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A hand finds his elbow. It takes Phil by surprise, almost makes him drop his phone mid-text. Then, Dan’s voice is in his ear – one part concerned, ninety-nine parts sarcastic.
“Are we boring you?”
“Shut up,” Phil breathes a laugh. He locks his phone and puts it on the table. “Was texting mum back, actually.”
“Yeah?” Dan asks. “Tell her that you’re having the most fun ever?”
“Mm.”
“Is that why you keep yawning?”
“I’m not–” Phil starts to protest, but the mere suggestion of a yawn, apparently, is enough to trigger another one.
Dan laughs then, actually makes a go of smacking the table. It’s one of those hyena laughs, the ones that sound like they start deep in his belly and only come out when he’s properly happy or properly drunk. It’s the laugh that makes people look up and stare at them in restaurants, in shops, on trains – everywhere. Phil could bottle it up and write poems about it – probably will one day. Already has in his mind.
“If you’re tired, have an early night,” Dan suggests. He sounds a bit softer, has leaned a bit closer to Phil now, but it’s obvious how tipsy he is – obvious in the way he’s all hands and crowding Phil’s space more than he normally would. The rosy patch on his cheek is positively glowing. “They won’t mind.”
Phil looks at the table of people around him. All of his tour crewmates, the people he’s spent every hour of every day with for the past month. They’re out for drinks again at the hotel bar, which has become a bit of a daily tradition since tour started. He hasn’t known them for very long – not in the grand scheme of things – but it would be fair to say he knows more about them than most of the people he’s known his whole life. It’s a nice atmosphere they’ve got between them. It’s rare that Phil can find himself in a large group of people and feel comfortable with every single one, but he does with these people. He feels peaceful. He doesn’t feel like he’s one stutter or bad joke away from making the wrong impression and blowing the whole thing to pieces.
But right now he’s just – different. Fuzzy. They’re working long, long days and socialising long, long nights, and although it’s the most fulfilling thing he’s ever done, he’s tired . His social battery has depleted and he feels fidgety and strange – feels a bit too big.
“I don’t know,” Phil says. He sighs and toys with the beer mat on the table. “Don’t wanna be the lame one who goes to bed early.”
“You sleep at night?” Dan scoffs. “Lame.”
Phil rolls his eyes and pokes his toe into the soft part of Dan’s calf under the table. It makes Dan squirm, makes him shift closer in response. He’s looking at Phil with a gaze that has apparently made him blind to everyone else in the bar. Phil smiles at him.
“Plus you’re having fun,” Phil says.. “Haven’t seen you this relaxed in ages. Not gonna drag you away kicking and screaming.”
“I’ll be fine if you head back to the room,” Dan says. “It’s not like we have to be–”
“I know,” Phil interrupts, because he knows what Dan is going to say and that’s not what Phil means. Dan is going to tell him they don’t have to be joined at the hip or be inside each other’s pockets all of the time, and Phil knows that. They joke about it because they can and it makes them feel good – makes them feel smug, even – but they’re not actually co-dependent. Phil knows that Dan can and will have fun without him. He just resents the fact that he can’t always be present and involved in moments when he should be – or should want to be. It would be nice to go out for drinks with his crewmates and not feel oddly perceived and opened up. The desire to shrink down a few sizes is palpable.
Dan’s just staring at his face. He looks a bit contemplative, looks a bit like he’s trying to read Phil’s mind, but he nods instead.
“Stay for a bit longer then?”
Phil nods and smiles. He gives Dan’s thigh a small pat as he leans over to steal the rest of his drink.
-
He ends up staying for another twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot of making the right noises in the right places, laughing at jokes he didn’t properly hear, and zoning in and out of conversations. But he manages it. He squeezes in those final moments of social interaction before he’s ready to rest and do it all over again tomorrow.
Dan keeps checking in on him. It’s funny because he’s all drunk and giggly and full of grandiose stories – he’s doing that thing where he has everyone hanging on his every word, has the whole crowd laughing – but he never stops checking in. Every so often, he interrupts his conversations to throw a small glance in Phil’s direction – a silent I’m here.
It touches Phil in a way that’s probably too dramatic for a random Wednesday evening, but he likes it. Phil didn’t think he relied on this type of comfort anymore – he doesn’t, really – but it’s nice to accept it sometimes. Because he likes being independent. He likes the satisfaction that comes with knowing he’s on top of his emotions, knowing that he could be alright on his own if their circumstances ever changed. But it’s nice to feel like this sometimes. It’s nice to be coddled by the person whose love language is to fuss and protect and smooth out his creases.
Phil knows he’s lucky for that. He has found someone who knows the bones of him, someone who can sort through each and every skeleton in his closet and still look at him like he’s flawless – like he holds all of their answers. They know each other well enough to co-pilot if either one of them needed to shut down for a while. They would be able to keep each other running, steady, until they’re ready to come back to themselves.
So when Phil slips away to head back to their room, he does so with the knowledge that Dan is keeping both of them steady.
-
It’s 1am when Dan returns. He’s making a bit of commotion in bed, muttering to himself and scrubbing at the rest of his stage makeup with a makeup wipe. When he’s done, he drops it on the floor.
“Bin,” Phil whispers.
“Fuck-” That makes Dan jump, makes him chuckle a bit too loud. He looks down at Phil. “Thought you were sleeping, stalker.”
“Difficult to sleep with a baby elephant in the room,” Phil smiles. He rolls onto his side as he watches Dan get up to throw the wipe in the bin. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, but I’m like-” Dan joins him in bed, steals a bit too much of the blanket. “-so drunk. I am so very drunk, Phil.”
Phil chuckles. “Think I remember the recovery position.”
“Feeling alright now?” Dan whispers. He’s closer now. Phil can smell his minty breath, can feel goosebumps where their legs are pressed together. He’s not sure if they’re his or Dan’s. “Really bugged out on us earlier.”
“Mm, just...socialising. It’s nice but I’m finished. Tired.”
“Yeah,” Dan whispers. His eyes are closed now and he sounds a bit like he’s not really listening. “Bed is warm. Did a good job.”
“Of warming the bed?” Phil asks.
“Mm.”
Phil chuckles. Dan is just smiling with his eyes closed, all silly and drunk and nice. All Dan . It’s enough to make Phil’s heart swell. He allows himself to hold onto the sensation for a little bit, to let it take him back to a comfortable place.
“Bed warmer,” Dan says. “That’s your role in my life.”
“Interesting,” Phil whispers. He knows when to pick his battles, so he doesn’t mention the many other roles he has in Dan’s life. “I’ll take that role.”