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It’s late when Dan gets home.
His curls are messy from the wind. Some of the sequins have fallen from his jacket, probably lost in the sea of glitter littering London streets. The sign he left with this morning is still clutched in his hand.
Phil makes a note to add it to their collection of props from their proudest moments. This certainly fits in.
He bounces to his feet, taking the sign so Dan can lean against the wall to toe off his shoes. He has a bag in his other hand, with a rainbow printed on it and pamphlets sticking out the top. Dan will probably read them in the coming days. That’s part of his particular breed of activism.
For now, though, he just wiggles his toes against the hardwood floor, shoves a hand under his lapel and says, “Fuck, blazers really aren’t meant to be worn without undershirts.”
Phil laughs, the choked kind that catches him by surprise. “Oh?” he says. “Well, besides chafed nips, how was it?”
Dan’s smile goes soft and dreamy at that. He rests his head against the wall and his eyes flutter closed like they do when he’s content.
“It was bloody amazing,” he says. “You’re gonna have to hear me talk about it for weeks now. Fair warning.”
They’re still standing by the door. Phil’s wearing nothing but pants and mix-matched socks. Dan’s hand is still resting on his own nipple.
Phil’s grinning as he says, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
---
Dan films an insta story once he’s taken his jacket off.
Phil sits on their bed, legs tucked under him. The sign and bag of pride goodies have stayed in the lounge to be dealt with tomorrow. Here, it’s just Dan smiling at the camera and talking about the parade and the quiet pride that’s been bursting in Phil’s chest all day.
Dan drops the jacket to the floor as he posts the video. Phil decides he should ask if that should be added to their collection of important keepsakes too. Later.
Practicalities can all be dealt with later.
Dan tosses his phone onto the bed. His hand skims down his own chest, gaze dropping. “My nipples didn’t actually chafe,” he says.
“Too bad,” says Phil. “Now I can’t kiss them better.”
“Oi!” Dan laughs. Phil knows that, had he still been holding his phone, it would have come flying in his direction. “As if you won’t kiss them anyway, Mr. Nip Kink.”
Phil feels his whole face break into a smile. It’s been doing that a lot today, mostly staring at his phone, at the endless collection of pictures he’s been looking at and the odd text Dan would send when he had a second.
All those anomalous parts of their day are starting to fade, though, so Phil just sticks out his tongue and says, “Don’t kinkshame me.”
---
Dan goes and gets a snack.
Phil expects him to want to sink into bed afterwards, exhausted from hours of walking and socializing, but he just hops up onto the kitchen island and rambles as he nibbles on a chocolate chip cookie. Phil’s pretty sure he’s said the word rainbow about three times in the last sentence.
It’s lovely.
He grabs a cookie for himself, too, and listens to every word Dan says.
---
“I thought you might stay out later,” says Phil.
They’re both sitting on the counter now. They’ve eaten way too many cookies. There’s crumbs all over Phil’s lap and some at the corners of Dan’s mouth and a glass of milk sitting between them.
Some of the crumbs drop as Dan’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile. “Oh?”
Phil shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured people might have invited you out afterwards to go, like, clubbing or something,” he says. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“I know,” says Dan. “People did. I didn’t really wanna go, though. Would have been too much people-ing for one day, I reckon.”
Phil hums, taking another bite of his cookie. He doesn’t need to say he understands. Dan knows that’s part of the reason Phil opted not to go at all.
They eat in silence for a moment. Dan downs half their glass of milk, then cringes at the cookie crumbs Phil knows are floating in it. On another day, he might hear a rant about how it’s cruel that cookies are best with milk but then ruin the milk with all their soggy crumbs.
Today, Dan just knocks their feet together.
“I wouldn’t have had anyone to dance with anyway,” he says.
“Huh?”
“Had I gone clubbing,” says Dan. “My boyfriend decided to stay home.”
Phil almost asks if it bothers Dan, as though they haven’t discussed Phil’s choice not to go countless times since Dan first decided he would be marching, but Dan’s smudging a clumsy kiss to his cheek before he can.
And then he hops off the counter.
---
Dan has music playing and the lights dimmed before Phil’s brain even has the chance to catch up.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Dan’s standing in the middle of the kitchen by then, bouncing on his toes, reaching out to skim his fingers along the sides of Phil’s thighs. A curl has fallen against the middle of his forehead. He’s wearing just his pants now, too. He’s still glowing like he was when he was wearing a skeleton made of sequins in the middle of London.
“Wanna dance with you,” he says, smiling so wide both his dimples pop.
He tugs Phil off the counter and sets his phone down where they’d been sitting. His one hand grips Phil’s hip as he reaches past him to clumsily change the music to something else. Phil turns just in time to watch him search for pride and choose the first playlist that shows up.
The first song is Britney Spears. Phil muffles his laugh against Dan’s bare shoulder.
Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and breathes a quiet “Perfect,” against his hair.
---
They dance for a long time.
All clumsy steps and awkward hip movements to fast songs, and stumbling over each other’s toes when slow ones played. This isn’t a skill Phil’s ever really had to learn, besides the very choreographed and highly practiced dance from TATINOF.
That wasn’t like this. It wasn’t Dan’s naked chest pressed against his. It wasn’t Phil’s hands draped across the back of his neck. It wasn’t happy smiles and giddy giggles and the warm wash of Dan’s breath against his ear.
“I want to go with you one day,” he whispers.
Phil smiles, and stumbles when he momentarily forgets they’re slow dancing right now. “To pride?”
Dan hums. Phil feels the rumble of it against his body.
“I know this year is about like, finding new boundaries and like, me exploring this community in a way you already have but I wanna go with you one day.” He smiles, pressing it right against the high of Phil’s cheekbone. “It was so great. I want to share it with you.”
The song changes to something faster. They keep swaying slowly.
“Tell me more about it,” says Phil.
“Everyone was so happy,” says Dan. There’s no hesitation. He’s not whispering anymore. “There were rainbows bloody everywhere . You’d love it, colour addict that you are.”
“Yeah?”
Dan hums, quiet and content. “Yeah,” he says. “I got to meet some of the kids that work with Mermaids, too. They were so cute. I just want to protect them from the world, you know?”
Phil smiles. “Yeah,” he repeats. “We should donate.”
“We should,” says Dan. He draws back a bit, just enough to catch Phil’s gaze. “So many of our fans were there, too. They’re so proud of us. I was scared, you know? But they’re all so happy for us and I just–” He stops, breathing to the beat of the music. “I’m so happy right now.”
Phil doesn’t really have anything to say to that. All possible responses have been used over the last few weeks, during loud birthday photoshoots and quiet nights in bed and silent text messages.
So he kisses Dan, instead.
---
It doesn’t go any further than kissing.
Dan’s post-pride high starts to fade shortly after his back hits the mattress and his head lands on the pillow. His touch gets softer, his kisses get slower, and Phil just follows his pace because today’s been Dan’s day.
They curl up on top of the duvet afterwards. It’s probably too hot in London to cuddle, but Phil does anyway, pressing himself against Dan’s back and holding on tight.
Dan falls asleep first.
Phil mumbles a quiet, “I’m proud of you,” against his shoulder before he falls asleep, too.