Work Text:
So I guess that it's true
Time can heal even the worst of wounds
And the clichés I knew
Seem so commonplace when I saw you
1. 2009
Dan felt as if his heart was in his throat. Shuffling slowly down the train corridor, he fidgeted with the strap of his bag, trying to remind himself that this wasn't a big deal. He knows Phil, and Phil knows him, it's whatever. They've been…whatever you could call this, for months. It wasn't weird, and it wasn't scary. No, this was totally fine.
When Dan finally stepped onto the platform, his eyes found Phil almost instantly. There—one hand shoved awkwardly into his pocket, the other fiddling with his phone, his lips twisted in a nervous bite, hair eerily still in the light breeze—was Phil. The real, breathing, living being.
Dan froze, his lips parting on a quiet gasp. He was no longer just the boy in Dan's dreams and sappiest fantasies, he was here, physically, no screen or shoddy internet connection to separate them.
When Phil glanced up, his eyes found Dan just as quickly. Immediately, his face broke into a wide grin. He waved his hand energetically, practically jumping onto his tiptoes with exuberance.
Dan couldn't help the bright, genuine smile that threatened to take over his entire face. He stepped forward with confidence now, his legs carrying him towards Phil like the natural draw of a magnetic pull. As he got closer and closer, he felt all his anxieties and fears washing away, instead being replaced with excitement and the sentiment of finally.
Before Dan could collect his thoughts enough to say anything, he had an armful of Phil. Dan stumbled, only slightly, before his arms instinctively wound around Phil's waist. Phil's arms were wrapped around Dan's neck, his breath tickling Dan's ear as he giggled—giggled—with delight.
Dan inhaled slowly, his heart thumping fiercely in his chest. It felt like the first real breath he'd ever taken, as if the breathing he'd done for his entire life before this was just practice for this moment, a shallow preview of what breathing was always meant to feel like. The inhale and exhale felt comforting in a way Dan didn't know breathing could be, easy in a way he didn't know it was supposed to be, safe in a way he didn't know was possible.
"You're here," Phil breathed, his words barely louder than a whisper.
"I'm here," Dan replied, blinking back the mistiness gathering in his eyes.
Phil pulled back slightly, his sea glass eyes roaming every inch of Dan's face, as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Dan blushed at the attention, shifting his eyes away in an attempt to deflect Phil's intense gaze. Phil pursed his lips tightly, contemplatively, shaking his head to himself.
"What?" Dan asked, a slight chuckle in his voice as he studied Phil's face in return. He admired the crook of his nose, the pale expanse of his neck, the way his eyelashes splayed so delicately, and the soft pinkish rose of his lips. Dan's eyes lingered there a moment longer than was probably appropriate for such a public setting, but he relished in the way a flush bloomed up Phil's neck and across his cheeks, the colour flooding the porcelain surface with a warm glow.
"You have freckles," Phil stated, stepping away from the embrace, shyly looking at his feet. "I never noticed on Skype, can't really see them on there."
"So do you, Philip," Dan teased. Boldly, he reached out to poke Phil in the cheek, earning him another coy giggle from Phil. Dan silently decided that he'd do everything in his power to make Phil giggle like that as often as he could.
"C'mon, let's get out of here," Phil gestured with his head, nodding in the direction of the exit. "Fancy a one-of-a-kind Manchester tour, courtesy of yours truly?" Phil looked over his shoulder at Dan, his eyes sparkling with what Dan could only describe as joy.
I'd follow you blind, Dan thought to himself, his heart doing tiny flips as he fell into step beside Phil.
"Lead the way."
Pick me up, walk me home
Man, it feels like God threw me a bone
Sticky sweet, tangerine
Would you sit and keep me company?
2. 2013
It was nearly midday when Dan finally opened his eyes.
The sluggishness that had become a normal part of his everyday had evolved into something else entirely, a bone-tired exhaustion and apathy that swallowed him up entirely. Even with the curtains drawn and the lights off, the world felt too bright, too loud, too lively. Everything felt too much.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, Dan tried to fight back the tears. There was no real reason to cry, he rationalized, crying would probably only make him feel worse. A headache, a runny nose, puffy eyes, it wasn't worth the effort. Nothing would make this feeling go away any faster, nothing ever could. So instead, he elected to wallow in it, allowing himself to sink deeper into the hollowness in his chest, letting his brain descend into the hopeless void, embracing the numbness and joylessness as intrinsic parts of his being that he'd never be able to truly extricate from. There was no cure for being Dan Howell.
