Work Text:
The lift in Phil's flat is always broken. He's lived in the same building three years and he can count on one hand the number of times it didn't have an out of service sign on it, and the few times it did he's not sure anyone wanted to take the risk on being the next person that it broke on.
Every morning he takes a shower and stares at his reflection in the dingy mirror. Every morning he brushes his teeth while he listens to the breakfast show. Every morning he buttons up a nice, presentable work shirt and tries to ignore the lines around his eyes.
Every morning he steps foot out the front door of his flat with crumbs of toast still clinging to the corners of his mouth, heart speeding slightly with the rush of trying not to be late, of knowing the trains might not run on time, that he can't afford to take a car too many days a week, that his supervisor gets cross when he's not there on time even when it's not his fault.
Every morning he finds himself running late, and yet still slows down at the end of the hall. He still pauses in front of the door to the flat that's right across from the stairs, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a sticky note so freshly written on that the ink sometimes smudges when he presses his thumb firm against it to adhere it to the door of flat 12F.
Good morning, Dan! ^_^
He always pauses just to look at it, brightened by his own imagination and the idea that it might bring a little smile to Dan's face when he sees it.
Dan's the strangest neighbor he's got, the strangest friend he's got, and maybe it's not destined to be the most fanciful love story in the world, but Phil's just a bit in love and he can't help himself.
*
Dan texts him halfway through the day.
He doesn't always. Some days Phil doesn't hear from him at all. He's not sure if Dan sleeps all day those days, or if he just has nothing to say to Phil.
Phil tells himself that's alright.
Hearing from Dan some days is better than not hearing from him at all.
got a craving for gyoza
Phil's stomach does a funny little turn. Dan's never direct when he wants Phil's company. He always leads in, drops hints like breadcrumbs.
He texts back a string of emojis: the hungry face with the tongue licking out, the one that's a little pot of food, and the flag that comes up when he types the word Indian in.
Dan responds back with a simple lol
Phil understands he's being led, but he doesn't mind it. He thinks if he tried to wait for Dan to come right out and ask he'd be waiting an awfully long time, and he's just not that patient a person.
could do with a tikka masala tonight. want me to pick up dinner?
He savors the privilege of typing something so casual with such familiarity. Only a year ago he wouldn't have dared; a year ago he and Dan's encounters were limited to once or twice a month when he'd see Dan taking the bins down or collecting a package. He'd thought, back then, that it was just bad luck that he didn't happen to see Dan more.
Now he knows it's because Dan just tries not to be seen. Or maybe it's not that; maybe he doesn't care who sees him, it's just that he doesn't particularly want to see the world beyond his front door.
Phil thinks something out there must have been awfully cruel to Dan to make him how he is.
There is no yes or no, just Dan responding with: i'll pay you back, like he always does.
*
Dan's flat is bleak. He's got a black futon that's broken on one side, so Phil always sits in the middle to avoid it. There's only one stool at his kitchen bar. His television sits on an ikea stand stacked high with games under it, consoles off to the side mostly unplugged. Phil knows from past experience that his fridge holds mostly soda and Ribena, and that his freezer is packed with processed microwave meals.
There are no posters on the wall, no shelves with knicknacks. There aren't even any photographs. Dan's lived here two years and most of the flat looks like he just moved in.
But there are odd bits of neatness to it. The game stacks are all the same height and they're organized by system, and then alphabetical within the stacks. There are cereal boxes in his pantry and tins of sauce and beans are organized well.
And his bedroom - Phil's only seen it a few times. Dan keeps the door firmly shut most of the time when Phil's over. But once, his foot might have accidentally nudged the slightly cracked door open a bit more. He's never been the most observant person but he remembers the fairy lights strung over the bed, the way the room felt dark and deep but soft more than somber - the thick soft blanket on the bed, the pile of pillows, the glow of an amber lamp on a black dresser.
It's probably sad how much time he's spent thinking of that bedroom, how many fantasies he's indulged in that have to do with that soft blanket. He can't even say they're all properly sexual. Most of the time the things that get his heart in a twist are just imagining holding Dan close and keeping him warm on the days when he seems to radiate that cold loneliness that eats away at his days.
*
They eat Indian food sat on the floor at Dan's coffee table, an episode of Rick and Morty playing.
"The show is good," Dan says. "It's just the fanbase that's giving the show a bad impression."
"Yeah?" Phil asks. He can sense a ramble coming.
Usually when Dan talks like this, Phil doesn't know too much about what he's talking about and he doesn't have too much to add. That's usually alright; Dan can talk for ages by himself, just as long as he knows Phil's listening.
It makes Phil happy just to hear his voice, really. He nods along, asks for clarification, asks questions when he can follow, because he wants Dan to feel heard. He wants Dan to get all his words out.
He used to think Dan was shy, when they'd have their hallway run ins. He always kept his head down, mumbled greetings back. Dan's not shy at all, though; Dan just reserves his words for the things that give him energy to talk about. He's got plenty to say about video game makers, about television, about politics and current events, about films they've just watched that he either really loved or really didn't love.
Phil enjoys listening to the passion rising in him. He could sit here for hours shoveling delicious food into his mouth and listening to the sound of Dan's voice.
*
It's pushing up against midnight when Phil finally says, "I should go."
It's his least favorite part of any time spent with Dan.
Dan never asks him to leave. He never seems to get tired himself, not at the same time Phil does. Once or twice Phil's been so determined to stay that he nodded off right on Dan's sofa, and Dan never said a word.
He wonders if Dan would just let him sleep there all night. If Dan would get a pillow and a blanket for him. If maybe Dan would ask if Phil just wants to share the bed...
But he never does because it's a bit silly to ask to stay at Dan's when his own doorway, with his own bed comfortably behind it, is just down the hall.
