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Phil wasn't sure what possessed himself to lick what was potentially a dangerous toadstool. Honestly he was hardly a risk-taker and certainly never wished to put himself in any danger. But his mushroom identification skills were getting better or so he thought, as he foraged in the fields beyond his small home off a rural road in Rossendale.
He thought he had happened upon a cluster of Fairy Ring Champignons. And so, when the tentative lick came back with no discernible flavour, he may have taken a tiny nibble. Unfortunately it was then that he knew the taste was not right on his tongue and at this point he had lost track of time, possibly having been walking for the better part of an hour.
Phil was noticing now, of course now and not before like a blundering idiot, that some of these mushroom caps were concave on top instead of bumping upwards as the edible marasmius oreades mushrooms should be. The gills ran a little too far down the stem. That should have been an obvious giveaway. Yeah, not a good time to be careless Phil, he thinks to himself.
Phil hurriedly pulls his rucksack off his back, and digs inside for his cellphone with an intent to call for help. But, ever the fool he is, his phone would not turn on. Of course, today of all days he would forget to check the charge on his device.
As the panic sets in, Phil whips his head around, looking for a house or a road in sight. Finally, he spots a mossy roof peeking behind a small hill alongside a wooded area, and he sets off in that direction, hoping someone might be home.
Sweat begins to form in heavy droplets on his forehead and spills down his nose and cheeks as he trudges up the gently sloping hill and he hopes it can be blamed on the heat of early autumn. As the minutes drag on he begins to feel chills and cold sweats across his body, his mouth begins to salivate and this certainly cannot be good.
His eyes begin to water and tears mix with the sweat on his face. Phil's legs wobble as he staggers along the line of trees marking the start of the forest. The trees seem to breathe as he takes heavy steps toward a mossy patch of ground. He clutches his stomach as a wave of nausea rolls in.
His knees give out and he stumbles, catching his balance against a trunk, sliding his way down to sit against it. It was just a small taste, he reasons, he could possibly wait out the worst of the symptoms here. Hopefully. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the ground from spinning.
-
Phil feels something cold on his forehead. Cold and damp. As his awareness grows, he notices the nausea has subsided and he can’t be leaning against the tree anymore. The moss is much too soft. Wait, no, he’s not laying on the mossy floor of the forest anymore. There’s a soft pillow behind his head. His hands feel the cushions below him. He’s on a sofa, surely. Phil pries his heavy eyelids open, blinking away his waking fog and there, hovering close above him, is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.
Deep brown eyes meet his, as Phil’s breath catches in his throat. The man seems to be wearing a gentle sweep of pink and green shiny eyeshadow, and his nose and cheeks are glittering as well among a smattering of adorable freckles. His brows are knitted together in concern and fluffy curls fall from his forehead. Phil blames the haze of a toxin-induced sleep for the words that tumble unbidden from his mouth.
“Wow, you are very pretty.” Phil slurs and the man’s eyes widen. Phil claps a hand to his mouth.
“Excuse me!” says the man in a strange kind of northern accent he can't place, pulling backwards to create space between them, “I’m fed up with the stereotype that just ‘cause I've got genetic glitter that I'm some kind of pansy!”
Phil narrows his eyes and pulls the wet cloth from his forehead, letting it fall to the floor. “Genetic… what?”
“I’m glad you’re alright mate but I, uh, I wasn’t coming on to you.”
“Oh, uh, gosh, s-sorry.” Phil stutters out, not wanting to upset the stranger who seems to have helped him. He still needs to leave this cabin in one piece and offending some homophobic hermit would not be a good idea.
He tries to sit up but the movement causes his head to pound painfully. Phil clutches his head with a wince. The man reaches out before drawing his hand back.
“You shouldn’t get up yet. Fool’s Funnel is not a tasty treat, you know. Muscarine is a neurotoxin, you’re lucky you didn’t eat it. Or much of it. That I can tell.” The man leans over to grab a glass of water and hands it to Phil. “Drink.”
“How did you know it was Fool’s Funnel?” Phil asks.
“Oh I’m well versed in the mushrooms in this area. And judging by your symptoms; sweating, drooling, crying, stomach pain, my guess is you only took a tiny nibble. Otherwise you’d have surely spouted from both ends by now. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to taste a mushroom you aren’t sure isn’t poisonous?”
