying to hide his face from any passers by.
His train had been delayed, taking off late and he had sat in the carriage for at least 5 minutes after it arrived at the platform. Dan found it incredibly difficult to believe that Phil was late with all that considered. Before he could stop the dam from breaking, Dan felt hot tears stream down his face and in a panic made a break for the decrepit station bathroom, all but running into the first open stall, hat pulled as far down over his head as possible so he didn’t have to meet eyes with the other man standing over the urinal.
He let his bag drop to the dirty ground, and slammed the lid of the toilet down so he could sit on it. A soft sob breaking from his lips as he let the panic win. He wasn’t used to this kind of disappointment. It had been so long since he had felt true excitement that he’d forgotten it came hand in hand with dejection. He felt rejected. Again . But this time it felt seering, like a white hot fire poker through his chest. And the worst part? He felt like it was somehow his fault, like a punishment for his wrong doings, but all he’d done was be himself, his whole honest self and let himself feel hope.
He hears the sound of water running and the whirr of a hand dryer as he silently prays that it will be followed by the other patron leaving the bathroom so he can cry in peace. Dan slams a hand over his mouth to quiet himself when he doesn’t hear the door open, and knows he is still not alone. His pulse spikes as he hears gentle footsteps padding towards the door and stopping outside his stall. The other man gently raps on the door and Dan pulls his legs up towards his chest, knowing it’s too late to hide. He flashes back to his days avoiding the brutal boys of his primary school years. Hiding in the bathroom, waiting to be saved by the bell.
“For fucks sake, use the other stall!” he means to shout, but instead pathetically croaks out, voice trembling and cracking through his words.
“Uh, sorry- No. I mean, um, Dan?” the stranger responds, and everything feels completely upside down as the voice echoes with recognition in his mind. He drops his feet back to the ground.
“Phil…” he murmurs, trying to deepen his voice and fake some sense of semblance.
“Are you okay?” the voice replied, wavering with his own concern.
Sadness morphed into embarrassment as Dan focused all his energy on keeping his voice from cracking. “Yeah, sorry. Can you wait outside? I’ll just be a couple minutes.” His mind raced as the seconds of silence stretched on.
“Yeah, okay!” Phil responded cheerfully from the other side of the door, footsteps echoing off the tile floors. “Don’t be long!” he said, before the door loudly latched behind him.
A deep anxiety grew in the pit of his stomach as he cringed and lamented about what had just happened. The first time he met Phil, he blew him off and screamed at him from a bathroom stall. He splashed cold water on his face and focused on the fact that he was here. He came to see him. He showed up, like he said he would. And most importantly, that he was still waiting outside.
Once he’d calmed down (which definitely took longer than a couple minutes), and the flush of his face had faltered to normal, he made his way back outside to salvage his first meeting with Phil. He took a final deep breath trying to steady himself before pushing against the bathroom door and stepping back onto the platform.
Phil was a figure to behold, tall and leath, jet black hair splayed across his porcelain forehead. He leaned against the wall, right next to the frame of the door Dan was exiting through, scrolling through his phone with a headphone in his left ear. Dan felt a newly found emotion, something warm and comforting that gave him a sudden sense of unprecedented confidence, spurted on by the fact that Phil waited for him outside as closely as possible whilst still giving him the privacy he asked for.
He stepped sideways and stood in front of the boy, somewhat crowding Phil against the wall (as much as he could considering his shorter frame).
“Hey,” he managed, with a genuine smile. Phil’s head flicked up and their eyes met for the first time without the barrier of a computer screen and very suddenly Dan felt the flush he’d worked so hard to settle, returning with a vengeance.
‘Hi, Dan,” Phil responded, pushing off the wall and wrapping both arms around the shorter boy.
They wandered away from Piccadilly station, heading toward the main street. Dan doesn’t miss the way that Phil’s hand rests against his lower back, a feather light touch under the guise of steading him on the escalator. His hand feels cold, even between the layers of fabric draping Dan’s back, but not in an unpleasant way. The touch is welcome, cooling the flush that’s spread across his entire body.
