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There was a measured, almost practised amount of space in between Dan and Phil where they sat on his sofa. Nick knew it was a lot more deliberate than it looked, because at every meeting, at every event, it was this distance he saw: exact, carefully calculated. Which was not to say he saw them a lot, but when he did, it was always there. He watched it ever since he’d noticed.
It fascinated him a bit. That they had this amount of control over how physically far apart they were allowed to be, while at the same time they watched each other’s mouths as they talked. When they laughed, they glanced to check whether the other had gotten the joke.
And it also made his heart ache. He had never been anything but: loud with it. He didn’t know how to be. He wouldn’t know how to hide himself, or how he felt for someone. It had been hard. It had been so, so shit sometimes. But he had always been unapologetic and open, and this seemed so strange to him.
They did not hide it, per say. It was not a secret, that it was the two of them and just the two of them in their little bubble that no one else could really penetrate. But there was that small measured space, always. It wasn’t really like anything he’d seen before.
He had asked Matt, early on, when they’d just started at the BBC: What do you think?
Matt had said, face scrunched up: nah. He amended, maybe fucking?
You're straight, Nick had scoffed. Why did I ask, your opinion doesn’t count.
Nick zoned back in. Phil was lifting a questioning eyebrow.
Nick waved it away, smiling at him. “More drinks!” he announced. “Another round! On the house!”
“Were you under the impression we were reimbursing you for the rest?” Fi asked interestedly. Nick flipped her off and started pouring brandy for the people who were holding their glasses out, then Pinot Meunier for the rest, golden and sparkling.
“Thanks,” Dan said, lifting his glass in cheers, sloshing it a bit. His face was quite flushed already, but the distance between him and Phil maintained itself. Someone turned the music up, and Nick turned to answer Katie, and then he got distracted for a long bit.
When he turned back, Dan was talking to Caroline and Phil was listening, or he might have been listening to Matt and Fi on his other end, Nick wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure because Phil was agreeing with something Fi was saying, nodding, but Dan laughed a moment or two later and Phil turned to smile at him, before adding to Cazza: “It’s almost as if he has it in collector’s edition.”
Phil’s suit was a bit rumpled. Dan’s hair was pushed back. He ran his fingers through it, wriggled so he was sat up straight on the sofa and continued, excitedly, “But does it have the finesse of Absolution?”
Caroline said, “Fetus Matt. The end.”
“While you may have a point,” Dan said, and Nick watched the space, three bottles of champagne split between everyone in. Phil’s leg was slightly stretched into it, but that was all.
Nick got up. “Toilet,” he told Katie, who nodded and easily absorbed herself in Matt and Fi’s conversation. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and took out his phone. Nicco was off in Paris, and his last text had been right after the show. Have fun xx, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t ;)
He dialed his number.
“Babe?” Nicco asked, on the second ring.
Nick was absurdly relieved at the sound of his voice. He said: “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” Nicco said, sounding worried. “Is everything alright? Are you-”
“Yes,” Nick told him. “Yes, yes. You worrier.”
“Oh,” Nicco said, visibly calming down. “Babe. I thought you had people over.”
“I did,” Nick said. “I do. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Okay,” Nicco said, easy. “Do you want to hear about how Adam almost came onto a married man today?”
Nick grimaced. “He would.”
“He did,” Nicco said, and he was off, the sound of his voice so good, familiar in Nick’s ear. Nick could hold his hand in public and sit halfway on his lap when they got pissed in clubs. He could not imagine any other way.
It would be so hard.
“Love you,” Nick said.
“Love you,” Nicco told him. “Text me before you sleep?”
A movement in the doorway made him look up: Phil was in the middle of turning away. Sorry, he mouthed, and made as if to go, but Nick waved him back in.
“Definitely,” Nick said. When he hung up, Phil was hovering, still against the doorframe.
“Fi said I should ask you about the vodka chocs from Switzerland,” he said.
“She’s such a tattletale,” Nick said. “I’m not giving her any. But if you won’t tell anyone, you can have one,” and he went over to where his secret stash was hidden, peered inside. “Come on in, I was just talking to Nicco.”
“That’s nice,” Phil said. “Just didn’t want to interrupt.”
“He’s in Paris for a gig.” Nick felt the inexplicable urge to keep talking, for some reason. “Not to be a sap, but I miss him rather too much when he’s away.”
He straightened up and placed the box on the kitchen counter. “God, yeah. This is fucking heaven. Our little secret.”
“Cheers,” Phil said, accepting one and toasting Nick with it. They took appreciative first bites, chewing companionably, before Phil said: “That sucks though.”
Nick looked at him questioningly, then at the box of heaven.
“Distance,” Phil clarified. “Distance sucks. Even if it’s just an hour away. You feel like-”
He waved the rest of the chocolate seahorse around. Nick waited.
“-you want them around,” Phil said. “All the time. Ten hours apart is two days. A weekend alone back home and you can see where he’s not sitting. At the dinner table. Next to your mum. And it’s so weird they're not there. Everywhere. It’s dumb. You know?”
“I know,” Nick said, very carefully.
Phil didn’t seem to notice he’d used a particular pronoun. Nick thought he would never have been so careless usually, but his tie was skewed and his cheeks were pink, even if they weren’t as flushed as Dan’s. He felt suddenly very like he needed to take care of him, even though he was only, what, a couple of years older. He did not know what to say.
He did not… that space was there for a reason. He thought he understood a little better, but what was it he understood he was not absolutely sure. Slightly too much to drink to comprehend fully. Something about the way Phil smiled when he talked about hypothetically taking a hypothetical him home to his mum. That space was precious. It was careful and protected. It was not distance, per say.
“It’s good stuff,” Phil said, now considering the box.
“I think so too,” Nick agreed. “Want another?”
“Really?”
“You can have Fi’s,” Nick said lightly. “You deserve it more than her.”
When they returned to the lounge, Dan was sprawled half across the sofa, humming along to One Direction. Matt was singing along, very loudly. Fi was on the floor, clutching the bottle. Katie was saying, “Give it. Give it!”
“Ah,” Nick said. “This is fucking rude.”
He went over to the iPod dock and rewound the song. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Phil go over to Dan, who smiled up quite brilliantly at him and mouthed, Hey.
Phil smiled back, sat back, same place, same space. Posture maybe more relaxed, though; head back, legs spread out a bit wider as Nick caterwauled through C’mon C’mon. He bent his head towards Dan to murmur something no one else could hear, and Nick realised, between the bridge and the last chorus, I reach for her hand and Hey/ I’ve been watching you all night, that their feet were pointed towards each other.
He wondered if they had always been, and it was just that no one had noticed.
In the morning, Nick’s fuck of a 4 am alarm woke him. He stumbled outside. Matt on the carpet, Caroline somehow still elegant in the blow up bed. He observed his sofa a couple of moments more than he really had to, then turned away to brush his teeth. He mostly loved his job, but he didn’t especially love it most after a night of getting sloshed. Jesus.
Dan turned, mouth warm against the crook of Phil’s elbow. He snuffled, moved until he was pressed up against Phil, back against chest, until there was nothing separating them but shirts and sweat and a heartbeat.
Nothing else. Phil shushed him tiredly. Dan went back to sleep.