mine: wc [1]

of the smiles we left behind

summary: some things change and some things don’t. they go to phil’s school reunion and the ways in which things have remained the same start chiming louder and louder. 

notes: anonymous said: i feel like the highschool reunion + existential crisis the day before might make a good fic. for context, the 29th of august timeline: this tweet, a pic i can’t seem to retrieve of a fan and their mom who met dan and phil at a restaurant where they were with phil’s school friends, this tweet, this one, and these two tweets. 

a semi-fic about how change is as terrifying as the lack of, and about how just because you don’t want to define something within structured lines doesn’t mean it won’t be defined for you. also read on ao3

there is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. (nelson mandela)





The invitation sits in his inbox for three days, four, seventeen. It’s untouched but he marks it with a star so he won’t lose it, even though he tells Dan he doesn’t want to go when Dan asks.

Eighteen, nineteen, thirty-three. On Wednesday he opens the reply and doesn’t thumb through his yearbook to search for the face of the name that signed the email. He types, I’ll be there, doesn’t add a smiley. Dan eats lunch on the sofa and says nothing.

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the human-shaped emptiness inside

excerpt: they have the coming out conversation over skype, four months in. phil says, i just wanna show you off, and dan says, you can. they talk about work experience, after, and kind of forget.

note: my coming out headcanon - or, to be more accurate, the lack thereof -  put into 1.5k words. there are a hundred versions of their potential coming out and none of them fits inside my head. there is a reason for this. 

also: please excuse the lowercase. i have a capitalized version sitting around waiting for someone to complain, but i have been informed this fits the style better. suspend belief. also read on ao3.


1. they have the coming out conversation over skype, four months in. phil says, i just wanna show you off, and dan says, you can. they talk about work experience, after, and kind of forget.

2. dan doesn’t tell his mum but does tell phil’s, standing barefoot in her kitchen making two cups of tea. she asks while rummaging through drawers and he tells her with shaking fingers against porcelain mugs, finds that it’s not that big of a deal. he doesn’t tell his own mum, but he thinks she already knows.

3. in the supermarket phil buys too much food for only one person and an elderly woman in aisle three asks. he says, my boyfriend’s visiting, and pretends it’s not for the first time.

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standing on their ashes

summary: they fall asleep in the same bed and dan wakes up alone, and they meet in the kitchen and laugh over coffee and unspoken watchfires and pretend, because that’s what they do best.

(written for this quote prompt: it’s hard to get over him when you’re underneath him. and sometimes break-ups aren’t clean and aren’t messy but are somewhere in-between, and when things aren’t defined it’s harder to get over them.) 

note: precisely 1.5k of angsty post break-up fic, only not exactly.  also read on ao3.




It only ever happens at night.

Maybe it’s the darkness, or maybe it’s because humans are less defined at night, less sharp and more blurred around the edges, boundaries smudging with the colours of the background.

Dan doesn’t know where the boundaries are at night. He’s not sure he cares.

They eat dinner and everything is okay and they watch television and everything is okay and the room grows dark when the show ends and then they’re kissing, and they pretend everything is okay because it’s easier that way, easier than admitting it’s really not.

They fall asleep in the same bed and Dan wakes up alone, and they meet in the kitchen and laugh over coffee and unspoken watchfires and pretend, because that’s what they do best.

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hurricane lamps for storms

summary: five snapshots from the future.

(notes: sometimes i write short drabbles that don’t have any point. i was supposed to post the ridiculous au i’m working on before i post anything else, much less yet another fic that deals with dan/phil + future, but someone on my dash was talking about them growing old and moving to the country and. well. this was written in an hour and barely edited. please don’t judge me.) also read on ao3.




In the retired sketchbook of Phil’s old drawing games, there’s a clumsily done picture of a big house with a mile-long fence and green grass everywhere. When it was drawn, Phil drank the last of his wineglass and said, “I don’t want horses,” and Dan set down his own glass and nodded mock-gravely, said, “Okay, even though the setting calls for it.”  

