Dan's POV

I stare at the door in which Phil disappeared and wonder for probably the tenth time what the hell I was doing.

I wander down the hall after I collect my frayed emotions and push open the guest door. I suppose I could've knocked, but it is my house, after all.

Phil is sprawled over the guest bed, blankets somehow already tangled. He's holding his phone above his face, and he's lit up in a pale, blueish light.

"Why are you even here?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe. Phil's eyes flicker over the screen once more and he taps a few different icons, before clicking it off and tossing the phone aside. He turns his head to look at me.

"I'm spending the night. Or, morning, technically." He replies simply, as if it's a completely normal thing for him to be laying in my guest bedroom. He's still wearing those glasses and his brilliant blue eyes bore into mine. I sigh.

"It is too early and I am too tired to be dealing with this," I say. "Just... Don't make a lot of noise, okay?" Phil's eyes widen a bit more at every word, like he's surprised I'm even allowing him to stay. I am too, in all honesty, but I just want to get to sleep.

"O-okay," he replies after a moment of hesitation. He stares at me with wide eyes as I give him a brief nod and step out of the room. I pad down the hall towards my room, but pause before I enter. I turn my head and look back through the ajar door. No more cellphone light leaks out, and I allow myself to smile. As much as I hate the guy, Phil needs some sleep too.

I slip into my room and close the door, exhaustion overcoming me. It takes all I have in me not to collapse right then and there and sleep on the ground.

With no energy to change into pajamas, I stumble over to my bed. I almost trip at least three times on my way there; why do I have so much clothing on the ground?

I fall into bed, yanking the unmade covers over me. I curl up, attempting to get comfortable. As the tendrils of sleep surrounds me, I subconsciously snuggle into the hoodie Phil lent me. It smells like him, I realize, and I snuggle even deeper into it, wrapping it around me securely. It's nice, I vaguely think, and I drift off to sleep.

…

I slept rather fitfully despite being ridiculously tired, so my amount of actually successful sleeping varied throughout the morning. Around 9:30, I awoke to soft tapping on my door. I groaned and glared around me groggily. The shades were pulled, so light was scarce. Or, it was, until Phil poked his head into my room, asking, "Dan? Are you awake?"

"Ergh. I am now," I grumbled, attempting to rub the sleep from my eyes as I sat up. No such luck. Phil then scrambled into the room, and literally tried to push me back down into my bed.

"No, no! Go back to sleep!" He said hurriedly, tucking blankets back around me. In any situation, a grown man tucking me into my bed would be incredibly awkward and hella strange, but Phil just seemed to be trying to comfort me. "I just wanted to tell you I'm heading out."

My heart seemed to speed up. I searched for words, but he hurried on. "I'll be back in like thirty minutes, okay? I've just got some stuff I need to do."

I nodded slowly. He gave me a small smile before ducking back out of the room and closing the door, enveloping the room in nearly complete darkness.

"What are you doing, Dan Howell?" I asked myself aloud. Obviously I got no response. I sighed and turned over, breathing in the now-familiar scent of the sweatshirt. What is it about that sweatshirt?

Strangely enough, I sleep uninterrupted and peacefully after that. Until I wake up to pots clanging and male singing dreadfully loud (at an absolutely ungodly hour, might I add) coming from the direction of my kitchen. My alarm clock reads 11:23. Guess this means Phil's back.

Phil's POV

I'm singing a mashup of what might be one of Dan's songs and a cheesy love song from the eighties and attempting to make brunch when Dan finally wakes up and wanders into his kitchen.

I had woken up a few hours earlier with a plan to make a nice breakfast for Dan in an attempt to get him to actually like me, but discovered Dan had hardly anything in his cupboards. He had all his high-end pans that most stars like him probably have that probably cost a fortune, lots of strangely shiny cutlery that were so glossy they were practically gleaming, and casual drinking glasses made of crystal, so one would think he would have lots of food for such wonderful utensils, right? Wrong. His pantries were practically bare save a few boxes of cereal, microwave ramen noodles, and frozen meals in the freezer.

So I went out and grabbed everything I could possibly need for a great brunch along with some other necessities Dan was somehow lacking (four boxes of cereal and not a single carton of milk. Why, Dan? Why?!) but somehow managed to not buy everything I needed to make waffles. So I went out again, just to find myself standing in front of the raspberries at 10:30 in the morning, realizing I wasn't even in the mood for waffles to begin with!

I went back to Dan's flat and decided on pancakes and eggs with bacon and fruit, unsure of what exactly he would like most.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dan's groggy voice asks from the other side of the island, causing me to freeze in the middle of a high note as I pour milk for a second batch of pancakes.

"Good morning to you-" I begin, whirling around, but my jaw goes slack upon seeing Dan. "-too," I breathe. He stands at the opposite corner of the huge island with bleary eyes and curly hair. He's yawning, stretching his arms, ohmygodhe'swearingmysweatshirtandthat'shisstomachohmygod! My mind seems to go hyperactive, and my heart is racing. He's still wearing the clothes I len't him. That means he slept in them. He slept in my sweatshirt?

Philip, I chide myself silently. You are a grown man. Relax. I clear my throat and announce, "I'm making you brunch."

Dan stares at me in confusion, then disbelief, then confusion again. It's actually rather amusing watching his face switch between the different emotions. He scratches his neck awkwardly. "Um. Why?"

I blink. "Why wouldn't I?" I ask. Now it's my turn to be confused. Hasn't anyone made him brunch before? "This is what friends are for!"

Dan's face goes blank. Oh no. Did I say something wrong? He looks at me, brown eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. A strange pink is slowly spreading over his cheeks, and he quickly looks away and down at his stockinged feet. "I've never had a friend like that." His voice is soft, and reveals well-hidden pain that breaks my heart.

"Well, you've got me now!" I say, attempting to brighten him up. His looks back at me quizzically.

"I've told you I hate you at least ten times now, Phil." He says, some of his sarcasm taking place of his gloom.

I raise my eyebrows and direct my gaze at his-my-hoodie suggestively. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

His eyes widen even more as he looks down, and glares at me when it clicks. "Oh, fuck off, Lester."

I just laugh.

A/N: Hello peeps I am back wuddup! Hope you enjoyed this short and simple and kinda cute (?) chapter of You Don't Hate Me! I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this story but I've got a hazy plot idea, so there's still more coming. Okie dokie see you beauties later goodbye goodbye