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It’s spring now, the proper kind that brings warmer air and budding trees and the endless chirping of the birds perched within them. Phil would be annoyed by the noise if he didn’t love watching.
He reckons he must be getting old. Bird watching wasn’t on his radar ten years ago, or even five - not unless said birds were flightless and strokable. He’s never met an animal he didn’t want to reach out and touch, but the parakeets squawking up a storm in the trees outside his building are keeping a respectable distance and he still finds them fascinating to watch. He sprinkles seed on the edge of the balcony railing hoping to coax over a green-feathered friend or two, but all he ever manages to attract are fat London pigeons.
That’s alright. He quite likes those, too.
It’s earlier than he’d be awake if given the choice, but Dan likes to leave the windows open, and the return of birdsong is too recent for Phil to have acclimated enough to sleep through it.
Not that it really matters. He’s got nowhere to be, even if he wanted to. He does want to, but maybe mostly only because he knows he’s now allowed. Home is where his heart is, but it’s been weeks upon weeks of cobbled together meals and Netflix binges, and that heart’s beginning to feel a bit caged.
The balcony is nice, though. And the parakeets. They help a bit.
Then there’s another sound, the one of the door sliding open. Phil doesn’t turn around. He’s hoping for a pair of arms to wrap around his waist from behind, and that’s exactly what he gets. Dan hooks his chin ‘round Phil’s shoulder and presses a kiss to his ear. “Morning,” he says in a deep sleepy voice that hasn’t lost any of its appeal in the ten years Phil’s been lucky enough to hear it.
Phil reaches back to ruffle Dan’s hair a bit in greeting. “You’re up early.”
“Bloody birds.”
Phil is gracious enough not to point out that open windows aren’t exactly the best sound insulators, but only because he’s enjoying the cuddle immensely and doesn’t want to risk cutting it short. “I like it,” he says. “It’s like, at least some things are still normal.”
Dan is quiet for a moment, squeezing Phil a little tighter. “That’s a good point.”
“I do make them on occasion.”
Dan must be in a good mood, because he doesn’t even attempt to argue that. Technically it could also mean the opposite, but if he was having a low day he’d probably still be in bed and definitely not snuffling his nose into Phil’s hair.
Phil laughs a quiet laugh and turns around without allowing Dan’s arms to drop. He drapes his own arms around Dan’s neck and takes some time just to look. Sleepy Dan is his favourite face.
Dan kisses him. He tastes like mint.
“What’s gotten into you?” Phil asks, voice infused with all the quiet warmth he happens to be feeling now.
“I miss you a bit,” Dan says, and kisses him again, this time two soft, close-mouthed kisses in slow succession. Phil wants a third, but part of him needs to know what prompted this affection.
“We’ve been trapped in the house together for like a month. You never get away from me.”
“Not all time is quality time.”
Phil snorts. “Thanks.”
“We’ve been gaming a lot, haven’t we?” Dan pushes Phil’s glasses up into his nest of too-long hair and smushes his nose against Phil’s. “I miss you without screens between us.”
“You miss going out.”
“Miss going out with you,” Dan clarifies.
“Technically we could go for a walk.”
“Eh.” Dan breaks away from Phil’s embrace gently to lean over the railing and observe the street below. “There’re still people everywhere.”
Phil flips his glasses back down and looks where Dan’s looking. He’s been out here for something like twenty minutes and not once had he been tempted to watch something other than the birds. It’s only nine am and already the pavement is uncomfortably peppered with pedestrians.
They don’t live on a busy street anymore. The sight is a jarring one.
“I kind of like that, too,” Phil says. “People aren’t giving up.”
Dan bumps his shoulder into Phil’s. “Always the bloody optimist, you are.”
Phil shrugs. “I just think things could be a lot worse.”
“I guess,” Dan agrees. “I’m still gonna moan about it, though.”
Phil looks at him and smirks. “Course you are.”
“Fuck off,” Dan says, pinching at Phil’s waist. Phil yelps and tries to get away, but Dan grabs him and pulls him back, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and squeezing. “Changed my mind. Stay right here. Slag me off all you want.”
“M’not. You can moan.”