Burying his face beneath the blankets, Dan tried to will himself back to sleep. When he was sleeping, he didn't have to think, didn't have to feel, didn't have to exist. Sleep was his temporary escape, a micro-dose of the peace he envisioned he could find in death. Dan brushed that thought away quickly, Phil's voice seeping into his psyche.
"Don't talk like that," He'd scold, his words firm but coated with fear. "That's the sickness talking," He'd say resolutely. "Death is not the answer," He'd state, voice wobbly but determined. "You don't have to fight this alone, I am here for you, I care about you, I love you."
Dan squeezed his eyes shut tightly, caught between embracing the comfort of Phil's reassurances and violently rejecting the premise entirely.
Peeling the blanket back, he reached for his phone. As his eyes adjusted, he blearily noticed a glass of water that wasn't there the night before. On a paper towel next to the glass was an orange, lovingly peeled, with a few segments plucked loose for easy grabbing. Dan felt a dry sob crawl its way up his chest and throat, spilling out of his mouth like a feeble whimper. He took a shaky breath, his lip wobbling, as he sent a single text. Just a random letter, something insignificant, to let Phil know he was awake.
No more than thirty seconds passed before Dan heard the quietest knock on the door. He didn't reply, but he didn't have to. There were no words needed.
Phil crawled onto the bed, wordlessly worming his way into Dan's blanket cocoon. Wrapping Dan in his arms, Phil applied light pressure, squeezing along Dan's bicep, his wrist, his waist, grounding him in the present. Dan felt the touches on the furthermost edges of his sadness, barely a tickle, but there nonetheless. Phil rubbed Dan's back with steady circles, pausing every few rotations to switch directions, and Dan felt the cavern in his chest brighten, only just a bit, from a limitless black to a charcoal grey. He allowed himself to bask in Phil's familiar scent—clean cotton, warm vanilla, subtle bergamot, and an indescribable musk uniquely his. Dan's brain whirred fuzzily as it registered the smell as a memory, as safe, as loved, as home.
Dan pulled back from Phil's hold, his eyes hooded but searching. He examined Phil's face. He looked decidedly neutral, his "brave face", calm and open. When he caught Dan's eye, though, Dan noticed the way his eyes mellowed ever so slightly, the lids drooping a fraction, his whole face seemingly relaxing into something gentler, sweeter, softer.
Dan tenderly pressed his thumb to Phil's cheekbone, a silent gesture of gratitude that Dan wasn't quite able to vocalize yet. Phil closed his eyes slowly, leaning into the small contact point reverently. Dan felt a small spark of warmth bloom somewhere deep in the recesses of his chest. He didn't smile, but he revelled in the pleasant feeling for what it was: A glimmer of light at the end of the long, dark, and winding tunnel, a reminder of the goodness that persisted even when he was lost in the vast abyss of this sickness, hope.
Pulling Dan's head to his chest, Phil tangled their legs together and began channelling his breathing into the slow, deliberate pattern that he knew Dan found soothing.
Closing his eyes again, Dan's breathing fell into sync with Phil's.
They would weather this storm together.
In the dark, I'm not scared
I just reach and you're right there
Shooting stars, racing cars
Everything I own just feels like ours
3. 2019
"Alright, popcorn is popped, Ribena is chilled, Haribo is…Phil, bring the Haribo!" Dan called out, settling into the sofa gracelessly. Placing their drinks on the coffee table, Dan reached for a blanket, tucking the edges up under his thighs and across his lap cozily.
He'd been looking forward to this all week, the promise of a scary movie and enough snacks to feed a small army was the perfect reward for a busy week of filming, editing, and traipsing from meeting to meeting across London.
"Ready to have your pants scared off?" Dan asked before laughing with faux maniacism. He picked up the remote, reflexively navigating the TV menu to pull up Netflix.
Phil padded into the room casually, two bags of Haribo tucked under one arm, and the Pheal pressed to his chest. Dan smiled in his direction, eyeing the bags of Haribo, before his face dropped in shock.
Standing in the doorway, his glasses slightly askew, clad in his Minecraft pyjamas, Phil was wearing Dan's jumper. No, not just any jumper, but the dreaded potato sack jumper that he despised so openly. Dan gawped, rendered speechless for maybe the first time in his life.
