I got such a wonderful review the other day, but I can't reply to it, so I figured I'd just respond to it here. It's to Obsessed, and I just wanted to thank you for your kind words! I'm really happy you liked the story and words cannot express how much I appreciate your kindness! Really, thank you! And to everybody else who liked to story, as well.

So, I've been starting to write quite a bit of phanfiction lately, so . . . well, this is what I've come up with, I suppose.

I'd say I don't own, but . . . that's creepy. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

It's a fact that ever since Dan and Phil first met in real life, they were it.

Just it.

There weren't a lot of available words that Phil could use to describe what it was that they were, so he always just thought that they were 'it,' because, to him, that's all there was. Just him and Dan.

Phil never told Dan that he thought they were it. Phil knew that many of the things that went through his head were not to be spoken aloud, even to Dan, because they were just too far removed from reality. His ideas branched off in too many ways and in too many directions that it'd be impossible to describe his process to anyone. Even Dan.

Besides, Dan had lots of other words for what they were; however, none of them were fit for sensitive ears.

But that was back then. This was now.

Ever since 2012, Phil was wary around Dan. He wasn't afraid of him; no, it wasn't that. Phil could never be afraid of Dan. It was more of a constant worry that he would hurt Dan again. But, back then, Dan was not only hurt, oh no, Dan was wounded. He was panicking; he was terrified.

Dan was shouting.

Dan was crying.

To put things lightly, a very bad video was posted, resulting in some very bad things happening, and Dan had a complete meltdown, but Phil didn't really blame him. Phil messed up, he knew he did, and he messed up really bad. Dan and Phil had kept their secret for a long time; way longer than any secret either of them had ever kept with anyone. Perhaps they let out tiny little hints here or there, but at the time, they didn't have a whole lot of subscribers. Phan wasn't a widely-supported thing yet. It didn't seem like that big a deal. Until it was a big deal, with many prying eyes all too eager to get in on the whole disaster. Too many people saw. Phil would never forget the look in Dan's eyes when he saw what Phil had done.

Dan hardly left his room for three days. And when he did sloppily venture into the lounge, he looked so sleep deprived that Phil was surprised he was able to walk.

Phil didn't like to remember what Dan looked like when he awakened from a temporary state of depression. His eyes got puffy and red, his face got paler than normal, and his mouth refused to lift into a smile, no matter what Phil did.

And he got thin. So very, very thin.

It physically hurt Phil's soul to see Dan sad. All Phil ever wanted to do was make people happy, and if he couldn't even make his best friend and the person that made him half of an it happy, then he failed as a human being.

And that was that. Game over.

Phil shook his head. He'd been pacing in his bedroom all night. He didn't get an ounce of sleep; he had been preparing a speech to deliver to Dan when Dan finally woke up, but the sheer effort of composing such a difficult conversation had taken, literally, all night. And he still wasn't done yet. When the first beams of sunlight shone through Phil's window, he knew he was running out of time.

He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready. He'd choke and say the wrong thing; or he'd choke and say the right thing, but ruin the moment by being angry. Not angry at Dan, though, angry at himself for having to even say the words. And then, Dan would misinterpret the situation as Phil being angry with him, and then he'd ask what he had done to deserve Phil's anger, and then he might cry, and blame himself, and. . . .

No. Phil had to perfect exactly what he was going to say, when, and how. He had to get it right.

The clock kept ticking. And ticking. And ticking. . . .

At long last, he heard Dan's bedroom door creak open, and footsteps passed the door to his bedroom and down the stairs to the lounge.

Phil's breathing got heavy. He couldn't do it yet.

So he waited. He sat on his bed, stood back up again, paced some more, leaned against his wall, sat on his bed, and stood up again. He didn't know what to do with his body, and Phil found it uncommonly difficult to look away from the clock on his phone for more than a few seconds.

After half an hour, Phil decided that Dan was probably awake and coherent enough to speak with Phil, so he slowly opened his bedroom door and shouted, "Dan, where are you?" from the threshold of his bedroom.

But he already knew where Dan was. Of course he knew where Dan was; he had heard Dan's footsteps, and where they disappeared to. It was a useless question, but it distracted him because hearing Dan's voice calmed him. Perhaps it wasn't necessarily what he needed at the moment; but he needed something.

Dan shouted back from downstairs, "Lounge!"

Phil rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. "It's alright; you practiced this a million times last night." Living with Dan for over three years, Phil had picked up on some of his best friend's traits; namely, he'd been talking to himself a worrying amount recently, but his self-isolation may have contributed to that. He took a few steps forward; his heart was pounding in his chest.

