#honestly I tried rendering this but it wasn’t working out. plus he’s literally just standing there

[toki-toro]

Mouth breather

[gentlemancrow]

Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

[bigskydreaming]

gingerjab replied to your post “ANYWAY. The petition/prayer circle for Michael Trevino to be cast as...”

I’m forever an asshole obsessed with fire/ice ships so Thunderbird or Sunfire, fuck the inhumans one off and St. John. Also, Rahul Kohli as Neal Shaara/Thunderbird/Agni. Also I’m sposed to be asleep so ignore if this is a shit idea.

For the record, I actually kinda like the Inhuman guy, cuz I mean, its not his fault he’s part of a trash franchise. I think it probably helps that I’ve only ever read one issue with him, so as to render it absolutely impossible for his writing to piss me off. I like to just close my eyes and pretend he’s a mutant. Y’know. Like I do with Kamala!

Who is obviously a mutant.

(And like.....let’s be real. The dude is a pyrokinetic with a demon form, the codename INFERNO, and his REAL name is DANTE Pertuz. DANTE. INFERNO. Like, that’s the on-the-nose-fuck-your-subtlety-we-came-here-to-be-pretentious-as-fuck-with-our-literary-references-look-how-dignified-it-makes-our-character balls to the wall character concept I am HERE for. I’m like OH HAI I SEE WHAT U DID THAR. And they’re like “oh yeah? You got it? Hahaha, we were worried nobody would, phew, good job tho. Totally adds to the character right? Pretty clever of us.” And then I’d be like Hahahaha no, not even a little bit, but ‘scool, I like him anyway cuz I’m easy like that. I put out for puns.” And then they’d be like awwwww, dammit, we worked so hard on that. And I’d be like....well, that doesn’t speak highly of your abilities, I mean it was a super obvious joke. And then I stopped making up conversations with hypothetical people in my head.)

Also, in defense of comic book St. John Allerdyce and absolutely NO OTHER VERSIONS EVER because agreed, they all suck....

Comic book St. John is a snarky Australian asshole who in between acts of mutant mass destruction, has a side career as a successful romance novelist under a pen name.

(I’m not even joking. Comic book St. John, in canon, writes romance novels in his spare time as a hobby. LOLOLOL c’mon, how is that not a great character beat for a supervillain slash occasional kinda-if-you-squint-superhero).

Anyway.

I too am also trash for fire/ice ships because SCREW SUBTLETY, WE SHIP THEMATICALLY. But like, its gotta be the RIGHT fire/ice ship. I weirdly have standards with my fire/ice ships? Probably just because I’m obsessed with Bobby Drake but whatever, who cares, how is that relevant.

I mean, OBVIOUSLY, you have your proto-fire/ice ship, the one, the original, the Word I came out of the womb prepared to preach and ship and like, spread to the masses....Bobby Drake/Johnny Storm. Because like. They are elemental dorks whose competitiveness is only matched by their dumbness, how can you not love them, I DEFY YOU TO SAY.

I’m kinda meh on Iceman/Pyro, because like, original comic book Pyro and Bobby never even interacted I think? And in cartoons they’re always totally different generations/age groups, and in the movies they’re like....boring and stale and not even all that attractive and also did I mention boring, omg no offense to whomever wrote them, but I tried reading Bobby/Pyro movie fanfic years ago because like, that’s the only movie Bobby fic there is, unless you want to read about him being an asshole to Rogue and/or cheating with Kitty and just generally driving Rogue into the arms of the much (much much much much, like ewww) older Logan or Gambit. Because srsly, so appealing. So obviously, I caved and tried reading Bobby/Pyro fics because like, they had the word ‘Bobby’ in them, and the bar is too low in my X-Men fic reading habits. And omg I fell asleep. I just. It was all just the standard m/m cookie cutter generic ‘good boy plus bad boy uwu yaoi-zowey’ bleh starring two not at all deeply written or well-acted meh-looking white dudes, and just. Why.

