Archive of Our Own ^beta

I had been hungry, all the Years—
My Noon had Come — to dine—
I trembling drew the Table near—
And touched the Curious Wine

Emily Dickinson

One:
I had been hungry, all the Years—

Dan looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, gave a rebellious lock of hair another turn between the straighteners.

“Dan?” her best friend’s voice called from down the hallway. “Ready? We should go!”

She kicked the door open to stop the muffling of sound. “Yeah! Just doing my hair!” The one lock was really fighting with her today.

“Here’s your shoes.” Phil chucked them on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bathtub to put on her own.

“Why, thank you.”

The BBC had refused to produce a woman-led show called Radio One with Dan and Phil — people might get the wrong idea, they’d been told — but they didn’t really mind. Danique, Philippa, Dan, Phil, Dani, Pip– they all signified similar things. To each other, they'd never been anything but Dan and Phil.

The cab to the studio was quiet, with Phil scrolling on her phone and Dan taking in the rainy London scenery. Sometimes, she wished they could still take the tube.

Better people-watching opportunities on the tube, and that did make it slightly less boring. Made the city feel more real, like she was part of it, instead of merely living in it.

But public transport was no longer an option. Every time they went outside, they got recognised. It was sweet, practically every time; well-meaning, excited girls happy to meet their idols (and it was mostly girls, Dan had to admit).

But it was also a hassle. They weren’t great at being on time to things, and this job was serious, so there were no delays permitted.

“Have you seen this email?” Phil had been sitting quietly next to her until now. She turned her phone screen towards Dan, who tore her eyes away from the window. “Peter wants to talk to us about an ‘opportunity’. Tomorrow.”

“Really? Let me see.” Phil handed her the phone. She read out loud. “‘Dear Mrs and Mrs Lester’... what, like we’re married?”

Phil laughed. “Yeah, you wish.”

“I wish? You wish.” This was standard banter between the two of them. It didn't count as flirting. They were, as they'd often had to emphasise to others, secure in their friendship.

Okay, well, actually — cards on the table, total transparency, confession time — it was Phil who was completely secure in their friendship.

Dan, on the other hand, was a total stereotype so utterly and completely in love with her friend that she sometimes felt as though her worldly experiences were fundamentally set two inches to Phil’s side of the screen.

Over time, Dan had acclimated to this way of life. Being in love with Phil and hiding it was like blinking. She didn’t even think about it anymore.

Dan scanned the message, reading aloud occasionally. “‘Want to meet with you about a very exciting opportunity… last minute but we are enthusiastic about your work with us so far… would love to meet with you Monday 6th’? What is this about?”

Taking her phone back, Phil shrugged. “Don’t know, but it sounds good, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dan wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

Their lives had been so crazy the past couple years. It could be the best news of their lives, it could be the most mismatched sponsorship they’d ever gotten. But rent was expensive, so were taxis, and one opportunity could lead to another.

They weren’t fooling anyone. They said yes to everything.

Ten seconds before they went life for their first show of the year, Phil turned her head and smiled at her. “Me and you, right?”

That’s what they said before everything important. “Me and you,” Dan said.

“Right, first show of the year – you ready? Phil, you’re calling in.” Their producer, Robby, sat in the back to supervise. Dan made eye contact with her friend. Phil and her raised their thumbs at each other, then at Robby.

Robby started counting them in on his fingers. “Three, two, one –” he went silent and balled his fist. The intro jingle played. Go- time.

“Good evening, you’re listening to, and watching, Dani and Pippa live on BBC Radio One. Dani, it’s our first show of 2014, how are you feeling?”

“Same old, same old, I’m afraid.” Dan smiled. She was putting up easy bait.

“And I would know, wouldn’t I? Yeah we had a very chill new year’s eve, but we missed you all,” Phil did a quick wave into the camera. “You can watch us live via BBC iPlayer, and we’re very excited to see you again.”

“We sure are, Pip, and let’s start the evening off right with the track that’s been dancing around in the top twenty of the singles chart for weeks now, it’s Royals by Lorde.”

The show was a dear thing. Phil had always been kind of an audiophile, and worked behind the scenes on radio stuff when she was at uni. Dan was grateful when they were offered the job, to have someone slightly more acquainted with all the equipment.

Herself, she’d always felt like radio was stuffy, boring. Talk radio programmes were not made for the younger demographic. That’s what they brought to the table: teenagers, even if just for an hour per week, would ditch their iPods to tune into their show.

Dani and Pippa had jokes, good ones – not the sexist rubbish that played the rest of the 22 hours in the day. They had games, not for the listeners to call into, but between the two of them.

Phil and her would compete to win a sticker on a tally board, flailing about on camera while a chart-topper played, because that was what their audience wanted: to see and hear from them.

They used funny news segments, tried to lift some of the weight of living in a world that was turning out to be so heavy. Phil in particular was a believer in the power of light entertainment. So light entertainment they provided; hours of it every week. Videos, shows, collabs. Instagram, twitter, livestreams.

“Happy?” Phil looked her friend in the eye as they walked out of the studio. They’d turned out a good show today.

“Yeah,” Dan said. She put on her sunglasses. “This always makes me feel like a dickhead, you know?”

Phil laughed. People felt embarrassed about the strangest things, sometimes. “It’s fine. They look good.”

“Thanks.” Dan opened the door for her and told the cab driver their home address. She turned back to Phil. “We did alright today, yeah?”

Phil could see her own smile in the reflection of Dan’s sunglasses. “Yeah, we did good.”

Dan usually closed her eyes and listened to some piano music during the decompression moment they tended to have in the car ride home, but today, Phil watched her lean her head against the window, hair cushioning her head against the sunglasses hitting the glass, and nod off. Phil stared out the window on her own side, and her thoughts went meandering.

Five years, they’d known each other now. In those five years alone, so much had happened, and because of it, their friendship reached depths neither of them had ever really experienced before. They lived life at a breakneck pace and loved it.

At some point they were hanging out so much they decided they may as well move in together. So they did. Then they moved to London, and everything started happening, very, very quickly. And now she was a youtuber-slash-radio host.

Such crazy lives they’d been blessed to live, and she was grateful every day – for the house, the show, their channels, their friendship.

Not that they were making all that much – every month, Phil’s parents would send her “grocery money,” which the both of them invariably spent on clothes, shoes, and takeout.

Dan’s parents didn’t send them any money. Dan’s parents didn’t send her anything, other than logistical texts about Christmas and birthdays, the only family events she couldn’t figure out how to avoid.

"You're happy here?" The driver slowed.

Phil put a shoulder on Dan's hand to wake her and spoke to the cabbie. "Yeah, just here is fine. Thank you."

Dan paid for the ride, handing the cabbie two tenners.

"Twenty-five," the cabbie said, curtly.

Uh-oh.

Phil watched her friend splutter.

"Seriously? It's three miles."

"It's a Sunday evening, miss."

Dan reached in her pockets, cursed under her breath. She retrieved her wallet and paid out the rest of the fare in coins. "Here you go," she said audibly. The man drove off without another word.

"Prick," Dan said as they walked upstairs together. "It's daylight robbery."

Phil laughed. "You want to take the tube, be my guest."

"Yeah, well." Dan opened the door into their cramped kitchen and living area. "Fat lot of good you were."

Shrugging, Phil rummaged through the fridge, looking for leftovers to heat up. "It's your week," she said. "You can't make this paycheck work, it's not my problem."

"Do the fried rice, it's oldest," Dan said as an aside to the banter. "It is, too. We live together, we work together. My finances are your finances."

They bickered on a little, then Dan turned the TV on and they ate in relative silence. As the episodes passed, Phil felt her body grow heavier. Dan sat next to her, quiet and slightly catatonic.

This mood often passed over them after a day of work. Filming was one thing, but being livestreamed for that long, being "on" the whole time, it demanded a lot from both of them.

Even though it was the best job Phil had ever had in her life.

She pushed herself off the sofa. "I'm tired," she announced. "Remember we have the meeting at 8. Don't stay up too late."

"Mm-hm." Dan acknowledged her absent-mindedly. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well."

Hours later, Phil awoke to the sound of Dan pacing. Their bedrooms shared a wall, a fact which Phil had cursed many times over since they moved in together.

She groggily sat up and elbowed the wall. "Shut the fuck up!"

The pacing stilled. Dan's muffled voice came through from the other side. "What?"

Phil looked at her alarm clock. "It's 2.30AM! Go the fuck to sleep!"

"Sorry."

There was the sound of Dan scuffling into bed. Phil was about to close her eyes again, when she heard Dan call out, “Phil?”

She groaned. “Yes?”

“I can’t sleep.”

That happened to her a lot. Dan was a bit a of a spiraller. Phil could be anxious herself, but in a different way — she’d worry about her health, about disasters. She didn’t really care, beyond a reasonable amount, what other people thought of her. It just wasn’t something that was on her mind a lot, she’d always been that way. A little detached, but healthily.

Dan was different. Dan worried about what other people thought, constantly. She worried about her parents, her brother, her grandparents, the one other friend they had. More than that, Dan worried about their bosses, and the audience, and the opinions of the general public. Most of all, Dan worried about the closet, and the possibility of being found out.

Which was, in all honesty, a bit ridiculous. Phil would never tell her this, but Dan was… well, she was very gay, not in a stereotypical sort of way, but still, in an amazingly obvious one.

There was just something about her. A vibe, a way she held herself. She was the kind of person that people — of any sexuality or gender — would meet, and just, sort of, assume.

And because they assumed, they weren’t asked about it a whole lot. But also because they assumed, sometimes the assumption came out, and then it was time for Dan to defend herself, which she did vehemently (perhaps too much so, but this too, Phil would never tell her).

Phil tried to remember if there’d been a recent incident that could’ve been on her mind to overanalyse.

She sat up and talked through the wall. “Is it because I said I would know today?”

It was quiet on the other side a moment. Then she heard Dan sniffle before she said, “It’s not your fault.”

Phil threw her covers back and got out of bed. She knocked on the door twice before opening. “Hey.”

A small nightlight shaped like a dog curled up into itself spread a yellow glow about Dan’s bed. Dan sat, knees drawn up to her chin, and smiled sadly when Phil sat next to her. “I’m a terrible friend,” she said.

This was a delusion she’d held for a number of years. Phil wasn’t sure when it started taking hold, but it had become worse over time. The more famous they became, the more Dan felt the weight of having closeted Phil by force.

Well, that’s how she thought about it. Phil thought it was the kind of thing you could do for someone to help them out. “You’re not,” Phil said. “How many times—”

“I feel like I’m just holding you back. You can’t see anyone, you can’t be on the apps, because of my stupid insecurities and—” She gestured at the space around them. “All this.”

Phil chuckled. “Like I’d want to be on the apps, anyway.”

“Don’t joke,” Dan said. But she smiled.

“I’ll be more careful,” Phil promised. “It was just because it was the first day back. Need to get my filter back on.”

Dan shook her head. “I’m being insane, though. It’s not like people don’t know we live together. I just, all I can think about is people over-analysing things.”

“I understand,” Phil said. She reached out her arm to comfort her. “Sleep?”

Sharing a bed was normal for them. Phil offered it, Dan never asked, but she always said yes, and it always made her fall asleep faster. Phil thought it was because she was secretly afraid of the dark.

By way of reply, Dan got under the covers and waited for Phil to get comfortable, then turned off the light.

Dan re-checked her face in her phone’s front camera. “Did I use too much colour corrector? Do I look cakey?”

“No, and no,” Phil said without looking up. She had stood up to re-tie her shoelace on the bench in front of Peter Deck’s office, their manager-slash-boss for the radio.

“You didn’t even look,” Dan moped.

Phil swiped dirt off the bench with her hand and gently tapped her shoulder. “Don’t need to,” she said.

The verbal flirtations-that-weren’t-flirtations, Dan was fine with. Lovers or not, they were emotionally entangled to a degree unfamiliar to most people, so whatever Phil said, unless it was cruel — and it never was — she could handle. Touch troubled her more.

Initially, touch always made her head buzz with a small excitement. But quickly, that feeling would be overtaken by guilt. Guilt for wanting more from Phil, guilt for wanting another woman, guilt for wanting in general.

No, she did not have a therapist. Yes, she often cried after masturbating.

“Thanks,” she sighed. “Me and you?”

Phil sat back down next to her. “Me and you.”

As Phil procedurally began to ask her if everything was okay, the door of the office swung open. Peter stood in the doorway, arms wide. “Hello loves, come on in.”

Loves. They both hated that shit. Phil and her had frequently discussed how they were pretty sure no male presenter duos were greeted that way. Not that they’d ever address it with Peter or anyone else — not worth the trouble, they’d decided. If you wanted certain things, you’d have to let others slide.

Phil greeted him with a gregarious handshake. She was good at this sort of thing, meeting people and being herself, something Dan greatly admired about her. Dan shook his hand, knowingly more timid because Peter preferred her that way.

That’s how they’d been cast; Phil as the excitable-but-innocent one, and Dan as the broody-but-edgy one. It matched their personalities well enough.

They settled in the chairs opposite his mahogany desk. Peter gave the impression that he wasn’t yet dealing with the fact that he was going bald – thin strands of hair combed sideways over the top of his skull, retaining the illusion more for himself than anyone else. More than anything, it made Dan feel a bit bad for him.

“So good to see you, ladies.”

They both agreed.

Peter sat back and templed his fingers. “I’ll not beat ‘round the bush. Besides the room for improvement we discussed last month…”

They’d been reprimanded for not turning listeners down quickly enough when they swore on the air. Other than that, they were the only show that systematically attracted a sizable under-fifty listenership.

“We love you girls, you know this.”

“Thank you,” Dan said. She usually handled the easy bit. Phil tended to step in when things got more complicated.

He nodded. “You’ve heard of the Brit Awards, I presume.”

“Of course,” Dan said. “Mumford and Sons won out over Muse and Alt-J for best British Group last year.”

Not that she was salty about that, or anything.

Peter nodded approvingly at her little knowledge drop. “Brilliant. We’d like you to be online presenters for the event. It’s the first time we’re doing a… backstage livestream.” The word livestream seemed foreign in his mouth.

She felt Phil shift with energy beside her. They looked at each other for a second. An entire conversation took place between them with that eyecontact.

Holy shit, Phil said.
I know, Dan replied. We have to say yes.
Of course, Phil agreed. Fuck yes.
Fuck yes.

Phil smiled, managed to tone down her excitement a little. “We’d be honoured.” She let go a bit more when Peter appeared to react positively. “This is incredible.”

Beaming, Peter said, “Brilliant!” He liked that word a lot, Dan had realised quickly into their relationship. “This is going to be brilliant. Girls, I pitched the livestream concept to upstairs with you two in mind. You’re going to do great.”

They exchanged a glance again. Fuck, yes.

