Work Text:
There’s rattling. Whooshing. A type of noise that penetrates the headphones Dan has been meaning to replace with an actually good pair for over a year. The underground is fairly easy to filter out to background noise on afternoons like this one, after an acting class where the fit quiet guy ended up actually laughing at one of Dan’s jokes. He could ride that high for as long as he’s been procrastinating about those bloody headphones, truth be told.
There’s one rattling noise that still holds his attention, seeps into his brain and accompanies the orchestra version of his favourite video game songs. If he focuses hard enough, it could sound good. It does sound good when it’s in rhythm, but the song changes and he’s left with an off-beat that doesn’t scratch his brain. He remembers Fredrich, and the way his eyes lit up at Dan, and he forgets the noise altogether.
“Excuse me!”
Dan jumps. Someone’s cough-drop breath is right next to his face and the happy place he went to is replaced with a reality he’s moving into on autopilot.
He somehow processes that there’s an older woman scowling at him, he recognises it as his cue to stand, and she sits down on his seat with the same angry look on her face. There’s tons of other people his age sat on these seats and she went for the one with ADHD and a serious fear of confrontation. Great.
“I’m so sorry,” Dan says, all the blood drained from his face while he stumbles, catching himself on the rail next to the woman and, of course, accidentally nudging her pretty pumps with his worn out, dirty sneakers. He draws a breath in to apologise further, but she’s giving him a deadly glare at this point.
“I can’t believe—” she starts, and Dan. Well, moving on autopilot doesn’t always work in his favour. In fact, it rarely does. He finds himself walking away from her lecture while feeling everyone’s judgmental stares prod his temples. It’s not his first time becoming the Underground Clown, but he still breaks out in a sweat while his brain is shouting at him to behave like a normal person for once in his fucking life.
Dan just starts to move and once he starts he can’t find it in himself to stop until he’s sure he’s somewhere where no one knows he just made an ass of himself. He leans against the wall, one hand firmly around the disgusting handrail, not really hearing the music or the background noise; just the mental replay of what just happened in excruciating detail from multiple angles. Like some type of fucked up satirical version of his own stupid behaviour. He swears he can hear the theme song to “Curb Your Enthusiasm” playing over his carefully assembled playlist.
Two stops later, Dan has calmed down enough to take in his surroundings. There’s actually seats. Dan could sit. But right in front of him is another guy just standing, and he looks—
At first glance, he’s hot. He’s tall, skinny, and got dyed black hair that Dan would love to run his fingers through. At second glance, he’s alright. His posture is a bit weak, his toes pointing inward, not exactly the picture of confidence. At third glance, none of the other glances matter because the look on the guy’s face as he stares off into space tells Dan that this dude might be a walking virus hazard.
He looks actually ill, body rigid, eyes cloudy, a stiff pale hand against his abdomen like it’s the only thing keeping him from being sick all over the floor. Dan should run, seeing as he’s in perfect spraying-distance from this guy. If he hasn’t caught whatever he’s dealing with yet, that’d do it.
But the autopilot doesn’t make Dan move, this time around. It glues his feet to the floor out of fear that doing anything will embarrass him all over again, and there’s an odd comfort in looking at someone that might be in worse condition than himself, just trying to stay alive on this cursed journey home.
It all filters through Dan’s head, and then he’s arrived at his stop. He hurries outside, walking up the escalator. It's not until he’s left the station that he actually takes a breath before he speeds into a fast rhythm to make his way to his flat.
Today, the walk feels longer than average. He’s anxious to get away from people, have something to eat, play a game. It kind of works to focus on that, knowing his flatmate isn’t going to be back for another few days. He won’t anticipate getting scared and feeling lost on his own, but he knows those feelings are getting closer for every step he takes.
It isn’t until Dan gets to one of the quieter streets that he realises he’s not alone. He can hear the ragged breathing of someone behind him. It’s not himself, he’s not getting winded from this pace at all, but he slows for a second. The breathing behind him gets calmer. Dan glances over his shoulder to spot the same guy that stood in front of him on the train, and by the sounds of it he’s not feeling any better than he appeared to be earlier.
Dan picks up the pace. Hoping to shake the guy off. He could just be going the same direction, but Dan starts to doubt it when he rounds a corner and the guy seems to literally walk in his footsteps there. The breathing is getting weird again, too. If this is what mindfulness means, Dan doesn’t fucking like it. He’s thinking about every step he takes and every sound from the guy behind him and he can’t worry about the woman that yelled at him or the fear he might find in his flat; all he can think about now is not getting stabbed by the least threatening dude he’s ever laid his eyes on.
