Dan's POV:
It's an odd thing that the most passionate and romantic kiss that I've had was in a hospital bed. Then again, hospitals dictate the rest of our lives, like our birth and death, so I suppose it makes sense that one of the biggest events in my life would happen there as well.
I felt badly for waking Phil up when he opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and very droopy, as if he hadn't slept since we got to the hospital.
His first expression was of disbelief. Like waking up from a dream and seeing it in front of you. It was a mix of caution, confusion, and I could have sworn that I saw a glint of happiness.
When the first confusions of sleep wore off, he realized that I was awake and I was okay. That was when he sat up straight in his chair and stared at my eyes, then at my lips, then practically leaped onto my bed and kissed me. It was the most severe and wonderful kiss that I have ever had. In one action he expressed his joy that I was okay, his repressed emotions regarding me, his surprise that I was reciprocating, his desperation for me not to throw him off of me, and, ultimately, his love for me.
He's still embarrassed that he responded in such a lustful way, in a hospital, no less, but I've told him many times that I could tell that it was much more than arousal that drove our first kiss.
After a while of perfect kissing, he seemed to come back into his own mind and realized his surroundings and actions. So, like the perfectly awkward guy that he is, he said, "I am happy you're not dead." And, in turn, just like the imperfect twat that I am, responded, "I gathered."
What kind of response is that? It sounded like I was completely emotionless about the kiss that I had been waiting and hoping for for so long. I'm an idiot.
Regardless of my idiocy, Phil seemed to still be rather lost, but he said those three words that tend to elicit symptoms of breathlessness and butterflies. Especially if you've been dying to say them every single time you see the person that's just told you that they love you.
However, even in the best of situations, saying nothing after the first confession of love must be the scariest thing for the person baring their soul to their beloved. So it was literally the worst time for me not be able to find words to express my joy and mutual feeling.
I just stared at the hand that was holding mine. I was thinking about all the times that Phil had said something utterly adorable and I found myself barely keeping my composure, or the times that Phil had done something that made me want to grab him by the collar and snog him senseless, or when we were filming the truth or dare videos and I had secretly wished he'd pick one of the ones that dared us to kiss.
I'm pretty sure there was a good minute or two of silence where I was just sitting there, staring at Phil's hand in mine, and thinking about how much I loved that boy. That, however, may not have been how it seemed to Phil.
I felt his hand tense up after about twenty seconds, as if I was going to hit him or push him off of the bed. When I finally came out of my thoughts, I looked up at Phil's face, and his eyes were closed. It looked as if he were bracing to get hit by a bus.
I automatically realized the stress I must have just caused him, and I immeadiately kissed him on the cheek, grabbed his head, turned it towards mine, waited for his eyes to open, and said, for the first time,
"I love you, too."
Of course, I'm incapable of being a flawless romantic, so that was followed up with,
"Wait, what the hell? You're bisexual? You like me? What!"