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“Phil, how d’you feel about marriage?”
Dan Howell is eighteen and staring up at the ceiling of his best friend’s bedroom, his arms folded across his chest, his best friend lying right next to him.
Three words that feel foreign but shouldn’t: his best friend.
“Huh,” Phil says. “Like I should be thinking about it but I’m not. If, like, you know what I mean.”
Sometimes it all comes springing back to Dan that Phil’s twenty-four. Twenty-fucking-four. (What’s Dan gonna be like at twenty-four? It’s not a thought he really wants to process for very long. He concentrates on Phil’s breathing next to him.)
“I guess,” Dan says haltingly. “But like, do you want it? Someday?” That question feels incomplete, but he can’t quite put a finger on what it’s missing.
“A family of my own? Yeah,” Phil responds. “Not sure how responsible of a dad I’d be, I’d probably name every Friday like, National Ice Cream Day or something and then keep them home from school.”
“You’d be a great dad,” Dan smiles, turning his head to face him on the pillow. Phil’s already looking at him with an inquisitive look on his face.
“Thanks, Dan,” he says softly, and the silence feels staticky for a second. “How about you?”
Dan turns away and stares back up at the dark ceiling again. “It’s fucking terrifying to think about right now,” he hedges. “I’m really, like, not ready, at all, for the future, so, marriage - a family - responsibility - that all sounds far too, Jesus, adult-y for me right now.”
Phil’s nodding. “I get that,” he agrees and something inside Dan’s chest relaxes at his easy acceptance. “You’re allowed to not feel ready. Like, nobody ever is.”
Dan laughs and turns his body so he’s curled towards Phil. “I don’t think I ever will be,” he says, and mostly just wants to reach out and fix Phil’s hair where it’s sticking out behind his ear. Phil beats him to it though, and his fingers are pushing Dan’s fringe to the side, light on his skin and withdrawing too soon.
“That’s okay,” Phil tells him quietly and Dan smiles at him and closes his eyes, burrowing down into the blankets.
Dan realizes he loves Phil in a decidedly not-beautiful way. It’s a moment where something ugly wrapps around Dan’s ribs. It’s a moment where Dan’s insides curl like he’s tasted vinegar, and he knows this metaphorical taste of vinegar all too well. And it’s stupid . It’s just Phil smiling at a fan who tucks herself under his arm and gazes up at him like he’s her sun. Dan’s role in this scenario consists of stepping in uncomfortably with his hands behind his back and giving her cameraphone the brightest smile he can make, which really just probably looks like someone’s pulled the corners of his mouth back. She leaves and Dan is left with the knowledge that he’s in ugly, ugly love with Phil, the possessive and isolating kind, and it’s bad.
It’s really just what Phil doesn’t deserve, the rot that lines the inside of Dan’s stomach and heart. The selfish need for him that Dan is always going to have, should have recognized about himself sooner.
“Crazy, right?” Phil asks, turning to Dan, his bright blue eyes alight with happiness. “We were just walking down the street and she recognized us! It’s like we’re famous. It’s crazy.”
“We are famous,” Dan struggles to say, and it’s just another layer of how not-good this is. He hopes his voice sounds natural enough, less of I-just-realized-I’m-in-love-with-you, but Phil picks up on something and he steps towards Dan, his eyebrows furrowing in kindness.
“Dan, are you okay?” he asks, putting a hand on Dan’s shoulder, careful to avoid going anywhere near Dan’s neck. Dan wants to stab himself.
“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine, just, uh, just got a little chilly all of a sudden,” Dan blurts out, wiggling his shoulder a little bit to dislodge Phil.
Phil’s expression clears and he looks around them at bustling London. “Oh. Why didn’t you say something? We could go inside a coffee shop for a little while so you can warm up if you want.”
“No thanks, I’m good,” Dan replies. “Let’s just keep going.”
“Okay,” Phil shrugs. “As long as you’re sure.”
His hands swing by his sides as he walks and Dan shoves his own in his pocket, suddenly aware of just how close they’re standing. He shuffles a few inches away. Phil probably wants some goddamn personal space.
