Work Text:
November, 2012
Phil is grappling with two earth-shattering, mind-numbing, life-changing truths.
The first of which: he is about to break up with Dan.
He doesn’t want to break up with Dan - the mere thought of it makes his palms go clammy, bile rising in his throat. Every single cell in his body is physically repulsed by the idea - when Dan had emerged from ‘his room’ and told Phil that he wanted to break up, Phil had had no choice but to run out the door, desperate to put distance between himself and those awful, awful words.
So he’d ran, until the heartache of it all stopped him in his tracks, leaving him in this park - alone and cold and heartbroken, slumped on a bench and trying to find some way out of this, some magical cure-all action that will save everything; save their relationship, save Dan from himself, save his own heart from splintering into fragile pieces. He has half a mind to storm his way back into the flat and lock himself and Dan away - away from prying eyes, emails about copyright strikes, the seemingly endless flood of Tumblr asks about the video that he pretends doesn’t exist, and that Dan can’t seem to stop himself from obsessing over.
He wants nothing more than to dive under the duvet with him, legs tangled together as Dan clings to his side and rests his lips against the steady pulse point in Phil’s neck - a constant almost-kiss. He wants nothing more than to tangle his fingers in the curls that only he gets to see, drawing warm hums of contentment from him as his nails trace lazy patterns on his scalp. He wants nothing more than to make Dan giggle as he invents a bedtime story for the two of them, babbling nonsense until he can feel Dan’s breath even out, the furrow of his brow smoothing over as he drifts off in Phil’s arms.
He wants he wants he wants he wants he wants he wants he wants he wants -
He wants Dan to feel safe, to be happy - once upon a time, that had only been possible with Phil. When Dan had crashed into Phil’s life, Phil had been certain it was forever. Dan had his doubts, but he was insecure, inexperienced - Phil was his first boyfriend, his first love, and with no frame of reference, he thought that this is how everybody feels in relationships. Phil had loved before, had had his heart broken and put back together, and he knows that nothing he could ever experience would compare to the all encompassing joy and heat that is loving and being loved by Dan Howell.
Now though, Phil can’t help but wonder if Dan would be better off without him. If this was fun while it lasted, but it’s killing them both, so better to walk away as friends now, while they still can, while the prying eyes have only sullied their love, haven’t yet mutated it into resentment and hate.
So Phil is going to give Dan what he wants. Even if it feels like his heart has been ripped from his body, he will bear that pain without complaint, forever falling asleep with “what ifs?” flickering through his mind like an old film reel. How could he not? How could he not do everything in his power to give the scared, sweet, brilliant boy that he loves anything he wants?
He had just come to terms with that truth, the acceptance curling through his bloodstream like acid, when Dan had appeared before him, shooting him a dazzling smile and softly murmuring his name like it’s his favorite word. Phil couldn’t help his staring - it’s usually one of his favorite ways to pass the time, quiet moments spent memorizing each and every part of his favorite person until he’s certain he could identify Dan by just the slope of his neck, the curve of his ear, the perfect shell pink of his nails.
He’s staring at him now, as Dan sits beside him on this freezing stone bench, tucked away in a corner of the park by a copse of trees. He’s taking in and cataloguing all of these features and fragments that make up the boy that he loves, all the while his head spinning and his heart racing, and he feels like he might faint, because, yes, this is undeniably Dan next to him (there’s his neck, those are his ears, yes his nails are that exact same shade of pink), but this is not his Dan.
Inconceivable truth number two - there has been some kind of unraveling in the fabric of the universe, as evidenced by the fact that his 21-year-old Dan is sat back in their apartment, while a 34-year-old Dan sits beside him.
When Dan gently drifts off to sleep, he isn’t surprised to find himself dreaming about Phil - spend sixteen years with a person, they’re bound to wander through the veil between conscious and unconscious thought.
No, what surprises him is that the Phil he’s encountered in this vaguely familiar dream park looks so young. Partly because, as far as he can recall, Phil is just Phil in his dreams - blonde, bespectacled, even those damn Minecraft pajama bottoms have worked their way into his subconscious a few times - no visions of past or future Phil to be found. The other reason Phil’s appearance makes his breath catch is that he simply can’t remember Phil ever looking so young, so sad, so scared.
