#I sent my husband a bunch of very agitated voice notes about it all

[earl-grey-love]

Raging at that damn sexy man app game because I literally had to sell my soul for Sim..eon's outfit like this is why I should only stan one guy I cannot deal with this 😭

[icequeenjules26]

Digging in the sand, looking for Gold

Summary: When Dan's Beach-Volleyball partner retires, he's not sure how to continue his career. By coincidence he meets the aspiring Youngster Sascha, his best friend Marcelo and physiotherapist Phil, who shakes believes and rules Dan has lived by for all of his life. Suddenly, Dan's life becomes a lot more complicated...

Word Count: 11,8k

Tags: Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff, a bit of angst

A/n: This is my first fic for this year's @phandomreversebang! Art is by @penisdinosaur, beta'd by @rubberbandx, big thank you to both of them!

Read on AO3

For as long as Dan could remember, sand was everywhere. 

  Even when he wasn’t currently on court, when he was training in the weights room or running his laps on track, jogging in the morning, even on vacations - there was always sand. He could feel it in his clothes when he moved, no matter if he had actually worn them on court yet or not. He could see - hear it trickling out of his hair when he shook his head, even right after a shower. There was sand at the bottom of every bag he owned, used for training or not - it didn’t matter. 

  Sand was his everlasting companion, like family members - they were always there, and sometimes they showed up out of nowhere even when you definitely did not want them to.

  But even though sandy clothes or bags usually meant displeasure to normal people, like an itch they couldn’t scratch, to Dan it was comforting - it was home. It was that little piece of his life that he brought everywhere, that he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to; it was his sign of belonging. Whenever he felt foreign, strange, he’d see a few grains of sand, like the Universe showing him You’re not alone. You belong.

  Other people would look at him funnily whenever he mentioned it and his own rationality told him how absolutely insane it sounded, but it didn’t matter. It was the way he felt.

  As long as the sand would follow him, he would be okay. 

  That’s why his partner’s retirement hit him even harder. Sure, he could search for a new partner, could try to find someone else he had this on court connection with, someone who knew what he’d do before he knew himself - but not only the improbability of that was a big dampener. They were a Team , him and Markus, had always been; all the way from the sightings matches in their youth to where they were now: training for Olympia. Even though  it was still a long way, and if he wanted to, Dan knew he could do it… It was more the way there that made Dan question if it was even worth the effort. 

  It was his life’s dream. It was everything he’d ever worked for, the only thing he’d ever wanted to achieve. He’d never cared much about education, graduations or even degrees. He had dedicated his life to this sport, had given it his all for several years - just to get thrown off course basically only moments before achievement.

  He didn’t blame Markus for any of it, obviously. He had torn the front ligament in his right knee, which would take several months to recover from, and had several other projects in the making, a musical career to fall back to and an amazing husband that supported him every step along the way. 

  He wasn’t like Dan. 

  Dan had nothing but his goal - he was nothing but his goal. 

  He drank, breathed, lived this sport, and he wouldn’t have quit had he been the one getting injured - but he wasn’t, and finding a perfect partner was harder than recovering from an injury. Chances were he’d never find anyone else who understood him on court like Markus did.

  So, naturally, the situation hit Dan like a brick wall and metaphorically had him lying in a ditch somewhere for several weeks. He put off looking through the documents of the aspirants his trainer had sent him, just flipped through them halfheartedly, barely noticing what he saw before he gave up and frustratedly threw them in the vague direction of his desk.

  He slumped around at home, missed training sessions and basically stopped strength training altogether. He even shortened his morning and evening runs. Only in the night, when the sun sunk below the horizon and normal people went to sleep, all the energy he hadn’t used over the day caught up with him; he became agitated and restless until he finally gave in and went for a jog. 

  It was during one of those midnight runs that he met Sascha. 

  Dan was running through the park a few blocks from his apartment, letting the night air cool his skin and ruffle his wild locks. As usual, he didn’t pay much attention to where he was going - nor did he even look. His eyes were up in the clouds, watching them as they drifted by, getting illuminated by the almost full moon standing proudly up in the sky. He knew this park like the back of his hand, could probably run his way through with closed eyes and covered ears, so he had started on his usual route and let his feet do the rest. 

  Panic ’s This is Gospel just started playing when there was a strange cracking noise that had Dan fearing for his headphones - he’d literally justbought new ones, they couldn’t seriously be broken again already?! - then something colliding with him mid-step and suddenly, he found himself sitting on his ass.

  For a second he was completely disoriented, unable to even distinguish between up and down, just sat there, blinking like an idiot.  Then his brain caught up with his body, his sight cleared and he could make out a figure standing over him. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Fuck, I didn’t look where I was going -” A male voice started rambling and a hand reached out to help Dan up. 

  Dan took the offered hand and got pulled to his feet. The first thing he noticed was the height difference - which was basically nonexistent. The guy was tall , almost as tall as Dan, which said something, and fairly athletically built. “Hi, nice to meet you - I’m Sascha.” 

  That’s how it all started - somehow it spiraled from there. 

Sascha insisted to buy Dan a drink for the inconvenience, even though it was as much Dan’s fault as it was his, at least in Dan’s book. They started talking, and it didn’t take Dan too long realize he was a Beach Volleyball player like himself. When he asked about a partner Sascha just shrugged and told him he hadn’t found the perfect one yet - and a plan started building in Dan’s head. 

  Half an hour later they had a training session scheduled for the next day, numbers exchanged and on his way home, Dan’s steps felt a lot lighter. 

  The training went even better than anticipated. From the first minutes on court Dan understood Sascha and vice versa, and Dan had rarely felt this connected to a person that wasn’t Markus on an athletic level. Sascha was a few years younger than Dan and not officially seeking a partner, so he hadn’t been among the documents Dan had gotten from his trainer, but he was adamant to try out this partnership, wherever it would lead them. 

  Dan’s trainer met with Sascha’s and it was settled - they’d be going through a month long trial and training period, but Dan already knew this partnership was what he’d been searching for. 

  It didn’t take too long to discover his new partner didn’t only come with fresh energy and new plans, no - he also came with a bunch of associates. There was Mischa, his older brother and one of Dan’s biggest rivals since forever, almost immediately offering to bury all bad feelings and try to be friends, which Dan agreed on without a second thought. There was Marcelo, Sascha’s best friend and training partner - also the one Sascha gazed at whenever he thought no one was looking, and Dan made a mental note to ask him about it as soon as a foundation of trust had been built. 

  And last but not least, there was Phil - tall and handsome Phil, with a black quiff and striking blue eyes and a smile that basically lit up the room. He was Sascha’s physiotherapist and tested Dan’s restrain to the max. 

  Dan’s first rule had always been no dating - no distractions on his way to gold. For years it had held up; no relationships, only sex, no strings attached, but within days Dan could tell upholding that rule would only get harder with Phil around. 

  Overall the group was so tightly knitted that Dan wondered if they’d even find room for him. He had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, but something about them made Dan want to belong . 

  And no, it was not the fact that Phil was too hot for his own good and Dan regularly forgot his own name when he looked at him. Not at all. 

  Well, at least not solely that… 

  ___

  For some time things were calm.

  Training with Sascha was going well, great even. The connection on court Dan had felt from the very first minute wasn’t wavering, and he was more than happy about having found a new partner that seemed to fit even better than the last one. He even felt like he finally got somewhere with the group - they started inviting him to outings, Marcelo included him in jokes and Phil had seemingly made it his goal to make Dan lost for words any chance he got.  Only Sascha seemed still a bit wary of him - at least in the group. He was incredibly protective of them, even though he was the youngest, and had trouble trusting Dan for a reason that was beyond his imagination. When Dan had asked Phil about it, he’d smirked and told him it was just a matter of time, but he was getting more and more agitated.

  About two weeks after Dan and Sascha started playing together, the group talked about going to a nearby pub to celebrate something, but Dan hadn’t paid much attention since he hadn’t expected to be invited. 

  As he made his way to the locker room, Phil surprised him by suddenly appearing in front of him, looking more than excited. “Dan! We’re going out for a couple of beers. Wanna come?”

  For a few seconds Dan just stood there, stunned, blinking at Phil like he’d spoken latin instead of english. He risked a look at Sascha and Marcelo to confirm - while Sascha looked a bit miffed he still smiled kindly and Marcelo nodded invitingly. “I - I mean - Sure,” he stuttered out and Phil’s pale blue eyes shined so brightly that for a second, Dan was blinded.

