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Phil knows very little about his new roommate, except that he has wings and Phil has no idea what they look like.
Well, that's not so true now. He's learned a bunch of things about his roommate in the few weeks they've been sharing a flat, but his mysterious wings are still the bit he's most curious about. He knows his roommate's name is Dan, and he moved to London recently, and he's flaming hot, with brown curls and chocolate eyes and a sculpted face that makes him look like a god. He tries really hard not to linger on that. He needs someone who will stay in the apartment and split the rent, not someone he'll run off by staring at intently. It's already hard enough to find someone that's not put off by the wings.
They aren't that common – only about five percent of people have some. It freaks some people out, morbidly interests others – Phil found that out when he'd sampled the dating pond at uni. He's become quite good at weeding the weirdos out, now that he's older. After three – three – people who moved in and claimed that they did not care about his wings, but moved out quickly anyway because they ultimately thought it was weird, or that they thought Phil himself was weird, he found out that the easiest way to go about it is to be loud and unashamed. That's how he ended up with 'wings welcomed – i have some myself' and 'lgbtqia+ friendly!!' in the ad he'd put up when looking for a roommate.
Maybe it had been too effective of a deterrent, because almost nobody came to visit the flat. The few people that did had failed to follow up, and Phil had started to question whether he was the problem.
In the end, it had been a friend of a friend situation – a guy PJ knew who had also recently moved to London and was having trouble finding a place to live, 'but he's nice, you two would probably get along well'. He'd trusted PJ and met with the guy, and it had been a bit awkward, because neither of them were huge talkers, but he had been nice enough, and the money in Phil's bank account was starting to thin a bit too much for his liking.
Phil had asked about the wings, naturally, because he'd been burned too many times, and Dan had seemed really uncomfortable for a minute there, assuring Phil it would not be an issue. It had not seemed sincere, though, so Phil had been skeptical, up until the point Dan admitted he had wings, too. Unwillingly, but he did.
Phil had filed that under strange, but he hadn't made a comment. He could live with weird. So, Dan had moved in.
It had been hard, in the beginning, getting used to yet another stranger sharing his space, but Dan was quiet and always paid on time, so Phil let it slide. They had their first real conversation when Phil had put Muse as a background music to work with, and they'd had a conversation over their favorite songs. That first conversation had led to another and another, and before he knew it, Phil considered Dan a friend.
Only one thing has been nagging at the back of his mind – he still hasn't seen Dan's wings.
The thing is, having wings and flying is super cool, but also really uncomfortable in day-to-day life. They always have to be folded up, which is uncomfortable but not unbearable. Well, there are two types of folding, actually. One tight enough to fit under a T-shirt – uncomfortable, not fully natural, yet the one he adopts outside and around non-winged roommates. It's fine, though. He and everyone with wings have been doing it since childhood. He's grown used to it. He would rather not be doing it in his own house, though.
The other one, when his wings are folded but not contained on his back, is the most natural. There are wings peeking over his head, falling all the way to the ground – the most comfortable form. When he's sat, they just flop to the side. He can stretch them out if he wants to. They're simply existing, like they're meant to. Phil's actually living in a slightly too expensive apartment because he wants to be able to unfold them inside.
He'd held out on that the first few weeks, only unfurling his wings in the privacy of his own bedroom or when Dan was out, and carefully folding them when Dan came back home – past weirded out roommates and all that. Still, it hadn't taken more than two weeks for Dan to see Phil's wings for the first time.
Phil's wings were unassuming – bright white, one of the most common colors, along with plain brown and grey – and his wingspan was also a very average ten feet. Nothing to write home about. Dan had been unimpressed, and had told Phil he could have his wings out even around him – he really didn't care.
It had taken a little while, but Phil had started doing it, a little at first, then more and more as he grew comfortable with Dan. Now, he doesn't care anymore, and he has his wings splayed out most of the time. It's nice to have someone who really doesn't give a shit about that, who doesn't act any different whether Phil's wings are out or not. It only makes Phil more curious. He doesn't think Dan lied, for some reason – maybe because he trusts Dan already – but it nags at him. Even when he knocks on Dan's bedroom door to ask him something, whenever Dan answers, his wings are still folded and hidden below a shirt. Does Dan never stretch his wings? How can he even do that? Surely, it must be uncomfortable as hell? Does he only do it when the house is empty? Does he not trust Phil?
Phil tried asking directly, once, in the beginning, about what Dan's wings were like, but Dan got so quiet Phil immediately backtracked. He hasn't tried since and doesn't want to.
Another thing he's noticed is that as much as Dan is willing to discuss music and video games and his job as a composer, he's really quick to deflect whenever Phil's asking about his life, especially his childhood. That and his wings are not necessarily related, but it would be a strange coincidence. Either way, Dan's quick to change subjects, and if that doesn't really take, he flashes Phil one of his bright smiles. It's like he knows his dimple is a distraction Phil, three months in, still isn't immune to. Dan's just too damn perceptive.
Phil tries really hard to push it down – Dan's his roommate, their cohabitation is working nicely, he's not going to mess that up. He remains hungry for any crumbs he's given, though, even if all he's managed to gather is that Dan is from somewhere near Reading.
