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The worst part was that he wasn't there to do anything to stop it.
He was at home, their home, playing Elden Ring. He and Phil had gone through most of the list of activities Dan had demanded that they do together in game, but they still had a few left to check off. Dan was playing alone now, grinding a particular level to boost his character's stats. Meanwhile, Phil was out, visiting a friend who had been wanting to catch up for months now. Dan hadn’t asked if he could join. He was worn out, socially-wise, after the tour, and was honestly surprised Phil was willing to go.
“I promised her all the way back in Nashville. I’d feel bad otherwise,” Phil had said.
Dan didn’t need the reminder. He remembered that night. Though the friend hitting up Phil’s DMs was the least important part of that night to him. After all, that was the night Dan proposed.
…
“Ooh a friend,” Dan jeered in a sing-song voice when Phil showed him the friend’s message.
“I have friends,” Phil said in a nasal voice, immediately falling into their usual dialog.
They were in bed together, not cuddling. They were hardly even touching each other. Just lying with one another before sleep inevitably took over. It had been a long day, performing in Nashville. All the days were long, really, performing their third tour around the world, and today has hardly different. The fans were weird and kind and funny. Dan and Phil hit their marks with only a few awkward mishaps that the audience probably didn’t notice. It was always so different performing live instead of in front of a single, silent camera, but Dan loved how the stage filled his lungs with a rich rush of joy. He loved the powerful connection reverberating through the theaters, between them and the fans, him and Phil, the fans to each other, and Dan and Phil with themselves.
All that said, after another sweaty and emotionally peaked night, Dan was very much glad to give that energy a rest in their hotel room. The hotel owners must have decided to go all out on the cowboy theme, hanging a set of antlers over the bed and decking the walls with charcoal drawings of lone rangers and herds of horses. There was a cowboy hat perched on the cuck chair in the corner, which Dan almost put on to make a “what in tarnation” joke until Phil gave a speech about lice that definitely originated from his mother.
The messages from Phil’s supposed friend asked if he was free to hang out anytime soon. Dan let out a gentle chuckle as Phil awkwardly responded that he was currently across the ocean and would be heading to Australia afterwards, so would they be willing to meet up after the tour?
“God, why don’t you just marry him,” Dan said sarcastically.
Phil laughed and slid his hand under the bedsheets to meet Dan’s. “It’s a her,” he said. “But maybe should since I can’t seem to get a ring on these fingers.” He threaded their fingers together, wrapping his index finger pointedly around Dan’s ring finger.
“Maybe after the tour,” Dan said quietly.
It was so automatic, and Dan was so tired, that he hadn’t realized what he had thrown in the air until Phil was suddenly silent, his lips parted as if he was trying to catch those words with his mouth. The matter hung between them, no sarcasm to sand down its edges. Of course they had brought the idea up before, but there was always an excuse to put it away until later. For the longest time, it was that Dan wasn’t ready to come out yet. Then it was Dan wanting to find his own unique voice as a solo creator, and if the questions he got from interviewers told him anything, it was that anything Dan had to say about his creative work and process would be overshadowed by the status of his and Phil’s relationship. Then it was Dan’s blaming of his commitment issues. It wasn’t that he was afraid of falling out of love with Phil. Fifteen years with the guy, and Dan was still head-over-heels when Phil greeted him in the kitchen with a “Hello, you stupid bitch.” No, there was never anything wrong with saying yes to Phil, over and over again in little bits until suddenly they had spent fifteen years together. What terrified him was the simple act of saying “yes” to anything so serious and lifelong as marriage. He couldn’t even commit to finishing a three year degree.
But as he and Phil made marriage jokes around the world, the idea settled on his shoulders and clung with dreadful optimism. There was no cataclysmic shift in the air when he allowed himself to grab Phil’s hand during spooky week. They spent quarantine together surrounded by incompetent builders without killing each other. And somehow marriage didn’t sound like the stuffy, useless, heteropatriarchial institution anymore. Maybe it was the fact that Dan felt guilty that it was always him that pulled away the string chaining them together. Maybe it was simply spite for those governments considering revoking same sex marriage rights. But maybe it was the look Phil was giving him now. Dan knew that look. It was the same face Phil gave him when he admitted he was thinking of returning to the gaming channel. Hopeful, but suppressing the beaming happiness Phil was awful at hiding. A careful look, doing its best to not pressure Dan into doing something he didn’t actually want to do just to turn the corners of Phil’s mouth upward. It failed in that respect though, because when Dan saw That Look, it only reminded him of Phil’s patience and unconditional love. It only made him sink his heels further into their ground.
