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Phil lets himself into Dan’s hotel room at half nine in the morning. He's got his own keycard because Dan asked for two, out of habit and out of comfort.
When they sleep apart at home they usually sleep with both doors open.
He's got his phone gripped loosely in his hand. They said they'd start filming now. Breakfast after the waking shots, maybe a joke about jetlag or sleeping upside down. There's no script except the one loosely formed in his head.
Dan still being asleep at half nine isn't in that script. Phil should wake him, probably. His hand hovers over Dan's shoulder then drops away. Dan's so tired all the time now. He sleeps poorly and fitfully at the best of times but the travel and illness make it worse. The spark in his eyes and his voice are both gone by the end of every day. Phil thinks of how he'll rub his chest sometimes and the way his body slumps against Phil's when they're watching television in bed.
As Phil watches, Dan's face scrunches up in discomfort and he rolls from his back onto his side. He sighs, a whistle of noise between slightly parted lips and wrinkles along his forehead smooth out again.
Phil decides to let him sleep.
*
"It'll look so strange," Dan says. He's annoyed that Phil let him sleep in so late. "Won't it?"
Phil shrugs. "Not really."
Dan just stares at him blankly like he's waiting for Phil to fold and admit that Dan's right, that it will seem strange to everyone that watches. "Phil."
"Dan." Phil tries not to be annoyed. Whatever's happening in Dan's mind, he's wrong. This isn't about Phil being afraid - except maybe his fear of Dan not making it back to England in one functioning piece.
"Okay," Dan finally says. "If you say so."
*
"We could just scrap this and film another day," Dan says in the car. They're not alone; his voice is a low almost-whisper.
"I'd rather not." Phil's voice is light in case anyone can hear. "We wanted to show the koalas."
"Right. The koalas." Dan rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes.
"Hey." Phil reaches out and tap-tap-taps his fingers against Dan's thigh. "You're excited, aren't you?"
Dan blinks his eyes open again and tilts his head toward Phil. "I am. I promise."
If they were alone, there'd be a kiss or a hug, a physical substitute for the words they're sometimes bad at using.
Phil traces a heart on Dan's leg. He's not sure if Dan even notices or not. He probably doesn't, but Phil does it a second time anyway. "I want you to be excited. Koalas!" His voice is sweetened into something not quite teasing, a genuine bubble of elation that Dan responds to with a bigger smile.
*
There's a moment where Dan's holding the koala and Phil's got the camera going and he's dead set on capturing that look on Dan's face for the world to see, because everyone - everyone should get to see Dan when he smiles just like that.
*
The laptop sits between them, footage transferred. Dan's got headphones in watching the parts Phil filmed before he woke up. There's seven minutes of Phil rambling and breakfast; Phil remembers it, he was there. He doesn't need to watch it again, not right now. Dan had wanted to, though, and now Phil can't look away from Dan's face.
Dan pauses just before Phil is about to knock on his door. He takes the headphones off and stares at the paused image in front of him of Phil's raised hand.
"It's weird," he says, finally. "And I don't really like it."
Phil's not surprised, but the bluntness of it makes him bristle. "You were asleep. I had to film something."
"You could have woken me up," Dan says. He pushes the laptop away and turns toward Phil. "You could have."
"Dan." Phil looks at the circles under Dan's eyes, the way he's sitting like it's taking everything he's got to prop his body weight up. "You needed to sleep. I knew we were going to have a long day-"
"What are you now, my mum?" Dan snaps. "Or maybe I should say, your mum. My mum would tell me to get my lazy arse out of bed and get some sun."
"I don't need to be anyone's mum to care about you," Phil says.
"You know what people will say when they see this." He gestures to the screen.
"Is that so bad?" The words slip out, like they were always going to sooner or later. "This keeps things... vague."
Dan looks up at the ceiling. "I don't like it. It feels like lying."
"It's the truth, though," Phil reminds him.
"The implication is a lie," Dan says.
"Would you rather I just take the entire first part out?" Phil asks.
"No," Dan says. "Because then all they'll see is one bedroom, and they'll assume-"
"Right," Phil says. "And you don't want that."
Dan sighs. "No. You know I don't."
Phil doesn't say anything. He doesn't really have to. This is the problem they have, the one they've created through their own fumbling attempts at figuring out how to be who they are and love how they do and share something with the world without sharing it all.
It takes a lot of effort to make sure nothing they do or say or show is a statement they’re not yet ready to stand behind yet. It's not an argument to be won or lost. There's no solution. There's only the two of them, still trying to figure it out.
"Leave it in," Dan finally says.
*
"Martyn wants to know if we're meeting them for dinner," Phil says, looking up from his phone. "Do we feel like peopling? It would give us more footage."
Dan sighs. He's sat in the chair, feet propped up and laptop across his thighs. "Can we just do room service? Or get a pizza?"
"No people?" Phil asks.
"No people." Dan's head tips back. His voice holds the barest hint of bitterness when he adds, "You can go if you want. Get some footage."
Phil shakes his head. He might, on another night, be tempted. Right now the idea of walking away from Dan and leaving things feels bad, feels wrong. They're not fighting but it's fragile. They're fragile, sometimes, still. The camera brings it out in them - the audience, the pressure. But they’re fine, really, as long as they remember how to be careful with each other.
"I don't want to go anywhere without you," Phil says, and it must be the right answer because Dan smiles faintly.
"What about filming?" Dan asks.
Phil picks up the camera and turns it on, pointing it at Dan. "So, if you had to choose between smuggling a small albino kangaroo or Dewi home..."
*
"Come out here," Dan says.
Dan is standing on the balcony breathing in the air. It's raining, and the city within their view looks quiet and dark and glistening with it.
"Australian rain," Phil says. "I wonder if the drops come upside down?"
Dan doesn't laugh but he does turn his head toward Phil and hold an arm out.
Phil tucks himself against Dan's side, enjoying the way Dan's arm goes around him. He puts his arms around Dan too, sideways so that his fingers meet against Dan's far hip.
A drop of rain hits the tip of Dan's nose. It drips down and onto his bottom lip. Dan purses his lips, moisture smearing, and then licks them. "Tastes upside down to me."
*
"Stay," Dan says. He can barely hold his eyes open, one cheek smashed into the pillow. "With me. Until I fall asleep, at least?"
Phil reaches down and straightens the blanket around them, something in his heart catching with a painful fondness for this mess of a human that he gets to call his. "Yeah. I'll sleep here, if you want?"
Dan's eyes blink open. "You can't sleep when I'm coughing."
"I'll deal with it," Phil says. He strips his t-shirt off and drops it down the side of the bed. "It'll be fine."
He's as much of a mess as Dan. If they're tired together tomorrow, so be it. He reaches over to turn the lamp beside the bed off.
When Phil lays with his back to the mattress, Dan scoots in and rests his forehead against Phil's arm. "Good," Dan says. His voice is scratchy.
"Yeah," Phil whispers back, because it's dark and quiet and night and regular voices don't fit. "Goodnight, Dan."
Dan doesn't answer but he plants a kiss on Phil's arm, just below the shoulder. Outside the rain still falls and the city still sparkles. It's beautiful and he's not at all sad that tomorrow they'll leave it all behind, one step closer to home again.