So when he knows he's going to lose the battle with sleep he'll say those three stupid words, and Dan will just look at him in surprise and shrug and say, "Goodnight."
*
"Mate," Bryony says, across the lunch table from him the next day. "I think what you're doing is romanticizing bad mental health."
"I am not," Phil says, sharply defensive of Dan. "Dan's fine, he's just peculiar."
Phil doesn't mind it. He's been called peculiar himself his whole life. Some people are just... like that.
She looks neither swayed nor impressed by his white knighting. "Why do you think it's wrong for me to say he might not be fine? He's basically a shut in, from what you describe. You're not helping him by pretending like that's a functional way to live. Maybe what he needs is someone to not pretend he's alright just because they're too fucking British and repressed to bring up something that might make a conversation awkward."
Phil violently stabs a bit of chicken in his pasta. Why are they friends again? Are they even friends? Or are they just people whose cubicles are sat across from each other and who have the common bond of coming into the company at the same time? Why does he even have to listen to her?
"Whatever," she says, voice disinterested. "You can feel special all you want that you're the only person he lets in, but it's not healthy to be his only contact with the world."
He spends the rest of the day with a stupid, sick feeling in his stomach.
*
He knocks on Dan's door.
He rarely does that. Usually when Dan wants to see him Dan will text, and if Dan doesn't text - well, Phil's got other things to do with his time. He goes out to eat with his brother sometimes, he has a few work mates he plays board games with now and then, he's got video games, old friends from his last job or people from uni who also relocated to London in the years following school.
He's got a life. He's got hobbies and interests. He might not like clubs or bars all that much, but he knows if he picked up the phone and started ringing people any one of a dozen people would be likely to accept his invitation to come over.
But tonight he doesn't want that. Tonight Bryony's words are eating at him and he just...
He just wants Dan.
And that's the problem, isn't it?
He wants Dan. And he doesn't know if Dan wants him, but he feels like sometimes Dan needs him, and he likes that.
Is it wrong to like it? Is he confusing something unhealthy with something good? The thoughts all twist together in his head until he feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest and he just wants the nauseating anxiety over it all to stop.
Dan opens the door. His eyes are bleary and bloodshot, and his hair is unwashed. "Fuck," he says, and immediately shuts the door again.
Phil stands there, confused.
The door re-opens. "Sorry," Dan says. He runs his fingers through greasy curls. "I wasn't expecting you. I thought - I ordered a pizza. I thought you were the pizza."
"I don't have pizza," Phil says apologetically. "Can I come in?"
He thinks for a moment Dan might actually say no.
But Dan steps aside. "Sure."
Once Phil's in, Dan shuts the door again and just...
Stares at him.
"Hi," Phil says.
"Did you... need something?" Dan asks.
Phil's heart crawls up his throat. "No," he says, suddenly regretting coming over in the first place. He takes a step back and his heel hits the door. "I can go, if you're - if you. Want me to."
"No," Dan says, brow furrowing in confusion. "Don't go. Just like. Give me a minute, okay? Let me. I don't know. Try not to be such a fucking mess."
His voice has a bitter, dark undercurrent but he's gone before Phil could address it - if he wanted to, which he doesn't really. Right now he just feels small and embarrassed and he actually gives thought to leaving even though Dan told him not to.
But he hears a shuffling on the other side of the door and he remembers Dan's pizza. He opens it before the pizza delivery guy can even knock. The teenager standing there has spots on his face and he stares expectantly until Phil shakily pulls his wallet out, handing over probably too much money.
The delivery guy mutters a thanks and Phil's left standing, holding a warm fragrant box. He looks around as though a sign of what to do might magically appear, and then walks over to put it on the island.
"Fuck," Dan says, stumbling out of the bathroom. He's got toothpaste on the corner of his mouth and his skin looks damp and slightly flushes. "Was that-"
"I got it," Phil says. "Don't worry about it."
"I can pay you back," Dan says.
Phil just repeats, "I got it."
"You're saying then?" Dan asks.
Phil shrugs. "Do you want me to?"
Dan looks taken aback by the directness. He chews on an already cracking bottom lip and finally says, "Yeah. I do."
*
They sit and watch an episode of American Horror Story in silence. The greasy pizza sits heavy on Phil's stomach, but he eats three slices anyway just to have something to do.
"I would have gotten meat on it if I'd known you were coming." It's the closest Dan has come to ever apologizing for anything.
"I should have texted," Phil says.
Dan shrugs, but he doesn't say anything one way or the other.
Phil sits and pushes his head back against the cushion. "I had a shit day at work," he says.
It's true, though he doesn't say that the shit day at work is mostly because he couldn't stop thinking of what Bryony said at lunch. His distraction made him read a schedule wrong, confusing two projects and editing a video that's not due for another week while the one he was meant to have done by the end of the day sat half-finished on the server.
He'd caught his own mistake half an hour before he was meant to leave for the day, and emailed a half-assed excuse about a save going corrupt to buy himself an extra day. It won't make him look good, and he'll have to answer for it in the creatives department meeting at the end of the week - especially if the client complains. So he'll spend the entire week dreading this meeting where he may or may not be called out.
But he doesn't say any of that. Not even when Dan asks, "What happened?"
Instead he just blinks back the kind of tears that come with too much frustration and shrugs. "Sometimes I'm bad at my job."
"What is your job?" Dan asks.
That's a first. Maybe it's a night of firsts. But Phil won't let himself get too excited. It's probably just a fluke. Dan's probably making the best of the uncomfortable situation Phil put him in by showing up.
"I work for a company that pairs advertising campaigns with online influencers," Phil explains. "I'm a video editor."
"Online influencers?" Dan asks. "Like, youtubers?"
