Chapter Text
“I can't believe we didn't think of this before,” Dan says.
Phil never really gave driving a second thought before. He can drive, but it's not one of his more refined skills, put it that way, and when PJ gives him lifts to places they spend most of the time bickering about what songs to listen to more than anything else. But sitting in the passenger seat of Dan's car (“It's my mum's car,” Dan keeps reminding him, but even so), watching him manouvre and use the gearstick and swear under his breath when people cut him off unexpectedly, it's – it's -
Phil doesn't know. He doesn't even want to think about it. All he knows for sure is that it's sort of...hard to look away from.
“You've really never been back there?” Phil asks, trying to keep his mind on the conversation at hand – discussing the prospect of visiting the place where Dan actually got cursed.
“Nope. I never – it didn't really occur to me. I was a mess at that party, I didn't really want to, like, show my face at the scene of the crime.”
Phil snorts at that.
“You didn't do anything that bad.”
“How do you know?” Dan says. “Maybe I only remember half of all the awful shit that I did.” He snorts, after a moment's pause, and Phil's eyes catch on the movement of his bare arms, his hands on the steering wheel. “Hey, didn't that Yahoo Answer say, like, don't do drugs? Like, don't fucking drink, kids, you'll get cursed by Cupid and you'll end up seeing couples everywhere forever.”
“Not forever,” Phil says, encouragingly, clicking through to Maps on his phone. “We're gonna sort it out, don't worry.”
“Hmm,” Dan says. Then he glances over at Phil, a little guiltily. “Sorry. Thanks for this. I shouldn't even – like, this is your day off, d'you really want to be driving around town with me all day?”
Yes, Phil thinks, instantly.
“It's like a road trip,” He says, instead. “I'm in it for the snacks, to be honest.”
Dan grins at him and says, “Ok, but only if we get them from a shitty petrol station. Like, the kind where the cans of coke sort of smell like perfume.”
“Oh God,” Phil groans, while Dan laughs. “No, I take it back, you can keep your snacks.”
“There's always McDonalds,” Dan reminds him. “With the drive thru for minimal human contact.”
“I'm in,” Phil says, feeling so warm and happy for a moment that he could easily be back at home on his sofa, wrapped up in blankets.
-
Forty minutes, one very minimal squabble and two laughing fits later (and Dan had to pull over for the second one to wipe the tears out of his eyes), they pull into a dingy street just off a main road that Phil's never seen before in his life.
Maybe he's being unfair because it's raining, and hardly any place is gonna look great in a downpour, but it doesn't exactly look like somewhere where fun times could be had by all. It sort of looks like the setting for a Crimewatch reconstruction.
“You went to a party here?” He asks, looking out at their somewhat dismal view of graffiti and wheelie bins.
“I was heartbroken, remember,” Dan reminds him. “I think it's left down here.”
He turns around a tight corner and out into an even dingier sidestreet, clumps of grass growing between paving slabs. Dan switches the engine off and just sits for a moment, staring out of the windscreen.
“It's not there,” He says, hollowly, after a moment.
“Oh,” Phil says, squinting at Google Maps on his phone. “Well – maybe we made a wrong turning back there?”
“No, I mean – this is it, this is the right place,” Dan says, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “But it's gone, Phil. This is the place, I know it is. I ordered a cab from the corner of Church Street, that's Church Street there. I even bought a kebab from-” He turns in his seat, straining to look over his shoulder. “Over there, you see it?”
“Yeah,” Phil says, turning dutifully to squint at the blank front of a kebab shop through the fogged-up car windows. He looks at Dan, who has one hand over his mouth, eyes a little blank and disbelieving, and squashes down the instinct to reach out and touch him the way he would if this was him and PJ. “Look – ok, so it's not there. That – that proves that it happened, right? Because – because – well, buildings only, like, disappear when there's magic involved, right? So that, like, proves it...” He trails off when Dan looks at him.
“That doesn't make any sense,” He says, almost-smiling. “Phil, the fact that the place isn't there should have you, like, jumping and running from the crazy guy driving you around town.”
“You're not crazy,” Phil says, firmly.
Someone's running across the rain-washed sidestreet in front of them, and he ends up watching out of the corner of his eye – it's a woman, and when she reaches the man she's headed for they start having some ridiculous end-of-a-romcom style kiss halfway off the pavement.
Phil touches Dan's arm to get his attention and points at the two of them, getting wetter and wetter by the second in the pouring rain.
“Look. I can see that with my own two eyes. That proves there's something going on.”
“Oh God,” Dan says, resting his head on the steering wheel with a groan. “Does it? Maybe it's all just – coincidence, maybe – maybe you were right the first time, maybe it's just because of my ex, and – and I, like, feel like I'm seeing extra couples everywhere just 'cause – I dunno, I miss her, or whatever.”
