Chapter Text
David checks the clock before he even looks at his phone. Who the fuck is calling him at 3 in the morning? Patting a hand behind him confirms that it's not Georgia because she is fast asleep on the other side of the bed. The kids are all home, so they wouldn't call.
With a groan, David grabs the vibrating phone and squints at the picture on the display. Michael fucking Sheen, that's who's calling him at 3 in the morning. He swipes to answer but doesn't say anything.
"David!"
Michael's voice tells David that the man is walking a fine line between tipsy and full on sloshed and David isn't sure what he's supposed to feel about getting a drunk phone call from his co-worker in the middle of the night.
"David David David...so good to hear you."
That makes David smile.
"I haven't said anything yet," he whispers while disentangling himself from the sheets and stepping into the hallway. He leans against the wall then, phone at his ear, bare feet crossed at the ankles.
"But I can hear you breathe."
David stifles a laugh and pads down the hallway. When he reaches the kitchen, he closes the door behind him, but doesn't turn on the light. He takes a glass out of the cabinet and fills it from the faucet.
"Sorry, was that creepy? It was, wasn't it? I'm so sorry, David - what are you doing now? Is that the shower?"
"Yes," David deadpans before taking a gulp of fresh water. He doesn't feel particularly sleepy anymore. Drunk Michael is funny and David wants to see where this is going.
"You - you are showering at - whatsthetime - bloody hell, at 3 AM? Wait. Did I call you at 3 AM?"
"Hmh yeah, you kinda did."
"Why did you pick up?"
Good question. David wishes he had an answer but he doesn't, so he says, "Don't be daft, that was the tap. I just needed something to drink."
"Oh," is all of Michael's answer.
What does that mean? Did Michael - did he want it to be the shower?
"Michael," David starts cautiously, "why did you call anyway?"
"Yes!"
It sounds vaguely like Michael jumped up from something and maybe hit his head. The smile is evident in his voice when he continues speaking nevertheless.
"I called you!"
"Yeah, you did."
"Wanted to ask you something."
There's silence until David prompts him to go on.
Michael giggles.
"Can I ruffle your hair?"
"Ruffle my hair?" David asks and it feels like deja vu. He's sure this has happened before, but not with someone that he- not with Michael. "I'm sorry, let me get this straight. You called me at 3 in the morning to ask if you could ruffle my hair?"
Michael is giggling again, affirmatively.
"Go to bed, Michael, you're drunk." David sighs, running a hand through his own hair, absolutely not imagining how it might feel if it were Michael doing that.
"Not drunk. I'm not. I just haven't been sleeping well lately, and I thought some wine would help but then I got to thinking about you and- I mean, Crowley and Aziraphale, and them drinking together and I missed you a tiny bit and your hair was so lovely in that scene and it suits you, the longer hair, doesn't it? It does."
David needs another sip of water before he answers.
"Thank you," he says quietly, his cheeks warmed by the compliment, and he's glad Michael can't see it.
"Soooo," Michael drawls.
"So," David answers.
"Can I? Ruffle your hair, that is?"
It sounds conspicuously earnest and David doesn't know what to do with that. He shrugs.
"Well?" Michael prompts and David remembers he can't see him shrugging.
"I mean. Yeah. I guess, why not?"
"Good."
It sounds like a deal has been struck and David doesn't know what exactly he's gotten himself into but he knows it's dangerous. It's also exciting. He's not gonna sleep again tonight because his mind is running miles around all kinds of probable and less probable (but maybe more desirable) outcomes, the most likely being that Michael will have forgotten this call come morning and they'll never talk about it again.
~
It's past noon when Michael texts him, asking if he wants to go for dinner. The message doesn't mention hair or the ruffling thereof. David tries to tell himself he's not disappointed. It would be weird. They're friends and it would be weird if he secretly wanted his friend to run his hands through David's hair, leaving not just the top of his head ruffled, so he doesn't want that.
Instead, he agrees to dinner, and it's pure coincidence that after an afternoon shower he decides not to put any product in his hair. Georgia smiles at him all too knowingly and he loves her but he hates how she seems to be able to see right through him most of the time, even when he'd just like to pretend for a moment longer that things are not like that, that he is not like that.
Of course he is, though. And maybe Michael is, too. Or maybe Michael was drunk out of his mind and David was just at the top of his contact list last night.
"David. You look lovely," Michael greets him at the doors of the restaurant, pulling him into a hug that is too short for David to even reply, and then they're already being seated and it's too late, so he doesn't say anything.
Dinner is nice, as it always is. Just a casual dinner between friends, no talk of hair or getting one's fingers into said hair. It's nice.
It's maddening.
They skip dessert in favour of taking a walk along the river because it's so nice outside. Michael tells him about some new projects he's working on and David tells him that Georgia and the kids are on their way to visit the grandparents so effectively he'll have the house to himself for the next few days.
Michael looks at him curiously and David wants to curse himself for bringing it up. Like a fucking invitation.
"So. The hair ruffling still on the table, then?" Michael asks without looking up, his gaze on the river as if that's a completely normal question. So he hasn't forgotten. David doesn't know if he's relieved or not (except he knows, doesn't he? And it terrifies him).
"Well." He's stalling.
"Not here, obviously," Michael says with a small laugh. "What would the people think?" he continues in mock indignation.
"Yeah."
David turns from the river to find Michael still staring at it intently, his general body demeanour relaxed, but his fingers twisting around each other and David realizes that Michael is as nervous as he is.
"We're just 5 minutes from home. I mean, if you wanted to come along for a nightcap or something."
"Or something," Michael murmurs, shooting him a quick glance. There's a smile in there and David finds himself returning it.
It's unbearable. The closer they get to home, the closer they gravitate towards each other, until their hands brush at every other step. It tingles up David's arm, ignites an urge to grab that hand, to hold and squeeze and not let go again, but he can't, they can't, because there's people and he's already terrified of even entering his own house with a good friend because yes, what would the people think?
He tells himself it's gonna be one great joke. He's gonna let Michael ruffle his hair and they're gonna have a good laugh and then they're gonna have a drink and Michael is gonna go home and that'll be it. Except he knows that's not true. He knows it by the silence of their walk and the way they keep sneaking glances at each other, quickly averting their eyes when the other looks back.