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“Phiiiil!”
Dan’s shrieks are loud enough that it would be no surprise if the neighbours heard him, despite the new house being both detached and sufficiently sound-proofed, per their request. “Phil, what the fuck?? Why have you put that in here!?”
Phil, bent over a box in the room right over, giggles softly, all the while knowing he really shouldn’t. He hides the noise by stuffing his fist nearly halfway into his mouth, cringing at the scrape of teeth against his knuckles.
After Dan shouts once more, he gets up—grimacing slightly at the pop of his left knee, something he’s been feeling occasionally in the last month or so, probably due to all their physical labour—with a shake of his head.
He has to force down the lovesick smile sure playing on his lips. What Dan needs is for him to at least pretend he doesn’t find his meaningless complaining and (honestly adorable) whining as hilarious as he actually does.
He finds his fiancé in their bedroom, as expected, frowning at one of the corners opposite their custom, giant-friendly bed. Phil’s lips twitch up at the corners as his eyes catch on what he’s pointing at. So he finally noticed it, huh.
“I am not— I’m not sleeping in the same room as— as that— that stupid thing!”
“Bud, it’s just the golden pig.” Phil shuffles up to him, trying not to trip over his own feet—or worse yet, the fifty boxes and things Dan’s flung onto the floor—placing an unsure hand on his hip. “And, you did say I could keep it!”
Dan splutters, the colour of his cheeks going from a pale peach pink to blossoming cherry red. Cute. “I— I— Not in our bedroom!”
“You didn’t specify where I could put it, you know.”
As Dan continues his futile protests, Phil rolls his eyes—not listening anymore, he’s heard it a million times—and leans in to kiss his soft, pink, and dimpled cheek. A smile is not far away, he’s really not as serious as he makes himself out to be.
He shuts up quickly after that, pouting only a little bit. “Hate you. Really, really hate you.”
“No more moving, babe, I think.” Phil looks back at it—he means both the pig and himself, which should be obvious to Dan. He hopes it is, at least. Almost twelve years—twelve long, yet wonderful years—should really do it.
“Well, then, babe, I’m sleeping on the sofa for the rest of time, I guess.”
“Hey! No, you’re not.” Phil laughs, pushing at his shoulder as he tries to weasel away. “And it’s true, you really didn’t say, so you can’t go back on it either. Your word, I mean.”
“Shu’ up.”
“Fine.”
Phil kisses him again, because that’s sure to keep them both quiet for a little bit.
“Oh—” In the middle of it, though, Dan grabs him firmly by the hips, swiveling around so he can kiss back properly—not on the cheek, that's for sure.
“Took you by surprise—” Dan laughs against his lips “—did I, Philly?”
“Now?” Phil’s heartbeat trips up, even if only for a second, and so does his brain. Difficult to think when Dan makes his every thought melt. “Or when we first met?”
“That serious, are we?”
God’s sake, he won’t ever stop being like that, will he? Not that he wants him to. It’s very Dan. And he’s signed up to this for life, he really has.
“Well, I’d sure hope so.” Phil pecks his lips, letting his fingers thread through his pretty curls. He almost gets lost in it, in the texture and waviness of it. “Or…”
“Hm?” Dan knows what really jogs his brain—keeps his lips on the corner of his mouth, still, and staying (unusually so, for him) mostly silent.
“Or I’d be moving into our forever home with a complete stranger.”
It’s Dan’s turn to roll his eyes at him. “Wouldn’t want that, now would we.”
“You sure wouldn’t.”
It takes a second to sink in, but it definitely sinks—soon after, Dan narrows his eyes, and leans in again. Phil’s brain just barely registers the word hot before Dan interrupts it by speaking. “Shut. Up.” Finally, Phil does. He follows after Dan—whose arms are suddenly flung around his neck—as he sits down on the bed, still kissing him. The golden pig is all but forgotten by both of them, and it sure will be for a while because of, well, this.