I just wanted to write christmas fluff, okay?

Snow was drifting past the window. Glowing presents had been ripped apart, the bows untied, the paper ripped and discarded in the glee of the time. Laughter had been shared and excitement had built. The tree lights had shone through the dark early morning. And it was coming light again, the sun rising over the frosted hill.

Dan was trying to focus on his game. He had waited weeks for this, anticipating the moment he could slip the disk in, awaiting the second where the screen would load and he would be able to play. And yes maybe it wasn't very 'festive' and it didn't 'celebrate the birth of the saviour' but it did make him happy. And that was all that mattered.

Except now Dan was distracted, his mind unable to focus upon the screen, his mind drifting in and out of the fantasy world and the real world. Immersion. He wanted immersion. He wanted to feel himself be the character, he wanted a break from this real world, which even on Christmas couldn't beat fantasy. Not for Dan. And yet here he was, unable to focus, his character hovering but not moving as Dan's eyes floated, and resorted to watching the snow fly by, fluttering down like tiny fairies, and settling on his lawn.

Dan's hand itched for his laptop, itched to turn it on, to hover over the ever-so familiar blue icon and to have the screen pop up. He glanced at the clock. There was no time, just no time at all. In fact, he could already smell the dinner wafting up the stairs, causing Dan's mouth to water. Five minutes. Five minutes wasn't long enough to make the call. Dan would have to wait, he had self-control, or at least he hoped so. He had no choice anyway.

Dan wasn't really sure when it had started, whether it had dropped upon him like a bomb, or whether it had crept in slowly like fog, or whether it had always been there and now he had just been given the right prescription to see it. But he knew it was there. This need, this obsession, this want. Wherever he want and whatever he did it was always in the back of his mind. Phil. He wanted to talk to Phil, he liked to see his face, hear his voice, and know that he was okay. And Dan was fully aware that it bordered on obsession, that skype calling him for five hours at a time was ridiculous for a boy he had known barely six months. Yet here he was. Feeling a longing just to click on that button. Just to see his face. After dinner. After dinner. He told himself for the hundredth time. Phil would have to wait. Or more like Dan would have to wait, Dan knew he was the clingier of the two.

"Dan! Adam!" Came a cry from below, the usual shout but with a little more cheer. His mother was in a good mood; well at least that was something. He opened the door with a sigh, trying to avoid getting hit by the fairy lights that had wrapped themselves rather precariously around his bedroom door. His feet hit the top of the staircase, but before he knew it Adam was pushing past him, leaving Dan to cling to the banister to stop himself from falling down.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?!" Dan mock shouted, but he was smiling really, his little brother's face beaming up from the bottom of the stairs,

"And how many times do I have to tell you? You snooze, you lose." Dan smirked,

"It's not the 90s Adam"

"Really? 'Cause you still dress like it." Dan could hear his own laughter as Christmas music began to play obnoxiously loudly from the kitchen,

"Boys! We're starting." And Dan raced down the stairs, his mood heightened ever so slightly.

Covering the table was food abundant, and even though turkey and potatoes and vegetables weren't his favourite kind of food, it still made him smile because it was inherently Christmassy, and just looking at it reminded him of warmth and pine and a distinct feeling of hugs.

Some time and several crackers later, Dan's stomach felt like a pumped up balloon, half helium, half air, not sure whether he wanted to float or fall. But he did know he was full.

Twenty minutes had passed since the ending of dinner and Dan was growing impatient, his finger tapping becoming quicker, drumming a now senseless beat into the red table cloth. And yet his mother was still talking. The promise of pudding in the air, of chocolate and of mulled wine. But to Dan it all seemed so far away, and so he slumped further into his chair, letting his mother's words float into his ears without really listening.

Seconds seemed like hours, distant chatter, endless torrent of snow, the warmth never quite warm enough but finally it seemed to be over, and Dan was released from the grasp of social contract.

"Thank you, mum." Dan said, slowly scraping back his chair so as not to seem so eager.

"Where are you going?" she frowned a little and Dan's stomach almost sunk, he wanted to see Phil, he wanted to wish him a merry Christmas. As lame as that sounded.

"Just, you know, upstairs. I'll be down later don't worry." He hurried, trying to curb the obligation he had to stay.

