Work Text:
Dan had never been an expert at recognising when people were flirting with him.
Too often, he'd find himself in his own head, realising only hours later that, ohhh, that guy who complimented his eyes three separate times within one conversation was probably hinting at something, or that the invitation he'd received from some girl who'd bought a cake at his shop and offered to share it with him was an attempt at securing a date.
This is why, on a Monday morning at precisely 10:19am, faced with the most beautiful man he's ever seen in his entire goddamn life - a man who happens to be making far too much eye contact for casual conversation and even letting out the most over-the-top, whimsical giggle at Dan's ridiculous joke about the lemon muffins - Dan makes a bold decision.
"Name for the order?" He asks, though it's really not necessary - the man is the only person in the shop who hasn't received their drink yet. Everyone else is sat down, probably even out of earshot of the conversation, and Dan's the only person behind the serving counter.
Thankfully, the man doesn't seem to notice the stupidity of the question, and Dan has an excuse to pick up the sharpie. He has to fight to keep his hand from shaking, wanting to show off his best handwriting rather than his usual chicken-scratch scrawl.
"Phil," The man - Phil, as Dan now knows - replies with a small smile.
Dan suppresses a sigh of relief at the simplicity of the name, grateful he at least wouldn't ruin anything at the very first hurdle by spelling it disastrously wrong. He bites his lip, hesitating for just a second, and then dares to commit.
He writes his phone number on the cup.
He feels the burning heat of it in his hands as he makes the drink, though for once, it has nothing to do with the scalding liquid it holds.
With a deep breath, he plasters his best smile on his face, places the lid on the cup, and hands it over.
It's up to fate now.
Not that Dan believed in such a thing.
⋆*.⟡࿔˚☕︎˚࿔⟡.*⋆
By the time the Tuesday morning rush rolls around, Dan had been so busy he had almost forgotten about his unprecedented bravery the day before.
Every customer after Phil had been just another customer, every cup just another cup. He'd fallen back into the routine of the job with only mild lingering anxiety, the leftover traces of adrenaline in his bloodstream taking a ridiculous amount of time to wear off.
In the back of his mind, though, he can't help but notice every time his phone buzzes, his heart rate picking up slightly at every notification, only to be disappointed once he sees the screen.
Oh well, he figures. Worth a shot.
What's that one saying? You miss 100% of the shots you don't take?
Yeah. Dan thinks. At least he tried.
He's wiping down the counter of his workstation, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control over the state of the place during the sudden absence of customers that comes with the end of the commuter rush, when he hears the bell above the door ring. He glances up out of habit, freezing when he registers who's approaching him.
"Hey!" Phil greets, equally as cheery as he had been the day before. His blue eyes seemed to glisten in the ambient lighting of the coffee shop, his skin practically glowing. "Dan, right?"
"Yeah," Dan says, even though it's obvious. It's written in big, bold, capital letters on a badge on his chest, for christ's sake. He tries not to think about the number on the cup, and the lack of messages he'd received in the time that had passed since he'd written it, not wanting to overstep. "What can I get for you?"
"I can't stop thinking about the lemon muffins," Phil says, and Dan finds himself caught slightly off-guard. "You made them sound so good yesterday I knew I wouldn't be able to rest until I tried one." He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges. Dan almost faints.
"Oh," He says, intelligently. "You remembered?"
Phil lets out a small, kind-hearted laugh. "Of course I did. You were funny."
"Oh," Dan repeats. He really needs to expand his vocabulary. "I mean, uh- thank you. One lemon muffin coming right up."
And, okay, maybe he wasn't the best at reading signals. Maybe social cues weren't exactly his strong suit. But what the hell? Phil was definitely flirting with him, just like he had been yesterday. That much was clear. So why were there no notifications on his phone? No unknown numbers to add to his contacts, full government name and all?
Had he decided to get a second impression of Dan before handing over his own phone number to a complete stranger? A very confusing, socially awkward one at that?
Who's to say he even noticed the phone number in the first place?
Dan steeled himself, turning to retrieve the lemon muffin, and in response to his last thought, he finds himself making his second bold decision of the week.
