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Dan fumbled to open Phil’s belt while his boyfriend left crescent-shaped marks on his arm.
'Don't drop me,' Phil slurred, melodramatic as usual. 'You're pushing me.'
Dan leaned over to wiggle out of his own pants when he cursing under his breath, reaching out grab a fistful of Phil’s shirt and hoist him back up.
'Stop leaning over, you absolute nonce,' Dan said. 'That's why you're falling, Phil.'
He still had his jeans on. Dan hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged, but the fabric was stuck tight under him, unbudging.
With a frustrated sigh, he shifted his position and slid one arm around Phil’s waist, using his other hand to brace against the bed.
'Gonna be sick, Dan.'
Worked quickly, he lifted Phil just enough to yank his jeans down the rest of the way.
His hand scraped across the floor until it landed on the plastic, and waved the popcorn bowl in his boyfriend's face.
'Be sick then.'
Dan was pretty sure he was the one who should have been getting manhandled when Phil just looked mildly perturbed by his entire presence in the room all of a sudden.
Mouth twisted into a tight line, Phil clumsily shoved the bucket in his direction.
'I don't need that. Take it away from me now.'
Dan huffed and set it back down on the floor next to the bed after a few more seconds of waiting for Phil to turn green.
'Thought you felt sick, so sorry.' he mumbled sarcastically.
Tossing both their jeans somewhere over his shoulder, Dan realized he had forgotten to pull the duvet down before depositing Phil.
'Need to stand up,' Dan was pretty sure if Phil cared enough he could use his two feet just fine now.
He pointed at the duvet pinned under Phil’s thigh. 'Blanket's stuck.'
Eyes half lidded now, Phil looked down at the duvet and just started inspecting it with newfound focus.
'Hello?' Dan exclaimed and gave Phil’s shoulder a light shake. 'Earth to you.'
His fingers traced the thread lightly as Dan watched in astonishment.
'There's a happy sun in the stitching.'
'Yes Phil, it should have been you, 20 minutes ago when you were playing on the stairs. Swing your legs up.'
Dan did most of the work for him, and chuckled as he thumped down near the top of the bed when Phil sat there swaying slightly in the middle.
'Come here, idiot.'
Thankfully, Phil shuffled back a few inches so Dan was able to hook his hands under his arms and drag Phil over the heap of duvet he'd refused to move off.
'Ow,' Phil muttered, more noise than complaint.
Dan let out a breathless laugh.
'Ow? You’re joking. I just deadlifted your lazy ass. A whole flight of stairs, you ran back down the stairs and made me do that twice.'
Phil huffed and tried to scoot away with a slow, half-hearted wiggle.
He made it maybe an inch before running straight into Dan’s outstretched legs which were very much in his way.
Dan didn’t move.
He just raised an eyebrow.
'Where exactly are you going?'
Phil paused to consider his next plan of escape. 'Away from your insults.'
Dan half-smiled and lazily stretched back, his arms reaching behind his head. He finally let himself collapse to the side, one knee still bent, socks half-off, face in the ceiling.
There was a brief moment of quiet, the kind that felt more comfortable than awkward. Then, very slowly, Phil’s hand reached out to grab at the duvet, fingers curling like he was gathering strength.
'Did you just try and pinch me?'
'Hey,' Phil said, voice bright like he’d just remembered he had one. 'Too loud. Put the telly on.'
Dan laughed softly, amused but still teasing. He stretched his legs out and reached for the remote, raising an eyebrow.
'You’ve got some nerve. You were just one step from throwing up on my head.'
Phil mumbled something unintelligible but half-laughed, not quite looking up, and instead became determined to kick Dan in the leg while he scrolled through the options with one hand, the other tucked under his head. He got unusually silent fast, his gaze fixed on the TV like he could actually see it.
Dan glanced over.
'Fool. You don't even have your glasses on.'
Phil made a vague noise of protest, already leaning sideways like his spine had given up.
'You don’t even need to be that judgmental about it.'
Dan snorted and picked the first thing that looked like bright colours and easy plot.
'Alright. No subtitles, nothing to follow. You’re getting Peppa Pig until you pass out.'
Phil, now slumped into the duvet, wrapped himself in the blanket like he was preparing to hibernate. He wriggled into an absurdly cozy position, his voice turning more dramatic with every word.
'Hey, Dan remember that episode with Bert and Ernie? You know, when Ernie was sooo thirsty?'
'Yea, Phil. I am not going back downstairs with you tonight.'
Phil let out a happy hum, already half asleep.
'I’m just saying, he was super thirsty.'
Not even two seconds later.
'Bert would have given him water. Nobody could go to bed that thirsty.'
Dan sighed like it pained him.
He glanced around and spotted a stray water bottle on the floor near the bedside table, half full, lid still on.
Phil’s eyes popped open again when Dan moved to grab it and held it up in muted celebration.
Shifting to adjust the pillows behind them so Phil could actually drink without drowning, Dan grabbed a couple from the edge of the bed and fluffed them up, positioning them just right on the headboard.
Phil moved slowly, using his arms to push himself up back. His legs were still partially tangled in the blanket, and he had to shimmy his hips until he flopped back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh, still a bit slumped but at least facing the right direction.
'Here,' Dan muttered, 'I’m helping you. You’ll spill it and cry.'
Dan handed him the bottle without another word, keeping a loose grip on it just in case. Phil didn’t even care, just went straight in like it was a race.
He'd tilted it way too fast, water sloshing right over the rim and down his chin. He choked a little, spluttering as he pulled back, glaring up at Dan like he had betrayed him again.
'That was your fault,' he accused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You were holding it all wrong.'
Dan blinked at him. 'You are so fucking dramatic, Phil. I'm barely holding.'
Phil shot him a half-lidded, exaggeratedly serious look.
He then pushed Dan’s hand off the bottle, swatting it away like a clumsy toddler, before making a show of having it all to himself.
Dan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at his lips.
He let Phil hold the bottle for a moment, still perched unsteadily in his half-drunken state, attention was flickering between the screen and his water.
'You’re not even watching it properly,' Dan commented, his eyebrows raised again. 'You fully spilled a quarter of that on your new shirt.'
Phil leaned back slightly, squinting at the screen again. 'No, I am. I am. Peppa's got this... thing.'
'What thing?'
Phil waved vaguely at the television. 'She’s mad about the puddles, Dan.'
He was already slipping further down, cheek finding the pillow.
Dan smiled, but his hand moved instinctively to grab the bottle of water and screw the lid on before Phil started an oasis in their bedroom.
He reached under Phil and patted the now-damp sheet with a grimace.
'You are literally disgusting,' he muttered fondly.
Carefully, trying not to jostle him too much, Dan snagged a towel hanging over the back of the desk chair and slid it under Phil with practiced efficiency, smoothing it out beneath him like a makeshift barrier.
Phil grunted, half-conscious, but didn’t move.
Dan tugged the blankets back into place and brushed a strand of hair off Phil’s forehead, muttering. 'If you start whining about being cold in two hours. Don't wake me up, or I’m rolling you down the stairs.'