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Phil wakes up shivering the morning of October 19th, 2009. It’s freezing in his house, probably because he’d forgotten to turn on the heating last night when he’d gotten in. He squishes his cheek against the pillow, stretching lazily under his duvet, and, in a flash, remembers. His stomach flips, and he curls in on himself in his bed, burying his grin in his blanket.
A moment or two later he’s venturing out into the freezing cold to snatch his phone from the bedside table, retreating as fast as he can back into the cave of warmth he’s collected during the night. He’s got five new Skype notifications, and his smile is too big to be contained by his face. He opens the app and reads through them, his heart fluttering.
danisnotonfire: love u too ^.^
(19/10/09 12:47am)
danisnotonfire: i cant wait omg
(19/10/09 12:48am)
danisnotonfire: im so fucking nervous
(19/10/09 12:48am)
danisnotonfire: but you probably get it bc you get everything ur annoying that way
(19/10/09 12:49am)
danisnotonfire: okay im going to try and sleep <3
(19/10/09 12:56am)
Phil starts to type a reply, but he has to stop to shut his eyes and try to calm the butterflies dancing the cha-cha in his stomach. Eventually he manages to send something, and tosses his phone face-down on the bed beside him, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes, cold air rushing in under the covers. He doesn’t care, though. He’s so fucking giddy.
Today is the day he meets Dan.
His phone pings, and he rolls over again. Predictably, it’s a Skype notif. He buries himself in covers again to read and reply.
amazingphil: dont worry, i get it c: i cant wait either!!
(19/10/09 9:28am)
amazingphil: exclamation marks convey none of the things im feeling rn
(19/10/09 9:28am)
danisnotonfire: guess what
(19/10/09 9:29am)
amazingphil: O.o what??
(19/10/09 9:29am)
danisnotonfire: im boarding rn :0
(19/10/09 9:30am)
amazingphil: :OOOOO
(19/10/09 9:30am)
danisnotonfire: u better be here to pick me up at 12.45 mister
(19/10/09 9:30am)
amazingphil: wouldnt miss it for the world <3
(19/10/09 9:31am)
He arrives at the train station at 12:25. It’s still freezing, and windy to boot. He’s wearing two flannels and a jacket in an attempt to keep warm, the wind blowing his fringe into his eyes and nipping at his ears and cheeks. He finds a bench and sits there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the want for a mocha eclipsed only by the want to see Dan on this platform. He’s still chock-full of butterflies. They’re doing some sort of rave dance now. Phil doesn’t think he likes it.
The train pulls in at 12:50, five minutes late, and he sits forward, stomach flipping, worrying his lower lip incessantly. People start single-filing out onto the platform, and he starts bouncing a leg, the nervous jitters almost too much. He hopes he doesn’t throw up.
Five minutes later, with no Dan Howell in sight, second thoughts start joining in with the butterflies; what if Dan missed his train? What if something had happened on the ride and he can’t make it? Is Dan even coming or is this all a very elaborate, very convincing hoax? He shifts back and forth restlessly, tapping a rhythmless tempo on his knee.
When Dan finally does come gangling down the steps, a suitcase trundling behind him, it takes Phil a second to recognize him. When he does, though, it’s impossible to look away.
He’s so tall, almost as tall as Phil, and just as awkward and lanky as he’d promised. He’s dressed in a grey cardigan that makes him look doubly awkward and triply adorable. He steps onto the platform a little clumsily, suitcase thunking down the last step to the ground, and scoots a bit to the side. A dark-haired woman bumps into him. He jerks away and says something that looks like an apology. Phil has to resist the urge to cover his mouth with his hands, overwhelmed.
Dan glances around, his nose and cheeks red from the wind, and his eyes land on Phil. His mouth falls open, and he takes a faltering step closer. Phil mirrors him, and they fall still at the same time.
Phil stands there, a little windblown and a lot breathless, right hand opening and closing absently. Dan’s eyes are shining even twenty feet away. Phil wants to hug him so badly.
Finally, finally, Dan starts forward, suitcase bumping along behind him, and Phil grins and breaks into a run and they meet in the middle seconds later and all the air rushes out of him in one helpless, gorgeous rush.
The suitcase clatters to the ground and Phil wraps his arms around Dan, gasping at the warm real immediacy of their bodies pressed against each other, all manner of butterflies swooping back and forth in long elated arcs in the pit of his stomach. Dan hugs him back, holding on to the back of Phil’s jacket and burying his face in Phil’s neck. He smells like stale train-car air, but also like spices and autumn and wool and brisk, chilly breeze and Phil grins and shuts his eyes tight, clinging even tighter.
