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They’re changed into wardrobe. Makeup is on. They’re about to be given their mics, but for now they have a final few moments of quiet. Things won’t be quiet again after this for hours, between the show and the takedown and the hurry back onto the bus.
They also won’t be alone again for hours. They’ll be alone when they close the curtain of their bus bunks, but it’s a hollow aloneness. As flimsy as the curtain in question. They probably won’t actually be alone, short of hiding in the toilet, until the next town, the next greenroom, the next break between makeup and mics.
Phil handles it all just fine, he thinks. Handles it a hell of a lot better than he used to. A hell of a lot better than ten-year-old Phil could’ve dreamed. But there are still so many times in the day where he thinks of home— of London and their flat with plenty of doors to shut the world out with. Of the space to reach out for Dan when he wants to. To kiss him. To grab his hand and pull him closer. The only eyes to worry about in their flat is the camera, and the camera has a very distinct light which tells them when it’s watching or not. On tour, the eyes are everywhere.
Except, blissfully, here. In the dressing room before the woman with the microphones comes back. And she’s not going to do that for another seven minutes. Maybe eight.
Dan is scrolling through his phone. He isn’t paying attention to the distance between them right now or to how many minutes until it isn’t just the two of them in this room anymore. He’s more focused on the show they’re about to perform, about the infuriating political tweets in his timeline, about how thinner they’re slicing the walls of their glass closet these days.
And Phil worries about those things too, but not right now.
Instead, right now he takes the four steps necessary to get near Dan. He kisses him with no preamble. He kisses him like he’s wanted to do all day, the little frequent whims he’s usually able to answer and only just now got around to. Dan kisses back, amused and eager.
When Phil pulls back, and he really doesn’t want to pull back but he knows time is limited, they’re both a little breathless. They’ve kept their hands to themselves; they know better than to muss up hair or clothing now. But Dan still looks at Phil’s lips and laughs out, “You fucking tease,” before turning back to his phone.
“Get me back later then,” Phil smiles.
“Oh, I will,” Dan says. The woman with the microphone actually takes ten minutes to come into the room.