Dan remembers being a moon-eyed boy, trailing after Phil like a lovesick puppy, awed and amazed by the easy, confident (admittedly a bit clumsy) way that Phil moved through life. When he looks back on the early years of their relationship, he remembers Phil as the sweet and funny and sexy older boy who became his favorite person so easily, a larger-than-life personality who taught him what he needed to know about laundry and YouTube and sex and good tv, who saw the directionless mess that was 18 year old Dan and gave him a soft place to land - but when he walked out of this copse of trees, the Phil he saw sat on that bench looked so… small. Shoulders bowed forward, the weight of the world crushing him like Atlas. So lost. So alone.
Dan is suddenly struck by that omniscience one finds they’re equipped with when thrust into the middle of a dream, some innate sense telling him his brain has brought him to a clear and crisp November afternoon in 2012. The afternoon - the one when he had tried to light a match and burn down their life together, terrified of so much; of being seen in a way he wasn’t ready for, forced into a role he’d never wanted, ruining Phil and his unending optimism and kindness and care.
The memory of those fears flares white-hot for a moment, flames licking at old scars in his mind, but the heat can’t reach him through the icy vein of guilt clawing through him. They’ve talked about this now, both publicly and privately, the guilt Dan feels for how he’d pushed Phil away, how he’d look at him and feel the weight of the eyes on them, even in what should have been their safest and most private moments. Phil, patient and gentle and good, insists that there’s no reason for guilt - that they were so young and doing the best they could with the situation they were thrust into, that it worked out in the end, he wouldn’t trade his life for anything - and Dan has started to believe him. Mostly.
The logical part of his brain, composed of the synapses that fire in deep sleep to help work through the problems one can’t bear to look at in the light of the day, that likes to take everything apart and figure out its meaning, is parsing through the scene in front of him, coming to the conclusion that this is him trying to clear his conscious, to tend to the wounds he’d inflicted thirteen years ago.
The emotional part, the part that feels everything so deeply, that can’t seem to stop poking the guilty bear asleep within him, sees the person he loves (albeit a dream version that doesn’t actually exist) sitting broken and alone, and wants to run to him, to chase the storm clouds away and tell him they’ll be okay.
So he does.
Phil is unsure how much time has passed - enough time that he’s almost certain he won’t be sick all over his and Dan’s shoes, not enough time that he trusts himself to speak without crying. For what it’s worth, this Dan doesn’t seem to mind his silence. His Dan can’t bear it, his youthfulness and anxiety compelling him to fill every spare moment with sound - inane commentary on whatever game he or Phil is playing, humming as he putters about in the kitchen, gentle piano notes floating through the flat and luring Phil to his side.
Oh god, I’ll never hear him play piano again.
The thought comes to him unbidden, panic flooding his nervous system at the reminder that Dan wants to leave, that he will pack up his things and take all of his color and sound and love with him. His eyes well up with tears as he doubles over in his seat, a sob leaving him. This is all just too much.
His head in his hands, Phil feels rather than sees Dan move closer, a warm, steady hand rubbing grounding circles on his back. He’s crying in earnest now, sobs wracking his frame, so when this older Dan opens his arms further, pulling Phil in for a hug, he finds he can’t bring himself to be frightened of the well-known stranger beside him any longer - he aches for the comfort of his touch, his nearness, the warmth radiating off of him. He feels Dan press a kiss to the top of his head, murmuring soothing words that lose their shape as they reach Phil’s ears - he doesn’t know exactly what Dan is saying, but he can feel the love laced through the words, and it makes his chest feel tight.
He lets himself be held, reveling in the novelty. He and Dan don’t do PDA; they can’t. This simple act of being held in the open air feels like a revelation.
As his breathing settles, his sobs quieting, he pulls away, wiping his tears away. The initial shock of meeting a 13 year older version of Dan has nearly worn off, and now Phil can appreciate the sight before him. He knows he’s biased, but he’s always thought that Dan was the most beautiful person he had ever met - he feels a little swoop in his stomach at the realization that this sentiment rings true for all versions of him. The years have been kind to him - sharpening his bone structure and softening his eyes, his curls tousled by the wind and his skin glowing. He looks radiant, a hazy sunbeam shining in this cold, grey park.
It’s not just his looks that have changed - this Dan seems lighter, almost buoyant. He reminds him of the Dan he first met back in 2009, before either of their channels exploded, before the weight of the gaze of thousands of fans dragged him down, down, down into a dark place Phil couldn’t follow.
