Work Text:
Touring through America has been an overwhelming, exhilarating blur of people and noise and bizarre road trip culture. Phil’s not sure that he’s even begun to fully process everything yet. Somewhere halfway through the Midwest, he started losing track of what day it is or what timezone he’s in.
“If I could do this for the rest of my life, I would,” Dan had said one night after a show, as they’d stripped off their show outfits in the cramped dressing room. He’s always been prone to hyperbole, especially when he’s riding a post-show high, and Phil had thought that this was a slight exaggeration.
“The whole rest of your life? You wouldn’t miss our home, or London, or just, like, lounging around and doing nothing with me?”
Dan had shrugged, grabbed a towel and headed for the shower in the adjoining room. “Yeah. I think I could do it. I think it’d be, like, really personally fulfilling. I think I need that in my life.”
It’s true, Dan does seem to absolutely thrive with the touring lifestyle. He ends each day ramped up with adrenaline, practically glowing with energy and love for the world. He treasures the bonds he forges with each member of the crew and loves waking up in a new city every day – even if half the time, it’s to find themselves parked behind the theatre with the bins.
Phil enjoys touring too, of course he does. He wouldn’t have said yes to this whole thing otherwise. He loves meeting their subscribers every day, and there’s a certain joy that comes from finding something unique to enjoy in every city they’ve been to, even if it’s just a pre-show coffee from a local cafe or a bizarre roadside tourist trap.
But at the end of the day, he’s not a theatre kid like Dan is. Being on stage and traveling around the world isn’t his true calling. He gets exhausted more quickly than Dan does, finds himself zoning out after too long of a day. As each day passes, especially on the tour bus, he yearns for the easy quietness of an evening at home, surrounded by all their own things, cuddled up in their own blankets.
Given the busyness of the past few months, it feels like a shock to his system when the American leg of the tour ends. It feels surreal that they suddenly have a whole week and a half to rest up before their next show. Luck has it that this break also coincides with their anniversary – their actual one, not the one that all the fans celebrate, the one at the very end of November when Phil asked Dan to officially be his boyfriend.
It was Dan’s idea to go to Vegas of all places. The city isn’t exactly a sentimental place to them, but it is special in some ways. It's a place they’ve gone when they've felt like celebrating something special – which an anniversary like this most certainly is.
Special or not, fifteen years on from that monumental date finds them laying like slugs in a hotel room in Las Vegas. Neither of them had accounted for how exhausted they would feel after touring the whole of the US.
Phil’s half-dozing while watching reruns of Modern Family, the best thing he could find on the hundreds of hotel tv channels at three in the afternoon. Dan’s sat on the bed next to him, pillow propped behind him, wearing his tie-dye Buc-ee’s shirt, scrolling on his phone.
The episode ends, and a loud, obnoxious American commercial comes on. Phil mutes it, stretching his legs.
"You awake?" Dan says.
"Yeah, full of energy." He rubs his eyes behind his glasses and looks over at Dan. “Have you found a place yet?”
“I found a taco place that looks good. Or a burger restaurant that does gourmet onion rings.”
“We had tacos two days ago, though,” Phil counters. “And burgers aren’t special enough.”
Dan kicks at him. “So it needs to be special enough for our anniversary dinner, but you’re not gonna help me decide?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re horrible.” Dan sets his phone on his nightstand. “Ugh. I can’t be bothered to look through any more reviews right now. Maybe we can walk around later and find some place to eat. Together.” He rolls over, half on top of Phil. “Can’t believe you’re trying to passenger princess on our anniversary.”
“No, I’m not, I’m just tired! Stop crushing me,” Phil whines, but he makes no move to roll away or push Dan off of him. “I just traveled around the whole of America. I deserve to have some rest and not be forced to make decisions.”
“And I don’t need rest? “Haven’t I been along for the whole tour with you?”
“Nope,” Phil says. “No rest for you.”
Dan kisses his forehead, where Phil knows his fringe has grown too long and shaggy. They both need haircuts desperately at this point, but that’s a chore for when they go to Australia. “No?”
“Nope. You’ve got to keep kissing me.” He leans into Dan’s touch. “It is our anniversary, after all.”
He can feel Dan smile as he presses kisses against Phil’s lips, then his neck, and then his collarbone, again and again, until he thinks he’s not feeling so drowsy after all.