"What? Don't look at me like that, weirdo," Phil said, his hackles already up.
Dan couldn't control the laughter that bubbled up in his chest, his brain still processing this surprising turn of events.
"You're wearing my jumper," He stated matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, so, what's your point?" Phil shuffled over to the couch, plopping himself down in his well-worn couch crease and grabbing his own blanket. "What's yours is mine, or whatever," Phil grumbled, adjusting his glasses before trying to arrange the pillows just how he liked them.
Dan stared in awe, his chest vibrating with uncontrollable glee.
"What, did every other jumper of mine catch on fire? Because I can't think of a singular other reason you'd ever be caught dead in that one," Dan was full-on belly laughing now, throwing his head back and covering his eyes at the humour of it all.
Phil's embarrassment was clear as day, his cheeks peachy and warm from Dan's teasing remarks. Despite his best efforts, though, he was chuckling a bit, too.
"Shut up, you twat. It was the first one I grabbed, leave me alone," Phil thwacked a pillow in Dan's direction, narrowly missing the bowl of popcorn resting precariously between them.
"I know for a fact that jumper was in the hamper, you ninny! Why didn't you grab one from the closet?" Dan picked up the popcorn bowl and moved it to the table, scooting over closer to Phil to return his pillow thwack with greater fervour.
Phil's face flushed a deeper red, his eyes going a bit wide and glassy at Dan's comment, like he was offended by Dan's prying.
"I just didn't, okay? God, you're so nosy and annoying," Phil thwacked Dan again, his brows furrowing in protest of Dan's inquiries.
"Tell the truth, Philip Michael Lester, you like the potato sack jumper, don't you?" Dan sing-songed cheerfully, scooting further into Phil's space, despite the heavy thwacks of pillow Phil was still aiming his way.
"I do not like this godforsaken jumper!" Phil rose onto his knees to get extra leverage on Dan. Dan, already predicting Phil's every move, slid in for a tackle straight to Phil's torso, sending him backwards in a flurry of limbs and protestations.
"Tell me the truth, you fraud! Admit it! Admit you like it!" Dan tickled at Phil's ribs, peppering kisses along Phil's exposed shoulder and collarbone. Phil wriggled with laughter, desperately trying to hit Dan with the pillow to no avail, his grip weak and his limbs flailing wildly.
"I don't like it! I swear! It just—I just—" Phil paused between giggles, his words coming out short and punchy.
Dan paused his attack, bracing himself over Phil on his elbows, his own chest still rising and falling rapidly from their antics.
"You just what?" Dan asked, smiling devilishly at the silly, squirmy boy beneath him.
Phil's face turned a bit serious, the flush of embarrassment rising distinctly, eclipsing the more subtle rosiness from laughter and exertion.
"Promise you won't laugh?" Phil chewed his lip, eyes big and round and pleading. Dan pushed up onto his hands, his face changing from teasing bemusement to genuine concern.
"Of course, bub. What is it?" Dan reached out comfortingly, resting his hand on Phil's cheek.
"I…well, you wore this yesterday and…" Phil paused, his eyes blinking sharply. "It smells like you," Phil mumbled, avoiding Dan's eyes. "I picked it because it smells the most like you, and—" Phil swallowed, his eyes tentatively meeting Dan's, earnest and vulnerable. "It makes me feel less scared."
Dan's lips curved into a gentle smile, his stomach swooping pleasantly. Scary movies were Phil's thing, he liked them probably more than Dan did, always researching them, and watching reviews and video essay deep dives. Hell, most of the time, it was Phil who suggested the scary movie option whenever a movie night rolled around. But Phil also believed in the supernatural and the occult more than Dan did, so maybe it shouldn't have been that surprising. Regardless of the irony, Dan found it incredibly endearing, overwhelmingly so.
"I love you," Dan blurted, his eyes a bit damp and his heart threatening to clog up his throat. He took a moment to take in the beautiful openness and honesty so clearly spelled out across Phil's face. It filled Dan with a mix of feelings, his brain trying to reconcile that Phil, the bravest boy he knew, found strength in him, his jumper, his scent, his presence. He couldn't wrap his head around it, but Dan had long since learned to stop letting his inner critic overanalyze every new thing he couldn't understand or explain. It didn't have to make sense to him, he didn't need to twist himself into a knot of anxiety and confusion trying to make sense of something beyond his scope. When it came to Phil, Dan had no reason to fear the unknown or the uncertain.
