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The front door of the apartment gave a heavy, reluctant creak as Dan kicked it open, his arms wrapped tightly around Phil’s waist.
Phil was, by every conceivable metric, completely wasted. His feet dragged uselessly against the hardwood, his arms flailing as he tried to grasp at the hallway wall for balance.
"Careful, careful—Phil, watch the wall, you're gonna smash your—okay, or just walk directly into the doorframe, that works too," Dan muttered, wincing as Phil softly bumped his shoulder against the wood with a quiet, breathy giggling sound.
"Dan..." Phil slurred, his head rolling back against Dan’s shoulder. "The floor is... bumpy."
"The floor is perfectly flat, Phil. Your legs are just operating on a five-second delay," Dan grunted, maneuvering them both through the doorway and managing to nudge the door shut with his heel.
Phil hummed, a low, contented sound that vibrated right against Dan’s neck. He didn't bother trying to use his legs anymore, choosing instead to melt entirely into Dan’s space. His arms, previously flailing, managed to loop loosely around Dan’s neck, pulling him down into a lopsided, heavy hug.
"You're very... sturdy," Phil murmured, his warm, booze-scented breath ticking against Dan's jaw. "Like a nice tree."
"High praise. Truly," Dan said, fighting back a smile as he lugged his boyfriend toward the living room sofa. "Alright, Timber, down you go."
Instead of landing gracefully on the cushions, Phil tumbled backward, taking Dan's jacket collar down with him. Dan caught himself just in time, hands planting on either side of Phil’s shoulders to avoid crushing him.
Phil looked up, his blue eyes glassy, unfocused, and absurdly fond. A slow, lopsided smile spread across his face.
"Hi," Phil whispered, reaching up with clumsy, heavy hands to cup Dan’s cheeks. His thumbs patted Dan’s face softly, entirely missing his cheekbones and landing somewhere near his ears. "You're real pretty, Dan."
Dan’s heart did a stupid, familiar little flutter, but he gently grabbed Phil’s wrists, lifting his hands away. "Phil, you're currently seeing three of me, and at least two of us are glaring at you. Come on, let’s get your shoes off."
"No, wait," Phil protested, his speech slurred into one long, continuous word as he tried to pull Dan back down by his shirt. He leaned up, aiming a desperately affectionate kiss somewhere in the general vicinity of Dan’s face, landing squarely on Dan's chin. "Come 'ere. Wanna kiss you."
Dan snorted, a soft, fond laugh escaping him as he gently pushed Phil’s shoulders back onto the cushions. "Nope. Absolutely not. You are ninety percent gin right now, Philip."
"Only eighty!" Phil insisted solemnly, holding up four fingers to prove his point. He reached out again, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of Dan’s shirt with all the dexterity of someone wearing oven mitts. "You're so soft... let me..."
"Hey, hey—paws off, handsy," Dan coaxed gently, wrapping his fingers around Phil's and pressing his hands down against Phil's own chest. He looked down at him, his expression softening into something warm. "Look at me. You are completely out of it. We are not doing this tonight."
Phil pouted, a dramatic, lip-trembling effort that was ruined by a tiny, hiccuping giggle. "Don't you like me?"
"Don't do that. Do not pull out the lip," Dan warned, though the sternness in his voice was severely compromised by the way his chest tightened. "That is a cheap trick, Lester, and you know it."
Phil’s eyes widened, shimmering with exaggerated, drunken sorrow. He sniffled, a completely manufactured, dramatic sound, and let his head fall back against the cushion, gazing up at Dan through heavy, dark lashes.
"I'm just... expressing my feelings," Phil mumbled, his voice dripping with tragic melodrama. He blindly reached out, his hand clumsily sweeping across Dan's stomach until he managed to hitch his fingers into the belt loops of Dan's jeans, tugging weakly. "You're mean. I'm delightful. Ask anyone."
"I would, but everyone else ran away the moment you tried to fight the pub's jukebox," Dan countered, though he didn't pull away from the weak tug. Instead, he reached down, carefully untangling Phil’s fingers from his belt loops and holding his hand firmly instead.
"The jukebox started it," Phil grumbled, but his train of thought derailed instantly as he looked down at their joined hands. A ridiculously soft, dopey smile spread across his face. He used his free hand to cover Dan’s knuckles, stroking the back of Dan's hand with a completely uncoordinated thumb. "See? Perfect fit. Like legos."
Dan closed his eyes for a brief second, drawing in a long, steadying breath. It was infuriating how difficult Phil was making this.
"Yeah, Phil. Perfect fit," Dan said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, warm register. He gently squeezed Phil’s hand before laying it down on the sofa. "Which is exactly why we're going to have this conversation when you can actually remember your own middle name."
"Right. Bedtime," Dan declared, standing up and brushing off his knees before Phil could attempt another kissing or flirting maneuver
Phil groaned loudly, sprawling himself horizontally across the couch like a cat. "No bed. The sofa is my friend. The sofa understands me."
"The sofa is going to give you a neck cramp that'll last until Tuesday," Dan retorted. He bent down, grabbing Phil by the ankles to unlace his muddy shoes. "And you are not sleeping in full outdoor attire. Up."
