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The phone call didn’t help. Dan really thought it would. Thought this horrible feeling in his chest must be the cause of missing his family, somewhere in the depths of his glee over independence.
It can’t be entirely the case, though. He doesn’t particularly want his family here in this little flat; not his dad making sly comments about his work, or his mum’s incessant worry over his coping, nor does he want to chat with his brother who grows increasingly moody with his teenage years. They’re great, usually, just exhausting. The dog would be a comfort, something to hug and play with noncommittally.
It might be a homesickness of the general kind. It’s never felt as bad as this first Christmas away from home, in this quiet apartment complex with lights up and down other people’s railings and happy family photos on every timeline of his. The constancy of his childhood is gone and blaring at him now. He’s been riding the excitement of learning to cook, buying his own furniture with loans, and finding a purpose through academics but it feels so utterly lonely. On this day of all days, he deserves to wake up in his old room then sit under the wilting Christmas tree and be forced to play the piano for his grandma.
It’s hard to keep up with the drastic changes of adulthood and realize that he’s never moving home again. He’s alone in this shitty little outer London apartment and lacking the funds and time to train home.
The screen of his laptop is the only light in the room. The Skype screen is still open with nothing but the ended call from his brother's account. All thirteen minutes of catch up must have been too much for this shitty PC because its fan is whirring and the heavy base burns his thighs. In a fluid motion, he slides it onto the floor and stands up. It’s too hot and the silence is overbearing. He feels so damn depressed.
He steps out onto his tiny balcony in nothing but his socks, feeling cold dampness seep through immediately, giving him a shock. The wind is frosty on his bare face but somehow satisfying in the first few moments of standing outside. He must look weird standing alone, staring out into his street in his pyjamas during this flurry of light snow. It’s satisfying that no one is here to see it, everyone is inside eating roasts and turkeys and pudding at this time of night.
He sees it in that very moment, the most questionable sight, and he instantly assumes it must be a trick of the eyes. Across the street in front of the closed CVS is a dark figure sprawled out on the ground. He never would have seen it without the dim streetlight haloing the snow. It feels much later than it really is with such dark clouds, and the unmoving figure makes him feel a bit anxious.
He has the instant daydream of calling the police to report a Christmas murder or suicide or something and sitting in a questioning room to top off his most depressing Christmas to date. It’s a strangely dark assumption but he’s never been an optimist. What else would explain a human figure lying in the snow on a cold, dark, Christmas evening?
“Hey!” he calls out, hands around his mouth. The body doesn’t move.
He knows neither his conscience nor his curiosity will let him go back inside unphased. He turns back into his apartment, finding dry socks, shoes, and a winter jacket, and clenches his key while walking to the stairs.
He picks up the pace, half running down the stairs in little taps of his toes and yanking the front door too fast, a weird paranoia filling his gut. He hurries across the street, looking side to side down the ominously empty street.
The crunch of snow under his feet slows as he comes closer. It’s a man, long and lean in blue sneakers, loose skinny jeans, and a thin black jacket. His nose, cheeks and ears are bright red and his hair is pitch black against the snow. Would a dead person have red skin? Isn’t that a sign of blood flowing?
He internally reprimands himself for feeling awkward and hesitant approaching someone passed out in the snow. As if he’s bothering some peaceful moment. The weird thing is, the strange man looks extremely peaceful. Face calm and eyes closed despite the worrying signs of cold against his skin. His gloveless hands, an even harsher red than his face, are resting in the snow at his sides.
“Hey, mate, you okay?” Dan says. His voice is softer than he expected and the guy doesn’t even change his expression.
Dan kneels down to tap his shoulder. His eyes pop open so fast that Dan jumps.
“Oh, shit, God,” the man says, sitting up and scooting away. Snow falls off his coat and his eyes peer at Dan so big and bright, a shocking blue with bloodshot red surrounding.
“Shit God?” Dan says.
“Yeah,” the guy mumbles, rubbing his eyes and making his skin crease up.
“Are you okay?”
“...‘M ace.”
Dan has a moment of realization from the obvious slur in his strong accent. It isn’t just the tendency of northerners to sound drunk, Dan knows, this guy really is drunk. It’s confirmed by the smell of him. He begins talking slower and louder, feeling exasperated.
“What are you doing in the snow? It’s cold as fuck out here.”
The man looks around, more snow sliding off his jacket.
“I wanted snacks.” He points his thumb at CVS, where the open sign is dim against the dark store.
“Laying in the snow was the substitute option?”
“I...uh….”
“Where do you live?”
The man looks up at him for the first time and doesn’t reply. He stares at Dan for a good few seconds with a blank expression, his eyes peering around at Dan’s face. He might be a bit cross-eyed. Dan would feel self conscious if there wasn’t the barrier of this guy being too far out of it to really judge him.
