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Phil’s in the middle of cleaning the kitchen (which translates to: he’s in the middle of vaguely rearranging their Polaroids and steadfastly ignoring the pile of dishes neither of them have particularly wanted to do, as busy with tour prep as they’ve been) when his phone buzzes. He’s not exactly proud of the speed with which he fumbles to open the message, but, well. Dan’s out right now, at the gym, and the house always feels empty without him, and maybe Phil’s clingy and ridiculous but he misses him.
He’s allowed, he thinks, a little petulantly, as he slides open Dan’s message. He almost died, and all. That should be a free pass to be a little clingy and ridiculous.
Dan’s texted him a hog emoji– Phil grins fondly, a little helplessly, and sends one back– followed by, simply, guess.
Wot, Phil sends back.
made a new friend
and
his name
is phil
And that’s– Phil blinks down at his phone a second, because there’s no reason for that to make his gut twist the way it’s doing right now. There’s absolutely no reason for him to feel– he’s not even sure what. A little off-balance, maybe. A little miffed.
Which is stupid, he’s being ridiculous, he knows damn well he’s not the only Phil in the world. Statistically, they both should probably have befriended other Phils by now, given how common a name it is.
But.
not as pretty as me i hope, he tells Dan, hoping he hadn’t left too long a silence between messages. Hoping Dan won’t somehow develop psychic powers and pick up on how weird he feels, suddenly.
nah m8 im gonna run away with him actually, Dan replies. phan 2.0 just dropped soz
Phil hates that that makes his stomach drop a little. Dan’s joking, he knows Dan’s joking, and it’s not– it’s not a big deal. It’s the opposite of a big deal.
2 phan 2 furious, he types back. Normal. He’s normal about this.
phurious, Dan responds. And there’s something about the text that just kind of– makes Phil miss him horribly, selfishly, makes him wish Dan were back home already instead of at the gym with new Phil who’s probably all hot and muscular and good at things like sports, and not dying, and doing the dishes instead of putting them off for ages.
Ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous, and he knows it.
It’s just.
He turns his phone off and stares at the Polaroids he’s been fiddling with, trying to quell the weird that suddenly wants to clog his throat.
It’s just that it’s always been them. Dan and Phil. Always the two of them, forever, together against the world, DanandPhil, and it’s selfish and stupid but he– he doesn’t want some other Phil to just waltz into Dan’s life. Some other Phil that can never be Dan’s Phil, like Dan is Phil’s Dan, and—
It’s not exactly jealousy, Phil doesn’t think. Not– exactly. But he’s feeling petulant and selfish and maybe like he wants to be a little mean about this… not-Phil. This Phil who doesn’t know the half of what it means to be half of Dan.
(This Phil who is probably a perfectly nice guy, if Dan likes him well enough, who’s probably nothing more than someone Dan will chat with at the gym sometimes, but. Phil doesn’t really care about that. He kind of just wants to be dramatic and wallow until Dan gets home and he can remind him of who the superior Phil is, thanks very much.)
He reaches for his phone again, ignoring a new text from Dan asking if he wants Indian takeout tonight, and thumbs over to Twitter. At least he knows that if he’s feeling dramatic their audience will be more than happy to join in.
dan made a new friend called phil. am i a joke to you
Phil shuts his phone off again after that. He’d thought maybe the round of phivorce jokes rolling into his notifications would make him feel better, make him feel vindicated in his weird not-quite-jealousy, but it just kind of makes him miss Dan more. He wishes again, so fervently it aches a little, that Dan were home already, not out at the gym with this Other Phil who probably loves things like– like bike classes. And, like, protein shakes. And cheese.
(Now he really is just making up things to be ridiculous about, and he knows it.)
God, it would be easier if it were just normal jealousy, he thinks. Easier if he weren’t so secure in the knowledge that he and Dan are irrevocably a part of each other, secure in the knowledge that Dan is coming home to him always, always. But he is, he knows damn well they’re it for each other, so he’s just being dramatic over— a name, at the end of the day. The principle of the thing. The fact that there’s only one Dan And Phil, so who does this Other Phil think he is?
It’s probably even worse that he’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds, he thinks glumly. But. Whatever, he almost died, he’s allowed to stake his claim on his Dan on Twitter and then mope in the kitchen about it. Probably.