After a brief, uncoordinated struggle that involved Phil attempting to use his legs as lead weights, Dan managed to haul him upright. Supporting most of Phil’s weight, Dan navigated him down the hallway and into the bedroom. Phil flopped onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh, immediately burying his face into the pillows.
"Pajamas," Dan instructed, marching over to the wardrobe and digging out a pair of worn, hopelessly soft flannel trousers and an oversized t-shirt. "Can you handle shirt duty, or do I need to supervise?"
Phil rolled over, squinting up at the clothes in Dan's hands. "I am a fully functioning adult," he announced with great dignity, before immediately getting his head stuck in the neck hole of his own t-shirt.
Dan let out a quiet laugh, stepping in to rescue him. "Right, 'fully functioning.' Let's help you out, genius."
With practiced, gentle care, Dan helped pull the trapped shirt over Phil’s head, untangling his arms and swapping his stiff denim for the baggy flannel pants. Phil made soft, sleepy noises of approval as the warmth of the pajamas kicked in, his eyes fluttering shut halfway through the process.
"Water," Dan murmured, slipping out for a quick trip to the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a large glass of water and two painkillers, setting them firmly on the bedside table. "Drink. All of it. Future Phil will thank present Dan."
Phil blindly reached out, swallowing the water with a few clumsy gulps before spilling a tiny splash down his chin. Dan wiped it away with the sleeve of his own shirt, shaking his head with a fond, quiet smile.
"Bed," Dan said gently, pulling back the duvet.
Phil slid under the covers with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Dan kicked off his slippers and climbed carefully onto the edge of the mattress, sitting with his back against the headboard. Phil immediately shifted over, resting his heavy head against Dan’s thigh and curling his hand around Dan’s knee like an anchor.
Dan reached down, running his fingers through Phil’s messy, dark hair, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as his breathing slowed into sleep.
It felt like only minutes later when a sharp, sudden rustle of fabric yanked Dan out of a deep sleep.
He blinked heavily, his eyes adjusting to the faint, blueish glow of the streetlamp filtering through the blinds. His clock read 3:12 am. Next to him, the mattress shifted heavily. Dan turned his head to see Phil sitting bolt upright, rigid as a board, staring down at him.
"Phil?" Dan rasped, his voice thick with sleep. "You alright? Need more water?"
Phil didn't answer. He was breathing in fast, shallow hitches, his eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark with panic. His gaze darted frantically from Dan’s face, down to his own chest, and then to the oversized flannel pajamas he was wearing.
"Hey... what’s wrong?" Dan reached out, hovering a hand over Phil’s shoulder to soothe him.
The moment Dan’s hand made contact, Phil flinched hard, reeling backward as if he’d been scorched.
"Don't!" Phil gasped, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of drunkenness and absolute, sheer terror.
Dan froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, his sleep-fogged brain struggling to catch up. Before he could process the sheer panic in Phil's eyes, Phil snapped into action.
He threw back the duvet with wild, frantic hands, scrambling away toward the edge of the mattress. Phil’s wasted brain had reached one terrifying, illogical conclusion: a complete stranger was in his bed, and that stranger had somehow stripped his clothes and changed him while he was out cold.
"Wait, Phil, hang on—" Dan started, raising his hands pacifyingly, but Phil was already attempting a desperate, high-speed getaway.
"Get away from me!" Phil choked out, blindly flinging himself off the side of the bed to make a break for the bedroom door.
Unfortunately, "high-speed" and "eighty percent gin" did not mix.
The moment Phil’s feet hit the floor, his legs instantly betrayed him, buckling unceremoniously from under him. He launched forward into a chaotic, uncoordinated stumble, his arms flailing wildly for balance.
He didn't make it two steps toward the door. Instead, he ended up in a heap on the floor, breathing heavily, looking toward the door in sheer, panicked frustration as if it were a million miles away.
"Phil!" Dan scrambled off the bed, dropping onto his hands and knees right besides Phil. "Hey, hey—woah, stop, look at me! You're fine, you're safe!"
Phil recoiled, his spine slamming hard against the wardrobe as he kicked wildly at Dan, his chest heaving in short, shallow hitches. His eyes were wide, dark, and utterly terrified as he stared at the shadow hovering over him.
"Don't touch me!" Phil gasped, his voice straining into a breathy, panicked squeak. He held his hands up in a clumsy, shaking defense. "Where—where is he? Where’s Dan?!"
"Phil, what are you talking about? I am Dan!"
"No! No, you're not!" Phil squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes, the sheer overload of terror and alcohol twisting his reality into something horrific. "Dan wouldn't leave me! He's always here! He was supposed to be right next to me!"
He was spiraling at a terrifying speed, hyperventilating so hard his shoulders bounced. His drunk, chaotic brain had locked onto a single, devastating conclusion: Dan would never leave his side voluntarily. Which meant something terrible had happened.
