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Two laps in, and Dan still hadn’t said a word.
Phil clicked the kettle on. He didn’t need to ask what Dan was looking for—he never found it anyway.
The new meds were easier now. Fewer side effects, smarter dosing. Still, Dan acted like each pill was against him. He’d been at war with them since childhood, hiding under beds unless someone brought them with a biscuit.
Luckily, therapy had been easier to maintain.
The consequences of evading sessions were steep. That alone helped keep Dan from randomly deciding he didn’t need his prescriptions anymore—something that had definitely happened enough.
They’d found a rhythm as with everything else, a quiet ritual that worked.
Phil flipped the bottle upside down after Dan’s morning dose, a small act that made sure Dan knew it was consumed.
It wasn’t a revelation that he trusted Phil more than himself sometimes. On numerous occasions, he had flipped the bottle and skipped it completely.
Before bed, Phil would turn it back over. It was just a simple gesture, but one that kept everything in line, like a promise they both needed.
Earlier that evening, Phil had watched him sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the open dishwasher, sorting cutlery with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.
When the edges of the world were slipping out of focus and Dan needed something solid, routine muscle memory could hold him upright for awhile.
Dan was weaving through the living room now, his hand brushing the light switch in passing. He flicked the harsh fluorescent light on without even realizing.
The big light made their kitchen feel too sterile sometimes, too open. It was exposing the fabrication of their current issue.
Thankfully, Dan had stocked the place with well mannered lights last year for Christmas when he accidentally bought Phil every light fixture on his wish list.
The kettle beeped short, shrill sounds that broke the stillness of the flat.
Phil moved without thinking, pressing the button to silence it before it could shout again.
Hand reaching for the kettle’s handle, his eyes drifting to the stove clock.
12:42 PM.
Four very sexy doctors had insisted it was important to time things properly. Phil didn’t even pretend he’d remembered the advice for medical reasons, he just figured if multiple attractive professionals told you to do something, you probably should.
So now, the whiteboard that used to track invoices and filming goals was covered in color-coded numbers and magnets shaped like cats.
Phil turned and crossed the living area with steady steps, flicking the switch off without a word. Dan didn’t like the lights on, not unless he was doing something, and right now, he wasn’t.
He wandered over to set a mug of chamomile tea down a little harder than intended, and the soft rattle cut through the silence that caught Dan's attention.
He was lingering near the shadow of their entrance, and then crossed the living room once, then again, hands grazing the back of the couch, the coffee table, the edge of a pillow.
Phil trailed over and folded a throw blanket. He set back and fluffed one of the pillows Dan had just shifted.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Tea is on the table,” he said, as if that would make any difference now.
Dan was not looking for tea.
Phil knew it was about the little things, the quiet gestures that always made him feel like they weren't diving towards the inevitable.
Pacing at a standstill a few feet away, Dan ducked down. He swept his hand under the couch with a focused kind of fury.
Phil hunkered near the arm of their sofa.
"I bet it's horrid levels of dusty under there." he joked lightly.
Dan didn’t respond. Just bent further, half his body disappearing into the shadows. A muttered curse followed—low and tight.
Phil let out a small hum as Dan pushed back once with a shove, empty handed.
There was always that look that settled in Dan’s eyes when the world started to feel too big, too sharp.
Despite how much he had changed over the years, Phil caught that flicker each and everytime. Not panic, not yet, but that off-center daze.
The way Dan’s next breath came a little too swallow, his hands flexing and unflexing in his lap. It wasn’t something that could be hidden, not even behind the calm of his actions.
It was the same look Phil had seen in every lifetime, every version of them.
He kept his tone easy.
“If it’s the remote, you were holding it ten minutes ago and I hid it ‘cause you were making terrible movie decisions.”
Dan blinked again, but he didn’t smile. He looked lost, in that quiet, internal way that still made Phil’s stomach tighten.
It was always a balance letting himself help just enough without Dan feeling like he was surrendering completely to his perceived weakness.
Dan had already pushed himself away, and hurried to the kitchen in a few strides. He yanked open the dishwasher as if he was on a mission.
Phil rose instinctively, observing as he stacked the plates with careful, wobbly precision.
They had concluded the household tasks were well split down the middle. Dan only did the dishwasher when he was trying to prove he was fine.
Phil never vocalized that the main reason he preferred being the one to finish it was because Dan moved slower than molasses when the flatware was ceramic.
Triggers were difficult to nail down.
It took all his cereal and persistence for Phil to eventually convince Dan to ditch Wokingham, mainly because a three and a half hour train to Manchester once a week was grueling for anybody, let alone his Dan.
Phil hadn’t always known what to say. Back then, when Dan was in Wokingham and they barely saw each other, Phil had to learn fast.
Their Skype calls were glitchy, Dan’s voice distant, filled with terms Phil didn’t understand. But Phil showed up, reading, asking, trying.
Dan reached out to center a mug handle that was obnoxiously pointing the wrong direction, and his hand caught it on the way back. He swore under his breath when the glass stopped shaking and stayed on the shelf.
Phil moved closer, soft and quiet.