He does end up doing the dishes, somehow. It’s an attempt at a distraction from how weird he still feels, and it doesn’t quite work, but it’s something, at least. Something that’s not having some sort of bizarre crisis about some guy just having the same name as him. Some guy with the same name as him daring to do something so mundane as befriend his Dan when Phil’s not there, which is fine except it’s not because actually Dan only ought to have one Phil. (And he knows how easy it is to want to befriend Dan. How easy it is to be drawn into how brightly he burns, the magnetic warmth of his smile and the sound of his laugh and— well. Phil knows it’s impossible to not want to be close to him.)
So maybe he’s still crisis-ing. At least he’s taking it out on drying the dishes.
He’s just putting the last of the mugs away when the front door swings open with a sound like relief crashing into the muddle in his brain. He can hear Dan’s keys jingle– something in his chest settles a little at the knowledge he’s placing his jacket over Phil’s on the hanger, where it belongs, always, always– and then familiar footsteps are padding up the stairs.
“You never answered my text about takeout, rat,” Dan’s saying before he even enters the kitchen, and Phil turns to face him as he dumps a few bags unceremoniously across the counter. And oh, he’s so lovely, Phil thinks helplessly, all flushed and sweaty and bright with that vitality he always has when he comes back from the gym. Phil loves him so damn much he thinks if aliens were looking down at the planet with their– alien-y emotion-reading sensors or something– he’d probably be sending up a beam so strong it’d blow up their equipment forever and they’d just have to give up on invading, actually. Sorry, have to find a new planet, this one’s got Dan and Phil loves him.
“Chicken tikka masala?” he asks hopefully, already knowing the answer. Dan just dimples at him, lovely, lovely.
“Obviously,” he says. And– obviously. Because he knows him.
(And to be known by Dan is the greatest privilege of Phil’s life.)
Other Phil doesn’t get to have this, that annoying, petulant little part of his mind pipes up, because Phil had forgotten he was supposed to be not-jealous and apparently his own brain just wants him to suffer. He tries his best to blink it away, reaches to pull Dan into a kiss, but Dan laughs and pushes him back.
“Oi, I’ve got to shower, bub,” he complains, even as Phil makes his best kicked-puppy face at him. “I’m all gross. I’ll be quick, promise.”
That selfish little part of Phil very much does not want to let Dan go right now. “You abandon me for new Phil for hours and now you abandon me in our own house,” he huffs, trying for joking and not quite landing. Dan pauses, cocks his head, and something in his eyes softens.
“Aw, bubby,” he coos, and if he didn’t know Dan so well it would probably sound condescending but as of right now it’s soothing and syrupy-sweet and Phil preens at it. “I thought your tweet was a joke. Are you jealous?” Dan smiles teasingly at him, but brings his good big warm hand up to cup Phil’s cheek and it’s so gentle he can’t be too mad, actually.
Phil turns his face into Dan’s palm to avoid how soft his gaze has gone. “No. Maybe,” he admits, embarrassment setting in. Dan just waits, patient as always, gives Phil time to put together his thoughts. He sighs, kisses Dan’s palm, speaks again, quieter. “Just. Wanna be your only Phil.”
He winces after he says it, well aware it sounds– a little pathetic. He knows Dan wouldn’t laugh at him, not about something like this, but Phil almost thinks he should.
Instead, Dan makes a little noise, soft and gentle, and presses a lingering kiss to Phil’s forehead. “Phil,” he murmurs, achingly tender. Phil can’t meet his eyes.
“I know, I know, it’s—“
“Hey,” Dan interrupts. “You are my only Phil. I love you. The ph means us, yeah?”
Phil snorts a little, pulls back to take in Dan’s expression and melts. He’s so unerringly sincere it feels kind of like looking directly into the sun.
Maybe they’re both sort of ridiculous.
“Yeah,” Phil agrees, feeling himself match Dan’s sappy grin. “Yeah. Me and you.”
This time, Dan lets him kiss him, doesn’t fret about getting him all sweaty. They both know Phil’s going to follow him to the shower anyway.
“C’mon, then,” Dan murmurs when they pull away, tugs at Phil’s wrist insistently. “The food’s probably already cold.”
Phil shrugs, not feeling all that sorry about it. “That just means we can take our time, then.” He attempts to waggle his eyebrows at Dan, knows it comes off looking ridiculous, just to make Dan laugh. He does, that lovely, ungainly snort that’s just for Phil. (Because he knows Dan, too. Because he’s Dan’s Phil. Because it’s the two of them, always, always.)