They make their way through the crowded street, Phil’s hand a gentle guide the entire way, as they settle into a Starbucks booth and sip caramel macchiatos. The conversation comes easily, naturally flowing until the cups sit drained on the counter and the booth is abandoned in search of another activity. They peruse a nearby shopping centre, taking some horrific photos on the Apple Store display phones and looking for excuses to lean into one another's space, intrinsically drawn together like the opposite poles of a magnet.
When Phil catches Dan gazing at the Manchester Eye through the glass ceiling of the food court, his mouth opens before he can think to hesitate. “Have you ever been on it? The Ferris Wheel?” he murmurs into the shell of the brunet's ear. He relishes the way that Dan tenses and then relaxes, unconsciously leaning back, closer to Phil, but not quite touching. Dan hasn’t touched him at all yet . The thought distracts him enough that he almost misses Dan shaking his head ‘no’ in response, looking up at him through his lashes.
Phil insists that they go that instant, mumbling something vague about beating the crowds which were already lined up metres down the block, and Dan doesn’t resist, letting Phil grab his wrist and lead him to the nearest exit.
Dan’s gone completely quiet, offering only dimpled smiles and barely contained laughter in response to Phil's jokes. The older boy feels flushed and warm in a way that he never has before. Not from just talking to someone else. Never from just being near someone. He felt warm to his bones, like he had just woken up swathed in the warmest egyptian cotton, cocooned in safety and softness.
Only when they reach the crosswalk to the Manchester Eye (at least a few minutes later) that Phil realises he’s still gripping Dan’s thin, warm wrist.
“Ah - sorry.” he says, he stutters out and instantly drops Dan’s hand with a jolt, eyes wide with embarrassment, and drops his gaze to the striped walkway, trying hard not to think about how it would have felt to interlock their fingers instead and hold his hand.
The pedestrian light goes green and Phil all but bolts the first few strides, long legs slowing just enough for Dan not to feel that he’s being left behind. His eyes stayed glued to the crossing, hoping his hair might be just long enough to cover the flush that’s creeped its way across his features and down the back of his neck. He’s never lost his cool in front of someone he likes before and the shame of being unable to school his features back under control make him redden two-fold.
“I’ll get the tickets!” Phil spurts out in a hurry as he veers toward the booth. As he makes his way back to the line, standing somewhat stiffly next to Dan, tickets in hand, he notices Dan gripping his right wrist loosely, staring down at his fingers. He tugs his sleeve down as far as he can, gaze rising to meet Phil’s, and cracks a wide, genuine, dimpled smile that takes Phil by utter surprise.
“I'm really excited about this!” Dan says, stepping forward as the queue progresses, people loading onto the wheel. “Do you think we’ll make it on this set, or probably the next?” And Phil finds himself equal parts relieved and confused by the sudden change in demeanour, but is thankful that he didn’t seem to have overstepped as he thought he had.
They did, in fact, make it onto the wheel with the first group of people, much to Dan’s elation. A worker closed the door behind them, sealing them alone for the first time, away from prying eyes. The carriage rotated them one position higher before stilling to load a new couple.
The tension in the carriage was palpable, like walking into a busy bar, it was thick and humid and dripping with uncertainty, teetering on the edge of either the best decision of your life or…
“Phil?” Dan asks, voice soft, a whisper tone that Phil hadn’t heard yet.
Your biggest regret.
“Mmm?” he hummed in reply, not trusting himself to get words out around the lump forming in his throat. Their eyes meet, Dan’s wide and anxious as he steps close, so close that Phil can feel Dan’s breath puff warm against his chest. Without breaking eye contact, Dan pulls his right sleeve up and reveals a purple print, almost like a bruise on his wrist. Phil furrows his brows in confusion, eyes flickering back to meet Dan’s and instantly falling shut as Dan presses his slightly chapped lips against Phil’s.
And he feels that heady, alluring warmth return. His hand reaches to cup Dan’s cheek on instinct, leaning down to enthusiastically return the kiss. When Dan pulls back with a sharp inhale, Phil drops his hand and steps back just enough to properly see his face, a purple mark left in the silhouette of his thumb on Dan's jaw, and all at once Phil understands.
A soulstain.
And without a word he pulls Dan in by the waist, feeling hands brace against his chest as they reconnect in another kiss, one slower, and far more intimate, as though they were well practiced at doing this together .