They finally emerge from the hotel several hours later, refreshed after a quick nap and shower. The sky is already dark, but the night is illuminated in millions of bright lights and neon signs in all colours of the rainbow.
Phil breathes in the evening air and zips his jacket up a little more. It’s surprisingly cool out. He’s only been to Las Vegas a few times, and it’s always been during the hot summer months, long days where he’d felt like melting into the pavement every time he’d stepped outside from the air conditioned casinos. He had wrongly assumed that the desert would be scorching hot at all times of the year. Tonight though, he’s grateful he's wearing several layers of clothing.
“There’s lots of people here,” Phil says in surprise, watching a group of twenty-somethings pass by, chattering happily. “Isn’t Thanksgiving tomorrow?”
“I think so. Maybe all these people are just really thankful for neon lights.”
“I know I am,” Phil says. “I’m thankful for tacky neon things and the Bellagio fountains.” They’re passing by them now, the water shooting high into the air, illuminated as it dances dramatically to ‘Carol of the Bells.’
“I’m thankful we’re here,” Dan says. “I’ve been looking forward to this, you know.”
“Were you seriously imagining it?” Phil says.
“You’re about a month too late to be making that joke, buddy,” Dan says, grinning. “But yeah, I’ve been imagining it. Having a few days off to have you all to myself, no tour or crew or anything. Nowhere to be, no show to perform. Just, this.” He gestures around them. “You, me, and Vegas.”
“C’mon then,” Phil says. “Let’s go exploring.”
Phil has always liked Vegas, ever since his first visit for Dan’s twenty-first birthday. He likes it in the same way he likes theme parks: it’s fun and almost surreal, and you never quite know what you’re going to get.
They dip in and out of several hotels on the strip, just reveling in the sights, getting themselves reoriented to the splendour of it all, until they eventually end up at Caesar’s Palace.
They find their way through the casino and into the shops, where they look through the windows at all the things on sale. The columns and fake sky surrounding the shops make it really look like they’ve been transported to Rome.
“We could’ve celebrated our anniversary in real Italy,” Phil says. “Would’ve been nice. We could've eaten lots of pasta and gelato.”
“Shit, should've booking a flight there instead of Vegas, right in the middle of touring," Dan says.
"I think this is grounds for divorce," Phil says. "Trying to impress me with fake-Italy instead of the real thing."
"So demanding," Dan laughs. "Next anniversary, then? To save our relationship?"
"Deal."
They pass by several restaurants at the end of the row of shops. Dan gestures to them. “Are you hungry?”
Phil assesses. They’ve been trying to stick to a schedule as much as possible on tour for some sense of normalcy across time zones, but in the end, they always end up eating at odd hours whenever they feel hungry. “Yeah, I could eat.”
“You want to have our romantic anniversary dinner in fake-Italy?”
The smell of garlic and cooking meat wafting from the restaurant makes Phil's stomach grumble. "I would love to."
Through some stroke of luck, there’s a table for two available and they’re seated right away.
Fake-Italy or not, dinner is delicious. They order several entrees to share, along with a loaf of focaccia that arrives steaming hot. They inhale it all, Dan making enthusiastic noises as he tries each dish.
"They're going to kick us out if you keep sounding like that," Phil says after Dan moans loudly after trying a bite of gnocchi.
"Try it. You'll understand why."
He's right; the gnocchi is delicious. "Safiya ate here in one of her Vegas videos. She said it was really good.” He eats another forkful. "She was totally right."
“You’re such a fangirl for her,” Dan says.
“Hey, she’s cool! She’s living the Try New Things lifestyle, just like me.” He smiles over at Dan. “We should’ve done that on this trip. You know, stay at every hotel on the strip. Or eaten at every fancy restaurant.”
Dan smirks as he slathers each torn-off piece of bread with whipped ricotta. “Even though we’re only here for three days? That’s a lot of hotel stays and dinners. We’d blow through all of our tour profits, like, instantly.”
“What a better way to celebrate fifteen years?” Phil says. “But maybe we should do that when we’re back home. Eat at a bunch of new restaurants and try all the starters and desserts. You know, see which place is the best.”
Dan sets the ricotta knife down. “For YouTube?”
Phil shrugs. “Nah. I think maybe it’d be more fun just to do it for ourselves. Special date nights just for us to enjoy, you know?”
