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The blinds aren't closed properly, causing Dan to wince as a ray of light washes over his face. And fuck, it's October, the London day starts late—if Dan is being naturally woken up, it means it's around nine.
Well, it's not exactly like they have stuff to do today.
And if the blinds are open, Dan only have himself—and Phil—to blame—but Phil is like an extension of himself, so he doesn't really count.
Plus, Phil can't even close the cupboard doors, so.
Dan finally resigns himself: he's awake, now. He can move, it won't change anything. So he rolls over, shielding his face away from the light, and finds Phil next to him. His left cheek is squashed against the pillow, blonds strands a halo around his head—he's got them re-bleached two months ago, at the beginning of August.
As most mornings, Phil is turned in Dan's direction, looking like he's reaching for him, taking half of Dan's mattress space. Dan has stopped fighting it years ago. They don't fall asleep pressed against each other, though, as Phil complains Dan runs too hot—the only exceptions are after sex and special evenings, that usually end up with sex.
Last night falls under the second category, but not the first, surprisingly.
Phil's breath is still even with sleep when Dan traces the lines of his face with his eyes. In a few day, they will celebrate the sixteenth anniversary of their first date and yet, Dan can't physically get bored of Phil. Of his vampire-pale, soft skin—seriously, Phil withholds a secret some would die to know to keep their skin that creepily smooth—, of his blue eyes that Dan quickly learnt were also green and yellow depending on the light, of the slope of his nose, of the crows feet Dan proudly carved after years of laughing at stupid things together, of his tongue poking out between his teeth when he's amused.
Phil is just… Phil is…
Dan mostly never has enough words to describe Phil, so he usually conveys his thoughts through his lips directly onto Phil's skin.
But Phil is still asleep and Dan doesn't want to wake him up yet—they fell asleep quite late last night, nerves eating at them.
Dan silently and reluctantly slides the blanket down and gets out of bed. His first mission? Closing the blinds that woke him up to keep Phil in the lands of Morpheus just a little bit longer for the sake of his well-being. Then, he silently pads out of the room and up the stairs into the kitchen.
He squints at the bright light in the room; this floor is mainly white, with large windows that let the natural sunlight in—they don't have much at this time of the year so they make the most of it. He makes two coffees—it's practically second nature by now, and Phil has already told him he was probably a barista in another life—and is pouring cereal in two bowls when he hears the distinct thud of Phil's steps in the stairs.
Those stairs are a hazard, floating and slippery and Dan is still amazed neither of them tripped in the four years they've lived here. They're pretty, though, so there's at least that.
Dan doesn't turn when two hands settle low on his hips, nor when hair strands tickle his cheek and two lips gently connect with his skin in his nape. That's just Phil.
"Morning, rat," he mumbles with his raspy morning voice—and oh, Dan loves him.
"I made you coffee; be grateful, twat."
Ah, yes. First words exchanged today.
Phil's hands linger and squeeze lightly at his waist in lieu of answer, then he takes his coffee and leans his bum to the counter.
"It's good," Phil says, half in his cup.
"Obviously."
They finish their coffee silently, sharing the space, in their well-rehearsed routine. Next, they take their bowls to the living room to eat while they watch a video on Dan's phone—and yes, they have a TV downstairs. It used to be their anime morning tradition, but they have evolved into watching whatever thing caught their attention recently. Dan feels his partner dangerously close to a Buffy rewatch, and that's gonna take time.
Dan knows the changes that are going to occur will make Phil want to have a comfort thing. He knows Phil enough.
Speaking of which.
There is piano in the room. Oh, and an elephant none of them has addressed. Yet. Which they need to do. Kind of. They did something big yesterday.
Once their bowls are pushed away on their round coffee table, Phil decides to use Dan's shoulder as a pillow to continue his night. Dan doesn't let him fall back asleep—because although they don't do it often, Phil tends to give up pretty quickly to sleep when he's surrounded by Dan. Well, except for last night, but they were stressed.
Dan presses a kiss to the portion of his boyfriend's head he can reach, which, in retrospect, doesn't help as it makes Phil nuzzle further in Dan's neck, his cold nose tickling Dan's notoriously sensitive skin.
So Dan chooses to pat Phil's leg.
"Come on, Philly. We said we'd debrief the video."
That, at least, wakes Phil up. And he bites Dan's shoulder through his clothes. Fucker.
"Bitch," he tells him instead.
"We're not talking about it until we're at least showered and dressed," Phil replies, and fair enough.
Phil is wearing a novelty tee-shirt and his trusty Minecraft bottoms, which, admittedly, is not a business appropriate outfit. Not that they have to get out of the house today, there will be enough of that at the end of week, but they still try their best to separate work and life. It will be easier now that they have a studio, though.