It’s just stupid. And Dan is getting sick to his stomach with it by now. So, his autopilot stops him in his tracks to glare at the guy behind him.
The guy stumbles awkwardly, but stops, staring straight back at Dan for a second before he averts his eyes. Dan frowns, watching, wondering if the guy is actually going to keep walking since he was holding on to a hope that he wasn’t actually being stalked and the dude just happened to be going the same direction.
“D’you need something?” Dan asks. His voice is strained and loud and angry. Hearing himself only makes him feel worse.
The dude whimpers. He reaches a shaky hand into his pocket and for a second, Dan thinks this is the end. The guy’s got a gun and he’s going to aim it at Dan, he’s sure. But obviously, the guy is taking out his phone. Less obviously, he’s walking up to Dan and handing it to him.
Dan takes it before he can even think. “What?” he asks.
“Ring Martyn,” the guy says. He’s speaking on an inhale. “Please. Martyn Lester.”
Dan feels a pang of sympathy, but more so he feels incredibly unlucky to be put in the position of helping someone else. The guy stumbles again. Dan groans, grabbing his arm to steady him. The guy jumps, like the touch scared him, and he’s literally acting like a wounded lamb with no one else to turn to at this point.
Maybe this is Dan’s opportunity to not be the asshole the lady on the tube thinks he is. Even if the guy is high, or drunk, or playing a prank on him. Dan could choose to just… be kind. And the guy doesn’t look like he’ll be able to stand up straight for much longer.
“Okay, wait,” Dan says, handing him his phone back. “I’ll call him, yeah? I think you need to lie down first, though.”
The guy looks devastated. His face crumbles, throat working like he’s holding back tears.
“I live just up here.” Dan points at the building they’re standing by. “You can lie down there while I call your friend, okay? Are you having a medical emergency?”
The guy shakes his head. Dan realises he’s still holding his arm. He pats it, then shoves his hand in his pocket.
“Alright,” Dan says when the guy doesn’t say anything. “Are you good coming upstairs? There’s an elevator.”
“‘M good,” the guy nods, letting out a breath like saying any words took all of his effort.
They make their way upstairs. Awkwardly, of course. But Dan isn’t feeling as weird as he thought he would, noticing how unwell this guy must be. He should help him, truly.
“I’m Dan,” Dan says while he unlocks his front door. “And your name?”
“Phil,” the guy says, staring at his own feet, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
“Okay, Phil,” Dan says while he opens the door. “The couch is to the left and the toilet’s to the right. I’m gonna get you a bucket in case you get sick. Feel free to just lie down and we’ll sort all of this out, yeah?”
For the first time, Dan notices something that might be gratitude or relief, closing the door behind Phil. Phil catches his eye with a nod and a forced smile, mouthing a ‘thank you’. Dan nods back, mouthing a ‘no worries’ as if that’s how humans communicate now.
Phil steps towards the toilet. Then he looks confused when he faces a closed door.
“What’s up…?” Dan asks, hanging up his jacket on a coat peg.
“Just—,” Phil stammers. “Couch?”
“To the left,” Dan says again, pointing behind himself.
The guy smiles, sheepish, and then he’s off. Dan watches him lie down, clutching his stomach still. He hurries to the cleaning cabinet to get the mop bucket he hasn’t used in way too long, given the dust covering it. Doesn’t really matter. Dan isn’t going to bother making it look nice when Phil might throw up on his flatmate’s persian rug any second now.
He places the bucket next to Phil, then turns.
“Call Martyn,” comes a weak voice behind Dan.
“Right, yes,” Dan nods. “Just getting you some water.”
“Thanks,” Phil mumbles.
Polite, at least. Part of Dan believes this is all an elaborate ruse. Like, Phil’s gonna turn around and stab him and rob him of all of his hand me down possessions. ‘Cause that’s something that happens, doesn’t it?
Dan returns with a glass of water and sits down on the arm chair. Phil doesn’t drink. He’s facing the back cushions, breathing long, panicked breaths.
“Okay, calm,” Dan says in the softest voice he can muster. “Deep breath in through your nose.”
Phil takes a stuttering, small breath in.
“Hold it for a second,” Dan instructs. Phil seems to struggle. “And release through your mouth.”
