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It was a picture Dan had taken on the previous Saturday, so technically that was already a lie.
Phil had been in his pyjamas on the sofa, and his cheeks had been bulging with donut, and his mouth had been smeared with the chocolate of its glaze.
Because it was ironic, see?
“Because it’s ironic, see?” he explained to Phil, who had been squinting at his phone ever since he’d tweeted it.
“Is it?” Phil asked.
Dan frowned. “Yes,” he said. “Look, because they asked
@frantanotonfire: @danisnotonfire what is the sexiest thing youve seen today
and I said
@danisnotonfire: @frantanotonfire this, totally.
and there’s a picture of you looking like a total mess, yeah? Because it’s ironic,” he insisted. “See?”
Phil said: “Well, yes, but-”
“What?” Dan said. “What,” he repeated, a bit warily now, watching Phil squint more at the screen.
“Have you checked your mentions since?” Phil asked.
“No,” Dan said, in tones of deep foreboding.
“Ah, that’s fine then,” Phil said, and plucked his phone out of his grasp before he realised what was happening.
“Phil!” he said.
“What are we having for lunch?” Phil asked cheerily. “I’m thinking sushi. You can have your shrimp, I can have my little fish eggs you loathe.”
“Phil,” he said.
“It’s just, you know,” Phil hedged, “the normal things they say. You know our audience! What a laugh they are. A regular riot. Ha ha.”
Dan made an attempt at snatching it back. For someone so poorly coordinated, Phil was annoyingly fast at darting something away from Dan’s reaching fingers. He launched a tickle attack instead, but Phil gasped and huffed hysterically and still managed to hold it out of his reach. They struggled and shrieked and ended up sprawled across the couch, Dan half on Phil’s chest with his head hanging off the side, and Phil still holding the phone far above their heads.
“Hate you,” Dan said, and Phil laughed a bit breathlessly and used his spare arm to ruffle his hair.
Dan was feeling the blood slowly and headily rush to his head as he hung, upside down, watching the view from between the legs of their coffee table. “Is it really that bad?”
“No,” Phil said. “No, oh. It’s not.” He tugged at Dan’s hair firmly. “Get up, you arse, you’ll get all dizzy and collapse into the table again.”
Dan resettled himself onto his chest, redistributing all his weight onto his awful, terrible boyfriend.
“Now you’re squashing me,” Phil complained.
“Good-o,” Dan agreed. He shifted the position of his ear, a bit, searching, until he could hear the heartbeat that had steadied him for years. “So tell me.”
Phil’s chest moved with a sigh. “Promise it’s nothing much.”
Dan waited.
“They’re just saying I look, like, freshly fucked or something, sex hair and glasses, and the bulge of the donut in my mouth looks like, um-”
He paused reflectively. “I bet the edits with the dicks are going to be so good.”
“...oh,” Dan said.
“Yep,” Phil said.
“It’s your own fault for always looking so ravaged in the morning, you know.”
“Sure it is,” Phil agreed, and Dan felt the shape of his phone against his back as Phil finally brought it down.
He lifted his head and folded his arms under his chin, so he could look at Phil properly.
Phil met his gaze, as clear as the colour of a stormy sea ever looked.
“I didn’t check properly,” Dan said. “I should have asked. If you want me to take it down-”
“No,” Phil said. “No, you know they’re just taking the piss.”
His hand, the one not holding the phone, came up to stroke up Dan’s back, a slow, soothing sweep. Then down again, thumb over every bump of spine, like Dan was a skittish animal that needed to be given physical reassurance that everything was alright, everything was just fine.
“They’ve done worse,” Dan agreed wryly.
“Yes,” Phil said, smiling down at him.
“That’s okay then, if you’re okay,” Dan said. Phil nodded, and Dan was more relieved than he’d thought he’d be. “You didn’t need to literally jump out at me like a fucking ghou - wait,” he said, suddenly. “Why were you so worried I’d see, then?”
“Oh. I overreacted.” Phil looked a bit embarrassed about that, as well he might. “Um, I don’t know why.”
“You do know,” Dan accused.
“I do know,” Phil said, poking his tongue out at him.
He was so dumb, Dan swore to God. He dug into his ribs in retaliation, and then stretched up and kissed his jaw, just because he was so ridiculous.
“Alright, alright,” Phil said, breathless again, laughing. “You brat. I thought you’d see and delete in a panic, or- or say something like I was the one who’d used your phone and posted it. I didn’t want you to.”
“You didn’t want me to,” Dan repeated slowly.
“Yes, Dan, you’re correct, that is indeed what I said,” Phil said, looking away.
“Shut up, loser,” Dan said. “You’re the one who wanted me to show you off.”
He could feel his own stupid huge grin, spreading across his face. “Phil, Phil,” he said, in the tones of someone about to divulge a terrible secret. “You like it when I show you off.”
“How about I shove you off?” Phil suggested pleasantly.
The way he was holding onto Dan’s hip - barely holding back his own smile - begged a lot to differ.
“You want me to post lots of pictures of you in the mornings totally looking ravaged by me,” Dan crowed.
“Now I don’t anymore,” Phil said, sadly. “Now I’m going to find a new boyfriend who doesn’t crush me under his body and attack me and then, to top it off, constantly make fun of me.”
“No you won’t.” Dan grinned. “Where else are you going to find one who’s gonna let his millions of followers photoshop dicks onto your face?”
“Where indeed,” Phil said, shaking his head, letting it fall back as Dan nosed up his neck. “Where indeed.”