But that’s what I mean when I say I’m wary of fire/ice ships, because sometimes with powered characters like, authors think oh hey, LOOK ONE IS FIRE AND ONE IS ICE, THIS TOTALLY COUNTS AS THEM HAVING OPPOSITES ATTRACT PERSONALITIES AND THUS I DONT NEED TO GIVE THEM A PERSONALITY, RIGHT? Like. They’re just very boring and unimaginative in execution, just because they expect the basic premise of fire and ice/’obvious opposites attract, obviously’ to do all the work for them.

(Katey if you’re reading this I’m super for sure not talking about YOUR superpowered romances, because you are wonderful and GOOD at writing and imaginative, and thus none of this applies to you. Requisite disclaimer.)

So, when they did this random Bobby/’New Pyro Dude like where did he even come from I still dont know’ hook-up, I was prepared to like, yawn endlessly, because I figured it would be more boring imaginationless ‘ooh look what an obvious pair they are and yet still praise me for how clever I am for pairing them’ crap. 

And I was absolutely right!

(But I mean, it was written by Marc Guggenheim, the odds of it sucking were totally in my favor. Betting against them being well-written under his pen might feasibly be construed as cheating. Whatever).

And also, the art did them ZERO favors, like I know they’re both generic blond dudes in their twenties, but I LITERALLY COULD NOT TELL WHICH WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WHICH in any of the panels that they were like, in bed together or dressing or talking or literally anything until they started using their powers to fight bad guys. It was soooooooo bad. Like the art just manifested every ‘look at the white gay date his mirror reflection lol what is variety even’ cliche and beat you over the head with it.

(Also Bobby is supposed to have brown hair, which at least would’ve helped a LITTLE bit. Meh. Still was gonna suck because like, nobody had any intention of WRITING them together, like, developing their characters and laying the groundwork for a possible relationship. It was just ‘oh look, the fire and ice dude got drunk at a wedding and hooked up, cool deal, now on with the story.’)

Anyway, the ONLY redeeming potential for a Bobby/Simon relationship in my opinion is ENTIRELY due to a fic I read with them. Its probably the only fic written about Simon ever, lmfao, so its not like the writer’s characterization of him has any competition among either canon or other fans’ renditions of him. But it was pretty well written, I actually liked their portrayal of Bobby, which I’m SUPER picky about in fanfics, and they actually invested time in developing Simon and his POV and giving him an actual personality and shit, that wasn’t half bad. So if Simon was written like that in the comics and their relationship progressed in similar ways, I could feasibly be on board with them.

But it won’t, so I’m not. Meh. Anyway.

I actually really REALLY like both Shiro AND Neal, with the caveat that I hate Neal’s stupid offensive-ass codename, I know Claremont only named him Thunderbird because he introduced him in an anniversary issue that was supposed to be a call-back to the original Giant Size lineup, and he needed a stand-in for John Proudstar, but like....wtf Claremont, just use your brain and save Neal to introduce a whole issue later and stick Jamie in John’s place the way everyone else does. He literally went by Thunderbird in the comics already in his Hellion days, which YOU wrote, so why the fuck did you feel the need to be stupidly offensive and act like Native American people and traditions are interchangeable with those of a guy from India? Ugh he’s so....gah.

Anyway. So I actually like both Shiro and Neal, though pretty much only when people other than Claremont are writing them, lololol. Which is admittedly...rare. Because of all his pet characters, they’re both at the top of the list of ones nobody else has any interest in touching. Bizarrely, my favorite run involving Shiro was when he was randomly shoe-horned into that Alpha Flight relaunch in the late 90s, that only lasted a couple years? Dunno if you know what I’m talking about, the team with Radius, Flex, Murmur, Heather as Vindicator and Mac was a robot or some weird shit.

I have no real thoughts on either of them with Bobby though, for a fire and ice pairing. Tbh I can’t really see Bobby/Shiro like, at ALL lmfao. For one, Shiro’s always felt written as though he’s a good ten years older than Bobby at least. Like they’re not really compatible dialogue-wise lol. And he’s pretty much never had any patience for Bobby in the comics, which has a lot to do with most of their interactions being written by Claremont himself, and Claremont infamously haaaaaaates Bobby’s character and trashes him any chance he gets, aka the few times editorial makes him actually use Bobby in a script. But I also think even under other writers, like....Shiro honestly is not the type to have any patience for Bobby’s antics or brand of humor, like.....he’s like JP but without the superficial crush JP used in canon to view Bobby’s idiosyncrasies as endearing instead of migraine inducing. I don’t think any readers would buy someone of JP or Shiro’s personality-type crushing on Bobby twice, lololol.