“Yeah,” Dan said, confirming the “Really?” that Phil didn’t need to voice aloud.
Phil squeezed his hand. He could practically hear Phil saying “Yeah,” in agreement.
Sometimes Dan swore he and Phil could read each other’s minds.
...
The starry night settled over the London sky. Dan’s hands tapped at the keyboard, the hum of his PC the only sound in the office. His character on the screen was running over the top of a mountain. He lifted his finger from the W key and let the character pause. The game-generated trees rustled to an artificial wind. Mere pixels pretending to be real. No better than atoms, he supposed.
He removed his hands entirely from the keyboard. That night he proposed (if you could even call that a proper proposal), the future felt lofty and bright, like freshly spun candy floss. There was an undeniable shift in how Dan and Phil navigated their relationship. Fresh out of fucks to give, they told their audience and countless interviewers. They were ready to take on new challenges and eras.
Why then, was Dan waiting for Phil to get home so he could call off their engagement?
A few weeks ago, Dan still had his head in those candy floss clouds, imagining possibilities that he never let himself indulge in. Suits and wedding cakes and ceremonies that he had to admit had a bit of cuteness to them. The idea of sending a huge “fuck you, I am happy and this man is mine” to the universe. It was surreal to even think about. It made him giddy. And stupid.
Because truthfully, after he and Phil returned home from the tour, slept for fifteen hours, ordered in a sizable pizza, and watered their dying houseplants, their routine pre-TITT crept easily upon them. There were gaming videos to film, projects to work on, and the recording of TITT to distribute. They made their coffees in the morning together. They edited videos. They emailed sponsors (Phil emailed sponsors, more accurately). It all became so easy and obvious. Why change anything now? What they had was precious. Their little rituals that were more sacred than any ring would be.
But, even worse, what if it did change them? What if shattering their plausible deniability left them open to the public’s scrutiny? And what if that made them grow apart? What if it made them stay together but hate it the whole time?
Phil would understand. Phil always understood. For a wistful moment, Dan imagined that Phil had forgotten all about that moment in Nashville, but he knew it never left his partner’s mind. He heard Phil use the word “ring” more often in casual conversation. He saw it in the way Phil somehow began to glow whenever they talked about the Japhan Wedding Conspiracy on stage. Killing that glow would send Dan down a bottle of Rosé and to an extra therapy session. His head hurt just thinking about it.
The silence of night did not help his crisis. Dan looked at the clock in the corner of his screen and frowned. Phil wasn’t the type to stay at a friend’s house so late. One yawn was all it took for him to make up an excuse and leave with a sufficient amount of pleasantries. If Phil was having a good enough time to stay this late, maybe Dan shouldn’t ruin it.
But that gnawing ache grew larger in his chest. The problem with being with your soulmate was the damn tightness of the string between your hearts. This was why they couldn’t get a dog. This was why they couldn’t get married. Committing to such love only makes it so that when it ends, your life does as well.
After too-little introspection, Dan grabbed his phone. His thumbs paused on the keyboard before moving the smiling face icon. He swiped through the emojis, knowing it wouldn’t really matter which one he sent. Phil would know what he meant. He settled on a lizard, sticking its tongue out like a hand reaching for that string. He pressed the Send button.
Phil responded a few seconds later.
Getting an uber now! Husband talks a lot 😵💫
Dan’s breath stilled at the word husband, but his chest deflated at Phil’s quick response. He felt better now, and wondering if he should have texted sooner to give Phil an out of that conversation. But he was sure that Phil would be kind enough to let this husband ramble out his life story if he needed to. That was just who Phil was.
Dan responded back.
“ talks a lot” sure…
He couldn’t help it. Teasing Phil with his jealousy always made Phil giggle.
Phil texted back with only a winking emoticon.
Dan put his phone down and returned his hands to the keyboard. He pressed the space bar absentmindedly, letting his character jump into the air for no particular reason at all.
