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1: Steve
It’s two in the morning, and Phil is pacing around the apartment, clutching his phone in his hand, as if he’s going to call the vet again. As if they would pick up at this ungodly hour, and as if they could even do anything to make him feel better. What exactly is he going to say?
Hi, it’s me again. The crazy man with the pet pigeon, not named Steve. What do I do if my pet pigeon won’t get in the box?
Really, there’s no point in asking, because he knows. Steve could die. Suddenly, Phil feels just a bit angry at all the other veterinarians who refused to help, who think that Steve’s death wouldn’t matter just because he’s a certain kind of bird. He wonders who exactly decided which animals matter and which don’t.
Before he can spiral in that direction, though, he feels a pair of strong arms wrap around him from behind. There was a time, more than a decade ago, where Phil got startled by the feeling of someone holding onto him in a room he’d thought was empty. Now, though, he relaxes on instinct.
“Dan,” Phil sighs.
“Come back to bed, bub,” says Dan, his lips close enough to Phil’s ear to tickle.
“Can’t,” says Phil, “Too stressed.”
He turns around, so he and Dan are face to face, and the breath leaves his lungs like it’s punched out of him. Dan is gazing at him like Phil personally hung every single star in the sky, and that, he’s never gotten used to. And he hopes he never does.
“You know,” says Dan, “Most people wouldn’t be this worried about an injured pigeon.”
Coming from anyone else, the sentiment would have made Phil bristle. But he can’t be bothered when it’s Dan, because he knows how Dan means it. “I know,” Phil says, “That’s why I have to worry.”
“It’s not going to do anyone any good right now,” says Dan, “You’re just going to make yourself sick.”
Phil can’t argue, and he doesn’t want to agree, so instead, he does the one thing he always wants to do, and leans in, pressing his lips to Dan’s.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Dan whispers when they break apart.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Phil repeats. By the time they’re curled up together under the covers again, it feels true.
2: Norman
“Phil.” Dan’s voice comes through his dream, softly at first, then more insistently. “Phil.”
Phil cracks one eye open, gazing up at Dan’s face. He whispers, “Hiiiiiiii, Dan,” before he realizes that his partner looks utterly crushed. Then, he comes back to himself, out of the haze of sleep, and fumbles for Dan’s hand in the dark. “What’s wrong?” he asks, promptly followed by, “What time is it?”
Dan answers the second question first. “It’s morning. I just woke up. And… I think Norman is gone.”
Phil’s heart drops into his stomach. “What do you mean?” he asks, even though he already knows.
“He’s floating, Phil. I think he… I think he died sometime in the night.”
There’s a beat of silence, a heavy moment in which neither of them says anything.
Phil bred hamsters as a kid. His parents let him breed hamsters, in part, because of some advice his mum read on a blog somewhere. Psychologists say that letting kids have pets can help them develop emotionally, since the death of a pet will get them accustomed to the concept of grief. Phil has two gripes with this advice. First of all, he’s not a big fan of experts suggesting that the most useful thing a pet can do is die. Second, it doesn’t work. At least, it didn’t work on Phil. When he finds out that Norman is gone, he feels the same as he did when he lost each and every one of his hamsters. Like he’s in freefall. Like nothing will ever be okay again.
Then, he gets out of bed. “Okay. Come on.”
Together, he and Dan take care of Norman in death as well as they did in life. Just like he once painted Norman-themed makeup over his eyes, he paints a little cardboard box in shades of sparkly blue. Dan puts a few rocks and pieces of kelp in the box so that Norman will always feel like he’s at home. Phil wonders what Dan will do with his customized fish tank, once the dust has settled.
Phil wraps Norman in a little shred of paper towel, doing his best not to touch him, even though it doesn’t matter now. They find a patch of grass near their apartment, and they bury him early in the morning so that no one bothers them or asks what they’re doing. There’s no noise at all besides the two of them, sharing stories about Norman and how much they’ll miss him.
Some would probably say that it’s too much for two grown men to throw an elaborate funeral for their deceased pet fish. Phil can’t help but feel like it isn’t enough.
