Dan's Pov
I have to get up. There are things to do and I'm getting annoyed by the mess in the living room. Don't get me wrong, staying in the cocoon of Phil's arms and blankets would be a nice day, but I'm getting restless.
I slide out of his grasp and greet him.
" Goodmorning Phil."
" No. Please stay here," he says. God, that voice of his. I mean during the day, Phil has a higher pitched voice but whenever he's tired or sick, it's like the world goes two octaves lower.
" We have to wake up, it's almost noon, Phil."
He groans. And shifts. And sits up. His hair is messed up and slightly greasy so it stays flicked over to the side exposing his entire face. I may not seem like it but Phil makes me a morning person. I head over to the bathroom to wash up. Although I want to be productive today, sweatpants and a tee shirt seem fine. I wash my face and take a good look in the mirror.
I'm not the same. Seven years ago, I had a slimmer face. A more defined jaw and tanner skin. But I had deeper bags, especially when I started university. I have deeper lines around my mouth from laughing and smiling so much but I don't mind. My complexion is lighter from staying inside so much, but I'm fine with that. My collarbones don't poke out as much but I'm healthier now, actually feeding and taking care of myself rather than depriving myself. I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth. There's no need to straighten my hair. Besides, I'm kinda liking the natural look these days.
I finish my morning routine and head over to see if Phil actually woke up. I peer through the door frame.
Phil's bed is nicely made. Not perfectly, one side with more comforter than the other and pillows wrinkled but at least Phil cleaned up. Talking about Phil, where was he? I walk in without noticing him getting dressed.
He slides off his pyjama (A/N im american too buddies ik its called pajamas here chill) top and I can't help but stare. His broad shoulders slip off onto his slim arms. His love handles poking out over his boxers, such a weird thing to notice but I admire how natural his figure is. The curves and edges of his back. Every mole and freckle that lines his skin like constellations but inverted.Dark suns against a light canvas.
He turns around and I quickly look down.
The blood rushes to my cheeks as I try to find my words. " I- uh was-um wondering what you wanted for breakfast." Jesus, why were people so attractive.
He pulls his Playlist Live t-shirt over his head and stares back at me.
" Cereal is fine." He seems so calm and collected during these awkward situations. I wish I had his equanimity.
" Are you sure? it's kinda cold and I could totally whip up some pancakes if you wanted some." I instantly regret my words. Whip up? What the heck?! First of all, pancakes take effort it's not something you 'whip up'. Secondly, that phrase is just so weird.
"Uh- I mean now that you mention it, pancakes would be nice," he replies.
" Ok. I'll see you in a bit, I guess." And I'm off.
I grab my mixing bowl and ingredients and start. As I'm sifting my dry ingredients into the bowl, some weight is put on my shoulder. Two arms wrap around my waist and now I'm smiling like a fool.
" Phil, what are you doing?"
" I wanna help."
" You're not doing anything, you spork." This guy, I swear.
"Mhm. I'm gonna whisk it together."
"Okay, well before we make any food, go clear the dining table."
" Ok," he says kinda disappointed. He lets go and walks away. I make a little crevice in the flour and salt and crack some eggs in.
I realized I should probably help Phil by washing past nights dishes and turn on the faucet. I get a container, pour a little soap and lean over for some bleach. I go under the sink and can't seem to find it. When I finally find it, I hit my head on the counter.
"Jesus freaking christ- augh."
I hear the patter of feet and Phil comes in the kitchen.
"Dan, are you ok?" he asked with concern.
"Yeah, I think so."
" Oh, I think you have a cut on your temple. Let me check."
"Ok." I feel the trickle of blood. Warm and dark. I don't understand the fear of blood. It's a liquid just like any other. Now I'm not saying blood is unimportant but I don't see the fuss. Paper cuts and open wounds along with nosebleeds, they never fazed me as a child. But the way Phil's eyes open when he sees it flowing and hitting the ground makes me want to faint. The black burgundy rich tone scares me now. How this one liquid turns Phil Lester into a concerned and stern figure is a mystery to me.
"Do you need help cleaning it up, Dan?"
"No, I'm fine, the pancake mix is ready to whisk, I'll be out soon."
I rush to the bathroom and wash the cut. It doesn't stop bleeding but I'm not alarmed. After what feels like an hour, it stops.
I come back upstairs and find breakfast laid out complete with a cup of tea for me and Phil cleaning the kitchen.
He's washing the dishes and once again, I'm staring. I lived with Phil Lester. In front of me, Phil Lester was washing our mugs and plates. Our forks and spoons. In our sink. In our kitchen. In our home. I wrap my arms around his waist and inhale.
"Dan?"
" Hmm?"
" Are you ok?"
"Yeah."
" Dan?"
"Yeah?"
" I love you."
" I love you too, Phil"
And then he turns around. Our chest against each other. I can feel his heart and he feels mine.
"Boop." He taps my nose, leaving some soap and bubbles behind.
"Let's go eat, I'm starving."
"Wait. Hold on to me."
I pull him into my chest and he pulls me in tighter.
" I don't ever want to lose you and don't you ever let go of me."
" Dan, what are you talking about? You're scaring me. Is something going on?"
" I'm so lucky to have you, Phil, I love you."
" I love you too, Dan."