  About half an hour later they arrived at the pub and placed orders for the first round of beer. Dan, still not sure what the occasion was, opened up the conversation. “So - what are we celebrating?” he asked and the table had mixed reactions. While Marcelo’s previous wide smile seemed to dim a bit - Dan was convinced that man would probably smile in the face of death, he’d never seen him not smiling - there was a wide grin on Phil’s face and Sascha… 

  Dan couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he really blushing ? What was happening ?

  It was Phil who took it upon himself to catch Dan up to speed. “So, a few years ago -” 

  “I was really young!” Sascha interjected, and there was definitely a red tint there. Dan smirked. That seemed promising. 

  “He had this crazy girlfriend. Like - she was completely nuts. She was... ” Phil traded off.

  “Insane!” Marcelo provided, seemingly trying to be helpful, and Phil chuckled. “Not what I was searching for, but thanks, Marcelo.” 

  Both grinned at each other with a side glance at Sascha, who stared at the beer in his hand, cheeks still red. 

  “Anyways, Marcelo is right. She was jealous as fuck, controlled him any step he took, posted private pictures of him online, that sort of thing,” Phil said, moving his index finger in circles around his temple, emphasising his words. He waited for Dan to nod in understanding before he continued. “But he just let her. Like an idiot.” He snickered, Marcelo nodded and Sascha acted scandalized, calling out an offended hey! that the other two ignored.

  “He -” Phil started up again, but Sascha interrupted him again. “I thought I loved her!” he tried to defend himself, seeking help with Dan.  He just chuckled. “What happened?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. 

  “I’d bug him about it for weeks , but nothing happened. He found excuses for her over and over again and I was so tired of it -”

  “And then I knocked some sense into him!” Marcelo heckled, obviously proud of himself, and Phil shot him an unimpressed look. “Can’t a guy finish a story in peace around here?!” he asked and the rest chuckled. 

  “But yeah, Marcelo’s about right. They weren’t that close at the time, it was when Marcelo was still active, but Sascha talked to Marcelo during his strength training and when he came to his appointment a few hours afterwards he told me he wanted to break up with her. And that’s the story of how Sascha finally broke up with his crazy ex.” Phil’s smile was wide and his eyes bright, and Dan struggled not to loose focus. He’s fucking adorable… He silenced his own brain. Shush! Not gonna happen!

  “Since then we come together at that joyous day to celebrate,” Marcelo explained and Dan just couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite the story,” he pointed out and the rest chuckled. 

  “You won’t get bored around us, I promise,” Phil said and caught his eyes. “I believe you,” he answered, not looking away, lost in the other’s blue irises, like he was trapped in a kaleidoscope of blue and gold and green.

Goddamnit .

  When he finally managed to break the spell and avert Phil’s eyes before they’d suck him in yet again, Sascha gave him a somewhat satisfied, somewhat encouraging look, and this time, it was Dan’s turn to blush. This group would be the death of him, he was almost certain already. 

  After that incident, Sascha’s wariness decreased, which made it even harder for Dan to avoid Phil and the temptation he caused, but at least it gave him a lot more confidence. Sascha was his one way ticket to gold, and he intended to use it. If he’d become friends with the guy on the way there - even better. 

  Since his weeks of doing basically nothing Dan had kept to his midnight routine of going for a run in the park next to his house. 

  The problem, Dan mused as he jogged along the familiar path, was probably that they were similar in a lot of ways, in their drive for success and in the fact that originally, they were lone wolves. Dan couldn’t know what had happened, how Sascha had come to such a tightly knitted group of friends around him, but it shone through in every movement he made that he once hadn’t had a lot of friends - if any at all. Sure, he had a brother, but Dan could tell from his own experience that bloodlines didn’t form friendships of their own. Now Sascha and Mischa seemed close, but who knew what had lead them there?

  Dan wanted to know more about them, he realized. He was the most interested in Phil, he’d admitted that much to himself already, but he’d closed that door for himself, shut it forcefully and locked it as often as he could - and surprisingly, the others didn’t leave him cold either. Originally, Sascha had been supposed to be his way to reach his goal, but now he - all of them - had become more. He had a feeling they could be great friends - if he’d just let them. 

  Completely lost in thoughts, Dan continued down his usual route, contemplating what to do about the whole Sascha situation. There was something wrong with the guy, something laying heavy on his heart, but he had no clue what exactly. He knew there had to be something he could do - the question was what . He wasn’t really skilled in handling other people, had spent his life refraining from relationships that would only serve as distractions for his main goal. 

  Now, though, it seemed different - a lot was different. Sure, he had no plans on getting a relationship - No, not even with Phil! - but what about friendships? To play his best he had to be open with his teammate, to let him in and truly become a team, he knew that now. But how was he supposed to do that when his teammate obviously hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet? 

  A voice ripped him out of his thoughts mid-step. He came to a slithering halt, looking up and finding himself just a few centimeters away from someone else - someone he identified as Sascha within seconds.

  “Sascha!” he got out between gasps, “What are you doing here?”

  There was a smirk on Sascha’s face as Dan struggled to catch his breath, and he had to stifle a grumble. Stupid youngsters and their stupid fitness.

  “You okay?” Sascha asked, smirk still in place. Dan shot him an intimidating look, but Sascha only grinned. The wild, dirty blonde locks on his head were hardly contained by the headband he had on and stuck out left and right. His striking green eyes shone even more in the pale moonlight and their bright colour reminded him of someone else - for a second, the eyes were blue as the sky on a sunny day, with a black quiff framing a beautiful face, coming closer towards Dan, closer and closer until his lips finally… 

  No! Forget it! 

  Then Sascha snickered again and Dan’s vision of Phil shattered like a mirror. He shook his head quickly, trying to order his thoughts and get back to reality, while Sascha still observed him with a smirk. Dan shot him another look but again, Sascha seemed entirely unimpressed. 

  He sighed. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, finally focussing on the situation at hand. “So what are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing in a park in the middle of the night in my running clothes?” He raised an eyebrow, then: “I’m about to rob a bank, obviously.” 

  For a second, Dan just stared blankly, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. It wasn’t even that funny, he wouldn’t - then his eyes met Sascha’s and he lost all restrain. He broke out laughing, so loudly it scared up some birds in the area that flew away with irritated squawks.

  That was the start of joint jogging sessions at night and an unforeseeable friendship. They grew closer every day, and Dan was glad Sascha seemed to open up to him more. He trusted him with his group of friends, invited him to hang out with them, and sometimes, when they were alone, Dan could see that he was moments away from talking to him - truly talking. It was obvious Sascha had a lot on his mind, in his heart; and it was also obvious that for some reason, he didn’t think he could talk to the others about it. But there was still something holding him back, something that kept him from talking to Dan about it, and Dan didn’t know what to do to get him to talk. So he waited. 

  Their trial period ended without acknowledgement. No one even talked about breaking off their partnership - as a matter of fact, Dan forgot about the deadline completely until a month later. He and Sascha were training together for two months at this point, and while on one hand, the training went by so fast he couldn’t believe it had already been two months, on the other hand it felt like they’d been partners forever. 

  Sure, Dan loved his sport, loved the sand, playing and giving it his all, but training had still tended to stretch out and drag - at least before Sascha. Now, sessions were filled with laughter and jokes, small pranks and friendly competitions; with Marcelo and Phil sitting on the sidelines cheering them on and clapping. Sometimes, Mischa was there, obviously impressed with the progress they made, and even Dan’s trainer basically forgot to nag half the time, silently watching instead, in awe about their teamwork.

  Phil’s part in Dan’s life became bigger the more he was around all of them, and he shook Dan’s beliefs to the core. He distracted himself with the mystery around Sascha, with training and group outings, where he tried to keep more to the others, but it got harder by the second to resist. He was pretty sure Phil was interested - he kept flirting, leaning into Dan’s personal space or placing a hand on his thigh voluntarily - so Dan was glad he wasn’t required to spent a lot of time alone with Phil. His restrains slowly started to run thin, and he did not want to push his luck any further.

  The partnership between Dan and Sascha continued growing. They started with strategy meetings in preparation for their first tournament together. They played a friendly match against Mischa and his partner which they won by far, and work progressed even faster than anticipated. Sascha still kept silent about his problems, but as he became more familiar with him and their group Dan at least gained enough insight to observe and draw reasonable conclusions. 

  One night they were out bowling, Dan, Phil, Sascha and Marcelo; and while he spent the most time conversing with Phil - damn the guy for being interested in the same things as Dan, how dare he? - Dan really paid attention to the way the group worked. While trying not to focus on Phil leaning into him with his hand on Dan’s knee, he noticed how often Sascha and Marcelo would look at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. How they always seemed to touch in one way or the other. How they sat so close there was no room between them even though it wasn’t necessary, and how many inside jokes they had.

