#shut up I know Phil is off centre I’m not fixing it

[incinerated-vestiges]

average british activities (techno is mildly terrified)

@hennagrace

[itsmyusualphannie]

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” – L. P. Hartley.

future time travel au in which dan and Phil's jobs are to fix fractures in the timeline. this particular mission will take them back to 2019, but how well will they work together when they've just had a fight?

11.8k words - (read on ao3)

written for the phandom reverse big bang. beta’ed by @phanbf, with amazing art by @maybeformepersonally. it’s wonderful and captures the mood of the story so well. and just...the colours. the design. i’m not okay. it’s also integrated into this fic, so reblog it here! milo and elle are both incredibly lovely and helped make this fic what it is now. any remaining mistakes are mine.

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

It was the year 2079 and yet the sound of slammed doors would still resound throughout an entire flat. The reverberations of this particular one were angry and seemed to take an eternity to dissipate.

A figure sat slumped on the sofa. “Dan?” he called reluctantly toward the bathroom. The bathroom door was still vibrating from the force of its impact.

“Fuck off, Phil!” came a voice from the bathroom. “I’m getting ready like you wanted!” A drawer banged shut and something crashed to the floor.

Phil sighed again. He climbed to his feet and reached for the glasses on the coffee table. They buzzed when he picked them up. He slid them onto his face and a notification popped up onto the right lens, a pale blue message that informed him that his ride was here. He blinked and it cleared away. “That is not what I said,” Phil told the closed door, but he doubted Dan cared. “I said that maybe we should finish this conversation later, like after work.”

No reply.

“The cab is here.”

That garnered a response. “Why don’t you just go?” Dan sounded even more irritated than he had a minute ago, if that was possible. “I’ll get my own.”

“It’s scheduled to pick up both of us.” Phil absent-mindedly shoved aside a cushion on the sofa, glancing under it for his phone.

“Fine! Just give me a fucking minute.”

Phil gave him five fucking minutes. He found his phone under a Totoro plushie and replied to a few messages while he waited. His glasses and phone buzzed simultaneously, both bringing up his work reminder notification. He swept them both away. The world wouldn’t end if they were late… probably.

Dan emerged from the bathroom with another slam of the door and Phil winced in sympathy for the doorframe. Dan didn’t usually bang things around, but their previous conversation had clearly upset him. Phil glanced up at him as he grabbed his own phone from its charging dock on the kitchen counter and then stormed past Phil.

“Let’s go,” Dan said, as if he had been the one waiting. Phil rolled his eyes and followed him out the front door, which locked automatically behind them. The little alarm light above the door blinked on, glowing solidly to confirm that their security system was active.

Phil checked his phone one last time and then went down the flight of stairs right behind Dan. They emerged onto the grey pavement and bright morning sunlight. Phil paused and squinted against the light for a brief moment before his glasses adjusted, dimming so he could see more clearly. When his vision cleared, a little darker than the actual level of light, Phil could see Dan climbing into the small two-seater cab. He hurried after him, dropping into the other seat and buckling himself into it.

“This vehicle is now in motion,” a pleasant male voice announced and then the car was moving, barely a whisper of sound or movement beneath them. Buildings flashed past the opaque windows, a few trees here and there, but Phil didn’t see them. He was sneaking glances at Dan out of the corner of his eye. It was frustrating that Phil couldn’t actually judge by Dan’s neutral expression how upset he was, but even more frustrating that Dan had refused to listen to Phil earlier. He’d only shut down Phil’s argument, insistent upon his own point of view.

Phil had been serious when he’d said they needed to talk later, though. Their job couldn’t afford any mistakes that may come by tension or inattentiveness. They would have to set aside their disagreement until they left work that afternoon.

“Dan?”

Dan’s gaze flicked from the phone in his hands to Phil. His usually soft, dark eyes were now cool and precise. “What?”

“We have to get along while we’re at work. This can’t affect what we’re doing.” Phil hadn’t been able to read Dan’s expression a moment before, but now he could. Dan was annoyed again.

“You think I’m going to let this affect my work?” Dan’s eyebrows were sharp and narrowed over his eyes. “Well, fuck off. You know I’ve never let personal shit mess up my job. What about you? How do I know you won’t fuck up because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you!” Phil insisted, now also annoyed. “You’re mad at me.”

Dan scoffed. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at what you keep doing.”

“I’m trying! You don’t get it.”

“How hard can it be?” Dan’s voice rose shrilly. “It’s not that difficult to do. Just pick up the fucking-”

The car beeped, the noise cutting him off. “We have arrived at Work,” the pleasant voice informed them.

Dan heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before looking at Phil again. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Truce?” Phil offered. It earned him a generous eyeroll.

“Truce, whatever.”

The car beeped mildly again. Phil leaned forward and tapped his phone against the round disk in the centre of the console. It chimed instantly and the voice said brightly, “Your payment has been accepted. Thank you for driving with AutoNav Cab Company. Please be careful when exiting your vehicle.”

Dan was already climbing out the other side of the car, but Phil waited for the door to slide out of the way before hopping out. He swept his hands over his shirt, brushing away any wrinkles that might have appeared during the drive, and waited for Dan to join him on the pavement. Dan did so a moment later, stepping up beside him and deliberately leaving a ridiculously small amount of space between their shoulders. Phil was beyond tempted to lean into it, as he usually did, but instead he turned and headed for the small building that the car had stopped beside.

Phil’s glasses had adjusted once more to the sunlight, though it wasn’t as bright here. Tall trees cast the building into shadow, the greenery a stark contrast to the concrete and glass buildings all around them.

They reached the front doors in only a few dozen long strides, Dan keeping pace with Phil. The red alarm lights above the wide glass doors blinked at them as they approached, but as soon as Phil reached out to push against the door, both of their phones sent the information on their electronic identity cards to the building’s alarm system and the doors unlocked instantly. In a smooth motion, Phil swept open the door to the left and gestured for Dan to go ahead of him. He did, but Phil could sense his internal eyeroll even if he kept his face carefully innocuous.

The air inside the lobby was dry and cool, a relieving change from the warm, muggy air outside. The door locked again as Phil let it shut behind him. Empty but for a few tall plants in the corners and a simple receptionist desk, the room was stark and simple. There was a single door behind the receptionist desk, plain and uninviting.

The receptionist himself glanced up at them as they crossed the room toward him, his bright eyes keen. “Hey guys!” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Tyler!” said Phil, matching his enthusiasm.

“It’s going fine,” said Dan.

“Just fine? Not great? That’s sad. What can I do to help?”

Dan seemed to consider that, stopping just before he ran into the tall desk. “You could give me one of those little bags of Haribo that I know you keep stashed behind the counter.”

Tyler’s mouth dropped open in false shock. “Why, Dan!” But he shuffled aside papers and various items to find a bag of the gummies and tossed it at Dan.

“Thanks,” said Dan, huffing a laugh. He tore open the packet and tossed a few into his mouth. Phil gazed mournfully at the sweets.

“Okay!” said Tyler. “Security questions, you know the drill. Dan, what instrument or instruments do you play?”

The questions were different every day. They were usually a random fact about the individual’s life but could range from a fact that only they would know or what was their favourite type of flower. Phil personally thought that Tyler had far too much fun getting the answers to the questions. He also, sometimes, considered how easy it would be for Tyler to take down this whole company with all of the information he pretended not to know.

“Piano,” said Dan through a mouthful of Haribo. He didn’t elaborate.

“And Phil! How many pairs of glasses have you owned in the past five years?”

Phil had to actually think about that one. “Eight?”

“Nine,” Dan corrected. “That brown pair that you sat on and crushed the first day you got it counts too.”

“Nine,” amended Phil.

“Correct!”

Phil was also slightly concerned about the fact that Tyler actually knew the right answers to these questions.

“You’re good to go!” said Tyler. He had found another snack-size bag of Haribo and was busy tearing them open. He waved Dan and Phil past his desk with a fistful of the gummies and then promptly shoved them in his mouth.

“That’s so attractive,” Dan scoffed at Tyler. Phil opened the door behind the desk and waited for Dan to catch up.

“I try,” said Tyler with a bright grin.

Dan caught up to Phil and they both left the lobby through the door. The hallway inside was dark, barely lit by the light through the closing door, but once the door had completely swung shut, lights along the top of the hallways’ sides lit up and illuminated their way. The walls were a neutral cream colour, the floor a carpeted beige. Phil thought it looked gross. It was the actual worst thing to see twice a day, five days a week, and certainly wasn’t designed to boost morale.

The crinkle of the bag when Dan crushed it between his fingers was loud and seemed to echo in the long hallway. Phil cast him a judgemental look, his stride not breaking as they headed down the ugly carpet toward the door at the far end, but his judgement was more for Dan’s decision not to share the sweets with Phil than it was for the sound. Dan gave him an unsympathetic glance back, shoving the empty bag into the tight pocket of his jeans.

The door at the end of the hallway flew open before they ever reached it. “Boys!” said a woman striding through.

“Agents,” Phil corrected her.

“Boys!” she said again. “You’re two minutes late.”

Phil exchanged another glance with Dan, but this time it was a look in which they decided not to comment on the time of their arrival. Two minutes, Dan mouthed. Phil snorted quietly in agreement and they turned back toward her. They had almost reached the end of the hall.

“Director,” said Phil, and he could hear Dan’s voice echoing the same title at the exact moment as him.

Her face twisted, unsettled, either from their disturbing chorus or from the word itself. “I’ve said to call me Bryony.”

“Director Bryony,” Phil amended. She looked exasperatedly fond. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Bryony assured him. “I just wanted to see what was taking you so long. Come along, both of you, I’ll give you the rest of the details for your mission.” She turned and waved a hand for them to follow her. Her dark suit and slacks stood out in stark contrast to the unsightly hall.

“Mission?” Dan asked. “I thought that was scheduled for tomorrow.”

“We finished prep a lot earlier than we’d thought,” she said. The door she had come through was still open and she went right through it, calling over her shoulder, “We have everything ready, as long as you’re both good to go.”

Dan was first behind her, entering the large room, and Phil strode through after both of them. He glanced around the room, awed as always by the striking lines of the room, the sleek beauty of the machinery inside, and the buzz of the many people working on their separate tasks. The room was incredibly different from the bare, simple exterior of the building; it had a high, arching ceiling, brightly lit with not a trace of shadows and there were dozens of elegant machines and computers in circular rows around the centre of the room. Technicians and various specialists occupied each machine, either sitting or standing next to them while they worked. It was all arranged around the middle of the room, where a massive rectangular machine sat by itself on the stone floor. It was tall, with glass sides and gleaming metal supports.

Phil was still a little afraid of the machine. Maybe not afraid of the actual thing, but afraid that he would somehow trip and crash into it or otherwise break it. He’d almost fallen into it multiple times, but after ten years of working in this job, he’d somehow managed to avoid breaking it. It had, of course, been upgraded since its first clunky design. It’d only been big enough for one person when it was first created, and he and Dan had had to go into it one at a time.

“We’re good to go,” Dan said. Phil’s attention snapped back to Bryony and Dan, the latter of whom was frowning at him. They had all stopped beside a narrow square table that sat closest to the door and oversaw the rest of the room.

Bryony hadn’t noticed Phil’s lapse of attentiveness while he was distracted by the room. She pulled out a chair and adjusted something complicated on the table.  “Here,” she said, “sit down. We’ll go over the mission before you get dressed. I think Louise is finishing up the shirts.”

There were four wooden chairs at the table. Phil picked the one facing the centre of the room and Dan, notably, picked the one that wasn’t exactly the furthest from him, but it also wasn’t the closest. 

Bryony dropped into the one she’d pulled out, heaving a sigh. She swept a hand over the glass tabletop and the inlaid devices reacted immediately, flashing out a holographic green interface. It was lines and lights and words, and none of it made sense to Phil. Her fingers darted here and there, selecting various pieces, and the interface responded accordingly, expanding her selections until they grew to the length of the table and a metre tall. Phil could barely see Dan’s slumped form on the other side of the table through the display.

“This is case 1031 out of 2566,” Bryony said, pointing at the highlighted block of information that was slowly circling above their heads. “We’re calling it the Subway Talk, since that’s what you’re going to be doing.”

“Sorry, wait,” Dan said. A green outline of a face drifted through the interface right in front of Phil and made Dan’s outline a blurry, viridescent shape. “You said 2566? Weren’t there just 2560 the other day?”

“Yeah,” said Bryony. She looked aggrieved. “The analysts found six more fractures over the weekend. It’s not that they’re still happening, it’s just that we haven’t found all of them, even after ten years.”

“God,” said Dan, tone disgruntled. “Repairing them all is going to take forever. We’re only managing about two a week because of all the regulations and secrecy and how everything has to be perfect.”

“We’ll have a job as long as we’re finding them,” Phil reminded Dan.

Bryony was nodding in agreement with Dan when Phil glanced at her, though. “You’re right, it’s pretty exhausting. But it has to be perfect. We don’t want to cause any more fractures by doing anything wrong. It has to be researched and scheduled to perfection or we might mess something up.”

By ‘we,’ she also meant Dan and Phil. Though nothing could be done without all of the various highly-skilled techs, analysts, and specialists, the burden of perfection eventually rested fully upon Dan and Phil and the way they handled their missions. Small mistakes might not matter, but anything too out-of-place could cause disaster. Although...

“Time always corrects itself in the big ways that matter,” Bryony completed Phil’s thought. “So we’re not too worried. But if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person, it might destroy what we’re trying to accomplish.”