Dan’s horny the way he usually gets after a good workout, buzzing with too much energy and desperate to put it to use; the moment they’re in the shower he’s pressing himself against Phil insistently. He angles for a kiss, misses in his haste, catches the corner of Phil’s mouth instead.
“Hi,” he says, dimpling. His Dan.
Phil laughs, fond and giddy, threads a hand through his dampening curls, leans into the flare of possessiveness that’s winding through him and tugs the way he knows Dan likes. Dan drops to his knees without hesitation, big hands bracketing Phil’s thighs, and blinks up at him through lashes misting with water droplets. He’s so pretty it’s hard to believe he’s real, sometimes.
“Hi,” Phil echoes, and Dan bites back a snort. Phil tugs at his hair again until he shuts up. The possessiveness is still buzzing in his veins, and he knows, knows he’s Dan’s only Phil, but he wants– he wants.
“Can I come on your face?”
Dan blinks, eyes going wide before a sharp grin curls over his face. “Still jealous, bub? Wanna mark your territory?”
“Shut up,” Phil whines, pouting. He tightens his grip in Dan’s hair again. “That sounds horrible.”
Dan laughs, bright and unrestrained and he’s terrible but Phil loves him and—
And then he’s taking Phil into his mouth in one smooth, practiced motion, and Phil decides it’s time to stop thinking, actually.
He’s close so quickly it should be embarrassing, but it’s Dan, it’s always Dan, so it isn’t. And Dan knows him, knows his tells, knows just when Phil’s hips stutter to pull off and turn up his pretty face—
And then Phil’s tipping over the edge, and painting Dan’s face with cum– marking him, that possessive bit of his brain murmurs, god– and he’s so beautiful, so good, and he’s Phil’s, and Phil’s his.
Dan licks his lips, murmurs “Yours,” and Phil’s not sure how much he’s just said out loud but he finds he doesn’t particularly care.
“Yours,” he echoes, and pulls Dan to his feet to take care of him.
Afterwards, after he’s washed Dan’s face and fingered him open til he’s coming, sweet and loud and pretty, on Phil’s fingers, they take turns washing each other. Phil gets shampoo in Dan’s eye and Dan squawks and threatens divorce and then freezes, softens. Catches Phil’s gaze, tender and worried and so good to him. Phil just nods, smiles, pulls him in for another kiss. He’s not that bothered by Other Phil right now. Mostly, he’s just feeling sappy and unwound and a lot in love.
“Hey. ‘M yours,” Dan murmurs again, presses it to his lips, a promise. As if Phil doesn’t already know.
“And me. Yours. Always,” Phil tells him, catching his hand and tangling their fingers together. Ridiculous.
(He’s allowed.)
By the time they finally dry off and get changed, the food has long since gone cold. Phil finds he couldn’t care less. He’s content to watch Dan putter around the kitchen and transfer the food onto plates to reheat for the two of them.
“You did the dishes,” Dan says wonderingly.
“Course,” Phil tells him, pleased. “Someone had to keep the phouse running while you were off– gallivanting with some other Phil.” He doesn’t have to force lightness into his tone, this time.
“Gallivanting!” Dan shrieks, too-loud and lovely. The sound of his cackle filling their kitchen could be all Phil needs for the rest of forever. “I would never— gallivanting?”
“You heard me!”
“I don’t gallivant! And certainly not with anyone but you!”
Phil grins, tugs Dan in close by the collar. “So you would gallivant with me?”
Dan rolls his eyes but leans in anyway, smiling too-fond in that way that makes Phil’s chest hurt a little. “Reckon I’d do pretty much anything with you, bub.”
And oh, oh, Phil loves him. “Yeah?” he breathes, a little too choked up to say much more. It’s not like he needs to say much more anyway, with Dan.
“Course,” Dan says, easy as anything, dimpling. “You’re my Phil.”
And Phil can’t help but pull him into another kiss– his Dan– until the microwave beeps and they’re both flushed and giggling in their kitchen and they’re both ridiculous but it doesn’t matter. Not when it’s him and Dan, and they’re each other’s, always, always.
Phil kisses him again before finally relinquishing him to the microwave. “Yours,” he calls to Dan’s retreating back, just to say it again. Fifteen years and he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of it.
Dan turns back, grins at him blindingly, and Phil knows he understands that Phil means forever.