"Can I come on camera?" The child asked, his little blue eyes drifting away from the coloured blocks for a second.
Dan stared down the lens of the camera, his hands running through his hair over and over again, his knees balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. The one that was 'Phil's' bed. Although it had never really been 'Phil's' bed. It had been inhabited by many people. On many different nights. Friends, who needed a place to stay, their tired limbs curling into the pressed sheets. Dan's parents on their visits from Wokingham, or Phil's from Rossendale. Sometimes Phil on the nights when they fought. Which was rarely. Most recently it was inhabited by Phil's brother and his girlfriend on their stay last week, their mark left by the slight crack in the wall where he had dropped his suitcase. Dan was already planning how to hide it from the house owner. Mark's toothbrush was still in their bathroom, brushing against Dan's like a girl with a crush. He had a habit of leaving things behind. And a habit of being unreasonably upbeat about it.
Right now, though, the sheets were firm and crisp, tucked up under the pillow, blaring out in the same garish blue and green as the day they were put on. The one that was 'for show', the one for okay Zach daddy's making a video now. The ones that were not to be made out on. There were strict rules. Which had been broken many times. But that was beside the point.
Sometimes Dan came to look at this room, 'Phil's' room and wondered how they could justify it. How they could justify a show room in their show house on their show street. Even his son's perfect curls looked as if they were on show. One day Zach would grow out of the small office room (in Dan's head it would always be an office, the ghosts of staplers and hole punchers long past seemed to linger on the windowsill) one day he would have to move into the show room, and become their show son. One day Phil would have to make his videos in Dan's room; the final step to the merging of danisnotonfire and amazingphil (which sounded to Dan like the title of a phanfic).
Sometimes Dan talked about the show room with a bitter tone which Phil could kiss away with his lips. But it was mostly a façade. Like the room. A façade.
Because Dan liked the room, he liked how all the objects were strategically placed to reflect Phil. How each object contained a little glowing orb 'Phil'. Or more his persona. But the lines were ever blurred (an expression which Robin Thicke had ruined for Dan) a line of chalk washed away by the rain (which was slightly more poetic than blatant sexism)
Dan liked that the room spoke of the man he had first seen on his screen. He liked that he could still see that man in glimmers in Phil and in the room, despite the added wrinkles and increased need for hair dye (although he didn't like that he was forced to obsessively tidy their room before he made a video, something the show room never needed)
Dan's eyes lingered on the small lion on the bedside table. Philisnotonfire. That was the best way to find the man behind the screen. The man who was smiling at him so fondly.
"Daddy? Can I come on camera?" Came the small voice again, accompanied by a tug on the trousers and a small thumb with a perfectly round nail (which Louise had to cut due to Dan and Phil's shared fear of slipping with the scissors). His curls bounced from his head like a waterfall. Sometimes Dan liked to pretend the curly hair came from him. Sometimes Dan liked to pretend they shared genes. It made his family seem more real somehow. The show couple with their show son in their show room in their show house on their show street. Genes didn't equate to family. Dan knew that. Somewhere.
Dan had always been one for feeling things deeply. And he hadn't believed that he could have felt anything more deeply that the love he felt for Phil. The sleep filled, hazy, gentle strokes against playful pushes and brightening emotion that toed the line between burning happiness and fear. Always on the bridge of falling. Of hitting the water. Of drowning.
And yet he had. He had two ropes formed by his heart. Two red strings that only grew more taunt with distance; that trailed a whole world of emotion. That made his skin glow despite the aching of his bones. Two bullets to jump in front of. Two guns.
"Sure, Buddy." He called, hoisting him up onto his hip before hitting the bed, letting Phil's hand curl around his back as he rested Zach on both of their knees.
The room of the boy behind the screen. The room of the man with wrinkles and a smile.
"Phil, are you trying to make this look like some sort of cheesy family advert?"
The voice of the sarcastic asshole. Whom Phil loved (despite the black clothes that coated his wardrobe)
"I was just trying to love you."
"Ew" Dan leaned in to kiss Phil only to be battered away by Zach's small, chubby hand.
"Daddies, work." He pointed to the camera.
"Right you are, little man."
Phil laughed, pointing his gaze towards the camera, a smile coming over him that wasn't quite the boy behind the screen and wasn't quite the man with the wrinkles either. It had a confidence that seeped from the corners of his chapped lips, it had a brightness in the eyes. It wasn't the lilting tilt of the lips that came right before a kiss, or the smile shot with a glance across a room. Nor was it the beaming smile that came with widening eyes when he looked upon Zach. Nor was it the hidden and slightly sexy smirk (Dan felt himself blush) of the man behind the screen. It was amazingphil, still slightly scorned from happiness, covered in a glitter of confidence. It made Dan want to curl his arm around Phil's waist on a cold morning in a bright park as they pushed Zach on a swing and their scarves intertwined. It made Dan want horribly domestic things that normally formed bile in his throat. It made Dan want a good mortgage and a steady job.
