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“I almost passed on you, you know.” Dan pinches the stem of his champagne flute with his fingers and turns to Noah. Noah, who shrugs his shoulders in that beautiful jacket, smiling like Dan isn’t confessing something he’s been holding back for years.
“But you didn’t,” he says, like it’s that easy. And for Noah it probably is. But.
“No, you don’t understand. I flat out told Stacey no when she suggested you. I didn’t think I could—“ Dan shakes his head, remembering the terror that had gripped him as soon as Stacey had said Noah’s name. The flood of memories, the want that was so big it almost bowled Dan over. He knew immediately it would work, that Noah playing Patrick would be perfect, but thinking of playing pretend with him for even a few episodes when the torch Dan carried could still flare so brightly that just the sound of his name threatened to burn Dan?
Noah sidles closer, discreetly brushes the pleats of Dan’s skirt with his hand. “I get it.” He ducks his head, and his styled curls catch the light from the chandeliers in the tent. Dan wants to run his fingers through them, mess them up. But they look too good—Noah looks too good—and there are too many people. And then Noah is lifting his head again, and god. Dan almost flinches away from all of the emotions on his face. “I almost didn’t take the audition.”
“What?” It comes out soft, and strained with the sudden panic that tightens Dan’s throat. Over Noah’s shoulder, Dan catches a glimpse of Clare, her dress sparkling in the lights, just like Noah’s curls. She looks up and meets Dan’s eyes, and she must read the look in them even from across the whole tent. She touches Andrew’s arm and starts toward them.
“When my agent called, and told me who was running the show, I almost said no.” Noah scratches his chin, where there isn’t enough stubble for him to pinch at, and Dan’s fingers tingle, wanting to touch him there, too. “Probably for the same reasons.”
Then Clare is there, slipping easily into the crook of the arm Noah reached out for her without looking, shimmering and smiling gently. She touches the cuff of Dan’s sleeve, the back of his hand. Her fingers are soft and cool, and then gone. “You guys okay?”
“Yeah,” Dan says, trying to reassure her; this is a party, this night is too huge and happy for these feelings. She sees right through him.
“Hey,” Noah says, getting Dan’s attention back on him. The panic is still clawing at Dan’s chest, the thought that he could have passed on Noah, that Patrick could have been someone else less … less Noah, that the whole show could have been different, could have been less, without him. They wouldn’t be standing in this tent with a zillion Emmys, Dan knows that for a fact, and he bugs his eyes out, helpless and overwhelmed.
Clare slips out of Noah’s hold and puts her arms around Dan, one arm under his jacket, rucking it up oddly. She squeezes his middle, body pressed flush to his arm, and kisses his cheek. And Noah just keeps watching him, eyes sure and steady and warm. Dan takes a deep breath and some of the panic dissipates. He didn’t say no, he said yes. He said yes, and so did Noah, and they’re here now with their zillion Emmys and a whole night to celebrate.
“There you go,” Noah says, as Dan’s shoulders relax. Dan puts a hand over Clare’s forearm, clamped tightly against the buttons of his shirt. She lays her cheek on Dan’s shoulder, hair cascading over his lapel. Noah smiles at them. “Thanks for not passing on me, Daniel.”
Clare’s head whips up at that, and Dan can’t turn his head to look at her. He watches Noah’s face as Noah looks at her, and then feels her turn to look at Dan. Then she presses a brief kiss to Dan’s cheek. “Thanks for taking a chance on him,” she says, right in Dan’s ear. “And on us.”
Dan does look over at her then, at her eyes shining with almost as much emotion as Noah’s, and his own eyes start to sting with tears. “Oh god.” He sets down his champagne so he can flap his hand at his face. “I thought I was out of tears.”
“That is not a thing,” Clare says, and releases him. Dan laughs, the wet sound of it dangerously close to the noise, and then Noah’s arms are where Clare’s had just been, squeezing Dan just as tightly. Noah’s kiss lands in the same spot Noah’s kisses always land, the spot under Dan’s ear where he feels branded now.
“Another reason to celebrate,” Noah says as he pulls back. He takes Clare’s hand, and Clare reaches out her other hand for Dan.
“God, yes, please,” Dan says, and lets them lead him back into the party.
✨✨✨
Dan wakes up fuzzy, in both his brain and his mouth. Champagne makes his teeth feel like they’re wearing sweaters, and he’d consumed a lot of it last night. Miraculously his stomach is fine, and there’s no pain in his head, just quiet static.