“That almost landed on your foot, you idiot.” Phil said gently, testing the waters.
Dan laughed, short and sharp. His hand was gripping the counter now.
His knuckles were bone-pale, his breathing shallow. He didn’t respond. Grabbed another plate, slower this time, like even that was too loud in his hands. His fingers hovered near the shelf, hesitant.
“I don't need help unloading the cutlery.”
Dan set the dish on the counter, utterly counterproductive.
"Okay," Phil took a sidestep into his peripheral.
The first time Phil tried to reach out and keep his boyfriend from eating tile, Dan had attempted to take them both for a swim in the kitchen sink.
"You should still come sit down with me though. Who does chores at midnight?"
He hovered nearby, watching the tension in Dan’s shoulders, the twitch in his left arm he probably didn’t even notice.
Phil stepped closer, hands low and unthreatening.
“I’ll stay with you.”
It was the same gentle line he used when convincing Dan to migrate Bake Off to the bedroom when he wouldn’t admit he was too tired to stay upright.
Phil gave a look of exasperation when Dan shifted away from him like he was infected until they had somehow steered to the sofa.
Dan’s knees hit the edge of the couch and he sat down abruptly.
Elbows on his thighs, eyes locked somewhere vague.
“If you call 999 again like last time,” Dan muttered, voice scratchy, “I’ll be awful to them..”
Phil was already reaching behind Dan to grab pillows.
He made a mental note to himself to warn any future paramedics entering the flat that his partner was uncivilized and a barbarian.
"You will not. You weren’t breathing, Dan."
Phil plopped down right where he was, sitting on the floor beside the couch, one arm hooking lightly across Dan’s legs.
"I was perfectly alive," he said, dragging a hand across his face and when he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t even sitting up straight. "I hate this couch."
Phil let out a short, surprised laugh.
They spent a few seconds in the kind of silence that settles heavy and careful, like the air itself was waiting for the tranquility to crumple.
Dan shifted again, the urge to stand or move back into normal.
He gave a half-hearted shove against the seat like he was going to sit up, but his body was made of concrete.
It was his first instinct to keep moving.
As long as he stayed upright, in motion, brushing past walls and sorting things, he could outrun anything. Stopping meant acknowledging the spiral—meant surrendering to the crash he could feel skimming the edge of his ribs.
Dan had not so stealthily walked right in front of the stove once while Phil was setting up dinner, so it shouldn't have been as shocking when he was halted from tearing through their storage closet. He was only throwing away the hideous winter gear.
Phil caught him that time before he even had the trash bag open.
"Enough, Dan. That's my jacket."
Phil placed a hand on his knee, gentle, but firm.
It snapped him back into reality for a second.
Dan was on the nastiest, ugliest boat of impending doom.
“No, stay put.” Phil moved just enough to meet his gaze, steady with a quiet intensity.
"You no." Dan replied.
“Where are you even going?”
Dan shot him a look, the sound he made softer this time—hollow.
"You're not my keeper."
Phil didn't even flinch.
"I literally am. At least for tonight.”
And then, before Phil could say anything else Dan’s whole body jerked towards him.
One sudden, sharp misfire.
He was already reaching for Dan’s shoulders as his body began to twitch more violently.
Shifting to kneel closer, trying to guide him down into a comfy position on the couch.
His body strength wouldn't have been limited to a quarter if he was on his feet, but coming out of a seizure with anyone looming over him was not a preferred Dan activity.
Besides, nobody really needed to use brute force at this point. Dan fought against his body already, and adding to it only brought them both unnecessary stress.
Phil caught himself from tipping back with a hand on the floor when Dan’s left arm shot out dangerously close to his face.
Dropping clumsily against his shoulder, no aim, just impulse. Phil froze when Dan managed to stutter out an apology.
“I know. You're good, Dan.” he said quickly. "You didn't get me. You're okay."
Phil wrapped his hand around Dan’s wrist and guided it away from his poor eyeballs
Dan's fingers twisted rigidly into the collar of his hoodie where he didn’t budge further, but he wasn’t pushing, so Phil left it alone and hoped Dan wouldn't develop the strength of god to garner his hand back.
Phil shifted up from the floor fast, bracing a hand beneath Dan’s shoulder, the other at his waist. His muscles were still tight, trembling with residual spasms, but Phil worked around it, coaxing him gently.
Another tremor shot through him, more controlled this time, but enough to knock Dan on his back.
Phil murmured, his voice low and careful like he was speaking into a dream.
"Nope, not doing that. On your side, Bear.”
Phil tried to detach Dan’s hand from his hoodie to hold it instead.
He got nowhere.
Pushing another hand behind Dan's left knee to tip his body towards him, the steps falling into Phil's head in a line.
Dan slumped into the couch like a marionette with its strings clipped. He twitched once more, jaw painfully tight.
His head tipped back, then forward, then settled into a series of small, residual shudders.
Phil didn’t let go. He rubbed gentle circles into Dan’s back, murmuring something low and half nonsense.
“It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re doing great, Dan.”
His eyes fluttered open on the couch, but only for a second. Then they closed again, slow, like the world was still a bit too bright.