As it turned out, they had just under two months to prepare, and a lot was expected of them. Games, interviews, bits. They had to script and conceptualise everything, then send it to production, who’d send it back with notes. Every week, they got closer to the final concept. They did nothing but work. For the time being, it worked.

Something about the crunch — work, eat, sleep, repeat — appealed to Dan immensely. It didn’t really make any sense, because work was her greatest source of anxiety. But the stress of a deadline propelled her to think about the actual work only, and so the tension of everything around work (the audience, the closet) was allowed to fade into the background a little.

Phil was happy to be taken along into it. She liked Dan a bit better this way. Focused, passionate. Mainly, she wasn’t so fearful all the time, even though she was cranky from stress. It was better to see her tensed up about something she loved.

Also, she liked their hermit lifestyle, but staying inside the house all day with not a lot of things to do could drive her a bit stir-crazy, so it was better to keep busy.

Everyone had warned her that working and living together with Dan would make the two of them hate each other. Weirdly, this had both happened and not happened at all.

Yes, they bickered like crazy, sometimes genuinely argued, constantly irritated each other with their habits and behaviours. But also, they ate all their meals together and waited for each other to wake up in the morning.

They did everything together. Phil was pretty sure Dan knew her better than her own family. She was certain she knew Dan better than Dan’s family. She wasn’t out to them, and for good reason.

Phil had met Greg and Beth twice, and both times, the tension in the air was palpable. Around her family, Dan reverted to a child-like state — appeasing her father, anticipating her mother’s emotional needs. She fixed, she massaged people’s feelings. She laughed uncomfortably at homophobic jokes.

It was a whole, difficult, messy, horrible thing that increased Dan’s suffering in a multitude of ways, and Phil wished she could get away from them forever. She was glad they’d been given the opportunity to work this intensely so quickly after the festive period, which Dan had never voiced her dislike for, but she did not need to.

That was probably why she’d reacted so intensely to I would know, wasn’t it. It’d barely been a week since Christmas (which Dan had described as rubbish and I don’t want to think about it, so Phil had left it alone and inferred it was probably a right mess), and she’d referenced them spending new years eve together.

Stupid. Shouldn’t have done that. It was just, sometimes, she forgot a little, that Dan could be so withdrawn and terrified. Because she wasn’t like that all of the time.

Most of the time she was funny, loud, eye-wateringly sarcastic, and a joy to be around. She was a caretaker and a softie, and she was just, the sweetest. The greatest friend you could wish for.

"Friends". Well. Phil can’t say she hadn’t thought about it.

But with Dan this way, how could they ever? And Phil was one of her two friends. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Phil could deal. She was aloof that way.

One month before the big event, Dan was lying atop the sheets on Phil’s bed.

She recalled a conversation she’d had with Louise, years ago. Louise, because she was the only person who knew both of them were gay, was their only real friend.

It was only like four months after she’d moved in with Phil. She’d already acquiesced to the fact that she had become the ultimate lesbo stereotype; in love with her best friend. Whom she just also happened to live with. And worked with. And sometimes fell asleep next to.

Louise had sucked in a breath through her teeth at her confession and said, “I love you babes, but this is so messy. Maybe you should… create some distance?”

Create some distance. Dan had scoffed at it. Louise hadn’t been friends with them for long at that point, but later, she’d reluctantly acknowledged that it had been a ridiculous suggestion.

Distance between them was impossible.

Even if it weren’t for the fact that from time to time, Phil was the only safe place she had in the world, it’d still be mental to separate. It wouldn’t be possible to do that conspicuously at this point. Withdrawing from Phil would be just as much of an indictment of her affections as it would be to choke out a teary-eyed confession.

Phil was out tonight. She did that sometimes. They had an agreement of sorts. This was how they met Louise. She bartended, where-ever it was that Phil went.

Although they were protective of their privacy (Dan’s fault), Phil was allowed to scout for people who would be trustworthy enough that a connection wouldn’t be too risky. How Phil found the hookups and how she made sure they were safe, Dan didn’t care to know, but she trusted that the method was sound. It had worked so far, anyway.

Dan didn’t want to do that. She told Phil that was because it was too dangerous, but really it was because the one time she’d tried, it didn’t really work. She kept thinking about Phil and hating herself.

Anyway, Phil was out tonight and Dan had snuck into her bedroom to be a horrible person and hate herself.

She was intimately aware that this wasn’t a thing she was allowed to do. It wasn’t a place she was sanctioned to be, she was violating an unspoken boundary, it was disgusting. Phil would never go into her room without asking. She looked at her phone, waiting for confirmation.

At 11.32PM, it finally came.

Phil: i’ll be home in the morning but not in time
for tesco delivery, they’re coming at 10

It was difficult to feel glad for her. Dan sighed wistfully and typed out her response.

Dan: yeah yeah i’ll be up. have fun lol

She turned around and dropped her head on Phil’s pillow, half-wishing she could bring herself to do it here. It’d probably be quicker, even though it would be worse — it would probably be quicker because it was worse — than what she was about to do.

But she wasn’t that much of an invert.

Dan got up and rooted through the worn-but-not-dirty pile on Phil’s desk chair until she found an item that seemed to be on its last day of wear. It was a red, short-sleeved flannel-patterned button-up, that smelled of Phil’s soap and her skin.

The first time she did this was, kind of, an accident. Phil’d left a jumper in the bathroom. Dan had picked it up with the purest of intentions; she only sniffed it to check if it should be in the laundry or if she should get pissy with Phil for leaving her shit all over the place. She couldn’t have known the smell of it would be so overwhelming.

But it had been, and she’d… taken care of things. Felt awful about it. Did again the next week. Now it was just another revolting thing she did to add to the list of why she didn’t deserve Phil’s friendship.

Dan dragged her catch to her own bedroom, laid down, and draped the shirt over her face. The thrill, that it was forbidden, even after so many times, everything that made this such an awful thing to do, did her in quickly.

She breathed Phil in, imaged Phil calling her a creep. She was dirty, tainted. Good for nothing.

When her knees could take her weight again, she walked to their tiny laundry room to put Phil’s shirt in the washing machine.

The girl was called Ella and she had straight brown hair cut into a wispy fringe.

Ella was a bit shorter than Phil, she lived two floors up in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment above a flower shop near Covent Gardens, and she was closeted because of her job at a very posh hotel.

Also, she liked it when girls came in her mouth.

It was fine. Nothing life-changing. Hookups never were.

After they were done, Ella asked Phil whereabouts she lived.

“Other side of the city,” Phil said, intentionally vague. She’d gotten used to hiding things like this.

“You can stay here. So you don’t have to go out alone.” Ella sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a faded T-shirt she intended to wear as pyjamas. “I keep extra toothbrushes under she sink,” she said.

Phil had already kind of intuited she’d say that and decided to go with her because of it, but it was nice that she was nice. That maybe didn’t make a whole lot of sense. She thanked Ella for her generosity and brushed her teeth.

When she returned to the bedroom, the girl had given them both a glass of water by the nightstand, and put Phil’s phone on a wireless charger.

Phil thought they were about to fall asleep when Ella said, “I have to confess something.”

“Erm. Okay.” Phil didn’t have a great feeling about this.

“I think I know who you are,” Ella said.

The thought that she’d ruined Dan’s life ran through her before any concern about her own career, her own privacy. She sat up. “Fuck.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Ella said hastily. She pressed the tips of her fingers to Phil’s wrist. “I’m not a crazy stalker and I’m not blackmailing you. Relax.”

“Oh.” Then what was the point of even addressing it, Phil wondered. She laid back down. “How did you know?”

“I thought I recognised you. I googled around while you were in the bathroom, I’m sorry. You should really think about using a fake name.”

That was fair enough. “I guess I should,” Phil conceded.

“So, you and your co-host. Can I ask what the situation is?” Ella said, turning on her side to face her, “Or will that upset you?”

A little. But Ella couldn’t know that. “It’s fine,” Phil heard herself say. “Danique and I are friends.”

“You’re sad about that,” Ella said.

What? No, she wasn’t. She was fine. “I’m fine,” Phil said.

“You’re a bad liar, Pippa from the internet.”

She was. Quite infamously so, yes. “It’d never work.”

Phil started to lie back down, turned on her stomach and rested her face on her hands. “I’m her only friend. She’s mine. Also, you have to understand, nobody can know. Nobody. Ever. Not until we’re in the news, or something.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It was nice that she was nice, Phil thought again. She appeared genuinely interested. Kind of made up for the just-fine sex from earlier. If only they’d talked before all that, maybe they could’ve had good sex.

Phil shrugged. “I am. I’m not ashamed of myself. But it’s me and her. I do it for Dan. It’s better if she doesn’t have a lezzie live-in,” Phil quipped.

Ella chuckled quietly. “I suppose that’s true. I understand.” She paused, then said, “Well… if you want. We could see each other agai—”

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Phil interrupted. That wasn’t a mess she was interested in having to hide, unless it she was very certain about their potential.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” Ella joked. “Neither am I. But I don’t like going out. It’s easier if we have an agreement.”

The sex could get a lot better if they did that, Phil considered. But it might upset Dan if she made an attachment to someone who knew who she was, who they were. “I’ll have to think about it,” Phil said, meaning I’ll have to talk to Dan about it.

“Okay,” Ella said. Then she unceremoniously reached over and grabbed Phil’s phone.

Phil let her put her name in as Elijah. Elle texted herself and saved Phil’s phone number as Mike.

Dan had just finished putting the groceries away when Phil came in. She looked remarkably fresh. Most of the time after one of these nights, she was dead tired and kind of crumpled, but today she appeared showered and like she’d gotten more than four hours of sleep.

Phil threw her keys in the bowl they kept on the breakfast bar (the hallway was too narrow for anything other than a coat rack). “Morning,” she said.

“Morning. How was your night?” Dan had recovered a little from her melancholy and was asking her what perhaps should have been an inappropriate question, but between the two of them, had not been for years now.

Phil began to make herself a bowl of cereal. “Eh, it was fine. I don’t know really like going out, y’know.”

True, she did know that. Phil didn’t like loud noises and rooms filled with sweaty drunk people. “Sure. But she was…?”

“Fine…” Phil laughed. “Nosey. Um, well. She was nice. Let me have a shower and everything.”

That pleased Dan. She smiled. “Good.”

Phil sat down next to her at the bar. Dan looked at her with mixed feelings. She was so patient and kind and funny. She was clumsy and largely graceless. But it was hot that she didn’t give a shit about that.

They were completely intertwined with each other and they’d never be together. Not even in a terrible, toxic way where Phil took advantage of her and secretly thought her pitiful, no, she was too nice for that. Phil actually liked her. For some indiscernible reason.

Dan sipped her coffee and shrugged internally. Oh, well. It was her own fault for sticking around. She liked being friends with Phil far too much to ever take a step back and lick her wounds. Just let it fester, let it turn sore and necrotic. It had been that way for so long now.

After a brief silent period of cereal eating and coffee drinking, Phil said, “Actually, I need to discuss something with you.”

That was the sort of phrase people got anxious about having said to them, but it was not so when Dan heard Phil say it.

“Okay, go ahead.” She laughed a little at the weird formality.

“This girl,” Phil said, and turned to face Dan. “Don’t panic, but she figured me out. No, no, it’s okay,” she she said as Dan’s face turned to horror, “She’s not going to extort us or out us or anything. I swear, she’s solid. She’s closeted herself, that’s— that’s why I know it’s fine.”

If that was Phil’s assessment, she had no reason to distrust it. “Okay. I believe you. Me and you, yeah?” It was almost an incantation at this point. Something which meant, I trust you, we’re together, I’m here, all at the same time.

“Exactly. She asked me — her name is Ella. Ella asked me if we could see each other regularly. Nothing serious because we’re not interested. But, it would be easier. Is that… is it okay with you?”

She had no right to be jealous, but she was. “I presume this means she would come over?”

Phil shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. Be a bit impolite to expect her to host all the time. You could go out when she’s here. Or wear earplugs.” She giggled at the latter.

“Pffft.” Dan laughed. “Sure thing.”

She had taken so much from Phil already. Why should she be in any position to deny her this, after everything she’d already robbed her of? It wouldn’t be fair.

(It also occurred to her she could not wear earplugs, but she tried not to think about that, because it was debased and wrong).

Dan nodded. “Okay. Yeah, if you think she’s good for it. Go ahead.”

They worked for the rest of the day and watched TV until midnight. Phil filmed a video where she talked about how when she was a child, she was jealous of a friend who broke his arm. Dan watched it for her and cackled when Phil says she even wished to break her arm at a wishing well.

“Did you actually wish to break your arm?” she asked when the video finished.

“It is genuinely one of my clearest childhood memories,” Phil asserted laughingly.

“You fucking weirdo… I like that you edit your face into the fly’s face when you make it say kill me,” she said, handing Phil the laptop back. “It has that quintessential Pippa flavour.”

Phil smiled. “I knew you’d like that.”

Yeah. Of course she knew that.

The rest of their month was work, work, work. It could’ve been more structured if they wanted; they could get out of bed and go to sleep at normal times. They were a bad influence on each other, though. It was always one more episode until they were practically falling asleep on the sofa.

But thankfully the people from the Brit Awards liked their interview ideas, they liked the bits, they liked the little games they planned.

When they were a couple days out from the big event and neck-deep in outfit-planning-and-finishing-touches land, Phil said there was a they should really react to.

It was a reaction video from that massive American channel where they put youtubers or viral videos in front of a particular kind of audience and cut their reactions together, then ask them questions afterwards. Dan had never been a fan of this content — she always thought it was cheap, an easy way to get views. And reacting to a reaction video even moreso. It wasn't intentionally crafted light entertainment, which is what she felt she wanted to represent on her channel and all of her and Phil’s joint ventures.

But, what Phil wanted, Phil got. Dan was easy like that. So they did the video, and of course, Dan was dying the whole time — watching herself be talked about wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pursuits.

The question was asked why the American teenagers thought the two of them were so popular. A lot is made of their accents, which neither of them understand, but there’s this other girl who says they’re both very pretty. That part had to be cut. They both rolled their eyes at the comments about their appearance. It always happened with female entertainers, they were no strangers to it, and yes, they had to play into it more lately, working for a boss.

On her own channel, though, Dan avoided the discussion at all costs. She didn’t want people to comment on her body, or how she and Phil looked together.

When youtube introduced a feature that automatically blocked certain words from the comments, both of them immediately added phrases like pretty, skin, hair, and make-up to be approved for manual review, and started paying someone to go through them and reject the unwanted ones.

Part of their closet agreement was that Phil was allowed to be a little bit more casual about things. In practice, this meant she did not have a filter on phrases like lesbian, gay, dating, and dyke. Dan did.

