Work Text:
Singapore is hot, and crowded, and full of constant interruption. It’s seeing pictures of themselves taken at a distance in their own social media tags and posing for them every couple of hours. It’s feeling that trailing presence wherever they are and while they wouldn’t change their lives for the world, it does have a wearing effect on Dan as the day goes on.
They’re used to travel by now, so it isn’t the jetlag that grates on them. The familiar plane interiors and sensation of folding themselves, long legged and uncomfortable, into too-small plane seats, is simply an ample excuse to press knees together in full view of anyone who may be watching. And similarly, they’re used to being stopped in shopping malls, and at aquariums, and on the street, but it is this that means Dan is exhausted by the social interaction when they make it back to their hotel.
“Had enough for one day?” Phil asks as Dan shrugs off the backpack they’ve been sharing and drops to stretch out on the bed.
“Mmm.” Dan hums into a pillow.
Phil doesn’t need to ask what he can do. Not like the early days, when he hadn’t really understood in as much detail, but still felt the urge to reach out, to comfort. Back then Dan hadn’t been great at telling him how, and Phil had bumbled through, stumbled around what worked and what didn’t. He’d drifted between doing too much and too little.
Asking Dan to elaborate on his thought process in moments like these exhausts him more, and abandoning him completely makes him feel isolated and lonely. Now, Phil doesn’t need to ask, simply removes his shoes and drops to sit beside Dan on the bed. He picks up his book and leans against the headboard.
Dan doesn’t move for a moment, staying face down in his pillow, limbs spread wildly across the sheets. Phil waits.
Soon, sure enough, Dan is shifting Rubbing one foot against the other to kick of his shoes, legs curling upwards and body tipping sideways. There is an awkward shuffle across the bed, and Phil feels the dip in the mattress along his side but doesn’t look down. Instead, he lifts an arm and feels the warm press of Dan curving around him. He drops his elbow, transferring the book to one hand as the fingers of his other wind into the hair on the crown of Dan’s head.
The room is filled with the low hum of the air conditioning but is otherwise silent. Beyond the window and out in the hall the world could be moving at a million miles an hour, but in their few square meters of mattress they carve out their fortress, basking in a solitude they can share. Dan wants to be alone, but he wants to do it with Phil.
Phil slides his fingers absently through Dan’s hair and feels him relax against his chest. He’s still, eyes drifting closed but he isn’t sleeping. He simply needs these few moments for his brain to wind down, to put away the day for a moment and stay, suspended and quiet.
Phil feels Dan’s ankle hook over his and soft toes rub against the top of his foot. Phil tightens the arm around Dan briefly, shifting him closer. It isn’t a hug, not really, but it’s reassurance nonetheless.
Dan’s arm wanders over his waist, languid and artfully unintentional. He’ll never ask for this, Phil knows, it always has to appear as if it almost happened accidentally. He wishes Dan would reach out occasionally, or ask him to cuddle when the world gets too loud, but for now he’ll wait for the moments he can spot when Dan’s mind is whirring too fast, and settle for creating the opportunity for Dan to slip in, supposedly unnoticed and offhand. He’ll remain silent on the subject of it, but always have a welcoming space for Dan to drift in to.
They spend so often ensuring the space between them is maintained, are so careful and wary of keeping their relationship private that Phil wonders if it’s seeped into their private moments too. But Dan has always had issue with asking for what he needs. Since the first visit from an awkward, and beautifully unsure teenager, to the familiar shape of the man Phil loves, Dan has always been reluctant to take anything from Phil he deems unnecessary.
In various moments Dan has eluded that he is still somewhat delighted that he even gets to be with Phil at all, still in awe of him, and Phil can almost understand why. Not because he thinks he’s deserving of the praise, but because he too is still in awe of Dan, still counts himself the luckiest person alive to witness him each day, to make his life and home with the one person who makes him happier than anyone else ever has.
Still, while Phil understands why, it doesn’t stop Dan’s natural avoidance of taking too much from Phil, even when he needs it most. But Phil will always give it when it’s needed. And until Dan learns to ask, he’ll provide it without prompting.
They stay that way for a while. Phil reading his book silently, running fingers through Dan’s hair every so often, changing direction when he feels like it. And Dan doesn’t sleep or maybe he does. Either way, they unfold from their position some time later, stand and go about the business of their next activity without the need to acknowledge their tiny sojourn further.
Phil doesn’t ask whether Dan is okay now, because the smile on his face say that yes, he is. And Dan doesn’t give gratitude in so many words, but the loving press of a hand on the bottom of Phil’s spine as they leave the room later that night, and the bump of a hip against his own in the elevator down to the restaurant, daring and stolen in their public sphere, means you always know what to do and thank you and, most importantly of all, I love you.