Work Text:
January 2013 – May 2014
The first time Marcus met them, he was mostly worried about not getting lost in the BBC building again.
It was January, and the corridors were a nightmare of identical cream walls and those blue wayfinding signs that somehow made everything worse. He'd been hired three months ago as a camera operator, which mostly meant he got the boring jobs: static shots of the green room, backup footage, making sure the webcam didn't fall over when people got too enthusiastic.
Dan Howell and Phil Lester showed up on a Monday in mid-January. Marcus knew this because Mondays were chaos. Three shows back-to-back, producers yelling into headsets, and at least one person having a minor breakdown in the break room.
He'd heard of them vaguely. YouTube stars, apparently. The BBC was pulling in digital creators now, trying to seem cool and relevant to young people or whatever. Marcus didn't really do YouTube. He was thirty-two, and his idea of internet entertainment was reading news articles and occasionally watching cat videos his partner David sent him.
Marcus was adjusting the camera in the green room when they just... appeared. One second he was alone, the next Dan was dropping a messenger bag on the sofa and Phil was setting down two coffee cups.
Marcus had been doing jobs like this one for more than ten years, since he was twenty-one and freshly out of university. He'd seen a lot of people come through studios. These two looked young, mid-twenties maybe, and quieter than he'd expected for internet personalities.
"Cheers," Phil said, noticing him. He had a friendly smile, genuine. "You're... sorry, I'm terrible with names."
"Marcus. Camera crew." He gestured at his equipment. "You'll be able to see the preview monitor from the studio."
"Brilliant." Dan had folded himself into the corner of the sofa in a way that looked uncomfortable but clearly wasn't. He seemed calmer than Marcus expected, more subdued. "The webcam sorted?"
"All set. Someone from production will be down in ten."
"Perfect," Phil said, moving toward Dan, sitting close enough that their knees almost touched.
Marcus adjusted a few cables, seeing out of the corner of his eye but not really watching as Phil reached past Dan for something, and Dan shifted his coffee cup so it wouldn't spill, hand steadying Phil's wrist for just a second.
"Right, I'm off," Marcus said. "Good luck with the first show."
"Thanks!" Phil called after him.
Marcus heard Dan say something else as he left, but couldn't make it out. He had three other shows to prep anyway.
"They seem nice," Marcus said to Jenny at lunch. She was one of the sound engineers, had been at the BBC for years.
"Who, the YouTube boys?" Jenny stabbed at her salad. "Yeah, they're fine. Bit quiet off camera, which is weird for internet people. Usually they're either exactly the same or completely dead inside."
"Are they popular?" Marcus asked. "I don't really know their stuff."
"Oh, they're huge. Millions of subscribers. My niece is obsessed with them."
"What kind of videos do they make?"
"I don't know, gaming? Talking about feelings? Whatever kids watch these days." Jenny shrugged. "You should look them up. Might help you understand what they're going for with the show."
"Maybe," Marcus said, though he probably wouldn't. He had enough to worry about with camera angles.
A few months in, Marcus had started noticing things.
They always arrived together. Not weird, he had been told that everyone knew they were flatmates, best friends, the whole inseparable duo thing was kind of their brand.
But there were little things that seemed... off? Not bad off, just off. But maybe it was just they just had a better dynamic than what he was used to from radio hosts.
"Camera two needs adjusting," Melissa, one of the producers, said during setup. "Marcus, can you get that?"
"On it."
He was fiddling with the angle when Dan and Phil arrived for their show, already mid-conversation.
"I'm just saying, if we're doing a baking challenge, I should get a handicap," Dan was saying.
"Why would you get a handicap?"
"Because you actually kind of know how to bake and I really don't."
"That's not a handicap, that's just you being bad at things."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
They settled onto the sofa, and Marcus watched Dan angle his chair slightly toward Phil without seeming to notice he was doing it. Phil was scrolling through his phone, but his whole body pointed toward Dan like he was magnetic.
"How's it going, Marcus?" Phil asked, looking up.
"Good, nearly done. You guys ready for the show?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," Dan said. "Which is to say, moderately panicked and running on caffeine."
Phil laughed. "He's being dramatic. We're fine."
"You say that now but wait until we're live and you forget what day it is."
"That happened once!"
"Twice."
"Okay, twice, but one of those times doesn't count because I was sick."
Marcus grinned and went back to the camera. Their banter continued behind him, easy and comfortable, the kind of rhythm that came from knowing someone well.