Phil doesn't know what to say straight away. He's quiet for a moment, half-watching the couple, who are finally getting in out of the rain, grinning and pulling each other along.
“Do you miss her?” He asks, at last, eyes touching on the line of Dan's hunched shoulders and the strangely pale skin of the back of his neck.
Dan sighs. “No,” He admits, after a while, turning his face to look at Phil, head still resting on the steering wheel. “I. I mean, like, I miss there being someone, maybe. Just – just someone.”
Phil's heart aches for him a little.
“You'll find someone else," He says.
Dan pulls a face.
“Mm,” He says. “I'm sure people are gonna queue up to go on dates with the guy who's constantly guaranteed to be surrounded by other people kissing.”
“Maybe they won't notice,” Phil says, weakly.
“Yeah, right,” Dan says, sceptically. Then he sighs. “It's ok. I'm not really – I don't really want to look for anything like that right now. You know? I just – sometimes I think I do and then I think about, like, wearing good clothes and meeting new people and I just, like...nope.”
Phil doesn't think he could agree more with that.
“I know exactly how you feel,” He says, sincerely.
-
“Oh, that's weird,” PJ says.
Phil yawns. There's nothing worse than opening up the shop on cold mornings – he wastes most of his time trying to hide his face in the collar of his coat and rubbing his hands together to try and shock some life into them.
“Look at this,” PJ says, handing him something.
It's a plain white postcard, with no stamp or address – blank save for one line.
Focus on yourself rather than on other people, it says. Phil frowns, turning the card over, but that's it – just that. One little line.
“What the hell?”
PJ shrugs, finally shutting the shop door behind them and hurrying to go and turn the old radiators on.
“Looks like one of those hipster things, doesn't it? Follow your dreams and all of that. I'm sure I've seen stuff like that in the card shop down the road, it's probably just advertising...”
Phil turns the card over again. And then again, with a jolt of surprise because for a second he's sure the words changed.
For a moment it says he should focus on himself, the words glowing pinkly, but when he looks again the card's just the same as it was when PJ handed it to him, plain and nondescript.
He should focus on himself. Frowning, Phil slips across the shop to the stockroom next to the kitchen where he normally leaves his coat. He looks at the card one last time, moving it this way and that, to try and encourage it to do something, but it doesn't.
He puts it in his coat pocket and goes to help PJ.
-
Not for the first time, that morning Phil wishes more than anything that he could tell PJ about the curse without feeling like he was betraying Dan's trust. PJ's brain is always working on something, his mind always spinning off in twelve different directions, and Phil knows he'd probably solve the card mystery and the curse in a matter of minutes.
It has to be Cupid, Phil thinks. The thought makes him feel weirdly nervous. It's not like he never believed Dan's story, or anything, it's just that he never expected to get directly involved in it. Not like this, anyway.
For about half an hour he entertains the possibility that he's cursed now too, but business is slow all morning and the few customers they have seem intent on keeping themselves to themselves, so he doesn't think so.
When he goes back into the stockroom at lunchtime to fetch his coat, the card's gone, like it was never there in the first place.
-
“He's late,” PJ says, under his breath, when Dan walks into the shop after the lunchtime rush has dissipated. “I take it you wanna-?”
Phil doesn't even bother to answer – just moves over to smile at Dan, who looks wide-eyed and a little lost.
“Hey,” He says. “Same as usual?”
“Er,” Dan blinks, like he's surprised to find himself there. “Er, no, I -” He moves awkwardly, like he's about to rush back out of the shop.
Phil frowns.
“What's up?”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He says, all in a rush, like he's trying to force the words out. “Like, er.” He looks at PJ, who's stacking spoons nearby and pointedly not looking at the two of them. “In the back, maybe?”
Phil blinks, ignoring the way his heart quickens stupidly at the thought of Dan wanting them to be alone together. The number of times his brain's spun this exact scenario (each with a more unlikely ending than the last) means he has to take a moment to convince himself that this is real and Dan only sees Phil as a barista – maybe as a friend, some days. That's it.
With that in mind, he says, “Sure. Peej, d'you mind if-?”
“I'll give you a shout if we get busy,” PJ says.
“It – it shouldn't take that long,” Dan says. If Phil didn't know better he'd think he was nervous. There's something about the way he's repeatedly flattening his hair and pulling down the cuffs of his jacket, like he's about to deliver a speech in front of a crowd.
“Are you ok?” Phil ends up asking him in a low voice as he leads him to the storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Sorry?” Dan says, like he wasn't even listening. “Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine.”