Dan sighs, then goes quiet. Phil gets it. It’s not like the state of the world doesn’t scare him too; it does. It keeps him up at night, colours his dreams strange and tense. There are stretches of time where he’ll forget only to be smacked back to reality when he realizes he can’t have his hairdresser ‘round or order a late night takeaway or stop into the coffee shop down the block when he needs a break from writing.
“Wish we had a car,” Dan says, wistful.
Phil is a little scared to say what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “I wish we were up north.”
Dan kisses his temple. “They’re fine, Phil.” He’s gentle and firm all at once, sympathetic but unwilling to allow Phil to spiral into worst-case-scenario thinking.
“Yeah.” He slings his arm around Dan’s lower back. “For now.”
“Have you rung them today?”
Phil shakes his head. He hasn’t done it, but he’s thought about it. They’d definitely be up by now, but he reckons he’s got nothing to say that he hasn’t already said twenty times, and he knows that if he keeps this up his worry will become his parents' worry, and that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. “I guess I’m not always an optimist,” he says quietly.
Dan doesn’t respond to that, at least not verbally. He just stands there, tall and sturdy with his safety blanket arms keeping Phil in place. They listen to the birds and watch people who haven’t given up and Phil lets the feeling of hope that gives him live alongside the fear.
“I have an idea,” Dan says.
“We’re not buying a car.”
“No, you absolute twit nipple.” He gives Phil’s earlobe a playful bite. “I just mean for today.”
Phil chuckles. “Right, what is it, then?”
“No screens.”
He frowns. “Like no phones?”
“No,” Dan says, “like none at all. No phones, no tv, no laptops.”
“No games?”
Dan’s voice has that tone it gets when he’s putting in effort not to give away what he’s really feeling. “Do you not want to?”
Phil’s instinct is a giant hell no, but he knows that if Dan’s asking for that, he must really need it, and Phil’s never been in the business of denying Dan the things he needs. “It could be fun.” He can survive one day without Animal Crossing. It’s not going to kill him.
“It’s that or I physically cling to you while you play,” Dan says bluntly. “That’s where I’m at today.”
Phil shakes his head. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and turns it off right then and there. “Let’s do it.”
-
They start with a breakfast of black coffee and dry cereal, as they ran out of milk three days ago and their Tesco order is understandably delayed. If they really needed to, they could pop into a shop, but for now they have enough to get by. They put a little extra sugar in the coffee to compensate, and their Shreddies are almost better without having to contend with any sogginess.
They eat in the lounge on the sofa, because old habits die hard, but the telly stays off. They’re both still in their pjs, and they tangle their legs up together in the middle of it and throw a blanket overtop as they crunch away.
“So what’s on the agenda?” Phil asks. “I hope you know it’s your responsibility to keep me entertained today.”
“Is it not a shared responsibility?”
“Nope.”
Dan rolls his eyes. “Fine. Sex, then?”
Phil clicks his tongue. “Not very creative, Howell.”
“When did that become part of the deal?”
“I’ve just decided it is,” Phil declares. “If you do a good job today, you can have a little sex at the end. As a treat.”
Dan picks up a Shreddie and lobs it at Phil’s face. It makes contact with the middle of his forehead and then falls right into his bowl like that was the plan along. Phil grins. “Thanks.”
“I hate you.”
-
After breakfast, they have a bath. Dan lights one of his more expensive candles and digs out the bath bombs Bryony gifted him for his birthday. The smell is a bit overwhelming, so they open a window and listen to the parakeets as they soak.
Dan is sat between Phil’s legs, leaned back against his chest, and already Phil has to admit that this was a really good idea. They haven’t done this in ages, for no real reason besides the fact that it’s easier not to. They’re big men in a tub that isn’t really big enough to hold the both of them comfortably, and normally there is a long list of things they should be doing that doesn’t include sitting in purple perfumed water for hours on end.
Not now, though. Now they’ve got nothing but time, and the cramped space is a perfect excuse for the closeness Dan has been transparent about craving today. His head is lolled back against Phil’s shoulder, his neck stretched out just right for Phil to lean down and kiss it. His hands wander freely, touching Dan anywhere and everywhere without urgency, without intention, paying no more attention to the private bits than anything else. The steam makes Dan’s curls go curlier, pinkens his cheeks and dews his skin and Phil feels utterly at peace knowing he can look as long as he wants.
