Dan half flinched from that word. He hurriedly tucked Phil back into bed, and stood there for a minute, looking at Phil's peaceful face in amazement and horror. What had he really done tonight? Phil was so… special to him. He had never had anybody like him, who was honest and adorable and just so easily lovable that he didn't know what to do with himself. He was surprised to hear Phil didn't have a girlfriend, but he suppressed the feeling of immense relief and opportunity opening up inside him. Dan felt guilty – Phil didn't need this trouble. Phil didn't want to hear that his best friend had a huge crush on him, and Dan sure as heck wasn't planning on telling anyone. He had accepted long ago what he was, but decided against ever telling his family. He drowned his problems in alcohol and flirted with pretty girls, he went round with all the wrong crowds, he knew it was wrong and he shouldn't but his father would definitely value whether he was a 'lad', as he called it, over crappy grades. Dan would scrape by, and his father would be pleased enough to treat Dan civilly. Dan would find a nice girl, settle down and lead a boring life, but he knew what he would achieve. He would bring his kids up better than his parents had brought him up. He wondered whether it was worth it, all the time, whether just ending it all was so much easier, but he never had the guts to. And he needed to get over his crush, quick, so when Sasha asked for some 'referrals', Dan couldn't help but think that with a girlfriend suppressing his feelings for Phil would be both easier and more justified. So, he set up Phil and Sasha on a date. From what he had seen, and from what Angela had told him, Sasha was nice, and from a group of girls who did well in school. He figured she wouldn't be bad for Phil, but now he looked at Phil, his Phil, and felt a monster clawing up from his heart, sitting in his throat, and he punched the wall, silent tears streaking down his face. And now, what had Phil done? Given him a chance, the bloody chance of a lifetime. But god, he didn't know, it could never happen. His father would eat him alive.
Dan lay down in bed, staring at the patterns and stains on the ceiling, watching and waiting as sunlight crept over the room, rubbing his eyes as they became more and more sore, and at around 6am, getting up, as he felt it was pointless to try anything anymore. He opened his laptop and started streaming some anime, but nothing from the screen was being processed, and he kept constantly rewinding one episode in an attempt to understand it, yet to no avail. He reckoned around half of his brain power was spent keeping him awake, and yet through this sleep deprivation he couldn't force himself to shut his eyes long enough to sleep. Just thinking… Would Phil even remember last night? If so, how much? He was drunk as fuck… He probably didn't mean what he said.
When Phil woke up, he felt a buzzing in his head, and every sound seemed to be amplified to absurd levels.
"Dan?", he asked uncertainly.
Dan hurried over, although he looked the worst Phil had ever seen him.
"What even happened last night?", Phil said with a shaky laugh. "I can remember some stuff, but everything else… poof! Gone. Is there anything for breakfast?"
Dan rubbed his sweaty hands on his t-shirt, and checked the fridge. Nothing, except a few eggs.
"Would you like an omelette?" Dan asked quietly, praying he remembered what his mum had taught him that one evening.
"Oh, that'd be great! I didn't know you cooked…"
Mentally, Dan responded with 'Well, neither did I!' but instead he just descended into the shared kitchen, cracked the eggs haphazardly into the pan, and contemplated whether he had to but butter or oil in the pan before making the omelette. Probably, but they had no butter… It would have to do. Dan went back upstairs and served the plates, and was planning to ask Phil about last night, but guilt kept him from it. Instead, Phil started talking about his new order of stickers for his laptop, and Dan found himself drifting away, not focusing, and suddenly there was a loud clang and Dan's fork was on the floor. Dan reached for it, but Phil got it first, and for the first time that morning the two met eyes. Dan had light purple stains under his eyes, like strokes of watercolour, his eyes were red and bloodshot, with a faraway look, and his smile was strained and stretched.
"Dan." Phil said quietly, but urgently. "Are you okay?"
Dan looked into those eyes, the perfect colour, a pool of water with flecks of gold, those eyes which were full of genuine concern, and he can't help but remember last night, when those eyes were looking at him, and what he had done. Fuck, what he had done.
Dan felt the tears coming, and he jerked away from Phil's eye contact before mumbling
"No, not really. I couldn't sleep."
Phil looked at him for a while, then grabbed Dan's sleeve and pulled him over to his laptop, on his bed. Dan flinched at the contact but didn't say anything, and Phil typed something into the search bar on YouTube.
"Here,", Phil said, "listen to this. It always gets me to sleep, no matter what I'm thinking about." Then he went away, finishing his breakfast and going down to wash the dishes. Dan sceptically looked down at the laptop, but curled up on Phil's bed anyway, which smelled of fresh cotton and something else – something familiarly, pleasantly sweet… The soft twanging of a guitar and gentle, soothing voice of the singer soon lulled Dan to sleep. He had long given up trying to discern the words, but the haunting melody seemed like it was telling a story, the tempo and volume changing gradually… When Phil came back into the room, he saw Dan, mouth half open, arms loosely strewn over the bed, and his mouth quirked up in a smile. He pulled the covers over Dan and turned off the music. Dan's face was so peaceful… Phil always felt he could see something dark behind the shine of Dan's chocolate eyes, when his smile was fake and cheery, a 'camera pose' smile. This morning, even the smile had gone. His lips were slightly parted, and he was breathing regularly, and Phil just wanted to kiss them, tenderly, as if to say goodnight, as if that was the right thing to do… Realising the impact of the thought, Phil stumbled back, and had to sit down on Dan's bed. He was straight… All his life, he just thought he had needed to meet the right one, the right girl…. And here was Dan, who'd walked into his life a mere couple of weeks ago… Phil didn't really want to think about it. It wasn't as if he was homophobic, but his perception of himself would change if he accepted that he wasn't straight, at least maybe not fully, and he didn't need that bother right now. He shrugged his head. Dan didn't like him – the feeling wasn't mutual, they were just good friends, and Phil noticed that Dan always kept to a safe distance from Phil, and telling him would just ruin their relationship. That is, if Phil even liked Dan. Maybe his mind was just being weird today. Phil grabbed the laptop, reopened Microsoft Word and started working on his paper.
