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Fuck.
A tear rolls down Dan’s face before he even realizes it’s slipped out, and he barely has the foresight to turn his head before the tear lands on the sleeping figure resting in his lap.
Phil, his Phil, is tucked into Dan’s side, snoozing soundly with his head resting on Dan’s stomach. His freshly washed blond hair is splayed out, fluffy from both being towel dried and from Dan endlessly running his fingers through it like it’s the last thing he’ll do.
Frankly, it’s the nicest Phil’s hair has looked in days. Dan had all but pushed an exhausted Phil into the shower once they got home, and Phil was so drained that for once, he didn’t protest a bit. He diligently let Dan take care of him without a peep, like he knew that this was not only for his benefit, but for Dan’s as well. They both knew that Dan wasn’t just washing away the grime from being in the hospital, but that he was also washing away the anxiety and trauma that go hand in hand with such an event.
They fell into bed after their shower, sleep schedule be damned. Phil earned this, the right to sleep the day away. They wordlessly arranged themselves into their current sleeping position, Dan somewhat reclined against his pillows, and Phil curled into his side like a cat, with his head on Dan’s stomach. Dan’s fingers instinctively made their way to Phil’s hair, and Phil hummed out a soft “love you” in response. Phil then knocked out almost immediately, his soft snores reverberating in an otherwise silent room.
And finally, back in his own space with the man he loves safe and sound, is when Dan’s tears started to fall.
He’s always been good in a crisis, and this situation was no different. He’d kept a stiff upper lip the whole time, needing to be the one whose brain wasn’t clouded. Dan was the one handling all the questions from the various medical professionals as they zipped around him, was the one coordinating with sponsors that there was going to be a delay, was the one editing the tour trailer so they wouldn’t get too far behind. He was the one comforting Phil during his more lucid moments, letting his partner know that everything would be okay, and that they’d make it through together, just like they always did.
Even once Phil had sent him home, Dan didn’t dare lose his composure (though he fucking wanted to). Their home—usually so full of light and life—felt cold, devoid of the warmth that Phil naturally brought. It felt as if Dan wasn’t able to see in full color anymore, only dulled tones that merely hinted at their original colors. Dan couldn’t linger on that if he wanted to be of any help for Phil, though. He slept on the sofa in the lounge when he was home, as it felt like the safest, most neutral zone more than anywhere else possibly could. This emergency was proving once again that to Dan, home was not a space, but rather a person.
Dan knows that if you had told him this even five or so years ago, he would fight against accepting it as truth. He thinks back to baby gay Dan, and every other iteration of himself. He finally loses his composure, and the floodgate of tears opens.
Dan’s silently sobbing now, looking down at this beautiful being in his lap, and wondering how he could ever justify denying himself of such happiness. He loves Phil, he loves him inside and out, and he aches for the past versions of himself where he felt like that wasn’t allowed—even though no one had forbidden it but himself.
He remembers how it felt to push those feelings down, those feelings of love and adoration and happiness. They had felt like a fire within him, blazing from the inside out, and he had felt like if he didn’t stamp the fire out, it would burn him to a crisp. Dan in those days was always doing damage control, was always worried that those embers would reignite and destroy everything he knew and held dear. It was frustrating, not only having those flames threatening to make a return, but to have everyone on the fucking planet see the lingering embers in his eyes as he looked at Phil, despite his best efforts to keep them put out and at bay.
He remembers feeling like enough was enough, that something had to be done. He remembers Phil finding him drunk off rosé and alone out on their balcony, wrapped in his furry blanket that was now saturated with tears. He strokes Phil’s hair, and remembers how Phil had done the same to him while Dan had sobbed against his chest, and gripped Phil like Dan would die if he ever let go.
He remembers how good it felt to finally choke out “I’m gay, Phil,” and how after he had sobbed out all the initial terror, all he felt was pure, unadulterated relief. He rubs his thumb over Phil’s cheekbone, and remembers how Phil had done the same after Dan’s tears slowed to a hiccup, and how his strong hands had cupped Dan’s face, gentle yet firm.
