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“Do you ever think we should do…you know. Not this?” Dan leans over the arm of his sofa, blinking at Phil who’s midway through a bite of cereal.
They’re on separate couches, because both of them had one in their old apartment and both liked theirs the best. They’ve got two of a lot of things. Two side tables. Two sets of knives. Two bowls, two coffee cups. One TV, though. Two would be psychotic.
It’s all very separate. Because Dan and Phil are roommates. They were best friends, and now they’re roommates. Dan thinks it’s important to draw a distinction between the two.
“Why, are you bored?” Phil glances over, swallowing.
Dan shrugs. “No.”
“Then pass the remote—wanna watch something different.”
Dan passes it. “My mum just sent me an article that-“
“Not again.”
“That said,” Dan rolls his eyes, “it’s bad for our skin to stay inside all the time.”
“That’s bullshit.” Phil wrinkles his nose. It’s cute. “If you go in the sun you get skin cancer.”
“You’re a vampire.” Dan shakes his head. “Am I next?”
Phil grins. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to turn you. You’re a light sleeper.”
“Shut up,” Dan reaches his foot out to try and kick him, but they’re too far apart. Phil yelps a little anyway and tucks his feet up.
Dan reaches for his phone, feeling restless and stubborn. Phil falls silent except for the noise of his chewing, which is slow and sometimes stops altogether depending on how fascinating he finds whatever’s on TV. They’re watching a nature documentary about sheep. Dan wishes he cared.
Dan likes living with Phil. He does. And it’s not like Dan’s the most interesting or sociable person on Earth—he’s really not. But when he and Phil were best mates, not roommates, going over to Phil’s house was Dan’s little thrill of the week. His outing. It made him giddy to get on a bus and think—I’m going to see Phil. Now that they live together, his outings have pretty much ceased altogether—they’ve even been Deliveroo-ing their groceries. Pathetic.
“Jimmy’s having a housegoing party,” Dan says idly, flipping through Instagram stories.
“The fuck is a housegoing party?”
“Like, he’s moving out. Opposite of housewarming. Everything must go.” Dan reads off the screen.
“Maybe he has a bigger couch.” Phil says through a mouthful of cereal.
Dan raises his eyebrows. “I thought you liked yours.”
Phil shrugs, looking at his feet. His ears are a little pink at the top—Dan’s never noticed that before. “It’s more practical than two. Our colors don’t even match.”
“I never thought I’d live to see the day where Phil Lester cared about interior design.” Dan bites his lip. “So, are we going?”
Phil kicks his feet up on the armrest. “I’d have to talk to people?”
Dan smiles at him. “You’re so good at it.”
“I know.”
“So…?”
“Dan Howell, party animal.” Phil sighs.
“Yeah, I’m sure people are going to be going wild at this furniture auction.” Dan snorts.
⏮ ⏯ ⏭
People are going wild at this furniture auction.
Dan feels a pang of regret the instant he steps into the room. Jimmy was their friend from college—nice enough guy, always down for a pint or a movie or whatever—but as Dan and Phil had really settled into a hermit lifestyle during the years after graduation, it appeared Jim had not.
There are people everywhere, some carrying books and lampshades and whatever, some just holding bottles of beer. The lights are weird and purple, Viva la Vida is blasting, and there’s people dancing on the couch that Dan came here for. What fucking nonsense.
“Look,” he points to the couch in dismay, knocking his shoulder against Phil.
“We need drinks,” Phil shakes his head, and grabs Dan’s hand to lead him to the kitchen.
Jimmy is there when they enter, leaning back on the countertop casually with a glass of wine slotted between his fingers. A beanie is draped off his head—it’s all slightly pretentious. He sees them and smiles. Or he sees Phil and smiles.
“Hey, you made it!” Jim detaches himself from whatever conversation he was engaged in and starts to pull Phil into a big, friendly hug. Phil drops Dan’s hand. Dan begins to scowl.
“And Dan—hey!”
Dan’s hug is next. He doesn’t put his heart into it.
“Wow, I haven’t seen you guys in a minute,” Jimmy runs a hand through his hair. He says you guys, but he’s looking at Phil. “What, like a year at least?”
“We’ve been hiding away ever since we moved in.” Phil grins. “Dan was the one who convinced me to come out, actually.”
“Oi, you didn’t come here for me?” Jimmy pouts.