"Sometimes," Phil says. "Or like, instagram stars, or minor celebrities even. People on youtube mostly have their own filming and editing people but for some of the others my company sends a filming crew out to get the footage then I edit it."
"You've got a proper job." Dan is looking at him, has been for a while. "A cubicle, too?"
"Yeah." Phil grimaces. "I hate it. I got told off for having Pokemon figurines last year."
"That's fucked up," Dan says. "They're infringing on your freedom of expression."
"Right?" Phil feels satisfied that someone else finds this as much an affront as he had. "I used to enjoy the video stuff. Now it's just... I don't know."
"A pointless menial task that you resent having to do in order to succumb to the capitalistic trappings of the society we live in?" Dan tips back his drink and then swallows neatly before adding, "Same."
"You work?" Phil asks, before he can stop himself. Sometimes his brain to mouth filter just isn't there.
Dan gives him a strange look. "Yeah. Of course. Did you think the rent fairy comes and leaves nine hundred fifty pounds under my pillow once a month?"
Phil shrinks back, shame heating his face. "Sorry," he mumbles.
Dan looks ahead again when he says, "I write."
Phil isn't sure if he's allowed to ask but he can't help himself. "What do you write?"
"Articles. Boring shit. Tech reviews. Game reviews. And I have like, a blog. It pays decently. And no, you can't read it. Don't bother googling, either. It's not under my real name."
"What's your blog about?" Phil asks.
"What did I just say?" Dan points at him. "No."
Phil grins. "Not even if I say please?"
"Literally, no. I'd rather die. Don't try the puppy eye thing either. It might be cute, but my heart is made of stone."
"You think I'm cute?" Phil blurts out. He's never felt more like he's been dropped back into secondary school.
Dan looks shocked by his own words. "I- I. Shut up." He scowls into his lap, then crosses his arms over his chest and slouches down on the sofa.
"Or what?" Phil teases.
It's probably sad quickly his mood has turned around. He even mirrors Dan's posture, getting more comfortable on the sofa. Phil's still sat in the middle, Dan in his well worn corner.
There's a safe couple of inches between them, but they're close enough for Phil to not miss the warmth in the glance Dan sends toward him. "Or I'll kick you out."
"You can't," Phil says. "I paid for your pizza."
"My time is not for sale." Dan grabs the remote that's beside him. "Now shut up. I'm backing it up, we talked through that whole scene."
Phil mines zipping his lips and props his feet up on the coffee table, content now to settle in quietly.
*
He's tired the next morning, the kind of tired that comes from a late night up and a mind too busy whirring and spinning to properly rest.
It's not all bad, though. The night was stressful and confusing but in the end he spent it sat so close to Dan that their shoulders touched sometimes, a belly full of pizza and the soft way Dan laughs at funny things on television lingering in his ear.
It's what he's thinking about when he stands in front of his mirror and shaves. It's what he's thinking about when he passes by the perpetually broken lift. It's what he's thinking about when he pauses in front of Dan's door and pulls the sticky note out of his pocket.
But he doesn't put it up yet. He's too busy staring at the note already on it. It's a sheet of notebook paper torn and taped, and it reads you can come by anytime. just knock hard in case i'm asleep.
*
He doesn't actually plan to see Dan that night. He's got a company dinner to attend, because once in a while the company likes to pretend they're all one big happy family and show off their team of highly trained professional monkeys to the pretty people who make the actual money for them.
He hates the events, but it's free booze and free food and once in a while someone's there that isn't a total bore.
He's got just enough time to get home and change clothes into something a bit more snazzy and try to do something with his hair. He swaps out his contacts for glasses and thinks he can almost pass for the kind of functional adult he feels like he's only pretending to be.
He's just past the broken lift when he sees Dan's door open. Dan's in a plain black t-shirt and soft gray pajama pants that Phil's seen a dozen times before, a big black bin bag in his hands.
"Oh-" He says, stopping short when he sees Phil. "Wow."
Phil wants to think that wow is a good reaction. "Hi there."
"Are you going out?" Dan asks. "I mean, that's a fucking dumb question, of course you are."
Phil shoves his hands into his pockets, because he's not sure what else to do with them. "Yeah. Just got a thing."
"Thing. Like. A date?"
Phil's eyes snap to Dan's. Dan immediately looks away. "No," Phil says, carefully. "Not a date. It's a work dinner."
"Oh. Right. Because you've got like, an actual job."
"You have a job," Phil says. "You told me about it last night."
"The most I have to do is put on a clean shirt once a month and skype with someone," Dan says. "Agoraphobic's wet dream."
"You're afraid of spiders?" Phil asks, confused at how that relates to conversation.
Dan actually laughs. "You idiot," he says, not unkindly. "Agoraphobic. Not arachnophobic."
"Oh!" Phil's not actually sure what agoraphobia is, but at least understands what it's not now. "I was going to offer to come protect you from spiders."
"Well, you can still do that," Dan says. "I'm no good with them. Love the earth and protect all living creatures but also get the fuck out of my face at two in the morning when all I want to do is have a piss and you're on the wall of my bathroom."
"Maybe it just needed a wee too," Phil says. "I'm sure spiders have small bladders."
"I don't think spiders 'wee' in the toilet, Phil."
Phil's phone buzzes. "Oh, crap. My car's here."
"Gotta get to that fancy work dinner," Dan says. "And I've like... got this bin to deal with."
"Important work there," Phil says. "Come on. Walk me down. Except, I"ll go first, because I don't want to walk in bin bag juice if it breaks."
"Oh fuck, is that you whose bags constantly break and leave the place smelling like rotten eggs?" Dan gapes at him.
"No!" Phil says defensively, but probably a little too defensively for Dan not to realize that it's definitely him.
"Invest in some sturdier bags, man," Dan groans, following Phil down the stairs.