He grabs the sharpie as he turns, attempting to discreetly scribble his number on the underside of the muffin casing on his return to the tills.
It's probably not as smooth as he'd hoped.
"Can I get you anything else?" He asks, desperately trying to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest.
Phil orders the same drink as he had yesterday - an oat milk coffee with what was, in Dan's opinion, a frankly absurd amount of sugars - making intense eye contact all the while.
By the end of the encounter, as Dan is watching Phil clumsily (yet somehow no less endearingly) attempt to scoop his order up from the counter with one hand, phone balanced precariously in the other, Dan finds himself genuinely wondering how he made it through that encounter and hasn't ended up as a puddle on the floor yet.
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He has a job to be doing, after all.
He startles at every notification he gets for the entire rest of the day.
⋆*.⟡࿔˚☕︎˚࿔⟡.*⋆
When Wednesday morning comes around, Dan finds himself hoping, much to his own embarrassment, that Phil would be there a third time.
He heads in earlier than usual, hoping to neaten the place up a little more than he otherwise would, just in case.
He redoes everything he'd done when he closed up the night before; wiping down the tables, mopping the floor, repositioning the chairs. He spends eight full minutes making sure everything on the order counter was angled exactly right. He checks every table has a menu in a legible state, filling up all of the sugar shakers as he does so. He even makes sure none of the lamps scattered around have blown a bulb.
It's honestly a little bit obsessive. And a lot embarrassing.
By the time he's finished up, his coffee shop is maybe the best it's ever looked. Everything is exactly as it should be, in perfect time for him to make the first batches of baked goods for the day.
With an easiness that only comes with such a practiced routine, Dan has everything ready within the hour, and he's turning on the outside lights, flipping the sign over, and opening up the doors the second 7am arrives.
The smell of baked goods and roasting coffee beans begins to lure in passers-by and commuters on long, boring journeys, and within a short space of time the shop goes from a comfortable emptiness to positively buzzing with life and atmosphere.
By 8am, his closest friends and only full-time employees PJ and Sophie had arrived, slotting themselves right into the middle of the hustle and bustle. They serve customer after customer, keeping the cakes and cookies well-stocked and the coffee brewed, waiting tables in a polite, gracious manner.
It's halfway through the morning rush when he arrives.
Dan, admittedly, had been a little flustered already, a sudden flurry of at least a dozen people flooding his shop at once. He hadn't even noticed Phil's presence until the customer in front of him turns to leave, coffee clutched in hand, and he'd been met with the sight of familiar bleached-blonde hair and pale-blue eyes.
Dan's perfectly-crafted customer service persona comes crumbling down in an instant, a blush rising to his cheeks before anything has even happened.
"Hi," Dan says, voice breaking. "Uh, what do- can I- I mean, uh, what can I get you?"
Great start. Ten out of ten, no notes.
Phil laughs. If it was anyone else, it would probably feel mean, but Dan is too distracted by the light, airy sound of it and the way his tongue pokes out that he really doesn't care. It feels casual, like teasing a friend you've known for so long you're practically one person.
Needless to say, Dan's blush turns a few shades darker.
"I'll have a lemon muffin if you have them and an americano with oat milk and lots of sugar, please," Phil requests, smiling brightly.
"No problem," Dan says, already reaching for the paper cups when Phil's voice interrupts him.
"To eat in, if that's okay."
Dan feels his brain screech to a dramatic halt, suddenly forgetting how to operate his own body.
"Oh," He says, turning back towards Phil. "Yeah. Of course."
There's an awkward moment where neither of them move, both waiting for the other to continue.
Dan takes in an unnecessarily shaky breath, then says, "If you'd like to take a seat at any of the empty tables, I'll bring your order over when it's ready."
"Perfect," Phil beams. Dan feels his heartbeat stutter. "Thank you very much."
With that, he turns and makes his way towards a table in the quiet corner of the cafe, leaving Dan to desperately scribble down his order while he serves the last few customers in the line.
As Dan is handing over the very last take-away order, PJ is making his way back to the serving counter.
