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Phil sat in the seat next to Dan in the taxi, closer than he had any rational reason to, pressing their legs together for no reason other than he could. It was nerve-wracking, knowing how close they were, and knowing it didn’t matter anymore. Phil’s hand was in his pocket, and it was warm in the cab, and he was drunk, and it was like all of the good parts of being 19 again, with none of the bad.
Phil’s hand squeezed his leg through his jacket, and Dan leaned into him. Phil had a mischievous look in his eyes that Dan was tempted to give in to, but even if their relationship was public now, there were some things Dan didn’t want to see in the tabloids if he could avoid it. “You’re so impatient,” he said, amused.
Phil tucked his chin into Dan’s shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, the picture of innocence.
Dan searched for his hand and squeezed it. “Sure.” The physical contact was grounding. All of the anxiety of posting their video would have been worth it for just this moment, he thought, and there were so many more of these moments still to come.
The car dropped them off down the street from the house, and Phil would have fallen getting out of the car if Dan hadn’t been there to steady him. Phil giggled, using it as an excuse to lean into Dan.
“Careful,” Dan said. “You’ll fall and hit your head.”
“Maybe it would just reset everything,” Phil suggested. “Can’t know until we try.”
“Let’s not,” Dan said, guiding Phil around a puddle he had been about to walk through.
Inside, Phil crowded Dan against the door.
“Ew,” Dan said, because apparently whatever was left of his brain-to-mouth filter had completely disintegrated into the garlic-infused vodka. “Your breath stinks.”
“Yours too,” Phil said, trying to corner him again, but Dan ducked away.
“Stop it,” Dan said, even though Phil looked unbearably pretty in the dim grey light filtering through the glass panels beside the door. “You’re gross.”
Phil pouted. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”
“Wait,” Dan said, suddenly forgetting what he had been complaining about. “I didn’t say that.”
Phil smiled, his hands pawing at Dan’s jacket. “Come on.” He tugged Dan towards one of the doors.
“Hey,” Dan said. “Why my room?”
“Why not?”
“It’s going to make a mess,” Dan complained.
Phil shrugged. “We’ll sleep in my room.”
Dan wrinkled his nose.
Phil noticed. “What?” he asked. “What’s wrong with my room?”
“Nothing,” Dan said, his sluggish brain trying to come up with an excuse.
“What’s wrong with me?” Phil asked, ever the dramatic drunk. “Were you going to go back to your room afterwards?”
Even in his compromised state of mind, Dan was pretty sure that “yes” would be the wrong answer. “Um,” he said instead.
“Dan,” Phil said, wrapping his arms around Dan so he couldn’t move. “Don’t leave me.”
“Our rooms are next to each other, you barnacle,” Dan said, but he didn’t try very hard to break out of Phil’s hold.
“You hate sleeping with me.” Phil pouted.
“No,” Dan insisted.
Phil glared and bit him. “You do.”
“Ow. Fine. You snore when you’re drunk. Sometimes it makes sense to sleep apart, you know. I need my beauty rest.”
Phil whined, still clinging to Dan. “On our anniversary?”
“It’s not our anniversary, you twat.” Dan wasn’t too unsteady, but Phil’s clinging was pulling him off balance. He pushed Phil away just far enough that he could stand properly.
Phil went easily, loosening his grip on Dan, but still hanging on. “Anniversary month.”
“Not a thing. And still wrong.” Dan tried to disentangle Phil’s hands from his clothing.
“Don’t abandon me,” Phil begged. He did that thing where he looked up at Dan through his eyelashes and looked like he was about to cry, and Dan caved, the way he always did whenever Phil managed to drag him into an argument about this kind of thing.
He sighed. “Fine.”
Phil grinned, fisting one hand in Dan’s shirt and looping the fingers of his other through Dan’s belt loop. “Come on, then,” he said, pulling him through the doorway.
Dan stumbled, hitting his leg against the doorframe. “Ow!”
“Sorry.” Phil giggled. Dan swore that sometimes, Phil liked to see him in pain.
“Watch it,” Dan grumbled, rubbing his shin.
“I will, I will!” Phil promised, making grabby hands in Dan’s direction. It was ridiculous, and it was working.
Phil got his hands on Dan, and giggled again. “You smell like garlic.”
“You smell like garlic, you bitch,” Dan said, shoving him. Phil took the opportunity to fall haphazardly onto Dan’s bed, batting his eyes. “Stop that,” Dan said, genuinely concerned. “You could have died.”
Phil stuck his bottom lip out. “I’m immortal.”