That seems to do something. Phil’s shoulders relax the tiniest, slightest bit. Dan repeats the instructions a couple more times, and each time seems to calm Phil down from frantic to— not calm. Somewhat crazed, maybe. God, Dan feels bad for him.
“Can I have your phone?” Dan asks. “Just gonna ring your friend.”
“Martyn,” Phil says. “My brother.”
He sits up, face scrunched with discomfort, and hands Dan his phone. It’s already open on Martyn’s contact page.
“What am I meant to tell him, exactly?” Dan asks.
Phil crumbles once more. “Uhm,” he says, breathing going strange. “Just— uhh.”
“Nevermind,” Dan says, clicking the phone symbol and holding it to his ear. “I’ll figure it out, yeah? Just try to relax.”
Phil nods. He scoots back down the couch, shivering. Dan hands him a blanket from the chair and watches him tuck himself in with enough interest that the voice in his ear manages to surprise him.
“Hey, Phil,” says an accent that sounds very much like the guy on Dan’s couch. “Kind of busy at the moment. I’ll call you back?”
“Sorry. Not Phil. I’m Dan, you don’t know me. Anyway, Phil isn’t feeling well and he asked me to call you.”
“Dan?” Martyn asks.
“Yeah, uhh, well he seemed very ill on the tube and I offered to help since well,” Dan shrugs. It’s a half-lie, but he’s not exactly going to reiterate the fears that Phil was a creep right now, when Phil can hear. “I dunno, does he have any medical stuff? Medication he can take? I don’t know what I’m doing here or what I’m dealing with.”
Martyn lets out a long, long sigh. “He’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
“Uh, okay.”
“He’s not on medication. He’s just anxious. I don’t know. Let me talk to him?”
Dan wants to tell Martyn that there’s medication for anxiety. And if this is only anxiety, then it’s a brutal kind. Kind of strange to dismiss something like that, to not immediately offer to take his brother’s health out of the hands of an actual stranger.
“Martyn wants to talk to you,” Dan tells Phil.
“Can’t,” Phil is shaking his head. Then his whole body kind of shakes. “Can’t talk.”
“He can’t talk,” Dan tells Martyn. He puts a hand on Phil’s shoulder.
The tremors calm.
“Well, isn’t that good,” Martyn sighs. “Alright. I’m with my girlfriend at the moment, but if he’s not feeling better in half an hour, call me and I’ll get him, okay? I think he just needs to cool down.”
That’s at least something to go off, Dan thinks. Maybe Phil’s brother isn’t an actual monster.
“Alright,” Dan says. “Thanks?”
“No problem,” Martyn says, all bright and cheery. “Hope I don’t hear from you, then, Dan.”
It’s odd, but Martyn hangs up before Dan has time to say anything back. He puts Phil’s phone down on the coffee table.
“He says to let you relax for a while,” Dan says. He’s not sure what else he can say. Dan knows anxiety, and his own experience tells him that telling Phil that Martyn couldn’t be arsed to interrupt girlfriend time to help out isn’t the best idea. “He’s coming later.”
Doesn’t matter to Dan if Phil’s better or not in thirty minutes. He doesn’t feel comfortable letting him walk out of his flat alone.
“Okay,” Phil sighs. “Thank you, Dan. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries. I’ll get out of your space and you just tell me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dan gets up from the armchair, wondering what the fuck he’s meant to do with himself now.
-
He doesn’t have to wonder for long. Dan just about reaches the kitchen before he hears a voice straining to be heard from the few metres between the lounge and the kitchen.
“Dan?”
Dan rushes back, staring down at Phil, who’s now lying on his back. Not a lot of colour has returned to his face, but then, Phil might just be that pale. At least there’s a little more life to his incredibly blue, incredibly sorry eyes.
“Don’t—,” Phil starts, then shifts in discomfort. “I’m so sorry. I just can’t be alone right now. This is— this isn’t like me, at all.”
Dan sits down on the armchair without a word. He puts his hand back on Phil’s shoulder.
“It’s alright,” Dan says. “Really. Don’t worry about bothering me. Just focus on your breathing.”
“Are you a therapist or something?” Phil asks.
“No,” Dan laughs. “God, no.”
Phil glances up at him. He kind of meets Dan’s smile.
“I’ve got a therapist,” Dan clarifies. “So I know some tricks for when someone’s anxious.”
