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“I want to stay here.”
“You have to go. At least the 24th and 25th. You’d feel guilty if you didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Dan sticks his finger into Phil’s belly button. “I know, rat. You’re a much better son than me.”
Phil squawks, swatting Dan’s hand away. “I’m not. I just like them. It’s easier because I genuinely like them.”
“I know. I do too.”
“They always ask me to invite you.”
Dan sighs. “I know. I wish I could.”
“Will you ever?”
Dan shrugs, knowing Phil can’t see him. It’s fine though. He can feel him. There’s not a chance in hell Dan’s letting go tonight. Not on the last night he gets for a whole goddamn week.
“Probably not. They’d be cross.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“I don’t. They’re always cross.”
“That’s not true.”
Dan doesn’t answer. It’s not true, but it might as well be. It hasn’t been his home in years. His home lies beside him, frozen-toed and fuzzy-chested.
“Someday we’ll stay here.”
“Don’t lie, Phil.” Sometimes he likes a lie. Sometimes a lie is comfort and hope. Tonight it’s a glaring reminder of the chasm between who they really are and who they allow themselves to be half the time. Someone would find out, one way or the other, and then their cover would be blown. You don’t spend Christmas with your bro. Not even your best one.
“I’m not. Someday we’ll be the parents. And our kids will never have to wonder if we want them home for Christmas or not.”
This man is a saint. I do no deserve this man , Dan thinks. Only thinks. He doesn’t say these things out loud anymore. He’s not supposed to think them anymore either, but he thinks his therapist’s expectations are a bit ludicrous, honestly.
He grabs Phil’s head unceremoniously and crashes their mouths together because sometimes it’s too much, this love. Sometimes he needs to love Phil so hard it hurts them both just a little bit. Sometimes these feelings are too strong, too overwhelming they threaten to crush him from the inside out if he doesn’t express them physically.
Daddy talk is his weakness. It kind of feels impossible, like he’ll never be able to live up to the ideal he has in his head of what the father of Phil’s children should look like. Then he kicks himself because they won’t be Phil’s children, they’ll be their children and he knows no matter what, he’ll love them more than anyone has ever loved anyone. He’ll nurture their dreams and foster their passions and tell them every day that they can be themselves no matter what.
He’ll do and say and be everything his parents weren’t.
But he’s letting his mind wander again. And most of the time he wonders how he and Phil will ever get to that place. Right now it feels impossible. Sometimes he can’t even will himself out of bed in the morning.
“Ouch,” Phil says, after Dan bites down on his lip a little too hard.
“Sorry.”
Phil runs his thumb over the bitten skin. He’s smiling. “People have your daddy kink all wrong.”
“Fuck off.” He hitches his leg around Phil’s waist and his arm around Phil’s chest.
“You’re literally a sloth,” Phil says, wrapping an arm of his own around Dan’s bare shoulders.
“My forever mood.”
Phil kisses Dan’s forehead. “It won’t be like this forever, babe. I promise.”
Phil’s been gone an hour and Dan already feels the distance. Dan’s fingers itch to reach for his phone, but Phil’s probably not even on the train yet.
He’s curled up in his pants and a jumper under a soft thick blanket on the sofa, because that had somehow felt less pathetic than climbing back into bed the moment Phil shut the door behind him. He’s drinking that festive spice tea Phil bought and looking at the tree they’d decorated together and wishing things could be different.
Usually Phil can go away for a little while. Dan’s an adult. He can handle it. He always misses Phil for every second he’s gone, but a day or two is doable. He can binge a series Phil refuses to watch or script a dinof video or learn a new song on the piano. He always promises Phil he won’t spend twelve hours straight gaming, but sometimes he does it anyway. It’s a good way to get out of his own head. It’s a good way to forget how strange he feels when Phil’s off living life without him.
He knows it’s not strictly healthy. They both do. But Phil is his rock. His rock, his pillow, his sun. His other half. He really is.
But a few days is ok. Dan has learned how to be ok with a few days.
Not at Christmas though. The time they spend apart at this time of year stings like lemon juice in a cut. They love Christmas. They love being dorks with their mince pie codex and their cheesy Christmas songs on repeat and their festive jumpers. They love decorating the flat with coloured fairy lights and burning scented candles and making candy cane hot chocolate and snuggling on the sofa with their big beautiful tree twinkling in the dark.
Now Phil’s gone and all those things that made him feel so warm and full yesterday just serve to remind him that even though he has everything he could have ever dreamed of as a lonely confused teenager, he still can’t spend Christmas with his person.
Instead he has to spend it with his mum who’ll tut every time he mentions youtube and his brother who’ll roll his eyes every time Dan pulls out his phone and his dad who’ll just kind of… be there without really being there. Like always. His nan will ask about Phil because somehow she’s the most accepting of all of them, the eighty year old woman who still goes to sudoku club every tuesday and church every sunday and emails him about rude comments on his videos. At least she actually watches his videos.
Worst of all he might run into someone he went to school with, someone who remembers him as a sad, lanky emo loser with bad hair and confused sexuality.