This is who Dan was always meant to be. The thought blooms suddenly, curling like a wisp of smoke through his mind. He’s struck by the surety of it, the certainty - he could attribute his acceptance of this otherworldly meeting to his current emotional state, too exhausted and beaten down to fight the universe’s plan, or he could blame his superstitious nature, his willingness to believe in the supernatural and fantastical, but he knows that’s not it. He’s been thinking of this Dan in front of him as exactly that - this Dan, other Dan, but the truth is that this is his Dan, in the truest sense of the word - the pieces of himself that Dan meticulously locks away from the rest of the world, that Phil is lucky to catch glimpses of in the quiet twilight moments where they are the only two people in the world, those pieces are made whole in front of him now. Through the heartbreak, Phil counts himself lucky that he gets to see him like this, even just this once.
Dan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a small smile starting to break across his face, and Phil realizes he’s staring again - he doesn’t think Dan minds, but he feels a flush creep up his neck regardless. He looks down, eyes catching on the tear-darkened shoulder of Dan’s jumper - he reaches up, fingertips grazing the damp fabric.
”Sorry,” he whispers, voice weak but, thankfully, steady.
Dan brings his own hand up, intertwining their fingers and looking into Phil’s eyes in that way that makes Phil feel like the most important person in the world.
“I should be the one apologizing,” Dan says. “I know what happened today.” Phil shakes his head, gaze dropping to the ground, unsure if he wants to hear this. Can’t they just sit here a bit longer, pretend that reality isn’t falling apart around them? Dan gives his hand a gentle squeeze, drawing Phil’s gaze back to him. Only when their eyes meet does Dan continue, speaking slowly and surely as if to make sure Phil doesn’t miss a word.
“I’m sorry. I pushed you away, and I hurt you - you were endlessly patient, and I just threw that in your face. I was scared, and I saw no way out of it other than to end us. I’d look at you, and I’d feel the weight of thousands of eyes analyzing our every move and it was just so exhausting.”
Phil sniffles, trying his damnedest to keep the tears from falling. He is so tired of crying, but Dan is being so kind, his warm and comforting “it’s not you, it’s me” speech wrapping around his nerves like a soothing balm, dulling the heartache, a stark contrast with his younger self’s cold and detached “we need to break up” that had torn through Phil like a bullet.
“It was exhausting for you too, I realize that, but you never let me see it. You gathered up my mess and sat with me while I put myself back together, and you were so patient, and I know I’ve said this before but I swear I’ll spend the rest of our lives together thanking you for it. I mean, I’m here in a dream thanking you right now - in every universe right?”
Phil feels off-kilter again, swaying slightly in his seat, disarmed by Dan’s charming smile and the impossibility of this all - is Dan right? Is this a dream? Is he real? Am I? These thoughts swirl around his mind until it empties out, leaving one word pulsing through him with his heartbeat.
“Together?” He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until he sees Dan’s brow furrow in confusion. He clears his throat, cautious hope rising within him. “We’re still together?”
He watches Dan’s eyes melt with understanding, and he loses himself in those eyes, as familiar to him as the sound of his heart in his chest.
“Yes,” Dan smiles. He looks like he’s lit from within, and Phil wants to bask in the glow forever. “We’ve been together sixteen years now, bub.”
Relief and joy flood Phil’s nervous system, crashing through Phil’s defenses - a tear slips free, quickly followed by another. “So I… I didn’t ruin you?”
Dan, impossibly, melts even further, brow furrowing adorably as his hands rise up to cup Phil’s face, brushing the tears away. “Ruin me? Phil, you saved me.”
November, 2025
When Dan wakes with a start, it’s to an empty bed. He can still feel Phil’s warmth, but not on the sheets beside him - rather, he can still feel the warmth of dream Phil’s head in his hands, how he’d cradled the precious weight as he’d wiped the tears from his face. He blinks a few times, shaking fingers swiping away a few tears of his own.
It’s a bit unnerving. The dream remains crystal clear in his mind’s eye, untouched by the hazy blanket that usually covers his dreams upon waking. Everything feels vaguely off, but not necessarily in a bad way - the feeling brings to mind the sensation of searching for the hidden image in one of those magic eye posters, some piece of the puzzle just out of his reach.