The Lester family home had a very particular ambiance about it that made Dan feel at ease in a way he hadn’t experienced since the naivety of childhood. He felt like he’d been there countless times despite it being his first stay, he felt at home. He didn’t even feel like that in his own home. Phil’s family abode reminded him of afternoons in primary school spent with his grandparents, gifts and excitement and genuine desire to have Dan there.
They weren’t a wealthy family and the house was far from modern or grandiose. It was cozy and well lived in, no pretence of minimalism to upkeep an aesthetic. Every surface was cluttered with photos, trinkets and mementos, collected and kept for years, decades, maybe Phil’s entire life. Dust clung to children’s books, left untouched on the shelves, astride home videos and christmas cards of years past. It made Dan somewhat sad, and perhaps, deep down, viscerally jealous for things he never had growing up. But now he has.
When the dark December clouds take hold of the sky, Dan finds himself laying on his front in Phil’s bed, feeling porcelain fingers lightly trace over the flush skin of his back. He can feel opalescent blue eyes watching as soulstains bloom and then disappear again like contrails in the water. Completely mesmerised by the sensation of the repetitive movements, Phil snaps him out of his trance with a gentle call of his name.
“Mmm…” he hums in response.
“What are you doing for Christmas this year? Anything special?”
“Hopefully you,” Dan retorts, with no malice, resting his head on Phil’s chest and melting into the warmth. He lets his mind go beautifully blank as the roar of burning thoughts are doused in the wake of Phil’s steady heartbeat and the melodic tone of his laughter.
Phil’s long fingers curl through his hair and indulgently twists a ringlet, letting it drop back before picking another curl to play with. Dan can sense the smirk on Phil’s lips when he next speaks.
“Does that mean you want to spend it with me?” His tone is hopeful, his hands stilled in Dan’s hair as he awaits an answer.
“Mmm… I want to but I don’t know if it would be worth the arguments with my parents. Since their divorce, it's been a battlezone deciding how to split the holidays between them,” he says, saddened by his own response. The weight of his words like a stone sinking in a lake as Phil deflates below him.
“Yeah, I thought so…” he trails, doing a good job at hiding his disappointment as Dan doesn’t meet his eyes.
“But that’s probably for the best to be honest. You guys seem like you go pretty hard for Christmas, I don’t wanna be the grinch who ruins it, you know?” he murmurs against the other's skin.
Phil lets out a bark of laughter that draws Dan's gaze to meet him. Using the disarming moment to flip them so Dan is on his back, looking up at him. “There isn’t a situation in the world that would be worse with you there,” he says through a smile, trailing kisses along Dan's neck and basking in the soft sound of surprise he draws out. “The only thing I want is to have you around. Even if you do hate Christmas.”
Dan stares up at the ceiling helplessly, unable to form a coherent response as his senses are overwhelmed by Phil’s ministrations to his neck and the soft, warmth of his mouth as it sucks a mark just below the jut of Dan’s collarbone as the weight of his words sinks in. Phil liked leaving hickies, big blooming bruises that marked ‘mine’ anywhere on Dan’s body that he could cover, and often ones he couldn’t. Dan had begun to pick up on it, noticing that he was quite partial to leaving marks, particularly at the end of their visits when he knew that they’d be talking through a screen for the foreseeable. Something warm and safe and far too happy bubbled in Dan’s chest as he thought about it.
He had recently taken to doing the same to Phil, which the older man obviously adored. He felt prized, cherished even. He loved having something to remind him of his soulmate, even if it wasn’t the same soulmark he knew Dan kept when they were apart.
He thinks about the first time he stayed, and the first time they had to say goodbye. How rigid Phil had seemed as he watched Dan board the train, like he was using all his self restraint to keep himself in place, like he was dying to run after him.
“Wait!” he all but yelled, grabbing Dan's wrist and slowing him, guiding him back on the platform. He reached a hand toward Dan, splaying his palm flat over his chest, just above his heart, and cracked a sad smile. “Something to remember me by, ‘till next time.” Neither made any effort to move, eyes locked until the speakers sputtered out the stops the train would make. He’d wanted nothing more than to leap forward and hug the taller boy, but knew that would move the mark, so he restrained himself. “Until next time.” Dan echoed as Phil dropped his hand and watched him climb back towards his seat. Phil’s smile never faltered, not once. Neither did the pained look in his foggy eyes, gaze never leaving Dan, until the train pulled away and he faded out of view, one hand waving Dan off and the other placed tentatively on his own chest.
