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The hum of the tour bus at night feels familiar, even after all this time. Phil has never had a white noise machine, but he imagines that having one would give him a similar feeling, like his heart is sleeping soundly within his chest and nothing on earth will manage to disturb it. Dan’s light snoring, ironically, helps. He remembers vaguely there may have been a time when he found Dan’s midnight grumbling annoying, as the light sleeper that he is, but that time feels so far away that it’s more of a story than anything.
Tonight, a single brown curl hangs over Dan’s forehead, and Phil fidgets with it, knowing that Dan won’t be bothered. He moves closer to Dan in their bed, their legs tangling together under their too-thin sheets. Dan was not originally sleeping on his side on Phil’s chest, but Phil’s gradual scooching has changed their usual position. It gets chilly at night in the nearly day-long drive between Oslo and Helsinki, and Phil is about as close to Dan as he can get without trying to crawl into his skin. Maybe that’s the next step. Maybe this is an Oregon trail type of situation — which he only knows about from the computer game — where they should have started the tour earlier and now they’re both going to freeze to death. Or maybe it’s 10 °C and Phil is just being dramatic.
He would say that freezing to death wouldn’t be so bad if he got to snuggle with Dan as it happened, but realistically, he knows that he doesn’t need to freeze to death to do that.
He sighs into Dan’s hair, which still somehow smells good after twelve hours on the tour bus with Phil banning showers. He can feel his own heartbeat, unusually steady, and wonders if subconsciously, Dan can hear it too. His legs turn to lead in the good way, impossible to move and finally warm. Dan turns over slightly, and the tour bus hums, and it’s nights like these that make Phil wonder if it’s possible to tour forever.
Dan bounced back from the jetlag relatively quickly. Or rather, Dan is just one of those people who can sleep wherever, whenever, with very little incentive. Phil would donate a rib for that gift. Luckily, though, the usual anxiety spiral, the worry about exactly how much sleep he’ll get, down to the second, isn’t present tonight. He’ll be fine. Years ago, he would have pulled out the camera and made this a Sleepless Nights with Phil: Tour Edition. It was somewhere around 2017 when he realized that maybe making videos in bed in the middle of the night wasn’t the best way to encourage boundaries with his audience and protect his privacy. Sometimes, though, he still makes those videos in his head, muttering to himself. It’s almost nicer when there’s no one around to hear him. Except Dan, who tends to groan very loudly when he is disturbed.
The stars are out, and brighter than they are in London. God bless the Nordic region and its startling lack of pollution – at least, in comparison to the swamp that the United Kingdom can be. He knows that the light pollution in Helsinki – or any big city, really – will wash them out soon enough, but on the road between two cities, they shine like specks of silver in a sea of midnight blue. At this time of night, the sky should be pitch black, according to all known laws of nature. Instead, it looks right off a postcard about space that they’d sell at a science museum somewhere, full of blues and purples and of course the stars, smiling down on Dan and Phil.
During Interactive Introverts, seven years ago, they kept the blinds down on the bus at night. Just in case one of the cars passing by on the road contained an opportunist with a camera. It was insurance, like those tweets that they put out about having separate beds on the bus (which was a lie.)
Now, they’ve adopted a sort of let it be philosophy. Whatever happens happens. They’ve had fun teasing their audience with the concept of a hard launch, making jokes that would make their old selves faint. They probably aren’t going to make out on stage any time soon, or ever, but they’re not going to hide themselves away to protect their secrets anymore. They’ve spent too long with the doors closed already. And now it’s time to see the stars.
Phil takes a deep breath in and lets it out, watching Dan’s head rise and fall on his chest.
“Hey,” Phil prods gently at the back of his neck, “Wake up.” Dan blinks his eyes open slowly, which is Phil’s favorite sight of all time. He groans and curses for ten seconds straight. Phil giggles when he’s done. “Sorry, bub.”
“Whad’ya wan….” Dan mutters.
“Look at the stars.”
Dan’s big brown eyes narrow. “You woke me up at…” He rolls over and glances at the clock. “ Three in the morning ?? To look at the stars??” Despite his complaining, he hoists himself off of Phil’s chest with both arms (Phil mourns the loss) and glances out the window.
“Oh,” says Dan, “ Oh. ”
“Now you get it,” says Phil.
“That’s gorgeous,” Dan murmurs. You’re gorgeous, Phil thinks but doesn’t say. He sees Dan reach for his phone on the nightstand, but he lets his hand fall. Not everything needs to be filmed. Although, it would be pretty funny to get the crew up in the middle of the night to film Dan watching the stars like a little kid in awe.
“Phillll!” Dan turns back towards Phil, his face now lit up by a big goofy smile.
“What?” Phil chuckles.
Dan sinks back down a little bit, not quite on Phil’s chest again, but close. He kisses Phil’s cheek softly and whispers in his ear, “You woke me up at three in the morning to look at the stars.”
“Damn,” says Phil, “It’s almost as if I love you, or something.”
Dan cackles. “That’s embarrassing for you.” He kisses Phil again, on the lips this time, and Phil sinks into it. He isn’t cold in the slightest anymore. Dan pulls away and whispers “you twat,” against Phil’s lips.
He settles back in on Phil’s chest, and Phil pulls their heavy blanket back over the two of them, tucking Dan in like a burrito until nothing but a tuft of curls is visible. “Hey,” he whispers again.
“Jesus,” Dan groans, “What.”
“I love this,” says Phil, “Traveling around the world with you.” Dan hums his agreement. “We should do this when we’re old. Retire and travel the world.”
“Go on gay little adventures,” Dan whispers.
“So true,” says Phil at his normal volume, “But then again, it would be a shame to leave the Phouse unattended.”
“You’re my Phouse,” says Dan, “Or… you’re my… Phome?”
The two of them collapse into quiet laughter over their new word, the kind of peaceful giggles that can only exist in the earliest of mornings. Phil loves bothering Dan at unreasonable hours, precisely because he gets like this, all mushy and lovely and soft.
That’s part of why he’d woken Dan up. The other part, the part brought on by the stars, is that after so long, it feels strange to experience beautiful things without Dan by his side.
“You’re my Phome too,” says Phil. His words fall on deaf ears, because Dan is already back to snoring, clinging to Phil like a sloth, fast asleep.