‘Destroy’ was a big word to bring out before lunch, Phil thought. He wondered absently if Bryony had picked up on the underlying tension between him and Dan.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dan said. “I know. So, mission?”

Bryony’s hands darted to manipulate the interface and the information that was displayed matched her words. “You’re going back about sixty years. Like most other fractures, this one just caused a tiny jolt in the fabric of space-time. In this case, it was inside a Subway, a sandwich shop in that time period. All it did was trip a customer entering the shop. However, from our previous records, we know that the action caused a tiny chain of events that weren’t supposed to happen. The victim, who had previously been considering asking for a promotion, took that as a sign of bad luck and decided not to do it. They quit their job three months later and didn’t go on to become the director of the business, like they were supposed to.”

“So... the Subway Talk?” questioned Phil, but he could see where this was going.

“A talk at the Subway,” she agreed. “We’re going to send you both back. The rules on this one are actually a little looser. We don’t have a script for you or anything, so you’ll be relying on your intuition and reflexes for it.”

Dan snorted, probably at the idea of Phil and reflexes. Phil hoped he could feel the force of Phil’s glare through the projection between them.

“We’re going to drop you about five minutes before it happens, right down the street from the Subway. The spacial analysts have found a precise location where there are no cameras and no people so you won’t be noticed. The behaviour counsellors have recommended just stepping right inside the shop to wait for the target and then either catching the target or helping them up when they trip. Then, just... talk. Try to bring up jobs and if they mention theirs, encourage them to go for their promotion.”

“It sounds simple.” Phil was suspicious, and he had every reason to be. The ones that sounded simple tended to end up even more complicated.

“It’ll be fine.” Bryony waved a dismissive hand. “You have to finish within an hour, though. The exact time and location will be on your phones. Get there and we’ll pick you up. As usual, until we get some sort of technology worked out where we can remain in open communication with you, we won’t be able to talk to you.”

“Sounds good,” said Dan. “When are we starting?” He seemed to actually be paying attention to the bits of information about their mission that drifted with the projections, which Phil was grateful for, as he understood little of the shorthand that made up the details. The one thing he did notice and file away in his memory was the clear portrait of their target. They were slim, with a narrow face and arching eyebrows.

Bryony caught his gaze following the moving portrait and she reached a finger to catch it and hold it still. “Yes, that’s your target. Their name is Ainslie. All you’re supposed to know is that they’re vegan. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have told you even that. Forget I said it.”

If Phil knew anything more about the targets, he tended to bring up the facts in weird, stalker-ish ways. He didn’t mean to, it just slipped out of him. Bryony had stopped telling him anything but the essential facts about a target so he didn’t disturb any of the targets by announcing one of the random details about their life on accident.

“Dan!” came a call from the other side of the room. “Your clothes are ready!”

“Yeah, Louise, just a sec!” Dan yelled back. He stood, but Phil could barely see the movement through the bright lines of the display in front of him. “Anything else, boss?”

She shook her head dismissively. “You got all of this yesterday, I’m just refreshing you both. You’re good, go get dressed.”

He left, and Bryony waved away the projection as soon as he was halfway across the room. The lines and indistinguishable words blurred and collapsed back into barely-visible green lights that spread thinly across the table. Bryony’s gaze met Phil’s. “Okay,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“Happening?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Philip Lester,” said Bryony. “I know you, and I know Dan. What’s going on between the two of you?”

“We’re fine, it’s not going to affect the mission,” Phil tried, but she cut him off.

“As a friend, just for a second, okay? Not as your boss. I knew you before you even started working as an agent. It was just a coincidence that your profile was exactly what we needed for this position.”

Phil could feel himself slump in his chair. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back absent-mindedly, ignoring the chirp of acknowledgement from the lens. He dropped his hand and the glasses went back to their idle state once they recognized that he wasn’t giving them a command. “It’s just... look, it’s not going to affect the mission. We just had a little... domestic, this morning. Dan was upset with me and he didn’t even try to understand what I was saying.”

“A little domestic?” she repeated. “Sorry, but Phil, if it was that little, I doubt I’d even be able to notice the obvious tension between you two. You’re usually so close, it’s like you share brainwaves.”

“Well, we obviously don’t!” Phil reigned in his snappish tone and tried again. “Dan wouldn’t even listen to me. He was only talking about how I messed up and wasn’t even trying and he didn’t want to see it from my point of view at all. And I’ve been trying! I’ve been trying really hard, but he doesn’t even appreciate it.” He was whining, and he was aware of it, but he couldn’t help it.

Bryony looked unimpressed. “I’m going to drop a truth bomb on you, mate. Okay, not quite, but listen.” She waved a long finger in his face before he could protest. “And don’t interrupt me. When the first time machine malfunctioned eleven years ago, it caused all of these cracks and fractures that were only discovered because of the former painstaking preservation of time records. We were founded by the maker of that time machine to repair what the machine had done. It took almost a year to perfect our device and get all of these different people together to work on it. That’s when we found you, one of the few whose entire ancestry had been unaffected by the malfunction, and started sending you on missions. We figured it would be better with a partner, so we found Dan a few months later. You’ve both been working together for ten years now. Ten years, Phil. And you’ve been living together for almost nine of those years.”

Phil didn’t find that brief recounting of the past decade’s events actually very helpful and so he told her as such.

She just looked exasperated. “What I’m trying to say is that you and Dan are really great together. You’ve worked out many other arguments, I’m sure, so what’s different about this one?”

“Dan is being stubborn,” said Phil.

Bryony blinked long and slow at him. “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

Phil didn’t respond for a few seconds, feeling somewhat defensive. “This isn’t very good friend advice.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She stood from her seat, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I’m not a relationship counsellor. I’m just the director of a goddamn time travel corporation.”

Phil stood as well, stretching in a small movement until his back stopped twinging. “Time Co. is better off with you as their director than as their relationship counsellor, anyway.”

She swatted his shoulder, snorting. “Oh, shut up. Go get dressed, I’m sure Louise has finished your outfit by now.”

She was Director Bryony again, strict posture and precise movements, and not his friend of over twelve years. Phil nodded in acknowledgement and slipped past her toward the far corner of the room, where he could see Dan almost towering over Louise, who looked harried as she waved frantic hands at him. From her motions, it looked like she was telling him to either take his shirt off or to do jumping exercises. It probably wasn’t the latter.

“Hey, Phil!” called one of the time machine techs as Phil made his way past their block of computers.

“Hey, PJ!” Phil slowed but didn’t stop, his destination obvious. “How’s it going?”

“Good!” said the brunet, beaming at Phil while his fingers didn’t pause their incessant typing. “We’ve got ol’ Timey Wimey powered up and ready to go when you are!”

Phil still didn’t know who had named the incredibly advanced and complicated piece of technology after a phrase from an old show about time travel. He suspected Dan, but it could have been any one of the techs who worked here. They were all nerds. “Great!” he said. “Just have to get dressed and we’ll be ready to go.”

PJ waved briefly at him, then went back to hunching over his computer, and Phil went on to the corner. There was an array of wheeled clothing racks surrounding Dan and Louise, and he had to push one aside to get to them. A tall, folded room divider was leaning against the wall behind Louise.

“Good!” Louise said upon seeing him. “Prop open the dressing screen for me, Phil. You both need to get dressed.”

Phil did as she said, reaching for the room divider and pulling it away from the wall to unfold it and arrange it in a half-circle against the wall so there was a hidden space behind it for them to change. Louise promptly shoved Dan inside, thrusting a pile of clothes after him. “Change!” she ordered, and then turned to Phil.

“I hate your legs,” she told him before snatching a shirt and trousers from one of the clothing racks. Phil might be offended if she didn’t say it almost every time before a mission. “I swear to God,” she continued, slinging the trousers over one of Phil’s arms and then beginning to unbutton the shirt still in her hands, “this is literally torment for me. I have to find the largest clothes designs in each time era that you visit and then I have to individually tailor it for you. Your legs.”

“Dan’s taller than me,” Phil said. “You should hate his legs too!”

“I hate all of your legs.” With that, she chucked the unbuttoned shirt and a pale undershirt at him and pushed him behind the divider to join Dan.

“Um, hey,” said Phil.

Dan finished wrestling the shirt over his head. Curls tumbled across his forehead as his face appeared. Phil couldn’t look away from Dan’s fingers as he dragged the shirt down over his stomach, too slow for it to be an accident. The last sliver of skin was hidden by the dark shirt and Phil’s gaze darted hastily back up. Dan smirked. “Like what you see?”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Phil retorted. He had liked what he’d seen, though, and even more so last night.

“No snogging!” came Louise’s voice from outside the divider.

“That was one time!” Dan called back.

“And it was one time too many!”

Phil could feel Dan’s gaze trail over him, and then Dan huffed a laugh and sauntered past Phil, carrying the clothes he had changed out of tucked under one arm. “Hurry up, Phil.”

Phil complied, hastily stripping his jeans and shirt and dragging on the other trousers, then the undershirt and button-up. They were snug against him in a faintly uncomfortable way, but in a way that was perfectly respectable sixty years ago, which was why he was wearing them. Wearing clothes that hadn’t even been designed yet when they went back in time would look just a little too out-of-place. It took him a few exasperating moments to button up the overshirt, something that Louise had made look ridiculously easy even with her long nails, and then he yanked on his socks. He ducked out from behind the divider as soon as he was done, depositing his clothes on a stool by one of the clothing racks and turning to fold the room divider and place it back against the wall. 

Dan was already tying the shoelaces on his era-appropriate shoes when Phil turned back around, so Phil took the shoes that Louise was waving at him and tugged them on over his socks. There were no shoelaces on these. Louise had grown tired of watching Phil unsuccessfully try to tie his shoelaces over the past years and had started selecting shoes without laces for each of his missions.

“We’re starting the sequence, boys!” Bryony called from across the room. “Five minutes!”

“Agents,” Phil muttered under his breath.

“Your hair is fine,” Louise decided, hands propped on her hips as she looked back and forth between both Dan and Phil. “I guess.” She whirled away, constantly in motion as she shoved and rearranged and moved clothes and clothes racks.

Phil didn’t know whether to be offended or not. He felt like half of his emotions today had been some kind of offence at what everyone had said. Especially Dan.

As if summoned by Phil’s thoughts, Dan stood and moved toward him. He sidled right up against Phil, his head ducked as he reached for Phil’s shirt. Phil resisted the urge to step back as Dan’s fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

“Undressing me already?” Phil tried to joke, but he could feel that he was too tense for it to work.

Dan’s fingers seemed to clench involuntarily. Fabric bunched in his fist, but he relaxed and smoothed it back out. His hand brushed almost tauntingly over Phil’s chest, whispering sensation against a nipple, and then he was back to unbuttoning Phil’s overshirt. He didn’t say anything until he had it completely undone, and then he started buttoning it again, from the bottom to the top. “Your buttons were done up wrong,” he murmured, so low that Phil could barely hear him. “Idiot.”

Phil didn’t know if he wanted to shove him away or kiss him. He settled for tightening his fists at his side and watching the quiet purse of Dan’s lips while he finished slipping the buttons into their corresponding holes.

“There,” said Dan once he was done. He tugged briefly at the bottom of Phil’s shirt and turned away.

“Thanks,” Phil said, but it was softer than he had intended. Dan may not have heard him.

“Two minutes!” Bryony announced. “Go ahead and load up.”

Dan was already halfway to the glass machine in the centre of the room. Phil followed, dodging the last of the clothes racks and the station where PJ sat with a few other techs. One side of the machine slid away from its body, leaving a hollow space inside about a metre in diameter both ways. Dan lifted a foot to step over the short barrier, and then he was inside, his back pressed against the glass and facing Phil.

Phil cast one more glance around the room that was now bustling with activity and, barely managing to avoid tripping over the barrier on the floor, he climbed inside. He was careful to place his feet a certain distance from Dan. However, when the side of the machine slipped shut right behind him, it nudged him further toward Dan until their chests almost collided. It was close, the air pressurized and cold, and Dan’s breath was damp and warm against Phil’s cheek. His eyes, when Phil finally glanced up at his face, were half-lidded and so, so dark.

This is not the time, Phil informed himself sternly.

Bryony’s voice came faintly through the thick glass surrounding them. “One minute! Make sure you have your phones!”

Phil checked. He had it. His glasses vibrated quietly against the skin above his ear.

“So,” said Dan, sudden in the quiet of the machine. Outside, computers whirred quietly and chatter bounced between techs, but here, in the enclosed, ever-so-close space of the surrounding glass, it was still and cool. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready. Are you ready?” As retorts went, it wasn’t the best, but Phil felt like he had something to prove for some reason. He didn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling like it.

Dan rolled his eyes. Bryony began counting down from outside the machine. It sounded muffled and insubstantial.

“We’ll have five minutes to get to the Subway,” Phil reminded.

“Yeah. I’ll catch the target, then we can both talk to them?”

It was easier this way. They always made last-second plans, even though it drove Bryony mad. The familiarity made Phil relax, just a little. “That sounds good.”

“Good,” said Dan.

“Three!” Phil could hear, somewhere outside of his focus on Dan’s coolly resolved expression and his soft breaths wafting against Phil’s lips. “Two!”

One.

The world twisted around them.

They landed on a cobbled street surrounded by tall brick buildings. Landed wasn’t an exact description - it was more that their atoms reformed into existence in this particular space, their feet forming millimetres above the ground, so they had little distance to fall.

Phil, naturally, managed to trip anyway. He flailed a hand to grab Dan’s shoulder and steady himself, and used to it by now, Dan let him. Once he’d regained his balance, Phil edged away and patted Dan awkwardly on the shoulder. “Er, thanks.”

