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huphilpuffs · 6 years

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chapter: 18/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 4711 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan keeps his promise to wear a shirt.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, porcelain digging into the bones of his ass as he stares at himself in the mirror. The t-shirt he threw on scoops low over his chest, showing off the jut of his collarbones. He pulled on his tightest pair of skinny jeans, even though squeeze of fabric around his legs hurts. He even managed to bend down to pull socks onto his feet.

It’s the most like himself he’s looked in a long time, he thinks, except for one thing.

He brings a hand up and runs it through his hair. He managed to shower, if sitting in the bathtub letting water beat down on your back is considered showering, so it’s wet and extra curly. One strand falls over his forehead, and Dan wraps it around his finger, frowning at his reflection.

It’s growing too long. He needs to get it cut but that requires leaving the house and sitting up for a while and holding his head steady and Dan’s not entirely sure he can manage all that right now.

He’s not sure he can manage to straighten it either.

Dan’s wrists crack when he pushes himself off the edge of the tub. He tries to comb the curls back over his head so they look a little less like a mop, but they just tumble back over his cheeks.

Frustration wells behind his eyes, stinging like tears. Dan squeezes them shut, reminding himself that it’s nothing. It’s just hair. It never looks how he wants it to, anyway. It never really has.

But still, when he opens them again, his vision is distorted by tears. He wipes them away with the back of his hand, turning away from his reflection to stomp out of room.

Phil’s standing there when he gets out, leaning against the wall opposite the toilet door as though he’d been waiting. He probably had been, Dan thinks.

“You okay?” asks Phil.

Dan shrugs one shoulder. “Can you do me a favour?” he asks.

“Of course.”

Phil smiles, warm and genuine, so Dan doesn’t feel bad when he asks: “Can you straighten my hair for me?”

A moment later, he’s sitting on the sofa, legs drawn up beneath him so the denim of his jeans scrapes at the round of his knees. The armrest digs a bit into his spine, and he lets his head fall against the cushions as Phil plugs in his straightener and sets it on the coffee table to let it warm.

They don’t speak. Dan’s growing used to it, Phil’s quiet acceptance that sometimes Dan needs help. To the fact that he doesn’t need to explain or defend himself, not anymore.

“Okay, it’s warm enough,” says Phil.

Dan sits up straighter. “Don’t burn me.”

“I won’t.”

Phil’s fingers carefully slide into his hair. He tugs a few knots free, slow and gentle, palm cradling the top of Dan’s head where dizziness tingles when his blood pressure drops. Dan leans back, feeling his hum before he hears it, as Phil’s thumb sweeps across where his hair is combed forward into his fringe.

“I like the curls,” says Phil, so quiet Dan’s not sure he’s meant to hear it. “They’re cute.”

Dan feels his cheeks go hot, flushing pink. He dips his head forward, and Phil’s palm drifts along his head, fingers carding through tangled strands of Dan’s hair, and affection seeps into his chest, comfortable, nice.

He almost doesn’t want Phil to pull away to grab the straightener, but they have guests coming over. So when Phil’s hand falls away, he swallows back his protest.

On the coffee table, Dan’s phone vibrates.

He tilts his head back again, and lets Phil play with the hair at the base of his skull before he straightens the first little bit.

---

Dan escapes to the bathroom again afterwards.

Phil’s straightener has cooled and he spent careful minutes adjusting the strands of Dan’s fringe so they fall perfectly over his forehead. Dan can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees his reflection. Phil straightened it better than Dan’s been able to for a long time, slow and attentive so it falls perfectly over his ears, cuts nicely across his forehead.

Tears burn behind his eyes again, his heart racing and light and happy.

Dan sucks in a breath, and he reaches for his phone before he can think too much about how gently Phil’s fingers had drifted across his skin. The texts he ignored light up the screen when he turns it on.

