#skof

“Who has an alarm on a Sunday?” Phil asks, irritably, from beside him, grabbing Dan’s phone off his bedside table and dropping it onto Dan’s chest. 

Dan fumbles with the thing for a moment, managing to hit the snooze button. “I have work,” he croaks.

He’s cold, he realises. He’s thought that the bleak, stone corridors he’d been wandering in his dream were the source, but now he understands that his chilliness is more to do with the fact that Phil has wrapped himself in a cocoon of covers, leaving Dan half bare on the mattress. To punish him, Dan pushes his icy feet under the duvet and entwines them with Phil’s, making him yelp.

Phil turns to him, sheepishly grinning, and places the covers back over Dan. He lifts his arm so Dan can curl into him, which he does. After a moment, Phil sighs into his hair. “You have work today?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Sorry. Lou could only be persuaded so far.”

Phil trails his fingers down Dan’s neck, then up again, tucking a curl behind his ear. “But what about all the sexy things I was planning to do to you today?”

“You bastard,” Dan groans. “Is it not hard enough that I have to leave you in bed, naked, to go and serve a bunch of entitled teenagers frothy drinks for six hours?” He rolls to his side to look at Phil properly. “Now I have to do that knowing that I’m missing out on planned sexual activities.” 

Phil kisses him the moment he stops speaking, tasting of mint again, and marshmallow, and… Dan really needs to stop trying to identify all the flavours he can taste on Phil’s lips - he’s becoming a total sap. Instead, he melts into it, allowing the pillow of Phil’s lips to sweep away every irritating, niggling thought in his overwrought brain. It must work better than he expected, because the thing that jolts them apart is Dan’s alarm, again. Phil snatches the phone, and Dan only just manages to stop him launching it across the room.

Once Dan’s shut the alarm off for good, Phil sighs heavily, taking one of Dan’s hands and kissing the knuckles. “Do you want a shower before you go?”

“Yeah, that’d be great actually,” Dan says, pulling his hand free of Phil’s to stretch his arms above his head in a yawn. Phil’s hands wander aimlessly over Dan’s taut body; he’s inevitably going to need a cold shower. “Mind if I go first?”

One of Phil’s eyebrows quirks towards his hairline. “I meant with me.”

Dan feels the arousal rippling around his groin. He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Phil peels the covers off himself and stands, naked aside from his boxers, and holds out his hand for Dan, smirking. “Coming, then?” 

“Um, go put the shower on,” Dan tells him, feeling a little dazed already. How Phil can look so goddamn beautiful at this time in the morning is a mystery. His hair’s a mess and his glasses aren’t on, and he’s hiding a semi in his tight pants, but he’s a deity if Dan’s ever seen one. “I’ll just get my shit together. Meet you in there.”

Phil shrugs, smiling mischievously. “Don’t be long. Not sure I can wait for you...”

“Bastard,” Dan says affectionately, admiring the back of him as he walks out.

In truth, he wants an opportunity to find his own underwear, preferably a new pair. He digs out a fresh pair of boxers from his emergency reserve (a deep pocket in his jacket) and slips them on, half rolling his eyes at himself because he’s about to whip them straight back off again. Somehow though, it seems disrespectful to wander Phil’s house - Kath’s house - butt naked. He heads for the bathroom as soon as he’s vaguely decent, trying to keep himself from power walking despite the knowledge that Phil is, right at this moment, naked, wet, and waiting for him a few yards away.

Phil’s bathroom is smallish, but he has one of those wide shower-baths, with a glass pane instead of a curtain. Phil is already stood under the spray, Dan can see his blurry silhouette through the condensed glass.

“Dan?” 

Dan snorts. “No, sorry, it’s Russell. Heard you fancied a quickie.”

“Ooh, sounds good, Mr Brand,” Phil calls back, his voice muffled by the spray. Dan shuts the bathroom door and locks it - they might be alone, but they’ve had enough surprise appearances this weekend. “Don’t let my boyfriend know though, yeah?”

Dan freezes, underwear halfway down his thighs. He can feel his heart squeezing, clamped in a fist, fighting to pump blood to his swimming brain. “Y-your what?”

The shower switches off, and Phil’s head tentatively pokes around the pane. “Shit. Um, is that not… we don’t have to, like, label it or whatever-”

Dan lets his pants fall to his ankles and steps out of them, then climbs into the tub. Phil is soaking wet, dark hair plastered to his skull, droplets falling down his face like tears. For a moment, Dan is too scared to speak, so he just places a hand on Phil’s chest, sweeping his thumb through the moisture.

“Is that… something you want?” He manages to ask eventually.

Phil swallows, eyes wide, trained on Dan. “I want what you want.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s... boyfriend,” Dan tells him. The term sits strangely on his tongue, like it doesn’t fit. “I don’t think I know how.”

“Me neither,” Phil says, voice small. “But I think, with you, it’d be easy.”

Dan clings to the small smile Phil offers, thinking of it as a tiny life jacket, only big enough for a child, that he has no choice but to use to keep him afloat. He nods, feeling his own exhale shake and tremor as it leaves his lungs. “Okay,” he says, though the terror is paralysing. “Let’s try being... boyfriends.”

Phil reaches for him, pulling them close together. His wet skin is cold now, after so long out of the spray, so Dan reaches blindly, and manages to turn the shower back on. Phil shudders as the warm cascade of water sluices down their backs. He kisses Dan sweetly, hands either side of his face; it only lasts seconds, because the water makes it hard to breathe, but Dan still drowns in it.

“What privileges do I get, then,” Dan asks, hands slipping over Phil’s warm, wet shoulders, down his arms. “As a boyfriend?”

“Well.” Phil grins, then swivels awkwardly, half trapped by Dan’s embrace, to grab for a bottle of something. Conditioner, Dan sees, though he’s not sure Phil even knows what he’s reaching for, blind as he is without his specs. He manages to snatch it, then spins triumphantly, and of course promptly slips, falling to floor of the tub, legs crashing into Dan’s like they were bowling pins in his path. Dan’s hand flies out, but with nothing to grip but the slippery glass pane, he tumbles directly onto Phil, landing on his lap.