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one hundred pieces of me

(aka one hundred texts dan didn’t send phil)

you know when something happens to you and you start typing out a text to someone and then you realize it’s hella stupid and you probably shouldn’t send it? yeah. this sucks so much i’m deeply sorry i just really wanted to write something about the idea of all the unsent texts dan probably has, as a person who said they suck at replying.

summary: one hundred times dan didn’t press send, and the one time he did.

hey here’s a note for you if you didn’t know: when you start to type a text but then close the texts app without manually deleting what you typed, it saves the text to the drafts.





(draft 21:43)

your room’s so far away i can’t be bothered to get up but

(draft 21:44)

i know it’s only one wall but you probably wouldn’t hear if i’d yell you’re so deaf and

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threadbare but never worn

summary: six christmases shared between them, six conversations they never have, six mistletoes fear coerces them to avoid. 

(excerpt: they don’t have the mistletoe conversation that year. maybe because it feels like uncharted territory, now that the walls are theirs to share.)

a christmas fic without the element of fluff, because christmas isn’t the season of joy but the season of reflection. not really angst, though. expect the best.  also read on ao3.








Phil’s mum presses a mug into his hands, and her eyes look like she’s asking him for something when she tells him conspiratorially that she’s hidden a mistletoe somewhere in the house, just to spite her sons.

The room smells of baking, and Dan’s fingers burn on the hot ceramic but he doesn’t put the mug down, because it’s a distraction. He smiles at her and doesn’t answer, because he isn’t dumb, isn’t naïve, can see the looks she sneaks them even when Phil doesn’t.

He smiles and she does, too, and somehow, Dan doesn’t tell Phil about the mistletoe.

He finds it, though. Slips from Phil’s bedroom to the toilet in the middle of the night, feet on creaking floorboards and walls whispering with the secrets of the night. He finds the mistletoe in the alcove between the staircases, and thinks, maybe, and it’s the possibility itself that scares him.

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Ivy Week • Day 5 • RISD + Dual Degree

As soon as he had come home, Aaron had headed to kitchen. It was the last day of Ivy Week and while RISD was not an Ivy, their results were supposed to come today as well. Of course they had decided that it was the best idea to torture him by leaving him hanging; he had been waiting the entire week to hear the final word of the future he had ahead of him. Some of his friends had received their results on Monday already and thus had been able to relax while others had been to left to sweat. Most of them, however, had been dancing on the edge of nervous breakdown, losing their minds over the fact that they hadn’t yet received a letter from the university they had desperately wanted to attend.

That had been perhaps the most perfect description of Aaron’s feelings ever since he had received the letter from Dartmouth. Sure, it was great to know that he had been sort of accepted to all of his choices. He wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment or humiliation that came from bragging to everyone how he would definitely start his studies at some university. It didn’t erase the nervousness and the uneasy feeling in his gut had only intensified after last night.

However, now it was only a matter of seconds until he find out whether he was going to spend next night celebrating or drowning his anger to some pointless drawing.

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Ivy Week • Day 2 • Brown

Anyone who knew Aaron also knew just how different he was from his classmates. He didn’t care much for social events nor did he fancy spending his free time getting high or whatever they did. Not to say that he hadn’t done things, – of course he had –, but he just didn’t share the same interests as they did. He preferred his art and while he did spend some of his time with other people, especially with girls when he needed them for his art, he enjoyed the solitude that came he was either painting, photographing or whatever kind of method the artwork he was currently working on required. 

Right now, though, he was just as nervous as every senior who waited to hear the results from all universities they had applied. Aaron had applied to three universities; Brown, Dartmouth and Rhode Island School of Design. On top of that, he had also applied for the Dual Degree program between Brown and RISD, which was his top choice. He knew that the competition for the spot in the program would be extremely tough, especially since it was difficult enough to either one of the universities, although getting to RISD was slightly easier. Nevertheless, he was nervous to receive a letter from those schools. He needed to be accepted to both in order to enroll to the program which didn’t make controlling his nervousness any easier.

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