“Good,” Dan said, “Don’t die, or I’ll kill you,” and Phil laughed like he had just said the funniest thing in the world. “I’m going to brush my teeth.” Dan winced. “Not that it’ll help,” he added.
Phil laughed again, even though Dan wasn’t trying to be funny.
“Go brush your teeth, too, or I’m not kissing you,” Dan shouted as he closed his bathroom door behind him. He didn’t stay to hear Phil’s mumbled reply.
When he came back out of the bathroom, Phil was curled into a sleepy ball on his side of Dan’s bed.
“You didn’t brush your teeth,” Dan said mournfully, trying to decide how badly he wanted to kiss his partner.
Phil rolled over. “Get in bed,” he said, so Dan climbed in after him, even though he was still wearing his clothes from the day, but Phil didn’t make any real move to kiss or touch him.
Dan was the one whining now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Phil.”
Phil shuffled closer, still half-asleep. An almost subconscious reaction. “What?”
“You’re falling asleep.”
Phil made a happy, contented noise, melting into Dan’s side.
“It’s our anniversary.”
“It’s our anniversary tomorrow too,” Phil mumbled.
“No it’s not,” Dan argued. “What are you talking about?”
“Anniversary month,” Phil said. He opened his eyes to a blue sliver. “So it’s our anniversary tomorrow too.”
Dan frowned. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
Phil put a hand over Dan’s mouth. “Don’t disagree with me, Howell.”
Dan moved the hand away. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. Celebrate our anniversary all year round if it’s so important to you.” He didn’t wait for a response from Phil. “I’m getting ready for bed.”
Dan shed his extra layers of clothes until he was just in his pants, throwing his outfit into a haphazard pile on the floor. “Phil, are you sleeping in your clothes?”
Phil made a sleepy, affirmative noise.
Well, that was fine, probably, as long as it wasn’t bothering him. Dan tried to remember what else was important to do before bed. “Contacts,” he said. Phil didn’t really move in response, so Dan poked him. “Take your contacts out,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Phil mumbled, in a voice that would probably be completely incoherent to anyone but Dan.
Dan shook him. “Your eyes are going to hate you.”
Phil scooted away. “They already do. Let me sleep,” he whined.
Arguing wasn’t worth it, even if Phil would regret his decision in the morning. “Be like that, then.”
Phil didn’t respond, just curled tighter into a ball.
Alcohol had always hit Phil harder than it hit Dan, but Phil’s daily migraine medication had only made his tolerance even worse. Phil probably shouldn’t have drank as much as he did, Dan thought with a sudden bolt of worry, but he had seemed like he was having a good time, and he seemed fine now, just sleepy.
Dan got up and slipped into Phil’s room to grab a box of ibuprofen, and Phil’s migraine rescue medication for good measure. Phil didn’t move when Dan came back in the room to set them on the nightstand, just opened his eyes to track Dan across the room.
“Shh,” Dan said, louder than he meant to, and Phil rolled his eyes before closing them again.
Dan went to the kitchen for two glasses of water. He gulped his down, then refilled it for good measure. Going back down the stairs was dangerous, maybe, in his state, with both hands full and the lights off, but he didn’t think of that until he was halfway down the staircase, when it felt too late to turn back.
Back in his room, Dan put his own glass of water on the bedside table. “Phil.” Phil stirred. “Water. Or you’ll get a headache.” Dan held out the other glass.
That, at least, was something Phil took seriously enough to sit up and accept the glass.
“Down it, fresher,” Dan said, jostling Phil’s arm and spilling some of the water on their bed. “Faster.”
Phil scowled. “I hate you,” he said, taking a long sip.
Dan stuck his lower lip out. “I brought you water,” he said. “And ibuprofen. You could at least say thank you.”
Phil rolled his eyes, but he said softly, “Thank you.” He drank more water. “I had fun today. It’ll make a good video.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Phil said, taking another long drink to finish off the glass. He reached over to place it on Dan’s bedside table. “I’m still saying it’s our anniversary in the title,” he said.
Dan laughed.
“Clickbait is very serious, Dan,” Phil said, sticking a finger in Dan’s dimple and making him smile again. He yawned, and Dan couldn’t help but yawn in response. “Good night,” he said, curling back into his sleeping position.
“Good night,” Dan said, moving closer to pull Phil into his chest.
Dan tried to fall asleep before Phil started snoring, but he was still awake when he heard the distinctive noise.
He rolled over to stare at the ceiling, considering leaving for Phil’s room. He looked over at Phil, his outline barely visible in the dark. He opened his bedside drawer to hunt for earplugs instead.