  Marcelo and Phil on the other hand were a lot closer than Dan had first anticipated. They shared looks sometimes, like they were conversing wordlessly, and when Marcelo hesitated in his movements or speech - usually because Sascha came close to him, or touched him, or laughed particularly brightly - Phil would immediately step in and try to distract from it. 

  All that only served to raise more questions for Dan. It seemed clear to him that Sascha and Marcelo had feelings for each other, but didn’t act on it; and Dan simply couldn’t get behind the reasons. And that, Dan realized, might’ve even been the reason Sascha had been wary of him. He made a mental note to ask Phil about it - which brought him to a whole other problem. 

  Phil, hot, precious Phil was testing Dan to the max. Most of the times it seemed obvious he was flirting with Dan, dropping hints that he was single and searching while complimenting him, leaning forward and suspiciously into Dan’s space. He grinned at Dan with that honest, open smile of his, probably aware of the fact that it made Dan’s knees go weak. He even asked Dan if he needed treatment, being a physiotherapist and all, and after some hesitance, Dan agreed to make a plan quite similar to the one Sascha had, with regular appointments. 

  In summary: Dan’s life did not become any easier.

_____

  It was during one of those appointments that Dan finally decided to ask Phil for help to unravel the mystery around Sascha. 

  It had been a particularly weird training. Sascha had had obvious trouble concentrating; he was occupied with looking up at the stands where Marcelo was sitting instead of tactic training. He continued to sigh, but whenever Dan would bring it up, he’d say it was nothing. 

  Dan was fed up with it. 

  So, while he was lying on the treatment couch, Phil’s hands kneading his muscles and therefore in desperate need of a distraction anyways, he just blurted it out. “What’s up with Sascha and Marcelo?”

  The hands on his back stilled for a moment and Phil took a deep breath. He continued the treatment when he’d let it out slowly, but didn’t say anything, and Dan became worried. Had he said something wrong?

  When he’d finally worked up the nerve to apologize - for what, he had no clue, but there had to be something - Phil spoke up again. “As much as I want to,” he said with utter sincerity, “It’s not my secret to tell.” The utter defeat in his voice made Dan’s heart hurt for him. He just wanted his friends to be happy, Dan realized, but was about as powerless as Dan was. 

  “Okay,” he croaked and they didn’t talk about it again. 

  Dan would have to go straight to the source.

  ___

  For around two months not much changed. Dan gradually affiliated into the group, he continued to withstand the temptation that Phil posed, just Sascha’s unceasing silence still had Dan worried. 

  At least until the international beach volleyball association - IBVA in short - uploaded one of their “behind the scenes” videos to their Youtube channel.

  Usually, Dan didn’t pay much attention to the videos they uploaded. In all honesty, he followed their channel more out of guilt than anything else. Just this time, he’d anticipated that video: in their catching up with... series they interviewed former athletes that had retired from the sport for one reason or the other. Athletes… Like Marcelo. 

  Marcelo had been practicing the sport for over ten years until he had won gold at the olympics for the second time, when he had decided to retire; him and Sascha had already been friends at that point. Now he recently turned thirty and worked with different TV Stations broadcasting beach volleyball tournaments, allowing him to travel around with Sascha and the others. The IBVA had interviewed him a week ago, and he’d told the others to tune in when it came out. 

  The first few minutes was nothing too important, just about Marcelo’s life shortly after his career, how he was handling retirement and if he missed the sports. Then they reached the present, and with it, Sascha - a promising youngster of only 22 years who’s recent switch of partners had caused a lot of frenzy in the community. 

  Marcelo breached upon the topic with nonexistent ease, with all the awkwardness he held, but the interviewer ate it up. She dug deeper about Sascha, how he was doing, how close the two were. 

  That’s when he spoke the sentence that had Dan hurting for Sascha. “Yeah, Sascha is my best friend. Like the little brother I never had, you know? I wouldn’t want to do without him for the world.”

  He paused the video out of pure panic - even though Sascha wasn’t even in the room - and for a moment, the world seemed to stop, halting in its rotation to give Dan a moment to grieve for the happiness of a friend that had become so dear to him. He couldn’t believe Marcelo just said that - had he no idea how Sascha felt? Did he not care? And what about his own feelings? Dan would’ve bet all his money on Marcelo having feelings for Sascha as well.

  Yet again more questions appeared and this time, Dan was more than dumbfounded. He’d never expected this to come out of this interview. 

  It took Dan minutes to calm down enough to continue watching the video, but no more important things happened. They moved on from the topic Sascha fairly quickly after; Marcelo said a few words about Dan and how well they worked together, with some kind of dull shimmer in his eyes that Dan just couldn’t decipher, then it was mostly about the sport itself and other contestants in the upcoming tournament. 

  When the video was over Dan sat in silence, staring at the still illuminated screen of his laptop for multiple moments, then he took a deep breath and got up. He had some strength training to do before he met up with Sascha for their nightly jogging session. 

  ___

  When Dan arrived at their usual meetup-point Sascha was not there yet. By itself, that wasn’t a big deal since he tended to be always late for literally everything, but after the video it had Dan a bit worried. Sascha was like Dan in a lot of things - like the fact that he tended to work twice as hard whenever something bad happened. He concentrated on work to not think about his problems. Dan could truly relate. 

  For almost ten minutes Dan waited relatively calm. Then he became increasingly worried. Sascha still wasn’t there, and he had neither answered Dan’s messages nor picked up the phone when he’d called. 

  After half an hour Dan was beside himself. He’d finally called Phil, and while he didn’t know where Sascha was either he at least gave him the useful advice to check his apartment Phil wondered what the fuss was about, though, so Dan just told him to check the video the IBVA had put up. 

  It took Dan less than five minutes to get to Sascha’s apartment block. When he first rang the doorbell, cautiously and unsure, there was no answer, but he wasn’t about to give up that easily. So he just kept ringing. 

  After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Dan the door finally opened. He climbed the stairs up to Sascha’s floor where he found him, leaning powerlessly against the doorframe, and Dan was shocked. He’d never seen Sascha looking like this - so completely drained of energy, without a flicker of mischief in his green eyes. Instead of standing tall his shoulders were hunched over, his cheeks glistened wet and even behind the glasses Dan could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He wore a shirt of the IBVA that seemed a bit older, but wasn’t too suspicious, until he turned around to make his way into his apartment, revealing a big brazilian flag on the back, and Dan understood that it was probably an old shirt of Marcelo, who was of brazilian origin. 

  “Oh, Sascha,” Dan murmured as he followed him inside, closing the door behind him. Sascha didn’t even say a word as he let himself fall onto his couch, gesticulating vaguely for Dan to take a seat as well. 

  Afterwards, Sascha was completely quiet, staring off into space motionlessly, and Dan was busy taking in his surroundings. There were several tissues thrown about on the living room table. Sascha’s laptop peeked out under some of them, still blinking, indicating that it had just been closed and pushed away mindlessly. The TV was running, showing a beach volleyball match that Dan had been sure was chosen randomly, until he realized that it was an old one of Marcelo and his partner. 

  Dan sighed, unsure of what to do, but then he got up and decided some tea wouldn’t hurt. He’d been in Sascha’s kitchen a few times, so it didn’t take him too long to make some. 

  When he got back into the living room Sascha hadn’t moved an inch and when Dan gently handed him the mug it took him a few moments to even become aware of his presence. Dan sat down again as well, observing worriedly as Sascha cradled the hot mug in his hands. He was sure there were new tears running down the youngster’s cheek and for a second, he wished he’d taken Phil’s offer to come over as well. 

  He had no idea how to handle this, what to do or what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed useless, meaningless. He felt completely powerless. Phil, caring, empathetic Phil would’ve known how to handle the situation, he was sure of it; but he took a deep breath and threw all of his anxiety over saying the wrong thing right out of the window. Anything was better than utter silence. 

  “Sascha…” he started, turning towards his friend now, one leg perched up on the couch. His voice was deep and rhusty, worry so evident in it he had to suppress a wince. He didn’t say more than that, but the intent was clear.

  Sascha didn’t answer at first, but at least he moved to take a cautious sip from his tea, which Dan counted as a win. Then, when Dan had already given up hope, he started talking. 

  “How did you know?” he asked, not even looking at Dan, who sighed. “That you have feelings for him? Honestly, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.” 

  Sascha’s response was a humorless laugh. “That obvious, huh.” 

  “Yeah.”

