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Phil sits tapping his nails against the side of the mug, glancing out of the corner of his eye to the white mounds of snow that have all but covered the front yard. Dan’s sat across from him, and Phil still can’t quite believe it. Dan, with hair that’s swept across his eyes, long, gangly limbs and a near-permanent red flush in his cheeks since he’d first stepped off the train, is sitting in Phil’s kitchen and sipping cocoa out of an old Manchester United mug given to Phil by his granddad.
“I love it,” Dan says, “the snow I mean. Wish it snowed more in Wokingham.”
His face is turned towards the window, though Phil can see that he keeps glancing back at him through his fringe.
“Yeah,” Phil says. “Bit of a nuisance sometimes, though.”
“I s’pose.”
Dan looks down at his cup. Phil glances back out the window, biting his tongue. How, he thinks, can two people who can Skype for five hours straight without getting bored, not talk about the fucking weather for two minutes without ferreting into an awkward silence? Dan’s been in his house for all of thirty minutes and Phil is hoping desperately that inviting him wasn’t a mistake. He takes another stab at the waning conversation.
“Did you ever see that film The Snowman? Like from when we were kids?”
Dan looks back from the window, lips curling into a half-smile.
“The cartoon? Of course, I don’t know anyone our age who didn’t see it.”
“Yeah,” Phil says, “Yeah I think it traumatized me. I refused to make a snowman for the next three winters.”
“Really? I used to wish and wish for snow just so I could.”
“But the ending is so sad,” Phil says, leaning a bit closer over the table.”
“Well, yeah, but everything has to end, even a lovely night with a snowman. It’s the song that really gets me, the one they sing when they’re flying?”
“Was it something to do with a whale?”
“The song? I don’t think so – oh wait, yes they do see a whale at some point.”
“And a drunk man? Like he does the whole cartoon-pouring out the wine thing?”
“Yeah, on the boat! I never understood that, you know, the whole wine pouring thing, like if you’re hallucinating a boy and a snowman flying past your window a bottle of wine is the least of your worries, y’know?”
“Exactly, like where is my magical snowman wine?”
Dan brushes his fringe away with one hand, dimple peeking out of his cheek.
“Wish we had some now.”
Phil’s heart beats a little faster.
“I mean, I think I do have something to spike this.”
“It's like four in the afternoon.”
“My parents aren’t gonna be back for ages.”
Phil scoots out of the chair and crosses the kitchen in two steps, sliding open a wooden cupboard to grab the small bottle of vodka, nearly all the way full still.
“You sure your parents won’t mind?”
Phil jumps slightly. Dan’s right behind him, clutching the half-drunk cup between his long fingers.
“Yeah, they rarely drink.”
“Alright then, hit me.”
Phil fiddles with the cap for a moment and pours Dan a tiny splash into his mug. His hand is shaking, slightly, and it takes most of his concentration to not spill the alcohol out onto the floor.
“Come on, I’m not twelve,” Dan says, grinning slightly. “Here.”
He reaches his hand out and tips the bottle gently downwards, and Phil feels a dull flush creeping across his cheeks.
“Want to go out to the porch?” Phil asks, “Gets a bit hot in here.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Phil leads Dan back to the entranceway and Dan pulls on the gigantic furry hat he’d arrived in while Phil grabs a beanie that’s probably Martyn’s and pulls on his snowboots.
Phil pulls the door open to be greeted by a gust of freezing cold air and snowflakes to his face. He sputters for a moment before stepping out onto the front stoop, Dan directly behind him.
“You left your drink,” Dan says, attempting to use Phil as a wind break.
“Oh, sorry,” Phil takes the drink and a generous sip. Hopefully he’ll stop acting like a nervous wreck in a few minutes.
“God it’s freezing out here.”
Phil turns to see Dan in barely a rain jacket, shivering behind him.
“Well you haven’t brought a proper coat, have you?”
Dan takes a gulp of cocoa.
“I can wear what I like.”
“You’ve come up to the North, you’ve gotta have a proper coat. Here.”
Phil sets his drink down on the porch railing, pulling off the sleeves of his winter jacket until he’s standing in his sweater. He reaches out to pull it over Dan’s shoulders, who looks surprised, and slightly embarrassed.