The thing is, if one actually wants to be able to fly, they need to fly, often, so their wings don't get out of shape. Phil does. He's not a great flier by any means, but he can fly nearly an hour without needing to stop – which is… yep, average. He doesn't care. He just enjoys flying and feeling weightless, light, free. He enjoys seeing the city lights from high up, getting carried by the wind. It's like enjoying swimming, he tells non-winged people. The analogy works quite well.
He tries to go flying at least once a week. It's sometimes more, sometimes less, but he doesn't let two weeks pass without flying. He sometimes does when he needs a breather, like normal people would go on a walk, or when he has too much restless energy and needs to let it out.
He'd invited Dan to come with him, once, maybe a month after Dan had moved in. He'd received a firm no as an answer, with a smile to soften the blow, but firm enough that Phil hadn't asked again, or asked about it. Off limits. Fine.
It's been three months, and despite the fact that Phil's still devoured by curiosity, he's mostly accepted that it's fine. He's not going to push Dan's boundaries. He's way too busy trying not to notice that Dan is kind and funny, on top of hot. He's too occupied trying to ignore how Dan looks at him sometimes, when he thinks Phil can't see it, a stare Phil can't really decipher, because it looks like Dan is in disbelief, and why would he be? Phil's nothing special.
Still, it sparks a small flame in Phil's stomach every time, but he extinguishes it whenever that happens. Dan's his roommate and his friend, and he doesn't want to mess that up. He doesn't even know if Dan is gay or anything – he's never brought anyone home. He's probably reading things where there are none, just because it would be nice to have a hot guy noticing him.
Phil knows he's not unattractive himself, especially since he's bleached his hair blonde. He's never really struggled to find dates or hook-ups, he's just… tired that none of them stick. If he really wants compliments, all he has to do is reactivate his Grindr account to immediately get a bunch of 'hi handsome' or 'hi gorgeous' or any other variant.
Or dick pics. A huge part of why he's not on that app anymore.
No, really, Phil's looking for some kind of connection. Someone who would stay, who would like him for who he is and not go 'you're nice, just a bit odd/nerdy/weird' after a few dates. He's done that too much. Maybe that's why Dan – a fellow nerd, introvert, homebody – seems so attractive. Or maybe it's that Dan is just that beautiful.
Anyway. He's trying really hard not to fall further. That's made much, much harder on a random Thursday.
He was out of the house for something work-related, which is stupid as hell, because he edits videos for a living. Why does he have to leave the house for that? He doesn't, is the obvious answer, but his boss insists on 'monthly team meetings so people aren't just a name behind a screen, y'know?' and Phil finds it stupid. He hates it. No one else in the team cares for it, either, so it's just a universal waste of time.
He's pissed when he gets back home, and makes a beeline towards his room so he can avoid every single soul on earth for the next 24 hours. His plan is interrupted when he almost gets hit by the bathroom door, and he's about to curse Dan out loud when all his thoughts drain out of his brain.
Because Dan's very naked, save for a towel around his hips. And very glistening. And very distracting. Phil doesn't know how long he stays there staring, but it's probably an inappropriate amount of time. He can't help it, though. Dan's built, not like a bodybuilder, but enough that his weekly gym sessions are showing. There's so much tanned skin on display, and it looks so soft. Phil wants to touch it. Lick it, if Dan would let him. His hair's wet as well, falling over his eyes, and it makes him look hot rather than a wet poodle. Phil probably would drop to his knees right now if he asked.
What the fuck? Get it together, Lester, he thinks. God, he's been staring for way too long. Staring and almost drooling, apparently. If the floor could open under his feet right now, that would be amazing. Why can't he just fly off? He should do that.
"- I'll get out of your way, sorry," he says, too fast, too squeaky, and he steps back to let Dan exit the room.
Dan doesn't reply anything, and Phil doesn't know it it's pity, mercy, or just the fact that Dan's never going to talk to him again. He'd apologize, but as Dan steps away, Phil is once again rendered speechless.
Dan didn't lie. He's got wings, and they're jet black.
As much as white and grey are common colors, black is one of the rarest. Dark grey's not uncommon, Phil has seen plenty of those. He's seen some rarer colors too, blonde or ginger wings, white leaning towards blue or purple, he's seen streaked wings, dappled, most of the spectrum. He's never seen wings so black, though, except in movies.
They're also tightly folded up.
Granted, they don't have a ten-foot wide shower. They do exist, but not in Phil's budget. Still, Phil's wings are never so fully folded in the shower. There's enough room to have them half folded, and Dan's not much taller than Phil, so he wouldn't encounter a problem. Dan's wings are so tightly wound it looks almost painful.
Phil's heart squeezes, but he doesn't say a thing. He just files it next to his other observations. How Dan's always making himself smaller than he is, especially when he's with strangers. How he never mentions he has wings unless he's directly asked, and when that happens, the uneasiness that radiates off him. It makes Phil want to pull him into a hug and shield him against the world. The way Dan still hasn't mentioned anything about growing up, except for a throwaway comment on how he hated high school.
