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The murmur of waves slipped through the slats of the open window, blending with the lazy whir of the ceiling fan above the hotel bed.
Then, a muffled thump, something dragging lightly across the unfamiliar wooden floor. Phil thought it was part of a dream at first.
The sound came again. It was irregular and distant now, somewhere deeper in the room.
He sat up, suddenly alert.
‘Dan?’
The other side of the bed was still warm. He hadn’t been gone long.
No reply.
Phil sat still for a moment, forcing himself to relax.
They’d talked about the possibility before that if Dan’s blood sugar dropped or spiked too quickly, he’d get disoriented. In unfamiliar places, like hotels, it wasn’t impossible for him to wander out without even realizing.
That fear only became prevalent until after Dan took a solo trip. The next morning, he woke up to find his phone’s location history showed he’d left, crossed the street, and come back. No memory of it to this day.
He slipped out from under the duvet and padded barefoot toward the bathroom by the entryway.
Ever since the first incident, they’d started leaving that light on.
The bathroom door was ajar, open just a crack. For a second, it felt like the setup to some low-budget horror movie.
A cold twist of dread curled in Phil’s stomach. It was horribly familiar, yet somehow sharper now.
He reached the doorframe and slowly pushed it open, and that’s where he found his fiancé, wavering like a pontoon adrift.
The bathroom was dimly lit by a low, flickering light, casting shadows that made Dan look even more pale, like he was made of wax.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, coating his skin in a thin sheen. His breath was shallow, his eyes unfocused in the mirror.
His head hung forward, one hand trembling slightly as it gripped the edge of the sink, not quite enough to keep him upright. The other hand hung loosely at his side, fingers twitching sporadically, alternating between an open and closed fist.
When Phil appeared in his line of sight, coming to the rescue yet again, his shoulders sagged, nearly letting gravity take over.
Phil's first instinct was to reach for him before he collapsed completely, and Dan was fighting tooth and nail to be helpful, but all it did was act like dead weight, limbs getting in the way.
Dan stumbled backward, balance faltering, clearly aiming for the toilet lid. Phil’s heart lurched. 'No,' he muttered, voice thick with frustration. 'We don't need you on your head. Sit. Down.'
Slowly, Dan’s upper body crumpled and his hands shot out, scrambling for anything–Phil’s hair, the edge of the sink, anything to steady himself until his fingers grazed the cool tiles, desperately searching before they finally found purchase.
With a strained grunt, his body collapsed forward. One leg was sprawled awkwardly while the other knee buckled beneath him.
Phil stayed low, one arm still braced behind Dan as he peered around the bathroom. Their kit had been torn apart in a rush, contents scattered across the tile.
A brown banana, crumbs from seemingly crackers, charger twisted in its own cord.
Something dark near the base of the sink caught his eye, so he leaned forward and reached for it.
Dexcom receiver, screen dark. He pressed the button again, nothing.
Dan must've dropped too fast in his sleep and woke up halfway through the crash, confused and already low.
Phil had been on top about keeping his phone charged, but the time difference got the best of both of them, and they’d fallen asleep with dead batteries.
No alarm. No warning. All their luck.
He lunged for a juice box from the floor, ripped the straw free, and jammed it into the opening, cradling Dan’s head just enough to get the straw near his mouth.
'Hey. C’mon, you gotta try, alright? You dumped this whole bag like an idiot, so I know you’re still in there. Don’t make me fight you on this.'
Dan's hand twitched, fingers clumsily grasping the juice box, his grip too tight and spilling some liquid on the floor. The movements were sluggish, but he was holding it himself.
'I don't like your eyes doing that very much. Open them,' Phil added, brushing a damp strand of hair from Dan’s forehead, a fleeting touch that conveyed more than words would. 'It’s illegal to sleep. They’ll shut down the whole country.'
Dan’s eyes fluttered, and he swallowed the rising panic, knowing they had to act fast.
'I’ll be right back. Keep drinking.' Phil muttered, voice firm despite the tension, and forced himself to step back and out of the bathroom, mind racing as he sprinted toward the mini fridge.
He tore whatever he saw out first, more juice, sodas. The contents quickly turned into a haphazard pile on his arm with whatever junk they'd grabbed from the overzealous grocery adventure earlier, the fridge was left wide open behind him.
Settling on his knees in front of Dan again, Phil flinched when he only tilted forward as a response. Instinctively, he reached out to stabilize, but it didn’t really look like he was about to fall.
His head bumped Phi's shoulder, and he left it there.
Phil looked down, assessing the situation. He was getting the distinct feeling that they were slipping in and out of it, but he couldn’t quite tell where the line was.
In a desperate attempt to cool him off, Phil flicked the hem of Dan’s shirt, the fabric catching the air in quick movements.