“Phi-il,” he groans. “You’re literally the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey,” Phil says, rubbing his thigh, leaning back to keep his head out of the shower spray. “At least you had a Phil-cushion to land on. That’s gonna bruise.”

Rolling his eyes, Dan makes a vague attempt to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs they’ve landed in, but the water, along with the conditioner that Phil spurted from the bottle on his way down somehow, makes the action impossible. He tries to gain some leverage with his elbows on the lip of the tub, chest pressing into Phil’s, but it’s hopeless.

“Fuck’s sake, I am not missing work because I’m stuck in your bloody bathtub-”

Dan stops moving when Phil’s hands grip at his waist, a little too hard to be considered normal. He looks down, noticing that Phil’s breaths have grown stuttery, and his pupils are blown wide. Belatedly, Dan remembers that they are, in fact, both naked, slippery, and hard right now. In the haze of aching and discomfort caused by the fall, Dan tries to figure out if he can feel exactly where his and Phil’s bodies are touching. Dan wriggles his hips experimentally, and Phil lets out a pulse of breath, as if he’s been punched in the stomach.

It’s then that Dan understands what’s happening. Phil’s cock, which is, Dan now knows, fully hard, is nestled between Dan’s butt cheeks. Dan’s own cock twitches as soon as he realises this, and he grinds down, unable to stop himself pushing into the delicious feeling; he wants Phil to thrust right into him, to fuck him raw and bare, but he gets the sense that it might be a bit too soon to ask for such a thing, so this will have to do for now.

Phil’s hands are still gripping his sides, and Dan can’t stop thrusting his hips down, eyelids fluttering as Phil’s long, hard cock slips, conditioner-slicked, between his cheeks. His foreskin catches on the rim of Dan’s hole, and he groans, latching his mouth onto Phil’s, drawing Phil’s tongue inside, so at least some of him will be.

Dan honestly does not believe anything could be better than this, so when Phil’s hand - also slippery with conditioner - wraps around his cock and starts pumping in time with Dan’s own movements, he can’t keep the moan that surges up within him from pouring out of his mouth. A tumble of filthy curse words follow soon after, almost lost in the mash of their mouths, but still enough to pinken the tips of Phil’s ears.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dan whispers, drawing away from the kiss to tip his face to the spray. His hip movements are far from rhythmic, and Phil’s hand is unpracticed and sloppy, but it feels phenomenal. Phil’s breaths are ragged, and he’s gazing at Dan, above him, with a gorgeous, wondering expression that Dan could gulp down in pints. “I’m gonna come, fuck,” Dan says, then bites his own lip, hard. “You feel incredible.” 

“M-me too,” Phil manages, obviously teetering on the edge. He thrusts his hips up to meet Dan, rubbing himself tightly against Dan’s entrance. Dan squeezes around him, encouragingly. “Don’t stop.”

No intention of that, Dan just grinds down harder, faster. Phil’s thumb, perhaps inadvertently, sweeps over the tip of Dan’s cock, not once, but twice, and Dan simply cannot stop the sizzling pleasure from unzipping through him, pouring out as he tries valiantly to maintain the pace of his own movements, intent on pulling Phil over the edge with him. It works, easily; it seems that the sight of Dan falling apart is enough for Phil to push into his own high. Phil grips him tightly, fingernails digging into Dan’s waist, shuts his eyes, and chants Dan’s name like a mantra. When it’s over, Dan collapses onto him, thrumming with the afterglow, the warm water beginning to slowly turn colder as the boiler runs out of heat. Phil, back slumped against the head of the tub, is glassy-eyed.

“If we do that again, would you consider being a little late to work?”

*

It’s Monday, and Dan’s in Music, the one class, aside from perhaps Chemistry with Phil, that he is able to tolerate. Ms Chilton, the Music teacher, is not, by any means, a kind, sweet woman, but for some reason, she seems to give Dan a little more attention than the others. Mostly due to bafflement, Dan lets her chide him and push him, and Music tends to be the only subject he ever gets decent grades in. Today, they’re finishing up their final projects, which will decide their overall grade. They’re supposed to compose a piece, either on the computer, or on their chosen instrument.

Around fifteen minutes ago, Ms Chilton asked Dan to play her what he has so far. Thankfully, Ms Chilton seems to understand, wordlessly, that Dan would rather set himself on fire than play for the entire class, so they both plug headphones in to the electric piano, and Dan plays her his piece. She listens thoughtfully, eyes shut in concentration. Dan doesn’t really get what she’s listening to - his performance can hardly be anything special compared to what she is probably able to do.

“Yes, I can hear the improvements you’ve made to the final section,” Ms Chilton says approvingly, slipping the headphones down to rest around her neck, where they immediately become tangled in the beads and necklaces she wears. “I agree that an imperfect cadence works for you, however I think there’s something to be added in the final few bars, if you’ll allow me to have a play…”

She battles with the headphones for a moment, then manages to free them from the tangle of jewellery, and places them back over her ears. She leans forwards, her shoulder pressed to his, and effortlessly dances her long, ringed fingers over the keys, producing a sweet trill of decorative melody that, Dan readily admits, would fit perfectly over the ending of his piece.

Just then, the bell rings. Dan thanks Ms Chilton in a mumble, removing his own headphones. As soon as they’re off, the chatter of the other students, excited for lunch, fills his ears. He grimaces, wishing he could slip back into the solitude of his song. Before he is able to so much as pick his way out from the piano bench, Ms Chilton says his name. 

He pauses, and she lifts an unhurried finger, draining the remnants of whatever strange, pungent tea she’s been drinking for the past hour. The students file out, and Dan waits, rather impatiently, for Ms Chilton to speak. She stands, her long skirt wafting over the cellos, the abandoned tambourines, the guitars loosely stacked in their stands, as she crosses to close the classroom door.

“Your time at school is almost over,” she says at last, gliding to her desk and perching on the edge.

Her creased, grey eyes fix him to the spot. Though she’s a subdued, dreamy sort of woman, with wispy hair and a vaguely hippyish style, there’s an intensity about her that makes students wary; she never shouts or even raises her voice much, but she’s sharp and rarely smiles. It’s unusual for her to show genuine interest in a student. Dan secretly suspects that her apparent indifference to her class is just an act, but it does seem to work in her favour - the students clamour for her attention in a way they don’t bother to with other teachers. If they think they’ve earned her approval, even for a moment, it’s as if they’ve won a prize.  

