Chapter Text
December 2018
DAN
It had been in his head for days.
Months, really—since right before Interactive Introverts started—but it had been properly haunting him since Christmas, since his Mum, can I tell you something? had turned into The roast potatoes were great! instead of I'm gay.
The words had burnt his throat in a way he didn't like, putting him in fight or flight mode before they were even out of his mouth. It wasn't the right moment, it would lead to too many questions—about Phil, he knew it would be about Phil, doubting of the truth of their friendship—and he would have to tell his grandparents and his brother, too, and eventually his father and… No, now was not the time. Christmas was for family celebrations, not for surprise coming out.
So here Dan was, during the week that wasn't supposed to exist—right between Christmas and New Year's—with his laptop on his thighs and an empty Word document open.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard, unsure of where to start.
Failing to come out to his Mum had made Dan realise he needed to come out to someone, anyone—and if a group of people wanted to know, it was YouTube. So maybe Dan needed to officially, publicly come out? And if he publicly came out, his family would see it, so he would have to tell them beforehand. Boom. Objective tackled down. Deadline set.
So he wrote.
*
PHIL
Walking in the living room and finding Dan unhealthily leaning over his laptop was definitely not a surprise. Phil was used to the sight, it was familiar and he had nine years of experience with it.
But having known Dan—and every version of him—for that long meant the frown between Dan's eyebrows was a clear sign that something was wrong, that Dan was either typing an answer to a business email or replying a rude question on Tumblr or Twitter.
They had gotten a lot of those in the three days since they had announced their gaming channel was going on hiatus. Phil was fine with it, really, as they both clearly needed it. He was also good at ignoring comments. Dan? Less. Way less.
So Phil sat on the edge of the sofa, near Dan, his own computer folded on his knees.
"What are you doing? You alright?"
Dan's head snapped up, surprise flashing in his brown eyes. Phil hadn't particularly been discreet—Dan must have been seriously focused on his answer.
"Shit, you scared me. Yeah, I'm fine, I'm working on a new… Well."
Dan fell silent and patted the couch next to him, wordlessly inviting Phil to properly sit next to him—like they were used to, like most of their evening these past eight years had been spent.
Phil did as he was told. He would never miss an opportunity to have a cosy night in with his best friend, talking about their—and especially Dan's—projects. The man was so creative, it was a shame Phil had needed to encourage him to start posting on YouTube. If it wasn't for Phil, the world would have missed out on something amazing.
Phil wasn't even exaggerating.
"Do you remember that night, before we went on tour?"
"There were lots of nights before we went on tour," Phil observed.
If he added a tiny bit of humour in it, it would soften the tension he could feel radiating off Dan.
"The one where I just sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, got drunk and cried," Dan clarified with an eye roll. "Thanks for making me say it, Phil," he added, sarcasm dripping with affection.
Phil lightly nudged him, "I remember, yeah. You panicked because you needed to come out and couldn't do it right before Interactive Introverts."
"Exactly. Well. Tour was six months ago. I'm writing my coming out video."
Oh.
In all fairness, since it had been so long, Phil thought Dan had freaked out again and given up on the idea—but he was genuinely glad he hadn't. It was something Dan needed, more viscerally than he must think.
"Oh, great! Can I… See?" Phil asked, slightly leaning over Dan's arm to watch the screen, pressing them together, shoulder to shoulder.
But Dan shook his head, "Not right now. It's just a rough outline and I don't want you to… Well, it's quite vulnerable at the moment. I want you to read the complete thing."
Phil pulled away, straightening his back, "Okay, sorry."
Dan had boundaries, he knew, but it was a tad saddening that his best friend thought something about himself was too vulnerable to show Phil. Phil, who had been there through all the greatest and worst moments of the last decade for Dan.
But Dan had boundaries, and if there was something Phil wanted more than to read the text, it was to respect Dan.