Phil flushed at the scolding. “Well, yeah. But I thought I was sure.”
“Not the same as being sure though, is it?” The stranger replied.
“I’m sorry, I really appreciate your help, but where am I? Who are you?” Phil tries to take his surroundings but his head continues to pound and he closes his eyes again against the pain.
“Well you're in my home. And I’m…” The man pauses. “Well I’m Barry. And I’m 58.”
Phil narrows his eyes at Barry. His face is smooth, hardly a wrinkle in sight aside from some soft lines around the eyes. There’s no way. And Phil says as much.
“It’s genetics!”
“And makeup?” Phil asks.
“Oi! I’m not wearing makeup! It’s genetics, I tell ya!” The man crosses his arms, muttering under his breath and looks away from Phil. Which is when Phil notices Barry's rather large ear, pointed sharply upwards. Kind of like…
“An elf?” Phil blurts out. But it can’t be.
“I’m not a fucking elf, you twat.” Barry storms off into what looks to be the kitchen, muttering something about helping men in the woods and Phil gasps.
Because, no, Barry can’t be an elf. Not with the delicate mauve wings folded and fluttering down his back. Suddenly Phil is very concerned he might have stumbled upon some sort of psychedelic mushroom instead. Or perhaps Barry has drugged him. Because for all the tales he’s heard of faeries in the woods, he’s never carried the belief of them into adulthood. Maybe Barry is some cosplayer or dedicated larper. Is that possible?
Phil clears his throat. “Excuse me, um. Are you possibly putting on some kind of act here?”
Barry whips his head back around the doorway. “What?” he says, sounding quite a bit more high pitched than before and possibly Southern. “I mean, what?” Barry says, with the northern-ish deeper tone back in place. “Listen here, you, I didn’t bring your pretty blonde head in here to muck about. I-I’m not acting like nothing. I’ve got 8 wives.” He pauses, “Belinda…” he starts. And then never finishes.
The kettle starts wailing from the stove and Barry turns the heat off and pours water into two mugs, bringing them into the lounge and setting them down on the coffee table next to Phil, sitting on a wooden chair pulled next to the sofa.
“I wasn’t asking about your, uhh, eight wives Barry. I mean, the glitter, the wings. This fairy costume. I don’t get it.” Phil explains. But then Phil gets distracted by something else. “Also, did you just call me pretty?”
Barry’s mouth falls open and then flaps, a blush blooming from a patch on his jaw over his cheekbones. “Uhh, no. I told you I’m not like… that.”
Phil winces. “Uh, okay. The fairy costume?”
Barry sighs and then again, speaks in a posh southern accent “I am a real faerie, you fucking idiot.” He claps a hand over his mouth. “Ah fuck it, whatever. What’s your name then, pretty-boy?”
It’s Phil’s turn to blush then, all the more obvious with his white-blonde hair and pale skin. Something about being called a pretty boy at age 38 really does it for him apparently. Especially by this beautiful man sitting across from him. Really everything about this day should be more shocking to him, from poisoning himself in the woods and now lying on a stranger’s couch, to the man's accent change from a bad northern approximation to a more posh lilt and especially the man insisting he’s a real fairy.
The man is just quite distractingly attractive on top of all of this. And maybe it's been a while since Phil has sat with an attractive man. Honestly, he needs to snap out of it because that is not what this is about.
He mentally shakes it off, and remembers he was asked a question. “Oh! I'm Phil.”
“Well uh. Nice to meet you Phil.” He hands Phil a mug of some tea and Phil brings it to his mouth. “I’m Dan.” says the absolute strangest man he’s ever met.
Phil dribbles the tea back into the mug as politely as he can. “Excuse me?! Your name’s Dan now?” He wipes his chin on his sleeve, wide eyes boring into Dan in disbelief.
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I get a little weird squirrelled away in these woods alone. I wasn’t sure you could be trusted. I have a whole backstory created. I uhh, I don’t have eight wives actually, that was probably the worst lie I've ever told.”
Phil takes a moment to pull himself off the pillow, ignoring the mild throbbing in his head. He abandons his tea on the coffee table. “Yeah, the eight wives thing wasn’t at all believable. In fact, this is a very odd encounter entirely, Dan. How can I even trust you?”