It's not much, but the occurrences multiply in Phil's mental evidence folder, and they're painting a picture Phil doesn't like. He prays he's wrong. He still doesn't ask, even as months pass and they grow closer. If he's right, he doesn't want to pry it out of Dan or make it feel like he has to do anything. He only wants Dan to open up if he wishes to, if he actually trusts Phil.
It's fine. He still has plenty of other problems, like ignoring the tenacious crush he still has on Dan.
It's getting worse. They've started sharing more and more stuff with the months flowing by – Mario Kart matches, takeout orders, streaming services, breakfast, hangouts with friends, groceries, TV binges. Phil's life is so tightly interwoven with Dan's now, he wouldn't know how to untangle them now. He doesn't want to.
He loves how relaxed Dan has become around him now, soft in a way he isn't with others. He loves that he knows most of the things Dan likes and that they align with his. He loves that Dan doesn't seem to be depleting his social battery, for some reason. It stuns him that not even a year into knowing Dan, he can already call him his best friend, over people he's been friends with for decades.
So yeah, it doesn't matter that so far, he's only seen Dan's wings three times, all by accident. It doesn't matter that Phil keeps slapping the label crush over his feelings, as if they aren't any bigger than that. They just fit, and Phil cherishes that above all else.
It doesn't matter that it gets harder to ignore the fact that it might not be completely one-sided. It's difficult to overlook Dan's eyes, staring at him more and more purposefully, his gaze drifting to Phil's lips. It's impossible for Phil not to notice the way it makes him feel, blushing and burning up inside, so willing to break and become Dan's plaything. It's a struggle not to acknowledge how Dan's gotten used to Phil's strictly platonic touches, slaps and play fights and hands on arms and shoulders and…
And that one time Phil had fallen asleep on Dan's shoulder and Dan had let him. Phil hadn't even meant to lean on Dan's shoulder – he'd just been, in his half-asleep state, magnetized to Dan's warmth, and his shoulder had been soft and comfortable, a perfect pillow…
Sometimes Phil wishes he would just take the leap. It would be so easy to just give in and kiss Dan's perfect pink lips. Then one of his touches creeps too close to Dan's back, and he flinches slightly. Phil always backs off, then, and Dan now offers him a sad half-smile instead of just not acknowledging that anything happened like he does with everyone else.
Weeks fly by. Phil makes Dan laugh, and nothing makes him happier. Dan makes him coffee – always a decaf, because of Phil's migraines. That's another thing that Dan's learned – Phil's migraine triggers and warning signs and what to do when he gets one. Phil's done the same for Dan's bad days, when his depression takes over. He doesn't have a lot of those anymore, but he's told Phil about times in uni where it was much, much worse. Phil holds that confidence preciously – a tiny part of Dan's soul he trusted Phil with.
There's not much about Phil that Dan doesn't know, now. Lots of late night conversations over takeout. Dan's opening slowly but surely. Phil now knows more than he used to about Dan's childhood – Dan told him about his family and his grandma and the fact that he did theatre. There's still a large shadow in Dan's past – but Phil can see the shape of it more clearly with every morsel Dan gives him.
He's happy in this status quo. He's ready to let it go on forever. This is enough, he realizes. Having Dan like this is enough.
That is, until Dan starts to itch.
Not metaphorically, literally. It's subtle in the beginning, probably unnoticeable unless, like Phil, someone keeps a tight attention on Dan. It gets worse over time, though. Dan becomes restless. His shoulders keep twitching, and Phil thinks he catches him trying to itch his wings against a wall. He's adjusting his shirts or hoodies constantly.
Phil asks what's wrong, and Dan lies and pretends he's fine. Phil understands the message and doesn't ask again, no matter how concerned he is. Dan must feel his eyes following him, though. He thinks he recognizes the symptoms. He feels like that when he hasn't had his wings groomed in a while.
Phil goes to the groomers monthly. It doesn't really have to be a professional service – anyone can groom wings. It's just… a vulnerable position, that's all. It takes a lot of trust. Having someone groom your wings meant baring them, opening them to harm. His parents used to do it for him when he was little. His brother has done it, too. Anyone with wings knows how to groom – it's instinct as much as flying is. Partners can also do it – it's actually the most common in Phil's age group, for people who don't use professional groomers. However, even if technically anyone can do it, as long as the person trusts the groomer enough not to hurt them, it's very rare for someone that isn't immediate family, or a lover, or a trained professional to do it.
Phil enjoys the groomers, though. It's clinical, efficient. They're not his mother fussing over his wings or his brother pulling his feathers. They know exactly what they're doing. He's had the same groomer for a while, and she lets him be silent while she drones on and on about something he's allowed not to care about. He likes that.
He wants to ask Dan when's the last time he's gone to the groomers. He doesn't dare. If he were much, much braver, he'd tell Dan he can do it for him, but that feels like crossing several lines.
He keeps staring in concern, and even when Dan looks more and more upset, he can't stop. His fingers itch with the urge to do something about it.
It all comes to a breaking point when Dan yells at Phil about dirty dishes.
