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Stalking a guy for ten months—which… was it really stalking, or just forcefully commenting on every platform and imposing himself in the guy's life?—took Dan on a ferris wheel in Manchester.
Somehow, all his late-night commenting sprees had led to this.
Dan pictured his freshly eighteen-years-old, bored self in bed one night, browsing every single route of AmazingPhil's Interactive Space Adventure before spamming love tweets all over the Internet, exploring every little nook Phil was in.
The emo scene. Muse. Manchester. Final Fantasy.
Dan had made sure to create an account on every social media Phil used.
It had worked.
Dan was there, with Phil, in a ferris wheel riding over Manchester. Their time in the bubble was limited by the ride, but Dan wished it could last forever. Faintly, he hoped something in the carefully crafted mechanism of the wheel broke, so that they could eternally stay in the moment.
They were not doing the awkward thing of sitting across the other, instead choosing the same bench, admiring the view. And if their fingers lingered near the other's, then it was purely accidental. Purely. Accidental like the way Dan had infiltrated Phil's life. Their skinny jean-clad thighs were brushing, both of them pretending not to realise there was the space necessary for three on the bench.
The gentle touch was welcome. If it weren't for the frequent contact, Dan would have gotten paranoid he had made all of this up—Phil, the ferris wheel, Manchester, the date. Because while it had not been properly said, this was a date. They had been talking and flirting for a few months, they were alone in a fucking ferris wheel and later, Phil would take Dan back to his house. By Dan's standards—and wishful thinking—it was a date.
He was helped by the fact that Phil had looked at him like he wanted to eat him all morning.
Oh, Dan wasn't complaining.
Phil was welcome to proceed anytime he wanted.
The youngest wasn't restraining himself either. Earlier, in Starbucks, he had all but drowned in the feeling of Phil against him, pressed together in the bathroom line. Each time Phil walked in front of him, leading him through the Mancunian streets, Dan's eyes couldn't help but roam over the tall boy—man—with him.
Phil was just a tad taller than him.
Which.
It was doing for Dan, certainly.
Sexually, yes—but Dan couldn't help it, he was a hormonal, horny teenager. Yet, there was a thing. A thing, etched somewhere between Phil's dyed-black hair that looked all fluffy and silky and that didn't move, that, admittedly, seemed to be a wig, and his skin, all pale and white and smooth, and his tongue poking out between his teeth when he laughed, and his blue eyes Dan would never tire of, and his long and lanky and clumsy figure, and—
Just about everything about Phil was that thing that made Dan want to put him in his pocket and keep him warm and safe forever.
That one thing about Phil made his beauty ethereal to Dan. Not that he looked at men a lot, but Phil was definitely a beautiful one, so much that it felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of Dan.
In lots of senses, Phil was Dan's angel—he'd saved him from pretty much everything that had gone shit in his life. And he was all pretty and amazing and.
And maybe Dan was just a tiny bit in love?
Just a tiny bit.
Let's say he liked him a lot.
And it was great, because there was a high possibility that Phil liked him back.
Dan had worked hard for this—Phil's good opinion of him. It was months of dedication, of refreshing Phil's social media pages as often as he could, commenting and posting.
… So maybe along the way, he had developed a crush on Phil; so much so that he'd dreamed of it, of this, of sitting in a ferris wheel with Phil during an amazing day. In some ways, Dan kind of always had a vision of them standing like this.
Some would say he had been dreaming of it even before they had met. Maybe Dan had just been waiting for this moment for all his life and Phil was the first—and probably only—to consider Dan worth of experimenting it.
But the moment wasn't about what could have been—it was about what was happening.
Yet, Dan's brain couldn't help but race at about a thousand miles a second—what was currently unfolding was great, but what would happen next?
Which prompted the next remark.
This would end.
This, meaning the thing he had going on with Phil, yes, but above everything, this moment would end. They were timed by the tour of the wheel. Their week together would end because of the day printed on his train ticket.
Dan wasn't ready at all.
He had a trillion things he wanted to ask Phil personally.
Like how he wanted his coffee in the morning, what was his favourite brand of cereal, what was his favourite pizza topping, what was his favourite Buffy the Vampire Slayer moment, what was his favourite place, if he'd ever been to Japan, if he even wanted to, if he'd ever been outside of Europe, if he'd ever taken the Eurostar to France, where he had worked before being more serious about YouTube, why he liked Origin of Symmetry better than Absolution.
Dan wanted to know Phil inside and out, and he wanted Phil to learn everything there was to know about him as well.
The wheel met its highest point, initiating its descent.
"That's Manchester for you," Phil murmured.
They were so silent that his voice rang out in the cabin. It felt like Phil had screamed in his head.
"Pretty," Dan commented.
Manchester was not that pretty, actually, but Dan wasn't sure if he was talking about the city or the man next to him, or he was just answering in auto-pilot.
His mind was elsewhere.
His mind was all over the boy next to him.
Because, like, Dan had sent signals okay?
Wether it was hungrily observing Phil from the side of his eyes dropping to his friend's lips during their conversations in Starbucks.
He half-hoped to get a kiss—the scenery was perfect, just the both of them on top of Manchester in the warm afternoon sunlight of mid-October—but he knew that if Phil were to press his lips to Dan's right now, Dan might just… Drop dead.
Dan yearned to feel it, to be as close to him as possible, to run his hands in his hair, to leave his mark all over his skin—but he also knew the moment it would happen, his brain would just stop. These past months had led to this, so obviously, the mix of excitation coursing through him and arousal that would certainly spark up was going to make his brain useless.
When Phil wrapped an arm around his waist without a word, Dan's heart picked up its pace. It had to be loud and noticeable, in the otherwise silent carriage. Phil must have heard it.
Yeah, no, no way Dan was surviving any potential kiss.
What a great reason to die, though.
Kissed to death by The Amazing Philip Michael Lester.
Dan would like that on his tombstone.
But other than the looming threat of being kissed by the love of his life, this was the most alive Dan had ever felt—probably the most alive he'd ever been.
He was trying to care, really, about what people might think of two boys in a ferris wheel together. He was trying to remember the insults he'd been a victim of.
He just. Didn't care.
Couldn't care.
Not with Phil by his side.
Not with Phil, his arm around his waist.
And certainly not when Phil rested his temple to Dan's shoulder. Not when Dan dared to settle his right hand on Phil's left thigh. Not when Phil blanketed Dan's tanned hand with his own, paler right one.
"After this," Phil murmured, "we're taking the bus to Rawtenstall. I bought a pizza from Asda earlier so we can have that."
Dan hummed. It was not that he didn't care or considered Phil unworthy of a complete answer, it was just that it seemed like he wanted to tell more and Dan refused to interrupt him.
"I also. Didn't clean Martyn's room," Phil went on, "and I'm not making you sleep in my parents' bed or on an air mattress."
"So?"
"So, my bed is big enough for two."
And Dan was very glad he had let Phil speak because that sounded amazing. Well, there were lots of way it could go wrong, but there was also a few that seemed… well, perfect.
Even just snuggling together under the iconic blue and green bedsheets and talking all night was one of those options he hoped to live.
But also, in a way, the most perfect thing would be for Dan never to have to go back home ever again. If Phil let Dan stay the night, then he might just have to stay forever, right?