The overall weirdness in her comments was just worse. Dan suspected this was her own fault for having cultivated an edgier persona from the beginning. The Dani part of the audience felt more comfortable being rude and impolite, because Dan was rude and impolite.

The Pippa part had its share of strange people, too, but that wasn’t as big of a problem because Phil was so fucking unbothered. More than once, Phil had to remind her that the bad stuff was actually in the minority. It just looked bigger because she was laserfocused on it.

Sometimes, she hated all of them, even the nice ones.

Sometimes, she wished she’d never done this, that she’d never met Phil, that she’d dragged herself through law school instead. She could’ve made it work, Dan fantasised. A beard or a lavender marriage. Maybe when her parents died, she could’ve found a "flatmate".

But then she met Phil, and the stupid bitch had lit up her world in ways she thought were only possible in rom-coms and 90s TV shows, and it became pretty damn obvious that the other life was not going to work out anymore.

It was the the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she was absolutely miserable.

Maybe she needed to do what Phil did sometimes. Just to get this off her mind.

Phil was alone in the house, thinking about how she shouldn’t have given the Dan the address of the bar she’d recommended. It was sleazy, it was for people who were experienced. It was so unlike Dan to ask in the first place.

But she didn’t want to stop Dan from getting what she wanted, so she’d obliged. And told her what she did to make sure things would be okay — ensure the other person was also closeted tended to make for a pretty safe bet, especially if they didn’t recognise you. Which most women their own age didn’t.

Dan going to that place bothered her a little, even though it had no right to. It just felt like… she deserved something better than 10% off on drinks because they both knew the bartender and an anxious tube ride home after a quick fuck.

These were thoughts which Phil was very practised at putting out of her mind. If that’s what Dan wanted, who was she to deny it. At this point, she’d thought and then not thought about it so much, they had begun to occur to her less and less.

Louise was working tonight (Phil had asked her to keep an eye out for Dan’s safety, which was overbearing, but it was the only thing she could do to put her mind at ease), and she didn’t want to be alone, so she called Ella. They’d exchanged a couple of flirty texts so far, but nothing else.

“Hello?” Ella sounded like she was in the middle of a road. Cars zipped by in the background noise. There was the occasional sound of clattering metal, too.

“It’s me,” Phil said. “Erm. Where are you?”

“On my smoke break.”

Ew, Phil thought. That wasn’t very attractive. But she was still lonely, and bored. “Can you speak freely?”

“Not very,” Ella said.

“Okay. I’ll ask yes or no questions. Are you done with work soon?”

“Yes,” Ella said. “In an hour.”

Perfect, Phil thought. “Meet me in two? You can sleep here. She’s cool.”

It was quiet on the other end of the line for a second. Phil imagined Ella inhaling and slowly breathing out smoke. “Okay,” she said. “Text me. I’ll be there.”

She hung up without another word.

There was a shirt Phil swore she’d left in the "one more day" laundry pile that was impossible to find, and when she went down to the bathroom to search for it in the hamper, she found it at the bottom of the pile. Strange. Dan must’ve taken it.

It sort of smelled like her, too — though that was probably the other clothes. Dan did this sometimes, she’d noticed it starting a few years ago. She’d take something of Phil’s and just, put it in the wash. Phil had no clue why, but she didn’t really think about it, not did she mind that Dan went into her room without asking. They’d shared living spaces for years now. Who cared who went where? Not that she’d ever mention this knowledge to Dan, who clearly thought something of it. No need to point it out when it was harmless. And she didn't go into Dan's room for the same reason.

She searched the bathroom for a spare toothbrush and cleared up her bedroom a little. She found a sock from Dan’s in her pile of dirty laundry for some reason — probably just because they’d fallen asleep together at some point.

Phil went to chuck the sock into Dan’s room without looking in, but when she opened the door, she heard the clattering of plastic and something falling down. She looked inside. Dan’s outfit for their big day had been hanging on the bedroom door. Phil picked it up to put it in a safer place, maybe the guard rail for the curtains.

The dress Dan had chosen — and of course it was a dress, she was too anxious to wear less feminine formal wear than that — was a lilac slip with an open back, just short enough not to look like a gown. She’d been practising the updo she planned for it about once a day (no, they did not have professional stylists or make-up people. They were not famous enough for that, not by a long shot).

Every day, it looked a little more perfect on her.

That was not a thought Phil was supposed to have. She shrugged it off, quickly hooked the dress back on the hanger and ended up putting it back on the door, not wanting Dan to feel like she’d been in her room.

She watched TV without really paying attention, landing in the middle of a just-okay panel show and feeling disturbed by an advertisement for something called a Vype.

Ella rang the doorbell about an hour later. She was wearing her work clothes still and smelled of laundry soap. Phil let her in and showed her around, they did not hug or kiss.

“You live nicely,” Ella said, coming into the lounge.

Phil chuckled, looked around. “It’s kind of a shithole. I’m pretty sure we have a gas leak. And mice.”

“Okay, you don’t like compliments,” Ella joked. She looked at the red lego-brick mirror and the marvel prints on the wall. “Interesting decor.”

“It’s… a mix of our personalities,” Phil said.

Ella suggested she should see Phil’s bedroom, and things moved from there. Unlike Phil had hoped, the sex wasn’t any better than last time.

In fact, she’d given up on herself halfway through, focused on the other girl instead. She was okay with that, which Phil was glad for. Sometimes people didn’t like it when you didn’t want to receive. Ella said they’d make up for it in the morning, if Phil wanted.

Then she asked if she could snoop around Phil’s room and Phil said sure, she could. She walked around in her underwear but no top. Phil didn’t mind her casual approach to nakedness. It was pleasing to look at, if anything.

Ella pointed at the velvet black suit and the dress shirt with invisible buttons that Phil had slung over the mirror. “What’s this for?”

Sitting up and putting her top back on, Phil said, “Event. You know the Brit Awards?”

“Vaguely.”

“Music prizes. We’re presenting in two days. Backstage livestream, you know, we’re not Ant and Dec, but like, we designed everything. Going to interview some celebrities and stuff.”

She nodded, impressed. “Cool. I like the hidden placket.”

“The what?” Phil thought she’d misheard something.

“The button design. That’s called a hidden placket. Sorry. I went to fashion school.”

“Oh?” She liked that Ella was forthcoming with information about herself. Made her feel better about inviting her over. “And now you work at a hotel.”

“Yep. Did you study for what you do? Is there an internet fame school?”

Phil chuckled. “I have a Master’s degree in video postproduction with visual effects. Which means I know how to work Adobe Premier and can key various objects to various other objects. Boring.”

“But helps with your career.” Ella was looking around near her desk, now. She held up a miniature canvas Phil kept on an equally miniature easel by her PC.

It was a painting of her and Dan’s first photo together. Dan in her scene outfit and trapper hat, Phil in the shortsleeve plaid and with the messenger bag over her shoulder. “This is cute.”

It was one of her favourite things she’d ever been given. “Fan made it. That was years ago, now. It’s so good, isn’t it? The detail.”

Ella smiled and sat back down on the bed opposite Phil. She crossed her legs. “Does it bother you?”

Phil frowned. “Does what bother me?”

She raised her hands in an isn’t that obvious gesture. “That everyone thinks she’s in love with you.”

“What?” No, it didn’t "bother" her. But they were just friends. Sure, they were attached at the hip and sometimes fell asleep together. Maybe a little too dependent on each other.

But still, friends. And Dan was too far removed from her own feelings to develop something like that, no matter what Phil may have wanted. “We’re friends. You haven’t seen us together, it’s — we’re just like any other platonic, dynamic duo.”

“Okay,” Ella said. “No need to get defensive. May I use your shower?”

“Sure.” Phil pointed. “It’s down the hall. Clean towels on the rack. And I found a new toothbrush for you, it’s on the sink.”

She went out and Phil made them both a cup of tea. She brought the mugs to her bedroom and curled up with the book on her nightstand.

Phil was so absorbed in The Goldfinch that she didn’t hear the front door slam shut (the apartment had terrible sound insulation. Phil had learned to ignore it over time). She also didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open a couple minutes later.

What she did hear, about ten seconds after that, was a high-pitched shriek and Dan’s voice calling out a series of deferent apologies. She turned less apologetic when she banged her fist on Phil’s bedroom door and yelled, “Phil! Get your hookup some fucking coverage!”

Dashing through the bedroom, Phil sorted through the mess of clothes on the floor and found Ella’s top. She walked into the hallway, where Dan was standing with her back turned to Ella, who seemed to be perfectly comfortable with her towel wrapped around her waist.

Dan stared daggers at her as she walked past and handed Ella her shirt.

Ella pulled it on and said, “Thanks for the courtesy.”

Dan turned around. Her heels echoed on the wooden floor. “My apologies,” she said to Ella. “You’ll have to forgive Phil—” her voice turned acerbic again when she turned her head. “She’s not learned how to read her text messages yet.”

“And you’ll have to forgive Dan, too,” Phil said dryly. “She gets a bit dramatic after five or more drinks.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Dan started taking off her shoes, steadying herself on the wall as she did so, and took them in one hand. The other, she reached out to Ella. She softened up, and asked, gentle-pitched, “It’s Ella, right? You’re the one who can be trusted.”

Ella blinked nervously, but she took Dan’s hand and said, “That’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m glad Phil has found an appropriate… plaything.” She said the latter more to Phil than to Ella.

It was an abrasive thing to say, but that’s who Dan was. Anyone new had to be tested first. So far, the only people who had passed had been Phil and Louise.

She’d been nonchalant so far, but Dan’s snide remark called up some hurt on Ella’s face. She scrunched her nose, said “Nice to meet you, I guess,” and walked into Phil’s bedroom.

Calling after her, Phil said, “I’m sorry. She’s drunk.” She turned her head back and emphatically spoke to Dan. “She’ll apologise in the morning.”

Dan huffed at what she currently considered to be an overly sensitive reaction. “That won’t—”

Rolling her eyes, Phil said, “Oh, just go to bed. Did you have a nice time, at least?”

“It was okay.” Dan tried to maintain her defiant composure, but she deflated at the question. “She asked me to stay, but I said no.”

Because she was more scared of being found out than of travelling from one end of London to the other in the middle of the night. Phil warmed to her again. It was all just a shield. Dan was so soft on the inside. She didn’t know how that wasn’t obvious to others.

Phil reached out and pulled Dan in for a hug. “Glad you made it home safe.” She squeezed for emphasis. “Goodnight.”

Pulling back, Dan smiled, her first genuine one of the evening, though Phil didn’t know that. “Goodnight.”

Dan awoke seven hours after her head hit the pillow, feeling groggy and heavy, in need of coffee and a greasy breakfast.

She could hear Phil and Ella giggling on the other side of the wall. After some time, the giggling quieted and unclear voices spoke in hushed tones.

Dan stood up and walked to the wall she shared with Phil, laid her ear against it. She couldn’t make out everything, definitely not Phil’s voice. But that other girl said something like I don’t care, shut up.

That was something Phil struggled to do in general, Dan thought, and smiled to herself.

For a minute or so, all she had to do was imagine Phil’s ragged breaths, and then she heard an ah, fuck that was unmistakably Phil’s voice.

This was wrong, Dan knew that perfectly well. But the thought was difficult to hear against her desire. She slipped a hand into her pyjamas, listened to the muffled moans and imagined being the cause of them.

If Phil ever found out about this, there’d be hell to pay. She’d be furious, she’d see Dan for who she really was. Maybe she’d say she was broken, so revolting—

The moaning on the other side grew more guttural.

Her knees could barely hold her, and this was wrong.

Dan was wrong. But Phil would fix her. Her walls, slick and hot, strained around herself. Phil would show her just how awful it was to want this, and she’d fix her.

She heard a stifled yes and had to bite her tongue not to make any sound herself.

It was so bad to do this. To get off on the fact that it was wrong— maybe she was beyond help.

That tipped her over. Dan held her breath, trying to be noiseless as her orgasm slowly spread and then hit all at once, made her rigid and lightheaded.

When it ebbed away, she slid down to the floor and caught her breath, no longer trying to hear what was happening. She slumped away from the wall and got back in bed, holding very still. Not moving helped with not crying.

This was a new low. With her head hurting and her stomach begging her never to drink again, she was possessive over someone who wasn’t really hers and never would be.

A memory popped up violently. She recalled calling Ella a plaything and was mortified with her own incorrigible impulse to push at anyone who might get between her and Phil, who, again, was not hers.

How was she going to move past this?

A voice higher and clearer than Phil’s called out. Either the other girl was less considerate or Phil was better in bed.

Both options made her feel more nauseous than her hangover, so she rose and made herself breakfast. Dan kept two more eggs warm in the frying pan with the heat on low for when Phil and her guest came down.

As she ate, she thought about last night. Her first time out, and she did not recall the name of the person she’d slept with. Or well, slept with… Dan put her hands on her, the girl liked it, Dan declined her offer to return the favour.

Maybe she’d had too much to drink. Maybe they just weren’t a match. But she wasn’t feeling it, to be touched by someone else. The girl had said you can stay and Dan had said no thanks, then she left and tried not to be sick on the tube home.

“Morning.” Phil was wearing her pyjamas. Her shoulder-length black hair was half-brushed and in a side part.

Ella didn’t say anything, just sat down at the breakfast bar, leaving a chair vacant between Dan’s and her own. She leaned her head on her hand as Phil started serving them coffee. She looked a bit haggard, hair sticking up in places, sleepily rubbing her face, in her wrinkled skirt and formal-looking black button-up.

Dan remembered Phil telling her she worked at a hotel. She must’ve come straight from work. Must’ve been a rough night — not in a pleasant way — by the looks of her. This, Dan could understand. It was difficult to sleep in a bed with someone you didn’t know, she’d always thought it was freaky that Phil could just do that and be fine.

“Morning,” Dan said. “Erm. I didn’t know if you were hungry.” She tried to make eyecontact with Ella, but the girl evaded her. Fuck. She must’ve really hurt her feelings last night. Mortifying for both of them.

And she’d no right to do any of that. This girl seemed good enough, she’d simply been unwillingly dragged into Dan’s insane secret(s), she didn’t deserve that.

“I kept two eggs aside. As a peace offering,” Dan added. “I’m sorry about last night. That was unbecoming of me.”

Ella looked up. She appeared a bit… crushed. No other way to describe it. Whether from lack of sleep or something else, Dan wasn’t able to tell.

“What? I’m sorry, I was somewhere else.” She offered up a smile. “Totally zoned out. Happens to me sometimes.”

“I was apologising.” Dan clarified. “For being a bitch last night. I’m sorry I called you a plaything, I didn’t mean that. It was uncalled for.”

She sat up a bit straighter and turned fully towards Dan. Her disposition transformed into something less bleary and more affable. She glanced and smiled at Phil handing her a cup of coffee, then looked back at Dan. “You’re forgiven. I don’t think you’re a bitch.”

