Chapter Text
it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
to be fair, no one ever said that it was easy living with your best friend. on the other hand, no one ever predicted it would turn into this level of shitshow, either.
but then, phil muses with a sigh, this isn't the kind of situation that shows up in books. fanfictions, maybe, but not good ol' regular books. he's never once seen this situation in a james patterson book he's read.
the fans hunger. they want to know everything about everything about dan and phil. not dan, not phil, dan and phil. and it was taking a large toll on their professional and private relationship, right in front of his eyes.
dan's withdrawing, turning into a shell of his former self. it's overwhelming and scary, and phil understands that, because he was also becoming wary. flinching when dan was reaching towards him, resisting the urge to brush his hair out of his face, pet names getting stuck in his throat like barbed wires - and all of this, even when they're alone. all for the fear of getting caught.
but dan's starting to get.. rude about it. trying to touch him, even just a hand on his knee when they're in matching doomscrolling positions on the sofa, is resulting in him yelling at phil. full force "don't fucking touch me!" and shrieks of "what if someone saw that?!".
it's… exhausting. mentally and physically, phil's exhausted.
dan's exhausted too.
today was worse than most days. today, in their tiny flat in manchester - that they weren't even going to be in for much longer - had been bad. dan had thrown things and phil had clammed up completely and nothing got resolved, because nothing ever got resolved like this.
he doesn't remember what started it; something about a bowl, he thinks. it's not like it even matters now, he knows it was asinine and not worth the level of fighting that had occurred. it never is.
the low power warning flashes on his screen, jolting him back to the present. he stares at stupid editing software and the stupid video he was trying to edit, and the stupid frame he'd stopped on showcasing dan laughing while phil watched him with so much adoration in his eyes ('love eyes lester', as the fans liked to call it) and suddenly he just can't do this anymore. he can't watch dan make a joke and laugh without his laugh reaching his eyes, he can't watch himself observing dan make jokes, he can't focus and he doesn't want to because this is his boyfriend and they're fighting again and it all hurts too much.
so he gets up and slams his chair into his desk harder than necessary and stalks towards the kitchen, not caring that his footsteps are loud enough to wake the dead.
there's glass and ceramic shattered in the middle of the kitchen, and he resigns himself to cleaning it with a tight line on his lips, because he knows dan will not.
this is how it works. dan throws things out of frustration and phil cleans them up silently. and in return, dan shuffles into his bed when he thinks phil is asleep and wraps his arms around him and presses tear-stained kisses to his chest and mumbles "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," over and over again until he drifts off.
he's never there when phil gets up, and that's probably for the best, phil thinks bitterly as he gets the dustpan out. he would probably yell at phil for being too affectionate in his sleep.
he laughs out loud, humourlessly, because that thought just reminds him of several years ago, when phil was still in university and dan basically lived with him, and they woke up one day tangled in his sheets and dan had giggled and said, "you cuddle me in your sleep," so matter-of-factly that phil didn't even have a chance to be proper embarrassed by it.
standing up with the swept-up mess, he makes no move to take it to the bin, instead just staring at it, lost in thought of when life wasn't this. of when he was able to crawl into dan's sheets with him, just because he missed him.
he missed him.
"i miss you." he tells the dustpan, the heavy words in the empty kitchen echoing in his head.
he hears the soft sniffles before he looks up, but when he does, he sees dan there, with red-rimmed eyes, wearing a jumper that's far too large on him and with his arms wrapped around himself. he looks so small, so thin, so worn-out. when was the last time he ate a proper meal, phil wonders absently. the concern is almost enough to make him bold enough to reach out, to ask if he's eaten, to.. take care of him.
but he doesn't. he just stands there, with the pan clutched in his hand tighter than necessary, observing quietly. that's what he does best, and that's almost always the best course of action when it comes to dan and their fights.
"..i was going to do that," dan breaks the silence first. his voice is quiet, but rings in phil's ears. anger shoots up his throat, threatening to bubble over all too suddenly, but he swallows it down forcefully.
he’s not an angry person. he knows he should just shut up, just finish what he’s doing and-
"you never do." the words fall out of his mouth, flat, matter-of-fact, before he has a chance to fully think it through.
maybe he’s angrier than he thought he was.
