Dan's POV
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed with a pounding head and a strong, masculine scent surrounding me. It's dark and quiet behind my eyelids, despite my raging thoughts and aching temple, and the idea of opening my eyes to face a world of confusion and lights makes me almost nauseous.
I finally peel open my eyes. I'm underneath a pile of blankets, the topmost one a blue and green duvet. It has squares of bright colors and I find myself blushing. I have the same duvet in black and grey. Why the hell am I blushing?
I stare at the ceiling. It's been plastered with photos, magazine clippings, and artwork. Layers upon layers of pictures poke through. It must've taken literal years to create such a collage. I recognize quite a few band logos and familiar stickers, but what really strikes my attention is the reoccurring person in the majority of the photos.
I squint with my bleary eyes and make out pale skin and black hair (some pictures it's shaggy and long, the more recent ones much shorter) and wide eyes. They're all the same boy, with different haircuts and different people. Confusion snakes its way through my mind as I realize slowly who it could be. Am I in Phil Lester's bed?
I jerk myself up into a sitting position and whip my head around the room. The bed is pressed into the corner of the room, the end a few feet away from the door. Lining the wall next to the door are bookshelves crammed with either chaotically organized DVDs and video games, or a variety of books. A small, flat screen television clings to the wall above the bookshelf nearest to the door, and a PlayStation wobbles precariously on a jumbled pile of plastic game cases. A controller is strewn among random papers, knickknacks, and candies underneath the TV.
To the left of the bed, there's a small bedside table housing an empty mug, an opened and empty case for glasses, and an old-fashioned alarm clock. There's a laundry basket draped with clothing next to that, and a humongous wardrobe dresser thing that takes of the opposite corner of the room.
On the final wall, there's a desk scattered with even more papers and little knickknacks, just like the bookshelves. Posters for anime, movies, and bands have been layered over one another, and pictures have been tacked over those. A bit of paled dark blue paint peeps out from the rare, tiny bare spots on the walls. A string of lights dangles over the desk, and are the only source of light as they are lit in a warm caramel glow. Books are in small stacks scatted throughout the room and over the floor, as are various articles of clothing.
The posters advertise movies I would watch, or bands I actually listen to, so really the only evidence I have that this is Phil Lester's bedroom are the photographs of him and other people that are literally everywhere.
I glance over to the door, and my stomach sinks. In big cardboard letters painted probably by a ten year old, the name 'PHIL' is spelled out colorfully along with more pictures. How does someone have that many pictures of themselves with so many different people? I am definitely in Phil Lester's bed.
My theory is quickly proven correct. Someone knocks on the door, and I flop back down on the bed.
"Dan?" the obnoxiously familiar voice calls out, muffled by the door. He knocks again before twisting the knob and stepping inside. It is indeed Phil Lester.
He's holding a glass of water, and he's wearing glasses. Phil Lester wears glasses? Why is he wearing glasses? The glasses case is starting make much more sense. He's wearing dark jeans that I'd assume are black and a red flannel-y plaid shirt, and he's wearing crazy socks, too. His sleeves are pushed up, and his hair is a bit mussed. Phil Lester wears glasses?
"Oh, you're awake!" he says, his voice almost excited. He looks really good in glasses. He walks over to the bed and sets down the glass of water. He stand there awkwardly, a blush present on his pale cheeks. "I figured you'd be massively hungover, so I was going to bring you some carbonated water, but then the internet said the sugars in it would just make you thirstier. Hope it's okay it's just water instead."
"Phil." I say. I don't know why I say it. My voice is a little raspy. A hangover, huh? No surprise.
Phil looks at me with concern and steps forward a tiny steps. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands now that he's not holding a glass. He keeps tucking them in his pockets and pulling them out, then tucking them into his back pockets and pulling them out, and the cycle just keeps going around.
"Phil." I say again. "You're-you're wearing glasses."
"I am. And you're wearing half the contents of a bar."
I stare up at Phil, hoping in a way is defiant and collected. He looks down at me, a stern smile on his face. Stern? What position is he in to be making faces like that?
I sit up again and rub my eyes before grabbing the glass of water and swallowing the whole thing down. When I catch Phil's eye as he stares at me, I raise a brow and say with a sarcastic smile, "It's important to stay hydrated."
Phil laughs. An actual, real, great laugh. His eyes crinkle when he laughs like that, and he does this little grin thing with his tongue between his teeth. I want to kiss him again. Wait. What? Again?!
I set the glass down and look up at Phil, who's still standing awkwardly next to the bed. "What the hell happened?"
"I'd suggest you shower before I go into details. You weren't even at an alcohol place and you smell like a liquor store." Phil says calmly. He tucks his hands into his back pockets again and actually keeps them there. "Bathrooms down the hall to the left."
I push off the blankets, glaring at Phil, and swing my legs off the bed. I leave the room quickly, and when I glance behind me Phil is still standing in his room with his hands tucked behind him, but watching me. I turn back and yank open the first door on the left in the hall. A towel closet. I flush with embarrassment but grab one of the fluffy grey towels before slamming it shut and moving onto the next door. This is the bathroom. I step in and slam the door shut behind me, cringing at the loud noise.
I look around me. Phil's room had been cluttered and nerdy, and the hallway had been, well, just a plain hallway. The bathroom, however, was stark and modern and only held a few bits and pieces of actual human life.