"Hey," He greets, heading straight for the coffee machine to make whoever he'd been serving their next drink.
"Hey," Dan replies, posture collapsing slightly as he drops the customer service act. "If you happen to be making an americano, would you mind making a second? Oat milk? I need to get the new batches from Sophie."
PJ gives him a confused look.
"You don't drink americanos." He says, matter-of-fact.
"I know," Dan replies, levelling him with a look. "It's for a customer."
PJ turns, looking between Dan and the tills, where there is not a single soul waiting for their order.
"There's no one there?"
"Eat in," Dan supplies.
"Then why are you taking the order?" PJ questions, having fully abandoned the coffee-making.
"I, uh…" Dan starts. He's suddenly not sure how he's going to explain this one. They had a structure in the shop, a way it had always worked; Dan on the tills and take-away counter, PJ and Sophie taking it in turns to do the baking and the eat-in orders.
Desperately, he sneaks a glance towards the corner of the shop where Phil was sat, still waiting patiently for his order.
"Ohhhh," PJ says, following Dan's gaze.
Dan's eyes snap back to PJ. "What?"
"It all makes sense now," PJ laughs.
"What makes sense now?"
PJ levels him with a knowing look. Dan feels like his entire heart and soul is suddenly openly on display, and he's powerless to hide it.
"Trying to pull the napkin trick, right?" PJ asks. He doesn't wait for a response before he's talking again. "Good luck to you, soldier. One americano with oat milk coming right up. Go get your mans."
Dan gapes at him, though he doesn't dare dignify him with a response. Instead, he heads to the kitchen, hoping to find a fresh batch of lemon muffins, despite the last remaining ones in the display being perfectly fine still.
Whatever. It's good customer service.
That's all.
"Hey, Sophie," Dan greets as he walks in.
"Hi!" She smiles, waving at him with a dough-covered gloved hand.
"Any lemon muffins done?"
She furrows her brow slightly. "They're gone already?"
"Uh… down to the last few. Going quick today, thought I'd restock early." Dan tries, though she probably sees right through him just as easily as PJ had.
"Should be some on the left," She says, watching him with curious eyes as he goes to retrieve them. "Careful, they're hot."
"Thanks, Sophie!" He calls as he turns to leave.
"No problem!" She replies, but Dan is already halfway out the door.
Cautiously, Dan carries the tray out to the front, oven gloves warming up slightly with the residual heat of the metal. One by one, he transfers them all to the shielded shelf, making sure to choose the best looking one for Phil's order.
PJ is back on the floor, serving a customer, but the americano he'd made has been left by the machine in one of their branded ceramic mugs. There's a post-it note lying next to it, a quickly scribbled heart the only thing on it.
Dan rolls his eyes at PJ's antics, carefully placing the mug on a tray with the muffin. When he goes to grab the napkins, though, he hesitates.
PJ had obviously thought this was his plan - to give Phil his number by writing it on a napkin. He didn't know he'd already given him his number. Twice.
Would it be weird to try a third time? Was he going dramatically overboard? Worse yet, was he making Phil uncomfortable?
Surely not, he reasoned. Phil had no need to come back to this specific coffee shop if he was. Plus, he had flirted with Dan every single time they'd seen each other, if Dan wasn't mistaken.
He hopes to god he wasn't mistaken, and grabs the sharpie.
Third time's the charm, right?
If it didn't work this time, he'd give it up. Phil was a paying customer, after all. A kind, incredibly handsome paying customer.
Dan places the napkin face-down on the tray, hiding his number from any onlookers lest they figure out what's happening, too. Putting on a face of confidence he doesn't really feel, he marches over to Phil.
"Hi," Dan announces as he gets close, trying not to startle him. "Here's your order, thank you for waiting."
"Thank you!" Phil says, sitting up straighter. "It smells really good in here."
"Oh, uh- thank you," Dan smiles, caught off-guard. "Careful, the muffin is hot." He adds, and immediately wants to kick himself for it. Phil's a fully grown man, for god's sake.
