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Dan didn’t mean to sleep in as late as he did, later even than his usual shit schedule, but he’d hardly slept at all the night before. So when he drifted off around the time the sun was rising, Phil snoring softly beside him, his limbs heavy and his eyes burning, he was happy Phil just let him sleep.
It means that Phil’s almost got a whole day done by the time Dan stumbles into the kitchen and reaches for some cereal. Phil has eaten, he’s showered, he’s clacking away on his keyboard— either editing or answering emails or scrolling through social media, but it’s more than Dan’s done. Dan hasn’t cracked open his law books in weeks. He hasn’t looked at a video script in days. He’s really gotta get his shit together…
He sits down on the sofa, folding his legs under him, next to Phil and cradling his breakfast. Phil leans over and plants a kiss on his temple and says, “Morning,” even if it definitely isn’t morning anymore before turning back to his screen, and Dan thinks he’ll never get over now nice that feels. The normalcy, the ease.
Dan sees Phil has his email open. “Anything good?” he asks.
Phil smiles in that way that says he’s trying to hold back. “Got a big one, yeah,” he says, “BBC.”
“No fucking way,” Dan almost coughs around the bite he’d just taken.
“They want a five minute Skype sketch for Edinburgh Fringe.” Phil finally lets his full grin loose. “Could really be the start of something, right?”
“Yeah, babe, that’s like a big deal. They reached out to you!”
“I told them I would if you could do it too.”
That confuses Dan. “You what?”
“I know I should’ve asked you, but I didn’t wanna wake you up and I didn’t wanna keep them waiting,” Phil looks sorry, “If you don’t want to, I can email them back, not a big deal.”
“You idiot, of course I want to.” Dan sets his bowl aside, puts Phil’s laptop on the arm of the sofa, and climbs into his lap. He wraps his arms around Phil’s neck and kisses him to try to convey the surprise and gratitude and excitement coursing through him. He pulls back. “I just can’t believe you made a demand like that,” he laughs, “for me.”
“Of course. We’re in this together. It’ll be better with you anyways.” Phil leans forward, kisses him once, twice, a third longer lingering one. “And it wasn’t a demand, it was more like a request.”
“A request to the fucking BBC when we’re nobodies.”
“Nobodies who are about to technically perform Edinburgh Fringe,” Phil grins. Dan kisses him again.