"Phil, I think we should stop being friends with benefits."

Phil knew he was fucked, when he realized he had been talking about his dream house, like a stereotypical 50s wanna-be-housewife.

And he was fucked, big time.

-/-

Phil had always been a really happy kid. He loved playing hide and seek with his friends on school breaks, and he loved dressing up to play his part in plays, and he loved to help his mum with the cooking at home. He was a happy kid, for most of his childhood.

And then, the teenage years came, and without the faintest of warnings, he wasn't all that happy anymore. He still had friends he hanged out with day to day. He still cooked dinner once in a while. He still smiled when he faced the people in his life every day. But it didn't really reach his eyes. And he could not, for the life of him, explain why.

He had all he wanted. Well, maybe not all he wanted, he wasn't some kind of prince, but he certainly had all he needed, all the components that were necessary for a person to be satisfied, to be happy. And yet he wasn't, and that made him feel so fucking guilty, because he knew that many people had it a lot worse than him.

This looming sadness, this melancholy that after some time became a constant in his life seemed to fade a little bit when he started getting to know Dan. It didn't disappear, mind you, but at times when he had those long conversations with him about their hopes and dreams, or when they played Mario Kart on his couch, he momentarily seemed to somehow forget to be sad. And after their little arrangement was established, those blissful, forgetful moments seemed to multiply and his life seemed to finally make a little more sense.

When they first met, he never thought that this awkward and yet so captivating boy could ever settle for an intimate relationship with him. Dan had this aura about him, that just radiated confidence and charisma, even when he didn't feel all that charming. He was the nerdy kind of cute Phil was just so attracted to, and he didn't even realize the effect he had on him. And then Phil just straight up kissed him while they were playing some console game and things kind of went on from there. But when he asked Dan what their relationship was going to be, he just brushed it off and said that they were young and free and they shouldn't burden themselves with unnecessary labels that were designed merely for society's sake. And Phil said "Sure, that's what I had in mind anyway."

You know. Like a fucking liar.

At first he didn't quite get why they had to keep their thing casual, why they had to guard it like it was this dirty little secret that no one could ever know about, or at least confirm that was true. He didn't understand why it had to be a thing, why it couldn't be a relationship, a romantic partnership, an official bond. The concept of "living while they're young and free" made no sense to him. What was so wrong with labels, anyway? But Dan seemed pretty adamant about it, and he didn't want to push his luck, especially when he had just started to actually enjoy life again. So he rolled with it, and he refrained from using titles that might give away the fantasies he had formed about them in his head, and he did everything he could to ensure that, whatever happened, Dan would be a constant in his life. A constant that would rival the sadness that threatened him every day.

After spending some more months with the boy, Phil concluded that the reason behind Dan's secrecy was this bizarre allergy he had to commitment, this aversion he had towards emotions that are stronger than anger and sadness. And he realized that, if he wanted to keep him around, he couldn't scare him away with his feelings, he couldn't show him all the things he had envisioned about their life together, beyond the casual sex and the stolen make out sessions, and it killed him.

It killed him because he hated keeping things from him, because he hated the uncertainty that surrounded their affair, because he hated living in fear of his feelings being found out and being left by the man he was so obviously and desperately fallen in love with at some point, years back.

But Dan was his lifeline, and if he was to be killed by the love of his life, then so be it; he would take it with grace. Because he couldn't lose him, not when he was the one thing that was holding him together. Not when, even unknowingly, he was the one that helped him put one foot after another every day. He refused.

And right now, hearing the words he was so afraid of for so long, he can feel his heart shattering into tiny, atom-sized pieces, that only one person can piece back together.

And boy, does it feel fucking crashing.

"And how did you come to think that, exactly?"

Phil really is trying to sound casual, but he has an inkling that his voice has come out sounding more squeaky than normal, and that his eyes might have a tad more panic in them than usual. His palms suddenly feel sweaty and he can hear the fast pace of his heart, pounding through his rib cage.

He knows that that is simultaneously the best and worst time to panic. The best, because few other times would be as fitting as right now to start panicking, to start breaking down because this fragile life he had formed the past decade was falling apart. The worst, because he knows that, if Dan saw the emotion that threatened to spill out of him, the intensity, the earnesty of it, he would instantly know just how deep the affection Phil so wholeheartedly provided was rooted. And, given his commitment issues, the boy would run for the hills, never to look back again. And that simply cannot happen.

"We've both changed a lot over the years, Phil." Dan keeps his gaze fixed to his hands, fidgeting with his phone, his restlessness showing just how uneasy he feels in that moment.

"You yourself just said you'd like a family, with children, something more stable. I can't see a better way for you to start planing for that future than to end whatever this thing we have is. I suspect whatever your target group for potential partners is, they won't appreciate a fuck buddy still being in your calendar, if you know what I mean." Dan chuckles, hoping to lighten the thick atmosphere of the room.

Neither of them talks for a while, neither of them knows how to proceed. They have never in the ten years that they spent together, felt the true weight of their affair sink in quite this much, nor confronted their relationship as something that might hold them back, because they both knew that they were a constant source of support for each other, to the point where it just felt wrong to be apart. For some their co-dependency might seem unhealthy, but for them, it was their -maybe too comfortable- reality.

Dan felt his Adam's apple move as he swallowed, a lump having formed in his throat. He tried to blink the moisture that had formed away from his eyes, ever so discretely tilting his head to prevent Phil form looking into them, from seeing how hard this is for him. From seeing him, for all that he is.

A man in love, with seemingly no better choice.

"Dan"

Phil's voice is cracking now, and he can't stop it to save his life. The room is too quiet and the floor looks like it's moving, but everything is standing still, so it must be his mind, play games with him, betraying him at the worst possible moment. He hates the feeling forming in his chest, of total helplessness and desperation. He hates thinking that after all this time, he has shed so many walls when it came to Dan, walls he had built over the years to protect his fragile reality and the people surrounding them, that he has no defenses against him, nor any self respect for that matter, to not show his weakness in front of him.

He hates it. But at this point, he does t care.

"You've met someone, haven't you?" The tears now are falling, but he doesn't notice. "You wanted a way out of this, and instead of telling me the truth, like you should be doing, with me being your best friend, you're actually trying to make it seem like this is some kind of merciful way of releasing me of my bonds to you, or whatever fairy tale you've built in your head? Did you really think that this is what is best for me?"

His words are angry, but his voice isn't. He wishes so bad that it was, but it really couldn't be, because the anger he feels isn't nearly as strong as his hurt, and he just sounds utterly, completely broken. He sounds shuttered and betrayed, and he understands for the first time in these ten years something he hadn't ever realized before.

That whenever he said his name, it sounded like something borrowed.

"I love you."