They had settled into a routine. Every Monday night, nine to ten PM, live and visualized. Marcus got assigned to their show semi-permanently, which was fine. He knew what they wanted, they knew when to expect him, and the producers liked consistency.
"Marcus, you're on Dan and Phil again," Melissa told him one afternoon. "Hope you don't mind."
"Nah, it's fine. Easy show to work."
"Yeah, they're pretty low-maintenance. Unlike some people." She shot a look toward Studio B, where someone was currently shouting about lighting cues.
"I heard that!" Jenny called from across the room.
"You were meant to!" Melissa called back, then turned to Marcus. "Anyway, they specifically asked for you, so congrats, you've been claimed."
"They asked for me?"
"Yeah, said they liked your camera work. I think Phil called you 'lovely' in an email, which is very on brand for him."
Marcus felt weirdly pleased by that.
On camera, Dan and Phil were loud. All exaggerated reactions and running jokes, the chaotic energy that had built them millions of subscribers.
In the green room before the show, they were different.
"Okay, so Internet News," Dan said, scrolling through his laptop. "We've got the story about the guy who proposed with a QR code."
"That's either really romantic or really lazy," Phil said.
"It's definitely something. Then there's the one about the cat who learned to FaceTime its owner."
"I love that one. Can we lead with that?"
"We can't lead Internet News with a cat story, Phil."
"Why not?"
"Because we have standards."
"Since when?"
Dan looked up from his laptop. "Okay, fair point. Cat story it is."
Marcus was setting up the webcam in the corner, trying not to smile. They did this every week, this whole routine of pretending they hadn't already decided everything in advance.
"Oh, and we need to figure out the Dan vs. Phil challenge," Phil said. "What are we doing, paper airplane distance?"
"I'm going to lose."
"Probably."
"Definitely. You're weirdly good at paper airplanes."
"I had a misspent youth."
"Folding paper?"
"It was very rebellious paper folding."
Dan snorted, and Marcus glanced over to see him smiling at Phil with this fond expression that seemed almost private, even in the middle of a conversation.
By December, he was pretty sure the off feeling wasn't just them being friends with a good chemistry.
It was in the way they moved around each other. Phil would hand Dan water without being asked, already uncapped. Dan would adjust Phil's microphone during sound check. They'd stay in the green room after shows, long after everyone else left, still buzzing with energy.
"I'm just saying, the producer definitely made that obstacle course harder for me," Dan said once, sprawled on the sofa. Marcus was in the corner logging equipment, half listening.
"You're just saying you lost," Phil corrected.
"I'm saying there was sabotage."
"You're a sore loser."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"They kind of are though."
"No, because I can be right about the sabotage and also be sore about losing. Both things can be true."
"That's not how it works."
"That's exactly how it works."
Phil laughed, and Dan grinned at him, and Marcus felt like he was intruding on something even though they clearly didn't mind him being there.
January brought a format change and a new intern who didn't understand the unspoken rules.
Her name was Amy, and she was twenty and enthusiastic about everything. Marcus liked her fine, but she had a tendency to fill every silence with chatter.
"Oh my god, I love your videos," she told Dan and Phil the first time she met them, practically vibrating with excitement. "I've been watching since 2010. I can't believe I get to work with you!"
"That's so nice, thank you," Phil said, smiling.
"Do you think you'll do more shows after this one ends? Like, maybe something on YouTube that's like the radio show?"
"We'll see what happens," Dan said. His tone was polite but not encouraging.
"And you live together, right? That's so cool. I could never live with my best friend, we'd kill each other."
"It has its moments," Phil said.
Marcus watched them sit farther apart than usual, Dan's hands wrapped around his coffee cup, Phil scrolling through his phone with more focus than necessary.
Amy kept talking. "Do you ever get sick of each other? Like, you're together all the time. For work and at home. That must be so intense."
"We manage," Dan said.
"I don't know how you do it. I need space from people, you know? Even people I really like."
"Everyone's different," Phil said. His voice was still friendly, but there was something tight around his eyes.
"I guess! Anyway, this is so exciting. I can't wait to tell my friends I'm working on your show."
She finally got called away by another producer, and Marcus watched Dan and Phil relax by degrees. Phil stretched his legs out, foot nudging Dan's ankle under the table. Dan shifted closer, not much, just enough.
"She's enthusiastic," Phil said carefully.
"Very."
"That's... good?"