This was perhaps even uglier of her than the jealousy, but Dan resented that she felt sympathy for her. Be easier if she could just hate her, be easier if she was a bitch to Dan, too. “Thanks,” Dan said weakly.

Ella didn’t tear her gaze away from Dan. She smiled and pressed a thumb to her teeth. Dan felt like she was being observed. All at once, she was very aware of her unstraightened hair and her unwashed face. She looked away.

“Don’t look at her like that,” Phil said. She sat down in between them. “She gets uncomfortable.”

“She gets uncomfortable when you talk about her like she’s not in the room,” Dan snapped. Phil raised her eyebrows at that, and she melted back into herself. “Jesus. I dunno where that came from.”

“You must be feeling pretty dreadful,” Phil said. She patted Dan’s shoulder.

The movement triggered a wave of nausea. “Eugh.” Dan shivered. “Do not shake me.”

Phil apologised. Dan sat silently, listening to them having stilted small talk about the weather and Ella’s job. And Ella continued being nice, asked to see Dan’s outfit for tomorrow and when Dan showed her a photo she said it was a great choice.

At some point, Ella said she had to leave, and Phil let her out. When Phil returned, she started clearing up the kitchen.

She wasn’t talking much, which was unlike her. Despite her sympathy for Ella, Dan couldn’t help but stew over how they’d been together, what they’d done, the fact that they were already comfortable enough to have the other stay for breakfast and use their shower.

“Do you like her?” Dan blurted out.

“Uh…” Phil looked up from loading the dishwasher. She scratched the back of her head, appeared sheepish.

Dan had never seen her sheepish before. It looked so endearing on her, which made her brain all soft and silky. Yet, knowing it wasn’t directed at her hurt like being stabbed in the liver. Every day with Phil was a little bit of both of those things.

“She’s nice, I guess,” Phil said. “We’re not… a thing.”

Oh. Well, then Dan didn’t know what on earth she was acting awkward for. It wasn’t like they didn’t talk about this stuff. “Okay. You seem unsatisfied with this state of affairs.”

Phil blew out a quick breath. “I’m actually perfectly fine with that,” she said. “It’s uh, it’s not that exciting. If you know what I mean.”

It was really unfair of Dan to feel any measure of joy about that at all, but she did. In fact, it satisfied her greatly. She tried not to let it show on her face too much. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Whatever,” Phil said. “I’m fine.”

Aloof, that’s what Phil characterised herself as when it came to these things. Dan, of course, carried a planet-sized amount of shame and guilt for not giving her any other option. If it wasn’t for her, Phil wouldn’t have to be aloof.

If it wasn’t for her, Phil could be frustrated, she could pursue something better, she could… well, she could have the life she lived before Dan shoved her back in the closet.

Her guilt was starting to overtake her hangover. The back of her throat felt sour.

Dan had excused herself to her room after their slightly awkward breakfast and not reappeared except to grab lunch. Phil had spent most of the day alone in the lounge listening to Dan’s piano practice and tidying a little, aware that she probably wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

In their household, Phil was more of a cleaner — laundry, hoovering, dusting — where Dan was more of an organiser — culling dead leaves off plants, unloading the dishwasher, putting things back where they belonged.

She thought about tomorrow and tried to figure out if she felt nervous about it. She envisioned the pressure: camera’s, microphones, livestream rolling, talking to celebrities, what if one of their jokes didn’t land, what if she tripped over her own two feet, what if someone made a remark that would be difficult to counter.

It didn’t really bother her. Phil liked her job very much, and yes, there was stress involved, but mostly, she was excited. And she’d have Dan. They were so comfortable around each other that the social pressure lifted quite significantly when they worked together.

Phil decided she wasn’t nervous. They’d be the ones asking the questions, anyway. And they’d been asked to do it. They’d not pitched it to Peter. Peter had pitched it to them.

Not a sponsorship, not a concept for the radio show. An entirely new thing, with the two of them in mind. That was new, that was exciting, that surely meant something for them.

“How’s this?”

Dan entered the living room in her joggers and hoodie with her face and hair done up in what she’d been practising the past couple of weeks.

That it looked perfect was extremely important to her, almost to an incriminating degree. That last part, Phil wouldn’t say. Telling someone to calm down almost never helped them calm down.

Sometimes, Phil wondered. Who Dan would be, if she hadn’t grown up the way she did. How she’d dress, how she’d behave. What she’d feel.

Anyway, it looked as good as it had for the past two weeks — Phil really wasn’t sure what else there was to improve. Dan wore a thin line of pink eyeliner which blended into a glittery lilac eyeshadow, a similar colour to her dress, and a blush that made her look appropriately rosy and shiny.

Her hair was done up in a twist, fastened to the back of her head with bobby pins and two strands of hair carefully pulled out to frame her face. She was—

Well, she something Phil didn’t think about. Anymore. Because you didn’t think about your friends like that.

“It’s very nice,” Phil said, voice slightly higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “It’s good.”

Dan smiled. “Thank you. Shall I cook?”

“I didn’t realise we had any microwave meals left,” Phil joked. Dan wasn’t much of a hero in the kitchen, to say the least.

A look of fond contempt came over Dan’s face. “That’s not how you get dinner served in this house.”

Phil shivered in mock-fear. “Ohh, I’m terrified. What’ll I do without my undercooked pasta and overcooked broccoli?”

Actually, she thought, it was kind of sad that Dan’s parents had never taught her how to cook. Kind of neglectful, wasn’t it, not to teach your daughter such a basic life-skill. She felt bad for taking the piss.

Dan didn’t take the bait. She sat down on the sofa next to Phil and pulled out her phone. “Get a takeaway, then.”

“Erm. With whose card?” They were at the point in the month to watch out for that.

“Oh my God,” Dan said. “Aren’t your parents supposed to send you money for this?”

Phil spluttered. “Uh, I spent it on the suit!”

“Then get off your bum and into the kitchen.” Dan angled herself on the sofa, started pushing at Phil with her feet and took on a fake Northern accent. “Get us some tea, love!”

Phil smacked her legs away and said, “I thought that wasn’t how we got dinner served in this house?”

But she got up anyway and started making them a pesto pasta (fair’s fair, her cooking skills only marginally outranked Dan’s). They watched TV, they ate. Dan, in the meantime, had taken off her makeup and undone her hair.

Phil thought she’d relaxed a little, but when she finished her meal, she drew her knees up to her chin and said, “I’m nervous.”

“What about?” Phil asked, as if she didn’t already know.

“Everything.”

Exactly as she thought.

“The producers,” Dan elaborated. “The celebrities. The director. The chat. The internet the day after.”

Phil sighed compassionately. “Look, I understand. But you need to chill. Everyone’s going to love you. They wouldn’t have asked if they weren’t certain about some positive aspect of… us.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said us, it could’ve triggered another anxiety.

Or maybe she’d already been thinking about that anyway, because Dan’s demeanour didn’t change. She sniffled and said, “Sorry for being crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” Phil said. “You’re just scared. It’s okay. But you don’t have to be. I’ll be there. If you fuck up, I’ll just distract them and say something dumb. I’m good at that anyway, it comes to me very naturally.” She bumped her knee into Dan’s. “This is exciting. You’re going to play would you rather with John Newman.”

That shocked her out of it, little music snob that she was. Dan shared at her blankly. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Exactly. Me and you, Dan. These nobodies have nothing on us.”

Two:
my Noon had Come — to dine—

The whole evening, Phil was just buzzing with excitement and all the people, and the noise and the lights and the fact that they were pioneers and oh my God, Lily Allen was here, and Phil had to hold her handbag, had to try and look normal while listening to her surprised well duh noise at the dumbest would you rather question she’d probably ever heard —

Okay, maybe there were some nerves involved. But good nerves. Healthy nerves. Nerves that made the both of them stand to attention, made them a little sharper, a little wittier.

Dan was radiant, as predicted. She was the kind of person who got the worst stage fright, then calmed immediately when the lights turned on. Dan made their red carpet guests burst out with laughter, startled at the idea that, shocker, red carpet interviews could actually be whimsical.

They had a quick after-chat with Robby, their on-site producer. He said Pete had been watching and that they’d been wonderful, they’d definitely get to do this again next year.

Such a thing was cause for celebration, and holy shit, did they have licence to be unprofessional here. The afterparty was chaotic, loud, and filled to the brim with cash-flush, intoxicated people from the British media and music world they were too scared to talk to, so they stood by the bar and chatted to each other.

That’s what they were always doing. Dan was anxious, she had fomo, and Phil didn’t like her like that because it made her snappy and sad, so she’d guide them away from the main groups at the party and they’d have a better time just being on their own. They were socially compatible like that.

Phil was a lightweight, so she was trying to pace herself. Dan knocked back four drinks like it was nothing and urged Phil to let loose.

“Let’s get plastered,” she said. “We deserve it. You deserve it!”

Sceptically, but joking, Phil raised her eyebrows and said, “Is that healthy? Getting drunk as a reward?”

Dan rolled her eyes and ordered them more drinks. “My healthy habits are few and far between. Cheers.”

Eventually, after many more cheers and drunk people approaching them and congratulating them, they decided to filter out. It was late. They struggled to find a black cab that would take them so they stood outside shivering for twenty minutes, waiting for an uber.

Dan, now in her element, for once managed to chitchat pleasantly with the driver, giving Phil time to look out the window and feel satisfied with a good day’s work.

They’d done a magnificent job, Robby had made that much clear. And they’d already been approved to do it again next year. Life was so fucking good.

(Even though all of it was work).

After fumbling with the keys and the door, they managed to get themselves upstairs to wind down in the lounge.

“Five hours of partying at a music event,” Dan said, “And we didn’t hear a single good record.” She connected her phone to the speakers and turned the volume up. “Now this, I can work with.”

An upbeat, tightly rhythmic guitar riff sounded through the living room.

the lights are magic! and he feels lucky!
and he’s got money! shoots like an arrow…

Dan danced and stopped to shake her head at the clapping in between the vocals, moving loosely but not quite effortless — she was keeping time in her head, Phil could tell. She urged Phil to join her, but Phil needed to sit down and stare into nowhere for a minute.

Her decline was accepted, of course, because Dan made space for people. Phil sat on the sofa and closed her eyes until the end of the second verse. She leaned back and watched Dan dance.

Gosh, she’d always been pretty. That thought surfaced before she could suppress it. Dan was all limbs and a soft face, and better with curls, Phil thought, she looked more like herself then, less tamed. The damp February air had brought some of them back.

London loves
the mystery of a speeding car
London loves
the misery of a speeding heart

They were equal in height, but it was almost like Dan was tall in a different way to herself – less angular, less straightened out than Phil, maybe. Sometimes people mistook Phil for a man, when she had her back turned to them and her hair tucked under a hat. That didn’t happen to Dan. She was rounded, precious. Alluring.

Phil was just about to have another drunken, misguided thought when the song ended and Dan turned the music down. She slouched on the sofa. Her updo had started to come undone in places, and she sat with her hand under her chin, breathing heavily from the exertion.

There it was that again, that thing that made people assume. She dressed so elegantly, looked so well-kept. Perfect make-up, feminine gestures, speaking with a practised loveliness that made her rude and dark humour that much funnier in contrast. Yet that was just the thing, it was practised. Didn’t come naturally to her, did it?

When all that distress of needing to look right fell away, even if just for a minute, even if just because she was inebriated, she sat like — excuse Phil’s language — a dyke. Wide-legged, elbow to knee, an air of apathy for all that which is conventional, appropriate, homogeneous, and normal.

"Normal". Whatever that was. They certainly weren’t normal, were they? Not just their jobs, Phil thought. Their whole… deal. Which was just a friendship.

The drunken, misguided thought boomeranged its way back into her head. And she couldn’t deflect from it, encumbered by alcohol. Hot. Dan was so attractive, especially when she didn’t behave like she was being evaluated, when her real self popped up through the norms she’d taught herself to cite.

Dan started to take out the pins that kept her hair together and placed them on the coffee table. “Phew. I am…” she stared at the middle of the floor. “Drunk.”

Phil felt herself chuckle. Her voice seemed lower than usual. “Me too.”

“Maybe it’s bedtime,” Dan mused.

“Alright.” Phil got up and pulled on her tie to loosen it. She reached out a hand to help Dan get up.

They shouldn’t have done that. They shouldn’t have touched hands, Phil thought. She definitely shouldn’t have pulled on Dan’s arm a little too assertively, pulled her a little too close.

Now they were inches away from each other. And she could tell — she could see Dan’s eyes, hazy with alcohol and fading adrenaline, flitting from Phil’s eyes to her mouth.

Phil licked her lips nervously. She shouldn’t say this. “How drunk are you?”

Oops.

The swallow before Dan’s answer didn’t escape her. Neither did the minor bodily shift she performed that was not a drunken sway, but rather a deliberate move into Phil’s personal space.

Dan raised her hands and slipped Phil’s tie out of its loop. “A reasonable amount,” she said.

This was so, so stupid. “Okay. Me too.”

Phil was pretty sure her eyes were as glassy as Dan’s, that Dan could smell the alcohol on her breath the same way she could smell it on Dan’s. That they were both feeling dizzy from breathing in each other’s air.

Really, it was so incredibly stupid.

She was about to abandon ship and turn away when Dan leaned in and put her hand on her shoulder. They didn’t have to say anything — the questioning in Dan’s eyes, she could answer without words.

Still, Dan breathed in sharply when Phil kissed her, and she went a little limp. The vulnerability of it briefly stilted Phil, and she thought, maybe this is it. But then Dan kicked into gear, grabbed at Phil’s face and kissed her back.

Phil brought her own hands up to keep Dan’s face close to hers. Dan was frantic and quick, shucking off Phil’s jacket and moving to undo the buttons on her shirt.

She struggled with the covered buttons. “Get this fucking thing off,” Dan said against her lips, pulling the shirt of out Phil’s trousers.

“Hm, yes, wait,” Phil pulled back to breathe. “Bedroom?”

“Yours.” Dan reached up her hands again and they walked, kissed, stumbled in the right direction. When they reached the bedroom door, she pushed Phil up against it. She sucked Phil’s bottom lip into her mouth and bit hesitantly.

The sensation pierced pleasantly through her hazy mind, and Phil let out a moan, invited Dan further into her mouth. She pulled on Dan’s hips and sank her fingers into the skin beneath the smooth fabric.

Dan pushed down the door handle and they almost fell into the room, but Phil staggered back and saved them, pulled Dan onto her lap in the bed and hiked up her dress, felt her up and grinned. “You’re w—”

“Hush,” Dan said, and kissed her again for good measure. She pulled at Phil’s blouse again. “Off.”