I DO however kinda like the idea of Neal/Bobby? If someone ever actually brought Neal back and gave him a new codename and stuck him on a team with Bobby? They’ve also barely interacted in canon, and the only time I can think of, Neal was super rude and dismissive of Bobby, because like, Claremont was writing it of course, so it made total sense for him to have the dude who’s literally been an X-Man for two issues talk down to the X-Man of several decades like the latter had no clue what he was doing, lol. Oops, still slightly salty there. 

But honestly, I doubt anyone who didn’t have hyperfixation fueled grudges on a fictional fave’s behalf would ever even remember that one canon interaction, and tbh Neal’s pretty much a blank slate character wise. His only defining traits from what little he’s been used are that he’s fairly young, in his early to mid-twenties, from a wealthy family, a little full of himself but in a ‘really wants to impress people and prove himself’ kinda way instead of an overly entitled ‘i genuinely believe I am superior to all you buffoons’ kinda way. And he was always endearingly enthusiastic and eager about new stuff he encountered from being with the X-Men.

(He was also randomly obsessed with Psylocke, but I truly think Claremont was like, well I’m just gonna write him like I would Warren Worthington because why not. So yeah, obvsly he’s super obsessed with Betsy. Duh.)

Anyway - I would like someone to do something interesting with Neal, and I think his and Bobby’s chemistry has a lot of potential and they could bounce off each other well. 

Also, I like Rahul, but I was randomly fancasting some of the more obscure X-Men awhile back for Reasons (I forget what they were tbh, but I’m sure I had them. I usually do). I came across this Indian actor named Karan Tacker and was like ohhhhhhh he totally looks like he could be Neal Shaara.

I mean, I’ve literally never seen him act, so who knows what his acting is like, but since we’ve established Neal’s character is essentially whatever the person to actually use him next wants it to be, I don’t think that’s a big deal lol.

So this is totally superficially based casting, like I think this guy looks and ‘feels’ the way Neal’s typically been drawn and the kinda vibe he gives off.

Also, incidentally, having absolutely nothing to do with anything, let alone my selection process, by pure coincidence the dude just so happens to have abs for daaaaaaays.

But I mean. Like I said, that is neither here nor there. Obviously.

Of no relevance whatsoever. I didn’t even notice, tbh. Don’t even know who hijacked my body and ghost wrote these last few sentences, quick, call an exorcist.

....oh noes, is this one of the consequences of being an ‘anti’? IS THIS MY COMEUPPANCE? *flees*

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (33/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: Holy crappu! Chapter 33! Only one more chapter left and then this fic will be finished! I literally am in shock right now honestly. I'll save all the gushy stuff for the next chapter, but i'm still in shock lol. The final chapter is more like an epilogue so it may be out before Saturday since I already have half of it written! So keep your eye out for that! Sorry this chapter is late, i had a lot going on these couple of weeks and then like three hours ago I was almost finished with this but my roommate asked if I wanted to watch The Killing of a Sacred Deer (it's a movie i promise) and i was like. Um yeah who do you take me for OF COURSE! So here we are, three hours into sunday, and I'm an ass! Thank you all for reading this and for your lovely comments! The song at the beginning is from Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST

READ IT ON AO3 READ IT ON WATTPAD

-

Chapter Thirty-Three

Now and then I think of when we were together. Like when you said you felt so happy you could die. Told myself that you were right for me, but felt so lonely in your company. But that was love and it's an ache I still remember.

-

University starts before Phil is truly ready for it.

One moment, he feels like he’s just minding his own business working and lazing around the house, and the next he’s scrambling to do last minute school shopping (i.e., buy a pack of pencils and that’s it). It hits him hard, but his friends are there for him and he even shares his creative nonfiction class with Charlie, so he can’t be too terribly mad.