There’s a line of warmth down his back, the firm pressure of Noah’s butt up against Dan’s, the sole of one foot curved around the back of Dan’s calf. Dan tries to reach for his phone without shifting his lower body, but as soon as his fingertips touch it he hears Noah’s sleepy grumble.
Then Clare, on Noah’s other side, her voice scratchy, “What?”
“Dan’s getting up,” Noah mumbles, his foot sliding over Dan’s leg until it hooks around Dan’s ankle and tugs. “Stop.”
“Dan,” Clare says, plaintive. Dan snags his phone and shifts back against Noah.
“I’m not, I’m just—“
“Checking your phone, we know,” Clare cuts him off. She says it fondly, but Noah’s answering rumble is less fond.
“Stop,” he repeats, adorably cranky like Noah always is before he’s fully awake. Dan smiles to himself and tries to not even twitch a muscle as he unlocks his screen.
Noah’s foot is in motion again, toes scrubbing over the hair on Dan’s leg, down to pinch around the tendon of Dan’s ankle. He wiggles his butt back against Dan’s, and Dan hears Clare’s soft giggle from across the bed. Dan only has the chance to read one text message before the mattress shakes and then Noah is on him, flipped around and sprawling over Dan’s side, hand closing over Dan’s phone.
“Stop,” he says again, but more playfully this time. His breath is sour as it wafts over Dan’s cheek, and he’s touching Dan’s phone, and Dan doesn’t even care. He turns up his face and lets Noah drop kisses across his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Then he stops abruptly and says, “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Look at how many unread messages you have.”
Clare pops up over Noah’s shoulder, pressing Noah's weight down onto Dan. Dan huffs. “Lemme see,” she says. Her hair is frizzing at her temple, where she always rubs it into her pillow in her sleep. “Holy shit.”
“Now you see why I was checking my phone,” Dan says pointedly. Noah still leans further to set the phone on the nightstand, and Clare leans with him. Their combined weight is heavy, but Dan welcomes it, goes onto his back to take more of it. Noah gives him a full kiss then, and Clare combs her fingers through Dan’s bed head.
“You won so many Emmys last night,” she says, and Dan blinks up at her as Noah breaks their kiss.
“We won,” he says, and Clare rolls her eyes.
“You definitely won several all by yourself.”
“Yes,” Dan agrees. “And I have the champagne hangover to prove it.”
“You do not,” Noah says. “You wouldn’t be letting us crush your stomach like this if you did.”
They know him too well.
“Speaking of my stomach,” Dan says, as it rumbles, the noise muffled by the two ridiculous humans on top of it. Clare laughs, and rolls off them. Noah doesn’t budge, and Dan prods his arm. “Breakfast, Noah.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Noah says. His eyes are too soft, too warm in the dim sunlight slanting through the curtains. “Hey,” he says, even though he already has all of Dan’s attention. He nudges his nose against Dan’s. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Dan couldn’t agree more. He kisses Noah to show him just how much. Then Clare calls, “Guys! Breakfast!” And they break apart to get moving.
✨✨✨
They make breakfast, moving around each other in Clare and Noah’s kitchen like they choreographed a routine. They drink coffee and whisk eggs and chop veggies to go in omelettes, and then they sit at the table and drink more coffee and eat. Clare’s wearing a slip of a nightgown, and one strap keeps sliding down her shoulder. Every time it does Noah brushes her bare skin with his fingers before he puts the strap back in place. The easy care of it fills Dan up, makes something in his chest swell and ache.
He missed them so much, all those long months of being cooped up in his giant house in LA. He missed their affection, and their cozy house, all their plants and their records. He missed drinking coffee at their table, bare feet stacked underneath it, soaking up their warmth.
“Are we gonna go to the Tower tonight, to see it all lit up?” Clare asks.
“We have to,” Noah says, looking at Dan. Dan nods.
It’s so wild; a huge, weird honour on top of almost too many huge, weird honours. The Tower lights up for sports championships and national holidays, that it would light up for their show. It’s just wild.
That’s Canada though. It’s like the country is trying its best to show Dan why he belongs there. It’s like the whole year—not to make the disasters of the world about him—is trying to show him he belongs there.
Or belongs here. Here, under the empty picture frames, drinking coffee with two people he loves so much it’s almost too much. Clare’s strap slips down, and this time Dan reaches out to touch her bare shoulder, and slide it back into place.
She smiles, looking up at him from under her lashes, and Noah smiles, too.
Dan presses his own smile to the rim of his mug, and then finishes his coffee.