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When the video finishes uploading, Dan cooks dinner. Normally it would call for a takeaway, but life continues on, and he grabs the pasta from the cupboard and starts the stove. He can hear the TV turning on in the living room and he opens the windows to let the breeze in. Phil likes meat sauce, Dan is trying to limit his meat intake, so he makes a special sauce just for Phil.
Sometimes he thinks about Manchester, the city that he held so much new promise, a little bit of pain, and a little bit of grief, but also a little bit of magic. It took Dan a long time that sometimes that pain and happiness can coincide. As he leans against the counters he folds his arms, fingers running up and down to soothe himself the way that his old therapist told him how. It wasn’t good in the long-term but it was something to help in a pinch.
There will be more times when Dan feels like running, logically, he knows this—Dan constantly teetering the edge and Phil always at the bottom of the pit ready for whenever Dan makes a jump, a leap into the unknown. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands now, he taps them against the counter and everything kind of feels like it’s surreal. He doesn’t understand how he can be so grounded but everything feels so surreal. Nothing’s even really happened, nothing’s changed even if so much has changed since they hit the upload button.
“Your thoughts are loud.” Phil says walking into the kitchen, his hand grips Dan’s waist for a moment, purposely getting in Dan’s space to put the cup in the sink and he looks at Dan in the eyes and Dan can’t help but stare at all of the laughter lines, and the small signs of aging, but gracefully! As Phil likes to remind him. Dan always rolls his eyes and says there’s not one graceful bone in Phil’s body.
“My thoughts are completely normal, actually. There’s nothing going on up here.” He says, tapping the side of his head with his fingers, the nail indented into the side just enough for it to hurt. Phil shakes his head and grabs his fingers and then places his hands on both sides of Phil’s neck and Dan wraps them around him, tugging Phil closer until Dan is completely sandwiched into the counter. It digs into his back and it hurts and Phil knows that it does so he pulls Dan away from it.
“You’re right, there’s absolutely nothing going on up in there.” Phil reaches out to poke Dan’s forehead before his fingers trail down his face and right into where Dan’s dimple will be and Dan can’t help but smile, the dimple making itself very clear that it’s there and it exists, too.
“I’m nervous and not nervous.” Dan puts his weight on Phil now, almost hugging him, his eyes watching the water, it hasn’t even begun to start boiling yet.
“Well you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have two contradictory feelings.” Phil says pressing his nose into Dan’s neck and taking a big ole whiff. Dan pinches Phil’s side.
“I don’t know why you do that. It’s weird.” Dan snorts.
“I like how you smell.”
“I haven’t showered in like two days.”
“Again, I like how you smell. You smell…. I don’t know… lived in. Loved.” Phil smacks a kiss on the side of his neck and Dan closes his eyes.
“Lived in?” Dan questions.
“Yeah. Lived in. Like a warm blanket or a well loved t-shirt.”
“Wow,” Dan says in a monotone, “That’s the gayest thing you’ve said today.”
Phil smiles and Dan can feel it on his neck. “I am famously gay.”
“Yes, yes, you’re very special Phil.” He taps his back before squeezing him again.
“Oh, my water is finally starting to boil.” Dan says, reluctantly pulling from Phil’s embrace, he turns around a little fast and gets dizzy for a second before grabbing the spaghetti and putting it in the water. He feels arms around his middle and he sways a little.
“What are you doing.” He says it in a way that’s not a question, the kind of accusatory tone that Phil is used to because apparently they’re ‘lived in’ kind of people and just uploaded it for the internet to see.
“I’m trying to be a koala to my commitment phobic not-a-boyfriend.”
Dan’s mouth quirks up.
“If I get burned by this water I’m blaming you and then no one is getting pasta. I’m going to make it your problem.” But he places one hand on top of Phil’s as he stirs.
“Do you want garlic bread? Because I’m going to have to make it myself.” Phil peaks over Dan’s shoulder and rests his chin briefly there looking at the different sauce bowls.
“I just noticed there’s two different sauces.” He says.
Dan raises an eyebrow and looks over at Phil and nods slowly. “Yes…?”
“Why?”
Dan is looking at Phil like he’s a bit daft.
“Because you like meat sauce.”
And Dan can see the moment that it clicks for Phil. He looks at Dan the way that he’s been looking at Dan for the past sixteen years.
“I’ll make the garlic bread.” Phil says quietly, gently.
They work in silence after that. Dan taking time to stir both sauces, placing a lid on top of the noodles, Dan critiques Phil on how he cuts and dices garlic.
Dan contemplates his existence for only a few seconds, because sometimes he has to remind himself that this is his life that he’s living, and that he chose it for himself. He thinks about how many times he’s chosen Phil again and again and again, and reminds himself of why he keeps coming back.
Sometimes love is leaving out the door to take a long walk knowing that when he comes home someone will keep the light on waiting for him. Sometimes love is saying no to projects because the thought of putting himself out on the line like that is scary and having a partner that’s willing to talk you down because that’s what he needs. Sometimes love is going to bed irritated and angry, not because of regret, but because it’s too much, all too much sometimes.
Sometimes love is making two pasta sauces and your partner making garlic bread in a kitchen that you helped create.
Sometimes love is simply lived-in. Worn like a warm blanket or well loved t-shirt.
“I think our post meal is complete.” Dan says, plating their food with Phil’s slightly burnt garlic bread right next to it.
If it’s shit, it’s not the end of the world, after all, they can always get takeaway.