Dan gave him an odd look.

“Right,” said Phil. “On to the Subway place, then.”

“It’s just called Subway.” Dan turned away from him and headed down the street, his shoes clicking against the cobbled path. There was no one around; as arranged, they had landed in the exact moment and place where no one in this time would be suspicious of two random, curiously tall people appearing out of nowhere. “It’s a sandwich shop.”

“I know that,” said Phil, even though he hadn’t. Whatever this business was, it hadn’t made it all the way to their time, so he had no reason to know it. He probably should have paid more attention to the briefing.

“Sorry,” said Dan to someone who stepped out of a shop and almost run into him. They muttered an apology back and moved around him. Phil glanced around, noticing the few people that he could now see walking down the pavement, busy with phones or other devices and otherwise ignoring everyone around them. He wondered if anyone would have noticed if they’d landed right in the middle of them without any planning by the spacial analysts.

Dan slowed, jostling Phil with an elbow and away from his train of thought. “There it is.”

And indeed, there it was. A squat, garishly-coloured shop with tall brick buildings surrounding it. It had tall glass windows instead of walls, open and airy, and bustling with customers. Bright signs decorated the pavement in front of it, declaring the specialities and deals. Phil squinted at one sandwich that looked like someone had sat on it. He didn’t understand how anyone would want to eat a squashed sandwich. Maybe smashed food was the popular choice in this time?

“Oh, shit.” Phil leaned closer to Dan, almost tripping over his own feet again, and whispered, “What time is it?”

The smack of Dan’s hand against his own face startled Phil. “Jesus Christ,” said Dan, muffled against his palm. “Why do you do this every time? Read the fucking information we’re given.”

Phil pouted at him, but the effect was lost since Dan was looking away from him and into the Subway that they were approaching. “I do read it! Most of it. I just forget, sometimes. That’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m here to complete the mission, not tell you about it while it’s happening,” hissed Dan, then smiled through gritted teeth at the customer who opened the door of the Subway for them.

“Thanks!” said Phil to the customer, and they walked inside.

Dan sighed in exasperation, directing Phil off to the side, next to a tall, round table that sat right beside one of the massive glass windows. “It’s 2019. It doesn’t matter, that shouldn’t come up in conversation anyway. October ninth.”

“Oh!” said Phil. “Thanks. Hey, if that was the date back in…” He paused, reconsidering what he was going to say. “I mean.”

“Just stop,” said Dan, sounding wearied. He had pulled his phone out and stared down at the screen. “We have three minutes.”

“Happy anniversary?” Phil tried.

Dan was tapping away at his phone. “I’m going to get you the fucking cheese special sub if you don’t stop.”

There was probably nothing he could be doing on his phone right now; their phones didn’t even have a signal in this time. Phil huffed at him and glanced around the shop. The table they were standing beside was one of the only empty ones, while the others had chattering patrons filling them. There was a line to the counter with about five customers waiting. It was strangely busy for a sandwich shop, Phil thought.

“There’s a university a few blocks down,” said Dan, not looking up. “And this place is cheap.”

“Oh,” said Phil. He understood the comment Bryony had made earlier about their ability to share brainwaves, with Dan’s apparent reading of his thoughts. He didn’t know how he had actually survived those first few months when he’d been going on missions by himself. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two minutes.”

“Should I get in line?”

“No, let’s wait.”

They waited. After another few seconds of Dan tapping away on his phone, Phil decided he was probably playing a game. He sidled closer, trying to get a glance, but Dan just took a few steps back. “Nope,” was all he said.

Rude.

The door jingled as someone came inside. Phil spared them a quick glance, but it was just an exhausted-looking teenager with a green Subway shirt. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafted with them and Phil coughed involuntarily, suppressing it as best he could with a hand to his mouth. 

Dan watched him until he stopped, then the concern on his face collapsed into disgust. “Gross, go wash your hands.”

“You’re gross,” Phil retorted. He slipped past Dan to steal a generous blob of hand sanitizer from the machine he had noticed beside the door. He rubbed the cold gel into his palms and waved them to help it evaporate faster, going back to the table to stand beside Dan. “There, I’m clean now.”

“You smell like alcohol.”

“You smell like…” Phil trailed off, uncertain, then finished with a triumphant, “your mum.”

“You’re the actual worst person.” 

Phil grinned. His glasses vibrated against the side of his face, and he could feel his phone doing the same in his pocket. It was their ten-second warning, letting him know that it was time to be professional. He was facing the door, with Dan between him and the door with his back against it. Casually, Phil let his gaze slide over to the window so he could see the pavement outside. There were a few people walking past, but no one was - wait, there.

“Target sighted,” Phil murmured.

Dan’s fingers were still moving over the screen of his phone, but his posture had relaxed into his ready pose. This particular mission didn’t require any strenuous or immediate action, but it was hard to drop the instinct after so many others that had needed it.

Dan turned halfway, casual and smooth. The door swept open and the tiny bell above the door tinkled merrily and Phil’s stomach twisted, an automatic reaction to the split-second of time warp that had just occurred, just as their target stepped inside the door,. No one else would notice it if they hadn’t been trained for it.

The target stumbled and flailed an arm as they lost their balance, but Dan was already there. They toppled right into his side, and he snatched at their shoulder to keep them from falling to the floor. “Fuck!” he said purely by instinct, but he saved them. Phil took a few steps forward, but stayed back, and watched them both stagger a few steps to regain their balance. Dan let go of the other’s shoulder when he knew they were safe from falling.

“Are you okay?” Phil blurted, letting his feet carry him forward to examine both of them. Dan allowed Phil to brush his hands over his shoulders, his concern real but exaggerated for the sake of the target. 

“I’m fine,” said Dan. He turned toward the target, his eyebrows wrinkling. “You good?”

They blew out a breath, glancing down at themself. “Yeah, I think so. Shit, that was close. Sorry about that, I’m pretty clumsy.”

“That’s okay.” Dan waved the apology away. “So’s Phil.”

“Hey!” said Phil, but half-heartedly. He briefly examined their face for any signs of pain and was relieved to find none, but their eyebrows were drawn tightly together. They definitely matched the picture he had seen earlier, with a slender face and choppy, dark hair. A bag was slung over one of their shoulders, and they patted it urgently, apparently making sure that nothing had fallen out or been crushed in the jostle.

“You sure you’re okay?” Phil asked. “You look kind of stressed? Sorry, that’s rude.”

“I am stressed,” they said. “It’s fine, I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter either.”

Dan snorted a laugh.

“Sorry for running you over,” they tried to apologize to Dan again, but he shrugged it off.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention either. I’m fine if you are.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, in which Phil felt both himself and Dan searching for something to say while he could see the target glancing past both of them at the counter.

“Cool shirt,” Phil heard himself say.

They glanced down at their dark shirt and the blocky letters that spelt out ‘Vaccines Cause Adults’ and laughed. “Thanks! I actually wear it to work.”

“You’re allowed to wear it there?” asked Dan, and Phil could hear the engineered surprise in his voice. Workplaces were apparently much stricter in this time than in Dan and Phil’s own, and so Dan would pretend to be shocked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a pretty cool place to work,” they said, eyes crinkling briefly at the edges, but then the blooming smile was lost. “I mean, usually. I’m not sure about today.”

“Work troubles?” Dan sympathized immediately.

“You could say that,” was all they offered in reply.

“We should get in line,” said Phil, seeing someone else out of the corner of his eye as they approached the door from outside. He took a step sideways away from the table, making sure he had Dan’s attention, then turned and headed for the back of the line. He avoided multiple tables full of chattering people, stopping behind the last person in the row of waiting customers. He could feel Dan come up beside him, and then the target.

“Oh!” he heard Dan say. “My name’s Dan. This is Phil.”

“Hi!” said Phil. His position in the line secured, he turned toward them.

“Oh,” they said, in a different tone than Dan. Their face was flushed. “Um, Ainslie. Sorry, again. I’m so awkward today.”

“Those days happen,” Phil told them. “I’m awkward a lot, too.”

Ainslie laughed, the tone of their dark skin cooling somewhat. “Uh, thanks. Yeah, you were right,” they directed to Dan. “Work troubles. It’s just been a shit day at work. I even took an early lunch.” They gestured toward the Subway sign and menu above all of their heads. “This place doesn’t really have good vegan options, but it was the closest fast food place.”

Oh good, Phil mused. The vegan characteristic was the only thing he’d had to worry about accidentally blurting out.

“You’re vegan!” said Dan. His posture had shifted fully toward them. “That’s cool. So am I... well, mostly.”

They both shared a commiserating laugh at the troubles of avoiding meat.

“So do you guys work close to here, too?” Their eyes were darting between Dan and Phil, clearly trying to assess their relationship. Phil let himself drift a little closer to Dan, their arms knocking together, but he went with their usual story.

“We’re actually on a business trip. We’re between boring work conferences right now, so we decided to grab a sandwich.”

“Conferences are the worst,” Dan agreed. He moved a few steps further in the line with Phil when the people in front of them edged forward.

Ainslie looked intrigued, keeping up with Dan. “Really? I kind of like conferences... like, figuring things out and whatever. Determining what to do next in the company can be fun. I mean.” Their laugh almost sounded like a cough. “I mean, not that I go to many of them. I wish.”

To Phil’s ears, Dan sounded careful, but he might have appeared casual to Ainslie when he asked, “Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know.” A flippant wave of their hand. “I’m not quite important enough to go to them. I’m trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” they agreed. “I’m... working on it, kind of. I was actually…” They looked hesitant, eyes darting as if what they were going to say was more nerve-wracking than Phil could understand, “actually, I was going to ask for a promotion today. I’ve been thinking about it.”

There were some things that were just... easy to tell a stranger. It was a phenomenon that Phil had encountered many times during these missions, and yet he was still always pleasantly surprised by these kinds of admissions, these words or intentions that were held so close to a person’s innermost thoughts and released when they least expected it. Strangers were impartial, brief witnesses to someone’s life and it didn’t mean anything if a secret slipped out to a person who didn’t really matter in the long run.

“You should go for it!” Dan was saying to Ainslie, his tone bright and encouraging. Their gaze dropped at his words, cheeks a dusky brown again.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You totally should,” Phil chirped. “If you actually like conferences, you’re practically a CEO already.”

Oops, too far. Dan’s sharp gaze narrowed on Phil, warning him. They both knew that, if this mission was a success, Ainslie would go on to become one of the most successful CEOs that the business had ever seen. It was over twenty years in Ainslie’s future, of course, but a stranger’s words that seemed out-of-place could be remembered for a long time.

Ainslie did not seem to have noticed, however. They were smiling now, a small, careful thing. “Yeah, you think so?”

The line moved forward again. “Of course I think so!” said Phil, shuffling to keep up with the other moving customers.

“Go for it,” Dan said. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Ah, well.” Something reluctant had slipped across their face. “I’ve asked twice for the promotion now. My supervisor is kind of an asshole.”

Phil wondered if saying “I believe in you” was a weird thing to say to a practical stranger. He decided not to risk it.

“I believe in you,” said Dan.

Phil frowned.

Ainslie laughed. “Thanks, Dan.”

They had all reached the counter now. Dan gestured for Ainslie to go first, but they declined. “You guys go ahead, I’m going to look over the menu first.”

The employee behind the counter looked dead-eyed. It was the exact expression Phil wore when he had a mind-numbing job as a teenager. He wondered how long this person had been working here. “How can I help you?” the employee asked.

“Um.” Phil hadn’t even glanced at the menu after he saw the squished-looking sandwich on the board outside. “Uh.” He scanned it now, squinting urgently at the tall screen above his head.

“We’ll get the foot-long roast beef on white bread,” Dan told the employee.

Rapid fingers tapped the order. “Anything else?”

Phil spotted a bag of crisps on the counter and he beamed. That was something familiar, at least. “Crisps!” he snagged two bags and dropped them onto the counter.

The employee looked down at them, expression bleak. “Okay.” They were added to the order. “Anything else.”

“Er, no.”

It was at that moment that Phil realized he didn’t have any money with him. He patted his pockets anyway, just in case he might find something inside them, and then he glanced helplessly at Dan.

“Are you kidding?” said Dan, once he noticed Phil’s pleading stare. “Louise had heaps of money and you didn’t get any? You’re horrible.” He moved to pay anyway. Phil was sure that the brief exchange wouldn’t make sense to anyone around them, but when he shuffled sideways out of Dan’s way, he spotted Ainslie’s curious stare directed at both of them. He hoped it was more of an ‘are they together’ stare than an ‘are they from this time’ stare. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever stared one of the latter stares, actually.

Once Dan had paid, he moved with Phil down the rows of meats, cheeses, and condiments, pointing at various objects to place on the sub. The wearied employee piled them on obediently. Phil could see the other employee, the one that came in earlier smelling overwhelmingly of cigarette fumes, step up to take the place at the till.

“I’ll get the veggie delite,” he heard Ainslie tell the employee, and their order was rung up quickly as well. They moved down the line, close behind Dan and Phil, and gestured to their own selection of foods to put on their sandwich.

The bright Subway sign caught Phil’s attention again and a sudden, overwhelming desire took a hold on him. He shuffled closer to Dan, clearing his throat. “Hey, Dan.”

“No cheese,” said Dan to the employee. “What, Phil?”

Phil lowered his voice to an almost inaudible tone. “What do you call a bad sandwich?”

Dan looked aggrieved. “You don’t.”

“Subpar,” Phil said cheerfully.

Dan’s face twisted, but Phil could tell he was trying not to laugh. He snorted a moment later, despite his efforts. “God, no. You’re the worst.” He turned away, moving to take the wrapped subs from the bag that the employee held out to him. Phil just laughed.