*
Phil maybe, just maybe, has a few too many drinks at the open bar after the dinner itself is over and they're left to mingle.
It's not his fault. Bryony catches him on his lonesome and corrals her into his side. It would normally be fine, but she's a woman on a mission tonight - drinking to forget.
Every other sentence starts with my fucking ex and by four pineapple coconut champagne cocktails in, Phil's starting sentences with it as well.
Not about any ex of his. Just about Bryony's. In the morning he won't feel nearly so passionate, but right now he's full of appropriated rage at men who jump into relationships with women half their age and also change their Netflix passwords in the middle of someone else's Black Mirror re-watch binge.
What he'd actually like to talk about is Dan, but he finds himself not sure what to even say. He only knows that the things happening in his heart feel fragile right now and she's so blunt with her words he feels like protecting himself from them for tonight.
They take a car home together. He offers to let her crash on his sofa but she's a quiet, tired drunk now and she says she just wants to go home to her own bed.
Phil understands that. Nights out always leave him wanting his own bed something fiercely. It's what he's thinking as he makes his way up the four flights of stairs, one hand on the wall to keep himself from stumbling. He almost makes it all the way but the last stair trips him up and he goes down on one knee, cursing loudly.
He pushes open the heavy door to the hallway - and Dan is standing there.
"Argh!" Phil yelps and jumps back, hands flailing. "You scared me!"
"How?" Dan asks. "By literally standing right here?"
Phil steps and then side steps to catch himself only to feel like he's falling again. Stupid feet, moving all sorts of places they aren't supposed to go.
Dan reaches out and grabs his arms. "Whoa, there."
Phil grabs Dan's arm back. He doesn't know why they're touching, he just likes it. "Hi."
"Phil." Dan grins, looking at him. "You're drunk."
"I"m not-" Phil starts to protest, then sighs and frowns. "I'm a little drunk."
"Do you need to be escorted home?"
Phil looks down the hallway at where his door sits, perfectly visible and within easy stumbling distance. He looks back at Dan. "Yes."
*
His mind goes a bit fuzzy between Dan taking his arm and leading him down the hall, and being stretched out on his sofa.
He blinks at Dan. "Hi."
"Oh, hey there. I was afraid you'd passed out."
Phil shakes his head. The room spins. "Only a wee nap," he says.
"You Scottish now? 'Wee nap?'"
"Aye, laddie." Phil only gets that far before breaking into giggles over his own horrendous accent. "Maybe not."
"Yeah, I think not. Wouldn't want to offend the whole of Scotland."
"What if I wore a kilt?"
"Then I'd try to see under it. Can you sit up for me?"
Phil manages to after a couple of dodgy attempts where his hands just don't go in the places his brain tells them to. "Sitting is hard," he sulks.
"Sure it is." Dan hands him a glass of water. "Can you sip this?"
Phil takes one sip then Dan's words can up to him. "Wait, what?"
"Wait, what?" Dan laughs and reaches out, wiping a bit of water off Phil's chin. "Mate. You're dribbling water literally all over yourself."
"You'd look under my kilt?"
"Sure," Dan says. "Why wouldn't?"
"Straight boys." Phil stares at Dan with laser precision. Some things are worth summoning a few seconds of sobriety for.
"Well," Dan says, wiping his damp finger on his pajama pants. "Good thing I'm not one, eh?"
Phil stares at Dan, unblinking.
Dan reaches up and taps Phil's chin. "Drink the water."
Phil raises the glass to his lips and takes a long drink, stopping when Dan guides his hand down.
"Don't want you to drown," Dan says. "Or worse, sick it up on me."
"I hate sicking," Phil says.
"Don't know many people that enjoy it." Dan takes the glass from him when Phil's gotten it mostly done. "Feeling okay?"
Phil takes stock of himself. "Sloshy."
"Sloshed, more like."
"I'm not either, you know," Phil says. His head is getting fuzzy again but it seems like a very important thing to say.
"You definitely, definitely are sloshed." Dan starts to get up, but Phil grabs his arm.
"Not that."
"Sure." Dan's very clearly just humoring Phil's nonsense. "Where do you keep your headache tablets?"
"The cabinet above the sink," Phil says. "Second shelf."
Dan disappears and Phil feels momentary panic, because there's something he really needs to say. He's struggling to stand up and follow Dan but he only gets as far as to his feet by the time Dan walks back up.
"Okay, seriously," Dan says. "Ass. Couch. Now."
Phil drops more than sits back down, ass hitting the sofa cushion with surprising velocity. "Oof."
"Now stay," Dan orders. Phil hears the water running again then Dan's back. "Take these."
He holds out three tablets. Phil takes them and manages to get them all down in one go, something he definitely wouldn't be able to do sober. He even finishes the rest of the water without Dan even having to ask. It's nice and refreshing and Dan got it for him and Phil feels very suddenly touched that Dan brought him water.
"Thank you," he says in his most sincere voice.
Dan takes the glass back from him. "No problem. That's just what... people do, right?"
"People," Phil repeats.
"Yeah. For each other."
"You're taking care of me."
"Trying." Dan disappears from Phil's line of view.
Phil sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. He feels tired now suddenly. "Dan. I'm tired."
"Alright," Dan says, reappearing. "Let's get you into bed then."
"Are you coming with me?"
"To bed?" Dan asks. "I'll go into your bedroom with you. Just to make sure you don't get lost on your way."
It's a very hilarious concept to Phil, getting lost on his way to the bedroom, since he can see the door from just where he sits.
He lets Dan help him to his feet. He can recognize that he's very drunk, and he can recognize that Dan actually is being quite nice, and-"
"Oh!" Phil says suddenly. "I remembered!"
"You remembered what?"