“Well, I did save you! Or well, I think we know now you would have probably been okay, at least from the mushroom. Mostly. But Phil, you don’t want to be in these woods alone. It’s dangerous for a human like you. You were vulnerable out there, I couldn’t leave you alone.” Dan bites his lip and stares into the mug in his hands.
“What do you mean?” Phil asks warily.
“Well I'm not the only fae in these parts. And we’re not all quite so helpful.” Dan looks nervously about, eyes darting around the room, before meeting Phil’s gaze. “Haven’t you heard the tales?”
“I mean…” Phil starts, thinking back to the stories his grandmother used to tell him when he was a child. “I think I remember something about mischievous fairies, pixies, and sprites? Is that right?”
“There are a variety of fae folk, yes, those are some you may meet around here.”
“I’m still not sure if I should be trusting you Dan. You did start off with a lie, and a terrible northern accent by the way. You might want to work on that.” Phil suggests.
“Hey now! I didn’t think it was so bad. But uh, I am sorry for that, again.” Dan sighs, his chin low against his chest, eyes barely visible through long, dark lashes. “I guess I haven’t given you much reason to trust me, have I?”
Dan looks so downtrodden Phil feels an odd, overwhelming urge to comfort the stranger sitting before him. “Well, maybe we can start fresh. Since, we’re almost neighbours, aren’t we?” He sticks out a hand toward Dan, “Hi, I’m Phil Lester. I’m from Rossendale.”
Dan takes his hand; breaking out in a genuine smile, eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners. “Dan Howell. I’m from the south originally, er, Berkshire. Outside Reading really. Not many safe areas for faeries there really, so I moved up here as soon as I was able.”
Phil reluctantly pulls his hand from Dan’s large warm palm and grins back at him. “Nice to meet you Dan. Thanks for letting me nap on your sofa.” He chuckles, hand covering his mouth reflexively.
Dan rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, of course Phil, just napping in the woods, were you? Definitely not passed out from a failed mushroom identification.”
“Hey now! I thought this was our fresh start! We’re not going back to being Phil the forager failure and Barry with eight wives, are we? Which reminds me, uh, are you actually 58?”
Dan groans. “Oh god, no, no. I’m not 58.” Dan covers his face with hands. “I’m 34, okay?”
“You really need a better cover story Dan.”
“Okay listen, I’ll drop it, if you promise to let me take you foraging next time you go. I won’t let you poison yourself.” Dan sniffs and crosses his arms haughtily, throwing one leg over the other.
“You’d do that for me?” Phil asks.
“Well,” Dan shrugs nonchalantly, “If you were interested. I mean, it’s kind of my thing. You know, tied to nature and all that. I’m a bit of a herbalist myself so, I’m more than qualified and you know, I don’t really want a dead man in my woods, is all. And you’re nice enough so yeah, I guess, yes I’m offering. If you’re interested in my help I-”
“Yes!” Phil interrupts Dan’s rambling. “I mean yeah, I’m definitely, definitely interested. In your help. I mean.”
“Okay, great!” Dan slaps his knees and stands. “Uh, how are you feeling now?”
“Oh! Um, I think I’m feeling much better.” Phil braces a hand on the back of the sofa to attempt to stand.
“Oh! Let me…” Dan reaches for his hand and Phil takes it, allowing Dan to pull himself up. The movement draws Phil close to Dan’s face for the second time today and he draws in a breath.
Dan blinks, drops his hand and steps back, clearing his throat. “Well, uh. I’m glad you're feeling better.” He looks around the room, eyes landing on the coffee table and picks up Phil’s drink, handing it to him. “The tea is very safe, by the way. It’s a bit of a remedy I threw together, with some honey for sweetness.”
“Thanks.” Phil says. He brings the cup to his mouth tentatively. It’s a bit bitter on the tongue but the honey covers the taste well enough. “What is it exactly?”
“Oh just some dandelion root, white yarrow, a hint of milk thistle… Not the best flavours together but it works.”
Phil nods, drinking more.
“Great, well if you’re up for it, I’ll walk you back.”
“Walk me back where?”
“Home, of course!” Dan walks to the front door, pulling a black coat on and over his wings and black boots on his feet.
Phil stares. “Oh Dan, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine from here, really.”
