Chapter Text
London was overpopulated, polluted, impersonal, unforgiving, vast and vulgar, and in his opinion; the best city in the world. Perhaps it was the pain of leaving that made the force of his feelings stronger, but that thought didn’t help him as he leaned his head against the glass of the window, craving one last look.
“It’ll be alright Dan” said PJ but this sentiment was slightly negated by his glum look as he stared ahead at the road.
Beside him, Sophie murmured in agreement but she looked equally downcast. They were in a white rented removals van headed for Manchester, leaving their dreams behind them.
It wasn’t just the fact that their film had flopped: that he could have taken, difficult as it would have been, he accepted it was the life of an actor. Sometimes you did your best but things just didn’t work out. It wasn’t just that he’d left his steady job in the gritty BBC crime drama or that he’d pulled out of two west end plays. In the end it wasn’t even the money he and so many of his friends had poured into this film, and the poor reviews and ticket sales it had wielded. No, he could have borne all of that and more if he’d been able to stay in the beautiful flat.
It had been the best place, the best home, the only place that ever felt like his although he shared it with PJ and Sophie. They were just like family to him, they knew his habits; when he needed company and when he needed to be alone. The flat was expensive but he was a successful actor and PJ and Sophie were up and coming film-makers. (Emphasis on was). They didn’t have to worry.
His room had come with a piano, overlooking the Thames he played until his hearts content. And then there was the self-contained annex he lived in: he could bring back men anytime, unquestioned. And there hadn’t been any shortage of them: musicians, writers, academics. Anyone remotely brooding and dark who had come into Dan’s radar seemed magnetically attracted to him. He was beginning to wonder about that. What would they think of him now, unable to so much as find a bit part in Hollyoaks? He supposed these relationships were shallow and meaningless but nevertheless they were safe and fun and he certainly hadn’t intended on giving them up so soon.
They drove up the M1 in total silence, the radio blaring out offensively happy songs. Eventually Sophie broke the tension by asking:
“What was the name of this friend you spoke to, PJ?”
“Phil. His names Phil.”
“And you’re sure this is a paying job?”
“Yes, how many times are you going to ask me that?”
“Well look what happened with that old guy last week! Ten hours shooting that crappy insurance firm advert and he tells us he’s not paying us.”
“Hey, at least you didn’t have to be in it.” Sulked Dan. Sophie looked guilty but still didn’t change the subject.
“Youtube though? That doesn’t sound legitimate.”
“Hang on!” Dan sat up angrily. “This is for youtube? You didn’t tell me that, PJ”
PJ sighed.
“Look would you both calm down! Phil is a really nice guy. He’s offered us all a job. He’s basically found us a place to stay… Plus we’ve really got no other choice right now. Our collective CVs aren’t adding up to much.”
No one responded for a while until Dan muttered, almost inaudibly: “Youtube though…”
“Oh come on, its where all media is headed: online. You don’t watch it?”
“Well, yeah I watch it for, you know, music and documentaries and stuff, but these idiot vloggers… Don’t tell me he’s one of them?”
PJ squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
“Look, they’re not all idiots: Phil is actually really-“
“I cannot believe this, I used to like those guys when I was a teenager, PJ but then like everyone else I actually grew up. This is so humiliating.”
“Listen, Amazingphil is different, he’s really creative. You’ll like him, Dan.”
Dan scoffed and pulled his hood up, ready for a sulk nap. As he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, he realised he had heard the name AmazingPhil before. The image of a pale young man with sideswept black hair popped into his mind. That was it: Phil had been one of the vloggers he’d been obsessed with as a teenager. He’d even taken a picture of Phil into the barbers at one point, demanding the exact same haircut. It had been the worst haircut of his entire life but at the time he’d been thrilled. Even now he cringed to think of how many adoring comments he’d left on those ridiculous videos, of how much he’d wanted Phil to notice him, give him some small sign of the awareness of his existence. He supposed now it was part of his coming to terms with bludgeoning sexuality and his own acceptance of it.
If he’d known then that he’d be going to actually work with Phil his younger self would have been ecstatic but he had left behind that obsession as quickly as he’d grown out that terrible haircut, and if he’d thought of AmazingPhil at all since then it was only with a cringe of embarrassment for his younger self. He was twenty five now and he was supposed to be a serious actor with serious hair. This was going to be hell.