“Dunno if I am anxious,” Phil grunts. “I was getting motion sickness on the tube and then—”
Dan pats Phil’s shoulder, beckoning him. It’s like Phil shuts down, and has to be brought back to the surface. At least, that’s what Dan thinks is happening. He can’t be sure, really.
“I get anxious about health stuff,” Phil admits with a sigh. “Hypochondriac stuff. I get dizzy spells and headaches a lot and I’ve been scared about that lately so I guess I just. Yeah, I guess I just had a panic about that but I really, honestly, have never behaved like this. I don’t ask strangers to call Martyn like I’m ten years old. I’m thirty.”
“I’m twenty six,” Dan says. He’s not sure why.
“Yeah,” Phil says. Then he does a double-take, looking back up at Dan again. “Really?”
Dan grins. “Yeah. I don’t look my age.”
It’s not that it’s exactly funny, it just feels good that Phil is talking and that it’s not a weird conversation. Dan feels like he’s talking to one of his friends, not some sad puppy he had to rescue from the street.
“Do you have anything you can take for motion sickness?” Dan asks. “Like medication or—”
“Yeah,” Phil nods. “Didn’t take it today. Got convinced it’d kill me.”
“What?” Dan frowns. “The medication would kill you?”
“Yeah,” Phil says, shuffling awkwardly like he’s embarrassed. He seems to realise Dan’s hand on his shoulder then, gives it a weird little pat, and something feels a little bit warm in Dan’s tummy for a split second.
“Has it killed you before?” Dan asks.
“No,” Phil says. “Obviously not. I just get in my head about— all that kind of stuff. Like having an illness kills me, and taking medication for said illness also kills me, and I’m just in this loop of like— I’m gonna die. You know?”
“We’re all gonna die,” Dan says.
“Well, I don’t want to!”
Phil takes a breath, sitting up, and then he’s looking back at Dan’s face. Phil sighs.
“Okay, sorry,” he says.
“No, I’m sorry,” Dan shrugs. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
Phil raises both eyebrows. “Kind of was.”
“I’m not the worst stranger you could’ve found though,” Dan shrugs. “All things considered.”
“Yeah, no,” Phil shakes his head. “Absolutely not, you’re great, actually. You looked nice and you have a rainbow pin on your backpack, so I figured you might be.”
Dan’s face flushes red. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I don’t know, I’m a gay in distress and you’re a gay not in distress,” Phil says.
The warmth in Dan’s tummy spreads, bit by bit. He smiles. “I was pretty fucking distressed when I saw you.”
Phil pouts.
“Not because of you,” Dan clarifies, and yes it’s a lie but at least it’s not a complete lie. “A lady yelled at me and I was like, certain I was gonna lose my mind.”
“What? On the tube?”
“Yeah, I didn’t notice she needed a seat.”
“Oh. Been there.”
Dan can sort of gauge that Phil’s a person that would end up in that situation. The more he talks, the more Dan feels like they have in common. Dan might not have anxiety about headaches but he’s got it for just about anything else.
They talk for a while. Phil tells Dan that he’s tired, but then he goes on a long rant about a weird video he has to edit for his job, and Dan gets to laugh and watch this guy that seemed to be falling apart just an hour ago really hold his own and the warmth is taking over the entire flat now, bouncing between them, making time stand still and rush forward at the same time.
“Martyn’s not coming, is he?” Phil asks a bit later, when Dan’s stomach is growling and he’s thinking about what to do about dinner with Phil here.
“Oh,” Dan says, looking up from his phone. He’s got the pizza place app open and practically salivating at every option. “Yeah, uh…”
He kind of forgot about that little white lie.
“I was gonna call him if you weren’t feeling better?” Dan tries.
“Okay.”
Dan tilts his head to the side, eyeing Phil who’s now braiding the tufts on the end of the blanket. He’s got three down already, working on his fourth.
“Do you want pizza or something?” Dan asks. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah!” Phil lights up instantly. “I can pay, obviously. Um. Or I should go, maybe.”
Dan shrugs. “I wouldn’t leave on an empty stomach if I were you.”
The light in Phil’s eyes flickers. He undoes all the braids and pushes the blanket off his lap.
“Are you actually okay with me being here this long?” Phil asks. “I barely know where I am.”
“You got off the same stop as me so you can’t live far,” Dan reasons.
“I just got off to follow you.”