"It's definitely something." Dan took a sip of coffee. "She asked if we're doing more shows after this."
"We might. Depends what the BBC wants."
"Or what we want."
"That too."
"You don't think we could keep doing shows together?" Phil's voice was teasing, but there was something underneath it.
Dan went quiet for a second. "I think we'll be fine. Everyone else might not."
Phil laughed and pushed at Dan's shoulder. Dan swayed with it, then settled back closer than before.
Marcus pretended to be very focused on his equipment. He remembered being in his early twenties, before he came out, the constant calculation of every gesture. It had been exhausting. He and David didn't live like that anymore, hadn't for over a decade, but he remembered what it felt like.
"That new intern is a lot," Jenny said later, back in the equipment area.
"She's just excited," Melissa said. "Remember when you first started? You kept telling everyone about your sound engineering degree."
"That was relevant to my job."
"Sure it was."
Marcus grinned, focusing on coiling cables. The conversation moved on to other things, other shows, weekend plans. Normal work talk.
But he kept thinking about the way Dan and Phil had created distance when Amy arrived.
How they'd relaxed when she left. How exhausting that must be.
The spring was wet and miserable, and Marcus kept noticing patterns. Dan got anxious during live callers. Phil got quiet before difficult interviews and Dan would ground him with small touches when no one was looking.
Except Marcus was always looking. Not on purpose. Just, he noticed things.
"You okay?" Dan asked Phil one evening, voice low. They were in the green room, twenty minutes before going live.
"Yeah, just nervous about that interview segment."
"You'll be fine. You're good at interviews."
"What if I'm not though?"
"Then I'll jump in. That's why there's two of us."
Phil smiled, small and genuine. "Yeah. Okay."
Dan's hand came up like he was going to touch Phil's shoulder, then dropped. He glanced around the room, saw Marcus and Jenny setting up equipment, and stepped back slightly.
"We should run through the music videos again," Dan said, louder now.
"We already picked them."
"Humor me."
They bent over the laptop together, and Marcus felt that familiar tightness in his chest.
The sound engineer had to fix Phil's mic pack right before air, stepping between them to adjust the battery. Dan immediately moved to the other side of the room, making space.
Phil's smile stayed fixed but his shoulders went tense.
The engineer finished and left, and Dan drifted back.
"Better?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah. Thanks."
They went live ten minutes later, all chaotic energy and exaggerated reactions, and nobody watching would have known about the quiet moment before.
Marcus looked them up that night.
He hadn't bothered before. Hadn't seen the point. They were just another act, pleasant enough to work with, and he had other things to think about.
But he'd been seeing things for over a year now. Small moments that added up to something. And he needed to understand what he was seeing.
He sat at his laptop in the living room while David made tea in the kitchen, and typed "Dan and Phil" into YouTube.
The results were overwhelming. Millions of views on videos. Subscribers in the millions. He clicked on a few videos at random: them playing games, doing challenges, talking about their lives. They were louder in the videos, more energetic, playing up their reactions.
But the comments.
"They're definitely together" "THE WAY PHIL LOOKS AT DAN AT 3:47" "stop shipping real people it's gross" "they're literally in love idc what anyone says" "can we just let them be friends without making it weird" "PHAN IS REAL"
Thousands of comments. Tens of thousands. All speculating, analyzing, arguing.
He found compilation videos: "Dan and Phil cute moments," "Proof Dan and Phil are together," "Phan analysis." He watched one, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Every glance, every touch, every word dissected and examined.
There were fan fiction stories. Art. Entire forums dedicated to discussing whether they were in a relationship.
"Christ," Marcus muttered.
"What?" David came in with two mugs of tea.
"Those two guys I work with. Dan and Phil."
"The YouTube ones?"
"Yeah." Marcus turned the laptop so David could see the screen. "Their fans are... intense."
David leaned over his shoulder, scrolling through comments. "Oh. Oh wow. That's a lot."
"They're convinced they're together. And some people are really angry about the people who think they're together. It's this whole thing."
"Are they? Together?"
Marcus thought about all the small moments he'd witnessed. The careful distance. The soft looks. "I don't know. Maybe. But even if they are..."
"They can't say anything," David finished. "Not with all this attention."
"Exactly." Marcus closed the laptop. "God, I can't imagine being in my twenties and having millions of people analyzing everything I do. Every time I stand too close to someone or look at them wrong."
David sat down next to him. "You remember what it was like for us, before we came out. And we didn't have anyone watching."