A huge tiled shower with a large glass wall and door took up the majority of one side of the bathroom, whilst a shiny white toilet and large sink/vanity thing pressed against the other side. A mirror spanned the entire wall. A small window sat directly across from the door, and a tiny cactus in a shiny white pot stood short and squat in the windowsill corner. A bright blue toothbrush sat in the holder and an elaborate black razor sat on a special stand next to it, but other than that the bathroom was bare.
I only then realize I'm in my underwear and a white tee shirt that I typically only wear underneath clothing. Jesus Christ. My face flames red angrily as I realize why, and because of who exactly, I wasn't wearing much clothing. I hate the boy so much.
*post-shower*
Phil's POV
I sit comfortably in one of the old, overstuffed chairs in the lounge as I wait for Dan to finish up in the bathroom. I had slipped in some clothes while he was showering, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mini mouthwash container. I had run out as soon as I heard the water start running, and made it through the store remarkably quick. I even found a black toothbrush. Now, however, I just had to wait.
The door opens, and out steps an exceptionally curly haired Daniel Howell. He's still messing with his hair with the towel, but curls were everywhere. I smile. He's wearing an old sweatshirt of mine, along with some grey sweatpants and blue socks patterned with sharks. He does not look happy.
He glances down the hall to my bedroom, the looks the other way and locks eye contact with me in the lounge.
"You can just throw the towel in the bathroom," I call out. "I'll deal with it later." At this he gives me a disbelieving look but tosses it back into the bathroom before padding into the lounge. He looks around at the old, mismatched furniture surrounding a grey rug and a huge television before he flops down on a black loveseat next to the whitish-silver chair I'm sitting in.
"Everything in here has a retro vibe to it," he remarks casually, breaking up the silence. He refuses to make eye contact. "Besides the TV, obviously."
"Thanks?" I say uncertainly. He nods, staring glumly at the rug and leaning forward in his seat with his hands clasped in front of him. I clear my throat after a moment of hesitation, and he glances up at me. His deep brown eyes grab a hold of mine, and I temporarily forget what I was saying.
"Uh, do you want to know about the party?" I say, voice unsure. Dan groans and leans back, hands covering his face.
"I was at a party?" he asks, grumbling through his fingers. I can't help but laugh a little at the sight.
"Leon Tucker's, to be specific." I inform him, a bit of my typical cheer seeping back into my voice. Dan groans again.
"Bloody hell. What happened?"
I grin. "You got in a competition with Lee. And you drank a lot. And then I found you passed out on the floor all alone and brought you home like the gentleman I am."
Dan pulled his hands away from his face for long enough to glare at me. "Gentleman?" he asked. His voice sounds mocking. I smile at him in return.
"Yes, Daniel. A gentleman. Imagine what would've happened if I hadn't been there to rescue you?" I say, grinning. He rolls his eyes.
"You told me I had kissable lips."
Dan gasps, almost screeching. "I did not!"
I smile smugly. "Believe it or not, Danny. It's the truth."
"What time is it?" He growls at me. I pull out my phone.
"5:07 in the morning." I say.
Unsurprisingly, Dan groans once again.
"You should sleep here until it's bright enough to go home. And you're not hungover." I suggest. Dan scowls at me in return.
"I'm going home." He tells me boldly, standing up.
"Then I'm coming with you." I say, my voice equally defiant as I also stand. He glares at me for a number of seconds before sighing a loud, "ugh fine."
"Besides," I say brightly. "You're wearing my clothes."
Dan raises an eyebrow. "I could take them off."
"You would literally be completely naked," I reply, before adding slyly, "Not that I would complain." As expected, Dan's face flushes crimson.
I quickly gather up all of Dan's things, which are somehow scattered around my small flat, and stuff them together in a bag. I hand it to Dan, who's just standing there uselessly. He's beginning to look a lot more tired.
"Drink another glass of water before we go." I say, then stride to my room to get my shoes and coat.
One silent car ride later…
Dan's POV
"I still don't see why you had to come along." I say to Phil, who's staring around my flat in awe. I toss my keys onto the kitchen island and poke around the cupboards until I find a glass. I pour myself a glass of water and turn to look at Phil, who's wandering around, admiring everything.
"I'm pretty sure you make more than I do," I say after a moment. "You could buy a place just like this." Phil, who was looking at the rug in the lounge, turns and stares at me. He begins to walk towards me.
"What would be the point? I'd only want to live here if I was living with someone else." He stares at me intensely. I was smart enough to tell that there was some sort of hidden meaning in those words. Phil's eyes shine as he stares me down. I swallow, suddenly feeling nervous. I set my glass down on the island. When did he get so close to me? He's still wearing his glasses, but the intensity of his stare is unmarred. If anything, it's stronger.
"Oh really?" I ask faintly. "Who?"
He laughs quietly. "Who knows?" His eyes search mine. "Maybe a boy with curly brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes."
My throat feels dry, and I can't seem to form words. Then, just as suddenly as he stepped towards me, he steps away and turns to go down the hall. He begins to walk, but glances back one last time and says, "Thank you, by the way, Dan. It's nice to know you think about how kissable my lips are."
He steps into a guest room, and then he's gone, leaving me alone with my confused emotions and wildly beating heart.
A/N: HEY I'm BACK! Hope everyone enjoyed that! Though that was not as good as I had hoped it would be, it was super amusing to write. Did anyone get my Carry On, Simon reference? Let me know! That's all for now; see all you lovelies later!