3: The Pheal
For a while, the secondary screensaver on Dan’s phone – the homescreen, not the lockscreen, that would be too obvious – is Phil, curled up with his new favorite child on the plane home from Japan. If he was asked, Dan would say that Phil is the one with the materialistic streak, but if he‘s being honest, he has to admit that he has even more of a problem. Dan likes £1000 jumpers, and Phil likes to collect random objects that he doesn’t need and will never use.
Except, Dan keeps being proven wrong on that front. Phil doesn’t collect random objects that he doesn’t use. He does, however, collect random objects that he treasures and loves forever. Phil sleeps on the plane with the plush seal that will eventually become known as the Pheal. He sleeps with phem in his arms for several nights after that before Dan asks if he can put the Pheal in his newly minted filming room. It’s Phil who gives the Pheal pheir snazzy sunglasses, the hat, and all the other costumes that phey absolutely rock over the years. Phil even holds the Pheal while meditating.
One night, while Phil is fast asleep with the Pheal clutched in his arms, Dan takes a picture that he never posts. Not even after the Hard Launch; some things are just for them, and should stay that way. In his Photos app, he captions it anyway.
Ah, yes. Me, my boyfriend, and my boyfriend’s massive seal pillow.
4. The Axolotl
Dan was great at surprising Phil, but he wasn’t great at hiding when he had a surprise. While Phil never quite knew what to expect, he always knew to expect something, not just on birthdays and special occasions but on random days scattered across the year, too. On Christmas, it was always more than one gift. Phil never bothered to tell Dan that that wasn’t necessary. He liked presents, and he knew that Dan wouldn’t have listened to him anyway.
The thing that really tipped Phil off that Dan was going above and beyond for this holiday season was when he came to their shared bedroom late one night and stood outside the door, listening to Dan typing furiously. He was muttering to himself, too, something about capitalistic greed and whatever happened to mutual aid and 134 dollars??? Phil opened the door.
“Dan, what’re you do–”
Dan pulled his open laptop close to his chest. “I’m looking at porn, go away!”
When the axolotl finally did arrive, through Dan’s many trials and tribulations, Phil peppered it with kisses all over its plushy, smiling face. Dan told Phil that the reason he’d wanted to get it for him so badly was because it made him think of 2009 AmazingPhil, and that sealed the deal. Phil carried him around for the whole rest of the day, and when it came time to find a place to put him, he chose a place of honor in the filming room.
Phil has always been sentimental like this — he’d been the kid who couldn’t fall asleep unless he knew that all of his stuffed animals were safe in his bed and not going to fall out, and he’d never really grown out of that. But gifts were like food to him, in that they were made a hundred times more special when he knew that they came from Dan, with love.
5. The Phabubu
Phil is sitting at the table by himself around mid-day, taking the labubu out of its packaging when Dan comes in. Phil doesn’t immediately notice Dan coming in, because Dan decides to stand dramatically in the doorway and stare for a few seconds before saying anything.
“Philip Michael Lester,” he says.
Phil yelps. “You scared me!”
Dan ignores him. “What is that. What have you done.”
“You’re acting like I’m sitting here with a dead body,” Phil chuckles.
“You bought a labubu? How much did that thing cost you?!”
“Dan, you’re wearing shoes that cost four times the rent of our first apartment,” says Phil.
“That’s beside the point,” says Dan, “You’ve spent so much time on TikTok, the algorithm overlords have gotten in your brain.”
“No, they haven’t!” Phil insists, “See, it’s fine when I do it.”
Dan takes a moment. “Explain.”
“I’m not using it as a collector’s item,” says Phil, “Most TikTokers who buy labubus just leave them on their shelves in boxes because they’re valuable, or whatever. I just think they’re cute.”
Dan approaches Phil and takes the labubu from his hand with surprising gentleness. “You think this is cute?” he asks.
“Yes, I do,” says Phil with mock defensiveness, “And in fact, part of the reason that I wanted one was because I felt bad seeing everyone say that they’re ugly. So if you make fun of me, I’m just going to buy more.” Phil flashes that famous shit-eating grin, the one that tells Dan that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that Dan is about to fold like a thin piece of paper.
