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1
When Phil finally took a bite of his dessert, chocolate was the first thing he tasted, and the second thing he acknowledged.
In the dim light of the restaurant, Dan laughed at something he said, some inside, pseudo-sexual crack made just before the waiter arrived and delivered their final course. Phil had turned pink, he could feel it, and now they were both laughing at the thought of being overheard.
Dan was too slow to his own dessert for Phil’s taste. He was too engrossed in the conversation, in what was happening around the meal, but Phil was already returning his spoon to the dish, streaks of leftover yogurt warped on the metal surface. Salty and savory food was delicious, but half the fun of it was setting up his palate for an exceptionally delicious dessert. And there it was, in front of him, hardly admired for its restaurant-quality aesthetic before Phil had attacked it.
Across the table, a dimple had formed on one side of Dan’s cheek and it was all Phil could think about, perhaps other than this parfait is delicious.
And then, that’s different.
Then, glancing first at his spoon, then at the side of the glass dish holding his dessert— this has chocolate in it.
“Shit,” he muttered. When he held up the small glass for a closer inspection, there it was: an unmistakable chocolate brown, cookie crumbles of some kind.
“What?”
Phil squinted, as if an even closer look could change the chemical makeup of the chocolate – turn it into blueberries or more granola or even white chocolate. “There’s chocolate in this.”
“Really?” Dan made a grabbing motion with his fingers over the table, then held up the dish for a similar inspection. He frowned. “Who the hell puts chocolate cookie in a fruit parfait?”
“Dan!” Phil hissed, looking around for critical stares. He knew there probably wasn’t anyone around who would care, especially not the serving staff, but his instincts were up.
Dan rolled his eyes, then repeated in a harsh whisper: “Who the hell puts chocolate cookie in a fruit parfait?” He paused, then: “Did it say anything about chocolate on the menu?”
“No.” Phil was sure. “I definitely checked.”
Dan grumbled something about a liability and brought the dish back down. He didn’t reach over to return it to Phil, but rather swapped it for his own dish, placing his original dessert across the table.
“What’re you doing?”
“Swapping.”
Phil blinked. “Why?”
Dan picked up his spoon, then looked at Phil with a scowl and a raised eyebrow. He shook his head slightly, as if to say, Why do you think, stupid?
“You love baklava, I can’t take this.”
“I also love parfait. I love most sweet things.”
Before Dan had the chance to take it back, Phil preened and batted his eyelashes at him.
“Oh shut up. I also love not having to deal with you when you get chocolate sick.”
Phil smiled down at his new dessert, too intent on harassing Dan to correct chocolate sick to the world’s worst migraine.
“You like sweet things,” he murmured, screwing his lips up into the imitation of an over-shy smile.
Dan groaned. “I’m leaving you at home next time.”
2
Dan was having the time of his life, and Phil was having the time of his life watching Dan have the time of his life.
The United Kingdom was, by no means, the roller coaster capital of the world. They exist, at least. They’re there. They’re accessible to the general public. But they aren’t huge, and there aren’t a lot, and they’re not…the best. And when you have a long-term specific interest in roller coasters, they just don’t compare.
So when they found themselves on the American East Coast and a group of old friends suggested a day trip, Dan was quick with the suggestion of a theme park day.
It was a theme park they had visited before, but it had been a while, and Phil knew how much Dan wanted to go back. They have this one, Phil, the really tall one that has the sudden drop— and the other one with the corkscrews under the tunnel. Phil remembered, of course, but half the fun of it was in observing Dan’s fun, letting him get excited about the trip, about the coasters, letting him throw wall upon wall of rollercoaster monologuing at him while they stood in another hour-long line.
Phil knew that Dan could sense when Phil couldn’t take it anymore, when the straps of his backpack wore rashes on his shoulders, when the warmth of the sun made him too sweaty or sleepy, when his brain had been properly scrambled by jagged tracks all day and he just wanted a nap. Dan knew when to stop. Phil was grateful. But Phil also didn’t want to ruin that fun for Dan, not when it was such a rare treat to spend the day at a theme park of such a high caliber. So Phil would always try to ward off the signs of his exhaustion, hopefully prolonging Dan’s joy just a little bit longer.