"you don't give me a chance to!" dan counters sharply, the venom returning as quick as it had vanished. his shoulders straighten up. anger comes to him so easy, phil thinks bitterly, because it's so, so much easier to be angry than to apologise or talk about any of this in any way that helps.
maybe he’s more bitter about it than he thought, too.
he doesn't take the bait this time. he just sighs, weary all over again, and turns away to discard the bits and pieces of their dishes. "okay dan," he mutters, more tired than upset, though he can't keep a little bit of bitterness out of his voice, "next time, i'll just leave it there until one of us steps on it in two days and we have another screaming match and i clean it up anyway,"
when he doesn't get a response, not even a derisive snort, he risks a glance behind him. dan's vanished.
"shocker." he mumbles, shaking his head as he puts the dustpan back. the same old song and dance, a tale as old as time.
but when he rounds towards their rooms, he sees dan looming there, oddly threatening, staring into the crack of the door of phil's bedroom.
phil stops. he doesn't know what to do here. he just wants to go to bed, and wake up in the morning and pretend everything is fine. they have a lot to do, he's pretty sure they're filming tomorrow and the fans always catch on when they're not at their 100% (which is everyday these days, but they can at least get some sleep).
"why don't you ever yell at me?" his voice is surprisingly level for the words, but phil thinks he probably has tears in his eyes. he usually does after their fights. (sometimes he can hear dan crying in the next room after a fight, but he'll never admit that to him, even when it makes his heart ache.)
"i.. i don't want to." his voice wavers but he doesn't care. sure, dan will use this against him at least once later, but he's being honest, and that's what they need right now with each other, even if it's whispered in grief-stricken voices at half two in the morning.
"why?"
phil doesn't know how to answer that with grace and brevity, and he knows that if he starts rambling about how they're partners and it's been years and couples should not be yelling at each other this much and he loves dan, loves him so much his heart aches, so no, he doesn't want to yell at him, dan will get angry again. so he just sighs.
"do you want me to?" it's the only thing he can come up with that won't result in more fighting.
"it would be easier," is dan's reply, still as level as before. phil knows for a fact that he's biting back tears now. dan may be angry but he's not heartless, and he knows that under all the frustration, he's scared and grieving just as much as phil is.
instead of responding, because he doesn't know how to respond to that - there's a million things he wants to say and none of them are.. perfect, and another fight would just mean staying up for another hour and they both need sleep desperately - he shakes his head helplessly.
"do you want to sleep in my bed tonight, dan?" he asks quietly, bracing himself for some kind of sharp retort. he isn't sure what prompts him to ask. maybe he just misses the feeling of dan with him in bed, the familiar weight by his side.
"..please?"
maybe dan misses it too.
phil, unsure when he actually walked down their hallway and got so close to dan, jerkingly opens his room door all the way and slides in (careful not to brush against the younger man), over to his bed. it takes all his effort not to look back and see if dan is following him, but the quiet click of the door closing means he probably is.
when he gets settled in bed and lifts the duvet for dan to crawl under with him, his heart is pounding so loudly he's sure dan can hear it. dan crawls in silently besides him, and with no hesitation puts his head on phil's chest, gripping onto his shirt and curling up as much as he can as a 6'4 man. phil intakes a sharp breath of air and freezes, which is what sends dan over the edge and makes the tears he was holding back spill.
phil's scared. he's scared and it's dan's fault and there's nothing dan can do right now to make him less scared, to make this a normal night cuddle like they used to have. he knows it's his own damn fault so much of this is happening and one day he needs to figure it out and make things better, but there's no way to right it right now and he has to live with the consequences of that.
"i'm so sorry," he says, barely audibly, into phil's chest. phil feels the words more than he hears them, and it's only then that he puts an arm around dan, cradling him. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry.."
phil stares at the ceiling, his heart still pounding, lungs too tight. he doesn't know what to do here, he doesn't know what would be the right thing to say, or the wrong thing to do. he doesn't know because dan's never done this before and he doesn't know if he can take this. whatever he does could make or break them. the thought terrifies him.
but he's missed dan so unbelievably much, and if this is what he gets for right now, then he'll learn to live with it.
"thank you." is the last thing phil hears before he eventually succumbs to the exhaustion, and he's not sure who said it.
(in the morning, dan's gone before he wakes up. phil tries not to be too disappointed.)