Phil began to oblige, undoing the buttons. It required some effort with her fine motor skills at reduced performance. Alcohol, lust. She wasn’t focused. As she struggled through it, Dan wasted no time and began to fiddle at her belt, button. Undid the zip. The urgency made Phil feel giddy. She chuckled. “Excited, are you?”

“Shut up.” Dan motioned for Phil to lie down, hiked up her dress and sat to hover over Phil.

The skin of her thighs was glowing with warmth, Phil ran her hands over them slowly, exploring, taking her time.

Dan had other plans. Her breathing was ragged, she looked flushed. Her voice was strained and low. “Hurry up,” she said. She guided Phil’s hand in between her thighs.

God, she was needy, and bossy, and Phil wanted to break it. Wanted to hold out on Dan until she ached. She withheld her hands and lightly traced her nails over Dan’s skin. “No foreplay?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up already,” Dan said. She breathed out through gritted teeth. “Fuck me, that’s your foreplay.”

Phil realised she was dead serious. She slid her hands further up. Dan was slick, so ready to receive her fingers. “I guess you’re right,” Phil taunted.

Dan opened her mouth — probably to tell her to shut up again — but only a strangled, choked noise came out when Phil moved her fingers to put pressure on her clit. Dan let her head fall back and bucked her hips.

She was gorgeous like this. Phil let her rut against her hand just so she could watch it. She reached up to pull Dan’s dress off her shoulders.

“Too — much — work,” Dan said between gasps. She ground down on Phil’s fingers, tried guiding them towards where she wanted it. And she was wet enough for it to almost work. Phil pulled back, delighted in Dan’s whimpering.

“Need it.”

“Need it? Or you need me?” The words just slipped out. She wasn’t usually like that, but Phil was too far gone to notice it or think about what that meant. “You need me?”

That really got to her. Dan whinged, she slumped down to Phil, buried her head in Phil’s shoulder and moaned. She tried to drive herself down on Phil’s fingers that way, too. “Come on, come on,” she pleaded.

Just one more, Phil thought. It was just so hot. She pushed at Dan’s entrance, teased slowly. “Need me? Say it.”

“Ah—” Dan let out a little sobbing noise. “Yes. Need you, need you.”

Phil needed it too, now. Needed to see her come undone. She pushed inside. “Good.”

A long, drawn out moan was muffled by the pillow. Phil moved her two fingers in and out, painfully aware of her own neglected pleasure, until Dan’s moans quieted into soft, shaky breaths.

She didn’t know Dan well enough like this to know if that was a good thing, so she slowed and asked “Okay?”

“Yes, yes.” Dan lifted her head to answer rapidly. “Don’t stop, please, more, harder.”

The demand echoed around in Phil’s head, caused her to bite back a moan. She wanted to hear more of that. Teasing a third finger, she demanded, “Fuck, Dan, yes. Beg for it, beg for me.”

It wasn’t difficult for Dan to oblige. “Please, please, fuck me.” She dropped her head back into the pillow and started mumbling things Phil couldn’t hear. Phil gave her what she wanted, felt Dan’s thighs started to shake, felt her clench around her.

“Fuck!” She started choking out swears erratically, loudly.

“Neighbours!” Phil hissed.

But she was too far gone to hear. Dan bucked her hips on Phil’s curled fingers and cried out as she came, her thighs tensing tightly around Phil’s hand. Phil let her ride it out until she felt her go slack, let her come down from it slowly and shifted away gently, letting Dan catch her breath.

When she recovered — which didn’t take long — Dan said, “Sorry if that was too loud.”

A gravelly laugh bubbled up in Phil’s throat. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t file a noise complaint.”

“Well,” Dan said. She traced her hand over Phil’s abdomen and kissed her jaw. “You’ll have to do a better job than me, then.”

All Phil’s need came back to her at once. Dan’s hand slipped into her briefs and the touch was almost too much already.

Phil clasped her hand over her own mouth and moaned.

“Won’t take long, will it?”

Phil almost laughed. She said through her fingers, “How observant of you.”

“Hm.” Dan made slow movements around her clit, almost hesitant. “I’ll be careful.”

Nodding, Phil pressed her hand harder into her mouth, unable to keep quiet. Heat started to pool inside her, rising steadily throughout her body. The weight and pressure of Dan’s fingers on her after being neglected, all of her wet and overly responsive, made her squirm.

Dan looked up. “Okay?”

“Sensitive,” Phil breathed.

“What do you want?” Dan slipped her fingers close to the wetness pooling out of her.

Fuck, it was difficult to know words now. Phil bucked her hips towards Dan’s fingers, feeling need spread inside of her. “More.”

Not very instructive, but Dan understood very well nonetheless. She slipped her fingers inside and curled them, searching until Phil cried out.

“Ah — Yes, yes, right there.”

Dan shushed her and shut her up with a kiss, letting Phil moan into her mouth.

To get this close this quickly wasn’t like her at all, but Phil wanted it so badly, it felt so good, and nothing made sense anymore, and her brain crackled with static. All she knew was the feeling of Dan coming on her, and Dan’s reaching inside her, and—

She short-circuited, came with the sound of her own strangled moans buzzing through her head and Dan’s fingers inside her.

Everything faded away for a bit.

Phil came back to earth still panting and with the comfortable weight of Dan’s arm slung over her chest.

Fuck. That was much better than fine.

Beside her, Dan was awfully quiet.

She was awake, laying very still, dress off but the covers pulled up to her chin. Phil doubted she’d react to any question or comment. She seemed catatonic, her breathing noiseless and her body unmoving, like a prey animal in freeze response.

At least that sobered Phil up a little. She began to shrug out of her trousers. Dan moved her arm to give her space, and Phil got up to put on some pyjamas. The late winter cold had started to chill her skin.

When she crawled back into bed, Dan was on her side with her back to Phil, the way they usually slept if they fell asleep together. Phil tried to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat halfway. “Are you…” she didn’t even know what she wanted to ask. Dan gave no response.

Phil tried to calm down. It was just a stupid, drunken mistake. That’s all this was, a release of energy spurred on by the adrenaline from the event and emotionally vacant hookups and vodka tonics.

If they didn’t try to forget about it as quickly as possible, it would fuck up everything. They weren’t meant to be this. It was a mistake. A mistake. A mistake. Dan undoubtedly knew that already. Phil would be able to feel the same way about it by morning.

The other side of the bed was deserted when Dan woke up, like she’d feared. Alcohol and sombre regret weighed on her heavily.

They’d been so rattlebrained, buzzing around from the excitement. It was so rash. Her impulse control had been weakened, and she couldn’t help herself.

Last night, when she was trying to keep still and not wanting Phil to move, not wanting to break the spell of her coming down from Dan’s touch, she’d almost deluded herself into thinking Phil actually wanted all that.

Then Phil had got up, changed, not said a word. Clearly, she thought of it as a mistake.

Which, let’s be honest, it absolutely was. The chances that she’d ever get over Phil were astronomical before but now, after all this? It was more likely that they’d present the Oscars together than that she’d ever move past her feelings.

She put her face into the pillow and let out a half-hearted sob, hit the mattress with her fist. Cursed God for forsaking her and making her this way; so easily seduced, so broken, so fucking stupid.

When the angry cry dissipated, she turned the pillow around so Phil wouldn’t see the stains on it and collected her clothes from the bedroom floor. She retrieved her pyjamas from her own bedroom, showered with the water so hot her shoulders turned red, and felt a little more normal.

Phil was sipping a coffee and scrolling through her phone when Dan entered the kitchen. She looked up from her screen. “Morning. Hangover breakfast?”

That meant eggs. Dan nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak right now.

“I’ll make it,” Phil said. “Sit down.”

Of course she was being nice and normal and a good friend about it. What else could she have expected?

Dan sat down and watched Phil’s back as she cooked. This was more difficult than it used to be. Now she could recall the way the muscles had moved underneath Phil’s skin, how she’d felt underneath Dan’s fingertips, the warmth and the hair that trailed down her stomach.

She tried to speak up, without knowing what to say. “How are you, uh…”

Phil’s shoulders flexed with the deep breath she took. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. We can be normal.”

This was Phil doing her a favour, Dan realised. She was saying, you’re forgiven, let’s put this away.

So Dan put it away.

“Okay.” She straightened herself. Let’s try this then, being normal. “D’you know what?”

Turning, Phil put her breakfast in front of her. Her eyes were a little red, heavy. Probably from the hangover, right? “What?”

“We interviewed John Newman last night, and I still don’t know who he is.”

Phil burst out laughing and all the remaining tension between them sublimated into thin air.

Maybe she could do this, Dan thought, as they dug through breakfast and chatted along easily. But then Phil’s loveliness began to overwhelm her, and so did the domesticity they had together, and she reached the point where all she could do was grieve the day that Phil would meet someone who was truly right for her — and all of this would fall away, and Dan would be left. Alone, distraught, and defective.

She excused herself and went out for a walk, leaving Phil behind in the apartment to recover from her hangover by herself.

After about 30 minutes of aimlessly wandering the streets, she decided to go see Louise. Her flat was far away, but Dan walked the entire one and a half hours. The cold numbed her cheeks and her ankles started to hurt halfway, but it didn’t matter.

Louise opened the door with Darcy on her hip, her little blonde angel, and a tea towel swung over her shoulder. She was surprised, but happy to see Dan. “Oh, hello!”

“Hi.” Dan fretted around nervously. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, come on in, love.” Obviously, that word, love, wasn’t a problem when Louise said it. Darcy babbled as Louise chattered at her and made them a cup of coffee.

“You had a big day yesterday, didn’t you? I saw you on the livestream, you were lovely. So funny! And I loved Phil’s suit, absolutely dashing—”

She burst into tears at the mention of Phil’s name.

Louise turned, concerned. She put the child down to waddle around as she pleased. “What’s wrong?”

Dan sobbed into her own hands and said the only thing she should think about. “I’m so stupid.”

Sat at the kitchen table and warming her hands on her mug, Dan told her the story. Well — the details were hers and Phil’s, obviously. But the broad strokes.

“My God.” Louise reached out to wrap her hands around Dan’s. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously fucking not,” Dan sneered. “I want to jump off Tower Bridge.”

Her friend tutted at the self-deprecation. “Sweetheart. How d’you think Phil feels?”

Instinct told her Phil hated her, but experience had disproved at least that. “She thinks it’s better if we don’t discuss it. I think I agree with that. It’ll be easier to put it behind us, that way.”

Louise didn’t know how to react to that. Maybe she thought it was toxic and codependent and insane, but, Dan thought, they were already all of those things anyway, so she didn’t really care.

“Please don’t tell her I told you,” Dan pleaded. “It’s very private. And I don’t want her to know that I’m thinking about it. You understand.”

She did. “It’s between us,” Louise assured her. “I just hope you can…” she searched for the appropriate wording and restarted her sentence. “Don’t make yourself suffer, darling. At least try to get over her.”

Just like the last time she suggested that, Dan laughed sardonically. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen.

After three weeks or so, Phil noticed they had reached a true return to the status quo. It might’ve been a bit a quicker than was usual when something like this happened between friends, but then again, they had no idea what "usual" was anyway.

They basically spent every waking hour together, so they kind of speedran conflict and resolution, regardless of how aggravating or asinine it was.

Back to normal, meaning: they bickered, they ate dinner, they watched Buffy, they went to the studio and reported on the internet’s weirdest story of the week, they folded and sorted each other’s laundry.

Phil helped Dan film a "get ready with me" video, which was a hysterical idea (the last term either of them would be associated with was lifestyle vloggers) but the fact that she purposely fucked every part of it up and came out looking as styled and kept as usual made it even better.

Dan said it was a sophisticated jab at her own obvious vanity, and she’d meant it as a joke, but Phil kind of thought it was true. It was a funny bit, but, like— Ugh. She wasn’t very good at explaining why the things Dan did were clever. They just were.

In return, Dan helped Phil cut together the best parts for a reaction to a childhood home video she made. Didn’t matter that Phil already had the whole thing ready in her head or that they were so attuned to each other’s comedic sensibilities that there was no sense in looking stuff over for each other. Really, she just wanted to see Dan watch it and hear her say it was funny.

So, yes, status quo. Good days. Bad days. Sometimes, very bad days.

They already knew this was going to happen, because it took a full year for the bill to come into effect, but the first same-sex marriages in England and Wales were performed on March 13th, 2014.

It was a bad fucking day for Dan, and because of that, it was a bad day for Phil, too.

In the morning, Dan didn’t get out of bed to have breakfast. Around noon, Phil heard the first notes of Moonlight Sonata, the first movement, spill down the hallway from Dan’s room. Several times, she struggled in the middle of the piece and started over. Then she moved on to Gymnopédie No. 1.

And yes, Phil knew these pieces by name even though she couldn’t play a lick of piano —Dan had taught her, of course. Dan had also taught her they were not particularly difficult for experienced players, but that she was "not that good" and so they always took a while to get into.

Phil had also learned Dan played classical music when she felt like she was suffocating. Video game music, she’d once said, she didn’t want to taint with that feeling.

“Hey.” Phil cracked open the door without knocking. The room was growing dark except for the lamp on Dan’s desk, the sun had started its course down to the other side of the planet. Dan had not changed out of her pyjamas. “Anything you’d like for dinner?”

She stopped playing and looked up. “Cyanide pasta sounds good,” she said.

Phil wasn’t supposed to laugh at that, but she did anyway and took Dan up on the offer of banter. “D’you want me to taxidermy you, or would you like to be cremated?”

“Cannibalise me.” She got up and pulled on a jumper over her pyjama top and tied her hair in a low ponytail. “Like those fuckers on the North Pole trying to find the northwest passage. They deserved it, I deserve it.”

“You deserve it?” Phil felt very sceptical of this.

Dan walked out and Phil followed her into the kitchen, let her pull out a leftover container of Indian food and dump it straight into a nonstick saucepan. Phil worked herself up and sat on a corner of the breakfast bar. She liked being seated in high places.

Dan sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever find the strength, Phil. I don’t know if I can ever be…”

Gay. It wasn’t a word she even liked saying, but be gay was what she said when she referred to coming out, because she felt like she wasn’t really gay if nobody knew. Phil’s many arguments about how this was horseshit had not taken hold, apparently.

“That’s okay,” Phil said. “Plenty of people do that and have full-fledged lives, you know.”

“I know,” Dan said. “But I’m holding you back.”

This again. “I don’t give a shit about that, you know that. You’re more important to me than… whatever.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a thing friends were supposed to say to each other. It was true, though.

“Okay, missus chill,” Dan snapped, “but I care! I care that I’m ruining your life. Jesus.”

“Hey. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here,” Phil asserted, unbothered by Dan’s angry tone. “You don’t own me. This is my choice. Let me have it.”