"Oh, is it fresh?" Phil asks, eyes alight with something Dan doesn't let himself try and place.
"Yeah," Dan smiles. "Just got them from the kitchen."
Before the conversation has a chance to continue, the bell above the door rings.
"Sorry, I've got to go," Dan says, as if it isn't obvious. "Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."
And with that, Dan heads back to the safe haven of his counter, throwing himself back into the routine of making take-away drinks as quickly as humanly possible for the impatient workers trying to get some actual coffee on their work breaks.
He pointedly tries not to look over at Phil too much, but catches himself occasionally glancing over nevertheless.
The shop has quietened down quite significantly by the time Phil approaches the counter for the second time. Dan and PJ are sat on their stools behind the till, exchanging customer-friendly conversation at a quiet enough volume that none of them can hear them anyway.
"Hi," Phil says, and Dan tries not to panic as he immediately snaps into customer service mode, standing up from his stool at an alarming speed.
"Hi," Dan replies, and then pauses. "Oh. Thank you for bringing that back, you didn't have to." He says, gesturing to the carefully arranged tray Phil has placed on the countertop.
"It's the least I could do," Phil beams. Dan gives him a grateful smile. "Thank you for the coffee and cake, they were lovely."
Dan feels himself blush. "Thank you. I mean, uh- you're welcome. Or- yeah. Thank you."
Phil giggles - actually fucking giggles - and turns to leave.
Dan feels like he's been set on fire.
His skin feels like it's burning, his heart beating so hard it might burst right out of his ribcage.
"Smooth," PJ says from beside him, and up until that exact moment, he'd honestly forgotten he was there.
"Shut up."
The bell rings above the door, and Dan feels his breath catch as his eyes dart towards it.
It's not Phil. Obviously it's not Phil, he's only just left, for god's sake. Dan feels disappointed regardless.
He spends the rest of the day serving coffees and cakes with hands that refuse to fully stop shaking.
⋆*.⟡࿔˚☕︎˚࿔⟡.*⋆
On Thursday morning, Dan finds himself walking to work with an extra spring in his step, hopeful despite the fool he'd continually made of himself in his presence that Phil would be making an appearance.
He's practically vibrating as he gets to work, freshening up the building for opening time with more energy than should be possible at just past 6am. A giddy smile lines his face as he makes a start in the kitchen, preparing the lemon muffins specifically with unprecedented care.
For the first time since he'd opened the shop, Dan finds himself impatiently waiting until he could open up the doors and let the customers in.
Eventually, the time comes, Dan's heart rate rising exponentially with every ring of the bell that follows.
As the clock ticks towards eight, PJ and Sophie arrive for their shifts. Try as he might, Dan is pathetically unable to hide his good mood, and even if he'd somehow managed, the two of them are perhaps the most perceptive people Dan's ever met.
He never really stood a chance.
"Someone's happy," Sophie laughs, in lieu of an actual greeting.
"Anything you want to share with the class?" PJ adds, teasing grin plastered across his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dan replies, entirely unconvincingly, as he wipes down the counter for the seventh time that day just for something to do with his hands.
Sophie scoffs. "Sure."
PJ levels him with a disbelieving look as he heads straight for the kitchen.
Dan keeps wiping down the counter.
He serves every customer with more enthusiasm than he thinks he's ever been able to muster up for this particular part of the job, ever - every single one of them one less until it's Phil who's walking in the door.
In the quiet moments, the ones he would usually try to make the most of, Dan can't seem to get himself to stop moving. So, he cleans, he tidies, all while trying (and failing) to distract himself from the prospect of seeing Phil.
9am comes and goes. As does 10.
By 11, Dan is beginning to run out of steam.
He'd been working for five hours already, moving almost non-stop in an effort to expel as much excess energy as possible from his body, and he was starting to feel the price of it.
By midday, his hectic energy has all but vanished.
By 1pm, his mood has taken a dramatic decline from what it had been just mere hours earlier.
There was still no sign of Phil. Every time he'd visited the shop, it'd been in the morning, and as the hours pass on, Dan can physically feel the little hope he has left dwindle away bit by bit.
