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"I should go," Phil says.
"Yeah, no," Dan says. He's already sitting down to lace up his shoes. The back of his neck is so pale, curls at the nape of his neck sticking out at odd angles.
Even though they're mid-sort-of-argument, he can't see any reason not to reach out and touch, feel the soft hair under his fingers. Dan exhales, a sound that could be irritation to the untrained ear, but Phil knows better. He cranes his neck a little like a cat, giving Phil better access, and he laughs.
"We're arguing," Dan reminds him, looking up at him.
Phil's hand kind of finds its way to his shoulder, then the side of his face, before he lets him go entirely, sheepish.
"Not arguing."
"Little bit."
"It's - it's an impassioned discussion."
"Well, we're impassioned discussioning, then," Dan says, and grins when Phil does. His sharp teeth catch Phil's eye - Dan hardly ever keeps them retracted when they're at home now.
"You're an idiot," Phil says, but softly. It's been a while, but knowing that Dan is comfortable enough with himself - with Phil - to just have his teeth, well, out like that, it's. It makes him feel weirdly tender in a way that he could've never predicted lethal vampire teeth would. "God, I hate this."
"At least there's Animal Crossing," Dan reminds him.
"I don't even care," Phil says. When Dan looks at him, he tilts his head. "Alright, I do care, shut up. I just mean. I wanna go to the library, I wanna - I wanna do shopping together, I want - grass."
"You want grass," Dan repeats, finishing messing around with his laces and getting to his feet.
"Yeah," Phil says, lamely.
Dan kisses him, gentle and lingering, hand cool against his wrist.
"Know what I want?" He murmurs, in the space between them.
"Pizza."
Dan snorts, pulling back, the moment broken.
"Well, yeah," He says, with this adorably wistful look on his face. Their favourite pizza place is closed because of the lockdown. "But, like. You. In general and also - also in one piece, with, like, no fucking virus, alright? Which is why I'm going shopping and you're not."
Phil sighs.
"You know, they don't actually know if vamps can get it. Like, there was that one case in America -"
"Misreported," Dan says, quickly. "Saw it on Reddit, the guy wasn't a vamp. He was just, like, super gothic and pale, it was a small town, people got confused."
"Ok but - but what if -"
"I'm the king of social distancing, Phil. I'll be fine."
"Dan-"
"Hey." He moves in close again, hand on Phil's side. "If I can survive being enthralled, what chance does this shit have?"
"Oh my God, shut up," Phil says, rolling his eyes. It's been long enough that mentions of Dan's enthrallment doesn't leave him feeling cold with dread anymore, but even so. "You can't use that for everything."
"I can," Dan says. Phil kisses him just because. Because it's Dan and he loves him so much that it hurts, even after all this time. "Ok, what d'you want? We need bread."
"Blood substitute," Phil says. "Oh, and milk and sugar."
"Right, yeah, 'cause one weird Tiktok coffee wasn't enough for some of us."
"Shut up, you loved the Tiktok coffee."
"Yeah," Dan says, eyes twinkling. "I especially loved the flecks of coffee that, like, covered the entire kitchen that I ended up cleaning up. Filled me with unparalleled joy."
Phil makes a big show of rolling his eyes and making a funny noise, but the pair of them end up grinning at each other. Dan shrugs a cardigan on against the unusually chilly morning air - morning air that Phil has so far only experienced through the open living room window.
"You got your classification card?"
"Yep," Dan says, snatching it off the coffee table. The last thing either of them need is for Dan to get stopped by an Undead Response Team and for them to mistake him for a red class vampire. Not when they'd gone to all the effort - all the meetings and interviews and forms - for Dan to be given yellow classification. "I'll be quick."
"Please," Phil says. "And don't let anyone breathe on you."
"Only you," Dan says, and winks, right before he leaves, the door shutting behind him with a thud.
It's stupid, the worry running round and around in his head. Dan was the first recorded case of a vampire overcoming enthrallment - who's to say he can't be the first vamp to get this virus, too? Phil can fight off feral vamps all day, every day - well almost. But viruses? Dan, infected by a virus? He'd be helpless. Powerless. Not even his blood could help, not like last time.
He breathes, slow and deep, making an effort. His coffee from earlier is still on the table, lukewarm, and he picks it up and takes it over to the window so he can breathe cold air and see the trees.
They'd moved, a long time ago. Phil had a lot of memories tied up in that old flat - longing looks and yearning, but also the white morning light the day after he'd found Dan in the blue zone, high as hell from blood. Standing in Dan's bedroom doorway and watching him throwing all his stuff into a bag, talking about leaving, about going on the run.
