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Exhaustion rested in Dan’s bones. It was there, reminding him that he was still human, no matter how on top of the world he felt most nights after a show. Something inside of him aches, a longing for something that he hasn’t felt in a while. (Though a while could mean a few hours, a few minutes, but it’s been a couple of days.)
There isn’t a lot of time to for physical affection, they can hug in passing, reach out to squeeze the other’s hand every now and then but sometimes when they get back on that bus they just lay down in their respective corners, talking about the show, playing a game or watching a movie on the tv, enjoying the others silence together.
Dan can feel the past few days wear on him though like an overused sweater. Soon, they’ll share this space with everyone else, but right now Dan changes into something comfortable, his favourite pyjama shirt and bottoms. He stands on one side of the bus watching Phil do the same. He’s got his glasses on and his hair is a bit of a mess and Dan wants to smooth over the hairs that are sticking up, maybe run his fingers through it because he can.
He smiles to Phil who smiles back at him. He walks closer to him now, their noses rub against each other before Dan finds his way to Phil’s lips. The kiss is inviting and warm, long and searching, and he feels Phil’s tongue against his own and Dan smiles into the kiss, his fingers feeling the hair behind Phil’s neck.
This is a space that he knows. This is what familiarity feels like. Home has been a lot of things lately but right now this was the truest definition of it.
Sometime, later, when everyone has gone to bed they can take this somewhere, but right now Dan presses his forehead against Phil’s, and the car moves over a bump and they both stumble, grabbing on to the other.
Dan circles his arms around Phil for a warm embrace and he stays there, burying his face in his neck.
Dan was missing this kind of human connection. That longing feeling that resided in his chest feels just a little bit lighter now.
There’s a knock on the door, Dan squeezes Phil one more time before moving to open it.
“We’re coming up on Manhattan,”
They nod, Dan taking Phil’s hand to lead them past the door and lets it go so they could sit up front to watch the lights of the city.
Dan leans against Phil, there are boundaries that he’s crossing, little by little. There’s a contact that he wants that he won’t deny himself it. There’s a feeling he feels being in a city that he’s grown to love with someone he’s also grown to love in a different way, an old way, a new way, a familiar way. (As a best friend, a lover, my person, my partner, and my companion.)
“I’d like to spend Christmas here one day,” Dan says offhandedly, watching the way the lights reflect off of Phil’s face, illuminating him in a way. Dan wants to take a picture but he also wants to live in it, savour this moment as much as he can.
Phil turns to look at him with a small smile and nods, “Me too. Someday.”
Their life was a series of somedays, Dan thought, but it was worth waiting for.