Chapter Text
A couple years have passed since Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria shut down. Phil has managed to rope himself into another manipulative corporate job. At least it's the regular kind this time, so he knows what he's getting into. It's nice having the normal kind of manipulation being done to him, not the kind that has him inadvertently helping a child murderer, or the kind he has to go to the police about. Just an average chain taking advantage of his work, his time, and himself. The legality of this matter is very questionable, but he gets paid better here. It's not really his problem until the company shuts down. Until then, he'll take unpaid hours and get berated in stride. Who doesn't want that?
His eye twitches. He looks around his office to see no one else is there. The entire room is dark save for the computer screen lighting up his face, and the time reads 8:30 PM. He faceplants onto his desk. God, he really needs to get a life.
After he finishes typing, he shuts down the computer, packs his things, and leaves. There's still a bit of light out. If he makes quick work of it, he'll get on the bus as the sky turns black. Thankfully, his bus stop keeps late enough hours for him and isn't too far from his workplace. He's always liked walking after a long day. It would be perfect if he hadn't forgotten his Walkman.
He makes it about halfway to his bus stop before he feels a raindrop hit his nose. The sky bursts a few seconds later. He can barely even make out the clouds through this torrential rain. It's the one day he has no umbrella. His briefcase is pretty thick, so the documents in there should be fine, even though he sure as hell isn't. The last dregs of summer float on the evening breeze, but he feels himself starting to shiver. He already feels bad about getting onto the bus like this, but he has to get home. A hot shower, a change of clothes, a cup of tea, and a cuddly cat will let him forget about his horrible luck.
Finally, he's at the bus stop, and he sees that the bus is there earlier than usual. He gets there just in time to have it close its doors on him. As he stands there in shock watching the last bus of the night drive away, it drives through a deep puddle of mud which splashes all over him. Some of it gets in his mouth. He takes off his glasses and tries wiping them off with the inside of his shirt. His vision is sort of restored, but now his glasses are smudged. He wipes off his watch to see the bus wasn't early. He was late because of the rain. Ironically, the sudden downpour stops. The mud is starting to cake on his face and skin, and his clothes are weighed down by everything they've been drenched in. It would be hell to walk back home like this.
After figuring out what street he's on, he tries to remember if there's a hotel nearby. The only place he can think of in this area is Henry and Boss's house. He mentally checks it off in his mind, but he quickly realizes there's nowhere else for him to go. Not unless he wants to hose himself off at a gas station. He shakes his head. They're his friends. He'll have a shower and then ask for a ride home. That's what friends do; they help each other out. His feet have already decided for him. Along the way, he reassures himself it's totally normal, and it's okay if they refuse. There are always other options.
He manages to find their house. Right when he gets under their awning, the rain starts back up again. He sighs before washing his hands off in the rain. Mud is already dripping onto their doorstep. He rings the doorbell. Someone muttering to themself opens the door.
"Who the hell—oh my god."
"Oh, who is it—Phil?"
Boss is still holding the doorknob as Henry holds onto his arm. Phil notices they're in matching pajamas. He's overcome with the desire to run away and wonders why he even came. He reminds himself they're his friends, and he should probably explain himself to them. They open their mouths to speak, but Phil is faster.
"I'm so sorry! I got soaked in the rain, then I was late for my bus, and when it was leaving, it splashed me with mud. I realized your house was close by, and I didn't know where else to go. I'm really sorry for bothering you both like this. I can just get a hotel. I'm sure you're busy—"
They both stare at him in confusion. Henry speaks up first.
"Do you really think we're gonna leave you like this?"
"Philip, why don't you come around to our garage and we'll help you dry off?"
He feels guilty for taking up their time, but refusing their help seems much worse. He nods and walks to their garage. The rain is actually helping him this time as mud begins to slide off of him. He attempts to scrub as much as he can off before going in.
They come back with a big towel when he finishes washing off. Boss gives him a half smile seeing how he looks less dipped in mud and more sad wet kitten.
