Title: We'll soon be out on the boulevards
Summary: In which Dan asks for a couple of days off from being him and Phil tries to give that to him. (Or, in which I tried so hard to come up with a better summary but just couldn't…)
Disclaimer: Title borrowed from the song Paris 2004 by Peter Bjorn and John. This is entirely fictional.
A/N: Written while pretentiously drinking wine and planning my trip to Paris next week. Inspired by this brilliant short movie from Paris, je t'aime and that time when my friend and I spent hours being semi-lost at Père Lachaise and I fell completely and utterly in love with the city.
When Phil is woken up by a distant thud, his mind generously provides him with countless horrible explanations as to what caused the sound before logic kicks in and stills his ragged breath. The bed is vacant and the lack of someone else's body heat apparent and it reminds him that it's one of those nights. He only briefly plays with the thought of letting sleep win him over again before he leaves the warmth of the bed and pads up the stairs with a body that feels as if it weights twice as much as he's used to. Exploring their apartment at 3 am with a sleep-ridden body is the opposite of being an astronaut floating around in space, he thinks for a moment; gravity somehow has you rooted harder than ever to the ground. He thinks maybe that's why nights are always such a critical time for Dan.
The origin of the sound presents itself in the form of Dan with his head resting on the keyboard of their work computer, his forehead putting a never-ending string of letters in the caption box of the scene he's editing – or rather has given up editing – as he occasionally lifts his head just above the keys only to let it drop down again dejectedly. Phil's unsure if Dan really doesn't hear him or if he just doesn't acknowledge his presence, because it's not until he's sat down next to him and quietly asks "What's up?" that he gets any kind of reaction out of the other. It would perhaps be an insensitive wording if it weren't for the mere fact that Phil was sitting right there next to him, despite being ruthlessly woken up at 3 am by the sound of someone banging their head against a keyboard.
"It's not coming together, that's what's up." comes the muffled answer eventually.
"It might do in the morning. We could sort it out together, if you wanted to."
"Said it would be up tonight."
It would be easy to tell Dan that if he didn't insist on throwing out promises and time limitations to anyone who asked for them, then perhaps he wouldn't be devoured by frustration and self-criticism right now, but at the same time it's the absolute last thing Dan needs so Phil saves that speech for another day, maybe.
"What can I do?" he instead asks. Dan doesn't realise how literal the question is; he doesn't comprehend how Phil would build a rocket and take Dan to space for him to experience the weightlessness if that's something that would make him break a smile. But he would, nonetheless. While Dan seems to think about the answer Phil's fingers travel the shirt clad back of Dan's, tracing every feature and every prominence. Over the years they've been together the features has transformed, all sharp angles and the angular shapes of a teenager has softened into something more mature. Dan's no longer the boy he was when they first met, but Phil has made it a point to relearn his body, his ways, his everything, with every change he's gone through. And right now, at this point, he's able to play Dan like an instrument; he plays Dan like Dan plays the piano. Confidently, passionately, intensely.
"Can you make me someone else for a while? Like, just a day or two away from being me. That'd be great."
"Away from being Dan Howell or Danisnotonfire?"
"Either. Both? Is there really a difference anymore?"
"Yes. For starters, I'm quite fond of this Dan Howell guy, wouldn't want to trade him for just about anything."
"Couple days off from being Danisnotonfire then, please."
"I'll see what I can do." Phil mumbles quietly, chin now resting on Dan's slumped down shoulders. It'll take some more coaxing to get Dan to leave the unfinished video and crawl into bed with him, but he will. Eventually. It will take Phil much longer to come up with a way to somewhat carry out Dan's wishes, but he will. Eventually.
"We're in the city of love, hiding away from the world, and you drag me to a cemetery!? We have those in London too, in case you've failed to notice."
Phil's voice is filled with disbelief and seasoned with just a hint of annoyance as he trods half a step behind Dan over the damp paving-stones.
"Not just any cemetery, Phil. Chopin. Edith Piaf. Oscar Wilde. Besides, look how beautiful it is!"
"We could have dinner at a genuine Parisian restaurant right now. You need to learn a thing or two about romance."
"We could always try to find Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre's graves. They never got to marry, but they're buried together now. Together in death. How's that for romance?"
"Still lacking." Phil mutters, and draws an amused smile from Dan's lips. He falls back slightly, allowing them to walk side by side as they make another turn that Dan is sure is the right one, but Phil slightly doubts that after the numerous wrong ones in the search of Wilde's last resting place. Their hands brushing together with every step isn't quite holding hands, but it's a lot more than they usually get in the busy streets of London and they both savour the moment despite the bickering.
"Didn't we say we were going to stay away from the touristy romantic to do's?" Dan asks. And he's right, they did, but it won't stop them from kissing under the Eiffel tower glittering with lights way past midnight, with their hoods up and hiding in the shadows where they feel almost safe, before they go home. The tiny risk of still being found out only serving as an edge to it all.
"Besides, as much as I love your adorably nerdy little folder of things to do, this is nice. Spontaneity and all."
Phil just snort at that. Though he'd unwillingly admit to some of the best things in his life being results of spontaneity, he takes great comfort and joy in trying to sort his way through life, quite literally.
Another thing he'd unwillingly admit is that the cemetery undoubtedly is beautiful. The mausoleums that are art in themselves, the stone angels, the paving-stones, the trees; it's all beautiful in an oddly morbid way. And it may be peaceful now, and Phil may be a logical person who doesn't particularly believe in the occult, but he wouldn't want to still be here when the darkness falls. In short, it's very much Dan. Still, when they embark on the third hour and are undoubtedly lost despite Dan's stubborn assurances that they're not and are in fact "almost there now" the beauty has started to fade for Phil. As has his patience.
"This is ridiculous. It's raining."
"I've noticed." is all he's getting.
"Your hair's all curly. How does that not bother you?"
Dan rakes his hand through the curly, damp mess that is his hair, a smirk that's half way amused, half way exasperated.
"I always got the impression you loved my curly hair?"
"I do."
"Then we're all happy. I love Paris in the rain."
That's the moment when Dan looks between his map and the surroundings once again, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion before realisation hits him. And when it does, it's with laughter. It bubbles out of him, like it can't be stopped, and Phil stands in confusion, wondering if any of the thousand and thousand of graves are indeed haunted and have now possessed his boyfriend. Between laughter he catches a few fragments of sentences from Dan; "walked for hours for this" and "the fucking irony" being two that stands out. When he managed to piece it all together, any effort to keep moping is in vain, because hidden away behind plastic and fences is what they've been searching for all along. Phil doesn't need to know any French to understand the meaning of the big sign; closed for restoration. Suddenly Phil doesn't mind the drizzle, how his feet hurt or what plan they'll have to sacrifice due to this expedition, because they're in Paris, hiding away from the world and the absurd image of Dan throwing his head back laughing, small droplets of rain in his hair and on his cheeks, in the middle of a cemetery is the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. When Dan goes in for a kiss Phil's warning look has lost any edge, if it had one to begin with, because he knows as well as Dan that the cemetery is well over 100 acres big, that the weather doesn't invite people to take a stroll and in fact they haven't met another living soul in at least ten minutes. They're in Paris, and they're sharing open mouthed, lazy kisses because they can. Because they're Dan and Phil here; no internet aliases and no pretences to uphold.
"This has to be morally wrong on some level." Phil manages to get out in between kisses. He can practically feel Dan's smile.
"I think Wilde would appreciate how times have changed since he was around."
They're in Paris, and Phil has finally succeeded because it ends up being three days where it's almost like it used to be when things were new and easy.