They don’t let go, not for a long time. Their breathing evens out and Phil can’t help but notice every little thing about Dan, the way his hair is silken pressed against Phil’s cheek and he’s a little thinner but also softer than Phil under his cardigan and he starts rocking a little bit after a minute or two, swaying them back and forth. It’s soothing, and it’s adorable, and Phil can’t remember ever being happier. His throat is tight with it.
When they finally break apart it tugs at Phil’s heartstrings, and he clings to Dan’s waist, not letting him step away. Dan’s fingers are wrapped around the collar of the flannel he’s wearing just under his jacket, and he’s got the biggest smile on his face, and it hurts in the best way.
“I don’t know what to say,” Dan falters out, and his voice isn’t obscured by static or shitty wifi and Phil laughs with abandon and pulls him back in. This time he’s the one who tucks his face into the curve of the other’s neck, and he nuzzles against the line of Dan’s collarbone. He’s fizzing with joy, but he can’t quite put it into words so he pretend-claws at Dan’s back softly, through his cardigan. Dan inhales sharply and giggles and Phil wants to cry, or possibly tell Dan just how much he loves him, but it’s scary. They’re actually here and it feels like so much more to say those words out loud with Dan in his arms, so he just laughs into Dan’s neck and refuses to let him go.
It’s only 1pm, and they have each other and the entire city to explore, so once they finally manage to break apart and stay at a reasonable distance from each other Phil takes Dan’s hand and drags him out of Manchester Piccadilly station, the suitcase bumping along in tow. It’s like a dream, their fingers laced together, able to talk freely and laugh and Phil can’t resist stopping Dan on a street corner and cupping his chin to kiss his cheek. Dan’s flushing pink as soon as Phil pulls away, but he’s smiling, and his dimple is showing, and Phil can’t resist leaning in to kiss it too, something light and glowy expanding in his chest until he feels like he could burst.
He’s so completely head-over-heels right now, so caught up in the moment of being here that it takes him a solid hour and a half to remember that he has subscribers in this city and some people actually recognize his face on the streets. For a second his stomach flips, in a nauseous kind of way this time, but he swallows it down, shifting his grip on Dan’s hand, and promises himself that he’s not that famous. This time, for once, it’s a good thing.
The weather just gets progressively nastier as they trundle along, so they stop at a little coffee shop around three. Phil can’t resist coming up behind Dan as he’s ordering and telling the barista that he’ll pay. Dan gives him a look with lips parted and eyes wide, and Phil ducks his head, blushing, suddenly worried that was way too forward.
Ten quid and one ‘keep the change’ later, though, Dan loops his arm in with Phil’s and plants a tentative kiss on his cheek, and Phil’s head spins at the softness of his mouth, and everything’s okay again.
They settle down by a window, a little secluded from the rest of the shop, Dan carrying a caramel macchiato and Phil with the mocha that Dan had kept him from that morning. The next forty-five minutes are warm and steamy, hazy with happiness, Phil determinedly suppressing the urge to lean across the table and kiss the caramel out of Dan’s mouth. He doesn’t want to ruin this.
This, this thing they’ve got, this is pretty much perfect. When they finally venture back outside again, it’s somehow even colder and windier than before, rain threatening to fall soon. Dan has to run back inside the coffeeshop to retrieve the suitcase he’d forgotten, and Phil stays outside, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.
He means it when he says this is perfect; this being the easiness of wandering around, holding Dan’s hand and wanting to kiss him, but being content just looking at him instead. This being hopefully going home and watching something from Studio Ghibli and then cuddling until they fall asleep. This being grinning as wide as he can when Dan comes back outside into the frigid early evening, lugging his bag along and swearing at the temperature.
He wonders what Dan would think of nothing but this, nothing but kisses and hand holding and ridiculously long hugs.
“Phil, you okay?”
Dan’s voice is soft and a little worried, and Phil jolts out of his reverie and gives him a bit of a smile.
“I’m fine.” He glances around and takes a step closer, like he’s about to tell Dan a secret. “You want to go ride the Eye?”
Dan’s smile could light up the night sky. “Yes, please.”
