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The entire house was cold, the kind of cold that crowded the walls and foundation, pervasive and bitter. It was the kind of cold that clung to sock-clad feet and radiated through Dan’s bones. It was a rare occurrence that he awoke this early on his own, but the chill had reached his bed, crawled under the covers, and burrowed in. He was unsure what time it was, but he could tell that it was early. Filtered light invaded his room through broken blinds, smothering the room in the same dreary, late November haze that had engulfed the sky above.
Whether because it was all brand new or because his feelings were so strong, he always found himself thinking of Phil first thing in the morning lately. Dan imagined him, stretched out in his own bed, pale skin against blue and green in the dark, snoring into the silence. Phil’s face always looked so relaxed when he slept, lips slightly parted with heavy breath, eyelashes fluttering softly. The thought of his bright eyes slowly waking up to greet him made him feel warm inside, thawing out his frozen limbs from somewhere deep inside for just a moment.
He had woken up to the sight of sleeping Phil various times now on his trips to Manchester. They often awoke the same way, curled under the same covers, faces smushed onto the same pillow following their bodies’ movement through the night. Most of the time, they had woken up clinging to one another, legs entangled in twisted sheets, sharing the same breath, making the most of the temporary lack of distance between them.
Dan would hold still, fading in and out of sleep, watching, waiting for him.
Phil would open his eyes slowly, all dark circles and bleary.
He was never a morning person.
Dan wasn’t either, but here he found himself, cold and alone in his bed with only the memory to warm him. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to make it feel more real. Each time they had shared a visit, he tried to cling to the memories, make them something solid he could grasp with his hands. But every time, it was somewhat unsuccessful. The smell of Phil on his clothes would fade back into generic laundry detergent, and the taste of him on his tongue would be replaced, dissipating back to something natural.
Right now, it all felt so far away, like every visit was just a figment of his imagination. They were just good dreams that he was jerked awake from every time he left and came back home. Nothing his mind could conjure up felt like it was enough.
He needed to feel like it was real.
He peeled his eyes open once more, back in his bedroom that was starting to feel more and more desolate by the minute. He never knew that he could miss someone so much that it seemed to ache. Then, he felt dramatic, because it had only been a couple of weeks, and they would see each other in just one more.
He wondered if Phil ever missed him like this.
He needed to feel like it was real.
The effort required to lift his body from the bed made his limbs feel like they weighed a million pounds. Stretching his body, he reached for his laptop that was aimlessly placed on the floor nearby the night before. As he did, the blankets fell, and the chill touched more of his skin, like it was some kind of infection he couldn’t quite shake. He muttered curses as he lifted it to his lap.
Dating a YouTube blogger had its perks, because when the feelings of dissociation overpowered him and grew too strong, he could just pull up the video they had filmed together and remember. He hated rewatching his own videos, overly critical of his own posh voice and facial expressions. But the video with Phil was different, because he would just focus on Phil. Watching the way that they interacted erased his insecurities, sending them back deep into the back of his mind, because all he could focus on was the memory of how he felt in that moment. It was a drug that took him out of reality and back to the dream state.
Today, he already knew he needed something stronger, so instead of typing the URL to get to Phil’s page, he pulled up their messages. They mostly skyped on video now, but they still messaged so often that he had to scroll and scroll to find what he was looking for. His finger moved over the pad mindlessly as the mountains of text fluttered and blurred together before his eyes. The way that he had their messages somewhat memorized to know how far to go and when it would be near felt like a lovesick mental illness that made him feel shy.
He didn’t allow himself to return to this video often, only when the feeling grew too strong that it was impossible to ignore, when he craved, needed, a stronger hit of Phil so badly that it hurt.
It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for, and he clicked the link without hesitation.
He wondered if Phil ever found himself on the same webpage, if he noticed the view count go up as Dan returned.
A loading screen quickly turned into a page filled with the image of themselves, cat whiskers drawn sloppily on their faces. Dan turned the volume down to a low hum, desperate to hear the shift of their bodies despite having the crinkly audio nearly memorized.
