New To Me (Phan)

Chapter 19

I woke up at around midday going by the aggressively vibrant figures on Phil's alarm clock, which was the first thing I saw when my eyes adjusted. This also reminded me that I was in Phil's room, causing the events of last night to come flooding back to me.

I groaned at the memory of it. Never in my life had I been so mortified. The details were a bit foggy but I could remember the gist of what happened. It was burned indelibly into the back of my mind.

God, I'm so stupid. I'm actually so incredibly stupid.

I noticed that despite it being well and truly daytime the room remained dark. The curtains were carefully drawn, forbidding any light from entering and disturbing the dimness. I was grateful. I knew that I was hungover, could feel the dull throbbing in my head, but the absence of light and sound and movement made it bearable for the time being.

"How are you feeling?" I heard Phil say softly. I looked to my right, slowly, but apparently not slow enough for my aching head, and saw Phil sat on his desk chair by the side of the bed. He had his knees drawn up with his chin resting on top.

And all of a sudden my mind replaced him with the Phil from last night. Phil with tussled hair, pink tinged cheeks, dilated pupils and an undeniable hunger. I swallowed hard, and tried to shake the image.

I simply groaned in response to his question, as it was accurate at describing how I was feeling and was the only thing that I could manage to get out. Phil smiled crookedly at my reaction.

"I got you some water. I've found it helps." He indicated the glass sat on the bedside table. He was speaking in the same quiet voice, evidently trying not to be so loud as to cause me pain. "And I could get you some breakfast if you like. Or lunch, more accurately." He added with a small laugh as he glanced at the clock.

Just the thought of food made me queasy. And I didn't want to hurl in front of Phil. I didn't need the further embarrassment. "No. Water's fine. Thanks." I murmured, wincing as my words sent sharp stabbing pains through my skull. My voice sounded scratchy and strained.

There was a brief period of awkward silence. "Dan?"

"Mmhm?"

"How much do you remember of last night?" Phil asked.

I closed my eyes and cringed. Too much. I remembered too much. I remembered the party. I remembered my break down. I remembered Phil, my hands in his hair, my lips against his and... oh god. Did I try to take his pants off?

"Not much." I lied, in a slightly higher pitch than normal. My face was burning, but I hoped it was too dark for Phil to notice. "I remember, uh, crying, but... that's about it." Liar.

Why was I lying? It's not as if by doing so I could erase the night from existence. Me pretending that I didn't remember anything in no way changed the fact that Phil, who was sober at the time, obviously did. God, he would remember everything. Every fucking detail.

"Oh." Phil said quietly. I couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved or what, and I could usually always tell with him. But this time his face remained impassive and it was unsettling to say the least. Until his face suddenly broke out into a mischievous smile. "Yeah, you cried quite a bit. Sobbed really." Phil said amusedly.

"Shut up." I mumbled, embarrassed.

"Bawled like a baby."

"Stop." I whined.

"You're cute when you cry."

"Phil!" I pleaded, hiding my face in his pillow so that his name came out muffled. I could hear him snickering quietly to himself. The bastard. For one glorious moment, everything seemed to go back to the way it was. There was no awkwardness between the two of us, no tension. It was just like it used to be. How I'd missed that.

"But seriously, though." Phil said, once he regained his composure and I deemed it okay to leave the safety of the pillow. "Are you okay?" His eyes were clouded with worry.

I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, shaking my head. "I need to call Cat."

"A good call or a bad call?"

"A bad call." A very bad, very uncomfortable, and very humiliating call.

Phil nodded solemnly. "Honestly, Dan. What happened?"

I said your name right before sex. It was undoubtedly the most embarrassing event from last night. Just thinking about it mortified me. Turned my cheeks the darkest shade of red possible and sent me spiraling into a cringe attack like no other. I didn't answer.

"Well, I can't imagine it was that bad if she's still trying to contact you." Phil said casually, lifting up my phone.

I blanched. "What?"

"Five missed calls. Two voice mails. Eleven messages." Phil said before putting in my passcode and unlocking my phone.

I sat up quickly ignoring the pain that exploded in my head at the sudden movement. What if Cat did hear what I said? What if she mentioned it in a message? What if Phil saw the message and found out what happened? I panicked and tried to snatch my phone back but Phil simply spun slightly in his chair, moving it out of my reach.

He started reading aloud my messages. "'What happened?', 'Why'd you freak out like that?', 'Where are you?', 'I'm worried about you', 'Please reply.'" I breathed a sigh of relief that Cat was almost as clueless as Phil was about the whole event. I alone knew the true embarrassment of what happened last night. And I was taking it with me to the grave.

Phil looked at me concernedly. Patiently waiting for an explanation that he wasn't going to get.

I felt awful. He let me into his house at some god forsaken hour and comforted me while I cried. He let me crash on his bed, probably forcing him to sleep on the couch downstairs which I knew from experience was far from comfortable. He made my predicted hangover as bearable as possible by blocking out the light, pouring me a glass of water and offering to make me breakfast.

And he did it all without an explanation. And without complaint too. Because that's just who Phil is.

In that instant it all became so blindingly obvious. They say a drunk mind speaks a sober heart. That the lowering of inhibitions allows people to verbalise and act upon their truest desires.

And fuck, if that wasn't the case for last night. Because even though the alcohol had for the most part left my system the urge to lean in and kiss Phil had definitely not.

Last night didn't happen simply because I was drunk and he was there. Last night happened because the part of me that repeatedly squashed any non platonic feelings I had for Phil let its guard down. And the feelings saw the opportunity to sneak up to the surface and convince my impressionable mind to act on them.

And boy did they make their point loud and clear. As cringeworthy as it was to my now sober brain I couldn't deny that I loved every fucking minute of it. It was unequivocally, most assuredly, the best kiss that I'd ever had.

The first time Phil kissed me I could ignore the response it evoked. I could put it down to the strangeness of the situation, the shock of having my best friend kiss me out of the blue. But this was the second kiss, and the effect was only more intense. I couldn't ignore it now. There was no other explanation.

I was definitely not straight.

And I was head over heels in love with Phil Lester.