It's January 2010 when Phil enters his final year of study at York University, and finally gets his own flat. It isn’t big and certainly isn’t fancy, but it's in the centre of Manchester and in his price range, so that's enough. It instantly becomes Dan’s second home (and he wishes desperately, more than he can articulate, that it was his only). From packing to unpacking to building furniture, Dan is there to offer his less than optimal skills. He feels electricity through his skin, giddy with excitement as he realised that they were no longer separated by a 3 hour train ride.
He’d deny it if you asked, but the location of Phil’s flat was indeed a cause for his application to Manchester University. He lay in his brown bedroom once again, staring up at the broken ceiling fan and fantasising about what his life might be like if he got in. How he could go ‘round to Phils after class, straight from his dorms to the flat. How he’d be within walking distance, so he could even stay overnight.
For so long it felt like Phil was completely separate from his daily life. Going away to see him in Lancaster, was like a mini vacation, almost like a fantasy or daydream. As though he’d taken a reprieve from his life, and entered the Lester bubble, where he was always happy and laughing and loved.
It felt too good to be true, to have the two worlds collide. To know that he could have Phil in his life, and not have to be isolated from one to get to the other.
In reality, his proximity to Phil did not make the transition to law school any easier. Despite the flourishing relationship he had built with a certain tall dark haired internet sensation, his social skills hadn’t quite progressed the leaps and bounds he’d assumed since highschool. His dorm room was as big as a closet, and his flatmate was notably standoffish and actively disinterested in becoming friends; despite the shared space, no comradery was blooming. Despite how hard Dan tried to persevere and befriend someone, anyone, he had never felt more alone. Phil did his best to encourage Dan through it, but words of reassurance wouldn’t change the reality of his situation (though, Dan had to admit it was nice to have someone trying to reassure him).
Much like war, being in university felt both all consuming and yet completely frivolous to Dan. He fought so hard to keep himself motivated to continue, to march forward and reach for the finish line. But on the other side was nothing more than a compromise, (one that would sate the desperate desires of his family for him to have a proper job, to uphold the family image) and it wasn’t enough to keep him in the frontline.
He didn’t know what he wanted, what would bring him peace and joy and contentment. What his passion was. What his purpose was. But he knew now that it wasn’t living in a cement shoebox (his dorm room) and it was most definitely not law, even if his parents had never been so proud.
Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life . But how exactly does one go about doing that when they are completely incompetent at anything that requires the vaguest amount of skill or prolonged attention?
He made it through three months before he informed the university that he would be withdrawing from his studies and packing it in. A quarter of a year spent spiralling into one of the heaviest depressions of Dan’s life.
His self worth had always been on a knife's edge, teetering to the side of loathing, but university had completely derailed any positivity he held for his ego. He felt completely incompetent when his first set of coursework went in for grading and came back to him. He’d spent hours laying in bed, days dreading having to work on those assignments. It had taken several motivational speeches from Phil for him to even write them. It had been like pulling teeth, but ultimately he had resigned himself to ‘just being proud that you managed to get them done’. Until he got them back, with ‘see me after class’ sprawled under his failing grade in red pen.
The bad grades on his school work could’ve been taken in stride, if Dan hadn’t tried his absolute best on them. But he had, and he’d been so far off the mark that his professor was recommending him to really consider whether law was the right career path for him. And he knew in his heart it wasn’t as he sobbed in the disabled bathroom stall for half an hour after the conversation, truly feeling like a fool and a waste of time for even trying.
He didn’t feel funny, or interesting or worth the effort of writing skits or filming videos. So he didn’t. Sometimes he’d still show up in AmazingPhil videos, feeling different knowing that even if he wasn’t funny in the video, he had Phil to lean on. To help him put the pieces back together and feel whole again, and Phil always did. He was like the Southern Cross, a comforting constellation that could always lead Dan back to where he felt at home, both physically and in his own mind.