Her anger rerouted at herself, then. “But I’m forcing you to make it. It’s so selfish.”

Alright, enough of this. Phil hopped off the counter. She approached Dan and put her hands around the woman’s shoulders. “You’re upset. You think this makes you a bad person, for some reason. But it’s me and you, okay?” She paused for emphasis. “You’re wrong. Now, stop shouting and eat something.”

Her expression went slack. “Fine.”

They ate leftover butter chicken and poppadoms, watched TV. Halfway through, Dan started to laugh at some of the funnier bits. She started nodding off around thirty minutes to midnight.

Phil gently prodded her awake. “Hey. Bedtime?”

She yawned and looked at her knees. “Okay. Can we…?”

They hadn’t done that in a while and she’d never actively requested it before, but. “Of course.”

In Dan’s bed, Phil pulled the covers over both of them and arranged a comfortable, appropriate amount of space between them. After ten minutes of trying to fall asleep, Dan turned on her back and said, “I’m sad again.”

Phil tried to infer what she wanted. Usually Dan didn’t like crying in front of other people, so she asked, “Should I leave?”

“No.” Her voice was a fragile thing in the dark.

“Okay.” Phil rolled over and wrapped one arm around Dan’s middle. “I’m here. Sleep well.”

“Sleep well.”

The proximity heat from Dan’s body and her natural smell, the comfort of it, calmed down her racing heart soon enough. Phil drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Three:
I trembling drew the Table near—

Ella was trying — she really was. But things weren’t really clicking. Phil closed her eyes, tried to just focus on how it felt.

Numb. That’s how she felt. Nothing meant anything. She kept moving out of her body and going somewhere else.

“Hey. Are you with me?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. Just stop. It’s not happening.”

Ella came back up and settled the both of them underneath the duvet. Maybe she wasn’t feeling it, either. Or maybe she felt rejected and it’d killed the mood for her.

They were in her apartment, at Phil’s request. She’d not wanted to hear Dan come home this time.

Yeah, Dan had gone out. She was doing that like twice a month these days. Twice a month had become her and Ella’s routine, too.

Phil wished she could say she felt happy for Dan, that she was glad too see her settling into her sexuality or something like that. The truth was, she envied the women Dan went home with to a sickening degree.

Sickening, as in, it physically sickened her, and sickening, as in, it was probably unhealthy to feel that way. Friends didn’t inhibit each other’s exploratory phases.

About two weeks ago, Peter had told them they were going to scale back their involvement with the radio. By August, they’d switch from Dani and Pippa to the name Internet Takeover which the two of them would present on the first Monday of the month and go to other vloggers on other weeks.

The first week had been a little bit devastating, processing the news. But it also gave them time to work on something else. Dan had always wanted this; for them to do something bigger, better, something more professional. A book. A stage show.

Early days, yes. But it was going to happen. Peter had contacts, he’d helped them out a smidgen. That was nice of him, he didn’t have to do that. He liked them, slimy though he was.

“Are you alright?” Ella asked. “You’re very quiet.”

Phil sighed. Everything was moving so fast, yet she felt stuck on something. She thought back to something Dan had said a while ago. I’m ruining your life. Phil had thought a lot about what she really meant by that. Eventually, she’d come to the conclusion that Dan thought she wasn’t happy. It hurt her feelings a little. How could she not be happy? They had each other. They were still friends. She was happy.

She stared at the ceiling, feeling like she owed Ella an explanation.

“I had sex with Dan,” she said.

“Oh?” Ella sounded a little bit too surprised, like she had been practising her reaction. “When?”

Phil shrugged. “It was a while ago. After we backstage presented that award show together. We were really drunk, it just sort of. Happened.”

“I see,” Ella said. She reached out her hand to hold Phil’s. That wasn’t a very familiar gesture between them, but Phil allowed it. “How do you feel?”

How did she feel… She was fine, right?

Phil was always fine. She was okay with everything. That’s how she dealt with things — she didn’t process, she just moved on. Next thing, next thing. Don’t think, just move until it’s gone. Work harder, you might forget about it.

“We agreed to move past it. She obviously thought it was a mistake, she went all quiet after. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Phil said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

Ella shook her head. “We’re not like that, you know that. As long as you’re clean, which I trust you are, it’s okay.” She turned on her stomach. “You know, I’m also trying to forget someone.”

Now it made sense why the sex wasn’t very good, why they didn’t kiss much, why it felt so mechanical. “Oh.”

“She got married two weeks before you met me,” Ella explained. “Like, married married.”

“Right.” Phil understood what she meant — married to a guy. Because the other option was still illegal back then.

“I went to the wedding,” Ella said. “And afterwards, I just cried and cried. I had to call in sick to work the next day. I felt like such a fool.”

“Then I guess we’re both fools,” Phil said. She turned on her side to face the other woman, who wasn’t quite crying, but her eyes appeared glassy and her face was overcast with heartbreak.

Ella sat up. She sniffed and breathed, then left the room and returned a couple minutes later with two mugs of tea. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Phil thought that was a good idea, so she let Ella tell a story about a frustrating guest and they made fun of the guy together. In return, Phil told an ancient story about the man who threw a chocolate orange at her head when she was a cashier at WHSmith.

That made the both of them laugh quite a bit, and the mood shifted. They became a little more touchy with each other.

Eventually, Ella broke the politeness between them and said, “Can I rail you? I don’t care if you think about someone else.”

It was improper, it was a complete betrayal of Dan’s friendship and her trust, and it would not help her get over this at all. It was a really bad idea.

Phil licked her lips. “Yes.”

By the end of August, with the show only being on once a month, and the prep for the book and the tour still in the writing-emails-to-people stage, Dan began to backslide.

They’d done this interview, a couple days ago. To promote the new version of the radio show, to get some coverage about it in the media.

She wasn’t sure why Peter or Robby or their talent management thought this was a good idea, because it was her and Phil’s online presence platforms that drew listener-viewers to the BBC, not print media, but whatever. They were good employees, they’d said yes.

This fucking guy. He was unrelenting. Many of your viewers are gay or trans, why do you think this is? Do you feel public figures have a responsibility to come out? How do you respond to the accusation that you two are secretly a couple?

It was a difficult moment. Phil was such a bad liar, and Dan always got stuck in her head when trying to answer these questions, because they sent her into a panic spiral.

In the end, she’d try to say something about privacy, and a right to her own personal life, and hoped it hadn’t sounded too evasive. She didn’t know how it was going to end up in the article. They didn’t have control over the content.

That confrontation had put her into the spiral she was still in, which hadn’t really talked to Phil about. And not really talking to Phil about it meant Phil thought they were ignoring it and going along as usual. Which meant she had very little recourse from Phil seeing that witch, Ella.

(She was actually quite a lovely, withdrawn person, funny in bursts, compassionate all-round. Dan still wished it was easier to hate her).

Every day was the same. Every day was suffocating. Physically — the air hot and oppressive, exhaust fumes mixing with England humidity and choking out all the oxygen. And mentally. Her thoughts looped around self-hatred and shame and wishing she didn’t have to be here anymore like a merry-go-round.

So she played a lot of classical piano, she didn’t shower, sometimes she didn’t get out of bed. Or she would get up at 6AM, no longer able to sleep, and go for walks, leave her phone at home and a note on the bar for Phil that just read out again. see you later.

At least if she wasn’t at home, she didn’t have to put all this shit on Phil, and that genuinely did make her feel better. There were a lot of things Phil tried to get her out of these… moods. Depressive episodes. Whatever they were. Not all of them worked, and the less they worked, the more guilty she felt for them not working.

Phil had saved her, but sometimes Dan wished she would just stop trying. ‘Cause that would mean Dan could stop trying, and that’d be a real fucking relief. If Phil gave up, she would have license to piss off, get over all this. Maybe move somewhere with a milder climate and far away enough to justify never seeing her parents. Off the grid.

(That was an idiotic fantasy and she knew it. She wouldn’t like living off the grid and she wouldn’t like being away from Phil).

What Phil really deserved was to have all this trouble taken out of her hands.

That solution kept popping up lately.

The thought didn’t scare her anymore. She’d first had it when she was thirteen, shortly after she realised she was that thing that everyone threw around like an insult. Gay. She didn’t deserve that word, didn’t deserve any of them. If she didn’t dare to wear it, how could she possibly lay claim to that identity?

Phil said this line of thinking was rubbish, but she just said that to make her feel better. Like, nobody actually believed that, surely. What was the point of "claiming" something and then not being open about it?

She thought about all of this looking out into the road. She wasn’t sure where she was. It was busy. She must’ve wandered away from the city centre. Cars zipped by so fast she couldn’t even glance at their drivers. She could just. She could just.

She hovered a foot off the pavement.

Suddenly, she heard a voice call out to her. “Danique! Dan!”

It couldn’t be — like, it actually couldn’t.

But it was. Phil approached her, desperately out of breath, her dark hair tied back in a high ponytail that she undid as soon as she reached her. Phil laid a hand on her shoulder and, in between tugs of air, said, “Hey. How are you — Everything okay?”

Dan stared at her blankly. “How did you find me?”

Phil shrugged. “You didn’t leave a note. I got a bad feeling and an instinct.” She caught her breath. “Let’s go home.”

She acquiesced.

During their journey home, Phil kept having to grab her hand and holding her back from crossing the road without looking.

At some point, Phil said, “I was really scared, you know.”

“Sorry,” Dan said. She scarcely believed she’d actually gotten close to hurting someone that way.

“Hold on.” Phil held out her arm in front of her again as they waited for the pedestrian light to turn green. Then she did something very curious: she slipped her hand into Dan’s and didn’t let go.

And the world did not get sucked into a black hole. They just walked. Holding hands. No-one even gave them a second look.

“Was I right to be worried?” Phil’s voice held a tense tremor.

That was impossible to answer truthfully, she didn’t even know what the truth was. “I don’t know,” she said. But this much was true; “I’m glad you found me. Me and you.”

They walked for half an hour and found their way home. There, Dan settled on the sofa, feeling mildly catatonic, and Phil brought her some water. She also got Dan a slice of toast, correctly inferring that it’d be her first meal of the day. She chewed on it, tasting nothing.

Phil cleared her throat. “Ella was coming over today. But I cancelled.”

Another way she’d taken something away from Phil. This made her so angry with herself — she’d no reason to dislike Ella other than that she was taking something from her that didn’t belong to Dan in the first place, it was deranged. She was deranged. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Do what?” She was acting light about it, as if it wasn’t a touch unhealthy to cancel on your not-my-girlfriend because your flatmate was having a bad day.

“Push your life aside for me,” Dan said. She put the rest of the toast down.

“Tssk.” Phil tutted. “I’d much rather watch the first season of Buffy with you than have sex while you play the Final Fantasy soundtrack on the other side of the wall and pretend not to listen.”

It was so crude and so unlike Phil to say that, it launched Dan out of her mood for a moment and into a spurt of laughter (it was also true, but it was clear as day from Phil’s face that she was just fucking around). “Oh my God!”

Phil smiled at her laughter and averted her eyes.

“Can’t believe you just said that,” Dan said. She rubbed her face and hoped it looked like the colour on her cheeks was from laughing.

It was a rare occasion, but Phil was visiting Louise without Dan. Dan said she was having an okay day, had promised her she wouldn’t do anything stupid. She just wanted to stay at home and work on a video today. Phil trusted her, implicitly.

“So,” Louise said, sitting down across from Phil at the kitchen table. “Dan tells me you have girlfriend?”

Phil rolled her eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t why she keeps saying that.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’ve been seeing each other for a while.” Louise wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

“We’re not even — that’s not what it is. We sleep together, nothing else,” Phil explained. “I’m serious. It’s pure convenience. We talked about it, we’re both just doing this to forget someone.”

Louise cocked her head. “Who are you forgetting?”

Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to say that. That was private. Somehow, she felt it would be an invasion of Dan’s privacy as much as it would her own. “That’s between me and mine,” Phil said. “I can’t have relationships.”

“Why’s that?” Louise stirred some sugar into her tea.

“Because,” Phil groaned. “Because! I can’t be with someone who really wants to be with me. I can’t be out.” She slumped in her chair. “I don’t think anyone could deal with… what Dan and I have, anyway. It’d just make them insecure.”

What they had together. She thought about that all the time now, she wasn’t sure why. Maybe the interview had both put them on edge. That was several weeks ago now, but it always took Phil some time to understand how she felt about things, to find the true nature of her emotions.

They were in a bind with this. How can you be a public figure and never do unscripted interviews? It was kind of insane. Their talent manager definitely didn’t like it. But their talent manager didn’t know they were gay, so, you know. Low compassion was to be expected.

What she had with Dan was impossible to put into words. There weren’t phrases in the English language that she knew of that could accurately describe how integrated, how entangled they were. Like two kittens from the same litter: bonded pair, do not separate.

“That sounds pretty…”

“Codependent?”

“I was going to say, it must hurt your feelings.” Louise blew on her tea.

Phil shrugged. “I’m fine.”

She was always fine.

The rest of the afternoon, they talked about other things — Phil was happy she could tell Louise some of their exciting plans for the tour, the book. And also load off on how stressful it all was.

On her way home, she thought about how she’d justified her thing with Ella to Louise, and she realised it was a pretty bad reason to keep having sex with someone just because it was convenient.

She came to the conclusion she didn’t want to see Ella anymore, but she didn’t know how to tell the girl that, because she didn’t have a reason other than I think we’re just keeping each other stuck.

It was a pretty good reason, but it was also a pretty hurtful thing to say, and Phil didn’t want to do that to her because she was just a person.

Dan didn’t like Ella, though Phil didn’t really understand why. They were perfectly amicable. It was just, she’d known Dan for a long time, and she could tell there was something off about her when Ella was in the room.

Something that wasn’t simple awkwardness. A subtle inflection in her voice, her look. As far as Phil knew, Ella did not know Dan harboured some kind of resentment towards her.

If only she could figure out what that was, because she didn’t want Dan to be uncomfortable. But she’d tried asking, and nothing ever came out. Dan was always just saying, I can’t keep you from these things, it’s not fair.

Which really felt like she was making it about something else.

At home, Dan was drinking a glass of wine by the sofa and watching YouTube on the TV, something nerdy about a theme park. She turned the volume down when Phil came in.

“Hi.” Phil squeezed Dan’s shoulder as a greeting. Dan had gotten dressed today, that was a mood improvement indicator. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” said Dan. She was wearing a black top and shorts over purposefully ripped tights. “Not very inspired. But it’ll do for a night in.”

“Sure, it will.” It worked for Phil, certainly.

Another one of these things that kept resurfacing. It was hard not to see these things, after they’d been together. She thought the passage of time would’ve remedied that, like it had in the past, after the first time she’d noticed Dan in a different way.

That was, oh, maybe three months after they’d met.