It's a different lifetime. The pair of them were different people. When PJ had moved out, stupidly in love and getting a flat with Sophie, Phil hadn't really seen any reason to stay. It was like his footsteps were haunted by a thousand ghosts, some still able to send a chill through him, right to his bones.
There's nothing like that here. This place is theirs, and it's always only been theirs. It's next to a park, and on sunny days before the lockdown they can hear the sound of a whistle and joyous shouts, people playing football out there. They go for picnics sometimes, Phil kissing Dan on his sun-warmed cheek, laughing at him and his designer sunglasses. The bookshelves are theirs, bought on a long and lovely trip to Ikea and assembled at home, with much swearing and sniping.
Everything in the flat reminds Phil of something good, reminds him of how much he loves Dan. And they'll be fine, the pair of them. Dan's an idiot, bringing up enthrallment like that, but he's right. The two of them have weathered worse storms than this. Far, far worse. They got through days so dark that Phil can barely connect them to himself - to this moment, cool morning air making him shiver a little, sunlight splashing golden on the pavement below, wind whispering through the trees over the road. All of the bad things could've happened to another person. It feels like a half-remembered nightmare, nothing more.
Absently, he rubs the raised scar on his forearm, white and ugly. Dan kisses it sometimes when he thinks Phil's asleep. It aches sometimes, which is probably scientifically impossible. He's never really told Dan - doesn't want to bring all of that up, not now.
Cut with his own knife and the pain of being bitten - the burning, impossible pain, the empty quiet of his own death rushing forward to swallow him, like a train hurtling towards a black and endless tunnel...
There are birds singing in the trees. Despite everything, spring came. Despite everything, he and Dan are here, in their flat with the rickety shelves and novelty cushions.
They'll be fine. They're gonna be fine.
-
"I want a face mask," Dan says when he gets back, door swinging shut behind him. "Not for, like, practical purposes 'cause like, no breath, y'know, but. Fashion."
"You wanna be fashionable in a pandemic?" Phil asks, following him to the kitchen.
"When else am I gonna be fashionable?" Dan asks. He's abandoned the shopping bag on the side in favour of washing his hands, working the soap into a lather. "Also I feel like I'm sticking out more by not having one, I dunno. And I know people are more worried about all of this stuff than, like, vamps right now, but." He shrugs. "If I have to be out without you I'd rather blend in, you know?"
"I wish you didn't have to be out without me," Phil says. He watches Dan washing his hands for a second, mesmerised by the bubbles. Maybe he needs more coffee. "Hurry up and finish that, anyway, I wanna kiss you."
"Twenty seconds, Phil."
"It's been twenty seconds by now, surely."
Dan just gives him a look, and stubbornly lathers his hands for a little while longer. He rinses, and Phil hands him a clean tea towel, kissing him on the chin just because he can.
"Missed."
"Shut up. Maybe I was aiming for your chin."
"Maybe you're weird."
"You knew that already," Phil says, smiling so much his face aches a little.
"Yeah," Dan says. "Got you something."
"Yeah, milk. I am forever indebted," Phil says, but Dan is getting something out of his cardigan pocket. It's a little succulent, in a yellow pot. "Oh my God."
"A plant to kill," Dan says. Phil reaches for it, and Dan moves away, frowning thoughtfully. "I should probably disinfect it or something. Just the pot."
Phil rolls his eyes, but fetches the wipes from the top of the fridge.
"You got me a plant," He says, happily, when the little yellow pot is safely wiped and on the kitchen windowsill.
"Yeah," Dan says. "Signed the poor thing's death warrant. It was thriving in Tesco, y'know? Just - just hanging out with all of its plant friends-"
"Oh fuck off," Phil says, laughing, nudging him in the arm.
Dan grins at him. His expression softens after a moment.
"You said you missed grass," He says. "Which is so overdramatic, you know that? We're literally going to the park later for a walk, but. It was the closest thing they had." He pauses. "Except chives. But succulents need less care, you know? Not that that'll stop you killing the poor thing."
"Shut up," Phil says, and hugs him tight. Dan's clothes smell of the outdoors, and his fingers stroke Phil's back through his shirt. "I love you."
"I love you too," Dan says, his voice muffled, not letting go. "We're gonna be ok, you know that? You're gonna be ok."
Phil pulls back a little just so he can look at him - at his beautiful eyes, his mouth, the wonderfully soft, tender expression on his face. The face he loves the most, more than anything else in the world.
"I know," He says, and kisses him.