*1 year later*
Summer in the City 2016 was last weekend, and it went perfectly. Phil and I have more fans than we could ever imagine, and every single one of them is so supportive of us. We had no distractions, no people trying to get between us, and no bad feedback. Everyone was so kind, all of them respecting us and none of them barging in to try and see us. We had heard nothing from my father since the radio show, and that was over a year ago. I resolved that he had learned to accept me, or at least learned from his mistakes and decided that it was a bad idea to try and get to me, especially as I had hundreds of thousands more subscribers than I did when he last saw me, and he knew that it would be too risky for him.
Phil and I, we were still together. True, we had our arguments, of course we did, but they were always small, never getting to the extremes of the Five Nights at Freddy's argument. We always resolved them within a few hours though because we realised that we couldn't live without the other one, so we ended up doing something sweet and romantic like taking the other out to dinner or making a video specially for them to show how much we appreciate them.
Phil Is Not On Fire 7 had been a great success. We answered questions like always and we also put on the Sharpie cat whiskers. We did a couple of skits and did some 'dares' that we had been asked to do. The video got over seven million views which was amazing for Phil and I, and both of us now had around the same amount of subscribers, which was good as I always found it unfair that I had more subscribers than him even though he had been doing YouTube for longer and I had never really been hooked by the idea of filming myself then posting it online for a living; my first videos are proof that I was so awkward and clumsy that I would have never started if it weren't for Phil.
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Phil waved something in front of my eyes, pulling me out of my senseless and dazed state. I snapped back to reality and blinked, focussing my eyes on the white rectangular objects in Phil's hand. The material looked like paper, all white besides black writing and blue on one end. The pieces were about two inches white and five inches long, the blue bit only taking up one inch.
Once he saw that that I was alert, Phil handed me one of the two sheets. I noticed that it was a ticket to something. The ticket had the thickness of card, but was much smoother, covered in a glossy shine that made it shimmer in the spotlight. The royal blue end contrasted from the white, and the two colours were separated by a gold rim. On the white section, words were written, printed neatly in black ink, prominent on the sheet. 'Muse' I read out on the first line. My heart started beating faster, and I could feel the blood coursing through my veins with each beat. I read the next line. '02 Arena' My mouth started to break into a smile. 'Front row' The smile changed to a shocked expression, as I stared down at the ticket, scared that it was a dream and savouring every moment as if the ticket was going to be ripped mercilessly from my grasp. When I realised that it actually was real, I couldn't stop smiling. And, for the first time in my life, I felt like I deserved it.
I had spent my life pondering about why I existed. I thought I was just a mistake, not meant to be born, a glitch. I was hurt physically and mentally by bullies and my parents for being who I was, and after a while I started to believe them. After a while I started to think that being gay was a disease, was something shameful. Having the haircut I have and dressing the way up dress didn't help with that, as I was then classified as the 'emo faggot'. I was told it was wrong to like the bands that actually helped me make it through my life. I was told it was unnatural to like people of the same gender. I knew I couldn't change who I was; you can't exactly become straight on demand or get rid of your whole wardrobe, so I took to slicing my skin for a release. To see the blood that was inside of me running down my thighs and arms in red rivers of sadness, droplets falling off and landing on the while tile beneath me... it felt... nice I guess. I thought that if I could transfer pain from other people into pain from myself, then it wouldn't hurt as much and wouldn't remind me of life for a few minutes. It worked for a while... but then I realised I had a serious problem. I would cut over twenty cuts a day, every day, even when I wasn't hurt. I would end up in the bathroom for over an hour, trying to stop the bleeding so it wouldn't run through on to my clothes. I would constantly be pulling my sleeves over my arms and staying in the school loos just to cut some more. I would crave the sight of my blood dripping down my skin, erupting from self-inflicted slices in my flesh.
So I started to cut less. I set myself a goal. One day clean, one day able to cut (optional). Then two days clean, one day to cut (optional), then three days clean, one able, then four, then five. For the first few days my week looked like this: Monday - clean, Tuesday - optional cutting, Wednesday - clean, Thursday - clean, Friday - able to cut, Saturday - clean, Sunday - clean. When I made it my first week clean, I was so proud. The cuts were still very obvious, especially the deeper ones, but there were no new cuts.