"Yeah." Marcus took the mug of tea. "I just... I feel bad for them. Whatever's going on, it's clearly something they're trying to keep private. And they can't."
"Because everyone's already decided what the truth is."
"Right."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"You going to say anything?" David asked.
"God, no. That would make it worse." Marcus shook his head. "I'm just going to keep doing my job and pretend I don't know anything."
"That's probably smart."
Marcus took a sip of tea and tried not to think about how exhausting it must be, performing normalcy for millions of people every single day.
It happened in May.
The show had gone badly. Not catastrophically, but badly enough. A technical failure cut their Internet News segment short. Two callers in a row were awkward and uncomfortable. Dan fumbled a joke that didn't land, and Phil's attempt to save it only made it worse. By the time they wrapped, both of them looked exhausted.
"That was rough," Melissa said to Marcus as people started packing up. "They'll bounce back though. They always do."
Marcus nodded, focused on his equipment. Most of the crew filtered out quickly, eager to get home or to the pub. Monday nights were like that.
He was in the back storage corridor, twenty minutes later, when he heard voices from the equipment room. The door was slightly ajar.
He should have announced himself. Should have coughed or made noise. But something in Dan's voice stopped him.
"I messed up the timing on that joke," Dan was saying. His voice was tight, frustrated. "And then when you tried to save it, I just made it worse."
"Dan, it's fine. It was just one joke."
"It wasn't just one joke though. The whole show felt off. What if they decide we're not good enough for this? What if this is it?"
"They're not going to cancel us over one bad show."
"You don't know that." Dan's voice cracked slightly. "What if they do? What if we lose this and we can't— what if you realize this isn't worth it? That I'm not—"
"Stop," Phil interrupted. "Dan. Stop."
There was a pause.
"I'm not going anywhere," Phil said quietly. "Okay? We have a bad show, we'll have a better one next week. And even if they did cancel us—which they won't—we'd figure something else out. Together."
"Together?"
"Obviously together."
Another pause. Marcus should really announce himself now.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," Dan said, so quiet Marcus almost didn't hear it. "If this all went away and you weren't—"
"I'm here," Phil said firmly. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Marcus heard movement, fabric rustling. He was about to step back, leave quietly, when something made him glance through the gap in the door.
Phil had pulled Dan into a hug, Dan's face pressed against Phil's shoulder. Normal enough. Except then Dan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Phil, and Phil's hand came up to Dan's face, and—
They kissed.
It was brief. A few seconds, maybe less. Soft and careful and desperate all at once. Dan's fingers curled in Phil's shirt. Phil's hand cradled the back of Dan's neck like he was something precious.
They broke apart, and Phil leaned his forehead against Dan's.
"We can't," Dan whispered. "Not here. Someone could—"
"I know," Phil said. “I just needed—"
"Yeah. Me too."
They stood there for another moment, foreheads still touching, before slowly separating.
"We should go," Dan said. "Before they lock us in."
"Tragic way to spend the evening."
"Could be worse."
"Could be better."
Dan laughed, soft and shaky, and they moved toward the door.
Marcus bolted down the corridor as quietly as he could, heart pounding. He made it around the corner before he heard the equipment room door open, heard their footsteps heading the opposite direction.
He stood there, hands shaking slightly.
He'd suspected. Had been pretty sure for months.
But knowing was different than seeing.
Marcus didn't tell anyone.
Not Jenny, not Melissa, not even David, though he almost did that first night.
"You alright?" David asked when Marcus got home, quieter than usual.
"Yeah. Just... long day."
David gave him a look that said he knew there was more to it, but didn't push. "Tea?"
"Please."
They sat together on the sofa, and Marcus thought about how easy this was now. How they could just exist together without calculation, without fear. They'd earned that. Time and courage and a world that had slowly, grudgingly made space for them.
Dan and Phil hadn't earned that yet. Or maybe they had, but the world hadn't caught up. Their world, with its millions of eyes and endless speculation.
Marcus took David's hand and held it, grateful for the quiet.
June 2019
Marcus was procrastinating.
He had reports to file, emails to answer, but instead he was on YouTube, watching a video essay about cinematography techniques. One video led to another, the algorithm doing its thing.
That's when he saw it in the recommended sidebar.
Dan Howell's face. Older now, but unmistakable. His hair curly instead of straight. The title read: "Basically I'm Gay."
Marcus stopped. Clicked.