Dan’s… having a panic attack. Okay. That’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s just normal, and just going to be a thing that just happens. Or, it’s not like this is a new thing. He guesses that the cool, cool, existential crisis of Being Emo and thinking about space and religion too much just caught up to him, which is fine. It’s just, not existing? Sounds like an awful thing, and it might just happen if Dan can’t get his lungs to work. That’s stupid. Why can’t Dan fucking breathe ? He should be able to do that much. He doesn’t even have asthma! He doesn’t have anything that would stop him from breathing. Except Phil. Phil stops him from breathing sometimes, wow, what a person? Phil’s great. Dan 113% wishes Phil were here, as in, now, here, because he would be so good at calming Dan down. He’s not though. He’s probably filming. Or doing whatever it is people who are good at being functioning human beings do. Dan’s hands are resting on the floor, but they’re also not Dan’s hands, wow. Strange. No, they’re Dan’s hands because they’re definitely connected to his arms, but there’s something unfamiliar about them. His elbows are definitely foreign entities too. He bends his arm too quickly and smacks himself in the nose. Oops.
“Dan?”
Holy shit. It’s Phil.
“H i!” Dan blurts out, trying to smile at Phil but the edges of his cheeks push up into his eyes and there’s a swelling behind the bags under his eyes and he starts crying. He struggles to get up from where he’s sat against the kitchen cabinet but his joints feel like the joints of a rubber model skeleton. As in, he can’t stand.
Phil drops to his knees in front of Dan. “Shite. Okay, listen, can you breathe with me?”
“I - I’m, , fine, ” Dan stutters, hyperventilating between every word as the tears running down his face drip into his mouth. “May - mayb e a litt-little not o kay .”
“In, two, three, four,” Phil hisses on an inwards breath, grabbing Dan’s hand and pressing it to his chest, right on top of his steady heartbeat. “Hold, two, three, four, out, two, three four.”
Dan’s choking on his breaths as he cries, can’t breathe in for a steady amount of time but Phil’s actual life is pulsing underneath his fingertips and he holds on to that and hopes that Phil doesn’t let go of his hand anytime soon.
He doesn’t.
“In, two, three, four,” Phil says, and Dan feels his ribs expand and pause. “Hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four.”
It feels like hours. Phil crouches there, in front of Dan, Dan’s palm flat on his heartbeat, talking him through breathing. Why the fuck is breathing so fucking difficult when it’s something that babies can fucking do? Seems right fitting that Dan sucks at life more than a baby does. Ha. That’s a double entendre.
Dan’s breathing along to Phil’s counting by the time his tears finally fucking dry, and that’s when he notices that Phil has been stroking his hair the entire time, the ruler-straight (Dan’s just full of them today, isn’t he) strands sifting through his fingers, never going below Dan’s earlobe. Jesus Christ, Dan loves him.
“Can you stand?” Phil asks, stopping his counting, his hand pausing, buried in Dan’s hair. “We should get you to bed.”
Dan struggles upward, his legs asleep and crawling with the lack of circulation. “I just have to - ”
“Sleep,” Phil finishes for him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leading Dan down their hallway. “You just have to sleep. I know you got like, three hours last night and there’s a bug going around at the radio, so you might be sick as well to top it all off, and thus. Sleep.”
He reaches around to open Dan’s door but Dan turns the opposite direction, not even thinking, just wanting Phi - needing the comfort from - feeling anathema to his room and its coldness and gray covers and solitary lamp and overhead light, and Phil stutters.
“I - you want - Dan, your room’s - I, think, - okay,” and follows him in. Dan collapses onto Phil’s bed and curls up, not really giving a shit about what this is going to do to the knees of his skinny jeans, and Phil brings the covers up over him and runs a shaky hand down Dan’s spine. “Do you… Dan, do you want me to stay?”
If Dan doesn’t say anything, Phil will leave. But for a second, Dan remains still, staring at the darkness inside Phil’s half-open closet, and Phil is tense and ready to leave behind him.