“Yeah, I know,” Dan says, because she seems to be waiting for an answer.

“And what is it, Daniel, that you’re thinking of doing next?”

He shrugs, playing idly with the bell on one of the nearby tambourines. “Dunno, really.”

He does know, of course. He will continue working at the café, upping his hours to full-time. He’ll work the long shifts, and save to get a place - any place - away from his mum’s house, which he will move into the minute he can afford to. He’ll buy a car, so he can drive to see Phil now and then, who will be at some university or other.

But Ms Chilton doesn’t want to hear this. No teachers want to hear that a student they’ve spent years trying to fill with knowledge and ambition has long ago resigned themselves to a life of solitude, monotony, and pointlessness.

“I’d like to discuss an opportunity with you,” Ms Chilton says, unexpectedly. “It would require a great deal of effort on your part, but has the potential of being quite life-changing. I have thought long and hard about whether you would be able, or willing, to rise up to the challenge, but upon deliberation I must say that I think you, Daniel, are the only student I have ever taught who might possess the sufficient talent for it.”

Dan stares at her, unsure how he could possibly respond. “Sorry, um. Me?”

“Yes,” she says, that unwavering, dazzling gaze never straying. “You.”

*

After leaving Ms Chilton’s classroom, Dan’s in such a daze that he doesn’t even register who it is that Phil is chatting to beside his locker. Phil tenses as soon as he sees Dan approaching, nervous for some reason, though Dan has no energy to work out why. Last night, after work, Phil had kept him up rather late, so they’re both pretty knackered today. In Dan’s case, tiredness makes him dazed and distant; in Phil’s case, it tends to hit him in bursts, interspersed with periods of high energy to make up for it. Right now, that energy radiates out of him. It’s making Dan exhausted, just to stand in his vicinity.

“Hey!” Phil squeaks, far too chipper. “Where did you get to? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hm?” Dan is looking past him, at the swarms of students still scattering through the hall, like marbles flying past one another, ricocheting off the walls. “Yeah, sorry. Was talking to Ms Chilton.”

Phil reaches out and plucks something from Dan’s hand. He hadn’t even been aware he was holding anything. It’s a leaflet, apparently; Phil unfolds it, frowning at the contents.

“The British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” Phil reads out, then lifts his eyes to Dan. “Was she asking you to a concert?”

“I think it may be more to do with this,” Amanda says, pulling suddenly and spectacularly into focus at Phil’s right.

She points a delicate finger at something on the far page of the leaflet. Dan stares at her, trying to figure out what on earth she’s doing here, before remembering the strange conversation they’d had on Friday, when she’d declared that she wanted to be friends. Phil’s mouth falls open slightly, his pupils darting left to right, reading quickly. Amanda lifts her eyes to Dan’s smiling tentatively.

“Hi, by the way,” she says.

“Uh,” Dan replies. “Hi.”

“Oh my God,” Phil breathes, lowering the leaflet at last. His eyes are alight. “Is this true? Are you really going to audition for this?”

Dan licks his lips, trying to recall the conversation he and Ms Chilton had just a few minutes earlier. A piercing ringing noise in Dan’s ears had obscured much of what she’d said, but he does vaguely remember her saying that she would like to help him prepare for the audition day coming up.

“Maybe,” he says. Phil lets out a delighted laugh. He turns towards Amanda, and she smiles too, sharing his glee. And then, watching the two of them, it strikes Dan like a blinding flash of lightning. The particulars of his life, his situation, are illuminated once more, and he shakes free of the whole ridiculous idea. “Probably not,” he corrects himself, snatching the leaflet back and shoving it deep, crumpled, into his pocket. “S’just one of Ms Chilton’s mad pipe dreams. Can’t really picture me, coat tails flung over the stool, playing Mozart on a stage, can you?”

He scoffs, hands patting his jacket pocket in search of cigarettes before remembering that he purposefully didn’t bring any today in an attempt to ‘cut down’. 

“Wait, Dan, what exactly did Ms Chilton say?” 

Phil’s face has fallen, and Dan can’t bear it. Can’t he just listen to any one of the many teachers that will happily tell him - Dan’s a disappointment, and always will be. 

“Oh, you know, a load of hippy bollocks,” Dan answers in a mumble, eyes darting away.

“She’s pretty difficult to impress, I hear,” Amanda tries. In a better mood, Dan might have the patience to tolerate her, but right now, he can’t even bring himself to respond. “If she thinks you’re in with a shot, I’d say that’s a ringing endorsement.”

“Um, you guys go on to the cafeteria,” Dan says, backing away from them. He can feel the unbearable itch of his nicotine craving scraping beneath every patch of his skin, and he can’t take it. “I’ll meet you in there.”

“Where are you going?” Phil calls, though Dan’s already walking away.

“Just gotta find Lee quickly,” he calls back, then pushes into the throng of students.

*

Lee, as ever, is not tough to find. He’s sat with his laddish Year Ten friends on a picnic bench outside the IT block. They’re splashing their sodas at one another, jeering and making a mess, occasionally stopping to put one another in a headlock, or flick a lighter near the hem of their school jumpers in the hopes of singeing the fabric.

The moment he spots Dan approaching, Lee attempts to appear separate from the others, the moronic grin slipping from his expression, his body relaxing into cool nonchalance as he rolls his eyes at the others’ behaviour.

“Quit acting like a bunch of twats, would you,” Lee says, just loud enough for Dan to hear. 

Dan has to hide a smirk. He walks up to Lee, then inclines his head. “Can I have a word?”

Lee shrugs. “Sure,” he says, then gets up casually, clearly all too aware he’s being eyed by his shocked companions.

“Goin’ for a quick shag, Lee?”

Dan turns to the kid that asked, glowering. Whether or not Dan’s reputation has been a little besmirched by now - Hardy Jenns has apparently spread news of Dan’s past Ozone-related activities - the idiot has the decency to look as if he regrets that question. Dan might be the school’s slutty gay mascot, but he’s also the one that caved Jenns’ face in at Prom.

