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Phil has been drifting in and out of sleep for… well, he doesn't actually know how long. He briefly contemplated rolling over to check his phone at one point, but for one he's really quite comfy where he is, feels sunken into the mattress like his bones and muscles have turned to jelly, and he's just a Ditto-shaped blob in between the sheets, and for another the light's still dusky, and he doesn't fancy squinting against the harsh brightness of his phone's screen.
So, Phil has been drifting in and out of sleep for an indeterminate while. The light's changed a bit, gone from very dark to the soft greyness of morning, but there's the tell-tale pitter-patter of rain against the window, so that's probably not a very reliable way to tell the time this morning. The light probably isn't going to change any time soon. It makes Phil feel extra drowsy, the gentle rush of the water knocking against glass one of the most reliable calming noises Phil can think of. That, and the soft breaths Dan huffs in his sleep every now and then.
Phil turns his head and smiles that soft kind of smile that you can feel but only see in someone's eyes at the vague blob of chocolate brown he knows is Dan's hair. Dan's a heavy sleeper, but his mind seems to keep running even while he's not there to watch where it's going. Occasionally, Dan will wake up and stare at Phil with that hundred-yard stare before he says something like “I dreamed I was a spaceship captain and had to barter for salt via mime because none of my crew members spoke any of the languages of any of the other ship's crew members and somehow the salt was vitally important”, like he's trying to work out which wikipedia spiral or anime session brought on that particular dream. Phil can't really make out any details, but he can tell that Dan's flicking his head to the side every now and then and snuffles a slightly harsher breath – a sure sign he's fighting some zombie apocalypse or other again.
Part of Phil wants to roll over, closer to the heat of Dan's body he can feel where their limbs are almost touching underneath the covers, but he doesn't want to run the risk of waking Dan. Not because Dan really needs his sleep – they've both been quite good about going to sleep at reasonable hours recently, a hangover from the tour when they were so grateful for every minute of sleep they could get, Phil thinks – but because Phil feels far too comfortable in this half-awake bubble at the moment. He doesn't want to discard the drowsy sheet muting all his thought processes and letting him float a little while longer in between wakefulness and sleep, not even to see Dan's eyelashes flutter open and that brief, sweet smile pull at his sleep-pink lips before he complains that Phil is too close to his face, and needs to learn to respect my boundaries, you creep. And anyway, Dan's right here. He doesn't need to be touching him to know that.
Dan snuffles another sharp breath and jerks awake. He makes half a noise, the other half stuck in his throat, and bends his body closer to Phil's. He tends to sleep with his arms above his head, so he's generally further down the mattress than Phil is. It doesn't take much movement for him to somehow push his head up onto Phil's shoulder, roll over so his other arm flops across Phil's chest. From up close Phil can see his eyes seek out Phil's and his lips part like he means to say something, but instead his head rolls face first into the soft cotton of Phil's pyjama top, and a moment later he's back asleep.
Phil smiles again and raises a lazy hand to card his fingers through Dan's hair, brushing a bit of his fringe that's threatening to tickle his eye away from his face. Then he lets his hand sink down onto Dan's side and closes his eyes again.