Chapter Text
1.
Manchester Piccadilly is a stupid train station, Phil concludes. The wide glass walls separating the main thoroughfare from the platforms is an impassable barrier for him, the yellow-jacketed security in the doorways checking for valid tickets are a beacon illuminating the inevitable end to this day, of the warm hand currently nestled in his own, to the beautiful vibrant boy at his side. It is potentially the end of everything, he can’t be sure if any of this is lingering, whether the fragile perfection might crumble once he leaves. It’s a bittersweet feeling sitting roughshod in his chest, like a bubble expanding to fill the space. It is levity and happiness curved around every breath he takes, but that is liable to pop with the slightest pressure.
“I can’t go any further,” Phil nods towards the security guards and brings his feet to a stop. They’re in no particular space, just a random spot amidst the crowd. Phil feels they should move to the side, find a more memorable space, a physical location to hang this emotion on. As it is, there is nothing to define this patch of floor from one a few feet over, but he knows he’ll have no trouble recreating it in his mind later anyway.
Dan looks deflated at his side, lip pulled between his teeth as his hand slips from Phil’s grasp. It feels empty now, fingers flexing as if getting used to being disconnected again.
“No dramatic platform goodbye?” He asks with a laugh. It isn’t his usual one, that one vibrates through his whole body, full and rounded and uninhibited, at least around Phil it is. This one sounds less, confined to only the space in his mouth, like an echo of a laugh he should be able to produce but that is buried under a layer of something else.
“Afraid not.”
Dan shuffles his feet, hitching his bag up a little further onto his shoulder. He isn’t meeting Phil’s eyes, is letting them slide sideways to spy the illuminated departure boards. Phil looks too, and he thinks Dan might be looking at the little ‘on time’ next to his train notification and wishing it might change. Just a few more minutes, he pleads into the universe, I’m not ready for this to be over.
“Oh well, probably for the best. I’ll only make a fool of myself by crying or something.”
Phil is getting used to Dan covering his real intentions with humour. He watches as the young, timid boy pushes down true feelings and replaces them, covers them over with sarcasm and quick wit. Phil is beginning to learn to spot the signs though, can almost decipher what should be there, the double meaning behind Dan’s cynicism and self deprecation.
“I’ll miss you,” he says in response. He hadn’t really intended to say it, because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to miss Dan yet, but the words had tripped from him, sentence fully formed.
Dan looks up then, meets his eyes and furrows his brow slightly. “I think…” he sighs slightly as if admonishing himself for the sentiment, “I’ll miss you too.”
“You think so?”
“Um, I mean… yes? I will. I just… I don’t want to miss you. I didn’t want to let myself get to the point where… well. You know.”
Phil doesn’t really know, because Dan isn’t great at being that transparent with what he’s thinking, Phil has to pick it up slowly. Which in this instance, when he could really do with the clarity before Dan gets on a train and leaves him, doesn’t sit comfortably in Phil’s head, but he lets it go because he knows further prompting might scare Dan off entirely. At least he has this, the hanging hope of something.
“I should go…” Dan says when Phil doesn’t respond. “It’ll leave soon.”
Phil glances at the board and knows he can’t even ask for another few minutes, they’ve already used them all up.
“Goodbye then,” Phil says, his hands feeling empty and twitchy.
“Bye.”
They let their eyes linger, just for a few seconds, and Dan rocks on his heels as if he might be making up his mind about something. Phil doesn’t miss the slight shake of his head as whatever battle he’d been having with himself ends. Whatever it was, Dan has clearly decided not to take any action. Instead he steps back slightly, out of Phil’s space.
“Text me when you get in? So I know you’re safe.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dan insists, “But… yeah, okay. See you.”
He can’t believe this is how it’s going to end. Some stupid request for further communication, a pathetic insistence wrapped up in concern. Dan takes a few more steps away, turns his body to leave and it hits Phil square in his chest, a tidal wave of something, a longing that has started just from broken eye contact. This can’t be it.
He reaches out, lets his arm cross the space between them, catching Dan’s shirt between his fingers. “Dan…”
“Oh thank God,” Dan breathes quickly, spinning on the spot, his body sliding along Phil’s arm so that his palm slips back behind his shoulder blade and suddenly Dan is pressed up against him, enveloped in his body. His other arm comes up too, wrapping around Dan’s slight frame, feeling Dan’s head drop to his shoulder and the sound of a choked sob escape him.
“Don’t cry,” Phil says, his own anguish getting stuck in his throat so that it comes out croaky.
“Says you,” Dan says with a pathetic chuckle that is trying to make him sound happier than he is. Phil isn’t convinced when feels a dampness seep through his t-shirt at his collarbone.
“You’re coming back,” Phil reminds him, as well as himself. “You’re coming back.”
“Halloween.” Dan states, nodding his head against Phil’s chest as if saying it will somehow make it happen faster.
“Halloween,” Phil agrees easing Dan away so that he can peer into his eyes.
Dan breaks his gaze, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop the tears. Phil reaches up to wipe a thumb tenderly across each cheekbone, wiping away the moisture he finds there.
“Don’t go,” he suddenly pleads, “I…”
Dan doesn’t answer, but he does look determined as he tips forward on his feet this time, shifting his weight onto his toes and tilting his chin up. There is a split second when Phil realises what’s happening before their lips are meeting.
It isn’t the first time they’ve kissed. That was earlier, cradled in the sanctuary of Phil’s bedroom, limbs loose and tangled on his bed, giggling in each other’s space, carefree and languid. It wasn’t a conscious thing, and it had lasted only a few minutes, but Phil’s stomach had flipped over almost painfully as he allowed his hand to drift into Dan’s hair and brought their faces close, sliding their noses together. Dan had been eager and open-mouthed, just the right side of sloppy and uncoordinated that reminded Phil of just how little experience Dan had with all of this. But Phil had guided him through it, tipped his head with a steadying hand on the nape of his neck. When they finally found a rhythm, Dan breathing small noises into the space between them, it had been perfect. They didn’t go any further and they’d been pink-cheeked and bashful after the fact, but they’d managed to continue with their day, the knowledge of it lingering over them, tinged with the sadness of Dan’s inevitable departure.
Phil hadn’t wanted to break the spell by talking about it, he doesn’t now either.
Phil’s stomach flips again this time, a sharp jolt as Dan initiates the contact. It’s easier this time and they fit together as if they’ve been doing this for years. Dan is a quick study it seems, or just more confident this time, pressing in close to Phil and running a hand up his arm making him shudder. Phil lets it happen, going pliant and soft as Dan kisses him. It feels like Dan is pushing everything he can’t say out loud into this kiss, and Phil wants to hear what he has to say. Their tongues slide together simply, sweet and gentle, without urgency. It’s over far too soon.
“I have to go,” Dan whispers, the regret evident.
“I know,” Phil says, finding his joints stiff and reluctant and he lets him go. “I’ll miss you,” he repeats.
“I’ll miss you too,” Dan replies. And then he’s gone, mixing with the crowd at the barrier, carried away with the sea of people and past the reflective jackets of the guardians at the door. Phil watches until he disappears entirely, and then for a little bit longer.