Work Text:
2006
“Are you ready to talk about it?”
Dan jumps a bit. He shouldn’t be startled by the sound of Phil’s voice. He knows Phil’s there, he’s been sitting right next to him for about half an hour.
They just haven’t been speaking.
He doesn’t really want to speak. He doesn’t even know why he asked Phil to come. What kind of friend is he anyway, waking him up with a phone call at 4am and having him walk all the way across town just to sit in silence in a damp field? It’s cold and pitch black. No houses or streetlights, just the pale light of the moon. He turns to face Phil, and with his eyes adjusted to the darkness now, he can see just how fucking worried he looks. His hair’s a bit of a mess, his eyes tired and puffy behind his glasses, hands shoved into the pocket of the sweatshirt he’s thrown on over his pajamas, and he looks worried as hell.
“Dan?”
“Oh, uh. Sorry.” He shakes his head, stares down at the cheap bottle of rum in his hands and rolls it between them. His parents won’t notice it missing from the liquor cabinet. They never do. He doesn’t want to give an answer, so he unscrews the cap and takes a long drink and focuses on the way it makes him almost gag, the way his eyes water and his throat burns. It’s not a good sensation, but it’s a sensation. It’s better than nothing.
He passes the bottle over to Phil and watches him drink too. Watches his slightly pained expression as he swallows. Phil doesn’t like straight rum, or straight alcohol of any kind for that matter. Phil likes everything he consumes to be as sugary sweet as possible. But he’ll drink it anyway, for Dan, so that Dan’s not drinking alone in the dark and feeling even worse for it.
Phil does so much for him. He does everything, everything that he can, and Dan doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve his help. He doesn’t deserve him as a best friend.
He doesn’t deserve the way Phil looks at him when he thinks Dan can’t see.
That’s the worst thing. As if just being Dan’s friend isn’t enough of a burden, Phil’s caught feelings and Dan has no idea how he’s supposed to not break his heart over it, other than pretending he doesn’t notice. Being heartbroken is the last thing that Phil deserves. Phil deserves everything good.
Dan’s not good.
Phil passes the bottle back, and Dan takes another drink. He hands it back to Phil. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s too much too fast, but if they’re drinking that means they’re not talking, and Dan can’t be bothered to talk.
Phil breaks on their fourth round, coughing and gagging and settling the bottle to his side.
“Oi.” Dan reaches out. “Just because you can’t handle your liquor doesn’t mean I can’t, give it.”
“Dan, stop.” Phil grabs his wrist with no actual force whatsoever. He could easily break out of his hold, but he doesn’t. He lets his arm fall limply and looks tiredly at Phil.
“You can’t just not talk about it.”
He shrugs. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Phil looks at him pleadingly. “I wouldn’t be sat in this field at this hour getting pissed with you if there wasn’t something to talk about, Dan.”
Dan stays quiet, and he hates himself for it. He’s making Phil worry for no good reason.
Well… maybe it’s an okay reason. He just doesn’t know how to say what he needs to without sounding stupid.
“What happened? Have you been fighting with your parents again?”
“No.” He rubs his hand over his face, closing his eyes for a moment and drawing in a deep breath. He feels a bit dizzy. Phil was smart to stop him on the rum. “No, I haven’t fought with them.”
“What is it, then?” His voice is soft.
So soft. Everything about Phil is so soft.
“Whatever happened, you can tell me. You know I’m not gonna judge.”
Then his resolve breaks. “Nothing, okay?” He groans, and grabs the rum again before Phil can stop him. He takes a decent pull and shudders after and looks down at the ground. “Nothing happened and that’s kinda part of the problem. Nothing bad happened but I feel bad anyway.”
Phil doesn’t say anything right away, but Dan hears him shuffle forward in the grass and then their knees are touching. “Like you’re sad for no reason?”
“I guess.” He pauses for a moment. “Or, maybe sad isn’t the right word. Sometimes I feel sad. Or sometimes I feel more, like... numb. Or apathetic. Or like I’ve had all the life sucked out of me. Or like my body’s being weighed down by some weird invisible force. Like I can’t be bothered to do anything. Or like my life isn’t actually my life, like it’s some kind of movie and it’s being projected in front of me and I’m watching it all happen but I’m not really in it.”
