So yes this is really late and I have not much of an excuse sorry. Thank you to AccioPhandom and SciFiobsession for reviewing the last chapter :) No real warnings there is a very slight mention of past self harm but nothing especially triggering but might have to warn you about how incredibly cheesy and stupid it is. Here we go;
Dan's POV
There's something around my shoulder. That's my first thought when I wake up. My second is that there is someone pressed against me, my own body tightly wrapped and cradled in someone else's grasp. It's Phil. His arm is draped over my shoulder, his warm skin spreading into mine. His pyjama bottoms are wafting against my bare legs as his stomach arches itself around my back. I don't dare move, I don't dare turn round to take in his sleeping face; his delicate eyelids, his soft lips, his bed hair, instead I stay as still as I can, letting myself sink into the mattress. After all the times, after all the one night stands and drunken mistakes, this is the first time that I have ever really felt close to someone. This is the first time that someone's arms have been wrapped around me and I am not scared or unsure. In Phil's arms I feel safe. Phil feels like an extension of my own body and as I lie silently I can feel his beating heart through my spine. And what I really want to tell you is that I feel as light as air, as if all unhappiness has been drained from me, down a plug hole never to be seen again. What I really want to tell you is that now I only feel joy and love; that Phil fixed me like a broken glass, that he glued the pieces back together and made me whole again. But the world doesn't work like that. Yes, I now feel so much love and far more happiness than I could have imagined in the past few years, but a coin has two sides.
I thought the shadows had been dimming, weakening, being blinded by Phil's bright glow- but nothing can ever be created or destroyed, only changed; and that's what has been happening here. The shadows weren't dimming; they were re-sculpting themselves, changing shape. Just like boggarts or vermicious knids, they were slowly changing into the things that would terrify me the most. And they hit the nail on the head. Now instead of seeing myself; useless, ugly, fat, instead of feeling the sharp pain of a slap or dulling ache of a kick, I see Phil. I see his eyes growing sadder as he closes the door- sealing the gate between us forever. I see him cowering beneath me, my face twisted into anger as I raise a fist, the same position that I always saw him and my mother in. And quite frankly that hurts far more than any physical pain. I knew from the get-go that I was in deep, but now the deep waters are too dark and the surface is too far away and I seem to be swallowing endless water never quite able to get to the air. I run my thumb along the cuts on my wrist, trying to snuggle myself closer into Phil, craving the safety that only he seems to be able to bring, the fear of losing him growing ever brighter in my chest.
Phil's POV
I wake up with Dan in my arms and I am happy. I lean closer to him, wrapping my arms tighter around his shoulders and placing a kiss on his neck. He turns round and attempts a weak smile but I can tell he doesn't mean it. My heart lurches and I look him in the eye. They are filled with worry and fear, widened like a poor rabbit in the headlights. I bring him in towards my chest.
"Phil?" I hear him say, his voice muffled against my pyjama top.
"Yes?"
"I think I'm ready to talk about it."
"Okay, if you're sure." I try to keep the slight edge of concern and trepidation out of my voice. I'm not sure if it works. He nods slowly into my chest. And then he leans up, sitting against the headboard of the bed, his knees tucked into his chest and his eyes cast downward. And he speaks. And I listen.
His voice is fragile as he tells me, quivering up and down like a transverse wave. Snow flurries out the window, but all focus is on him. The words pour out of his lips. He speaks of everything, of the beatings and the bruising and the alcohol and the scars and the strangers in the dark. I edge closer and closer, knotting his hand with mine and pressing my body against his own, as if I am his guardian from all harm. The stories seem to poison the atmosphere for a second before they're gone, the wisps of the words rolling off his tongue and disappearing, like smoke up into the air and out of sight. I hope it feels better to have it in the open.
By the time he is finished, tears are rolling down his face like stones pushed down a steep hill. My face matches his as if I am looking in a mirror, hearing the tragic things and watching him cry was all too much. Without hesitation, I pull him in for a hug, falling sideways so that we are both lying down, covers kicked to the end of the bed as we silently sob, too afraid to let each other go.