Phil flinches and cowers. He knows he's annoying about that, and he feels like a child in that moment, despite being older than Dan. When he sees that, Dan falters and apologizes, over and over again, and Phil tries to brush it off, but as they're standing face to face in the kitchen, everything feels off, worse than it has since their first weeks together.
Dan turns around and Phil's chest hurts. He thinks Dan is storming off, but no – he's clinging onto the kitchen counter, taking exaggerated deep breaths.
"- Dan," Phil tries. "Are you…"
"- I need to ask you something." It falls out of Dan's mouth so fast Phil almost doesn't understand.
"- Of course. Anything."
"- It, uh… might be a bit weird. I wouldn't be mad if you didn't want to do it," Dan says. He sounds… unsure. Scared, a bit? Phil doesn't really know.
"- What is it?"
Dan stays quiet long enough that Phil thinks he's going to say nevermind and leave. And then, in a tone so quiet, so hurried, Phil has to strain his ears to hear it, "Would you… groom my wings?"
He's misheard. Surely, he's misheard. Phil can't even find a reply, his mouth open in surprise. Grooming can be so… intimate. It's not unheard of, between friends, but it's so rare. It takes so much trust from the person exposing their wings, it's rare to have that trust between friends. Especially if, like Phil suspects, something's happened to Dan's wings.
Although, Phil realizes, he would trust Dan with his wings in a heartbeat.
"- Forget it," Dan says, and it's only then that Phil realizes he’d been spaced out for too long. "I shouldn’t have asked." He moves to leave the kitchen.
"- Wait, wait!" Phil swallows to try and fix his dry mouth. Fuck, was that too eager? Too awkward? Too loud? He feels so nervous, the inside of his skin buzzing like live wire, like he could mess it up so easily. Dan turns around anyway, waits like he's been asked. "I… I'd be honored to." Oh god, Phil, way to make it awkward. He clears his throat, starts again. "I mean, uh… Of course I’d do it."
"- You would?" Dan looks at him like a feral cat – terrorized by human hands, but who would very much like a treat anyway.
"- Yeah. If you really want me to."
"- Yeah. Okay."
They stand there awkwardly, silent, holding eye contact at a level Phil's usually uncomfortable with, but this is Dan and his warm brown eyes. They're not really putting him off. Still, there's tension in the air, like right before a storm, so thick Phil could cut it with a knife.
"- How do you want to do that?" he asks, gently, trying not to run Dan off.
They end up pulling one of their dining chairs into an empty space for Dan to straddle. When Phil places himself behind Dan's back, he can't help but notice that Dan is gripping the chair tightly. Phil feels strange again. Is this really such a good idea?
"- Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, again, because everything in Dan's body language indicates the opposite.
"- Yeah," Dan nods. "Just… give me a minute?"
Phil folds his hands in front of him and waits as Dan takes several deep breaths. He looks so uneasy, Phil wants to run his hands over his shoulders and promise him it's going to be alright. He wants to press himself against Dan's back and hold him, press a kiss to his hair, but he doesn't dare move.
Then, Dan's hands are on the hem of his sweatshirt, and Phil's breath hitches. He's gonna see Dan's wings. Up close. Because Dan wants him to.
Dan's sweatshirt comes off slowly, revealing long black feathers and soft skin inch by inch. Phil can't stop staring at Dan's back, his wings as tightly folded as ever, the shape of his shoulders, even his bare arms. Dan is just so beautiful. Not the time. Get it together.
Then, it's off completely, and Dan starts unfolding his wings.
It's a slow, painful process. Dan's wings creak and protest, there's an ocean of feathers falling loose to the ground as he does, even if he doesn't spread them fully – just enough for them to not scrape the ground. It's what catches Phil's eye first, then the state of the actual wings jump at him.
They look… miserable, there's no other word. There are many patches bared of feathers, only highlighting the scars that run through them. One of them is slightly twisted, like wings can be after a break. Phil's stomach churns. His hands itch to touch Dan's wings, fix them, love them, anything to make it feel better. He wants to find who did this and strangle them. His hands are shaking, but he holds himself back for Dan's sake. God, this is the exact thing he was thinking about, but it's so much worse at the same time.
Another silence stretches out.
"- Apparently, they thought I was a freak at school," Dan says, and he says it so simply, so matter-of-factly that Phil's heart… breaks. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, arrived so fast he couldn't even think about holding them back.
"- How could they," Phil says, and it's stupid. It's such a stupid thing to say, but he can't hold it back. It comes out shaky and tearier than intended. He wanted to be brave for Dan, but he's just… not that strong.
Then it hits him just how much trust Dan's putting into him right now. He's so vulnerable, letting Phil know his deepest secret, exposing the most sensitive part of his body and soul to Phil's hands.
"- Can I…?" he asks with bated breath, because he wants so badly to help, actually help, fix Dan's itchy feathers as best as he can.
"- Yeah. Just go… go slow."