His stomach sinks as he realizes he can’t just send this guy walking aimlessly down the street when he’s halfway to frostbite already. He pushes himself to his feet and sighs.
“Come on. You can warm up in my flat and we’ll try to call a taxi.” He puts out a hand and the guy hesitantly grabs it. Dan has to hold on with his other hand and lean his weight back to yank the guy into a standing position.
A hand pinches his jacket sleeve so he walks along pulling the weight behind him.
“I’m Phil Lester,” he says. Dan sees him nearly slip on the icy road but he catches himself and keeps walking flat-footed a few inches behind Dan.
“I’m Dan, uh, Howell.”
“Cool, what are you up to this Christmas evening?” The words blend together like Phil’s pronouncing one long word.
“Saving drunks from hypothermia all around town.”
“I‘m barely tipsy.”
“Uh huh.”
He’s nervous when they get to the steep stairs but Phil drops his jacket to clutch onto the railing and stares at his feet to climb after Dan. They make it the couple floors up and by the time he’s unlocked his apartment, Phil is caught up, breathing heavily.
“You want tea?” Dan asks.
“Coffee?”
Dan shrugs. “Suit yourself, do an all-nighter on Christmas.”
Phil mimics Dan, slipping off his shoes and coat, then treads to the kitchen in bright coloured socks. He sits at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands while Dan puts on the coffee. He gets a glass of water too and sets it with a bottle of ibuprofen next to Phil. He feels a bit drowsy himself just thinking about how Phil must be feeling.
He sets the coffee down and starts making himself a hot chocolate and brings a bottle of amaretto over to pour in. He sits at the table with Phil.
Phil snaps his head up at the noise of the chair then grabs the coffee, taking a long sip while the steam rises up in front of his face.
“So. Did you walk to CVS? Do you live close?”
“I took a taxi from a work party.”
“Where’s your work?”
“Radio station.”
“Which one?”
“BBC.”
“Shit! You must be a big deal to be the Christmas special.”
Phil shakes his head again. “It was my first radio show ever. This show was like my test so I can go back and beg for a job before living in London puts me in debt.” He smiles but it looks amusedly bitter.
“How the fuck do you start your radio career at the BBC and not like, student radio at two in the morning.”
“Some other entertainment stuff on my resume, I guess.”
“You fucking famous or something?”
Phil snorts.
“So you got wasted at your first work party?”
Phil groans and puts his head down on the table, then lifts his head after a few long seconds. “I guess I did.”
“Good luck at that full-time job.”
“I didn’t eat all day because I was so nervous then after I had too much celebratory champagne with the producers. I pulled trigger in the toilets and called a taxi. God….”
“Well that fucking explains it. Can I get you some food before you pass out now?”
“Please. I need toast.”
Dan blows air out his nose in a silent laugh but pushes himself up again, grabbing the bread and some butter.
It’s in front of Phil in a couple minutes, crumbling on a paper towel, and Phil devours it, closing his eyes as he chews. Dan finishes his hot chocolate and pours some amaretto in for something to sip at. Somehow, the taste is bringing him back to Christmas with his family, the last few years his parents let him have mulled wine and amaretto. He really must miss the holidays with them.
“You saved my life. I was ready for death when I realized the shops are closed, I literally have no food. I was so dizzy I laid down in the snow and I felt like I was having those happy life-flashing-before-your-eyes hallucinations, like before someone dies a horrible death and their sanity whittles away first. I was making snow angels. I think it was just the alcohol, though.”
Dan stares at him curiously. His cheeks, nose and ears are still a rosy red but it’s less harsh. He’s ghastly pale otherwise.
Phil leans back and fiddles with the top two buttons of his plaid shirt, opening his shirt and acting as though he can finally breathe.
He’s not sure how his Christmas came to this.
“Can I bother you for more toast.”
“Alright.” He stands up again.
“I feel like you’re my babysitter or something, I’m so spoiled.”
“Fun fantasy.” It slips out his mouth and he cringes ever so slightly.
“Sure is. What’s your name again?”
“Dan.”
“Dan. Danny, Daniel, Dan the man.”
“Just Dan, please.”
“‘Kay.”
He eats the next two pieces of toast just as fast. Dan holds his hot chocolate in his palms, purely for something to fidget with, and stares at his appliances to avoid watching Phil. He feels awkward in the silence but can’t think of anything to say.
“Why aren’t you at a Christmas dinner? Is that too personal?” Phil asks, mouth full.
“Couldn’t afford it, families up in Reading.”
“Why are you here?”
“Law practicum.”
“Shit. Well, I guess we’re in the same boat kinda, I couldn’t go see my parents in Rawtenstall because of work. I think that’s why I drank so much, it’s hard being alone at Christmas. I feel like I’m missing out on the most special day of the year, I’ll never get this Christmas morning back.” He pouts, staring down at his coffee cup. He shoves the last bite of toast in his mouth.