“Phil, do you even know where ‘here’ is?” Dan raises his eyebrows at him.
“Oh, right. My phone died. I guess… I guess I do need a little help. Maybe help me get back to a road somewhere?”
“Sure!”
-
Dan ends up walking Phil all the way back home. They talk a bit about perfectly average things like their favourite tv shows (Phil’s is Buffy and insists Dan needs to watch beyond the first season to really give it a shot), music (they both loved Muse when they were younger), and food (Dan eats almost anything unless he’s going through a vegan phase and Phil isn't vegan but hates the taste of cheese which makes Dan laugh). Finally they settle into a comfortable silence, even with the bigger fae-related questions still swirling through Phil’s head.
They arrive back at Phil’s small cottage as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky.
“Well, thanks for walking me back.” Phil says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Dan smiles softly. “No problem.” He rocks from heel to toe. “Well, I’ll see you around then.”
Phil smiles and nods. He pulls his keys from his pocket and turns to unlock his door. Then he realises. How would he see him again exactly?
He turns “Hey Dan, wait, I–”
No one is on the road, and he’s not on the path leading to the field either. Dan just seemingly disappeared.
Phil sighs and heads inside. He makes a stir-fry for dinner, adding some peppers from his own garden. He sits down to eat on the sofa to an episode of Buffy, but he can’t concentrate. The day with Dan feels like some sort of weird fever dream. He sleeps fitfully that night, unable to get Dan and the questions surrounding him out of his head.
“Phil! Phil! Wake up Phil!”
Phil turns over in his bed and groans. His sleep was broken with the strangest dreams of tiny faeries flying around his head. He's not sure if he's still dreaming because he thinks he's hearing Dan in his dreams now, or perhaps he's simply imagining things.
“Phil, I couldn't sleep, please wake up!”
“Yeah I couldn't sleep either Dan, why are you in my dreams?”
“I'm in your dreams?” Dream Dan asks.
“Well you're here now, aren't you?” Phil mumbles groggily
“Phil, I'm really here, just open your damn eyes, you idiot.”
Phil sits up with a start, sheet falling from his naked torso. He rubs his eyes sleepily. “What? Dan?”
He looks around his room. No Dan in sight. As he expected. He lays back down with a sigh.
“Phil, I'm sorry for barging in like this.” He feels the lightest touch to his bare shoulder.
Phil screams, pulling the covers up to his armpits. “What?!” He whips his head to the voice, and there, standing on his spare pillow, is a tiny barefoot Dan standing not much more than twenty centimeters in height, wings spread out behind him, dressed in a sparkling sequin purple top and loose brown trousers.
“What the fuck Dan, why are you in my room? Why are you in my bed!? Am I dreaming?”
Dan flies over and pinches him on the arm, and he yelps in surprise.
“I'm sorry, it's awfully rude of me to wake you up like this, but I just.. couldn't stop thinking about how we met and I need you to know right now that I'm absolutely not going around calling people pansy.”
“What?! Dan, how did you get in here?”
“Well that's easy Phil, I just unlocked the door and… ohhh right, yes, I see how maybe I shouldn't have done that actually. Now that I think about it.”
“Now that you think about it?! Why didn't you think about that before you broke into my house?”
Dan at least has the consciousness to look guilty at this realisation. “I'm so sorry, I'll leave immediately, I just–I couldn't sleep, I was having that social anxiety where I just replay the things I said over and over and it was driving me crazy, and I don't want you thinking I'm a homophobe. I mean, I was worried maybe you were at first, just because, I don't know, anyone could be, especially out in the woods you know, and I've been called a pansy before, I mean, I can't help the glitter on my face. I was born like this, and you know like Lady Gaga? I was born this way, right? Ha–okay that's a bad and very outdated reference, I know. Oh god. I mean maybe I am a little like that but it's not the damn glitter okay? And anyway, so I just wanted to–”
“Dan!” Phil wipes a hand down his face, exasperated. “Dan, it's fine. I forgive you. I don't think you're a–a homophobe, okay? I get that you were just trying to protect yourself, in whatever strange way you are used to. It's fine. Just uh, please don't break into my house again? Also, why are you tiny? I didn't know you could do that.”
