The first time Dan and Phil met each other, they cried.

After endless Skype calls, text messages, and wishes, hopes, dreams, they were finally able to embrace, and they knew- they knew- that they had found a piece of themselves they had so long ago thought that they had lost.

They loved each other, right from the start, but they didn't want to kiss, and they didn't want to have sex, no, they only wanted to know that the other was there, always, purely, forever there.

The first time Dan and Phil met each other, they saw a thousand stars explode in night sky.

The first year that Dan and Phil lived together, they said 'I love you' more than they said 'Let's play Skyrim,' and that was quite the feat, considering they played Skyrim together for hours every day.

They didn't mean it romantically, or maybe they did, but they knew that they were happy, that they were finally, completely, utterly happy.

They were able to smile from their hearts instead of their minds; they were able to smile; they were able.

The first year that Dan and Phil lived together, they felt flowers bloom inside of them.

The first time Dan and Phil made merch for their fans, they could not stop smiling, not even if you paid them millions.

There were llama hats, and there were t-shirts, and there were posters and bracelets and pens, and it was so much more than fabric and plastic- it was a symbol of everything they had accomplished; everything they had accomplished together.

At the beginning of their lives, they didn't think that they could accomplish anything. And now here they were, successful, beautiful, alive, happy.

The first time Dan and Phil made merch for their fans, they tasted sunlight on their lips.

The first time Phil saw Dan crying in the bathroom, he wanted to cry, too.

Dan was strong, Dan was okay, Dan was happy. Dan was strong, Dan was okay, Dan was happy, Dan was magnificent.

Phil wondered why someone so wonderful would cry. Phil wondered a lot of things, but he never said anything, no, because Dan smiled, and Dan laughed, and Dan was okay, he was okay, he was okay.

The first time Phil saw Dan crying in the bathroom, he watched lighting erupt from his bones.

A burden.

The first time Dan tried to kill himself, Phil shut down.

Dan apologized, and Phil could only close his eyes, because somewhere, somehow, he had wronged the person he loved more than the moon and the stars.

Loved. God, Phil loved Dan.

The first time Dan tried to kill himself, Phil swore that he heard the angels in heaven cry tears of gold and silver.

When Dan killed himself, Phil wanted to kill himself, too.

When Dan killed himself, Phil tasted crimson blood flourish through his mouth.

He's free.

When Phil killed himself, everyone was there to mourn, and no one was happy, nothing was happy, not anymore.

When Phil killed himself, there were no longer stars in the sky or flowers that bloomed or sunlight that radiated through clouds or lightning that exploded in the sky or angels in heaven or blood that pumped eternally through forest colored veins.

The first time Dan and Phil met each other in heaven, they cried.

After waiting, yes, waiting, after prayers they had made each night, hoping, wishing, needing to see each other again, here they were, and they knew- they knew- that they had found a piece of themselves they had so long ago thought that they had lost.

They loved each other. They loved each other more than the blackness of midnight and the light blue of early morning and the stars and the sky. God, they loved each other, they loved each other, and they died, they died for each other.

The first time Dan and Phil met each other in heaven, they saw a thousand stars explode in night sky.

Dan, tell me the story of how the moon loved the sun so much he died every night to let him breathe.