He remembers gazing into Phil’s eyes in that moment, and for the first time, not feeling like he was drowning in them, but instead staying afloat with ease. He had reveled in the feeling of feeling truly seen as Phil’s eyes continued to hold his own in a gaze more intimate than anything they had ever done. Phil hadn’t said a word, but he didn’t have to for Dan to know that this was a silent I’m proud of you.
Dan remembers how much later, after they got home from the tour that almost didn’t happen, he was finally able to live his truth thanks to the help of Phil. He thinks back to how Phil held his hand as he clicked upload, then as soon as the video went live, pulled Dan into a hug that felt safer than any form of protection could. He thinks back to how he made Phil read him the comments, unable to look at them until his anxiety had died down.
He remembers the final “I love you” that they shared before Dan left for his solo tour, and for how the whole time they were apart, Dan had felt like he couldn’t quite breathe right. The final time they reunited after Dan’s tour, though, the feeling of being in Phil’s arms once again was greater than any gift he could receive.
He remembers how it felt to return to the gaming channel—how something that used to feel so restrictive and unauthentic became something so freeing, and even became an outlet for expressing himself.
He remembers how it felt to hold Phil’s hand in the April Fool’s video this year, and how it felt to not give a damn about what might be said. It was similar to how it felt to call him and Phil “gay” on his community tab, and how after he posted, he didn’t think about it at all.
He remembers how nervous Phil was on his birthday while he was waiting for Dan to open the popcorn bucket, and how once Dan smiled, Phil finally smiled too.
He’ll never forget the terror he felt the moment Phil fainted, and how that’s when he realized that this problem might be serious. Dan’s tears, which had begun to slow, start to pick up pace again as he remembers how the feeling of it’s too soon, this can’t be happening only barely suppressed the feeling of I don’t know what I’d do without him.
Dan will never let himself forget the sense of relief that overtook his entire body when Phil texted him that he made it through surgery without any complications. He thinks about how all he had been able to text was “okay,” too overwhelmed with emotions to even form any coherent thoughts beyond a four letter word.
He thinks about how as soon as Phil stepped over the threshold of the front door when they got home, their house became full of light again. With Phil home, Dan could see in full, vivid color once more, no longer limited to a near-monochrome world.
He thinks back to October of 2009, thinks about how he had the same feeling once he had Phil in his arms for the first time. It had felt like he was taking in the world for the first time, and everything was bright and shiny and vibrant, and when he left Phil to go back to Wokingham, everything returned to his dull, gray baseline. Though that version of Dan had no idea what was in store for him, current Dan knows he wouldn’t change it for anything.
Dan’s snapped out of his train of thought by Phil asking softly, “Dan?”
“Hey bubby, I’m here,” Dan responds, making eye contact with Phil and smiling gently. Dan knows Phil is taking in Dan’s current state, trying to figure out if the tear tracks staining Dan’s cheeks are worth asking about.
“I’m okay, promise,” he says, smiling as Phil groggily reaches a hand out to wipe Dan’s tears off his face. That’s the man Dan loves—always helping others even when he needs help, too. “I’m just processing everything, bub.”
Phil nods, seemingly satisfied with Dan’s answer.
“Come nap with me?” Phil then asks, voice husky with sleep.
Dan nods. “Gotta scooch then, Phil, lemme lie down,” he says. Phil lifts his head so Dan can shuffle down the bed into a more horizontal position, and once Dan is settled, Phil curls back into Dan’s side, except this time, his head is on Dan’s chest.
They both settle in, and Dan is nearly unconscious when he hears the tiniest “thank you, Dan,” from Phil.
“Anything for you, Phil,” Dan murmurs in return.
And he means it. Dan really would do anything for this man—his man. He knows that his love for Phil is written into his DNA; he was born to love Phil, and he’ll dedicate his entire life to loving Phil. There is no one else he would do this much for, in this lifetime, and in any other lifetime.
He would do it all over and over again—and more—for just one more moment like this.