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When Phil goes to bed that night, he doesn’t feel very great.
It was a typical evening for them. He and Dan did their routine “cuddle while doomscrolling” session that they always do before sleeping, with Dan mindlessly swiping through Instagram reels and Phil zoned out while scrolling on tiktok. It was chill. Yet as soon as he opened the app, Phil’s head began to hurt.
He sighed from the impending doom of an incoming migraine, but kept scrolling anyway. Dan held him a little tighter before he finally rolled over to his side of the bed. He had complained to Phil about being tired after filming the podcast that day, so it was not a surprise to Phil that he fell asleep quickly.
By the time Dan was gently snoring, Phil’s brain was relentlessly pounding in his skull. It was weird. He hadn't had such a sudden migraine that came on this fast and strong for some time, and he was positive he hadn't eaten chocolate or done anything that would trigger one this intense.
Phil wasn’t sure when exactly he managed to fall asleep, all he knows is that the tiktok videos kept getting weirder and weirder as his vision got blurrier and blurrier. He started to get nauseous, and that’s when his phone gracefully slipped from his hand onto the sheets as his eyes fluttered closed.
“Phil! Phil!” A harsh force shook his shoulder roughly, “Wake up! I have a surprise!” His eyes shot open as he rolled onto his other side, facing the edge of the bed. Dan was standing over him, towering over him—like literally, he looked taller than usual.
Dan shook him again, making Phil reluctantly rise off the bed. He must have fallen asleep fast. His head was still throbbing, but it wasn’t as terrible as when he fell asleep earlier. He needed to find the WAD hat, it always did the trick.
He looks out their window, not seeing much aside from a few stars floating around in the bright pink sky. It felt as if they were watching him—and why is the sky pink in the middle of the day? It was a very familiar shade of hot pink— but he could not pin point why he recognized it.
As he wearily glanced around the room, not really registering anything of importance, he realized what Dan was wearing. The top half of his outfit was from the black suit he bought for their recent Easter baking video, steamed flat and buttoned up high. However, the bottom half was… uh… it wasn’t much of anything, really. His legs were clad in fishnet stockings, and his crotch was covered by… is that the pattern of his Minecraft pajamas on a mini skirt?
Phil mumbled, “what—why are you wearing that?”
Dan guided Phil out of the bed and across the lime green carpeted floor, "I thrift flipped your minecraft trousers.” Phil made a confused face as he was gently pulled away from the bed, “for the video, bub.”
“Huh—” Dan casually guided Phil out of their bedroom, “what video—Ah!” As they crossed the threshold of their bedroom door, everything suddenly got very bright and Phil’s head throbbed in pain again. Where is that hat?
Dan didn’t say anything else. Phil squeezed his eyes closed to gain his composure, and then opened them gradually once the bright light subsided.
He suddenly found himself in an elevator, an instrumental jazz song playing in the distance. It sounded suspiciously like a Mario Kart theme track.
He blinked a few times in confusion, because he was positive they never installed an elevator or such a robust speaker system in their house. Then again, Dan was the one always talking to the builders and telling them what to do. He must have forgotten to tell Phil about the elevator installment.
“This might make the mortgage go up.” Phil complained to no one, because apparently Dan wasn’t even in the elevator with him. He did a full body spin, but he was nowhere to be found in the tiny moving box. Moving box. He didn’t know where he was going, but a glance at the buttons told him it was floor seven.
Seven.
Why Seven? Since when did they have seven floors in their house? Phil ponders the meaning of the number seven. There are seven members in BTS, maybe that's why Dan chose to have this many levels.
Phil rubs his eyes and winces. The headache was getting worse, and there was still no sign of that damn hat. It certainly wasn’t in this tiny elevator that looked a lot like the one from their shared Manchester apartment.
With a sudden ding, the rip off Mario jazz music stopped. Instead, there was what was probably supposed to be a pretty violin playing on the other side of the elevator doors, but it only hurt Phil’s sensitive ears. He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to ease the pain.
