A Kiss Under the Stagelights || Phan

Aftermath

*Dan's POV*

*buzz*

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, interupting the embrace Phil and I were sharing. It was like a snap back into reality, and he slowly pulled away, his warmth leaving my body.

"You'd better check that." He gestures to my phone, which I was I currently despising for ruining the moment.

I unlock my phone screen quickly, revealing what seemed like thousands of notifications. My social medias were blowing up, and I had gotten over 100 texts from my contacts. My phone screen was constantly being lit up, and I thought my phone would explode from all the buzzing. I turn my screen full of notifications to Phil, who smiled sheepishly.

"Did you really think this through, mate?" I chuckled at him, which caused him to look down at his shoes, shrugging his shoulders. It was impossible to be mad at him now, because I could see the slight guilt in his eyes.

I walked over to him and rested my hand on his cheek, lifting his head up to look at me. His ocean-blue eyes stared back at me longingly, and a piece of his quiff fell onto his forehead, making him look more adorable than he already was, if that was possible. I brushed it away and could sense his nervousness, which took me by surprise. We were never really nervous with each other, except for when we first met in Manchester 10 years ago. It felt completely foreign, and all of a sudden I wished everything would go back to the way it used to be, when Phil and I were just best friends, and none of this awkwardness would ever surface again.

"Never knew you were such a romantic, Phil." I teased, desperate to clear some of the tension between us. His face brightened, and he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"Shut up, yeah?" he pushed me playfully, and I laughed, and all of the doubt in my mind began to fade away. Maybe this could work.

A string of buzzes emits from my phone, lighting it up more than usual, which was strange, considering that me and Phil might have just broke the internet.

I checked the first notification that popped up, from our stage manager.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS?"

Shit.

My eyes flickered to the top of the screen, revealing the time: 8:24. We had to go. Now.

I scrambled to get our microphones, and shoved them in my pockets, my heart racing.

"Phil, we gotta go!" I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the doorway, when he accidently bumped his leg on a trash can.

"OW!"

"Damnit, Phil!" I pulled him back up, and we both burst out laughing at his clumsiness, the familar adrenaline beginning to kick back in again.

We ran through the backstage, hand in hand, our shoes hitting the ground in unison as we neared the opening to the stage. I took this moment to realize how ridiculous we must look: two grown men over 6 foot, holding hands while running through the back of a stage (one slightly limping and holding his leg), late to their own show. That pretty much sums up me and Phil for you.

We skidded to a stop right before the curtain, panting, our hands still intertwined. I looked over at Phil, still in disbelief of what was happening. 

I reached into my pockets and gave him his microphone with quivering hands, and clipped mine into place. Once we were both ready, I took a step forward toward the stage, still concealed by the curtain.

I could hear the sounds of the crowd buzzing with excitement, and the pre-show anxiety began to increase dramatically.

"I don't know if I can do this, Phil," I looked over at him, who was no doubt experiencing the same sensation.

"Yes you can, because you're not going to face this alone." Phil took my hand in his and squeezed. "We're in this together."

"Together," I replied.

And with that, we both stepped out of the curtain, hand in hand, and walked onto the stage.