“I'm glad you showed up, actually, because something really weird happened,” Phil tells him, once they're in the cool dimness of the storeroom. “I, er, there was this postcard under the coffee shop door today, when we came in for work? I swear there was, and then – it's gone now, it disappeared, but – it said something about focusing on yourself rather than other people, right? And it was kind of pinkish, you know, and then, with the whole disappearing thing, I'm pretty sure it was, like...a curse thing.”
Dan's eyes are darting here there and everywhere over Phil's face, making him feel weirdly nervous. He reaches up to wipe at his chin, just in case there's something there – chocolate from the cupcake he'd had earlier, maybe.
“So,” He says, losing his train of thought a little under the strange intensity of Dan's gaze. “I – I thought, you know, focusing on yourself, like, if it means you, maybe it means – you should, like. Er. Date someone.” Dan doesn't say anything for a moment, and Phil worries he'd sounded pathetic and given himself away, so he hurries to clarify. “I mean, like, anyone, really. There's that guy who comes in on Tuesdays, I'm pretty sure he...he likes you. Or – or someone from work, maybe. I dunno. I just. That might be the way to break the curse.”
Dan blinks and takes a little step backwards.
“Oh,” He says.
“I mean,” Phil says, a sudden rush of nerves making him babble. “I-it's just an idea, like – I mean, you don't have to, like, whatever, it's just – I know the whole curse thing really gets to you, so I just thought-”
“No, no,” Dan says, suddenly not meeting Phil's eye. “You're right. I – no, that's a great idea. I should – I should just date – anyone, yeah.”
“Only if you want to,” Phil says, frowning a little. “Like – it just seems like that's the way to break it, that's all.”
“Yeah,” Dan says. “That's a great idea, thanks – thanks for telling me.”
“It's ok,” Phil says. Dan's eyes are darting everywhere again, but this time it seems like he's avoiding looking at Phil altogether. “So, um. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh, nothing,” Dan says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Actually, I – wow, it's later than I thought, I should just – er – I'll see you around, yeah?”
“Dan?”
Dan meets his eye for all of half a second, eyes wide and almost afraid-looking before he hurries out of the stockroom, the door swinging shut behind him.
-
“Queue.”
“Mm,” Phil says, absently, not looking up from where he's straightening up the bottles of coffee syrup. “Yep, sure.”
He stands there for a little while, prodding the bottles of syrup, lost in his thoughts. It's only when PJ slides up next to him and pokes him in the shoulder that he looks up.
“Sorry?”
“Three lattes to go,” PJ says. “You're stood in front of the machine.”
“Oh,” Phil says, blinking. “Oh, I'll – don't worry, I'll sort them out.”
“Ok,” PJ says, frowning at him a little before he goes back to the till.
Phil makes the drinks on autopilot, feeling like he's moving through fog.
It's been a week since he saw Dan – a week since their weird conversation in the stockroom. Phil keeps mulling over what he said, what Dan said, trying to understand what he might've done wrong.
He's pretty sure he didn't say anything that Dan could've misinterpreted. Almost sure. The more he thinks about it the less sure he becomes – the more distant he is from what he actually said.
Maybe it's because he started talking first – after all, Dan wanted to talk to him about something and Phil just burst in there with his theory about the curse. That's annoying, isn't it, when someone interrupts you?
Except Dan doesn't seem like the type of person to indulge in a seven day silence over Phil interrupting him. That seems petty, even to Phil. But then why else would he not come back for coffee for so long? Why else would he have ignored Phil's text?
He only sent one, two days ago. When Dan didn't reply, he just left it. The last thing he wants is to be that guy, constantly bothering Dan with texts. Maybe Dan just doesn't want to see him.
Maybe Dan just doesn't want coffee. After all, coffee's the cornerstone of their friendship. Those few times they've hung out outside of the shop have been mostly curse-related. Phil's just the only person Dan can talk to about that stuff, that's all.
Maybe he finally told Louise, or another one of his real friends. Maybe Phil didn't do anything at all. But even so, the longer it is that he hears nothing the more he can't help but worry.
When the lattes are done and the customer has paid and gone, PJ turns and fixes him with this look, all folded arms and intense eyebrows.
“Oh, don't,” Phil says, quietly.
“Don't what?” PJ asks. He looks at Phil for a moment, then he turns and rescues a cupcake from under one of the glass domes on the counter. Phil tries to refuse it, but PJ just keeps pushing it into his hands, so Phil ends up taking it to avoid a mess of crumbs.
“Thanks,” He says, eating a chocolate chip off the top.
“It's fine,” PJ says. “It'll come out of your wages. I'm kidding,” He adds, grinning when Phil nudges him.
They stand in silence for a moment, the two of them leaning against the sideboard, looking out across the shop.
“So,” PJ says, after a while. “Dan hasn't been in for a few days.”
