Work Text:
The house was quiet apart from the faint sound of music drifting through the halls. Orange light from the setting sun pooled into the lounge and onto the floor. It bounced off the sleek grand piano and reflected fractals across the room.
Phil was busy tidying the kitchen when he paused, realizing what song it was. He knew it had been familiar, achingly so. It was Muse. Of course. He leaned against the counter, eyes closed, just listening for a moment. A smile tugged at his lips.
Dan had always downplayed his talent, for as long as he’d known him. He’d brush off compliments with self deprecating jokes and modesty. Phil knew better. He’d heard entire symphonies from the comfort of his home. He’d witness Dan learn a song in a few hours without sheet music and play it for him almost perfectly. It floored him every time.
Unable to resist, Phil wandered toward the sound, quiet on his feet. He reached the doorway and stopped, leaning against the frame. He let himself watch.
Dan sat hunched over it, brow furrowed in concentration. His curly mop of hair was haloed by the sun. Fingers flowed across the keys and his shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm. He swayed his body slightly. It wasn’t perfect, not like the recording of the song, but it was him. It was raw, unfiltered, and.. well.. beautiful, Phil thought.
Phil’s eyes softened. He thought of all the times he’d watched those same hands in different contexts—The way they fumbled nervously with his own during their first date; the way they’d cup his face when they lay in bed; the way they’d held him together in moments where everything felt like it might fall apart; And now he watched them create something just for him. Something only he’d hear. He loved those hands.
Phil let out the softest laugh, barely a breath, but somehow Dan caught it. He froze mid-chord.
“You’re lurking again,” Dan said without looking up.
Phil smirked, caught. “What if I just like admiring my talented boyfriend from afar?”
“Boyfriend?” Dan stopped playing, spinning around on the bench with mock offense. “Fifteen years, Phil. Fifteen. And you’re still calling me that.”
Phil laughed, pushing off the doorframe. “Would you prefer ‘soulmate’? ‘Beloved life partner’? ‘Man who hogs the duvet every single night’?”
Dan narrowed his eyes but crooked a finger. “Come here before I downgrade you to ‘annoying housemate.’”
Phil came closer, standing between Dan’s knees. Dan’s hands slid easily onto the backs of Phil’s thighs, thumbs brushing absent circles there. Phil reached down, sweeping Dan’s hair back off his forehead, watching how he leaned into the touch automatically.
Dan tilted his head until his chin rested against Phil’s stomach, eyes gazing up at him with that soft, impossible-to-argue-with look.
“You shouldn’t hide it, you know,” Phil said gently. “The way you play. We need to get you on stage more often.”
Dan huffed, his lips ghosting against the fabric of Phil’s shirt. “Maybe I don’t need an audience. Maybe I just like playing for you.”
Phil’s throat tightened again. He stroked his fingers through Dan’s hair, slow and affectionate. “You do realize it makes me fall in love with you all over again, right? Every single time.”
Dan smiled crookedly, squeezing Phil’s thighs like he was grounding himself. “Good. That was the plan.”
The piano sat silent behind them, but somehow, the room still felt full of music.