"Daaaaan!"

"Phil"

"You promised you'd be back in time!"

"I'm going through baggage control right now." Dan lied, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. The large clock hung above him like a tease, it seemed to Dan to be less helpful and more mocking. It was the last place he wanted to be right then. The grey walls seeming less like a break, a careful container for designated relaxation, and more like a cage. Dan usually loved airports. Scheduled fun was his forte. And unscheduled fun, when the right amount of liquor passed by his lips. Which happened more and more as he approached his thirtieth birthday.

He looked around at the room, filled with grey ties over white shirts, greying hair with a slight hint of gel, lines carved into their skin with the knife of time. And Dan wondered why anyone wanted to be buried in a suit. And the tie clutched tighter around his neck. He was sure the seams were sowing into the skin on his arm, the thread pricking without feeling. He wanted out of his suit.

"But it's Wilson's birthday!"

"Don't make me feel guiltier that I already do! I got held up at court,"

"Did you at least win?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He was the distant parent. It was official. He couldn't even make it to his son's fifth birthday party. And Phil was so good with the kids. While Dan was off rushing around busy cities, his tie flying out behind him, barely having time to face time his kids before bed, Phil was there all day, pushing them on the swings at the park, joking with them at dinner, tucking them in at night. Dan didn't know all the names of the characters in waybuloo, Phil did. Sometimes he didn't even know what he was saying. Like a whole other language.

And the way their eyes lit up around Phil made him smile as the steam of caffeine hit his face.

"That bad huh?" Phil paused, his voice dropping an octave, "Do you want me to make up for it later."

"Phil!"

"What?"

"Kids party."

"Oh yeah, in all honesty though, I do need your help."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I honestly am; my tie matches like four other guys in this room."

"You should be! I'm being crowded by single mums."

"Aww it's just because you're so cute; are you wearing your button up shirt?" the guy next to him raised his eyebrows, but Dan could hear his rap music bouncing through his earphones and rolling down the front of his tie, he didn't know how he had the right to be so judgemental.

"Uh huh."

"Then it's your own fault."

"Somebody wanted to meet my wife."

Dan laughed, "Happy to oblige."

"Shut up."

"How is Wilson anyway?"

"Oh you know, he's an independent soul, he'll be in a ball pit somewhere,"

"When did he get to be so big?" Dan whispered, "It seems just yesterday I was having to wipe his vomit of my tie every morning."

"He'll be off at university soon."

"Phil he's five."

"He's smart."

"Knowing the alphabet is not smart."

"Shut up I – oh wait a minute" Dan heard Phil put his hand over the receiver "Hi Sal, - yes – well yes – it's just Dan – no he couldn't make it – he got caught up in a meeting – oh – oh okay – well I'll be out in a minute" Phil sighed, "apparently it isn't socially acceptable for me to hide away in this room during my son's birthday."

"Hide away? Where exactly are you."

"I don't know," Phil said, turning around on his heel, "it looks like some kind of old party room?"

"Are there animatronics?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Is this place called Freddie Fazbear's?"

"Shut up!" But Phil whipped around anyway, he was sure the duck was eyeing him. He was sure he felt the dark's hand reach out and tap him on the shoulder, his foot inched closer to the door.

"Bye," Dan sighed, "I love you, I miss you, say Happy Birthday to Wilson for me."

"Love you too."

Three hours. Dan had three hours to kill in a dead airport. He wished Phil was there.

Tell the story. What? Tell that guy's story, for example, see the man in the tie? I reckon he's secretly a brony. Dan spluttered, splashing coke down the front of his tie, and causing a single mother to hold her child a little closer. Look what you've done now! Dan said in fake angry tone. Phil blushed, leaning his head against Dan's shoulder. Two grown men, one in a tie and one in a green t-shirt with a lion on it.

He pulled out his newspaper, a slight glint of a tear in his eye. The words vibrated on the page, paper thin between his hands.

The children don't love me.

A fragile whisper down the phone, a small crack in a voice. Midnight on a Tuesday, his mother's words echoed through the one, her aura crackling through the receiver. Phil lay asleep on the bed behind him, his delicate eyelids sprinkled with glitter and a rather questionable drawing of a flower on his left cheek. The kids lay asleep next to him, Marigold tiny. Dan remembers his hands shaking when he hold her, a tie still gripping at his neck, the edge of his shiny shoes scuffed in the hurry. She was so, so small. You're holding her like she's a bomb. Phil said quietly, an edge of a grin as he bit at his lip. Dan tried to pull her closer, but his hands felt slippery, like ice, and she was so small. Wilson hid behind Phil's legs. And when Phil held her he was a natural, her small head of hair nuzzling into his chest. You'll get used to it. Three years had passed, and Wilson's eyes still grew wary when he entered the room.

