The cars blurred around the corner. The colours were oppressively bright as Phil's breathing grew heavier, his fingers curling tighter around the remote. He could feel the wind stroke his face. There was no time to think about the logic of it all, he had just slipped into 3rd place, his little green cart skidding around the corner. He seemed to subconsciously lean closer to the television, his belt digging into the ridges of his stomach and yet his eyes were focused. 3. 2. 1. Damn it.

Dan cackled, throwing both his arms in the air and seeming to growl loudly like a mother bear protecting her cubs, before spinning around and pointing a finger to Phil's face in a manner that could have been considered aggressive had his eyes not crinkled with a love that was almost burning.

"I told you." Dan drawled. He was an arrogant winner. Phil could say that much. In fact, Phil was just glad that he wasn't as competitive. He was sure that if you held too obsessively competitive people in same building it would combust. And that wouldn't do at all. They did not want a repeat of the screen smashing incident of 2011.

Dan was still mid victory lap.

His t-shirt was pulled up a little by his flailing arms, the Wii remote securely attached to his wrist. Thank God. And Phil couldn't help but laugh at his booming laughter, reflected off the walls of the small office room, reflected off the face of the moon, Phil had no doubt.

He was a nerd. Phil's eyes fell to the small strip of stomach that lay revealed by the t-shirt. Fine. A hot nerd. But still a nerd.

"So, what do you have to say Phil Lester?" He said with a smirk. Arrogant bastard.

Phil tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little, "I was wrong."

"Because…"

"Because you are far better than me at Mario Kart, and always will be," he smirked "Prince Daniel."

"Exactly."

Phil laughed. "Arrogant much?"

"I am the best, name something I'm not the best at."

The confidence seeped through his pores and Phil wondered how this Dan was the same as the other Dan and the same as every other Dan who slept in his bed. How this Dan, the one with the smirk, framed by the streetlight that filtered through the blind, could be the same Dan that lay seeping into the carpet, that lay in pieces scattered by the wind. How the Dan who slipped his hands around his waist and kissed his neck in the kitchen that morning could be the same Dan who lay curled, whose tears found the mattress, who leant against the bedpost. The same Dan who Phil would sit opposite, both their hoodies laced with sleep, both their knees tucked under their chins, both their hair tumbling into their eyes. Like mirrors. Opposite each other in a silent solitude that whispered I am here for you. Just being there was enough. Phil had learnt that.

And Phil had learnt that each individual is more than one person. And Phil had learnt that it was not unusual. And he had learnt of his luck to be able to see each person that made up a collective Dan, and how each one could be beautiful in its own form.

And three letters was never quite enough somehow. Sometimes Phil thought the complexity required a longer title, but Daniel James Howell was a mouthful and it earned pixelated eyebrow raises from his audience. So Dan it was. Reductionism. A complex form reduced down to a simple three letter word.

Dan cocked his head and Phil bit his lip. He wanted smile with the closeness of it all.

"You're not the best at running."

"Doesn't count." Dan smirked immediately.

"What and Mario Kart does?" Phil laughed.

"Of course. Mario Kart requires skill and practice and knowledge."

"And running protects you from murderers."

"And skill does not?"

"Oh, of course, good luck defeating the murderer with your great skill of turning corners."

"Shut up!" He laughed, moving slightly closer to where Phil had slung himself across the sofa (wincing at the crack as he had fallen down) "That's why I have you, to scare off the murders."

Phil only laughed, bringing his knees up to his chin "good luck with that one." He seemed to pause, his fingers resting on the brow of his kneecap. "Anyway, I'm a far superior cuddler to you."

Dan scoffed, "Like hell."

"And a better kisser."

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh." Phil chided, with a tilt of his head.

"Well I beg to differ."

"Do you now? You think you're a better cuddler? A better kisser?" Phil chortled, sitting up straighter on the sofa, his Wii remote still dangling from his curved wrist. "Well you better come here and prove it then."

"You bet I will."

And Dan moved closer, slinging himself down onto the sofa next to Phil (and there was double the crack and double the wince). And confidence still seeped from his pores like golden tears, like something that belonged in a small glass vial, with a small paper label and cursive handwriting. And yet there was also happiness, there was also pride. There were tears like a rainbow. Multiple people showing at once. And that was the complexity, the threads weaving, knitting together, through the skin, the fibres thinner than hair, the individual pieces that made up a person. And Phil thought about paradox. As he did so often. He thought about the paradox of the complex weave and the true simplicity. Of how he could name each part of Dan's body. Twice. Once with a name that fell from the tongue and once with a name that stretched, that curved, that belonged to a long lost language. Everything had a name, was one thing. And yet everything was also a million pieces.

And as Dan leant in to kiss him, he hoped he never grew to take it for granted. He hoped the weaving of their threads would never lose their hold over him.

This was written for a prompt for someone on tumblr. I intend to write more now that my exams are over (although my writing is gradually growing shittier yay) But, thank you for reading and tbh I don't like to ask for reviews but like if you could that would mean so so much bc i have so little motivation right now. Thanks !