Like you (Phan)

2012: past

REMEMBER THIS IS NOT MY STORY FULL CREDIT TO
it's-just-phun-to-imagine
2012 Dan and Phil's flat, London~
Dan didn't know when it had started. Or how. It just sort of happened. He'd spent days racking his brain for the exact moment of his life when he actually started questioning, well, everything, but he couldn't find it. He guessed that quitting university had something to do with it. It probably made it worse, but it happened before then too. It was definitely happening in 2009, but Phil had helped him then. He's not helping now, because he can't. No one can really.
Dan was sat on the floor of his kitchen, a mug filled with cereal and milk, a spoon hanging out of his mouth as he stared blankly at photos on the fridge. He was wearing his pyjama bottoms. Phil had been gone since 9am this morning, and Dan had been wearing Phil's green York jumper since two...this morning. Phil leaves it around the house so Dan's gotten into the habit of picking it up and carrying it around, intending to give it back. He just wears it when Phil's not around. He just misses him...and it's been getting worse.
Dan led back against the kitchen tiles, staring up at the blank ceiling. He should probably be filming that video that he promised the fans a week ago. If only they could see me now, as he attempted to balance the mug on his face. He should probably be answering those vyou questions in his inbox. He should probably be doing a lot of things, but he isn't. The thought of his overflowing inbox, doubled with the storm of angry fans demanding a video on twitter, was enough to make him roll face over, into his classic 'existential crisis' position, knocking his mug over in the process. Because that's what was happening. Except this one, had been ongoing for about two months. He sat up groaning; half-heartedly scooping his soggy cereal remains back into the mug. He threw a cloth over the puddle of milk and got up, ambling back to his room where he could stare at a different ceiling. Shutting his bedroom door behind him, Dan fell forward onto his bed. He curled up into a ball, tucking his feet to his chest. He hadn't intended to fall asleep.
—
He woke up to a small knock on his door. He opened his eyes, sitting up as he looked up at the doorway. Nothing. He hadn't heard Phil come in, but Phil had seen he was asleep, and wearing his jumper. Brilliant. He made his way over to the door, only to find a packet of Malteasers abandoned on the carpet, placed very deliberately.
Too kind.
Dan picked up the packet.
Too caring.
He threw the packet on his bed before leaving his room.
Not enough.
He found Phil in the kitchen, surrounded by open cupboard doors. When Phil saw him, he rushed forward to wrap his arms around Dan.
"Hey" Phil smiled. Dan mumbled in response, standing motionless in Phil's arms. Phil pulled away, rummaging through the cupboards, "Good day?"
"Yeah." Dan lied, "You?"
"Pretty good actually. You should've come with me-"
"Video." Dan said simply, stepping on his own feet as he looked at the floor.
"Oh yeah..." Phil leant back against the counter, "How's it going?"
"Haven't started." Dan said blankly, staring up at the ceiling.
"Oh."
Dan focused on the ceiling. He figured that, the longer he stared at it; something was bound to happen. He normally does this in his room. He liked the idea of staring up at the ceiling. He hasn't got any stars, so this is the next best thing, and it makes him feel like he's in an indie movie with a soundtrack that no ones ever heard of, starring Michael Cera. Then he has full permission to say profound bullshit, and come to dramatic conclusions about the universe and existence. All he's got so far is that it's pretty fucking pointless, so it's going well. Phil's voice dragged him out of the void blooming on the kitchen ceiling.
"Didn't you promise them a week ago, Dan?"
"Yes, I'm aware."
"Sorry I was just-it doesn't matter." Phil smiled again, leaving the kitchen, heading for his room, "I left some Malteasers in your room-just in case you didn't see them."