They arrived at the Manchester flat at about six o’ clock and PJ assured them immediately that it looked better inside than it did out. Dan barely cared by that point. All he wanted to do was get four walls between himself and the rest of the world so that he could figure out what to do next. There was no way he could stay here. It was dingy and gloomy and seemed to reek of failure. He would think of it as a halfway house. He swore he would never call it ‘home’.
“Alright, lets get these boxes up.” Said Sophie warily.
They toiled for half an hour, lugging boxes up the five storey flat, until PJ admitted the landlord had been supposed to meet them at six and he didn’t have any keys to get in. He and Sophie went off in search of him while Dan, exhausted, sat in the dark hallway, on top of a box entitled: ‘Dan’s shit’. After a while he heard them coming up the stairs.
“Finally!” he shouted, getting up and stretching, his entire body stiff after having sat in an awkward position for so long. His outstretched arm struck someone else’s torso, and the man let out a yelp that didn’t sound anything like PJ.
“Oh!”
The man had evidently been reaching for the landing light switch behind Dan for now the hallway was illuminated he could see that he had just elbowed none other than AmazingPhil himself.
“I’m sorry! I thought you were someone else.”
“Someone you wanted to elbow in the chest?” Phil smirked.
“No. I was stretching, you see. I’ve been sitting on this box and then you came and…”
“…Switched on the light… Dan.” Said Phil, reading the box.
“I’m Phil” he continued, holding out his hand.
Dan shook it, noting that Phil had almost exactly the same haircut as he had ten years ago, minus the sides. In fact, he hadn’t really changed at all. His clothes were brightly coloured and pattered, his face pale and long and somehow ageless. The one difference was that he looked slightly more jaded than he had in Dan’s days of obsession, as though he had seen a bit more than he’d wanted to. How awful, thought Dan, to be stuck in that emo phase indefinitely.
“Right. I’m Dan. PJ’s friend.”
“Yeah I know… The box. You’re the actor.” Ordinarily this would have made him beam with pleasure but given the circumstances it seemed almost sarcastic.
“Well… I try.”
“Sooo, where is PJ? Sophie?”
“The landlord was supposed to meet us here to give us the keys but he didn’t, so…”
“Oh, right. That guys quite… Well lets just say he doesn’t follow the normal rules of time. He’s like an evil time lord. Came into my flat once at four in the morning demanding that I stop making a ringing sound. Turns out it was in his own head.”
Dan didn’t know whether to laugh or look concerned so he settled for a smirk and hoped it was the correct response.
“I’ve actually got a spare key. If you want to come in I’ll try and find it.”
He swept past Dan and for the first time he noticed how tall Phil was: almost his height of 6’3. He wondered if that was a once memorised factoid from his youth that he’d forgotten or a new discovery. After fumbling about with his own set of keys, he opened the door next to the one he had been sitting in front of. So they were going to be neighbours as well. Christ.
He followed Phil into his flat and stood awkwardly in the tiny kitchen as he searched through the drawers. The room was filled with little cacti and on the wall were various prints of artwork from what looked to be Anime films.
“If you cant find them, I’m sure it’ll be alright.” Said Dan, still taking in the tasteless décor; the multi-coloured kitchen stools and the little plushie animals on the shelves above them.
“Hmmm” said Phil, stopping the search and scratching his head.
“Where would I have put the keys if I was me?”
Dan was beginning to wish he’d gone with Sophie and PJ after all. He wanted to get out of Phil’s pokey, garish flat but didn’t know how to without being rude.
“AHA!” yelled Phil suddenly, making Dan jump.
“Oh sorry.” He ran towards Dan and for one strange moment Dan thought he was running to hug him. Instead he sidestepped him and reached for one of the little cactuses on the shelf. There in the dirt were the keys.
“Yes! I never thought to look inside Gordon!”
“Gordon?”
Phil visibly reddened.
“I… name my cactuses… Please don’t judge me.”
“Hey, yesterday I had to pretend to fall over a can of baked beans for a job. And I actually didn’t get paid. And I really hurt my shins. I’m in no position to judge.”