...
Dan’s eyes darkened at the screen. The battle he was in was supposed to be easy, and yet the words YOU DIED settled across the monitor to insult him.
But instead of letting out a string of swears that would need at least ten woof sounds to avoid demonetization, as his character fell to the ground in pain, an awful sense of dread poured in through the prickling in his palms. The feeling wasn’t spiky like the adreneline before going on stage. It settled over him like a boa constrictor squeezing around his waist. His heart jumped in his throat, then fell down into the bottomless chasm of his stomach.
His first thought, of course, was of Phil.
It had only been five minutes since he texted him. Phil was fine, he reasoned with himself. Not much could have changed in just five minutes. But that was a lie. A lot could change in five minutes. A lot of awful, horrible stuff that could render him screaming just to think about. The mirrored black surface of his phone stared back at him, his mouth a straight line and his eyes widened like a doe finding the barrel of a rifle. Another text so soon after the first one would be a bit much, wouldn’t it? Then again, Phil was already on his way home. He would enjoy an excuse to ignore the Uber driver’s attempts at conversation. How far away was this friend and her annoying husband anyway? Should he have already expected Phil back by now?
He could either text now and let his breathing finally relax, or he could stay in that feeling for longer and let it take over him. He tapped the iMessage app.
r u is ok
He hoped the terrible grammar would help to shield the drumming in his fingertips.
The icon showing that the text was read appeared. Dan’s breath hitched. The eclipses appeared. Three small dots bouncing on Phil’s end. Somewhere, he was typing. Somewhere, he was finding the letters or swiping through emojis. Each dancing ball swam carelessly on the small screen, unknowing to their weight or fate.
The dots paused, then disappeared.
Perhaps Phil had just pulled up to their home. He saw the text, but had to stop typing to thank the driver. He was walking up to the door now, and he wouldn’t think anything of it when Dan pulled him into a tight hug for seemingly no reason.
Yes, Dan could see it now. A million reasons for that message to go unsent, and though the world was odd and unpredictable, the easiest answer was most likely the truth. He relaxed his grip on his phone and tried to return to his game. The character re-spawned, already ready to fight again as if nothing had happened. And yet Dan could not make the move to press another button on his keyboard. A drop of pixelated water fell from one of the stalactites in the cave his character was standing in. It fell to the rock floor, shattering into tiny drops of light. A quiet splatter sounded from the speakers. Against his better judgment, he picked up his phone again.
phil?
The Read icon showed again, but no typing bubbles appeared from Phil’s end. Dan counted to sixty, then sent another message.
bub?
This one had no helpful eye icon to show that the message was read. It simply sat between them in cyberspace. Still. Frozen.
The only thing he could think of was to move. Dan raced between the rooms of their home, pummeling past the thoughts racing in his head. He ended at the front door. He let the starless sky surround him. Either it was a quiet night, or he didn’t bother letting himself listen for anything besides a text notification sound. No car was pulling up to the house. He remembered now. The friend was only a five minute drive away. Phil should have already swung open the front door carelessly and forget to wipe off his shoes. He was supposed to be sneaking some marshmallows and a handful of cereal from the kitchen. He was meant to be planting a drowsy kiss on top of Dan’s head and watching him play for a bit before tucking in for the night. Phil had to be here by now, making the world shine brighter by simply being himself.
Dan tightened his grip around his phone and did what he always did when he felt like the world was ending. He rang Phil. It rang back. The plastic screen protector on Dan’s phone stuck to his cheek. The phone rang a second time. No carlights down the road. It rang a third time. They should have shared their locations with each other, even if it meant giving Apple their data. It rang and rang until the robotic voice announced that the caller Dan was trying to reach was not available.
Maybe he stood up too fast from his chair, but all Dan knew was that as soon as the line died, he ended up crumpled into a pathetic mess on the front steps. Phil answered the phone when he was on the toilet. Phil answered the phone when he was out with his parents. Phil answered the phone once even in a movie theater, and he only stopped doing that when Dan chastised him for it. There was no way Phil stopped at the movies before coming home.