Phil throws his legs over the side of the bed, picks a T-shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. He puts his glasses on and gets up, looking back at Dan and trying not to feel exposed in his minecraft pajamas bottoms with no pants underneath.
“Well it's just something I can do as a faerie.” Dan shrugs, as if this is a perfectly ordinary conversation to be having at half seven in the morning.
“Okay then.” Phil shakes his head. This is too much to process so early. “I need coffee.” He heads out of his bedroom and into a small combined kitchen and living room space.
Phil puts the kettle on for his instant coffee and turns around to watch Dan land on his table.
“So… so I should go. Right?” Dan asks.
Phil sighs. “Well you’re here already, aren’t you? You can stay this time. Besides, I also couldn’t sleep. I have so many questions for you. Do you want some coffee too? I only have instant, I’m afraid.”
“Oh! Okay then. Instant is fine I guess, I’ll take it. It’s just… I flew here like this and…” Dan twists his hands together nervously. “Well, can I borrow some clothes?”
“Uh, why do you need my clothes?”
“Well, I would like to change back to my regular size and I didn’t bring anything to wear.”
Dan is seemingly full of surprises for Phil. “Oh, you can’t just magic your clothes bigger or something.”
“That’s ridiculous Phil, where would you get the idea that I could do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know Dan, maybe because you are a tiny faerie standing on my kitchen table who broke into my house with magic at seven in the morning the day after we met?!” Phil answers incredulously.
“Okay, okay, fair enough. But I can’t magic my clothes bigger unfortunately, so can I please borrow something to wear so I can enjoy your passably mediocre coffee?” Dan pouts at Phil, bringing his hands together to mockingly plead.
“Probably not the best idea to insult my coffee choices while asking me for a favour, but sure, why not.” Phil replies, heading back into his bedroom to get a t-shirt and joggers for Dan as the faerie takes off from the table and flies, following him in.
“Do you have anything black?” Dan asks and Phil looks at him deadpan and throws a grey t-shirt down on the bed.
“The best I can do is this.”
“Plant daddy?!” Dan shrieks as he lands next to the shirt.
“It’s funny. And my plants are my babies so it works anyway. The joggers are black, at least.”
Dan throws his head back and laughs. “Oh god, okay, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Phil heads back into the kitchen chuckling, closing the door behind him. He stays quiet, listening carefully for any noises coming from the bedroom, but it’s silent as he pulls out two mugs from his cupboard and sets about making their coffees.
Dan walks out in all his 6-foot-something glory in Phil’s clothes and Phil tries to hide his blush. It all feels horribly domestic for two men who’ve just met and haven’t even flirted. Phil didn’t even know if Dan liked men like that. Dan did ramble on earlier about something maybe related to being gay but Phil was too groggy at the time to really absorb any of it. He’ll just have to push the idea away for now. And now he’s been unintentionally staring at Dan for a little too long to be platonic. Great.
“Um, how do you take your coffee?” Phil asks.
“Oh! I can do that if you don’t mind, I don’t like it too sweet.” Dan replies, striding over to the counter.
“Sure,” Phil says, “it’s all there for you. I uh, I only have oat milk unfortunately.”
"That works fine, thanks Phil." Dan smiles gently at him and adds a little sugar and milk to his coffee.
Phil sighs and sits down at his kitchen table. The last 24 hours have been exhausting and he’s feeling it physically and emotionally. If someone told Phil yesterday morning he’d be sitting with a faerie today who is wearing his clothes and drinking his coffee he would suggest that person gets their head checked. And yet, here they are.
“So.” Phil starts.
“So.” Dan adds.
Phil clears his throat, not sure where to start. “Um…”
“You said you have questions for me.” Dan supplies.
“Right. Right, it’s just all a bit shocking really. I mean, I’m not much of a sceptic really. I might believe in ghosts or aliens or other mystical phenomena. I just never thought I’d be meeting a faerie, I suppose. Didn’t have that one down on my likely scenarios.”
“Right, yeah, I can imagine it would be a bit of a shock. You are handling it better than most really.” Dan sips his coffee, eyeing Phil over his mug.
“Oh, well that’s good I suppose.” Phil takes a drink from his mug as well. “So I guess, my first question is… Oh! Well okay, maybe this isn’t important but you said you don’t wear makeup. But it looks like you are. Is that a faerie thing?” Phil asks quietly.