With the sounds of violent whooshing around them now, Phil wagered that he had another hour or two before his expiration time. He wouldn’t push it. He’d had a great day so far, and the painkiller and nausea reducers had done their work. He would just cruise along with wherever the group went, keep a light smile on his face, and take measured sips of his water until he came to a resolute stopping point.
It was right around this moment that they passed a ride that Phil had, for the last several years, blessedly forgotten about.
Years ago, this was the ride that had given him his first major taste of a migraine, and had so far been the only roller coaster he’d ever been on that had made him sick. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon nauseated at even the thought of a rollercoaster. It wasn’t anything special, he thought. In fact, he rather thought ill of it based on his experience. It was old and wooden, it rattled your body like thunder, the turns were too sharp and too sudden and it made you wonder how anyone — at all — liked rollercoasters in the 1980s.
He would’ve walked right past it if no one had said anything, but a friend of theirs saw the entrance and the short wait time estimate and suddenly, everyone was interested.
Phil fixed his face.
Well, he didn’t want to be a buzzkill and make his friends feel guilty by sitting this one out, but he definitely didn’t want to repeat the last experience. At least then, he and Dan had been alone, and they only rode it once. But now? The embarrassment of puking in front of everyone, mixed with the guilt he’d feel about the migraine afterwards turning him into a weak link—
“Oh, actually, Phil and I were talking about stopping for a drink we had last time, but they usually have long lines. You guys go ahead, we’ll catch up with you.”
Dan had spoken up just at the moment that Phil was planning to, but he wasn’t expecting this. He anticipated waving everyone off and finding a spare patch of concrete or curb to rest on, playing on his phone until the ride was over and praying they only wanted to ride once. He supposed he could still do that, but now he had Dan – a far better alternative to pretending not to look lonely for up to an hour.
He looked over at Dan, who did not meet his eye. Their friends split off with a temporary farewell, and Dan turned away from them.
He stopped when he saw Phil looking.
“Thanks,” Phil said softly. He wasn’t sure if he felt like being sincere or if he just couldn’t think of a quip fast enough, but the gratitude was genuine.
Dan smiled infinitesimally, then walked with Phil side-by-side up the concrete hill.
“I’ve been on that one already,” he shrugged. “It’s not all that.”
Still, something in Phil’s chest ached with knowing how well, how quickly Dan could read him. He was a grown boy, he would’ve been fine to wait on his own. But he couldn’t lie and say he wouldn’t enjoy it much more like this, with Dan to save face and keep him company.
“You’re right,” Phil said, smiling and pushing his elbow into Dan’s. “We’ve got better rides at home.”
Dan shot him a sideways look, then scoffed a small laugh. “No the fuck we do not. Alton and Thorpe are fine, I guess, but—”
Phil suppressed a smile at Dan’s density. When Dan saw it and realized what Phil meant, he shoved him playfully with both hands.
“Shut up!” He laughed.
Phil staggered, laughing with him.
“What about Howell?”
Dan grabbed Phil by the shoulders, then spun him around. “Never mind, I’m getting on that ride, and I’m taking you with me.”
“No!” Phil yelped and fought with mock-resistance. When he broke free (when Dan let him go), he bounced in the other direction. “I want my drink!”
Phil led the way, not bothering to check if Dan was behind him.
He knew he was.
3
Phil had been putting off this phone call all day. Rather than getting it over with first thing in the morning, which could’ve freed his mental and emotional energy for other tasks, he filled his day with trivial things, things that took too long and didn’t matter whatsoever, until he found himself, mid-afternoon, staring at his phone.
Fucking insurance.
And the thing is, he probably would’ve been less anxious about it if he had just done it this morning. There wouldn’t have been any time to ruminate over how many ways the guy could tell him off, or tell him no, or make him feel like an idiot. But now, Phil had equipped himself with branches of fragmenting possibilities, all equally horrifying, that detailed all the embarrassing and awful ways that this conversation could end with him feeling like shit.
It was just a call to clear up information about their home insurance. He was smart, he told himself. He knew about these things. He was competent.
Putting one metaphorical foot in front of the other, he opened his laptop and logged onto the insurance site. This way, everything was prepared. If the guy had a question that Phil didn’t know the answer to, he could just look it up in front of him.