"You make me feel less scared, too," Dan murmured, the admission falling as easy as rain, his voice low and sincere.
Phil smiled brightly, cupping Dan's jaw before pulling him down into a familiar kiss; warm, safe, and fearless.
It's too hard to describe this
In a way that feels honest, but even when I'm quiet
I promise
And I hope I never see what your face looks like goin'
A face, I swear, that I could spend my whole life knowin'
Here's to hopin'
+1. 2026
Phil couldn't sleep.
Not only was his body still adjusting to being on the other side of the world timezone-wise, but he had all but forgotten how unsettling it was trying to sleep on a moving vehicle. He felt a bit queasy, his stomach turning like it was being juggled around his torso with the jostling of the bus.
He was a bit cold, too. His thin blanket didn't cling to him warmly the same way his duvet did at home. And the smells. Even with his trusty pillow plucked straight from his bed at home, the whole space around him smelled terribly foreign, like a mix of bleach and cloying artificial lemon. While he was comforted to know the bus was clean, the overly clinical scents didn't aid in his desire for familiarity.
And, maybe the sappiest and most pathetic of all, he missed Dan. Dan, who was no more than three feet away across the bus aisle, Dan who he had just bid goodnight to only an hour ago, Dan who he spent every waking moment of his day with, and who he'd continue to spend every waking moment of every day with in these constricted quarters for the next six months. Even so, the logic didn't seem to matter. Phil's chest ached.
Nighttime was lonely and, even if he wasn't interested in cuddling the night away, just knowing Dan was there, in their bed, within arms reach at any moment, was a custom he'd grown quite fond of. Now, in the casket-esque cavern of his bunk, he felt painfully aware of his absence.
Phil huffed to himself, rolling over to face the pleated curtain of his bunk. It was as dark as it could be, the only faint glow coming from the requisite lights lining the floor of the bus. Phil bit his lip, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his pillow, as his brain sluggishly formed a thought.
It was quiet, save for the rumbling of the bus engine, so it was likely that everyone else had successfully drifted off to sleep. He figured stealing a quick peak at Dan couldn't hurt, a quick reminder to himself that he was there and that he was being silly. Just a quick glance, and he'd maybe, finally, be able to put his mind to rest.
Slipping on his glasses, Phil quietly edged the curtain open. Doing his best to avoid causing a commotion, he carefully climbed out of his bunk, clinging to the wooden ledges for dear life. When his feet plopped onto the floor, he winced at the louder-than-intended thump. He hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if anyone stirred. When no one grumbled or roused, Phil straightened up from his semi-crouched position.
He didn't even have to take a step, simply turning in place, he was already face-to-face with Dan's bunk curtain. With shaky fingers, Phil pulled the curtain back. His heart immediately softened at the sight before him.
Dan's sleepy face was illuminated by his phone, a YouTube video playing mindlessly into the single Airpod he still had secured in his ear. Dan's arms were curled around his pillow, his cheek smushed into the soft fabric, mouth slightly agape. His lashes were splayed delicately across the highs of his cheekbones, the hairs nearly brushing at the smattering of freckles there.
His torso was bare, his shirt discarded in the gap behind his back; Phil supposed he was overheating in the small space, the bus a much warmer temperature than Dan generally preferred. Phil found himself weirdly entranced by the even rise and fall of Dan's chest. Unconsciously, Phil's own breathing fell into the same rhythm, slow and steady and sure.
Phil felt his lips quirk into a small smile, his whole chest warmer and fuller now that he was in Dan's space, even if it was only peripherally. Reaching out impulsively, Phil brushed a stray curl off Dan's forehead, leaning forward to drop a fleeting kiss to the sleep-warm skin.
As he pulled back, Dan's eyes flew open to meet his, bleary and wide. Phil suddenly clamped his hands over his mouth, both in surprise, but also in apology. He really hadn't meant to wake Dan up.
"Sorry," Phil whispered, his voice high and featherlight.
"Whasamatter? Y'okay?" Dan's voice was rumbly and deep. He rubbed his eyes firmly with the heel of his hand. When he looked at Phil again, his eyes were clearer, more alert, his brain locking in immediately like whatever this was was really important. It made Phil feel silly, and a bit guilty.
"Just—" Phil trailed off, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. "Just wanted to say hi," Phil sheepishly admitted. "Missed your face."