“Ah, yes. That I can’t help. I’m just naturally colourful and shiny. A fairy thing, yeah. I prefer to wear black actually, in contrast.”
Phil nods. “And your wings. I’ve only seen you flying when you’re small. Can you fly when you’re, er, human-sized?”
“Ah, well. I can. But it’s dangerous. We’re much less likely to be noticed when we’re small.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Okay. And what about. What about what you said about other fae? There are others?”
Dan's expression darkens. He shifts his gaze out the window. “Yeah, there are others.”
Phil furrows his brow. “Should I be worried about these others?”
Dan looks back at Phil. “I just wouldn’t go out for walks in the woods around these parts if I were you. Not alone, anyway.”
“Do you worry about them Dan?”
Dan’s smile is almost a grimace, not reaching his eyes as he lays a hand over Phil’s on the table. “I’m fine Phil. I won’t let anything happen to you, either.”
Phil looks down at their hands, and Dan pulls his away. Phil misses the touch immediately, and looks back up at Dan. “You don’t know me. Why do you want to help?”
“I know no one has ever been so nice or understanding towards me.” Dan explains. “There’s just something about you that has me wanting to know more. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something is pulling me towards you and I can’t stop it.” Dan holds his head in his hands and groans. “I’m sorry, that’s probably so strange to say right now.”
Phil takes a chance, and reaches over the table, pulling Dan’s hand down from his face and back into his own hand. He squeezes gently, in what he hopes is reassuring and not presumptuous.
“I think I understand. I feel the same.”
Dan meets his eyes and a warm smile spreads across his face, relief apparent in his eyes.
Phil’s not sure where to go from here. Dan's grumbling stomach interrupts the moment.
“Oh! We should eat something. Do you want some toast? Or cereal?” Phil asks, jumping up from the table and towards the cupboards. “I have some lovely sourdough and fresh butter from the farm down the road.”
"Oh, that toast sounds great right about now. Please."
“Coming right up!”
-
Phil brings two plates of warm buttered sourdough over and hands one to Dan.
Dan picks up a slice. “Fuck yeah, give me that buttery slut toast.” He takes a large bite and moans.
Phil blushes as the sound stirs an interest in him unrelated to breakfast. “Jesus Dan, that good, is it?” Phil watches Dan pause for a moment, as a red patch appears on his jaw. It’s mesmerising.
“Shut up.” Dan retorts, muffled through half-chewed bread.
Phil laughs through his hand. “Do you want to maybe watch something with me? Looks like it’s about to rain outside.”
Outside is in fact growing darker even as the morning wears on, the clouds more heavily covering the rising sun.
“That sounds like a perfect morning actually.” They move to sit on Phil’s small two-seater sofa. “What about Buffy? You said I should give it another go.”
“Oh!" Phil claps his hands together. "Yes, I’d love to show you how good it really gets! Has it been a long time since you watched?”
Dan nods.
“Look, no watch or rewatch is complete without the first season. It’s not the best but it builds the foundation and it gets better from there! Can we?” Phil whines excitedly, pitch rising. He loves showing friends his favourite show.
“Put it on then!” Dan grins at Phil, munching his toast happily.
Phil grabs his Buffy boxset and goes to his DVD player, exchanging the season four DVD for season one.
“Wow, I haven’t watched a DVD in so long.”
Phil sits back on the sofa next to Dan and selects the first episode in the menu. “What, are you telling me faeries are out there watching Netflix?”
Dan scowls at Phil. “I’m a faerie Phil, not an alien. I’m just a regular guy with wings basically. And some other abilities…”
Phil wonders intently what these other abilities may be, but Buffy is starting and he doesn’t want to interrupt the show. They settle in comfortably, Phil occasionally nudging Dan at his favourite parts and Dan shooting fond smiles Phil’s way. It’s easy and soft as they relax together.
As the episodes continue and the rain begins to pelt down noisily on the windows, the two men drift slowly towards each other. Dan’s shoulder finally presses against Phil’s and Phil makes no movement, afraid to ruin the moment by acknowledging the closed distance between them.
Somewhere in the fifth episode Dan's head falls on Phil's shoulder and Phil breathes in quietly. Phil listens to the sound of the faerie's even breaths. He pauses the show and pulls his phone from where it's fallen between the cushion and arm of the sofa.