“Get bent, Harry,” Lee shouts, coolly. Dan won’t admit it outright, but he’s mildly impressed by Lee’s blazé attitude, though he knows it’s put-on for his benefit. Lee turns to Dan, then. “What’s up?”

“Got a fag?” Dan asks.

Lee nods, casting a quick look around for lurking teachers. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro menthols. Dan makes a face.

“Sorry, Harry’s brother got ‘em for me,” Lee says. “Can’t be too picky when your mate’s doin’ you a huge favour, y’know?” 

Dan takes one, reasoning that it’s better than nothing, then tucks it behind his ear. “Cheers.”

He starts to walk away then, but Lee calls after him. “Wait.” Footsteps, rapidly catching up with him. “I’ll come with you, I’m gagging for one, too.”

Internally, Dan groans, but he doesn’t have the heart (and since when does he have a soft spot for Lee?) to turn the kid away. Together, they walk in silence to the narrow groove behind the huts at the back of the grounds, where they can’t be seen.

As soon as Dan takes the first drag, his world sharpens, and he feels instantly better. Then, the minty aftertaste hits, and he feels a little like throwing up.

“Grim,” Dan mutters, but takes another drag anyway.

Lee chuckles. “Least they’re not fuckin’ cherry flavoured.”

A laugh bursts from Dan’s chest, as much to his own surprise as Lee’s. Has Lee always been funny? Perhaps he just never bothered to notice. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Dan says.

“So,” Lee clears his throat. They’re both looking straight ahead, at the fence directly in front of them, their backs against the wall of the hut. “Haven’t seen you since Prom. You alright?”

Ah, no wonder Lee wants a catch-up. Last time he saw Dan he was wasted, bawling his eyes out, with a face bruised and bleeding from Hardy’s fist. “Right, yeah. Sorry about… all that.”

“Nah, it’s alright.”

“Thanks for taking my brother’s car back, by the way.”

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Lee says. Dan turns to him, confused. “That was your, er, your… mate. Phil?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes, nodding. “Yeah, Phil.”

“I dunno where you live, so he offered to take it back in the morning.”

Dan blinks, not sure what to make of this gesture. He remembers Ricky mentioning something about Phil stopping by the day after Prom, but he hadn’t put two and two together until now. He looks at his shoes. 

“Dan, mate,” Lee says then, so Dan turns to him, cigarette caught between his lips. “I know you’re not really big on, uh, ‘friends’. But just so you know,” Lee tilts his chin up, defiant. “I’ve got your back.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift. “Oh,” he says, confused. “Right. Uh, thanks.”

Lee nods, turning back to the fence in front of them. “No worries.” He’s clearly got more to say, so Dan just stays quiet, smoking, until he works up the courage to spit it out. “And uh, I don’t, like, care. About the stuff people are saying, I mean.”

Something squeezes around Dan’s chest, like a belt tightening. He wants to fucking sprint away, but the space they’ve slipped into is barely wide enough for the two of them to stand in, let alone for Dan to push past him. 

“Lee-”

“Nah, just… listen a sec, this is fuckin’ difficult but I need to tell you.” Lee’s voice is different. It’s lost that needy, young quality. There’s strength behind it now, and Dan marvels, trying to work out when it was that scrawny Lee grew some actual balls. “I worked it out a while back, y’know. How you felt. The way you looked at him. And how funny you got when he started off with that Elite chick. I know it was shit for you, at Prom, seeing him wiv’ her. But I don’t give a shit that you like him. I’m your mate, and I think you should be happy. If people try and talk shit about you when I’m around, I tell them to fuck off. ‘Cause that’s what mates do. I just want you to know that you’ve, uh, got me in your corner.”

Lee finishes the stub of his cigarette and throws it to the ground. Dan’s has burned out; he’s been too stunned to do anything but listen to Lee, cheeks flaming because it’s probably the wildest conversation they’ve ever shared. All this time, Dan was convinced his only friend was Phil. But maybe he doesn’t always get a say in who his friends are.

“Well, right.” Dan stomps on his own cigarette. “Thanks, Lee.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

A few agonising, silent seconds pass, and then Phil, somehow, rounds the corner. Dan might have run away from him a short while ago, but right now he’s ridiculously glad to see him.

“Finally,” Phil says, squeezing into the narrow space. “Found you. Should’ve known you’d gone for a smoke.” He inches, somehow, through the tight gap between Lee and the fence, nodding at him as he passes. “Hey, Lee.”

“Alright,” Lee says uncomfortably, trying not to move as Phil squishes him against the wall.

Eventually, Phil stumbles into the space beside Dan. He smiles, and Dan can’t help returning it, despite how awful he feels inside.

“I’ll, uh,” Lee says, jabbing a thumb in the opposite direction. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“Thanks for the cig,” Dan calls after him. Lee lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and slips out of the small space.

“Where’s Amanda?” Dan asks as Phil settles his back against the hut.

“She told me to come talk to you alone,” Phil says.

“About what?”

Phil bites his lip, deliberating. “I know you don’t really like talking about… what’s gonna happen when school ends,” he says carefully. Dan can feel Phil’s eyes burrowing into the side of his face; he’s watching Dan’s expression, checking he’s okay. It’s mildly infuriating, but Dan sticks it out, because it’s Phil. “But, well, it’s coming up.”

“I know that,” Dan snaps. “I’m not in denial. Is it such a crime if I wanna enjoy being with you while I still-” he cuts himself off, but not quite quick enough. 

Phil cocks his head to the side, like a confused puppy. “While you still what?”

“I really don’t wanna talk about this now,” Dan says, shaking his head.

He turns to Phil, grabbing him by the jumper and pushing him up against the wall. If he stands in front of Phil, fence at his back, there’s barely any room to move, which means he’s pressed deliciously along Phil’s body. He swoops in fast, closing the short distance between their mouths. He’s forceful and insistent, tongue searching, teeth nipping and coaxing, but Phil is distracted, and after a few moments pushes Dan, gently, away.

Sighing in frustration, Dan turns from him, moving to lean back against the wall. 

“So you’re withholding affection until I pour my heart out now?” Dan asks, scornfully. “Blackmail doesn’t work well with me, Lester. Maybe you should buy me some more Skittles.”

Dan kicks out, toe colliding with the fence in front of them, making it wobble.

