Chapter Text
Phil wrestles against the sheets, tossing from one side to the other with a huff. Rearranges his legs. Tries deep breaths to trick his body into falling back asleep.
It’s nice being back home. Really. After so many consecutive weeks of travel and performing, and immediately following it up with the holidays, he has nothing left to give. The non stop rotation of unfamiliar hotel room beds and bus bunks has him feeling gratitude for his own bed down in his bones, even on nights like this. But Phil knows as well as anyone that just because his body is ready to give out doesn’t mean his mind is quiet, and he doesn’t have to remember whatever dream he woke up from several minutes ago in order to feel his heart still racing, the lingering anxiety pooling in his hands and feet and chest.
He bought these sheets because they were soft and comfortable, but tonight they scratch against his skin all wrong, clinging and confining.
Hours ago, collapsed in two heaps on the sofa, Dan had tucked his toes under Phil’s thigh and asked what do you think for tonight? Are you looking forward to having your own bed back?
Yeah, I think so. Be nice to spread out some. What do you think?
Reckon so, finally get away from all your snoring.
I’m just glad you won’t wake me up by falling out of bed again.
Phil had slapped his shin, he gently kicked Phil’s hip, too exhausted to exchange anything else but a small, fond look. Besides, they had every intention to take full advantage of their precious few days of at-home downtime when they felt a little more alive.
They didn’t have to debate the issue of both having bedrooms in their forever home, by the time they decided to create one. In the beginning, shopping for that first Manchester flat, the second bedroom was a necessity - wrapping their relationship, still fragile in its newness and secrecy, in layers of plausible deniability for real guests and viewers alike (really for a younger Dan, who had suffered under the weight of so much fear then, both of himself and others).
For two people so inextricably entwined, and fully content to stay so, they discovered something awfully quick; when your roommate, best friend, business partner, and boyfriend were all the same person, having somewhere that just belongs to you is absolutely vital.
Plus, it made sharing one bed feel like a sleepover in the best way, and Phil always loved that.
Even though they could very well share one bedroom now, and do regularly end up both in Dan’s room, Phil loves having a room that he saved from the modern monochromatic aesthetic of the rest of the house. This room houses all the things he loves that don’t suit, as well as all their sentimental shit that doesn’t need to be on display for anyone but them. His bed has an emerald and navy color scheme that feels both suitable for a man in his latter 30s and true to his love of color. Teenage Phil would be thrilled to know that he still has a blue and green bedroom, and Phil loves that about it for some reason.
After living in each other’s pockets for the last few months, the most rational choice was taking a night to enjoy starfishing out in their own spaces, with no concern for waking the other up. Phil from a few hours ago had very much expected to sleep like a baby tonight, in order to wake up feeling almost human. Parting with a chaste kiss and yawned g’night made perfect sense to Phil from a few hours ago.
Phil from a few hours ago was an idiot, probably.
The separation settles all wrong in him now. His skin feels claustrophobic on his bones and his exhausted brain is a runaway train with nobody aboard and Dan should be in touching distance.
Phil tosses back again. Kicks at the blanket. Squeezes itchy eyes closed. Takes another deep breath.
Mostly, Phil has no problem waking Dan up by stumbling to his room and shuffling under the covers. Dan reciprocates, when he needs the closeness, too.
It works for them.
About 99% of the time.
Tonight, Phil hesitates. Dan needs to rest, undisturbed and for as long as possible. What he does not need is Phil keeping him awake with his… whatever this is.
Ok, maybe Phil has a little more of a problem with this than their relationship really warrants. He expressed this little blip of anxiety back in the early days, when they still had so many things to figure out about each other. I don’t want to crash your alone time without permission, he had whispered in Dan’s Manchester bedroom. I hate to wake you up when you need sleep, not someone stealing your covers.
Idiot , he can hear a younger Dan say. I always need you . Get in here.
Dan has taught him a lot of things over the years, and one of them is that it’s ok to express your needs, even ones that might inconvenience someone.
Phil stands, and ambles down the hall in nought but his boxers.
Dan’s door is closed, but it doesn’t mean anything other than that Phil was probably snoring. It’s well blurry, thanks to his abandonment of his glasses, but as he guides the door open to reveal Dan’s bare back, his sleep-flattened curls, something tight in Phil’s chest loosens just a little. It’s really more about the feeling than the clear eyesight, anyway.
Yes, this is what he needs.
As much time as they have spent sharing space over the last few months, it doesn’t change the feeling of reacquainting himself with an old friend. Like putting on an old favorite hoodie after being dressed up all day, maybe. See, Dan on tour is so different from Dan at home. Tour Dan is on pretty much always, his mind never quite leaving the stage between shows. Tour Dan is radiant, captivating - he was made to perform, and there is nothing quite like seeing him so alive. Phil loves Tour Dan.
