How to Help Howell?

Part 12

Dan's POV

I was breathless after the best moment of my life - kissing Phil Lester.

I looked into his deep blue eyes, which looked full of pure love. This made my heart beat faster and a small little sprout of hope started to grow.

Phil loved me. And I loved him. Everything just felt so right.

"Really?" I asked him in disbelief.

"Really," he responded, planting a small peck on my nose.

"I love you too, Phil."

We embraced, tears rolling down both of our faces as we sat there in comfortable silence, enveloped in each other's warmth.

"Hey, Phil?" I asked, breaking he silence. "What were you dreaming about last night? You sounded really angry..."

"Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you I had his weird dream where we were back at the clothing store when you passed out and I was yelling at all those people there, laying all my sick karate skills on them." I giggled at the thought of that.

"How come when I woke up you were screaming 'DAN, I HATE YOU!' " I asked skeptically.

"No, no, no, I said 'Dan' because I was worried for you and I was saying that I hated all of those heartless people who ignored you and left you for dead out on the street,"

I smiled to know that Phil felt so protective of me. He planted another small peck on my nose before standing up.

"Are you ready for Phil's Special Cheer-You-Up Pancakes?!" He asked excitedly.

"Of course!" Phil ran into the kitchen with me close behind him.

"Alright, my trusty sous chef, are you ready?" I nodded enthusiastically. I couldn't help it! Phil's fun nature was contagious.

"What's the thing that kids say when they go really high on he swings or when they're really excited?" Phil asked me.

"Uh...Weeee...?" I answered unsure of where he was going with this.

"And what's the thing you write when you're about to die?"

"...a will..."

"And what's the thing you do to bread?"

"Kneed?" I asked, very confused.

"WE WILL NEED..." Phil announced very loudly and professionally. I put my head in my hands, unable to contain the laugh at Phil's adorable creativity.

"A frying pan, a mixing bowl, a sieve, a spatula, our broken mixer, a serving plate, and the fancy weighing machine," he listed off.

I helped him to get out all the supplies and we took out all the ingredients as well, finally ready to bake.

"First, we have to measure 110 grams of flour and add a pinch of salt," Phil instructed. I poured way too much flour into the weighing bowl and laughed at Phil's horrified face.

"Daaannn!" He whined.

"Don't worry, I'll fix it," I assured as I took my two hands and scooped a load of flour off of the top of the mountain. With four in both of my hands, I quickly blew it all at Phil.

I laughed the hardest that I had laughed in a long time watching Phil look like a very angry snowman. But eventually, he couldn't help but laugh too.

He swiped most of the flour off with his hands and shook off the rest.

"Okay, we have to sift the flour and salt into the mixing bowl." Phil went on. He quickly grabbed the sieve and the flour and salt mixture away from the counter, not trusting me with the powdery substance any longer. While he sifted the mixture, he told me to get two eggs from the fridge.

"Two unborn chicken fetuses coming right up!" Phil groaned at my remark.

After he was finished, he looked me straight in the eye as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"No. Chris Browning. The egg. Got it?" He asked seriously. I nodded innocently and lightly tapped the egg on the side of the bowl and raising it a meter above the bowl, then releasing the contents of the egg into the floury mixture.

"NO SHELL! WOOOOHOOOO!" I screamed and ran around the kitchen as Phil took care of the other egg.

"Ok, Dan. DAN!" He called me back from my euphoria and told me it was time to whisk. Awful memories with Tyler Oakley soon reappeared in his mind and refused to leave until they had finished whisking the batter, and adding some water and milk in there too.

"Now we need to melt some butter in the pan and whisk it into the batter."

"MORE WHISKING?!" I complained.

"Now, now, Dan, do you want Phil's Special Pancakes or not?" I sighed as Phil added the melted butter and I whisked it in.

"Now for the fun part," Phil assured me. He took a ladle full of the batter and poured it onto the hot pan as I watched captivated by the pancake. He flipped the pancake to the other side for a few seconds, then slid it onto a plate. He repeated this process until we had no uncooked batter left and a stack of delicious-looking pancakes ready for us to devour.

As soon as it's fluffy and cakey consistency hit my tongue, I moaned at our wonderful creation.

"Phil, these are amazing!" I exclaimed, finishing my first pancake. He gave a small chuckle at how excited I got from just a couple pancakes. After we finished breakfast, we sat down on the couch, feeling very full.

I tackled Phil in a hug. "Thank you, Phil. This is the most fun I've had in ages." And I hugged him tighter.

"Of course, Dan, anytime." He said into my shoulder. I propped myself up on the couch, hovering above him and taking in every inch of his face.

"Hey, Phil, I...uh...think you've still got a little flour on your face..." I whispered.

"Oh..." His face flushed with embarrassment, wiping at his face in attempt to remove the imaginary leftover flour.

"No, it's alright. I'll get it," I assured and lowered my lips onto his. We both smiled into the kiss and ended up cuddling each other throughout most of the day.