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Dan sorts out the car. He keeps creeping closer and closer to Phil while they wait, yawning a little every once in awhile. Phil’s just relieved when they finally slide into the backseat, and Dan can finally slump into him.
“Wake me up?” he says. It comes out a little mumbly and garbled, the way he gets when he’s tired. He closes his eyes as soon as Phil nods, cheek ruffling his curls.
----
Phil forgets about this part, even though if he thinks about it, it’s the real reason he likes going out. He likes it for the part when they get home, mainly. (That’s not pathetic or weird, they’ve agreed.)
They’re quiet and lazy for a bit afterwards, usually. It’s just a lot to recover from – a lot of people, a lot of commotion.
Dan takes a nap, which would look like sleeping for the night to just about anyone else, but it isn’t, because they say it isn’t. Phil lays with him for a while, until he gets bored and hungry.
By the time Dan gets back up – at a very reasonable one a.m., which is still daytime, basically – Phil has already pulled out all the snacks from the fun cabinet. He has a bottle of wine out, too, which Dan makes a beeline for.
“D’you want cookies?”
Dan’s head pops up from focusing on their wine glasses, dramatically wide-eyed.
“We’ve got cookies?”
“We’ve got frozen dough in the freezer.”
“Mate – are you asking me to make you cookies?”
Phil nods, biting back a smile. He probably shouldn’t be trusted with an oven right now.
Dan shakes his head and whines about it, but he plants a kiss on Phil anyways and goes to dig around for a tray.
-----
“Phil – we have to do the dishes.”
“What dishes?”
“Phil! The dishes,” he says, making a vague sweeping motion at the pan and the plate that are still on the counter. He has to tighten his grip suddenly around Phil’s middle with his other arm to keep himself upright, which almost topples them both over, but Dan giggles and lists hard the other way to make up for it. They end up mostly leaning on each other, more stable on four feet together than on two apart.
-----
Phil can’t really tell where he ends and Dan starts, at this point; it’s all gone a bit vague.
The blanket is so warm and so fuzzy. Dan is so warm and so fuzzy. The cookies are so warm and – well, not fuzzy. Hopefully.
Dan’s giggling, both in real life, warm and heavy against Phil’s chest, and on his phone screen.
“Noooooooooo,” the crackly Dan on the phone wails, covering his face from the camera. Phil hits replay as soon as it cuts off. They watch again – Dan’s impression of someone Phil doesn’t actually remember, and then the giggling, and then the silly misspoken bit at the end.
“Can I,” he says, which might be a non sequitur, but Dan gets it. He nods, and tugs at Phil’s shirt so he can wipe his face, which – great. Disgusting. Phil struggles to type with one hand, but after some suffering he manages to log out of instagram and – well, back in again, which he’ll regret in the morning, when he has to reset his password so he can switch them back around, but that’s a problem for the next Phil. He captions it “this guy (and his four wine related alter egos)” and hits post before Dan can knock the phone out of his hand in his haste.
Real Dan squirms and wiggles and keeps trying to bury his face into Phil’s neck, even though his nose has started to go a bit smushed. He swats at Phil’s arm until Phil relents and puts the phone down. He’s making funny whining noises like they’re not pressed close enough together, even though Phil would have to – well. You know.
“Hmmmmm,” Dan mutters for the fourth time in a minute.
“What?”
“Just – wh’ – puzzles,” Dan says.
Phil can’t say if he’s actually making much more sense, but he didn’t go back for another glass when Dan did, and he certainly feels like the sensible one right now.
“You wanna be closer? Or what?”
Dan replies with something muffled that sounds vaguely like a yes.
“Okay. Well – I’m going to have to eat you, then.”
Suddenly Dan’s face is looming over his. Phil can just see his grumpy eyes, and a huge nose, really; the rest is a bit blurry.
Phil blinks up at him, innocent.
“You have two options. Right? We can – except we can’t. Or: I could eat you. Like the Donner Party. And then we’d never be separate at all, because we’d be one large, super Phil.”
Dan glares down at him at him for a minute longer. Finally he plops a hand over Phil’s mouth, all clumsy. He yelps and frowns sternly when Phil licks it, just a little bit, like a friendly lizard.
“I hate you a lot,” he mumbles, right in Phil’s ear, as he flops back down and yanks the blankets closer around them. “Dans are friends, not food.”