Dan was a distant parent, a hopeless parent.

The bags under Phil's eyes were constantly smudged, like charcoal smothered under the light of a fire. And Dan's were too, but Dan's were laced with guilt. Because the two meant different things. Phil's bags spoke of late night feedings under the moon and early morning rises to red and yellow bricks and re-runs of tangled. Dan's spoke of one-too-many whiskeys after a successful case and of plane rides back and forth, of rocking trains and late nights filled with stacks of paper.

Dan sighed, his tears hitting against the newspaper.

~
The plane landed at 3:43am. Approximately 9 hours after the end of Wilson's party. Phil had sent him some snapchats through. Pictures of Wilson with cake all over his face and a lopsided party hat, pictures of Marigold in a small yellow jumper, her face shining like the sun, pictures of kids running hugging giant dinosaurs and Phil and Wilson on a slide. Dan felt trapped within his seat, his breathing deepening as the overhead landing announcements rang loud and clear. Outside it was black and inside it was black, the smog covered all the stars.

Dan took a taxi cab home. It's black figure streaked through the night like water and Dan leant against the window, feeling the vibrations against the corner of his head.

There was still a single light on. A small lamp in the corner of the living room window, lighting up one of Phil's (ever growing collection of) houseplants. Dan slowly drew the money from his black, leather wallet without bothering to count it. After all, it wasn't money he was lacking in, it was something that was much harder to find.

Dan picked his suitcase from the trunk and trawled to the front door. He was crying now, his head pounding and whirling, his bones aching, he just wanted to fall into Phil's arms without feeling the spike of guilt.

And Phil was waiting for him by the door.

That same soft expression he had fallen in love with.

As if his face were a lulling sea, completely at ease, like the dull light of the setting sun which makes everything sparkle and glow. Like magic. That's what Phil was. He was that specific time of night, where the sun sets and nature shines, and for a split second one can believe in magic. Over the top of his pyjama bottoms hung an oversized jumper (one Dan distinctly remembered as the sickness hoodie (of earlier days)). Phil was endearing without trying, his aura outlining him; soft and loving.

His thumbs brushed over Dan's hand slowly before pulling him in for a hug. And Dan couldn't hold it in anymore, his tears shook against Phil's shoulders, like winds swirling in his ribcage. Ssh it's alright. Phil's voice was soothing like piano keys, or like an autumn breeze.

A small voice hung at the top of the stairs. Trickling down like a small river. Breeze man and his river son. Wilson. His small cheeks seemed to capture the light, like small peaches. His eyes beamed and his mouth let out a small yawn, his teeth pearly white and shining like milk. The top button of his Thomas the tank engine pyjamas was unravelled and a small cloth bunny hung from his hand.

Dad.

He said quietly.

Dan wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, his other hand reaching and securing in Phil's.

Hello Wilson, happy birthday! Dan choked a little, I have a present for you.

Are you alright Dad? Wilson said, a small puzzled look coming over his face, as he furrowed his brows ever so slightly.

Dan leant over so slightly closer to Phil. I'm good son. He slowly let go of Phil's hand, placing his suitcase on the floor and opening the lid. A small zipping sound mixed with the night air and the sound of Wilson's footsteps on the stairs as he slowly descended, his hand gripping tightly onto the banister.

A small present wrapped in red. A small blue bow.

Wilson's smile lit up as he sat down on the bottom step, patting the space beside him for Dan to sit down, Phil joining on the other side.

Happy Birthday. Dan said again, giving Wilson the present. Wilson unwrapped it very cautiously, as if every scrap of wrapping paper was precious and deserved to be saved. Bunny lay across his knee. The moon filtered through the open window.

Eventually the wrapping fell to reveal a small green train. Wilson's face lit up, jumping a little in his seat. Thank you, daddy. Daddy. His heart was covered in fair dust, his smile a rainfall of glitter. He hadn't been called that in a while, Phil's eyes crinkled as he smiled at him across the top of Wilson's head. I love you, daddy. Wilson said, his small hands reaching up to Dan in a giant bear hug. And Dan was crying again. For an entirely different reason.

And maybe Dan wasn't a perfect parent. And maybe he never would be all-day-all-night-fun-machine Phil. But he cared. Oh god did he care. And maybe that was all he needed.

This was written for phan prompts which I intended to use to make me write more but I only ended up doing two bc I was feeling low and let's face it; no one cares (plus this one (like a million other unfinished fics) was already half written. Hope you enjoy it anyway and that it wasn't too rushed.