breathlester

[breathlester]

Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) Director, Hayao Miyazaki

[breathlester]

hello, i used to post phanfiction on my ao3 page (softiejace) but i've taken them down and was wondering if you could publish this to spread the word in case anyone goes looking for them? i've reposted them on my side blog @breathlester with the tag "my fic" or "softiejace". i can also submit the fics one by one but i figured maybe this is easier :)

.

[breathlester]

moment of epiphany, in gold light

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: a proposal on new year’s eve

genre/themes: fluff, established relationship, proposal, new year’s eve content warnings: mentions of alcohol

excerpt: 

The door to the balcony opens, revealing Phil with his duvet still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, the garish yellow of his emoji pyjamas poking out underneath.

Dan grins in relief, scooting over on the bench. "Did you find it?"

But Phil doesn't move to sit beside him. And when he unfolds his arms in front of his body, no bottle comes into view in his hands.

Only a small, velvet box.

Dan's sat outside on their balcony, wrapped in the sad pimp blanket, nursing a nearly empty mug of chamomile tea. A breeze whistles past his pyjama clad legs that are folded underneath him, and he shivers.

"We really ought to get a portable heater for out here," he yells over his shoulder in the vague direction of the kitchen door, where Phil has disappeared to a few minutes ago on the quest for champagne.

It's New Year's Eve 2018, and they've got a lot to celebrate.

Phil has returned only a day ago from the Isle of Man and naturally, they both opted for ringing in the new year alone together, in the comfort of their apartment. It's odd, really, how much it feels like home, Dan muses, considering that they've spent most of the year away, in hotel rooms, in places they'd never been.

Dan hasn't missed the apartment while on tour, but longed for it quite a bit in the few days he spent with his family. Because of course, it isn't so much the building that offers the comfort and familiarity associated with the concept of home, rather than...

A stray early firework lights up the sky and Dan waits for the noise to fade so he can listen for one of his most comforting sounds in the world - the cluttering of a lanky, clumsy man who at this moment is surely leaving all their kitchen cupboards open on the search for champagne glasses.

Only there's no cluttering. There's no sound at all coming from their flat behind him.

Dan stills.

Waits a moment.

Clears his throat - "Phil?"

Quiet. Disconcerting quiet.

Dan sets his mug aside, twisting around to stare at the door Phil's left ajar.

Calls again louder, more urgently. "Phil?"

There's a muted response then, and the sound of a door closing somewhere in their apartment.

Dan lets his breath escape with a hiss, the tension seeping slowly out of his body, one hand pressed to pounding heart.

"Jesus fuck," he murmurs to himself, then shouts, "Hurry up, you bum, I want my new year's kiss!"

Approaching footsteps, first on carpet, then on tile. The door to the balcony opens, revealing Phil with his duvet still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, the garish yellow of his emoji pyjamas poking out underneath.

Dan grins in relief, scooting over on the bench. "Did you find it?"

But Phil doesn't move to sit beside him. And when he unfolds his arms in front of his body, no bottle comes into view in his hands.

Only a small, velvet box.

Dan's breath gets caught somewhere between his lungs and his lips.

Phil moves then, two long-legged steps until he's in front of Dan, kneeling down with a little trouble as he arranges the blanket around himself so he won't step on it and topple over.

Dan still hasn't exhaled, or blinked for that matter, ever since his eyes have fallen on the tiny, blue box in Phil's nervously fiddling hands.

"Dan."

He breathes sharply then, out and in and out again, gaze snapping up to Phil's face.

His hair is tousled from Dan playing with it while they've been sat outside, leaning into each other. His glasses are slightly askew, cheeks red and in spite of his blanket he's shivering from the cold - or maybe nerves, Dan can't quite tell. He's wearing the adventure time hoodie that Dan gave him for his birthday years ago, in another life it seems, and the yellow clashes terribly with that of his pyjama bottoms.

In short - he's perfect.

"Dan," Phil says again, voice soft and shaky, and Dan looks at him - looks and looks and smiles, finally.

"Yes," he says.

Phil opens his mouth as though to continue, then seems to register that the word sounds much like an answer to a question he hasn't posed yet, at least not with words.

"You haven't - you need to let me ask you first!" He protests.

Dan tugs on his furry blanket, worrying at his lower lip to suppress the giggle that's bubbling up inside him.

"Well, sorry to tell you, mate, but you're not exactly being mysterious right now."

Phil rolls his eyes, whining his name.

"Daaan. Just let me do this, please?"

Dan's never been able to say no to that face.

"Yeah, okay. Fine," he feigns nonchalance, "go ahead then."

Phil swallows thickly, closing his eyes for a second as he breathes, before looking up at Dan again.

"Dan," he says for a third time.

Dan smiles, nods softly, encouraging.

Phil's eyes brighten and he continues, "we've done so much together, this year. And these past nine years, really. I've loved you since I was 22 years old. I'm almost 32 now, and more in love with you than ever. You have and continue to challenge me to become better, stronger, more confident. You make me happier than I thought possible. You've been my partner in life and work and on stage around the world, twice. And most importantly - you're my best friend. And there's no one else I want by my side as we go into the new year - the start of a new decade in our lives, together. The second of many more, hopefully. Because I want to see you grow old and grey next to me. I want - I want to see kids grow up with you. There's so much more to come for us, I know it, things we can't even imagine yet. And so -"

His voice falters for a bit as he fumbles with the little box in his hands, head lowered.

Dan allows himself a moment to breathe, to became aware that the air is colder against his cheeks now because they're tear-streaked. He sniffles, wiping at his eyes, and Phil looks up at the sound.

His face does a complicated thing when he finds Dan already crying and Dan laughs wetly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Sorry," he croaks.

Phil shakes his head, shuffling closer on the floorboards, and reaches for Dan's hand. Dan gives him both, squeezing his fingers.

"I've thought for so long about what I want to say until I realised it doesn't matter because you already know everything. You know me so well, Dan, better than anyone else. So all I can say is just... will you ma-"

There's a whistle then, followed by a deafening bang, as golden sparks rain down from the sky. Immediately, a second rocket is launched, and then a third and a thousand more, all exploding in quick succession and painting the night blue and green and red and silvery white.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dan half-snorts, half-chuckles, extracting one of his hands to gesture towards the sky. "Really? Was this your plan then, for us to be literally interrupted by bloody fireworks?"

Phil's eyes are wide, sparks and swirls of colour reflected in them, and he's smiling in surprise and wonder. "No, I -"

Dan leans in to hear him over the crackle and roar of the pyrotechnics.

"I didn't know when I was going to do this and then tonight as we sat here I just realised I didn't want to go into the new year without proposing. So I figured there was no better time to do it than..."

Dan giggles, sucks in a breath. "You forgot about the fireworks, didn't you? Really had your thunder stolen there."

Phil purses his lips, corners curled up in a smile. "Well, I guess there was a minor flaw in my plan..."

He laughs, too, then, eyes scrunching up, and Dan wants badly to kiss him right now - but he still hasn't asked the question.

"Out with it then, before we're sat here 'til 2020."

Phil takes his hands again, lifts them to his mouth to kiss the knuckles.

Dan can feel the edge of the box press into his skin, and then Phil lets go of his hands to click the lid open and says, simply, "Marry me?"

Dan barely hears him over the noise but he reads the words easily off his lips, as though he'd done it a thousand times.

He nods, then nods again, unable to stop the motion once he's begun.

"Yes," he gasps out, choked, "yes, yes, of course, I'll marry you."

"Yeah?" Phil's mouth forms, barely a breath.

Dan just keeps nodding.

Phil's face explodes into a smile, outshining every fireworks display.

The tears are flowing again freely, his breaths coming in big sniffs, heart thundering away in his chest. Dan has to blink several times until his fiancé comes back into focus.

There's a small, velvet box being held out to him in shaking hands.

Inside is nestled the most beautiful thing Dan has ever laid eyes on - well, save for the man offering it to him.

A slender silver ring with a delicate pattern of brilliants, embedded in whose middle is a single shimmering onyx.

Dan hears himself gasp in a breath. Then he extends his hand towards Phil.

"Put it on me already," he whispers, voice certainly drowned out by the firecrackers that are still going off in the background.

Phil struggles with freeing the ring for a second but then the box clatters to the floor and Phil's blanket cape follows as he sits up, pausing for a moment to seek Dan's eyes before he slides the cool metal band onto Dan's fourth finger.

They're both shaking violently now and Dan catches Phil dabbing at the corner of his eye with his hoodie sleeve, blinking furiously.

He sits, admiring his ring for a moment, the way the gems light up when another firework goes off in their proximity.

Then he reaches for Phil, "c'mere," pulling him up with fingers knotted into the fabric of his jumper, until their mouths collide in a messy kiss.

Phil's still kneeling on the floor, hopefully on his blanket now, and the edge of the bench must be digging into his stomach, but he's not complaining - hands sliding round the back of Dan's neck, lips framing his bottom one, kissing at his cheeks and his chin and anywhere he can reach until Dan's giggling breathlessly.

He twines Phil's hair around his fingers, watching the inky black strands caress his engagement ring, and presses his mouth to a spot just above Phil's ear.

"Happy new year, Phil," he breathes. "I love you so much."

His mug tips over beside him when Phil scrambles to his feet and onto his lap, wrapping him up in a proper embrace that crushes his hip against the armrest and pushes Phil's knee into his ribs, and they still haven't got their champagne to toast the new year, but Dan couldn't care less. He just wraps his blanket around the both of them and connects their lips once more.

There are still fireworks going off around them as they kiss and kiss until neither of them can breathe. Then Phil pulls back, just the tiniest bit, and whispers into the gap between their mouths.

"Happy new year, Dan."

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons, but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

Vegas lights

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: 2012 is not going as planned, but Phil still takes Dan to Las Vegas for his 21st birthday, the city that is said to hold adventure, risk and fortune – and maybe a flimsy hope for conciliation?

genre/themes: angst, smut, fluff, making out and making up, 2012

content warnings: alcohol, sex

When Dan’s voicemail answers for the 17th time, Phil actually throws his phone across the room. It tumbles over his bed and drops to the floor behind it with a sickening thud.

Not remotely satisfying. Smashing the hotel suite would rather represent his feelings right now. And Phil’s not usually a violent person.

It’s Dan’s fault, he reminds himself. All of it.

Their plane has landed in Las Vegas six hours ago. Now it’s 11 pm, but according to Phil’s body clock that still goes by London time it’s seven in the morning, and he hasn’t slept. The jetlag is getting to him and he just wants to go to sleep, but Dan isn’t answering his phone.

After checking in to the hotel, they had gone to grab dinner and explore the city a little bit, just to get a first impression. Phil had found the bright lights to have a reviving effect on him, brilliant and dazzling. For a few hours, the city had managed to tear him out of the state of gloom that had become costum for him.

At about 9 pm, they had made their way back to the hotel and sat down in the lounge to have a goodnight drink. (Margarita for Phil, non-alcoholic Margarita for Dan, much to his dismay.)

When Phil had finished his drink, Dan had told him to go ahead.

“I’ll be right up”, he’d said. “Just wanna sit here for a moment and soak in the atmosphere.”

Phil had stopped at the reception desk to ask a question. The young blonde had stared at him for a moment before her look softened to one of pity. He must have really looked miserable. No, there are no more hotel rooms available. We’re all booked out. Sorry for any inconvenience, sir.

The downside of booking holidays early: You never know what can happen before you go.

Thank god there are at least two beds.

Phil flops down on his, but he can’t relax. He’s dead tired, and though Dan has a key card, he’d probably make so much noise entering the room he’d wake him up anyway. Of course, that’s not the main reason.

Phil doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s worried.

It’s been two hours since he left Dan at the lounge. He always worries about Dan. It makes him even angrier at the younger man, because he knows Phil would rather die than go downstairs in his pyjamas.

“Whatever, I’m just going to lie down anyway”, Phil mutters to himself.

Let Dan take care of himself. He’s almost twenty-one, after all.

He moves to the windows to pull the curtains closed. The city beneath him is vibrant and bright as ever, only really beginning to gain momentum an hour before midnight.

Phil’s got no eye for it at the moment. He collapses on the bed farthest from the window and pulls the covers up to his shoulders. The air conditioning has cooled their room down to freezing 18° C because Phil couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to change the setting.

It doesn’t matter, though. He’s wearing a hoodie and he’s so tired by now he feels like he’d fall asleep in the arctic.

It doesn’t take him long to doze off.

-

Things, as Phil has had to learn, never really go to plan. Especially not when you really want them to. Considering their luck of the past couple of months, it’s almost a miracle they made their flight.

Phil has caught perhaps ten minutes of much desired sleep when he’s woken up again by a knock on the door.

It could be hotel staff telling him that the fire alarm has gone off, or that they’ve given them the wrong room, or to ask if he’s missing a piece of luggage. It could be anyone who doesn’t have a keycard to unlock the room with. But when he drowsily trudges to the door and rips it open, the person outside crashes straight into him.

It’s Dan, and he’s drunk.

Phil steps back into the room and Dan stumbles after him, his hands grasping Phil’s shoulders, trying to hold himself up.

In some mysterious way Dan must have managed to get shitfaced with an ID that clearly states he’s still underage. Maybe the barista has made an exception for him. Maybe he’s flirted his way to a drink. Phil wouldn’t put that past him.

Drunk Dan used to be one of Phil’s favourites because of how flirty and needy he gets.

Now drunk Dan is one that he dreads. Not purely because of how Dan gets when he’s had too much to drink, but rather because Phil caves in every time.