Phil steps forward then, and slowly brings his hands closer until he's touching both wings, close to the base but not quite there, somewhere in the secondaries. He doesn't know what's better – touching the flight feathers first, less sensitive but more important, or the covert feathers, much more unimportant for humans who have their wings inside most of the time, but covering more delicate skin. He ends up somewhere in the middle, which elicits a full body shiver from Dan, his wings twitching wildly, and Phil immediately removes his hands.
"- Sorry. Was that…"
"- No, it's… It's fine. Just didn't expect it to feel like that." Dan chuckles nervously. "I'm just… It's rare for anyone to touch them. Even having them out, it feels… strange."
Phil has a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. He wants to ask Dan details, about all of it, but he'd promised himself a while ago he wouldn't pry too much. He can't resist the urge to ask a simple question, though.
"- When was the last time you…"
"- At Christmas. I only let my mom and my grandma do it," he says, and Phil does the mental arithmetic. Eight months. No wonder Dan was going mad.
"- Do you want me to try again?"
"- Yeah, just… just… Can you put your hands there and, uh, not move them for now? So I can get used to it."
"- Yeah, of course."
He keeps his movements slow, predictable, hovering for a second before making contact again. Dan flinches again, but Phil doesn't move this time. He stays there as steadily as possible, palms pressed wide in the exact same spot.
He doesn't dare say anything. Dan's breath is slightly hitched at first, then steadies as time passes. Phil still doesn't dare move – he waits for Dan to tell him it's alright. He listens to Dan's now even breathing, the only sound in the room – Phil's kind of holding his breath right now, afraid to break the moment.
"- Okay," Dan says, snapping Phil out of his thoughts. "You can, uh, move?"
"- Oh," Phil says. "Okay."
He has no idea what to do. His hands are buried in Dan's feathers, and he's afraid to move them. He does know the basics of grooming – pull loose feathers and items stuck between them, make sure there aren't too many missing feathers (what a joke), realign everything. It seemed so easy, but… Dan's wings were in such a bad state, he didn't know what to do first.
"- So, uh… which wing do you want to start with?" he asks. He feels awkward and nervous, afraid he's going to ruin it, make it uncomfortable for Dan, and he hates it. He wishes he could be falsely confident, groom Dan's wings like he deserves, like he's done it hundreds of times, like his whole world isn't getting shook right now. He wants to kneel in front of Dan and bare his wings to reciprocate a fraction of the trust he's been given. He wishes he could forget the task at hand and hold Dan close to his heart, as if it would undo all the harm done.
Phil knows he can't change the past. He can only act on the future, and he promises himself he'll do everything he can to make Dan feel safe in their home. So Dan never feels like he has to hide anything around Phil, because Phil loves him for everything he is.
Loves him. Phil's done lying, even to himself. That's what he feels, what he's been feeling for a while now. Presented with Dan's gorgeous wings and brave heart, he's not going to deny it anymore.
"- Left one, I think?" Dan says. With a creak, he unfolds said wing wider, leading to another avalanche of jet black feathers.
Finally, the wing is fully expanded, and Phil narrowly holds back a gasp. The healed wounds are even more prominent while stretched out, and it fully highlights really how many feathers are missing – too many.
Phil thinks it's beautiful anyway.
It's so uniformly black. Dark like a demon's, like a villain in horror movies, shining black despite the lack of care. They also look wider than Phil's. Breathtaking, like every inch of Dan. Phil can easily imagine a world where Dan is a model, or an actor.
"- Okay, so, I'll, uh… I'll start at the base and go towards the edge, if that's okay with you?"
It's the most standard way to groom wings, but Phil waits for Dan to nod anyway – it's a tense nod, but it's one anyway. He removes his hands from Dan's wings to focus on the soft covert feathers at the base of the left wing.
He knows it's a sensitive area for him, so he starts with just a fingertip along the base of the wing, covered in such soft feathers, Phil could've spent hours petting that exact spot. Dan's wing is trembling with just one finger, and to Phil, it feels like petting a huge, shuddering black cat.
He tries not to linger too much as he starts threading his hands through the feathers, looking for even more loose ones. He watches Dan's breathing stop when he pulls the first loose feathers, as gently as he can, but Dan's shoulders and wings still tense at the movement.
He eventually reaches the secondary covert feathers, and underneath them, the secondary flight feathers. Dan's shivering still hasn't stopped, and he tenses every time Phil plucks a feather. Phil's starting to wonder if this is such a good idea, but he's too scared to ask.
He keeps going, but it becomes harder and harder to ignore. Dan seems so uncomfortable, and it makes Phil's hands shaky, unsteady with doubt. He was really happy to do this for Dan, but… is it really such a good idea? Does he regret asking a near stranger to do it?
Breathe, Phil, he tells himself. You're not a stranger to Dan. You've been flatmates for over a year. You're best friends. It's fine.
He tries very hard not to spiral into am I actually Dan's best friend or is it yet again another case of me liking someone more than they like me? He manages to avoid it by focusing on Dan's feathers, Dan's wings. Surely, if there was someone Dan trusted more, they would be doing this and not him?
He pushes through it and keeps grooming, ignoring the particularly intense shudder that runs through Dan when he pulls off the first flight feather. It's attached more strongly than the covert feathers were, harder to remove – Phil has to pull harder.