Phil’s silence is palpable.
It’s more than he ever imagined he’d say. Certainly more than he wanted to. It’s the rum. The rum was a stupid idea, he really should’ve known better than let anything lower his inhibitions. Phil’s gonna think he’s crazy.
“I just feel really fucking helpless about it sometimes.” He adds, now that he’s fucked up and put it all out there anyway. “And I hate it.”
Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment. And then:
“...Dan. Can you, like… look at me, please?”
He doesn’t want to, but he drags his gaze upward anyway until it meets Phil’s. Phil’s not looking at him like he’s crazy. He looks upset. Dan can tell he’s trying to hide it, but Phil’s bad at that. It’s usually one of Dan’s favorite things about him - he never has to wonder if he knows how Phil really feels.
“Do you feel that way a lot of the time?”
He shrugs. He’s shrugging too much tonight. He probably looks stupid. “It comes and goes. Some days are fine. Or good. Some days are bad, and some bad days are worse than others.”
Phil looks lost, and Dan regrets saying anything. The only thing he can think to do is hand the bottle of rum over. He mostly expects Phil to refuse, but to his surprise, he actually takes it and downs a good amount. Then he takes a pause, like he’s trying to find something, anything to say.
“So is it bad tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Not that bad. I just couldn’t sleep. It kinda felt like my bed was suffocating me. I just needed to be… not there. And I guess I also didn’t wanna be alone.”
“And now?”
“It’s mostly better.” He manages to give Phil a weak smile. “Being outside helped. The rum helped. You helped.”
Phil finally smiles a bit at that. “You know I’ll always help you when you need it, right? No matter how bad you feel like you’re doing.”
“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re nice like that.”
It’s Phil’s turn for a shrug now. “I don’t know about that. But I’m willing to do a lot for you, specifically.”
Dan has a buzz going. A bit too much rum at all once has suddenly made him just a bit too drunk all at once. Something about that makes him feel the need to correct Phil. “You’d do anything for me.” He supplies.
Something flickers in Phil’s eyes and he takes another drink. “Uh. I guess.” He agrees reluctantly, not making eye contact as he scratches the back of his neck. “You’re my best friend, so.”
“Your best friend that you have a crush on.”
Utter silence.
Oh. Oh no.
He wasn’t supposed to say that, he wasn’t fucking supposed to say that at all. It’s the rum. It’s really the rum. It’s really the fucking rum and right then he silently makes a very halfhearted vow to never drink again.
He’s afraid to look at Phil. He’s gone way over the line. He bites his lip and braces himself and waits, waits for Phil to laugh at him or yell at him or furiously deny it or whatever, but nothing comes. Instead, he looks up to see Phil with his knees drawn up to his chest, elbows resting on top with his face buried in his hands. His voice is severely muffled as a result, but Dan can still make out his words.
“You know about that?”
He sucks in a breath before responding. “Um… yeah. You’re a bit shit at keeping your feelings under wraps, mate.” He pauses, but Phil doesn’t say anything back. “Sorry.” He adds, unhelpfully.
It takes a minute, but Phil eventually moves his hands from his face and into his hair instead, fingers combing through a couple times. He’s stressing and Dan hates it. He had no reason to call Phil out other than pure drunk stupidity, and now he’s totally freaked.
“Fuck.” Phil whispers, eventually letting his arms drop lifelessly to the sides of his body.
He’s very deliberately not looking at Dan anymore.
“Hey, stop.” Dan snaps his fingers in front of Phil’s face a couple times, signaling him to look back at him. It doesn’t work. “Phil, it’s fine, you know? We’ve been best friends for ages. I don’t care if you’re gay.”
“I don’t know if I’m gay.” Phil mumbles, his jaw set in a way that Dan’s never seen before. “That’s not really my top concern, anyway.”