Taylor: i can’t believe you’re making me socialize howell i became your friend to avoid exactly this

Taylor: stop ignoring me

Taylor: i just left you better not be naked when i get there

Taylor: actually i’ve seen that before

Taylor: phil better not be naked when i get there

Dan laughs, a little wet with tears unshed. He swipes his thumb across the screen, types out a hasty reply.

Dan: im unfrinding you

Taylor: good it’ll save me the hassle of socializing

Dan: aren’t you driving

Taylor: red light

Dan: pretty sure that’s still illegal

Taylor: you don’t even drive

He rolls his eyes, catching his reflection in the mirror. There’s a smile on his face, and his hair is normal. He’s dressed, and though his arms feel heavy and his back aches, he feels normal, just for a moment.

Just for one night, he hopes.

Dan: you don’t need to come if you don’t want to

It takes Taylor a moment to respond. A moment Dan spends adjusting his shirt and pulling his jeans up so they show a little less of his boxers. He reminds himself that he’s driving, that she probably hasn’t decided to go back to a dorm he knows she hates.

Even on her worst days, Taylor usually pulls through for Dan.

His phone vibrates on the countertop.

Taylor: i want to

Taylor: i’m happy for you

Dan lets out a shuddering breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

---

Ian shows up first.

Phil bounces on his toes and fidgets as he goes to get the door, and returns with his head dipped, his crooked smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Ian, this is Dan,” he says, voice a little too quiet. “Dan, Ian.”

He’s a lot like Phil, Dan notices. Ian’s hair is far shorter and brown, and he has wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His shoulders are a little more square, but his body’s still long and lanky. He looks a little more comfortable in his skin, in the space, than Phil does.

And way more comfortable than Dan feels.

He pushes himself to stand, stepping forward to shake Ian’s hand.

“Hi,” says Dan, a little too high and far too awkward. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” says Ian. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Phil’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh. He’s, uh, told me a lot about you, too.” Except Phil hasn’t. Dan’s too aware of that, of the fact that Phil’s been too busy dealing with Dan and his issues. “Sorry for intruding on your plans. I know you used to do these movie nights more often.”

Ian shrugs. “You’re not intruding,” he says, like it’s true. “I get that things have been, uh, difficult for you.”

His cheeks go a little pink then, and Dan watches Phil nudge Ian with his shoulder. It’s the first sign of awkwardness Ian’s shown since he walked through the door, and Dan’s stomach twists painfully tight.

It’s been years since Dan’s felt somewhat comfortable talking to people. Since he first realized that, no, most teenage boys don’t feel like they’re dying after gym class. That most boys focused on things other than how their body seemed to gradually be falling apart. That he was missing out on everything all the normal kids did.

Around that same time, people stopped knowing how to talk to him, too.

“It’s been fine,” says Dan.

Over the years, he’s learned that most people want to hear that, not the truth.

But Ian offers him a smile that reminds Dan too much of Phil. “You don’t need to lie,” he says. “I might not– I’m not as good as Phil with stuff, but I get that it can’t be easy.”

Dan nods dumbly. His gaze cuts to Phil, whose smiling at them both like this is exactly what he wanted. Dan can’t help but smile too.

---

Taylor gets there only a few minutes later.

Her hair is swept up in a bun today, sitting messy atop her head. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and a pair of leggings, and Dan recognizes the outfit from silent days spent sitting in his dorm room, when neither of them were quite okay enough to be people.

He stands, pulls her into a hug. “You didn’t have to come,” he whispers, mumbling the words against the fabric of her hood.

“Told you I wanted to,” she whispers back.

Something heavy and nauseating settles in his stomach, anyway. He wants to ask her about therapy, about how classes have been going, about if she’s finally accepted that a science degree isn’t for her any more than a law degree was for him. But he pulls away and Phil’s already saying hello, reaching out to shake her hand.

Taylor’s smile doesn’t seem fake. The tightness in Dan’s chest loosens.

