This Time of Year

Dan sat at his computer, the glow of the screen illuminating his tan face. His brown eyes were held by loose eyelids, with deep, dark bags under them; evidence that he hadn't had proper sleep recently. The fans were starting to notice and were coming up with ridiculous excuses as to why he may look tired as of recent, none of which were true. But, most of them seemed genuinely concerned, and that was nice, he guessed.

He pushed himself back from his computer and checked the time. It was almost three in the morning and he needed to be up early. As he stood up as quietly as he could, he heard his stomach growl. His hands went to his torso as he ineffectively shushed his hunger. There would be leftovers in the fridge, he assumed.  There were always leftovers.

He made his way to the kitchen as quietly as he possibly could, doing his best to avoid the ever squeaking floorboard outside his and Phil's bedroom. Once in the kitchen, he hurriedly searched through the shelves for food. He pulled the plate of leftover stir-fry out of the fridge and heated it up in the microwave. He sat at the table in the kitchen, alone, and ate his midnight snack in silence. He placed what he didn't finish back in the fridge and scolded himself for making so much; he vowed to make smaller portions from now on so as not to waste food, but he knew all too well that habits were hard to break.

Just as quietly as he had crept into the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom. He shut the door softly and climbed onto his side of the bed, pulling the covers over himself. "Big day tomorrow," he whispered to himself. He turned over to face the other way. "Anniversary tomorrow," he called to Phil’s side of the bed, but naturally received no response. That didn't bother him. He turned over onto his other side and closed his eyes, letting Phil's scent envelope him as he fell asleep.

Dan's alarm went off at eight. He climbed out of the empty bed and dressed himself quickly. He pulled on the grey plaid shirt he had worn four years ago today; the day he met Phil. He knew Phil would love that. After locking the door behind him, Dan stumbled out into the busy streets of London. Train ticket in hand, he headed for the station.

As he boarded the train to Manchester, he observed his surroundings. He kept himself occupied on the journey by people-watching and making animals out of clouds in the sky. Once he arrived in the town, he slowly made his way through the streets of Manchester and to his inevitable destination. Hee reached a tall tree whose leaves were rich with a deep red color, and turned off the main sidewalk, into the park atmosphere. He walked down the small, windy path, breathing in the crisp fall air until he reached the spot. The simple, grey block sat in the thin grass. Dan approached the tombstone and placed one hand on it. He sat down next to his friend and examined the stone. "PHILIP MICHAEL LESTER. JANUARY 30 1987 - OCTOBER 19 2012. BELOVED SON AND FIANCÉ." Dan traced the words with his finger as he had done so many times before, humming the tune of "Unintended" by Muse to himself as he did.

After a few moments of silence, Dan spoke up. "One year. Or four years. However you want to look at it." His voice was strong and unshaken, and he continued to speak. "I suppose four years would be a bit more optimistic, eh? Four years ago today I took the train to Manchester to meet you, Philip Lester, for the first time. And here I am, four years later, wearing the same bloody shirt and taking the same bloody train to the same bloody town to see you again." He laughed to himself. "I guess in the end we never managed to work out the distance after all,” he said, remembering all the tweets about missing each other when Dan lived in Reading and Phil in Manchester. Dan played with the ring on his finger. "I still wear it, you know. Haven't taken it off since you gave it to me." Dan's mind flashed back to just a year earlier. He and Phil had taken the train to Manchester to celebrate three years. They did all the same things, including ending the night at the Sky Bar, watching the sunset.

"Dan Howell," Phil had said four years ago.

“Phil Lester,” Dan joked back. He took a sip of his drink and smirked at the boy sat opposite him.