Maybe he doesn’t really dread it. Maybe what he really dreads are the mornings after, when Dan will be cold and relentless again, pretending that he can’t remember a thing.

The door shuts with a thud behind them and Phil turns around to go straight back to bed, because Dan deserves to deal with his own problems, and he’s tired as fuck, and he won’t give Dan the satisfaction of even asking why he didn’t answer his –

His thoughts break off mid-sentence because Dan pushes him back until he feels the rough wallpaper against his skin where his hoodie has ridden up, and then Dan’s rough lips against his own.

He wants to pull away but he can’t because Dan’s hands are holding his face firmly in place, palms cupping his jaw; and then he doesn’t want to pull away anymore because it’s been so fucking long, and even though Dan tastes like cheap alcohol that’s better than the stale taste of swallowed anger and suppressed yearning he’s grown used to.

Everything seems strangely more intense, the familiar and long awaited touch of Dan’s hands burning through the fabric of his hoodie, his mouth pressed against Phil’s, chapped and warm. Phil’s head is spinning because they’ve barely talked without it turning into a heated argument in months and now they’re kissing like letting go would kill them.

But just because Dan’s kissing him doesn’t mean he’s sorry. And just because Phil’s kissing back with equal fervour doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

There’s a difference between making out and making up, and Phil knows it.

Still he finds it hard to resist when Dan’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You can’t just come in here after making me wait for two hours and kiss me like everything’s okay, Phil wants to protest, but then Dan whimpers into his mouth and grabs the front of Phil’s jumper, grinding down hard against his thigh.

Fuck.

He can’t think clearly when he’s trapped beneath Dan’s body. What he needs is some distance between them.

Phil turns his head to escape Dan’s lips and inhales shakily, then he takes Dan’s hands into his and pushes him gently away. Without the body contact it’s chilly in their suite, and the cool air helps him clear his mind.

Dan’s struggling against his grip, trying to get close enough for friction.

“Dan, stop”, Phil breathes. His heart is thumping in his chest.

“Okay, we need to get you to bed”, he continues in a soothing voice, meanwhile guiding Dan over to the unused bed. “It’s late. We’re both tired.”

Rambling has become his strategy to both keep his own sanity and distract Dan from attempting to seduce him.

The light seeping through the curtains illuminates Dan’s face as he lets himself be sat down on the edge of the mattress. He’s staring up at Phil with heavy-lidded eyes, his cheeks reddened and his fringe wet with sweat. If he goes to sleep like this he’ll catch a cold from the air conditioning.

Phil regards him for a moment. Then he sighs and holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s go take a shower first.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound like that. But it seems to make Dan cooperate.

-

The garish light in their bathroom is a rude awakening.

Dan stands in the middle of the room, his dark clothes a strong contrast to the white tiles, seeming lost and smaller than he is.

It makes it easier for Phil to take on the responsible role. He’s the older one and he’s going to take care of Dan like he always has.

“Undress”, he orders, turning his back on Dan to switch on the water. He turns the tap until he feels it’s warm enough.

Dan hasn’t made another attempt to touch him. There’s something authorative in Phil’s voice that makes him comply to his commands just once.

He doesn’t look at Phil as he slips past him into the shower cabin. His eyes close as he stands beneath the stream of water, but his hands are balled to fists at his sides.

Phil knows he should leave so Dan can take care of himself. But Dan doesn’t make a move, he just leans back against the wall, his feet slipping dangerously on the wet tiles.

Before he can think better of it, Phil has pulled the hoodie over his head and tugged off his pyjama pants, stepping in next to Dan. The cabin is barely large enough for the two of them.

Dan’s eyes flicker open and he stares at Phil, seemingly unbothered by the drops of water running down his face. He glances down at Phil’s lips, but this isn’t supposed to be romantic. All he’s planning to do is give him a hand.

Or a mouth, for that matter.

The tiles are hard and cold against his knees.

He’s unprepared for the noises because he’s almost forgotten about them by now. But the moment his lips close around Dan’s shaft, a deep guttural moan elicits Dan’s throat and his knees buckle, forcing Phil to press his hands against his thighs and hold him up.

He tries to focus on his task, moving up and down steadily. When he pulls off briefly to lap at Dan’s slit, Dan’s fingernails dig into his shoulders and he hisses.

Everything goes smooth until Phil makes the mistake to glance up and finds Dan staring back at him, pupils blown wide and lips pink and bitten. Their gazes lock and Phil feels his heart take a leap.

No feelings, just business, he reminds himself, but then Dan whimpers and his nails scratch Phil’s skin as he tries to get a grip, and Phil’s hands move to his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the dip above his hipbones. He scoots closer until he’s almost kneeling on Dan’s feet to prevent him from slipping, feeling Dan’s fingers tangle in his hair.

Everything is so familiar and so strange at the same time because it’s been weeks since they’ve done this and it feels way too good for Phil to keep a level head.

He sinks down on him once more before Dan gasps and starts to thrust into his mouth without warning, and Phil pulls away, using one of his hands to work Dan through his orgasm while still holding him up with the other. The running water washes everything down the drain.

Dan’s hands uncramp in his hair and slide to his shoulders as he comes down from his high while Phil stands up carefully. Wordlessly, he reaches for the tab and turns it off.

Dan begins to shiver immediately and Phil steps out of the shower before he can cling to him again, only offering a hand to help Dan get out.

There are towels on the rack next to the door and Phil grabs two, throws one at Dan and wraps the other one around himself, suddenly very aware of his nudity.

Their shower episode has built up an intimacy that tears at the seams of Phil’s heart and he wants to destroy it, but there’s still that other part of him, dominant in moments like these, that makes him turn back to look at Dan.

The younger is shuddering and dripping water onto the floor. He looks even more defenseless now, like an abandoned seal pup with his dark eyes and the white towel around his shoulders.

That soft, hidden part of Phil wants to engulf him in a hug to protect him from the cold, but instead he says harshly, “What are you waiting for? Dry off and go to bed. It must be past twelve already.”

-

Only after he’s slipped into bed Phil realizes he hasn’t gotten dressed again. The thin sheets do a poor job in shielding him from the cold, especially now that his skin is heated up by the shower, but he’s left his pj’s on the bathroom floor and like hell is he going to go back in there.

Just then a ray of light falls in, revealing Dan still wrapped in a towel. He switches off the bathroom light and Phil can hear his feet shuffling closer until he’s towering above him.

There’s a moment of silence in which they regard each other. Phil tries to remember the last time they slept in the same bed. It must have been months ago. He really shouldn’t allow this to happen, not when he knows how much it will hurt to sleep alone again afterwards, but he rolls over to face the wall anyway.

The mattress sinks behind him and a gust of air rustles the covers, but then it’s warm, deliciously warm, and it feels so nice and cozy that Phil can’t help but lean back.

Dan’s chest is pressed against his back, breath grazing his neck, and everything is hot and bold and careful as Phil swallows his doubts and turns around, wrapping his arms around Dan’s shoulders and letting Dan hug him back.

His head is swimming with luck and fatigue, but the latter fades when he feels Dan’s hand graze his tummy and slip beneath the towel. He holds his breath as Dan begins to stroke him, mouth falling open and eye lids drooping because it’s the first time in months that it’s not his own hand.

Dan’s tongue slips into his open mouth, licking the inside of his lip, and Phil moans against him as Dan flicks his thumb over his slit. Heat sprouts in the pit of his stomach.

When Dan slows his movements, Phil lets out an embarrassing whine and curls his hands around Dan’s waist, silently begging him to go on. Dan breaks their kiss, pecking Phil’s lips once more before he ducks under the sheets.

Phil feels his heart pound against his chest, hears the panting of his breath mix with the rustling of the sheets as Dan kisses his way down his stomach, wet touch of swollen lips. He bites softly into the skin on the inside of Phil’s thigh and Phil’s breath hitches, his hands searching for Dan’s head to guide him to where he needs him.

“Please”, he mutters, twining the wet strands of Dan’s hair around his fingers.

Finally, Dan’s lips close around his tip, but only briefly before he kisses the side of Phil’s cock, licks a stripe all the way down to the base. His right hand strokes up Phil’s thigh and curls around his balls.

Phil’s struggling to breathe, his heart beating a mile a minute.

And then Dan takes him in all at once, wet heat engulfing him, that wondrous tongue of his never ceasing to swirl and lick and tease.

It’s so good Phil never wants it to end, but he can feel himself getting closer, so he tugs on Dan’s hair in warning.

But Dan doesn’t pull off, fondling Phil’s balls with one hand and holding his hips down with the other to keep him from bucking up into his mouth as he starts to come. Dan swallows around him, continuing to bob up and down until Phil sinks back, spent and exhausted.

Dan emerges from under the sheets with red swollen lips that he wipes on the back of his hand before he settles in next to Phil, facing him.

Phil’s still working on catching his breath. Dan’s face is close to his, eyes dark and glowing, and Phil just can’t bring himself to care about right and wrong anymore.

He reaches out to stroke Dan’s fringe back and pulls his head against his chest. Dan nuzzles his face into Phil’s neck as their legs entangle sleepily.

Outside their window, people are getting married by accident and losing bets, but inside Dan and Phil are drifting off to sleep, blissful and careless for the moment.

-

The first thing Phil registers upon waking up is warmth.

The sheets have slipped down past his waist, sunlight filters in through the curtains, and someone is pressed up against his front, head on his chest and one arm slung around his torso.

He looks down on Dan who’s sleeping peacefully yet, and wills the precious moment to linger, because as soon as Dan wakes up he’ll shake off Phil’s arms and jump away, and Phil doesn’t think his heart could take that right now.

He can’t resist the opportunity of gently running his hands through Dan’s hair while he lies there holding him close and ponders.

It’s almost like a dream or like a leap back in time a year or two, back to when Dan’s hair was longer and his dimple was deeper, almost permanently carved into his cheek, and he didn’t flinch or look away every time Phil’s hand brushed against his own. Back when Dan would sleep in his bed every night, curled up against him, and when he’d wake up to a warm embrace and a warm smile instead of a cold bed and a cold cup of coffee left lonely on the kitchen table.

The knowledge that this flashback won’t last is ever present in the back of his mind, painfully poking at his heart.

Las Vegas is the city of deceit and defiency, not of content and conciliation.

As if Phil’s thoughts had woken him, Dan stirs in his arms and Phil grows stiff, his breath faltering as he prepares himself.

But Dan doesn’t flinch or even attempt to back off. Instead, miraculously, he inches closer and nestles up to Phil with a languorous sigh.

Then his lips press a “Good morning” into the hollow underneath Phil’s throat, where is pulse is throbbing too quick.

“Good morning," Phil replies, voice coarse from sleep and stuttering in surprise.

Then he remembers something with a jolt and adds, “Happy Birthday.”

He can feel Dan smile against his shoulder.

“Thank you," he whispers.

Their voices remain low and gentle, as if they’re being extra careful, tiptoeing around their newfound truce. It’s flimsy and unexpected, but Phil knows he at least wants to protect it. Who cares that Dan was drunk last night. If he needed alcohol to work up the courage to approach Phil, then so be it.

Phil’s glad he did it. It’s exhausting to always hold a grudge, anyway.

“You still haven’t told me what you wanted," Phil says low.

“I knew you wouldn’t give it to me if I asked for it," Dan mutters, “so I went and got it for myself, last night.”

Phil frowns. “You did?”

Maybe Dan didn’t spend all evening in the hotel lounge like Phil thought he had, but went back into the city on his own. The thought makes Phil uneasy. Las Vegas is not exactly a safe place to walk around alone at night.

But he doesn’t want to risk a fight, so he just asks, “What was it?”

Instead of replying, Dan shimmies up in Phil’s arms until they’re face to face and kisses him sweetly. When he pulls back, Phil stares at him in confusion.

“Thank you, but what was that for?”

A chary smile takes over Dan’s face inch by inch. “That was my answer, you dork.”

Phil’s eyes widen, then he smiles, too.

“That was what you wanted?" he murmurs. “To kiss me?”

Dan laughs shakily and presses his mouth against Phil’s again, just for a second.

“To kiss you and to mean it and to have you kiss me back”, he elaborates.

Phil watches the rash on his jawbone flare up as he speaks, like it does every time he gets worked up.

“I wasn’t as drunk as I led you to believe. I guess that’s cheating, but I want you to know that I have no regrets about last night.”

“I don’t, either," Phil whispers. “It was the best night I’ve had in months.”

Dan’s eyes are wet and he licks his lips before he continues, staring at Phil’s chin as he speaks.

“I know I need to change, and I promise you I will try. I still don’t know really how, though. I just… I’m sorry for how I’ve been towards you. I’d like to say I just needed my own space to think, but that’s crap. I needed you by my side all the time, and yet all I’ve done is pushed you away as if you were part of the problem.”

“It’s okay," Phil says, although they both know it isn’t, but he feels like it needs to be said.

“I haven’t exactly been the perfect example either. I guess we were both just really overchallenged.”

They stay silent for a moment, holding each other close, listening to the city sounds outside.

“Maybe this holiday wasn’t such a bad idea after all," Phil muses. “It might turn out just what we needed. An escape from the cage we’ve built for ourselves.”

Dan nods, leaning his forehead against Phil’s. “It might even offer a solution.”

Phil perks his eyebrows up. “I’m all ears.”

“We could get married and vlog it.”

A barking laugh tumbles off Phil’s lips and he rolls over, extending an arm to punch Dan’s shoulder, who’s curled up on his side, giggling madly. “What? I think it’s a good idea! Spares us the explanations!”

“No, you know what’s a good idea?”

Phil cups Dan’s face in his hands and kisses his smile.