  Another moment of silence passed and Dan took his mug of tea into his hands as well, looking at the TV to keep himself from looking at Sascha, who seemed like a wild animal - any sound or direct eye contact could have him running in the opposite direction. For a second he was tempted to text Phil - but deep down he knew he could do this, and that it had to be him. Sascha definitely had a reason to not talk to Phil about it, and Dan would honour that.

  “Please talk to me.”

  Dan really didn’t think it would work, but it finally seemed like he’d gotten through to the normally so confident youngster. 

  “I don’t even know why I still have hope. I just get knocked down over and over again. When will I accept the truth?”

  Dan physically flinched hearing the defeat in his voice. He’d been through a lot with Sascha already, had grown as a person and stronger as an athlete, and after the initial hesitance, he’d also grown closer to Sascha as well. Seeing something hurting him like that - it made him hurt too. And it made him think of Phil, and how lucky he was to at least know his feelings were reciprocated, even if he’d chosen not to act on them. He’d be okay. 

  The question was, would Sascha be?

  “I just can’t believe it’s one sided. The way he looks at you….” He trailed of, making a vague gesture with the hand not holding the mug. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to give Sascha even more hope after everything, but Dan just wasn’t ready to give up. He’d get behind this, and then he’d get them together, even if it’d be the last thing he’d do. 

  “I don’t know, Dan, I just - I just don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like - Like…” He stumbled over his words, and when Dan looked over he could see there were new tears shining in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath. 

  “When I first met him, I never thought - I never even imagined. We didn’t talk a lot, simply because we never ran in the same circles, you know? But then the shit happened with my girlfriend and… He saw me, during strength training, asked me what was wrong, and I just… I felt like I could trust him. So I told him everything. And he told me I was worth more than that. More than the person she wanted me to be. And he said it in a way that…” He visibly faltered for a moment, shooting Dan a quick look before taking a deep breath. 

  “He looked deep into my eyes. Like I was the most important thing in the world. Like he was able to see what she couldn’t.”

  Again there was a pause, and Dan didn’t even dare to move. Sascha seemed so fragile, like the most gentle breeze could scatter him into a million directions. 

  “Looking back, I think I started fancying him then,” he whispered, almost soundlessly. 

  The following silence was so looming, so comprehensive it made Dan shudder. It was pretty clear to him that Sascha had never said it out loud before, and it meant a big deal, so he waited patiently for him to continue. 

  “After I broke up with my girlfriend we truly started talking, and to hang out. He was so nice and easy going, so awkward and adorable, we were interested in the same things and we just - clicked. We grew so close, but every time I think This is it he just… backtracks. He’ll look into my eyes and hold my hand like we’re a couple, like he has feelings for me, and the next thing I know he calls me his brother. And still I-” He stopped short, choking down, and Dan intuitively scooted closer. 

  “You should say it,” Dan prodded softly. “It might help.”

  Still in tears, Sascha looked up to meet Dan’s eyes. 

  “And still I love him,” he choked out between sobs, then he broke down.

  _________

  Surprisingly, not a lot changed after that. Dan and Sascha were closer than before, sure; and during training or hangouts when Marcelo would look a certain way or sit closer to Sascha than strictly necessary they would exchange looks, have entire conversations with nothing but their eyes. After practice, whenever they didn’t do things as a group, Dan and Sascha would come together, watch a movie, play video games - be there for each other. 

  Dan himself was doing pretty good. He and Phil had been growing close as well, but Dan tried to mostly refrain from being alone with him, and so far, it seemed to be working. Sure, sometimes he mourned for the what if , but mostly he was just happy to have gained a friend as amazing as Phil was. 

  He knew, though, that Sascha needed him. The youngster hadn’t been particularly happy with the situation - or over all. Dan had to stand on the sidelines and watch as his best friend became more closed up and silent by the minute, at least around Marcelo, and he didn’t feel good about that. He didn’t understand what Marcelo was doing, but that didn’t mean Dan wanted Sascha to completely lose someone so dear and close to him. On the other hand, he also understood why the youngster was spending less and less time with Marcelo. 

  Overall he felt like he was looking at a doom loop and he had no idea how to break it.  The state of affairs dragged on for weeks. Dan and Sascha went through their first tournament together, which they ended on an amazing second place, and played against Sascha’s brother and his partner again, who they beat once more. 

  After the game, Mischa took Dan aside and asked for news, but Dan couldn’t give him anything. Marcelo on the other hand seemed to struggle to understand what was happening, continuously cornering Sascha and asking him what was wrong. The situation seemed to pain him considerably, too; but that made things just more confusing to him. How had the older man still not figured out what Sascha felt for him?

  It took more than two months to break Dan. He’d had the same talks with Sascha over and over again - “Talk to him!” “I can’t! He can’t know what I feel for him, it would destroy everything!” - “It can’t go on like this. It’s starting to affect your play!” “It has to. I’ll just have to get over it.’’ - etcetera, and he’d had enough.

  Dan also couldn’t imagine how things could get any worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Sascha that.

  Sasch had lost his touch and was struggling to get it back, and Dan had to watch helplessly as he lost more and more motivation to Marcelo, so one Tuesday during one of his routine treatments from Phil after a particularly bad training - Dan kind of just... spit it out. 

  He knew it was wrong, somehow. But it wasn’t like he was able to stop himself, either.

  “It’s so bad. My trainer averted his eyes, and I can’t even blame him. I can’t look at it anymore either,” he groaned when Phil asked him about how training was going. The physiotherapist halted in his movements, just for a moment, hardly noticeable, but Dan sensed it anyway. 

  “Why?” Phil asked before continuing working on his back. Dan was almost used to it by now, at least when it was unspectacular places like his back, so he didn’t even have to bite his lip anymore to keep down a moan.

  The question confused Dan, just a bit, but it was like Phil’s calm and trustworthy presence had finally broken his self-imposed spell of silence on the matter. Sascha hadn’t particularly told Dan to stay quiet, but it might have been implied somewhere. He honestly couldn’t remember, and at this point he didn’t care. He couldn’t just stand by and watch as his best friend got more and more broken by the second. He’d kept silent and not done anything for too long. But not any more. Not for a second longer.

  “Is that really a question? After the video? He’s in pieces. Every time I’m picking him up something happens and he’s breaking apart all over again.”

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do. I’m completely helpless.”

  Phil’s hands on his back stilled, then they vanished. “You’re done,” he croaked out, breathless, and took a step back as Dan sat up. He gulped visibly, then: “Get dressed. We’re going to my place, and then you’re telling me everything you know. I’m tired of this.”

  ______

  “So, what you’re saying is - Sascha has actually had feelings for Marcelo the whole time?” Phil looked at him with wide eyes, so innocent and unaware Dan wanted to scream. How could someone be that pretty and that clueless at the same time?

  Dan’s eyes felt like they were falling out of their sockets as he stared at Phil, completely dumbfounded. He wasn’t - he couldn’t actually - it wasn’t possible -

  He was. He could. And yes, it was possible.

  “Please don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “I had no idea!” 

  “Are you blind ?”

  For a moment, Dan felt bad about it, but he got over it pretty quickly. Honestly, Phil kind of deserved it. The physiotherapist still looked shocked by the news but was now also blushing profusely, avoiding Dan’s eyes. 

  Dan sighed. “You cannot be serious, Phil.”

  More blushing, then: “Marcelo said Sascha didn’t love him back. So I didn’t question it.” 

  Silence settled in until the words properly registered in his mind, then Dan’s head shot up, fixing Phil’s eyes in a gaze. “Back. So I’m right. Marcelodoes have feelings for him!”

  Phil nodded, picking up the coffee mug he’d placed on the table in front of him and taking a huge sip while pressing his foot firmer into Dan’s thigh. “He’s been in love with Sascha for ages.”

  Then he furrowed his brows, staring into the dark liquid like it held the answers to all his questions.

  Dan wished .

  “Wait, but if it was that obvious - he knows Sascha better than anyone else. He must have known about it. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he lie? What is he doing?”

  Dan sighed again. “That’s the one million dollar question, isn’t it. What’s Marcelo doing?”

  _______

  When Dan asked Sascha why he hadn’t talked to Phil about the situation yet, he told Dan he was scared the physiotherapist would tell Marcelo everything, so Dan cleared up the misunderstanding. Luckily, Sascha wasn’t mad at Dan for telling him, and the situation dragged on. The one good thing about it was that Dan was so enrolled in the mystery that Marcelo posed, he didn’t even have time to think about Phil - to question how close they had become. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that as soon as things were resolved he’d probably break down and throw himself at Phil like a lovesick fool, but he ignored it completely. 