"He's hurt," Phil choked out, a full-blown panic attack clawing its way up his throat. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, hot tears spilled over his eyelashes and tracked continuously down his flushed cheeks. "Oh god, someone... someone hurt him. He's lying out there in the hall, and I can't—I can't get to him—"
"Phil, no! Nobody is hurt!" Dan’s own heart leaped into his throat. He reached out to grab Phil’s shoulders, but Phil flinched away with a desperate, heartbreaking sob.
"Dan!" Phil wailed into his hands.The crying was so severe it turned into wet, hiccuping wheezes, his bottom lip trembling out of control as he whimpered into his knees. He looked so devastatingly helpless, his face blotchy and soaked with tears, that it tore Dan's heart right in two.
Reasoning was useless; the truth was only terrifying Phil more. Seeing him sob like his whole world had ended was unendurable. Dan had to just go with the flow.
Taking a slow step back, Dan raised his hands peacefully and altered his posture, adopting a soft, completely unthreatening tone.
"Hey—hey, pal. Calm down, it's okay," Dan said gently, projecting a calm, friendly voice. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm not Dan."
Phil’s frantic sobbing hiccuped to a sudden, fragile pause. He slowly lowered one shaking hand, peeking out with a swollen, tear-rimmed blue eye. "...You're not?"
"No," Dan lied smoothly, crouching down at a respectful distance. "I'm... Greg. I'm just a friend who's here to help you stay safe while you're drunk. Dan had to step away for a minute, but he asked me to watch over you until he gets back. Then Dan will take over. I promise."
Phil sniffled loudly, a wet, pitiful sound, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He searched 'Greg's’ face, his breath still catching in pathetic, residual hitches. "Dan... Dan hired you?"
"He sure did," Dan assured him warmly. "He made sure I knew that taking care of you was the most important job in the world."
The heavy, suffocating terror finally drained out of Phil, replaced by sheer, exhausted compliance. He let out a long, trembling sigh.
Dan knew trying to get Phil back into the bed would only trigger another freak-out if Phil woke up near the "stranger" again. "Tell you what, pal. How about I go make us a cup of tea? Warm you up a bit, help you settle down?"
"Okay," Phil rasped, reaching out his hands like a tired toddler.
Dan carefully helped Phil to his feet, wrapping a firm arm around his waist as Phil leaned heavily against him, his legs still operating on complete jelly logic. As they slowly shuffled down the hallway, Phil kept squinting up at him through heavy, wet lashes, his drunk, forgetful mind looping endlessly.
"Greg?" Phil mumbled softly, his chin bumping Dan's shoulder with every awkward step.
"Yeah, mate?"
"Is Dan... is Dan really okay?"
"He's completely fine, Phil. Promise."
"When's he coming back?" Phil whimpered softly, dragging his feet across the floor. "I miss him... I really miss him."
Dan bit the inside of his cheek, his chest tightening with a swell of hopeless affection. "He'll be back really soon. He misses you too."
"He has nice hair," Phil slurred happily as they reached the living room. "Dan, I mean. Not you. Yours is okay too, Greg."
"I'm honored," Dan chuckled quietly, guiding Phil toward the kitchen and helping him stand in at the entrance of the kitchen.
Dan proceeds to make tea. He filled the kettle, the soft hiss of heating water filling the quiet flat. He grabbed two mugs, automatically reaching for Phil's favorite, and leaned against the counter, keeping a watchful eye at Phil.
Phil leaned against the doorframe, watching Dan work with dreamy, unfocused eyes.He watched the steam rise from the kettle, a wonderfully soft, dopey smile spreading across his face. "You make tea funny. Not like Dan."
Dan raised an eyebrow, dunking a tea bag into a mug. "Oh yeah? What does Dan do?"
"He... he stirs it three times left, then two times right," Phil murmured affectionately, leaning his head back against the frame. "And he leaves the bag in longer because he knows I like it strong, even though he thinks it tastes like lawn clippings."
Dan kept his back partially turned so Phil couldn't analyze his face too closely. "Sounds like he pays attention."
"He does," Phil whispered softly, his voice dropping into a tender, quiet register that made Dan's chest ache. "Dan... he's really soft, you know? Everyone thinks he's all moody and sarcastic, but he's not. Not really."
Phil trailed off, his eyes tracking the floorboards as if remembering a long sequence of quiet moments.
"He's so gentle with me," Phil continued, a small, wonderfully warm laugh bubbling up from his chest. "When I get sick, or when I'm overwhelmed... he just knows. He doesn't even yell when I break things. He just gets the broom, and then he makes sure I'm wearing shoes so I don't step on the glass."
Dan stared down at the mug in his hands, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. He felt a sudden, fierce heat behind his eyes.
"He's always taking care of me," Phil said, looking up at 'Greg' with complete, unshielded sincerity, his blue eyes shining in the dim kitchen light. "He acts like it's a chore, but he does it anyway. Every single time. He wrapped me up in these stupid pants tonight because he knew I'd be cold."
Phil sniffled slightly, his bottom lip giving a tiny, sleepy pout. "I really love him, Greg. He's my favourite person. I just... I really want him to come home now."
Dan’s breath hitched in his throat. Hearing Phil call him his favorite person, with that raw, defenseless sincerity, sent a hot, prickling wave straight to the back of his eyes.
