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It’s dark. Quiet. The only sound filling the air comes from twigs crunching below their feet, despite their attempts to not make a sound.
Dan and Phil move slowly, deliberately, every step calculated down to the smallest detail. They breathe quietly, only letting the air travel by itself in and out of their mouths, never filling more than the top of their lungs.
They can’t make a sound.
The forest surrounding them is dark, with old trees towering over them, cutting out the tiniest bit of light that the stars and the moon could’ve provided if it wasn’t for the dark, looming clouds coating the sky. Their eyes are constantly scanning the darkness in front of them, looking out for even the tiniest of movements, even though it’s almost impossible to see anything at all.
Phil is freezing. He’s been out for a long time now, and the raw, wet air laps at his bare arms, causing him to shiver. He’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten properly in hours, and his shoes and clothes are wet, and cold, and sticking to his body. He feels heavy, his limbs like they’re filled with lead, and it feels like he’s been walking for days. It’s in the middle of the night, but he doesn't know the exact time. He just knows he’s been here for a long time.
To the left of him, Dan is moving just as slow as Phil. His steps are calculated, each foot carefully put down against the wet moss, trying to cause as little sounds as possible. His dark clothes are soiled and soaked, ruined beyond recovery, and he’s in a T-shirt, just as Phil. His wet curls are slicked down against his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet dog, and his hands are slightly shaking.
Phil’s hands are shaking too, but he doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold or because of his weak nerves. His heartbeat is so loud, he’s afraid it’s going to ruin everything for them, and it fills his ears. Dan won’t say anything, he can’t, but even if he did, Phil doesn't think he’d hear it.
They can't speak.
They slowly make their way through the forest, calculated, just as planned, and reach the small meadow just like expected. It’s darker here for some reason, so dark, and Phil’s poor eyesight has trouble adjusting to the nothingness before him. There’s nothing to lay his eyes on, not a single point of light that contrasts the darkness.
He just knows that they’re at the meadow since it’s the point they’re supposed to be at.
They must stay quiet.
He shivers. He turns towards Dan, who stares out into the darkness, eyes wide and squinting at the same time, lips slightly parted. If it wasn’t from the small fog surrounding his mouth with every small exhale, Phil would think he wasn’t breathing at all. He's like a statue, a porcelain doll, frozen in time.
Frozen by fear. Quiet.
Suddenly, a branch snaps somewhere in front of them.
Despite already standing still, they both freeze. Phil is holding his breath, and even his heart has gone quiet. It’s like it knows that it must stay quiet.
Stay quiet.
Another branch snaps, and Phil almost flinches, caught off guard by the sudden sound, but he manages to stay still, every muscle in his body tense. Dan is as equally still, and quiet, and neither of them dare to do anything.
A third branch snaps, and Phil inhales sharply, scared for real this time.
They. Must. Stay. Quiet.
A hand grasps his upper arm. Cold, wet, and Dan’s. Phil turns slowly to Dan, his entire body tense, ready to run, even though it would be wrong, so wrong. Dan has put his index finger to his lips, and even though he’s never done this before, Phil knows exactly what he’s mouthing.
Don’t speak.
Phil is frozen. Not only by the nothingness, and the something in the nothing that clearly isn’t supposed to be there, but also from Dan’s big hand on his upper arm. They’re both so cold, so tired, but it’s like his hand is electric, and Phil’s skin is buzzing with the touch. Suddenly his heart is beating hard for more than one reason.
Why is Dan doing this? He’s never done this before. It’s not in the script-
A loud squeak makes them both jump, and Phil just has time to register the big bird lifting from the ground in front of them.
”Cut!”
A flashlight turns on, and everyone on set exhales.
”That was brilliant! I loved it!!” Stephen says, gloved hands clapped together, barely visible from the long sleeves of his raincoat. ”That bird was a paid actor!”
Dan chuckles nervously, and turns to Phil, who still tries to catch his breath.
”Are you okay?” he asks, and his hand is still resting on Phil’s arm, and Phil is suddenly very aware of it.
”Yeah,” Phil exhales shakily, and tries his best to give Dan an assuring smile. ”But that bird lowkey scared the shit outta me.”
Dan chuckles, and strokes Phil’s arm with his thumb. They’re both wet, and cold, and they’ve done about a million takes tonight and everyone except Stephen are probably more than ready to go home and sleep, but Phil suddenly feels warm and content under Dan’s touch.
It’s only been a couple of days and he’s already falling for his co-star. Fuck.
”You did great though, we must’ve gotten it this time,” Dan smiles back at Phil, and seconds later Stephen tells the crew that he's happy with the shot and that they can start to wrap up the set.
Dan and Phil don’t have to help with that though. They’re instead being wrapped up in blankets by their assistant Susan and driven back to their hotel rooms, with the information that they’ll have to be in the makeup chair by 7 am tomorrow morning since they're moving on to filming gore scenes.
Phil falls asleep dry, warm and exhausted. In four hours he’s supposed to be on set again, this time to film a scene where he and Dan get eaten by a monster.
He can’t wait to die on screen with Dan.