“You and me. Out there in Las Vegas, celebrating the best birthday you’ve ever had, and will ever have.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Big words, Mr Lester. I’ll expect you to keep that promise.”

“I will. As long as you keep yours.”

“Deal”, Dan mutters after a moment of contemplation, and leans in to seal it with a kiss.

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

Underneath the tree

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: Ten days before Christmas, Phil has an idea.

genre/themes: fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, christmas, established relationship

“What if I came with?” Phil says out of the blue.

“Huh?” Dan grunts.

He’s in the middle of disentangling the string of lights around their tree and his MacBook charger. It’s a week and a half until Christmas, just past midnight, and they’ve both spent the day in pyjamas, making last minute online purchases whenever they thought the other wasn’t looking.

“On Christmas. What if I came with you?”

He reels in his charger and shuffles around where he’s kneeling on the floor to stare at Phil. The latter is sat cross-legged in front of the sofa, cradling a mug of hot cocoa and looking at him expectantly.

Dan blinks. “What - you mean, like, to my family?”

Phil rolls his eyes and raises his mug for a sip. “No, to the North Pole.”

Dan spends a little longer than is necessary fixing an uneven bauble on the tree, his teeth worrying at his lower lip.

“That way you wouldn’t have to go alone. And we could spend Christmas together, like, properly. All the way through.”

Phil sounds almost wistful at that point. Then he clears his throat, and Dan glances up.

“I mean. It’d be nice, don’t you think?”

Dan lets his breath escape slowly, quietly, to keep it from becoming a sigh. He knows what Phil is thinking. Most couples they know spend Christmas together every year. Maybe they alternate between whose family they go to. Maybe they invite both families over to their own place. (Something that they can hopefully start thinking about next year.) But they certainly don’t split up right before the holidays to take trains in opposite directions.

“Phil…”

He crawls over, too lazy to stand up, and Phil opens his arms, allowing Dan to sit and lean back against his chest.

“You know I want to be with you on Christmas,” he says softly, stealing Phil’s mug and threading their fingers together.

The cocoa has cooled down below optimum drinking temperature, but it’s still sweet. They’re both quiet for a moment, taking in the sight of their decorations, the sound of the crackling fire on their smart TV. Dan feels the light pressure of Phil pressing a kiss to the back of his neck where his hair is trimmed-short. But he doesn’t speak, waits for Dan to continue his train of thought.

“I don’t know,” Dan says finally. “There’s so much to consider.”

“So let’s consider it,” Phil urges him gently.

He takes the empty mug from Dan’s hands and places it at the side.

“What are you worrying about?”

Really, an easier question to answer would be what Dan isn’t worrying about. But it’s late, he’s feeling soft and tired and a little vulnerable, so he swallows the sarcasm and replies in earnest.

“Well, for one thing there’s always the question of what we tell them,” he starts with what has admittedly become a rather small, if persistent cause of concern. “But then also - how would we arrange this? You’ll want to see your family on Christmas day.”

“We could stay with your family for a few days, have dinner, then take a train up North,” Phil suggests.

“And when exactly would you propose we take that train, Christmas Eve? Very pleasant.”

Phil pulls his legs up so Dan’s sat between them, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist.

“It’ll be almost empty,” he contends. “No one wants to travel last minute on Christmas. And we could book first class in advance.”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Dan realises, turning his head.

Phil’s face is obscured from his view by nature of their position, but he can feel the shaky exhale and the way Phil’s leg jiggles against his.

“Even so,” Dan raises Phil’s hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it where winter has made the skin a little rougher than usual, and making a mental note to add a nice scented hand lotion to his list of presents.

“We’d have to check back with our families to make sure they can still factor in an extra person.”

Phil giggles at that, his free hand playing with the fabric of Dan’s jumper.

“Really, Dan. It’s been nine years. My mum’s been factoring you in ever since you first came on a Lester family holiday. She’d be more surprised if you didn’t come this year.”

“Surprised?”

“Disappointed,” Phil corrects himself.

“Sure,” Dan scoffs mildly, but there’s no sincerity to it. Truthfully, he’s quite touched. He knows the Lesters have long welcomed him into their home. But it still manages to catch him off-guard sometimes just how completely they consider him family.

His own family, on the other hand - the one he didn’t choose, the one he was born and raised in - is a whole other deal, he’s afraid.

It’s not that they don’t like Phil. Dan may be biased, but he’s pretty sure it’s impossible to get to know Phil and not love him.

It’s also not like they’re homophobic - at least not extraordinarily so. Dan’s father works in the film business, he’s met his fair share of gay people.

It’s more that - well - they don’t really know what to do with them. Talking to them is painfully awkward at best. Dan can’t count the number of times he’s left a dinner table feeling frustrated and misunderstood, the scathing off-handed comments about his career and life choices.

The idea of dragging Phil along to that when he could be harmoniously chatting with his own functional family doesn’t sit right with Dan, who always wants Phil to be at his happiest.

But then there are some things he looks forward to. The festively decorated house. Preparing the Christmas pudding with his mum, a tradition he’s participated in ever since his little hands could hold a spatula (and that has now officially gotten him roasted by Gordon Ramsay). Seeing the family dog Colin (partly at fault for said roasting). His younger brother. And his nan.

The one person who has never judged Dan for the decisions he’s made, for the clothes he wears, or the opinions he voices. The sole consistent source of support and unconditional love throughout his youth.

And the last time he'd spoken to her, she’d asked about Phil.

Phil seems to interpret his silence as disapproval.

“Before you dismiss it, just hear me out, yeah? I know how much you dread going back there, yet you insist on it every year. Now I’ve spent years witnessing your misery from afar, and I saw how happy you were last year when we spent the run-up to Christmas up North…”

“I can’t just not go,” Dan interrupts him, staring unhappily at the lopsided bauble he attempted to fix earlier. “It’s the only time of year I always visit them. If I don’t go on Christmas, I’m -”

He lets out a shaky breath; Phil’s chin presses into his shoulder.

“I’m scared I’ll stop going altogether,” he admits in a small voice.

Because in truth, the prospect of spending the holidays in the Lester household – an island overflowing with warmth and mirth and love in the midst of a sea of snow, playing board games and sipping wine with Martyn and Cornelia who he’s grown even more comfortable around and fond of during the tour, and Kath and Nigel who sometimes feel more like parents to him than his own and who actually laugh at his inappropriate jokes – is incredibly tempting. He had no idea Christmas could feel like that before last year.

Suddenly he wants it so bad it feels like it’s physically tearing him apart.

But what kind of person would he be to ditch his own family on the family holiday?

“Dan,” Phil murmurs, his voice soft as velvet.

Dan swallows harshly, blinking until his eyes are focused on that damn stubborn bauble again.

“I don’t want that, either.” Phil drops a kiss onto his shoulder. “That’s why I’m offering to come with. Everything’s a little less awful when we’re together, right?”

And God, Dan’s definitely crying now - eyes bubbling over with hot, salty tears that he catches with his tongue, attempting to sniff inconspicuously into his sleeve.

But of course he can’t fool Phil.

“I won’t have you be sad on Christmas,” Phil says - wonderful, wonderful Phil; Dan’s so utterly undeserving of him - and rubs his hands in soothing motions up and down Dan’s arms. “I just won’t.”

He sounds at once determined and a little upset, and Dan turns on the spot to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders and press his face into his neck, that spot where the neckline of his jumper reveals warm, soft skin stretched across jutting collarbones.

For a few minutes, as the artificial fire crackles on in the background and their fairy lights twinkle faintly in the corner of his eye, Phil holds him.

And Dan lets himself be held.

“We’ll figure something out,” Phil mutters into his hair. “You can text your mum to see if she can fit in another chair at the dining table. I’ll just eat half off your plate if there's not enough roast.”

Dan chuckles weakly, kissing the base of his neck. “You’re such a twat.”

But he knows Phil’s right. They are going to figure this out. And he's going to text his mum tomorrow. He’s almost sure she won’t say no.

But just to be safe, he also resolves to phone his nan. If anyone can convince his mother that having Phil over for Christmas is a good idea, it’s her.

“I’m a twat who loves you,” Phil hums.

In place of a response, Dan raises his head and kisses him.

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

Play date

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: Dan and Phil need a night off parenthood duties, so they leave their baby son with Phil’s mum and make reservations at a nice restaurant. Only things don’t really go to plan…

genre/themes: parenting, fluff, smut

content warnings: mild sexual content

“Y’know-,” Phil says mid yawn and stretched halfway across the table. “Y’know what we need?”

Dan doesn’t respond, face hanging so low above his mug of coffee he’s inhaling it rather than drinking.

It’s seven in the morning and neither of them have slept for more than three hours.

There was a time when three hours of sleep would have been fine with them. There was also a time when getting up at seven would have been intolerable - at least for Dan - but those times have passed, and though neither of them says it, they are both immensely thankful for this short while of peace and quiet that only the early morning grants them.

Phil tries again, this time lifting his face off his arms. “Dan, you know what we need?“

The other man makes a grumbling noise, not looking up. His hair is a mess of tangled brown curls and his lids are so heavy Phil can barely make out his eyes.

“We need a day off,” he declares.

There are two bowls of cereal on the table in front of them that Phil has managed to pour in his overtired state. He’s forgotten milk and spoons, which proves handy now as Dan extends one hand and shows a bunch of dry cereal into his mouth.

Phil listens to the crunch, crunch of his teeth, then his inevitable cough as he swallows too many shreddies at a time.

“You think?,” Dan replies finally, lifting his mug with a shaking hand to take a careful sip.

His brown eyes blink at Phil, small and blood-shot.

Phil drapes one arm across the high-chair next to him to be able to interlace their fingers, cracking the first tiny smile of the day as Dan’s wedding band presses cold against his skin.

For a while neither of them says anything else, as Dan sips his coffee in silence and Phil is content for the moment playing with his fingers, his head resting on the table again.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until said fingers weave through his hair and tickle him awake.

A mewling noise slips off his tongue and he frowns, hearing Dan giggle softly. It takes the greatest effort to crack his eyes open again and he yawns so wide he can feel his jaw click unpleasantly.

“Did you hear what I said?,” Dan asks, seeming slightly more awake now that he’s had his daily dose of caffeine. “I think you’re right. We do need a day off. And a night, for that matter. We haven’t slept through in a week.“

Phil smiles up at him, feeling giddy at the mere idea, until doubts and a sense of guilt seep into his mind. “Are you sure we can do that, though? Just leave him with somebody? Wouldn’t he get -“

Dan interrupts him before he can start to obsess. “Phil, he’ll be fine. He’s been without us before, remember?“

“You mean when we were sent on a BBC thing late at night and he was supposed to stay with my mum until the next day but you got so anxious we drove all the way up north afterwards and picked him up at 4 in the morning?“

Dan blushes and looks down, fiddling with his cuticles. “Yeah, well, he was only a baby then. Now he’s a toddler and we know better.“

Phil catches his hand and pulls it away, up to his mouth so he can kiss Dan’s maltreated fingernails as a silent ‘don’t do that’.

“Let’s call my mum later?,” he suggests. “She’s been meaning to visit us in a while; we could have her over for dinner tomorrow and let her take Charlie home. Then we can take off Friday and go up north on the weekend. I haven’t seen my dad in a bit anyway.“

Dan closes his eyes and sighs happily as Phil’s lips move to the back of his hand, pressing a soft kiss there.

“Sounds like a plan. We should probably give her a fair warning though…“

-

“Sounds to me like he’s moving on to his defiant phase now,” Kath says on the phone. “You boys better prepare yourself for some mean temper tantrums.“

Dan’s slouched on the sofa, forming a new crease on their fairly new piece of furniture. He’d brushed off Phil’s attempts at critique with the argument that he needed to break it in.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The paediatrician said so, too. The terrible twos and all.“

“Oh, Phil was bad with those. I don’t quite know how I survived.“

Dan bites back a grin, watching Phil stack lego towers on the lounge floor, looking quite a bit more enthusiastic about the building exercise than their small son who’s sat next to him. “Was he? I can hardly see that.“

„Yeah, he’s playing Mr Innocent now. You’d better watch him with Charlie though, I have a feeling he might turn out just as indulgent as his dad used to be. It’s no good for a child to be spoiled.“

Phil looks up questioningly when he feels Dan’s eyes on him. Dan puts him off with a wave of his hand, but Phil pushes out his lower lip and reaches out one hand for the phone.

Dan chuckles. „Speaking of two-year olds – your thirty-two year old is pouting at me because he wants to talk to you.“

She laughs. Dan can hear her clanking with pots. „Ah, that sounds like him. Well, then, Dan. It’s been nice chatting with you! I suppose I’ll sort out the details with him?“

„Yeah, alright. See you soon!“ Dan straightens his back, stiffling a moan as he hears it crack, and gets off the couch to hand the receiver to his husband.

„Hey, mum!“ Phil’s face lights up immediately as it always does when he’s talking to his family. Not like Dan’s jealous, because he knows he’s part of that.

And someone else is as well, for nearly two years now.

„Hey, duck“, he says softly, crouching down next to the infant. „You’re building a nice house, yeah?“

Charlie looks up at him, dark blue eyes wide and honest. „Daddy build house.“

In front of him, Phil has constructed a small tower of blocks. Dan smiles, settling down cross-legged. „Yes, daddy was building one just now, you’re right. But let’s bet you and I can build an even better one, huh? One just like the one we live in?“

As Phil reclines on the sofa, Dan picks up a yellow brick and holds it out to Charlie. „What colour’s this one?“

-

It’s the morning after dinner with Kath and Phil is a nervous wreck.