She’d done a pretty good job at pushing it away because Dan was in such a bad place and she didn’t want to intrude on their friendship. She’d nearly managed to forget about it entirely. Her psyche had not been as kind to her second time around. Dan was on her mind all the time, it wasn’t fair.

She sat down next to Dan, watched along in silence. A girl talked about, yes really, crowd control issues for a defunct attraction in Disneyland Orlando.

Somehow, Dan was enraptured by this topic. Phil had a strong impulse then, to pull Dan closer and tell her how much she liked this about her.

They never should’ve done what they did. Everything she’d tried to push away for years rocketed up and crashed back into her. That ancient feeling returned. Deeply, painfully, catastrophically.

She was not fine.

The video had ended. Dan said, “Are you seeing her tonight?”

The topic had shifted in a direction Phil hadn’t been able to follow. “Who?”

“Ella. Who else.” Her voice was flat. That’s what she did when she was pretending not to be angry about something.

“I’m not,” Phil said, still feeling numb from her reoriented inner world. “Why?”

She shrugged. “You haven’t in a while.”

It was true. Dan hadn’t been out in a while, so. There’d not been a reason. “I guess so. I uh. I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other a lot anymore.”

“Oh?” She perked up. “Why’s that?”

Remembering that she was an awful liar, Phil tried to find a true enough reason. “We’re not compatible,” she said.

Dan cocked her head in interest. “How so?”

“Well, if you must know, the sex is pretty… tragic.” Another true enough reason.

“The sex is bad?”

Phil was a little too dumbfounded with herself to register how proddy the question was. “Yes.”

Sex with Dan wasn’t bad. Phil wished she’d never found out about that, it would make it a lot easier not to stare at the exposed blotches of skin on Dan’s thighs right now.

“How come?” Dan gave a cheeky smile.

She wouldn’t be able to answer that without lying. “None of your business!”

“Um, it is my business if you’re going to be mopey about it and unable to support me in my tragic woes, thank you.”

Phil snorted. “You need to know about my sex life. For your mental health.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” she laughed. Then got up and picked up her wine glass. “Do you want any?”

Want you, Phil’s thoughts went, and that was a little too much. Everything was coming together all at once, and this — well, she couldn’t help herself, but this couldn’t escalate. Her throat was dry. “I have, something to finish. Work.” She stood up. “Um. I’ll be down in an hour, get whatever you want for dinner.”

She didn’t wait for Dan’s response and rushed off to her room, feeling hot and out of breath.

Four:
And touched the Curious Wine

Three weeks later, still not having seen Ella and with Dan in her typical ups-and-downs, Phil laid on her bed dreading to make a phone call. Dan was out, running errands. Or so she said.

At least she hadn’t gone on any other impromptu morning walks near the motorway again. Phil shuddered thinking about that day.

Well. It had to happen sometime. She pressed the dial button next to Ella’s name.

“Hello?” She picked up after three rings.

“Hi. Where are you?”

She could hear the smile in Ella’s voice. “Just got off the tube. You haven’t called me in a minute.”

“Neither have you,” Phil said.

“True. Should I come over?” She sounded a tad weary.

Phil’s chest hurt. They’d never talked about it much, but she still feared she was hurting someone’s feelings, and that never felt good. “I think I should save you the commute,” she said.

She sucked in air through her teeth. “I’m in the neighbourhood. Give me ten minutes.”

With that, she hung up.

And ten minutes later, there she was. Phil opened the door and gestured for her to come in, but Ella declined. She appeared steady and decisive. “We can do this out here.”

Oh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult. “Okay.”

Ella sighed and pulled her hair over one shoulder. A small strand of it slung around the other side of her face in the mid September breeze. “I think you’re a great girl. But you’re lucky I don’t feel any stronger than that. You need to get your shit together.”

She paused to let Phil speak, but Phil couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s not like I had no part in this, but, we’re not helping each other move on. More than that, I think anyone’s who’s going to try and get close to you is going to get their heart crushed.”

This, Phil could respond to. “I agree. I—”

“You know what I mean, right?” Ella reached out and touched her elbow with genuine concern.

“I’m not good at getting close to peo—” Phil was about to spill over and confess a lot of shit about putting feelings in a box and not letting anyone prod at them too much.

Ella interrupted. She tried to glance in the hallway behind Phil. “Not that. Is she here?”

Phil shook her head. “Tesco.”

“What I mean is, no-one’s going to be able to get close to you because of that girl. You’re devoted to her. You might not know it yet, but you love her.”

The breeze chilled Phil’s arms. She hugged herself as if it would warm her up. There was no other way she’d ever known how to respond to what Ella just said to her, so she said what they always said. “That’s not true. Dan and I are close friends. I do love her, but not the way you’re saying. That’s not what we’re like.”

The look in Ella’s eyes could only be described as pity. “Darling, it is true,” she said. “Although you strike me as the kind of person who takes a while to understand these things.”

Phil felt a heaviness in her throat. “I don’t—”

“It’s okay.” Ella walked up the three small steps in front of their apartment door and stepped into the doorway. She put a hand to Phil’s cheek and kissed the other. “Goodbye, Phil. I hope you figure out it out some day.”

With that, Ella rushed off and into the street. Before Phil knew it, she was gone. Her head felt clouded. Something was trying to appear to her, running at her through a dense fog.

She sat in the doorway with her head in her hands, struggling to process what’d just happened. She wasn’t sad about Ella, all that felt pretty neutral. But it felt like a tsunami of feelings was about to hit.

They were best friends, co-hosts, flatmates. Nothing more. It was just a fleeting feeling, a little attraction sparked by a drunken encounter.

“Awe, were you waiting for me?” Dan approached their front door wearing worn-down converse and a pair of sunglasses that made her look like a Broadway diva, carrying bulging white plastic shopping bags. She shuffled in past Phil and put the shopping on the floor to close the door and take her shoes off.

“My God, Tesco on a Saturday after freshers week is like the apocalypse. I had to snatch away the last carton of oat milk from a nineteen year old.”

She turned, chattering on. “I mean, what university student drinks oat milk? I certainly didn’t have money for that. I don’t know that oat milk even existed four years ago.”

All at once, it hit Phil. That this was the life she wanted to live forever, with Dan’s incessant chattering and her own filling the house — gas leak be damned. Rumours be damned.

“You’d think the shops prepare for this shit, but no, they were out of a bunch of stuff. So I made the shameful trip down to Waitrose because God knows I’m not going to be found dead in an Iceland, so I’m afraid we’ve had to spend ten quid on fucking toilet roll— are you okay?”

She’d been staring then, Phil realised. At the little strands of hair that had frizzed up and stuck to Dan’s sweaty face, at her eyes only slightly visible behind the sunglasses, at the the green jacket she’d stolen from Phil because Dan didn’t own any mid-season wear.

She was so lovable. Fuck.

“Hey.” Dan took her sunglasses off and hung them, folded, on her t-shirt collar. “I bumped into Ella on my way back. She… wished me a nice life. What’s that mean?”

Phil wanted to walk up the stairs to excuse herself to her bedroom, but Dan brushed her fingers past her shoulder to catch her attention once more. That was different. Dan rarely did that, reaching out in a way that wasn’t playfighting. She looked concerned. “What happened?”

“We said goodbye, is all.” And she was right about me, Phil thought.

Phil wished Ella had never pointed it out with enough gentleness to truly consider it. Maybe she would’ve never found out. They could never be — too much had happened between them, and Dan could never feel about her that way, she was too repressed and scared, and it would mess everything up they had together.

“You’re crying.” Dan stepped towards her.

Phil stepped back. She had to get away from her and figure out how to put this back in the box so they could still be friends. “I need some time alone.”

If she could cry, the tears would be thick and constant until her corneas burned with it. Instead, Dan stared at the ceiling, feeling empty and sick of herself.

Everything was her fault; that Ella hadn’t made things serious, that Phil couldn’t be with her. Thanks to her incessant need for control and hiding and not being able to let go of Phil. It felt like the guilt would open up a black hole in her abdomen and consume her.

She was ruining their lives with her hurting, slowing down their creative process with these stupid cyclical bouts of fatigued self-hatred, those days where she felt as though she’d collapse under the weight of her shame.

All because she had these awful feelings that just wouldn’t go away, the desire that wouldn’t dissipate, that sublimated itself into her psyche throughout their daily life constantly and unrelenting. That only gained release when she was being disgusting and creepy. Or when Phil was feeling drunk and stupid one night, and kind enough the next, to just let the both of them forget about it.

It was true — she was an awful friend. Selfish, good-for-nothing, disgusting creep, the lesbo who sniffed her best friend’s dirty laundry, the closeted gay celeb holding back the community, the internet personality cultivating clout by pretending to be the audience’s friend begging for privacy. A hypocrite, barely worth the salt content in her body.

That thought came back, that she’d do herself and Phil and the world a favour if she’d just stop fighting this and do what she was meant to do; fuck off and move on to the place she didn’t believe existed after this one. After all, she’d had that feeling since before she met Phil, so perhaps meeting her and going through all this was just punishment for not acting on it earlier.

Pathetically, she still had some sense of how much it would hurt Phil. She just couldn’t do that to her.

But there was one other thing she could do. She could do what she should’ve done from the beginning. And she better rip off that band-aid quickly, before her selfish cowardice would settle over her again.

She got up and knocked on Phil’s bedroom door. “Phil? Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” The sound was a bit muffled.

Phil was sitting at her desk with her head resting on her arms, as if she planned to take a nap on it. The computer was turned off. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.” Dan stood in the middle of the room, feeling like she was the only inhabitant of a shrinking island.

“Okay… scary,” Phil said. She sat up. “What’s going on?”

Fuck, fuck fuck. She didn’t want to do this. It was so hard.

Yet it was all she could do to protect herself, to protect Phil. She had no other friends, no-one she trusted as much, but if you love her, you should let her go, right? Saying it was like taking a sledgehammer to the foundation of her world. “I think I need to move out.”

Her face fell. Again Dan had hurt her, but this time for her own good. “What? No, why?”

It could make it easier to just put it all out there. What she’d done to them, how she’d perverted this one nice thing she had. Could be that Phil would hate her for it, but at least that would make the split easier for one of them.

Dan breathed out. “Because I’m a sucker. You’re the first person who was actually nice to me, and I don’t think I can fix myself.”

“Fix?” Phil turned concerned. She stood up and approached Dan. “What’s there to fix?”

She quieted and averted her eyes. Dan breathed out in a strained way. Her face felt tense, as if she felt sick. “You’ve no idea how difficult it was for me to watch you gallivant around with that girl—”

Phil scoffed. “Gallivant? That is rid— Wait, answer my question. What’s there to fix?”

Dan pressed the heel of her hands to her cheeks and groaned in frustration. “You are so fucking stupid, it actually blows my mind.”

It did not come out nearly as biting as she’d intended. Instead, when she dropped her arms back to her sides, she felt the pinpricks of tears behind her eyes. Oh great, now they worked again.

Weakly, Phil said, “Enlighten me, then.”

Her voice wavered. She felt sick at being forced to confess it so explicitly. “I love you. I can’t handle you, being around you but not being with you. Fuck.” She wiped at her eyes and sniffed.

“Oh.”

That’s all she had to say? Suddenly, Dan felt enraged. Fuck this bitch, making her put out all this hurt and answering it with oh. “Really? That’s all you have to say to me?”

Phil stammered. “Well, I — you — I just—”

“Okay, fuck you then.” Dan turned around. “Maybe I’ll put on my steel-toe boots and take a nice little swim in the Thames.”

“Hold on.” In three swift steps, Phil was next to her, grabbed her wrist. “Don’t leave. I’m like, coming to terms with what’s happening right now. Give me ten seconds.”

Dan rolled her eyes. Yeah, she was the one who needed to work through things, sure. She tried to shake Phil off. “Let me go.”

“Okay, I’ve processed it.” Phil blinked. “Oh my God, we’ve wasted so much time.”

“What are you on?” Couldn’t they just end this, she thought. Dan would really like to hide under the covers and cry until the ducts ran dry.

Phil grinned and put her hands around Dan’s waist. “You are so stupid, it actually blows my mind.”

Nothing made sense. The touching, that smile. That’s not what happened when you told people these things. She wasn’t worthy of whatever this was. “I don’t—”

“Ever since we — since the awards, I’ve been trying to forget, and I just can’t, every time I look at you I remember, and you’re all I think about, and—” Phil looked up and laughed, incredulously. “I’m losing my mind.”

Oh.

Oh.

They had wasted a lot of time. She was stupid.

Dan reached up her hands to cup Phil’s face and kissed her.

It felt like it was the first time, proper, a do-over. No alcohol on Phil’s breath, no hazy stumbling around, no clumsy fiddling. Phil kissed her back, and Dan could feel her struggle not to break out into a smile as she pulled the two of them closer.

Then something horrible bled back up through the silt of her mind; what she’d done, what she’d already taken from Phil, what she’d violated. Didn’t matter if she told it now or never, the secrecy would destroy them.

Dan felt her body go rigid and stiff. Phil pulled back at her tensing up. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “What’s wrong?”

God, she felt sick. She’d fucked it up before they even started. Dan shook her head to herself. “You shouldn’t let me have this. You don’t know what I’ve done, you should hate me.”

A hand insistently lifted up her chin. Phil searched her eyes, it almost felt painful to face her. “What make you think there’s a single thing out there that could—”

“I steal your clothes,” Dan blurted out. “In a bad way. I—” The second part didn’t come out as easily.

“Oh, I knew that. What do you…?” Phil’s concern melted away. She frowned, thinking. “Oh! Oh, Danique…” she tutted. “Dirty, dirty.”

Dan felt herself turn crimson with embarrassment. Someone knowing you this well could be a curse. She turned her head away and wished the admonishment didn’t wriggle at her spine. “I’m sorry,” Dan said. “I’ll go.”

She tried backing away, but Phil held on.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shame you. Come, let’s sit.” Dan let her guide them to the bed. “I don’t really mind what you do with my clothes, Dan. I… well. I don’t know if this crazy, but I’m really into you, so it’s not a bad thing to me, if you’ve thought about me that way and—” She swallowed. “I’ve spent enough time not understanding myself and I like you too much to care.”

“I hate myself and I’m ashamed of everything,” Dan said. “You deserve someone who’s not as insane.”

Phil sighed and grabbed her hand. “Stop it.”

She squeezed as reassurance. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t care if we never tell anyone, but I want to be with you. I love you.”

“You really mean that?” Dan felt tears well back up into her eyes. “You could be with anyone you want, you—”

“Did you hear me? I love you.” Her voice was so earnest. Like this was all that was true to her.

Unfathomable. But it was real. She could feel it all — her feet pressing into the carpet of Phil’s room, Phil’s hand over hers. “You mean this?”

