delivered

epilogue : part 7

three years are apparently not enough for the silence to end because as soon as the initial surprise of seeing dan's apartment, and discovering every little detail of the boxy place-from the way dan still doesn't make the bed when he gets out of it, or how the entire apartment is clean except for the mugs that will always find their place somewhere in the corner of a coffee table, or the way he still puts the tv remote in places he can't find-the couple cannot hold a conversation about anything even remotely important when they are enclosed in the four walls that could make or break this reunion.

dan shifts uncomfortably on the other end of the couch, shifting his gaze just slightly to look at the way phil seems completely unaffected by the distant between them, completely unaffected by how they haven't even hugged each other despite of being away from each other for years, how he doesn't even care enough to offer a conversation about what happened and what they are supposed to be and if they are supposed to be something.

he feels completely out of place-he can't bring up his own mistakes, he can't bring up phil's heartbreak, he can't bring up how shit of a father he was and how he wants to rejoin his own family and be a better addition than he was all those years ago. earlier in the day he felt as if postponing this conversation would be in their best interest but now as phil sits next to him, his lean body stretched across the other end of the sofa as his eyes watch the screen intently-dan regrets putting it off for later.

of course it hurt when he had to spend nights alone in this apartment and of course it took a lot, a lot of time to get used to a different set of walls but right now, the incapability of just wrapping his arms around phil's torso and crying into his chest and letting him know just how much dan has missed him is causing a pain in his chest on a whole new level.

he has worked hard on how to control his emotions, how to deal with them, how to control his impulsive nature-but all his recovery goes to waste in front of phil because there is only one person in the entire world who he can expect to understand him fully-and that one person is doing absolutely nothing to calm the chaos in his brain and the torment in his heart and in the usual dan howell way of handling things he doesn't know how to handle-the feeling of apathy contorts into anger and aggression and pure adrenaline in his veins.

he tries to ignore it, the familiar heat in his chest, the more familiar watering of his eyes and he presses himself firmly against the backrest and purses his lips, watching 28 days later with no conviction whatsoever.

"i'm kind of hungry again, i think i'm getting really-dan? are you okay?" and dan can't answer the obviously fake question because if he opens his mouth he is going to ruin everything with either a bitter string of words or just the sour sobbing that he doesn't want phil to see anymore.

so he settles on the next best option and nods his head in agreement, shrugging his shoulders to somehow convey his disinterest in phil's question.

"dan. . .what's wrong?" phil shifts closer and the air gets denser, barely finding its way into dan's lungs and he's really not used it because god-it's been a while since he's forgotten how to breathe. and as soon as phil's fingers attempt to melt comfort into dan's skin, the younger male snaps, both metaphorically and literally as he pushes phil away and raises his hands up in defence because he doesn't want any of this bullshit anymore.

if phil doesn't want to be with him, if phil has gotten over him then he doesn't have to pretend.

"you hate me," they were not the words that he wanted his mouth to slip, and neither did he want the stream of tears to drip down his face, so he takes a deep breath and turns his back to phil before running his hands frustratedly through his hair.

"i don't,"

"you do, you still hate me,"

"i don't dan, i never hated you, what are you even saying?"

"well someone has to say something phil, because you won't say anything!" he knows this is the worst way of dealing with whatever they have right now-or lack of whatever they have right now-but he can't do anything about it. nothing in his body makes sense when he's around phil, nothing in his heart or mind or soul wants to be anything but himself.

"come here," and when fingers wrap around his arm and pull him back he shrugs them off, because he can't admit that the majority of this. . .tantrum has been thrown because of the simple reason that he misses phil and he can't do anything about it.

"no,"

"please?"

"y-you didn't even," he flushes, giving into phil's pulling and turning around to face him, his head tilted down so he doesn't have to face the embarrassment of his actions. "you didn't even hug me," that sentence coming from a twenty four year old man is depressing and embarrassing on a whole new level.

and of course phil thinks the same because he bursts into a fit of giggles that cause dan's cheeks to flush further and he rubs his hands along his face to get rid of the redness. it does seem more than a little bit petty to cry because your husband doesn't hug you but it's been so many years and so many months and so many days and so many hours and so many minutes and so many seconds-dan was bound to break sometime or the other. it was just one of the things that had the opportunity to trigger him enough so that teardrops are racing down his flushed cheeks and mortification is stinging his chest.

"really dan?"

"honestly fuck you," he gets off the couch, mostly to escape the humiliation that comes along with his overly reactive emotions but the blush on his cheeks darkens incredulously when phil pulls him back down, only for the younger male to land directly in his . . . lap.

"w-what?" phil doesn't answer with words, he just wraps his arms tightly around his waist and buries his face in dan's neck.

"what are y-you doing?" dan bites his lip, his arms going around phil's shoulders instinctively and phil sighs softly before looking up at him, dan's entire body erupting with the figurative butterflies that make him almost vomit-in a good way-and he gulps through his loud heartbeat before reaching up and pushing phil's hair further off his forehead.

"trying to get my husband back, what are you doing?"

"shut up," dan shifts closer to him, letting his chin rest on top of phil's head and letting his fingers tighten around the back of phil's shirt. "spork,"

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