Work Text:
MILE’S ONE SHOT
Dan peeled off his jacket and let it fall to the ground as he flopped onto the couch. He never wanted to go back to work ever. Why anyone ever invented retail was beyond him. He was fairly certain it was a ploy by the government to torture the working class. Add a few Karens and an endless loop of overplayed pop music to hell and you got retail. He sighed. At least it was money.
Reaching over to the table beside him, he grabbed his phone and almost cried in relief when he had its familiar weight in his hand. He’d forgotten it in the morning and hadn’t been able to check texts all day. He wouldn’t say he was addicted to his phone, but it was his only form of communication with the outside world since most of his friends lived in another country. Plus, it was an easy avoidance tactic in public.
He’d had to face actual conversation today instead of pretending to message frantically on his phone. Talking about the weather was so banal in the grand scheme of things, not to mention it included talking to people, something Dan had no use for.
No texts from Phil. He lowered his eyebrows in confusion and double checked all the messaging apps, just in case he’d missed the notification. Phil always sent him life updates during the day. He almost always opened his phone to about twenty texts from Phil.
“omg. just saw a squirrel. pretty sure it was possessed tho. should i touch it?”
“random lady smiled at me from across the street. im definitely dying tonight.”
“ew did you ever think that there are people who like warm milk. thats so gross. you dont like warm milk do you?”
Dan frowned and sent a hasty text. “you ok over there? i miss you :(“
He normally responded to texts in milliseconds, but there wasn’t even a little seen below the message. Dan knew he shouldn’t worry; Phil was allowed to have a life outside of answering Dan’s texts, but it didn’t stop his mind from going to worst case scenarios.
What if Phil fell down the stairs in his neverending clumsiness and nobody had found him yet? What if he left the stove on again and burned down his apartment? What if-
He sat frozen on the couch, every option running over in his mind until he felt himself crying. He tried calling him and it went immediately to voicemail. Dan anxiously twisted the hem of his shirt and tried to calm himself down. He could be out on the town. He could be sick! Or with family!
Dan blinked as he zoned back into reality and realized someone had been knocking on his door for a few minutes now, judging by the intensity of the knocks. He sighed and pulled himself up from his slouched position on the couch. He really wasn't in the mood to talk to the postman or any of his neighbors right now. (Really, he never was in the mood, but that was besides the point).
Phil practically tackled him when he opened the door, smoothing his curls down with his oversized hands before saying anything.
“Hi.” Phil raised his hand in a wave, even though both of his arms were wrapped around Dan’s body, his mess of curls buried in Phil’s chest.
“I thought you were dead,” Dan mumbled, drying his still wet face on Phil’s Spyro shirt.
Phil grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pulled him away from his chest and looked at him carefully. He gently pressed the worry lines out of Dan’s forehead and whispered an apology.
“I never want you to worry. I wanted to surprise you. I’m so sorry.” His hands were gentle on Dan’s face, smoothing over his eyebrows and cupping his cheeks.
Dan nodded and collapsed back into the only place he felt safe.