But Home Dan… oh Phil has missed him.
Dan doesn’t move when Phil lifts the covers, or when he settles his weight into the mattress. Even unconscious, Dan’s brain knows there’s nothing wrong here.
Sometimes the closeness is good enough, and Phil can happily drift back into sleep just by feeling the warmth of Dan next to him, hearing his soft breathing. Tonight, Phil scoots closer until he’s pressing his nose to the back of Dan’s neck and settling an arm around his waist. It’s a gamble if Dan will wake up or not, depending on how hard he’s sleeping tonight, but he isn’t kept in suspense long.
A sleepy hum. Slight shifting of weight. A warm hand settles on top of Phil’s cold one, and Dan twists his head back just far enough to see him there through one cracked eye.
When Dan rolls over to face Phil, his groggy eyes are open just barely long enough to offer a brief almost-smile and tuck his free arm between them, nose to nose, enveloped in Phil’s hold.
There he is . Home Dan. Soft, unguarded, lovely. Studying the wild disarray of his hair across his forehead, the feather-soft splay of eyelashes against smooth skin, fine lines memorializing years of loud laughter and fond smiles but no sign of worry or tension, Phil is overcome by some feeling of victory for them both. After all, Phil dedicated many years of his life to creating a place where Dan felt this safe - and Dan fought all his demons, from the inside out, in order to let him.
I’m so proud of you , he thinks. Rests his forehead against Dan’s for a moment. When he gets this tired his brain gets all watery; his emotions float straight to the top. Sappy bitch , Dan had called him once. He reckons so.
As he expected, everything in him calms as he lies there. The runaway train rolls to a stop. His skin is warm against skin and the stupid expensive blanket Dan loves is soft and nothing outside this room matters. Whatever anxiety-induced dream had roused him was a lifetime ago - eons have passed, it can no longer touch him. For someone who exists in a general state of physical malfunction in some area or another, he feels remarkably… right.
He keeps his arm around Dan’s waist as he shuffles them around, until he’s lying flat and Dan’s head rests on his shoulder. The only display of approval he gets from Dan is a leg draped across his hip and a hand on his chest, but Dan radiates cat-in-sunlight pleasure as he drifts again. Phil tugs the covers back up over them from where they had fallen, and finally settles.
There are no words exchanged, they need none.
They haven’t moved at all, when Phil wakes up next. Thin grey daylight filters through the gaps around Dan’s window shades, giving no clue as to the time, but he can twist his head to the side far enough to see the clock on the bedside table read 7:38 am . That’s like… 5 hours too early to be getting up today. Stupid body clock tour habits .
Quite fortunately for Phil, he’s pretty sure he’s never been more comfortable in his entire life. He shifts his weight just slightly under Dan, who is still tucked against his side, settled under Phil’s arm with his head on Phil’s chest. This is unusual, as they love a cuddle but tend not to sleep that way, and he is more than content to savor it. He wraps his arms around Dan with more intention, lulling his cheek down against the top of Dan’s head.
There is nothing in his life quite so precious to him as this.
Aside from the most intimate details, their whole life and relationship is recorded and published in one place or another. There are now very few pieces of Dan that belong only to Phil - even things that don’t get posted online are still known or experienced by their small circle of friends and family. This was always true, but especially after Dan’s book and tour, one of the most selfish things Phil had to make peace with was just how much Dan had opened himself up and laid everything out for the world to see.
No amount of protectiveness or possessive instinct could ever, ever touch just how proud he is of Dan, how much he enjoys seeing the way Dan uses his story to help people. There had been a time, though, when Phil was the only person who had ever held those raw, trembling pieces of Dan in his hands. When he would have given anything at all to protect those pieces from harm (he would still, of course, but it isn’t so necessary anymore).
Moments like this remind him that there are some bits of Dan that are still just his. It’s selfish, and a little silly, but he feels it fill his chest with warmth anyway.
Not a full minute later, Dan stirs against him. His voice, when it comes, is just a croaky, gravelly breath against Phil’s neck.
“Go back to sleep, baby. Too early.”
The flood of sticky-sweet affection that courses through him tingles all the way in his fingers and toes. In their shared vernacular of nonsense words and teasing jabs, there is almost nothing so precious and intimate between them as that endearment. It’s rare from Dan these days in a way it wasn’t in the beginning, largely because he has grown and matured and with him the way he expresses affection, but it takes him straight back to 2009 every time.
Calling Dan ‘baby’ never felt right to Phil, not really - whether it was weird on his tongue or didn’t suit Dan, he hadn’t really adopted it. He had his own, anyway.
“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He doesn’t so much speak as press the words into soft, ruffled curls.
He gets a mostly-unconscious hum in response, then closes his eyes, and must somehow manage to drift off a little longer.