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There are cameras everywhere. The people holding the cameras don’t even seem to care where they’re being pointed, they’re just an extension of their arms. But Dan’s got his eye on them. An eye on Cat’s and on Louise’s and on all the other daily vloggers he’s been dropped amongst in the California heat. He’s sweating; he can feel the occasional bead drip down his spine. Great, just great. All those cameras are gonna capture the slow emergence of his Hobbit hair.
He tries to ignore them. He knows he’ll go mad if all he thinks about is how many random vlogs of how many random people he’s going to show up in the background of. But it’s hard. He’s a self-professed control freak.
And they’re gonna catch him off guard looking stupid— so people can pick apart his appearance— or checking his phone— so people can say he thinks he’s too good to interact with anyone— or bent too closely to talk with someone— so people can say they’re secretly dating. Doesn’t even matter who he’s bent to talk to, the only way to hear anyone. Could be Phil (usually is Phil) but it could be Cat or someone on the merch team or literally anyone that he looks interested in because he’s having a fucking conversation.
It’s not like he shouldn’t be used to it. He’s been going to YouTube events for years now, he’s been to almost every vidcon. It’s good for work and it’s nice to have an excuse to travel.
But fuck, he hates all the cameras. The hundreds of vlogging cameras that record every fucking second as though anyone has a life that interesting.
They’re standing in an empty elevator, going down rapidly towards that night’s party. The back of his hand is touching the back of Phil’s. It’s as much physical touch as they allow themselves outside of a closed hotel room when they’re at vidcon. Dan knows it drives Phil mad. He’s so touchy, so tactile.
When the doors open, their hands move just far enough apart. Instinctively. They can already hear the thumping base of music playing somewhere distant. They can already see at least four cameras in the hands of people walking past the elevator as they walk out.
“I’m too sober for this,” Dan says.
Phil laughs. “Same. Let’s change that.”
They won’t get as drunk as they want to be. It’s a catch-22. They want to get drunk to forget about the cameras, but they really can’t get caught on camera drunk.
They’ll settle for buzzed. Tipsy. Giggly even, so that the cameras are still on their minds but they’re an annoyance rather than a threat. At least they’ll be rosy and smiling in the videos they show up in the background of.