Dan's POV
I don't know how long we hold each other. There is no way to measure time when I am in Phil's arms and that's how it should be. No pressure or knowledge that one day your life will end, or stress circling over head like a vulture, just Phil and me in all of the world.
At some point he unwraps his arms from me, swinging off the bed and padding out the door. I am too tired to follow, so instead I grip the duvet harder, bringing it around me to the point where it feels like I have wrapped myself within a cloud. My eyes start to grow darker, fog drifting across them as if it is a freezing cold night in a shade-filled forest, becoming blacker and blacker until I slip out of this world and into another.
I am on a boat and the boat is rocking, back and forth and back and forth. At first the swaying is pleasant and I feel as if I am a baby again, cradled to my mothers chest as my tiny little fingers wrap around her thumb; a symbol of unity, of a bond that will never break. Except it did. But then the boat begins to rock harder, water splashing up the sides and onto the deck. People start to scream. The calm is broken. The sun is getting brighter, the light is coming nearer. I wake up. Phil's hand is on my back, pressed rather firmly, as he rocks me trying to get me to awake. My eyes find his. The ocean ones. That explains the boat then.
In the hand that was not trying to violently shake me awake, Phil balances a tray adorned with all kinds of breakfast foods. I spot my favourite cinnamon cereal alongside an English breakfast and pancakes stacked five high, maple syrup dripping down the sides like some kind of golden waterfall. I want to hug him, but my body refuses, half of it still caught in a dream world and so I just sit there, unable to comprehend how I managed to get a guy like Phil. I smile widely.
"Oh my god Phil, did you make all that?"
"Uh-huh" he says, smiling proudly and damn he is too cute. Far too cute, I am starting to think he might actually be part bunny rabbit, that's how fricking cute he is.
"Oh my god." and this time I find the energy, pushing myself up by the palm of my hands and kissing him shyly on the cheek. He blushes, setting the tray down on the bed right in front of me.
"It's not that much.." he says coyly
"Phil, it's perfect." I pause, glancing over the food "How am I going to eat it all?" I say, laughing and Phil laughs too,
"I'm sure you'll manage"
"On second thoughts, I'm pretty sure I will."
We spend a lazy morning just lying around in bed, watching snow flutter and talking. I feel like I could talk to Phil for hours and never run out of things to say. For days and never once got bored by his velvet voice. I guess this might be what they refer to as the 'honeymoon phase', the period where you want to be next to each other at all times, the mere prospect of being apart a struggle. And that's definitely true for me, this is a brand new experience. As a person, I don't like change. I'm one of those people who hang on to childhood toys until they're threatening to fall apart, one of those who would cling to the house and make protests against moving and although not much has changed in my life since John walked in, the disregard and dislike for change hasn't dimmed. And so you would think the idea of living in a new house, of waking up next to someone every day, of a totally new situation would scare me, but it doesn't. I want to stay in Phil's arms forever and I am thankful that he seems to want to stay in mine.
As the crisp morning slowly fades into a mellow afternoon, the snow stops, the fluttering white fairies replaced by a shining sun. There have been no words in a while. Phil's voice breaks through the calm ice,
"I'm taking you out somewhere." I turn my head, my lips turned up in a picture of adoration and puzzlement.
"And where might that be?" I say, rather enjoying the whole gentleman like flirty thing, exploring sides to me that I never even knew existed.
"It's a surprise." he says coyly, kissing me on the nose before climbing out of bed.
"You can't just leave me at that!" I cry indignantly.
"You'll see soon enough, think of it as an early Christmas present."
Christmas, I had forgotten about that. It was lurking around the corner, waiting to spring with its bags of happiness and jolly laughter. Except I've never really thought of Christmas like that. For me it's always been sat in a corner, the sounds of television crackling through the house, maybe the occasional interlude of a crack of a rib or a wrist. I can't remember the last happy Christmas I had. And yet Phil says the word with such glee, the two syllables lighting up his face as they escape from his lips. He seems so excited. And that seems to rebound on me as a sort of hope seeps through my skin. I begin to think that maybe Christmas this year will be different and I begin to look forward to it. It's a new feeling and I like it.
I watch Phil as he crosses the room, opening the wardrobe and pulling out a suit. A proper suit, with a bow tie and everything. My mouth goes a little dry, I have never worn a suit before.