Then, a few minutes later, his fingertips graze at the first scar, and Dan flinches again.
"- Sorry. Should I not have? Touched it?"
There's a silence, then, and Phil's this close to starting to bite his nails right there. He's so scared to mess it up. His stomach is a mess – he's gonna give himself an ulcer if this drags on too long.
"- No, it's fine," Dan finally says. "It's just… my mom and grandma usually avoid them. Like, if they're pretending they don't exist, it's like nothing happened." His voice is sad, resigned.
"- Do you want me to avoid them too?" Phil asks, and Dan shakes his head.
"- It's okay. They're also part of me. Better get used to it."
Phil doesn't really like how dark Dan sounds. They don't make you any less beautiful, or any less worthy, or any less lovable, he wants to say, but he's afraid it's kind of stupid, and, besides. Boundaries. This would cross too many of them.
Instead, he runs a fingertip along the scar, slowly, lovingly. He watches Dan's shoulders shake as he takes deep breaths, gets used to the new sensation.
"- I know you asked me to do this, but… You can change your mind, you know," Phil says, his voice low. "You don’t have to…"
"- I know," Dan answers. "I… want to, I think? It's just hard for my body to actually remember that."
"- Well, it still doesn't mean you have to, I mean… It really feels like you don't enjoy this, so… If you'd rather have someone else do it, or, I don't know…"
"- Phil, no," Dan cuts him off. "It's not you, I promise. I'm like this with my mum, too."
"- Sorry," Phil mumbles, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to make it all about me."
Dan laughs, and it sounds like heaven.
"- You're not. You're doing great, Phil, don't worry about me."
Phil wants to say that's all he's been doing, but the praise is washing over him, and it does wonders to his nervous system, alleviating his fried nerves. He takes a deep breath.
"- Okay. But you promise you'll tell me if I do anything you don't like? Or if you want to stop?"
Dan laughs again, light and airy. Then he twists his head around to make eye contact with Phil, and his smile is so gentle Phil feels kind of weak.
"- Yeah, Phil. I promise."
Phil feels his own lips curl up in answer, almost involuntarily, but he can't help it, not when Dan looks like that. A moment passes, just like that, the two of them staring at each other, smiling, and it feels too much like a Moment, with a capital M, something important and meaningful, it's almost scary.
Dan looks away first. Phil has to blink a couple of times to recalibrate.
"- Okay, then."
He gets back to Dan's wings, then. It takes a while – there are a lot of feathers he has to get rid of. Dan's reactions are lessening, and by the time Phil reaches the primaries, Dan's breathing is slow and deep, his wing drooping slightly, and it looks like all the tension has drained from his posture. It makes Phil's heart dance a little, knowing he's managed to make Dan feel so safe he's let his guard down. It makes his chest feel all warm and fuzzy.
It gets a little harder as he switches wings. The right one is not as used to his ministrations as the left one. It takes a much shorter time for Dan to get used to it, though, and he stays silent except for the one time he guides Phil to remove a really small, really itchy feather burrowed deep between two layers of feathers.
It takes a while, but Dan's newfound relaxation slowly seeps into Phil. He stops being so hypervigilant – Dan did promise him he'd say something if anything was wrong. Grooming is repetitive enough to be meditative, and Phil gets lost in the motions. He feels oddly in harmony with Dan, at last. Their breathing is synchronized.
Phil doesn't remember this happening the last time he groomed someone's wings, not that he's done it a lot. His brother, a few times, but that's all. He and Martyn were mostly annoyed at having to groom each other's wings, so nothing like this ever happened.
Even outside of grooming, he's never felt so connected to anyone. He's had sex that felt less intimate than this, for fuck's sake.
Well, sex doesn't necessarily come with so much trust, he knows that. Or vulnerability. This is something else, something precious, a moment Phil never wants to see the end of.
He can see it arrive, though, he can see the time he has left dwindling so fast as he gets closer to the last feathers. There are a finite number of them, he's way too aware of it, and he feels anxious again, the knot in his stomach tighter than ever.
He fiddles with the last primaries longer than he should, trying to make sure they're perfectly aligned – they are, he's already made sure of it. He doesn't dare say he's done, though. He doesn't want to break their bubble of silence, so he pets the wings for a few more minutes. If Dan asks, he's just checking that he did a correct job.
He runs out of excuses quickly, though, and he ends up with his hands right where they started. He hesitates a few seconds, stares at the wings again, Dan's bare back, the curls on his neck. He's so beautiful. His heart is overflowing with love for this pretty, brave boy.
"- I'm done," he says then, his voice quiet, as if there's a way not to break the moment with those words.
Dan doesn't answer straight away. He stretches his wings as far as they will go – a black cat, happily stretching under the sun, is what it evokes to Phil. There's no feathers falling this time, proof that Phil did a good job – and a reminder that one of them is gonna have to clean up the mess in the living room.
Not now, though. No, right now, Dan is standing up and folding his wings back, but not fully, not tightly – naturally, like Phil's own wings are. He turns around, locks eyes with Phil, and, oh. This is another moment. It feels even more charged, somehow, and Phil's afraid to do anything, even breathe.