"Hey," Dan pinched the side of Phil's arm to catch his attention back, "don't get me wrong, I will make you read it. Just not right now, it needs… Context. The last paragraph I wrote is about all the homophobic slurs I got called—or heard—at school, and there are at least eleven of them which I think is a lot of words for something they didn't want to think about. And also—a dozen different words just for men who like to take it up the ass? Are we that important?"
"Is it misogynistic to lesbians?" Phil wondered.
"Probably. I don't know how many lesbian slurs there are out there," Dan shrugged. "Maybe they are gender neutral. Which—" he went back to typing.
Phil let him, unfolding his own laptop to scroll through social media.
Half an hour later, Phil pulled out the Domino's website on his screen, and nudged Dan's knee with one of his feet, "Usual?"
Without even looking, Dan nodded, "Yep. Thanks."
*
DAN
When the doorbell rang, Dan saved his document. It was messy, all over the place, sorted by themes, then chronologically, and he was pretty sure about half of it wouldn't make it to the final cut. It felt like it was too personal—but again, it was a coming out video, by essence, it was too personal.
Phil came back from buzzing the guy in.
"Dan. He's so gorgeous, he can't see me like this," he whined.
As if allowed, Dan eyed Phil from head to toes. He was fine, infuriatingly so—but to Dan, he was always beautiful. It was what had caught his attention a decade earlier, while browsing on YouTube; that, and Phil's genius mind.
Dan was even annoyed that Phil looked great, since he was wearing his stupid emoji pyjama bottoms. He was starting to think Phil was wearing them on purpose on nights they ordered their dinner, just so Dan could go and have a social interaction instead of Phil. The saddest part was that even knowing it, Dan kept complying.
The guy wasn't even that gorgeous, although Dan could see where Phil was coming from. He was tall and blond, blue eyes and square jaw. Probably lots of muscles under the thick jacket fighting against the cold of London.
It was funny how, after almost ten years, Dan was still unable to tell what kind of men Phil was attracted to. And he knew he had never been too interested because he refused to think about Phil and other men.
But that was a thought for after the pizza, for when he would be alone in his bed, replaying all the moments they had spent together today.
January 2019
PHIL
"Hey Phil?"
Phil only faintly heard Dan calling him, but he did feel the index finer pressing in his shoulder to catch his attention.
He removed his headphones, turning the music off, "Yeah?"
"I was thinking."
"You're always thinking," Phil replied, closing the email tab on his computer.
"Shut up," Dan simply answered. "I was thinking, isn't it weird that I'm the first out of the two of us to come out?"
Phil wanted to note that it wasn't the truth, technically; Phil was out to his own family, as well as school and university friends. But he got what Dan meant. While he had never publicly denied his sexuality on YouTube, he had not been particularly public with it either. Phil liked his private life… Private.
Sue him.
"Why do you think it's weird?"
"Because you're gayer," Dan easily replied.
Phil tried and failed to keep his snort to himself.
Completely losing interest in the email from his brother about his future merch, he fully angled his body to face Dan and his Word document. Over the last week, Dan had updated him on his word count, and the file was quickly filling up.
"Define 'gayer'," he demanded.
Phil didn't think he was more gay than Dan. In fact, he didn't think he was more gay than any other gay person; each had a different experience and he was pretty sure no one had the same definition of the word.
"Well, I mean… It's more, um…," Dan trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip.
Phil was so tired of asking him to stop, sometimes he wanted to free it himself.
"How do I say, respectfully, that it's more, uh, visible in you than in me? Like, you… I don't know, maybe you're more open about it."
"You're the one with a Grindr account," Phil gently shot back.
"I don't use it!"
"It's a step," Phil shrugged. "But seriously, I think I'm more open about it than you because I have some… Experience? I've had boyfriends. However, it doesn't mean I'm more gay or more valid than you, you know that?"
When Dan only shrugged, Phil reached out to pat his knee.
"We're all different, we all have different stories. Never having been in a gay relationship doesn't mean you're less gay. Besides, it's not a competition, it's… Love. Everyone goes at their own pace, and if it took you a little bit longer than others to realise and accept you liked men, then… It's alright."
"Even if I'm still not out to my family at twenty-seven?" Dan asked with a self-deprecating laugh.