This was how Dan found him as he walked by: Spine hunched, vacant-eyed, head in hands, one screen open to their personal housing information and one screen opened to the dialing pad, number already punched in.
“What—”
“I think I would literally, like, rather die than make this phone call.”
Rather than retort, Dan leaned over Phil’s shoulder to get a closer look at his laptop screen.
“What’s wrong with the house?”
“Nothing, I don’t think, but our bill was a little higher than it was last quarter. I think they fucked something up with the damage protection we added, but I can’t fix it online. I have to talk to them to sort it out.”
Behind him, Dan stretched out one arm and hit the green call button on Phil’s phone.
Phil yelped, grabbed his phone, then immediately hung up. “Dan!”
“Wha— you need to call them, right?”
“Yeah, but, I haven’t…practiced.”
Dan leveled him a look as Phil turned back towards his laptop.
“Okay, you know what the problem is, yeah?”
Phil waffled. “I mean, yes, as much as I can.”
Dan slowly stretched his hand out, then gingerly plucked Phil’s phone from his hand.
“And you want to get it fixed? You don’t want these leeches to have any more of our money than they need?”
Dan punched in Phil’s passcode without even looking at the screen, then navigated to the “Recents” tab. His thumb hovered over the most recent call, waiting for Phil’s signal.
Phil sighed. “Alright.”
Instead of handing the phone back to Phil, Dan brought it up to his own ear. He navigated through the automated robot that transferred their call to the right representative, giving them details Phil didn’t even know Dan knew.
And then, Dan took over the call. When he didn’t know the answer to a question, Phil supplied it for him. When they both didn’t know, they looked it up on their account. Phil kept waiting for Dan to hand the phone over, or to raise his voice or get snippy with the person he was talking to, but he never did.
And when the issue was cleared — a mistaken charge that would be refunded to their account and cleared from future billing — Dan said a polite goodbye to the operator and hung up.
“Thank God,” he said, placing Phil’s phone back on the table. “Hungry?”
Phil felt his shoulders relax for the first time all day, and he found that yes, he was incredibly hungry.
“Starving.”
4
If he could, he would sink his head into a bucket of snow, scalp first. He could imagine it, the instant relief it would surely give him, the faint hsssss of the snow melting against his overheated head. The cold would wiggle its way through his hair follicles and straight into his brain, into the core where the migraine was stored, and freeze the synapses that were forcing Phil into such a position in the middle of the day.
But, he didn’t have snow. And as it turns out, he didn’t have any painkillers, either.
There it was, in nearly-faded script: EXP 06/2024.
Phil could weep, but he knew that would only make the pain worse. Instead, he shook one of the pills out and swallowed it dry. It may not be as effective as it could be — hell, they weren’t even prescription, just regular over-the-counter drugs — but surely it wouldn’t hurt. He’d already taken the maximum dose of his prescriptions, even the ones that were deemed “as needed.” That was hours ago. He needed something now.
Not bothering to put the bottle back in the cabinet, Phil cut his phone off. It had been the only light source he could stand, but he knew his house relatively well enough to stumble back to bed in the dark.
His eyes snapped open some time later to the feeling of a hand in his hair. He couldn’t see well, but he gathered his bearings enough to remember cutting all the lights and crawling into bed.
With the small glow of natural lights seeping behind the black-out curtains, Phil could make out Dan’s shape sitting next to him on the edge of the bed.
Dan massaged his scalp with his fingers, just hard enough to feel like relief, but not so hard that it was painful.
“How are you feeling?” Dan murmured.
Phil hummed. Caught between an approving hum for the massage and a disgruntled hum for the migraine, the tone was ambiguous at best. He pushed his head into Dan’s hand some more.
“Shit,” Phil grunted. He reached out to lay a hand on Dan’s thigh, but the pant leg was damp. “What—”
“Sorry, it’s raining.” Dan reached beside him, and Phil could hear the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Would this help?”
There wasn’t enough light in the room to read anything on the label, but Phil could tell it was a bottle of something. When he lifted his hand to grab it, it felt like the same bottle from earlier.
“I took one, but they’re expired.”