Dan's eyes are so dark and so sharp, laser-focused on Phil. With his wings towering over the both of them, the inch of height difference he has with Phil feels like much more.
"- You took such good care of them," Dan says, and his voice is so soft, a contrast to the moment they're in.
Phil's mouth feels so dry, he has to swallow before being able to answer.
"- I didn't do anything special."
"- No one's ever done it for me. No one but you." Dan's voice is breathy. They're on the edge of something, and they both know it.
There's only one thing left to do now. Dan's already been so brave today, so open. It's his turn, here. He cups Dan's cheek, lovingly, running his thumb over the cheekbone. This is not a giant. This is Dan, the Dan he's learned how to read over the past few months, finally cracked open. He's never been prettier than he is now.
"- Tell me I haven't been reading this wrong," he pleads. "Tell me…" His gaze drifts down to Dan's lips, always so pink, then back up to his eyes. "Tell me I haven't been imagining things."
"- You haven't," Dan answers, barely a whisper.
That's all he needs, isn't it?
He steps forward, so close his body's almost touching Dan's, but not quite, and puts his second hand on Dan's other cheek. Then he leans forward, and so does Dan, and he feels Dan's hot breath on his face for a second before their lips finally touch.
It's the softest, most chaste peck he's ever traded with anyone, much too short for him to be really feeling anything, but it's still world-changing. Dan really does like him, in the same way he likes Dan.
They both open their eyes and stare at each other. Dan's eyes are warm, melted chocolate, and he could stare at them for hours, but Dan's wide hands are on his waist, fingers long enough to hold Phil's entire waist, burning his skin through his T-shirt, and Phil instinctively goes in for another kiss.
This one's longer, still soft, but open-mouthed and lingering. Then there's another one, and another one, and another one. There's a flurry of butterflies in Phil's stomach, an electric current under his skin, and he still can't quite believe it. He's kissing Dan. He's kissing the boy he loves. His hands drift from Dan's cheeks to around his neck, one of them coming to cradle the back of Dan's head and tangle into the curls there.
Phil doesn't know how long they kiss for. He just knows his lips have gone numb a while ago, but he still doesn't want to stop. Sometimes they smile at each other between kisses, Dan's face crinkling wonderfully, showing off his dimple, and Phil kisses it as well. Sometimes, they giggle in between kisses, like giddy teenagers. Phil's so in love his heart might explode in his chest. He's floating in a bubble of happiness, and he doesn't want it to stop, ever.
It devolves into a cuddle session on the couch, and then into Phil's bed. It's a hassle to fit two tall boys and their wings, even in a king-sized bed – especially since said boys are trying their hardest not to be apart. It would be so much easier to just hug and roll, but no, they have to be in each other's arms.
At first, at least. Then, as time passes by, they don't need to be stuck to each other all that much – at night, at least. If Phil's still clingy in the daytime, well, sue him. His boyfriend's pretty and warm and soft and completely gone for him. It would be a shame not to enjoy it.
They stumble through milestone after milestone. Dan pretty much moves into Phil's room after that day. Phil tells his mum, his voice trembling and his eyes teary, on the phone, way too early in their relationship for it to be reasonable, I think he's the one. He gets to see Dan become more comfortable with his wings when it's just the two of them inside their apartment, so fast it's like a switch flipped on. He drops the first I love you without meaning to, one evening when they're curled up on the couch watching TV, and he's so drowsy he doesn't control what he's saying. He gets a soft kiss on his temple and an I love you too, dork, as an answer.
He gets to watch Dan's wings get healthier and healthier, feathers growing back faster than they fall off. He gets to groom those wings monthly, making sure they receive the care and attention and love they deserve. He gets Dan's kisses and wandering hands and talented mouth. He gets Dan at his most vulnerable and holds him then. He gets a soulmate that fits so seamlessly into his life, removing him would probably leave Phil bleeding and empty, deprived of a part of himself.
Everything's perfect. Even better than in his wildest dreams.
There are a few days, though, that completely set themselves apart from the others. Like today.
It's Phil's birthday, the second they're spending as a couple. They've only been together for a year and a half, but it feels like forever already. Dan has promised him a surprise, but… the building they're walking towards looks a bit too much like a gym for his liking.
Dan's words from the day before echo in his ear. 'I've been planning this for a while. Do you remember when I told you I wanted to go to the gym more? Well, it's not exactly what I've been doing, and… I'm ready to share it with you.'
Dan pulls him into the room, and Phil looks at the flyers and posters and decrepit white walls of what, indeed, appears to be a gym. Why did Dan bring him here? Is he about to force Phil to exercise with him? On his birthday?
Dan's done speaking with the receptionist, and he gives Phil a bright smile before pulling him along. They cross the whole gym and go through a door, and then, the whole atmosphere of the gym changes.
Everyone's shirtless and has wings. Phil stops for a second, stares, trying to understand, but Dan's still pulling him along, through that room and to the back, where Phil notices that the ground disappears. People say hi to Dan as he passes by and Dan waves back, and Phil suddenly feels like there's a whole part of Dan's life he doesn't know. Who are all these people?