He would go round to Phil’s house and cry in his arms and kiss him until he didn’t feel like the tears were a building wave crashing against the lip of the dam and threatening to flood the village below.
He’d show up with glassy eyes, an empty stomach and a bag of laundry to do at Phil’s flat, as he usually did. He’d cry about his ‘ineptitudes’ and share stories about the circle of hell (Manchester Uni) he was convinced he was trapped in. And Phil would order a takeaway, and put on a feel good movie and play with Dan’s curls as he listened to him recount that he didn’t know you needed to put pasta in water to cook it and how humiliating it was to discover that whilst setting off the smoke alarm of his shared uni kitchenette. Phil would try not to laugh and earnestly fail. And Dan would pretend to be offended while he melted into Phil further, listening to the rumble of his laughter and focusing in on the sensation of it vibrating through his chest.
When he shows up, unannounced, with the failed grades on his coursework in hand and nothing else, not even his overnight bag, Phil knows that the usual routine won’t help patch the tatters of Dan’s torn tapestry this time.
Dan shared all his thoughts, the whirlwind of self doubt, and hatred that had been spiralling since his crying session in the disabled stall of his lecture halls. How he wanted nothing more than to quit university, how every second he spent in his boarding halls made his skin prick with anxiety. How lonely and scared and out of place he felt.
“Well, then maybe it’s the right move. That’s your body trying to tell you something. Law just isn’t the right fit and that’s okay!” Phil had said, doing his best to comfort Dan who seemed almost catatonic where he lay, crumpled up in a ball of tears and sniffles on the couch.
“It’s just, I know how horrible my parents are going to be. You have no idea how badly they want this from me. If law is hard, talking to them is ten times worse,” he said, choking out the sentences, almost flinching with the strength it took not to whimper them out.
“Dan, your parents love you. Yes, they can be really demeaning and they talk really critically, but they do.” Phil felt like he had said exactly the wrong thing when Dan’s only response was to roll over and quietly sob into the cushion. He tentatively pleased a hand on the small of Dan’s back moving to sit on the floor in front of the couch, as close to Dan as possible in their current positions.
“I love you, Dan,” he said, tone shifting to something impossibly soft as he traced along the younger man's back. “Your parents are probably going to be difficult, but I’m not. I’ll love you know matter what you do, like, um…” he trailed off trying to find the words and Dan shifted to lay on his back and face him. “Unconditionally,” he finished and Dan reached his arms around the others neck and kissed him so tenderly that neither noticed how wet Dan's face was with tears.
They sat like that for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together in comfortable silence, listening to the sound of their breathing, slowly syncing as Dan calmed down. Phil only pulled away when the doorbell rang, hauling himself up and announcing that he’d ordered a Chinese before Dan arrived. Phil, amazing as he always is, splits the curry and sweet and sour pork into two portions and hands Dan a bowl, putting on an episode of Bake Off and letting the tension ease away.
Dan’s quiet all night, not speaking other than to thank Phil for the food. When he finishes the bowl, he discards it on the coffee table and waits for Phil to do the same, wordlessly sinking into his chest and watching the TV aimlessly.
When the episode ends, Phil turns the TV off and sighs happily, letting his hand fall down into Dan’s unstraightened hair. Unruly, and messy and about a fortnight overdue for a trim, only left in its natural state when Dan is sick or deeply depressed. The thought seems to snap Phil back to reality, reminding him that Dan is here because he is overwhelmed, and unsure and afraid. Phil wants to help fix things for him, to sort out the mess before it comes crashing back down on Dan and he ends up in tears again.
“If you did leave uni, you wouldn’t have to go back home, you know?” he says, and Dan almost flinches at the sudden break from silence. “You could move in here, until you-, until we figure this out,” he corrects.
“My parents would crucify me for that,” he says, soft smile playing at his lips as he turns back to allow Phil access to his curls. “Moving in with a random internet stranger, instead of back home after I drop out.”
“Yeah, but they’re going to crucify you anyway. If you're here with me, at least you have some separation from it. You wouldn’t have to hear their criticism as often, can figure things out without getting chastised for stumbling along the way`.“
Dan doesn’t make any effort to move, but he isn’t stiff or hesitant or saying no, so Phil continues.
