#fourth chapter

“Sorry!” said Phil again, closing the door and locking it. He looked adorably flustered. “I was - I forgot what time it was. I was trying to do laundry. Sorry. Hold on.” He scurried toward an open door near the back of the flat. Dan stared unapologetically at the ripples of his bare back. “Make yourself at home!” Phil called back as he vanished into the room.

Dan blinked rapidly to try to clear his thoughts. He’d wanted to bite. He wondered if Phil regularly wandered about his flat in nothing but trousers and socks when he was doing laundry.

“What do you like on your pizza?” Phil called. There was a crash from the room. “I’m fine!”

“Uh…” said Dan. “Anything, I guess.” He glanced around the living room, taking in the slumped sofa and matching ottoman that stood in front of Phil’s wide television set. There were a dining table and chairs between the sofa and the kitchen counter, which was open and visible from the front door. Houseplants, stuffed plushies, video game and movie posters, and candles were everywhere. It all seemed undeniably...Phil.

Phil came out of the bedroom, fighting his shirt as he tried to fit both of his arms through it at once. “Goddamnit,” he said. His head finally poked through and his hair looked wild. “Sorry, again,” he repeated for probably the fifth time. “I thought it was like an hour earlier than it is. I was trying to wash my bedsheets.”

“Why’s that?” Dan said. He winked and immediately regretted it.

A red tint was climbing Phil’s cheeks. He nudged a floor plant that was reaching for his legs with long leaves. “Uh, actually...I spilt milk on them. Like half of a cupful.”

“How?” Dan asked, disbelieving. It would have been a preposterous lie. He desperately wanted to make a joke about ‘cream,’ but resisted.

Phil waved a hand. “It involved a carbonating machine. Don’t ask.”

That just made Dan want to know even more, but he changed the subject and said instead, “So, pizza? Was there something that you don’t like on it?”

“Not too much cheese,” Phil said. “But I like all pizzas. Ooh, especially the Sizzler.”

“That was discontinued,” Dan pointed out.

Phil looked grumpy. “Yeah, I know. I’ve emailed them like fifty times. It’s my favourite.”

“Well,” said Dan, barely resisting a smile, “we could create a pizza.”

Nodding very seriously, Phil agreed, “We could. We will. But how hungry are you right now? We could play some Mario first before ordering. Since it’s only six.”

“Not very hungry,” Dan admitted. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the shirt that clung tantalizingly to Phil’s chest. It looked like it was much too tight, but Dan certainly wasn’t going to complain. “What about you?”

“Not very,” Phil echoed. He headed for the kitchen, yanking open various drawers and looking hilariously confused at the contents of each. “Do you like Ribena?” he asked.

Dan had followed him and he leaned against the bar between the dining area and the kitchen. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good!” said Phil. “Because I don’t have anything else except water.”

Dan snorted a laugh. He watched Phil as he moved around the kitchen and prepared two glasses of Ribena. “So,” Dan said, for once feeling like a conversation might come relatively easily to him, “how did the meeting with your supervisor go? Also, how was your trip to visit your parents this last weekend? I forgot to ask while you were in the shop on Thursday.” It helped that he genuinely wanted to know and wasn’t just trying to make small-talk.

Phil took a careful sip out of one of the glasses and apparently deemed it worthy, as he offered the other glass to Dan. Taking it, Dan followed him back over to the living and sat down on one end of the sofa, avoiding the tiny cactus on the side table.

Phil hadn’t answered him the entire time, but he did now as he set down his drink on the side table that was on the other end of the sofa. “The meeting was...a meeting,” he said reluctantly. “I hadn’t finished my project in time so I had to ask for an extension. But that’s only because the client had requested more work and I didn’t have nearly enough time to do it.”

Dan nodded understandingly, taking a sip of his Ribena. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Anyway, totally exciting,” Phil said, rolling his eyes. He moved to the TV and began setting up the game. Dan watched him unashamedly, enjoying the sliver of skin that appeared between Phil’s shirt and pants as he bent over.