Nope. Absolutely not, Dan thought frantically, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. He saw the ominous wobble in Phil’s bottom lip and the glossy sheen over his eyes, and his internal emergency alarm went off. Phil was on the precipice of another tearful breakdown, and Dan knew he couldn't handle seeing his boyfriend cry again tonight.
"Whoa, whoa, alright—no more crying," Dan interjected quickly, using his best, boisterous 'Greg' voice as a shield. He turned off the kettle with a sharp click and hastily set the two steaming mugs down on the dinner table, out of Phil’s clumsy reach. "Look, tea's made! Steaming hot, three stirs left, two right. Perfect."
Phil blinked, the impending waterworks miraculously diverted as his eyes tracked the mug with the dopey, fond expression returning to his face. He hobbles over to sit on the chair as Dan sits across from him, watching wearily to make sure Phil doesn’t accidentally knock over the mug.
"Dan makes the best tea," Phil murmured softly, his speech still slurred and heavy with sleep. "He takes care of everything. He's... he's just the best boyfriend in the world."
Even knowing they were together, hearing Phil say it out loud to a total phantom of his own drunk imagination made Dan’s cheeks instantly flush a furious, burning red.
"Mmm," Phil hummed, completely oblivious to Dan’s internal panic. A dreamy, ridiculously smitten smile spread across his pale face. "He’s so attentive, Greg. Like... everywhere. Even in bed."
Dan choked on his own spit, coughing violently into his elbow. "Phil! Jesus!"
"No, really," Phil continued cheerfully, rambling on with the total lack of filter that only eighty percent gin could provide. "He's so careful with me. He always checks if I'm okay... holds my waist like I'm made of glass... he spends forever just kissing my shoulder—"
"Okay! Okay, good to know!" Dan blurted out, holding up a hand to stop the incoming flood of painfully intimate details about their sex life. He was burning up, his ears practically smoking from sheer embarrassment.
Yet, as Dan looked at his boyfriend, blinking drowsily, with his heart entirely on his sleeve in his drunken state, a quiet realization settled over him. Phil was completely unshielded right now. No defenses, no anxiety, no overthinking.
Dan felt a sudden prickle of guilt. Taking advantage of his drunk boyfriend, who currently thought he was talking to a friendly stranger named Greg, felt a little treacherous. But... when else was Phil ever this painfully open about what he actually wanted and felt between them?
Dan cleared his throat, trying to sound casually curious, promising himself silently that he would only use whatever he learned to be a better partner to the ridiculous man sitting in front of him.
"So..." Dan started gently, his voice dropping into a softer, warmer register. "Sounds like Dan's doing a pretty good job as a boyfriend. But... is there anything he doesn't do? Anything you wish he knew?"
Phil furrowed his brow, tilting his head as if the question required massive computational power.
A tiny, lopsided grin tugged at the corner of Phil's mouth, and he let out a soft, airy giggle. "Well... he doesn't buy the good cereal," Phil muttered, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.”
"He buys the tragic, healthy kind that tastes like sweet cardboard. And he steals all the warm side of the bed. Plus, he never lets me win at Mario Kart, Greg. It’s genuinely oppressive." He sniffled drowsily, blinking up with glazed, affectionate eyes. "And his feet are like ice. He tries to stick 'em on my calves when we're sleeping. It’s a hate crime."
Dan felt a brief wave of relief wash over him, a small, fond huff escaping his chest. But as the room fell quiet again, the giddy lightness faded fast.
A sudden, deep shadow crossed Phil's sleepy features, dissolving the dopey grin into something raw, fragile, and unexpectedly heavy. He let out a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to drain the remaining levity right out of the room.
"I hate hiding," Phil whispered softly, his voice cracking slightly against the hum of the kettle.
Dan’s heart stopped. He sat completely frozen, the room suddenly feeling devoid of air.
Shock hit Dan like a physical blow. Phil hated hiding? In all their years together, Phil had never expressed a single thread of resentment about keeping their relationship private. He had always smiled, nodded, and patiently agreed to go at Dan’s pace. Dan had genuinely believed they were in total alignment,
"I hate the secret," Phil continued, staring down at his bare feet. "I hate pretending. I... ever since... ever since the hospital."
Dan felt a sickening, cold knot tighten in his stomach. The hospital. The terrifying night Phil had suddenly suffered severe internal bleeding; the frantic ride to the hospital, the blinding panic, the sterile waiting room where Dan had felt utterly helpless.
"When that happened..." Phil mumbled, tears welling up in his heavy, glassy eyes, threatening to spill over. "When my body broke down... I kept thinking about it. If I died... if I really died that day..."
Phil looked up at 'Greg,' his expression so completely broken.
"...no one would have known," Phil choked out, a thick, hot tear escaping down his cheek. "People would have written articles... they would have posted tweets... mourning 'Phil, the YouTuber.' But no one would have known I was Dan's other half. They would have just seen two friends who lived together for a really long time. Not... not lovers. Not over a decade of us."
Phil let out a wet, hiccuping gasp.