Phil wraps an arm around his waist, unable to resist keeping him as close as he can, and Dan turns into him, huffing out a bit of a laugh. “It’s fucking freezing,” he says, and Phil grins and buries his face in Dan’s hair so he can breathe him in. He catches a whiff of his shampoo, maybe a hint of cologne.
The walk to the Wheel is a little rushed from the weather and the waning light. By the time they manage to catch a gondola (empty, luckily), it’s properly dark, and Dan is shivering beside Phil. The carriage creaks as they go jolting upwards, the ride smoothing out the higher they get and the lights of the city sprawling out in front of them.
Dan’s leaning over Phil’s lap to stare out the nearest window, eyes wide and sparkling. He looks starstruck. Phil feels starstruck.
“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft, barely vibrating in his chest. Dan looks at him, glowing.
“I love it,” he says, sitting back a little and leaning against Phil’s side. His head finds a place on Phil’s shoulder, and they look out the window, quiet, peaceful.
The time it takes to get to the top passes cosily by, and as their gondola nears the peak Dan sits up, glancing down, shifting so he’s turned in towards Phil. Phil’s stomach jolts, and he looks over, lips parted to ask a question.
Dan’s eyes are fixed on his mouth, and his stomach surpasses its previous jolt and does an impressive double somersault. Soft fingers find the underside of Phil’s chin, and he leans in involuntarily, heart pounding.
The wheel peaks, and Dan kisses him.
Something thrills up Phil’s spine and he falls a little forward, one hand finding a place on Dan’s knee, the other cupping Dan’s face. His lips are soft against Phil’s, a little chapped, a little uncertain. He’s sparkling, expanding, and this is gentle and exhilarating and his mind short-circuits, head filling with light.
They break apart delicately, Phil’s breath coming shallowly, and he realises that this is, without a doubt, the happiest he’s ever been.
“This is probably the happiest I’ve ever been,” Dan says, curled up against Phil on his couch as the end credits of Totoro start rolling. Phil smiles and turns towards him, and the movement disturbs them. Dan lets out a high-pitched noise of surprise and grabs onto Phil’s collar, toppling backwards.
They fall into a giggling heap, and Phil shifts his head on Dan’s chest until he can hear the soothing lub-dub of his heartbeat. Dan falls quiet under him, hands in Phil’s hair, and they’re still for awhile.
“Can I kiss you?” Phil asks, lifting his head after he’s listened his fill and turning so they’re facing each other properly, situating himself between Dan’s legs. Dan combs his fingers through Phil’s hair, a hesitant smile quirking his mouth.
“Yes,” he murmurs, tugging Phil gently closer, and their mouths collide softly, clumsily. Phil is electric, he’s sparkling, and Dan is warm and soothing beneath him and his fingers are gentle on the back of Phil’s neck. He’s here, he’s in Phil’s house, and Phil can hug him and kiss him and he’s smiling too hard to go on kissing him so he just tucks his face against Dan’s chest again and settles one hand against the smooth curve of Dan’s hip.
Dan inhales sharply under his touch. He’s suddenly tense, and not in a good way, shifting slightly away and turning his head until Phil’s fingers fall to the couch cushion. Phil tenses too, apprehensive.
“Aren’t―aren’t you going to―”
Dan sounds uncertain, voice wavering. The floaty-lightness surrounding Phil dissipates, worry taking its place, and he lifts his head. “Going to what?” he asks, brow pinched.
Dan looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, but whatever it is dies before he can spit it out. Phil pushes himself up so he can actually look at Dan’s face, but his gaze goes unreciprocated. Dan’s turned to the side, one hand pressed against his mouth. Phil shifts to a more comfortable position, but there’s a lingering knot in his chest that won’t let him settle.
“Dan,” he tries again. “Going to what?”
“Going to―to try and, and take it farther.” Dan closes his eyes tight, swallows. His hands fall from Phil’s hair. The room is still warm, but the absence of contact makes him feel suddenly cold.
“Why―why would―no,” Phil stutters out, shifting until he's sitting up properly and tugging Dan forward until he is too. He feels sick, suddenly, stomach turning at the possibility that Dan thinks he would ever do something that they weren’t both completely okay with. He has to let Dan know that, he can’t let this thing they have fizzle out and die. He knows that much.
Dan meets his eyes for a brief second, but looks away quickly, his shoulders hunched up and mouth tense. Phil wants to reach out so bad, but he’s scared. He doesn’t want to be scared.
“Isn’t that what you want?” he asked, still not meeting Phil’s eyes. “You want a relationship, yeah? That means you want―you want sex.”