Dan sighs. “I don’t care if you have a crush on me either.” He says softly. “Honestly, Phil. It’s okay. It’s not like it changes anything.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” Phil’s voice breaks as he finally looks back at him. He looks miserable. “Because I think it does. I don’t see how it couldn’t. I…” He trails off, drawing his knees to his chest again and resting his forehead down on top of them. He’s quiet for a long time. Dan doesn’t say anything either. Anything he might say would presumably make things worse.
It’s probably about twenty seconds before Phil speaks up again, but it feels like forever.
“What am I supposed to do now?” His voice is barely there, and Dan feels like his heart is physically breaking. This is what he’s done to Phil. Phil, who’s never been anything but good to him. Phil, who’s been there for him through absolutely everything. Phil, who can somehow always make him laugh in even the most miserable situation. Phil, the sweetest, most wonderful person he’s ever known. His best friend in the entire fucking world. Just one stupid sentence and he’s really, utterly fucked him up.
He gets an idea. It makes his stomach swoop, not necessarily in a good way, but he’s thought it and he can’t un-think it. It makes sense in his brain. His exhausted, fucked up, rum-addled brain. He clears his throat, but his voice is still raspy anyway when he speaks.
“You can kiss me.”
Phil lifts his head slowly, some mixture of fear and confusion and disbelief showing in his eyes. He stares for a second, then shakes his head ever so slightly. “Uh… I can what?”
“You can kiss me.” Dan speaks a little more bravely this time. He sits up on his knees. “It’ll… It’ll relieve some of the tension, I think.”
“Dan.” Phil’s voice is quiet as he drops his gaze again. “This isn’t, like, a joke to me.”
“It’s not a joke to me either.” He reaches out, pushes Phil’s legs apart gently and shuffles forward so he’s kneeling right in front of him. “I think if we kiss, you’ll feel less like you’re pathetically pining and I’ll feel less guilty. Or like… maybe it’ll be totally shit and you’ll realize you don’t even like me after all.”
It doesn’t really make sense. But he feels a bit fuzzy and so does Phil, he thinks, judging by the look in his eyes. He’s gone and put it out there now. If they don’t do it at this point, surely it’ll just get even weirder.
Phil seems to mull it over for a moment. “You really don’t think me kissing you is just gonna screw everything up?”
“It won’t.” He replies immediately. “Promise.”
He waits patiently for a response. Phil’s chewing on his bottom lip and mindlessly scratching his wrist and he still looks so upset. Upset and confused. But after what feels like ages again he nods his head and breathes out something resembling a defeated sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If you really think it’ll help.”
“I do.”
They lock eyes for a moment. Phil swallows thickly as his gaze drifts down onto Dan’s lips and back up again and he blushes. “Um. How should we do it?”
Dan furrows his brow. “Well... kissing’s kissing, right? We’ve both done it.” He knows he has a bit more experience than Phil. A lot of it’s been trivial, chaste, nothing to write home about, but he’s also got a few awkward, fumbly snogs under his belt. And he’s seen Phil kiss girls before. He knows what to do. They both do.
“Yeah.” Phil nods. “Yeah, I guess.” He’s wringing his hands together a bit as he tilts his head to the side. “I just don’t want you to feel weird about how I kiss you. Like, how my lips move or what I do with my hands. I don’t wanna freak you out.”
“You won’t.” Dan promises. “You won’t. Just… take a minute, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”
Phil does take a minute. Though much like everything else that’s happened tonight, it feels like a lot more than a minute. But he does eventually breathe in deep and straighten up, and scoot a bit closer, and look up at Dan, and he knows it’s about to happen.
“Okay.” Phil whispers, a bit shaky. “Uh… yeah. Okay.”
It shouldn’t be surprising to Dan that he finds himself totally unprepared for what happens next. But he is. One moment, Phil’s looking nervously into his eyes, his tongue darting out just the tiniest bit to wet his lips and Dan does the same. And then the next moment his hands are sliding up to cup Dan’s face, and then Phil’s lips are on his.
And it’s really nothing like he expected.
As it turns out, Dan’s not as experienced as he thought himself to be.