„And you’re sure you’ve got everything you need? Nappies, toys, his blanket -“

He reaches out to check the baby bag for the third time, but his mother stops him.

“Philip, I’m not an old woman, I promise you I haven’t forgotten anything. Besides, Martyn’s left some of Sophia’s things, including a potty that Charlie can use.“

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make sure.“

She reaches out to pat his cheek. “Since when have you become the over-anxious one? Wasn’t it Dan last time who rang me out of bed in the wee hours?“

“Hey, I’ve improved since!“ Dan emerges from the nursery down the hall with a warmly dressed Charlie in his arms.

Kath’s face lights up like a christmas tree at the sight. “Aww, look at you, little man! All dressed up! The neighbours are going to be so jealous, Mrs Hudson’s granddaughter isn’t half as charming as you are.“

Dan laughs, tugging on the jacket his son’s wearing. “I know, right? Phil found it online. It’s got a duck’s bill on the hood and a tail and everything.“

“Me ducky“, Charlie voices confidently, causing Dan to press a kiss to the side of his face.

“Yes, you’re a little duckling, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he coos, smoothing down Charlie’s feathery locks of ginger hair.

Two years ago, Dan would have cringed at words like these, but now look at me, he thinks, gone all mushy and soft. And he’s not even ashamed of it. If it’s true that fatherhood changes people, it’s certainly brought out the best in him and Phil, and they wouldn’t have it any other way, even if lately Charlie has cost them their good night’s sleep more often than not.

The boy calls for his granny, and Dan passes him on to her after one last kiss to his cheek.

Phil observes with a smile how his mother greets the two-year-old, lifting him up and joggling him softly until he giggles.

Dan’s arm snakes around his waist, chin coming to rest on his shoulder; a touch that reassures him without words, ‘don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

“I’ll best be off then,” Kath says, the baby bag slung over her shoulder and Charlie stood next to her contently holding on to her hand. “Before traffic gets too crazy. You boys enjoy yourselves, yeah?“

She eyes them with a smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

Phil goes red in the face, about to say something when Dan bursts out, “Oh, right! The baby seat!“, and runs off again to fetch it.

-

At five in the afternoon, Dan stumbles out of the shower and wraps himself in a towel. Phil’s playing Muse in his bedroom while getting dressed. He’s banned Dan from the room as if this was their wedding all over again.

It’s good though, it makes Dan feel giddy and even more excited for the night. They’ve reserved a table at a nice place in London they haven’t been to in a while. Living on the outskirts, they rarely visit central London now except for the BBC.

But tonight they will, and considering the traffic they should leave in about half an hour if they want to be on time, Dan realizes with a glance at his phone.

He dries himself off and puts on his clothes – a semi-formal black suit and a white dress shirt, because how long has it been since they’ve had a proper date? Just as he’s done straightening his hair with extra care, Phil calls for him from the hall.

He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, checking his phone as Dan walks up to him.

And fuck, this is one of those moments Dan wants to pat his own shoulder for getting this gorgeous man to marry him.

Phil’s wearing a slim grey suit and the azure blue shirt Dan got him for his last birthday that matches his eyes perfectly. His hair is pushed back casually into a quiff, there’s a subtle waft of his cologne in the air, and Dan wants to eat him up.

“Good, you’re ready.” Phil’s eyes dance over Dan’s frame and he smiles before looking back down on his phone. “Shall we go then? I was thinking we could take a walk along the Thames before, since the restaurant’s right there. You know, work up a bit of an appetite and all that”, he rambles on, taking no note of Dan’s change of mood.

“Oh, I’ve already got quite an appetite, to be honest,” Dan remarks and Phil finally looks up, picking up on his suggestive undertone.

Dan meets his stare, smirking although his heart is beating slightly too fast. Saundering towards him with his hands pushed into his pockets, he allows his eyes to wander as well.

“God, you’re a feast for the eyes, aren’t you,” he says in a low voice once he comes to stand in front of Phil, watching with satisfaction how Phil’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.

“Dan…”

Dan ignores him, reaching out to smooth the collar of his suit jacket, then grabs his tie to pull him close. Phil’s breath hitches, his eye lids fluttering closed, and Dan can’t lie, he definitely enjoys the little whine his husband gives when he draws out the moment before the kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that”, Dan admits, tugging softly again on Phil’s tie to emphasize his words, before Phil lets out a moan and takes the initiative, leaning in to crash his mouth against Dan’s.

Dan flicks his tongue against Phil’s bottom lip, then takes it between his teeth, and Phil’s hands capture his face. When he tips his head to deepen the kiss, Dan wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him flush against his body.

Phil groans, attempting to pull back, which only causes Dan’s mouth to leave his and press tiny kisses to the underside of his jaw instead.

“Dan – we’re going to – be late,” he manages to croak out.

“Oh, screw the walk to the restaurant, Phil, don’t pretend you hadn’t got this in mind when you said we needed a night off,” Dan mutters against the soft spot beneath Phil’s ear, making him shiver.

He sucks a patch of skin into his mouth, biting into it softly, and Phil’s hands slip to his shoulders, fingers digging into his suit jacket. “Don’t l-leave marks,” he warns him, head leant against the wall to allow Dan better access nonetheless.

Dan moves to nibble on his earlobe, causing Phil to whimper softly. He kisses his way down Phil’s neck, fingers fiddling with the upmost button of his shirt. When he manages to pop it open, he pulls Phil’s shirt to the side so he can latch his lips onto the joint between Phil’s shoulder and neck.

Phil whines, running his hands down Dan’s arms in search for something to hold on to. As Dan pulls back to admire the purple mark he’s created, conveniently hidden beneath Phil’s shirt, Phil pushes him against the door.

“We should really leave,” he says, palms pressed flat against the door to both sides of Dan’s head, “if we want to make it on time.”

His cheeks are flushed, his hair is starting to come loose and his lips are red and swollen.

“Who needs dinner when I can have you?,” Dan murmurs, head cocked to the side, glancing up at Phil from beneath his lashes.

“That such a sentence should come from your mouth,” Phil huffs in amusement, still keeping a fair distance between their bodies.

“More than that shall come from my mouth,” Dan smirks and Phil gasps.

"Dan.”

He chuckles, watching intently as Phil exhales heavily, then bows his head until their foreheads touch.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, basking in the simple fact that they’re able to. No child is going to start crying in the background and disrupt the moment, no child is going to walk in on them doing something he shouldn’t see.

They’re alone. And fuck, if they aren’t going to make the most of it.

The next kiss is soft and slow, composed of Dan’s arms around Phil’s neck and Phil’s smile against his lips.

“Love you,” Phil sighs as Dan winds a strand of hair around his finger and tugs on it. As a reply, Dan pushes his thigh between Phil’s legs and breaks the kiss so he can whisper into his ear.

“Say that again.”

A moan tumbles off Phil’s tongue. “D-dan – love y-”

Dan doesn’t let him finish, pulling his fingers out of Phil’s hair and snatching his wrists in his hands in one quick movement. He sucks Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth, revelling in the way Phil thrusts his hips against him eagerly. Interlocking their fingers, he lets go of Phil’s lip.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?”

-

It’s dark and quiet when Dan comes to.

He feels so warm and relaxed it takes him a bit to orientate. He stretches, then flinches as he becomes aware of the soreness in his lower back.

Steady, gentle breaths to his right.

He turns, moving closer to the source of the breaths and the source of body heat, trying to recollect his memory.

Hot breath against his neck.

“You smell like cinnamon and apples.”

“New shower gel.”

A flick of tongue, a sharp inhale.

“Hmm… I like it.”

Soft giggles, muffled by skin.

Oh, right. There was that. Well, that might explain why his ass hurts.

Dan almost laughs at himself. Between their demanding jobs and their even more demanding two-year-old, they’ve gone without sex for so long he’s nearly forgotten what it feels like to wake up afterwards.

But god, was it worth the pain. He closes his eyes again, revelling in the memory.

The sound of skin slapping against skin.

Forgotten words whispered into his ear.

Phil’s hands holding on to his shoulders too hard, not hard enough.

The feeling of heat pooling in his stomach, legs wrapped tightly around Phil.

Breathy moans, high-pitched begging, fingernails scratching flushed skin.

The final thrust, the touch of Phil’s hand that sends him over the edge.

And then bliss – Phil curling up next to him – panting breath, a kiss to his cheek –

He blinks as someone yawns and shifts next to him.

Right, Phil.

He looks so lovely with his hair ruffled and no clothes on, Dan thinks, and I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. A smug smile spreading over his face, he reaches out to wrap one arm around his husband.

Phil reacts by snuggling up to him, face pressed into Dan’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice soft and slurred.

Dan chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hi, love. Sleep well?”

“Hmm…”

He’s ready to happily settle back in and drift off again when one thought rises from the back of his mind, claiming his attention.

“Oh, shit.”

At first he wants to slap himself, but then he just throws his head back and laughs, because fuck it, this was worth it.

Phil looks up at him, his wide, puzzled eyes replicating the expression on Dan’s face. “Dan?”

It takes him a few minutes to stop laughing. “Phil,” he chokes out, breaking off into a hiccup. Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and Phil reaches out automatically to wipe them away.

“What? What is it, Dan? You’re scaring me.”

Dan bites his bottom lip to force the laughter to subside, cradling Phil’s face in his hands.

“Phil, we had dinner reservations,” he says finally, like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

But actually, the funniest thing must be Phil’s face as realization hits him.

“No,” he says slowly.

“Yes,” Dan replies, still chuckling.

“No,” Phil repeats, sitting up and reaching across Dan. “Give me my phone. What time is it?”

Dan finds it on the bedside table and unlocks it, promptly beginning to laugh again. Phil pries the phone away from his hands.

His eyes grow even wider. It’s hilarious.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, throwing the sheets off. “Why won’t you stop laughing? Dan, we’ve got to get dressed, maybe if we hurry we can still make it!”

“Phil, I’m moderately sure they’ve given our table to someone else by now,” Dan says, watching Phil climb out of bed to put on his boxers.

“Why? It’s not seven yet, I mean we’ll probably be a bit late but we can call in and -”

Dan shakes his head, sitting up as well. “Phil – Phil, wait. Phil!”

“What?!” Phil cries out, exasperated and half-dressed. He’s got his underwear on backwards.

“It’s half past six in the morning, not at night!”

-

“Stop laughing already!”

Phil hits him across the head with his pillow.

Dan rolls over on to his back, still choking back laughter. “You have to admit it’s funny!”

“It’s not! I really wanted to go there, Dan!” He looks genuinely upset.

Dan raises one eyebrow. “Are you saying you would have rather gone to this restaurant than have sex with me?”

Phil looks at him uncertainly for a moment. “Yes?”

Dan huffs and turns away from him. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He’s mostly faking, but it serves to finally get Phil’s mind off their missed reservation.

His arms snake around Dan’s waist from behind, lips brushing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the night, though.”

Dan grins, pushing his bum out to earn a gasp from Phil.

“Yeah, I had the feeling you were enjoying yourself quite a bit there, just like your mum told us to.”

“Shut up,” Phil says, pulling back one hand to pinch him, albeit gently.

They settle into silence again, curled up comfortably until Dan mutters, “There’s one disadvantage though. I’m fucking starved.”

Phil groans in agreement. “Pizza would be amazing right now.”

Dan giggles. “It’s seven in the morning. I’m pretty sure they don’t deliver before noon.”

“I think we still have some in the freezer,” Phil murmurs sleepily into his neck.

“Are you serious?” Dan frees himself from Phil’s embrace and sits up, pushing back the duvet. “Then why exactly are we still in bed? Come on, move! It’s time for breakfast!”

Ignoring Phil’s protest, he strolls to the door, swaying his hips as he’s aware of Phil’s eyes following him.

“Don’t you wanna put some clothes on?” Phil asks, the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

“Why?”, Dan replies, eyebrows raised. “Charlie’s not here. Or does it bother you?”

They look at each other for a moment.

Then Phil grins.

“Go preheat the oven, I’ll be right there.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

Life has a hopeful undertone (and I'll be holding on to you)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: au in which Dan and Phil are struggling not to drown in unpaid bills, but somehow they're making it work. Or: Dan has an anxious breakdown and Phil comforts him.

genre/themes: angst, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mental health issues

content warnings: anxiety, mentions of past self-harm, depression, mentions of homophobia, mentions of homelessness

(this was written years before dan talked about his mental health and his childhood, so it really isn’t trying to be accurate to that - it’s an au! please also be aware that this isn’t necessarily a healthy relationship and a partner can never replace a professional therapist.)

“Seek assistance.”

Dan curses and takes a deep breath before he swipes his card past the scanner again. The annoying error sound buzzes through the air once more, piercing the busy chatter of the rush hour, and a woman behind him sighs loudly.

“Seek assistance,” the screen taunts Dan in bright red letters and he can already feel tears prickling at the back of his eyeballs.

No.

He swallows hard and tears his gaze away from the card reader, blinking violently.

There’s a man in uniform trying to catch his eye but Dan bites down on his bottom lip and turns away quickly, shoving past the people queued up behind him. He doesn’t need to seek assistance from staff to be told that his oyster card needs recharging. His bloody wallet needs recharging.

Dan ignores the loud complaints of people around him as he busts through the crowd recklessly. Just out, out. Out of the stuffy tube station and into the clear air.

Except the air isn’t all that clear, because London at 5 pm is bustling with hasty people and honking cars and thick with the stink of noxious fumes. The sky above is thick with heavy grey clouds, and Dan’s head is thick with a fog of noxious thoughts.