He wants Phil - needs him, really. That want/need/dependence always lives in him, lazy and warm like a cat napping in a sunbeam, but he’s surprised to feel the edge of panic laced through it now, adding an urgency to the overwhelming need to find Phil, to let him hold him and help him work through this dream he can’t shake away.
He slides out of bed, padding across the room and down the hall in search of Phil. He shivers a bit, the morning chill curling around him despite his sweater. He could call out for Phil, use his response to discern his placement in the house, but he can’t bring himself to break the silence. The morning is too still, too quiet - it almost feels sacred.
The smell of coffee draws him to the lounge, and he knows he’s found him. He stops at the entrance, watching Phil absentmindedly fidgeting with his hands, and he knows it’ll be okay, emotionally intense dreams be damned. He feels silly, but he almost wants to cry with relief - here is Phil, on their sofa, in their home - he’s made them coffee, and Dan will talk about his dream, and Phil will tell him some anecdote about an uncle who was actually a dream analyst and so maybe the gift has passed to him, and Dan will roll his eyes fondly and be so so thankful that this weirdo never gave up on him, on them.
He steps into the room, and Phil looks up, a small smile doing little to hide the anxiety so plain on his face.
“Hi, bub,” Phil says, voice cracking a bit, and Dan stops in his tracks, his gaze dragged away from the coffee waiting for him back to Phil’s eyes at the sound.
A million worst-case scenarios flash through his mind - I’m dying, Phil’s dying, something’s happened to our family, zombie apocalypse, they’ve cancelled Below Deck - adding to the panic simmering just beneath his skin. He rushes over to Phil, almost sending his coffee to the floor as he bumps the table in his haste to get to the couch.
“Ack, Dan!” Phil splutters, hands reaching out and steadying the teetering cup. Dan doesn’t miss the way they shake.
“What is it, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He reaches his hand up, turning Phil’s face to his own, checking him over for any sign of injury or distress. Phil leans into the touch, a quiet sigh escaping him, so Dan brings his other hand up, cradling Phil’s head in his hands and –his hands rise up to cup Phil’s face, brushing the tears away– he’d just done this in his dream, hadn’t he? The déjà vu hits him, the shock of it hitching his breath.
“I’m okay, I promise, everything’s okay.” Phil’s eyes flutter shut as he turns his head, pressing a kiss to Dan’s left palm before he gently shakes his hands off. He doesn’t let them get far, doesn’t let Dan retreat, instead pulling their hands together between them, a warm knot of intertwined fingers. He’s looking at Dan, those blue eyes that Dan would happily drown in, sizing him up, as if he’s an equation Phil is studying on a whiteboard. Finally, he speaks.
“Do you remember when we almost broke up thirteen years ago?” It’s the last thing he’d have expected Phil to say, despite his dream still swirling around in his head. Dan’s failed attempt at ending things has always been a subject Phil has never seemed interested in. Whenever Dan would bring it up, Phil would just smile, placating Dan with a “you’ve nothing to apologize for” before changing the subject tactfully. He’s never the one to bring it up. Something waits at the periphery of Dan’s consciousness, some amorphous shape he can’t quite pin down, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He realizes Phil is waiting for a response, so he nods, watches as Phil nods along with him, before taking in a steadying breath.
“I’ve never told you what I did that morning, have I? After I ran out of the flat?” Dan shakes his head minutely, scared to break the moment with sound. “Well, I kept running. Found myself at this little park, the one by that Thai place we always used to order from? I was sitting on a bench, and I was so mad – at you, at myself, at everything, and I was so sad too. And I had just made a decision, I was about to go back to the flat and tell you that I agreed, that we should break up.”
Dan’s palms are sweating now, that amorphous Thing that had prickled at the edges of his awareness now looming over his shoulder, breathing down his neck. He’s tired, and emotionally spent from his dream that won’t leave him – he can tell he’s missing something, that Phil is waiting for him to catch on, but it’s like that magic eye poster sensation all over again, the picture right in front of him but blurry, out of focus.
Phil soldiers on, now gripping Dan’s hands so tight that it hurts, but Dan is grateful for it, grateful for the pain keeping him in the moment.
“Just as I was about to get up, this man walked out of the trees. He came up to me, and I remember thinking he was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. He sat beside me and held me as I cried, reassured me that the two of us would be okay – that we’d been together for sixteen years on his end.”