  Maybe he was falling for Phil. Hard. So what? He’d just have to restrain himself. He’d been doing that for months now - what could possibly go wrong?

  Never in the history had that sentence not lead to things going horribly wrong, but he ignored that as well.

  As a team, Dan and Sascha continued to make progress, but as an individual, Sascha’s performance didn’t improve significantly. Sure he had trainings where things were going a bit better - for example when Marcelo was gone for a week, visiting his parents in Brazil and Dan kept him distracted as well as possible - but that wasn’t a lot. Overall, the brash, mischievous Sascha whom Dan had met months ago was missing in action. 

  It didn’t take long for Dan and Phil to start worrying. Group hangouts became less and less frequent and Sascha was asking for time alone, so they spent most of their time together, worrying about their friends and planning how to get them back on track. Sometimes, they’d put on a movie or play video games, and Dan’s restraint around Phil would falter, just for a moment, for a lingering touch or an endearing look, but he managed to keep it at that - as long as it wasn’t more it would be fine. As soon as his lips would touch Phil’s, though, it would be over, and all attempts of abstention would have been in vain.

  Their attempts to get Sascha and Marcelo to talk were mostly unsuccessful. They refused to talk to each other openly, and that did not help calming Dan and Phil’s nerves. The first qualifying matches for the Olympics were approaching with big steps, and they knew: with Sascha being like this, they’d be lucky to even stand a chance. 

  That was why, only a month from their first match, Dan finally lost his patience. After practice he lured Marcelo into Phil’s treatment room and kept him there while Phil brought Sascha for his daily checkup. He sat them down onto a couch in the corner of the room, refusing all protests, and took a seat on some chairs facing them. 

  He and Phil shared a look, squeezing each other’s hand - something they had started doing only recently and completely without Dan’s conscious approval - then he took a deep breath and turned his attention to the men on the couch. 

  “Guys, we’ve been patient. Really patient. We’ve sat by and watched as you drift further and further apart, but it has to stop.”

  “This is an intervention. You two need to talk and because you’re obviously not going to do that on your own, we’re forcing you to,” Phil explained further, and Dan nodded. The look of utter betrayal in Sascha’s eyes weighed heavy on Dan’s heart, but he knew that this was the only way. Sascha was too stubborn to try to improve the situation, and Marcelo had simply given up. Someone had to do something, and there was no one else that would. 

  “Anything one of you wants to share with the group?”, Dan asked, gesticulating with his hands like they were in group therapy, and Phil gave him a grin. The other two didn’t seem particularly impressed with this joke, though. 

  “I have nothing to say,” Sascha said, breathless, hardly making a sound, and Marcelo flinched like someone had punched him. “Who’s surprised,” he mumbled under his breath, and Sascha’s sharp, green eyes turned to him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was nothing but a hiss, low and dangerous, and Dan was glad it wasn’t directed at him. His partner was a few years younger than him, sure, but he was also tall and well trained and his look could be so sharp Dan swore it could pierce through skin. 

  “You haven’t talked to me in weeks!” Marcelo accused, and Dan and Phil shared a quick look. It was true, sure, but that didn’t mean Sascha’s silence wasn’t at least justified. They had tried to get him to talk as well, but they weren’t the ones causing the behaviour. 

  Sascha’s eyes narrowed and Dan swore the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees within a second. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he hissed, pure venom in his voice. 

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the goddamn reason!” Sascha blurted out forcefully, short of seething. “You’re the goddamn reason for everything! For me being distracted, for my sadness, for my performance dropping! You and that fucking video!”

  “Sascha -” 

  “No! Just no! Not again! I’m tired of it, okay? I’m tired of all of it! Do you know what it does to me, every time you say something like this?” There were tears in the corners of his eyes and Dan unconsciously reached for Phil’s hand. It hurt him, too, and he didn’t have the strength to go through it alone. 

  “Do you know how fucking much it hurts ?”

  For a second, it was silent, and Dan couldn’t help but look at Marcelo - who looked close to tears, obviously trying to avert Sascha’s eyes. “But -” 

  Sascha cut him off again, shaking his head silently. “No buts, Marcelo. Not again,” he said, his voice close to a whisper, and from one second to the next he looked so broken Dan couldn’t help but strengthen his grip on Phil’s hand. 

  Then he got up, attempting to leave the room. Dan was about to get up as well, to keep him there for just a second longer, just to give Marcelo a chance to explain, but the brazilian was behind Sascha and taking a hold of his wrist so fast Dan didn’t even have the time to move a muscle. 

  “That is not fair, Sascha. You were the one telling me off years ago and I can’t know you’d still react like that -”

  “I did what?”

  “Telling me off. During the first interview you did. Remember?”

  Sascha shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

  “When the reporter asked you about the rumors concerning that woman you played a match with for charity. You laughed and told him she was too old for you anyways.”

  Sascha blinked, obviously dumbfounded, but at least a lot calmer than before. “How could you have possibly applied that to yourself?”

  Marcelo’s look was so sad Dan’s heart would’ve broken in his chest would he not be holding onto Phil’s hand for dear life.

  “She’s exactly my age, Sascha. I got the message, bright and clear. I did my best to keep away from you and that aspect, I swear, but you’re just so irresistible and I was already so fucking much in love with you -”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dan mumbled to himself, and the physiotherapist next to him nodded affirmatively, but the other two guys weren’t even aware of them anymore. 

  Sascha choked out a sob, tears streaming down his face as he continued to stare into Marcelo’s eyes. “You idiot,” he whispered without any malice, “It was never about you. I just wanted him to stop asking about her. Especially because I had feelings for you …”

  That was the point where Dan had to avert his eyes, where the connection between Sascha and Marcelo became too much and he just felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He carefully tugged at Phil’s hand, gesturing him that they should go. So they did, leaving Sascha and Marcelo and any further developments alone. 

  ____

  Training was a lot better the following week. Sascha’s performance improved and went back to normal within minutes on court; he was able to concentrate, he smiled and laughed with Dan and his technique was back to top quality. Dan was more than relieved. The first qualifying tournament for Olympia was less than a month away and they needed to be at the top of their game. 

  Within the week after that, though, Dan got a feeling something was different - or, to be more precise, something wasn’t different. A specific something. 

  Sascha and Marcelo didn’t act differently at all. They were obviously back to being friends, sure, participating in group outings, joking with each other; but if anything, the touching had decreased . No teasing about their relationship, no suggestive comments, and definitely no kisses, not even on the cheek. Something was definitely not right. 

  He knew he needed Phil’s opinion, so during his physio-treatment - while desperately trying not to get a hard-on because Phil literally had his hands all over his body - he asked. 

  “What’s wrong with Sascha and Marcelo by the way?”

  There was no hesitance in the hands kneading his left thigh dangerously close to his ass and Dan had to stifle a moan. 

  “What do you mean? Everything’s the same as before.”

  “Exactly,” Dan answered with a raspy voice, trying to hide the pleasure. “Shouldn’t something be different?”

  Phil was silent for a moment, switching from the thigh to the calf - slightly less dangerous territory - and Dan allowed himself to relax before the physiotherapist spoke again. “You know what? Now that I think about it… You might be right. They don’t act like a couple at all. Or, well, at least not more than usual.” 

  “Precisely.” 

  After twenty more minutes of treatment - and therefore, twenty more minutes of Dan feeling ridiculously underlaid - they agreed to do some digging. 

  The first task fell to Dan. Him and Phil had agreed that - after everything they’d been through with Sascha - it was unfair to not give him the chance to speak. So during their midnight run Dan asked Sascha about it, about the relationship and if they were in a romantic one, but the youngster’s answers were unsure and vague. After some prodding, he straight-up denied it, claiming him and Marcelo would “work better as friends”. 

  Needless to say that Dan was furious.

  Just to confirm the story, Phil asked the same questions during morning practice, when both him and Marcelo were on the stands. The answers were pretty similar.

  Both Dan and Phil were more than disappointed about that outcome. They got together for some Mario Kart that afternoon, and while Dan was half a round ahead and Phil was fighting for the third spot, they realized they couldn’t just… Leave it at that.

  In reality, they could. They just refused not to. For their friends’ happiness, but also for their own pride.

  “That can’t be it,” Dan observed as he was skillfully maneuvering around a banana peel on track, “They love each other. Why the fuck not start a relationship?” 

  Only after saying it out loud did he realize it was basically a stab into his own guts, and he was lucky Phil was too preoccupied with the game to look at him.