There's a trainer waiting for them near the edge, and behind him, a few more posters with awful designs, bright colors clashing, but Phil can only see two words. Flight rehabilitation.
"- Flight rehabilitation?" he asks, like an idiot, and Dan just smiles at him, warm and fond.
"- Yeah. I've been going through training for months, and Harold, uh, he's my trainer, and he thinks I'm ready, but I, uh… I haven't flown yet, because I wanted to do that with you."
There's a sudden burst of emotion going through Phil, and his words fail him. He feels his eyes growing wet and his throat constrict. This is something huge – this is Dan, being incredibly strong, taking steps that would've seemed so far away two years ago. This is Dan, patching his wings, physical as much as metaphorical, to finally overcome so much of what happened to him.
The worst part is, Dan wants him right there, right by his side for his life-changing moment. He knows Dan hasn't flown since he was a tiny child.
He knows they're in public, and that neither of them are really into PDA, but he can't hold it back. He pulls Dan into a hug, so tight it might've hurt if Dan hadn't been stronger than him. Dan chuckles fondly as he reciprocates the hug, his hands slipping around Phil's waist like second nature.
It takes Phil a little extra while to find his words.
"- Is it stupid for me to be proud of you?" he asks, hushed, against Dan's neck. "Because this is incredible. You're so brave."
"- Thanks, bub," Dan says with a sniffle, and Phil's almost sure he's trying to hold back tears.
It happens quickly after that. They shuck their shirts off. Phil tries to be subtle when he stares at Dan warming up – and fails. Nobody cares, though. Then, before they know it, they're stood in front of the cliff – if it can be called a cliff. It's a hole open to the basement floor below, with a net at a safe distance from the ground below. There's no real risk of harm.
Dan still looks nervous. He stares down like the hole is going to swallow him whole.
"- Don't look down," Phil says, and Dan's eyes snap back to him. "Better."
"- Sorry," Dan says. "This is just… distressing."
"- Don't apologize. It's normal to be a bit scared."
"- How do you do it? Fly off so effortlessly. I watch you every time. You're just so… unafraid."
"- Well, believe it or not, but it used to terrify me as a child. Eventually, I just… had to do it, you know? Take the step to see that I was able to do it, and it became easier each time. Now, it's been so long I don't even question it."
"- Easier said than done," Dan mutters.
"- I know it must be hard," Phil replied after a few seconds of pause. "But I believe in you anyway." He hopes the words come off as encouraging and not grating.
"- I know," Dan sighs. "It's so upsetting. I know I'm ready, I know I'm safe even if I fail, and my feet are still glued to the ground. I know it's all in my head, that I've turned flying into this gigantic, terrifying thing when literal children do it. Phil, I'm so stupid."
"- I don't think that's fair. I think the inside of our heads are scary." He knows that Dan knows exactly what he means. Phil's no stranger to bouts of anxiety, whether it's with other people or his own health. He knows how fast his brain twirls nothing into something, a huge, scary something with thorns and barbed wire. He knows that the trick is to ignore his brain – or even worse, the Google search of his symptoms. He also knows it's so much easier said than done, knows how simple it is to let the thoughts spiral, but Dan's always been there for him in these moments – the least he can do is return the favor.
He bumps his shoulder into Dan's and lets the warmth that always accompanies their touches seep into Dan. They stand in silence some more, until Dan breaks it.
"- Do you mind going first? I think that would help."
"- Of course not," Phil replies.
Dan's eyes are glued to Phil as he spreads his wings and takes off. He immediately turns around to face Dan, his wings effortlessly and absentmindedly keeping him stationary. He extends both hands towards Dan, and their eyes meet, warm brown and clear blue.
"- I really don't think I can do this, Phil," Dan says.
"- And it's okay even if you can't, but you won't know unless you try. I know you've been working on this for months, don't give up now."
"- But what if I fall? I'll bring you down with me."
"- Then we'll fall together. It's fine."
He doesn't know what does it – he thinks his replies are cringe and worthy of the horrid motivational posters on the walls, but Dan takes his hands anyway.
"- Okay," he says, and there's a newfound determination in his eyes. "I'm doing it. Count me down."
Phil does, and when it reaches zero, he tugs Dan forwards. Dan resists a bit, on instinct, but then his wings are stretching and he's stepping over the ledge, and…
He's flying. His wings are holding him up. Phil wants to cry and laugh hysterically and dance. This is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"- Oh my god," Dan says. "Oh my god, Phil! I'm flying!"
"- You're flying!"
They do fall when Dan pulls him into a hug, but neither of them care, too busy being deliriously happy. They laugh and laugh, tightly interlocked, not even bothering to get up from the net for a long while. When they finally do get back up and into the air again, Phil can't look away from Dan. He's mesmerized by the happiness on his face, and the glint in his eyes – truly the prettiest sight he's ever seen. Dan Howell's happiness – his biggest weakness.
He'd pray for this relationship to last forever, but he doesn't need to – he just knows.