Kissing’s very predictable for him. Different kisses for different situations. Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle means a peck. Dry, close-mouthed, and quick as possible. Seven Minutes in Heaven and movie dates and “my parents are gonna be out all night” means all-in. Open mouth, spit, tongues, hands all over, maybe some accidental teeth if it gets sloppy. It’s fairly clear-cut.
Not with Phil, though.
Not with Phil at all. Because Phil’s lips are tender and very soft and warm, parted slightly and framing his bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom again. He’s suckling a bit, not too hard or too soft, and it’s really quite nice.
He sighs softly and, inexplicably, Dan’s heart feels like it’s going to burst.
And his hands. His hands are cradling Dan’s face. They’re cupped right under his jawline, thumbs resting lightly on his cheeks. He’s holding him.
No one’s ever just… held him before.
It’s so gentle. It’s so gentle. Phil’s holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. It’s so light, so careful, and at the same time so sturdy. So secure. It feels safe.
It feels so fucking good.
He leans into it more, though he’s not really sure why. Phil makes a soft, tiny noise of surprise but he doesn’t stop. He just slides his hands back a bit, threading his fingers into Dan’s hair and Dan can’t think of anything to do. His arms are still hanging at his sides, dumb and useless. He wants to reach out. He wants to rest his hands over Phil’s and lace their fingers together, or he wants to wrap his arms around Phil’s waist, or his shoulders or something. Fucking anything. But he can’t get his arms to move. He can feel the blood thrumming through his veins in every single part of his body. He feels too hot. His heart’s pounding.
What the fuck.
How long have they been kissing? Is it gonna stop? He doesn’t want to be the one to pull back. He doesn’t want Phil to feel rejected. But it doesn’t exactly seem like Phil wants to stop. And Dan doesn’t exactly think he has a problem with that.
Phil does pull back, though. His hands move from the back of Dan’s head down to his shoulders, then down the length of his arms and over his hands and their fingers brush against each other for a second and then Phil’s lips are gone.
It’s over. Their faces are still close, their foreheads practically touching, and Dan lets out a long, heavy breath. It’s quiet. He doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to say.
“...Okay.” He whispers, finally. His eyes are still mostly closed but he can see well enough to notice that Phil looks about the same as he feels. Tired and flushed and confused. And his mind is still drawing a blank.
“So, um. We did it.” He lets out a breathy, awkward laugh. And then finally remembers what it was all for. “Got it outta your system, yeah?”
Silence. No response.
Dan pulls back and… oh.
One look. One look into Phil’s eyes and he knows right away that he’s said the exact wrong thing.
He can’t take it back. He sees the hurt in Phil’s eyes and he immediately wants to undo what he’s just said. Phil looks away. “Out of my system.” He breathes. It’s almost inaudible.
“Phil.” He says quickly, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant--”
“No.” Phil croaks, and Dan freezes.
“No?”
Phil shakes his head. He meets Dan’s gaze and Dan swears his eyes are wetter than they were before.
“Phil…”
“No.” Phil repeats. “You’re right. I’ve gotten it out of my system now. Thank you.”
Dan’s heart drops when Phil starts to stand up. “Phil, come on, don’t--”
“Dan, it’s fine. I just… I’ve gotta go now. Before my mum wakes up and notices I’m gone.”
Dan watches dumbly as Phil brushes most of the dirt and grass off the back of his pajamas. “You don’t have to--”
“I should get going.” Phil cuts him off. His hands slip into the pouch of his sweatshirt again. He’s starting to curl in on himself the way he does sometimes around bullies at school or his parents if he knows they’re about to shout at him.
Dan’s never been the one to do it to him before. And he really, really doesn’t like it. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now, Dan.”
Phil pauses a moment, like he’ll let Dan have a chance to say something. Say sorry. Say he’s wrong. Ask him for another kiss. Anything. But Dan’s mouth suddenly doesn’t work.
“Right.” Phil whispers. He gives Dan one more look and then he’s off. Off across the field and down the street and round the corner and out of his sight.
Phil’s gone. Dan suddenly doesn’t want to be outside anymore. Outside now feels too quiet, and far too cold.