“Dan, don’t be mad,” Phil says, sounding upset. And that’s just great, now Dan’s got to digest a helping of guilt on top of it all. “I just think maybe you should at least consider what Ms Chilton said-”

“What’s the point?!” Dan shoves his hand into his hair. “Look at me. The snobs from the Orchestra would kick me out before I had a chance to tickle the damn keys!”

“You don’t know that,” Phil says, quietly. “You could at least try.”

“I’m not good enough, Phil,” Dan says, glaring. “That’s it, plain and simple. I’m not the kind of person they want. I’m self taught, and sloppy, and working class. My destiny is not to play the fucking ivories with a load of pretentious kids that salivate over Beethoven. If you wanna shoot for the stars, go for it. I actually think you’ve got a hell of a chance. I don’t.”

“So, you can have faith in me,” Phil challenges, seemingly outraged by something Dan can’t fathom. “But I’m not allowed to want better things for you?” 

“We both know you’re the talented one,” Dan says. “You’ll get into some distant, fancy art college no problem, and we’ll keep up the long-distance for a bit, and then you’ll forget about me. Or, not forget, but find something better. Someone with purpose, and potential. And that’s just the way it’ll go.”

Phil’s enraged expression now has alarm bells ringing all over it. He reaches for Dan’s arm, obviously softening, but Dan pulls away. “Dan, woah, there’s a lot to unpick there, just-”

“So, yeah,” Dan interrupts, not listening. “Excuse me for not wanting to talk about the future. For wanting to live in the present just a little bit longer, when I still have you, and everything isn’t just complete, utter shit.”

He’s had enough then, and mercifully, the bell rings, so he doesn’t need to stick around any longer. Dan squeezes, with a fair deal of effort, past Phil, and round the corner of the hut, managing to lose himself in the swarms of students that suddenly appear. He sits through English, just about, but can’t bring himself to attend his final lesson, so slips out of school via the back entrance, and wanders home.

*

Dan wakes up on his sofa, immediately awash with dread, because he has no idea how long he’s been asleep. If it’s dark outside, Ricky might be home soon, or worse, he might already be home. Something catches his eye on the coffee table to his right; it’s the British Young Person’s National Orchestra leaflet, laid out where he left it. Now, however, there’s a note laid on top, scrawled in his mother’s handwriting.

Ricky’s out tonight. I’m at work.

I think you should go for it.

Mum x

Dan rereads the note four times before he understands what his mum is saying. She thinks he should audition for the orchestra. It makes no sense at all; she’s always shouting at him for not being home enough, not contributing to the rent payments enough, not doing his share of the housework. Why would she encourage him to leave? Still fuzzy from his nap, Dan decides to push this peculiar note away for now, and to think about it later. He checks his phone, which is flooded with activity. Most of the missed calls are from Louise, and Dan’s stomach sinks.

“Shit,” he says, to no one. 

He missed work. Well, is technically still missing work. He clicks onto his text messages. Apart from Louise’s stream of abusive, panicked ‘get down here right now’ texts, there are a fair few from Phil, as Dan expected.

From: Phil To: Dan 15:32pm hey did u forget we have detention??

From: Phil To: Dan 15:38pm ok mr richardson was not pleased but i think i  managed to cover 4 u

From: Phil To: Dan 15:40pm can u at least let me know where u are?

From: Phil To: Dan 16:34pm ok im out of detention now coming 2 cafe. xx

From: Phil To: Dan 17:23pm ok ive been here since 5 where r u??? louise cant get hold of u either

From: Phil To: Dan 19:56pm ive been here nearly three hours. im gonna go to ozone. i rly hope ur not there.

“Shit,” Dan says again, then checks the time. It’s eight now, Phil will be at Ozone soon. Dan doesn’t blame him; if he were in Phil’s shoes, he’d assume that’s where Dan had gone as well.

Without thinking about it, Dan gets up, grabs his keys and shoves on his shoes. He manages to remember his jacket, then bolts out of the door. He contemplates waiting for the bus to take him into town, but decides it would be better to just leg it. His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and his lungs start screaming at him two minutes into the journey, but Dan pushes through it.

He reaches Ozone in just under seventeen minutes, which is a record time. He’s hot and damp from exertion, panting so hard that he can’t even speak to Ben at the door. Mercifully, Ben lets him through anyway, though God knows why, as the last time Dan was in here, he was thrown out.

Almost the second Dan is inside, he feels someone grab his butt. It’s an aggressive squeeze, the kind of possessive, awful clutch of flesh that belongs to guys that think they can have whatever they want. Dan turns, scowling, to find the dude who gave him the pack of Djarums a while back. He’s even more nauseating than Dan remembers him being; it seems disgusting to think back on the person he was when he met this man, and the ways in which he degraded himself for a stupid pack of flavoured cigarettes.

The guy holds up another pack of Djarums in his beefy hand. “Got another pack for ya, Princess. Shall we find somewhere quiet?”

“Fuck off,” Dan says bitterly, turning away.

He pushes through the crowd, eyes scanning frantically for Phil. He spots Sam in the sound booth, setting up for whatever awful band is about to go on, and ducks out of his view. He asks Niamh, one of the bartenders, whether she’s seen a guy with blue eyes, black hair and glasses, but she just shakes her head.

Dan does a circuit of the whole club three times before he has to reluctantly admit to himself that Phil is not here. He slumps into one of the grimy little booths, defeated. Someone approaches pretty quickly, and Dan’s about to spew a load of abuse at whichever gross guy that Dan might have drunkenly given a smidgen of attention to long ago is deciding to try it on now, but at the sight of who it is, the words die on his lips.

Amanda slides neatly into the booth opposite him. “Hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She looks a little startled by his hostility. Honestly, he’s lost track of his feelings around the girl now. Is he angry with her? Kind of reluctantly impressed by her? Indifferent, maybe?

It’s likely a combination of all three. But Dan’s failsafe mode is ‘moody dickhead’, so it would almost be weirder if he treated her any other way.

“Phil sent me,” she explains, getting straight to the point. “He was gonna come himself, but he wanted someone to scout out the scene.”

Dan just stares. “Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Amanda says, smoothing out her skirt beneath the table. “But I imagine it’s because he didn’t want to see you snogging someone else.”