Dan blinked blankly for a few seconds. Phil held his breath, waiting for a grouchy Dan retort. Instead, Dan smiled, his cheeks rounding out like a puffy pastry, his dimples creasing like small thumbprints in starchy dough.
"You're such a sap," Dan replied, the crinkles by his eyes betraying any insult he tried to put behind his words.
Phil shrugged, fluttering his lashes at Dan coyly, jutting out his lip in a mild pout.
"S'hard sleeping by myself, don't like it," Phil leaned into Dan's bunk, resting his head on his folded arms to serve up proper puppy dog eyes—wide and round, innocent and earnest.
Dan chuckled lightly, reaching out to tousle Phil's hair affectionately. He combed his fingers through a few errant strands before sliding down to lovingly craddled Phil's cheek. With his thumb, he brushed the freckles there, reverently ghosting along the soft skin. Finally, his hand came to anchor in the crook of Phil's neck, his slightly-clammy palm transferring his comforting warmth to Phil's skin. He leaned in, pressing his chapped lips to Phil's nose, cheeks, forehead, and eyelids, smattering the kisses around haphazardly. Phil tried to contain his enamored giggles, his shoulders shaking as he basked in Dan's attention.
Phil eventually rearranged himself, standing up more so he could wrangle Dan into a proper kiss, their wide grins sealing together toothily and a bit off-center.
"Wish I could cuddle you, just for a bit," Phil confessed, his wistfulness coming out a bit more whimpering than he'd meant it to.
Dan fixed him with a forlorn frown, his lips twisting with his shared disappointment.
"I know, bub. Me too," Dan exhaled. "Just one more sleep, yeah? Then it's a hotel night. No bus, proper bed, all the cuddles your heart can handle, I promise." Phil nodded solemnly, trying his best to mask his longing with a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Dan so obviously saw right through him, of course he did. Phil watched Dan's face shift as the gears started turning. He could tell Dan was trying to think of a compromise, some kind of consolation prize he could offer instead.
"Alright, c'mere," Dan suddenly huffed, determined. He swiftly discarded his phone and Airpod, proffering out his hand to Phil.
Phil froze in confusion. Surely Dan didn't mean…?
"What?!" Phil shout-whispered, his body getting dragged towards the interior of Dan's bunk. "Daniel, there is no way—" Phil protested weakly.
Before he could really consciously resist, his body seemed to decide it was going to wriggle its way into Dan's bunk come hell or high water.
"Just…trust the process," Dan grunted, shuffling his body around and manhandling Phil into the bunk as if he'd rehearsed for this very moment. Weaving their legs together, Phil marvelled at the way their bodies still somehow found a way to slot together comfortably, despite the unusual circumstance.
Settling in—partially on the mattress, but mostly on Dan—Phil couldn't help the tittering of laughter that threatened to escape. He buried his face in Dan's shoulder, his glasses digging into his face, while his whole body vibrated with giddiness at the silliness of the situation.
Dan shushed him through his own laughter, his arms winding around Phil tightly, caressing across his back and squeezing his hip—either as a desperate attempt to keep Phil from rolling right out of the bunk, or as a gesture of tenderness, Phil wasn't quite sure.
They giggled quietly together, their laughter mingling in the tight space. Phil snuggled in closer still, his whole body tingling as it absorbed Dan's warmth limb by limb. He felt his heart settle pleasantly in his chest as he absentmindedly registered Dan's own heartbeat thrumming in tandem just below his ribcage. Phil sighed contentedly, crampedness be damned, he'd never felt more at home than he did right here in Dan's arms.
"Just for a few minutes, alright?" Dan mumbled, his hand scritching at the nape of Phil's neck to make sure he had his attention. "There's no way we can sleep like this."
"Jus'a few, yes," Phil replied lazily, his eyes already feeling droopier, his breathing slowing to a calm, steady pace. "Love you," Phil murmured, his lips barely moving where they made contact with Dan's collarbone.
"Love you s'much," Dan slurred, his hand coming to a slow stop on Phil's back.
And in the morning, if one of the crew members happened to see a peacefully slumbering Dan and Phil tangled together in a mess of limbs, and drool, and blankets, through the forgotten open curtain of Dan's bunk...well, that was neither here nor there. They would pull the curtain closed and pretend they hadn't seen a thing.
It was going to be a long six months.
Let's just walk in the dark
Hop the fence in the park
Baby boy, honeybee
God, I love the way you look at me