“For your couch,” Dan raises his voice to be heard above the music. He hopes it comes across less deadpan than it sounds.
Jimmy laughs. “Hey, good luck getting that thing out of here. That’s the rule—if you can carry it, you can have it.”
“Good thing we’ve been exercising so much,” Phil says sarcastically.
“C’mon, there’s gotta be a little muscle under there somewhere,” Jimmy chides, pinching Phil’s arm. Holding Phil’s arm. Dan suddenly feels like he would rather be anywhere else. He turns away quickly and opens the fridge, fishing out two ciders for himself and Phil. There’s a jell-o shot there, too, labeled Stacys Dont Take. Dan takes it.
When he looks back they’re still laughing. He forgot how well the two of them get on. But then, Phil gets on well with everyone. He’s Phil. Dan hands him a drink, which Phil accepts with a light touch on the small of Dan’s back as a thank you. All while his eyes are still trained on Jim.
Dan’s stomach is doing something uncomfortable.
Here’s the thing: when he and Phil met, sophomores at their university, taking—what was it? Something basic and lecture-y, like Psych 100—something changed. The sullen little kid inside Dan who grew up anticipating rejection; convinced that he would never be anyone’s first choice—curled up and went quiet.
It was feeling Dan didn’t really have a name for. They became best friends the way a fist can slice through air—effortless. Fast.
Really, really fast.
Dan considers himself a pessimist—on a sliding scale. He doesn’t like people. Thinks most of them are shit, pretty much. But Phil isn’t. He never was. It blew him away when he started spending entire weeks with Phil without getting bored. He would go days without going back to his dorm, just sleeping on Phil’s couch. (Yeah, the one in their living room now. That one.) It got to the point where his college roommate was surprised when he did come home.
And it’s just been them since. Dan and Phil. The words are so natural—good to chew on.
Fast forward, and Jimmy fucking Hill has his hand on Dan’s best friend’s arm, and they’re doing the throwing-their-heads-back laughter like they’re in a fucking allergy pill commercial, and Dan isn’t a part of it. He pours a generous amount of alcohol into his mouth.
“-and she’s just perfect, like, Botticelli angel cheeks, I can’t believe you haven’t seen her yet-“
“Dude, I miss Louise bad—I haven’t seen her, like, probably since graduation.”
“And now a whole new beautiful child is in the world. It’s crazy."
“Pictures?”
“Oh, Dan probably has some-“
“I don’t,” Dan injects sharply.
“Dan,” Phil laughs. “You do, we took loads of videos last time we visited Darcy.”
“Dunno if they saved.” He replies with an apologetic tsk, but it comes out sarcastic. Both of them are giving him strange looks.
“What’s wrong?” Phil frowns, leaning into Dan with his voice lowered. It’s the kind of concern that Dan’s used to when Phil finds him in bed during one of his episodes. But Dan’s fine now, and there’s nothing to be concerned about, so he just finds it irritating.
“Nothing.” Dan says flatly. He directs his attention to Jim. “So, is there a DJ, or is it you controlling the music, or what?”
“Oh, it’s just going to a speaker from my phone.” Jimmy taps his pocket, where Dan assumes a phone resides. “Got requests for the DJ?”
“Can you play something, like, that I might not hear at a 2010 specialty burger restaurant?”
“Dan!” Phil kicks him in the ankle. Dan winces slightly.
The snark of Dan’s comment has clearly gone over Jimmy’s head. He blinks at Dan. “Anything specific?”
Dan sighs. “Whatever, mate.”
“Play some Muse,” Phil cuts in, clearly in clean up Dan’s mess mode. Jimmy gives him a wink and a thumbs up, fiddling with his phone. Phil turns to Dan, whispering. “What is going on?”
Dan takes another long drink of his cider. He side-eyes Jimmy, who’s wandered a little ways to the counter trying to plug his phone into an outlet. Dan decides he’s feeling mean. “He’s not gay, you know.”
Phil stutters. “What? I didn’t-”
“It’s Jimmy Hill, mate. Get real.”
“Like you’d know anything about it.” Phil crosses his arms, looking pointedly away from Dan.
“Oh yeah?” Dan raises his eyebrows. “Want me to go and wait on the couch we were supposed to be bringing home together while you try and lure Jim into a bathroom just to kiss him and watch him act like he had no idea you were hitting on him and actually he just followed you because he thought you had coke?” He says, all in one breath.