Dan chokes out the last word, his hand white-knuckled on the arm of the couch behind him, and Phil swallows the crazy urge to laugh. He sits back, watching Dan in wonderment. He’d had no idea. Some kind of relief floods through him, now that he knows what’s going on inside Dan’s head. Now he knows what he can say, what he can do.
“Dan, no,” he murmurs, still not daring to touch him. Phil doesn’t want to scare him away. He can’t scare him away. This is the best thing he’s ever had. “You’re wrong.”
“I thought―”
“No,” Phil chokes out, emotion blocking his words. He starts forward, but the caved-in way Dan’s sitting there makes him stop. He swallows, trying to ease the tightness in his throat. “Can―can I hold you?”
Dan bites his lip and nods. Phil’s heart hurts. He gathers Dan into his arms, pulling them together, and the added weight sends them toppling over. He can’t help giggling a little, and Dan does too before he tucks his head under Phil’s chin, hand resting right over Phil’s heart.
“I thought you’d want your hands down my pants by now,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating from his chest to Phil’s.
“I don’t want my hands down your pants, Dan,” Phil says, his voice quivering along the line between quiet and whispered. It almost hurts to hear that’s what Dan was thinking. “Hands and pants can stay thoroughly unacquainted in this relationship.”
“Are you doing this because you think I’m a coward?” Dan asks, shifting slightly but not lifting his head. Phil gets the sense he’s too scared to make eye contact.
“No!” Phil’s voice comes out too loud, too vehement. He sits up, with Dan still on his chest, and as they right themselves Dan wobbles a bit. Phil steadies him, hands on his shoulders, slipping up to cradle his jawline. Their eyes meet. Dan looks terrified, trembling.
“I’m doing this because you need to know―I’m ace, Dan, I’m sorry I haven’t told you before but I wouldn’t do that in a million years. And I hope you―” He swallows, hard, and forces himself not to look away. “I hope you won’t go, because I’ve told you. Because I think I love you. I think I really do.”
Dan’s eyes are shining, and Phil can’t tell why. It could be tears, or it could be happiness, or a mix of both―regardless, he opens his mouth once, twice, like he’s going to say something, and then he gives up and takes Phil’s face in his hands, crushing their mouths together. It's fumbling and sweet and helpless, and Phil gets lost.
Dan doesn’t so much push him down as lean on him until he has to lie back, and his head hits the opposite arm of the sofa. They take a second to giggle―there are tears in Dan’s eyes, quite possibly in Phil’s too, but they’re giggling anyway―and he scoots down, wriggling his toes at the other end of the couch. They’re so long, they barely fit, but it’s okay.
Dan sits up, thighs bracketing Phil’s hips, and smooths his palms over Phil’s chest, taking his time. Languid. Lazy, and Phil gets a sense it’s because he can, with no fear of what might come after. Phil closes his eyes, letting the warmth spread through him. It’s the most comforting thing he can remember experiencing in the past six years.
“I think,” Dan muses, as if the words have been hiding under his tongue for a long time, “that I love you too. I think I love you a whole damn lot.”
Phil doesn’t open his eyes, but he smiles, and Dan leans down and kisses his forehead and his nose and half of his lopsided grin. Phil can feel Dan’s mirroring smile against his cheek. He turns, eyes still closed, finds Dan’s mouth with his and kisses him slowly, open-mouthed, without tongue. It lasts a long time. Dan’s fingers hover around the neckline of Phil’s shirt, and he reaches down to grasp Dan’s waist and tug them together. Dan’s heart thuds against his chest, Phil can feel it, and his heart kicks up in response.
He opens his eyes as they separate, just barely, and Dan’s looking down at him, his lips kissed-pink and his eyes glittering.
“I love you,” he says again, plain and simple and there. “I think you know me better than I know me, and I think I’m ace, too, but I’m confused and I’m fucked up and I really really fucking love you. You―” He laughs a little, and goes on― “You really do get everything, you annoying arse―”
Phil’s grinning, and he presses the fingers of his right hand against Dan’s lips, shushing him. “I love you too,” Phil tells him. “I love you. I know I do.”
They fall asleep there, tangled together, warm and helpless and open to each other. Phil is lovesick and hopeless, and happy. He’s so fucking happy, and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t need to dream, because he has everything he wants right now pressed against him for when he wakes up.
We are all a little weird, and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.
― Theodor Geisel