It's 1:27 when Sophie wanders behind the counter for the first time in a while, a lull in customers allowing her to make a cup of tea and have a moment to herself.
She freezes when she sees Dan, sat in a miserable blob on his stool behind the counter, mindlessly picking at the skin around his nails.
Wordlessly, she starts the coffee machine.
"What's up?" She asks in a soft voice once the drinks are finished, presenting one to Dan cautiously.
Dan gives her a small, grateful smile in response, taking a sip of the much-too-hot liquid.
"Nothing," He mutters, and even he doesn't believe it.
Sophie doesn't beat around the bush. "No text from lemon muffin guy?" She asks.
"No," Dan sighs. "And this is the first day all week he's not shown up here."
Sophie is halfway through what Dan assumes is supposed to be a comforting sentence before he blurts out, "Do you think I weirded him out?"
She pauses.
"What do you mean?"
"Phil," Dan says, as if that explains everything. "Do you think I weirded him out?"
"By doing what?" Sophie frowns, furrowing her brow. "Giving him your number?"
Dan sighs. "Yeah, I guess."
"I mean… how did you do it?"
"Which time?"
Sophie freezes. "What?"
Suddenly, the floor is very interesting.
"Dan," Sophie starts, careful lilt to her voice. "How many times did you give him your number?"
He sighs again. "Three."
Sophie seems to deflate slightly from her tense posture. "Okay… I mean, that's a bit intense, but it could be worse, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Why three?" She asks, completely ignoring Dan's last comment. "Why not just once? Did something happen after?"
And so, Dan explains how he'd written his number on the cup to begin with. How he'd spent all evening glued to his phone, just in case, accepting his fate when he'd not received a text by midnight, only to be reunited with Phil a second time the next day and flirted with all over again.
He explains how he'd impulsively written his number again on the muffin wrapper - Sophie interrupting here to point out how stupid of an idea that one was, because who looks at the bottom of a paper case? - and had once again heard nothing only to repeat the cycle again the next day.
Finally, he explains the napkin, how he'd brought out a fresh muffin and everything, positioning everything perfectly on the tray, for the very first time Phil had decided to hang around longer than necessary. How he'd decided if he heard nothing this time, he'd stop trying, clearly making some sort of mistake in the way he was reading Phil's body language. After all, maybe he was like this with everyone.
Maybe he had a partner at home already, and was simply just being kind to the man serving him his morning coffees.
Maybe he had a big fancy job, with huge wages in a massive office building where every room looks the same, and he knew he'd never settle for someone working as simple a job as a barista.
Hell, maybe he was just straight.
"Okay, calm down," Sophie says, and it's then Dan realises he's still talking out loud. "First of all, PJ saw the way he was acting with you. He said it was obvious the guy likes you, so pretty much everything you just said is, like, automatically ruled out."
"Oh," Dan breathes. PJ had mentioned it to Sophie? He supposes he's not really surprised, but it still catches him a little off-guard. Then his brain catches up. "Wait, pretty much everything?"
"He could still have a partner," Sophie says, deadpan, with alarmingly little hesitation. It doesn't make Dan feel better.
"Wh-"
"Maybe they're looking for a third," She adds.
Dan chokes on air.
"Sophie!" He hisses. "You can't just say that, we're at work! What if someone heard you?"
Sarcastically, Sophie turns to face the room.
The tables are all empty, save for one in the furthest corner, which is occupied by a half-deaf older woman named Margery who came in every day to order a herbal tea and read her newspaper.
Sophie turns back. Raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, point taken," Dan concedes. "But still! It's not helping."
"I was joking," She says, adding a "mostly" under her breath that Dan knows he wasn't supposed to hear. "Point is, you've got a good chance here, and if I'm not mistaken, you haven't said anything about how you feel to this man out loud, you just keep trying to get him to notice your number on every day items most people would never look at twice."
Dan sighs. Part of him knows Sophie's right, but the overwhelming majority just wants to wallow, to not get his hopes up just in case.
"Yeah," Dan breathes. "I suppose you're right."