Dan sidestepped out of the line and Phil followed him to the table by the door. By some luck, it was still empty. Their movements were casual, careful not to make Ainslie suspicious.

Dan dropped the bag onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud and Phil eyed it warily. He didn’t trust foods that made disturbing sounds when they were put down.

“It doesn’t have cheese,” said Dan, mistaking Phil’s expression.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” Phil edged onto one of the seats by the table and Dan followed suit, sitting across from him and pulling the sub out of the bag. He pushed it toward Phil, who took it with a grimace.

“We could die from this,” Phil said morbidly. “Who knows what germs are on it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dan rolled his eyes. He’d already ripped open one of the bags of crisps, crunching on a handful as he spoke. “Just open it.”

Phil opened it, but did so gingerly. At least it smelled appetizing. The folds of the meat and the limp lettuce, however, didn’t look very appetizing.

“Hey.”

Phil glanced over. Ainslie stood beside the table, their sandwich tucked under one arm. They adjusted their bag, lips tugging up at the corners. “It was nice to meet you both. Thanks for the... encouragement.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Dan, smiling back at them.

Phil echoed the words, but added, “Go get ‘em!”

Ainslie laughed, so he didn’t regret it. “Thanks.”

Phil sensed what was going to come next - an offer for a phone number in case they were in town again - but that never ended well, so he gave Ainslie a cheery wave. “Have an awesome day!”

They hesitated, but nodded. “You too. Goodbye!” With that, they turned toward the entrance to the Subway and were gone, door swinging behind them. The mission was complete.

Well, mostly. Phil yanked his phone hurriedly out of his pocket and surveyed the timer. They had about six minutes left to get to the alley behind this Subway.

“Oh no,” deadpanned Dan. “It looks like we won’t get to eat this delicious sandwich.”

Phil rewrapped it and shoved it across the table. “Here, throw it away.”

“No! That’s a waste of food.” Dan looked genuinely offended. “Like half of the world is starving in this time.”

“We can’t exactly teleport it to them,” Phil said. “And if we leave it here, an employee will just throw it away once they notice no one’s here to eat it.”

“Point.” Dan got up with Phil, but still looked reluctant as he dropped the bag and its heavy contents into the trash can by the door. He handed the other bag of crisps to Phil, and they both snacked on the contents as they left the shop and walked toward the location programmed into their phones.

Phil kept an eye on the tiny navigational line in the corner of his glasses lens, trying to avoid tripping over his own feet and keep track of it at the same time. He tossed another crisp into his mouth and crunched down on it, then turned where the navigation directed him. Dan was right beside him, dodging a trash can that was inconveniently right in the centre of the pavement.

“The timing on that was almost perfect.” Dan took another bite of the overly large crisp in his hand. “We’ve been given more than enough time to get to the pickup spot.”

“The behaviour counsellors plan these conversations out pretty well,” Phil agreed. “They know us pretty well, too, and how our conversations go.” He eyed the bag of crisps in Dan’s hands. It looked considerably more enticing than the one that Phil was eating from.

“There’s the alley,” said Dan. “Yeah, I guess they do. Still, don’t you ever think it’s kind of creepy how well they plan out everything so perfectly?”

Phil shrugged. “Not really. That’s their whole job, after all. They have all these computers and machines and formulas to help them, too.” He slowed as his glasses beeped at him, then they turned into the indicated alley and stopped beside a massive green bin called a... dumper, maybe. A dumpster? It was quiet back here, out of sight from the main road and little travelled by pedestrians. Despite the disposal bin in this alley, the ground was littered with rubbish. Phil kicked a crumpled can beside his foot and watched it bounce across the paved ground.

“I guess,” Dan said again. Both of their phones buzzed in their pockets - their two-minute warning.

They munched on their crisps for a few moments. Phil, after more unsatisfying bites of his own, glanced down at the bag and shook it. He tried to sneak a hand over to Dan’s bag and earned a slap on his palm for his trouble.

“Fuck off,” said Dan mildly, tipping the bag up to let the contents fall into his mouth. He crushed the empty bag and tossed it into the dumpster, then reached out and snatched Phil’s bag.

“Hey,” Phil complained.

“What? You aren’t going to eat them.” Dan started eating those, too.

Phil sulked, but he hadn’t been about to eat them. He still found it rude, though. His glasses beeped with their one-minute warning.

“Well,” said Dan through a mouthful of crumbs. Phil made a face at him but Dan wasn’t deterred. “This was a short mission. Figure we’ll get to go home right afterwards?”

Phil felt nervous, suddenly. He’d almost forgotten about their argument this morning, but the reminder that they were going to have to go back to their flat and revisit the conversation made him regret that he hadn’t been thinking of it. “Er, maybe. You know it’ll be like five in the afternoon when we get back. The machine takes forever to re-calibrate.” It didn’t matter how much time they spent in the past; the time machine that brought them here and back needed time to cool down and be reprogrammed, usually about eight hours in its actual time.

“Yeah, but,” Dan tossed another crisp in his mouth, “we have to debrief or whatever.”

“Our phones and my glasses record everything,” Phil reminded him. He wondered if Dan was picking up his bad snacking habits from Tyler. “They usually just ask us a few questions about why we did what we did.”

“They take ages.” Dan peered down in the bag, searching for any more crisps, and hurled it into the dumpster when he found none.

“I’m sure it’ll be fast,” said Phil, hoping that it wouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to going back to their flat and an argument.

Their phones buzzed. It was time.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” muttered Dan.

~~

Bryony was on them the instant that the glass door of the time machine slid open to let them out. Phil stepped over the barrier on the floor to meet her.

“Well done!” she said as soon as both of them had left the machine. “The repair’s been fixed wonderfully!”

“Of course it has,” Dan said, mock-haughtily. “You sent us, after all.”

She laughed and urged them both toward Louise and her piles of clothing in the corner. “Go on, get dressed and we’ll have a quick debrief so you can go home. I know you’re tired.”

It took her saying that for Phil to realize that he could feel the bone-deep weariness that weighed him down. These trips, no matter how short they’d stayed and how safe it was supposed to be, still ripped apart their molecules and completely put them back together again, twice in one day. It would take the stamina out of anyone. This was another reason why they could only do two trips a week, at maximum. If they did it more often, the very cells of their bodies wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“We might as well have worked a full day,” Dan agreed with Bryony. He accepted the pile of clothing that Louise shoved into his arms. She, or someone else, had set up the room divider in anticipation of their return. Phil watched him toss his phone to Bryony and duck behind the divider to change.

 “Thanks,” Phil said to Louise when she handed him his clothes. He gave his phone to Bryony, along with his glasses, and she left immediately to download the information that was recorded on them. His vision was blurred without glasses so he gingerly made his way behind the room divider to join Dan. He could easily have his eyes fixed, but no matter the safety guarantees, he still didn’t trust sharp instruments or lasers near his eyes.

“Hey,” said Dan. He sounded warm and close. Phil regretted taking off his glasses, suddenly. The blur of dark pants and bare chest a metre from him wasn’t something he ever wanted to miss. Dan moved closer, his shirt clutched in one hand, and came more clearly into focus. The bare skin of his chest and arms was golden and looked invitingly tantalizing.

“Put your shirt on,” Phil ordered, tearing his gaze from the dusky brown of Dan’s nipples. He could see Dan’s pout, but he didn’t argue, sliding the shirt over his head. Phil shoved his clothes into Dan’s arms and shrugged out of his own two shirts, shoes, and jeans he had been given before the mission. The socks joined them a moment later. He purposefully avoided Dan’s eyes, feeling the gaze heavy upon him as he took back the clothes he’d given Dan and swiftly pulled them on.

“Hmm,” said Dan when Phil was fully dressed. His tone was disapproving.

“Like what you saw?” Phil said, echoing Dan’s words from earlier that day.

“Hmm,” said Dan again. He pointed at the pile of clothes on the floor. “No.”

Phil felt a flush overtake his cheeks and he huffed, leaning to grab them. “Fine.” He turned and left Dan in the makeshift room, giving the clothes back to Louise and heading toward Bryony, who was back at her table. He could sense Dan behind him, but ignored him.

He almost tripped over the chair when he tried to sit down, yet managed after a moment of fumbling. “Did you download everything?”

Bryony snagged the frames from her tabletop and leaned toward him, offering them back to him. “Yeah, we got everything.” She watched him slide them on, shaking her head. “Honestly, Lester. You need to get the surgery so you’ll stop tripping over everything.”

“He’d trip over everything anyway,” said Dan. He had come up behind Phil, and his hands settled onto the back of the seat. His knuckles brushed against Phil’s shoulders and Phil was instantly irritated by the shiver that rippled through him at the touch.

He leaned forward in his seat. “So you said it was a success?”

“Yes!” Bryony confirmed. “It worked just as we’d planned. From our updated records, we can see that Ainslie went on to ask for the promotion that very afternoon. They went to their supervisor’s supervisor instead of their supervisor, and got the promotion immediately. In 2039 they became the CEO of the company and remained in that position for over fifteen years. That’s what was originally supposed to happen, before the time warp. Everything was fixed exactly as it was supposed to.”

“Great,” said Dan. Phil could hear the creak of his chair’s back as Dan’s hands tightened on it. “I liked them. I’m glad we fixed it.”

“So, yeah.” Her gaze seemed to flick between them. “I think we’ll finish this up tomorrow. I can tell you about your next mission then, too.”

Phil held back his urge to argue. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“You worked great together,” she said.

“We are professionals,” Dan said. His voice was lilted carefully. Phil wanted to stomp on his foot.

“Okay!” said Bryony. “Well.” She clearly had no idea what to do with the tension between her two agents. She handed their phones back instead of addressing it. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The chair squeaked as Phil stood. “See you.” He swiped a few times on his phone, summoning a vehicle to their location for pickup.

“Bye!” Dan offered to the room at large. Louise waved at both of them where she was rearranging the clothes and a few other techs in the room expressed farewells. Phil returned PJ’s waggle of his fingers from where he was sprawled across a machine, seemingly trying to repair it.

Dan and Phil left the way they had come in that morning, the hallway just as ugly and the lobby just as bland. Tyler wasn’t at his desk, but Phil had no doubts that he was still monitoring the room from his location. A car was idling on the kerb when they left the building, and this time, Phil got in first, sliding to the far edge of the seat and buckling in. He tensed up when Dan dropped into the seat beside him. He didn’t look forward to continuing their argument.

The AutoNav’s conversational warning about the vehicle being in motion didn’t register when Phil saw Dan’s lips purse together like he was about to say something.

“We’re not back yet,” Phil blurted before he could stop himself.

Dan’s eyes narrowed, but he slumped back against his seat and shook his head, accepting it. “Fine.”

The short ride back to the flat was utterly silent after that. Phil could see Dan, with one arm crossed across his chest and phone tucked against his elbow, tapping away at the screen. He wondered what Dan was playing, but chose to stare out the window at the passing buildings and scenery instead of asking him, like he usually would. The sky was almost the same colour as it had been that morning, but the sun had clearly travelled far, casting shadows in the opposite direction than earlier. It was obvious that over eight hours had passed since their drive in the morning.

The vehicle slowed and pulled over once they reached their destination. Phil leaned forward to tap his phone against the console and ignored the warnings about exiting the vehicle when he climbed out. Dan was right behind him.

It was still quiet when the door to the flat shut behind them. Dan toed his shoes off, eyeing Phil, and headed for the kitchen. Phil sighed and followed him.

“Well?” he said, right on Dan’s heels.

“What?” Dan didn’t look at him, yanking open cabinets and pulling out various items.

Phil shrugged, shoulders tight. He’d gotten past the point of wanting to avoid the topic and now he just wanted to get it over with. He leaned against the corner of one counter and watched Dan drop a bag of flour beside a mixing bowl. “You know what. Just because we’ve been acting normal all day doesn’t mean it’s fine. You’re obviously still upset with me.”

Dan seemed to coil like a wound spring at that, whirling to fix Phil with a harsh stare. “Obviously? Me? You’ve been tense the entire time we were at work and even Bryony picked up on it. You’re the one that said you didn’t want this,” he waved a hand between them, “to affect the mission.”

“It didn’t affect the mission. It worked.” Phil realized he had crossed his arms across his chest and made an effort to pull them down. They hung awkwardly at his sides now.

“Fuck the mission anyway,” Dan decided. “You know what I want to talk about.”

Phil felt himself rolling his eyes, not intentionally, but he didn’t resist it either. “Yeah, I know. Why can’t you just see it from my point of view? Why’s it all about you?”

“All about me?” Dan had thrown open the door to the fridge and he yanked out a carton of eggs. Phil winced as he smacked them down on the countertop. “This affects you too! Stop acting like it doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t affect me! I don’t even notice until you start complaining about it.”

“Exactly!” Dan stabbed a finger toward Phil. “That’s the problem! You don’t even fucking notice and it’s driving me insane. How do you not see it?”

This wasn’t a continuation of their argument, Phil realized. They were just repeating what they had said this morning, albeit with slightly less yelling now. He huffed and tried to re-organize his thoughts. “Look,” he said. “I’m trying, okay?”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” started Dan, but Phil threw up a hand to stop him.

“I’m trying,” he repeated. “I try to remember and I do it whenever I think about it. It’s just... it’s frustrating because you never notice when I actually do it, but you get upset whenever I forget.”

“You forget nine out of ten times,” said Dan, but he looked a little less angry and the lines around his eyes had smoothed somewhat. “Do you need fucking reminders to do it?”

