Middle of Somewhere

let’s pretend the John Ryland library is a normal functioning library because it’s the coolest looking one
Title from this song
Sarah, I hope you enjoy and have a lovely holidays <3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Shh! ”

“Don’t shush me!”

“We’re in a library, Bry.” He can’t help but giggle anyway.

“What are they gonna do, pay us less?” she says, slowly putting books on the cart.

He laughs but peeks out the door for a real librarian. Apprenticeship or not, he can’t lose this on his resume. Hiding together in the drop-offs is bad work ethic as it is.

“Anyway, I’m thinking this is Alexis’ room the whole time, so when this bitch bursts in I go ‘ excuse me! ’ but she says ‘what the fuck, this is my room!’”

Phil puts a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, fucking hell. I just wipe off my chin and walk out while Alexis is buttoning up her pants.”

“You’re horrible!” he squeals.

“Yeah, uh, we didn’t hang out anymore, we were kind of traumatized.”

“Did you get her number, plan anything?”

“No. I’m not looking for a marriage and kids in my mid-twenties like you are.”

“I’m not! Just because I’m not banging strangers at house parties, doesn’t mean… ”

“You want to cuddle up on the couch with a boring version of Chris Evans and watch Netflix for the rest of your life.”

He smacks her lightly with a book. “Sorry I want to go on actual dates with, like, talking. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Monogamy is boring.”

“Sounds exhausting, talking to so many people.”

She shrugs. “Fair.” She pushes the cart of books out the door.

“You want me to do this? You’re off soon,” Phil asks. She smiles at him and pushes the cart toward him.

“Thanks, Phil. You work tomorrow too?”

“‘Course.”

“Tomorrow we’ll do some life-changing work. Have fun on your lonesome,” she says, giving a little wave.

He grabs the cart and trails off, knowing he will indeed have fun. He likes to put in a sneaky headphone and trail through the bookshelves, pretend he’s in a castle library or a grand church from Game of Thrones. He likes to look at what people have read, try to imagine who these people are and what they thought of these books. He thinks it’s mostly students who would take out dusty books on architecture history and Marxism and some Shakespeare work he’s never heard of, but maybe some random people have these select interests and hobbies. Do they read through all 800 pages, just as enthralled as Phil is playing video games? He reads the descriptions and sometimes gets lost in the jargon.

Anxiety settles deep in his chest. He reads the book spines, trying to mentally push the feelings away, but the worries have grabbed him. This is an everyday occurrence, wondering if he’s making the right decisions. If he really will apply for a Masters Degree in Library Services. If he will like it. If he will spend a fulfilling life with it, and gain that sense of belonging he doesn’t have quite yet.

He walks on and keeps trying to push the anxiety out of his head. He’s okay, he doesn’t have to think about anything right now. The thoughts linger in his mind like a throbbing headache.

The job is interesting at times. He gets to climb up sliding ladders sometimes, which sparked many jokes and some genuine worry from Bryony. Phil is careful, though, he takes one book at a time under his arm and slowly climbs up, staring at his feet. He gets to pretend he’s some quirky librarian who slides around like that wand seller in Harry Potter.

It’s nice to take all the shifts that end late in the night, and he’s pretty sure it’s one of the reasons he got this apprenticeship position. It’s often only him and some real librarian napping at the front until midnight or two o’clock when exams are on. He can do whatever he wants while low maintenance students read and take notes rapidly and chug back cold coffee and energy drinks in the dim light.

He rolls his cart to the back corner and stares at one of the statues that always makes him laugh. Some bald historical man he doesn’t know, but the hands are so tiny and disproportionate.

He rolls to the next bookshelf but slows when he sees someone leaning forward on the desk. Phil moves slowly so the wheels don’t make too much noise, and the man only twitches a little bit, snoozing soundly. He has his face in his elbow so fluffy brown hair is all Phil can see amidst a black coat hung over his shoulders, but he thinks he recognizes him from before. He doesn’t have books around him, not even a notebook, just a small Macbook and a coffee cup.

Without making a ruckus, he slides a book on the shelf and slowly rolls away. He feels a bit guilty. Hopefully this guy doesn’t have a paper due at midnight, but the risk of waking him during a purposeful rest and having to apologize is too awkward for Phil.

The sky outside is pitch black, Bryony and all the evening staff are gone, as are most of the attendants. Phil sits on the computer and clicks through the search frameworks he’s supposed to memorize, but his brain doesn’t want to focus. He doesn’t want to think about the tasks he’s not good at.

He walks around, tidies up the books left on tables and garbage and reads some book descriptions. His head mostly lingers on Muse in his ears.