  “True,” Phil confirmed, sticking out his tongue in concentration. 

  For a second, it was silent aside from the sounds of the game, then Dan made a decision as his car was driving past the finish line. “You know what? Not on my watch.”

  Something misschievous glinted in Phil’s eyes when he turned to look Dan into the eyes. “No. Not on our watch.”

  ____

  Two weeks later they were in the car on their way to their first Olympics-relevant tournament and nothing had changed. Nothing at all . They had tried (and, well, failed) to get them together multiple times, had shoved them together for practice, had given Sascha the opportunity to say something, but so far, all their attempts had been in vain. Not only Dan, but even the bubbly, optimistic Phil was rapidly losing confidence in their ability to meddle. 

  It was Marcelo’s shift to drive, so Sascha had, naturally, chosen to sit shotgun - “working better as friends” my ass , Dan thought - leaving the backseats to Dan and Phil.

  Dan, sitting behind Sascha, hadn’t been paying a lot of attention - he was fairly occupied trying to get Phil to relax, with his car sickness and all - so when he looked forward for the first time, trying to get a look on their navi, and he saw a dark spot on the back of Sascha’s neck, almost at his shoulder, for a second he didn’t think anything of it. Then he processed what he’d seen and - Huh?

  He couldn’t be sure, his view was obstructed by both Sascha’s hair and his shirt, but - he leaned over towards Phil, whispering in his ear. Phil’s face, slightly less green than before, showed surprise, then he exchanged a look with Dan, the same question in his eyes. 

  Is that… a hickey ?

  ___

  The tournament went amazingly well. They’d survived the group phase and the first knock out round and were now on for the quarterfinals tomorrow. They’d agreed to have a light training session around midday, but Dan had spent the day hiding from Phil since they’d had a near slip-up the other night playing Fifa (Dan had lost, so he’d started tickling Phil and ended up closer to him than intended and almost kissed him), so he went directly to the training court instead of meeting the others at the hotel. When he arrived, Sascha and Phil were already there, laughing while Phil tried - and failed - to warm Sascha up. 

  When they noticed Dan, Sascha gave a wave and a grin, walking over to his bag to take a drink, but Phil came sprinting towards him through the deep sand. “That is Marcelo’s shirt,” he said in lieu of greeting, and Dan blinked dumbfounded before he understood what Phil was getting at.

  He took a closer look at Sascha’s outfit, and sure enough he was wearing a light blue shirt with a Volleyball emblem on the breast pocket that he’d seen Marcelo wear before. 

  “Oh my god, you’re right. He wore it just two days ago!”

  For neutral parties, it probably wasn’t a big deal, but to Dan and Phil, it definitely was. They were invested in this relationship - more than they would’ve thought before. 

  “Are we becoming fanboys?” Dan asked as they walked over to Sascha. Phil’s stunning blue eyes were glinting in the shining sun and for a moment Dan forgot how to breathe. 

  “Absolutely.”

  ___

  Dan and Sascha made it through the quarterfinals relatively easy, beating their opponents in two straight sets. The match directly after was determining their semi-finals opponents, so Dan and Phil decided to stay to spy on them and get a feeling for how they were playing, but both Sascha and Marcelo chose to go back to the hotel, claiming they wanted to skype their families. 

  The stands built up for the sake of the tournament went up fairly high, and to be less likely to get spotted Dan and Phil decided to search for seats in a far up row, which were mostly empty. From up there, they had a really nice view of the ocean far off to one side - and, coincidentally, the hotel they were all staying in. They were looking straight at their floor and with it, their shared balcony - between the five of them, including the trainer, they occupied the whole side of the floor for themselves. The rooms were connected by a long, shared balcony, which made going over to one of the other rooms for a treatment or a talk with their coach a lot easier. 

  While the teams on court were still warming up Dan looked over to the hotel. He found Sascha at his balcony door, looking out to the court. He had changed into a red shirt and grey shorts shining brightly in the sun, and Dan softly elbowed Phil in the side an gesticulated for him to take a look as well. 

  They watched as Marcelo appeared behind Sascha with his boring white clothes immediately recognisable in the compared darkness of the room. He stepped closer to Sascha, reaching out with his hand, then Sascha let the curtain drop and the scene was out of view. Phil and Dan shared a look. Skyping their families, huh?

  Throughout the game they kept a close eye on Sascha’s balcony door, but the curtain didn’t move again - until their tainer stepped onto the balcony, making his way to Sascha’s room. When he knocked on the glass nothing happened for a while. Then the door opened and Sascha stepped out in his red shorts and white shirt - 

  “He’s in different clothes than before!” Phil pointed out, voice somewhere between excited and surprised, and Dan’s eyes widened as he realized that Phil was right. “So - They went in together, no one comes out for half an hour, and now he’s suddenly in a completely different outfit, even though he’d been freshly showered before?!” Phil summarized and Dan nodded, dumbfounded.

  “Well, that’s not fishy,” he mumbled, “Not fishy at all.”

  ___

  When Marcelo showed up to dinner with a red shirt Dan and Phil were set on investigating further. Something was going on there and they wanted to know what it was. 

  Dan and Sascha finished third in the tournament, which was half the qualification norm for the Olympics, so they were happy with the outcome. They had around a week at home before they were leaving for the next tournament, and they didn’t do much else than relax and a bit of strength training and jogging. 

  Dan particularly despised the last part.

  They spent the day before their anew departure together as a group, playing Mario Kart, Fifa and pictionary, and they had so much fun Dan’s belly hurt from all the laughing. When Sascha beat Marcelo in Mario Kart, the brazilian reached over, tickling the youngster, and Phil gave Dan a look of oh my god they’re so adorable I can’t even that Dan had to agree with. 

  Two hours later both Sascha and Marcelo had left - “to do the rest of packing”, sure Jan , Dan thought - and only Phil had stayed, wanting to help with the cleanup. Everything had stayed completely innocent so far, and Dan mentally patted himself on the back for being so resistant - he hadn’t reacted to either Phil’s flirting nor to his continuous physical contact. He was strong. 

  Until he wasn’t. 

  They were just finishing up the dishes. Dan was at the sink, washing the rest of the glasses and plates when Phil reached up to the cupboard directly above Dan’s head, leaning so far over his body they were touching basically everywhere. Dan could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and somewhere lower, tightly gripping the edge of the sink - for support or to keep himself from moving, he wasn’t sure - and he stayed determined, he really did, but then - 

  Then Phil’s breath hit the skin on his neck and it was all over. 

  He turned around in a flash, exchanging a short, meaningful look with Phil, then he was kissing him and his world was turning upside down. Nothing was as it had seemed before. His self restraint vanished in a vortex of gold, his brain left his body and all that was left was lust and love. 

  Fuck it, he loved that guy, had had for a long time; and he’d always known all restraint would be lost as soon as his lips touched Phil’s. 

  His life was flashing in front of his closed eyelids as he passionately kissed Phil, showing him all the lost opportunities that they could’ve spent making out, showing him what he had missed out on. But he didn’t even have the mental capacity to process it - he didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything . He had lost all connection to his body, was nothing but a spiritual being flowing through time and space with Phil right by his side. 

  Within a single heartbeat he decided he didn’t care about his stupid rules and his stupid logic. If he wanted to be with Phil - and he did - then he should be, whether he was going for gold or not. It wouldn’t make him stronger, but it wouldn’t make him weaker, either; if anything, it would serve as a further incentive. 

  Between ragged breaths and erratic heartbeats he paused his frantic movements, keeping Phil’s face in his hands and looking him straight into the bright blue eyes. “I love you.” Opposed to the shaking of his body his voice was firm and sure, and for a second, the colour of Phil’s eyes seemed to flare brighter than ever before. 

  “I love you, too,” he said softly, a few tears swimming in his eyes and a smile on his lips so sweet it could give half the world population diabetes just from looking at it. 

  Dan stared into Phil’s eyes and somehow, the world around them vanished. Then, suddenly, he was falling, but not down, no; he was falling up, higher and higher, until he shot through a layer of clouds and all that existed was blue, blue, blue . 

  It took him quite some time to escape the pull of Phil’s eyes, but when he did, he sprung straight back into action - straight back to kissing and touching and… More . 

  The next morning, when he woke up to the colour of Phil’s eyes there was just one word on his mind. “Boyfriends?”

  Phil’s eyes glinted stunningly in the rising sun, and Dan knew he’d remember this day forever. “Boyfriends.”  ____

  This time, the tournament was on another continent, so they went there by plane. Phil slept through almost the whole flight and Dan was busy trying to not gush about how cute he was. 