“Can I paint your nails later?” Dan asks, picking Phil’s hand up out of the water and studying the pruning on the tips of his fingers.
“Why not?” Phil murmurs. It’s not his thing, but no one else is going to see them anyway. “You can do a different colour on each nail.”
“Ugh,” Dan groans fondly. “Trust you to choose the tackiest option.”
“Rainbow nails aren’t tacky,” Phil argues. “It’s pride.”
Dan twists his head ‘round to look at Phil, and where Phil is expecting to see a mixture of amusement and annoyance, he sees only love, pure and simple. It’s overwhelming, still. Dan loves him so much.
Phil kisses him, because he has to. A look like that can only be answered with a kiss, and this one goes and goes, soft and slow but not fleeting. Phil reaches up to cradle Dan’s jaw and his head is blissfully empty of every thought except how lucky he is that even as the world is falling apart, he gets to have this.
-
When the bath water has gone cold, they relocate to bed, not bothering even with pants. Getting dressed feels like too much work, like a punishment for a crime they haven’t actually committed, so they crawl under the duvet naked and still slightly damp and lie on their sides, studying each other from across the pillow.
Dan looks tired. “Did you sleep last night?” Phil asks.
“Not a lot.”
Phil wants to ask if he’s alright. He wants to ask if things are getting to him, if he reckons they’re in for some bad brain days ahead. He wants to, but he won’t, because the answers are never as simple as yes or no, and Phil won’t put that kind of pressure on Dan anymore. He’s learned a lot over the years. He’s learned Dan. Not how his illness works, really, but how best to approach his role in a partnership complicated by hormonal imbalances and the pressures of fame and increasing openness about their sexualities and just… all of it. All of the things that make their life what it is, the good and the bad, they’ve all been a learning curve. That learning won’t ever stop, but Phil knows enough now, he thinks. Enough not to ask stupid questions just because he’s feeling anxious.
Instead he asks, “D'you wanna talk about it?”
Dan shuffles a little closer. “Just want you.”
Phil’s chest tightens. He’s not immune to statements like that, maybe because they don’t actually get made that often. Their commitment to each other isn’t a question, nor are any of the feelings that go along with it, but on a day to day basis, much of it remains unspoken. They’re not honeymooning anymore, not stealing away every available moment before they’re separated by a three hour train ride. They’re adults who’ve shared space for nearly a decade. I want you isn’t a sentiment that really needs to be expressed between them, because it’s implicit in everything they do.
So hearing it now gets the message across loud and clear. Whatever Dan is feeling, it’s a lot. And Phil can’t blame him for that. He’s feeling a lot too. The whole world is feeling it right now.
Phil smiles. “Well, here I am.” He pulls Dan in close, wrapping an arm around his back as Dan lays his head on Phil’s chest.
Dan runs a hand down Phil’s stomach and lower, cupping him where he’s soft. Phil’s not going to argue if that’s what Dan wants to do, but then Dan lets go and holds him around the waist instead. “I miss eating food that hasn’t been sitting in our cupboards for months.”
“God,” Phil says. “Me too.”
Dan tilts his face up to look at Phil expectantly. “Your turn.”
“Oh.” He brushes a frizzy curl off Dan’s forehead. “I miss Mar and Corny a bit. And Bryony. Game nights.”
Dan nods, laying his head back down.
“I need a haircut,” Phil continues, “but I’m kind of loving yours.” He buries his fingers in Dan’s waves to punctuate the thought.
“It’s a good job we don’t have clippers,” Dan says. “Reckon I’d have buzzed it all off by now.”
“Don’t even joke.”
“M’not.”
Phil tugs those beloved curls at the root, gentle, but not that gentle. “I’m gonna hide all the scissors.”
“Maybe I’ll just pull it out one strand at a time.”
“I’ll handcuff you to the damn bed.”
Dan tilts his head up again to look at Phil with one brow cocked.
“In a completely non kinky way,” Phil clarifies.
“The fact that we even have handcuffs to begin with makes it kinky, Phil. Handcuffs are always kinky unless they’re being used by actual cops.”
“Fine. I’ll take one for the team and have kinky bondage sex with you if it means you won’t literally pull out all your hair.”
Dan snorts. “A true hero.”
“I like your hair,” Phil pouts.
“Will you still love me if I go bald?”