“Thanks,” he says, “but now you don’t have one.”
“Well I am part polar bear, so I’m immune.”
“Would explain why you’re so pale.”
“Oh come on. Wait here a sec.”
Phil ducks back into the house and grabs a second jacket, probably his dad’s since it’s a little tight in the sleeves, and then steps back out onto the porch quietly. Dan’s got his back towards the door, and is holding the collar of Phil’s jacket to his face.
“Shall we sit?”
Dan jumps slightly and drops the collar of the jacket. Was he smelling it? Phil grins slightly and sits down on the steps. Dan shuffles beside him, their shoulders pressing together.
“Are you still cold?”
“I’m good,” Dan says, through slightly chattering teeth. Phil, heart beating slightly faster than usual, extracts his hand from between them and extends it across Dan’s shoulders. Dan seems to relax slightly, and dips his head towards Phil’s. There’s a slight clink as Dan’s drink is set down on the stoop. Phil feels Dan’s hand snake across the back of his waist, and even through the thick winter jacket Phil feels tingles up his spine.
“There’s so much snow,” Dan says softly.
His head drops a bit farther towards Phil’s shoulder. The fur from his hat is tickling Phil’s neck. Phil looks out across the yard. The snow is smooth, untouched, perfect.
“Makes me feel like a kid, yknow? Make snow angels.”
“Never have.”
Phil sits up straight suddenly, squeezing Dan’s shoulder with his arm.
“What? You’ve never made a snow angel?”
Dan’s head lifts up from Phil’s shoulder and Phil feels slightly disappointed for saying anything.
“No I haven’t it’s not that weird.”
“Yes it totally is weird.”
“Well excuse me for not wanting to get all wet and freezing every time I went outside.”
“The snow is perfect for it though! It’s new!”
Phil pushes himself up from the porch and extends his hand out towards Dan. Dan takes it, and Phil pulls him up, their fingers twining together like icicles. Phil pulls Dan out beyond the roof, and the snow begins to fall softly on their heads.
“Here, let’s make your first one.”
Dan is looking tentatively at the snow-covered lawn in front of them, hand curled in Phil’s, red patterned across his cheeks, hair brushing against his neck.
“.. or there could be like spikes or something under there,” he’s saying, as Phil flicks his hair out of his face and shakes his head slightly to get his mind off of Dan’s neck.
“In my garden? I don’t think my mum has made any death pits since it started snowing. Come on, count of three.”
“You just fall?”
“Well yeah, how else do you make the shape?”
Phil squeezes Dan’s hand, on one, on two their eyes meet, and then on three Phil squeezes his eyes shut and tips backwards. The breeze whips across the tip of his nose, bringing with it a gentle cold tickle of snowflakes. His hair whips into his cheeks and Dan’s hand is suddenly ripped away and he tips back and back, suspended in the frigid air for a long, strange moment.
Phil’s eyes are wet. Phil’s eyes are wet and cold and so is his right knee, like it’s pressed down into the snow, and he blinks his eyes open. The mud. His knee is pressed down into the cold mud and the wind is whipping its way through his hair and in front of him is the cliffs down towards the ocean and there is Dan standing above him with his hands pressed to his lips.
Phil’s hands are shaking so hard he nearly drops the small box that’s been kept in a bag hidden away in the back of the downstairs closet for months now. He looks up, up to Dan’s face and clambers to his feet.
“I hope that’s a yes,” he says weakly, and Dan nods, nods so hard that he starts to cry even more, and in an instant pulls Phil’s face towards his own.
Phil wraps his hands around Dan’s waist, ring-box clutched in his palm, and kisses Dan with a ferocity that hasn’t gripped him in years. It’s wet and salty and Phil feels like an entire holiday’s worth of fireworks are exploding in his chest.
“Of course,” Dan says between breaths, between pressing their faces together like desperate teenagers, “of course, of course, of course yes.”
Phil’s glasses are being jammed up against his face, and his cheeks are slick with Dan’s tears and his tears and when they pull apart, Dan’s splotchy, wind-torn face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Phil pulls Dan into his chest, like he’s done a million and one times, and squeezes his eyes shut against the shoulder of Dan’s coat, breathing deeply the scent of the salty sea air and the wind whips up around them, pulling leaves and grass into the air, swirling past their entwined bodies.
