When I got back to the apartment it was around eleven. I'd gone to see Peej and we talked and now I was feeling a bit better because he generally a really really nice guy (and of course super creative). I walked in a little apprehensively.
I decided to go straight to bed, but the second I entered my room I remembered that I'd left Totoro in Dan's room, and I liked having it there when I slept, so I went to get it, praying to God that Dan was asleep.
Well.
He was asleep.
Except he was cuddling Totoro.
Great.
So I went to bed without it. Because, I mean, there's not sleeping well... and then there's waking up your best friend who you were shouting at a few hours ago who is now cuddled up to your plushie that is soaked in tears.
The next morning I got up first. I made myself a bowl of cereal and went to sit on the sofa. I picked up my laptop and browsed Tumblr until I heard Dan opening his bedroom door. He didn't come into the living room straight away. First he went to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. He proffered one to me. I took it, and just looked at him for a moment. He was, quite frankly, a mess (a very cute mess, my brain said). His curls were brushed into a fringe but they were fluffy and there were tiny ringletty wisps sticking to his face. His eyes were puffy and red, but shining with their beautiful hazel fire, and his lips were trembling, but they were slightly parted and I started wondering what it would feel like to kiss them. He was clutching a somewhat crumpled Totoro to his chest and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. "Hey," he said quietly.
My heart was melting at the sight of him. I had been in love with him for so many years and it was just getting harder. He had cried onto my shoulder. He had hugged me for comfort. He had called me beautiful (even if he was joking sometimes). He had flirted with me so much when he'd got a little drunk. But we weren't a thing. Of course not. Why the hell would he love me?
And here he was.
Being so bloody wonderful.
Even if he had said such horrible things.
"Hey," I replied.
We stared at each other for what felt like many excruciating years.
Suddenly he burst into fresh tears. "Phil I'm so sorry! I'm a terrible terrible person! You probably hate me now! You should hate me! I'm so horrible!" He looked like he was about to run away, he was shaking violently with tears and he looked scared. Why was he scared of me?

Dan's POV

I was just so scared that he did hate me.

Phil's POV

"Of course I don't hate you Dan!"
"You... you don't?"
"No!"
I pulled him into a hug and I could hear him mumbling that I should do and that he had been so horrible and that he was so worried last night that I wasn't going to come back. I shushed him and just whispered in his ear that I could never hate him and that I would never leave. I could feel him smiling into my shoulder.
After a few minutes he pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Me too."

Dan's POV

We spent the rest of the day having a 'Dan and Phil shared pity party apology comfort' kind of day and it was so nice. We made pancakes even though Phil had already eaten half a bowl of cereal, and then we watched some Buffy, and later we went out, got some coffee and wandered around London for a bit, and then we came back, grabbed some popcorn and put on a movie. I was being a little clingy and I was pretty sure Phil had noticed. I couldn't really help it. I just kept remembering how late it had got last night and how my brain had been saying that maybe he wasn't ever coming home (which probably seems stupid but I wasn't thinking straight). Every time the thought came into my head I just had to touch him, to make sure that he really was back and that we really were OK again.
We went to bed late.
I couldn't sleep.
What if he'd left?
What if he'd just been humouring me today?
What if he thought I was pathetic for crying and touching him to check he was still there?
What if he did hate me?
I tried to block the thoughts out but they wouldn't go away.
After a few hours of desperately trying to sleep, I realised that I was going to have to go check that he was, indeed, still there.
I got out of bed, pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms and a random hoodie, and went and knocked on his door. He made a muffled noise from inside, and I opened the door and went in.
"Hey Dan? What do you want?" he asked sleepily.
I lowered my head, embarrassed. "I needed to make sure you hadn't left me," I said quietly, my cheeks turning crimson.
He chuckled slightly. He knew how my brain worked when we had fought, or if I was having nightmares. He had learnt about it when the lights broke in our old apartment and I had to keep touching his arm to know he hadn't been stolen away by some monster. "Okay," he replied simply, and he patted his bed. I came and sat down and immediately reached out for him. I felt so stupid when I did it. I was like some sort of toddler who hid their face in their mother's chest when the bad guy's part came on in a film. "Look," he said, "Do you want to stay here for tonight?"
My heart started beating a little faster. I knew straight away it was probably a bad idea. I didn't think I could cope with sharing a bed with a shirtless Phil when I was in love with him. However, there was no way I was going to sleep otherwise. So I said okay, he lifted the covers and I got in.
Of course we'd shared a bed before. Admittedly the last few times it had become increasingly difficult not to tell him how I felt when I was in such close proximity to him.