Hurricane

Alive

Phil wakes and the thrumming in his bones has stopped - blessed peace overwhelms his exhausted body and he sags into the beautifully silken bedsheets.

He feels better than he has in years, like something inside of his head just clicked into place - and then he remembers why.

Phil doesn't move, assessing his surroundings from where he is; the room is dark, and the music has stopped, but there is definitely somebody lying behind him - so the man hasn't left. An odd feeling of relief flushes through him and he relaxes once more, though, he doesn't understand why. Last night scares him, it feels like a dream, like he wasn't completely there at the time.

But he was.

He remembers perfectly how, in that moment, something had overcome him - the music had been too strong, the sounds vibrating the floors and oozing around his ears sluggishly. He had seen him at the top of the staircase, in nothing but a pair of tightly fitting leather pants, and he had been gone. He felt like he knew him, but he didn't. He felt right, and it had felt great.

But now it just feels like confusion.

The man next to him stirs, and then stiffens. He doesn't know Phil is awake, so when he all but bolts from the bed and stands in the room - his breaths heavy and audible in the near silent room - Phil doesn't move.

He hears the footsteps on the carpet, shuffling with as much haste as possible while still trying to keep quiet. He hears the sound of leather pants being pulled on with practiced ease that would be impossible to achieve of you were anyone else.

Then he hears the footsteps fading, they're not yet to the door, and Phil finds he can't let this go - not yet. He sits up.

"Who are you?" He asks, because it's the only thing he can think of to say that would make him stay.

The man pauses, and Phil realises that he's young - not under aged, but certainly young. His hair is a mess, and he looks just as conflicted as Phil feels confused - perhaps even more so.

"Dan." The other one, Dan, says at last. His voice is unbelievably steady for someone who looks so wrecked. "My name is Dan - you can leave whenever. Maybe sooner rather than later, it'll be light out soon." And then he is gone, the dismissal of his words plain as day to the boy still sitting, fully naked, on the sex stained bed.

-

Phil walks home in a state of complete confusion, his hair is falling into his face every time he tries to sweep it back, eventually he just gives up on it all together. He doesn't understand why last night happened - he isn't like that! He had never done anything like it before - sure, he'd slept around a bit but never so suddenly. Never with a complete stranger.

But is he a stranger?

Phil feels like Dan might as well have been his friend for years; he feels like he knows everything about him without actually knowing him. He feels love, devotion, loyalty, protectiveness. He feels for him. He knows nothing about his past, or much of anything of his present besides the painfully obvious - whatever that place was last night, Dan was not there for free.

But he knows Dan.

It hurts his head to think about, so he keeps walking. He keeps ignoring the early risers around him; the workers, the joggers, the tourists wanting to get a head start in the crowds. You can never avoid a crowd in New York City.

Phil is halfway to his flat - and who knows how he managed to navigate himself from wherever the hell he was in Brooklyn all the way back home - when he realises that he can't go back. He's - potentially - in danger if he goes back.