“But!” said Phil. “Visiting my parents was loads of fun. My brother and his girlfriend were there, as I think I mentioned, so we all spent time together and it was great. We played Monopoly and I won.” He looked pleased with that declaration. “I don’t win very often. My parents usually control the entire board and crush all of us, but this time my dad was trying to cook something in the kitchen so Martyn and I kept my mom in jail most of the time.”

Dan couldn’t fight the grin that had inhabited his face. “That does sound like fun.” He wished his family visits were like that. They weren’t bad, just quiet and familiar, with nothing exciting like board games or friendly competition, or just hanging out for the sake of being together.

“It was.” Phil nodded. He stood, stretched, and then yawned before settling onto the sofa beside Dan. “But what did you do while I was gone? Anything super exciting?”

Dan had to regather his thoughts. They’d scattered when Phil’s knee had pressed against his own. He absent-mindedly accepted the controller that Phil handed him. “Er...I mean, not really. Just work. And on the weekends I usually just sit around at my flat to play games and be lazy all day.” He mused internally, considering if that made him seem pathetic and lonely, and decided that it might, so he added, “And I went out with Louise.” He felt an urge to tell Phil about his attempts at writing an actual piece of music, but couldn’t make himself bring it up.

“Fun!” said Phil, when Dan said nothing else. He’d powered on the game and the familiar sounds of Mario Kart were chirping at them. Shifting in his seat, his leg fell away from Dan’s. Dan missed it immediately. He wondered if Phil had done it on purpose. “Okay!” Phil said. “Best of three?”

Dan narrowed his eyes at him, the thrill of competition surging in him. “You’re on, mate.”

~~~

They played for a solid hour, banter and threats flying, before Phil let out a loud whine of defeat, biting his controller as he threw himself sideways across the couch. “Why?” he moaned.

Dan let out a cackle of triumph, his arms high above his head. He stretched casually, smirking down at Phil’s posture of despair. “I am the Mario Kart champion!” he declared.

Phil was still angrily chewing on the corner of his controller. At least Dan knew where the teeth prints had come from that were on his own. “You didn’t tell me you were an expert,” he accused.

“I give my prey very little warning before I completely obliterate them,” Dan told him. “But that was pretty pathetic. Best out of twenty, and you still only won three.”

Phil sulked at him, a frankly adorable frown tugging at his mouth. He’d thrown his feet up onto the couch when he fell sideways and his toes were digging into Dan’s thighs. Even rumpled in casual clothes and teeth clenched tight on the plastic of his controller, he still looked unbearably attractive. Dan wondered if he could convince Phil to bite him instead of the controller.

“I hate you,” Phil confidently told Dan.

Dan just laughed and poked his toes. Phil screeched and yanked them away, and Dan filed that reaction away into the rapidly-filling ‘Phil’ box in his mind. “Sure you do. Best out of thirty?”

“No.” Phil looked disgruntled. “I’m ordering pizza. Then we can play something I’m good at. Like Mortal Kombat.”

Dan decided not to tell Phil the hundreds of hours he’d spent playing that game in his room as a teenager. There was no need to spoil the surprise of Phil’s imminent destruction. He stood, collecting the long-empty glasses on the side tables. “Fine. I’ll get more Ribena. Order the pizza. I like barbecue or the chicken bacon ranch pizza. Get it half-and-half with whatever you want.”

Phil had fallen back fully against the couch armrest, sprawling his legs across the still-warm seat Dan had vacated and pulling out his phone to tap at it. Dan pulled his gaze away from Phil’s impossibly long legs and headed to the kitchen. He found the Ribena, but almost collided with the still-open cabinet doors. He cursed colourfully when his shin banged into a drawer that was hanging out. He hadn’t even seen Phil open this one earlier. He considered reprimanding Phil for it but decided they weren’t yet at that point in their...relationship. Friendship. Whatever this was.

Dan was filled with a sudden resolve to figure out just what it was, so he hurriedly filled the glasses with a Ribena-water mixture and went back into the lounge. Phil was still stretched across the sofa, his legs taking up an intolerable amount of space. Dan reluctantly shoved at them instead of giving in to the temptation of just sitting on Phil.

Phil pulled his knees up against his chest in place of letting them fall off the couch. He squinted as his phone. “Okay,” he said. “It’s half barbecue and half Hawaiian. Do you like jalepeños?”

“Yep. In moderation.” Dan settled himself into his seat. He put one of the Ribena glasses down onto the side table and took a sip from the other, musing over how to actually bring up the subject of...this. Did he just come right out and ask if it was a date? Phil hadn’t exactly made it clear. And he hadn’t made any moves unless bumping into him and then quickly shuffling away counted as a move.

“It should be here in about thirty minutes!” Phil announced.

Dan considered that, maybe, he should just wait and see how the night went. Surely Phil would give him a signal soon.

Phil snatched the controller from where it’d fallen beside him and he shook it threateningly at Dan. “Time for battle, mate.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Dan assured him. He abandoned his Ribena and they were right back at it again.