After a couple more weeks, I relapsed. I remember it clearly. I had bean beaten up at school pretty badly. My ankle was swollen and my wrist was sprained. I had a burning headache and the teacher wouldn't stop yelling at me, despite me barely being able to talk out of fear of passing out. At the end of the day I was kicked to the ground again, my stomach aimed at and I was left helpless on the ground. When I was able to get up, I had missed all the buses I could get and it would take almost an hour to walk home. I groaned and bared the walk, only to be yelled at more by my father who didn't give a damn that school had been horrible. My mother yelled at me whilst my father took all of his anger out on his human punch bag of a son. They both left and I pulled myself upstairs, taking my pot of blades from my underwear draw and picking the newest blade, dragging it across my skin. It was then that I realised how much I had missed it, but it wasn't until after when I realised why I had stopped.
I relapsed again five months later, and again another year after that. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of the blades, so I brought them to Phil's house when I moved in, trying not to let him see them.
But now, everything was clicking into place. My terrible life was seeming a lot less terrible. I was finally receiving the things I deserved, even if I hadn't thought that I deserved them when I was younger. Everything that had happened to me was now getting paid back. I had the perfect boyfriend, the perfect job, and a life better than I ever imagined, a life that I never thought I could live. When I was younger I didn't think I would live past twenty. I couldn't see myself doing a job in the future because I thought that I wouldn't make it that far. But I struggled through, putting up with every day and finding alternatives to the blade, the noose, the bottle of deodorant that was sitting innocently on the desk next to me. And now I realise what it was all for. Now I look back and think that when I couldn't see myself in the future, it's because I thought I would always be sad. The real reason was that I was going to be happy, and I was just being tested to see if I was strong enough. So what I'm trying to say, is that even if things seem like they may never get better, live for the days that make you happy. Live for the days that make you smile, because there are so many more of those days to come.
This was one of those days.
"Thank you so much oh my god Phil!!" I squealed, pulling him into a hug.
"You're most welcome." Phil murmured, squeezing me gently.
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That night, I crawled into bed next to Phil, hugging him from behind.
"I love you so much, Dan. Don't ever forget that." Phil said softly.
"I love you too." I replied.
"Dan? What do you think happens after death?"
I sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. I believe that something happens. People say it's like before you were born, you don't know it. But... I don't know I can't get to grips with that. Before we were born we were just nothing. Now, we're armed with all of this knowledge and experience. We're in people's memories, we can't just not exist. It doesn't make sense. I don't believe in ghosts, or a heaven as such. I believe that people can come back to see the people they left behind, but I also don't understand it. When you die, any afterlife is supposed to be peaceful. Unless you go to hell or some places like that but I don't believe in hell. But... if you go back to see who you left behind then you must remember your life, right? And if you died because of suicide or if you were depressed when you died, then surely you would stay depressed, or be more depressed in an afterlife."
"What if you died for something? Like.... that suffragette lady threw herself under a horse for women's rights. Would you be happy or sad?" Phil questioned.
I furrowed my eyebrows. "I guess it depends on the situation. That lady died for women's rights and now there are women's rights, so she would be happy because it was a good reason that went forward and now women almost have the same amount of rights as men. But if you were dying for a certain person, and that person just didn't know it, then you would be sad. That person would miss you terribly, and maybe never find out the reason as to why you died. When you die for someone, you want to be remembered as an honourable person, sacrificing your life. But that person may see it as selfish or unnecessary, so you would be sad that they don't actually realise what good you have done for them. It's complicated."
"Okay. Night, Dan" Phil said.
"Night, Phil."
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*One week later*
"We're going out." Phil announced proudly, standing in front of me.
"Whyyyyyy?" I asked. I had had too little sleep the night before and my eyes were clouding up and slowly closing as I scrolled through Tumblr on my laptop.
"Because you need something to wear to the concert this weekend." Phil told me. Of course, the concert. Phil must have been keeping the tickets a secret for months; you can never book up tickets a couple of weeks before the actual concert, they have to be done months in demand. He was very good at keeping secrets, I concluded.
"I was just going to go in jeans and a top..." I said.
"Nope, we're getting you a new outfit to wear in the front row seats to your favourite band." Phil's eyes were sparkling, not just from the reflection of the lights but from his happiness. I couldn't turn down spending a day with him, so I went into my, no our room and got changed, turning my straighteners on. Phil came in soon after and turned them off, unplugging them and keeping them out of my grasp.
"I like your hair curly." He explained. I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing that it was stupid to press the subject. Instead I got a black beanie and pulled it on, trying to cover some of the curls.
"Come onnnnn." He said. I smiled and went back downstairs, taking my phone off of the arm of the chair and leaving the house, Phil following close after me. Like when we went to the radio station for the first time, there was a taxi waiting for us. We climbed in next to each other and I laid my head on Phil's shoulder, yawning.