The video was forty-five minutes long. Marcus watched all of it.
When it ended, he sat back in his chair. Dan had talked about Phil—not explicitly as a partner, but the way he spoke about their connection, about Phil being there through everything, made it clear enough. Soulmates, he'd said. Whatever that meant to them.
Marcus scrolled through the comments—thousands of them, supportive and overwhelming—then noticed another video. Phil's name. From a few days earlier.
Phil's video was shorter, quieter. He talked about labels and privacy, about being comfortable with who he was.
Marcus closed the laptop and went back to work, a small smile on his face.
They were clearly still not ready to tell the world about their relationship, but this was obviously a huge step.
Good for them.
October 2025
The baby was crying again.
"I've got her," David said, already halfway up the stairs. "You finish your coffee."
Marcus settled deeper into the sofa, grateful for the momentary quiet. Mia was nine months old, and he loved her desperately, but she had opinions about sleep that differed significantly from her parents'.
He picked up his phone, scrolling through social media out of habit. That's when he saw it trending.
Dan and Phil. A new video. The thumbnail showed them both, sitting close.
The title: "Is Phan Real? The Truth"
Marcus's heart started pounding. He hit play.
They looked older. More comfortable. Phil’s hair was different. Dan had a few more lines around his eyes. But they still moved around each other the same way, still had that same rhythm.
Marcus watched as they finally, actually said it. Confirmed what millions had speculated about for over a decade. They were together. Had been for a very long time.
They talked about their relationship, about privacy, about finally being ready to share this. They were careful with their words, thoughtful, but there was also joy there. Relief.
When the video ended, Marcus sat there for a long moment, staring at the screen.
"What are you watching?" David asked, coming back down the stairs with Mia against his shoulder.
"Dan and Phil just came out. As a couple."
"Dan and Phil?" David shifted Mia slightly. "Wait, aren't those the guys you worked with ages ago? The YouTube people?"
"Yeah. Radio show at the BBC. 2013, 2014. You remember?"
"Vaguely. You mentioned them a few times." David came closer, looking at the phone. "Let me see."
Marcus handed him the phone. David watched for a minute, Mia dozing now against his chest, then smiled.
"God, they look happy," he said softly.
"Yeah."
"Did you know? Back then?"
Marcus thought about the equipment room. About Phil's voice cracking. About Dan saying I'm not going anywhere like a promise. About the kiss he'd seen through the gap in the door.
"I did," he said carefully. "But it wasn't my business to know."
"And now?"
"Now I'm just happy for them."
Mia made a small noise in her sleep. David adjusted his hold on her, and Marcus watched his husband cradle their daughter, and thought about how long the road had been. For him and David. For Dan and Phil. For everyone who'd had to hide and calculate and perform for an audience that demanded everything.
"You worked there over a decade ago," David said, looking back at the video. "So they've been together since..?"
"Since 2009, apparently. A few years before I met them."
"That's a long time to hide."
"Yeah."
They sat in comfortable silence, the video still paused on Dan and Phil's smiling faces.
"You should leave them a comment," David said. "You knew them when they were still figuring all this out. It might mean something."
Marcus thought about it, then shook his head. "No. I think... I think the best thing I can do is just be happy for them. They don't need to know I saw anything back then."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." Marcus looked at Mia, peaceful now in David's arms. "Some things are meant to stay quiet. The knowing was never the point. The being free is."
David smiled and kissed the top of Mia's head. "You're a good man, Marcus."
"I try."
On the screen, Dan and Phil were frozen mid-laugh, leaning into each other, no longer hiding.
Marcus closed the laptop and pulled his family closer, thinking about time and courage and all the quiet things that eventually, when they were ready, became loud.
Later that night, after Mia was asleep and David was reading in bed, Marcus stood at the window looking out at their garden, dark and peaceful.
He thought about two young men in a BBC studio in 2013, performing happiness for an audience while hiding their truth. About how scared they must have been. How careful.
He thought about all the people over the years who must have suspected, must have known, must have seen what Marcus saw. How many of them had kept quiet out of kindness, out of recognition, out of respect for the impossible position Dan and Phil had been in.
And he thought about that moment in May 2014, in an equipment room after a difficult show, when someone who was terrified let themselves be vulnerable for just a few seconds. When someone else said 'I'm not going anywhere' and meant it with everything they had.
Eleven years later, they'd made good on that promise.
Marcus smiled and went to bed.
Some things were worth the wait.