"I hated it, Greg," Phil sobbed softly, his drunk, unfiltered mind laying his soul bare. "I hated the thought of dying and being buried... just as Phil. Not as Dan's beloved. Not as his extension. Life is too short to be a ghost in your own life. I just... I wanted to be buried as his. I wanted everyone to know I was loved by him."
A wave of crushing guilt and awe washed over him. All those years, Dan had been so consumed by his own anxieties about the world, so focused on his own pace, that he hadn't realized he was forcing the love of his life to live in the shadows.
Dan sat frozen in place, a few inches of cold air hanging between them as his heart bled in his chest, aching with a profound, sharp grief. But beneath the tidal wave of heartbreak, a quiet, immovable resolve ignited inside him. I’m going to fix this, he internally vowed, his gaze locked on the small, shivering frame in front of him. I’m going to do things right. No more cowardice.
He knew he shouldn't keep probing while Phil was in this defenseless, intoxicated state, but Dan needed to know the full extent of the emotional weight Phil had been quietly carrying alone. He needed to hear every hidden truth so he could tear down every wall between them.
Sucking in a steadying breath, Dan kept his voice soft and low to maintain the gentle disguise just a little longer. "Phil... Is there... anything else? Anything else 'Dan' should know?"
Phil stirred where he leaned against the wood, letting out a soft, trembling sigh. He lifted his head slowly, his glassy, dark-lashed blue eyes looking across the short gap straight into Dan’s face with a devastating, childlike sincerity.
"I wish..." Phil mumbled, his bottom lip quivering slightly before he bit down on it. "I wish he’d stop saying he’s a burden."
Dan went entirely still.
"He does that," Phil whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, painful vulnerability. "When his mind gets dark... when the depression gets really heavy, or when his brain won't stop screaming... he looks at me like he’s... like he’s ruining my life. He calls himself a broken burden."
Phil’s hands tightened weakly around the edges of his shirt, his knuckles turning pale as fresh tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
"I love him," Phil choked out, the words raw, unvarnished, and ringing with an absolute, unshakeable truth that shook Dan to his very core. "I love all of him. I love him when he’s happy and loud and brilliant, and I love him when he can’t get out of bed for three days. It’s not a chore to love him. It’s never been a chore."
Phil let out a shuddering breath, staring down at the floorboards between them as his chest heaved.
"If I could..." Phil whimpered softly, his voice dropping into a barely audible, heartbreaking mumble, "if I could take his anxiety and his dark thoughts away from him... I’d take them all. I’d pack them up inside myself and... and go die somewhere with them, just so he could finally have a quiet mind. Just so he’d know how light and good he deserves to feel."
Phil’s voice trailed off into a fragile, trembling silence, but the heavy dark cloud lingering over his mind didn't lift. The alcohol had locked him firmly into a somber, weeping trance, his thoughts looping endlessly in a spiral of raw, unedited despair.
He slouched further down in his chair, his shoulders curling inward as if trying to shrink away from the world entirely.
"I’m... I'm the problem, really," Phil whispered suddenly, his tone dropping into a dull, flat register that made Dan’s chest tighten painfully. "I'm the real burden."
"Phil, no—" Dan started, almost dropping the persona right then and there.
"I am," Phil insisted weakly, a fat, heavy tear slipping down his nose and dripping off his chin. "I’m so clumsy, Greg. I break things. I mess up. I need to be looked after like a child who can't even walk straight... and the migraines..."
Phil squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his palm hard against his temple as if the mere thought of them brought back the blinding pain.
"They ruin everything," Phil choked out, his chest hitching with a quiet, miserable sob. "My brain just stops working. We have to cancel trips. We have to cancel filming. Dan works so hard, he plans everything out, and then I just... fall apart in a dark room for two days. He has to carry all my weight while I lie there useless. I take up so much of his time... so much of his life..."
Dan couldn't let those words hang in the air for another second. He leaned forward, closing the gap until his face was inches in front of Phil. He kept his hands folded across his chest, forcing himself to remember he was still just “Greg” to Phil, but his voice was thick, steady, and dripping with an intensity that cut straight through the dark fog in the kitchen.
"Listen to me, Phil," Dan said, keeping his tone in a warm, grounded register as 'Greg,' though his own eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "I need you to hear me right now. Before Dan stepped out... do you know what he told me about you?"
Phil blinked through his tears, looking up with pitiful, glassy eyes. "...What?"
"He told me that he loves you so much it frightens him," Dan murmured softly, leaning in a little bit more just enough so Phil could feel the absolute sincerity in his words. "He told me that if you love him through his bad days, through his dark mind and his depression... then he loves you through yours ten times over."
Phil’s bottom lip gave a tiny, disbelieving tremble.
"He doesn't care about cancelled trips," Dan continued, his voice trembling slightly with raw emotion. "He doesn't care about broken plates, or schedules, or sitting in a dark room with an ice pack. Carrying you isn't a burden to him, Phil. It's the only thing he wants to do. He loves every single piece of you—the good, the bad, the clumsy, and the quiet days. You aren't taking away his life. You are his life."