"I love you," Dan whispers into his chest.
Phil’s eyes snap open. He’s in the yard. The snow is soaking under the collar of his jacket. He lies for a moment, blinking and staring up at the sky, at the vortex of grey swirling snow above him.
“There was a cliff,” he mutters to himself, “there was a cliff, and the sea, and a box and – “
“You alright?”
Phil turns his head, expecting to see Dan sprawled in the snow behind him but instead sees him standing overhead.
“What?”
“You forgot to do the angel part. Just kind of laid there for a second with your eyes closed.”
Strangely enough, Dan’s entire front is covered in bits of snow, and his hat has been knocked slightly ajar.
“I had like, a weird dream or something.”
“About what?”
Phil’s suddenly struck by a memory, of a conversation between him and his mum decorating a batch of Christmas cookies.
I knew I was going to marry your father from the first time I saw him, actually. It was like I glimpsed ahead for a second, and knew that everything would be alright. I feel I'm a bit psychic, sometimes, and since you're my child you may have a bit of it too. You just have to make sure to pay attention.
At the time Phil had laughed a little and brushed it off, but now looking up at Dan, red-faced and grinning, he feels suddenly protective over the glimpse of -- whatever it was.
“It was really quick,” Phil says, “I don’t really remember. Where’s your angel, then?”
“Oh, it’s there,” Dan points behind him, then extends a hand and pulls Phil up. Behind Dan is a series of what look like gashes in the snow.
“I had a bit of trouble getting up,” Dan says.
“Well, you’ve done it the wrong way, you’re not supposed to fall forwards.”
“It’s a forwards snow angel, then.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Dan squeezes his hand in Phil’s.
“It’s fucking freezing out here, I want my drink.”
“Well you weren’t supposed to fall on your face.”
Phil grins as Dan swats at Phil’s shoulder with his free hand.
Ten minutes later they’re sat huddled back on the porch and Dan’s leg is pressed so close to Phil’s that he can hardly focus on drinking the rest of the liquor-spiked cocoa clenched in his hands. Dan’s giggling slightly, looking over, more tipsy that he would admit. The snow is falling gently in front of them, piling up over the garden and street beyond and covering both of their pathetic snow angels.
It’s just starting to get dark now, but the glow of the streetlights over the snowdrifts paints the whole scene in peaceful yellow.
“It’s crazy,” Dan is saying, “like I just met you in real life, and this just feels really fucking awesome.”
“Yeah, yeah it really does.”
Phil drains the last of his cup and sets the mug down onto the snowy step beside him. He looks down at his hands, still red and shaking a little.
“I’m so glad I came,” Dan says.
“Me too. You have no idea.”
Phil looks up, shaking the hair out of his eyes, and before he even knows what he’s doing, his hand reaches out and brushes Dan’s fringe out of his eyes. Dan blinks, and grins widely.
“You’re better in person,” Dan says. “So much better than pixels.”
“You too,“ Phil laughs slightly despite himself, “better than pixels.”
The top of his head is as weightless as the snowflakes surrounding them, floating up up up into the sky.
Dan blinks again, and reaches his hand up to touch Phil’s. Their fingers wrap together, and Phil gently strokes his thumb across the outside of Dan’s cheek.
“I’ve a good feeling about this,” Phil says, so quiet it’s hardly more than a whisper.
Dan’s lips curl into a smile. He’s moving closer.
“About what?”
“About us.”
“How so?”
Dan’s eyes have moved down to Phil’s lips. Phil leans in, and their foreheads softly press together, Phil’s hair against the fuzzy brim of Dan’s hat. Phil sees it again for a moment, the flash of the cliff, the sea, and the older, taller Dan, smiling and crying as fireworks exploded in his chest.
Then he blinks, and it’s back to the young, nervous, beautiful Dan with the fur hat and snowflakes patterned across his eyelashes and forward snow angels.
“Well,” he says, “did I ever tell you I’m a bit psychic?”
When their lips press together, Phil can feel Dan’s smile. He closes his eyes, and suddenly it’s not cold outside at all.