He tries to replace them with positive ones. So what if he can’t take the tube. It’s probably chock-full anyway. Besides, a walk home is supposed to be good to clear your head, right? Get some fresh air, catch some sunlight…

A young girl passing him gives him a weird look when he laughs out loud at his thoughts, bitterly. He pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and shoves his fists into the pockets as it starts to rain, and wishes for the millionth time for enough money to buy an iPod so he could at least drown out the world.

By the time Dan arrives at his flat the sun has been smothered by a clusterfuck of clouds and his hoodie is clinging to his skin. He’s soaked to the bone, teeth chattering as he jams the key into the lock, struggling with the door for a bit because his hands are shaking so much. It’s only September, it’s not supposed to be this cold.

The heating isn’t even on yet.

Finally, the door falls shut behind him and Dan leans back against it, allowing himself to close his eyes and breathe for a moment.

All he wants is to crawl into bed and have Phil whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

But his boyfriend won’t be home for at least another hour.

The tears are threatening to spill again, but Dan holds them back with all his might, because once he starts crying he won’t be able to stop anytime soon and then he’ll end up with a migraine and have to call in sick and he can’t fucking afford a sick day right now.

So he picks himself up and strips off the hoodie to throw it to the laundry. He mops up the puddle he made on the hallway floor and raids the cupboards for instant coffee and Phil’s emergency ration of chocolate, then he builds a fort on the sagging sofa with his threadbare duvet. Focusing on trivial domestic work, ignoring the dark, menacing world.

Thunder is rumbling outside and Dan ignores it, just as he ignores the creaks of the sofa beneath his weight and the blister on his tongue from the too-hot coffee. He’s okay.

He’s okay.

The tv suddenly goes blank during a particularly loud roll of thunder and Dan sits upright, his hand clenched around the mug although the sloshing coffee burns his skin.

“I’m not afraid,” he says out loud to the black screen that is staring back at him deridingly. Dan sets down the empty mug and licks the coffee off his hand.

“It’s just masses of air colliding”, he tries again, remembering what Phil, writer of the weather forecast for a news website, has told him.

“Nimbus, the rain cloud”, he recites. “Cumulonimbus, the storm cloud -” His voice cracks midway and he bites down on his lip again, tasting blood.

There’s a noise from the hallway and Dan jumps.

The scratching of a key being turned in the lock sounds eerie in the quiet between thunder rolls. His heart raps against his throat as he pulls out his phone and glances at the screen.

It’s not time for Phil to be back yet.

“Dan?”

The relief he feels sparking up at the sound of Phil’s voice is immediately flooded by doubt and sorrow. They swirl and fill up his chest, building tidal waves that knock hard against his ribcage, threatening to take his breath.

He scrambles to his feet and out into the hall where Phil is shaking out his umbrella with dry clothes and reddened cheeks and shining eyes.

The straps that have been holding Dan together snap.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Phil, I just mopped here!”

Phil flinches and his eyes widen. He puts the umbrella down. “I’ll wipe it up, okay?”

“No, it’s not fucking okay!”

Now he’s heaving breaths, feeling like he’s drowning, and he didn’t want to let this happen, fucking hell, no, he can’t let the dam break…

Through clouded eyes, he sees Phil reaching for his hand and pulls away. The words tumble off his tongue and he’s too tired to try and stop them.

“You can’t just come in here and act like things are okay when they fucking aren’t! You’ve been fired, haven’t you? Why else would you be home early? Don’t fucking lie to me – we’ve got to pay our bills, Phil, the rent is due next week and you haven’t even… you haven’t even said anything, why aren’t you saying anything, Phil, I -”

He’s cut off by a hiccup and warm hands cupping his cheeks. His half-hearted reluctance is ignored. A mouth presses against his own and suffocates the angry rant.

He breaks away and continues, softer now, worry and fear lacing through his words, tearing through the mask of ire.

“What are we going to do… Phil, if you’ve lost your job that means our income is less than half, I don’t know how -”

Phil presses a finger against his lips. “Dan, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t – what?”

“I haven’t been fired.”

Dan exhales shakily, his fingers grasping bunches of Phil’s jumper without even noticing. He doesn’t understand.

“But then – why are you -”

“Home early?”

Phil’s eyes light up and he smiles, his face so close Dan can count the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes.

There’s still a hint of worry in the creases, but it doesn’t gain the upper hand over his excitement. Phil never lets it.

“I’ve been promoted.”

Dan stares at him, dumbfounded. The silence is disturbed by another hiccup.

“They’re letting me write my own column”, Phil explains. “I can work from here mostly and the pay’s a lot better, too.”

Dan kisses him, and his hiccups turn into sobs against Phil’s lips, and he’s clutching the fabric of Phil’s jumper as if it were a lifeline.

What he wants to say is, “I’m so proud of you”, because really, he is, and Phil deserves the reward because he’s such a good writer and he’s so fucking clever and hardworking and Dan loves him so much, but all that comes spurting out is, “Oh god. Oh thank god. Oh Phil, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay”, Phil mutters against his mouth, but Dan pulls away from the kiss and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you. I’ve been missing you all afternoon and I’ve had the shittiest day and then you’re home and all I do is rant for no reason, I’m sorry.”

His breath is hitching and he’s sniffling but Phil, wonderful, selfless Phil, holds his arms open and says, “C'mere.”

Dan sinks into them and allows the waves to crash.

The power’s been cut off but the water in the shower runs hot and steady. Outside, the storm has eased into heavy rain that patters against their windows, providing a soothing background noise.

Dan is stood with his back to Phil whose fingers are threading languidly through his hair. He feels 19 all over again, when the older university student had picked him up off the streets, a scrawny teen with filthy hair and self-harm scars and no home to return to.

The sweetish scent of cheap shampoo fills up his nostrils and he sighs at the feeling of Phil’s fingertips gently massaging his scalp. He can feel the tension resolving, headache slowly retreating, reluctant to admit its defeat. Phil’s always been Dan’s most effective painkiller.

“Lean forward.”

Water washes the shampoo out of his thick curls and Phil’s hands venture downwards. Dan flinches when he feels them briefly skimming his neck.

“Hold still, I’m trying to work out the knots,” Phil murmurs behind him, fingers digging into Dan’s shoulders.

He tries to measure his breaths, sync them with Phil’s. Maybe they can work out the knots in their life as well.

When Phil’s hands run down his back and come to rest on his hips, Dan leans back into him, lets his head sink onto his shoulder and the water stream wash away the tear stains on his face. The bathroom air is misty and damp and there’s most likely a moudly spot in the corner of the shower cubicle, but Dan inhales it like it’s salutary, because it’s home, it’s comfort.

Just like Phil’s arms that sneak around his waist, holding him tight.

“Let’s take tomorrow off”, he whispers, barely audible through the sound of rushing water. “Just stay in bed.”

Dan presses his head into Phil’s neck. “You know we can’t. They’ll fire us.”

Gently, Phil turns him around and makes him lean back against the shower wall, ducking to mouth against Dan’s neck.

“We could always run away,” he mutters, his breath tickling Dan’s skin. “Leave this city behind, you and me alone.”

Dan closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Phil’s body moving softly against his, but blinks before the dream can take shape.

“With what money? We’d end up on the street again and freeze to death when it gets cold.”

As if to confirm his words, the water turns cold and they clamber out of the shower and straight into bed. Shared body warmth makes up for the lack of heating as they huddle close together underneath the duvet.

Phil’s eyes blink at him, blue and honest in the dimness.

“Dan, I’m sorry we can’t afford a better living. I promise you I’ll do my best with the column, I’m going to work on it day and night -”

Dan presses his index finger against Phil’s lips. “Don’t apologize, Phil. I already owe you so much.”

He moves closer, replacing the finger with his mouth. Their lips slot together slow and sweet, and everything feels just that slight bit less frightening when Phil’s body is pressed to his, the heaving and sinking of his bare chest a calming parameter in Dan’s shaking, swirling world.

“That shower is going to be evident in our next water bill,” he mumbles as they part for breath.

Phil yawns. “It’s on me.”

He reaches out to pull Dan into his chest, but Dan resists. “I don’t want you to pay for everything, Phil, it’s not fair. I’ll have to find a better job soon.”

It’s not like he loves stacking boxes at Tesco.

“Sometimes I think my father was right, y'know,” he says haltingly. “If I’d gone into law, we wouldn’t be struggling to pay the rent now.”

Fingers tilt his chin upwards. Phil’s brow is furrowed.

“Dan, stop. You know I don’t care if you pay less than half. You’ve made it up to me just by being there. I love you. And don’t even start like that – if you’d become a lawyer just because your father wanted you to, it never would’ve made you happy.”

What he doesn’t say is that they wouldn’t even have met if Dan had complied with his father’s wishes. Dan knows Phil is secretly glad everything went the way it did. He also knows that Phil would never admit to this.

His boyfriend’s voice softens and his hand moves to cup Dan’s cheek.

“I just want you to be happy, okay? Who cares what he wanted. Apparently he also wanted a straight son, and look how that worked out.”

Dan cracks a tiny smile. He wishes he could laugh at Phil’s words, but the thought of his father still leaves a bitter taste behind, a reminder of the nagging wound in his heart that has only started to fade in the past years. Some things aren’t easily forgotten, and one of them certainly is being told that you’re an abomination. Even if the words are taken back afterwards. Because afterwards is too late.

Phil shifts to press his forehead against Dan’s. He’s so close Dan can feel his breath on his face, and the flutter of his eyelids.

He knows Phil’s right, knows that he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t still be clinging to the idea that he had to please his father somehow, to make him proud.

And yet…

“I don’t want to disappoint you”, he breathes, blinking fresh tears away. He wants to make Phil proud, to make him happy, because it’s always Dan who spills his guts and Phil who listens and holds him, and he feels so incredibly selfish.

“You couldn’t”, Phil whispers, leaning in for another kiss, and Dan wants to believe him, but it’s not easy.

It’s never been and maybe it’ll never be.

“You don’t have to try so hard, Dan”, Phil mutters against his lips. “You’re only twenty-four. You’ve got all the time in the world to find out what you want to do. I know we don’t have the means right now, but I firmly believe that one day we will and then you can still go to uni if you want to, get a degree, and we’ll move into a beautiful old house on the countryside and have a dog or two, or five.”

Dan chuckles under tears and wraps his arms around Phil’s neck, kissing him hard, clinging to him as if for dear life. And in many ways, that’s true. Phil’s been there for him when no one else was, has helped him up onto his feet again, cared for and comforted him countless times, and Dan would be mad not to hold on to him. In Dan’s darkest days, Phil is like a ray of sunlight, so full of wisdom and courage and hope. And in all honesty, Dan doesn’t need a lot of money or a nice house if only he gets to keep Phil by his side.

Dan’s never been one for faith, but if there’s one thing he believes in it’s them. He knows that he loves Phil.

And if they’re lucky, that might just be enough to hold things together.

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from the for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

How to survive a flight to Australia

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: In which Dan suffers through horror in the form of planes, noise, and other people. But hey, at least he’s in it with Phil... (inspired by “will Dan and Phil survive Australia?”)

genre/themes: fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, tatinof, travelling

content warnings: anxiety, ableist language

excerpt:

“Just try to actually sleep this time,” Phil suggests.

“I don’t think you understand that I did try, Phil, it’s just that a baby two rows behind us kept screaming like it was being murdered.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking deaf.”

Dan aches to lean his head on Phil’s shoulder.

He resists. Instead he shifts his weight onto his right leg, stifling a whimper when his knee cracks uncomfortably.

They’re in line for the passport control, having just gotten off a plane to Hong Kong about two hours ago. A 12 hour flight, and another one of that duration lies ahead of them.

The prospect makes Dan want to cry. His legs and back are hurting from the cramped space and the too-small seat on the Asian airline company’s plane, and he’s anxious and gross and so tired.

Phil stood next to him seems impossibly unbothered by the impending horror.

His glasses are askew on his nose, his t-shirt is wrinkled but probably less disgustingly sticky than Dan’s sweatshirt (“It might be chilly on the plane, Phil, and unlike you I don’t want to freeze to death before we even get there”), and he’s playing angry birds on his phone.

Of course he is. He’s such a fucking child.

Except he isn’t, because unlike Dan he kept his cool earlier at the ticket booth when things took longer than expected and people in the queue started standing on their toes to stare at them.

Because Phil took care of stuff like an adult while Dan was standing next to him, back turned to the crowd hoping and praying they could just get away.

Fed up and worn out, his hair curling and his anxiety escalating amid all those fucking people, and - hi yes I am danisnotonfire of course you can have a selfie that’s a nice shirt have a great day bye! - he felt like he was going to fucking die right then and there.

It was Phil who got them out of there by smiling and politely declining and manoeuvring them through halls and doors and stairways when Dan had lost track.

Dan envies him.

No; he loves him.

Sometimes so much that it physically hurts to be unable to show it.

The tune for a failed level plays, and Phil glances up to find Dan staring.

“Fucking loser,” Dan mutters.

I love you, idiot.

Phil blinks and pushes up his glasses, smiling thinly. “You okay?”

I love you, too.

For a second he contemplates saying yes, but he’s just too done and this is Phil and he’s used to Dan complaining.

“Everything hurts and if there were a window here I’d jump out of it; why do you ask?” he grumbles as passive aggressively as he can muster.

They move along in the queue.

Phil draws his eyebrows together. “You need an aspirin, bear?”

Bear. I might never need anything else than you calling me that, thinks the mushier side of Dan, but out loud he says, “I need a bath and 14 hours of sleep, not a painkiller, Phil.”