"C'mon Phil, he's your best friend."

The walk to their lounge was the most painful death march Phil ever had to do, and his heart raced faster and faster the closer he got.

He peeked his head around the doorway and saw Dan in his sofa crease. He wasn't wearing black, which didn't exactly shock Phil much. Dan was getting happier and happier, and therefore spared his color-void clothing. Phil would be happy for Dan, but the news he was bearing was too heavy for him to smile.

"Hi, Dan."

Dan looked up from his laptop and smiled wide. His smile was so beautiful, it physically hurt Phil to look at him. The white t-shirt he was wearing just emphasized how pale he had gotten since he became friends with Phil, but Phil couldn't look for very long. "Phil, where's your yellow sweatshirt? You always wear your yellow sweatshirt on April Fool's -"

Phil slowly lowered himself onto the couch next to Dan and let out a breath. The sadness on his face shocked Dan into silence. Dan understood that Phil got sad; of course he did, he was human, but it was rare that he ever let it show.

"Phil, what's the matter?"

Phil ran a hand down his face and leaned his elbows on his knees. Suddenly his hours of preparation seemed useless now. "Dan, I, uh -"

Dan closed his laptop, set it aside, and scooched closer to Phil to place a comforting hand on Phil's knee. Phil looked down. This whole thing was too hard, he couldn't do it, but he had to. He sighed and brushed Dan's hand off of him, rising to his feet.

"Dan, please."

Phil couldn't look at Dan. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, but something in him drew his eyes to Dan's face anyway. His brown eyes were wide and frightened; Phil imagined he would be like this. Phil had never denied Dan's comforting before, though the occurrence was scarce. Phil also understood that his behavior was extremely uncharacteristic of him; he couldn't exactly reprimand Dan for being immediately startled.

"What happened?"

Phil closed his eyes and paced back and forth. Dan sounded too sad, but it was too late to abandon ship. Dan was already worried; he wouldn't stop prying until he figured out what was wrong. It would be better for Phil to just say it.

But it just wasn't that easy.

Phil gathered the courage to turn to Dan again, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the abrupt anger on Dan's face kept him quiet. The brown-haired man's eyebrows were quirked and his voice was suddenly harsh as he said, "Did someone hurt you? Who hurt you?"

Before Phil could answer, Dan was on his feet with a flushed face. "Tell me who it was; I will fuck them over so bad they won't know what hit them -"

"Dan, nobody hurt me -"

Dan shook his head in frustration. "Phil, I know you're nice and I know you're trying to protect whoever the asshole is, but you don't have to -"

Phil grabbed Dan's shoulders and looked up at him. He could almost smile at how the tables had turned since 2009. "Dan, nobody hurt me. I swear."

Dan looked suspicious. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Dan let out a sigh of relief. "Then what the hell happened?"

Phil led Dan to the sofa and pushed him down softly. "You'll want to sit."

Dan looked up at him, his eyes wide, innocent, and waiting. "Okay, and I'll want to sit for?" The moment was tender, fragile; Phil understood why Dan needed to be even slightly sarcastic, so he let him cope.

"Dan, I, um. . . . God, this was much easier when I was saying it to my mirror. . . ." Phil ran a hand down his face. Rip it off. Like a bandage. "Dan, I'm moving out."

Something exploded. Neither Dan nor Phil knew what it was, but there was some sort of eruption. If the explosion were to have been brought to life, it would have shaken the whole house, blown the front door off it's hinges, and caused a devastating casualty rate. Nobody spoke for a few minutes.

"No, you're not."

Phil looked up. Dan was pale and his eyes were curiously wet, but his lips were set stubbornly.

"Dan, I am."

"You can't be."

"Why not?"

Dan ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in peculiar places. "Because we said we'd always live together."

Phil groaned and leaned back. He knew Dan would answer that way; of course Dan answered that way. To be honest, if Phil was in Dan's position, he'd probably say the same exact thing. But, luckily, Phil had actually prepared for that reaction, so he said, "Yes, Dan, but I'm nearly thirty. I need to settle down, and if we can't -" his voice trailed off and he looked away. He hadn't actually planned on saying that. . . .

"If we can't what?"

"I've always wanted to live with my . . . someone, you know? I've always wanted that, Dan, and we're apparently not . . . it."

Dan's eyebrows set. "What exactly does it mean?"

