Chapter Text
it’s 4am and phil’s tired.
these two things, while sounding reasonably related, were in fact not at all related.
he blinks slowly at the ceiling in his room and then gingerly rubs his eyes, still slightly swollen and tender to the touch. it had been a while since he'd been up like this, puffy-eyed and unable to catch sleep.
to that, he's thankful of course. but there's still a bitterness that festers under his skin, one that's making it near impossible to relax.
he had confided in a few friends offhandedly (and very carefully) about some of his and dan's fights some time after they had moved to london, because he really did feel like he was going to explode into nonexistence if he kept it to himself for much longer.
and he had been assured that the fights would get easier; that they were through the worst of it.
while it was partially true - he can't remember the last time their fight had been 'we should break up' levels of thinking like it was most of 2012 - the fights themselves did not feel easier. at least, not to him.
mostly, he thinks, it was just getting harder and harder to keep his cool when they fought. he never really had a temper previously, but something about dan..
he sighs.
dan knows him. dan had known him for five - maybe closer to six if you count all the online stalking - years, and he knew exactly how to push his buttons. how to make him angry enough that he had to physically walk away because he was trying to be understanding and reasonable but it fucking hurt to have his partner talk to him like this and he would explode if he stayed a moment longer.
it’s not that he didn’t love dan, no, it was just the way dan had been acting; fights and all. he always had a smart mouth on him - his lips quirk up just briefly as he remembers this, memories of it running through his head faster than he could grasp onto a single one, but no less present - but he was getting worse again. snarkier, meaner, and about everything all the time.
it was less violent now, which he routinely thanks every god he can remember the name of for, but his words were cutting harder. deeper. reaching insecurities that he, frankly, had mostly gotten over.
after the great and painful year that was 2012 and the lingering damage into 2013, things were.. phil wouldn't say easier, but they were better. at least, in a way.
he and dan both had meteoric (historical? phil wonders briefly) rises in popularity, and they were both getting a lot more comfortable on and off camera together, even though dan still flinches about 60% of the time when phil goes to touch him in public (maybe closer to 40% in private).
and.. there was a little something else.
it hadn't been there in previous years, so he's trying really hard to tell himself he's just seeing things, that this worry is unfounded and simply because he cares so unbelievably and ridiculously much for dan.
but it festers.
he blinks, then scrubs a rough hand down his face. it's going to be a long day if he's up at an ungodly hour thinking about percentages and near conspiracy theories about his boyfriend. absently, he wonders if dan’s awake, if there was any chance he could make a bowl of cereal without getting a backhanded comment thrown his way.
he could also avoid the whole situation entirely, really, he's not actually hungry, just tired and restless. the few hours he's had of vague 'not really sleep but not really awake' has done nothing to quell the exhaustion deep in his bones.
reluctantly, he sits up and stretches in a way that a cat would be proud of, then swings his legs over the side of his bed before he can change his mind.
he putters out of his room quietly and notices dan's door is ajar, just as it was when he went to bed those long hours ago - just as it had been most of the day. hesitating, he peeks inside, and he can just make out a vague lump he assumes is dan under the duvet.
the thrum of worry he had been placating blooms rapidly in his chest.
but he just disappears down the hall to grab his cereal before he can do something stupid like step inside and talk to dan. he's almost a hundred percent sure he's awake, anyhow.
dan, though extremely awake, doesn't even notice his presence, or his absence.
he's been laying in the same position since exactly 1053 the previous morning, and he knows this because from his curled up vantage point, his clock is offensively blinding.
his legs are numb in the same way he's sure his heart is. the duvet does nothing to warm him up or cool him down, and he's vaguely aware that might mean he's sick.
but it doesn't really matter.
nothing really matters.
none of this was.. matter-able. is that a word? he's not sure. it doesn't make a difference anyway, he thinks, it also doesn't matter.
phil might know.
the thought makes him wince. not physically - he honestly doesn't think he can move a muscle even if he tried - but he feels his entire body flinching internally.
phil, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, the.. other bland and dumb metaphors for how much he means to him.
he knows, once again, that he's been being unfairly mean to phil and he really, really needs to stop, but for all his cutting words and snarky comments, he feels.. at peace. like it's a natural part of him that feels almost unjust to do away with. like it’s a necessary thing to be doing.
which scares him, just a little. enough that he thinks about it, laying here, unmoving, and wishes it wasn't that way.
could he change this? sure. ..maybe.
he isn't sure at this point if he can, if he's being honest.
that thought scares him more.
only the faint rustle of his slightly feral roommate no doubt digging into their- his cereal snaps him out of this horrid train of thought he's taken himself on, but he can't even manage a smile. he's not sure he remembers how without a camera pointed at him.
(that thought scares him too, but he shoos it away with an extra intense and pointed focus on the rustling.)
maybe he can finally get up, he thinks, maybe move these limbs that are useless and lanky and no doubt too sore to function, if he just focuses on phil. phil's awake. they can have a conversation. will it be polite? probably not. but he can try, he thinks.
with the focus on phil, it's weirdly a lot easier for him to at least heave himself up, which, as predicted, causes all his limbs to scream in protest. he falls back for a moment, but presses his lips together firmly and tries again, ignoring the way his entire body aches in a weirdly comforting way.
he needs to talk to phil, he thinks with something growing inside him that feels a lot like panic but is louder. heavier. he needs to talk to phil now.
phil's trying as hard as he can to eat the dry cereal (dan's cereal, he thinks with faint amusement) quietly, but there's really only so much you can quiet this kinda thing.
he munches slowly, though he knows it probably won't make a huge difference, and is trying to decide if he should try and get some work done or go lay miserably back on his bed, when he sees the shadow cast over the floor.
phil jerks his head up to meet the offender and a flicker, so brief it shouldn't be mentioned, of fear crosses his eyes, and they both notice it.
really, it's what halts dan, because the sheer amount of guilt that overtakes his body at knowing phil, even momentarily, was scared of him, is enough to threaten his physical stability. his hands are shaking and his vision is so distorted he could be looking to a lamp for all he knows.
dan, who is wearing yesterday's (two days ago's? phil worries at this thought) clothes and a blanket wrapped around him and clutched tight, looks like he wants to say something but also looks so lost and far away that phil isn't even sure he knows his own name.
phil looks so angelic, even dazed and exhausted with puffy eyes (that were his fault, his brain supplies bitterly), that for a moment dan really just doesn't say anything. just stares.
it's only when phil talks that he remembers he came in here for something.
"sorry," phil mumbles the longer dan's.. dull? but still beautiful eyes stare at him, though the cereal is the furthest thing from his biggest concern right now. dan looks awful, and the alarm bells are ringing so loudly in his head that he's hearing it loud and clear in his ears. "i'll buy more,"
but dan ignores it. he ignores the seven open cupboards and crumbs on the floor and his mostly-finished cereal, and focuses on phil's voice. it's grounding enough that he can do this.
his ribs ache with a familiar pain but he doesn't remember running into anything either, and the panic is growing with every second.
"phil," he rasps low, voice barely recognisable from disuse, "phil, i think– please,"
and phil gets about two seconds before dan crumples to the floor in a dizzying array of limbs and rumpled fabric.