It’s awkward for a moment, as Phil introduces Ian to Taylor and Dan introduces Taylor to Ian and none of them know each other quite well enough for it to flow naturally. Phil plays with his fringe and Dan plucks at the hem of his t-shirt and Taylor doesn’t meet Ian’s eyes when she shakes his hand, but Ian doesn’t seem to mind.

And then Phil’s ushering them into the lounge. His laugh comes out tight, nervous. Taylor stares at the floor. Ian offers Phil a smile that Dan’s pretty sure means more than he can decipher.

“So, how’d you guys meet?” asks Ian.

He’s looking at Dan, gaze flicking to Taylor.

“At uni,” says Dan. “I was the awkward sick one and she–” He coughs, swallows. “We were the only introverts in our area. Uh, you guys?”

“He stole my first girlfriend.” It’s Phil this time. He’s dropped onto the arm rest next to Dan, and his hand falls to rest on Dan’s shoulder.

Taylor’s gaze flicks to where it landed, a quiet chuckle falling from her lips.

“You were with her for a week,” says Ian.

“Still.”

Ian rolls his eyes, looking away from Phil to look at Dan and Taylor instead. “He hated me for a while,” he says.

“You stole my girlfriend.”

“Until he realized we actually had a lot in common,” Ian continues, as though Phil didn’t say a word. “Both film nerds, both pretty introverted, that kind of thing. And he went and started fancying someone else.”

Phil laughs, low and hearty. “It was college,” he says. “That’s what people do in college.”

“I missed that part of college,” says Dan.

Ian’s eyes crinkle, a little too amused. Taylor’s staring at her lap. Phil’s hand squeezes his shoulder, just tight enough to be pointed.

“The fancying blokes part?” he asks, voice a little quiet.

“Oh.” The weight of it settles on Dan’s ribs, a question lingering in the air. Ian’s smiling at him like he doesn’t care what Dan says, and Taylor glances up from the pattern on her leggings. Phil squeezes his shoulder, gentle and comforting, and Dan knows he could say he missed that part too.

He did. He missed all of it, curled up in bed, the demands of his body too great to think about much else.

But he tilts his head up, catches the softness of Phil’s smile, the gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh,” Dan repeats. “I, uh, saved that for uni.”

It’s not entirely true. Dan’s not thought about it enough to know it is, but it feels right, feels like fancying blokes is something he’s done in a distant sort of way that’s faded into a blur at the edge of his mind.

And it feels like it’s right here, right now, pressing against his ribs.

Phil’s smile widens, his thumb rubbing a circle over where the neckline of Dan’s t shirt falls on his shoulder. Dan looks away, feeling his cheeks flushing pink when Taylor looks up just enough to grin at him.

---

They order pizza for dinner and play Mario Kart with greasy fingers, sipping beer between races.

Phil and Ian move the coffee table towards the TV, and Phil builds a nest on the floor out of his pillows and duvet. They’re blue and green, Dan notices, a lot like the ones draped over his childhood bed. Taylor gets Dan’s duvet, the one he rarely uses because it often feels too heavy on his bones, and wraps herself in it.

Ian almost beats Dan at Mario Kart. Taylor beats Phil.

The game ends when the pizza box is mostly empty, spare for the pepperoni Taylor picked off each of her slices. Dan comes in first. Phil pouts as he comes in fourth, just two points behind Taylor.

Phil’s sitting on the floor with Ian, and his head falls back to rest against the sofa, right next to where Dan’s ankles cross. His fringe falls to the side, flopping over the high of his cheekbone, and his bottom lip pokes out, eyes going wide. Dan doesn’t care enough about the cutscene he’s seen a thousand times to look away.

Phil drops his Wii remote, bringing his hand up to slide it between the sofa cushion and Dan’s leg, his thumb snagging where the fabric is snug around Dan’s ankle.

“Your Mario Kart tips aren’t working.”

Dan huffs out a laugh. “You’re not doing them right, is the real problem.”

