A/N: Friendly reminder that it's left ambiguous whether Phil is an alien or has Asperger's.

I swear I'm like one of five people who just writes them as best friends.


Phil you in

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Don't let this author make jokes


Phil had always had a strange turn in life.

From his first word being 'light', to his bouts of varying hair cuts, people always reacted strongly to his quirky personality. He had friends, and buddies, and pals throughout school, but he also dealt with bullies, often enough.

Which, honestly, his brother Martyn would be quick to point out that there's nothing abnormal with that.

But Phil, he always knew there was more to it than that. His string of coincidences was enough to tangle in his mind as being more than that - and it solidified when he became friends with Dan.

An odd meeting, that; Dan had been the one to really reach out, commenting on his Twitter posts, stretching to inquiries and kind words. Phil had at first been confused by this, but something, some deep sense, had urged him to reach his own hand out, pulling them towards one another.

They met, and hung out, and became friends, their own nervousness fizzing when they realized how much of a dork the other was, and how they clicked so well. Phil had had a brother, and friends. But never a best friend.

And when Phil had been looking for a new place to live, courage had made him bold enough to invite Dan along with him.

And Dan had accepted.

And that was the beginning.


Phil figured it out pretty early on.

That there was something different about Dan.

But he didn't push about it; after all, Dan had confided in him about his depression (he would have had to mention it sooner or later, since they lived together. And the fact that Dan took antidepressants, well, he didn't want to hide it.) So Phil trusted that he would talk about it when he was ready to.

But he noticed things, things that couldn't be simply explained by chemical imbalance and introversion. Maybe because Phil knew he wasn't normal, too, but he noticed.

Dan always stuck close in crowds, brushed against Phil or held his arm to drag him along. He was tense when Phil left, he could see it on Skype calls and hear it through the phone and text.

Phil had always had too much empathy - he felt things off other people too strongly, amping up his own emotions. But this - this was a whole other level.

It was like a gentle breeze ruffling his hair; the thoughts running on soft murmured words that he couldn't quite catch. There was a sync, a balance. And whenever he even began to allude to such a thing, Dan would tense, muttering an excuse.

So Phil waited. And noticed. And lived.

And when Dan told him - "I'm something called a Dismalen, I'm not even human" - Phil didn't dismiss him, or call him crazy, or any such thing.

He merely said, "Okay. So what does this mean - how can I help? Do you want to change anything?"

Life flowed normally after that, maybe a little easier. Phil understood, to a degree, what being Dismalen meant, and he was more than fine with it.

(It was actually really cool, that his best friend was partially alien, but he didn't make a big deal out of it for Dan's sake.)

The true test of Phil's secret-keeping test began when they moved away from London, and into an appartment with two strangers.

But Mark and Jack were nice enough, and both Brits grew at ease with them. There were jokes, and banter, and food, and friendship, and-

And life flowed once more.

And Phil continued to observe.

Jack was more energetic sometimes than others, and crashed for too long.

Mark's eyes gazed at things that Phil couldn't see.

Blue eyes appeared green sometimes.

American accent slipping into something different, and warbled at times.

Hidden conversations behind bedroom doors when no one was home, or too late at night.

Mark didn't have his phone that one time.

Jack spoke in a voice too hushed.

Phil kept these things to himself; and if Dan noticed, he never mentioned it to Phil. But Phil respected these people, his friends, and when they were ready, they could tell him. He cared more about keeping these strings woven together - even if by his silliness, his silence, his blatant behavior, or his own actions. After all,

"Phil? Is that another bloody houseplant?!"

"Aw, it's a tree, and his name is Loki."

"Where are we going to fit a tree? We don't have a patio!"

"Wait, Mark; there's tha' ledge outside the window. It can fit there."

"Oh my god Phil, you have a problem."

He didn't hold back his smile, nor biting his tongue.

he had his own little quirks and secrets, that he kept to himself.