Phil stared at him, his chest heaving as the words sank into his hazy, bruised heart. The heavy, suffocating misery began to crack, replaced by a slow, overwhelmed wave of quiet relief.
"He... he said that?" Phil whispered, a tiny, watery hiccup escaping him.
"He meant every word," Dan promised softly.
Phil’s breath hitched, a wet, ragged sound that vibrated through the quiet kitchen. He stared up at 'Greg' through a shimmering haze of tears, his lower lip quivering as the profound weight of Dan’s words settled over his battered heart.
"I miss him," Phil whimpered, the sorrow in his voice so absolute and agonizing it felt like a physical ache in the room. He blindly brought a hand up to press against the center of his chest, clutching at the space over his heart. "Greg… My heart really... really hurts. I just want Dan."
"I know." Dan said, his voice dropping into the softest, most grounding register he could manage .’’You know what the fastest way to get to Dan is?"
Phil blinked heavily, his dark lashes sticking together with dried tears as he looked up with pitiful, innocent curiosity. "How?"
"Sleep," Dan murmured gently, taking a half-step back and gesturing toward the living room. "If you go to sleep right now, your brain fast-forwards through time. You close your eyes, and then boom—you open them, and Dan is right there waiting for you."
Phil’s eyes widened slightly, a tiny, fragile spark of hope lighting up his glassy blue gaze. "Fast-forward?"
"Fast-forward," Dan confirmed, offering a reassuring, warm nod. "Like a time machine. But you have to actually sleep for it to work. Deal?"
Phil swallowed hard, his chest giving one last, lingering, hiccuping hitch. "Deal," he whispered, his speech slurring so badly the word barely had consonants. "I wanna time travel to Dan."
"Alright. Let me help you."
Dan reached out, carefully placing a firm, steadying hand on Phil's hip while gently guiding him by the elbow. Phil didn't fight it this time; he leaned heavily into Dan’s side, completely surrendering his weight as they slowly shuffled back out of the kitchen and into the dim, quiet living room.
When they reached the sofa, Phil practically collapsed into the cushions. He immediately curled himself into a tight, protective ball, burying his face into the armrest with a soft, mournful sigh.
Phil’s eyes were already fluttering shut, the sheer emotional tax of the night finally dragging his consciousness under.
"Greg?" Phil mumbled into the pillow, his voice barely an audible breath now.
"Yeah, Phil?"
"Tell Dan... I'm fast-forwarding..."
"I'll tell him," Dan whispered softly.
Dan sank down onto his knees on the rug right beside the sofa. He reached out and gently slid his fingers into Phil's soft, dark hair, brushing a stray fringe off his forehead with a thumb. Phil let out a long, shuddering exhale, his posture finally relaxing as he leaned his cheek into the warmth of Dan’s hand.
Dan stayed there in the dark, watching the tension melt out of Phil's face. Within minutes, the tight, strained breathing evened out into the deep, rhythmic, beautiful sound of Phil sleeping soundly.
Dan leaned his forehead against the edge of the sofa, his own eyes burning with quiet, unspilled tears, his fingers still resting tenderly in Phil's hair.
No more secrets, Dan promised himself into the quiet room, watching his boyfriend sleep. No more hiding.
Morning arrived not with a gentle sunrise, but with a blinding, violent intrusion of light that pierced straight through Phil’s retinas.
He groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as a sledgehammer pounded against the inside of his skull. His mouth tasted like dry ash, his limbs felt like lead, and his stomach churned with a nauseating, lingering weight.
God, Phil thought, cringing as he slowly shifted on the sofa. Absolute, apocalyptic hangover.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to piece together the shattered glass of his memory. He remembered going out. He remembered the loud music at the pub, a jukebox that had definitely been staring at him funny, and... gin. A horrifyingly large amount of gin. After that, his mind was an absolute, terrifying blank space. Completely wiped.
"Phil?"
A low, raspy voice broke through the quiet of the living room. Phil carefully cracked one eye open to see Dan stirring on the floor right beside the couch, untangling himself from a stray throw blanket. He looked completely exhausted, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and his dark hair sticking up in a chaotic nest.
"Morning, sunshine," Dan muttered, sitting up and wincing as his back popped. He rubbed his face, looking up at Phil with an intense, strangely guarded look in his dark eyes. "How's... how's the head?"
"Like it’s being crushed in a hydraulic press," Phil rasped, his voice rough. He slouched back into the cushions, sighing heavily. "Did I... do anything weird last night? I don't remember getting home at all. Total blackout."
Dan went entirely still for a fraction of a second, his eyes searching Phil’s face with a quiet, careful scrutiny. "Nothing? You don't remember... anything after we left the pub?"
"Not a single thing," Phil admitted miserably, throwing an arm over his face to block out the light. "Did I fight the jukebox? Please tell me I didn't actually fight the jukebox."
A strange, soft emotion flickered across Dan’s face—a mix of profound relief, lingering heartache, and a sudden, quiet certainty. "Nm. You didn't fight the jukebox. You were... pretty quiet, actually."
Dan stood up, stretching his long frame, and disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. He returned holding a glass of water and two white painkillers. "Here. Take these before your brain leaks out of your ears."