The first couple of weeks go by rather slowly. His professors are all nice, and Phil had gotten a doctor’s note from his psychologist saying that he may have to miss school sometimes due to an ‘underlying mental illness’, which really just meant his post-traumatic stress disorder that occasionally flared up here and there. While it had gotten better, he wasn’t completely healed yet. Apparently that shit either took years to go away, or even never went away. But Phil was optimistic and every time he could smell Nico’s old cologne or watch Nico’s favourite show without going into freakout mode was a win for him.

Things got stressful fast though, sadly, which is true for all of university. One moment, he was just minding his own business, scrolling through tumblr at odd hours of the day, eating snacks, and the next he was scrambling to finish a ten page paper about why sex education in school is important while completely forgetting to eat as he rushed to finish. Dan was practically shoving food down his throat during it all, berating him for not starting the paper earlier.

What a hypocrite, honestly. Phil had seen Dan rush to finish a paper multiple times because his depression had gotten in the way of doing it earlier. At the least, he should at least understand when Phil did it too.

But then again, maybe he did understand. Maybe he was shoving food down Phil’s throat and promising him a bubble bath after he finished because he knew exactly what Phil was dealing with emotionally, knew how hard it was to complete things on time when the world was pressing on your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe.

After a while, his brain had had enough of the strain and decided to give up after five pages, spewing out a load of bullshit that didn’t make sense in the slightest. Phil buried his face into his palms, his eyes tearing up, and pressed his fingers against his eyelids to keep the wetness from leaking onto his cheeks. It didn’t really help too much other than to make his eyes hurt with the pressure.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Dan asked softly, draping a soft blanket around Phil’s shoulders. He kissed the side of Phil’s head, nuzzling his nose into his hair. “Email your professor and see if she’ll let you turn it in a day late.”

Phil laughed humourlessly, wetly. He didn’t think it was that easy. Plus, wouldn’t that just make him look bad by asking for special treatment? “And let my professor know that I was slacking on this assignment? I’d rather die.”

Dan hummed and pulled Phil’s laptop off of his lap, ignoring the small protests that came out of Phil’s mouth when he did so. Without asking, he replaced the laptop with himself, plopping on Phil’s lap like he was a dog. He poked Phil’s nose. “Mental health isn’t being lazy or slacking, my dear boy. It’s an actual disorder of the brain that renders you incapable during periods of time where you would otherwise be okay. Sometimes you can be in a bad place for weeks, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your professors already know that there’s something going on with you. Asking for an extra day to complete the assignment is just you trying to be responsible and practicing self care. If you don’t finish tonight, then you’ll look like you don’t care about it at all and you’ll get points taken off of your assignment. Which would you prefer?”

In the end, Phil emailed his professor. Although he did do it with a lot of whining and grumbling, just to make Dan mad. (It doesn’t matter that Dan doesn’t get mad at him anyways, no matter how hard Phil tried. He was always way too understanding, damn it).

After only five minutes of refreshing his gmail anxiously, Dr. Lucifer replied with a chill, ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll give you until Wednesday to complete it. Feel better Philip!’ There was even a smiley face at the end, so out of place after Phil had carefully constructed his email, made sure there were no typos, practically typing out a double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman persuasive paper about why he needed an extra day to complete. And then here was his professor, signing off with a fucking smiley face.

“Was that so hard?” Dan asked softly, brushing a hand through Phil’s hair.

Phil pouted and, because he was a jerk, pushed Dan off his lap light enough that Dan wouldn’t get hurt and could catch himself when he fell. “Shut your mouth, Howell, you owe me a bubble bath.”

Phil did end up getting his bubble bath, complete with a robot bubble bar from Lush, candles around the tub, and his favourite anime playing on his laptop that was set on the toilet so he could see. However, he also got an armful of Dan, which was something pure and good.

When Dan joined the bath, it didn’t matter that they were both too giants trying to fit into one tub. It didn’t matter that Phil’s legs started to go numb after a while or that they had to get out quicker because they got too hot too fast. All that mattered was that they were spending time together, with Phil’s arms around Dan’s waist, gently running his nails over Dan’s stomach because he knew that Dan liked it when he did that.