'I'm too hot,' He muttered, barely above a whisper. The shirt clung to his back, soaked. 'You are radiating. Hell fire.'
'That’s you, sticky,' Phil said. He picked up a can with one hand, cracked the tab open, fizz hissing, and slid the other hand behind Dan’s neck to tip his head back.
'Alright, hang on,' he muttered, carefully leaning away and pulled a face. 'This’ll be fine. Maybe.'
Dan jolted back suddenly, eyes now bleary focused on the soda can, and Phil froze. He felt thoroughly out of his element all of a sudden, despite fifteen-plus years of this.
Phil let out a huff that was half a laugh, half a breath of leftover panic as Dan reached out with a trembling hand and precision of a man who had done this far too many times, and pluck the straw from an empty juice box nearby.
He stuck it straight into the can, completely bypassing Phil’s whole operation.
'Thank you,' Dan muttered, voice still hoarse but undeniably vacant. 'You'll drown me.'
Phil sat forward again. 'Hopefully. Your meter is where? Is Barry in your backpack?'
Dan’s eyes didn’t move, but his lips twitched. Barely.
The name had stuck after the weekend trip with a forgotten backup, and the race to a terrifyingly fluorescent pharmacy where the shelves were mostly expired vitamins and dust.
He leaned in closer to Dan, trying to hear his reply, which at the moment was about as audible as a whisper from a mouse in another room.
'Don’t know. Don’t care.'
Phil squinted at him. 'Try again.'
A long slurp echoed as the straw hollowed out near the bottom of the can. After a beat, Dan muttered, 'Plane.'
That earned him the flattest stare known to man.
'You had it before we went lights out.'
Dan said something that sounded suspiciously like 'your mum' and went back to nursing his soda.
Phil didn’t bother with a response. He pushed off the wall and disappeared around the corner.
'Barry’s gone forever,' Dan said quietly after a long pause, eyes flickering from the doorway toward the ceiling. It was quite a change from the tile floor, actually kind of enjoyable.
He finished his soda and very carefully and quietly set the can down beside him, eyeing the space like he had just found the coziest corner.
Dan wiggled his shoulders into the ground, finding that perfect little spot of comfort that made this moment feel almost like a luxurious rest stop.
This floor was not doing it for his leisure.
Should have knocked out in the other room.
'Barry is just fine.' Phil said, stepping into view with the meter in hand. He scanned the wreckage scattered across the floor, then moved through it without pause. Dropping to a knee beside Dan, he let out a breath, braced a hand behind his back, and hauled him upright against the sink. 'What color are my eyes?'
Blinking dumbly, Dan fixed his gaze on the meter set it beside them, and Phil’s hand holding the lancet.
'Not gonna work.' he murmured.
Phil smirked, then, with a quick motion, nodded toward the wall behind them. 'We should steal that frame for the luggage.'
Dan turned his attention to the picture on the wall, just enough to break his focus. In that brief moment, Phil pressed the device to his finger with practiced ease, guiding it to the test strip.
'So mean,' Dan took his hand back when Phil reset the lancet and stabbed him again.
'That one was on purpose.'
Phil snorted, glancing at the meter. 'Quit not-bleeding. Why are you sucked so dry?'
'I want to use.. a lifeline.'
'You've used them all,' Phil murmured, staring down at the meter’s screen.
2.8 mmol/L
'You are not cured. Inhale and shut up.' He swiped the nearest soda can.
Dan pulled the straw out with his teeth three times before, with unexpected speed, he yanked it free and spat it onto the floor just as Phil moved to stop him, eyeing him like he might actually pour the can directly over his head.
Dan just blinked, dazed and half-smiling like he'd just won a round of some game only he knew they were playing.
Finally, he leaned forward to sneak a little look at the meter, since Phil was obviously keeping secrets.
' Two ,' he mumbled, bringing a hand up, and shaking his head in complete despair. 'That’s so close to three.'
‘Drink or swim.’
Dan took one sip out of his soda out of pure obligation, then held it out to Phil like he was returning a cursed item.
'Nope,' Dan said firmly. 'Tastes like hospital.'
Phil sighed and shifted toward the emergency snack pile they’d cobbled together. Half a crushed sandwich from earlier, two packets of fruit snacks, a sad little peel-top cup of peanut butter from the hotel’s breakfast bar. He held it up between two fingers like it might bite him.
Dan sighed back, long and theatrical, like someone who’d just been offered raw oats in prison. He eyed the peanut butter dubiously, mouth twisting in distaste. 'Am I supposed to eat that?' he grumbled. 'Give me tablets.'
Without missing a beat, Phil reached into the mess of items, scattering everything worse, and handed the bottle over to him.