Dan laughs a bit at the drama in Phil’s voice but nods his head in agreement. “I hated my family at the best of times but Christmas is the one nice day. I miss my mum’s cooking, it was basically all I lived for on this day.”
“True. Homemade mince pies and cookies. The one day I actually bake.”
“The only time I actually hang out with my family.”
“We always set up this nice nativity scene and my parents act all offended when me and my brother put pokemon toys in it to make it more interesting.”
“We haven’t gone to a church service since I was a baby, we just sit at home and play scrabble with too much wine.”
“We just play PS1 all night.”
“Ah, classic.”
“Oh yeah.”
Dan smiles, sipping at this mug to cover his mouth and Phil falls silent for a minute too, finally opening the bottle of ibuprofen. When he washes it down with water, he scrunches up his face and Dan is momentarily scared he’s going to be sick.
“I did not want to be sad and hungover on Christmas, I don’t know why I did this.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, sounds like a fun time.”
“I’m sobering up now and realizing what a mess I am. Still drunk though, don’t get me wrong, I’ll have to sleep this one off.” Phil shakes his head.
“You’re alright, don’t worry.”
“My liquid courage is decreasing, I feel like I’m imposing.”
“Do you want to head home? Do you live far?”
Amidst the calm paleness of Phil’s warmed up face, he sees his skin turn red again in a deep blush. He waits, looking at him questionably.
“I have a confession.”
“Yeah?”
“I live just a floor up.”
Dan laughs. He’s not sure why he finds it so funny, but the entire situation is weighing on him now and he hears himself snort.
“Really? I brought you into my apartment to warm up when you literally live here?”
“I might not have survived the rest of the stairs.”
“Uh huh, alright.”
“Hey, who am I to say no to a nice young lawyer who invites me up to their flat?”
Dan tries not to smile but knows his cheek is probably caving in and giving him away. He brings the mug to his lips again.
“Okay, lawyer my arse, I’m basically the coffee boy so don’t get excited.”
“You already got my attention, it’s okay.”
“No liquid courage left you say, huh?”
Phil raises his eyebrows and drinks the rest of his coffee.
“You mind if I get some wine out? This drunk thing on such a sad Christmas is seeming like a better and better idea by the minute.”
“Please.”
Dan pours himself a glass. The only reason he has this is the temptation of Christmas eve eve sales but he’s grateful now.
Phil lifts his water glass to cheers and Dan knocks the plastic wine glass against it, an amused smile on his lips.
“To the sad Christmas dinner of toast and alcohol.”
“Decadent.”
He realizes he doesn’t feel so sad anymore. He’s got a warm feeling in his chest. It’s been a while since he’s even spent time with a friend, he thinks. It’s sad that a drunk stranger had to be that company, but it’s a funny story anyway.
“You know what would improve this Christmas celebration even more?” Phil asks, rummaging in his coat pocket. “Oh, thank God, I didn't lose it in the snow.”
He pulls out his phone and begins tapping through, holding it close to his face and squinting one eye. Dan doesn’t try to hide his amused smile, Phil is distracted enough.
He hears a twinkling sound and watches Phil sit back looking pleased with himself.
Dan groans loudly and obnoxiously as Mariah Carey’s voice carries through his kitchen. He gives Phil the most exasperated look he can muster.
Phil mouths the words of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, squeezing his eyes shut at the high notes then swaying his arm in the air as the tempo picks up. He doesn’t even particularly look like a drunk mess, just an over exuberant nerd.
Dan finally lets himself laugh out loud then he picks up his wine glass, finishes what’s left over in a swift gulp, then stands up to grab the bottle.
He watches Phil bounce his head like he’s the happiest man in the world and thinks he might as well let this night go on.
-
He never bought a couch. It didn’t seem worth it with his already drastic student loans and no friends coming over anyway. The bean bag he owns is too small so they just sit on the carpet.
It was Phil’s suggestion to fulfil their usual Christmas game nights. Dan is happy to be the mellow and cool one just going along with it all but he’s also happy to fill the hole in his own heart with something fun.
Phil chose Scrabble with confidence and a brag about his English degree but every word with significant points is a jumble of letters that he clearly thought up a definition for on the spot. Dan will humour him but only because he’s still double the score with words like ‘quiz’ and ‘xylophone.’
Except, the more wine he has the less his brain wants to work. He shuffles to lay on his side across the carpet, head held up by his elbow.
“And from your ‘visor’ I will create ‘visorete’” Phil says.
“Uh huh, definition? Use it in a sentence?”
“It means a painting that is of the style one would use on a French girl. Just like you are laying ready to star in a visorete. ”
“Mm, you wish.”