“Yes, of course.” Phil reached out and tipped her head to the side. Her kiss was tender and kind. “Me and you?”

Maybe life had been worth all of this grotesque suffering, after all. Dan nodded. “Me and you.”

Epilogue: Late November, 2016.

Dan looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, gave a rebellious lock of hair another turn between the straighteners.

“Dan!” Phil called out to her from the hallway. “You don’t need to get dolled up like Sophie Turner just to watch me try on a suit and then mope in a dressing room because you don’t know what to buy!”

Dan laughed to herself. “Fuck you!”

“Taxi’s been waiting for three minutes,” Phil said, walking into the bathroom. She unplugged the straightener. “You look fine, come on.”

In the past three years, Phil had eased up a lot on her presentation. Since they lost the radio show and didn’t have images to keep up for a boss’ brand anymore, she’d dropped the act with the long hair and the pinks and such.

First it was clothes; she’d stopped feminising herself for work so much. Didn’t bother getting a women’s cut for a suit. Looked good on her. Then hair; short, mullet-y, and bleached platinum blonde like a hunk from a 90s movie. Dan didn’t tell her it made her nervous to stand next to her, because she looked like a dream.

Dan wasn’t so comfortable. She looked in the mirror and saw the same girl staring back at her as three years ago.

It just wasn’t good enough. Something about this outfit wasn’t working, the way this shirt hung off her shoulders, all boxy and casual, made her look like she was a stranger to the black pleated skirt and heels, the satin ribbon crisscrossed around her ankle and tied at the back. She turned to Phil. “Be honest. Do I look gay in this outfit?”

Phil rubbed her face in frustration. “We really don’t have time for this. You look wonderful, nobody gives a fuck, let’s go.”

“Okay, but do I look—”

The taxi beeped outside.

Phil pulled her out of the bathroom and steered her downstairs, handed Dan her coat. “Keys? I have keys. Okay, out, out.”

The cabbie greeted them somewhat tersely. “Where to, ladies?”

“Just drop us off near Oxford Street, please,” Phil said.

He asked if they were going shopping and what for. Phil engaged him in chitchat while Dan prodded at her face looking into her phone’s front camera, as if she could still change her makeup.

They were on their way to buy clothes for an awards show. It was the first iteration of the British Online Creator Awards. Their talent manager had submitted the film of their stage show and both of their solo channels.

Dan didn’t have much hope for the stage film — it was good, but as they’d found out over the past few years, women duos and comedy entertainment awards didn’t gel together, to put it mildly.

They’d won three awards out of the many, many things they’d been nominated for, and all of those by audience vote. That was fine. Popular opinion ruled in their favour.

If they were going to win anything, it was going to be Phil. She wasn’t just saying that — her own channel had been a bit dead in the water lately. The numbers were good, but she wasn’t feeling great about the content.

Editing her videos had started to feel like watching a marionette show. Phil could tell she was feeling worse, and lately, it had started to cause some friction between them.

The guilt had not dissipated, she’d hoped it would, hoped that love would erase it all. The past 3 years or so had been the happiest of her life so far, but unfortunately, that wasn’t saying much. She was still miserable.

“Right here is fine,” Phil said. She paid with her phone and ushered Dan out. “You need to relax,” she said as the cab drove off. “No-one’s looking at you.”

She wondered if that would ever feel true. “I feel like a prey animal,” she said.

If she’d said something like that in the flat, Phil would’ve pulled her in, kissed her temple, and comforted her. Out here, that wasn’t allowed. She kept her distance and said, “How many sequins were you thinking?”

That made her feel a little lighter. “I think you should be in silver and me in black. You know. Light and darkness, ying and yang. People will like it.”

“People will like it… What about, will you like it?” Phil smiled as they walked into a store.

“Sure,” Dan said.

But when Phil put on the first couple of items they found, all she could think about was how it would look. The boy and the girl, but both of them girls. That’s all anyone would see. That’s all anyone would talk about. How they appeared together, how they looked at each other. Every minute touch and glance would be recorded and released to the internet to be dissected.

“What do you think? Looks good?”

Of course it looked good. That wasn’t the point. Dan nodded. “It’s nice.”

“Not very convin—” Phil stopped in the middle of her sentence. She recognised Dan’s thinking. And turned sullen. “That’s not fair,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dan said. “You look good.”

“Piss off,” Phil said. She ducked back into the changing room and came out wearing her regular clothes. “We’re going home.”

There was no arguing with her. Phil waved down a cab for them and told them the address. She answered curtly until the driver got the hint and they sat in silence, tension brewing between both of them. Phil wouldn’t even look at her.

It’d been more of a problem lately. Phil wasn’t pushing for anything, but everyone had their limits, didn’t they? Dan had been thinking for a while now, that soon they’d be over. Because Phil would realise she was holding her back.

That thought had become more insistent, the more she felt like a puppet on a string. She didn’t want Phil to worry, it’d fade again, but Phil didn’t like being shut out, and now they were together and in love and so they had no excuse not to talk about it.

A few weeks ago, they’d had a similar clash. Dan had been moping, she could admit to that, and Phil had bristled, told her to stop worrying so much.

Somehow this had exploded into an argument and Dan had to bring up how she’d be less marketable if they were out, and Phil had said, work, work, work, always we end up arguing about work, you think I’m with you for money? I don’t know if you’ve looked at the accounts lately, but I’m the fucking breadwinner here.

And Dan had responded something like, fuck you, you know that hurts my feelings. Which wasn’t true, but she knew that implying Phil hurt her on purpose would piss her off, because you know it’s not about that, I’m saying I don’t care.

Well, they went back and forth like that for a while, and eventually they always broke down crying and apologising. And Phil was full of love, and so was she, and their lives were the best, they really were, the vast majority of life was wonderful.

But there was no doubt this whole glass closet thing was putting a strain on their relationship.

Yes, glass — of course Dan knew it was obvious, she wasn’t stupid. It just, it wasn’t anyone’s fucking business, and yes, she was choking, but she was always doing that, so what did it matter?

They stewed in their own insecurities and hurt in that fucking cab, knowing another one of these was coming.

“You know,” Phil said when she’d shut the front door behind them. “I can just wear something femme. All you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t want to stop you from—”

She shook her head and held up a hand. “I wasn’t done talking. You are the one who is stopping yourself from being yourself.”

Dan scoffed. “Like you’re going to be happy wearing a cocktail dress at this thing.”

“Not the fucking point,” Phil said. She started walking to the lounge. “And I’d be fine doing that, by the way.”

Fine. She was always saying that. “I said happy, not fine. Everything’s fine with you.”

“You know what’s not fine with me?” Phil leaned sideways against the wall while Dan stood in the middle of the room. She gestured as she spoke. “When you’re not yourself. When I can tell you think I look hot, but then you get all slow and stilted, and I know you’re thinking, but if I stand next to her I’ll look like a dyke. That’s difficult for me.”

Dan cringed. She hated that word. She didn’t understand how Phil could throw it around like that. She started speaking louder as she went on, “You think this isn’t difficult for me? Sometimes I look at you and all I see is other people. I wake up, I think about getting outed. We do an event together, I think about getting outed. We meet someone in public, I think about getting outed. It’s like breathing to me!”

Phil raised her voice in turn. “I do think it’s difficult for you! That’s what I’m trying to tell you, I’m tired of watching you suffocate yourself! I hate this for you.”

She quieted and wiped at her eyes. Her anger deflated as quickly as it came on. “You know that I can deal with it. I love you, it’s enough for me. But this shit is going to kill you. You think I can’t see — baby, come here.”

She approached, folded Dan into her arms and squeezed. “I love you. I’m not leaving. You’re making yourself miserable and there’s no reason. Just no reason.”

Dan could think of plenty of reasons. She let Phil’s shirt absorb her tears. “My family will never speak to me again. We’ll lose so many job opportunities, especially abroad — People will accuse us of—”

“Fuck all of that,” Phil said. “Fuck work, fuck your family, fuck the public. I’d rather be a bricklayer and move into a council flat with you than watch you go on like this until you crumble.”

She sniffled and laughed quietly. “Liar. You’d rather die than do a day of real labour in your life.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll become an investment banker, then.” Phil kissed her forehead. “And you can sit pretty next to me on the Barclay’s float in July.”

“Ew.” That was another type of gay she definitely wasn’t. She pressed a kiss to Phil’s lips. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I love you.”

“I love you.” The thought that she didn’t deserve someone so kind and patient was there in the background, briefly, before it fizzled out. There was so much evidence to the contrary. “I want to. I just, I don’t know how.”

Phil stroked her hair. “I don’t want to push you. I was upset, but I—”

But she did want it, Dan thought. The relief alone would be like a new lease on life. Being able to touch each other in public, not having to hide. Phil was right. Fuck work, fuck family, fuck the public. “I want to.”

Phil’s never been nominated as a solo creator before, and their other stuff didn’t get a win, as Dan predicted. It was what the both of them expected, really — most prizes go to guys, except the lifestyle awards which went to makeup vloggers. Maybe in ten years, the world would look a little different.

The BONCAs were loud, very internet, and very 2016. It was a little lofi, a little clunky. Clearly the budget ran tight. Phil didn’t mind this. Everyone was hopped up on adrenaline and champagne, the presenters appeared to be getting jollier (or drunker) as the show went on, and it was a good time all around.

Dan had said she had a surprise for her tonight. Phil had no clue what she was on about, which had of course led her to think about it all night. Maybe it was just a taxi out of here as soon as they had license to leave, and clumsy drunk sex when they got home. That wouldn’t be half bad, Phil thought, looking at the woman sitting next to her.

For once in her life, Dan had left her curls as they were. Louise had helped her coil them into perfection and spent ages sectioning pieces off, pinning them up and over each other, and pulling out short strands over her forehead. Her off-the-shoulder black sequin dress that stopped short of her ankles made her look fit to be ushered into a limousine chased by flash-photographers.

Phil wasn’t the only who thought so — Dan was getting tapped on the shoulder and receiving compliments left and right, which she pretended to hate but Phil knew she revelled in.

They’d been sitting and clapping for other people for a while now. They were at a table near the stage with people they didn’t really know. The floor lights were off, and underneath the table, Phil felt Dan tap her foot, indicating she wanted to say something. Phil leaned in.

“You’re about to win soon,” Dan whispered.

Phil waved it away. “No way.”

Grace and Mamrie walked on to cheers and did a really horrible bit about accents Phil hoped they had not scripted themselves. She was about to make a joke to Dan about the light having left Grace’s eyes, when the room erupted in cheers.

At her name.

“What the f—”

Dan jumped up and applauded, shouted over the cheering of the audience, “I told you! Bitch, I told you!” She started pushing at her. “Go, go!”

“Well, come with me!” She started walking up but waited for Dan to follow.

She shook her head. “It’s yours.”

A producer gave them a stern look.

“Danique,” Phil said, hoping the embarrassment of using her full name would make it clear she was serious, “You’re making us late again.”

It worked, thank God, ‘cause the producer had hellfire in his eyes and the silence on stage was getting awkward even in the few seconds that had passed.

Phil looked out into the audience with Dan at her side, the way it was supposed to be. “I brought the only person who actually likes spending time with me up here,” Phil said into the microphone.

A soft awww skipped over the room like a stone over water. There'd be hell from Dan to pay for that later, Phil thought. But fuck it. She was in love. Sometimes, she just couldn't help herself.

“Genuinely though, we spent most of this year together. So it's only right that she's up here with me." She spoke over the reaction to that. "Um, wow. I think if you’d told little Pippa this ten years ago she would’ve jumped out of the window in fear. So I guess, keep trying new things. Your dreams might be in there. Um, if you’re at home alone, or if you’re feeling lonely in the crowd right now, just know, the world, no matter how ugly it seems, can give you very good things if you know where to look. I don’t know what else to say. Thank you so much for voting, everyone. Dan?”

Dan bent down to reach the mic. She sounded nervous but giddy. “Try new things... Yes. I was planning to do this later, really, but I might as well do it now. You dragged me up here, so it’s your own fault.”

Phil laughed nervously. “That’s not scary at all,” she joked, eliciting laughter from the audience.

“Very angry producer looking at me now for stretching time. Sorry, David.” Dan said. Another rumble of laughs made its way through the crowd.

She leaned in closer to the microphone. “Everyone, please, another round of applause for my partner and the love of my life, Phil Lester.”

And she stepped away from the podium and pressed her lips to Phil’s cheek, before they were practically chased off the stage.

“What is— Dan, what? What? Is this real?” Phil felt Dan pull on her hand, dragged her back to their table.

The other people sitting at their table served them congratulatory looks.

Dan put an arm around her waist as they sat down, kissed her cheek again. “Surprise.”

The main presenters returned to the stage and said something like that’ll make the internet very happy, Phil didn’t really hear exactly. All she could see and hear was Dan, like the world and all it’s light fell away from the space around them and coalesced around her. “That was very unexpected.”

“You’ve got lipstick on your cheek,” Dan teased. She wiped at Phil’s face with a napkin. “Sorry about that.”

It was a marvel, this version of her, so relaxed, so real. She never saw this Dan in public. “You’re inebriated,” Phil observed.

She giggled and leaned in to whisper into Phil’s ear. “I’m so drunk, it’s not going to be funny tomorrow. The hangover, I mean.” She sat back. “This—” she held up a finger and twirled it around, as if to indicate right now, us, “I’m happy with. Me and you.”

“Me and you,” Phil said. She thought that perhaps her heart would burst out of her chest and leak radiant gold all over the floor.

As the show came to an end, they were made to speak to the presenters for behind the scenes bits once more. Something for Twitter, the director said. They had to hold on to each other for stability, giddy and intoxicated as they were.

“Dani and Pippa,” the presenter said. “You gave us quite a surprise tonight. Happy one, though! How do you feel?”

Phil laughed and heard herself say, “I’m amazed, Jack really. I had no idea that was going to happen. She’s um — she’s quite a catch.”

“Am I now? That’s nice to hear,” Dan pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Oops.” She rubbed her thumb over the spot.

“Dan,” the presenter asked. “The internet just needs to know, why tonight? How long have you two been together? We want all the goss.”

“Ah, well, the world’s a— sorry, can I swear?”

He shrugged. “We’ll bleep it.”

“Great. Jack, the world’s a piece of shit. We’ve got brexit, we’ve got a clown running the most powerful country in the world, everything’s in the shitter, isn’t it?”

He grimaced slightly. “I suppose that’s something you could say,” he laughed awkwardly.

“Well,” Dan said, “I thought I should bring some love into the world. I love this woman. I’m gay, and I’m going to be happier than ever now.”

She interlaced her fingers with Phil’s. “I think this is what life is about. As for the other stuff…” She leaned in to him, as if she was about to divulge a secret, and looked into the camera. “None of your fucking business.”