Around The World: A Dan and Phil Tour Book

Bedtime in Brighton

Dan

He has no idea.

He thinks that he knows how happy I am, how happy he makes me. He smiles when I say, 'I love you,' and he always says it back. He can feel it in my kisses, in the way I fold my body into his. He thinks that he knows how much I love him, but he can't possibly understand what I can't hope to articulate, to demonstrate, to oath for the rest of my life.

Phil has no idea that he is my everything, my rock, my best friend, my confidant, my most trusted human. I can tell him this, and he can smile and kiss me with gratitude, but he just doesn't get it.

He sits beside me now, in this hotel bed, handsome and shirtless. On the eve of our dress rehearsal and set reveal, here in Brighton, he too is sleepless with excitement. His bare leg brushes my own, and I know that it is intentional. He is comforting me; he is reminding me that he is here in every possible way.

Most people know Phil's professional voice: bold, confident, and expressive. It is the way I first knew him too. At some point, during our private conversations, he started to use his softer, deeper, less articulate, natural voice with me. There was a time when it surprised me.

Now, nine and a half years later, it is his professional voice that surprises me. There came a time in which I knew Phil longer intimately than I had as a viewer. By the time I realized that time had come, I was already over-the-moon in love with him. I think I've always been.

He speaks to me now in that low, soft voice, 'I can't believe we're here.'

He smiles, and I smile too. God, he is beautiful. He believes that I am too, and he says it before he kisses my lips.

I can feel the warmth rising from his chest, the very chest that I have fallen asleep upon almost every night for the last eight years. He smells like home.

'I love you,' I whisper into his mouth, which tastes faintly of mint. I will never not feel my own heart lift when our lips touch. My skin erupts in goosebumps, and below the surface, tingles from my core to the ends of my long limbs.

The words are weak and feeble. What I feel for him is so much more than 'love.' What I hold in my heart is beyond the three-word phrase.

I watch him as he films himself. He makes a joke about his disappointment with the lack of room service, and I will myself to be absolutely still. We mustn't raise suspicion that we are, in fact, sharing a bed.

The man beside me is my partner; he is my lover, my life, my everything. I want to tell the world, but we agreed a long time ago that our union, our precious union, is off limits. It is untouchable; it is sacred.

We knew a long time ago that this was forever. Our commitment is as official as anyone else's, more so maybe. We live it and breathe it every day of our lives despite the privacy of our promise. And after we travel the world together and live this dream, our commitment will be recognized by others as well. We will take our rest, and then we will be married. He will be my husband, and I will be his.

This adventure has no actual end. We are the only two people in the world who know this for sure.

I smile and film myself surfing the internet at 1:30 am., make a joke about the article I'm only half reading, and add it to my Instagram story. I watch it back and realize that, when paused, Phil's legs can be seen in bed next to mine. I shrug and smile.

Maybe it's okay that they know -most of them already do. They think that they know how much I love him. Like Phil, they haven't a clue.

I close my laptop and set it aside. I am no more tired now than I was an hour ago, but I know it's time to try. Phil removes his glasses and sets them on his side table, just as he does at home. He turns out the light and snuggles down into the sheets, taking me with him.