Most of the time, Phil liked to be held by Dan simply because it made him feel safe and warm and loved. But today, Phil wanted to be able to hold somebody. Holding something against his chest made him feel like his heart was full, like there was someone who needed him and who he needed in return. It was so relaxing, in his opinion, especially when that person was Dan, who he could press kisses all over his shoulders and neck. Who’s hair he could mess with, twirling a curls around his finger and pretending like his fingers were curling irons.

It was nice. It got Phil’s schoolwork off of his mind, that’s for sure. And when Dan turned around, capturing Phil’s lips in his, asking if he wanted a ‘good job blowjob’, Phil definitely didn’t have any complaints.

-

Phil had a break in between his Poetry and his Creative Nonfiction class where he liked to go to the different dining halls to grab some food. Depending on the day, Phil would meet up with either Louise, Dan, or both, and they would have a meal together, talking about how their classes were going, or how life in general was going. Phil really liked Louise and he was glad that they were getting to know each other better, thanks to Dan.

Plus, seeing Louise and Dan together reminded Phil of how he and Chandler used to be. They had their own inside jokes and would sometimes just break into laughter as soon as they made eye contact for no apparent reason. Louise made fun of Dan with no shame and Dan laughed so loudly that his voice would go all high pitched and squeaky.

Whereas most people may feel like they were a third wheel after something like this, Phil didn’t feel that way at all. It was nice on days where Phil didn’t feel up to talking too much, and it was nice on the days when Phil wanted to join in and create his own inside jokes with them. Watching the two of them together was a gift in itself, because Phil liked to watch how Dan interacted with people who weren’t, well, him.

When Dan wasn’t talking to Phil, his voice was louder and more brash, more obnoxious. He was more sarcastic, kind of mean, but only in a joking way. He liked to tell people to fuck off, liked to tell them that they were twats. He cussed a lot and was a dramatic piece of shit that was so painfully obviously studying something in theatre.

With Phil, Dan was all smiles and soft voices and warmth. Sometimes he would get all competitive and act like he was the most important drama queen on the planet, but then other times he would be all cuddles and kisses and compliments. Phil would love to tell the whole world about Dan’s big praise kink whenever Dan was in his boasting mood with Louise, but he didn’t. When he smiled at Phil, he made these doe-eyes that really made him look in love, tone quiet when he teased.

In short, Dan was a lot gayer with just Phil around.

Today was just one of those days where Phil didn’t really feel like talking. Dan understood this and didn’t press him for answers, knowing by now that Phil sometimes just needed time to be quiet and think about life. Everyone had those days, and Phil was having a day like that now.

Dan was holding his hand on the table, and Phil was grateful once again that they had opposite dominant hands, that way they could hold hands while still eating. Phil was eating a taco bowl made with spicy shrimp and Dan had gotten a sub sandwich with a taro bubble tea. Despite Dan’s efforts to make Phil try the drink, Phil refused, saying that he was afraid it would taste like a potato.

Louise and Dan were in a dispute about which bubble tea flavour was the best. Louise was stuck on mango while Dan said that the milk tea and taro were definitely the best. Phil just smiled and sat back, sipping on his own earl grey bubble tea. He liked it, but it wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted at all. He just hadn’t been in the mood for anything particularly fruity, so this was the most logical answer.

“How’s your tea, Phil?” Louise asked, drawing Dan’s attention towards Phil as well.

Phil shrugged and sipped at it again. “Spicy. Wait, no that’s not what I-” he was cut off by the sound of Dan trying to hold in a laugh, but failing miserably as it came out with a snort. He made eye contact with Louise, whose eyes were watering from trying not to laugh, and then they all burst into laughter. The table was practically vibrating with their noise, and Phil’s throat hurt from cackling so hard.

When Louise could finally get in a breath, she wheezed out, “Phil, that is the whitest thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I forgot what the word for herbal was!” Phil whined, which only made Dan laugh harder.

“Earl grey isn’t even an herbal tea, Phil!”

Phil pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your mum isn’t even an herbal tea.”