“Uh huh.”
Dan scratches his nose and scrunches up his face, the most he can do to fend off a smile to not give Phil the satisfaction. He takes a long sip of his wine, quickly placing down his tiles.
“How are you still winning? I blame my shitty tiles,” Phil says, scooting to lay down, mirroring Dan.
Dan would usually feel a bit self-conscious in his sweatpants and pyjama shirt while Phil is dapper in a button down but the added mess of Phil’s hair and dark circles even them out, he thinks.
“Your brain is mush.”
“Yeah. That’s true. It isn’t always.”
“Alcohol is literally poison.”
“Still, I love me a good cocktail. Anything sugary I’m down for.”
“Agreed, I can always go for a nice margarita.”
Phil lays down fully on the carpet and looks up at Dan, watching him for a few moments.
“Want to go out for a drink with me sometime? My radio paycheck will let me buy you a couple of the best margaritas we can find, a good payback for the toast and coffee,” he says, smirking.
Dan stares down at his tiles to avoid Phil’s gaze for a moment but feels a grin spread on his face. “Liquid courage still there, huh?”
“That champagne really gets me. Gotta take advantage before my sober self starts getting nervous about laying here next to you.”
“You’re a cheeky fucker.”
Phil giggles, his eyes scrunching up with his smile. “What’s your answer then?”
“Yeah, alright. A drink is the least you owe me for literally saving your life tonight.”
“Fair.”
Phil stares at Dan, looking like he's forgotten all about Scrabble. Dan lets him hold eye contact. He knows in his head the wine is fucking with his emotions but it’s hard not to feel strongly right now.
“Hey, it was nice to hang with you tonight. Christmas is hard growing up, I think, losing too much of the magic and the constancy and I was super fucking bummed before. I couldn’t think of a weirder fucking distraction than taking care of drunk you but it was a very fun distraction,” Dan says.
Phil beams at him. “I had fun too, especially because my other option was dying of hypothermia.”
“Yeah, you were kind of an idiot,” Dan says, smiling at the continued laughter from Phil.
“Yeah...but hey, I really am crashing right now. I think I need to go sleep this day off then call my mum and assure her I’ll make it up for New Years.”
“Oh, right.”
Dan is a bit surprised at his disappointment. Usually, he’s grateful to escape a party early, crawl into his cave of solitude. He’s still energized and a good level of drunk and not ready to be sad and alone.
“Yeah, it’s three, damn. Give me your number and I promise to take you to that drink soon,” Phil says, sounding apologetic. He must sense the disappointment from Dan. He’s shoving his phone into Dan’s hands quickly.
“Yeah, you better.”
Phil sighs, “I think it’s fair to say you won Scrabble. Sober rematch sometime?”
Dan is surprised at the plans Phil is making. This clearly isn’t goodbye forever, unless he’s just being nice.
They clean up the board and Phil puts it away for him, awkwardly shuffling to the door until Dan follows him. He shoves his feet in the laced up trainers and puts his jacket in the crook of his elbow. Dan isn’t shy about staring at him, taking in the strange man. Standing up straight and confident is a different look to the one in his first impression. Even with his dark eye bags and messy hair.
Phil stares back as if challenging Dan to look away. When he doesn’t, Phil steps closer and Dan feels a jolt in his chest, close to fear but exciting in his drunken daze. Phil leans his face in until their noses almost touch and raises his eyebrows.
Dan doesn’t know how to say yes with just his face but Phil seems to understand and lurches forward, pressing his lips to Dan and grabbing his elbows to hold him steady with the force. Dan freezes but sets his hands gently on Phil’s chest as their lips stay pressed together. He’s also surprised at the tongue that reaches his lips but he kisses back with the same energy, any kind of rationality out of his mind. He knows the seconds, maybe even minutes, are ticking by but he doesn’t move back until Phil pulls away. He lets himself kiss messily and savours in the excitement of such spontaneity. Like he’s in a daydream.
Phil just steps back after, though, smiling and looking sheepish, reaching for the doorknob. His cheeks are a bright pink and Dan thinks he must look similar.
“Oh was there no mistletoe here? My bad.”
“Shut up,” Dan says, an embarrassingly high pitched laugh coming out from his nerves.
“Thanks for making my Christmas better, Dan.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Thank God for liquid courage, man. I’ll see you, then?”
Dan watches in a slightly confused daze as Phil slowly sneaks out the door, waving his hand and smiling, looking much more innocent and nervous than he had just a minute before. Dan welcomes the beating of his heart and the ghost feeling on his lips, leaning against the wall to watch Phil until the door is completely closed.
He doesn’t know what to do at three am the day after Christmas, when he’s wine drunk and floaty, so he just crawls into bed and waits for the next day.