Fiery, red hot fury scorches through Dan’s veins. How dare she imply such a thing. “I’m not fucking snogging anyone else-”

“Yes, well, I can see that.” Amanda seems entirely nonplussed by Dan’s anger, and her coolness is disconcerting enough to forcibly relax him. “And I’ll be sure to tell him. But you can see how he might have been a little scared that’s what he’d find.”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat, a huge one. “Just because I used to sleep around a bit doesn’t mean I’m gonna cheat on him.”

She nods, calmly, and sends him a small smile. “Remember how I said we’re the same, Dan? Self-sabotage is kind of my thing. And I’d wage a bet it’s yours too.”

Dan shakes his head, but he can’t come up with any kind of argument in his defence.

“You’re not used to being happy,” Amanda continues. “Nor am I. It doesn’t sit right. It feels too precarious. Like it’s all seconds from crumbling away.” She’s too fucking good with words, that’s the problem. She’s like Derren Brown or something, manipulating his mind with her steady gaze, and her mesmerising appearance. He tries to shut her out, but the words trickle through into his mind anyway. “The second you find even the tiniest hole in the perfect, happy blanket you’re wrapped up in, you can’t help picking at the loose thread. You make the hole bigger, worse than it needs to be, because in some way, deep down, you’re expecting it to all fall apart.”

“I’m not making it worse,” Dan says through gritted teeth. “I came here to find Phil.”

“But, he’s not here,” Amanda reminds him. “So, if I hadn’t turned up, would you have just left?”

Dan shrugs, but he knows the answer. And even worse, she knows it too. No, Dan wouldn’t have left, probably. In all likelihood, what he’d have done is gone to the bar and gotten smashed on some other loser’s tab. And after that, who knows? 

Dan’s a mess when he’s drunk. He doesn’t want to cheat on Phil - the thought is utterly repulsive - but he knows himself. And Amanda’s right. He’s convinced that he and Phil are doomed - by their dangerously different futures, by Hardy, by Amanda, by Dan’s family, by the fucking world. So, in a haze of moronic, drunken stupidity, Dan can completely see himself taking the opportunity to drag that impending doom a little closer. To get it over with.

“Dan,” Amanda says, and reaches her hand across the table. Her eyes are round, pleading. For some reason, he lets her take his hand. “You deserve to be happy. Phil deserves to be happy. This little tiff is not worth losing such a good thing over. You can get through this. Just talk to him. Just try.”

It’s so infuriating, knowing that she’s completely right. He nods stiffly, and she squeezes his hand.

“Will you call him?” Dan’s voice is croaky. “Tell him to come here? I need the bathroom.”

She nods, smiling supportively, and picks up her phone. Dan climbs out of the booth, walking quickly, head down, towards the bathrooms. He pees, ignores a guy trying to coax him into one of the stalls, then washes his hands and splashes water on his face. He peers into his own reflection, sighing. When Phil gets here, he tells himself, he will apologise for his stupid reaction earlier. He will tell Phil his concerns about their future, and together they will work out how to deal with it.

That’s what a sensible, mentally healthy person would do. That’s what Amanda thinks he should do. And she’s, irritatingly, always right. 

He leaves the bathroom; he’s already spent ages in there, Phil’s probably halfway here by now, provided Amanda got through to him. He’s just squeezing back through the crowd towards the booth where he left her, when a hand clamps itself around his upper arm, painfully.

“Ow,” Dan cries out, turning. It’s the Djarums chap again, and Dan would roll his eyes, but this time, the git looks livid. He tries to pull away, but the idiot’s not having it.

“Listen up, Princess,” he hisses, leaning close; Dan can smell the beer on his breath. “I bought these Djarums specially for you. Now, how I see it, I’m out twenty quid, and you fuckin’ owe me.”

The guy shoves the pack of Djarums into Dan’s jacket pocket, then exposes his yellow, crumbling teeth in what Dan assumes is a grin.

“I’m not for sale, you creep,” Dan snarls, again attempting to pull away. “I don’t want your fags. Go give them to your wife.”

“Not for sale? That’s not how I remember it,” the guy says, then yanks Dan forwards, sloppily, trying to duck in for a kiss. Luckily, Dan, being the completely sober one for once, swerves away just in time. “Come on you little brat,” the guys growls, tugging him through the crowd, towards the back rooms.

A blur of burgundy red swoops in, barreling straight into the spot where the gross dude’s hand clamps onto Dan’s arm, breaking them apart. It’s Phil, Dan notices in the next second, just in time as always. Dan could kiss him; in fact, he will, later.

“Get the fuck off him,” Phil snarls at the Djarums guy, fist raised in what Dan must admit is a vaguely menacing stance. Phil’s only ever hit one person, but he seems to be all too ready to do it again. “Or I’ll call the bouncers over.”

“Or we could call his wife,” Dan suggests, holding up the mobile phone he snagged from the Djarums dude’s trouser pocket.

“Oh, you little shit-”

The guy lunges for him, but Phil’s arm launches out, holding him back. “Back off, or he’ll call her right now,” Phil threatens.

The guy looks about to explode, but he nods, red-faced. Dan hands the phone back, and he stomps off. Dan is grinning, because that was fucking epic, but he turns to Phil, and finds a look of hurt on his face.

Dan’s smile slips away, fast. “Phil, what’s wrong? I’m sorry about earlier, about not texting you back, I-”

“Did you get with him?”

Dan balks. “Get with- no. No, Phil I would never-”

Phil presses his lips together. “How can I believe you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Dan says, taking Phil by the shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a twat all day, but Amanda was here, and she’s knocked some sense into me. Can we go and talk?”

Phil heaves a sigh, looking like he very much wants to refuse, to be far away from Dan right now, but he nods, ever the Saint, and Dan is so, ridiculously grateful.

“Okay,” Dan says quickly, before Phil changes his mind. “Let me just go and find Amanda, tell her we’re going. Will you meet me outside? I’ll be two minutes.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly, and Dan plunges into the crowd again, searching for thick brown curls and a small, dainty figure.

*

“Find her?”

Dan is barely out of Ozone before Phil’s question hits him. He turns to the left to find him leant on the wall outside, hands in his burgundy jacket pockets. Dan walks up to him, relieved that he hasn’t simply left.

