Later in his life, he'll often look back at this moment fondly. When he can barely see anymore and his arthritis is playing up again; that's when he'll sit back into the comfortable armchair, cup of tea in tow, and just- remember.
Perhaps the most marvelous thing to remember is just how oblivious they both were. Not to the fact that they had a wonderful friendship, they relished in that every day of their lives together. Nor was it the special day, Dan's birthday, for that was definitely at the forefront of both of their minds.
Phil was planning a surprise birthday and attempting to maintain an outgoing flow of text to family and friends, while making Dan's birthday morning as delightful as possible. Dan, for his part, knew that something was up. And he also knew that Phil would never relent on the secret, but despite this he was doing his best to guess what it was, to no avail.
No- the most marvelous thing is that, at that point, neither of them realizes that by the next day, their lives will have changed forever. Dan won't just be one day older, Phil won't just be grateful that the entire party ran smoothly (although they did have to get PJ to escort Chris home after he dared himself to eat the entire bucket of gummy bears).
There comes a point between two people, but not always, when they finally understand where they belong. This only happens sometimes, mind you, and there are many lonely souls who have wasted their lives away, waiting for the right person to come, for that moment of blissful understanding that they finally have someone to whom they belong.
If, back in his comfy armchair, he tries really hard, he can remember the exact moment, the instant of understanding. It was nothing really, one hand reaching out below the green tablecloth to squeeze the other. A gesture of presence, I'm here, I've got you, I love you.
There are so many misunderstandings in this world, so many lost messages; it's good to know that sometimes, the meaning is perfectly clear.
Of course, it's not until later, when the people are gone and the plates are (at least partially) cleared away, that the motion is consolidated. They stumble through and find the right words, or at the very least, they understand each other, they hold one another close, the infinite intimacy that has swiftly unraveled both terrifying and exhilarating.
And of course, this is no perfect world. One moment of heaven will not preclude a few trips to hell along the way- if anything, passion and animosity only grow more meticulously tangled the fiercer they become. They scream, they cry, their precious world tumbles down around their ankles.
But then, one nervous, sorry hand reaches through the rubble. The thumb brushes along cautiously, almost anticipating rejection, but then it is seized in the clutch of one who grasps where they belong, and together, they are inevitably united once more.
Sometimes I watch him, sitting there in his armchair, reminiscing, and I wonder if it's worth it? Does the pain, the agonizing solitude, merit those moments they had together, or is our craving for companionship so driven into our very essence, that even the most logical creature succumbs to it's gnarled and twisted grip eventually. It's times like these that he'll notice me there, that he'll actually reply. With a wheeze, he sits up, the eyes of a younger man shining brightly behind the heavy lids. You can almost see him reliving every moment, the good, the bad, the whirlwind adventures and the lazy afternoons, their farewells and reunions, their secrets and their accomplishments- their love adorns his view, and I can almost understand why he would prefer to be blind to anything else presented before him now. He turns to me, pulling a hand through his hair, and smiles.
"Of course it was worth it, every single moment."