Dan smiles. “You’re a romantic sap, you know.”
“Hey, we’ve got to keep the spark alive somehow. And I always have loved a good date night dinner. Like this.”
"I love it too." Their eyes meet lingeringly. Dan's brown eyes are practically glowing in the soft lighting of the restaurant, and Phil feels so glad to be here in this moment. This break from the busy touring lifestyle is exactly what he needed.
By the time they've polished off all the food in front of them, Phil’s feeling drowsy and content, ready to sleep for about twelve hours. He's about to suggest getting the check and heading back to the hotel when their waitress returns.
“A dessert menu for you gentlemen?"
Dan thanks her and takes the menu. “We have to get dessert tonight to celebrate. They have a honey cake, or a tiramisu – wait, no, that would have cocoa powder on top. Oooh, the lemon cake sounds nice." He glances up. “What do you think sounds good?”
“Can I say something silly?” Phil blurts out.
“Yeah? You’re Mister Silly. I’m kinda used to it by now.”
“What if – what if we got dessert to go and had it back in our room instead?”
Dan’s gaze flicks across Phil’s face, his brow furrowed. “You okay? Do you have a headache? Are you tired?”
“No, no, it’s not that. I mean, yeah, I am tired, but–” He reaches between them, taking Dan’s hand in his. He doesn’t care if their waitress or anyone sees them, not in this restaurant that looks like the actual Amalfi coast, not in this big, shiny, bright city where two men celebrating years of love together is practically mundane.
“But?” Dan presses.
Phil smiles. “I've loved having this fancy dinner. But I also miss spending time alone with you."
"Yeah?"
Phil nods. "Like, I think Frydays are what I miss most about being at home. I think about them all the time.”
Dan smiles softly. “I miss Frydays so much.”
“I guess I just thought it would be nice to get some takeaway dessert and eat it in our hotel room while we cuddled and watched a movie.” He shrugs. “I know it’s our anniversary and we wanted to do something special, but…”
“Cuddling and eating fancy cake sounds perfect.”
"Good." Phil squeezes his hand, glad that they understand each other so intrinsically.
Dan smiles fondly at him. “Let’s go eat fancy cake in our hotel room, then.”
Their hotel room is spacious and comfortable; they had splurged on a nice suite with a living area and a balcony just because they could.
Dan gets out a plate from the kitchenette and carefully places the slice of lemon cake onto it.
“Getting fancy,” Phil says, watching him. “Usually we just eat straight out of the takeaway containers at home.”
“Yeah, well, it is our anniversary,” Dan says, scraping out a few last traces of icing. “Only the best for you, dear.”
The cake is delicious, the perfect end to their evening. They eat it in front of the tv in their pyjamas, just like they do at home on Frydays. Phil manages to figure out how to mirror his iPad onto the hotel tv, so they can queue up a movie they've been wanting to watch for a while.
“Fuck. I'm actually really glad you asked to come back to the hotel. I’ve really missed this,” Dan says after they've finished their dessert. He snuggles into Phil's side. “You know, just being with you, no crew or anyone else.”
“Me too.” Phil kisses him. He tastes sweet like lemons. “So you really think you’d like to tour every day? You wouldn’t miss this, just doing nothing with me?”
“Well,” Dan says, in the tone he always gets when he's being forced to admit that he was wrong. “Maybe we could balance it out. We could tour, like half the time, and relax the other half.”
"Rat and relaxation time," Phil says, and pulls him close.
They cuddle and kiss lazily for a while, the movie playing in the background, until Dan pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Did you want to have an anniversary fuck tonight?”
"You're so romantic." Phil kisses him again and considers it. It sounds nice in theory, but he’s feeling sleepy and full from dinner, and he can’t be bothered to get out of his very cozy, very ugly Minecraft pyjamas. “Honestly, not really? Too much effort. And I don’t want to stop cuddling.”
Dan laughs. “Thank god, I don't really feel like it either, but I didn't want to admit it, 'cause today's supposed to be special and romantic." He kisses him again. “Maybe tomorrow, when I actually know what time it is and where I am?”
“Tomorrow,” Phil agrees, already looking forward to having a long, luxurious lie-in tomorrow morning with Dan in a shared king-sized bed that's not on a tour bus. It's just the start of their anniversary trip, after all.