  They had decided to not tell Marcelo and Sascha in passing, waiting to do it over dinner when they had arrived at their destination instead. After Sascha had shown up at the airport wearing one of Marcelo’s shirts yet again they also wanted to confront them about their observations. Dan didn’t even care that they’d sound like crazy fanboys.

  Well, at least not a lot. 

  Due to time zones it was early in the morning when they arrived, but they all decided to get some sleep anyway. When Dan woke up in time for dinner Phil was laying cuddled into his side, snoring sweetly, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Phil’s forehead before he got up. Thankfully, Phil was a heavy sleeper, so he just continued sleeping, giving Dan time to have a long, relaxing shower - or so he’d thought. In reality, Phil joined him halfway through, but it wasn’t like he minded. On the contrary. 

  When they went down for dinner both Marcelo and Sascha were already there, staring at each other over the table like they were the only people in existence. Phil sighed dreamily, giving Dan another They’re so cute look, and Dan had to stifle a giggle. His boyfriend was a major fanboy. 

  Boyfriend.

  Dan’s heartrate picked up at the thought. Even thinking it made him happy. 

  When they had sat down and ordered Dan and Phil exchanged a look, quietly taking hold of each other’s hand under the table. “Phil and I -” Dan started but was unsure of how to continue, how to word what he wanted to say. He was nervous and excited and the previously picked out words jumbled together into a wild storm of letters that he had no idea how to decipher. 

  Thankfully, Phil was less concerned by the whole thing. 

  “We’re together now. And we’re really happy.”

  It was quiet at the table as Sascha and Marcelo looked at each other with raised eyebrows. 

  “We know,” Sascha said, slowly and clearly, like he wasn’t sure about Dan and Phil’s mental state. 

  Dan sputtered. “Wha - What?” 

  “How did you know?” Phil asked, more interested than surprised, and Dan blinked at him in shock. Why did it not shock him? Was everyone going insane?!

  “It’s been obvious for weeks now,” Marcelo explained calmly and finally, Dan understood, relaxing immediately. 

  He let out a short laugh. “We’re together since last night. Or the night before, depending on the time zone we’re going with.”

  Marcelo and Sascha blinked in complete unison, making Phil giggle. “But-”

  “Is that why you didn’t tell us you are together as well? Because you were mad we didn’t tell you?” Dan asked, a lightbulb going off above his head. He paused for a moment before he added: “You guys are together, right?”

  Both him and Phil started grinning like a fool when the others nodded. Oh, how he loved it when things finally made sense, and when things turned out the way he planned them too. He gave Phil a high five in celebration, then he turned to Sascha and Marcelo, still grinning. “You’re idiots.”

  They at least had the decency to look shameful.

  “We’re all idiots,” Phil corrected and the others couldn’t help agreeing. They clinked glasses with champagne a few minutes later, and Phil literally cooed as his inquire made Marcelo lean over the table and give Sascha a passionate kiss. 

  They shared a lot of laughter and fun that night, and Dan had a better time than ever before. He looked at his group of friends with happiness and pride, and he had never felt more content in life. 

  ____

  A few weeks later him and Phil finally had the time to go on their first official date. The days had been crazy, packed and busy, but they’d been the best of Dan’s life. The letter with his official invitation to the Olympics weighed heavily in his pocket when he entered the old, 50s themed diner. The place looked decisively vintage with its off-white walls decorated with vinyls, black and white checkered tiles on the ground and lamps hanging from the ceiling. 

The jukebox up front was playing Cry Me A River as they slid into their booth, Phil on the other side of the table. They both grinned as they mouthed along to the song. The glowing red neon lights brought out the blue in Phil’s eyes so stunningly Dan once again was blinded by their beauty. 

  They shared a milkshake with two straws like they were in one of these cheesy romance novels Dan had always despised, but somehow he didn’t care anymore. He embraced the romantic cliches like they were old friends - simply because with Phil, it all seemed okay. Phil had step by step teared down all of his walls and rules, what was one more in this jumble of new experiences and feelings and happiness?

  He let his fingers skim over the paper in his pocket as he looked into Phil’s eyes, only listening half-heartedly as Phil rambled on about one thing or the other, an utterly lovestruck look on his face. Maybe he didn’t have gold yet, but within the last few months he’d gained and accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed of. Still, it had only been the beginning, he knew it. He was happy with Phil, Sascha was happy with Marcelo, they were happy as a group, and in a few weeks, they’d have a shot at winning gold. 

  Their future was golden, one way or the other. 

[missingverse]

Missing Chapter Fifteen

To all my regular readers, thank you for your patience. The holidays are always busy for me and this year in particular, I'm literally just in from a trip overseas. Thank you also for the reviews I've gotten lately, I cannot tell you how much I enjoy reading your thoughts.

Although this fic is still quite a ways from being complete, I would like to write more for the Hey Arnold fandom, it's been such a nice place to park my boat. I'd like to hear what kind of fics you want to read after Missing has run its course, please don't be shy.

Warning: This chapter might be a bit too much for anyone with a sensitive disposition. Be forewarned going in.

…..

Details of the Helga Pataki Case that were not revealed to the general public, only to law personnel on a need-to-know basis:

*The father of the missing child, Robert Pataki, was arrested for and eventually given a custodial sentence of seven years for making and distributing obscene images of children. He was given a further three years for obstruction, namely attempting to destroy the evidence. The mother of the missing child, Miriam Pataki, was questioned under a lie detector and seemed to be unaware of her husband's activities.

*The family were known to Child Protective Services, as Helga Pataki had been flagged multiple times by school staff, concerned parents of the child's friends and three healthcare workers. Several meetings were called by the social workers in charge of this family's welfare but no steps were taken to remove the child ('unwillingness to talk' was cited as a reason, as well as a 'combative attitude' in the child in question.)

*Medical and dental records pertaining to Helga Pataki were scattered and hard to trace, due to the family's neglecting to have a set general practitioner or any dental work done on their younger child. Some private medical notes received from both a local free clinic in East Bryantson and a Dr Ellis Callaghan in Hillwood's pediatric clinic indicated that the child was usually in good health but was mildly malnourished, suffered from stress-related insomnia and had a habit of teeth-grinding.

*A call from Helga Pataki's cellphone to Officer Michael Plaskett was logged at 3:15pm, and again in increments of ten minutes up until 5:30pm.

*The last phone call not made to the officer was made to Phoebe Heyerdahl, a school friend, at 5:22pm. After that, there is no recorded use of the phone made on the account.

*A description and photo of Helga Pataki were sent to morgues around the surrounding states, and triggered three possible fits. Two of these turned out to be badly disfigured in traffic accidents and did not match the height or age range, and the other was an undersized adult woman.

*Notes sent around to police offices flagged that the child was a possible Black Gulch Ripper victim, although she did not fit the Ripper's M.O. The bodies found had been getting progressively younger before he went quiet.

*Scraps of pink cotton fabric, a possible match to the dress Helga Pataki had been wearing, were found on the outskirts of Blackstone, three miles from Pocaselas. Blood spatters were detected on the fabric but a DNA match could not be made due to incomplete medical records.

*Traces of a child's blonde hair were found wrapped around a rock sixteen miles into the Hillwood mountain range, to the South. It is thought this was an effort by the abductor to distract scent dogs. Again, a DNA match could not be made but tests proved the hair belonged to an adolescent girl between the age of ten and thirteen.

….

Looking from the screen printouts to the forest and back was getting tiresome, but Arnold persisted. A crawling sense that he owed it to Helga, to make up for his clumsiness the day before, kept him painstakingly trying to match the images.

Never mind that a forest was always changing, so you could never trust it to look the same from day to day, never mind year to five years later.

…..

She was asleep when he came back, curled up on his bed, still wearing her shoes. He guessed she might have made it as far as the bed before collapsing. Careful not to touch her, he removed her shoes and draped the comforter over her.

Then he stretched out on the couch to spend a long, sleepless night worrying about what she'd say when she woke up.

…..

“Are you getting anything?” Phoebe called breathlessly from about fifty yards behind him.

He shrugged, and looked to Helga for her input. She was stock-still, hand at her mouth, unsure.

“Not right now,” he called back. “Maybe if we get in a bit further...”

They were already tired; Pocaselas was a long bus trip from Hillwood, and getting past the Gulch into the forest was a tough hike. Not to mention Arnold was running on little sleep, tense from what had happened the day before and more than a little nervous about having Phoebe tag along trailing possibly after someone who had murdered women and girls not much older than her...

…..

“Just forget it,” Helga said when she finally woke up. “It was a moment of madness. It won't happen again.”