"What's that for?" I say, now perching on the edge of the bed.
"You'll see" he says, his voice close to sing-song.
"But I don't own a suit." I say sheepishly. Phil turns to me and winks before pulling another suit from the wardrobe and throwing it to me, my arms stretching out just in time to stop it from hitting the floor.
"It's my brother's old one," he explains "But it should fit you." and with that he parades out of the door, pulling it shut behind him, presumably to go get dressed in privacy. I smile. That's the thing about Phil, he has so many sides it's hard to keep up and as each one presents itself to me, it's as if another cloth has been pulled off, revealing the man below. I begin to feel like I know him, know him in a way that I have never known anyone before. His caring side, his thoughtful side, his sad side, his protective side, his determined side and finally his flirty side; the one he is choosing to be right now. Of course I will never know a hundred percent of Phil, no one ever knows a hundred percent of anyone really, some part is always clouded over, tucked away, swept under the rug but that's okay because the more the percentage creeps up, the happier I get.
I ponder this as I get dressed, pulling the pants over my freezing cold legs and fumbling with the buttons of the shirt. I feel like a small child playing dress up. I manage to get the suit on, the shirt all buttoned up and the jacket slung over the top. But one obstacle still stands in my way. I look down at the bow tie in shame. With a sigh, I pick it up and head over to the mirror, how hard can it be? I think to myself. Very hard, the truth is, very hard indeed. No matter which way I fold the damn fabric it just doesn't seem to work. I can feel myself getting more and more frustrated as the knot grows in my stomach.
I hear faint laughter from the door and I whip my head round faster than a whippet. There stands Phil, his left side rested against the door frame , his hand covering his mouth and his eyes gleaming in amusement. Here comes the innocent side again, the one with the big round eyes and childish movements that make you want to pull him in for a big hug. My brow furrows,
"It's not funny!" I protest, throwing my arms up into the air, the bow tie falling to the floor in the process. This only makes his laughter grow louder.
"Here let me." he says, his voice light as he strides across the room, a certain air of importance in the way he walks. Before I know it, the bow tie is off the floor and in his hand, which works expertly around my neck, finishing in a bow at the front.
"See?" he says, but the aura of playfulness is gone, replaced by a thick kind of sexual tension. From this close I can see a slight edge of stubble on his sharp jaw line, I can smell the musky scent of his cologne. His eyes stare into mine, the moment awkward but I kind of like it. All I want to do is kiss him, kiss him hard and push him against the wall. His eyes snap away from mine and the moment passes. He calmly takes my hand and leads me out the door.
At the front door he slings a coat over my shoulders, his hand lingering on the firmness of my shoulder bone slightly before he takes my hand and we step outside. Thankfully the snow isn't that heavy and only little wisps continue to fall, illuminated against the fast-approaching night, like a torch in the shadows. I don't know where we are going and it occurs to me that I have not once stopped to think about the dangers of going out at night with a man you met only a few months ago when nobody is aware that you are missing at all. When did I get to be so comfortable? I shake the thoughts from my head.
The pavements are dusted with snow as we walk, the occasional overhead street lamp falling down on us, revealing the wisps of snow in the air, being sightly blown by the breeze. The sky is darkening and it is almost black, the deep grey infiltrated by the last rays of orange and red sun. Phil's gloved hand is in my own and even through two layers, I can feel it's warmth, I can feel him there beside me. The streets are so pretty and I wonder why I never appreciated these sorts of things before, endless nights I had trudged the streets alone, trying to avoid battles and shadows but never once had I stopped and really looked, really seen the beauty that was hanging all around me. Maybe it's that now, with my mind filled with the lightness Phil instead of the darkness of home, I can finally see the world for what it is.
Phil stops suddenly and my eyes lift, snapped away from their trance. In front of us stands a building with warm lights flooding from its windows and the soft sound of music drifting in the wind. In the corner of my eye, I can see Phil's face smile from ear to ear. It makes me smile too.
"Now will you tell me where I am?" I say, smiling.
"We're going dancing."
"Dancing?"