Louise shook her head, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down. Her makeup was a bit watery and messed up now, but it didn’t look bad. If anything, it was just endearing. “I can’t believe we’re still using your mum jokes.”

“I can’t believe you’re my friend,” Phil shot back, shaking his head in disappointment at himself. In all honesty, he was really grateful for both Louise and Dan, and they both knew that. Without them, Phil would probably just be sat in his apartment with no friends and sad piano music playing in the background.

The epitome of depression.

Just then, Phil glanced around the dining hall that they were in and his eyes came to a stop on someone who looked slightly familiar. It took him a moment to realise why they looked familiar, because this person had curly brown hair with blonde highlights, and Phil didn’t know anybody with blonde highlights.

But apparently he did now, because Nico was standing across the dining hall, in line at the bubble tea shop. As opposed to the other times Phil had seen him, this time he was completely alone and staring right at Phil with a hard frown on his lips.

From where he was sitting, Phil couldn’t see the freckle constellations on his face. He couldn’t see the colour of his eyes or how they shined emerald in the light. He couldn’t see the lines between his eyebrows or each individual strand of hair. He couldn’t smell his cologne or hear his voice.

And yet, Phil could hear his voice. He could smell his cologne. He could see the fucking freckles on his face and the glitter of emerald in his eyes and the lines between his eyebrows and each individual strand of hair. If somebody had asked him if he could draw constellations connecting each freckle together with only a pen and a piece of paper and no map, then Phil would be able to do it perfectly. Because even a year later, the memory of Nico was still burned into his head so intensely that he still couldn’t forget all of the tiny details that made up the man.

Dan squeezed Phil’s hand but Phil was so focused on the matter at hand that he hardly noticed. He could feel panic build up in him, making his skin pale and shaky. He felt nauseous, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been whenever Phil had seen Nico before. This time, it was just a smooth thrumming in his bones, vibrating him, making him feel like his skeleton was trying to shed off his own skin.

He hated that he was doing this in front of Louise, hated that he was showing weakness once again in a public setting. Every time he thought that he was doing well, that maybe for once he was taking his PTSD by the balls and throwing it against the wall for good, it seemed to be thrown back in his face in one way or another.

“Phil.”

Nico didn’t look away and Phil couldn’t bring himself to either. They were frozen, thinking about a time when they were together, when Phil had put Nico first no matter what it did to his own mental health. Back when Nico’s opinion meant more than his own, when he had done everything to keep Nico and had gotten nothing in return but harsh words and a cold shoulder. Now being with Dan, Phil doesn’t know how he’d been with Nico for so long when he had constantly felt like shit. But he also knew that it wasn’t that simple. He’d been trapped by the sick idea that that was what love was supposed to be like, thanks to all of those sick love stories that made him believe that love meant sacrificing parts of yourself for your partner even if it makes you sad.

“Phil. Phil, hey.”

Dan’s hands were on both of Phil’s cheeks then, turning his head to face him. His hands were cold against Phil’s hot cheeks, but his eyes were warm like tea. His eyebrows were crinkled with concern, his thumbs rubbing over Phil’s cheekbones to try to bring him back to the present.

When he finally got Phil’s eyes on him, Dan smiled softly and bumped their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Phil’s. “Hey,” he murmured quietly.

Phil tried to smile but he only succeeded in his lips twitching up slightly, eyebrows furrowed like he was worried about something. Face pale like he had seen a ghost. “Hi,” he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

Ignoring Louise’s presence completely, Dan pressed a kiss to Phil’s nose. Feather light but full of feeling. Full of care. A small I’m here for you. Phil glanced out of the corner of his eye, back over towards Nico. He saw the way Nico was gritting his teeth, clenching his fists. Saw the way Nico muttered under his breath and then turned away, getting out of line and walking out of the dining hall.

“Hey,” Dan said again. “Look at me. Are you looking at me?” He pulled away and pressed kisses against Phil’s forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his lips. Phil was looking at him now. He was always looking at Dan. “Good. Keep your eyes on me. I’m here, okay? Everything is going so well, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, you know? You’ve gotten so far and you’re doing things for yourself and even if you trip and stumble sometimes, you don’t let it stop you. You keep going no matter how hard it is. You’re so strong, Phil. You always have been.”