"You're a lifesaver," Phil mumbled, sitting up carefully and downing the pills in one long gulp. The cool water washed away a fraction of the dryness in his throat, but his skin still felt sticky and gross from the night before. "I need to wash my face before I decay."
Phil uncurled his long legs from the sofa and carefully navigated the short walk to the bathroom, his feet still slightly unsteady. Dan followed right behind him, leaning casually against the bathroom doorframe as Phil turned on the tap and splashed freezing cold water onto his face.
Phil reached for a hand towel, wiping his skin and catching his own blotchy, sleep-deprived reflection in the mirror. "Ugh. I look like a corpse."
"Phil," Dan said softly.
There was a sudden, heavy shift in the tone of the room. Phil paused, the towel still held near his chin, looking at Dan’s reflection in the glass. Dan was staring at him, his expression stripped of all his usual defensive humor, raw and dead serious.
"I want to tell people the truth about us." Dan said plainly.
Phil froze. His eyes stayed locked on Dan's reflection, his mind completely blanking as the words hung suspended in the quiet air of the bathroom. For a long, staggering moment, all he could do was stare.
Slowly, carefully, Phil forced his muscles to unfreeze. His heart was hammering a violent, frantic rhythm against his ribs, and despite his best efforts, his fingers trembled against the damp cotton of the towel. He lowered it to the counter, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat as he tried desperately to play it cool.
"What?" Phil asked, aiming for a light, breezy chuckle that came out slightly too raspy. He turned around slowly, leaning his lower back against the sink, resting his hands behind him so Dan wouldn't see them shaking. "What do you mean? Like... a video? A tweet? Dan, where is this coming from? Did you hit your head on the floorboards while I was asleep?"
Dan didn't take the bait. He didn't joke, and he didn't pull back. Instead, a wave of profound, liquid tenderness washed over his face.
Step by step, Dan closed the distance between them. Rather than answering right away, he gently turned Phil back toward the mirror and stepped up behind him. His long arms reached around Phil's waist, pulling Phil’s back flush against his chest, anchoring him firmly.
Phil’s breath hitched as Dan tilted his head, burying his face into the warm junction where Phil’s neck met his shoulder. Dan pressed a soft, lingering kiss right to the sensitive skin above his collarbone, followed by another slow, reverent press of his lips against Phil's shoulder.
"I'm serious," Dan whispered, the vibration of his voice humming right against Phil's neck. His arms tightened securely around Phil’s middle, holding him close, holding him safe. "No more hiding. No more 'roommates.' I love you so much, Phil. I love you more than anything, and I'm ready. I want the whole world to know."
Phil tried to stay calm, but his voice completely betrayed him, shaking like a leaf as he forced a dry, breathless laugh to cover the sudden lump in his throat. He tried to appear far cooler than he felt, but with Dan’s arms wrapped tight around his waist and his heart thumping hard against his ribs, playing it off was almost impossible.
"Dan, seriously," Phil choked out, his eyes darting to Dan's reflection in the mirror. His trembling hands reached back to rest over Dan's forearms. "What... what brought this on?"
Dan just shrugged, resting his chin comfortably on Phil’s shoulder. There was a subtle, knowing glint in his dark eyes—a quiet, gentle spark of absolute certainty that Phil couldn't quite translate.
"No fever dream," Dan murmured, his thumbs lightly stroking Phil’s sides through the fabric of the oversized flannel shirt. "Just... a revelation. Call it an epiphany. A guy's allowed to wake up on a Saturday morning, look at his amazing partner, and decide he’s completely done lying to the world, isn't he?"
Phil stared at him through the glass, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots.
Dan watched the chaotic, exhaustion-tinted gears turning in Phil’s head, feeling a profound, quiet warmth bloom in his own chest. Unable to resist the pull, Dan peppered Phil’s neck again with soft, lingering kisses, trailing up to his jawline before gently twisting him around so that they were facing each other directly.
Phil’s eyes tracked his every movement, wide and swimming with a deeply lingering disbelief. He looked like he was expecting to wake up at any second—like he was terrified that if he blinked too hard, the moment would dissolve into thin air.
Dan stepped in closer, raising a tender hand to press a soft kiss against Phil’s temple, lingering there against his soft skin while he gathered his breath.
"Hey," Dan murmured, pulling back just enough to look straight into Phil’s glazed blue eyes. He kept his hands cupping Phil's face, his thumbs gently smoothing over his cheekbones. "I need you to hear me, Phil. Really hear me."
Phil blinked up at him, silent.
"You are not a burden," Dan said, his voice thick with an absolute, unwavering conviction that cut straight through the morning quiet. "Not when you're sick, not when you're overwhelmed, and not when you're having a bad day. I don't care if you're clumsy. I don't care if you break a hundred plates or smash every mug in the kitchen. It doesn't matter."
Phil let out a tiny, hitching breath, but Dan didn't slow down. He needed to flush out every single trace of the toxic, dark insecurities Phil had sobbed out into his shirt hours earlier.