“Fuck off, Dan, seriously.” Phil’s lips form a very straight, angry line.
“Maybe I will,” Dan retorts, and he takes one last look at Phil before storming into the crowd, weaving his way through a slew of sweaty, sardine-tight people. He nurses his drink leaning against one of the walls of the living room, which is practically barren save for the couch, a big lamp, and some moving boxes that have been shoved in a corner by the fireplace. There’s at least six sock-footed girls bouncing up and down on the sofa. They look college age. Too young to be here—not jaded and angry at one another yet. Dan watches them sullenly.
“Came here for the couch?”
He turns. A very short girl with very short, black bangs had approached from behind him silently, and she, too, was looking at the dancers, her arms crossed. Dan makes a noise of assent.
“I’m your competition,” she says.
“I don’t know if I’m a formidable opponent,” Dan mutters. “Don’t even have my roommate to carry it home with me.”
“I brought my two hands and a trolley. Think I have a shot?” The girl asks, her voice raised to be heard over the music. It’s Muse. Jimmy’s playing one of Phil’s favorite songs.
Dan looks her up and down. “Sure.”
“I’m Veronica.” She sticks out a hand to him. He takes it. She’s got a firm handshake.
“Dan. You a friend of Jim’s?”
“I don’t know this guy,” Veronica grins. “I saw this on Facebook and I need a new couch. Now the fucking Spice Girls are dancing on it, I’m really at a loss for what to do.”
“Sucks,” Dan offers his condolences. “Jimmy—the owner of the couch—he’s that one in the kitchen.” He points him out. Veronica stands on her toes to see.
“You think I should go talk to him?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Veronica blinks. “Okay.”
“Do you think he seems gay?” Dan asks, honestly.
Veronica stands on her toes again, squinting into the dimly lit kitchen. Dan can see Phil’s head stick out above the croud, talking to someone next to Jimmy. “He could be bisexual. Like, on Thursdays.”
Dan snorts. “”On Thursdays.””
“Why? Are you trying to sleep with him?”
“No! Jesus Christ, no.” Dan wrinkles his nose, finishing his drink with a final gulp.
“Why’d you ask, then?” She puts her hands on her hips.
“My best mate is. I reckon.”
“And you’re trying to sleep with him?”
“No!” Dan coughs. “I’m not gay.”
Veronica grins. “Okay.”
“Don’t say okay like that.” Dan looks at her.
“Like what?”
“Like you know everything about me. You’re literally from Facebook.”
“I’m actually from Liverpool.” Veronica deadpans.
“You wanna dance?” Dan says suddenly. He doesn’t think about the words coming out of his mouth until they’re already there, and now he sounds like a creep.
“I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“No, like—nonsexually.” Dan feels his cheeks going red.
“Oh. Sure.” Veronica takes his hand pleasantly, slipping her shoes off and leading him to the couch. The dancing girls make room for them without complaint. They must be closer to the speaker, because the music doubles in volume. “It’s our couch, might as well dance on it!” She shouts.
“You can have it!” Dan yells. “I’ve already got two.”
“What’s wrong with the two you’ve got?” Veronica picks up his hand to help her do a little spin.
“I-“ Dan falters. What is wrong with the two couches they have? The fact that it puts a barrier of armrests between him and Phil? The roommate barrier that makes best friends mean something different than it did before? The fact that Phil’s sofa is now Phil’s sofa, and not Dan’s makeshift bed? The clashing colors? Come on. As if the colors were ever the problem. “I don’t know.”
“Are they, like, small?”
“No,” Dan chokes. His head is pounding. “They’re two-seaters.”
“Are you okay?” Veronica shouts.
“I need to go outside,” Dan shouts back, giving her hand an apologetic squeeze and stumbling off the couch. His shoes come back on, and he passes through the living room, and—
There. Right next to the coat closet: Jimmy’s got his fingers through Phil’s belt loops. They’re kissing. Phil’s hands are tangled in his hair. Dan legitimately thinks he’s going to be sick.
He’s never seen Phil kiss anyone before. Dan doesn’t really think of Phil as the type to kiss people at parties. But here they are, Phil’s knee slotted between Jim’s legs, and God fucking damn it, Dan’s going to have to shoulder past them to get out the door.