"Nature's free shower out there, eh? Already looking much better."
Henry hands him a fluffy towel.
"But, you still need to dry off! Don't want to catch a cold now."
"There's a free shower inside when you're ready. Top of the stairs."
The towel is warm like it just came out of the dryer. He can't resist rubbing his face into it. It's only been a few minutes, but he feels better already.
"Thanks, you guys. You didn't have to do this."
"What kind of men would we be if we didn't help out our closest friend?"
His heart flips in his chest at Boss's words.
"You're always safe with us, Phil."
Henry pats him on the shoulder before they leave him alone. As he's drying himself off, the words swirl around in his head. Their closest friend. He's not sure he believes that. Surely there's someone else? But even if they're lying, he feels cared for. Maybe he could fit in with them. He shakes his head flinging little droplets of water. No, he can't get it twisted. Won't. It's only one night. But also, it's one night. That's more than he ever thought he could get.
When he startles out of his thoughts, he realizes he's been scrubbing the same spot on his arm for the past minute. He's definitely dry enough to go inside. He groans before hurrying in. On the bathroom door, there's a post-it note that says: "Your clothes are in the guest room. They're Henry's, so they should fit! Hang up your wet clothes in the bathroom. We'll wash them for you. Come downstairs and talk to us when you're done! - H+B : )"
He smiles. They're so cute.
He corrects himself. They're so cute together. An unrelated shiver travels down his spine. He's just cold. That's not even a lie. He sighs in relief when he peels his drenched clothes off and hangs them up. Even after trying to wring them out in the garage, they're still heavy. He turns on the faucet and watches as the room fills with steam. Taking a deep breath, he steps into the shower. Under the hot stream, his tension melts out of him and flows down the drain. But without being wound up with adrenaline, exhaustion hits him like a ton of bricks. He leans onto the wall for support. One thing after another, he mumbles to himself.
The rest of the shower is rough, but he doesn't slip. His legs wobble, but the idea of going to the hospital naked and still half covered in mud keeps him upright. He couldn't speak to Henry or Boss ever again if he did that. Through all of this, his brain somehow still manages to fight against itself. He hates using a different shampoo, but he can't stand the smell of mud for another second. While he's having this internal debate, the thought that he's going to smell like them worms its way into his brain.
He wishes he could hit his head and knock some sense into it.
After finally cleansing himself of the mud and its smell, he stumbles out of the shower. He dries his body and attempts to towel his hair, but it's still a little damp. Wandering into the guest room, he finds a stack of clothes waiting for him. The t-shirt leaves his arms bare, so he looks around for a small blanket. His eyes settle on a beige sweater hanging on the closet door. In his sleep-addled state, he doesn't hesitate before putting it on. He finds himself drowning in the cozy garment. His hands are lost in the sleeves, and he can't see the shorts he's wearing anymore. Nothing stops him from walking out like that, and he digs his grave further by pressing his face into the fabric and inhaling deeply. It smells like cedarwood and vanilla. His mind spins with the scent filling all of his senses.
Rubbing at his eyes, he pads down the stairs to find Henry and Boss talking quietly in their kitchen. They look up to meet his eyes, but their gaze immediately falls to what he's wearing.
"Is that my sweater?"
Boss asks this without any malice, but Phil can't help the way he startles in embarrassment. Awareness splashes over him like cold water.
"Oh god, I'm sorry! I get cold easily, so I just grabbed the first thing I saw—"
He puts up a hand to stop Phil, then he shares a brief look with Henry.
"No, it's fine. You look better in my clothes than I do."
Phil feels his face burn. What does that mean? Henry chuckles before smiling at Boss like they're in on a joke.
"Don't tease him, love. He's had a rough day."
"Yeah, yeah."
Phil thinks he's intruding on something and almost asks if he can leave again. Henry turns to him.
"Don't worry about what Boss said just now."
Oh, he definitely will. He can't tell Henry though, so he smiles. It stretches his face awkwardly. Henry doesn't seem to notice.