"Well, we used to be it," Phil said, looking away. He felt a smile on his lips. They had had some good times together, but that was so long ago. "We really used to be it. But we can't anymore. Remember?"

Dan shifted himself to face Phil more directly. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean by 'it' Phil; you forget that your mind is about five times as abstract as mine. You're making a leap again."

Phil looked over at Dan and smiled. Phil wasn't happy. He felt no joy at all, but just the words that left Dan's mouth made him feel so loved. "You and I . . . a long time ago. . . ." Phil's voice trailed off. "We were it, Dan. You were everything. You. . . ." Phil sighed; his breath was labored, but he never cried. He had never cried in front of Dan before, and he wasn't going to start now. "You still are everything. But we can't, remember?"

Dan was silent for a moment. Phil saw him processing his words, slowly, but something about what Phil said wasn't resonating. Phil could see it in Dan's face. "I think I understand what you mean by it now."

Phil nodded.

"And I understand what you mean by 'everything' now, too."

Phil nodded again.

"But . . . why can't we?"

"Because . . . last time -"

Dan shook his head. "Last time was last time, Phil. It's been years."

Phil shook his head. "Right. It's been years."

"So why can't we be it anymore?"

"Because you didn't want to, and you don't want to, and because I messed up, and then everything was a disaster, and you were sad all the time -"

"But I'm not sad all the time anymore."

"Yeah, but I don't want it to happen again -"

"So that means you have to move out?"

Phil looked over at Dan and Dan was smiling slightly, and Phil didn't understand why, because everything was sad. They were departing, going their separate ways; Dan wasn't supposed to be happy.

"Yes; we're not it anymore."

Dan shook his head and chuckled. "Phil, you keep saying that, but you're wrong. We can be it again."

"I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want it to be my fault."

Dan smiled and moved closer to Phil, reaching out for his hand and holding it gently. "Phil, it never was your fault. It was mine; I panicked; I was scared, and I should have gone to you, but I didn't."

Phil opened his mouth to speak, but Dan interrupted him. "And that wasn't your fault, either."

Phil looked down at their hands, their fingers slowly intertwining together and didn't say anything.

"Do you want to be it again?"

"I've always wanted to be it."

"Me, too."

Phil looked up, surprised. "Really?"

Dan smiled and leaned forward, ever so softly brushing his lips against Phil's. It lasted a measly second, and it was merely a ghost of a kiss, but the second their lips touched, a wonderful warmth spread throughout Phil's body.

When they separated, Dan smiled wide at Phil and pressed their foreheads together. The moment felt too fragile for words, but Phil always had the habit of speaking when he should probably remain silent.

"I almost forgot how nice that felt."

Dan laughed, his warm breath blowing on Phil's face. It made Phil smile. "I know."

"You know how we used to do that a lot?"

"Yeah?"

"Because I did it whenever I could," Phil said quietly. "Every time I got the chance."

Dan smiled. "I know. I let you. I liked it quite a lot."

Phil smiled. "Your eyes would go all wide, and you would smile into my lips like you were the happiest person in the world -"

"I was the happiest person in the world." Dan very briefly kissed Phil before leaning back and adding, "And I still am."

"I always liked making you happy."

"You always could."

"Good. That's my main goal, anyways."

Dan laughed and shook his head, his forehead rubbing against Phil's. "I almost forgot how flirty you are, Jesus Christ. You were the most disgustingly romantic boyfriend I ever had."

"You've had more than one boyfriend?"

Dan squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't ruin the moment, Phil."

"Oh, sorry."

Dan opened his eyes again and he just looked at Phil for a moment. "Is this why you've been so far away?"

Phil quirked his eyebrows. "Far away? I haven't left the apartment at all this week."

Dan smiled. "I mean far away as . . . like, you've been in your room a lot more recently, and you leave the dining table early." Dan let out a breath that was neither a sigh, nor yet a normal exhale. "You've been looking at me quite a lot more than you normally do."

Phil blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. I've been slightly worried for a while, but nothing too bad happened yet. I figured if it lasted for too long, either you would tell me, or I would just have to ask you what's wrong so many times that you'd eventually relent."

Phil's smile, which had increased the more Dan spoke, suddenly fell. He sighed, almost angrily, and said, "You . . . you just. . . ."

"I just what?"

"You're just so. . . ." Phil made a noise of frustration. "I don't even know. You're just so . . . Dan."

Dan smirked. "I'm just so . . . Dan?"

"That's not what I meant, but it's not altogether inaccurate."

Dan laughed. "You ran out of romance, didn't you?"