Phil grimaces sympathetically and presses “Try again” on his phone.

Dan feels the urge to groan.

He resists.

An endless seven minutes later they’re finally second in line. Dan prepares to trudge forward when Phil suddenly stops dead in his tracks and Dan very nearly runs into him.

There’s a sinking feeling in Dan’s stomach quite similar to the one he got when their plane took off.

“What?”

Phil’s pulled his backpack down from one shoulder to riffle through its contents. “My pass.”

Dan breathes out through his teeth. “Phil Lester, don’t tell me you’ve lost your boarding pass.”

He can feel the annoyed stares like daggers in his back.

Phil’s arm has disappeared almost up to the elbow in his backpack.

“No, not my ticket; my passport.”

Dan wants to shout. Instead he hisses. “You literally just had it, where the fuck could you have put -”

Phil’s face lights up. He pulls his hand out of his backpack, empty except for some gum wrappers. Then he pats his back pockets. “I put it here!”

And indeed he produces the red booklet from one of his pockets.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t shock me like that, you twat.”

Phil sticks his tongue out at him.

Then he moves to show an officer his papers.

Dan wonders how the hell they’ve survived even this far.

Dan slumps down further in his seat, feeling the plastic press into his back.

They’re in the waiting area for their flight to Australia and the woman behind them won’t stop talking rapidly to her husband. At least it’s in Chinese so Dan doesn’t have to actually listen to her life story.

But it’s exhausting all the same. He wants quiet. He wants his bed at home. He wants Phil.

Phil’s sat next to him.

“I spy something red.”

“No.”

“Come on, Dan.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dan!” Phil nudges him, his pointy elbow poking Dan’s side. He recoils.

“There are children here.”

Dan huffs. “I don’t fucking care. If they can spend 12 hours consecutively crying on a plane, then I can swear around them.”

Phil puts his hand on Dan’s knee.

The old woman across from them looks down at it, then up at Phil’s face.

He pulls it back.

Dan’s entire body feels tense. At least there are no potential fans in their proximity.

“Just try to actually sleep this time,” Phil suggests.

“I don’t think you understand that I did try, Phil, it’s just that a baby two rows behind us kept screaming like it was being murdered.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking deaf.”

He’s breathing faster now, and he’s fully aware that he’s about to talk himself into a fit, but he doesn’t have the restraint nor the energy to hold back.

“If i have to sit through just one more fucking hour of screaming I’m going to join in. I’m serious, Phil, I’m so fucking sick of this flying crap, I’m too tall for this shit. Couldn’t we get a hotel room for just one night in between the flights to give my body some bloody rest? No, because that would cost us and we want to be there ahead of schedule. Do you know how many fucks i give about your stupid fucking schedu-”

“Dan.”

“What-”

Phil’s fingers are suddenly on his chin, and then his lips are on Dan’s.

Dan’s stomach does the same as before, only this time it feels like a skydiver taking a jump, and a rushing starts in his ears. This isn’t the place. He’s 100% sure the old woman is gawking at them right now. Oh god, what if she’s someone’s grandma and she’s taking photos -

A low noise of protest escapes Dan before he pulls away just a bit, just as much as he can force himself to, and squeaks “Phil”.

But Phil keeps his eyes closed and pecks his lips again very sweet and slow, and Dan simply can’t resist.

He sighs softly and melts against Phil’s mouth, his eye lids slipping closed. Phil’s hand is firm and warm on his jaw and his tongue brushes against Dan’s bottom lip, making his insides flutter like a bird getting sucked into a plane’s turbine.

Nevermind that old woman; let her stare.

He grins against Phil’s mouth.

Right at that moment, their boarding group is called up.

Of course.

Phil pulls away, keeping his forehead pressed against Dan’s long enough to say, “relax, ok?”

Then he moves to pick up his backpack. Dan follows his lead, feeling suddenly quite a lot lighter. Almost as light as though he could fly.

Well, he’s about to.

“You just kissed me at a public airport,” he murmurs while tying his jacket around his waist, “and you’re asking me to relax?”

Phil shoulders his backpack. “Come on.”

Dan shakes his head, but follows without protest.

When they stand in line, Dan doesn’t look at him; he just runs his fingers up Phil’s arm to curl around his biceps.

“You’re incredible, Phil Lester,” he says as softly as a breath.

Phil keeps staring straight ahead, but bumps his hip into Dan’s.

“Some even call me amazing.”

Before the flight attendant beckons them forward, Dan allows himself two things: he groans and lets his head sink onto Phil’s shoulder.

He may hate planes and 12 hour flights, but as long as Phil is next to him, Dan knows he’ll make it through.

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

Three for the price of one

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: ‘the holiday’ inspired au where Dan and Phil spend a promising first date until Phil leaves in a hurry, dropping his wallet. Dan returns it the next day hoping for an explanation, but gets more than he bargained for.

genre: angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, parenting, halloween/autumn

cw: references to minor character death, car accidents and trauma/injury; mentions of alcohol

"Soo ur still good 4 tonight?"

Dan taps away at his laptop nervously, waiting for the reply that comes seconds later.

- "I am indeed. x] Why, are you having second thoughts?"

He exhales, a smile forming on his face. Phil has a way of combining perfect grammar with strange emojis that makes Dan’s stomach flip over in the most pleasant way. And thinking about the effect Phil will have on him when they’re face to face for the first time in a couple of hours does absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.

"Nah just making sure haha :D" he types, ignoring the fact that he is nowhere near as relaxed as the casual “nah“ suggests.

Phil just sends a "♡" in response and Dan promptly chokes on his own saliva, hurrying to replicate the symbol, accidentally adding a second 3 to the heart. Hopefully Phil won’t think he’s overly eager. Although he is, but Phil doesn’t need to know that.

- "Can’t wait to see you, but you will have to let me leave now if you want me to be on time! ^-^"

"k, see u in 3 hours!"

- ":)"

Dan stares at the smiley face for a good half minute, his own face mirroring the expression, before he pulls himself together and logs out of the dating website.

„Right, time to choose an outfit.“

He turns around to consider the assortment of clothes laid out on his bed. His two favorite pairs of black skinny jeans, four different black t-shirts, one button-down (black) and two jackets (both black as well). At least the colour won’t be a problem...

-

Hushed beats of a slow-paced indie song sound softly through the walls and the lights are comfortably dim, the pub warm and buzzing with people, but it doesn’t have the same relaxing effect on Dan as it usually would. His eyes scan the room anxiously and his teeth torment his bottom lip. He’s about to make his way over to the bar when someone calls his name and he halts, turning and catching the eye of a tall black-haired man on the other side of the room. “Phil,” Dan says under his breath, exhaling in relief, and starts towards him.

His date is sat on one of the sofas in the corner, looking absolutely gorgeous. Even though they’ve skyped a handful of times before to make sure neither of them is a 60-year-old pervert, Dan finds himself speechless at the sight of Phil. His denim shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a turquoise t-shirt that brings out the various colours in his eyes and his black hair is pushed back to reveal his forehead. His features are clear-cut, skin as pale as if he’s carved out of marble, and he’s smiling at Dan.

“Hi,” Dan breathes, feeling himself blush and his heart beat quicken.

Phil gets up to greet him and they behold each other for an awkward moment before Phil chuckles and leans in to hug him. “Hi,” he says softly next to Dan’s ear, and it takes all of Dan’s self-control not to melt right there in his embrace, butterflies tingling his stomach. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with a delicate flowery scent.

“You smell really nice,” he blurts out as they pull away, blushing even deeper when Phil’s beautiful eyes widen.

“Oh, thank you. I don’t wear cologne a lot. It’s not too much?” he asks abashedly, glancing up at Dan, who to his own surprise is slightly taller than him.

“Not at all! It’s, uh, it’s perfect.”

Phil answers with another bright smile that catches Dan off guard and giggles when it takes him a moment to sit down.

“So, do you feel more like dancing or talking?”

“How about a drink first?” Dan suggests and Phil waves a nearby waiter over to them. “Two margaritas, please. - Unless you need to drive?”

Dan shakes his head quickly and Phil adds with a playful little wink, “They’re on me.”

-

It’s been four months since Dan stumbled across Phil’s profile on the dating website and three since he’s worked up the courage to message him. Phil, who described himself as a “wanna-be writer and muse enthusiast”, replied a day later and from then on they’ve been chatting almost non-stop. Although Phil is four years older and lives on the countryside whilst Dan is a film student from central London, they’ve bonded over a similar taste in TV shows and music. However, it has taken Dan a while to coax some more personal information out of Phil and even longer until Phil agreed to their first date – even if the other man assured him that this was only due to being busy and not because he was hesitant to meet him. To be honest, that didn’t really convince Dan since he could not imagine a self-employed writer and editor to have an immovable time schedule.

All that aside, if tonight goes well, Dan is more than willing to forget about this tiny drop of bitterness.

And so far, it’s going great.

They’ve sipped their drinks and Phil has interrogated Dan about the internship with the BBC he is currently diong in the course of his studies. In turn, he’s let Dan in on his work as an editor and his new-found obsession with house plants.

“I’ve got quite a nice garden, but there’s not much to do out there in the cold season, so I thought, why not get some green inside? Big mistake. Turns out house plants are a lot more high-maintenance! I’ve already killed two!”

Dan giggles, taking another sip of his drink. “I couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. I guess student digs just aren’t the most healthy environment.”

No matter what he’s talking about, Dan finds himself drawn in and fascinated by Phil. He’s got a uniquely funny way of telling a story that has Dan giggling like a teenager and hanging on his lips like snake bite piercings.

And his eyes sparkle when he laughs. “Oh, I like that song! Fancy some dancing?”

Feeling warm and pleasantly tipsy, Dan nods and takes the hand Phil offers him. More like I fancy you, he thinks as they take their place among couples and singles on the dancefloor in the adjoining room and after some stumbling around fall into an easy rhythm.

Phil’s arm is resting on Dan’s shoulder and it feels both casual and meaningful, like a careful experiment. The exhilarating beat of Muse’s Madness pumps through Dan’s veins and lets his spirit soar, makes him throw his head back and grin at Phil whose eyes are reflecting the flashing spotlights like lighthouses. He’s beautiful and he’s mouthing the lyrics at Dan, pulling dramatic faces, and Dan feels so good, so alive and amorous…

When the song fades into a slow-paced one, Phil’s arm slips down from his shoulder and snakes around his waist, and Dan gently pulls him closer until the other man’s chin rests on his shoulder. They sway on the spot, engulfed in each other’s presence like a small bubble in a sea of people. The butterflies in Dan’s stomach have doubled and are swirling uncontrollably.

“Hi there, again,” Phil whispers, and Dan runs his hands up his torso, feeling him shiver under his touch. “Hi.”

Slowly, his hands move from Phil’s shoulders to his cheeks and he gives him a questioning look. Phil’s forehead is pressed against his as they lock eyes and he smiles, all flushed skin and the tickling of soft hair, of warm breath. Dan glances down at his lips…

A ringtone disturbs the ballad now playing in the background and Phil recoils, his right hand darting into his back pocket immediately. Dan releases the breath he’s holding, feeling disappointment seep through him like a sudden downpour.

He catches sight of Phil’s phone screen for a second and registers against his will that the caller is a pretty blonde woman saved as “Louise” in Phil’s contacts.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dan, I have to take this!” Phil says loudly to make himself heard above the noise, offering him a quick apologetic smile before he pushes through the crowd, away from Dan.

-

He waits for one song, then another, moving awkwardly on his own along to an unknown beat. But when the third song spins into the fourth, Dan gives up his position and goes on a search. Another couple is snogging on the sofa where they had their drinks, and Phil’s not in the queue for the toilets, nor is he sitting at the bar. Perhaps he’s outside, Dan thinks and debates whether or not it would seem intrusive to go look for him if he’s still on the phone – but then the bartender waves him over.

“You haven’t seen a man with black hair done like mine, about my height?” Dan asks hopefully.

The heavily-tattooed, rather beefy guy nods and adds, “Told me to tell you he had to leave. Seemed terribly sorry about it.”

Dan’s heart sinks in his chest like a coin dropped in a fountain. “Did he say anything else?”

The bartender shrugs, continuing to rinse the glass he’s holding. “Was in a hurry. And besides, do I look like an answering machine to you?”

“I – no. Sorry,” Dan stutters, feeling his face grow hot with disappointment and embarrassment.

The barista’s face softens slightly. “Hey, better luck next time, mate, alright?”

Yeah, Dan thinks bitterly. Except there won’t be a next time after he’s let me down like this.

There’s no point in staying if Phil’s gone. Trudging to the front door, all excitement seeped out of him, he’s close to wallowing in self-pity when his foot catches on something on the floor.

Someone’s dropped a wallet. Not just any wallet though – it’s an Adventure Time themed one.

A grin has already halfway spread across Dan’s face when he bends down to pick it up, unfolding it carefully. What kind of adult would use an Adventure Time wallet on a date in a pub?

His assumption is confirmed when his eyes fall on the card tucked into the front pocket. “Philip Lester, editor and freelance writer,” it reads, and listed below are Phil’s phone number, email and home address.

I’ll give him one more chance, Dan decides as he pockets the wallet and pushes open the door, the chilly October wind ruffling his hair. Tomorrow I’ll drop the wallet off at his place and see if he’s got an explanation for me.

He hates to admit it, but he really hopes Phil does.

-

Dan looks down at his phone once again, double-checking the small blue dot that indicates his position. “This is the middle of fucking nowhere,” he declares out loud.