"Hi guys, I'm here with someone new today!" Phil joked, "It's Danisnotonfire, now I'm not sure if any of you will have heard of him, but you should check him out, he's very good." Phil moved his eyes up and down Dan's body (a glimpse of the boy behind the screen).
"Shut up!" Dan called, but a red was spreading through his cheeks, his love on show in his show room with his show husband and show son in their show house on the show street. The world was watching. The red light on the camera flashed. Quite literally. "You can't use that now you turnip"
"Sure I can."
Phil turned back to the camera. The smile was back.
"And this, is our son, zachisnot- a walrus?"
"Wow Phil well done."
"Keep an eye on him, he's up and coming."
"Sure Phil."
Phil pulled his phone, going through the tweets in the tag. His eyes widened at some of the questions. "Jesus Christ, there is a child here!"
"Come heal him!" Dan shouted, gesticulating widely, Phil's eyes catching briefly before widening into a laugh, a laugh which spun through the air, hooking onto the mouths of his nearest and dearest. Spiralling out of the throats of Dan and Zach. Filling the show house on the show street. Breathing life into the lingering dust. Breaking the mechanical rust. Like show robots come to life in some music video which boasted love will set you free, or a deep, intellectual indie film about the true meaning of life. Either or. All forms of art are equal (although some are more equal than others)
"Okay, here's one." Phil said. "Okay Zach, so, Lions or Llamas?"
The boy behind the screen shook hands with the man with the wrinkles. Both smiling like the sun.
"Zach does not understand the weight behind this question." Dan whispered into the camera.
The toddler seemed to pause, a look falling over his face like clouds over the sun, a small amount of fog. His head tilted and his eyes squinted. It was a big decision for a four year old. Then again, every decision is the biggest decision until the next one comes along.
Every spelling test is worthy of a heartbeat until the next one.
"Lions!" The small boy shouted.
"I disown you." Dan muttered, as Phil lifted him up into his arms, throwing him up into the air in a fashion that was both endearing and alarming. Phil had broken three mugs that week. Dan could almost see the blood.
Dan sometimes had to remember that their son wasn't made of china. Their show son in their show room. Children bump their heads, it's completely normal the soothing voice crackles down the phone, a layer of exasperation behind the kindness. It's midnight on a Tuesday. They're going to cut you off, Phil jokes and Dan laughs but secretly he worries.
"The whiskers!" Phil shouted, almost falling off the bed in the scramble. "We forgot the whiskers!" (His eyes are almost bigger than the moon during their nightly skype sessions)
He pulled open his drawer, pouring an impressive amount of sharpies onto the (previously nicely ironed) (admittedly not by them) quilt cover.
"Do me?" He said, holding the pen out to Dan.
"Our child is here."
"Shut the fu-flip up" Phil tossed the sharpie and Dan dropped it (like a champion).
"Okay! Zach's turn!"
"You cannot put sharpie on our four year old!"
"It totally comes off" Phil pouted, the uncapped pen dangling from his hand like a gun (and in Phil's hand it could do almost as much damage).
"From practice you know that's not true"
From practice Dan knew about weeks of nose kisses behind slanting blinds and a slightly grey nose that earned a little head tilt but didn't warrant explanation. From practice Dan knew of shared laughter and smiles behind tangled cords of headphones. From practice Dan knew of the scrubbing along Phil's cheekbones with a flannel (which was somehow always more sensual than it was intended to be). From practice Dan knew it didn't come off.
"Please, he'll love it," Phil pouted "Zach, do you want to be a cat?"
"Yay!"
"No, I am putting my foot down."
Now Dan had too pouting boys. And a camera which was still rolling.
At some point Zach grew bored, wriggling from Dan's knee as if shedding a skin. Clearly the camera had lost its appeal, like all things seemed to. Sometimes Dan felt bad for Zach's abandoned toys (before remembering they are inanimate objects and toy story is not real). Dan could hear the squeaking of his rocking horse already. Alongside the clattering of toys poured from the box (secretly Dan worried)
"Right so now with the child gone we can get on to all the really disturbing questions you really want to hear" Dan smirked with a wink.
"Nope, still my channel."
"The people want what the people want."
"Half of the people just want a video of us kissing for ten minutes."
"Happy to oblige."
"Shut up" Phil laughed and Dan leaned forward to kiss him, letting his mouth press him against the bed post ever so slightly, the post pushing against Phil's spine.
"You and your fan service loving ways."
"What the people want the people get."
"The people aren't getting this." Phil laughed.
"Just for us, then?"
"Shut up."
Emotion bled into the show room, trickling over the sheets like a river, forming little tracks like arteries, sowing itself into the stitches of the sheets.
The show room in the show house on the show street. Brittle against the reality of their family. Broken from their hard cast boundaries, their real family tearing through the threads. Three bottles of emotion in their show room. Three real hearts in their show house.
The show room in the show house on the show street.
Hope you enjoyed, this was originally written for a prompt that I recieved on tumblr, and so it was hard to complete, but I tried my best. Thanks for reading, and please review!