Phil rolls his eyes, hand slipping away. Dan’s nerves tingle with its absence, a small buzz of discomfort. He swallows, turning to catch Taylor’s smile, watching Phil stand in his peripheral.

“You guys choose a movie,” he says. “I’m gonna make popcorn.”

Ian hums. “Popcorn’s his favourite,” he says, once Phil’s a few steps away.

Dan frowns. Phil hasn’t eaten popcorn at all since Dan’s moved in, unless he snacks on it before work. He swallows against the thought and feels the dull burn of it in his throat. The reminder that his being here is probably exactly why Phil hasn’t eaten popcorn in so long.

No movie nights with Ian to justify it, and a flatmate who can hardly swallow some days.

The microwave beeps in the kitchen. “Oh,” Dan hears himself whisper.

Taylor wraps herself tighter in his duvet, tugging the blanket up to her chin until she’s practically drowning in fabric. Ian’s staring at the TV, at the piles of plastic cases underneath it.

“You guys can choose the movie,” says Dan. “You’re the guests after all.”

They start talking then. Dan lets his head sink back and listens. He learns that Phil and Ian are horror movie fans. And that Taylor took film in secondary school. And that Phil used to make what Ian calls “these creepy videos” for uni assignments a few years ago. He didn’t know any of that before.

By the time Phil returns to the lounge, they’ve decided on The Shining, and Phil’s face absolutely lights up when he hears. He hands Ian one bowl of popcorn, telling him to set up the film, and sets the other in the space between Dan and Taylor. He goes back to get them each a second beer before dropping back onto the floor.

His hand wedges itself under Dan’s legs again, squeezes near where bone juts at his ankle.

“You okay?” he whispers.

Dan nods. His chest is tight, but it has been for days now, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s his body or something else that’s rebelling this time.

Phil frowns. “Tell me if your sore, okay?”

He nods again, trying to force a smile just as Ian flicks off the lounge light, and the room goes dark.

---

Ian, Phil and Taylor have all seen this film before.

Dan has not.

Anticipation has curled it’s way up his spine, prickling and painful and keeping his breath caught in his lungs. His toes, he realizes, are curled tight so they dig into the skin of his thigh and make his calves start to ache. He clutches the fleece of his blanket between his hands, holding it up to his chest, even though he refuses to hide from the film when everyone else is laughing.

Something swirls at the very edge of his vision, but when Dan’s gaze darts towards it, there’s only black.

He swallows back a huff. It’s stupid, he thinks. It’s a film.

Except Dan’s never liked the dark, especially not since the first night he spent awake and restless with a spinning head and body so sore he couldn’t have stood if he tried. It’s best for his eyes some days, but he doesn’t like it.

Something flashes on screen, and he sucks in a harsh breath.

The muscles in his chest spasm. He swallows back a whimper, pressing his fist to the ache so his knuckles dig into the ridges between his bones. Ian’s laughing and Taylor glances at him, frowning, and Phil’s hand returns to the sofa, catches the narrow of Dan’s ankle.

He squeezes once. Dan exhales and hopes no one can hear how it shudders.

Phil must, though, because his head falls back against the sofa. The TV casts awkward shadows across his features. His hand drifts along Dan’s leg until his fingers are slipping under the fabric of his jeans, and he squeezes again.

He mouths something. It takes Dan a moment to realizes he’s being told to breathe.

So he does, like Taylor and Ian aren’t sitting right next to them. Dan presses his fist harder against his chest and imagines the way Phil’s fingertips would drift along his spine. Phil’s still mouthing something, probably numbers, and Dan watches until the air presses hard against his ribs.

Phil squeezes his leg again to tell him to exhale.

Dan does, and does it all again, and again, and again until it doesn’t hurt anymore and his body sinks back against the sofa. Taylor’s not looking at him anymore. Dan’s not sure if Ian ever was. Phil turns back to the film slowly, but his fingers stay pressed against Dan’s skin.