Phil blushed. "I can't ever run out of romance. But it is possible for me to be at a loss for words, and you're usually the one to cause that problem."

Dan smiled softly. "I'm glad I could be here to confuse you."

"You don't . . . actually, yeah, you do."

"Wait, do I actually?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Phil shrugged halfheartedly. "You just do. I've never met anyone like you before. You're anana . . . ananenigma . . . an enigma. Wow, that was hard to say."

Dan laughed again. "How am I anaenigma? Ananaenigma?" Dan huffed. "An enigma. Jesus Christ, that was hard to say."

"I know!"

"How exactly am I an enigma, Phil? Tell me, romance boy."

The raven-haired man blushed. He usually thought of the sickly sweet romantic-type-stuff as he was trying to go to sleep. He was surprisingly more organized than people gave him credit for; he would plan entire conversations in his head and when the timing proved right, he would confidently leak romance from his mouth. He was pretty sure Dan liked it; Dan never told him to stop. Phil had never actually improvised romance before, but he was feeling quite happy - quite, quite happy - and that was enabling him to scavenge for little quips and compliments that he didn't know were inside of him.

He sighed. "Before you and I met in real life, I did this little fortune-telling-thing in one of my videos that was meant to predict what would happen to me in 2009."

"I remember that," Dan said. "I used to watch that video on a constant loop. I used to be able to recite it. I think I still might, if I gave it a try."

Phil blinked. "Why did you watch it so much?"

"Well, because it had you in it for one, but also because the predicted person was quite like me."

Phil grinned. "That was just what I was about to say. I didn't expect the stupid fortune-telling-thing to work. You and I were . . . God, Dan, you better not make fun of me for this, because I'm serious. . . ."

Dan's features fell solemn. "I wouldn't. I promise. Now isn't the time."

Phil smiled gratefully. "You and I, as it seems, were . . . ugh, I'm cringing at this and I haven't even said it out loud yet. . . . You and I were destined to be together." Phil winced, a rosy-red blush painting his cheeks so bright he could feel the heat radiating off of them. His insides were churning with regret. "That was painful."

"Don't worry," Dan said softly, with a kind smile. "I understand. It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Dan paused, before his eyebrows furled and he said, "But, wait, how exactly does that make me an enigma?"

"Nobody can understand destiny, Dan," Phil said immediately. Dan blinked at Phil, startled by his abrupt wisdom and solemnity. Phil continued obliviously. "You and I are different people - extremely different, basically polar opposites. But, at the same time, we're the same person, you know? We both like the same things, which, yeah, makes things easier, but it makes things almost . . . almost too easy, you know?"

Dan nodded slowly. "Yes?"

"You're one of the weirdest people I've ever met, Dan."

"I don't know, you might be weirder -"

"I don't count."

"Ah."

Phil shook his head slightly. "But, Dan, I mean it. You are so strange, it's almost difficult to look away from you sometimes. I don't . . . I don't understand you."

Dan sighed, glancing down at their intertwined fingers. He stroked the back of Phil's hand with his thumb. "I don't think it's me that you misunderstand. I think you're confused because you don't understand us."

"That is also true."

"Phil," Dan said slowly, "I'm beginning to. . . . I know exactly what you mean by it, now. You never really explained it - at all - but the more I hold your hand, the more I get it. Everybody's got an it. Like a . . . like a soul mate; that's what you meant, right?" When Phil nodded, Dan continued speaking, almost as if he didn't realize he was verbalizing his thoughts. "Most people never find them, so they spend their life floating through unsuccessful relationship after unsuccessful relationship until they settle on a person that's just a bit better than the rest, and then they inevitably get bored with their boring life, and then they eventually die. But with you there's never a dull moment. Never. You're my it."

Phil grinned. "Well, Dan, I'm glad I could exist to amuse you."

Dan smiled. "Amusing me is like second nature to you."

Phil lowered his eyebrows, and his eyes got that special loving sparkle that Dan used to gaze into for as long as possible until one of them had responsibilities, or something equally horrendous, to tend to. "Well, good. That's what I was going for. Amusement."

Dan mimicked Phil's expression and said, "You did more than amuse, Phil."

"Oh, yeah? What else did I do? Bear?"

Dan shivered. He had almost forgotten about that nickname. Apparently Phil hadn't. "Well, pleasure wasn't uncommon, per se -"

Phil's hand instinctively squeezed Dan's hand and he said, "Pleasure, huh? That's also what I was going for."