"Taking care of you isn't something I endure, Phil. It’s never been a chore," Dan whispered, leaning down so their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "I take pride in taking care of you. I love being the person who gets to bring you water, and wrap you up in soft clothes, and keep you safe when your brain is hurting. You give me so much purpose just by being in my life.
Phil’s chest heaved with a soft, trembling breath, the sheer force of Dan’s words washing through him and grounding him entirely. For a long second, he just leaned there, forehead to forehead, letting the lingering fog of his hangover burn away under the warmth of Dan’s hands on his face.
Then, gathering what little strength he had left, Phil shifted. He tilted his head upward, placing a tender, lingering kiss right against the warm curve of Dan’s cheekbone, followed by another soft press of his lips to the corner of Dan's eye.
"You're not a burden either, Dan," Phil murmured, his voice rough and laced with a quiet, fierce intensity as he looked straight into Dan’s dark eyes. "I hate it—I hate it when you call yourself that when your mind gets dark. You think you're dragging me down, but you're not. I love you through your good days and your bad days. I love you through the anxiety, and the depression, and the days you can't even force yourself out of bed. All of it."
Dan’s heart did a strange, violent thud in his chest. Hearing those exact words tumble out of Phil’s mouth sober, unknowingly echoing the heartbreaking, raw confession his drunk self had wept into the kitchen air just hours before, was almost too much to bear.
A soft, fond snort escaped Dan’s nose, a watery, tender laugh bubbling up in his throat. "I know, Phil," Dan said softly, his thumb gently caressing Phil's temple. "I know."
Phil’s brow furrowed, a tiny, frustrated pout tugging at his lips. He shook his head against Dan’s cheek, his hands tightening on Dan’s waist. "No, Dan, listen to me. I need you to really hear me out. I’m serious—"
"Phil," Dan interrupted, his voice dropping into a warm, low register. "I know."
Phil froze.
He pulled back just an inch, his blue eyes searching Dan’s face. There it was again—that quiet, knowing glint in Dan’s eyes, the faint, affectionate smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, and an unmistakable look of absolute, smug adoration.
Phil stared at him. He blinked once. Twice. His mind wildly replayed the fragmented, blurry haze of the night before... the sudden disappearance of Dan, the mysterious 'Greg' in the kitchen who made tea funny, the ridiculous conversations about cereal, Mario Kart, and...
Oh god.
The realization hit Phil like a bucket of ice water. The color drained from his face, replaced instantly by a burning, violent flush that crept all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears.
Phil let out a muffled, horrified groan and buried his face directly into the middle of Dan’s chest, hiding himself completely as his shoulders slouched in utter defeat.
"Oh god," Phil muffled painfully into Dan’s t-shirt. "Dan... how drunk was I last night?"
Dan broke out into a full, genuine laugh, his chest rumbling against Phil’s cheek as he wrapped his arms tightly around his hopelessly mortified boyfriend. "On a scale of one to ten? You were sitting at about eighty percent gin, Philip."
"What else did I say?" Phil squeaked, his voice muffled by fabric, refusing to lift his head. "Please tell me I didn't... oh no. Did I talk about Greg? Were you Greg?!"
"I was indeed Greg," Dan chuckled, pressing a fond kiss into Phil’s messy hair.
As Phil’s groans turned into a quiet, resigned sigh against his chest, Dan gently stroked his back, his humor softening into something deeply earnest once more.
"I'm serious, though, Phil," Dan murmured, his chin resting lightly on top of Phil's head. "About all of it. Drunk Phil... well, he put everything into perspective for me. I’m done living a lie. I’m done making you feel like you have to shrink yourself, or hide, or carry the pressure of my anxieties. I want to tell everyone."
Phil slowly lifted his head, his face still flushed a brilliant shade of pink, but his blue eyes were steady now. The embarrassment melted away, replaced by a deep, quiet certainty. He looked at Dan, really looked at him, and saw no trace of fear left in his partner's eyes.
"Okay," Phil whispered, a tender, breathless smile finally breaking across his face. "Okay. Let's do it."
In the cool safety of the bathroom, wrapped securely in each other's embrace, they began to slowly sway left and right. It was a lazy, rhythmic comfort, a quiet celebration of a decision sixteen years in the making. The hum of the quiet flat surrounded them, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a fortress keeping the world out; it just felt like home.
"So..." Dan started softly, his cheek resting against Phil's temple as they rocked. "How does October 11th sound?"
Phil paused mid-sway, his eyebrows knitting together as his brain did some quick, practical math through the lingering hangover fog. "October 11th? That's... Dan, that's Coming Out Day, but it's also in like, two weeks!"
"Is that too soon?"
"October 13th is better," Phil reasoned, nudging Dan’s shoulder playfully. "Give us two extra days to actually prepare ourselves. And, you know, script it, panic, delete the script, and decide to just wing it like we always do."
Dan snorted, then hummed in agreement, still swaying Phil gently in his arms.. "Fair point. October 13th it is."
Dan leaned down to press one more kiss to Phil's forehead. For the first time in sixteen years, the future didn't feel like a terrifying secret to guard; it felt like the next big step, an open road and he couldn't wait to walk it hand in hand.