“Yeah,” Arnold agreed, though it felt wrong in his mind, in his very throat. “Okay.”

…..

The only thing left to do was to press on, try their best to follow the trail left behind. If they did find out what happened to Helga, there was a slight possibility that she wouldn't disappear. There was every chance she would stay behind, forever. And between haunting a lonely boarding house by herself and entering into some mutual madness with Arnold, what was the smarter choice?

She kissed me back. I know she did.

He spun a few degrees west, held up another printout and squinted. The mountain range was right, but two of the trees had gone since the photo he was working from had been made. (Lightning strike? Wildfire? Deforestation? Who knew?)

Phoebe caught up just as he was measuring the distance between two crops of trees.

“Remind me why we're doing this again?” she gasped. Her glasses were foggy with sweat.

“I showed Helga a bunch of google images of Pocaselas and printed the ones she reacted to,” he told her, holding up the photo of the same crops of trees. “So we could get a possible match on her last known whereabouts.”

“Yeah,” Phoebe huffed. “Doesn't sound like any less of a long shot the second time you said it. Just checking.”

“You didn't have to come,” Arnold retorted.

“Yes, she did,” Helga said quietly, distractedly.

“Yes, I did,” Phoebe replied with a tinge of venom.

“Then stop grousing and help,” he said, handing her a few sheets. “Check the topography map, see where we are.”

Grumbling under her breath, Phoebe did as she was told.

Arnold's eyes flicked from the printouts to Helga and back. She was tense, he could feel nervous energy running off of her in a steady stream. Something about this place had her on edge, and that meant they were close to a breakthrough.

…..

“That one,” she said suddenly, and at the sharp edge that had jumped into her voice Arnold stopped scrolling with a jolt.

“That one?” he said, raising his mouse over a small unremarkable crop of trees. “What's special about that one?”

“I don't know,” she replied, staring at the image hard. “I just know I've seen it before.”

…..

She was wandering away, and he knew he had to give her space to think if they were to find anything useful, but his eyes were drawn to her regardless. In the shadow of the trees, for the first time she looked like a ghost to him, marked transparent by dapples of sunlight and patches of murky darkness. She looked like with one wrong turn she would phase into the trees like some ancient woodland spirit.

“I can see her more clearly now,” Phoebe said suddenly, staring off into the trees the same way Arnold was. “She's wearing jeans, right? And her hair is down.”

“Yeah, that's right,” Arnold said with a genuinely glad smile.

“It's long,” Phoebe said, wrinkling her nose in good-humoured puzzlement. “Like, down to her waist? She would never have let it get that long normally....isn't that weird?”

“It is kind of odd...”

He hadn't thought much about it before, but it was strange. Why would her hair have grown out if she was dead?

“Arnold, this is the wrong place,” Phoebe said, swiftly changing the subject by yanking the printout from his hands. “Wrong trees.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that,” she explained, stabbing one finger at a spindly tree to the front of the tree cluster on the sheet, “is a mountain hemlock tree. And there's three more in that patch. There's no hemlock on this side of the hill.”

“Huh,” he said. “I knew I had a reason to bring you here. So where do we find a hemlock tree?”

“This way,” she said, jogging down the trail in the direction Helga had gone.

…..

It was close to two hours before they stopped, finally locating the hemlock tree that matched the one on the sheet. Arnold laid out the printouts on the forest floor, matching them as best he could, looking over them from his seat on a protruding tree root. All in all, together they depicted almost a full square mile of the forest.

But....there was nothing there.

Just trees, lots of them, some spongy forest floor with leaf litter and a few sinkholes, some rock outcroppings and a slowly descending mist from the upper mountain peaks.

What happened here? Did anything happen here?

If Helga was tense before, she was visibly agitated now. She couldn't stop moving, folding and unfolding her arms, fiddling with her hair, biting at her knuckles. Her eyes darted and she paced in circles. It put Arnold in mind of a small animal backed into a corner.

“Is she okay?”Phoebe whispered. “I can't see her face...”

“She's jumpy,” Arnold whispered back.

Helga circled the clearing in widening arcs, until suddenly she froze. Arnold jumped to his feet and was rushing to her side even before she started screaming.

“What? What is it?” he shouted.

“Is that her screaming?” Phoebe cried, hurrying behind him. “Why is she screaming?”

She was just outside the clearing, stuck in place before a sheer drop-off that had been hidden by the trees. When Arnold touched her shoulder and gently tried to jostle her, he found it impossible to move her even slightly. She clutched her head, so hard that in his own panic Arnold was worried she was hurting herself.

“It's burning!” she spat out in between screams. “I'm on fire, I'm burning!”

“No, no,” he tried to tell her. “You're not burning....you're with me and Phoebe, you're safe with us...”

“It burns!” she repeated, over and over, quieter only because her voice was cracking and strained. “It hurts!”

“Do something,” Phoebe hissed and shoved him.

Do what?

He did the only thing he could think of. He threw down his stuff and swept Helga up in his arms, off of the ground. He buried her head under his and held her as close as possible.

“You're not burning,” he whispered in her ear. “You're okay, I've got you.”

It seemed to work, at least a little, because she stopped screaming and although she was crying, it was quiet and relatively calm. Her breathing lost that frenzied wheeze and hitch and although shaky, it was steady. That was more than he could say for his own heart, which was hammering a panicky beat and sending beads of cold sweat trickling down his back.

She was going to fade out, he knew she would. It didn't make it any easier when she did, and left him holding nothing but air.

“Jesus Christ,” he heard Phoebe mutter behind him.

I need to get back home. I can't leave her alone right now.

But, equally, that reaction spoke volumes. This place was important.

“Was it the marshlands that did it?” Phoebe asked gingerly.

“What marshlands?” Arnold asked, when he found his voice.

“Those marshlands,” she said, pointing towards the drop-off.

He stepped as close to the edge of the cliff as he dared, and sure enough they had found the notoriously-difficult-to-travel-through wetlands, full of snakes and leeches and mosquitoes and all other creepy crawlies that made muddy water their home.

“Maybe,” he agreed, though he was unsure.

Phoebe picked up the topography map and stared down at it, frowning. Arnold walked backwards, tracing his steps back through the clearing.

She was okay until she got to that spot. What happened there? Where did she go from?

The forest floor was bare, as far as he could see. What was he missing?

He closed his eyes, concentrated on the dead leaves crunching under his hiking boots, the wind blowing through the trees, the slight spring of the soil....

...until that spring wasn't there. The ground was different in the patch he just stepped on. More solid.

Arnold opened his eyes. Visually, it wasn't any different, covered in as much dead leaves and forest debris as everywhere else. But there was something strange about the way the ground underneath felt. He tapped his foot.

A quiet but distinctly hollow sound echoed from the nearest sinkhole.

Not a sinkhole. It's too clean.

He put his hand in the hole and felt around the edge, but drew back with a hiss when whatever was forming the hole sliced his finger open.

That's metal.

He pushed away as much of the forest litter as he could, and managed to uncover something that had clearly gone unnoticed for a long time given how much moss and other gunk was growing on it.

A large metal door in the forest floor. The hole was an oversized patch of rust. It was heavy, but not so heavy he couldn't lift it.

“Is that....?” Arnold heard Phoebe say over the screech of the rusted hinges.

He looked inside. And in less than a minute slammed it shut.

“Arnold? Is that a...” Phoebe said, stepping forward.

“NO!” he shouted, loud enough to scare away the few birds that hadn't budged for Helga's earlier screaming. “Don't come over here!”

“What? What's in there....?”

“Phoebe,” he begged, holding up his hands to physically stop her if he needed to. “Stay where you are. You don't need to see this.”

“Is she in there?” she asked, her voice rising high and strident. “Arnold, IS SHE IN THERE!?!”

“Don't look,” he begged her. “Please. Go back downhill. Call the police.”

Phoebe didn't say another word, but turned and ran down the trail. He didn't even look at her, but he didn't have to. She probably looked as sick as he felt.

What were you expecting? Did you really think anything good would come of this?

It had only been a quick look inside the (bunker?hole?burrow?) but a quick look was all it took to connect the dots.

The chains coupled to the wall.

The steel cage in the corner, just about big enough for a large dog or a small human.

The table covered with rusted tools; pliers, hammers, screwdrivers, and enough blades to suit any working butcher.

The big metal tub, covered in streaks of rust and something else.

Stacked wooden crates buzzing with flies.

And sitting in the middle of it all, spread across a chopping board with what looked like a meat cleaver hovering over it, was Helga's pink dress.