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Rain hammered down, singular drops competing as they raced down the window in Dan and Phils room. The smell of damp and fresh air engulfed the raven-haired man settled in bed as he slowly came to his senses. The grey clouds in the sky mirrored the ones in his mind, and this became evident as his eyes fluttered open only to immediately be squeezed shut tightly again and a sigh radiated throughout the room.
"Phil?," a voice echoed from downstairs, "Phil come on I want a game of Mario Kart and plus I made you waffles get down here spork"
Despite his seemingly bad mood, the ends of his mouth curled upwards. Dan was so.. Perfect.
Of course he is. He's a *real* man. Unlike you Phil. You'll never be like him, will you Fiona?
Shaking his head and cringing at the thought of his deadname, Phil dragged himself out of bed and stood up, swaying slightly with sleep still haunting his brain. He walked over to his wardrobe and almost had to shield his eyes,the flamboyant palette very nearly blinded him. Why did he have to wear such colourful clothes? He loved it when he was wearing a colour that matched his mood, like yellow for when he was euphoric and in a good mood, but all he disired right now was black.
Then it hit him. Almost falling over a tripod with his rush to get to Dan's wardrobe, he opened the doors and sighed with relief. Bar the occasional stripey jumper, Dan's choice of clothes were almost entirely black. Digging into a box of jumpers, he pulled out a black hoodie and layed it out on the bed. Not bothering to shut the doors again, (because let's be honest, who has time for that?) he went back to his own and grabbed a pair of black skinny jeans. He pulled the tight material over his legs and looked on the floor where he'd reluctantly left his binder last night. Or maybe not? Running his hands through his hair in stress, he tried to ignore the panic that started to rise in his chest, suffocating in a way a binder never could. Frantically kicking around the clothes thrown on the floor, while simultaneously searching through his wardrobe, he had reached the conclusion that he must have put his last binder in the wash last night, mistakenly thinking that he had another for today. He could shout Dan. He could get the one from yesterday. But he didn't have the energy to shout and he'd worn that one for a week and there was already an almost permanent smell to it, his nose couldn't handle that today. He couldn't let himself do anything without being flat. Flat like a *real* man. You were one chromosome off but nope you managed to fuck that up too, just like everything else. Well done Phil. Congratulations.
Shaking his head yet again in an attempt to rid his brain of the thoughts, Phil made his way to the bathroom.
Phil stood, staring at himself in the grimy mirror. He had taken off his baggy Muse t-shirt he wore to sleep in and was left wearing plaid drawstring bottoms and a black sports bra. Dan so far had managed to get him to leave his binder off overnight but Phil was adamant about leaving a sports bra on in place of it. It wasn't flat enough. The material only seemed to push the two dreaded parts up rather than flatten them like Phil wanted. Grimacing, the man stood mentally preparing himself, and then quickly reached his arms up and over his head, taking the sports bra with them.
Not looking down, Phil reached his trembling hands up to the medicine cabinet and fumbled around until he found them. ACE bandages. Memories flooded his brain, much like how a dam breaks under too much pressure.
The times when Phil had to use these every day, and Dan's pleading with him to take it off every once in a while to breathe and shower properly. Only when his ribs where bruised and he couldn't quite get in enough oxygen did Phil listen. Memories. Painful, sore and raw memories.
Pushing the lumps of flesh flat, Phil wrapped the bandages around his chest, once, twice, three times, until he was as sure the area was as flat as it could be. He knew he shouldn't,but he didn't have a choice.
The tears that had welled up in his eyes slipped down his cheeks, and before leaving the bathroom, he wiped them away gingerly.
He slouched towards the bed where the jumper was laid out still, and reached for it.
The worn fabric felt soft against the healing cuts on his forearms. As it turns out, these bad days were becoming more and more frequent as of late. The jumper smelt of Dan, and Dan smelt of home. Collapsing onto the mattress, tears still collecting in the corners of his weary eyes, Phil felt a twang of guilt deep in his stomach as he realised that Dan had called him almost a half hour ago for waffles and Mario, and he was failing him, yet again. The thought of Dan, all alone downstairs, awaiting Phils appearance is enough to make the poor man curl in on himself, pull the blanket that was previously discarded on the carpet around him and unleash a waterfall of salty tears. I can't do anything right. I can't. Dan will leave me and I'll be all alone again because I'm a stupid female. What's the matter with me?