"I'm always right," Sophie beams, and the conversation naturally moves on to lighter themes.
Dan spends the rest of the day in some weird middle space between the unparalled hopefulness that had filled his morning and the heart-shattering feeling of rejection he'd had in the afternoon.
It's without a doubt a day to forget.
⋆*.⟡࿔˚☕︎˚࿔⟡.*⋆
On Friday morning, Dan goes into work at the latest possible time he can manage while still being able to open vaguely on time.
After the day he'd had yesterday and the continued radio silence from Phil, he decides to go into today with no expectations. What will be will be, or whatever.
He runs on autopilot, putting together recipes he knows better than his own name, doing a quick once-over of the front to make sure everything was as it should be.
It's an uneventful morning.
Even once PJ and Sophie turn up, it's nothing to write home about.
Sophie goes to set up the kitchen, and PJ makes himself at home taking orders from tables.
During the quiet moments, they talk about normal things; what tv shows they've been watching, funny things they've seen on the internet, this new board game they saw that they really need to play together.
Dan takes his lunch break at just past 2pm, leaving PJ on the tills as he makes himself a chai latte with oat milk and grabs his food from the fridge. He sits at the same table he always does, one he specifically placed to be tucked slightly away from the business of the rest of the building, but still within clear sight of the counter on the offchance he's needed for something.
With a sigh, he opens up his phone and looks through his notifications, eyes subconsciously scanning for something he knows won't be there. The bell rings above the door, but he doesn't bother looking up. He takes a bite of his sandwich with his other hand, a stray bit of lettuce falling from between the bread and onto the table.
Having cleared his notifications, he puts his phone down on the table with a louder thunk than he'd intended on. He vaguely registers PJ's voice running through the usual "Good afternoon, what can I get for you today?" script as he picks up the lettuce to put in his sandwich box for throwing away when he passes the bins.
It doesn't make it that far, though, falling out of his hand and back onto the table as soon as Dan hears the responding voice coming from the counter.
"What's the sweetest drink you have on the menu?"
Dan's head snaps up.
Surely enough, standing directly in front of the counter in a fluffy blue and green striped jumper is Phil, his hair slightly toussled from the wind.
The abrupt movement must've been enough to catch his attention, as the second Dan processes who it is, he's turning to look right back at him, seeming to pause slightly when he sees him.
He doesn't seem to hear whatever answer PJ gives him, as he absentmindedly responds, "Perfect, I'll have one of those please."
Then, after a moment of hesitation, he adds, "To eat in."
He looks directly at Dan as he says it.
Before Dan has a moment to process what's happening, Phil is approaching his table, a determined look on his face.
"Hi," He says, smiling. "Can I sit here?"
"Oh," Dan starts, somehow blushing already. "Yeah, I- uh, of course."
Phil hesitates. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"
"No!" God, this was going well already. "It's fine. Please, sit."
Phil does, his confident expression suddenly disappearing. Dan hopes he hasn't done something wrong.
"So, I was wondering…" Phil starts, and Dan's heart rate picks up.
"Here's your drink, sir," PJ interrupts, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Dan's almost certain he actually jumps at the sound of his voice. "Enjoy!"
Dan levels him with a look as he walks away from the table, PJ giving him a vaguely subtle thumbs up and a wink which only makes Dan's face turn even redder.
There's a moment of awkward silence, then, and Dan makes a mental note to give PJ the worst cleaning jobs he can find for tonight's close.
Phil takes a sip of his drink. His eyes widen slightly, and he makes a sound that Dan definitely knows how to be normal about.
"Oh my god, this is really good," He says, looking down at it as if it will have changed form now he knows what it tastes like.
"What is it?" Dan asks, having not paid attention to PJ at all during his encounter with Phil at the tills.
"I have no idea," Phil laughs.
Dan snorts, the conversation settling into something more comfortable. "I'll make sure to pass on your review."
"Thanks," Phil jokes, bright smile lighting up his face.
Dan picks up his own drink, taking a sip in an attempt to regulate his own nervous system.