Dan fumbled with the lid for a split second, then, with a look of exasperation, immediately tossed it back. 'Screw that.'
Phil grabbed two glucose tabs from the bottle and passed them over without a word. His hand instinctively rubbed the back of Dan's neck, fingers pressing gently, trying to keep things steady.
Dan chewed slowly, face pulling into a grimace.
'That one is raspberry, Dan.'
He thrusted the second tablet in Phil’s direction. It flew out and landed on the floor.
'You enjoy it. And tell me it's fucking raspberry.'
Phil scrunched his face and gently placed the tablet back in his hand, pushing it away. 'That's your snack.' He busied himself with gathering the items from the floor, putting them back in the bag section by section. ‘You usually wake me up when you're low.’
Muttered something under his breath, Dan shifted uncomfortably. 'Wasn’t that bad,' he said, running a hand through his hair. 'I got sick of the bag.'
‘I can see that.’
Moving like he was underwater, Dan reached over and swiped the banana off the floor. With slow, deliberate precision, he raised it to his shoulder, eyes narrowing on the target.
Phil glanced at the banana from his task, unimpressed.
Dan launched it, and it landed with a pathetic plop between them.
Phil didn’t blink. 'You look like the sloth from Zootopia right now.'
'You look like someone who uses the hotel gym,' Dan muttered, flopping back onto the tiles.
'You're so gone, that didn't even make sense,' Phil finished placing the scattered mess carefully inside the bag, zipping it and reaching to set that on the counter of the sink, leaning forward over the body sprawled on the floor before sitting back down with the lancet in hand.
Dan watched him, head tilted, tracking well evidently.
'I drank the juice. I did the thing.'
No response.
'Please,' Dan added, deadpan. 'I’m cured.'
Phil just held out his hand expectantly.
Dan narrowed his eyes at that, then slowly tucked his own behind his back like a guilty kid hiding contraband.
'We'll go from your thigh, then,' Phil said flatly, already reaching.
Dan recoiled like he’d been threatened with a taser. 'Japed again,' He offered his right hand, lightning fast, palm up. 'Middle finger please.'
Ripping open an alcohol wipe, Phil beamed and snatched it without hesitation. ‘That’s the worst one.’
'How would you–you didn’t use a wipe last time.'
'Don’t call me out like this. You were dying.'
'I was half-dying. My eyes were open, you idiot.'
The meter hollered again from Phil’s hand, and he flipped the device like he was introducing a story illustration at circle time. ‘Almost back to being fully alive.’
Dan exhaled through his nose, audibly already less shallow. His head thumped lightly against the tiles behind him. 'Almost,' he said. 'Still seeing two of you, though. Traumatized by the Phil that threw me into the wall like fifteen minutes ago.'
Phil leaned forward carefully, just enough to brush his lips against the side of Dan’s temple, hand lingering at the back of his shoulder as they sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the whole situation settling in. 'I did not throw you. You can't go running around telling people that.'
Dan scrubbed it away viciously with the back of his hand.
'I’m gonna tell people that,' he muttered. “And that you drink my apple juice, and you’re not even sorry about that, and that you're a secret sadist and a liar.'
Shot him a sidelong glance. 'Welcome back, lover,' Phil quipped, 'Your apple juice is delicious. You should get better at sharing.'
Letting out a low, tired laugh, Dan's eyes softened as the haze started to lift. He nudged Phil's knee with his own, the movement clumsy but affectionate.
Phil exhaled as the weight of the night pressed down in that way it always did after the storm had passed. He reached out, brushing a thumb along the edge of Dan’s wrist, grounding himself in the quiet of the room.
'Just gonna lay here forever, on the hotel floor, until the cleaning crew collects your body?' He asked.
Dan, eyes closed, smiled fondly. 'This is my home now. You bring me snacks, I open my mouth.' He snuggled into the side of Phil’s thigh, shivering all over now.
The worst of it had passed. He was steadying out, the fuzziness gone and replaced by the coldest room in existence.
Phil shifted onto his knees. 'You punked me with the straw three times and started war with your supplies. This is not my idea of home.'
'Forgot we have to go through that all over again. To get back.'
Shaking his head, Phil stood up and offered a hand. 'Alright, let’s get you out of these vile, disgusting pajamas before you freeze to death now. You’re not getting any cozier.'
Dan took it and hung on, pushing himself up with much more stability than before. He winced slightly, but it was just a lingering reminder of the chaos they'd just gone through.
'You should start thanking me,' Phil said, his voice teasing. 'I just saved your pretty little life with some chalk and juice.'
'And you almost made us late for our flight,' Dan shot back, tone dry. 'Don’t get cocky.'