Phil closed his eyes, let Dan’s words wash over him. With Nico out of the room, he was starting to calm down, but it was hard to completely grasp the present enough to get himself out of the past. It was almost as though he had hands grabbing at his legs, trying to pull him under until he was gasping for breath, completely submerged in memory that he didn’t quite want to remember.

Slowly, Dan started to pull him out, whispering to Phil how he inspired him every day to be a better person, how Phil had gone through hell and yet had gotten out despite not believing in himself. When he ran out of things to say, he started talking about what was going on in their lives at the moment, how Phil had gone back to school and was doing so many things with his life now.

When Phil’s breath audibly stabilized, Dan kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled back slightly, looking at him with that calm smile on his face again. Phil’s eyes fluttered open and he stared into the warm brown, his heartbeat starting to calm. Dan grinned. “Better?”

Phil nodded and managed to smile back, albeit a bit shakily still. “A bit,” he rasped out. “I mostly just feel tired now.”

“Do you need to go back to the flat and skip out on Creative Nonfiction for today?”

This time, Phil shook his head. “No, I should go,” he sighed out, bumping his forehead to Dan’s and putting his hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly. “My writing journal is due today and I don’t want to deal with asking another professor for another extension. Better to just get it over with.”

Dan was beaming at him and he looked so full of sunlight that Phil was afraid he might burst. Phil gave him a quizzical stare, and if Dan was a dog with a tail, he would be wagging it right then. “You didn’t freak out that bad!” Dan exclaimed as reasoning for being so excited. Phil pursed his lips as Dan continued. “You didn’t pass out, you didn’t start crying or have to leave. Fuck, you’re even going to class afterwards. That’s amazing, Phil!”

Phil was absolutely floored. He didn’t really think about it like that. All he had been thinking was that it was ridiculous that he was still dwelling in the past, that he was still panicking. Because he did panic, he did get anxious and upset. But this time, he had actually been able to get a hold of his emotions without something drastically changing. “I…” he started, and then laughed awkwardly, shaking his head in amazement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

While there was still anxiety inside of him, Phil hadn’t had a full blown panic attack. And it was while Nico was in the room. Every time Phil had imagined seeing Nico again, it had never turned out well. He had always thought he would freak out or pass out or all of the above. But this time, he didn’t do any of those things.

“We need to celebrate,” Dan joked, and it was then that he seemed to realise that Louise was still there. Poor Louise, who was just eating her food and scrolling through her phone without paying them any mind. She was so obviously trying to give them space, but her ears perked when Dan started to speak to her. “Louise, do you wanna buy Phil an ice cream?”

Phil laughed in shock, shoving at Dan. He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t just ask people if they’ll buy things for me, Dan!” he scolded his boyfriend, giving him what was supposed to be a harsh look.

Louise jumped at the chance to be a part of the situation though, because she was reaching across the table and grabbing Phil’s hand in both of her own. With the most serious expression on her face that Phil had ever seen, she said, “I will buy you every goddamn ice cream in the world if that’s what you want.”

They stared at each other. Phil with his mouth hanging open and Louise with an unreadable expression. The longer they stared, the more laughter built up inside of Phil at the absurdity of the situation, and then they were both giggling. Louise squeezed his hand. “Seriously, Phil. I’m buying you ice cream whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Phil huffed. “Let’s have a full blown party in that case. I expect strippers.”

“Can’t forget the strippers. They’re essential,” Dan said.

Louise nodded and pulled out a mini notebook from her purse, jotting something down inside of it with a pink pen. “Got it. Ice cream and strippers. I’ll throw Phil the best gosh darn anti-panic-attack party there ever was and you better be there. Or else.”

Phil didn’t know what the or else meant, but he knew that he was going to be there for sure, surrounded by people who he loved and cared about, and who felt the same for him. Because this was the kind of thing that people should throw parties for apparently, and he was just going to have to accept that.

Accepting it wasn’t very hard, after all.

Chapter Thirty-Four