“Peej-”
“You've been moping around since last week, ok, just let me ask you about it.”
“It's not moping,” Phil says, scowling a little. “It's -” And then he stops, because he doesn't know how he's meant to tell PJ without bringing the whole curse thing into it. “Doesn't matter.”
“It obviously does, though,” PJ says. He's so obviously concerned that Phil can't help but feel guilty. “Come on. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about.”
“No, no, it's not that,” Phil says, in an attempt to soften the worried look on PJ's face. “It's – part of it's, like. It's Dan's thing to tell, you know, I don't wanna...” He trails off with a shrug.
“So you guys had an argument?” PJ guesses. “About something that's Dan's business?”
“No,” Phil says, wretchedly. “I-”
The door pings.
“Queue,” They say simultaneously, then end up grinning at each other.
“Later, ok?” Phil promises, before he moves forwards to set his cupcake down and serve the two people who are lingering by the counter.
-
“And then he just walked out,” Phil finishes, a little desperately. Halfway through his edited version of events, PJ had put his hand over his eyes and groaned, which hadn't exactly filled him with confidence, but he'd carried on anyway.
Now he's peering at Phil through his fingers.
“Phil,” He says, after a moment, showing his face.
“What?” Phil says, completely nonplussed. PJ just shakes his head. “What?”
“You told him he should date other people.”
“I – kind of, yeah.”
“Other people who aren't you?”
“I,” Phil feels his face growing hot. “Well, yeah.”
“Phil.”
“Stop saying my name like that,” Phil says, grabbing hold of PJ's wrist before he can cover his face with his hands again. “It's – whatever you're thinking, you're wrong.”
“I'm thinking that you told the guy who likes you that he should go out with other people."
Phil's quiet for a second, then he shakes his head.
“No.”
“Yeah!” PJ says. “Phil, come on, why else would he react like that?”
“Because,” Phil starts. “Because – I dunno, ok, that's what's been bothering me – PJ, it's not that.”
“Have you got a better explanation?”
Which, no, Phil doesn't, but that doesn't mean – that can't mean -
“Ha,” PJ says, softly. “See?”
“That's not it.”
“Well,” PJ says. “Unless you're missing out part of the story where you spat in his eye, that's the only explanation I can think of.”
Phil isn't so sure. Not that he says so – the last thing he needs is for him and PJ to have a half an hour long chat about his self esteem issues again. But honestly, the likelihood of Dan being interested in him is too slim to even contemplate. Phil's just the guy behind the counter, the guy who makes the coffee.
Never mind their long conversations at work, or their more-recent text chats that keep Phil up 'til the early hours. Never mind the late night confessions and the way Dan smiles at him sometimes. That's pity, probably. A fluke.
Whatever it is, it's just best not to dwell on it. Dan's absence is probably completely unrelated to Phil, and PJ's theory is most likely just him being kind.
-
Or, Phil thinks, when Dan walks into the shop the next day, he's been absent for a completely different reason.
“I'll serve him,” PJ says, forcefully, because PJ's great – PJ notices everything, and PJ'd be hard pressed not to notice the blond guy Dan's chatting animatedly with – the blond guy who looks sharply dressed and handsome, who's making Dan smile and laugh.
Phil feels unpleasantly warm all over, and part of him knows he should stick around and serve Dan as though nothing's wrong, but he excuses himself with a muttered apology to go and fetch more brown sugar from the storeroom.
By the time he comes back (because the bags of coffee beans had needed straightening up, and he'd knocked over a jar of cinnamon sticks, and that had taken a few minutes to clean up), Dan and...whoever it is are sitting across at Dan's usual table, right under the beach print.
Phil ignores them. PJ doesn't.
“What a total queue,” He says, under his breath.
“Peej,” Phil says, quietly.
“Oh, can I have skimmed milk in my latte? Ugh.”
“You always have skimmed milk,” Phil reminds him. “Peej, you don't have to – just because I -” He falters, not wanting to even say it. “I don't even care.”
“I know you don't,” PJ says, looking momentarily startled. “I just – are you ok? You're sure?”
“It's – whatever,” Phil says, as casually as he can. “Like, it's just another two people having coffee, right?”
PJ doesn't seem convinced, but he changes the subject until they get another trickle of customers fifteen minutes later. Phil ends up stuck plating biscotti and ignoring the painfully familiar sound of Dan's laugh across the shop.
It's stupid to be jealous. Laughable, even. Dan's allowed to go for coffee with whoever he wants, Phil knows that. It's just – it's just a surprise, that's all. He'd constantly reminded himself that he had no chance with Dan – that PJ's little hypothesis about their weird non-argument wasn't true – and yet he'd still been stupid enough to let himself hope.
