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It’s 3 am and Phil can’t sleep.
He’s in his bedroom, laying on his side, staring at the dimmer switch above his bedside table. He should probably turn down the lights if he wants to actually get some sleep.
The thing is – he doesn’t.
His skin feels prickly, like it can’t contain all the emotion he’s feeling. One wrong move and he’ll break down. His fingers twitch, his legs ache to carry him out, carry him upstairs to where Dan is probably also still awake in their actual shared bedroom, but he hasn’t quite mustered up the courage yet. Which is silly, if you think about it.
They don’t really fight much nowadays. Having learned each other’s quirks and kinks and pet peeves and biggest fears over several years, there’s not much room left for misunderstanding. However, they aren’t perfect, and they still don’t agree on some things, and usually they can talk it out but today’s been rougher than usual.
He feels like shit for even letting it turn into an argument. It was supposed to be nothing, really – Dan ran into his ex that morning and they had a little catch-up. When Dan came home, he couldn’t stop talking about her, about her new career, about the flat she got down in Southwark, about how she looked so different but she still had that same quick, fierce personality.
Phil was jealous, basically. Even though he had no reason to be.
He definitely feels a little bit irrational. He can’t help it, though – throughout his relationship with Dan, he’s always been just that tiny bit insecure about himself, how did I even end up with such a person, I’m nothing special, what did I do to deserve him-
He could almost hear Dan chastising him for thinking that, like he always does when he voices these thoughts out, but he isn’t here right now because Phil tends to just shut people out when he’s not in the best state, and Dan hates not knowing what Phil is feeling.
So here he is. All alone in his room with the uncomfortably itchy sheets and loud aircon vents and no Dan.
3:07.
There’s only so much a man can take.
Phil clambers out of bed, hitting the light switch in the hallway so he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way upstairs. The flat is cold and quiet, but as he stops outside of Dan’s doorway, he can hear the light tinklings of instrumental yoga music, Dan’s choice of lullaby.
Dan’s also laying on his side, iPhone placed next to his head on his pillow, planted firmly on his side of the bed. He doesn’t stir when he hears Phil come in, but as soon as Phil climbs onto the soft mattress, sitting with his back against the headboard, Dan turns around and starts digging himself into Phil’s side, as if he can’t get close enough, as if he can defy the laws of physics and attach himself the closest he can on a molecular level. It’s one of the ways he says I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Phil wraps his arms around Dan and breathes in heavy. He kinda doesn’t wanna ever let go, either. I love you, I’m sorry I hurt you too, please forgive me.
He knows they’ll talk about it tomorrow when the last remains of the smoke have cleared. But he also knows, for now, for forever and always, they’ll always find their way back to each other.