"Okay," she smiled, "But we'll be playing a game later, or watching a film or something. Okay?"

"Yeah." Dan said, walking as calmly as he could possibly muster from the kitchen before sprinting up the stairs, slightly conscious about the banging his feet were making on the floor, hopefully his parents would just think he was just excited about Christmas.

He threw himself onto his bed with a smile, not caring about the tinsel that was digging into his stomach or the chocolates that he was possibly melting. He practically tore the lid of his laptop open, tapping impatiently as it loaded, humming Christmas tunes under his breath, John Lennon being is personal favourite. And then it had loaded and his background made him smile like his life depended upon it. It was if he always forgot the picture was there, as if it was new to him every time he opened his laptop, and as if every time he opened it he was filled with the same memory, the same glee as the first time. It was he and Phil, on the first day they ever met, a backdrop of stars hanging over Manchester and Phil's hand lingering tentatively on his shoulder. And yes the photo was crap quality. And yes it was blurry, and they got stared at for taking it, and a picture could never be nearly as good as the sparkling reality, like apple juice in comparison to the champagne flutes pictured in their hands, but it still made Dan giggle like a besotted schoolgirl every time he saw it.

The icon flashed and the familiar beeps started and butterflies rampaged around his stomach; their no existent paws stomping. Why was he so nervous? It was literally every day. He did this literally every day. And then it connected and Phil's face appeared, his mouth stretching into a smile to match Dan's. In fact, Dan was so caught up in Phil's translucent beauty, his words spilling into Christmas well wishes; that he didn't notice that Phil was stood outside until he shook his head.

"Wait, are you outside?"

"Yeah I thought I'd enjoy the snow whilst it lasts" and he laughed slightly, making Dan's heart leap,

"And how is it?"

"Cold." Dan laughed,

"How was your Christmas?"

Phil leapt into stories about his Christmas, descriptions of presents, and of food, and of every little decoration that adorned his tiny tree, but Dan wasn't listening, just looking into his eyes, and trying to remember how much bluer they were in person. Dan sighed,

"I wish you were here."

"Well…" Phil said, his mouth twitching into a small smirk and his eyes glistening brighter than the snow.

And then a knock came at the door, ringing through the house, a paradox. Schrodinger's cat. Dan was sparked with excitement. The screen fell black. Phil had disconnected the call. Was it him? Was it actually him at the door? Half of him didn't even want to check. Until the door opened, Phil was both stood outside the door and at home in Rossendale, both here and there, both a virtual image and a physical one. But, the other half of him wanted to race down the stairs, screaming 'Mine! I'll get it!" before ripping open the door and flinging himself into the arms of the person who he hoped was Phil.

And then he heard his family begin to stir downstairs and a kind of selfishness washed over him, he wanted to be the one to greet Phil. He threw himself from his bed and down the stairs, almost slipping on the polished floor with his Santa socks, and thumping into the door. His mother peered from around the door, a red paper Christmas hat placed firmly onto his head,

"Are you alright, Dan?" she said concerned, but she seemed docile, the food seeping its way into her bloodstream.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry I got it."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know," He paused, dismissing it with a wave of his slightly shaking hand, "probably just a late present delivery for one of my friends."

She raised an eyebrow sceptically but slithered back into the kitchen and soon enough Dan could hear the sound of her singing along to Mariah Carey in an all too scratchy voice.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. And Phil was there. And he was actually there, his white and brown ear flapped hat sitting lopsided on his shimmering black hair, his eyes smiling all on their own, his skin looking unusually bright and healthy against the pale snow. Dan couldn't quite believe it.

"What? When? How? What?" he gasped as he threw himself towards Phil, almost causing him to topple backwards into the freshened snow.

"Easy, easy." Phil said, kissing the side of Dan's head as Dan wrapped his legs around Phil's waist, for now he was small enough, and so for now he was going to take advantage of it. And Phil hoisted him up, so that their mouths were level and their cheeks were pink and their noses reddened from the cold.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered, "I love you." And with that, he pressed his lips onto Dan's letting himself sink into the warm kiss as the cold snow settled around them.

Hope you liked and hope you are having a great advent!