“What is this?” Dan whispers, stomach dropping as he disentangles his hands from Phil’s and rises on shaky legs. “This isn’t funny, Phil.” He needs distance, needs to pace as he turns over Phil’s words in his head. “I already feel weird, I just woke up from this super intense dream, and now you’re describing it, which shouldn’t fucking be possible as I’ve barely said ten words to you this morning, and I -“
“It wasn’t a dream, Dan. That was real.”
“That’s what I’m telling you, it felt real, and I was going to tell you about it, but you already know, and I don’t know why, and it’s freaking me out and–“
“Dan, please, look at me.” Phil pleads, and Dan can never not give Phil what he wants, even when he feels like they both may be going insane, so he turns his head to Phil, eyes meeting mid-stride.
What he sees there almost brings him to his knees.
He doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know why, but when his eyes meet Phil’s, something clicks – the hidden image in the illusion has come into sharp, searing focus. He sees Phil sitting on the couch, on that bench exactly thirteen years ago, the images overlapping, and he knows, as sure as he knows his own name, that Phil is right – his dream was, impossibly, not a dream.
”Oh, fuck off.” A laugh bubbles out of him, starting as an indignant chuckle and morphing into some full-bodied, doubled-over belly laugh until he’s on all fours, gasping for breath in between bursts of giggles. He sees Phil approach him like he’s a stray dog he’s trying to lure out of the road, and the unbidden mental image of him accepting a treat from Phil’s hand just makes him laugh more.
Phil crouches beside him, a cautious smile pulling at his lips. “Well, you’re handling it better than I did. I feel like all I did was almost throw up and then cry all over your jumper.” Dan looks up at him, noticing his eyes are fixed on the damp patch at his shoulder, where Phil had laid his head and sobbed and holy fucking shit this is real how the fuck is this happening and now Dan is crying, the reality of the situation finally taking hold as he sinks even lower, forehead to the floor as he tries to ground himself, to stop himself from floating away.
“Oh, oh no darling, it’s okay.” Phil’s flitting around him now, sinking to the floor and arranging them so Dan’s head sits in his lap. The endearment, Phil’s fingers carding gently through his hair and wiping away his tears, the way Phil’s fussing with him and murmuring soothing nonsense as the shock of it all works its way through Dan’s system – it makes Dan feel small; suddenly he’s eighteen again, convinced the answers to all life’s problems and questions can be found in a lilting laugh and a pair of blue eyes.
He’s unsure how long they sit there, waiting for his breathing to settle, tears subsiding as he adjusts to his entire perception of the world tilting on its axis. Phil is still absentmindedly playing with his hair, humming snippets of songs that sound vaguely familiar to Dan. He clings to the distraction, trying to place the melodies, reaching for the familiar.
“You’re handling this remarkably well.” Dan finally croaks out, voice muffled from where his face is pressed to Phil’s thigh. He shifts a bit, blinking against the light as he finally opens his eyes, vision focusing on Phil smiling down at him, beatific. An angel.
“Well, to be fair, I’ve had thirteen years to come to terms with this. And unlike some people, I like to believe in the fantastical instead of being a mopey lil cynic about everything.” Phil sticks his tongue out at Dan, a teasing giggle escaping him as Dan rolls his eyes. He bends down, pressing a kiss to Dan’s forehead before patting his cheek. “C’mon, you, let’s move to the couch if you can; my back is killing me.”
Dan lets out a snort, shaking his head as Phil disentangles himself and stands. “Whatever you say, old man.”
“Oi!” Phil protests, kicking at Dan’s side in retaliation, socked feet slipping a bit on the hardwood floors. Dan laughs again, something loosening inside of him. This is easy, familiar, their teasing another layer of protective mundanity wrapped around his fraying psyche. Phil reaches his hand out, and Dan takes it, letting himself be helped out of his position on the floor.
He stands there, lets Phil fuss about him, dusting him off and reaching up to fix his hair. Phil, in Dan’s fleece and some worn pajama bottoms, mismatched socks and glasses slightly askew, tongue poking out in concentration as he tucks Dan’s curls behind his ears, so utterly perfect and his that Dan’s heart hurts with it, throat feeling thick and eyes burning with tears. He’s just so fucking grateful, so relieved, that he doesn’t have to go through this by himself. It’s a testament to Phil’s strength, he thinks, that he was able to sit alone with this knowledge for thirteen years. It’s this thought that makes him pull Phil in, arms wrapping around him. He tucks his face into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply – Phil smells of sleep, warmth, of lavender and vanilla and home.
