Amy tries getting it out of him the next day in school. She knows something's up, presumably because he's left the flower crown at home for the first time in weeks and over his whitest pair of skinny jeans he's donned his blackest jumper, whose sleeves he hasn't pulled up all morning.
Small, sweet Amy. She doesn't mean any harm but he snaps at her anyway, and immediately feels guilty about it. She's reproachful, but keeps her distance. Before the end of the day, however, she attacks him with a hug from behind and peppers his cheeks with kisses, and he complains about her lip gloss but hugs her back, thinking for the umpteenth time that he really doesn't deserve a friend like Amy.
Dan isn't too surprised when, late that night, Phil begins tapping incessantly on his window. He turns around in bed and stares at the source of the noise, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and still too tired to get out of bed.
He doesn't have to bother, though, because Phil pulls the window open and lands on his bedroom floor with a soft thump.
Clearing his throat and pushing himself up to lean against the headboard, Dan says, "Hey."
"Hi." Phil shuts the window behind him and runs a hand through his hair, messing up his usually perfect fringe. "May I?"
Dan knows he really shouldn't nod his head and roll over to make place for Phil, but he does anyway. The fatigue that had settled in his bones sometime in the evening hasn't quite left yet and past the voice in his head repeating I hate Phil, I hate Phil like a broken record, there's a bigger part of him that's finally acknowledged his crush on the boy, and how he can do nothing to help it.
"Sorry for wakin' you," Phil says. When he jumps into Dan's bed and pulls the covers up to his chin, Dan catches the whiff of whiskey intermingled with sweat and warmth.
"You've been drinking."
"Yeah." Phil turns on his side to grin at him. "'M proper drunk."
"Are you still wearing your trainers?"
"I came with bare feet, I promise." Under the duvet, Phil presses his warm foot against Dan's leg to prove his point. Reflexively, Dan moves away, turning on his back and trying to distance himself from Phil. Which is virtually impossible given how they're on the same bed.
They lie in silence for a long moment. Dan is left to ponder how they always this, sleep in each other's beds when they can't get sleep in their own, and settle around each other like the old friends that they are. And it really, really shouldn't hurt this much to know Phil fucks other boys. No, not other boys, because Phil has never fucked Dan. Not that Dan wants that or anything. He isn't gay. He just has a crush on Phil, who is a boy.
Right. Okay.
"Daaaaan," Phil is singing softly under his breath. "Dan. Dan. Dan." He's poking at Dan's arm now.
"What? I'm awake, stop poking me."
"Never," says Phil and smiles with his tongue poking out. "You've been weird all day. What's up?"
"I haven't been weird all day." But even he can make out the defensive streak in his voice. At Phil's raised eyebrows he insists, "I haven't."
"Yeah, well. I know you're hiding something on your wrists."
"What?" Dan laughs in confusion. "How d'you know that?"
"I noticed yesterday. You wouldn't stop fidgeting with your sleeves." Phil hesitates. "Cute jumper, by the way. Green is a nice colour on you. But still, I'm worried. Have you cut?"
Dan blinks at him, Phil's somber words hanging in the darkness. Dan finally pulls himself together. "What? No of course not," he says faintly, extending his arms towards Phil. "Look at my wrists."
Evidently taken aback, Phil looks down obediently. Dan can spot the exact second it clicks, because Phil's eyes widen and his mouth drops open and he takes Dan's wrists in his palms almost reverently. "You have tattoos," Phil breathes out.
"Yeah." Dan can't help the shy grin on his face. He burrows into the bed and relishes the feel of Phil's warm palms around his hands. "Got them on Saturday." When Phil ducks down to brush his lips lightly against the planets on one wrist, Dan squirms. "Hey, stop. That tickles."
Phil snorts derisively. "I don't care," he says, doing the same for the other wrist. "You have tattoos. Dan."
"I noticed," deadpans Dan, but he understands Phil's excitement. He still can't believe it himself, and he's waited for this moment for so long. "Do you like them?"
"They're so..." Phil trails off, looking up at Dan and blinking. "They're very you."
Dan bites into his bottom lip. "Yeah?"
Phil hums, prying Dan's fist open and pressing his lips onto the inside of his palm. His snake bites brush roughly there, and Dan sucks in a breath. "You're already so cute," Phil says. "So pretty." Another kiss, back of Dan's hand. "And now you've got fucking tattoos. God. I'll have to fight the boys away now."
"The boys?" Something twists in Dan's stomach, and he begins to pull away. "What?"
"Nicholas, for starters, has a thing for pretty boys with tattoos." Phil raises his eyes to meet Dan's. "But then again, so do I."
When Phil leans in to kiss him, Dan lets him. In fact, he positively melts into his chest and wraps his arms around Phil's neck, touching his dragon tattoo lightly and pulling him closer. Phil is kissing him with intent, open-mouthed and wet and so, so hot. He tastes like intoxication, thick and heavy, and Dan drags in a ragged breath and drops his hands to Phil's chest, grabbing at his t-shirt. He groans when Phil snakes his arms around his waist and pulls them close enough for their hips to brush, and then Phil's fingers creep under Dan's t-shirt to scratch at his back softly, and -
And Dan pulls back.
"Stop," he says breathily, his hands still holding on to Phil. When Phil just proceeds to suck a hickey into Dan's neck, he repeats defiantly, "Stop. Phil, I'm serious. Stop."
Dan feels hot and cold all over when Phil pulls away. He's blinking back tears and he really, really doesn't want to do this.
"What's wrong?" asks Phil, real concern lacing his voice.
Dan shakes his head. "We should stop this." His voice is barely a hoarse whisper.
"Stop what?" Phil's arms are still around his waist, and with them he gives him a little tug. "It's all just a bit of fun, Dan."
"I know." Dan swallows thickly. "And that's why I think we should stop." He looks at Phil imploringly. Please get it, he thinks at him. Please don't make me say it.
When Phil gets it, something behind his eyes shuts down. "Oh," he intones hollowly, withdrawing his arms from Dan's waist.
Dan rolls onto his back and doesn't say anything.
"Should I - ?"
Dan just shrugs.
After a very, very long pause, Phil pushes the duvet down and climbs out of Dan's bed. His actions aren't sluggish anymore, and Dan revels in the fact that what he's just told Phil has made him mildly soberish. He doesn't move a muscle as Phil goes the same way he came, and only breathes again when the window pane is shut firmly behind him.
Tomorrow he'll get rid of the flower crown, he thinks.
Tomorrow, he'll start all over again
--
*authors note* things will get better soon I promise oh my god the angst