Sure enough, Dan sighs and bends slightly, kissing Phil on the head. “You ridiculous, ridiculous man. What are you going to name it?”
“I was just thinking we could call it the Phabubu,” says Phil. After a judgmental pause from Dan, Phil adds, “The Ph- can just stand for Phil in this case, if that makes you feel better.”
Dan laughs. “Yeah, I am not that thing’s father. I’m the bitchy stepmother who puts up with it just barely in an effort to appease its real dad. Put it in the same category as the golden pig.”
6: The Golden Pig
Dan thinks that by now, he knows Phil pretty well. Understatement of the century, really. He understands Phil better than he understands anything else, better than he knows himself. And one of the things that Dan understands about Phil is that there are some things he will never understand at all. For example, Phil hates cheese and soup. And he loves that goddamn golden pig.
Dan has made it no secret that he hates that stupid thing. He thinks it looks garish and obnoxious, like something that Donald Trump would buy for one of his low IQ adult children. More importantly, it doesn’t match with the decor in the rest of the Phouse at all.
Unfortunately for him, Dan loves Phil much more than he hates the golden pig, as much as he bitches about it. When it goes missing in the first move — not Dan’s doing, although he’d thought about it – Phil does his best to hide how sad he is.
“It’s fine,” he says, repressing a mope, “It’s not that important.”
Dan hates the golden pig. But he also hates seeing Phil sad. So he stays up late that night going through each and every box, knowing that they put it somewhere because he checked, easily ten times, and there was nothing left in that old apartment. By the morning, the golden pig is back in an annoyingly prominent place, and when Phil sees it, he grins from ear to ear.
It’s like watching the sun come out. Phil’s smile, that is, not the pig. The pig can go fuck itself.
“Dan!” he squeals, “You found it!”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Dan, “Didn’t want to have to watch you stare out of foggy windows waiting for your true love to come home for the rest of my days.”
Phil sees right through Dan’s sarcasm. It’s a thing that he does, following up something kind with something sardonic so that it seems less special. And he can do that, if it makes him feel less vulnerable. It doesn’t matter at all to Phil, who pulls Dan into a rib-condensing hug.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, “I love you.”
7: Freja
Dan doesn’t want kids. He’s not willing to put in the work that it takes to raise kids properly, and even if he did want to do it, he doesn’t think he’d be very good at it anyway. But sometimes, he sees Phil with their niece, and his resolve wavers.
It’s freezing cold on the Isle of Man, even colder than it is in London, but the sun is glittering behind the clouds. Dan shields his eyes against the glare with one whitened hand and wishes, not for the first time, that he hadn’t left his gloves back at Phil’s parents house. Really, though, it’s hard to feel cold when he’s watching Phil chase after a toddler, pretending to be slower than she is so that she can win at the game they’re playing. He does it with their games of Scrabble, too, though apparently Freja was catching up to Phil, and had gotten close to actually beating him once or twice.
The first time that Martyn and Cornelia had visited after Freja was born, once the lockdown restrictions had loosened enough and everyone had taken their tests, Phil had been terrified to hold her, convinced that he was going to drop her. Dan hadn’t been worried at all.
Now, years later, Phil takes time every month, almost every two weeks really, to go see Freja and spend quality time with her. Most of the time, Dan joins him, but when he doesn’t, he’s always treated to pictures of Phil with butterfly clips in his hair and glitter strewn across his cheeks.
He sits on the side of the park, takes a picture of Phil and Freja together, and texts it to Martyn. Later, they’ll go around and open gifts, and a solid four of Freja’s will be from Phil.
Despite the bitching cold, Dan feels like he’s going to melt.
8: Dan
“Dan.” Dan’s face is buried in one of the couch cushions, his whole body heaving as he tries and fails to catch his breath. Phil can’t see his face, but he thinks he might be crying. He nudges at Dan’s shoulder blade, urging him to come up for air. “Dan. Please look at me.”
It’s slow, and Phil can tell that it’s difficult, but finally, Dan does come up for air. He turns towards Phil, but still isn’t looking at him. Rather, his eyes are darting around the room, as if some unseen monster might pop out at any minute with a video camera, a host of invasive questions or a knife.