"What I was going to tell you," Phil says.
Then... nothing. Dan has to prompt him. "And that was...?"
"I’m not either!" Phil's very proud of getting it out.
But Dan doesn't get it. "You're not what?"
Phil shakes his head. And he's meant to be the drunk one here? "I'm not straight."
Dan blinks at him owlishly. "Say what now."
"I'm not - straight. Either." Phil puts his hands on Dan's cheeks. "I wanted to do that for ages."
"Touch my face?"
"Touch your face," Phil confirms. "It's a touchable face."
"You are... so fucking drunk," Dan says under his breath. "And now I feel like I need a drink too."
Dan steps back suddenly, and turns Phil around. He marches Phil toward the bedroom with his hands on Phil's shoulder.
Phil heads straight for his bed, stumble-stepping the last few feet there. He flops down onto the bed. His head is very, very heavy - but he manages to lift it and see Dan still in the doorway.
"You can take it from here, right?" Dan asks.
Phil's head drops back down. "Thought you were coming with me."
"Oh, fucking hell," he hears Dan whisper. "Nope. Not today, Satan. Not today."
"That's not my name," Phil says.
"I'm going back to my own apartment now." Dan's voice already sounds farther away. "Get undressed. get under the covers. I'll check on you in the morning."
Phil wants to argue, but what Dan said actually sounds just about perfect. He sits up and starts to struggle with his shoes and doesn't even notice the sound of the door closing.
*
Phil wakes up to his phone ringing. His mouth is full of cotton and every inch of his skin hurts but somehow he flings a hand out and manages to find exactly what he needs and drag the barely-charged device up to his face.
"I'm calling off work," Bryony croaks. "And I called you off as well."
"Isn't that going to look weird?" Phil asks.
"I said you got food poisoning after dinner and I had to make sure you didn't get dehydrated from how much you were shitting."
Phil briefly contemplates the chance that she's telling the truth before deciding it's too terrifyingly large. "Thanks."
"Yeah." She groans. "Phone's too bright. Later."
He lets his drop away as well. He actually doesn't feel as bad as he thinks he might have, if not for...
... fuck.
Dan.
He sits up. His head does hurt, but it's manageable. He remembers drinking the water, taking the tablets.
He remembers Dan... standing there. Helping him. Letting Phil talk nonsense. Letting Phil touch his face.
Phil turns and buries his own face in his pillow. He's appropriately mortified, but also...
A bit giddy. Because he does remember what Dan said. And he remembers what he said back. It's not all crystal clear but that one standout exchange isn't something he'd forget, even with alcohol slogging up his system.
He reaches for his phone again. He has one text message already - from Dan.
let me know when you're awake, sent over an hour ago.
Phil's fingers shake a tiny bit as he writes back, awake but maybe dead.
There is no response. He tries not to be disappointed.
*
Over the next thirty minutes he manages a shower, but not much else. He's wearing just his pants with his hair a wet mess when the door rings.
He's not sure who it would be besides maybe Bryony come to give him some hair of the dog. She's a fan of starting her day as she means to go on, and days off work seem to either involve kpop binges or a nice strong drink.
But when he opens the door it's not Bryony. It's Dan, holding two cups of coffee and a bag clenched between his fingers.
"Fuck," Phil blurts out. "Hold on."
He starts to close the door, but Dan shoves a foot out. "I get that this is a whole awkward half naked encounter thing, but my fingers are about to burn off from these cups. Biodegradable, great for the environment but shit for actually protecting human flesh from the scalding liquid inside. So just like, let me in and you - put some fucking clothes on."
"Sorry," Phil says, stomach churning with both shame and his hangover.
He scurries back into his bedroom and throws on a t-shirt and some pajama pants, passing over his obnoxious yellow emoji ones to go for a much more tame Ninja Turtles pair.
The smell catches up to him when he steps back into the kitchen. He looks at Dan and asks, "Did you bring coffee?"
"And breakfast sandwiches. Greasy, filling food." Dan's got two of them pulled out and sitting on top of the paper bag already.
Hunger hadn't even registered to Phil yet but as soon as he sees them sitting there, cheesy and greasy and smelling like heaven, his stomach growls loudly. "You're actually perfect, aren't you?"
Dan turns around instead of answering, opening Phil's fridge. "Do you have milk?"
"Yeah, just the small carton. I only use it in my coffee. I'm lactose intolerant."
"Go figure," Dan says. "The human body rejects sustenance providing liquids meant for the offspring an entirely different species."
Phil squints at him. "Is that-"
"Never mind. I'm - I talk too much sometimes." Dan waves a hand. "Sugar?"
"Middle container, by the microwave." He waits while Dan brings it over, then adds two spoonfuls and a splash of milk to his own cup. He breathes in deeply before he even takes a drink. "Thank you, really."
"Figured you'd need it." Dan takes a drink of his own coffee.
Phil looks at him for a moment, noticing the pinkness in Dan's cheeks and the beanie he's got shoved over his hair and the actual proper jeans he's wearing. He looks good, and Phil feels a surge of nervous tingles in his stomach when he remembers how not-straight Dan claimed to be.
But, he thinks, that doesn't mean it thing. It doesn't have to.
It's just that... it could, now.
"I did," Phil says. His voice pitches lower. "You're good at taking care of me."
Dan looks slightly flustered. It's satisfying. "The one thing I learned at uni. Proper care and managing of drunken - friends."
"And hangover care as well," Phil adds.
He tears into his sandwich, eating it in record time.
"So no work today?" Dan asks.
Phil shakes his head. "Called off. I might try and do some stuff this afteroon still, but-"
Dan interrupts him. "Mario Kart?"
"I - oh. Sure," Phil says. "Do you want to... go to yours?"
Dan shrugs. "I'm guessing you have it too?"