~~~

It was a good two hours later. Dan was slumped across the side of the sofa, still feeling unbelievably stuffed full of pizza. His legs were tucked under him and he watched Phil half-heartedly direct his character through Skyrim. Dan didn’t understand the comfort level he had after so little time spent with Phil. Was it weird to feel so utterly relaxed after barely three hours spent in his company? They’d sort of gotten to know each other for the past three months, sure, but this was the first time Dan had felt like he was spending real time with him. He wanted to know everything about Phil. Maybe that’s what was weird.

“Ugh,” said Phil. He had just died on-screen. “Stupid wolves.” He paused the game and dropped the controller, falling sideways across his own side of the sofa and clutching his stomach with a groan. “I never want to move again.”

“We ate far too much,” Dan agreed. He couldn’t look away from the length of Phil’s neck as he stared aimlessly up at the ceiling.

“Hey, Dan,” said Phil, not looking over at him.

“Hmm?”

Dan could see the corners of Phil’s lips tugging up. “What does a flower therapist ask her patients?”

“Please don’t,” said Dan.

“Are you feeling bouquet?” Phil laughed before Dan could even react, his mouth breaking in a wide grin. “Get it?”

“You’re the worst kind of person,” Dan told him.

Uncaring, Phil hauled his legs up on the sofa and stretched them out across the distance between them. He stopped just before his toes hit Dan’s thighs, gaze still affixed to the ceiling above them. Dan wanted to poke his feet again to see how he would react but was ultimately too lazy to actually reach over and do it. Once more, he wondered if this was a date. He’d never been so at ease before with someone he might be on a date with. Then again, he’d never been confused if he was on a date or not.

The dip of Phil’s collarbone taunted him.

Fuck it, Dan thought. There was no way to know unless he asked. 

The moment he had decided this, his phone, abandoned on the ottoman, shrilled loudly at him. Phil’s head fell over to look at it. Dan glared at the buzzing device, willing it to shut up and give back his silent moment. It rang once, twice, three times.

“Are you going to answer that?” Phil asked. His voice sounded rough and tired. God, Dan wanted to know if this was a date.

“I guess.” Reluctantly, he leaned forward far enough to snag the phone. He scowled at the caller ID with bemusement. “What the fuck.” Louise knew perfectly well where he was tonight. There was no reason for her to be calling him. “Hello,” he answered it, no inflection in his tone whatsoever.

“Dan!” Her voice was high with nerves. “I’m so sorry!”

He sat up instantly. “What’s wrong?” Phil was watching him keenly.

“I’d never do this, you know me,” she insisted. She sounded fantastically apologetic and stressed at the same time. Something banged on her side and Dan flinched the phone away from his ear. When he brought it back, she sounded out-of-breath. “I just got a rush order for a wedding tomorrow morning! I have to make eighty different bouquets. Please, I swear I’ll make it up to you, but I need your help. They’re due at four o’clock.”

Dan glanced at the clock on his phone. It was just past nine. If he got there in the next thirty minutes, they might be able to get it done in time. There was no way she could do it by herself. “Christ, Louise.”

“I know!” she said. “I would never accept an order like this, but they’re paying like triple the normal amount since it’s an emergency and a big wedding. Their other florist dumped them because the bride’s dad tried to hook up with her or something. I dunno. Just. I’m really sorry, I know this is like your date with Phil but I really, really need help.”