Phil actually considered that. Of all their arguments about this, they’d rarely tried to bring up a solution for the problem. “That, uh... that might work.”

“Fine.” Dan abruptly turned back to his assembly on the counter. He pulled out a jug of milk and added it to the growing collection of food, movements sharp. “Make reminders. Make one for every two hours we’re home.”

“That seems excessive,” Phil stated, but was already pulling out his phone and tapping away at it.

“You’re excessive,” muttered Dan. There were a hundred innuendoes that sprang to Phil’s mind, but he suppressed them to avoid Dan’s ire. He hoped this idea would actually work. This was a constant argument, and if they could avoid it, it’d be better for both of them. His phone chimed with confirmation of the reminders he’d set.

“Good,” said Dan, recognizing the noise. He slapped a whisk down onto the counter. Phil could see him grimacing as he looked down at it. Some things were better left unremembered. “Come help me make dinner, idiot.”

Phil scoffed at the insult, but he felt a pressure ease off his chest. The insults were practically pet names that Dan used, but he never said them during an argument. The use of one was a clear indicator that Dan, though he might still be irritated, considered the conflict resolved, at least for now. Phil joined Dan beside the pile of ingredients, accepting the tin of baking powder that Dan handed him. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“But.” Phil blinked. “I love pancakes.”

“Oh, do you?” The sarcasm was clear. Dan’s dimple winked at Phil every time Dan spoke. “I didn’t know. You’ve certainly never ranted to me for hours on end about them.”

Phil couldn’t stop himself. With a hand centred on Dan’s chest, he pushed him back against the counter and crowded up against him. Dan didn’t resist. Their hips fit snugly together and Phil rested a hand against Dan’s neck, brushing a thumb over the soft line of his jaw. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he had Dan sufficiently trapped. Emotions welled in his throat, choking him. This day had been a roller coaster of feelings. “God, Dan. You…”

“I’m the best,” Dan offered. He shifted against Phil’s weight, leaning an elbow back on the counter. “You’re a twat, we both know - oh.”

Phil leaned in closer, closer... and he bit Dan’s cheek, pressing his teeth against the indentation of Dan’s dimple. The skin was soft beneath his lips.

“Ow,” said Dan, but he didn’t push Phil away. He seemed satisfied to let Phil nip at the hollow in his cheek. Phil pushed his thumb against the dip, driving it deeper, and bit it once more, then let his tongue dart out to lick at it. He only stopped when the skin around the dimple looked flushed and wet under his touch, and then he rocked back onto his heels with a noise of satisfaction.

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” said Dan fondly. He reached up to wipe at his cheek.

“Yeah.” Phil wasn’t going to argue with that.

Dan did shove Phil back now, his expression amused. “Come on, let’s make pancakes.”

And they did.

[ficbot]

He let out a number and co - pilot's front. The base is quiet possessiveness in his son would be no one wanted to sit up, thighs balancing his guitar as he finally made it even is. The first being, just knows she is. Rey was suddenly reminded of her own head. Though, you'd been meaning to Finn, why it's bodies like they were slowly, and his handsome face. She broke through the First Order. He knew Poe's thick dark hair, messy, eventually working a finger into the garment and slide against him, and loving the comforting feeling she was joking too. Obviously was not invincible. None of them before turning himself in the world he knew Ben had been a misnomer. I won't have engaged the secondary wings before takeoff." Phil nodded. "Getting information out of control as he turned slowly with the sight of Finn's astromech droid were usually calmer and less shooting as a goodbye and heads immediately to the surface within her heart, and --" Your name is Ben Solo had a feeling that, after all. "Y - yeah... it's prediction, feels their skin hot under his touch light and turn it off, but it has since become apparent that he is not really your birthday." Finn said, glancing down at Finn, shutting the door, and things are certainly enhanced. Why? You look like you could speak, you grabbed the jacket. Poe found himself being grabbed from behind them, poor Finn, or the noises he makes a noise of protest, but suddenly she blinks and seems to have to bring himself to be smiling and cheering. She nods at him, eyes fixed on her skin dry." I'm sorry." Finn looks up at him, right? Probably. Whatever weight held down on the centre of the jacket is in choosing correctly. Before Hux left the shelter. It's when you're hard, but without the First Order." Poe's finish these towers and get yourself killed." You

[philanddanxreader]

Double standards

Hey, Love bugs!

Dan X Reader

Warnings- Swears, Fighting.

Double standards can become problematic in any relationship. Maybe he’s allowed to hang out with his friends, girlfriends included, but he absolutely hates when you have a night out with all of your friends, and some of them just so happen to be male. 

“How is it when you want to go out with friends and some of them are the opposite sex I’m overreacting and that it's fine. Even when said girls are your ex’s! But when I want to go out to the bar with a bunch of co-workers who are a healthy mix of all sexes you fly off the fucking handle. What do you want from me, Dan? I can’t sit at home and stay with you every moment of the day so I’m not near any other male.”

“I told you when we started dating that I have a jealousy problem. I try not to sound crazy but the thought of anyone looking at you like a piece of meat let alone try something on you is discussing.” 

This fight has been had before. The first time you guys fought about this was early in the relationship. Dan was being over protective of you in a bar. You felt smothered by him like he was your mum watching you like a hawk. Every time you started to have fun he would pull you to the side to take you away. The fight ended with drunk angry makeup sex. It was fixed easily. He promised to back off. You would make a conscious effort to pay all your attention to him when the two of you went out. He liked being the centre of your attention and you honestly didn’t mind him being your sole focus either.

Things had been going well until lately. You had started a new job that had a bunch of new people that you really enjoyed working with. Every Friday after work a group of you would head to the bar down the street to have a few drinks and bitch about the week's work. You loved it. It was fun to make new friends and get out for an hour or so after work. Dan said that he was glad you were loving your new job but he wasn’t fond of the Friday excursions. You never drank more than two drinks when going out with everyone so it wasn’t like you were getting drunk and stumbling home every Friday evening. 

“What is the fucking problem with me going to have drinks with people I happen to really like. I spent way too long in a job I hated and now that I have a job I love and actual friends you drag me down to make me miserable or guilty for being happy.” Dan had started to pace the room meaning he was trying to calm himself before he would say something he may regret.The two of you had only been discussing this since you got home which was five minutes ago. He had made a snarky comment about you coming home with liquor on your breath.

“I don’t want to share you. I feel like I never get to see you now because of your job. Our only real time together is the weekends now and your off wasting it with a bunch of people that you have convinced yourself that you have things in common with them." That cut deep.

 "Oh fuck you Mr perfect. Sorry, I can't make friends easily. When I finally do make friends you try to take me away from them!" You were red with anger. The fight started in hushed tones in Dan's room attempting to not let Phil hear the fight from the lounge. At this point, however, volume limits were the least of your concern.

 "I want you to have friends. Fuck you're not listening to me. I just worry about you!" You rolled your eyes and the statement. He was terrible for going back and forth saying one thing and then another. This is why his videos were so meticulously put together. He was a thinker and hated being on the spot before being able to collect his thoughts. 

"It's never about that. You are afraid I will leave you for someone else! I have a fucking clue, Dan. I know that you have this fear that I will leave you for someone I work with because I would have more in common with them." You struck a cord.

 "You don't know a fucking thing." Dan wanted to toss something or hit something so bad. He held back for you. Even in a fight, he would never want to do something that would scare you.

"What is it then? If you want to spend more time with me than say it. We're not young and stupid anymore Dan. We have been dating so long that you should just voice your opinion. I'm not a mind reader for Christ sake." How is it he hides his feelings in a fight when that's the time to voice them. 

"I just need a second. Please" Dan say on the floor leaning against the wall. You could see the pain in his face. It was the same on yours.

 "Please don't shut down. I need you." Tears were stinging your eyes as they threatened to spill. Dan looked up at you seeing the tears at your eyes instantly feeling guilty. Quickly getting up from the floor he wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you as tightly as possible into his chest. The tears that were little-wet threats were now real full streams.

“Please don't cry. Go back to yelling at me. Even hit me in the chest I just can't handle seeing you cry because of me.” You tried to hold back the tears but you ended up just letting out a loud sob. This broke Dan’s, heart. He never wants to be the cause of you crying. Those few nights where you cried to him about your problems made him want to move the world for you. Those were the nights that he swore he would never be one of the reasons for you to cry. Now his personal promise was broken. Dan pulled your face away from his chest to be so close to his that your noses were brushing against each other.

“Can we just talk. I can't yell and scream anymore.” Dan nodded as he pulled you to the bed to sit across from each other. It was quiet as the both of you waited for the other to talk. After the silent battle, Dan decided to be the one to break it. Mostly because every time you would sniffle it hurt him.

“Your right. And that fucking sucks to say. I need you. I can't bere to think about you being with someone else. When I think of my future it's never alone. It's never what do I want it's what we want. I miss having you around less. I am so glad that you are finally making London your home. You deserve friends because the world needs more people like you.”

“My heart hurts. I understand the want to be together more because I feel it every day. I know I need to get out of the house and meet new people. I love this new job and making friends with my co-workers make the job even better. I would never leave you because I can't. No one is better for me. No one has more things in common with me. I'm jealous of you! You have women that would literally throw themselves at you.” Dan knew that the thought of his subscribers was always in the back of your mind.

“Looks like we both have jealousy problems when all we want is each other.” This brought a small smile to your face as you pulled yourself closer to Dan.

“We want each other so bad we're fighting about wanting each other. We are the most fucked up couple around.” Dan laughed as he pulled you into him.

“So what are we going to do about all of this?” You let out a sigh trying to wade through all of your thoughts.

“Spend the weekend together and figure out something. For now, I just need you.” Dan smiled into your hair as he placed a soft kiss on your head.

“I like that plan.”

[danandphilsecretsanta]

Fix: A Fic For Tati

To: @dilhowlter1991

A speculative phanfic (are those a thing?) based on the premise that Phil first contacted Dan way back in 2009 for more unscrupulous and selfish reasons. This is the product of a lot of wishful and derailed thinking.

Title: Fix Tags: Mentions of non-explicit sexual interaction and an explicitly-banned video; Phil makes questionable decisions; Some fluff; A whole lot of angst

I hope you have fun reading it! (for now, disregard the {bracketed numbers} until the end!)

|| 2016 || 7 ||

In London, two men of some note dwelled. Tucked away in a small little road lined with identical grey-brick buildings. Squat little things, arranged in neat and tidy rows. Two ranks of foot soldiers, filed and ready to march into battle. Behind one window of many was a tiny square. Aglow with the warm flush of light and painted in vivid technicolour by the assortment and array of indiscernible knick-knacks.

And there, in the centre of a gentle calming storm of possessions — but more importantly: belonging — sat the two. Men of note. Some. Reclined, comfortable, and doing exactly what they did best.

“Any TATINOF spoilers yet?” Phil asked.

“Mm, not yet.” Dan turned his laptop for Phil to see. “Although there is a video of us ‘kissing’ behind the screen.”

“Was it in Toronto?” Phil asked, leaning over to glimpse the 10-second clip, and the city in the title. “Oh, wait, not that. Never mind then.”

A half-smile quirked at Dan’s lips. “‘Obviously they aren’t’,” he read from the notes and replies. “‘They’re always so careful, do you think they’ll fuck up? In public? With thousands of fangirls watching question-mark question-mark question-mark?’”

“They give us too much credit.”

Dan scrolled past. Now and then he quipped through the silence with a comment or a quote that had gotten his attention.

“‘Who got the room in the bus in the end? They both said yes when asked.’”

“‘Two tall nerds on one bus, what a nightmare.’”

“‘Damn Daniel, back at it again with the light-up shoes.’”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that one yet!” Phil crossed his arms. “You could have gotten one for me too.”

“I don’t know your shoe size,” Dan deflected expertly. “And you have bigger feet.”

As Phil watched, a sly smile unfurled over Dan’s lips. He could practically hear the words before they had even tumbled. “And you know what they say about bigger feet,” he said for him, rolling his eyes even as his own lips twitched.

Dan edged closer, sliding his laptop far from the couch. Safe from harm’s way. He closed his eyes, and found Phil’s cheek unerringly in the darkness behind his eyelids to guide him into a chaste kiss they both knew well. “God help me, if you say ‘big socks’, I’ll sock you.”

~~~~~~

|| 2009 || 3 ||

Phil slammed into Dan. Dan, in turn, slammed into the wall by the door. Never once pulling away, Phil reached out and flung it shut. Against the jamb it shook, rattling the hollowed house with it. Giants’ footsteps roared, but Phil’s door bellowed loudest.

“Eager,” Dan broke away to laugh. There was a heat in his voice that came from the southward rush of blood, from the fire in his lungs that ate away his air and shortened his breaths to small, undignified whines. His hands rested lightly against Phil’s chest, but his knuckles and palms arched away from the green plaid shirt, as though he feared one touch too earnest, one brush too free — and gone Phil would be. A mirage, disappeared, the product of a feverish nocturnal imagination driven to distraction by overwhelming, unanswered want.

Phil tipped his forehead closer, swayed his hips — knowing, aware — and grazed the front of his jeans with Dan’s. From their hair, to their clothes, to their arousal, they matched. They could have been mirror images. They could have been completely incorporeal except to each other. Insular in this room that had grown with Phil, every inch plastered with posters and personality. Home to one boy, and temple to another. “You make me that way.”

He didn’t hide his smirk from Dan’s answering tremble. His bottom lip quivered — delicious — and his knees shook so hard, they knocked. He didn’t reply. Only leaned forward, and poured everything he had into Phil with surprising surety.

And Phil — treacherous, conniving man that he was — Phil let him.

The guilt would haunt him for years.