Phil let out a burst of genuine laugher, covering his mouth with his hands and doubling over. It felt quite nice to entertain someone so much, even if it was someone so… well quirky was probably the kindest word to describe Phil. Others like oddball and freak also came to mind.
“Okay so I’ll let you in.”
“Okay” agreed Dan, following him out of the flat.
“Hold on” said Phil when they got to the door. “How do I know you’re really the actor Dan Howell and not some psycho axe murderer who’ll come and murder me in my sleep?”
Dan wondered how he knew his last name; had PJ told him or had he actually watched him in anything?
“Does this look like the face of someone who could be bothered making the effort to get up and actually do something so strenuous as murder?”
Phil grinned.
“No. Alright, you’re in.”
He opened the door to reveal an empty, identical version of his own flat.
“Oh God its so small. Urggh. I wish I was back in London.”
“Its not that bad” said Phil stiffly. “I’ll help you with the stuff.”
After Phil had helped lug in the boxes he’d left rather abruptly and Dan got the impression he’d probably offended him. Staring around the bleak beige walls he found it difficult to care, all thoughts on his wayward career. What the hell was he going to do?
After moping around for a while Sophie and PJ eventually turned up, confused by the boxes and Dan’s presence inside the flat despite his lack of keys.
“Yeah I ran into… AmazingPhil. He had a spare set so he let me in.” he explained.
“Oh. So,” PJ tilted his head slightly. “What did you think of him?”
Dan screwed his face up.
“I don’t know PJ. He’s a bit… out there. He has an emo haircut and plushie animals all over his flat.”
“Yep. That’s Phil.” PJ shrugged his shoulders and they all sighed as they looked at the boxes in the dingy grey kitchen. It was finally time to bed in and accept that they’d be living there at least for a while.
Later on, after Dan had chosen the smallest room just off the kitchen, after they had unplugged the toilet and unpacked their meagre possessions, they ordered a pizza and went over the itinerary for the next day.
“So we’ve got to be at the Youtube studio for half twelve. Dan you’ve got a meeting with Phil at nine to go over the script. We’ll prep all the equipment and meet you back here.”
Dan put his head in his hands. He was beginning to feel a bit queasy and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the pizza.
“Dan?”
“Yeah. Fine. Nine o’ clock. I’m going to bed guys. See you in the morning.”
They murmured their goodnights and he retreated to his tiny room, undressing and then flinging himself onto the grubby mattress. He found his duvet in one of the boxes and covered himself in it, curling into the foetal position as though trying to disappear into the corner of the wall. He tried to drift off to sleep but he could hear someone talking loudly in the room next to his head. It wasn’t PJ or Sophie as they were still in the kitchen. With a lurch of his stomach he realised that the voice had to be Phil’s, perhaps filming some video right on the other side of the wall. ‘There’s no escape,” was Dan’s last thought before he finally lost consciousness.
As promised, at nine o’ clock the next morning Dan was at Phil’s door, having had a restless nights sleep and feeling very irritable as he gave a couple of knocks.
“Just a second!” came a voice from within and he could hear the sound of footsteps running.
“Hi!” said Phil blearily as he opened the door, beckoning Dan in.
“Sorry, I was up late last night filming a video and I kind of overslept. Mind if I have a quick breakfast?”
“No” said Dan shortly, although he minded quite a bit.
“Thanks” said Phil, busying himself with the kettle.
Dan noticed that his owl-pattered tee-shirt was on back to front but thought perhaps that was deliberate, part of his ‘wacky’ persona. He also had two odd socks on and was whistling what sounded like the pokemon theme tune. This was going to be a long day.
“D’you want anything? Coffee? Shreddies? Frosties? Cocoa Pops? Poptarts? Grapes? Lemons?”
More to stop Phil from listing anything else than because he really wanted anything, Dan answered:
“Just coffee, thanks.”
After Phil had made the coffee (his second pot, the first he had spilled onto the floor) and a bowl of cereal for himself, they sat next to one another on the grey sofa in the corner of the room. An awkward silence followed, punctuated only by Phil’s loud chewing.
“So,” he said, after he had eaten a fair amount of Frosties. “I guess you want to hear my plans for what we’ll be doing?”
Dan gave a deep sigh and braced himself for the worst.
“Yep. Let’s hear it.”