Dan bit his lip. Like the black sky above him, he could feel his mind nulling out. Every awful thought and scream sounding at once turning into murky painful soup. The neighbor’s houses were quiet, full of everyday people having a boring night. Most of them were probably asleep. He didn’t know any of their names. He didn’t need to know their names or worry about impressing them or anyone else because he had Phil. He hated them for their silence now. He hated them for not screaming out into the night like he so badly wanted to. He would hate them if they did scream with him too, because none of them deserved to.
His phone vibrated in his hands, and electricity shot through his arm as he flung it to his cheek. Dan sucked in a breath of air in through his teeth as the other line sounded with static.
“Um, hello?” a voice said.
It wasn’t Phil. Dan tried to rearrange himself into a polite member of society, but it was as if those puzzle pieces were all shuffled together and chipping at each end. The linkages that made his mouth move now were pieces that didn’t belong together, only shoved forcefully though limp cardboard.
“What,” he answered quietly.
“Hello, is this Daniel Howell?” the polite voice asked. A voice that was used to meeting people who have lost their minds and applying a default kind tone to.
“Uh huh.”
“We have some news about your friend Phil. You were listed as his emergency contact?”
Obviously. “Yes.”
They gave the name of the nearby hospital. “He was just admitted here in critical condition due to a car accident. He sustained several injuries that left him unable to survive. Do you have the means to arrive here tonight?”
Dan’s dry tongue hung in his mouth. No good manners could burst through the cracks now. No worthless hope to cling to. He knew what happened long before the call. Deep beneath the layers of logic was the awful truth he knew in the core of his stomach. He swore sometimes that he and Phil could read each other’s minds, and now, he felt nothing.
That core below him broiled to the top of his throat and stabbed him behind his eyes. He pulled the phone away from his face and flung it into the street. The black sparkly phone case landed some feet away from him, the only stars out tonight – the phone case that matched Phil’s. Fuck all the neighbors. It didn’t sound like him when Dan screamed. It was guttural and disgusting, mixed with sobs and sweat and saliva. It rumbled in his body and shook his chin and forehead. When he ran out of tears, he gasped for air, dry heaving on the asphalt and getting black pebbles stuck under his fingernails.
Someone across the street turned on their porch light. Whoever it was enveloped him in the worst spotlight, like he was a rabid animal out on the lose. He wanted to run at them and punch their light out, punch all their lights out so the world could leave him alone. He couldn’t turn around and go back into his house. It was their house. He would be slapped with a million reminders that Phil wasn’t home with him, and never would be again. Every feature wall, every piece of furniture they argued over, every houseplant they grew together. It was the perfect home, the perfect diluted french sauce effortlessly combining their souls together into a place for them to cherish forever. A physical form of their fifteen-year-long love story. They were meant to spend eternity there.
Dan used to love returning to their home, but, now, he was running from it.
Each step singed his feet, and every breath hitched in his throat, but still he ran, though it hardly felt like a choice. If he ran fast enough, perhaps he could kick up enough dust to send himself into the sky and mourn among the hidden stars. A funeral in space, that was what Phil deserved. All the planets and stars thanking him for blessing the universe with his smile and soul.
At the rate Dan was running, part of him felt he very well could leave the Earth, but everything in him slowed when something large and metal entered his vision. A silver mess of steel striking itself against the dark night. It crumpled against a darker and shinier explosion of metal. Dan moved closer, though all he could bring himself to manage was a mere jog. A stream of smoke emitted from the pile, oozing above reflective yellow lights. Beneath the lights were wheels, dark and large and smelling of rubber. A steering wheel lay between the two smashed cars.
Dan screamed at his legs to push himself further, but they only seemed to slow him more and more. Moonlight shone against something pale left abandoned on the road. It was long and thin, broken up by red slashes. It reached out toward him, toward Dan, the bloody fingers having lost their grip on a glittering blue phone case.
Dan reached an arm out as he ran, his whole body a pounding heartbeat. Wasn’t Phil at the hospital? Was there somehow another accident so close to their home? But blonde hair fell against the pavement, and the arm connected to the same shirt Phil left in.
“PHIL!” Dan screamed.
He screamed and screamed, but he didn’t move any faster. In fact, when he looked down, he saw his legs moving at a decent pace. But the air felt like it was too thick to move through. He swiped at the air and sprinted. But as he tried more and more to get to Phil, the cars sunk further away. Their harsh metal bodies distanced themselves, taking Phil and his glittering phone case away with them. The road between them stretched longer and longer. It grew until Phil was nothing more than a blonde dot in Dan’s vision.