Dan raises an eyebrow, feeling the warmth centre to his fingers while he tries to scroll the menu without seeming weird about it. Like, it’s fucking weird that Phil is even here and it’s even weirder that he’s only here because of Dan, but he feels flattered.
“That’s an odd way to flirt,” Dan says, keeping his tone even and trying not to giggle.
“I mean!” Phil splutters. “You seemed nice and I was out of my mind so I was like, working up the courage to ask for help. God, this doesn’t make it sound any better.”
“You’re actually really sweet,” Dan says. He blindly clicks a pizza. “You good with sharing this one?” He shows Phil the screen.
“Don’t love mushrooms,” Phil confesses.
Dan glances at his face, thinking, as Phil takes the phone from his hands to find something. He’s got a little smile on his face, though. He can’t have missed that Dan is going from ‘any company is nice when my flatmate is away and I’m afraid of the dark’ to ‘I kind of don’t want this guy in particular to leave’.
They settle on Dominos. Dan let Phil decide on what would be on it in favour of picking out the dips. He doesn’t even mind Phil laughing a little at him; Dan is just happy to see Phil continue to bloom, the panic seemingly completely gone at this point. Dan is going back to his first impression of him back on the tube. When that first glance registered the guy in front of him as being hot, and nothing Phil is saying or doing now really takes that away anymore. It really only makes it more true.
Fucking hell. The more they talk, the less it seems like a bad idea, and then the pizza arrives and Dan is bringing out a bottle of white wine like he’s on a fucking date. Phil is the only one that’s really acting sane at this point. The roles have reversed and now it’s Dan who feels nervous when Phil seems to acknowledge his little flirts, smirking as Dan pours them the wine and Phil’s having his first slice of pizza.
“Don’t know if alcohol is good for anxiety,” he comments, smug as hell.
“It’s not,” Dan says. “It’s really bad for anxiety in the long run. It kind of uses up the happy chemicals in your brain, did you know that? That’s why people can feel anxious or depressed the day after drinking.”
Phil looks pretty stunned. Dan smiles wide to compensate for the way his heart starts pounding.
“Not just from one glass, though,” he explains. “More so from excessive drinking. Unless you’re on medication that doesn’t mix well with alcohol, of course. I was actually on antidepressants once that made me feel drunk after like, half a glass. I thought, in a way, that it saved me some money but actually it was bad.”
Phil looks even more stunned, then. And Dan is oversharing. He hasn’t even had a sip yet, and he’s talking out of his ass like he just downed the damn bottle.
“You’re cute,” Phil says then.
Dan drinks just to stop himself from responding.
It doesn’t work.
“Stranger danger,” he says.
Phil laughs, and then Dan’s laughing too. They kind of don’t stop laughing, just shift closer while they eat and drink. The warmth turns into heat.
“Really, though,” Phil says while Dan is scrolling Netflix on the TV. They’ve finished their food, the wine bottle is half empty, and Dan isn’t sure if Phil is staying over but the time is nearing midnight. Phil has moved to one end of the couch while Dan is sitting in the middle of the three-seater, thinking harder about the distance between them than anything they could watch.
“Really, what?” Dan asks.
“Like,” Phil shrugs when Dan looks over at him. “Thank you?”
Dan smiles. Phil wets his lips. “You’re welcome?” Dan says with a grin. “You’re good company.”
It starts to feel like an ending. Phil could make this his cue to leave. Dan could, too, maybe. He doesn’t want to.
Phil sits up, then. His leg lining up right next to Dan, and suddenly his presence is the only thing Dan can process. Dan sinks into himself a little bit, looking up at Phil through his lashes. It’s his go-to move, whatever. His sense of shame isn’t present right now. He can tell Phil likes it, anyway, because Phil presses his leg up against Dan’s.
It’s just a kiss. Lips meeting lips. Dan doesn’t know who initiates it. Maybe they both did, at the same time. He tastes white wine on Phil’s tongue, chases it, breathing heavier when Phil deepens the kiss and wraps an arm around his back. It’s kind of fidgeting there, playing with the hem of Dan’s t-shirt, for a second too long. Dan squirms, pulling away with a strange noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan.
“Fucking tickles,” he grunts, grabbing Phil’s hand, keeping it in place.
Phil does a sheepish little smile, ducking his head. “Sorry.”
Dan pushes Phil’s hand up under the fabric, leaning back for Phil to straddle his lap. He goes easily. He weighs nothing. Dives in to catch Dan’s lips, both hands running up Dan’s chest under the shirt. Dan has to push down on them again. He’s not one for timid, soft touches. He wants hard. He wants pushing, scratching. He wants to really feel it.