They've never played video games in Phil's place. Actually, Phil realizes, before the previous night Dan hadn't even been in Phil's flat. Phil always came to Dan.
Maybe that'll change now. He smiles, because he likes the idea, and he likes that Dan wants to stay and hang out. "Of course."
He gives Dan a real smile, full on and not trying to hide how happy he feels.
*
"You've made a full recovery, then?" Bryony asks him, spinning around in her chair.
He eyes her up and down. "Have you?"
She waves her hand a bit. "Seventy percent there."
"Did you drink yesterday too?" Phil asks.
"Don't judge me or my brunch champagne. Did you?"
"Nope," Phil says. He can tell the smugness is radiating off of him. He doesn't care. "Dan brought me coffee and breakfast and we spent the day together."
She whistles. "Oh, Dan did this, did he?"
"He did." Phil grins, tongue between his teeth. "It was great."
"Did you fuck?"
"No," Phil says. He's not exactly scandalized by the question, but he's also not ashamed of the answer. "We played video games and then watched a movie."
"Phil Lester," she says. "You're certifiably boring."
"I know!" He drapes his jacket over the back of his chair, then grabs the coffee mug he uses every day and keeps on his desk so break room thieves won't pinch it. "Just how I like it."
*
"Since when do you cook?" Phil asks, leaning against the breakfast bar staring at Dan's back.
He's tired. It's been a long day catching up with everything he'd gotten behind on the day before. When Dan texted him to come over for dinner, Phil's most prevailing thought had been relief that he wouldn't to have cereal for dinner.
"I cook," Dan says. "Just because you haven't seen my depths, doesn't mean I don't have them."
"I see." Phil's eyes drift down to Dan's backside. Actually, he doesn't see that much there, but Dan's wearing jeans tonight - a step up from the usual pajama dinners they have. "Is there an occasion?"
Dan glances behind him. Phil snaps his eyes back up to somewhere more appropriate just in time. "Do I need an occasion?"
"I feel like I should be cooking you dinner, if anything," Phil says. "To thank you for taking care of me."
"I didn't mind taking care of you." Dan's voice is a touch quieter than usual. "Kind of nice, actually. To be like - needed."
Phil's heart is unexpectedly in his throat. "Do you not have like... other friends around?"
It's probably too blunt of a question. Sometimes things like that slip out of his mouth before he can properly think on them.
But Dan doesn't seem to mind.
"I have friends," Dan says. "They're just mostly online. I do a lot of gaming. Been to visit a couple of them, went to America last year. It was a good time."
"That sounds nice," Phil admits. "I mostly just go back to Manchester to visit my friends."
"I also travel for work sometimes," Dan says.
It's the first time Dan has voluntarily said anything about his job. Phil feels like he's stepping on eggshells when he says, "Oh?" and is left to just hope Dan keeps going.
"Yeah. Once in a while I get booked for public speaking things. Again: don't google me." Dan turns to point a spatula at him. "You won't find anything, I work under a pseudonym."
"Fine, fine," Phil grumbles. "You'll remain a mystery."
"Not that much," Dan says. "Grab two plates out of the cabinet above the sink."
Phil steps into the small kitchen space easily, past Dan to to the sink. "So what prompted this?"
Dan looks at him again. There's something to it, something not there before, and Phil doesn't want to hope that it's what he think it is.
"Like I said." Dan smiles just a bit. "Wanted to show you that I have depths."
"That's not what you said, actually."
"Hush." Dan takes the plates from Phil. "Do you like wine?"
"Sure." The swirling in Phil's stomach intensifies. Dan's making him dinner and asking if he wants wine.
Dan turns away again, grabbing an oversized spoon from a drawer. "Grab the bottle from the fridge, I'll serve us."
*
They still eat sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, because that's the only table Dan actually has and there's still only one stool at the bar.
"This is amazing," Phil practically moans at the intensity of the spices.
"It's just a stir fry," Dan says, but he's obviously pleased by the praise.
They're not sitting any closer than normal, probably, until the first time Dan gets up to refill their wine glasses. He leaves the bottle on the table and this time their knees touch.
Phil doesn't know what this is.
He doesn't know how to ask.
So he doesn't, and the night passes - a little warm and tipsy, with a lot of laughter and conversation.
It's a good night. After the food they turn the television on and Dan still sits in his corner but a little less tucked away and Phil still sits in the middle avoiding the broken part and their legs don't touch this time but the laughter continues and so does the conversation and Phil somehow doesn't feel let down when the evening winds down with quiet goodbyes stood by Dan's door and nothing more than a touch to the arm.
*
He's at Dan's every night after that.
He still texts to make sure Dan doesn't have any plans on the days that Dan doesn't message him first.
But Dan usually messages him first, usually a response to whatever note Phil has left on his door that morning. Instead of stops and starts with hours or sometimes days in-between, the conversation becomes a steady trickle.
It takes a week before Phil realizes they don't often go an hour without saying something to each other. He knows this building feeling, he's felt it before - but maybe never in quite this way. It's the jolt of his stomach when he sees a new message, the pounding of his heart just before Dan lets him in, the moments he wants to freeze in time just to keep Dan's smile forever.
He's already done his falling. He just hopes he's not alone.
*
"I'm not sick," Dan says, sulking from his sofa corner. He's wearing his baggiest pajamas - a t-shirt that comes down to his thighs, impressive for a man of his length, and joggers that look faded with age. "We can just watch the movie like we'd planned."
His hair's a mess and his eyes are red and watery. His voice is barely there and Phil's currently stood in Dan's kitchen waiting on the kettle to boil.
"Hush," Phil says. "Have you got lemsip here?"
"No." Dan sulks.
"Well, I've got some in mine, so wait right here."