The doors to the elevator opened with a clunky bang, and he suddenly got very nauseous. The open metal doors revealed the inside of a church, with a full wedding venue. Phil can’t really describe the theme of the event—everything was very white; very traditional.
Wait—wedding reception. He must be getting married, which is why he is feeling nauseous. Right, it's just nerves. No wonder.
Everyone stood up and stared at him, waiting for him to walk down the aisle as the violin continued. Almost everyone’s face was a skin tone blob, except for Dan’s. He stood at the end of the aisle, smiling softly with his entire suit on. Phil gulped at the thought of Dan having his fishnet stockings underneath, but he gathered himself. Priorities, Phil, priorities. It is their big day. Finally.
He took a deep breath, and looked down. It was then that he realized he was in an odd dress that had the pattern of his old bedsheets—the ‘phedsheets’. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this was being filmed. He hopes no one sees this abhorrent dress. Why the hell was he wearing this?
Also, a church certainly would not have been his or Dan’s first choice of venue. He’s thought about it, many times. He doubts Dan would appreciate any semblance of religious theme to their special day, unless there was a sexy priest involved. Phil didn’t care much for churches generally.
One of the few faces among the blurry crowd he could recognize was his grandmother. She leaned in close to Phil from the back of the seating area right before his proper walk down the aisle began. She smiles softly and whispers into his ear, “the stars told me about your knight, honey.” His mouth falls ajar for a second, but then he gathers his composure. He shook his head, willing away the paranoia and confusion. Afterall, this was his big day that he’d waited almost twenty years for. He takes a deep breath of air.
He slowly started walking down the aisle, socked feet walking across the carpet. No one seemed to notice his mismatched patterned socks. He smiled nervously, being slightly put off by the fact that he had to keep walking. He kept walking, and walking, and—was the room getting longer? He could not tell.
Dan kept smiling, but his face was getting farther and farther away. People started laughing, but Phil couldn’t make out any of their faces. He was overwhelmed. He hated his dress and the brightness of the church and the stupid loud violin playing what he quickly realized was an instrumental version of the Hard Launch podcast theme—this was supposed to be his perfect day, and he couldn’t even remember when Dan proposed to him in the first place.
He felt hot tears travel down his face as he stumbled to the ground in a lump of shame. He closed his eyes, and just let the tears flow. This feels so stupid—his head hurts and he still can’t find his lucky hat—why can’t he just get to that damn altar already?
He kept his eyes tightly shut as the laughter and music began to fade into the distance. He focused on his breathing and tried to find his zen. He told himself that this was fine, that maybe they can just do their wedding another day when everyone is feeling less evil and he’s dry swallowed five ibuprofens. Or maybe they could just not do a wedding at all.
He shakily wipes his eyes. He’s shocked when he finally opens his eyes again, because he is no longer at the ugly wedding venue and wearing that god forsaken dress.
No, he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a plaid shirt from Top Man. He grasps the vibe that he's inhabiting an older version of his body, his younger self. Lanky limbs and dyed hair blocking part of his vision. Simply not quite the man he is usually, for some reason. He notices that he's standing in another small box, but this one's got padded seats with shiny white walls—Oh!
He is on the Manchester Eye.
He notices that it's nighttime as he gazes out of the window at the starry sky, and they are far above the city. They—yeah, Dan is here. Of course he is, because they always ride the Manchester Eye together when he visits from Wokingham. This must be, like, the umpteenth time they’ve done this.
Dan is also wearing skinny jeans, a pair that Phil hasn’t seen in a long time. Phil turns to look up at Dan’s face, who is still staring out of the window at the beautiful night sky. He’s taken aback because Dan looks much younger than when he last saw him tonight, his hair now straightened and mostly hidden by his furry trapper hat. He’s a little shorter and his face is softer around the edges. Damn, what kind of workout routine has he been doing lately? Dan has always had a baby face, but are there steroids that reverse aging? Is that why Phil got a text about a large bank transaction a few days ago?
“Phiw,” Dan turns to look back at Phil, “Can I… kiss you?”
