"So, moving on, I have a little story to share with you guys," I grin, trying not to laugh in front of the camera and Phil, who is sitting on the other couch, trying to look anywhere else. I pause; I can edit in the 'reasons why Dan's a fail (yay) ' screen later on.

Then Phil, staring at his knees, catches my eye; his hair falls over one of his electric blue eyes, which were probably welling up with tears; Phil was never very good with emotions, especially controlling them. That and I can just read him like a book wether he tries or not.

We agreed he would appear on my new video before the arguement, and we promised the Phans another joint video weeks ago now, so we have no choice but to put our stupid quarrels aside. Y'know I can't even remember what started it anymore; it's been dragging on for days now.

I lose track of time, simply staring across at the boy I love- the boy I made cry; my stomach chruns. It's a curious feeling, knowing how he feels about me, even when we're both screaming at each other, Phil crying, me screaming some more despite his tears...sometimes we even throw stuff at each other: once resulting in a collapsed bookshelf and a broken webcam. Especially when I see that venom and anger and what sometimes looks a lot like hatred well up in his eyes, I know he still loves me. But the thing is I can't imagine him thinking all the things I think about him; it just doesn't make sense. How can he? He's perfect, gorgeous, hilarious...amazing...and I'm just the epic fail in the llama hat who's not on fire and not interesting. Again, it makes no sense.

Finally I shake my head and look back at the camera, slapping on my fake smile.

"So I was just waiting in the queue in Tesco and the woman in front of me had her skirt stuck in the bottom of her knickers- like a sixty year old woman- and I'm standing like 'tell her, don't tell her, tell her, don't tell her?' so clever Dan here decides he wants to try and fix it himself...I think you can see where this is going..." I facepalm. "So that's how I faled this week- well the biggest of like thirty, Phil was keeping score."

Phil's look clearly says calm down, message fucking recieved, except the fact he never swears.

"Indeed I was," he says, squashing beside me on the couch with that adroable 'epic win/yay' face he has. His fake cheerfullness is almost too good; it's like I imagined the dark look he just flashed.

I mentally shake myself, trying to get into the same state of goofy mind as Phil. "Yeah, maybe I'll accidently blow up the whole place when I pick up the kiwi with the smuggled hand grenade in it. 'Cause I'll always get that one..." I shake my head slightly. "Shopping trip, Phil?"

"Yeah, we can go to the creche and blow up some two year olds!" he grins.

I blankly blink at him for a few seconds before cracking a sheepish smile. "Yeah, you go do that and I'll make sure the FBI are in the area..."

Phil laughs at my joke, as smooth as silk; as I said, how could a tears have fallen from those glistening eyes only last night, how could that laughing mouth have screamed at me? It's all I can do to force myself to laugh along: it's agonny. I'd rather sit here and watch him laugh, he sounds and looks so beautiful...why do I always scare that laugh away? Why do I always have to lock this cheerful happy side of Phil in and make his anger, frustration and tears come out to play instead? I'm a monster, I know I am; Phil said so last night, and I believe him 100%. No, 1000%.

I drink in his messy black hair, his soft lips, his chest, his thin legs...his eyes continue to glitter as he continues to laugh, but I can see past it. When the phans see this, they won't spot it, but I know different; I've caused the pain I see.

I see his lips move, but not a sound reaches me. I'm in a bubble, an oasis...leave me alone...

"Earth to Dan, come in, Dan?" and there's the pin. Hello there pin. You are a fucking bitch.

I look at him. He either barely notices my expression or ignores it completely. "What're we doing today?" he grins.

I quickly pull myself together as best I can, but I think I've put some of the pieces in the wrong place. "I'm just remembering that I went out to Asda for promotional Malteasers the other day and I just saw the empty shelf and..." I pretend to cover my teart eyes dramatically, but they actually blur with water and I need to blink loads to clear them as I can sense Phil rolling his eyes at the camera; more tears. I'm just typical Dan, aren't I? Wind me up and watch me go. Malteasers, llamas, tumblr, YouTube, more Malteasers..."

No, I can't cry. I never cry.

Phil wraps an arm around me, patting my back mumbling "there there, Dan, it'll all get better.." and other soothing words. I don't know wether he's doing this as part of the video or if he can somehow see the tear rolling down my cheek, but he doesn't let go. "Don't cry, Dan...c'mon now, we've got a video to finnish."

I jolt up, almost making Phil fly off the couch with the force in which I knock him off. "I'm not fucking crying, idiot!" I scream and storm out, knocking over a bar stool, hearing it clatter behind me onto the floor and slamming the door shut behind me. I half run to our room and prop a chair against the door once it's closed behind me.

I expect rattling at the door the second I lay down on the double bed, but nothing. I can't hear anything from the living room either.

I don't know how long I slept for, but I came round in that drousy sort of way, like when you've slept too long. I'm ready to apologise; I'm ready to end all of this and all future arguements, now I think about it. There's a fire burning in my chest and nothing could put it out. I'm ready, let's do this. I throw open the door and walk calmly back to the living room where I suspect Phil still is; I'm right. He's lying on the couch with one leg bent- his laptop propped against it- on what looks like twitter. I'm sure he heard me come in, but he doesn't react at all.

"Phil?"

He ignores me further, but hey, what did I expect? Anger begins to build up in me, but I swallow it; I'm not about to have another screaming match. "Phillie?"

He can't help but look round at the sound of his cute nickname, but instead of glowing, his eyes are almost shaking with rage. His voice is venom, biting at me like a knife. "Don't fucking call me that."

I felt my eyes widen before I could stop them. Phil never swore, ever. He must be pretty pissed off to even think about-

"What? Oh, little innocent Phillie swore! Call the fucking media! You think you can just walk in here after your little cat nap and expect me to swallow every apology you throw up like a bloody bird? I don't fucking think so! I was only trying to fucking help earlier, and you take a flaming hissy fit at me!"

"I didn't mean- y'know what I said- earlier...it just sort of came out...please, Phil," I sigh impatiently.

"It always seems to just slip out, doesn't it? And you never seem to mean it untill the next arguement, where you just say the same shit again, I'm fucking sick of it! When you're angry, I think I get to see the real Dan, don't I? All the time when we're making videos or having a laugh playing Skyrim, all you're thinking about is the next time you get to yell at me, isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

I remain silent for everal seconds, not even knowing what my facial expression must look like, then a slap echos throughout the room as my hand strikes his face. I know my expression must be absolute shock horror, mirroring Phil's. He raises a hand to touch his rapidly redenning cheek, as if making sure that actualy happened.

He doesn't even cry, he just walks around me and storms to the door. He wrenches on the door handle and it flys open in his rage. I follow him through to the hall, trying to make a grab for him before he reaches the front door.

"Phil-!"

"I hate you."

And before I can say anything else, the door has slammed behind him and I'm on my knees in the hall, the tears falling freely to the floor around me. I think you can guess what three words I can't get out my head.