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His thoughts come to halt with a mug to his face, and he snorts because Dan’s grip faults on the handle. He instinctively reaches to grab. He doesn’t, however. Dan’s fingers tremble with the hot ceramic and he remembers there are ways to help that don’t burn them both in the process.
He sits his coffee on the bedstand and, unusually, Dan hasn’t left by the time he takes the first sip. The drink is scalding. He swallows it back and asks, “Something wrong?”
“No,” Dan quips. There’s usually not much room for visitors so he sits on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, “Not really.”
There used to be space for Dan, pressed warmly to his side and the crook of his neck, but that was in another instance, in another city now miles away. London is for stability, familiarity, and Phil doesn’t push. He takes a swig of coffee. “Alright then.”
-
Phil thought he’d never get away from the tour. That he’d never wake from this wild ride. How surreal to be living out of suitcase, off minibar snacks, in the radiance of Dan’s joy.
He does, simply enough. This- this so-called friendship, the embodiment of memories and achievements and routine- continues to exist. It’s there. Unchanging. It is enough.
-
“Phil…” Dan says, he turns away from the laptop he borrowed momentarily. “What’s this?”
He leans over, his stomach sinking. “Oh that’s- (he feels like he’s been caught cheating, which is nonsense)- those are apartments for sale.”
Dan swallows, and it’s the first he’s heard of it. “Is… is this a video idea?”
“Dan.” He stresses the word, watching the discomfort on his friend’s face. “It’s nothing. It showed up in my emails. Don’t worry about it.”
“Right.” Dan withdraws, and opens a new tab.
-
Later that night Phil is mouthing words into his pillow.
You can’t do that, Dan.
Dan, in the next room.
Dan, pulling him along like a puppy with attachment issues.
Dan, with a face like that, whom he’d buy a dozen puppies, who’d all adore him off the bat like he, who can’t, for reasons more than their tenancy agreement, but there’s no easy way to say he wants a house with windows for walls, for puppies, for him and Dan.
It doesn’t feel right. He curls into his bed when the lights are out and the floorboards of Dan’s room are finally quiet.
His pillow is dry by morning.
-
Dan can only pull for so long before they snap.
And it happens too fast that he doesn’t remember what he said only not what he wanted to say.
He’s too tense to articulate and the spot on Dan’s cheek is inflamed. It’s a poor detail to focus when Dan is aiming at the cracks of their friendship, but he’s hearing a loop of white noise and the last sentence he was able to catch.
“What?” He’s soft, confused for a moment. “I do need you, Phil. Are you out of your mind?”
Phil’s stomach churns. It is enough. It’s enough for him.
He doesn’t like this. He leaves because they’re always better in the morning.
-
It’s late when Dan comes out, knocking on Phil’s door.
There’s a moment spent avoiding each other’s gaze, a moment of Dan shifting under the door frame, his camouflage pajamas a silhouette in the light.
Phil waits under his comforter. He hears the sharp intake of breath.
“Phil,” he exhales, soft, and Phil wouldn’t mind hearing it again. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, so quit on this nonsense.” He steps lightly. “Look, I can’t go to sleep knowing you’re mad at me, so-”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“It kind of seems like it.” Dan only looks away for a moment. “Not once have I thought you too… disparate from me.” Phil shifts under his gaze. “I may have a couple years left in my twenties but I’ve never felt on a different plane. At least… that’s how I’ve always seen it. You’re not- bloody- holding me back, or anything. I think sometimes you forget I have a conscience too, you forget you’re the only best friend I’ve had, and… you know, companion I want.” He breathes. “I think I’ve felt that for a while now.”
Phil’s pulse quickens, and he has to remind himself to respond. “Me too.” He catches himself. “But, I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
Dan pauses for a moment, which does nothing to quieten Phil’s nerves. “I don’t know what I mean either. I mean, it’s not supposed to work like this, is it?” He smiles weakly. “It should be too late by now, I guess, but I’ve always thought, like at the back of my head, stupid, I know, that there was a chance-” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Phil grabs for his glasses because he needs to see Dan especially now. He’d believe he were dreaming if it weren’t for the chill of his bare feet pressing into his carpet. It’s strange, he discovers, reaching for his friend’s face. He could blink and the atmosphere would be gone and his desire would no longer be plausible, but Dan’s eyes are trained on him as he cups the skin he’s seen a thousand times... but never in this light, in this feeling, and it’s exhilarating.
He’s sure this is what Dan meant, because it’s a thought occurred in his mind before. It shouldn’t surprise him after their history, how they meld and how they sync. He was too afraid to know what it meant, but he won’t delay any longer.
So he kisses him.
Dan is soft. Just like his lips, his oversized sweaters, warm doe eyes, his passion, his heart- soft in the way he melts into Phil’s arms and comforter, in their home and home to come.
There’s a lot of things Phil wants to say, but he saves it for the morning. This is enough.