Phil is almost startled by the sudden shift in tone. That last question hadn’t sounded teasing at all. “Dan.”
“Will you?”
“Yes, Dan, of course I will. You know you don’t have to ask that.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” Phil says, pulling Dan on top of him properly. “You do.”
Dan lets his chin dig into Phil’s sternum. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Do you actually want to cut it?”
Dan shakes his head.
“We could both shave our heads,” Phil suggests. “If you’re feeling in the mood to do something stupid at least we could be in it together.”
Dan lifts his head and narrows his eyes at Phil. “You wouldn't do that.”
“I would. If you wanted me to.” He means it, but Dan just rolls his eyes.
“Stop being so nice to me. I’m fine.”
“Oh good. I can go back to my true nature of treating you terribly.” He runs his palm up Dan’s back slowly and then down again, completely contradicting his words.
Dan smiles. “Cabin fever is supposed to make people mean to each other.”
“I guess I just love you or something.”
Dan considers that for a moment, then rolls off of Phil’s chest and says, “Turn over. You’re little spoon today.”
“Oh, am I, then?” Phil chuckles as Dan manhandles him into the position he wants him and hitches his leg over Phil’s hip. “Proper backpacking,” Phil murmurs.
Dan nuzzles his nose into the hair at the nape of Phil’s neck. “Is it okay if we sleep?” He snakes his arm around Phil’s waist, and Phil lays his palm flat against the back of Dan’s hand and sinks his fingers into the spaces between Dan’s.
“Yeah,” Phil says. “Sleep.”
It’s only a few minutes before he hears Dan’s breathing even out. The window is still open and the birds are still chirping away, but he’s got a naked Dan clamped onto his back like his own personal space heater and the lingering smell of jasmine tickling his nose.
He closes his eyes, and the next time they open, the light in the room is different, more dull, and a quick wipe of his mouth tells him he’d done more than a little drooling in his sleep. He rolls over to discover that his human backpack is nowhere to be seen.
He gets up and throws on the first clean clothes he can find, Dan’s fuzzy black jumper and a pair of merch pj bottoms and wanders out of the bedroom blearily in search of Dan.
The sound of keys plonking out soft music helps guide him. Phil follows it to the lounge, where Dan is sat hunched over the piano, hair a wild mess of slept on curls. He’s wearing merch too, the pink D&P hoodie that Phil had honestly forgotten they owned. It must have been at the very back of the wardrobe, but it looks nice on him, anyway. Phil is always quietly thrilled when Dan deigns to wear anything that isn’t monochrome.
Phil stands back a little as he listens, not wanting to interrupt. He knows how deep into himself Dan can go when he’s trying to learn a new song. Dan keeps going until he fudges a note, then turns around to smile at Phil. There’s no hint of sleepiness left in his eyes, and Phil’s heart actually sinks a little at the thought that Dan’s been out here alone while Phil slept the day away.
“You should've woken me.” He frowns. “We were meant to be having a day.”
“We are.” Dan shuffles over a little and pats the spot beside him on the bench. It’s not until then that Phil notices he’s only wearing pants on the bottom, which isn’t actually a surprise, as Dan always abandons trousers the instant spring chases the lingering chill from the air. Phil puts his hand on Dan’s thigh and squeezes appreciatively as he sits.
“Feel better?” Phil asks.
Dan shrugs. “I wasn’t really feeling bad.”
“More rested, then?”
He nods, splaying his fingers over the keys again and playing something simple and pretty that Phil doesn’t recognize. “It’s so annoying that I sleep better in the middle of the day than I do at night.”
“You’re a vampire.”
Dan’s cheek dimples, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps playing and Phil lays his head on his shoulder. It bounces a little with the movement of Dan’s arm, and he knows he must be making the whole thing more difficult, but Dan doesn’t ask him to stop.
“Are we still doing no screens?” Phil asks when the song is over and Dan’s hands rest in his lap.
“Yeah. I kind of like it. I feel less anxious or something.”
“Like a no news is good news type of thing?”
Dan shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of it.” He pulls his leg up to dig his chin into his knee, tilting his head to look at Phil.