Phil had clipped the video very closely to send to him, so on the computer, they were already looking at one another, only seeing each other despite the rolling camera. He couldn’t remember what exactly had happened just before, but now they were completely distracted by each other, like they had forgotten the camera was even there at all. Dan watched intently, feeling himself forgetting his own reality in much the same way.
Dan knew how he looked at Phil. He could feel it everytime he did it, unable to suppress the adoration that he knew reached his eyes. Seeing it for himself was different. A strange wonder cast over his pixelated features. His expression looked happy, yet so lost, looking at Phil as though he was the one who had found him, some light shining in the darkness.
After seconds that he knew felt like hours back in that moment, on screen Phil grabbed his wrist, closing the gap between them. Suddenly, all at once, the, they were kissing on the screen. He heard a stuttered yelp of surprise from himself and momentarily cringed. But it was immediately replaced by a deep sense of endearment, watching Phil’s mouth move against his own, Sharpie noses brushing against each other softly.
The kiss quickly grew deeper, and Dan could almost feel it now, the shift of Phil’s tongue against his own. By now, they had kissed many times, but that day, he had tasted strongly of toothpaste and cinnamon gum after freshening up for the camera. Mint hardly covered the underlying taste of him, though-something indescribable that threaded between every kiss that they had shared, tangled yet clear. Phil.
Their hands travelled up and down each other’s bodies, Phil’s stumbling across the back of his head, thumb visibly shifting as he rubbed it into Dan’s overprocessed straight hair. His own hands were wrapped around Phil’s waist now, and he could almost feel it now, the feeling of Phil’s shirt, threads soft and worn from running it through the washer so many times.
He could almost feel the way that Phil’s arms shifted down, moving to envelop his body as though it were something fragile. Phil was the only thing holding him up in that moment. He remembered all of his guards falling down so clearly. If he had let go, Dan was sure he would have gone plunging forward in his attempts to get closer, closer still.
He could almost feel it now, if he squeezed his shoulders in and focused his eyes deeply enough so that they shot through the screen. They began to burn from concentration, hands cradling his chin as he leaned in as far as he could while still being able to see the entire picture. He could hear his pulse dilating, heartbeat rattling around in his chest, loud and steady as he committed the images to memory once more.
The video seemed to go on and on, which hardly surprised Dan even when he thought about it long and hard. He could kiss Phil forever, and when he was, time seemed the most like some made-up construct, able to bend and contort beneath the stimulation.
Watching every second with rapt attention, he could tell it was nearing the end now. Their kisses were growing more frantic, bodies pulled and pushed by unfocused hands. A low groan emanated from the speakers, Phil, as they finally parted. Both of their shoulders shuddered as they breathed heavily, gasping for air, breaths that had been held onto tightly.
“We have to stop,” Phil huffed.
A flash of disappointment tinged Dan’s features on screen just before his attention turned back to the camera. It was replaced by a wave of realization, a flashback to reality, as though he suddenly remembered where he was and what he was doing. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to stop, but we have to finish this, and if we keep going, we aren’t going to feel like it later, you know?”
“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right… can just pick it up later,” Dan smirked, fixing a splinge in the viewfinder.
“Exactly… later,” Phil’s face twinkled, a twin smirk appearing as their eyes met.
“So… that happened,” Dan leaned back awkwardly, unsure how to continue.
“Don’t worry, I’ll obviously edit it out, anyway-” The clip ended abruptly.
Dan studied the still frame it had ended on, both of their noses smudged from what had just occurred. He looked at himself, and then he looked at Phil, at the mirror grins that seized both of their faces, elated flushes that only they would know the cause of. He rewound it 30 seconds to watch the ending again, the way that his own face shifted as he spoke. He looked so normal, like his entire world hadn’t just ceased to exist for nearly ten minutes straight.
Just as he moved his finger over the pad to rewind, to watch it one more time because the notion of that was just so irresistible, the sound of a notification stirred him. Surprisingly early, it was from Phil.
“Tell me ur house isn’t as cold as mine rn ;-;”
Dan just chuckled to himself, running a hand down his face. Strangely, something had shifted within his own body. He just felt warm all over now.