“Can you - close the closet door?” Dan asks and Phil holds onto Dan’s shoulder for a moment and then squeezes before letting go.
“Of course,” he says, and Phil closes the door before coming right back to him.
“Sleep,” he says. “I promise I’ll be here.”
Dan swallows and nods, his eyelids fluttering shut to the feeling of Phil’s hand lightly rubbing his back, nothing but a sweet, comforting touch.
He might be dreaming, but Phil leans over him and presses his lips to Dan’s temple. He might be dreaming, but Phil murmurs, “I love you, Dan.” He might be dreaming, but Phil kisses his cheek and adds, “Always.”
He might be dreaming because he’s never felt
-loved,cherished,appreciated,beautiful,important,eternal-
like that in his life.
It’s after that they fall. It’s not a bad fall, mostly because they fall together, but Phil draws a hand along Dan’s waist sometimes in a way that doesn’t tickle and Phil lies his head in Dan’s lap and lets Dan play with his hair while they watch Doctor Who and drink tea. When one of them makes tea, it’s always two cups. The first time Dan really lets himself look at Phil he drinks in his angled profile like wine and gets drunk from how bright he is. After that, he can’t stop looking, across rooms, across screens, across inches. Phil catches him at it sometimes and Dan’ll look away, but Phil smiles at him sometimes like, in a weird way, and Dan feels like he’s stared directly into the sun.
Phil leaves for a week to visit his family in Manchester, and Dan has the flat all to himself, and he hates it. Phil texts all the time and they Snapchat and Skype and Facetime but the new physicality between them is gone and Dan feels empty.
When Phil returns Dan meets him at the door and kisses him on the lips. “You’re home,” he says.
“I am,” Phil agrees amicably, his eyes glittering. “Maybe let me get my stuff inside before you kiss me?”
Dan suddenly realizes what he’s done and catches a glimpse of his own mortality. “Holy shit,” he swears, and has no clue what the fuck to do with his hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I - ”
“Don’t be sorry,” Phil says, dragging his suitcase indoors and up the staircase. “I’d actually prefer it if you weren’t,” and he stops when they reach the living room as he drops his bags and looks nervous, his stance smaller, his eyes downcast.
“Do- you - ?” Dan questions, stepping towards Phil and Phil looks up at him with these bright, bright eyes, and Dan feels blind again, reaching out a hand to touch Phil and pull him closer, and Phil sighs into Dan’s mouth and curls a hand around the back of his neck, their feet tangling and Dan’s fists gripped in Phil’s jacket.
some years later
“Phil, how do you feel about marriage?” Dan asks, putting the kettle on.
“I think it’s probably something I’d want to do with you,” Phil says from the living room.
“Probably?” Dan asks, mock-offended, leaning against the doorframe and watching Phil scroll on his laptop. “Not definitely?”
“Daniel, I love you more than Studio Ghibli - ”
“Whoa,” Dan says.
“But there’s always room for error,” Phil says, looking up from his laptop and smiling. “Why?”
“I, uh, it’s not that important, but I got you something,” Dan says, reaching into his pocket.
“Not that important?” Phil closes his laptop and puts it to the side. “Dan,” he says, his face soft.
Dan pulls out the ring and Phil bursts out laughing.
A grin spreads wide across Dan’s face as he presents it to Phil. “Dan, there’s no way this is gonna fit on my finger,” Phil beams, turning the ring pop over in his hands. “I hate you! You actually legitimately made me think - ”
“Hey now, I thought you loved me more than Studio Ghibli,” Dan says, grinning, over-puckering his lips. “ KISH ?”
“No!” Phil laughs, shoving him away with a hand to his cheek. “Get away from me!”
“No, Phil,” Dan says, and moves forward to meet Phil’s outstretched hand on his forehead, keeping him at arm’s length. “I just proposed to you! Aren’t you supposed to kiss me now?”
“With a ring pop!” Phil protests, the smile across his face wide enough to split it in two. “Meant for a child! Children have smaller fingers than me. This would fit on the ring finger of a six-year-old.” He pushes Dan away, his fingers skimming the tips of the curls at Dan’s forehead
“Okay, so, no ring pop,” Dan nods. “Maybe this would fit on your ring finger better?”