“Plus, I’m not exactly a random internet stranger, am I?” he jokes, voice taking on a more intimate tone, edging on husky. It makes Dan’s pulse spike, as he coughs out a laugh and shrinks into Phil’s touch.
“You know how they are, what they’re like…” the curly haired boy sighs out, voice changing to something sadder, more reserved. “Soulmate or not, it wouldn’t have any bearing on their reaction.”
“Yeah, well it does matter to me,” Phil responds shortly and Dan jumps, anxious that he had upset him. “It’s not like I picked you, Dan.”
“The only place you’re meant, destined, fated, to be -” he says, taking a mocking tone to make his words sound more sincere. “- is right here. Next to me.”
Dan felt at that moment that there was no greater truth he’d heard, and trusted himself (and his other half).
Dan had been more than vocal throughout their entire relationship about how excited he was to see his soulmarks on Phil’s skin. He’d spent most of his family holiday to India complaining about it over Skype, genuine annoyance flashing across his features before ultimately being overtaken by sadness.
He’d understood, about 4 hours into that call, Valentine's Day 2010, Phil also found long distance tedious, and that he envied Dan for his capacity to trace his fingers over the place Phil last touched while they were apart. A mark of mine.
“Well you certainly left plenty of marks on me before you flew off,” Phil had jibed, tilting his head slightly to better reveal the trail of hickies Dan had left. The joke wasn’t received well and the call ended apprehensively, divided by an ocean and a time difference.
Phil had immediately made him that video, hoping he could help ease Dan’s impatience by recalling all the times Dan had left a mark on him, in a far more important way than the soulmark. In ways that would never disappear, no matter where Dan touched. He posted it privately, and went to bed.
And it had helped Dan, in a real way, cope better with the three year wait until he was 21 and they both outwardly left their stain on the other. Phil knew that Dan still harboured that anticipation and excitement.
On the eve of Dan’s 21st birthday, Phil flew them down to Las Vegas, wanting to indulge Dan in something he knew would be a bucket list trip for both of them. He’d planned an itinerary of must do activities that included bars and cabaret shows and a disgustingly expensive dinner at a Michelin star restaurant.
They were sitting through their last course, a dessert to share, which Dan didn't make any move to eat. He had his elbow on the table head leaned into his palm as he stared at Phil with a contented look.
“Okay, so I was thinking we could go to this bar on the strip for the countdown? First legal drink in America and all,” he murmured as he closed his lips around a forkful of something far too sweet.
Dan let out a low chuckle, straightening his posture and dropping his arms from the table. His hand found Phil’s knee under the table and his eyes met Phils, a look of sudden starvation, hunger , creeping across his features.
“Or you could take me to the hotel, and you can fill me up properly?”
The next 20 minutes were a haze of touches and want and walking as fast as they could back to the hotel, hoping to make it with time to spare before midnight.
It was 11:58 when Phil haphazardly slotted the key card into the door, and they all but crashed into their hotel room. In an instant Dan had stripped himself and was back at Phil’s side. The older man was still fully dressed as he had only managed to unlace his shoes before Dan’s hands stilled him, suggesting he stop.
He walked Phil back towards the bed, lapping at his mouth in a seductive yet calculated way. He guided him so he sat on the bed, and straddled his hips, lips never breaking contact as Dan settled into a kneeling position in his lap.
He was going to let Dan take the reins, let him set the pace, initiate the first touch, wanting to give him access to whatever fantasy he had been crafting in his head over the last 3 years.
They kissed and kissed and kissed, a practiced, slow meeting of lips that had no urgency to it. Dan slowly starts working the buttons of Phil’s flannel, eyes closed, languishing in the skin on the skin of their mouths moving in slow, unrushed worship of the other, muscle memory as he undresses his lover. Dan’s naked form, tempting and utterly relaxed, consciously avoided making skin-to-skin contact with the other, as he draws it out, despite the mad dash of great urgency they had fallen into on the way back to the hotel.
When the shirt is undone, Dan finally drags his hands down Phil's chest, watching the colours bloom and disappear. And suddenly he can’t stop, doesn’t want to, won't. He wants to touch every inch of Phil’s skin and see it become his, and he will. Everyday, for the rest of their lives.