"So," Phil starts, and he suddenly sounds a lot more trepidatious than he had a minute prior. He takes a breath, and then blurts out, "I have something to ask you. And you're totally allowed to say no or tell me to, like, go away, or whatever. But, uhm…"
He hesitates. Dan feels like his skin is on fire.
"Could I maybe have your number?"
Dan's brain comes to a screeching halt.
"What?" He says, before he can think it through.
"Oh, I… uh, sorry. Maybe I misread, or-"
"No!" Dan corrects, much too loud. He really needs to learn to control what sounds his own mouth is making. "I mean, uh. Yeah. I can give you my number. Did you lose it or something?"
This time it's Phil's turn. "What?"
"I mean I don't mind if you did, I was just kind of wondering. Explains why you didn't text or anything," He laughs, awkwardly.
Phil frowns. "I don't have your number."
It sounds almost more like a question than a statement.
"What?" Dan repeats. "Yeah, you do. I gave it to you three times."
"What?" And, okay, someone really needs to get them some new dialogue options, because this is getting ridiculous. "When?"
"When you came in the shop?"
"Which time?"
Dan pauses. "Uh… all of them?"
Phil's jaw actually drops slightly at this. "Really? How?"
Dan lets out a nervous laugh, finding it impossible to believe this is actually happening.
"I, uh… wrote it on your cup the first time. And your muffin wrapper the second time, and then on one of the napkins the third time. Did you… did you not notice?"
Phil turns a brilliant shade of red.
"Oh," He says, quieter now. "No, I didn't."
A pause.
"Wait. Oh my god." Dan isn't really sure where Phil is taking this, but he can tell whatever realisation he's just had has him absolutely distraught. "You gave me your number three times and I didn't even message. Fuck, I am so sorry."
"It's okay," Dan laughs. "I'm just glad I didn't weird you out, or anything. When you weren't here yesterday I thought… yeah."
"Oh my god," Phil gasps. "This is not the way I expected this to go. Holy shit."
"It's okay," Dan repeats, with a smile. Then, an idea hits him. "Give me two seconds."
He dashes to the counter before Phil even has a chance to respond, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser and his sharpie from the desk. Then, he heads straight back to Phil.
Sliding back into the chair, he uncaps the lid of the sharpie, sets the napkins down, and begins to scribble his number, for the fourth time that week.
With a satisfied smile, he spins it around and slides it across the table, directly at Phil.
"There," He says. "We can pretend my plan worked all along."
"Your plan?" Phil says, sarcastically. "Do you know how much bravery it took to march in here and ask for you number? If anything, this was my plan."
Dan gives him a sarcastic smile and a nod. "Whatever you say."
The rest of Dan's lunch break passes like this, with easy conversation flowing between the two of them.
Right as he's about to leave and carry on with his job, Phil's hand on his wrist stops him.
"Wait!"
He withdraws his hand as quickly as he'd placed it, but Dan can still feel the contact burning into his skin.
Phil picks up another one of the napkins, gesturing for a pen. Dan hands over the sharpie, and if he makes sure their fingers brush as he does it, that's between him and god.
With an amused smile, Phil writes out what Dan can only assume is his own phone number on the napkin.
"Here," He says, passing it and the sharpie to Dan. "Just in case."
Dan laughs, feeling the lightest he has in days.
"Okay," He agrees. "Just in case."
With that, he heads back to the counter, napkin clutched in hand, carefully avoiding making eye contact with PJ as they switch places.
"So…" PJ starts.
"Table 14 look like they need a top up," Dan says, but he's unable to hide the small smile that breaks out across his face.
PJ mock salutes, grinning back at him. "You got it, boss."
Dan isn't alone for long, though, because soon enough Phil is approaching the counter with his empty mug, just like he had before, drained of every last drop of whatever mystery drink PJ had served him.
Their eyes lock, and for a moment, neither of them say anything.
Phil gives him a small but confident smile, and as he turns to leave, he makes sure to do so with a promise.
"I'll text you."
⋆*.⟡࿔˚☕︎˚࿔⟡.*⋆