"Like I'd fucking go anywhere," Dan grumbles.
Phil makes the dash into his own flat quick, but when he comes back his arms are laden with things. He dumps half of it onto the sofa on top of Dan then goes back. The kettle's already hit boiling point and automatically turned off, so Phil flips the switch back on and waits again.
"What the fuck did you bring me?" Dan asks, sorting through things.
Phil's suddenly a bit nervous about his presumptions when Dan holds up a green hoodie. "Is this-"
"It's my sick hoodie," Phil says. "It's the most comfortable one I own, I wear it when I'm sick. And a blanket - you don't ever have one on your sofa so I brought the one on mine. You need to bundle up."
Dan is just - staring at him.
So Phil keeps talking. "I understand if you don't want to wear the sick hoodie. I mean, it's been washed since the last time I was sick, but-"
He stops talking when Dan raises his arms above his head and puts it on, staring defiantly at Phil. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Phil says, pouring the freshly re-boiled water over the sachet. He adds honey, just because that's what his mum always did, and stirs it a bit.
When he walks over to the couch, Dan's also wrapped in the blanket. The squares of blue and green, along with the green of the hoodie, are rare splashes of color against his generally monochrome aesthetic but Phil thinks it looks nice. Or it would if Dan's skin weren't a slightly unhealthy pale hue.
"Drink this," Phil says, putting it down on the arm of the sofa. Dan lets the blanket drop enough to pick it up. "I'll get the movie started."
He doesn't hesitate to control Dan's television, finding the right film and hitting play. They've been on a Marvel binge lately, worked all the way up to the latest Thor movie.
They've hit a level of comfort with teasing each other about fancying superheroes. Phil feels like that's significant in some way. He's not in, really - not to the people that matter - but he's not really had a group of friends to be vocally 'out' with since uni.
It's made everything with Dan a bit more fun. And that's probably part of the dangerous feeling but he can't bring himself to care that much right now.
*
Half an hour in, Dan's lemsip is finished and he's curled up under Phil's blanket. He stretches his legs and stands, walking towards the bathroom without bothering to say anything to Phil.
He looks bleary eyed and tired when he comes back. It's not even eight pm, the movie's not yet half over, but Phil has a feeling tonight won't be a late night.
He's fine with that. Dan needs his rest. He's even about to offer to head back to his own place early when Dan settles in beside Phil and then throws Phil's blanket over both of their laps. Phil holds his breath, like Dan's a skittish animal he's afraid to spook, as Dan leans into him. "I'm so fucking tired," Dan says, resting his head on Phil's shoulder.
Phil's heart constricts with fondness. "I bet you are," he says, gently raising an arm and moving it around Dan's shoulder. The second he gives a little squeeze, Dan's entire body slumps against him. "You poor thing."
"You sound like my grandma," Dan mumbles. “You know what’s really shit?”
“What is?” Phil asks.
“How I spend most of my life not wanting to leave my flat but as soon as I feel like shit and can’t, all I want to do is take a fucking walk.”
“Why don’t you?” Phil asks. “Ever want to leave your flat?”
“Mm. Agoraphobia. Depression. Anxiety. I’m a fucking mess, Phil. Like, functional, but it took some major life adaptations to be this functional.”
“Oh.”
Dan’s used the first word before but it’s still more about himself in one sentence than Dan’s volunteered in their almost-year of knowing each other.
“Sorry,” Dan says more quietly. “That was a lot.”
“No,” Phil tightens his arm around Dan, just in case he thinks about pulling away. “It was just the right amount. And when you’re feeling better, you should go on a walk.”
He’s not even sure if that’s the right thing to say. But Dan said he wanted to go for a walk, and Phil’s out of his depth right now even if it’s depths of Dan he’d very much like to learn more about.
“I do. Three times a week. You’re just never around to see me, you’re at work. Ugh.” Dan shakes his head, but still doesn’t try to retreat. “What do they even put in lemsip, I need to shut up.”
“You don’t,” Phil argues. He’s cut short by a massive yawn from Dan. "Do you want me to let you go to bed?"
He still feels like he should make that offer, no matter that right now the last thing he wants is to move.
Dan shakes his head. "Don't go. It's nice not being alone."
"I'll stay then." Phil stretches his feet out and rests them on the coffee cable, then straightens the blanket on the other side of him.
It doesn't take many more minutes like that for Dan to fall asleep. Phil doesn't move for hours.
*
Phil spends the second half of the week with a scratchy throat and sneezing every ten minutes. Dan mocks him for his weak immune system and says it's Phil's only fault for letting a poor man sleep all over him.
It's a nice excuse to spend most of their spare hours commiserating together, ordering soup and eating it with their shoulders touching, letting the night guide them closer and closer every time.
By weekend both of them feel better, but if Dan wants to keep Phil's quilt on his couch and keep resting his head on Phil's shoulder, and if he's going to let Phil cuddle him in so shamelessly... well, Phil's not going to complain.
*
"A week?" Phil says, frowning. "That's so long!"
"Didn't you go away to visit your family for like a month at Christmas?" Dan asks, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, but that's before..." Phil frowns. He's not sure how to finish the sentence.
Dan catches it, by the way he half-smiles, but he doesn't force Phil into any awkward explanations. He just looks at his phone and then sighs. "Car's coming in an hour. I have to pack, if you wanna... I don't know, keep me company."
It's the first time he's ever been invited into Phil's bedroom. He jumps up from the arm of the sofa he'd been half-sitting on then tries to seem slightly less eager so as to keep some shred of dignity.
"How long have you known?" Phil asks, which is badly disguised code for why didn't you tell me?
"I got the message from my manager today." Dan's look is apologetic though his tone is neutral. "Someone else canceled last minute for this three-city conference tour and they were willing to pay whatever it took to get me in as a replacement."