This time the ring he pulls from his pocket isn’t made of plastic.
“What even are - ” Phil starts, and then he sees it.
The ring Dan’s holding between his thumb and forefinger is simple, not too thick, just a band of gold with a thinner band of black tungsten on either side. Phil’s eyes are flicking between it and Dan’s hopeful, sheepish face.
“Shut the fuck up,” Phil says, and smiling isn’t a strong enough word for what Dan’s face does in that moment. “Is this real?”
“Phil,” Dan says. “I just realized, there’s words I’m supposed to say right now and I have no idea what to say.”
“Neither do I,” Phil says breathlessly.
“Yeah, but,” Dan argues. “I’m supposed to have them. Uh.” He pauses. “Phil.”
“Dan.”
“Do you want to get married?” Dan proposes. “Like, to me. Not just generally. Get married to me. So we’re husbands. Do you want it. Marriage. With me.”
Phil’s hand closes over Dan’s, the rings in between them. “Pretty difficult decision right there, Dan,” he says, smiling.
“Room for error, right,” Dan jokes, but there’s doubt in his voice, still, and Phil kisses him hard, reaching up his other hand so it wraps around Dan’s neck and Dan collapses into him. Married .
“Of course I want to get married to you, you idiot,” Phil says, breaking away.
“Good,” Dan says. “It’d be pretty awkward, returning these rings.”
“Rings?” Phil asks. “You got two?”
“Fuck off,” Dan says, sliding the ring onto Phil’s finger. “Thank God, I got your size right.” He takes the other one out of his pocket, the inverse of Phil’s, with the black in the middle and the gold surrounding, and Phil snatches it away.
“I’ll put it on your finger,” he says decidedly, and Dan feels himself blush. Jesus Christ, he’s weak, and his knees almost buckle at the feeling of the ring sliding onto his left hand.
“Thanks, mate,” Dan jokes and Phil laughs, the sound watery he takes Dan’s left hand in his own left hand, studying their rings together.
“Not a problem, bro,” he answers in a bad American accent and Dan presses his forehead against Phil’s, feeling absolutely overwhelmed and radiant.
Phil laces their fingers together, rings clinking, and it’s unfamiliar but not foreign, wonderful but not infinitely unattainable. Dan wraps his other arm around Phil and pulls him as close as he can.
“I love you,” he says into the glowing air of their living room.
“I love you,” Phil answers, burrowing into Dan’s shoulder.
“More than Studio Ghibli?” Dan teases and Phil just runs a thumb over Dan’s in answer.
“What do you think?” he asks, and Dan smiles.
@pasdil Pastel Dil HOLY SHIT HOLY FUKCING SSHIT IS DAN WEARIGN AN EGNAGENLMENT RING IM WSHAKING
@lizzysmh Elizabeth uwu DAN WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR FINGER
@thehobbithair is here to stay IS THIS REAL LIFE HOLY SHIT
@wiinchesters Castiel dan and phil fUCKING GOT ENGAGED U GUYS THIS IS NOT A DRILL
“Phil,” Dan calls, and Phil appears in the doorway to the living room and takes in Dan, cross-legged on the couch and editing a new Internet Support Group. He walks forward and hooks his chin over Dan’s shoulder.
“Yeah?” he asks, and Dan points to the Dan on the screen, who is gesticulating wildly, a ring glinting on the fourth finger of his left hand.
“I accidentally wore it,” Dan says. “Do you mind if I post this?”
Phil kisses his cheek. “Do what you want, Dan,” he says, straightening up. “I trust you. It doesn’t really matter where you wear your engagement ring.”
Dan tilts his head back to look back at him, smirking. “Does it?”
“Does it what?” Phi asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Matter where ,” Dan says, wiggling his eyebrows and Phil sighs.
“Piss off,” he says, and flicks him on the head. “Love you.”
He heads back to the kitchen.
“Love you too!” Dan laughs and turns back to his dumb, onscreen, engaged ass. “Whatever.”