He screamed for Phil again. His lover, soulmate, 4000 year old tortoise disappeared with the horizon. Weakly, Dan grabbed at that far off road. The universe never even let him say goodbye. In all its cruel glory, it never even let him see Phil’s face one last time.
He said it again, the only thing that was on his mind. The name of the person that mattered to him more than anyone in the world. Softly, pleadingly, he coughed it out.
“phil.”
...
....
.....
“Dan?”
A hand squeezed Dan’s shoulder, giving it a light shake. Dan pushed the hand away. He didn’t need whatever fake sympathy a concerned neighbor wanted to suffocate him with. Surely even an awful person would understand that.
“Dan, are you alright?”
The worst question you could ask to someone whose world was falling apart. Their words bit him more with the use of Dan’s name. He only wanted to hear Phil call him that. Though, oddly, the voice sounded a bit like Phil. Or maybe he wanted everything to be Phil so bad he was willing to hear it in everything around him.
“Was the game that bad?”
The game? What game? The game? Or was it— oh, right. He had been playing Elden Ring. How did they know about that? And why did their voice sound so real? It sounded like a clean hook piercing through the murky water he had been in. He followed the hook up into the surface, everything below him fading into pinpricks of scattered thoughts.
He woke with a gasp. Low brightness LED lights. Stars shining through the windows of the office. A double-sized mouse-pad perfect for a lefty and righty to share. And Phil’s warm grasp on his shoulder.
Phil’s oceans for eyes bored into him, a little less bulging than usual. His mouth twisted into a concerned frown. He was in that same shirt Dan had seen torn up along the road mere seconds before. Phil opened his mouth to say something, but Dan interrupted him by throwing himself into Phil’s arms. Phil held him against his chest as Dan ran his hands through Phil bleach blonde hair, grabbing at it until Phil let out a quiet yelp. He breathed in Phil’s scent, milky and sugary and warm. He ran his hands over Phil’s neck and pressed each inch of his shoulders.
Dan pulled himself away to stare into Phil’s face and cup it with his hands, savoring each pore and follicle like the piece of art it was. Phil now gave him that sweet lopsided smile of his and looped a finger around one of Dan’s curls. He parted his lips, but Dan interrupted him again.
“Marry me,” he said.
The finger released Dan’s hair, and Phil blinked.
“I don’t know when, and I don’t know where or how, but I don’t mean it like a ‘let’s talk about it but never do it’ kind of thing. I don’t want to hold back with us. I don’t want you lose you to the horizon without ever proving to you what you mean to me.”
“Dan,” Phil finally said, “you don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you’re mine and I’m yours.”
“I know but—” Dan sputtered, gripping Phil’s shirt in his hands. “I want to prove to you that I’m not afraid. That I accept us as us forever and I want you for as long as the universe allows it.” It all came out in a rush, but Dan meant every word.
Phil’s bright blues softened, and he pulled Dan back into him. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
Dan hiccuped on a sob. “You can say no if you want, bubby. Don’t just say yes because I’m crying about it.”
Phil giggled against Dan’s neck. “Dan, I would love to marry you.”
A nerve tightened at Dan’s ear, the first beating of his heart he heard that night that came from love instead of fear. “You promise?”
“I do. Til death do us part.”
Dan sunk his arms around Phil, and nuzzled his head against his shoulder, letting his tears fall freely along the back of Phil’s shirt. Phil hugged him back, pressing a hand against his head and threading his fingers in his hair. Dan heard Phil sniffle behind him and let out a croaky laugh, which sent Phil down a trail of his own giggles.
When the breathing around them relaxed, Phil pressed a kiss to Dan’s forehead and gave him a squeeze of the hand. They wordlessly made their way toward their bedroom, Phil pausing at the bathroom to take his contacts out while Dan sunk under the covers. As Phil slid in beside him, Dan wrapped his arms around his lover, holding his heartbeat close to Phil’s.
He swiped a hand across Phil’s cheek and gave him a gentle peck.
“Sweet dreams, fiance,” Phil murmured against Dan’s lips.
And this time, he knew it would be true.