"Ballroom dancing." I don't know how to feel about this. On one hand I have seen the dancers with their gracious feet and pointed hands and I want to be like them, to feel what they feel as they float around the floor but on the other hand I am scared. I have only really done dancing on my own or with my grandfather before he died and the last thing I want to do is fuck up infront of Phil. "Is that okay?" he seems nervous. "I'm not an expert or anything, don't worry and this is just for fun, nobody really cares what you look like, I used to come with my family when I was little.." he's rambling now.
"No, I'm looking forward to it." I say, squeezing his hand.
When I walk through the doors, the first thing that I see are the colours. The whole place has been decorated head to foot with the cutest little décor you've ever seen. The place isn't very big, just a little local centre. In the corner stands a band, five men edging into their elderly years, each dressed in a suit with varying arrangements of bow ties and regular ties, each of them a different colour to match their socks. In front of them stand their instruments, a saxophone, a cello, a violin, a piano and a guitar. The place is packed out with people of all ages, from elderly couples dancing to tiny children running between their feet. I've never sensed such a strong community before. Phil takes hold of my hand shyly and walks in, brushing past people and occasionally stopping to chat to people he knows. He introduces me and I smile, not feeling the overwhelming anxiety like I was expecting to. I shake so many hands that I begin to feel as if I am in a James Bond movie, except I somehow landed the role of the beautiful sidekick.
Phil stops to talk to one old woman for a particularly long time, his voice deep, seemingly explaining something, his one free hand gesticulating wildly. Every so often, I see her eyes drift in my direction and I hold a little tighter onto Phil's hand, nodding and smiling without really hearing what he is saying. It's all a bit of a blur, but then I hear something sharp amongst all the fog, "So this is him, then?" and I see Phil nod, a blush spreading through his cheeks. The old woman extends an arm out to me, shaking my hand vigorously with the biggest smile across her face. "You, young man," she says to me "are very lucky to have this boy here." I feel myself blush a little.
"I know." I say, refusing to meet Phil's eyes. She turns to Phil,
"I'm so happy things worked out."
"Me too." and Phil hugs her, dropping my hand. She looks as if she has a little tear in her eye,
"Well I'll let you boys to it then." she says
"Bye, see you soon." Phil calls, taking my hand once again.
"Who was that, then?" I say, once we make it through the crowd, trying desperately to sound nonchalant.
"Oh, umm." Phil says, not quite meeting my eye, "You know the umm night I came to your house?"
"Uh-huh"
"Well I didn't exactly know where your house was, I umm knew whereabouts but not exactly and so I err spent all night retracing my steps, you know from the night we went to the cinema?" I nod "And I umm found your street, I was pretty sure of it but I didn't err know which house was yours and so I umm knocked on every house and err Mary-that's the woman- answered and she helped me to find you." And then he looks up, his eyes shyly meeting mine. My heart is beating in my chest, seemingly swelling during the story. I don't know what to say, and so I simply kiss his cheek, trying to stop tears from falling.
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." I say "I don't deserve it." I pause, "I don't deserve you."
"Nonsense." says Phil "You deserve everything in the world." I try to believe him, and with his warm eyes fixed on me, I almost do.
A new song starts, the bright melodies and notes tugging at me, asking me to join them. "Would you like to dance?" Phil says, his eyes sparkling, making him look mischievous. I hesitate, putting my hand against the wall, where it seems relatively safe. "But what if I'm no good?" I say and Phil laughs slightly, tugging at my hand and pulling me towards him. "I'll still love you." he whispers into my ear. I smile uncontrollably, the words have lain unspoken between us for weeks but hearing them brought to life, hearing them jump off Phil's lips, fills me with a warm sort of glow. I start to dance, laughing when I get it wrong and enjoying just dancing with Phil, him twirling me ridiculously, neither of us with much idea what we are doing but letting the music be our guide. We waltz, each step completely out of time to the music, just a tangle of limps; the soft music and the feel of Phil's hand in my own a world way from the heavy thump and rough touches of the parties. I hope I never have to go back to that world.
Side note boggarts are from harry potter (I am sure you knew that) and vermicious knids are from 'the great glass elevator' aka the sequel to charlie and the chocolate factory. Thank you for reading and please join the review club (I'll stop now)