Too fucking kind. Dan tugged at the hem of Phil's hoodie, pulling the jumper over his head. Too fucking caring.  He crumpled it into a ball and chucked it in an arch so it landed on the sofa. But it's not fucking enough. Dan hurried back to his room, nearly slamming the door behind him. He didn't know what to do. He fell back onto his bed, and tried to stare up. But he didn't see a void, or a quirky indie movie; he saw nothing. A blank canvas, a blank page, just an empty space where Dan's imagination, used to be. He came up with some of his best ideas lying on his bed, and yet here he is, close to tears, because he sees nothing. But Phil. Phil has never seen nothing. Phil sees everything. He sees the void sometimes, but he knows how to make it brighter. He gives things light, hope and colour. Dan is dull, and he doesn't know what to do about it. Even as he stared, he could feel himself slipping into an all too familiar state of mind. The nothingness consumed him as he blinked up at the ceiling, willing for something to happen. Even tears falling from his eyes would be better than this stupid nothing. I really need some fucking stickers.
He opened up his laptop, bashing the keys as he typed in his vyou login. He answered every question, clicking one after the other. They were mostly about Phil. The fans seemed to think that him and Phil were 'different' in their videos. What utter bullshit, Dan thinks. Him and Phil were always going to be that, him and Phil. He'd promised. The fans seemed to think they'd had a fight, which they hadn't! Sure, maybe Dan had been feeling a little off recently, but Phil's fine! Everything's fine! Dan repeated the same answer of 'no, me and Phil are fine' in many, if not all, of the questions he'd been asked. It was only when he checked the time at the top of his laptop, when he realized what day it was. Tuesday, 8:55. Liveshow time. Dan sighed, closing his eyes as he thought of all the fans, expecting him to be there. He knew he had to, and he wanted to, because those fans made his day, everyday. His bottom lip trembled as he thought of them all, sat there expectantly, waiting for their Dan, all bubbly and happy, talking about his day. He thought about the fans who lived so far away, getting up at 4am to watch him, people in school hiding their phones behind their pencil cases, people who cared so, so much.
I can't do this.
He wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his hand, before closing his laptop. He reached for his phone from his bedside table, opening up twitter. The first thing he saw was his previous tweet about him filming a video that day...something he hadn't done. He typed out a tweet saying he was feeling ill and couldn't do a liveshow, posting it before he changed his mind, even though he already felt guilty. He was being selfish, and he hated it. Phil would see that tweet, and when Phil asked him if he was okay, Dan would have to lie. No more lies, he'd promised himself. But it was like he was in a spiral. Once he started lying, he couldn't stop. Lying about videos being ready, lying about where he was, who he was with, lying about how he was feeling. Lying about his-and Phil's-past. He wanted to fix things, make it right, but it was too late now. He knew it would come back around eventually, and here it is. The endless spiral of lies; self-created, as his own mind lied, and ruined itself. Dan's own personal, endless, nothing. He wanted to cry-anything to help him feel less helpless, less numb-anything to make him feel more than nothing.
"Dan?" A small voice sounded from outside Dan's door, accompanied with a gentle knock. He remained silent, frozen on his bed.
"Dan, I saw your tweet, is everything okay?" Phil's voice sounded a lot quieter than usual. He sounded worried.
"M'fine." Dan called back. Lies lies lies.
"It's just you didn't seem ill earlier, so are you-"
"I'm fine Phil." Dan said, a little louder, and perhaps more annoyed than he'd intended, "Just leave me, m'fine."
"No." Phil said shortly, "I don't know what to do Dan."
What?
"Tell me what I can do to help you. You're in there day and night, and I know for a fact that you aren't ill. Something's up and you just won't tell me. If you don't wanna say, fine," Phil continued, "But I'm just worried Dan, you can't shut me out forever. I'm. Staying."
There was a silence as Dan tried to figure out what Phil meant by that.
"I promised you, didn't I?" You did. I remember.
Dan slid off his bed, sitting cross-legged in front of his door. He stared at the wooden panels, knowing that Phil was just behind them. Without thinking, he slowly leant his head forward, leaning his forehead on the door, like he was willing himself through, even though he didn't want to leave his room. He listened carefully, and sure enough, he could hear breathing from the other side of the door. Phil.