So he does—shoulders past them.
He closes his eyes real tight as he does, making sure to knock Jim particularly hard on the way out, and he’s decided he doesn’t actually care if they see him, wants Phil to follow him out, because he’s childish and Phil’s the reason Dan feels like this—whatever this is—so he should pay for it.
Dan takes the stairs two at a time and kicks a rock on the pavement outside of Jimmy’s apartment. He lets his back fall against the cool brick of a neighbor’s house, the pounding in his ears dying down a little. He’s always heard people say the cold air helps when you feel sick. The cold air isn’t helping him right now.
Dan hears the door open and close again, and refuses to look. He fixes his gaze on the building across the street.
“Dan?”
Jesus. Even the sound of his voice makes Dan want to cry. Phil comes around the corner with his hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets.
“Hey,” Phil tries again. “Are you okay?”
Dan stares at the ground. “Don’t you have a host to be making out with?”
“Is that what this is about?” Phil frowns. “You—being wrong about Jimmy’s sexuality, or something?”
“No,” Dan mumbles.
“You’re pissing me off, Howell.” Phil kicks his shoe.
“Why did we even come here?”
“You made us!” Phil scoffs, voice filled with disbelief. “You were the one who wouldn’t shut up about leaving the house and getting healthy skin or whatever!”
“Well, I regret it. Are you happy?” Dan spits.
“No, I’m not happy,” Phil yelps. “I was, a bit, but you’ve gone and ruined it with your—whatever is going on!”
“Go inside and get fucking happy, then.” Dan seethes. “I really couldn’t care less.”
“Clearly you could care less, Dan. Clearly.” Phil gestures pointedly at him.
“What would you know about it?” Dan snaps.
“Oh, I would know.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Phil grits his teeth. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“No, say it!” Dan crosses his arms, ready for a fight.
“It means I spent literally all of college watching you make out with girls at parties, miserable, and the one time I do it myself you can’t fucking take it!” Phil cries, taking a heaving breath after he’s done and scrubbing at his eyes.
Dan really, really doesn’t know what to say to that. Phil’s right.
“Is it because I’m gay?” Phil’s voice cracks. “Is that it? Because you said it didn’t matter!” He pushes his finger angrily into Dan’s chest. “You said we could still be friends.”
“It’s not that! We are—it’s not because of that.” Dan wants to claw his eyes out.
“Then what is it?!” Phil says, his voice shaking with desperation.
“It’s-“ Dan’s chest falls and rises unsteadily. “Our couches are two seaters, Phil! Why do we need a new one?!”
“What?” Phil takes a confused step back, blinking. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I mean, why are we always on different ones?” Dan feels tears spring at the edges of his eyes. “Why can’t we share a fucking couch like we used to?”
Phil runs an irritated hand through his hair. Dan’s eyes get stuck on his lips. They’re still shiny from where he kissed Jim. Phil shrugs pathetically. “I don’t know, Dan. It’s not like there’s anything stopping you from sitting with me. I assumed—“ He sighs. “I assumed you didn’t want to.”
Dan gnaws on his bottom lip petulantly. “I want to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
The two boys stand silently, staring at each other for a moment. Dan, tipsy, sways forward just a tiny bit and he watches Phil’s eyes flicker downward. Just for a second. There’s something fucked in him that screams yes, yes, yes, me and not him! Me!
“Ahem.” A voice comes from behind them.
Dan swivels, blushing red like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to. It’s Veronica, with the couch slid halfway down the stairs and a trolley under one of her arms.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Dan and Phil say in unison.
“Awesome.” She grins. “Now be gentlemen and help me lift this into my truck. I’ll give you a ride home after if you want.
Dan doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s actually quite glad for the distraction from whatever that was. He hoists one end while Phil gets the other, and Veronica is short enough to go under the middle and push from there. She’s got a white pickup truck with a dull pair of scissors and dice swinging from the dash. It’s exactly what Dan would expect.
The three of them lift it in without all that much trouble, Phil and Veronica chatting lightly the whole way. It’s grey and soft and, yeah, probably better than both Dan and Phil’s couches. But Veronica deserves it more. She’s got her shit together. She brought the trolley.
She dusts off her hands. “Where to, boys?”
Phil sighs. “Irish goodbye?”
“Do whatever you want.” Dan bristles, looking away.