“This is the weirdest fucking day of my life.” He can feel Phil’s hum of understanding resonate through his chest, one more reminder that he is real, that Phil is real, that despite Dan’s apparent journey through time and space, this perfect haven they’ve created for themselves still stands, steady and true.
He steps back, clinging to Phil’s hand like a child afraid of getting lost in a crowd as he’s led to the sofa. Phil gets himself situated, propped up amidst the pillows he’s gathered, before he opens his arms, inviting Dan to join him in the perfect space he’s left him to curl up in, head against Phil’s heart. The steady thump thump washes over Dan, the final tendrils of panic and tension and what the actual fuck leeching out of him.
Now, curiosity remains.
“How is this even possible? How did I, I mean…” Dan trails off, hesitant to say the words out loud.
Phil, however, has no qualms. “Time travel?”
Dan nods, surprised to find he doesn’t necessarily feel foolish discussing this. It feels, like all things that have to do with Phil, correct. Easy. Inevitable. Like, oh, yes, of course, as far as they’re concerned, they’re the only two humans on this planet with evidence of time travel, who else would this happen to?
“Well,” Phil starts. “I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit the past few years. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re ever gonna know how, bub, I think it just… happened. I’ve told you, for how long now, that we’re written in the stars? That wasn’t me just saying that, I truly believe it. I think the universe opened a door for you to save us.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I thought I was dreaming and just sat there while you cried.”
“Dan.” Phil’s voice is firm, the way it gets when Dan gets too self-deprecating, falling into old patterns of assuming the worst of himself. He gives Dan a little shove, pushing him until they’re both upright, pushing and pulling until they’re facing each other, until he can practically see the sincerity dripping off each word as it leaves Phil’s lips. “I was seconds away from getting up off of that bench, walking home, and letting our fear win. We were so young, so scared, and I didn’t know what else to do, how to fix it for you. I didn’t know how to find that strength. But then you appeared.”
Phil’s voice is thick with tears now, but he carries on, gaze focused on Dan, eyes so open and bright, looking at Dan like he’s in awe of him. “You appeared, and you were so you. I could see the best parts of the boy I loved so much, finally allowed to flourish, and I was so relieved. Because that was all I ever wanted for you, the space for you to grow and realize that you were this incredible person all along. I didn’t know why or how you were there, but I didn’t care - I was just happy I got to see you like that, just that once, because even then, even seeing you so beautiful and strong and happy, I was convinced I wasn’t going to play any part in it.”
Shame grips Dan, thoughts swirling in a dangerous eddy. He hates himself for what he did, for making Phil feel like he was less than absolutely everything to him, that he could ever be better off without him.
“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I’m so, so sorry, I-“
“Dan, let me finish, you need to hear this.” Phil stops his thought spiral in its tracks, grabbing Dan’s hands to stop him from picking the skin around his nails raw, an old habit he falls back on when he gets especially upset. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but Phil had, of course he had.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, or to make you regret things, I’m saying this so that you know what you did for me. I was so scared, but you gave me the strength to go forward. I didn’t know if we were out, if our families knew about us, if we were still working together. But I knew whatever faced us, we’d get to do it together. Don’t you see, Dan? You said I saved you, but you saved me just as much. We saved each other, and we saved our love, together. The only difference between us is that I knew what a kickass team we make before you did, but now you do know. And I don’t want you to doubt it for a second longer.”
And fuck, how can Dan not kiss him after a speech like that? This perfect man before him, who was once a boy he loved so much that he hurtled through space and time to keep him in his life, whose lips are warm and soft against his own, hands cradling his face like he’s something precious, worth safekeeping. He breaks the kiss with a gentle sob, throwing his arms around him and burying his face in his neck again. Phil follows suit, his fingers finding their home in Dan’s curls, holding him close.
“Do you believe me?” he asks into Dan’s hair.
Daniel Howell is a man of science. He does not believe in ghosts, or fortune-telling, or any of the other million and one things that Phil swears by.
But he believes in Phil. He believes in him more than anything else, on this plane of existence and the nex
“Yes,” he says, words whispered with a smile and a kiss against Phil’s skin, pulse point steady beneath his lips. “I believe you.”