He'd decided there were two types of alone. The first is when you want to be completely, physically alone, with no other presence. But the other is when you need the presence of a person with you. Just someone there, someone telling you that it's going to be okay. It was the second one. Dan knew, that he wouldn't want this presence from anyone else, only Phil. Phil may not be in the room as him, but it was like Dan could feel his presence. It seemed strange, but whenever Dan was near Phil, with his bright, radioactive eyes and black, messy fringe, he felt ok. The drowning thoughts of existence and nothingness flooding his mind didn't seem as consuming, and he could swim away, to the point where the nothing didn't seem so bad. It was the reason him and Phil could sit in comfortable quiet for such prolonged amounts of time: Phil made Dan's mind quiet. Dan didn't know why or how Phil did this, but it was happening now, and he wasn't even in the same room as him.
But somehow, it's not enough. His mind may be quiet, but that leaves room for other things. Things that Dan doesn't think about, because it hurts too much, and Phil can't see it. Because Dan is scared, so, so scared. And a long time ago, this presence, would have been enough. Knowing that Phil is there would have been enough, his smile, would have been enough. But it's not enough. Dan wants more and he always has. Dan pressed his forehead harder into the door, willing it to disappear, willing for Phil to see. But just as his eyes began to water and the pain in his chest became too much, he heard something.
Phil was humming. Dan didn't fully recognise the tune, or understand why, but it was simple and sweet. He hummed a broken melody, like he didn't fully know the song.
-"When you said your last goodbye..."- Phil sung very softly, -"I died a little bit inside"- He continued humming as Dan sat, only a door away, trying make sense of what was going through his head-and there was a lot to look at. He shook his head, but this time the feelings didn't go away, because they weren't just in his head anymore. They were behind that door. And he was terrified.
-"Alone without you, by my side.."-
His side? He did promise, and he was still here. Dan hadn't ever known why, and he'd had three years to figure it out. He thought that maybe by now, he'd just know what he was feeling. He wondered if it was possible to miss someone when they were only a foot away. It is.
"Phil?" Dan whispered.
"Yes bear?" He hasn't called me bear in three years.
"I-" Dan couldn't continue, he didn't know what he wanted to say. His breath had caught in his throat and he was scared that if he spoke again, then his voice would shake.
"Yes?" Phil replied. His voice was kind, too kind. Not enough.
"I want to be alone." Don't leave.
"Do you?" No. Stay. Please. I need you.
"Y-yes." Dan's voice was shaky. He was happy he wasn't facing Phil, or this would of been impossible. He stood up on wobbly legs, and made his way to his bed, where he sat down, making himself as small as possible in its centre. He looked up at his ceiling, wishing for the nothingness. But his head was drowning, and he was falling faster and faster.
"You know, in general, people who leave their doors unlocked," Phil gestured to the lock on Dan's door, "Don't want to be alone." Dan looked up to see Phil leaning in the doorway. He'd left his stomach at the door. Phil couldn't be in here. Dan would say something stupid. Dan was terrified. He was terrified that he needed Phil, and then he was angry, because he had to be.
"I said I wanted to be alone." Dan breathed, not letting got of his knees.
"And I heard you," Phil nodded, "I always do."
"Then. Leave." He spat every word, his voice shaking.
"No."
"Go."
Phil sat in front of Dan, looking up at the ceiling. "I get why you stare at it. It's kinda daunting though, if I'm honest."
"Just go!" Dan cried. He could feel Phil looking at him, so he didn't move one inch. Dan couldn't be this close to him. His chest was tight and everything was hurting. He wanted to run away, hide, away from his head, the stupid ceiling. And Phil.
"Sometimes people need people, even you, Dan Howell. I'm not going anywhere. And I don't plan on it. I promised you always, to stay, and that's what you're going to get."
And just like that, Dan knew. It had taken him three years to make sense of it. Three years of wondering, three years of forgotten glances and three years of Phil, to know. They say, when you know, you know, and Dan dismissed it as profound romantic bullcrap, but he'd take it over anything now that he knew. It was like a light had been switched on in his head, things weren't fuzzy anymore and he knew. The wave of affection he felt for Phil in that moment was indescribable. It was like every nice remark, every kind act, and every hug, comfort or laugh, happened all at once.  Dan was tired of feeling numb. He wanted to feel again. So he let himself feel. Everything. All three years.
I'm in love with Phil Lester.
He could feel warm, thick tears streaming down his face, onto his pyjamas and the bed. He wiped his eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop. His breathing sped up at he began to panic. His hands shook and his hands grabbed at the duvet, trying to find something to hold onto.