He'd hoped that what PJ said was true – that Dan had thought Phil was rejecting him, somehow. He'd concocted scenarios where Dan came back to the shop just as they were about to close, where Dan confessed his feelings on Phil's doorstep.
In the end, it looks like he'd just got so caught up in the curse - the weird shows of affection that Dan's presence encourages - that he'd lost touch with reality. And now Dan's here with some attractive blond guy and – and that's it, it's just a stark reminder of how small of a chance Phil really had.
-
Dan and the blond guy end up sitting in the coffee shop for just over an hour. During that time, Phil can't help but notice that there's the usual rush of romantically happy customers – people are kissing at every other table. It's so strange and obvious that even PJ keeps shooting Phil these can you believe this looks from across the counter.
Focus on yourself rather than other people, the note had said. Maybe Phil had misinterpreted it. Maybe it didn't mean going for coffee with random attractive blond guys at all. Then again, what does he know about curses? For all he knows this influx of happy couples means it's working. Maybe it has to get worse before it gets better, or something.
Phil's just giving the double cream in the fridge a cautious sniff when Dan ambles over to the counter, leaning there in his usual spot, watching him. Phil sees him out of the corner of his eye and makes a show of putting the cream back, worried about whatever conversation they're about to have.
“Hey,” Dan says, when Phil finally straightens up and acts like he only just saw him standing there.
“Oh, hi.”
“I, er.” Dan seems to hesitate for a moment, and Phil has no idea what to say. “So. I, um. Can we establish an emergency signal?”
“Sorry?”
“An emergency signal,” Dan repeats, in a low voice, leaning across the counter a little. “Like, if he starts getting weird or something.”
“Oh,” Phil says. He looks at Dan, and then glances over his shoulder at the blond guy, who's eyeing the pair of them curiously. “So, you guys are, like...?”
“Trying to break the curse,” Dan confirms. “I mean, it can't hurt, right?”
“Nope,” Phil says, with false nonchalance.
“But I just,” Dan sighs and his whole body slouches a little. Phil lets himself look, for all of half a second, at the flattering cut of the dark button-down shirt he's wearing, his earrings and how good his hair looks. “It's so tiring. Like. Ugh. I only brought him in here 'cause – 'cause I thought if I could see at least one, like, friendly face, I'd be less likely to do something stupid, you know?”
“How's that working out for you so far?” Phil asks, voice soft with helpless fondness. If that's what he is to Dan – one friendly face in a stressful situation – then he'll take it. Being anything to Dan is far, far better than being nothing.
“Er, sort of ok?” Dan says, reaching up to straighten his fringe. Phil longs to reach over and do it for him – there's a stray lock of hair he keeps missing – but Dan's on a date. He clenches his hands into fists instead. “I. I mean, it's not, like, the most – I dunno. He seems like a nice guy.”
“That's good,” Phil says, and he's surprised to find that he means it. He wants Dan's date to go well. He wants him to be happy, no matter how much that happiness stings. “Really, like – maybe this'll work.”
“Fingers crossed,” Dan says. For a second his smile looks a little fixed, but it passes in the blink of an eye. “But – ok, if I drop a spoon on the floor that can be the signal, right?”
“The signal for me to do what?” Phil asks. “I dunno if I can come over and tell you your mum called, Dan.”
Dan snorts out a laugh.
“Oh my God. Can't you – can't you pretend there's been some urgent phone call? Something?”
“Fine,” Phil says, helpless to refuse Dan anything. “But – you should get back over there before this starts looking weird.”
“Nah, it's ok,” Dan says. “He thinks I'm asking if your red velvet cupcakes are vegetarian. We could be having a chat about, like, the persecution of animals, or something.”
Phil shakes his head and says, “Get back over there, you're stalling. And yeah, they're vegetarian.”
“Great,” Dan says, flashing Phil a smile before he walks back over to his table.
Phil watches him sit down, eyes drawn to his legs and arms and his shirt, which really suits him. He accidentally makes eye contact with Dan's date and nearly knocks over the cocoa powder shaker behind the counter in his haste to turn away and focus on absolutely anything else.
-
“You know,” PJ says later, joining him where he's sat on the kitchen floor, hugging his knees. “Sitting down doesn't really make for a great sweeping technique.”
“Mm,” Phil says, vaguely. He feels embarrassed now that PJ's here, but he can't bring himself to move, staring down at the ugly blue colour of the floor without really seeing it.
PJ sighs and leans into him.
“You don't have to tell me what's up,” He says, cautiously. “But – I think if I start guessing you're gonna get mad, and then we'll end up having some weird fist fight, and – I'm just guessing here, but I'm pretty sure I'd win, because I'm secretly kind of hench. And that'd be awkward. Like. An awkward trip to A&E.”
