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“Dan?”
A gruff voice in the darkness startles Dan out of his doom spiral, and he takes a moment to calm his galloping heart before replying.
“I’m alright, Phil, go back to sleep.” Dan does his best to sound nonchalant, like he just happened to randomly be awake, but his voice betrays him by coming out more wobbly than he’d expected.
Phil somehow manages to turn over onto his side without knocking Dan off of his tiny twin bed—a feat in and of itself—and opens his arms with a murmured “C’mere, Dan.”
Dan curls into Phil, fighting the urge to resist, arguing with his anxiety that yes, Phil is here to help; yes, we can trust Phil. He’s successful, but only barely.
Once Dan gets close, Phil manages to pull him impossibly closer, and grips Dan like Dan would slip out of his arms if he wasn’t holding on tightly. Dan feels the electricity of anxiety running through him begin to fade away, like someone flipped a switch, and he subconsciously melts into Phil’s arms. There is a small part of him, though, that’s still conscious, and is determined to not let Dan turn completely into a puddle.
Dan hates that he finds himself still ever so slightly tense, hates that he can’t just relax in his boyfriend’s arms, hates that he even woke up said boyfriend by stupidly crying right next to him. He hates that he feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, where Phil tries to dissect him to determine what’s wrong.
The dissection never comes.
Somehow (Dan’s pretty sure he figured it out, but he’s not quite sure if he’s ready to define it in a four letter word), Phil always knows what he needs, without Dan ever having to say it. And right now, like he’s inside Dan’s brain, he knows that Dan needs to go at his own pace. He somehow knows that Dan doesn’t want to talk about the battle in his brain right now. Phil just holds Dan and idly draws patterns with his fingertip on Dan’s back, and even though Dan didn’t know he needed this, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.
While he’s regulating his breathing and listening to the steady, unwavering beat of Phil’s heart, a thought pops into Dan’s head. It’s unbidden, but not unwanted.
Dan realizes that despite being stuck in this room, with shitty brown and gold walls and a twin bed that barely fits him, in a town that he can’t wait to leave behind—
—he feels safe.
Feeling safe around Phil isn’t a revelation on its own. Dan remembers how back in October, their first hug at the train station had felt like a return to the familiar rather than an introduction. That first shuddery breath while wrapped in Phil’s arms felt like the only proper breath he had ever taken, and he knew at that moment that he’d forever be chasing that high.
The difference now, Dan realizes, is that he feels safe in his own home for the first time since he was a tiny child. In a universe where he’s had his defenses up from the moment he was aware he had defenses at all, he’s finally not fighting alone.
Before Dan knows it, he’s crying again, heaving out sobs and emotions that feel too big for any one person to handle on their own. He’s gripping Phil’s shirt with so much force that his knuckles are turning white, and Dan dimly registers that beneath his fist, Phil’s chest is vibrating, almost like he’s speaking.
It takes a good few minutes for Dan’s sobs to lessen to the point where he can hear Phil. At some point along the way, Dan had realized Phil was singing, as the vibrations Dan could feel were far too rhythmic and repetitive for Phil to be speaking. He finds himself relaxed enough to finally catch what Phil is singing softly, then stiffens against his will when he finally recognizes the song that Phil’s been singing.
“…you’ll never know, dear, how much I love you; please don’t take my sunshine away…”
As the song ends, Phil trails off, and Dan knows that Phil realized the implication of the lyrics at the same time Dan finally tuned in. It’s silent for a moment, the tension hanging heavy in the air between them, and neither of them dare move a muscle.
Dan knows that he should be more freaked out at the idea of Phil saying “I love you” for the first time, but the only coherent thought his brain is capable of producing is he loves me too, he loves me too, he loves me too. It loops, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat, and it’s a melody that feels like it was composed just for him. Dan feels the song beginning to imprint itself in his brain, soon to be permanently etched into his memory.
Phil must have mistaken Dan’s silence for discomfort, and breaks the silence with a soft, ever so timid “Dan?” The single word feels like it’s booming, bouncing off the walls of Dan’s childhood bedroom until his ears are ringing.
“Did you mean it, Phil?” Dan asks, knowing the answer, but needing Phil to confirm it before the imprint is permanent. Dan pulls away from Phil just enough to see his face—he needs to see Phil right now. Somehow, Dan finds his eyes, barely visible in the darkness, and sees those blue eyes starting to shine with tears.
“I did.” Phil speaks resolutely, with no ounce of hesitation present in his voice. It’s the most serious Dan has ever heard Phil be, and he knows that Phil is telling the truth.
A smile is on Dan’s face before he knows it, a smile so wide that he feels like if he’s not careful, he’ll split at the seams. He surges forward, grabs Phil’s head, and pulls him in for a kiss.
He kisses Phil with urgency, desperate to feel Phil’s lips on his, and once Dan’s started, he can’t find it in himself to stop. He pulls back far enough just to say “I love you too” against Phil’s lips, and when Phil’s lips find his again, they taste salty, coated in the tears now freely making their way down Phil’s face.
Dan feels like he’s in a frenzy, like all he can do is kiss Phil over and over like they’re running out of time. He can’t even find it in himself to care that their teeth keep clashing together, not when that means that they’re smiling too much to stop it from happening. He doesn’t care that he’s started crying again, too elated with the fact that Phil really does love him too. The joy of having love be requited, he’s decided, far outweighs any possible con right now.
In between each kiss, he tells Phil “I love you,” and it feels like a promise. It feels like so much more than he can conceptualize right now, but Dan knows that they have plenty of time to figure it out. He knows with every kiss that Phil reciprocates, every tear that falls down his face, that Phil is making the same promise in return.
Eventually, when their lips are beginning to tingle and their tears have run dry, the kisses stop. They don’t pull away from each other, though, still needing to exist in each other’s space. Dan buries his face in Phil’s neck and breathes deeply, letting the scent of the man he loves crash over him like a wave. Phil’s hand has resumed its lazy pattern on Dan’s back, and Dan’s eyes are starting to close of their own accord.
“Why that song?” Dan asks groggily, just before he loses consciousness.
“Mum used to sing it to me, has ever since I was a baby,” Phil reveals, and oh, that hits Dan like a punch in the gut. “When you were crying, I was so tired that I panicked, and it was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Sing it to me again as I fall asleep?” Dan’s fighting against sleep as he asks, only barely winning the battle. Phil hums his assent, and presses a kiss to the top of Dan’s head. Dan smiles into Phil’s neck, and knows that Phil can feel him smiling, too.
Phil’s singing lulls Dan right to sleep, and he’s only barely able to catch the lyrics “you’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” before he succumbs to sleep.