I'll Leave You With The Outtakes // Phan

Part 12

They leave Japan behind in swirls of misty grey clouds, engulfed in ashen sky for the long flight home.  The easy smile on his lips and the laughs and the silly puns and joy of being in Tokyo were all erased after the rainy day conversation. Dan's almost mad about that, angry that there seems to be this weight sinking through him, and it's just sad.

Something else got erased too. A little bit of the wall between Phil and him was eroded.

Dan is used to hating Phil for everything, throwing words at him, slapping them across his face, bludgeoning insults like clubs. But now he finds he'd rather let them sink into Phil's skin, press them into Phil's hands and watch them spill over in both of their eyes. Soft words and sad words, memories and dreams.

The rest of the time in Japan had been tainted by What Could Have Been. And now there's a thought hovering over Dan's heart like a moth, wings fluttering angrily. And it's that he'd rather think about What Can Be.

The shift between him and Phil is the acceptance that they both regret. Regrets are piled at their feet like snow drifts. He just doesn't have time to savor each one and let it melt, bitter on his tongue.

He can feel that he doesn't have time, in the feebleness of his fingers, the way he's forced to lean more and more weight onto Phil's palm to support his gait. A gait that's beginning to feel wobbly. It's not supposed to happen this fast, but it is. Sometimes he'll take a moment and just feel, move every muscle that he can in his arms and legs and face, breathe in swallows of air large enough that his lungs ache, press his lips together and shrug his shoulders. Trying to assess how bad it is, trying to make sure that he still has some control.

Staring at the oval of pale sky and airliner wing, he can feel Phil's eyes digging into the side of his face. Burning at the skin there, watching him.

-

Eventually, Phil notices. Phil notices everything.

It's progressing faster than expected,the doctors tell him, but nothing unusual.

Dan feels sick, sick that his stuttering pace is now 'nothing unusual'. Revolted by how calmly they discuss his deterioration, how laid back the doctor is when prescribing a walking aid.

And then there's an ugly black cane. It looks stiff and medical and disgusting. The box lays on the floor at Dan's feet. His hands seem to itch just touching it, he doesn't want it. He doesn't want any of this.

"No,"Dan says sharply, voice slightly panicked in a way it usually isn't. "I don't need it, you know I don't need it. No. Phil—no."

His hands shake in their grip around the cold metal, he wants to throw it. To chuck the stupid object through the window and never see it again. He knows, deep down he knows. Sometimes—on the worse days—he really could use a little support. And he can't just lean on Phil all of the time. The worse days are only going to become more common. He knows that. But he can't accept it, not when he's barely off of the joyous high of Japan. Not when the heavy object in his lap feels like a death sentence.

"It's only for when you need it,"Phil says, his voice dripping with concern. As the symptoms progress, the doctors words echo in his head. Dan's never going to want it, but eventually he'll need it.

"How am I going to film?,"he asks chokingly. Out of all the things to ask, all of the things to worry about. This is the one that forces it's way to Dan's lips. The other bounce about in his brain like frantic birds. How will he look having to walk with this? What if a fan sees? How will Dan ever get used to the fact of having to use an aid to walk? How will he ever be able to look at himself again and not see a cripple, someone who's sick and helpless and who will never get better?

Phil's brow knots in confusion,"You don't have to film, it doesn't really—"

"Yes,"he cuts off, the words tight in his chest,"It matters. I have to Phil, I have to."

"Okay, okay. Calm down, it's okay." Nothing is okay, he can't breathe. Because Dan can't support himself and a camera and hold Phil's hand all at the same time. And it matters, it matters more to him than filming for any channel video ever has. For a reason he can't really explain to Phil right now.

"I'll hire a fluffing a camera crew if I have to, since it means that much to you. We'll adjust. We'll find ways, okay?"

"Okay,"Dan repeats numbly. He doesn't comment on the we. We'll adjust. We'll find new ways. Maybe that's because they've been a unit for a while now. For a really long time. And Dan resented it for a time, but they are just as much of a we now as they ever were.

Phil doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to.

The look on his face tells Dan everything he needs to know.

-

Phil's filming, and Dan insisted that it mattered, even if they are just on the underground after spending a day wandering London. Dan loves the city, he loves the murky waters of the Thames and the cramped architecture. He even loves the police sirens at annoying times in the day because someone has the gall to get stabbed.

He told Phil that's what he wanted to do today, meander London, and so they did. Walked shops, and streets, and alleys. He's exhausted, actually using the cane for once, just to balance out his feet. He kind of wants to close his eyes, but Phil's silly assessments of their fellow tube passengers can't help but make Dan laugh. He feels absurdly happy, giddy even.

"You aren't going to fall asleep on me, are you?,"Phil asks, glancing from Dan to the car full of people.

"No,"he murmurs,"Unless you're jokes are just that boring."

"I'd like to think I'm at least a little bit funny."

"You are."

It's a simple compliment, a wearily given one even. But Phil still smiles, the real kind. Not the AmazingPhil smile, but a soft smile, it's more with Phil's eyes than his teeth. Igniting the blue, pushing little wrinkles onto his forehead.

The effort of the day has worn down Dan's inhibitions, or maybe he's just getting used to saying whatever pops into his head, because he murmurs,"I like your eyes."

"A lot,"he rambles on,"I remember the first time I really noticed how nice your eyes were. I was nervous, barely knew you. Pretty sure you still had smeared sharpie cat whiskers on your face, and I just remember thinking damn, I could lose myself for weeks in those eyes."

There's an elderly lady coughing and a business man conversing on the phone, a little boy protesting to his weary looking mum about something. But Phil's quiet.

"Remember,"he says finally,"...what your first words to me were, when you got off the Manchester Eye."

Dan smiles fondly, of course he remembers,"Oh my god, you're actually real."

"It's like you thought I was ghost or something."

"Even after seeing you I didn't quite believe it,"he admits. No, Dan hadn't quite been able to comprehend that some force of the universe had granted him lucky enough to have met someone so adorable and hilarious and perfect and beautiful and kind. That whole first day—first week even—had felt like a dream. Fuck—the first three years had felt like a dream. And then they both woke up. Really, Dan wouldn't mind slipping back asleep.

"And then,"Phil says, drawing Dan back to the present,"I kissed you, and proved it."

Dan doesn't even think about the camera that's sitting in Phil's lap, or the twenty other pairs of non-mechanical eyes that are watching him. Some voice in his head is screaming fuck this, just do it. So when he leans forward and shoves his lips against Phil's, it's to his surprise just as much as it is to Phil's.

An underground carriage isn't the most romantic place to share a kiss, but it's been so long, and it's perfect and it's Phil—so he really doesn't care. Dan's mouth is sliding sensually against Phil's, his Oyster card still clutched in his hand. Flying in the dark beneath the streets of London, a couple of dozen strangers witnessing the spectacle. And it feels like they are in their own universe.

It lasts a long time. Dan loses track of how long. Because Phil kisses him like he's oxygen, like it's a goodbye. Phil kisses Dan like he's dying.

And he is.

-