After James // phan

confidential pt. 10

My flat suddenly seemed very dirty. Even though I knew he had been in here before, I was worried that James was going to judge me for the empty pizza boxes that cluttered the counter, and the annoyingly crooked framed comic panels that hung on the dirty walls. I wished I could go back in time and tell my past self to take off my shoes before I tracked mud on the carpets. And I wished I could go even further back and prevent myself from buying that hideous coffee table, and those see-through plastic chairs, and maybe just this apartment in general, and this deodorant, which wasn't doing much to prevent the sweat that was currently seeping into the armpits of my shirt.

But I was cool, calm and collected. I oozed confidence.

It had been a while since I saw James, and I was beginning to forget about the facade he kept up. All I could remember was Dan, the memories suddenly very vivid. If I remembered Dan the way I thought I did, he wouldn't mind the mess. He would find the comic book panels cool and would laugh at my "dog yoga" calendar I had hanging off the back of my front door. He would probably be drawn to my wilting houseplants, or maybe to my movie and TV show collection.

And the large painting of all the Star Fox characters hanging over my TV, of course including James McCloud himself, would most certainly catch his eye.

But James just smiled politely as he stepped over the threshold, glancing around with a vague sense of familiarity.

"Sorry it's a little messy," I mumbled, subconsciously straightening my couch cushions and nudging my computer, with uncleared search history, under it. "Wasn't expecting guests."

"Shouldn't take too long, I just want to talk for a bit." James glanced toward my kitchen. "Mind if I make some tea?" I mumbled a response that I hoped sounded a little like "yes" and he went to go turn on the kettle. My mind was reeling. Talk? About what? A million possibilities spiraled around in my brain like water sinking into a drain: slowly getting more ridiculous.

He's a secret service agent that is here to kill me because I... made contact with aliens! But they wiped my memory... Or, maybe, he is an alien, and he has been this whole time! And he's here to probe me... Maybe I'm the alien, and he's here to finally take me home.

Yeah, none of those seem very likely. But they did all explain why Dan was James and not Dan, why he was here, why he wanted to see me after not wanting to see me for so long, and why my heart was pounding to a crescendo and the room suddenly felt very cramped and hot.

"So..." I mumbled, suddenly losing every shred of confidence I used to have when we spoke. I always felt like I had the upper hand when we talked, but all of a sudden... even though we were on my turf, in my zone, he was making my tea and using my kettle and sitting on my sofa, and I still had the upper hand from before, I felt very small. But I had one advantage: I knew he was not James, not really.

Oh. That's what he's here for, isn't it. He's going to tell me.

"So," he responded, so unbelievably calm despite the arrid and tense atmosphere. He clenched his cup of green tea tight in his hands. His white knuckles were the only way to tell he wasn't as calm as he wanted me to think, that he actually was hiding behind a veil of confidence. If I didn't know him as well as I did, it would have seemed as though he had the high ground. I stood quickly, because all of a sudden he felt too close to me. Everything felt too close.

"Want something? Like, cake or something? I have cake, I think. I'll go check-"

"Phil," he said, his voice shaking only a little bit and only at the end. I forced a smile.

"Is that a no?"

"We need to talk. I need–" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "We need to talk."

"Okay, neighbor. Go for it." I sat back down, but noticeably farther away from him than I had been, pressed up against the armrest and leaning away. Please don't probe me, please don't probe me, please don't probe me.

"I know you know.... that I'm Dan Howell. Despite what I've told you." I nodded, slowly, but let him go on. My mouth felt like it was full of concrete. "And I know you've been looking for Dan Howell. And that really puts me in danger. So I need you to... just, pretend you think I'm James McCloud. Call me James. Don't search for Dan Howell, don't say Dan Howell, Dan Howell... died. He's dead. He never existed. Please." Head swimming, vision blurring, I leaned back.

"Uh... okay. Why?" Dan's hands were shaking; he sounded like he was about to cry.

"I can't tell you. And I can't tell you why I can't tell you. I just need you to trust me." I nodded, gently, softly, barely at all. Okay. Sure. Not an alien. But. Okay.

I shrugged, my heart slowing down. Okay, he is Dan. I was right. He can't tell me why, and, I'm sure, eventually, I'll want to know. Maybe then he can tell me. But for now, I'm satisfied.

"Okay. You sure you don't want cake?" Dan smirked, and I could almost feel his mental sigh of relief. Deep down, I wanted more than anything to know more. But my heart was full of pride and happiness that he trusted me enough to tell me. Questions were circling in my head like birds of prey, all screaming at the same time. I decided I was going to write them down. That way, I can remember to ask James about it.

"I would love some cake," he chuckled. I glanced back at him before I turned into my kitchen, glancing at James as he twiddled his thumbs. James. Not Dan.

I repeated that to myself as I busied myself plating carefully sliced pieces of cake. James James James.

After James left, I began to write down my questions.