“Cmon,” Phil rolls his eyes, fond even after everything, and offers his hand to help Dan into the truck bed. They sit under the couch that’s been diagonally strapped to the car. Veronica opens the back window so they can all talk. Phil gives her their address, and as soon as they pull away, tension seeps from Dan’s shoulders as though it never happened.
The wind is unlike anything he’s experienced before. It’s freezing cold and it’s whipping through their hair, probably making them both look insane, and the streetlights are going past like dying stars, causing the shadow on Phil’s face to enter and retreat, over and over. Golden and then gone. Neither of them say anything.
The truck makes a particularly hard left turn and Phil lurches back—Dan reaches for him. His hands find purchase on Phil’s knees and he grabs them close, steadies him and doesn’t let go for the rest of the drive. Veronica’s singing along badly to an Eagles song that’s drifting its way out the window and into the night sky. Phil smiles—Dan watches it as if it’s bound to go away.
It almost doesn’t feel real when she pulls onto their street. Dan felt like someone completely different in the bed of the truck, and now he has to be himself again. How stupid.
Veronica gets out of the car to help them down even though she doesn’t need to. Phil shakes her hand and heads into the house, leaving them alone.
“Thanks for that.” Dan says. He means it.
“Probably I’ll never see you again,” she says, in a way that makes it really hard to tell if she’s joking.
“I mean, we could exchange numbers-“
“Nah,” Veronica pats him on the shoulder.
“Oh,” Dan laughs. “Okay.”
“Do me a favor,” she says.
“Anything.”
“Tell him you love him.”
Dan doesn’t know what to say to this.
“I’m not saying you have to do it today, or tomorrow, or whatever, I’m just saying—don’t die without having it out, okay?”
Dan stares at her, brows drawn. “Okay.”
“Good.” She says, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Bye.”
“Bye,” Dan blinks, watching her get back in her truck and give him a two-fingered salute as she drives away.
⏮ ⏯ ⏭
“What did she say?” Dan finds Phil in their kitchen doing some of the dishes they left in the sink from earlier. “Did you get her info? Maybe we could get lunch with her and her girlfriend.”
“I asked—um, nope.”
“Oh,” Phil shrugs. “Huh. Some people are just like that, I guess.”
“I guess.” Dan says. He feels a little dazed.
“Are you tired?”
“…Maybe?” Dan frowns. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Want to watch a movie?” Phil finishes the final dish and scrubs his hands off with a dish towel.
Dan bites his lip. “Yeah.” He’s still standing in the doorway, coat on, and he just watches as Phil settles down on his couch, as always, pulling a blanket across his chest.
“What are you waiting for?” Phil stares at him, lifting the blanket up on one side.
Dan could cry. He hangs up his jacket and kicks off his shoes slowly, because being in a rush would seem very weird, and joins Phil on his sofa. The TV turns on with a flicker. Their knees knock together. Everything feels important.
Dan can’t focus on what’s happening onscreen. His entire right side is lit up like a live wire where he can feel their shoulders pressing together. He has to keep telling himself that it’s just Phil. His best friend Phil. His roommate.
“I’m tired,” Phil announces not 15 minutes into the movie.
“Oh— we can, I mean, go to bed?” Dan says awkwardly. He wishes he could rewind time to twelve hours ago when he was capable of being normal around Phil.
“That’s okay.” Phil says. “Can I just, like-“
He shuffles around and rests his head in Dan’s lap, legs stretching out over the edge like a great dane.
“Oh. Yeah.” Dan breathes.
Tell him you love him. Don’t die without having it out.
There’s a lot of overlaying voices in his head. There’s his dad telling him, age 5 and wearing his mom’s lipstick, what a real man is. There’s the boys on the playground throwing sand into the wind so it catches in Dan’s eyes. There’s countless church sermons. A whole choir.
But there’s also just Dan. Raw and real and 100% honest with himself: he knows he loves Phil. Doesn’t know in exactly what way, but it’s there. Louder than everything else.
“Phil?”
No response. Slow breathing. Dan tentatively brushes a hand through his hair, and Phil makes a soft noise in his sleep.
“Night,” Dan whispers, fingers finding a rhythm tangled in his hair. Sinking himself further into the crevice that Phil normally occupies, exposed skin seeking the familiar fabric.
Don’t die without having it out.
It’s not nothing. They’re on the same couch.