“Not these,” Dan said, opening the bottle and pulling out a few pills. “At least I hope not. I just bought them.”
“Really?” Phil couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
“Yes, you clod. You didn’t even put the cap back on that other one.” He rifled again in the bag next to him, this time pulling out a bottle of water. “Can you sit up?”
Phil pushed himself up to a slumped sitting position, downing two of the pills and half the bottle of water. How long had he been knocked out?
“Do you need anything to eat?” Dan asked.
“No. I’ll be hungry when it’s over, but I can’t think about food right now.” Phil reached over to put the bottle of water on his nightstand. “Can I have a cuddle instead? What time is it?”
Dan huffed a small laugh. “It’s half five,” he said, standing and shucking his jeans. “I’ll give you an hour in bed, and then I’m getting up and forcing you to eat.”
Phil hummed. The bed dipped next to him, and cool air rushed into his cocoon at his back. Phil turned over to bury his head in Dan’s chest as warm arms enveloped him.
Before he began the fight for sleep, he inhaled the deep scent of Dan’s shirt beneath him, letting it out in a whisper.
“Thank you.”
5
Mum had a heart attack. In hospital now. She’s fine.
Phil stared at his phone, reading and rereading the text. He looked up, then looked back down, wondering if his eyes were being made fools of his other senses, or else worth all the rest combined.
A new text came in, a small vibration from his phone on his palm.
What?? Dad, what does “fine” mean?
Okay, Martyn was seeing it, too. Phil shot back the first thing on his mind.
How bad was the heart attack?
Where was his bag? Phone clutched in his hand, he jogged to his room, rummaging through the closet until he found his short-travel backpack. It was largely unpacked from the last time he took a trip home — toiletries, socks, and even a clean shirt were in there already. He started throwing in more clothes, the first ones he could get his hands on, when his phone buzzed again.
Very small heart attack. She’s only in hospital for monitoring and testing.
That helped, but barely. It didn’t stop his mind from racing. It didn’t stop his heart beating loudly in his chest.
He had to stop. He had to take things one at a time.
“Dan?”
No response, though he rushed through the house to look for him. Phil found him upstairs, headphones on and absorbed in a game.
Dan looked up at him when he entered, then abruptly paused the game and removed his headphones.
“What happened?”
“Mum had a heart attack. I’m taking the first train there.”
Dan tossed his headphones to the table and stood in a rush. “What?”
“She’s okay, apparently. It was small. But she’s in hospital and I want to be there.”
“Have you looked at trains?”
Phil’s brain hurt. There were too many worries flying past his brain, and he could only hold onto so many of them to try to fix it.
“No, not—”
Dan cut him off. “Okay, let me look. Go pack.”
Phil nodded, turning on the sole of his foot and recentering his attention to the items he definitely needed to pack. He just picked up what he could on the way back to the backpack in his room: phone charger, emergency medication, regular medication, a small bottle of his purple shampoo–
His phone buzzed. It was a direct message from Martyn.
I’m thinking about making a visit to check on mum.
Phil dropped his items on the bed, then shot a quick text back.
I’m packing now. Getting there as soon as I can.
Phil tossed his phone onto the bed with the rest of the pile and surveyed the collection. He had no idea what he would actually need or what he was currently missing. He really didn’t even know how long he would be there, or where he would sleep, or what he would eat. How long were they going to keep her there? What were they going to find out?
Phil sat on the edge of the bed, forcing himself to breathe. She was okay. He didn’t have any control over what they would find, but he could assure himself that she was still here, and his dad wasn’t panicking, and Martyn would be there with them, too.
He suppressed the real anxiety: the knowledge that his parents were only getting older.
His phone buzzed at the same moment Dan walked in.
“That’s me. Screenshot of your ticket out of Euston in two hours. I thought that would give you enough time.” He looked up to the spread of Phil’s items across the bed. “What do you have already?” he asked, already rifling through the backpack.
Phil searched through his memory, but he felt like he was moving through water. “Um, not much. A couple outfits. The stuff I can’t live without, like my meds.”
Dan was quiet for another moment as he searched through the bag.
“Okay,” he said, facing Phil. “I’ll take care of the rest of your clothes. You need to go get your toothbrush, your spare glasses, and the shoes you want to wear. Can you do that?”