Phil stares at him, and then he laughs.
“Peej,” He says, rolling his eyes. “Oh my God.” He smiles for a moment longer, nudging his shoulder up against PJ's in a companionable way. Then he sighs, admitting quietly, “It's about Dan.”
“I kind of thought so,” PJ says, apologetically. “I saw you guys talking earlier.”
Phil nods.
“The – that was fine, like – he's dating people, that's great, like...I mean, I told him to, didn't I, so I shouldn't be surprised, I just -” The words threaten to get stuck in Phil's throat, and he swallows hard, staring down at his own hands instead of at PJ's understanding expression. “He likes guys. And. I kind of thought he did. I-I mean I hoped, but I wasn't sure, and now – now I guess I am sure.” He shrugs, because he knows it's stupid – he's being stupid – but knowing that isn't making him dwell on it any less.
PJ wriggles around awkwardly for a second, accidentally elbowing Phil in the shoulder before putting his arm around him.
“Ow,” Phil says, just to be awkward, even as he rests his head on PJ's shoulder.
“I'm not smooth,” PJ says, apologetically. “Look, Phil, that guy today, he was-”
“Blond,” Phil supplies, glumly. “Really fit. Probably does those terrifying things, you know where you crouch and then you jump up and, like, stretch, or whatever. It's an exercise thing,” He adds, when PJ makes a confused noise.
“He seemed really boring.”
“Peej, you spoke to him for like two seconds-”
“And he seemed really boring!” PJ insists. “I'm perceptive.”
“Sure,” Phil says, voice heavy with sarcasm. Then, after a second's pause, he adds, “How boring are we talking?”
“Really,” PJ says, squeezing his shoulder a little. “And he was all, like, snooty-sounding, y'know? Like he was about to ask if we had any quinoa, or something.”
“Oh my God,” Phil says, laughing. Then, quietly, he adds, “Thanks.”
PJ just squeezes his shoulder again and doesn't say anything.
-
The last thing Phil expects that evening is a knock on the door.
Well, maybe not the last thing. PJ had offered to drive him home, but Phil insisted that he'd be fine on the bus. PJ's kindness is well-meaning and wonderful but there's something about his inadvertently pitying expression that makes Phil feel somehow more pathetic than he already did.
Earlier, PJ had driven him to the bus stop and given him this worried look before he drove away, so when there's a knock on the door halfway through Phil's self-pity fest (which included a huge bowl of pasta and a Friends marathon), he assumes it's just PJ, making sure he's alright.
Except when he trudges over to the door, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt as he goes, it's not PJ he sees through the peephole.
It's Dan.
Phil's heart slams into his ribcage like a bird into a window. He moves back from the door like it's burned him, and just stands for a moment, breathing too loudly in the quiet.
Dan knocks again, and Phil creeps forwards to look through the peephole again, just to make sure he's not mistaken. But it is Dan, moving around in a strangely jittery way on the doorstep like he's had one too many cups of coffee. The glass makes his features bulbous and weird – his head looks like a lightbulb.
Wiping suddenly damp palms on his shirt, Phil smooths down his hair and unlocks the door.
“Oh, good, I thought you weren't in,” Dan says, stumbling a little on the spot. “I mean, hi. I mean – wow, your pyjamas are awesome.”
Phil's face burns hot at that – of course he would be wearing his stupid Muppets pyjamas and an ugly old t-shirt with a hole in the armpit right now. That's just typical of his entire life. But more importantly-
“Are you drunk?”
“I,” Dan looks a little shamefaced at that. Or as shamefaced as he can right now. “I had, like, one drink.”
“Right,” Phil says. “You can come in and I'll ring you a taxi. If you want.”
“Good,” Dan says, traipsing into the flat when Phil stands to one side to let him in. “I mean, thanks, like. I shouldn’t drive.”
Phil doesn't even bother reminding him that he doesn't have a car. He just watches, almost in a daze, as Dan stumbles around the room – drunk enough to be unsteady but sober enough to navigate the furniture. The smell of his aftershave is strong enough that Phil can catch it from across the room – he must’ve bathed in it for his date.
His date.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Phil says, “I’ll, um. You should sit down, and I’ll make you a coffee.”
Dan doesn’t look up from where he’s half-examining, half-leaning on Phil’s shelf of DVDs.
“M’ok,” He says, indistinctly, hand slipping a little. At that, Phil makes himself move, crossing the room and encouraging Dan to sit on the sofa, every movement magnified tenfold by self-consciousness.
Once Dan's safely settled, blinking inanely at everything, Phil escapes to the kitchen. He stands for a moment after he flicks the kettle on, wringing his hands almost unconsciously, like that’ll somehow remove the memory of how warm Dan is.