“We should be able to sue for this,” says Dan, “It’s a massive invasion of privacy, and all because of a YouTube glitch, we should…”
He trailed off. “Would suing fix it?” Phil asks, “Would getting money from this whole situation make it any less horrible?” Dan doesn’t answer verbally, but he shakes his head, just barely. His eyes are rimmed with red. Phil continues. “I will fix this, Dan,” Phil promises, “I’ve already taken it down. I will reach out to the people who have reposted it and make them delete it. I swear, Dan, I can make this go away.”
As he speaks, Phil can hear his heart fracturing in his chest. He imagines cracks spreading over its surface like broken glass, threatening to cut him into pieces. He doesn’t want to make it go away. It’s a Valentine’s Day present. All he did was tell his boyfriend that he loves him, and he hates that he lives in a world where he can’t just do that and be left alone.
In that moment, he considers just saying fuck it. Let people say what they want to say. He does love Dan, and he’s so fucking tired of forcing himself to pretend that he doesn’t. The idea of that, of being free, fills him with a rush of adrenaline so strong that he feels like he might just float away.
And then, he looks back at Dan. He looks small, helpless, terrified. Phil sighs. He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around Dan’s shoulders, using it to pull his love closer to his chest. He tucks Dan’s head under his chin.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into Dan’s hair, “Everything is going to be okay.”
It feels weak, and Dan must feel the same, because he answers at a normal volume, sounding exhausted almost to the point of numbness. “No, it’s not.”
+1
On the morning of Phil’s 39th birthday, if 1 PM can be counted as morning, the two of them set out on the town for a sugary beverage. Phil’s family is coming into town around 6, and they’re going to have dinner together, but the rest of the day belongs just to the two of them, and that’s how they like it.
Phil takes a long drink of his chocolate-coffee foam blender drink, topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. It’s a special birthday treat, but it’s also something that he would drink any old day, just because he can. There’s a smear of whipped cream left on Phil’s nose, and Dan reaches up to brush it off. It’s a simple touch, the kind of thing that they allow themselves to have these days, outside of the safe four walls of their home. Except today, Dan doesn’t pull away.
He stands there, cupping the right side of Phil’s face in his hand, running his thumb over one prominent cheekbone.
Phil doesn’t move. He has that look on his face that he gets whenever he can tell that Dan is thinking, and he’s waiting for him to come to whatever conclusion he’s reaching. But the conclusion that Dan is coming to is one that he reached a long, long time ago.
“Can I kiss you?”
Phil’s eyebrows fly up. “Here? Now?”
It’s a Friday afternoon, as busy as this part of town gets. Dan notices, and it scares him – of course it scares him – but then he sees the unmistakable twinkle in Phil’s bright eyes. He wants this. He has always wanted this.
It’s a delicate line to tow, to be willing to give up something you want for someone you love. Phil has always walked that line with a grace that Dan almost can’t comprehend. But he thinks it’s time for both of us to step off of it.
He’s been thinking about New Years a lot. The fact that he and Phil didn’t kiss in that taxi. Part of it was awkwardness, sure, and part of it was just a logical cautiousness that they tragically couldn’t entirely let go of. But a large part of it was an avoidance that they’d internalized for a decade and a half, that they now had the chance to unlearn.
“If that’s okay,” says Dan, “I want to.”
Phil smiles, so widely and so beautifully. Dan wants to keep that smile in his pocket, so that he can give it back to Phil whenever he needs it. Instead, he leans in and kisses Phil on the lips. It’s a gentle kiss, chaste and not elaborate. After the two of them spent so long training themselves away from public displays of affection, he expects it to feel revolutionary, but it doesn’t. It feels easy. Like coming home.
They break apart. The earth hasn’t split in two under their feet. No one is even looking at them. And Dan can’t even feel a sense of terror pounding where his heart should be. All he feels is fresh air and the warmth of Phil’s breathless giggle against his lips.
“What was that for?” he asks quietly.
“Birthday kiss,” says Dan, “And, you know. For everything.”