dan howell? sorry who?

Phil presses against him, chest to chest, and the door is still wide open behind him. It all feels so fucking dangerous, even more when Phil opens his mouth. “S’your job, innit?” There’s alcohol on his breath, sharp and stinging. He knows Phil is not a big drinker, and yet. Because. 

“Shut up,” he says, breaking free of Phil’s grip and instead reaching for his sides, fingers twisting into the fabric of Phil’s t-shirt. He pulls harder this time, turning to move Phil out of the doorway. He kicks it closed behind them, unwilling, despite it all, to let Phil go as they stumble toward the bed. For everything that they are-but-aren't, this part has always been easy, instinctual. Behind closed doors there’s hardly ever been a moment that Dan has hesitated. There’s never been a need. He knows, always, that Phil will take his hand if he reaches. As sure as he is that the sun will rise in the morning, he is sure of them. 

“Why are you drunk?” he asks, hands wandering down to slip under the hem of Phil’s t-shirt. He’s spent the better part of two days trying not to stare, forcing himself to focus on palm trees and sand and anything but Phil’s exposed skin. Now, in the safety of his hotel room, he feels as if he’s been given a key to the whole world, and here it is beneath him. 

“M’not drunk,” Phil says. It comes out slurred and with the tiniest hint of laughter, like he thinks he’s getting away with something. 

“Yes you are.” He dips his head to kiss Phil, soft and sweet and above all, intimate. It’s a kiss that feels like exactly what it is- an ongoing declaration of love. “I can taste it.” Coconut rum and memories. 

“M’not!” Phil insists. “I just- it was a couple of drinks.” 

“For the world’s lightest lightweight.” 

“I was anxious.” The admission is the clearest thing he’s said, and a pit forms in Dan’s stomach. “About you. Don’t want you to be scared.” 

And he is so scared, so fucking terrified of where this all goes. This thing with Phil- this entire fucking life that he’s building in his mind- he's almost positive it’s going to give him an ulcer. But the fear has nothing to do with Phil himself, and everything to do with the outside world. Friends and family and what it would mean to them. What it would mean about Dan. It scares the shit out of him. 

Somehow, though, Phil makes him believe that one day, it will all be okay. “I’m not,” he finds himself saying. “I’m not scared at all.” It isn’t a lie. 

They fall asleep clutching each other, the feeling of falling in love curled around them like a shield. 

In the morning, they lie and say they were up late talking about video games, and Dan stole Phil’s room because Phil refused to get up, and everyone laughs at how ridiculous they are. It’s okay. They’ll be alone together soon enough, and the fear will dissipate. It always does. 

Turkey, 2024 

“Do we have to go out to dinner tonight?” Phil calls from the edge of the pool, his arms folded on the concrete and his chin resting sleepily on top of them. “Can’t we just order room service or something?” 

Dan sighs, looking up from his book. “We have a reservation. We’re not gonna get to go at all if we don’t go tonight,” he says, though he’s a little bit inclined to give Phil anything he wants, since- 

“The doctor told me to rest.” 

“You can’t rest at dinner?” 

Phil giggles, revealing his less than serious stance on the matter. “Not if I have to get dressed, no.” 

After marking his place with a bookmark and shoving the novel into their shared bag, Dan stands and makes his way over to the edge of the pool. “If we don’t go, you’re going to be mad that we missed it and I’m going to have to listen to you complain,” he says, crossing his arms. 

“I won’t,” Phil promises, voice bordering on a whine. “I’ll be perfectly happy without it.” 

“No, I know you, Lester, you say it won’t be a problem, but tomorrow when you suddenly decide you do want to go and we can’t, you’re going to pout.” 

“What if we call and postpone it?” Phil looks up at him with these big hopeful eyes, and it’s impossible to say no. 

“Who is we?” he asks, but he’s already pulling his phone from the pocket of his shorts. “If you want to call and speak to them, that’s your business.” 

“Fine.” Phil holds out his hand, as if there’s any universe where he’d actually volunteer to call a restaurant. “Give me your phone.” 

“Why, so you can drown it in the pool?” Dan raises it high above his head, wildly out of reach. “No, I guess if I absolutely have to, I will try. You’re lucky I love you.” He brings the phone back down, scrolling through for a moment to find the number for the restaurant. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of lying in bed eating something that’s been delivered to them. 

“See if we can get an hour earlier, too,” Phil says as the dial tone rings in his ear. 

“Shh,” he admonishes, just as the woman on the other end says hello thank you for calling. “Yes, hi-” Christ, somehow he was unprepared for this. “Uh, my boyfriend and I had a reservation for tonight- it's under the name Howell? We were wondering if we could possibly move it to tomorrow night?” He feels droplets of water hit his exposed ankles. “Er- and also make it 7 instead of 8? I’m so sorry if-” he stops, listening to the hostess assure him that of course they can do that, it’s no trouble at all, is there anything else she can do for him? “Oh, okay, thank you so much.” 

When he looks back, Phil is positively beaming at him. “I told you-” 

“Yes yes, you’re always right, I don’t want to hear it.” But as Phil’s eyes close in laughter, a surge of affection rushes through him, gratitude that their life together gets to continue. He moves without thinking, navigating to his camera to snap a picture of Phil there at the edge of the pool. Dan never wants to let go, never wants to forget. Never in his life has he felt the fear he has in the last two weeks, and he cannot take this moment for granted. He clears his throat. “So, are you going to get out now so we can figure out what to order, or am I supposed to bring the menu to you as well?” 

Phil opens his eyes. “Get in.” 

“Really?” 

“Please?” Phil bats his pretty eyelashes, and Dan is putty in his hands. 

He rolls his eyes but tosses his phone onto the lounge chair, knowing he should be more careful but unable to walk away from Phil. He peels his t-shirt off and sinks into the water beside Phil, laughing when he only gets to enjoy it for a second before Phil’s arms are around his neck, their bare chests pressed together. Phil makes a big show of kissing him on the cheek, sloppy and not-quite-annoying. 

“Thank you,” he says in a sing-song voice. So fucking insufferable, but Dan loves him more than anything in the world. He holds Phil close in the water, always relishing in the feel of Phil’s skin against his own.  A tiny, distant voice in his head tries to tell him that this is dangerous, that being outside like they are means anyone could potentially see them regardless of how private this pool area feels, that he should be scared of what could happen if they were spotted.