It happens again at the climax of the film. But that time Dan lurches back and his spine cracks and tears well in his eyes. Taylor stares and Ian notices and Phil sets the bowl of popcorn that’s migrated onto his lap aside so he can sit up straighter, turn to face Dan.

“I’m fine,” Dan mumbles.

Ian keeps looking at him for a second before looking away. Taylor only looks away when something on screen catches her attention. Phil keeps staring, now rubbing up and down Dan’s leg as much as his skinny jeans will allow.

The fabric is rough over his skin. He realizes only when his chest heaves around a breath that his shirt has started to burn. He takes a sip of his beer to distract himself.

Shortly after that, the film ends. Phil still hasn’t looked back at the screen.

Ian stands to flick the light back on. Taylor untangles herself from Dan’s duvet. Phil only stands when he seems to realize their guests are leaving. Dan’s knees crack and his ankles wobble under his weight when he forces himself to his feet.

He knows he’s limping as he walks to the door, can feel the unyielding tension in his left knee and the tightness of his lower back. Taylor hugs him so quick and gentle her fingers barely flit against his shoulders, he side brushing gently against his.

She hugs Phil tighter, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Dan watches her whisper something against Phil’s shoulder, and something knots low in his stomach. Phil squeezes her tighter then, but over the top of her head, just next to her bun, his eyes cut to Dan.

Dan looks away. Ian’s standing in front of him, hands wedged in his pocket, one shoulder pressed against the wall. He smiles at Dan, then at Phil and Taylor, and then at Dan again.

“This was fun,” he says.

He’s a little awkward, like Phil is, like Taylor is, like Dan is.

“Yeah,” he answers.

Ian’s mouth quirks into a sad sort of smile. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well. Next time we’ll choose a better movie, okay?” he says, like it’s nothing. “Phil loves Speed.”

“So do I,” blurts Dan.

Ian chuckles. “You’re good for him, you know,” he says. His face goes serious, and he holds his hand out between them, his grip loose when Dan takes it.

He’s good for me too, he wants to say, because Ian isn’t saying anything else. Dan’s mind flits to Phil’s parents again, the questions that have swirled in his stomach since they left Rawtenstall, Ian would know, he realizes, if they’ve been best friends since college.

He’d know a lot of things Dan doesn’t know.

Ian lets go of his hand, smiling again. He goes over to Phil, gives him the quick kind of hug that ends with them patting each other’s shoulders, before waving goodbye. He holds the door open for Taylor on the way out, lets it fall closed behind both of them.

The knot at the base of Dan’s spine throbs.

A whimper aches in his chest.

Phil’s arm is wrapped around him in an instant.

---

Dan ends up back on the sofa, legs drawn up in front of him so he can flatten his chest against his thighs and let his spine stop holding his weight. His knee presses hard to the bottom of his chin, digging painfully into the bone of his jaw. His eyes are starting to burn, tired and teary and yet he keeps the locked on Phil.

The flat is weird. It feels empty, suddenly, with Taylor and Ian gone. The end credits of the film still light up the telly, but no sound filters through the lounge.

Phil bends down, picking up a pair of empty beer bottles from the floor. Dan can still feel the phantom burn of weak liquor in his throat.

It’s been a really long time since he’s had a drink.

He watches Phil set all the empty bottles on the counter by the sink. Over the course of the night, he must have pushed his fringe back into a messy quiff. His shirt’s a little twisted around his waist and one leg of his jeans has rolled up to his calf, probably as high as the narrow cuff can do.

Dan drags his chin over his own jeans. He wants them off now. They dig into his stomach, sitting like this. The fabric is too scratchy against his skin.

But he doesn’t move.

Phil returns to the lounge. “I’ll be right back,” he mutters, leaning down to pick up his duvet and pillows up from the floor. The blanket folds over his arms, puffs up into his face.

He looks small, Dan thinks. His hair suits him that way.

