Work Text:
" - What’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you?
- Maybe what Phil's done for me"
© Dan Howell
Dan closed the kitchen door more firmly so as not to wake Phil with the noise, and with a familiar movement turned on the coffee machine. They were finally home, and he was ridiculously happy to be able to start the morning in the comfort of his own house rather than on a bus or in a hotel. The coffee machine played its quirky tune, pulling him out of his thoughts. After adding oat milk to his freshly brewed drink, he quietly returned to the bedroom.
Sunlight flooded the room—they had been so tired the night before that they hadn't closed the blackout curtains. Dan looked over at Phil and froze. His hair was illuminated by the bright morning rays, almost as white as his pale bare body and the sheets that had gathered around his feet during the night. Dan set the coffee on the table and leaned over the bed, leaving a kiss on his thigh, tracing the path of the sunbeam on his body.
Gently, he touched the light strands on his forehead, temples, white, untouched, intact-
“Dan?”
He met Phil's gaze, and Phil continued:
“Everything okay?” He checked the time on his phone. “You're early today.”
“We fell asleep earlier than usual,” Dan shrugged.
It was true. After the flight, they had fallen straight into bed. And Dan, of course, wanted to make love to Phil in his own bed. But when he came back from the shower, Phil was already asleep, completely naked, lying on his side. He lay down next to him and covered them, but sleep wouldn't come. They hadn't been home in so long that he was unaccustomed to it, and the bed felt foreign. Despite this, he forced himself to close his eyes and think of nothing. His body needed rest.
But in his sleep... He saw light strands covered in blood. So much blood, a sticky river flowing down Phil's temples, down to his neck, into the pale hollow of his collarbone. Not again. These nightmares, the product of his panic, were born of his fear that someone would find out, that someone would hurt Phil the way they had hurt him. They began a long time ago, when they had only just started living together. He saw Phil's plaid shirt in his dream, covered in dirt, as if its owner had been kicked around on the ground.
He woke up with a heavy heart, trying to forget these images, but the nightmares didn't end there, only becoming more twisted. The worst part was that he could see what was happening but couldn't move, his limbs unresponsive, as if sinking into textures, his hands refusing to work. His first impulse was to tell Phil, but he couldn't make him go through this; he didn't want these images to get into his brain too.
It's strange. A whole lifetime has passed since this happened to him. But even after moving to another city and becoming a different person, in his mind he returned to this twisted reality. A reality where everyone he turned to let him down.
Parents, teachers, peers. Mockery, beatings... But the worst thing was loneliness. He went through it over and over again. He began to think that it was his fault, because so many people couldn't be wrong. That it was his fault because he was unwanted and unloved in this world.
But that wasn't the case. One person was enough to prove to him that it wasn't true. Phil wanted him around, wanted him in his life, and as long as Phil loved him, Dan was happy to stay.
Yet, he wanted Phil to be only his, and at the same time, he wanted someone better for him. Someone with whom he wouldn't have to hide. The only way to reconcile these two desires was to become that person. For Phil's sake, he was willing to try.