"How about I help you dry your hair while Boss makes you a cup of tea. Does that sound alright?"
He shouldn't be such a bother. But...
"I was going to let it air dry since I don't style it."
"You don't style it?" He quirks an eyebrow. "Well, no matter. You'll wake up all disheveled otherwise. Besides, it might help you turn your brain off for a little while. You can relax. We'll take care of you."
He can't refuse that.
"I'm gonna go get our hair dryer."
Henry leaves and Boss puts on the kettle.
"Tea preference?"
Phil shakes his head.
"I don't really drink tea. Coffee's more of my thing."
"Chamomile it is then. It'll help you sleep better."
He laughs.
"I don't think I'll need any help with that."
"Well, you never know. I'm sure Henry would appreciate it. You should've heard him talking about you while you were in the shower. He was so worried. It's like you showed up dripping with your own blood. 'Bosley, do you think he's gonna be okay? What if he gets sick? Or falls in the shower? Maybe we should go check on him.' You came down right after he said that looking just fine. Quite the Mother Hen, huh?"
Boss nudges Phil with his elbow.
"Sorry. I love a good pun. Guess it's the dad in me."
He sighs deeply.
"Anyways, I don't like to see him so tense. Sometimes, I just want to kiss the scrunched up wrinkles in between his eyebrows. And sometimes I do. But it's sweet how much he loves to take care of people. It makes him happy, and there's nothing more I want than that."
Phil feels like he should be jealous, but he reminisces on Henry's smiling face and gentle hands supporting him time and time again. His heart soars in his chest.
"I really like that about him."
After the words have escaped him, he realizes how they sound. He doesn't want Boss to hate him. He couldn't stand it.
"Like?"
He waits for more questions or even anger. When he peers up at Boss, his expression is unchanged save for a hint of curiosity. He jumps in before Boss misunderstands.
"Oh no, I didn't mean it in that way."
The kettle goes off.
"I'm not interrogating you, Philip. Just confirming what you said."
Before Phil can ask what he means, Henry comes back with the dryer and a hairbrush.
"So, how about you sit on our couch, I think the cord should reach that far—oh!"
Boss cups his cheek and leans down to kiss his forehead. Henry smiles in amusement.
"What was that for?"
"We were talking about you."
Henry's face shifts for a fraction of a second but goes back to beaming.
"Nothing bad, I hope?"
Boss wraps his arms around Henry's waist and rests his head on his shoulder.
"How could there ever be anything bad about you, my love?"
Henry scoffs before kissing his cheek and worming his way out of Boss's grasp.
"Are you seeing this Phil? He's such a sap."
At a loss for words, Phil can only nod. Boss shrugs.
"What can I say? I love my husband."
Henry plugs in the dryer. Feeling fidgety, Phil starts to say he can do it himself, but Henry tuts at him.
"Ssh, stop fussing. I'm just drying your hair. You don't have to do a thing."
Boss hands him the cup of tea. The mug has '#1 DAD' printed on it in bold black letters. He breathes in the floral fragrance before taking a sip. The warmth spreads throughout his body in an instant.
"I added a bit of sugar. Hope that's alright. I know you like your coffee black, but sweet things are good to indulge in every now and then."
"It's delicious. Thank you, Boss."
He grins.
"Flatterer. Now you've got me wanting a cup."
Boss goes back into the kitchen. Henry turns the dryer on a low setting before carding his fingers through Phil's hair.
"You have lovely hair, Phil. If it were a little longer, I bet Boss could braid it." He sighs fondly. "You wouldn't think it, but he's great at braiding hair. Because of Cassidy, I'm sure. Isn't that so cute?"
Phil thinks back to the soft smile Boss used to get on his face around his kids. Occasionally, he sees Boss looking at old photos of them with that same tenderness in his eyes. He wasn't sure what he was feeling back then, but god does he know now.
"Yeah, that kind of gap is very cute."
His head whips around to look at Henry. He meant to mumble that to himself, but the mildly surprised expression on Henry's face says he heard him.