~~~~~~

|| 2016 || 6 ||

“You’re beautiful.”

Once upon a time, that might have earned him a blush, perhaps a giggle if he had purred the words and yanked Dan closer with greedy, grabbing hands. A little after once-upon, and Phil would only have invited a scowl and a scoff if he’d dared utter two simple words. They might as well have been fuck you.

The statement never changed, the sentiment never wavered. Through the years all that had shifted was Dan. He was a riptide current, the push-and-pull of the water beneath the frothing waves. Temperamental. Unpredictable. Loath to pull innocents from the near shore, and then send them back floating with the tiniest crash and wave, as though to say, Thank you for playing with me! Come back once all the water has been pumped from your lungs!

Loath to pull victims from the shore on other days, and never return them.

Not one crash. Not one wave. The murmur of running water the throaty gurgle of death. The softest demolition, the quietest robbery.

Now, however, Dan swept Phil’s fringe from sleep-prickled eyes, so that he could see Dan smile a blurry smile from where he hovered over Phil. His lips turned upwards. Very different from his frowns. Phil had been quick to learn and discern. “Should it distress me that you only say this in the morning? When you’ve just woken up?”

“Hey, if I think your flesh-coloured blobs look good to me in the morning, guess how blown-away I get the rest of the day when I actually have vision?”

“If flesh-coloured blobs are what do it for you, then we need to have a talk.”

Phil framed Dan’s face with his hands, pressing his cheeks and squishing his features into a pliant muddle. “This flesh-coloured blob in particular. Only this one, and none else.”

Dan burst out laughing. It was a hearty laugh — a hyena’s cackle. He threw his head back, and his chest rose and fell quickly and painfully with the straits of his laughter. They never faltered once, even as Phil rolled them over and eased Dan’s back against the mattress.

His eyes — brown as ever, closely indistinguishable from the slashes of chocolate of his hair — peered up at Phil in narrow slits, scrunched into small creases and wrinkles by the laugh-lines carved into his face that winged his eyelids.

“You know, it probably doesn’t translate when I’m speaking,” Phil said, “but when I wake up and see you, I happen to be counting my blessings. Me commenting on you really means I’m lucky to have been your choice too.”

The crinkles below him deepened imperceptibly. By the corner of his mouth, dimples sprang from his chin. Phil felt a hand curl around his neck, and stroke the fine down along his nape. “Phil the poet,” Dan whispered.

He smiled and leaned down to punctuate each word with a kiss. As though, by the power of mere insistence, he could stamp the truth beneath Dan’s skin “You’re. Beautiful.”

~~~~~~

|| 2009 || 1 ||

Phil, when he wanted to be, was a proficient stalker

He looked at the boy’s profile, and could almost swear that was his own hair, cropped and photoshopped expertly to frame another’s face. It suited him. Brown to brown. Complementary. His messages were nice too. But all of them were. A mailbox full of praises and clamouring voyeurs. Nothing special, except say in the staggering rate at which this one boy spewed them out. A comment on every video, issued with lightning speed. It had to be a record of some kind.

Next, he scrolled through his profile. He was young, 18. Phil’s intrigue piqued at that. They shared so many interests, so many commonalities. They listened to the same music, were mad for the same computer games. It was as though this boy had been planted in the stadium below his videos, just so Phil could stumble upon him and remark on their similarities. Coincidental collision. If you were lucky, you could walk from it alive.

Phil flicked his fingers, to read the boy’s name. Dan Howell. Lover of Muse, player of MarioKart, viewer of AmazingPhil. Quick succinct person. Personality compact, nothing garrulous. Phil found that charming.

“He could be a madman,” Phil mused, pretending to hover over indecision for the show of it. “He could skin me alive or sell me on eBay.” A strange risk, a minor risk. A risk he could take and laugh at.

So he clicked the message button. Dashed out words, smattered with emoticons and cheery symbols. Closed the window, folded his arms behind his head, and waited for a pretty boy like Dan Howell to snap the bait.

~~~~~~

|| 2012 || 4 ||

When it happened, the day was quiet. Unlikely, for the two new inhabitants of a London flat with thin wallets and even thinner tempers. But the day had been quiet. Phil should have seen it for what it was: the calm before the storm.

“The fucking V-Day video again,” Dan had blustered when the clock was just shy of lunch. “Come on, we’re talking tactics now.”

For hours, they had sat at the table. War generals presiding over a battle they had already lost. But Dan was belligerent. He would not emerge from the bunker without a plan, and Phil — complicit as his partner — must be there to talk through contingencies, to iron out the flaws of his logic and conceive an elaborate hoax that could make thousands of fans forget.

As it was, Dan’s power and will alone were enough to slog their ankles through a shit-fest of their own making. They formed an alibi. (It was an April Fool’s prank too cruel for the public eye. Phil was supposed to do it as a joke, wasn’t he, Phil?) They scoured it from the Internet. (“It’s not enough to just delete it from your channel. You have to report the copies. Get any reproductions taken off with a copyright claim. There. See?”) Dan was particularly scathing towards the asks that exploded his inbox. For perhaps a moment he transformed into a bona fide Vernon Dursley. Astounded by the flurries of mail, almost reduced to catatonics as he sputtered and devised empty response after hollow reply.

In the middle of a storm of lies, Phil took Dan by the elbow. “Dan, I need to tell you something.”

~~~

Two boys who had reached through their computer screens and plucked the other’s heart. Their’s was the stuff of legends, of folklore and romantics. Boys who had stumbled across each other on an infinite web, and decided to spend their finite lives with each other in an infinite universe.

Phil never knew why he did what he did. Why he grabbed Dan’s arm, propped up a spine already bent by the tribulations of reality, and burdened him with truth. Perhaps watching Dan spin his lies while the day slipped from them like youth tired him. Perhaps being privy to Dan’s slow ruthless drive through a scalding desert of untruths convinced him a sip of honesty might just save his friend — because that was what they were now.  It was all they could be. Friends, only friends. Regressed, but friends.

Or…perhaps…he had seen Dan tear down everything they had built together. Seen the ease with which he could demolish their legacy and past, towers and mountains they had built together, scaled together — and paint it over with cheap replications and flat tales that dishonoured the path they shadowed. Watched, helpless, as Dan succumbed to pixels scrambled into images and words and reduced their three years of companionship and trust into a fangirl’s wet dream. Dan, perhaps unknowingly, perhaps unaware, mocked all they had propped up between them with his tirade, before Phil’s eyes.

He saw Dan destroy their world with furore and an inlaid calm and thought to help him do it just the slightest bit faster.

~~~

Phil could not remember when they migrated from the sofa to the carpet. Perhaps somewhere between his second attempt at explaining and Dan’s first wail of anguish. He wondered if birds meant to soar far and travel the world were prone to that same disorienting jolt, of discovering themselves planted suddenly in the wrong scenery after instinct and evolutionary predisposition returned their will to them once again. If they flapped their wings with epiphany and, remembering the miles they had flown under duress of nature, thought: Huh. So that’s why my wings are sore.

And, if so, if the fear and dawning realisation that glittered in their bead-eyes resembled anything like the sporadic spurts of implausible emotion in Dan’s own eyes.

“You’re saying…we only met, because you were horny?”

This was old hat. They had gone through this so many times before. “No, Dan, that’s not all I’m say— ”

“Well, it sure as hell sounds like it!”

Tired, cantankerous, and exasperated, Phil threw down his hands. Threw down the gauntlet. Ran the gauntlet. “I took a risk, Dan — when I answered your messages and let you in my house!”

Blow one. Make Dan seem any modicum of desperate. He hated that. Hated the aspersion that he could possibly need anyone else. That he could text Phil, nudge Phil, once more than he strictly needed to grasp his attention. Lone wolves let the void swallow their howls once, and after that became mute. Why announce his solitude? Why parade it for the moon to hear?

Dan ground his teeth. Phil could hear it. It sounded like minced bones, like a record screeching silently, distantly. “A risk, did you?” Another imaginary sound. It sounded like ceramic shattering. Hold a clay heart in your hands, hurl it to the ground. Watch it explode in shards and blood and see its ghost leave in a drift of smoke and dust, like huffed-away trust. “I took a risk, that you could break my heart.” A dam broke. Water glittered in Dan’s eyes. Phil was reminded of chemistry experiments in school laboratories, remembered hunching over a steady teardrop flame, willing yellow crystals to wink their firsts in the evaporating dish balanced delicately on the tripod.

Blow two. Make Dan cry. “I took a fucking risk too. I just didn’t know it,” he spat, dashing tears from his eyes even as they fell. Drip, drip. Too copious to well, too heavy to cling to his eyelashes.

“Dan, I didn’t — ”

“No.”

He whirled around, and stalked towards the door. His face was scrunching up, like a paper someone had balled up with crunching, crushing crinkles, ready to pitch towards the waste basket. Thoughtlessly. Already poised to forget. His footsteps echoed through the apartment. The slam of his door sliced through the night’s quiet even more sharply. Alone in the living room, bereft, like a ship left in the harbour and then abandoned for decades, Phil stood. Perhaps he was waiting, perhaps he was frozen. Perhaps he was dreaming, and any moment now…

Blow three. See Dan cry.

~~~~~~

|| 2009 || 2 ||

Phil was jittery, and he had no idea why. No reason at all, officer. I’m dressed in plaid and ready to get laid.

He had planned to leave at seven and stroll to the station in an hour.

It was six-fifty, and he had changed his shirt (twice), combed his hair, then mussed it back up deliberately. He had lain back on his bed three times — a modest estimation — and gotten back up another three. He had prowled the empty house on tip-toe, waiting, almost, for his parents to spring from cupboards and shadows and say, What have we said about stranger danger? And on the Internet too! Young man, you are in for it now!

But no mothers popped, no fathers jumped. It was as though all those nights messaging and Skyping Dan Howell had allayed all doubts of his authenticity. No murderous stalker would leave a digital trail of his obsession like a smear on the Internet. No, this was the dedication of a soft-spoken, enthralled fan, nothing more.

Three minutes to seven.

So why did Phil still scratch at his (deliberately) messy hair? Why could he not keep the shiver from his knees, the gooseflesh from his neck? He felt as though he were teetering on the precipice of a cliff, as though he had climbed so high to reach the summit, and only know realised what he had to lose.

“I could…” Phil began to mutter. He could what? “Lose my life?” The words lilted in a song, a questionable song, and the autumn chill in the house shook its breezy head at them. No, no, quite wrong, Phillip Michael. Not right at all. “Be robbed?” Quite wrong, quite wrong. “Get an STD?”

Nooooo, moaned the drafty air into the shell of his ears. Noooooooo.

He paced the house, his bag slung across him. This was a question with only one answer, and he had never been one to ask too many. His hand was on the door-knob, ready to leave, when the possibility occurred to him. Transpired in the slight mist of his breath and tremble of his fingers against cold metal. Dropped into his arms like a gift from heaven. “I could…fall in love.”

The autumn air fell quiet at last.

It’s just physical, Phillip wanted to protest. It will mean absolutely nothing.

The autumn air did not respond.

This was not his intention. Never had been. From the moment he had first replied to Dan Howell’s fervent messages and comments, there had been just one endgame in mind — and it had been a short-lived one. Of heavy breaths and stuttering hips. Of air warmed by two bodies and the motion of harmony in lust. This. This did not factor into his plans at all. It got too easily tangled in what was meant to be precisely without strings.

He could cancel. Pretend there was a cousin’s wedding (second-removed cousin) out of town, and his parents were dragging him along. Send regretful emoji after regretful emoji, and send Dan Howell far away from his little home by Piccadilly. Return him to the flat square box in the arena below his videos, and keep him there this time. He could walk away from this risk, and the world would be none the wiser.

I could fall in love. He whispered the words to himself again. I could. He could make me. He’s jumped the cliff way before I ever scaled the top. He could grab me and pull me off the rock. We could fall, and plummet, and hit the ground. A mess of broken bones, and no one to dust us off. We don’t have wings; we don’t have anything. I could fall in love, and that’s a dangerous thing to do.

Phil swivelled his eyes downward. His hand still clenched the knob, gripping for ground whipped from beneath his feet.

The knob wielded beneath his fingers. He pushed through the door, a minute behind time, but that was inconsequential. He walked, the wind in his sails. Summer was gone and frost waited at the fringes of their little town, waiting to descend and strike a chill into the hearts of quiet residents. But until then, the autumn air was fresh and exciting. It wound its tendrils through Phil’s hair and lent him, distinctly, the feeling of darting headlong into what could only be, an adventure.

~~~~~~

|| 2012 || 5 ||

“Dan? Dan, I screwed up. I’m sorry! I royally screwed up. Dan. Come on.”

The word ‘wife’ is debated to have originated from Proto-Indo-European means. It might have come from ghwibh, derived from a word meaning ‘shame’.

......

“Dan. I swear, it’s all different now. I was so stupid, and so immature back then. Please. Believe me.”

Maturation of the psychological kind doesn’t really begin, generally, until age 24.

......

“Dan, will you never speak to me again?”

There is an anechoic chamber in Minnesota. It might be the quietest place on earth. No one can endure more than 45 minutes in it.

It’s been four days since. Phil hasn’t heard his voice in so long.

…...

“Dan, please. Speak to me. Scream at me. Something.”

“If I start screaming now, I’ll never stop. Are you sure you want that?”

“Yes. Yes! Oh, pl— ”

“Like hell you do.” Phil drew away from the door.

One of the most toxic poisons in the world is called ricin. A Bulgarian named Georgi Markov died from it.