He should get up. He should shower. He should call Bryony or something. Maybe go for a walk. He should wrap the presents he’s taking down to Wokingham or clean the kitchen or do his laundry. He should think about doing yoga.
He chugs back his tea because all of a sudden he’s not sure if it’s nice because it reminds him of Phil, or horrible because it reminds him of Phil. Phil who always helps him get off the sofa and into his trackies for some very reluctant exercise, even though he’s just as averse to the idea as Dan is.
He gets up, turns off the lights on the tree and goes to the gaming room. He sets up skyrim on the vr and loses himself in a world where Phil doesn’t exist and he has the capacity to slay a freaking dragon.
He sneaks off to his old brown bedroom. Everything in this fucking room is brown. He hasn’t missed it. A whole hell of a lot of angsting was endured in this room.
But also some good stuff too, it must be said. A lot of sleepless nights watching Phil’s mouth move over grainy skype connections. Lots of nervous laughter and flirty jokes and eventually, laptops angled strategically and hands wrapped around cocks and choked off whispers of each other’s names as they came.
Great. Now he’s horny. They’ve been apart three days which means it’s been three days longer than usual since making each other feel good in that way. Three days too long.
He pulls out his phone and prays Phil won’t be in the middle of a Lester family game of Who Wants To Be a Millionaire or something equally wholesome and horrifying like that.
Dan: remember when i was 18 and got my dick out for you on skype for the first time
He laughs as he sends it. He can picture Phil’s face as he blushes and tries to angle the phone away from Martyn or Kath. He could weep with happiness when Phil answers promptly.
Phil: merry christmas to you too ya div
Dan: but like… do you
Phil: of course
Dan: being in this room always reminds me of that
Phil: i still sometimes feel guilty for robbing the cradle like that ffs
Dan: it’s ok daddy
Phil sends a string of barf emojis and broken hearts.
Dan: just what i want to see when i’m trying to convince you to have phone sex with me rn
Phil: are you serious
Dan: ...no… of course not… why would i want that…
Phil: you’re getting coal in your stocking for sure young man
Dan: i don’t have a stocking phil we’ve been over this every year i get something with colin’s face on it and like a pair of socks or something
Phil: i forgot :((
Dan: you don’t actually still have a stocking do you
Phil: yes! we all do!
Dan: i don’t know whether to be disgusted or jealous
Phil: neither. i’ll buy you one and fill it on nye. with good stuff
Dan bites his lip, harder than he should. This guy. He’s too good. I don’t deserve this man.
Dan: i miss you
Phil: i know
Dan: i hate being here without you
Phil: i know
Dan: i want to go home and cuddle with you and kiss your big beaky nose
Phil: i wish you were here. maybe you should come with me next year
Dan: maybe i will
He won’t. He knows he won’t. They have this conversation every year.
Phil: mum says hi
Dan: yeah so does nan shes making me go to church with her in half an hour
Phil: no time for phone sex then
Dan: later?
Phil: i was kidding
Dan: i’m not
Phil: call me after you’ve paid your respects to baby jesus and i’ll see what i can do
Dan: i love you babe
Phil: i know
Dan: you’re an asshole
Phil: i love you too. so much
He’s been home for two days and he’s had it up to here with being Phil-less. It’s not the aloneness that bothers him--he loves being alone. Especially after two and a half days of forced pleasantries and tip-toeing around all his family’s weird hang-ups about the way he chooses to live his life. Aloneness is good and his body physically craves it.
But aloneness to him means lying on the opposite end of the sofa as Phil with their legs tangled together, watching tv or maybe just scrolling through twitter on their laptops. It means Phil lying in their bed while he sits at the desk editing. It means taking a depression nap knowing that Phil is just in the next room and will bring him some ibuprofen and a glass of water when he wakes up.
This kind of aloneness, the kind where he only has to make one cup of coffee, where he can play skyrim literally all day and no one tells him to stop--that kind he hates. It’s not good for him. He forgets to eat at regular intervals. He forgets to go to bed before the sun has risen.
It’s not as bad as it used to be, because he knows he can’t let it get that bad anymore. He’s worked hard to get where he is now. It just takes a lot more effort to remember when he’s alone.
Every year he tells himself he won’t jump up and rush to the door the moment he hears Phil’s key in the lock and every year he fails. Christmas is always the longest separation of the year and this one had been particularly grating.
“Honey, I’m ho-” is all Phil manages to get out before Dan has his mouth on Phil’s mouth.
It’s embarrassing, truly, the passion he puts into these reunion kisses. Phil hasn’t even closed the door yet.
Phil kisses back for a moment before remembering himself and pushing Dan away by the shoulder. He kicks the door closed with his heel and drops his bag and opens his arms for Dan to tuck himself into.
“I should leave more often,” he murmurs against Dan’s cheek. “I always forget how happy you are to see me. You’re like a puppy.”
“Despite what they all seem to think, pet play is not my kink and you know it, Lester.”
“Alright then, I guess you’ll just have to come with me next time.”
Dan kisses Phil’s neck. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He won’t. But it’s a nice dream.