“She was sitting with about five other guys and a hot girl,” Dan says. “I’m pretty sure they were all hitting on her. She’s fine.”

Phil nods. “It was good of her to come here. It’s not exactly her scene.” 

Dan snorts with laughter. “I think she’ll hose herself down when she gets home.” 

“She’s a good friend,” Phil says, clearly testing the waters. It’s uncomfortable to hear him say it, obviously, but it’s not unbearable, and that’s a start. 

“Mm,” Dan manages, which he’s enormously proud of himself for. 

They wordlessly begin walking back in the direction of their side of town. Dan wants to explain everything, but he can’t work out where to begin.

“I don’t wanna pressure you, Dan,” Phil says eventually, the words almost lost in the enormous sigh he heaves. “If you’re sure you don’t think the Orchestra thing is for you, that’s fine. I guess I just know how amazing you are, and I’d like you, and everyone else, to know it too.”

“Thanks,” Dan whispers. “It’s really nice that you think I’m…” he can’t think of the word. “Good enough, I guess.”

Phil sighs again, and Dan gets a familiar feeling that he’s stupidly not seeing something right in front of his nose. “Dan, I don’t just think it. Anyone who hears you play, who hears you talk even, can see that you’re wasted in a crappy café in a dead-end town.”

“Don’t,” Dan begs. He suddenly, blissfully, remembers that the moron in Ozone had shoved those Djarums into his pocket. Dan digs the pack out, thanking every deity he can think of. “I know you mean well, but I can’t bear it. The way you talk about me…”

Dan rips the pack open and pulls out a cigarette. In his haste to light it, he drops his lighter to the floor. Phil gets to it first, and flicks the flame into existence. He holds it to the end of Dan’s cigarette; in the light of the small flame, Dan can see the sadness in his eyes.

“I can’t think you’re amazing?”

Phil hands the lighter back to Dan, watching him take a long drag, then blow out the smoke through his nose.

Dan sucks the end of the cigarette before speaking again. “I’m not the person you think I am,” he says eventually. Even he cringes at the phrasing; he sounds like a martyred anti-hero in some terrible action movie. Phil snorts, confirming Dan’s fears. “I just mean… I can’t live up to the Dan in your head. I’m not some gifted flower, wilting behind my insecurity. If I let myself think I can have… y’know, a better life, where I don’t have to work shitty customer service jobs and live with my abusive family, then I’ll hope for it, and I can’t, I can’t deal with the disappointment I’d feel when I didn’t get it.” Dan shakes his head, eyes stinging from the smoke in his eyes, or maybe something else. “It’s not worth it.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Phil says, though he sounds like he doesn’t want to. It’s brave to speak the words aloud, Dan can see it. He must know that disagreeing with Dan now will only lead to an argument. As Dan knows from that overheard conversation he had with his mum, Phil is worried Dan’s gonna run off at the first sign of trouble. If that’s still true, inciting any argument is courageous of him. “I think it’s always worth a shot. Your dreams matter, Dan.”

Dan laughs, smoke billowing up into the dark sky. “Don’t you know this, Phil? I already got my dream.”

*

Eventually, Phil decides to drop the matter entirely, mostly because he can’t speak with Dan’s tongue in his mouth. He should remember, in future disagreements, that Dan’s got an arsenal of weaponry, primed for distraction, hidden beneath his clothes, and he is apparently not above using them. They’re laying on Phil’s bed, Dan half on top of Phil, trying to be quiet because Phil’s mum is downstairs.

Phil’s hands are inside of Dan’s t-shirt, and are mapping the skin of his chest and back thoroughly. Dan’s kissing is getting dangerously heated, but Phil cannot bring himself to tell him to stop. 

“Phil,” his mum calls from downstairs. 

Dan moves his mouth to Phil’s throat for a second, so he can shout back. “Yeah?”

“Do you and Dan want some dinner?”

Phil pushes Dan back a little to give him a questioning look. “Do you?”

Dan shrugs. “Sure.”

“Yes please! Coming!”

Dan grins. “Not yet.”

“Ew, please do not say anything sexual in the context of anything to do with my mum,” Phil says, rolling Dan off him. Dan laughs and stretches, exposing skin at his middle, which Phil is basically forced to lean down and kiss. The feel of Phil’s lips is apparently tickly, because Dan shrieks. “Oh? Are you ticklish, Howell?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dan says, jumping into a defensive crouch atop the bed. 

He looks like a wildcat, poised to spring. And, well, it’s too tempting to resist. He gets a few kicks to the face, stomach, and shins, but it’s worth it to send the perpetually bitch-faced Dan Howell into peels of uncontrollable laughter for a few minutes.

Phil’s mum eyes them both when they get downstairs, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink that Phil has never witnessed before. He’s confused for a moment, then looks Dan up and down, and realises that he too must look just as breathless, red and ruffled, right after exiting the bedroom.

“We were just-”

“How about you come sit up, and we shan’t mention it, Philip,” his mum says, very steadfastly averting her eyes. Dan is trying not to laugh, so Phil elbows him in the side. “There’s plenty to eat, so don’t be shy.”

Resigning himself to letting his mother believe he and Dan have been up to no good, Phil takes a seat at the table, and Dan follows him. His mum hands out plates, and they pile on mashed potatoes, veggie sausages, and various steamed vegetables.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Lester,” Dan says. “It looks delicious, as usual.”

She sends him a sweet smile. “You’re always welcome, Dan love.”

Phil sends him a look that is supposed to say something along the lines of ‘how come you aren’t in trouble for supposedly fucking me in my room two minutes before dinner?’, but probably comes out as something unreadable, because Dan just stares back blankly.

“So, boys, what’s new?”

Phil opens his mouth, about to tell his mum about the petty dramas of the school day - he’d gotten a B on his English essay, Mr Richardson’s shirt was on inside out, Amanda had tripped someone up in the hall for muttering that she was a ‘last season harpie’, but Dan gets there first.

“My music teacher thinks I should audition for the British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” he blurts.

The words jumble together a little, spilling from his mouth so fast that Phil is sure Dan didn’t think them through. He stares at his boyfriend, flabbergasted. He thought the matter had been officially dropped. Dan shoves mashed potato into his mouth, as if he wants to stopper it up.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful!” Phil’s mum exclaims, placing her fork down. “Phil, isn’t that fantastic news?”