Behind him, though long out of sight, lies the city of London. To the left – nothing but fields. To the right a forest is climbing up the gentle curve of a hill. And ahead there’s this bumpy path he’s been following for the past thirty minutes that was most definitely not built for motorcycle trips. He’s beginning to regret his impulsive action.

And yet the app on his phone insists that he is on the right track. Dan takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet-smelling autumn air.

“Okay, let’s give this one last shot. Another half mile and if nothing turns up then except for more scarecrows and creepy abandoned barns, I’m going to turn back and send him his wallet by mail.”

He snaps the visor of his helmet shut with a sort of final resolution and mounts his motorcycle again.

The frosty head wind makes him wish he’d worn a jumper underneath his leather jacket and Dan is about to give up when the path leads through a small grove and turns a corner – and there it is, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

A single small, ancient-looking house, leaning alarmingly to one side, its uneven stone walls covered to a large part by rampant roses, some of them still in bloom.

There’s no fence surrounding the cottage, but the letterbox in front of it bears a wooden sign that dangles in the wind and states in ornate letters “Rosery Cottage”.

Hesitantly, Dan clambers off his bike and retrieves his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You have reached your destination.”

The narrow path of cobblestone that leads up to the door is framed by a couple of crooked walnut trees whose leaves are scattered across the lawn. To the right, an old battered VW Golf is parked on a makeshift driveway. A pair of wellingtons stand guard on the wooden patio.

Dan takes a deep breath and starts towards the house, thinking as he rings the bell, this better be Phil and not some misanthropic old hag.

-

What he certainly does not expect is a little girl in dungarees and a yellow jumper opening the door. Her copper brown hair is braided in two rather messy pigtails, her round face dotted with freckles and there’s a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

“You’re tall,” the girl remarks casually after looking him up and down, pinching her chestnut eyes as if he’s blinding her.

As perplexed as Dan is, the comment makes him chuckle. “Am I really?”

“Yeah… you’re like, taller than my daddy.”

The last word makes Dan’s heart pick up speed and he’s about to say, “I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place,” when a voice drifts through the hallway, accompanied by the dulled noise of a blow-dryer.

“Who’s at the door, Liv?”

It can’t be Phil, Dan tells himself. This guy just sounds similar because the noise distorts his voice.

Phil doesn’t have any kids - right? The image of the beautiful blonde from Phil’s phone screen reappears in front of Dan’s inner eye and he draws in a sharp breath –

“A man in a leather jacket, Daddy,” the girl yells back. “He’s very tall,” she adds after a second, almost reproachfully.

There’s a moment of silence, then the noise of the hair-dryer stops abruptly and the man who sounds like Phil shouts, “I’ll be right there!”

The girl keeps her eyes trained on Dan, making him uneasy, so he lets his gaze drop away from her face. She’s holding a furled newspaper in her hand, Dan can just make out an advert proclaiming “Three for the price of one!” and underneath it a crossword, partly filled in with wonky letters.

Someone clears their throat and Dan looks up, feeling his heart take a leap.

The man facing him is wearing mismatched socks and his black hair is still wet and ruffled, but it’s unmistakably Phil.

His eyes are wide and he looks like he can’t quite decide whether to smile or not. He looks a little bit guilty, Dan thinks with a selfish trace of satisfaction, but the feeling fades when he remembers the elephant in the room – although elephant is perhaps too large a word.

“I’ll take it from here, Olivia, thank you,” Phil says to the girl and her eyes flicker from Dan to Phil and back before she turns and skips off into another room.

“Olivia,” Dan repeats, avoiding Phil’s eye until he hears the other man sigh.

“Yes, her name’s Olivia, and she’s my daughter, as you might already have guessed.”

I’d be concerned if other children than your own called you daddy, Dan thinks, but he doesn’t say it because this is not the time for a joke. It’s time for an explanation.

“So who’s Louise?” he asks at the same moment that Phil asks, “So what brings you here?”

They finally look at each other.

“Shall I go first?” Dan offers. “Right. Last night, when you, er, bailed on me – you lost something.”

He tries to sound casual but the guilt becomes more evident in Phil’s face for a moment until Dan pulls the wallet out of his pocket and holds it out to Phil, whose eyes grow comically wide.

“My wallet! Thanks, I hadn’t even noticed – oh man, I owe you -”

“An explanation? Yeah, I’d say so,” Dan says with newfound confidence.

Phil exhales. “You’re right. I have some explaining to do. - Oh god, I haven’t even asked you in yet, I’m the worst -”

He steps aside, holding the door open. “Please, make yourself at home. I know you’re probably less than elated by me right now, but I promise I can explain if you let me.”

Dan looks down at the threshold in front of him. The welcome mat he’s standing on has a pattern of sleeping cats on it. One small step for man, one giant step for Dan, he thinks dryly. If he steps into Phil’s house now and more than that, into his life, it will never be this easy to leave again.

For some reason, the image of the newspaper the girl was holding appears to him. If only life were as simple as a crossword puzzle, with only one right answer to every question.

“Tell me one more thing before I come in,” Dan asks. “Seven letter word, starting with M, or eight letters starting with D?”

Phil stares at him for a moment, then his smile falters as he gets the hint.

“Seven,” he says quietly.

Married, then – Dan thinks, a sick feeling rising in his stomach, and he’s about to turn away and leave for good, when Phil adds in an even smaller voice, “But the first one’s a W.”

-

Seven letters, starting with W. It’s just like a crossword, but it’s not an easy solution at all, and having solved it doesn’t make Dan feel any better, instead it makes him feel awful.

Widowed, he thinks, and bites down hard on his bottom lip. Widowed. Of course, that makes sense. It explains the careful pace at which Phil went about their blossoming relationship. It explains his inability to be spontaneous, and the fact that he didn’t want to talk much about his past.

Phil’s a widower, and he’s got a child, and Dan is so, so insensitive.

He looks up at Phil slowly, afraid of meeting his gaze. But Phil doesn’t look angry or as if he’s about to cry. His face is painfully composed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Phil replies, and somehow that is all it takes for Dan to step inside and pull the door shut behind him.

He hands Phil the wallet, but instead of letting him pull his hand away, Phil holds on to it.

“Thank you,” he mutters and Dan gently presses his hand.

“Daddy, Micah keeps trying to take my pen!”

The bright voice from the right makes them both flinch, and Phil gives him a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “This way, please.”

The room to the right that they enter is the kitchen. Sunlight falls in through the windows and illuminates the large wooden table at which Olivia is sat, facing the door. The newspaper is spread out in front of her, opened to the kids’ page.

A small boy, a toddler at most, is squirming in his high chair, reaching out across the table for the pen Olivia is holding. As Olivia pulls it away from his grasp, he whimpers.

“Micah, hey!” Phil rushes towards them and takes the boy’s chubby little hand in his. “This is Livy’s pen, okay? Here, those crayons are for you. - And you, Liv – don’t be so harsh on him, you hear me? He doesn’t understand that it’s yours.”

He turns to Dan again, his face relaxing slowly. “Dan, these are my children, Olivia and Micah. Kids, this is Dan, who I was meeting up with last night.”

Dan smiles nervously as Olivia observes him, then she gives him a sudden toothy grin and turns back to her crossword.

“Here, take a seat please”, Phil says. “Do you want to drink anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Coffee would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble,” Dan replies, sitting down on the wooden chair next to Olivia.

“Not at all.”

As Phil is busy with the coffee machine, Dan’s gaze drops to the table. Opposite of him, Micah is scrawling something undefinable with crayons. His hair is thick and darker than Olivia’s, his eyes azure and large in his round face. He seems to have trouble controlling his crayon, his small hand is clenched in a fist around it. Dan doesn’t have a lot of experience with young children, but Micah has to be at least two years old…

“I need a word with four letters for this flowery thing, daddy,” Olivia pipes up, catching Dan’s attention. “It’s not a tree, but plant and flower don’t fit.”

He peers at the crossword she’s working on. It has pictures in front of every line instead of questions.

“Give me a moment, Liv,” Phil says, rummaging in a cupboard for a mug.

“Have you tried rose?” Dan suggests charily.

Olivia looks up at him in surprise, then back at the paper. Her letters fit neatly in the boxes. “It works! Thanks, Dan.”

He smiles charily. “You’re welcome.”

Phil places the mug of coffee down in front of him before he sits down next to the high chair. Leaning on his elbows, he hides his face in hands for a moment.

When he emerges, he looks up at Dan. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You wanted to know about Louise.”

Dan, who’s about to take a sip from his coffee, puts the mug down, barely avoiding a spill of the scalding liquid.

“She’s a friend who occasionally takes care of my two rascals when I’m out. She was here last night and called to tell me Micah had banged his head. Turned out to be half as bad, but I tend to panic about my baby.” He reaches out to gently brush the hair back from Micah’s forehead, revealing a small reddened bump near his hairline.

The young boy reacts promptly. “Owie.”

A caring smile lingers on Phil’s lips. “Yes, you had an owie. Does it still hurt?”

“No more owie,” the toddler babbles, shaking his head.

“Good.”

Phil withdraws his hand, turning his attention back to Dan. His smile fades. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I overreacted. It’s just – Micah, he was in the car when…”

His voice trails off, but Dan’s fairly sure he can finish the sentence for himself. Phil must have lost his wife, the mother of his children, in a car accident.

Before Dan can think of what to say, Phil leans towards him across the table. “That’s why he’s a bit behind in development,” he adds in a low voice.

Dan glances at the toddler who’s clearly in his own world, scribbling away at the paper in front of him (and occasionally straying over the edges onto the wooden plate of his high chair). He tries to find something to say in reply, but quickly comes to the conclusion that there isn’t anything.

And Phil doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer. As Dan looks back at him, his eyes have gone out of focus, the iridescent blue glazed over with a hazy dolour that’s impossible for Dan to grasp. With a leap of his heart he reaches out one hand and places it on top of Phil’s that’s resting on the table.

Phil’s starts, blinking at him. He doesn’t smile, and yet there’s a glint that returns to his eyes as he becomes aware of Dan’s touch. When Dan dares to gently run his thumb over the back of his hand, he doesn’t flinch or pull back.

Silence settles into the room, not empty but filled with the sound of pencil scraping against paper and the strangely reassuring noise of an old house, alive with the creaking of wood and rattling of wind at its window panes.

The mug of coffee sits in front of Dan, gradually cooling down, forgotten in the moment.

-

It’s Micah who breaks the silence eventually.

“Daddy,” he says, and Phil startles, looking up and withdrawing his hand gently from Dan’s. “Yes, darling?”

But Dan observes with a hidden delight the faint flush of pink that’s settled on his cheekbones.

“Doggy,” is all Micah says in response, and Dan thinks he’s beginning to see what Phil meant earlier. Although children are more or less a novelty to him, surely a two-year-old would be able to form simple sentences?

He is torn out of his pondering by Phil’s voice. “Go on, take it.”

Dan looks up, finding that Micah is holding a sheet of paper out to him. There’s a bunch of brown crayon lines in one corner that vaguely form the shape of an animal, but that might be just interpretation because he knows what it’s supposed to be.

“For me?”

Micah nods, his blue eyes sparkling.

Dan smiles. “That’s… very kind of you, Micah. What a beautiful dog you’ve drawn there!” He takes the edge of the sheet between his fingertips; Micah lets go with a satisfied expression on his round face.

Phil reaches out to kiss the top of his son’s head. “Good boy, Micah.”

Dan looks down at the drawing, blinking, trying to conceal how touched he is. He really isn’t accustomed to children, doesn’t know how to behave around them, but his reaction to Micah’s drawing seems to have made the boy happy.

“Daddy, when are we leaving for London?” Olivia asks. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the change of atmosphere before, much to Dan’s relief. He has no idea how she feels about him getting to know her dad. Surely it can’t be easy after she’s lost her mother…

“Another two hours,” Phil says after a glance at his wristwatch. “Are you hungry yet? We can have lunch in a bit.”

Olivia nods, putting her pen away and folding up the newspaper. “I’m done with the crossword. Correct it for me, daddy, please?”

Phil smiles. “Of course, honey. Later, yeah? Though I’m sure there won’t be much to correct.” He takes the paper from her.

“You’re going to London today?” Dan asks.

“The therapist has her office in the city,” Phil replies, adding, “can we offer you a ride?” as if the thought has just occurred to him.

“Oh, thank you, but I came on my motorbike.”

“You’ve got a motorbike? That’s so cool! Daddy won’t let me get one,” Olivia pipes up.

Dan laughs. “Oh well, you see, motorbikes are very dangerous, so your father’s right about that. You’ve got to get a license so they’ll let you drive one. And for that license you’ve got to be of age.”

Olivia pushes out her lower lip. “That’s not fair. I’m so old already. Much older than Micah who’s just a baby.”

Phil, whose face has tightened up again, reaches out and strokes a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Patience, darling. Why don’t you draw a nice picture for the therapist before we leave? I’m sure she’d love that. And I’ll go have a chat with Dan – if you don’t mind?”

The last part is directed at Dan. He shakes his head, looking at Phil.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

-

He lets Phil lead him down a hallway framed with pictures. Some are drawings by Olivia, showing what is unmistakably the cottage, or a field of flowers – or a family, complete with a stick figure in a dress and long flowing hair.

The others are photographs.

Olivia in a nice dress with her schoolbag in hand and a wide grin on her first day of school. Micah lying in his crib, smiling up at the camera. The two of them playing in the snow together.

Phil reading to Micah who’s cuddled up to him. Phil braiding Olivia’s hair. Phil with his arms around the two of them.