Phil made a face in admonition. “Yes, Dan, I can do that.”
When he got to his feet, Dan put a gentle hand on his arm.
“Phil. She’s okay.”
It didn’t take much. He could worry himself to death about it, but just Dan telling him that she was fine stole all the breath from him and filled his head with thoughts of where he’d be had she not been fine. His sudden agitation was gone as fast as it had arrived, and he found himself grasping for a stable hold on himself. Before his chin wobbled, he brought both hands to his face.
The light seeping through his fingers dimmed into darkness, and he found himself enveloped.
“She’s okay,” Dan said more firmly, just past his ear. Phil took one breath, two, internalising the thought as much as he could.
“She’s okay,” he whispered back. He could believe it. He would believe it if Dan could believe it.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat, refusing to let it take control of him. He could keep it together. He at least needed to remain composed until he could get on that train.
“Now go,” Dan said, breaking off and giving Phil’s shoulder a shove. “Go pack so you can see her for yourself.”
+1
Phil knew it was a bad day when the coffee went cold.
He’d rolled over in bed that morning to find Dan still asleep — at least, that’s what Phil thought at the time. He’d kissed his temple, asked if he wanted a coffee, and when he got a muted grunt that sounded enough like affirmation, he tossed back the duvet and padded to the kitchen.
Now, he stopped, staring at the coffee he had dropped off for Dan over an hour ago, as well as the lump under the covers beside it.
He almost called out on instinct to ask what was wrong, but he knew better than that by now. Dan was a giant baby when he was physically ill. He would’ve made an issue like that pretty clear, lounging on the couch in the living room and batting his eyelashes at Phil for snacks and water refills all day.
This was something else, and Phil hadn’t seen it in a while.
Quietly, he walked on socked feet to their shared closet, rummaging until he found the weighted blanket folded in the corner. He repressed the urge to grunt under its weight. It felt soft under his fingers, and he unfolded it as gently as he could.
Half dragging the giant mass to the bed, he pulled the weighted blanket over Dan. Dan looked up at him with heavy, but unsleepy eyelids.
“Don’t overheat,” Phil said. “I’m bringing you some water.”
Phil returned with water minutes later, placing it next to the still-untouched mug of coffee. He thought about forcing Dan to take a few sips now, but he decided not to press the issue. Dan may have loved to be babied when he was physically ill, but during an episode like this, it was quite the inverse. Better to let him find his way back to his own needs and make that decision for himself. Phil would step in if he had to.
Before he left, he pulled out a nightlight from one of their drawers: a gaudy, novelty thing that emitted an emerald green cast on half the room. Finding an outlet somewhere on the edge of Dan’s periphery, he plugged it in and switched it on.
A cozy depression room, if he had any say in it. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t sure what actually helped, only what had seemed to work on Dan over the years.
It had been a rocky road at first. Neither of them really knew what was happening or how to “fix” it. Too many nights ended in one or both of them more frustrated than they were earlier with still no idea where to start. Or worse, Dan would just emotionally check out and refuse to engage. Phil had felt so hopeless during that time, throwing anything at him just to try to make him feel better. It was like trying to put out a house fire with a glass of milk. Nothing helped – or if it did, it didn’t show.
It took a lot of time, communication, and medication to get to where they were now. Phil was able to let go of his need to “fix” when they both understood that it wasn’t something he could fix. Instead, he could focus on making the way through a bit easier. He couldn’t fix a broken bone for someone, but he could give them paracetamol. He couldn’t make Dan’s depression disappear, but he could make sure he was physically comfortable, make sure he was fed and nurtured at a very basic level.
When he returned later, just enough to peek through the doorway, Dan hadn’t moved. It looked like he’d tossed around a bit, but nothing else had changed.
Right. This was around the time that he usually decided to step in. Just the little things.
Phil came back a few minutes later carrying a large plate of small snacks – vegetable crisps, ham on crackers, carrots with ranch – and placed it gingerly on the nightstand next to his own side of the bed. When he lifted the covers and sat underneath them, Dan at least had the energy to roll over and look at him with minor interest.