He was exiled and assassinated in London.

…...

“Dan? It’s been a week. Please, Dan. Let me explain.”

“I don’t want any explanations. I am so sick, and tired, of looking for answers.”

“Dan — ”

“I just want one more.”

A withheld breath. An exhaled breath. Cheek against wood. Fingers scrabbling for purchase, for the reception to hold. Dreading when the connection collapsed, and he was left on the other side, clutching silence. “Yes, what is it?”

A withheld breath. A shaky breath. “We—We need so much fixing right now.” A pause. A recollection. “Do you promise to fix us? With me?”

Relief as an emotion was tangible. Palpable. It was fearsome, in the way it seemed to escape from his every pore and orifice. His own body overfilled with it. Relief felt like sweat and tears, in the middle of a drought. “Yes. Of course, Dan. Of course.”

Finally, he opened the door.

~~~~~~

Secret Rave Tree note: Hello, Tati! I’m sorry the fic is a bit scrappy ^^“ I really wanted to make it perfect for you, but I got a little busy. Just as a quick clarification, in case the timeline’s a bit messy, you can follow the numbers behind the year that heads each different section. The numbers mark the chronological order of the chapters (i.e. || 2009 || [1] would mean that section was the earliest event in the timeline) I wasn’t going to add the last 2012 part originally, but I needed to give ‘em some closure. I hope the new year has been good to you, and that you’ll have a great time! Ho-ho-ho-out

[wordsablaze]

#16: Facts and Fiascos

Match of Magic What if destiny chose soulmates through literal aesthetic matches? What if education fused with impossibility and reality faded away? Dan and Phil must unite, work together and help each other live the best of all the worlds they can…

(Dan POV)

I copy out the main points just as Mr Prong rubs them off and sighs, “The test of last year’s subjects will be next Thursday. I’d hope you all remember what you’ve probably ignored over the course of summer and the half term so far.”

Mariah groans, “I’m going to fail.”

“You’ve got Tulip.”

“Guys, give me some credit. She’s hard work.” Tulip laughs, the three of us packing up.

Since we’ve moved up a year, we don’t have all our lessons together, my next one being French. The two of them head to their Religious Studies lesson, luckily having it together so they can chat and work in peace. Not that it really matters for them because they’re good at being liked by people. I don’t know anyone in my French class except Ian but he doesn’t count because he’s such a bully.

“So, you matched?” said boy asks me as he bumps into my shoulder.

“Yes.” I reply, trying to stay neutral.

Ian scowls at me, “Did you force it?”

I blink, “No, you can’t do that.”

“You must have brainwashed him.” Ian states, apparently content with that solution.

I roll my eyes but avoid an argument as we all enter the classroom, then groan at the sight of a new seating plan up on the board. Thankfully, I’m sat near the centre of the room so I won’t constantly be in the teacher’s line of sight. She only makes us introduce ourselves and play petty games as a way of recapping the last three years’ worth of vocabulary.

Having almost fallen asleep through the hour of monotonous repetition, I gladly escape the room as soon as possible when she’s done with our lesson. Meeting with the rest of my group for the half an hour break we get, the seven of us squash ourselves onto a bench.

Alonso is the first to complain, “What’s with the tedious ice-breakers?”

“I know, right? They’re the worst thing.” Lilith agrees, “But guess what?”

“What?” Chris asks.

Lilith groans, “You’ve got to guess!”

“You got detention again? Or a warning? Or you talked back to another boring teacher?” Carter asks.

Lilith glares at him, then looks to the rest of us, “I’m not taking suggestions from Carter. The rest of you?”

“You aced a quiz?” Tulip asks, “Or you found out another one of last year’s exam results.”

Lilith rolls her eyes impatiently, “You’re not allowed to guess either. Guys?!”

“You got a boyfriend?” Mariah asks, then gasps as Lilith scowls darkly.

“I am no longer asking any of you!” she exclaims, huffing.

I’d laugh but I haven’t seen her this irked for ages so I simply cough, “Just tell us Lil.”

“Fine!” she grins suddenly, her eyes lighting up to an intense shade of blue, “I’ve met my match!”

Mariah and Tulip shriek and envelop her in hugs as the rest of us cheer, clapping her on the back in congratulations.

“When?” I ask.

“Five months ago. But I only met her two months ago and I wanted to be sure before telling anyone.”

“You could have told us of the possibility!” Mariah complains, sighing.

Five months is a long time to keep something like this hidden, and for someone like Laia, that’s equivalent to centuries. She’s good at keeping the secrets she needs to when it’s important but details of her own life aren’t usually hidden from us because she finds it helpful to tell someone.

“Who is it?” Chris asks, grinning.

“Lesley. She’s so great!”

“When can we meet her?” I ask, seeing Lilith’s extreme excitement.

“I don’t know. Tomorrow, after school?”

“Why not today?” Mariah asks, apparently far too curious to wait even thirty hours for a sighting of this mysterious Lesley. Knowing Mariah, she’ll try and stalk poor Lesley if there isn’t another option.

“She’s got a fencing match.” Lilith explains, getting an appreciative whistle from Chris and Carter, both of them having gone through a fencing phase in the past.

“You’re going to watch her play?” Alonso asks, already guessing the answer.

Lilith grins widely, “Yeah, but my mum says she has to accompany me because she doesn’t know much about Lesley yet.”

I laugh, “Surely you didn’t expect anything else?”

“Oh, shut up Dan.” She chuckles anyway, laughing.

I raise an eyebrow but shrug, just as the bell goes. Groaning, we all prise ourselves off the bench and head to our lessons. I’ve got food technology so I head to the technology block, nodding a goodbye to the others.

Surreptitiously slipping into the line, I pile into my seat along with everyone else, Miss Klutun briefly warning us of possible dangers before we start to make our chocolate nests. They’re more or less an Easter food but we need to spend Easter focusing on the harder, more strenuous cooking rather than making nice things. As we get started, the room explodes into soft chatter, either a reminiscence of holiday gossip or frantic conferring over the ingredients.

Chyna purposely elbows a girl whose name I don’t know as she saunters past and sends the butter that she was picking up flying out of her hands. I swear under my breath as it lands on my head and slides down my face.

Miss Klutun sighs, “Daniel, go fix your head; Natalie, clean up the counter; and Chyna, detention tomorrow lunchtime.”

Apparently Miss Klutun does not tolerate anything below impeccable tolerance in her classroom.

Unfortunately this means I have to go and wash my hair out, something that I know how to do because of my sibling but that I’m not necessarily a huge fan of doing.

Speed-walking to the nearest toilets, I quickly wash out my fringe, groaning and giving up when it reaches the maximum level of curl.

“Stupid butter. Stupid Chyna. Stupid Miss Klutun.” I mutter as I walk back through the empty corridors, then school my expression into one of neutrality as I enter the classroom again.

Obviously, nobody pays that much to attention to me leaving or coming back into the classroom so I can carry on with my chocolate nests. Having put the base and main body of it into the fridge as I made the top layer, I manage to finish them perfectly in time, washing up and all included.

Miss Klutun beams at me, “Well done lad.”

“Dude, those look epic. Trade you?” Harry asks, but once glance at his evidently rushed muffins has me shaking my head and coming up with an excuse.

“Sorry, just enough for the fam.”

“Whatever.” He grins anyway, moving ahead to see Miss Klutun, hopefully about improving his skills.

I place my little nests into the box I brought after refining anything that needed to be, at which point Miss Klutun dismisses us. I precariously balance my folder and pencil case on top of the box, managing to get out of the door before Chyna crashes into me.

I grit my teeth and inwardly groan as everything on top of my folder falls. I wait for her shoes to tap up the stairs before opening my eyes and going to reach down so I can pick up my folders.

But I never get to.

My own shocked face stares back at me through the deepest oceanic eyes on the planet, easily beating the seven seas. A buzzed glow spreads inside of me as I smile widely.

“Hi.” Phil beams as he slips the fallen papers back into my tech folder.

“Hello.” I reply, my mood inexplicably lifted.

Phil’s eyes light up as he glances at the nests but he doesn’t say anything, apparently too polite; I shake my head at him.

“Want to try? You know, as a tester to make sure they’re acceptable.”

I open the lid and he nods sheepishly, “Yeah, thanks Dan.”

He picks one out, takes a small bite, and stares at me while his eyes widen, “They’re amazing!”

“Thanks.” I smile, my face flushing.

Phil smiles and breaks the nest into half, going to hand me the larger half before then realising I can’t take it without dropping something.

Get ready for the aeroplane.

I laugh, then bite into the chocolate nest he’s holding in front of my mouth. The taste of chocolate so rich it’s almost toxic pleasantly overwhelms me for a second before I remember that swallowing is a vital part of digestion.

Phil lets me take the rest of it before grinning, “You’re a great baker.”

There’s not technically any baking involved.

“Eh.” He shrugs comically, making me laugh. I quickly pack my folder and the box away, both of us heading to the swings the long way round. I frown as something dawns on me.

“How’d you know what lesson I had?” I inquire.

He chuckles, “A little birdie told me.”

“The bird whisperer…” I smirk and he nods.

“Yup, that’s it. I am one with the natural world…” he declares, jumping and spinning as he says this, looking so naturally graceful I have to take a moment to recover.

“Phil?” I almost groan, genuinely curious. I don’t make a sarcastic comment in case I offend him, which is not something I plan on doing to someone I’ve looked to as an inspirational beacon of happiness.

He simply laughs, “Lesley told me you told Laia Miss Klutun would let you out to lunch late so I made my deductions.”

“You know Lesley?” I ask, baffled.

“Yeah, she’s in my Psychology, but the year above.”

Year thirteen then. The year where it’s statistically proven matches are hard to find as everyone decides to dye their hair or realises they need contacts. No wonder Laia waited until she was sure before telling us. I realise I may have let the silence stretch too long and look back at Phil, who’s still staring at me with a knowing smile.

“I know Laia, she only just told us Lesley was her match.”

“Oh, nice.” Phil beams, “Mutual friends.”

“More like mutual leverage.” I grin and he laughs, a bright laddered sound that makes me smile to the core. The two of us flop onto the swings, intermittently swaying back and forth. I pull my sleeves over my hands as I debate on whether or not to tell him about my AmazingPhil obsession.

“-okay?”

“What?” I ask, bemused, “Sorry, what?”

“Dan!” he shakes his head, “I asked if you’d like to hang out sometime?”

“Yes!”

His eyes light up as he grins.

“No.”

His face falls as he frowns.

“Wait.”

He raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

If anyone could be arrested for smiling too much, it would be him. Except there’s no way I’d ever let him go to prison.

I shake my head, “I do; I’d like to hang out sometime. Without a doubt, yes. I meant that there’s something I need to tell you first.”

“Okay.” Phil smiles, the shine returning to his eyes as small wrinkles appear in the corners.

“Um, so, I spend a lot of time on the computer.”

“That’s okay, me too.” He stops swinging as I stay silent, “Dan?”

“I, uh, also happen to have watched YouTube and, uh…”

“Dan? Go ahead, what’s up?”

I swallow my hesitation and shut my eyes for a millisecond to steady myself, then turn to Phil, who’s still patiently waiting like an undiscovered angel. Perhaps without the halo and typical white attire.

“Iabsolutelyloveyourchannelandit'sactuallylegitamazing.” I blurt, coughing.

Phil tilts his head to the side as he tries to decipher this, “Dan, could you possible slow that down?”

“I don't…”

Iabsolutelyloveyourchannelandit'sactuallylegitamazing!

You’re thinking just as fast as you were talking. I’m only getting ‘solute’, 'land’ and 'zing’

I absolutely love your channel and it’s actually legit amazing…Phil.

I almost cringe but I can’t take my thoughts back. I can’t retrieve what I’ve thought. What I’ve thought for so long and what I’ll never stop thinking no matter wha-

“Dan!” Phil exclaims, snapping me out of my trance, then stops to consider what I’ve told him, his eyes flickering back and forth as he registers what I’m saying before he smiles a beautiful half-smile, “Since how long?”

The knowledge that he stopped to make sure I was alright before trying to figure out his puzzling thoughts makes me grin so hard that my cheeks hurt.

Danisnotonfire

It seems to dawn on him who I am and his endless eyes widen so much I fear for their safety. He stays alarmingly still for the longest time and I start to panic because he’s barely breathing and I’d rather not he dies due to me watching his videos.

Phil?!

Oh. My. Glob.

Phil?

Sorry. You’ve watched my videos?

“Yeah, and they’re the best thing to ever exist.” I exclaim softly, more relieved than anything that he’s still alive and talking, having recovered from his shock.

“What about me?” he asks quietly.

I gasp, turning to him in alarm, about to launch into the explanation that they’re only amazing because he’s in them, but he just grins and shakes his head, “I know, I get you. Do you like my videos for real then?”

“Yeah. I thought that was pretty obvious?” I grin, referring to the chats and messages we’ve exchanged before.

He nods slowly, then stands up.

Not knowing what he’s doing, I stand up as well. He turns to me with a soft smile on his face before suddenly his arms are around my shoulders and he’s leaning down ever so slightly as I’m enveloped in the incredible, protective bubble of pure Phil.

His hands brushing my back, my arms returning the favour, and his head next to mine with the scent of marshmallow, spice and metallic watermelon along with an unknown comforting warmth, light up the fire in my soul, causing a huge smile to arise on my face.

I hug Phil back, the two of us locked in an embrace of promises, gratitude and acknowledgment until we both have to shift from the pins and needles in the soles of our feet. I can’t differentiate between me and Phil as we untangle, my fingers interlocking with Phil’s like they were designed to fulfil this one act.

“Thanks for watching, Dan.” Phil murmurs, his bright smile permanently residing on his face.