He scrolls Twitter for a while, switching to Instagram when the algorithm starts to rage-bait him and then finally turns to TikTok when he’s fed up with images his friends have shared of their holidays, families and partners. He sighs and sets the volume low so he can watch without waking Dan.
The warmth of Dan on his shoulder is comforting and he feels his breath passing gently across his neck and eventually Phil's eyes begin to close as well.
-
Phil wakes to a curl tickling his nose and he lifts his head from Dan’s. Dan lifts his head as well and bashfully leans away.
Dan breaks the silence. “Sorry. I fell asleep on you.”
“That’s okay,” Phil replies, “I fell asleep on you too. I didn’t mind at all.” and he really, really means that. He hopes he can convey that sentiment with his eyes.
The gaze Dan meets him with is soft and fond and Phil’s stomach seems to flip with the unspoken affirmation.
It’s as if an invisible string between them exists, tight and present, drawing them closer and closer, closing the distance between until Phil has to tilt his head up ever so slightly to see the intoxicating caramel and chocolate colouring in Dan’s eyes, so much more dynamic and beautiful than can be seen at a distance.
Those same eyes flicker down toward Phil’s mouth and Phil looks down at Dan’s and then there’s no more distance between them as their lips meet in the middle.
The kiss is soft, tentative and gentle as they press together. They both draw back and the question between them is answered silently. Phil brings one hand up to hold Dan’s face, finally, gently brushing his thumb along the rosy patch on the faerie’s jaw.
They come together again, hesitation gone as Phil’s other hand grasps for Dan’s waist. Dan’s hands slide up to Phil’s shoulders before wrapping his arms behind his back, pressing Phil into him.
Phil’s hand moves from Dan’s face around to the back of his neck, carding his fingers through the soft curls there. His hair feels so good in Phil’s hands that he instinctively tugs lightly and Dan’s mouth falls open with a soft moan.
Phil pulls back minutely and their eyes widen as Phil mutters an apology.
Dan’s eyes are dark and dilated and he again pulls Phil back to him, deepening the kiss and Phil feels his body set ablaze.
Phil hasn’t been kissed like this in years and it’s electric. Eventually they break apart, chests heaving from lack of oxygen and obvious arousal.
“Wow.” Phil says stupidly.
“Wow.” Dan agrees.
“We should… We should take a break.” Phil admits, unenthusiastically.
“Should we?”
“Well, yes. I think yes.”
Dan pouts and Phil laughs, taking his hand. “I really like you Dan. It’s been a long time since I had that and I don’t want to rush.”
“Oh.” Dan’s eyes grow wide. “Oh.”
Phil winces. “I hope that's not too much. I’m so sorry if I've misread things here.”
“No, no. Phil, I really like you too. This is really nice. And it’s been a while for me too. We can wait.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Phil sighs, relieved. “Thank you.”
Dan grins and then sighs. “I should go.”
“Oh, are you sure? You could stay for lunch if you like. Or something.”
“No, I really should go. For now. But can I see you soon?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Okay, I’ll give you my number and then please text me so I’ll have yours as well, yeah?”
Phil nods, knowing better now than to question Dan’s use of modern technology, and adds Dan number in his phone, sending him a mushroom emoji and showing it to Dan so he knows what to expect when he’s back home. Dan giggles at the reference to their fateful first meeting and stands to leave.
“Oh, I’ll give you back your clothes now, but I'll need to, um, change again so uh.” Dan reaches out and pulls Phil off the sofa and into a tight hug, which Phil returns, carefully bringing his arms around Dan, avoiding his purple wings. Dan pulls back to give Phil another tender kiss on the lips and heads into the bedroom.
Phil waits for a moment and then a tiny Dan flies out of the bedroom and hovers by the front door.
“This was… really amazing, Phil. Let’s do this again soon.”
Phil blinks, having nearly forgotten what it’s like to be next to a tiny fluttering faerie in his home. “It was. Definitely.”
“Soon.”
“Very soon.”
He opens the door for Dan and the faerie gives a tiny wave. Phil watches until the tiny faerie flies out of sight. He pulls the door closed and leans against it with a heavy sigh, a smile playing across his face.