“Hello there,” Phil murmured, running a hand through Dan’s hair. Dan gave no inclination as to whether he enjoyed the touch, or even Phil’s presence, but continued to roll his body underneath the blankets to face Phil. He took that as a good sign.
“I want you to eat something,” he said to the back of Dan’s head. It was better to be direct, he’d learned. Dan was a man who revelled in defying expectations, whether it was conscious or not. If Phil came to him with a smile and a perky attitude during a day like this, Dan was only more likely to retreat back into his shell. Instead, Phil mellowed a little, meeting Dan at the same level of frankness.
Even with his hand still in his hair, he could feel Dan take a deep breath.
“Okay,” he heard, muffled by the blankets and pillows.
Slowly, Dan crawled his way into a sitting position, while Phil reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate he’d brought with him.
Looking at the spread already prepared, Dan quirked his eyebrow. “I’m being ambushed.”
Phil let out a smile, both acknowledging his scheme and happy that Dan was able to crack a joke, however small.
“You’d better not get crumbs all over my bed,” Dan mumbled.
Phil pointed at him, happy to have been given the perfect segue to his master plan.
“That’s exactly it. I’m going to eat whatever you don’t eat, right here. The more you eat, the less chance I’ll have to get your bed messy.”
Dan hummed, still staring at the plate balanced on the bedspread in front of him. “And when you get the bed messy and I get upset and insist you clean it, then you have to kick me out of the bed to get the sheets in the wash. And I’ll be out of bed.”
This was why there was no point in trying to outsmart or coddle Dan. Just because he was depressed didn’t mean he wasn’t still sharp as a tack.
“Right,” Dan sighed. He paused, then grabbed one of the crackers.
Phil grabbed his phone while Dan picked through a meagre lunch, not wanting to generate too much pressure or attention by watching him like a hawk. He could see everything disappear, piece by piece, from his peripheral vision.
He’d been watching Tiktoks on mute, but when Dan scootched closer, he increased the volume. He wasn’t sure if Dan wanted the physical presence or the entertainment, but Phil was happy to offer both while he finished eating.
“I’m done,” Dan said. Phil looked over at the plate and found three individual crisps and one carrot leftover. He hummed appreciatively.
“Sure hope no ranch gets the bed when I eat that carrot.”
“I will actually kill you.” Dan stretched over to reach the bottle of water on his nightstand, the one Phil had placed there earlier. That had been another scheme of his: to offer dry and salty foods in the hopes of provoking a thirst response. If Dan had caught onto that one, he didn’t say.
Phil ate the rest in two bites, taking care not to spread crumbs over the bed. Dan settled back under the blankets, though not as much as he’d been before. He propped his head against Phil’s bicep and threw an arm around his torso.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil ventured. He listened to the sound of Dan’s breathing for a moment before he spoke.
“No.” Phil felt Dan shake his head against his arm. “There’s…nothing to talk about. It’s just here. Gone tomorrow.”
Unable to help himself, Phil leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Dan’s head.
“Meds?”
“Yeah.”
They sat in the silence for a few moments longer. Phil went through the list in his head: Dan had received food and water, his usual medication, more than enough sleep, physical comforts, and space. From past experience, the day could continue in any direction. Dan could go back to his cave, or he could start to venture out a little farther. It was a decision that Phil had nothing to do with, so he didn’t push it.
Dan let out a big sigh, then nuzzled his head into Phil’s arm.
“Okay,” he muttered. “I’m saying it out loud so I’ll do it.”
Phil waited, fingers mentally crossed for some good news.
“A shower with one of those steamer things first. I can’t promise I won’t get back in bed after that. But if I don’t, maybe you play Pokopia on the TV? I’ll watch on the couch?”
Phil could’ve punched the air. It was a venturing out day. Even if Dan did go back to bed after the shower, the shower itself was a win. Expressing interest in a shower was a win.
“Sounds like a dream,” Phil sighed. He nudged Dan with his taken arm. “Can I start the shower for you?”
Dan grunted. “Sure.”
When Phil moved to get up, Dan tightened his grip around him.
There was a pause, pregnant with hesitation, before Dan whispered, “Thank you.”
Phil brushed his curls again with his fingers, gently, before pressing another kiss to the crown of his head.
“You’re welcome. Always.”