Phil sat inside his blanket fort and cried for another ten minutes until he could compose himself again. Just as he finally caught his breath again, he felt it. An uncomfortable, dull pain right in his gut. He shifted around, in an attempt to settle it and move on. No matter what position Phil took, the pain wasn't affected. Then the realisation of what was causing the pain hit him like a brick wall. He pulled himself to his half-asleep feet and sprinted to the bathroom.
The tears immediately sprung back to his eyes, as his fears were confirmed. Dread grew in his mind, but the cloud cleared a little when Phil realised that he had a spare pair of boxers specially equipped to deal with this. Finally something went right today, at least.
The company had sold them as "period pants" but he and Dan had agreed that that didn't fit Phil very well, so Phil simply called them boxers, as they were, technically. They absorbed all the blood so he didn't have to bother with dealing with the gut-wrenching dysphoria that came with changing pads and tampons.
Phil trudged out of the bathroom and rumaged through his wardrobe to find a spare pair. Pulling them on and washing his hands, he left the bathroom feeling even worse than he did after binding with the bandages. Speaking of bandages, they were beginning to get tight, and after figditing around a bit, Phil reassumed his place under the blanket and lifted a his hand to wipe the thousandth tear from his splotchy cheeks.
Just as he was about to close his eyes in an attempt to sleep, he hears a familiar voice, yelling his name and he tried to ignore the obvious concern that had grown in it.
"Phil?"
Phil couldn't bring himself to reply.
"Phil, are you alright? Where even are you?"
The voice came nearer and nearer until it finally reached the door that Phil slammed shut earlier in frustration.
A gentle tap on the door became audible.
"Hey Philly, you okay in there?"
"Go away Dan, I'm fine okay?"
Phil winced at the way his voice cracked in the middle, and San was clearly unconvinced. For fucks sake Phil you can't even lie properly. What's the matter with you?
"Phil, there was absolutely no way you convinced me with that sentence. I'm coming in okay?" a gentle reply came back to him.
Dan opened the door and his breath caught in his chest. He had been expecting bad but not *this* bad. He stared at the poor man before his eyes, wrapped up in a blanket with tear tracks down his red cheeks, his arms raw and red and bleeding from the reopening of previous cuts and his raven black hair sticking up.
"Oh Phil, come here, it's okay, I got you."
And with that, he sat on the bed next to Phil and watched as the man crawled up next to him, curling up and sinking into his warmth as he shook violently.
Phil began to scratch his arms again, the repetitive motion that he feebly tried to hide from Dan under his black hoodie, but to no avail.
"Come on Phil, let's not do that anymore, okay? I'm here, and you're going to make yourself feel worse if you carry on doing that." Dan quietly, but firmly said to the shaking man in his arms, gently pulling his arms away from each other.
Dans hand found Phil's and he intertwined them, rubbing small, yet comforting circles into the back of his hand. His other hand massaged his head and shoulders, occasionally playing with the raven hair that stood on end, running his fingers through it soothingly.
Phil shifted to move his head onto Dan's chest, and gripped on tighter to Dan's hand. "What's wrong Phil?" Dan asked, obvious concern and anxiety dripping from his voice. His deep voice. I'll never have a deep voice will I? Just the thought of sounding like a mouse for the rest of his life made him squeeze his eyes shut to stop any more crying.
Phil buried his head deeper into Dan's chest. His chest was so flat and it was so perfect. Unlike mine. Mines bumpy and ridiculous and ugly and stupid and wrong and his is so so flat. That's all I want. A flat chest. Dan's is so flat. Please.
"Phil?" Dan gently helped Phil back off his train of thought.
"What's up love? I want to help you out but I can't unless I know what's wrong?"
Phil stuttered, stumbling over his words and desperately trying to arrange his thoughts into a sentence that another human would be able to comprehend.
"I.. Im..Im just s-so u-ugly and s-stupid an-d Im n-not a re-al ma-n am -m I?"
Dan's heart broke into a million tiny pieces as he realised what had been bothering his boyfriend. He was dysphoric, and likely had a depressive episode mixed in too. He simply pulled Phil closer and whispered in his ear.