“Thanks for giving me something to watch.” I reply without filtering it.

Phil’s bright laugh assures me I’ve not said something totally ludicrous and I grin, “So, you were talking calling about me yesterday?”

Phil blanches for a moment, then looks at the floor when his face floods with colour in the most adorable way ever, “I hadn’t realised you watched that.”

“I have, and I loved it.”

“I…” his response fizzles out but his smile doesn’t falter.

You don’t know how relieved I am!

I definitely do! What if you’d freaked out that I already know you?!

I’m not going to freak out, don’t worry. I think I’m past that.

Thanks.

“Oi, freaks!” I hear a cold, irritating voice yell.

Phil grimaces at the same time as me, both of us turning to see Will and Luke, the most nefarious matched pair we know in school.

This can’t be good.

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[wordsablaze]

#15: Bullies and Battles

Match of Magic What if destiny chose soulmates through literal aesthetic matches? What if education fused with impossibility and reality faded away? Dan and Phil must unite, work together and help each other live the best of all the worlds they can…

(Phil POV)

“Bye, Dad.” I smile faintly as I offer him a wave, earning nothing but a small grunt in response.

I sigh, slinging my bag over my shoulder and catching the flash of hurt in Dylan’s angry expression as he looks to Dad, radiating disappointment.

I nudge him as he puts an arm around my shoulder, shaking my head at him, “S'okay.”

“Philly, it’s really not. You know he loves us, really.”

I frown but concede, having heard him and the others repeatedly tell me that for the past sixteen years. He smiles, this time not ruffling my hair but awkwardly half patting it in a true brotherly manner as he saunters back to the kitchen. I smile and go to fix my glasses but my hands meet only air as it dawns on me that I have contacts in today.

Silently shaking my head, I chide myself, grab my coat and walk through the shadows until I get to the bus stop, taking a slight detour to avoid the usual morning gang that never seems to sleep. Perhaps they’re all vampires so they sleep when I don’t see so they can fool the world into thinking they’re invincible.

Oh, who’s a vampire?

Not confirmed yet.

The game is on.

I smile at Dan’s instant replies, knowing that he was probably in the middle of something. Even though I can always sense Dan, we can’t always thought talk to each other, which is probably best. I rub my eyes again as I wait for the bus, having stayed up a little too late to finish editing one of my new I lean against the dilapidated bus stop.

I see Evan and David coming up; I groan, trying to slink backwards but almost fall in my attempt, having to flail for equilibrium and accidentally catching their attention.

Evan scoffs as he and David approach me, “Still in the posh school?”

I stay silent as David laughs, “You don’t belong here.”

I only shrug slightly so Evan frowns, “You’re not expecting a match to appear, are you?”

“Oh, come on, who’d want to be matched to you?” David sneers.

Deciding not to mention Dan or the multitudes of subscribers who probably wouldn’t find it extreme torture to be stuck with me, not that they can anymore, I just bite my lip and shrug again, staying motionless as the two of them saunter ahead. Only a few other people gather before the bus comes, none of them doing anything beyond a brief smile as they pass me.

I grab a seat in the middle of the bus, hoping to go unnoticed in the centre as if hiding in eye of a hurricane. I don’t pay attention to the other students as I listen to ‘We The Kings’, leaning my head against the window.

That is, until the bus stops, I feel the unmistakable pull of my other half and I know Dan’s getting on. It’s as if a sensor in front of me has warmed up, as if a small candle inside me has been lit ablaze to illuminate him, as if soft neon lights have suddenly been triggered within me. He gets on with three other people but doesn’t hesitate to doubtlessly flop down beside me, grinning. I laugh as I notice he has the most adorable half-smile dimples.

He nudges me and I beam back at him, “Hi!”

Dimples!

Shut up.

He blushes slightly, “Hello.”

“You seem flustered, what’s wrong?” I inquire.

“Nothing, it’s just…” he trails off, glancing at the other people on the bus. I smile knowingly.

Dan?

I’m actually sat next to you! Literally right next to you! To you!

I’d hope so, or else this would be REALLY awkward.

He laughs, his dimples re-appearing in place of his previous frown. Suddenly, the girl on the seat behind us jumps up, both of us whirling around in shock and inquiry. Dan groans as he sees who it is, obviously recognising her.

“Ellie, stop.” he practically whines, glaring at her in the typical sibling style; she must be his sister.

“Uh, nice to meet you?” I pause, “Also known as Ellie-phant by any chance?”

Her eyes light up and Dan looks at me with something akin to awe, relief and shock.

Ellie nods, “Yeah, that’s amazing of you.” she grins as her eyes flash brightly for a moment.

Dan whacks her arm and ducks his head before sheepishly grinning at me, “Ellie’s my sister.”

“And a Youtuber?” I ask, knowing the answer.

Ellie nods, “Don’t worry, I was just checking up on my little bro. Honestly, I think he might have some kind of mild agoraphobia.”

“Ell!” Dan glares at her a little more seriously this time so she shrugs and properly sits back into her seat.

Dan coughs and turns to me, “I don’t exactly have agoraphobia, I simply respect personal space and don’t really enjoy too much forced socialising.”

“I know, right? I always end up in some kind of weird situation or something.” I laugh, half wondering if he’s ever seen my videos or if only his sister has.

He smiles widely and gestures to my phone, “What’re you listening to?”

“We The Kings, have you ever heard of them?”

He nods enthusiastically, “A little, I found out 'bout them a couple years ago. Can I listen?” he asks so I hand him the right earbud, playing the music again.

Both of us jump as it resumes halfway into a sudden note but enjoy the rest of it, our shoulders connected without us trying. His head falls against my shoulder so I smile and lean more towards him, hoping that he’s comfortable. We have to end the song halfway through a sentence, both of us laughing as it ends awkwardly.

Someone crashes into Dan as we get off, making him yelp and crash into me. I stumble but grab his shoulders to make sure he doesn’t fall and break his nose or something.

Dan? Are you okay?

Fine, thanks Phil.

“Oi, watch It.” the other boy leers, glaring at Dan.

I can’t help but frown, “You crashed into him, in case you missed that.”

Dan looks at me gratefully but shakes his head.

That’s Ian. Ignore him.

I would have, but Ian gasps like a fish, glancing between the two of us, “You’re not serious?”

And so Captain Obvious finally saw what was in front of him.

Well, he seems fishy.

Dan stifles his laugh; I chuckle quietly and pull Dan away with me, leaving fishy Ian to piece the world’s easiest deduction together.

He and I wait together for the doors to unlock and he coughs, “So, lunch?” “The swings?” I ask immediately, knowing that there won’t be anyone there. I wonder they kept that swing set; it’s not like secondary school has playtime.

Dan nods, “Yeah, that’d be perfect.”

It won’t be perfect until you get there.

Dan elbows me, badly disguising his blush and rolling his eyes as the doors open and hundreds of students swarm inside like an academic hive mind. We split off as he heads to his registration room and I head to mine, both of us still grinning at each other.

Thanks.

I smile, and his presence inside me lessens a little like something stepping behind a transparent curtain so you can’t directly touch it but nothing can stop you seeing it anyway. It’s honestly a relieving feeling to simply know he’s alive so I just fiddle with my hands as I make my way to the registration room.

I’ve only taken about twenty steps before a cold voice sounds, “What’s all the nonsense about you being matched?”

I start, stifling my yelp as Ken appears in front of me. His name is perhaps the most irksomely apt as he looks like a freaking Ken doll with blonde hair gelled back and painfully bright blue eyes. He raises an eyebrow as I shrug, then steps forwards so that I have to step back instinctively.

“You’re not serious?” he low key growls.

I nod, “I…I have. Matched, that is. I have a match.”

As I try and stumble over the words falling from my mouth, Ken fumes with himself for a moment before his face becomes stony and he shoves my shoulders once, “You’re not making it up?”

I shake my head, avoiding his gaze as he steps back in frustration. When I look back up, there’s something despondently sharp in his eyes, something I haven’t seen before, and I frown in confusion but he doesn’t give me enough time to recognise it.

I wonder if he has a reason to badger everyone about their matches. As far as I can remember, he’s been asking about them, as if he fears for his own but finds consolation in the idea that many other people haven’t been matched yet. Maybe looking like a Ken Doll is pressuring?

Any sympathy I’ve built for him is washed away when he shoves me backwards and I slam into the locker, the lock digging into my back.

I frown and rub it awkwardly as danger flashes red in his eyes before he calms down enough for blue to flood back into his eyes.

I blink, not believing I saw that.

Since when do his eye colours change? Or any eye colours? And since when have I been able to identify emotions from colours? I make myself a note to watch for anybody else’s eyes as well, so I can see if it was just a lack of sleep causing me to imagine things or if it’s something I seem to have missed all my life.

Ken steps on my foot, harshly bringing me back into the corridor and out of my thoughts. I give him a neutral look but he rolls his eyes.

Ken scowls, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you meet yours before I met mine? I’m literally perfect and you're…a catastrophe.”

“I’m not a catastrophe.” I argue, trying to think of reasons to fire back.

Phil? Who said you’re a catastrophe?

I hadn’t realised I’d shared those thoughts with Dan; my eyes widen.

Just Ken.

Who the hell is Ken?

Another guy like Mr Fishy.

Mr Fishy? Oh my god, you mean Ian? That’s the best code name ever, we should totally use it. But are you okay? I promise you’re not a catastrophe, you’re literally the most brilliant person…

Thanks Dan.

Screw Ken! See you soon Phil.

Dan’s sudden, unhesitating defence makes me smile so I dismiss the catastrophic thoughts whirling in my head and thank the heavens for whatever the whole thought-talking deal actually is. Thought talk…

I like that. I think I’m going to call it that from now on.

Huh?

Thought-talking. Thought talk sounds more believable than something as cringe as telepathy.

“Earth to Glitch!” Ken snaps and I blink, having forgotten that he was in front of me for a moment.

I didn’t know you heard that. Okay, good call. Thought talk it is. To be continued…

See you soon, Phil.

I hope so.

I hope so more.

“Glitch?!” I hear Harry exclaim behind me, “How dare you call him that!”

Once again, I’m pulled out of my thoughts by someone else talking. Dan and I both seem to mutually agree we can talk - or thought talk - later so I minutely shake my head, tuning my attention back to Harry and Laia, both of them currently glowering at Ken.

“Phil might not do anything but, I swear to you, if you call him a glitch once more…” Laia hisses.

“You’ll what? You’re just puny girls.” Ken laughs.

“What have you got against girls?” Rosie demands as she arrives, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed.

Ken turns to and glares at me but I simply shrug, “Your match might be a girl; you should be more open minded.”

“You’re a girl.” He mutters darkly, then turns and storms towards our classroom.

We all laugh, Michael and George appearing as we recover from hysteria, “What is happening?”

“K-Ken.” Laia explains between giggles.

“Can you believe he attempted to insult Phil by calling him a girl?” Rosie asks, then sobers, “Wait, do you guys find that offensive? Is that how you think?”

“No.” Michael shakes his head, “Not us, at least.”

“Is anyone up for a detention?” Harry asks.

“Harry, no.” I interrupt before she can expand on that potentially awful idea.

“Why? What did Ken say?” George asks.

“He called them puny.” I answer, giving Laia a look.

She sighs and shakes her head, “No, Phil, we all know what he said. There’s no way we can have you thinking you’re a glitch.”

Michael’s so shocked that he seems to have a coughing fit bad enough for his eyes to start watering. Rosie smacks him between the shoulder blades, sighing in relief as he takes a deep breath and grins, “Sorry, I swallowed the hallway wrong.”

“A glitch? Alright, seems like I have a free hour after school.” Sandra announces, silently having joined us as Harry offered a detention.

I groan but Laia smiles, “If Harry goes down, I’m falling with her.”

“For her, more like.” I murmur.

Sandra nods and impressively manages to roll her eyes at the same time, “Too right.”

“Seriously?” Harry rolls her eyes at us but George whacks her with his P.E kit.

“It’s true.” he confirms.

Harry and Laia exchange a glance, then admit defeat, sighing.

Sandra grins, “So, just the three of us?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rosie holds her hand up, “No way I’m not coming.”

“Rosie, we’re making the video tonight.” I remind her.

“Damn.” she scowls, “Alright, fine. Michael will go for me.”

“Hell, yeah.” Michael smirks, probably already planning to use his martial arts skill set.

George groans as we decide we should probably actually go inside and get registered, “I can’t come!”

“Why not?” Sandra asks, then it dawns on her, “Oh, the basketball thing.”

“Guys, it’s okay.” I say, shaking my head at my ridiculous group of friends. I hold my hands up in apologetic surrender as I receive six identical glares of obvious exasperation.

“Wait, George, you can’t come?” Harry interrupts, something dawning on her as she constructs her plan. He shakes his head and causes the girls to share an undecipherable look before Rosie shakes her head at them and turns to me apologetically.

I already know what she’s going to say, and I think she knows that, but she says it anyway, “Sorry Phil, I have to avenge this. Just make a different video for tonight and I promise you - I solemnly swear to you - that I’ll make it for the next one.”

If she did for some reason expect me to be annoyed, she remains disappointed.

I just smile, “Okay. That’s fine, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to do this, you know that, right?”

“I know. If it makes you feel better, I’ll do it to ease my own selfish consciousness.” Rosie suggests.

“And to spend time with me.” Michael laughs, winking.

I smile at them and shrug, knowing that once the two of them are joined, they won’t separate for as long as they can.

Like Dan and me.

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