Phil looks right back into those warm dark eyes. He looks and looks and it dawns on him that maybe he hasn’t really looked at Dan like this for a while. This quiet, unhurried, unexpectant kind of intimacy is something they’re good at, historically, but sometimes life gets in the way. “I get it,” he murmurs. “You miss me.”
“Yeah.”
“I miss you too.”
Dan smiles. “Good. Let’s play Scrabble.”
-
They take the game out to the balcony, along with a bottle of wine that’s been hiding in the back of their fridge for at least three months. Neither of them remember buying it, and they only find it because they’re searching so desperately for something decent to eat. The wine is the best they find, so they drink it with another dinner of cobbled together ingredients as they play.
“We’re gonna have to go to Tesco tomorrow if the delivery doesn’t come,” Phil says, looking down at his sad bowl of ‘stir fry.’ Mostly it’s just rice. “I’m tired of being forced into veganism.”
Dan doesn’t take even a moment to think before saying, “I’ll go.”
“Because you wanna get out?”
Dan looks up from where he’s been studying his letters with a crease of concentration between his brows. “Because you’re a bloody hypochondriac.”
Now it’s Phil’s turn to frown. “I’ll worry as much about you as I would about me, though.”
The only response Dan gives is a shrug. Then he lays down bulked on a triple word score and grins. “You ain’t never coming back from this, bub.”
Phil groans. “Why can’t you ever just let me win?”
Dan grins, leaning back in his chair and swirling the wine in his glass. “Because you look so cute when you pout.”
Phil picks up his own drink and chugs some back to distract himself from the overwhelming desire to tip the whole damn board over. “I don’t want you going out,” he declares.
Dan’s smile falters a little. “No?”
Phil shakes his head.
“What about the horrors of forced veganism?”
“Not worth the risk,” Phil says, though not without some clear bitterness to his tone.
Dan smiles wide again. “My hero.”
“Shut up.”
Dan leans forward to put his glass on the table, chuckling under his breath. Then he leans back again and opens his legs a little on his lounge chair. “C’mere.”
“But it’s my turn,” Phil argues.
Dan makes the face Phil can never resist no matter how hard he tries, the wide eyed puppy dog thing that makes him look about ten years old and irresistibly adorable, even if it is more than a little annoying. “I want a cuddle.”
Phil rolls his eyes and hauls himself up, pretending it doesn’t make him warm inside to be so wanted. “You’re such a need today.”
“Yeah, and what of it?”
Phil tugs on an errant curl before settling between Dan’s legs and leaning back against his chest. The chair creaks, and Dan has to pretzel his legs around Phil’s so they don’t spill over the sides, but Phil can’t deny to himself that the closeness is worth the slight discomfort. Dan hooks his arm loosely around Phil’s neck and presses his mouth to Phil’s temple. “You look good in my clothes,” he says quietly.
Phil puts his hand on Dan’s bare knee. “You look good in no clothes.”
Dan laughs a little burst of warm air against Phil’s ear and holds him a little tighter.
The birds chirp. Somewhere near enough, other people on other balconies talk to each other. There’s still the sound of cars in the distance, because it’s London, and life really does go on despite everything.
Dan has chipped black polish on his toenails. The bird feeder needs more seed. The buds on the trees look ever so slightly more open than they had this morning.
Dan smells like bath bomb and something specifically him, something Phil can’t put words to, but that he recognizes and loves when he breathes it in. It’s the smell of their pillows and bedsheets, of Dan’s hoodies after he’s taken them off and Phil has slipped them on. It’s the smell Phil steps into whenever he returns to their flat after a day of being away. It’s home.
“This was a good idea,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the fine hair on Dan’s thigh. There’s so much to notice when his attention isn’t being focused outside of the moment.
“Yeah.”
The sun starts to set. The air gets a little cooler and goosebumps appear on Dan’s skin. The birds get quieter. The sky turns pink and orange and Dan says, “Wish we could take a photo.”
Phil says, “We can.” He holds up his hands and makes a pantomime camera, framing their view between his fingers and pressing a button that isn’t really there. He knows Dan is smiling, even if he can’t see it.
He wants to see it, though, so he twists around and looks. He holds up his hands again and frames the curly hair and chapped lips and deeply indented dimples of the man whose likeness already exists for Phil in thousands of photos and countless memories.
He doesn’t need a real photo for this particular view. He’ll remember it all on his own.