Phil seems to get it soon enough. Their shirts come off, Dan rubs his hands all over Phil’s stupid skinny back, feeling him twist and wriggle under his hands as he rubs his dick up against Dan’s. Phil breathes hard through his nose, making a little noise against Dan’s lips. Dan settles his hands, tucking the fingers in the waistband of Phil’s jeans, pushing him to keep rocking up against him.
It’s rough and not enough but Dan could come like this if they keep it up for long enough. He twists his face to the side to exhale. His cock is throbbing, and Phil is fully focused on grabbing Dan’s chest like he’s got tits. He leans in to kiss Dan’s neck softly, just lips, but… fuck.
Phil chuckles at the way Dan’s hips jump, keeps lightly kissing his neck while he grinds up against his dick. Dan turns his head to the other side. Phil kisses that side as well. Dan has a thousand embarrassing noises trapped in his chest, pushing up his throat and making it sore. Everything is too much and not enough all at once.
“Good?” Phil asks.
Dan doesn’t know how to answer that question. He just feels desperate.
He grabs Phil’s hand, pushing it down between them. Phil nods like he gets it or something. Dan doesn’t need to say anything for Phil to start undoing Dan’s jeans, just dropping to his knees on the floor between Dan’s legs and taking him into his mouth.
Dan gasps the second he’s enveloped by that smooth wetness, gone too soon when Phil decides to lick him all over his cock, replacing his mouth with his hand. Dan puts a hand on Phil’s head, finally running his fingers through his soft hair, gently guiding his mouth towards the head of his cock.
Phil looks — like he loves this. His lips are so red, face flushed pink, eyes closed as he kisses Dan’s cockhead, squeezing up and down the shaft with an unhurried hand. Maybe that’s what relaxes Dan enough to fully sink into the couch, head tipping back, feet planted firmly on the floor to push his hips up along with Phil’s strokes. He breathes noisily, holding back until he can’t anymore.
Phil kisses his cock throughout, even as he’s pumping out cum and grunting like he’s being exorcised of a horny demon. He’s tingling all over, watching Phil wank out every drop with a droopy smile, catching Dan’s eye. Dan laughs, shaking his head while Phil comes up to the couch, cleaning him up with a t-shirt—Dan can’t tell whose—and they’re kissing again.
Dan is a little drunk and a lot satisfied, not hesitant when he kisses Phil hard enough to tip him back to lie down and grab what he can through Phil’s jeans. Phil is so eager to kiss back, holding Dan by the back of the head while he cants his hips up to help Dan undo them. Dan wants to suck him off so fucking bad, but Phil keeps shaking his head whenever he tries. Just catches Dan’s wrist to lick excessively over his palm. Dan almost laughs but then Phil sucks a finger into his mouth, holding Dan’s eye for a second, before he nods and pushes his hand back down between them, letting Dan suck his tongue while he wanks him fast and tight until he tips right over the edge with a soft moan that shakes his whole body.
It’s a quick cleanup, and then they head to Dan’s bedroom, loopy and giggly, not really saying anything. Just taking off their clothes and falling into each other’s arms beneath the covers, kissing and fucking each other’s fists until they come.
Dan falls asleep from utter exhaustion, body buzzing, a warm body against his own.
-
It’s fucking strange to wake up next to Phil in the morning, to remember everything he’s yet to process from last night. He just feels familiar, watching Phil’s sleeping face pressed against Dan’s pillow, breathing so softly. A noise rattles him, coming from Dan’s bedside table. Dan reaches for the phone, expecting it to be his own, but the screen says “Martyn Lester”.
Phil’s eyes are opening, brows furrowed. Dan smiles at him when he hands Phil his phone. Hopefully, Phil doesn’t get spooked. He clears his throat, sitting up.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he says. Still looking at Dan like he’s completely comfortable waking up in a stranger’s bed. “No, I went home last night.”
Dan suppresses a laugh, and Phil covers his mouth with his hand. Dan pretends to be defeated, closing his eyes while Phil keeps talking to Martyn and making up stories about how he didn’t end up fucking the stranger that took him home last night. His hand moves to Dan’s hair, just petting him, and Dan waits for the phone call to be over. Maybe by then they’ll become more than strangers, but for now they’ll just have to wait.