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“Fuck, Phil. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s up.”
Phil knows it’s up. He’s sat on the sofa right next to Dan. He watched Dan click publish. “Yeah,” he says gently, touching Dan’s leg because that’s what he does when he knows Dan has big feelings and Phil’s not quite sure how to make them feel smaller: he touches.
“I can’t take it back.” Dan’s staring at the computer, his body perfectly, alarmingly unmoving.
“You don’t want to take it back,” Phil assures him. “You’ve been working on this for months. You’ve been thinking about it for years.”
Dan’s thumb finds its way up to his mouth. He gets the nail between his teeth before Phil reaches up and guides it back down. Dan doesn’t bite his nails anymore. It’s one of many things he doesn’t do anymore.
For a while it felt like posting videos was going to be another one of those things, things Dan used to do that he’s outgrown. Phil would never say that out loud, not to anyone, but there were moments over the past year when he really thought that might be the case. That maybe it would have been better.
He doesn’t think that anymore. Not after watching how long Dan worked on the script, not after spending days helping him scour Amazon for the perfect set of multicoloured lights, not after watching him do take after take to make sure each shot was perfect, not after watching him spend countless sleepless nights editing.
Not after watching the finished project and crying from start to finish. He’s learned things about Dan he didn’t know before: horrible things, painful things that broke his heart to hear.
Now he’s convinced that Dan can do absolutely anything if he really wants to do it.
“Are we sure?” Dan asks quietly, finally turning his gaze from the computer to look at Phil.
“We’re sure.” He says it with as much conviction as he’s ever said anything, and he means it. He knows what Dan’s asking, and he knows Dan’s not really in his right mind at the moment or else he wouldn’t have asked.
This video is Dan’s story, but it’s a big step for both of them. It’s rather a giant leap if Phil really thinks about it, but he’s ready and Dan knows that. And Dan’s ready too. Anyone who watches the video will know how willing Dan is to speak his truth.
Properly this time. No holds barred.
“I need to do something,” Dan says, pushing the laptop off his legs and onto the coffee table. “I can’t just sit here.”
Phil stands up. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Dan looks up at him.
“Leave your phone here,” Phil says. “We’ll go for an hour. Then we’ll come back and look at stuff, yeah?”
“Together?”
Phil nods. “Always.”
It’s a bit heavy handed but he reckons it’s the reassurance Dan needs right now.
-
It’s cool outside, but not raining anymore, at least. Dan’s got his hands jammed in his pockets and his jaw clenched so tight Phil can see the muscles flexing. Phil wants to smother him with hugs and cuddles and maybe try to make him laugh, but they’re out in public and he’s quite sure Dan would sooner cry at the moment than laugh, so he leads them in the direction of a coffee shop and gets them each an ill-advised late afternoon caffeinated beverage. He knows they’ll be up late into the night no matter how the world at large decides to respond to this particular video, so they might as well fuel up for it.
They don’t stay in the shop. There aren’t that many other people there, but Phil doesn’t want to risk even the slightest possibility that one of them may be watching the video on their laptop. Or phone. Or iPad.
They go back outside. They walk and drink their drinks and Phil keeps a close eye on Dan’s face.
When the tension gets too much he throws out his almost empty paper cup and takes Dan’s hand. Dan looks down at their clasped fingers and then back up to Phil’s face, gentle questioning written in his worried features.
“We can do this now, right?” Phil asks quietly, stood in the middle of the pavement of a busy London street. “If we want to?”
“S’pose so.”
Phil lets their hands come apart again. Now isn’t the time to push long upheld boundaries. “D’you wanna go home?”
Dan nods. “I feel too exposed out here. I just need to rip off the plaster and look. All I’m doing now is imagining the worst.”
“You know people are going to lose their shit right?” Phil asks. “In a good way.”
Dan shrugs. “I thought the last one was good.”
Phil’s heart falls down into his stomach. He can almost feel the acid eating away at it. “That was different. You know it was.”
He looks at Phil, eyes flitting back and forth between Phil’s own, like he’s searching for the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Maybe he is. Phil wishes he had them to offer. He’d give Dan anything and everything he could if it would take even a modicum of the weight he feels off his shoulders, especially today.
“It’s a good video,” Dan says.
“It is. It’s brilliant.”
“People are gonna like it.”
Phil’s hand floats between them for a moment, longing to take Dan’s and crush it with all the love and protectiveness and pride and fear that surges through him right now. “You’re going to save lives today, Dan.”
Dan rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
Phil shakes his head. “It’s true. It’s not just a brave thing or a well made video, it’s fucking important. Think of fourteen year old Dan, how much hope he would taken from seeing a video like that back then.”
Dan’s chin quivers, and Phil couldn’t physically stop himself if he wanted to. He steps forward and crushes Dan to his chest, squeezing his arms around his shoulders tightly. “Let’s go home, ok?”
Dan nods.
-
There are a lot of tears that night, from both of them. Phil can never say for sure what’s in Dan’s head, but he reckons he sees the full spectrum of human emotion in the drops that fall from his partner's eyes as Dan watches the response to his video.