Dan and Phil simply gazed at each other for a few seconds, neither speaking. Their eyes were doing all the talking. That is, until Dan's smile grew wicked, and Phil almost flinched because whenever Dan smiled like that, something strange, dangerous, or typically painfully exciting always happened. "I'm feeling quite a lot of sexual tension at the moment."

Phil grinned. "Oh, really?"

Dan shifted himself so he was straddling Phil's lap and said, "Mm, we should do something about that."

Phil's hands clasped around Dan's waist as Dan wrapped his arms around Phil's neck. "And what do you propose?"

"Sex."

Phil laughed. "You were always the most blunt of the boyfriends I had."

Dan leaned so far in, their noses were almost pressed against each other's. He said huskily, "Weren't you thinking it, too?"

Phil tightened his grip on Dan and said, "Might've crossed my mind."

"My room or yours?"

"It's up to you, bear."

"You must've forgotten, daddy, it's whatever you want."

Phil blushed. Dan always had a thing for being bottom, and Phil would be a . . . moderate-to-severe liar if he said that he merely humored Dan's fetish. "Mine it is."

"Jesus Christ, Phil," Dan gasped an hour later, collapsing on the side of Phil.

"I know," Phil answered through gulps of air.

"Damn, you got . . . better."

Phil turned to look him with a small scowl. Dan was slightly further away from him than Phil would have liked, but they were still making much more physical contact than any two people could ever hope to be, so he supposed that was alright. They did need some oxygen that didn't also carry an unwarranted amount of heat. Dan's compliment was clearly backhanded, and Phil was all too aware of Dan's talent of hiding insults and/or criticism within seemingly harmless compliments. He was practically infamous for it. "Hey! I was good before. . . . Right?"

Dan laughed, (which came out more like a pant than anything else), patted Phil's arm, and said, "You were always amazing, Phil. The best I ever had. By far. Fuck, Phil, by far, you have no idea. But . . . I don't know, you've somehow gotten even . . . better."

"Really?" Phil asked curiously.

Dan rolled closer and pressed his cheek into Phil's neck. "Yes."

Phil had an arm around Dan, and Dan was laying with his arm stretched out over Phil's chest. Their legs and the bed sheets were just a mess of tangles, and the two men were so tired and content that they didn't feel the need to distinguish limbs from comforters. Either way, the heat was unbearable.

The two were silent for a moment before Dan said, "Hey, Phil?"

"Yeah, bear?"

Dan sighed happily. "I'm just going to say this, okay? And if you remember anything from when we were together before, you'll know this doesn't come out often."

"Okay. . . ."

"I fucking love you, Phil."

Phil chuckled and rubbed circles into Dan's waist with his thumb. "I fucking love you, too."

Dan broke free from Phil's grasp and sat bolt upright. "You just swore!"

Phil sat up as well, reclining back on his elbows and watching Dan contentedly. "Sex does that to me."

Dan laughed. "Oh my God, I remember that! You're more obscene than I am afterwards!"

"I'm not sure that's true -"

"It's hot in here."

Phil looked at Dan for a moment before laughing. "No, I think that's just you."

Dan laughed, crawling forward, and curling back against Phil's body. "Wow, Phil, back at it again with the cheesy pick-up lines. You don't have to torture me with them; it's already worked."

Once the two were settled again, Phil opened his mouth to speak, but Dan interrupted him. "I know what you're about to say, and I just want you to know that I will leave this room if the words leave your mouth."

Phil laughed. "What was I going to say?"

"I'm not even going to say it out loud."

"Why not?"

"Because then I'll feel like punching myself in the face, and that is not an attractive thing to do after reconciling with your years-ex-boyfriend."

Phil smirked. "I'm gonna say it eventually, whether it's right now, tomorrow, next week, or next month. I have to. It's my duty as your it -"

"Okay, Phil," Dan said with an exaggerated sigh, "go for it."

"Looks like Dan IS on fire!"

Phil laughed way too loudly for the time of morning, his chest rumbling, and Dan couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

"Got it out of your system?"

Phil let out a happy sigh and said, "For now."

"Good, because if this is what the rest of my life has in store for me, I won't hesitate to ask God for a refund."

"Well, I do put the fun in refund."

Dan groaned, turning his head so that his forehead was pressed into Phil's neck. "Oh my God, please don't; it's too early in the morning for that."

Phil laughed and kissed the top of Dan's head. "This was fun. We should do it again sometime."

Dan's grip on Phil tightened and he burrowed as close to the older man as was humanly possible. In a small voice, Dan said, "I'll be damned if we don't."