"M'fine." Dan sniffed, tears still falling,
"I know." Phil turned to face him, "You always are." Dan remembered a time when words were all he needed. As Phil's hand covered his own, he stared back, bewildered by his own feelings, because this wasn't enough anymore, and he knew it. This wasn't enough, and Dan wanted more, he always has. Dan doesn't just want Phil. Dan needs him.
"Not enough." Dan whispered. Phil stared at him, taken a back, with a look in his eyes that Dan hadn't seen before.
Dan was falling. It just took him a while to realise that he'd been falling all this time; he'd never really stopped. He'd been falling since 2009. From the very first message, first skype, first meeting, and he'd never stopped, not once. But now he'd reached the bottom, and this time, Phil was there to catch him. And Dan couldn't find a reason to stop him.
"C'mere." Phil murmured.
A heart-breaking sob sounded from Dan's throat, racking his entire body, making him shake. Phil reached out his hand, his face unreadable. Dan didn't have to stop himself anymore and he didn't want to. He grabbed Phil's hand, holding it tightly, locking their fingers together, but this wasn't enough, and Phil knew that now. Phil lightly tugged on Dan's arm, pulling him gently toward him, stretching out his legs so Dan could sit between them. The last time they'd been this close had been 2009, and that only made Dan cry harder. But Phil was right there. And it was okay. The older boy wrapped his arms around Dan's back, pulling their chests together. Dan leant into him, hiding his blotched, tear-strewn face in the crook of Phil's neck, breathing him in, as Phil drew patterns on the pane of Dan's back with his fingertips. His mind was screaming Phil, Phil, Phil, but he was still crying, and this wasn't enough. He cried out in frustration, grabbing at Phil's shirt, moving his hands from Phil's chest to circle around his neck, shifting his body so his legs were wrapped around Phil's waist, his heels at the small of his back. He needed Phil, he needed him and he held on, afraid that if he let go, then Phil would disappear.
But Phil held him tightly, and didn't let him go. He stroked Dan's hair, whispered that everything was ok, and told him that he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't stop speaking, reassuring Dan, gently rocking him until he stopped crying. Even when Dan snivelled into his shirt, he didn't move away, but held him closer. It felt, to Dan, like Phil needed him as much as he did, even though it probably wasn't true, Phil was just too kind. And then he started singing again, very, very softly, and Dan couldn't remember why he'd been crying.
-"You brought out the best of me."- Dan smiled into Phil's shoulder, recognising the tune from before, -"A part of me, I've never seen"-
Dan met Phil's gaze for the first time since they'd been this close. He wondered briefly if he was dreaming. He was literally sat as close as humanly possible as for two humans could be, to Phil Lester. Phil was holding him, singing to him, staring at him, his eyes trailing over Dan's features like he was the only thing Phil wanted to look at for the rest of forever. Phil hummed, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling as he forgot the words to the song, making Dan giggle, hiccupping as he pressed their foreheads together.
"Lion, you're such a dork." Phil smiled back at him, tongue sticking out from between his teeth.
But then Phil remembered the next line. And Dan stopped breathing.
-"Our love was made, for movie screens"- He sung quietly, meeting Dan's gaze. Dan felt it again, nervous-excited-scared. Phil was treading the line that they'd so carefully constructed. Dan wanted him to. But he had no idea how Phil felt about him. Phil doesn't like me like that. Dan felt Phil's hands ghost down his sides, settling at his waist. He doesn't. Phil's fingertips skimmed under his shirt, making circular patterns on his skin. Does he? Phil was watching Dan, almost warily, analysing his reaction. Dan had never seen Phil like this. Yes I have. 2009, his room, when we fell asleep together. Dan knew he'd been unsure then, but still this felt different. He had to be sure. His breathing was fast against Phil's chest, so he steadied himself, holding onto Phil's shoulders. His voice wasn't going to shake this time.
"Is this weird?" Dan asked, this time.
"Define weird?"
"Not what friends do?" Phil's gaze moved over Dan's face as he lifted a hand to Dan's cheek. A small half smile appeared on his face as he moved his thumb over Dan's lower lip.