Phil holding a newborn baby with flimsy hair and a reddened face, a younger Olivia leaning into the picture, curiously gazing at the small human. But they’re not the only ones on the picture – there’s a woman lying in the hospital bed behind Phil, her face out of focus, but the radiating smile still clearly visible.

There are more pictures of her. Ones of her baking biscuits with Olivia kneeling on the counter, stealing batter. Her rocking Micah in her arms, her mouth opened as if she’s singing a lullaby. The woman wearing a white dress and flowers in her hair, stood next to a beaming Phil in a suit. The two of them kissing.

Dan averts his gaze. He feels like an intruder.

“In here, please.” 

Taking a deep breath, Dan steps into the room.

It’s an office, complete with an old mahogany desk and shelves of books framing the walls instead of photographs as Dan notes with relief.

There are two armchairs near the window to which Phil guides him. They sit down, and Dan waits for Phil to speak, anxious suddenly about what he will have to say.

A moment of silence stretches at Phil looks around the room, letting his gaze wander as if he were the visitor.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Phil begins with a sigh, looking at his hands. “I’m not an easy person to date. I’m not your average single person – I’m a package deal.”

The newspaper advert comes back to Dan’s mind and he mutters, “three for the price of one.”

Phil chuckles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks up. “You could say that, I guess… though the price might be higher I fear… You should know - in fact, you deserve to know, the truth. I’m a single father. I work around the clock. I get up at six. I cook, I clean, I comfort, I play, I sew, I fix. And at night when the kids are in bed, that’s when I find time for my actual job. I never have any free time except for when I get someone to watch my children, and I can’t do that very often, considering how far out in the country we live and…”

He breaks off, lowering his face into his hands. “I don’t like leaving them. I can’t be at ease when I don’t know exactly that they’re safe. I know they probably seem fine to you, but Olivia has nightmares and Micah rarely sleeps through. Sometimes he has crying fits that last for more than an hour. Liv has days when she’ll only speak to a photograph of her mum. Some days it’s almost alright. But it’s never easy and we’re not a perfect family. When I lost… when we lost Sophie, when she was brutally torn out of our lives by a careless driver -” his shoulders quiver as if in a quiet sob, and Dan holds back from reaching out and touching him.

“It was very hard for all of us. It’s been two years, and sometimes it still feels like there’s a hole we’ll never be able to fill completely. Once a month, I take the kids to a therapist in London. They stay there for an hour – meanwhile, I’ve got my own therapy session.”

He lifts his head slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands as if they’re particularly interesting.

“I’m a man in therapy. I’m four years older than you, and I’ve got two children who demand a lot of care and attention. I barely make enough money to scratch along. I guess what I’m saying is… Dan, I really like you.”

That’s when Phil looks up to meet Dan’s eye. Dan sits transfixed, blinking in surprise. He didn’t expected that, not after the speech Phil’s just given.

The other man looks earnest, but his eyes are misty and his face contorted in regret.

“You must have noticed that I do. Talking to you over these past months has made me happier than I’ve been for a long time, and I’m so thankful for that. Meeting you last night was a dream. I’ll never forget it. I really do like you, Dan.”

Dan swallows hard at the repetition of the statement. His eyes have begun to sting. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” he asks, willing his voice not to shake, willing his gaze not to stray from Phil’s sorrowful, beautiful face.

Phil takes a shivering breath. “I want nothing more than to get to know you. But I can’t leave my children, and I can’t have you come here and let them get used to you. They’ve already lost their mother. If we find we’re not meant to be, when we break up – they’ll get hurt. I can’t do that to them. I won’t let my children go through the pain of separation again, Dan. That’s why I have to say, I’m sorry. I like you, Dan, but I’m sorry, I can’t do this. And I know it’s not fair, and I probably shouldn’t even have agreed to meeting you, but I just -”

“Okay, Phil, hang on - ” Dan interrupts him, and Phil stops mid-sentence, his lips still parted. “What if we don’t?” he asks.

Phil’s staring at him. It’s so quiet Dan can hear him breathe. The moment feels extremely intimate and Dan wants to kiss the fear and worry off Phil’s face, but he remains where he is.

“If we don’t?” Phil repeats blankly.

Dan leans forward. “What if we don’t break up? Who’s to say it wouldn’t work out? What if we do, we click and we stay together…”

Phil’s eyes shut slowly, drawing ragged breaths.

“I mean, I guess I’d understand if you didn’t want to take the risk…,” Dan continues, but Phil cuts him off.

“Say I was willing to do so,” he replies, “would you want to bear with us? I’m in no way eager to send you away, but you’d have to be absolutely sure, Dan.”

He wants to say yes, but the word gets stuck in his throat. It’s not easy. It’s not as easy as he wants it to be. So he sits staring at Phil, mouth opened but no sound coming out, and Phil gives a sad little smile, not reproachful, but understanding.

Dan lifts his hand to prevent him from jumping to a conclusion.

“I’m going to need… time… to think about this,” Dan says slowly, looking Phil in the eyes as he speaks. “Because – I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it – but I really like you, too.”

There it is again, that sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the one that makes Dan’s stomach churn and the back of his neck prickle.

This time, it’s Phil who reaches out to take Dan’s hand. “I can give you time,” he says, and then, after a moment of contemplation, he adds, “You know what? How about this. Olivia is currently obsessed with dressing up” - a small smile curls the corner of his mouth upwards - “so we’re having a little gathering on Halloween. PJ will be there, the kids’ godfather and incidentally also author of the book I’m currently editing, and Louise with her husband and daughter. If you want to come, you’d be welcome to do so. If you don’t…” The look he gives Dan is gentle, and so is his voice when he finishes the sentence. “… then we’ll know.”

It’s two weeks until Halloween. Dan’s fellow students have already begun talking about the parties they’re going to attend.

He presses Phil’s hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He manages a small smile.

Phil smiles back, carefully, his eyes still not entirely free of pain.

“I believe,” he says then, very quietly, “there was something you wanted to do before my phone so rudely interrupted us last night.”

Dan’s eyes widen as realization hits him.

Phil’s face is close due to the fact that they’ve both leaned forward during their conversation, and his eyes are half-shut. There’s a tender smile still playing on his lips, and Dan’s eyes flicker down to them as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then, carefully, he closes the distance.

Phil’s hands move up to his cheeks. His lips feel warm and chapped against Dan’s, and he’s shivering ever so slightly, Dan feels it when his hands come to rest on Phil’s shoulders. He tastes like apples and cinnamon, as if he’s made of autumn spices.

The butterflies in Dan’s stomach are back, swirling like leaves in a thunderstorm. He tips his head to the side, deepening the kiss, drinking up Phil’s fear and sorrow, his sadness and his fondness, all of him.

The kiss doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, but it lingers in the air, tickles in their lips and their hearts after they part.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, not saying anything because there’s nothing to say, yet there’s a sort of intuitive understanding between them that fills Dan with hope. Maybe they will be able to work this out. But he needs time to think. He’s only twenty-four, still a student – a family hasn’t really been on his agenda until now, much less one that’s already sort of complete in itself.

“I should probably go check on Micah and Liv, see if they’re hungry,” Phil says, still so close his breath brushes Dan’s face. Melancholy has already worked its way back into the creases of his forehead and Dan wants to wipe it away, but he knows that he can’t, not yet.

So he says, “And I should probably head back, look into some work for uni.”

“Well,” Phil pulls back and the moment is gone. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet -”

“Sure -”

“I’ll walk you out,” he stands, holding his hand out to Dan who grasps it.

“- and the kiss,” Dan adds, “I owed you that, too.”

His playful words manage to conjure up another one of Phil’s smiles, and he doesn’t let go of Dan’s hand until they’re at the front door. Outside, the wind has picked up, sending swirls of crimson leaves across the yard.

Dan and Phil stand facing each other, drawing out the moment of their parting. Finally, Phil averts his gaze and opens the door, and Dan zips up his leather jacket.

“I’m glad you came, Dan,” Phil says honestly.

“Yeah,” Dan replies, shivering slightly, though not from the rush of cold air.

“Me too.”

-

The last day of October is clear and bright, the sky a pearlescent grey. A strong breeze chases leaves across the country lane, making the trees sway and rustle. It’s cold, but this time Dan’s wearing a woolen jumper underneath his leather jacket, and anyway, he’s positively buzzing with a vibrant energy that warms him from the inside – and tickles him to push his foot down further on the accelerator, but he’s a responsible driver. He smiles to himself, feeling the wind and excitement drive him towards his destination.

When the cottage comes into sight behind the tree line, Dan’s smile grows wider. Two unfamiliar cars are parked outside the property on the side of the road, but he lets his motorcycle wheel past the post box and to a stop next to Phil’s car.

Taking off his helmet, Dan inhales the frigid, exhilarant autumn air. His pulse is throbbing both with adrenaline and anticipation. As he approaches the house, he picks up on snatches of cheerful conversation and hushed music that seep through cracked windows.

Two large pumpkins stand guard on the patio this time, their expressions hardly threatening. Dan feels like he must look somewhat like them – glowing with excitement, grin unalterably carved into his face.

Standing in front of the door, he takes a deep breath. He’s nervous, but not because he’s uncertain. He’s made up his mind, he’s decided to come here tonight for a reason. It’s just that it might be the biggest decision he’s ever made, and that does scare him quite a lot.

Okay, Dan. This is your last chance for turning back, he thinks, but instead he reaches out and rings the bell.

The sound seems to resonate in his chest.

A face appears briefly in the door window and with a squeal of excitement the door is wrenched open.

“Hi Dan!” says a cat the size of a young girl. She’s wearing an Alice band with cat ears on it and someone has painted crooked whiskers across her cheeks.

“Hi Olivia. Nice costume.”

Olivia grins. “Thanks! You too.”

He’s opted for a jumper with ghosts and pumpkins on it rather than a full-on disguise.

Stepping aside to let him pass, she adds, “Daddy’s in the kitchen.”

There’s a familiar twinkle in her eye that makes Dan wonder how much she knows, but he just smiles back and follows her inside.

As he closes the door behind himself, Olivia skips back down the hall to where the music is playing, but Dan remains where he is.

There’s a clanking of pots coming from his right. He swallows nervously, taking a final deep breath of courage before he steps into the kitchen.

Phil’s standing at the counter with his back turned to Dan, wearing a vampire’s cloak. His pale skin certainly fits the image, Dan thinks, feeling a grin tug on his lips.

For a moment he wonders how to announce his arrival, but then Phil turns around and flinches violently.

“Jesus, Dan!” he exclaims, blue eyes wide with shock, stumbling back against the counter. “You scared me!”

“Kind of the whole point of Halloween, isn’t it?” Dan asks, taking a few steps into the room. “Though I must say, your appearance is a lot scarier than mine.”

Phil’s face relaxes and he smiles, which entirely refutes Dan’s statement.

They stand facing each other for a moment, the realisation of what Dan’s presence means prickling like electricity in the air between them.

Then Dan clears his throat. “So, uh… Trick or treat?”

Phil laughs. “I’m afraid the treats are reserved for the children,” he says, biting his lower lip. His eyebrows are raised as if in a challenge.

“That’s too bad,” Dan’s about to say when Phil adds, “But I might have kept a special treat for you.”

They’ve gravitated towards each other almost subconsciously so that when Dan speaks again, he can see the sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the smudged red paint below his lip and even a few faded freckles that are dusted across his nose and cheeks.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Phil’s gaze drops and Dan feels his heartbeat speed up again. Instead of replying, he slowly leans in. Licking his lips, Dan lets his eyelids flutter shut in expectation.

They snap open again a mere second later, accompanied by a gasp when he feels Phil’s hot breath fan his neck.

“Ph-phil, what are you -”

“Never trust a vampire, Dan,” Phil mutters, lips ghosting over a patch of skin, not quite touching it.

Instinctively, Dan’s hands have shot up to hold onto Phil’s shoulders. He moves them now, his breath hitching, heart thudding, to Phil’s face and tilts it gently upwards.

“You sneaky little shit,” he murmurs affectionately.

Phil’s grinning widely, his eyes scrunched up and lucid like the pumpkins outside.

“Now I have no choice but to trick you,” Dan continues quietly, “seeing as you wouldn’t give me,” he leans in closer, “my…” his mouth brushes Phil’s cheek, making his breath stutter. “…treat,” Dan completes the sentence against Phil’s lips.

They kiss slowly, unrushed, lips parting and reconnecting again in sync with their breaths. As if to prove his previous statement, Phil eventually takes Dan’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it gently, causing Dan to let out a small moan. They’re stood pressed together from head to toe now. He can feel Phil’s heart beat against his own and the gentle touch of his hands on the back of his neck.

When Phil begins to pull away, Dan whimpers in protest, holding on to him tighter, and Phil smiles against his lips, his fluttering eyelashes tickling Dan’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, Dan,” he mumbles, winding his fingers into Dan’s hair.

“I’m glad you came.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking down my phan content for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[breathlester]

hi! i haven't used this blog in a while but im going to repost some of my phanfic here to take it down from ao3 (softiejace). i don't write for the phandom anymore but i figured maybe some people would still like to read them <3

[breathlester]

Dan: 

my man’s booty thiccer than kim k, philly imma orbit round ur anus-

Me, with a hand up in self-defense: 

please for the love of God let me live in peace daniel,, i kNoW

[breathlester]

me whenever dnp do anything

[breathlester]

[breathlester]

at the beach 🕊

[breathlester]

i relate to dan howell because i, too, would die for phil lester

[breathlester]

Okay I know this is weird but like phil has a gf I’ve met her she’s really cool!!

omg i met dan too!!

[breathlester]

rip phil’s husband </3