Title: L'appel du vide
Warnings: None other than the definition of l'appel du vide being "the instinctive urge to jump from high places" (among other things.) Warnings apply accordingly.
A/N: I tend to forget to post my fics here, but if you'd want to read them right when they're done (or if you just want to talk, I'm always up for that!) I'm still-in-blossom on tumblr.
...
One of Dan's strongest childhood memories that is still occasionally swept up along with a whirlwind of other emotions is when he was leaning over a gunwale on a big ferry. Or rather in between the rails, because even on his tippy toes he had no chance of standing as tall as his father, and he remembers the frustration because he was convinced that his father saw things that he missed, and Dan wanted to see it all. In his hand was a teddy bear clasped tightly, closed hand damp in the heat of the summer day and fingers almost cramping. Even if his mother had slowly and patiently persuaded him into leaving his dearest possession, the bear that he had yet to spend more than a handful of nights without, at home even the thought of losing this replacement bear made something in his guts wrench. But despite the beautiful scenario, the sun glistering in the water like a thousand diamonds were hidden at the bottom of the sea making him squint his eyes, time and again his eyes fell back on the bear in his hand. One finger at the time he started to loose his grip, his breath hitching in his throat a little more for each finger. And then he loosened the last finger and saw the friend made of fabric and stuffing unite with the water before it was abruptly pulled down by the surge.
"It's okay Dan, bear, you didn't mean to. Good thing we left your best friend at home, wasn't it. It's alright, tomorrow we'll go to the shop, just you and I, and pick out a new one. Don't cry any more."
But Dan was inconsolable. Not as much over a lost bear, but more over the realisation that ultimately, he had control neither over life, nor over himself. It would just take many years and a lot of frightening urges, some carried out and others not, to realise that's what he had been crying about that summer day.
...
Cheap vodka stops tasting cheap, and like vodka as well for that matter, at one point, and that point was passed long ago when Dan pushes open the door to the terrace and tumbles out into the summer night. One step behind him is a boy, definitely older than him and definitely with a mind less clouded with alcohol than Dan's was right now. With the sound of the party and people trying to be heard over it significantly lessened the way he's swaying and fumbling with the bottle in his hand seems much more salient. Suddenly he's shy, and the vague plan of getting the other boy to kiss him – because god knows he's too shaken up and scared to take such a drastic first step himself – seems hopelessly detached and all he really does is to peer at the other through a fringe long overdue for a haircut.
"Were you not going out here to smoke?" he asks in the end, when the tilted head and knowing smile he's receiving gets the better of him.
"Right. Up there." He nods at a platform, the roof of some kind of ventilation he guesses without knowing exactly how the functionality matters in this moment. Maybe it distracts from the feeling of absolutely not in a million years wanting to climb up there, but before he has time to find an excuse not to his company has climbed his way up there and waits for Dan with a hand outstretched and an eyebrow cocked. When Dan makes it up there and grabs on to a warm hand he can count the beat per minute of his pulse in each and every one of his fingertips. He refuses a cigarette only because him spluttering on the smoke with tears in his eyes would be more humiliating than the feeling of something forbidden between his finger that ties him to the beautiful male next to him would be enchanting.
"What's the matter, are you afraid of heights? Cause I could distract you."
The hot breath against Dan's ear makes him shiver, and he would most definitely be kissing the other person now – scared shitless or not – if it wasn't for something else overpowering every feeling of want. A feeling that he could so easily slide closer to the edge and then just lean over it. It could be done before the person whose fingers were now painting circles on his hip bone would have time to put out his cigarette and get a grip of his shoulder to stop him from dwindling down. Perhaps it's the vodka, the cheap one that stops tasting cheap and starts tasting like a cure past the forth shot, but suddenly Dan finds a different use other than kissing for his mouth.
"No it's just that – do you ever feel like you can't trust yourself not to just, you know, throw yourself off the edge?"
The way the fingers that were preciously working their way past the hem of his t-shirt stops dead tells him he made the wrong choice. The long silence only serves to empathize it.
"No, I don't. And I think we should go inside, now."
The whole time when he gets helped down, once again a warm hand in his and a light pressing of a hand on his back on their way back into the building Dan looks down at his feet, failed again by something out of his control. The smile on the other's lips is kind but his eyes are indisputably spooked when he leaves Dan in the mass of bodies on the impromptu dance floor.
...
Sun is almost about to set over Manchester when the bottle that Phil ordered, so expensive Dan can't help to blush at the gesture, is brought to them along with two delicately expensive champagne glasses. The place really is too fancy for them; they're surrounded by people in suits and cuffs that together probably cost more than the car Phil had when he picked Dan up at the station earlier the same day. Both of them are too busy with each other, back against chest and Phil's lips brushing over Dan's ear feather lightly over and over again, to even poke fun at that fact. Dan doesn't believe in perfect moments, but he believes in this moment and it's probably as near perfect as a moment can ever be. Only one thing, one tug in his stomach calling for his attention is a bit of a distraction from how almost scarily happy he feels. So he takes a step backward, pushing Phil slightly and making him bulge and give him a bit more distance to the glass. Because this time it's glass, something solid between him and the edge, but it's see through and in his mind barely even there.
"What's the matter, scared of heights now are we?"
The question seems oddly familiar even though years have passed. The time Dan takes to find the right words is significantly longer this time.
"I just always feel like I'm too close to the edge for it to be safe?"
A question mark that isn't supposed to be there somehow sneaks its way in.
"Like you might do something stupid?"
Dan's doesn't manage to mask his surprise when he halfway turns to face Phil.
"L'appel du vide." Phil adds with a small smile. "Call of the void."
"I know that." Dan manages to get out with just barely noticeably too much time for consideration.
"Of course, you and your intense French skills. Do you know what it is though?"
Dan bites back a remark about how Phil's pronunciation wouldn't make much of a better impression and instead just shakes his head.
"The urge to do something that you know would have catastrophic consequences. Doesn't mean you want to, or that you will, but you might feel an urge to. Like taking that last step off an edge, or just drive through the red light. It's quite normal."
And there's a feeling of complete relief washing over Dan in that moment, along with Phil shrugging his shoulder a bit apologetic like he always does when he thinks he's turned something into a lecture no one asked for. And all cautions of being in a public place in no way designed for them are thrown over that edge in the moment Dan kisses Phil with a kind of desperation that he didn't knew was there moment earlier. They break apart not even bothering to make sure they had been unseen.
"You with your linguistics." Dan tries to scoff. It's somewhat undermined by the smile he can't for the life of him keep off his lips.