" Phil. Phil you are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. You're strong, you made it through so much, and you're kind. More than kind actually, the amount of times depression took me and how every damn time you helped and looked after me. You know the exact right thing to say and you give the absolute best hugs. Yeah, you eat my cereal but never stop doing that, I secretly adore it, Phil. I love your socks. They make me smile every day, just as you do. I love how even though you lose, you still challenge me on Mario Kart. I love how you're just so.. Perfect. Most important of all, I love how I get to tell people that you're my boyfriend. Remember that Phil. *boy* friend."
At some point during that, Phil had moved to look at Dan, his watery blue orbs meeting the chocolate brown ones that stared so lovingly back at him.
"I love you, Phil. And while I know that me just saying words isn't going to alleviate your dysphoria, I can at least be here for you through it."
"I-I lo-ve you t-too D-Dan"
Dan smiled, and now he moved his hand from Phil's head to rub his back. His hand stopped when he felt a lump underneath Phil's hoodie that didn't feel like a binder. He glanced at Phil, and his heart dropped 50 feet lower than it already had when it hit him.
"Phil, love?"
"yeah"
"What did you bind with today?"
Silence. Silence that spoke a million more words than Phil could in that moment. He grabbed onto Dan's shirt, though no more tears slipped past his eyelids.
"M-Maybe bandages" he eventually admitted through a slight sob.
"Do you think we can take them off? Where are your actual binders?"
"I-I'm an i-id-iot Da-n. I-I pu-t them a-all in th-the w-ash" Phil stuttered, quietly.
Dan squeezed his trembling hand and rubbed his bath in comforting circles.
"Hey, you aren't an idiot. It was a simple mistake Phil. But you know it's dangerous to bind with ACE bandages, so can we please go take them off, and you can keep wearing my hoodies until the ones I took in the wash earlier dry out?"
Phil sighed deeply. He knew deep down that Dan was right. He couldn't keep them on, his lungs were burning and he was struggling just laying next to Dan. He pushed himself up with shaking arms and Dan immediately supported his back, his palm radiating strength through his weak body. Shuffling gently towards the bathroom, with Dan right behind him, he starts to prepare himself again for the mental torture that was about to hit him, with identical force as a train could.
Yet again, stood in front of the mirror Phil had grown to hate deeply, though his extreme discomfort was slightly alleviated by the warm hands around his waist, keeping him grounded from behind. Vision blurred with the seemingly endless tears, he felt the hands move from his waist to the bandages, tugging at them gently until it came loose and started to unravel. Phil tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath that Dan had tried to hide, from the bruises scattered around his chest area, as he curled in on himself and refused to look down. The twangs of pain he felt every time he moved, verified just how much his back had bruised. He'd been wearing the bandages for almost half a dozen hours, and he found himself wondering how people used ACE all the time.
Snapping out of his train of thought, he took a moment to take his image in. His hair, stood taller than he ever had and was greasy and on-end. His wrinkled brow that was one of the only physical signs to prove that he was stressed. His tired, weak eyes that had lost thier passion over the intense past few days. His chapped lips and his non-existent Adams apple. His bruised collar bone and his chest,hanging loosely, coming close to actually mocking him, as if angry for being so stubbornly and consistently hidden. His visible ribs and his wide hips. His scarred thighs and his thin knees, looking like they could collapse at any given moment under all the pressure and stress.
All of this, and the cramping pain in his gut that had flared up again, unleashed the most broken sob that Dan had ever heard come from Phil.
Not entirely qualified or equipped to properly help Phil, he offered the one thing he liked to consider himself good at: a hug.
Taking Phils hand, he gently led him out of the bathroom, and grabbed Dan's old hoodie he'd discarded on the floor on passing thier room. Dan lead Phil through to the sofa, with the softest of their blankets he had laid out before coming up to check on Phil, as he'd had a feeling that they'd need it. He sat down, and indicated for Phil to come and give him a hug. Phil melted into his warm embrace yet again, and after a few more tears had slipped out of the corners of his weary eyes, Dan felt a mumble against his chest, that Phil now had his head laid on.
"What was that, love?"
"t-thank you. For ev-everything"
"anytime, philly"
The rain still hammered down. The grey clouds outside still reflected Phils mood. But Phil wasnt alone now. He was wrapped up safe in Dan's arms, and while his stomach felt like it was tearing itself in half, his heart had started to get back up on its feet again.
Yes, this wasn't the first time they'd had one of those days. But it certainly wouldn't be the last, and they'd always get through it, like they had every other time. They'd be alright.