Phil’s tears come mostly from watching Dan. The relief, the pride, the catharsis of seeing Dan’s face as he takes in the outpouring of support from fans and peers alike is overwhelming. He clutches Dan’s right hand with his left, fingers laced together and squeezing so hard he can feel his own pulse where the tips press into the back of Dan’s hand.
He knew people would respond positively. He knew it. Dan’s apprehension clouded his own ability to predict the reaction, but Phil knew in his heart it would be good. But he could have never predicted that it would be this good.
His heart pounds as he pulls out his phone, discreetly so Dan doesn’t notice. The words he types out have been practiced in his own head for weeks, an expression of truth in a much quieter way, but making them a reality and pressing tweet still feels like a rush. It must be a fraction of what Dan’s feeling, but a few moments later when Dan turns to look at him with a wave of fresh tears, there’s room in Phil’s heart only for the joy.
Dan sets his laptop aside and Phil tosses his phone into the cushions of the sofa and they hold each other, laughing and crying in almost equal measure, basking in the relief of releasing a decade’s worth of baggage and uncertainty - and not bothering to try and make sense of any of the other feelings. It’s just too much.
“I mean it,” Phil murmurs into Dan’s neck. “I’m so bloody proud of you.”
Dan shakes his head. “You,” he says. That’s all he says.
Phil won’t argue, though he could. He can appreciate that this story couldn’t have been told without vulnerability on his part as well, but it pales in comparison to what Dan just shared with the world.
“We’re out,” Phil says. “Everyone knows.” It feels different to say that out loud, to sit in the truth of it, the enormity.
“Fuck,” Dan says. He doesn’t let go of Phil. Phil can feel that he’s trembling. “I feel so weird.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if I’m happy or scared or relieved or worried. Or if I just wanna sick everywhere.” He pulls away finally, keeping a hand on Phil’s thigh.
“Maybe all of the above,” Phil says gently. “But people love it. People love you.”
“What if my dad watches it?”
“I hope he does,” Phil says, not bothering to hide the disdain that colours his voice.
Dan seems to take a while to process that, then he asks, “Do you think people are gonna call me a liar? For stuff I said before.”
Phil makes sure their eyes are locked when he answers. “Yes. Some of them will.”
Dan nods. “Right.”
“They’ll call me one too,” Phil reminds him. “Because sometimes people are stupid.”
“Yeah.”
“But we already knew that.” He reaches up to touch Dan’s hair. He just wants to touch. “That’s why we waited until we were ready, yeah?”
“Why am I the only one freaking out?” Dan asks.
Phil snorts. “Trust me, you’re not. I’m just doing it internally. I’m trying to let you have your moment.”
“S’not mine. It’s ours.”
Phil leans forward and sinks his teeth into Dan’s shoulder. He actually is trying very hard to hold it together, but he can only keep up the faux stoicism so long before he starts bawling his eyes out again.
“Ow,” Dan says, his voice soft and fond.
“Will you please just let me be amazed by you?” Phil bites Dan again before pulling back to look at his face. “Just let me have this. That wasn’t an easy story to tell. You worked so hard, Dan. I just want you to like, enjoy it a little.”
Dan’s eyes are instantly red and shiny again, his chin quivering dangerously. “I love you.”
Phil smiles. “You’re the best person in the world.”
“Oi,” Dan croaks, slapping his hand over Phil’s mouth. “Don’t even fucking go there right now, bub.”
Phil giggles behind Dan’s fingers. He feels lighter than air, a memory that had been all but stolen from them all those years ago suddenly feels like theirs again.
Dan looks up and sighs. “I reckon I should try to reply to a few people or tweet something or… something.”
“Only if you want to,” Phil says.
“I think I do. I dunno. I feel… just—” He uses his hands to mime his head exploding.
“I know,” Phil says, rubbing Dan’s arm. Behind him he can hear his phone buzzing non-stop. He can’t even imagine what Dan’s must be doing.
Dan picks up the laptop again and sits it on his thighs. Phil watches his fingers scrolling on the keypad, his eyes darting back and forth taking in the barrage of feedback.
“People are being really nice about it,” he says quietly.
“As they should.” Phil shuffles in a little closer so he can see everything that Dan is seeing, and they sit like that for a long while.
Phil isn’t naive enough to think that every moment from now on will carry these immense feelings of freedom and pride and relief. He knows eventually there will be people who say stupid hateful things. He knows they’ll both have moments where they wonder if maybe things would have been better kept safe behind their closet of glass. There will probably be moments where the exposure of this thing they’d kept sacred for so long will feel terrifying and wrong.
He knows. And he knows Dan knows. But what he knows even more is that living their truth is worth it all.
Eventually Dan stops scrolling. He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper and types a tweet that makes Phil’s chest tight.
He publishes it and then shuts his laptop. “I think I’m happy.”
“Me too,” Phil says. He couldn’t have said it better himself.