They have had separate bathrooms for eight years now—and Dan isn't sure he could go back, because Phil spends an hour in there for a five-minutes shower. Even today, even if they went to wash at the same time, Dan still has the time to make two glasses of Ribena, log into both their computers, answer to a mail about their future first podcast episode that they will film in a few days, another about the BFI London Film Festival screening they're attending to this week-end, text with his grandmother and water the plants in their office before Phil finally decides to show his face.
Dan can't help himself, he smiles as he watches his partner sit and fold his legs in an impossible position. He knows it's a soft, tender and fond one, accompanied by those eyes—which, although he called them "depressed daggers" are definitely "heart" ones.
But hey.
It's Phil and Phil is just.
Like, has anyone seen Phil?
(Not like Dan sees him, he knows that he has the privilege of watching Phil sleep, moan and cry, that he sees Phil brushing his teeth, dancing to songs that are only in his head and taking care of their niece while no one else can, but still.)
"Okay," Phil starts, angling his chair to face Dan. "Thoughts?"
Oh, hey? It's Dan's turn to speak? Uh.
"I feel… I mean, with all the money and time we put into the studio and the podcast and all the projects we have with the patreon etc, I already knew on a rational level that we were coming out, I just—I hadn't anticipated how… relieving it would feel. Once we actually posted the video. Everyone already knew we were dating, but I still feel lighter. What about you?"
"Remember our tours? There was the pre-show playlist, and fans waiting for us to come onstage and start the show."
"Yeah."
"Well, I feel like that. Dozens of screens of our history playing at the same time, smoke machine, and finally—us. I just don't know if they're cheering or booing."
At that, Dan snorts, "You don't have an inkling?"
Because, of course, the community that has been editing Phan proof videos and writing thousands fanfictions will happily welcome the news.
Phil shrugs, and it's weird to see; he's not the one that has been postponing the announcement. He's the one who was basically publicly gay before meeting the other, he's the one who could have come out a few years earlier but has patiently waited until Dan was ready.
"It's like the first night of a tour. I sure hope they'll be happy, and I know that they'd be down for whatever we have to offer, but there's no way to be a hundred percent sure," he explains.
"I see what you mean," Dan nods, "but I don't think… Well. I'm scared of reactions, of course, but I'm mostly scared I'll be pissed off by the part of the community that will say—like for Basically I'm Gay—that they obviously already knew."
"I feel like for the most part, they got the memo," Phil replies, and then he leans forward to brush a curl out of Dan's eyes.
Absentmindedly, Dan grabs his hand before he fully retracts it and drops a kiss to the smooth inside of his wrist, "Probably. Do you want to check?"
"We can."
Turns out, they didn't have to worry.
Whether it was Twitter, Tumblr or the YouTube comments, the viewers passed the vibe.
One of the first comments Dan sees is someone saying that they don't know who him and Phil are but they're happy for them. He doesn't tell Phil and swallows back the tears he feel welling in his eyes.
From the Twitter series they have started last year, Dan knows their fans are fun, but oh God, now they're hilarious. They share a few gems between the both of them, laughing at viewers humouring them, screenshot some comment to send their new podcast producers and go on their liking spree that has Tumblr crumbling.
It's later in the evening, during their phone time in bed before they commit to putting their pyjamas on, with Dan's fingers intertwined with Phil's on Phil's thighs, that Phil proposes:
"We should answer."
Dan raises his head and tucks his nose in Phil's neck. He kisses the skin there.
"We answered the decades-long questions yesterday, rat."
Phil grabs Dan's jaw to slot their lips together for a few seconds.
"I meant, we should thank them for their good reaction," he replies only a few centimetres from Dan's mouth.
"And you would like to do that by…?"
"Taking a picture and posting it?"
"That would require sitting up," Dan whines—sue him, he's half laying in his bed, comfy with his boyfriend.
"You can do that."
Dan can. He will complain, but he does sit up straighter and take the picture with Phil's arm around his shoulder.
They study it together—watchful enough viewers will be able to tell they're in Phil's bedroom, but it's also discreet enough. Dan likes it. It's cute. He moves it to the D<3P hidden folder on his phone. If he was sappy enough, it could be phone background material, but Dan isn't a romantic, so it's not. It only goes in the folder.
And on his Instagram profile, captioned "just two partners feeling grateful for everyone's thoughtful messages and insane shitposts".
Because Dan is feeling grateful.
The reactions are great and heartwarming. And he has Phil by his side.
What can he say, he and Phil were kind of right all of those years ago.
The future is bright. The future is clear—and it's pretty queer.