Phil stayed quiet for a second, just watching Dan’s face soften even more in the haze, looking younger than he had in ages. Fingers tracing soft little shapes against Dan’s back.
A quiet murmur slipped from Dan’s lips, something soft, barely coherent, like he was talking to someone far away.
His breathing had steadied but his eyes remained closed, body still heavy with sleepiness and lingering fatigue.
Dan shifted slightly, lips barely moving. “...my tea.”
Phil brushed his thumb over the back of Dan’s hand, noticing how his fingers twitched in the air like they were trying to catch hold of something.
“I’ll get it for you,” he said, brushing a hand through Dan’s hair. “Just take it easy for a second, yea?”
Dan watched his lips move, like he did when he was trying to process the words but couldn’t quite get there.
“You’re so… so weird,” Dan mumbled, and then just coughed twice.
Phil snorted and leaned forward slightly, squinting at the time on his phone.
1:02 AM.
Dan blinked up at the ceiling, his hand weakly resting on the cushion next to him.
“Phil,” he said, a little more clearly now, though his voice was still thick with exhaustion. “It’s bedtime.”
Phil’s gaze softened as he slid his phone into his pocket and he stood up slowly.
“You need help getting there?” he asked.
He was keeping the options open, letting Dan take the lead on everything.
Phil had to give him that opportunity when it was available at least.
“I’ll walk behind you,” Phil offered gently. “You just can’t take me down like a tree again.”
Dan gave a low, wobbly laugh and pushed himself upright with a grunt.
“Almost got you last time.”
“Almost broke my spine,” Phil muttered, already hovering in case Dan listed sideways.
They made it to the stairs in one piece, somehow.
Dan clung to the banister like it was sacred. He paused at the top, swaying a little.
Phil hovered just behind, hands out like a spotter at a gymnastics meet.
“Don't do that,” Phil replied, nudging him forward with his finger. “Not funny.”
Dan had whined that growing up his family didn't have a second story, like ever.
"Like we were poor or something."
Phil bit his tongue, and that's how they had arrived at an agreement. Dan was an adult now, and he had the right to make decisions he was affirmative about.
When Dan opened an Amazon package weeks later Phil had ordered in his name with a ridiculous quantity of grippy socks, he didn’t complain.
The next time Dan went to tromp down the stairs he didn’t stop briefly at the top to consider sliding on his bottom like a four year old, and Phil didn't comment when he threw his feet up obnoxiously over his lap that evening.
Dan was upright, technically, though it was more like a slow, floppy lean and he muttered.
“This is undignified."
“You’re a mess, Dan. Just lean on me.”
Phil took a breath he didn't realize he was holding once Dan was dumped on his side of the bed.
He moved quickly, pulling the blanket back, his hands carefully maneuvering around them.
Dan’s voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was a quiet vulnerability to it. "You’re not going to leave me on the floor, right?”
Phil blinked twice at the question and huffed in annoyance.
"Are you on the floor right now?"
Dan exhaled a shaky laugh, managing to shift onto the bed fully, body sinking down into the soft sheet with a slight grunt.
His arms were too weak to push himself back into a comfortable position, so he shifted sluggishly when Phil attempted to lift his shoulders to get him centered.
"God it's like lifting the earth."
"I am light,” Dan mumbled into the mattress.
“I’m a willowy woodland creature.” he mumbled, trying to make a joke, but the exhaustion was heavy in his voice.
Phil was busy tucking the duvet around Dan’s body, smoothing out the wrinkles and shoving a pillow under his head with the grace of someone who’s done this about sixty times.
Dan blinked over at him, his eyelids heavy.
“Don’t tuck me in like a burrito, I’ll panic.”
“You panic when I don’t tuck you in,” Phil said, "Scoot over, bed hog."
Dan started rolling in the other direction, clearly still uncoordinated. He grumbled when his movements were paused.
Phil had slipped under the other half of the covers with a sigh and manhandled Dan until he turned around, so Phil could adjust the duvet over his head like a little sunbonnet.
“You’re choking me.”
Rolling his eyes, Phil made a show of pushing all the blankets away from Dan’s neck. He stayed close, breathing slow and even, waiting for the world to settle.
The silence stretched comfortably between them before Dan wiggled further down into the duvet and mumbled into Phil’s chest.
“If I have another one, I want you to tell the paramedics I was very brave about it.”
“You're always brave—I'll be sure to tell them you smell like toast and threaten to attack.”
He watched Dan for a few more seconds, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
When he was sure that Dan was fully snoring, he let himself relax as well, closing his eyes.
This wasn’t new.
None of it was. That didn’t mean it didn’t take something out of Phil each time, watching Dan unravel and pulling him back in before he slipped too far.
Phil didn’t mind. He never had.
He knew what it meant to be the net.
Phil shifted just enough to press a kiss to Dan’s temple, careful not to wake him.
They had done this before. They’d do it again.
And tomorrow, Dan could sort the cutlery again like it might save his life.
Phil would boil the kettle. Dim the lights.
Pick up where they left off.