Within half an hour we were in the centre of London, looking around the various shops for something for me to wear.
"I want you to get something colourful..." Phil said, not looking at me. I fake pouted and laughed a bit.
"Not too much colour." I compromised and Phil nodded, kissing my cheek.
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Two hours later and I was standing in a dressing room with Phil, him trying to help me pull off a pair of jeans that were two sizes too small and cutting off the blood supply to my legs. One final tug sent the jeans off of my legs and Phil falling back into the door of the dressing room.
"Are you sure I have to get something?" I asked, tired out from shopping.
"Yes! We're getting you something if it's the last thing we do!" Phil said, insistent on getting something for me. I sighed and rolled my eyes. I pulled my normal, fitting jeans on and we left the shop, Phil spotting another one a couple of streets down.
When we got into the shop Phil excitedly dived at the shirts. Half an hour later I was pulling on a casual black jacket over a grey top that said 'Can you not?' On a little chest pocket. I was wearing black jeans that had a few scuff marks on them and black high tops. I looked at Phil, who was smiling.
"I like it." He commented. I nodded.
"Me too." I said, going back into the changing rooms and changing back before walking back out of the changing rooms and getting out my wallet.
"I'm paying." Phil told me.
"Are you sure?" I checked. Phil nodded. "Aren't you getting anything?" I asked.
"I got something earlier this week." He assured me. I nodded as I remembered him going out for a couple of hours and came but with some new stuff. We arrived at the till and my new clothes were scanned, the prices coming up on the little electronic screen by the scanner. The total of the clothes: £108.97.
"Phil this is over one hundred pounds!!" I exclaimed. Phil just shrugged and scanned his credit card. I took out my wallet and pressed £50 into his hands. "Let me pay half." I compromised.
"No, you deserve to be treated." He insisted. Knowing I wasn't going to win, I stuffed the notes back into my wallet and shoved it in my pocket.
We left the shop and I hugged Phil tightly.
"Thank you so much." I said. Phil just smiled.
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*3 days later*
Being front row at a concert is amazing. Especially as it was my favourite band. Phil and I were singing along to the songs at the tops of our lungs, enjoying every second. The last note of 'Dead Inside' finished and all of the members took a gulp of water.
"Before we start the next song, we have an announcement." Matt said into the microphone. We all cheered, and I took a swig of water. "What the majority of the audience won't know, is that we have two very special guests. Can I please welcome Dan Howell and Phil Lester onto the stage."
My heart was in my throat. I almost spat out my water. Phil looked at me cheerfully and squeezed my hand, climbing on stage and pulling me after him, bewildered and scared. The audience was screaming at us and I tried to regulate my breathing. Phil squeezed my sweaty hand, meaning that I could relax.
"No need to be afraid." Matt said. "There's only one thing that you'll need to say."
I nodded awkwardly. What was it that I had to say? I hadn't been told about this. What if I made a fool of myself?
"Breathe in for four counts, hold for six, breathe out for eight." Phil whispered into my ear. I nodded and did what he said, slowly calming down. Phil let go of my hand and stood opposite me, and I locked my eyes on his, forgetting that there was anyone else but him, me, and Matt.
"How long have you been together?" Matt asked.
"A year and a half. But we had a break and were together for five years before that, so six and a half years." I said into the microphone that had been put in front of me by Chris. Matt nodded.
"That's a very long time. Now, there's a reason for us calling you up here. Isn't there, Phil? Something you wanted to... Tell Dan?" He said, smiling at me. Phil nodded.
Suddenly he was down on one knee, holding a box containing a silver ring with our names engraved on it in tiny writing, smiling at me.
"Daniel James Howell, I love you so much. We have been through so much together, and I hope that nothing tears us apart. I wanted to show how much I love you... so... Will you marry me?" He stuttered. My smile couldn't have been wider. I couldn't believe this was happening. Everything went in slow motion. So many feelings ran through my body at the same time. For a few minutes, I couldn't say anything. I was so happy. Finally, I could actually be with the man who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Finally, I could prove to everyone that someone like me could actually be loved, could actually do something good with their life. Finally, I got my voice back.
"Of course I'll marry you, you idiot." I murmured, hugging him tightly, before pressing my lips to his, feeling him slip the ring onto my finger.
A/N: FINALLY SOME FUDGING FLUFF YAY AND ITS A CHAPTER TWO DAYS AFTER THE LAST ONE *pops party popper, puts on party hat and cheers maniacally* Srsly don't get used to this but yayyyy ^.^