Something twists in Dan’s stomach. Phil returns from his bedroom. There’s a frown drawing at his cheeks, and though he can’t be sure, Dan thinks it might’ve been there since the first scare that had the muscles around his ribs spasming. Phil never does like seeing him in pain.

He drops onto the sofa next to Dan, already reaching out to coast a hand across Dan’s back.

His skin prickles. Dan’s not entirely sure it’s with pain.

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Phil.

That thing in his stomach grows tighter, and Dan lets his face press even harder against the bony jut of his knees.

“This was my idea.” says Dan.

Phil shrugs. “I’m still sorry.”

His palm drifts along Dan’s back, fingers tripping over each ridge in Dan’s spine as though he’s counting them. It’s feather-light and warm and Dan has to turn and press his eyes to his knees to keep from crying. His chest feels empty and too full all at once, ribs shuddering when he tries to suck in a breath.

“Can I do anything to help?”

It takes Dan a moment to realize Phil’s talking about his pain. His chest aches. It feels like they’re always talking about his pain.

“Dunno,” he mumbles.

“Does rubbing it help your back too?”

Dan shrugs. He really doesn’t know. The angle’s too awkward so he can never massage the ache properly, not without hurting his wrist and shoulder and arm and neck and by then it’s not worth it to soothe his back.

“Want me to try?” asks Phil.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t expect Phil to stand then, or for him to hold a hand out as though to help Dan to his feet. “You should lay down,” says Phil, and Dan almost suggests he lay down on the sofa, but Phil’s eyes are gleaming as though he might cry and Dan’s curling his fingers into Phil’s palm.

They walk to Dan’s bedroom hand in hand, like this is normal. He wonders, fleetingly, if they had more to drink than a few beers. He feels drunk now, his mind distracted and buzzing and taking a moment too long to realize that laying down in bed means taking off his shirt and jeans and Phil’s already standing in the room next to him.

Dan doesn’t check to see if Phil’s looking as he peels his skinny jeans off his legs, or when he struggles to get his shirt over his head against the pain.

Phil must have looked away, he supposes, or he probably would have offered to help.

Dan settles onto the mattress slowly. Half his bed is covered in clothes he doesn’t have the energy to fold and his laptop and the DS he rarely uses anymore. Phil doesn’t seem to mind. He leaves his own shirt and jeans on and sits on the edge of the bed.

It should be uncomfortable, Dan thinks. But he’s spent weeks wearing nothing but his pants while Phil was fully clothed. He’s gotten used to the soothing touch of Phil’s hand to his bare skin.

He’s missed it.

Phil’s fingers press to the base of Dan’s spine, where he knows the skin dimples.

“This okay?” he asks.

Dan nods. He presses his face into his pillow and tries not to focus on how strange this should be. Normal flatmates don’t do this.

Normal people don’t need this.

He swallows. The pressure in his chest is back, spreading up until he can feel tears behind his eyes. Phil’s careful and sweet and Dan shouldn’t need this but every part of his body aches with gratitude as acutely as it always does with illness.

“I had fun tonight,” he says into the pillow. “We should do it again.”

Phil’s touch stutters over his spine. “You did?”

Dan hums. The pillow is starting to suffocate him, so he turns his head. He can see the bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand, but his bones feel heavy and he’s not sure he’ll need them, for once.

“We should watch a different movie next time, not horror,” he says. “We can invite Taylor and Ian again. We could play more video games next time.”

“I lost all the video games,” says Phil.

He sounds like he’s pouting. Dan wishes he could see. But he’s lying mostly naked in his bed and Phil’s massage has turned more into something … softer and Dan’s heart lurches against his ribs, muscles spasming again.

It must be visible, because Phil’s fingers coast along his side, drift over the base of his rib cage before trailing to his back again.

“We can do it again,” says Phil.

Dan hums. He doesn’t say another word until he falls asleep to the feeling of Phil’s fingers tracing gentle patterns against his skin.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #my laptop and i are back from war

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