"Yeah." Phil said simply.
"Yeah what?" Phil's hand curled round the back of Dan's neck sending shivers down Dan's spine.
Phil tilted Dan's chin up so their eyes met, blue crashing into brown.
"Yes." Their noses touched as Phil drew Dan closer, but not close enough.
"What does that mean?" Dan whispered. He could feel his eyes closing, and Phil's breath was hot against his mouth.
"It means," Phil spoke against Dan's mouth, "That this is okay."
And then Phil kissed him. His lips brushed against Dan's lightly, holding Dan against him. He pulled back after a few seconds, staring at Dan, lips parted slightly.
"Dan-"
"Kiss me." Phil didn't hesitate this time. He placed both hands on each side of Dan's face, kissing him again, but slowly. Dan kissed him back, his hands against Phil's chest. He could feel Phil's erratic heartbeat, much like his own. He parted his lips, deepening the kiss, his arms encircling Phil's neck. Phil moved his hands down Dan's chest, moving over his stomach, making it flutter, to fit at Dan's waist, pulling Dan against him. Dan wanted every inch of Phil, and he was starting to believe that maybe Phil felt the same about him. He felt hope. And he felt loved.
"No one," Phil whispered against Dan's tanned skin, his breath making Dan shiver "No one else is you Dan. " Dan pulled back, staring at him, "No one else is as wonderful, kind, beautiful. Please remember that. There is no one, like you." Dan pulled Phil towards him by his shirt, catching his lips gently to convey how he felt. He was bad with words, and this was a million times better.
They lost track of time. Dan couldn't remember how long they were there, on his bed, getting lost in each other-but finding each other at the same time. They were like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; they fit together perfectly, separate halves, finally joined together in a single moment. Phil's movements were slow and deliberate; Dan was glad, because his mind was floating, fuzzy and far away. Far away with Phil, with no one else there, just them, Dan and Phil, like it had always been. Phil was everywhere, everything, holding him, keeping him safe.
Every so often Phil would pull back from Dan, holding his face close to his own, staring at him, smiling, before he moulded their lips together again. Dan would laugh as Phil kissed his jaw, poking Phil in the sides to make him laugh too. Phil noticed Dan's dimples, as they fell back against the cushions. Dan saw the way Phil would hide his blush in a pillow when Dan looked at him. Phil took Dan's hands in his own, kissing them, just to see Dan's smile. And Dan let Phil fall asleep on his chest, a mess of black hair obstructing his vision. Dan felt Phil's breath against his neck, wrapping an arm under Phil and around his middle. Phil curled against Dan like a cat, making Dan chuckle.
Dan looked back up at the ceiling again. It seemed less scary now, and looked less like a void of nothing and more like...a ceiling. The right corner of Dan's mouth twitched upwards as he began to drift into a peaceful, warm sleep. He curled a strand of Phil's hair round one of his fingers, gently smoothing it through them. And Dan didn't mind. He didn't mind that Phil had fallen asleep before him. He didn't mind that they'd stopped at kissing. Because it felt real. Because it felt like, Phil loved Dan too. Because Dan loved Phil. And this was more than enough.
They didn't talk about it in the morning. They just got up and went about their days. They never talked about it in the end; they didn't need to. It became part of their routine. 2012 wasn't as cold as some of the fans seemed to think; the perceived distances between them in videos being Dan's way of not letting anyone find out. But there were few nights that they did not share a bed. Few nights when Phil wouldn't press his lips to Dan's, and say that he was beautiful. There were few nights when Phil wouldn't whisper how important Dan was to him.
Though their friendship had always come first, this became apart of that as well, and Dan didn't mind that. Not one bit. Dan had never lied. They had never been together, and it would have been difficult to explain. Whether Dan wanted to be with Phil like that or not, didn't matter, because he was happy. A feeling that he didn't think he'd get back. Phil was his happy, the light in his stained glass window...his always.
But the thing with happy, is that it's fleeting, just like they had been, even though they never were. And I'm sorry, but this was never a fairytale, and Dan knows that, more than anyone. He couldn't loose Phil, and he refused to. He held on and Phil had always held back. But how can you lose something...that you never really had?