"I didn't mean—"
Henry turns Phil's head back around and continues drying his hair.
"Oh, don't you worry Phil. He loves the attention."
"Is it so bad I enjoy getting compliments?"
Boss appears next to them making Phil nearly jump out of his skin. He winks at Phil. Henry flips the dryer to a higher setting before Phil can figure out what they're thinking. He realizes he's too tired to care at this point. A couple minutes pass while they sip at their drinks. Then, Henry puts down the dryer and begins combing through any of the tangles he missed. But all of Phil's cognitive functions come to a halt when Boss untucks a strand of hair from behind his ear.
"Your hair is really soft after you wash it."
Boss's voice is so low and close he feels it vibrate in his chest. A shiver works its way down his spine. He tries to say something, anything, but he's been reduced to a stuttering mess. Henry takes pity on him.
"Alright, back it up. I need to brush that side too, you know."
He relents and Phil lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. They stop talking, and the rhythmic repetition of his hair being brushed soothes all of his anxieties. The day's events quickly catch up to him. Once his eyes start to close for seconds at a time, one of them takes his mug. All of his stress melts off of him and is replaced with a comforting sleepiness. He thinks he'll truly be able to rest tonight. Henry finishes drying and brushing his hair, but his surroundings feel fuzzy and distant.
"All done. Much better, hm?"
His eyelids are so heavy he can't keep them open anymore. He feels Henry's hands fluffing up his hair and chases that touch. The hand pulls away, but Phil still feels the heat of Henry's palm hovering over his cheek. He nuzzles into the warmth and hums in contentment when it spreads across his skin. Henry's breath hitches. He wishes he could feel Boss too.
Henry and Boss speak to each other in hushed whispers.
"I think he's about to fall asleep."
"You think?"
"Boss."
Henry's gentle hands get him to stand, and their sides connect while he drapes Phil's arm over his shoulder. Boss's hand slots into his as they slowly begin walking. His voice washes up against Phil's ear.
"Hey sleepyhead. Let's get you upstairs, okay? You'll ruin your back sleeping down here."
He tries to agree, but all that comes out is an incomprehensible mumble. When they tell him they're at the stairs, he forces his eyes to blink open. With Boss's steady grip and Henry's patient guidance, they trudge their way up the stairs. At the top, he mutters something about the guest room, but they hesitate to direct him there.
"You can come sleep in our bed if you'd like."
Phil knows Henry is talking, but he can't process the words.
"We might get lonely without you."
Boss's confession is drowned out by Phil's overwhelming desire to lay down. He manages to say goodnight before flopping on the guest room bed and passing out. The door is left wide open, and he's laying on top of the sheets. They look at each other. Without exchanging a word, Boss carefully lifts Phil off the bed while Henry pulls back the covers. Boss lays him down on the bed and Henry tucks him in. They realize they haven't seen him asleep before. His expression is fully relaxed, and his hair splays out against the pillow. Some of it even twitches like cat ears as he sleeps, and there's drool at the side of his mouth. Henry turns off the bedside lamp. They go to leave but stop in the doorway.
"We need to tell him."
Boss surprises Henry by voicing his exact thoughts.
"You're right."
"But..."
"But?"
Boss peers back into the room where Phil is now snoring softly.
"When the time is right. I—we don't want to scare him off. It's better if he brings it up."
Henry didn't realize it would be so cute to watch his husband fall in love all over again. A sentimental smile upturns his lips. He faces Boss and intertwines their hands.
"I know we've talked about this, but I still love you. Nothing could ever change that."
Boss smirks at him. He leans down and Henry raises himself to meet him in the middle. Their breaths tickle each other's lips.
"Shouldn't that be my line?"
They close the distance. With the certainty of change in the future, the familiarity of their affection is comforting. They will always have each other.
After pulling apart, they peek into Phil's room again before shutting the door. Even though they're going to bed later than him, he'll probably sleep in. They go back to their room and leave the old man to rest.