"Everyone goes at their own pace," Phil reminded him.
Dan only hummed.
Unsatisfied with the lack of actual answer, Phil wheeled his chair closer to Dan's. Once they were a few inches apart, he tilted Dan's chin with the tip of his fingers to force their gazes to meet.
Phil's look briefly flickered lower on Dan's face, just for a second, before he locked eyes with the two brown irises in front of him. Phil raised his eyebrows, making sure his friend understood he was waiting for more than an acknowledgement.
This time, Dan nodded.
"Everyone goes at their own pace," he repeated.
Phil let his fingers fall from Dan's chin to his own knee.
"To go back to your question, I don't think it's weird, because you need it more than I do."
"Do I?"
"I'm not pretending that I know what you need," Phil nuanced, "but I guess I can say that I know you pretty well—"
Dan's laugh at the euphemism made him pause, a grin tugging at his own lips.
"What I mean is, I imagine it as pressure, you know?" He didn't know himself. He had two degrees but pressure was part of none of them. It didn't matter. "The more you keep the valve closed, the more chances you have to explode—or, I guess, in your case, to get drunk on an entire bottle of wine and cry alone on our balcony."
"You're lucky I'm fluent in the Phil language, otherwise I would have already ran away," Dan commented, "but I know what you mean. I get it, and I think I agree? It's sort of what my therapist told me, so."
"Alright, pay me, then," Phil demanded, extending his hand in front of him.
"Oh, no," Dan refused, "I put up with your bullshit all the time—that's payment enough."
Phil narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out.
He was a mature man.
DAN
Dan closed the lid of his laptop and paused, staring at the wall in from on him.
That was it. He was done.
He had re-read it multiple times, looking for mistakes and typos.
If he thought he had poured his soul when talking about his depression, this… This… There were multiple passages he wasn't sure of, but he knew he had to mention them. Those were important events that were reasons he had not come out yet.
Although he had just finished to write, Dan supposed it would change a bit after getting other people to read it. Not Phil, of course, for some reason, Phil was never objective when it came to Dan's work; but his therapist would have elements to correct.
Dan unplugged his computer, tucking it under his arm and got out of the office. He exited the flat altogether, climbing the flight of stairs leading to their actual apartment.
Phil was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he was filling a bowl with bird seed—almost exactly where Dan expected to find him.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Phil jumped, spilling some seeds on the counter. A hand on his heart, he whined, "Dan, you scared me. I was fixing Steve's food. Did you notice—there's another pigeon with him lately, I think it's a female because he keeps trying to mate."
"Oh yeah? No, I haven't noticed, but I will look for it next time. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something?"
"Sure, what's up?"
Dan bit his lips, briefly looking away. Then, he placed his computer on the counter, timidly pushing it in Phil's direction.
"Could you… Like. I just finished the script of my coming out video, and I wanted you to read it, so… Would you? And tell me what you think about it?"
Phil eagerly nodded, "Yeah, yeah of course! Sure. I'd love that."
He slid the computer his way, opening and unlocking it under Dan's gaze. The document was still open full screen, and Phil quickly scrolled through it, skimming the script.
"It's very long," Phil observed. "Can I take it to my room? I don't want to rush it. You can just text it to me, maybe?"
"Oh, don't bother, you can take my laptop," Dan shrugged.
To be fair, to send Phil the document would mean he had to download it, which would make the whole thing definitely too true. And no, having his best friend reading his confession didn't confirm the reality of the text's existence.
Call it denial, Dan didn't care.
While Phil stepped out of the room, Dan focused on collecting the seeds spilled on the counter. He climbed up the stairs to the living room and slid the balcony door open.
Steve was there, cooing his way to a rather scraggy-looking pigeon.
Dan smiled—Steve had indeed made a friend. He emptied the content of the bowl on the feeder and went back inside, contemplating the birds for a few seconds.
One thing Dan often did—and was aware of—was to busy himself to turn his brain off. If he was focusing on one specific task, like unloading the dishwasher, his brain was prevented from thinking too hard about life and death and anxiety and everything.