When he slips back into the living room with the coffee, Dan’s half-sprawled on the sofa. Phil’s reminded irresistibly of the first time he came here – the glint of his eyes in the low light, his smile and the heat of him next to Phil, reaching over and around him almost unconsciously, completely unaware of Phil freezing in place every time he came close.
“I'm ok, I don't need coffee,” Dan insists, when Phil offers him the cup.
“It'll help you sober up.”
“Actually,” Dan says, raising a finger like a cartoon scientist with an idea. “That's a fallacy. They, like, proved it. Coffee s'just, like, keeps you awake.”
Phil just sets the cup down on the coffee table and doesn't say anything.
“You're mad at me,” Dan offers, after a moment's silence.
“I'm – no,” Phil says, feeling caught out. It's hard to look at Dan right now, all strangely fluid movements and slow-blinking eyes. “I'll go and – I should ring you a taxi.”
“Wait, wait,” Dan says, sitting up very suddenly. “Oh – oh, that – oh no-”
Phil moves forwards quickly, grabbing his shoulder.
“Are you gonna – oh God, d'you want me to get you some water?”
Dan looks at him for a moment, his eyes dark and penetrating in the dim light. When he looks down for a second, his eyelashes are so long that Phil has to gulp down a breath of air and let him go.
Just for something to do with his hands, he hands Dan the coffee again.
“It’s instant,” Dan says after his first sip, pulling a face.
“Yeah, well,” Phil says, awkwardly. “You want the good stuff you'll have to come to me during work hours.”
“Ouch,” Dan says, the coffee on his lips glinting weirdly in the lamplight. “You're – you are so mad at me.” He takes another sip, slurping a little. “This is cold. That's – I'm not being rude, don't hate me, I – it is cold, though.” Another sip. “Maybe your kettle's broken.”
“My kettle's not broken, I just put extra milk in it,” Phil explains. “In case you spilt it on yourself.”
Dan looks up at him again, expression unusually solemn. For a moment it’s only how red in the face he is that gives him away for being drunk – that and the way he’s looking at Phil, like he’s drinking him in with his eyes, or something.
Phil squirms a little. Deciding that one of them has to tackle the elephant in the room, he says, “How did your date go?”
Dan blinks slowly for a second, like he didn’t understand the question, and drinks some coffee. For a moment Phil thinks he just won’t answer.
“Shit,” He says. “Why aren’t you sitting down? You can’t –“ He snorts, laughing a little. “You can’t catch drunk just by sitting next –“ He hiccups. “Next to me.”
“I know,” Phil says, and doesn’t sit down. “Why was it shit?”
“Couples everywhere,” Dan says, shaking his head. “And – and I felt gross the entire time, like – like, ugly, you know? And – I just – it was a stupid idea, I dunno.”
“It was worth a try,” Phil says, pushing down the awful part of him that feels savagely glad that the date didn’t go well.
Dan takes a noisy glug of coffee, and Phil tries not to notice how the sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing are kind of sheer, and the hints of skin visible through the material make Phil feel weird – tongue tied and hot, even though it’s just Dan’s arms, for God’s sake.
“Yeah,” Dan says, setting down the empty mug on the coffee table. “Yeah, you were the one who was like – this dating thing, like, wow, try that.”
Flushing, Phil says, “I – I thought it was worth a try. I still – the card seemed pretty clear, so I just thought-”
“Yeah, the mysterious card,” Dan says, alcohol making him sound weirdly sibilant, like he's trying to speak Parseltongue. “I – I – you know, there are easier ways of being like, I'm not interested. I'm just – I'm just saying, like, I'm not some creeper who – I'm not gonna be like, oh, I feel so friendzoned right now.”
“Sorry, what?” Phil says, befuddled.
“You could've just told me you're not interested,” Dan repeats, with the air of someone who's having to think really hard about the pronunciation of each word. “I don't mind. I mean, like, I do mind but I'm not gonna be gross about it.”
“I,” Phil's mouth is dry and he doesn't know what to say. “You're – you're drunk.”
“No shit,” Dan says, and then laughs at himself.
-
Phil ends up letting Dan stay over instead of ringing him a taxi. It seems like a good idea at the time – at least he won't spend the night worrying that Dan fell off a curb and twisted his ankle or got mugged on his way to his front door, but then there's the problem of Dan sleeping in his bed.
“You don't have to sleep on the sofa,” Dan says, watching him make the bed from the doorway.
“I really do,” Phil says, tucking the edges of the sheet under his mattress. If his mum taught him anything about situations like this it's that clean bedsheets are a common courtesy. Not that (painfully attractive) drunk people show up on his doorstep often. Or, in fact, ever. “There.” He drags the duvet back onto the bed and tries to do the arm-waving thing to get it to lie flat. It nearly works. “I mean – there was nothing wrong with the other sheets, I just-”
“You don't have to sleep on the sofa,” Dan says again, suddenly much closer than he had been.