Phil stares into those sweet brown eyes, as his heart begins to pound in his chest. He feels like he’s lived this exact moment before, over and over. It's as if he knows exactly how this is going to go, their fate written in the bright stars that currently watch over them. They slightly resemble pieces of cheese, though Phil tries not to dwell on that realization.
Phil can hear the stars talking, muttering amongst themselves in a language that sounds like powdery ash and liquid gold. They glide down from above like little pixies, leaving a trail of stardust behind. They gently whisper the answer to Dan’s question into Phil’s ear. The words flow through his brain and dance out of his lips with ease.
Where exactly was Phil before this? Did he even exist before this?
Phil agrees. The young men waste no time and lean into each other, chaste lips pressed into a gentle kiss of care and love as they reach the peak of the ferris wheel. They could look at the beautiful city from this high now, but there will be plenty of opportunities to do that in the future. This passionate kiss is far more important.
Phil’s done this many times, but he will never complain about it. The stars are always right, they always know best for him. Golden stardust surrounds them in a flurry of sweet affection.
They kiss for what feels like both no time and forever. As the kiss grows more heated, he feels Dan slip something onto what must be his hand—his finger, more specifically.
He hesitantly leans away from Dan, confused. The object on his finger is small and cold, like a—
A ring.
He stares in utter shock as Dan gets down onto one knee, “Philip Mildred Lester,” that’s definitely not his middle name, “will you marry me?”
Phil has an epiphany.
This is a dream.
Phil knows for sure because Dan would never ever do this—especially young, emo and skinny jean wearing, closeted Dan. They’ve talked about it recently of course, but back then— gay marriage wasn’t even legal. Which is another reason why Phil knows this is a dream. Whichever distant memory this is loosely based on, marriage wasn’t even a possibility at the time. When was this, 2010? Maybe 2011? No matter the exact year, Dan would have at least gotten Phil’s middle name correct.
Dream Dan smiles, waiting for his answer. He pushes his fringe out of his face, tucking some of his brown bangs into the silly hat.
As much as Phil would love for this to be true and real, he knows it's not and may never be—and honestly, that’s okay. He’s perfectly happy with how things are now. He respects what real Dan wants—what he fears.
Of course, if they ever did get married, he certainly wouldn’t complain about it. And he’d certainly wear something much better than that god awful plaid Ikea bedsheet dress that has plagued his bizarre career.
The dream world begins to fade, the prophetic stars in the sky begin to sound like what must be the washing machine down the hall from their bedroom. The Manchester Eye no longer feels high in the air any more. He fears his head might still be hurting as his consciousness returns to his physical body.
He smiles at Dan, young and naive, awaiting Phil’s answer with a hopeful face. “I promise we will be together for quite a long time.” He kindly tells the young vision of Dan—Phil knows he needs the assurance. The boy looks up at him with stars shining in his night sky eyes.
Phil sighs as his body starts to wake up, glancing down at his newly adorned ring.
“Dan,” wait a damn minute, “is this the fucking one pound Tesco ring?”
Suddenly he shoots up off of his bed, jarringly forced back into reality. He’s covered in sweat and breathing heavily. The bedsheets, his current ones that do not look like the goddamn Ikea blanket, are pooled around his hips. The sun is shining through a crack in the dark blackout curtains, the line of light shining almost directly into his face. Ugh.
Phil releases a frazzled sigh. He rubs his eyes, tired and still a little bothered by a slight throbbing in the back of his skull. Man, what a strange dream. This will make for quite an interesting story segment on the podcast.
He mindlessly glances to the other side of the bed, and finds a shirtless Dan staring at him. He’s still under the covers, but obviously awake. Phil forgets about his headache for just a second, reveling in Dan’s gaze no matter what emotion it may reflect.
The weird expression on his face, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. Phil must have woken him up by accident.
“What did you say about that fuckass Tesco ring?” Dan scoffs, attempting to fix his messy bed hair. It's endearing how after all these years, he's still always trying to style his hair.
Phil reaches to his bedside table, picking up his favorite hat. He places it snugly on his head, already feeling the dull ache finally recede. He then turns to face Dan, sporting a rather cheeky expression.
“No ring,” Phil grins lovingly, “just a promise.”