His therapist told him it was a bad habit but… It helped.
Dan knew what he had written, what Phil was going to read. He knew what he meant, but what he wasn't sure of was Phil's reaction. There were lots of things Phil was aware of in Dan's life, without actually knowing the details. Those were experiences Dan was ready to share with his best friend—as well as with the world wide web.
He was mostly scared of some phrasings.
But how could he accurately convey his connection to Phil without saying they were soulmates? Without saying meeting him had literally saved his life, that Phil was his comfort person? All of this was true—and he was done walking on eggshells around the topic.
Him and Phil's relationship went so far beyond friendship, the word seemed almost laughable. At times, they morphed into the same being, their brains merging into one.
So yes. Their relationship was more than romantic. And what? Phil wouldn't be the one to deny it.
And it wasn't like Dan was actually confessing some stupid, romantic feelings he had repressed for about a decade. It was not that, exactly. Like, yes, Dan had feelings for Phil. Okay, he was in love with him; it wasn't news to anyone—except for Phil, maybe—but the thing was, those feelings weren't the focus or the goal of the video.
He just needed to show Phil had provided affection and comfort to his eighteen-year-old self—and if that younger version had fallen in love, then it was his own problem.
Dan opened the dishwasher, determined to do something—anything—to avoid thinking about Phil, just a few meters away, in his room, reading.
His next task became to unload the washing machine.
From years of living together, Dan and Phil had a pretty organised system: Phil loaded it, Dan unloaded it. All of this was based on the sole fact that Dan was not to be trusted to wash their clothes: back in uni, he had constantly gone to Phil's to ask him to use the washing machine of his apartment. It had stuck.
Dan was sure it would come and bite him in the ass one day, but for the moment, their little system worked well.
And he knew how their dryer worked—there was at least that.
An hour later, Dan began to worry: he knew he had written a lot, constantly on his computer for the first two weeks for the year, but… Phil had disappeared a long time ago. And Phil read fast, usually.
Dan's brain needed distractions, so he settled on the sofa upstairs and scrolled on his phone.
The Phil who walked into the lounge had red rims around his eyes and tears tracks along his cheeks. He carefully discarded Dan's laptop on the table and bee-lined for his friend, plopping down on the couch, his body half-laying on the other, head hidden against his shoulder and arms around Dan's waist.
Only when Dan felt cold drops and shudders did he realise Phil was still crying.
Awkwardly—as well as he could in this position—, Dan patted Phil's back, unsure what to say or do to calm him down. Unsure of what exactly had put him in such a state.
The whole text had been hard to write, full of repressed memories of verbal and physical abuse from his classmates and his father, of undiagnosed depression, internalised homophobia and that one suicide attempt.
It must be as painful to read then it had been to write.
So he waited, until Phil's crying stopped, softly rubbing circles on his back and running a hand in his black strands—not quite his usual quiff anymore.
When Phil perked up, Dan expected him to move—as close as they were, they didn't often cuddle this way. But Phil only curled himself into a ball against Dan's side.
"You alright?" Dan murmured.
Phil nodded.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I know what you've been through in the first eighteen years of your life because you've told me all that, but… For some reason, it hits different, reading it. It makes it real and I hate that you've had to suffer through this." He paused, comfortably tucking his head against Dan's arm, "You… You deserve the world, Dan, and I'm so, so glad we found each other when we did," he continued, surely unaware of the way Dan's heart clenched. "I know you don't want pity, and I'm not pitying you—I'm just… Realising what you've lived. And I hate it," he finally mumbled in the fabric of Dan's sweater.
Dan let his head fall on top of Phil's, aware of the weight against his limb.
"I hate it too," he said, "but I can't change it. What I can do is choose how I process it, and how I talk about it. I choose to use it to raise awareness—to be the voice I wanted to hear. I needed to hear," he corrected.
"It's brave," Phil commented, reaching out to squeeze Dan's hand.
"Embrace the void and have the courage to exist," Dan replied, pressing back.