Drunk people shouldn't be allowed stealth, Phil thinks, wildly, when he sees the look Dan's giving him.
“I'm sleeping on the sofa,” He says, firmly. “And you're sleeping in here. You're drunk, Dan.”
Dan reaches out to touch his shoulder. Just his shoulder, stroking his fingers back and forth a little against the worn material of Phil's old t-shirt.
“You don't believe me,” He says, quietly. “About – about how – I really fucking like you.”
Phil's stomach swoops and he feels like he might throw up or laugh, or both.
“We can talk about this when you're not drunk, ok?” He says, voice a little hoarse. Dan's eyes keep flickering between Phil's eyes and his mouth, and it's making it hard to breathe normally. “But I'm definitely sleeping on the sofa.”
“Ok,” Dan says, softly, fingers still stroking. He frowns. “Do you hate me?”
Phil laughs a little at that, part hysteria and part fondness.
“'Course I don't,” He says, shucking Dan's hand off him. “Just get some sleep, ok?”
-
The next morning, Phil gets woken up by a combination of a slice of sunlight through his living room blinds cutting right across his face and the thud of a mug being set down on the coffee table.
He lies there for a moment, legs twisted up in blankets, and listens to the noises of Dan moving around the room. He listens to the way he swears under his breath, the funny, sniffling, unselfconscious noises people make in the early hours of the morning.
The armchair springs creak nearby, and Phil reaches out for his glasses. There's an awkward moment when he nearly spills his coffee everywhere, but he manages to avoid disaster.
Which is a shame, he thinks, heavily, as he sits up. A disaster would be really handy round about now. Anything to avoid Dan's hasty backtrack, Dan's inevitable I don't remember anything about last night. Anything to avoid this whole thing.
“I made you a coffee,” Dan says. He's sitting with his knees up on the armchair, hand at his mouth like he's biting his nails. “That's like. The first time I've done that. The tables have turned.”
Phil takes a sip. It's not bad.
“Thanks.”
Dan just waves his hand. He looks odd and pale, eyes a little wide, something indefinable about his face that mirrors the way Phil's face looks when he first wakes up.
Early mornings look much better on Dan, he thinks.
“We should,” Dan says, interrupting his train of thought. “We should have, like, a talk. About – look, I'm really sorry about all this. I'm sorry you had to sleep on the sofa and I'm sorry I – I showed up here, and...” He flushes, looking down at his hands. “I'm sorry for all the stuff I said. And I'm sorry for being creepy. And – ugh.” He sighs. “I'll go soon, like – I just wanted to tell you. To your face, you know? There's a bus in, like, ten minutes, so I -”
“You don't have to be sorry,” Phil says. His heart's thudding painfully fast – he feels the same way he used to as a kid, when he'd stand on his head against the garden wall and then flop down onto the grass, the sky whirling above him and his brain feeling rattled and strange. “I.” He swallows, feeling suddenly terrified, his palms sweating. “I, erm. Did you mean it?”
For a moment, Phil thinks Dan'll act clueless. But he just nods, looking up uncertainly to catch Phil's eye.
“I meant to tell you last week,” He admits, quietly. “I was gonna tell you. I, like. I spent ages figuring out what to say, and – and I practiced it a little bit, I dunno, and then – then you said that stuff about dating other people and I just...”
“I didn't mean it,” Phil says, feeling like there's something stuck in his throat. His face is hot and there are goosebumps prickling on his arms. “I – I don't want you to go on dates with other people. Like, ever. I only said that 'cause – I was too scared to - to tell you that I like you.”
Dan stares at him.
“You – what?”
“I like you,” Phil says. Saying it once makes his throat feel less like it's about to close up, so he says it again. “I – I really like you. I have for ages.”
“But last night-”
“You were drunk,” Phil says. “And I thought you didn't mean it, I thought we were gonna have some awful conversation this morning about how great your date was yesterday.”
Dan lets out a surprised laugh.
“Oh God,” He says. “It was a nightmare, Phil, he was, like...He was really serious, and whenever I made a joke he just looked at me like I'd grown an extra head, and God he was so boring, and – seriously, though, you like me?”
Dan's smile is ridiculous, blinding and bright, and Phil kind of wants to kiss his dimples. He's kind of wanted to for a long time, really, but now (he thinks, with a weird swoop of happiness) he probably could, if he asked.
“I really, really do,” Phil says.
-
That evening, they end up taking another trip to the cinema, and Phil doesn't see a single kissing couple.
Although that could be because he's entirely too busy kissing Dan to notice them.