"What cities?" Phil asks, sitting on the bed beside Dan's open suitcase.
"Nope." Dan rolls his eyes. "I'm not that stupid. You'd just google conferences and the cities and try to stalk me out."
"Ugh." Phil pouts. "No fair."
"You know, most people who need to stalk someone don't need to start out from the position of already being in their bed... room." Dan points out.
"Yeah, but my teachers in school always said I wasn't like most people." Phil says, then laughs and catches a t-shirt Dan throws at him.
"They were right."
"But you like that, don't you?" Phil asks. He folds the t-shirt and places it in the suitcase. When he looks up he catches Dan watching him and smiling. "You did want this one in, right?"
"Yeah. Something to wear to fly home in. Which one?" Dan holds up two shirts, one with some kind of fancy design on the collar and the other with an asymmetrical hem.
"The longer one," Phil says, pointing to the asymmetrical one. "Why haven't I ever seen you in any of those? I feel deprived."
"Take me somewhere nice enough and we'll see." Dan says, then holds up two blazers. The only sign that he's at all affected by what he just said shows in the spot of pink on his cheek.
"The grid one," Phil says, pointing again though it's very clear which one he means. "Can I really, though?"
Dan turns back to his wardrobe, shrugging. "Yeah. Sure. If you want to."
"I do," Phil says. He falls quiet, just watching the movement of Dan's shoulders as he rifles through his clothes. Either he's very indecisive about his fashion choices, or he's just taking an extra minute. "Do you want me to order food? Is there time before you go?"
"Probably not time." Dan sounds genuinely regretful. "I'll have to grab something at the airport."
He remembers why he's sat here to begin with in a wild swing from nervous-excited to disappointed again. "Are you sure they need you for a while week?"
Dan laughs. "Gonna miss me that much?"
"Yeah," Phil says. He grabs one of Dan's pillows and hugs it to his chest. "I actually am."
"Fuck, you're being all nice." Dan sighs. "Fine. I'll miss you, too."
Phil grins. "Knew it."
"Shut up. Don't be ungrateful."
"I'm supposed to be grateful that you'll miss me?" Phil huffs. "I see how it is."
Dan throws something else back at Phil. It's an oversized hoodie. Phil starts to fold it, but Dan says, "No, that one's just for you?"
"What?" Phil asks, confused.
Dan's facing the clothes again and not Phil. "I haven't washed your York one yet. That's to hold you over til I get back and can do some laundry."
Phil definitely owns more than one hoodie... and he's sure Dan knows it. "That's very polite of you."
Dan sneaks a look over his shoulder. "I'm a polite boy. My grandma taught me well."
He moves over to a set of drawers and pulls out smaller things, socks and underwear, then brings a pile back over to the bed and sits to organize them. The suitcase is between the two of them, but Phil's traded the pillow for just holding the hoodie on his lap as he watches Dan pack.
*
He slips back into his own flat just long enough to drop the hoodie off while Dan's in the toilet. When he steps back into the hallway, Dan's already locking his door behind him.
There's a strange silence between them. Phil feels... weird. Weird and sad.
Dan sighs, then drapes his coat over his suitcase and puts his backpack on the floor. He barely even holds his arms out before Phil is stepping into them, holding on tight.
It's a good hug. It's probably the best he's had in a while. Dan's warm and he smells nice, clean and spicy, and he holds back with a firm grip.
Dan's hand rubs down his back and it feels like - something. Like the promise of something, and Phil doesn't want to let go. He lets his hands slide under Dan's jumper to rest at his hips, fingertips just brushing bare skin.
"Phil." Dan says, turning his face a little. He sounds - frustrated.
Just like Phil feels. He thinks they both understand this is going somewhere, and he feels cheated for the timeline of it all being put on pause for a whole fucking week.
"Yeah," Phil says, then moves his hands up a bit. He's never touched Dan so directly before. The small of his back isn't exactly risque but it feels intimate and that's what Phil craves right now.
He's never been good at having patience. Part of him wants to say fuck it all and kiss Dan here and now. But... he doesn't. Because sometimes good things are worth waiting for, worth doing right. He doesn't have hugely romanticized ideals about gestures like that, but he does know the first time he kisses Dan he doesn't want to have to let go immediately.
They stand there in the hallway almost swaying together, arms wrapped around each other, until Dan's phone rings.
"Fuck," Dan says, sighing. "Okay. I really gotta go."
"Ring me?" Phil says impulsively, as he pulls his hands out from under Dan’s jumper and finally steps back. "When you get to your hotel tonight?"
Dan nods. He doesn't even say anything about how Phil is staring at his face like he's drinking it in. "Yeah. I will."
"Okay. Good." Phil takes a step back, satisfied with that. He almost offers to walk Dan down, but he thinks about having to say goodbye again and it being in front of random passersby on the street he knows what he'd really rather do is go back in his own flat.
So he'll do just that. Order something greasy to eat and wallow in this unexpected solitude... while texting Dan.
*
Dan's only been gone for five minutes when Phil hears a weird sound at his door. He frowns, listening carefully, but can't hear it again.
*
Phil doesn't think about it until the next morning when he opens his front door to go to work, feeling bereft without his post-it note for Dan even though he and Dan spent almost two hours talking on the phone the night before.
He already knew what Dan sounded like that far into the night. Now he knows what it sounds like while he's mostly naked in bed, and Dan's the same. Not that their level of undressed played a part in the conversation, but... it left Phil's imagination pleasantly spinning.
But the melancholy disappears almost right away. He sees a square of bright green on his own front door, with a hastily written note.
good morning or good whatever it is when you open your door and see this, on the front- -and when he flips it over to see the back underneath the sticky part: and i'm holding you to that dinner next week