Dan sighed. It was a very weighty, disgruntled sigh. “Goddamnit. Fine. You’re making this up to me.” And he would never get her flowers like Phil had gotten for his boss.

“I will!” she promised. “I promise I will. And tell Phil I’m sorry too.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. He hung up and let the phone dangle from limp fingers.

Phil had sat up, his legs drawn to him. “Louise?” He had a resigned look on his face that Dan hated.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “Some flower emergency. She needs my help. She’s really sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, we were kind of in a food coma and barely doing anything, anyway.” Phil waved a hand as if it didn’t mean anything, but his expression seemed like it did, just a little.

Dan managed to get to his feet and Phil stood with him, nudging the empty pizza box to the side. Dan made his way to the door and let Phil get ahead of him to open it, but he didn’t leave right away. He hesitated in the doorframe. A plant by the door, the first thing he’d seen besides Phil’s naked chest when he’d arrived, reached its long leaves to swipe against his face.

Phil, too close, reached up and brushed it away from Dan’s cheek. He looked fond, and Dan hoped.

“Phil,” he said. He wondered if the tone of his voice had sounded strange, but it was hard to concentrate when Phil was this near to him, undoubtedly staring at Dan’s lips.

Phil’s gaze flickered up and met Dan’s. His eyes were warm in the light from the hallway.

“Is this. Are you…” Dan didn’t know how to say it. “Are we - what.” He stopped, frustrated with himself. “What is this?” That wasn’t how he’d meant to say it. He tried to regroup his thoughts.

But Phil had glanced down at the phone still in Dan’s hand and he took a hasty step backwards. He swallowed visibly. “This was fun!” he said. “We should hang out more often. I can - I’ll text you.” He smiled, and it looked sad, but it was a real smile. “We’ll be great friends, I can tell.”

“No,” said Dan. Or at least, he thought he’d said it. Maybe he’d only thought it. There was no way Phil only wanted to be friends, Dan was sure. There was a reason for all of this waiting Dan had done, wasn’t there? There was a reason Phil had come every week to the little flower shop where Dan worked, watching him when he thought Dan wasn’t looking. There had to be a reason Phil stared at him for too long, stared at his lips. 

Dan took a step forward, closing the distance Phil had made between them. “Phil,” he said, and this time he’d actually said it aloud. His voice sounded too firm, even to his own ears. “You watch me. It means something, doesn’t it?”

Phil skittered backwards. His blue, blue eyes were wide and panicked. “No!” he said. “Of course not. I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I mean, it doesn’t mean anything. Look, I wasn’t trying to…” His arms flailed. “You didn’t notice. I thought.”

Dan couldn’t make sense of anything Phil was saying. The words were scrambled together and made no sense in Dan’s head. Maybe they weren’t actually English.

“Look,” said Phil. He was still flustered. “I’ll stop.”

“Don’t!” Dan burst out. He couldn’t bear the thought of whatever Phil meant by stop. Stop coming to the flower shop? Stop talking to Dan? Stop giving him those wanting looks that Dan had evidently been misreading this entire time?  “Please,” said Dan. He searched desperately for meaning in what Phil had said before. He felt unmoored, flummoxed. Nothing was going the way he’d thought it would. “You can come to the shop. Anytime. We can be friends if you want.” That must be what Phil wanted.

Phil’s face was collapsing with relief. “Okay,” he said. “Friends. Yes.”

Dan’s phone buzzed again. Louise was impatient with her urgency.

Phil shifted from foot to foot, hand on the door. “I’ll text you,” he said, casting another inscrutable glance to Dan’s phone.

“Okay,” said Dan.

The door was shut in his face, Phil’s movements hasty with his desire to get away from Dan.

Dan waited for a few very long moments. Something felt tight and wrong in his chest. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Anything but this.

“God,” Dan said then, a curse, maybe, or a plea to some higher power to give meaning to what just occurred. Either way, no answer revealed itself. That was fine. Phil wanted to be friends. Dan could do just friends. He could do anything if it meant Phil would still be near him. So, yeah. It definitely hadn’t been a date.

“God,” Dan said again. 

He left.