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"I'm fine," Dan says. He's still sat on the floor cradling his arm. He's not bleeding but there's redness on his skin and he knows it'll probably be a fantastic bruise. "Phil. Chill the fuck out. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine," Phil says.
"It's not a big deal, Phil! It just... happens sometimes," Dan says. "I just stood up too fast."
"You passed out!" Phil's voice turns into a shriek towards the end. "Look at the table! I think that's a big deal!"
"I'll buy a new fucking table," Dan snaps.
Phil goes quiet. "I don't care about the table."
Dan sighs. His ass hurts. His arm hurts. Looking at the broken table hurts. And worst of all, he's still got the same fucking headache that's been plaguing him all day. "I feel like shit."
"Do you need to... lie down?" Phil asks. "Should we call a taxi and go to A&E?"
"No hospital." Dan is shaking his head before Phil even stops talking. "Maybe a nap, though. And... a glass of water?"
Phil looks relieved to have something to do.
*
The table is gone.
It's dark out now. He must have slept for a few hours.
Dan stands in the doorway and looks at where it used to be. He feels better in a way, and worse in a different way, because the table is gone and he worried Phil and then he snapped at Phil when Phil was only trying to be nice.
"You're up," Phil says. He's behind the island, standing in front of the stove. He's wearing an apron with a smear of red already on it, and a matching one on his shirt sleeve. Dan doesn't even know why Phil wears the apron, it can never stand a chance against his ability to create mess.
"You're cooking," Dan says.
"Yeah. Hope you're fine with a bolognese. We didn't have much left but there was some pasta and a jar of sauce..." Phil shoves his hands into his pockets. He'll probably have tomato stains in his fucking trouser pockets now.
He's a mess. But so is Dan.
Dan sits down on the sofa. "It happened a few times when I was a teenager. It really is just a blood pressure thing. I felt a bit shit earlier but it's been so long since I last passed out that I forgot what it felt like beforehand."
"Well can you..." Phil stops talking and reaches behind him to untie the apron, leaving the pasta simmering in its sauce to walk over to Dan. "Can you not forget again, because that scared the crap out of me, Dan."
The quiet sincerity of Phil's voice just intensifies the knot in Dan's stomach. "I can try," Dan says. He looks over at Phil and suddenly hates the space between them. In a very tiny voice he says, "Cuddle?"
Phil breaks into a soft smile immediately, holding his arms open. Dan slumps against him, enjoying the way Phil's arms feel around him. He feels grounded for the first time in hours. "Are you hungry at all?" Phil asks.
"A bit," Dan says. "As long as you tell me you didn't make dinner because you thought I was too poorly to."
"I made dinner because I was hungry," Phil says, so matter of factly that Dan laughs and actually believes him. "Hey, you know what?"
"What?" Dan asks.
Phil kisses Dan's forehead, just at the temple. "I hated that coffee table anyway."