“Um… uh…” Phil stammers; he’s at a total loss over what to say. Dan had basically told him to shut the hell up about the subject, but here he is bringing it up of his own accord, to Phil’s mother. “Y-yes, he knows I think it’s… amazing.”

Dan winces at the word. still chewing mashed potato. He swallows it down with obvious effort, and shoots Kath a smile. “Thanks. I don’t actually know if I’ll do it.”

“Oh, well there’s no harm in trying, honey,” Kath says, taking a sip of wine from her glass. “Why, your music teacher seems to think you have as good a chance as anyone else! And he or she would know, I’d think.”

Dan, for some reason, seems to be listening to her. He’s staring at his plate, but he’s chewing his fingernail, deliberating. “Yeah,” he says, and Phil is about ready to pinch himself to check he’s not dreaming.

“I don’t have a musical bone in my body love,” Kath says. “But I hear you playing Phil’s old piano from time to time, and my goodness, I could listen forever. It’s just beautiful!”

Dan’s head lifts. “I didn’t know you could hear that.”

“I think even the neighbours can hear, love, the walls aren’t exactly soundproof,” Kath says with a chuckle. “But I’ve heard no complaints, and I highly doubt there’ll ever be any.”

Dan pushes his peas around thoughtfully, and the conversation moves onto other things.

*

“I brought you a coffee,” Phil says at around eleven at night, nudging the door to his bedroom open with his hip.

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Try’na keep me up?”

“Maybe,” Phil says with a smirk, handing Dan his mug. He sits down on the bed, sipping his own delicious coffee and leaning back against the pillows. “Do you wanna have a chat?”

Dan’s been sitting at Phil’s piano for around an hour, trying to work up the courage to play something now that he knows Mrs Lester listens. She’s gone to bed now, but she’s probably still awake, so the pressure mounts.

Sighing, Dan turns to face him. He knew this was coming; dinner had brought up some unexpected ‘word vomit’ on Dan’s behalf. “I know I’m being nuts,” Dan says. “Veering from one decision to the other. I dunno, I thought I’d made up my mind about the Orchestra thing. But I think... maybe... possibly I’m just a stubborn dickhead. Everyone seems to share your point of view, even my own mother, which is just... mental. Maybe I’m just being a coward, too scared to even try in case I fail. Maybe you’re more persuasive than I let myself believe.”

Phil doesn’t bother to hide his ridiculously pleased grin. “Really?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it,” Dan warns, very cautious of Phil getting his hopes up for anything Dan-related. It’s best that he stay very pessimistic about Dan’s willingness to do anything he doesn’t have to. It’s been hard enough trying to give up smoking, and that’s not exactly working out great; he’s had three cigarettes today. “I think talking to your mum helped me realise. She’s kind of like… a voice of reason in my head.”

Phil hums a noise of assent, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “She’d love to hear that. Think she wishes you were her third son, sometimes.”

Dan nearly chokes on his own sip. He’d rather not have the added pressure of Mrs Lester wanting him as a son-in-law just yet. “Maybe I’ll have another talk with Ms Chilton,” Dan says carefully. He shoots Phil a ‘don’t get excited’ look, and Phil struggles - and fails, spectacularly - to hide his sheer delight at this news. Dan rolls his eyes. “You can’t put all your faith in me, though. I’ve never won anything, ever.”

“Um, incorrect,” Phil says, eyes shining. He pats the space beside him on the bed, and Dan, besotted little puppy that he is, stands and goes to sit with him. “You won my heart.”

“Ugh, you sap,” Dan mutters as he sinks onto the bed at Phil’s side. “Why do I hang out with you?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?”

Dan snorts, drinking more coffee. “Hey, did you make me coffee to keep me up for a DMC, or because you wanna seduce me after your mum’s asleep?”

Phil sends him a horrified, innocent look. “Dan, are you accusing me of using nefarious means to ensure you don’t zonk out before I can shove my hand down your pants?”

This time, Dan doesn’t need to be tickled to descend into laughter. Phil takes the mug from his hands, and places it, along with his own, on his bedside table, then dives on top of him. 

“Ugh, get off me, you weigh a tonne,” Dan groans, though he doesn’t even try to wriggle away. 

Phil’s body is warm, and heavy, like those weighted blankets he’s read about on Buzzfeed. His eyes sparkle in the light of his bedside lamp.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil says, smiling widely. He leans in and sniffs Dan’s hair, which is super weird, but somehow totally expected, at this point.

“Sorry,” Dan says, hands resting on Phil’s back. “I know I said I was cutting back. It’s been a stressful day.”

“You know, you don’t need to change anything about yourself for me,” Phil tells him, pinching Dan’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger, then raising it to his nose to sniff.

It’s a sweet thing to say, but he surely cannot mean it. “Er, I think you might prefer me if I weren’t such an asshole, or if I didn’t stink of smoke every time you got within five inches of me.”

Phil shakes his head, a big, dopey smile on his face. “Nah, I want you just like this. Bitch-faced, cherry-smelling, pretentious piano-genius.”

There’s a thousand retorts on Dan’s tongue, a hundred reasons why Phil is wrong, and should immediately reconsider his decision, but Dan gets to verbalise none of them. Phil’s kisses are electrifying, sending pulses of bright energy between his synapses, lighting his nerve endings on fire. Dan could be on the brink of death, he’s sure, and a single kiss from Phil would revive him, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He’s the modern day Snow White, if she had more of a Mia Wallace attitude to life.

As their clothes become nuisances, and the dragging, clawing pull of their combined arousal begins to rip the garments from their bodies, Dan feels that familiar, heady, intoxicating swell of adoration welling up, like a sea, all around them. He pulls back from Phil’s mouth, dizzy, adrift in the waves of it, sure he can feel the bed bobbing up and down.

Phil looks down at him wonderingly, fondly. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Dan says, because it’s all he can think of to say that might have a hope of scratching the vast universe of emotion he feels for Phil in this moment. 

“Love you too, nerd,” Phil says, and Dan plummets, happily, freely, into the roiling ocean beneath him.