Eventually, the librarian points at the clock, looking restless. Phil takes out his headphones and strolls through the shelves, checks each study table, saying “15 minutes ‘till close, thank you… 15 minutes ‘till close, thanks…”

As much as he hopes he won’t be, the guy in the back is still face down on the desk. The only sign of life is his shoulders rising and falling. It doesn’t look comfortable bent over so much onto the desk.

Phil lingers, then leans forward on his feet, ready to tap his shoulder. He clears his throat once, and then again louder, before finally tapping the guy's shoulder. His head shoots up so fast that Phil jumps.

“Uh.” Sleepy eyes look back at Phil. Very warm sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks. He wipes at his mouth and turns away from Phil’s gaze.

“Sorry for waking you… we just close at midnight and it’s quarter-to, or a few minutes after that by now.”

“Fuck. Okay, okay, I’m leaving.” He hits his laptop closed.

Phil almost asks if he’s okay, sees something in this guy that’s clearly upset. The window of time that it would be acceptable passes. He walks away quickly.

Just a guy who fell asleep.

It’s no fight to get everyone to leave before close. The fluffy-haired guy keeps his head down and ducks under the doorway. Phil waits for the librarian to lock the doors then walks toward his bus. He turns up the volume of his music and paces under the streetlight.

He notices the guy every following night that he works. He comes at around 5:30 and sits in the same spot and leaves at Phil’s fifteen-minute warning. All he has is a small knapsack out of which he pulls a Macbook mini that looks microscopic next to his giant coffee cup from Starbucks. Sometimes he wears big headphones, while other times he sits there in silence. He always wears varying shades of black and loose shirts that hang over his shoulders with his bad posture.

Most people come here for the books, all the classics and non-fiction. Tourists walk through sometimes for the art. The decor is old and antique with wooden benches to sit on instead of chairs with any ergonomic support. It’s also rather dim to read comfortably, Phil thinks. But it appears this guy with fluffy hair is a regular, coming every day like clockwork.

Every time Phil gives him the fifteen-minute warning, he barely mumbles a ‘hm’. Eye contact is even rarer.

He’s one of the most interesting subjects in Phil’s game of ‘what is this person's backstory’. It’s usually easy to stereotype people in a funny way but this guy has a mopey face, dark and edgy clothing and no books. It’s always him alone, no friends or classmates. Not to mention he’s rather conventionally attractive, tall with warm skin and that nice hair. But here he is, every day, him and his laptop and a questionable attitude.

One thing he thinks he can say for sure is this guy is not super happy. He’s always frowning, furrowing his eyebrows. He sometimes lays with his head in his hands or even his entire torso on the table. He stares blankly at the wall, tapping his pen until Phil sees other visitors move to a table farther away.

Clearly, Phil has too much time on his hands as he cleans and puts books away watching from across the aisle. It’s probably a little creepy, but how else is he supposed to pass the time?

It is a bit worrisome to think about why he’s here . Homeless people come and sit on the computers sometimes, so do teens who seem keen to hide, but this guy's clothes look rather expensive and clean and he always has those Venti drinks. Students stress a lot, Phil can see it in their eyes, but no one he knew studied every night, or looked quite so gloomy.

It’s worse when he cleans in closer proximity and sees nothing but an empty word document open.

He really starts to pity this guy the night before his day off. As he dusts and walks around, he peeks over to see fluffy haired guy sideways on the bench, laying limp with all of his stuff open. He hesitates for a long time before he walks over with achingly slow steps in case he sits up.

“Hey,” he says. His heart lurches at how fast the guy sits up. He shoves his hair out of his eyes.

“What?”

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“Oh. Yes?” He says it like he has no idea why Phil is asking, as if he hadn’t looked like a dead body on the bench. He continues to fix his hair, pushing it back with his hands. His eyes are glassy with puffy circles underneath.

“Oh, okay. Sorry.” Phil coughs awkwardly and turns around slowly, walking to the front of the library and out of this guy’s view.

The next night he works, Bryony and him get to dust and sweep together. Phil dusts because he can reach the higher shelves and Bryony can hold the broom without bending her back in half.

“I don’t know if I liked it,” she says. “Like objectively, sure...it’s a classic… but it was kind of boring. Like, really boring. It’s a cool concept, but stuff about Loona tour bus drama...or Thor, anywhere, that fic is so fun to read. Also, way hotter. Why do people put up with such boring monologues, what do they get from it?”

“Why don’t you just write about those characters as superheroes or pop stars then?” Phil asks. “There are endless opportunities, right?”

“It doesn’t just work like that, I’m not good enough of a writer to make these sad characters suddenly interesting. ”

Phil snorts. “Why do you read it if it’s so boring?”

“I mean, I feel like a fraud. Even if I hate the classics, I should at least read them and be able to argue why they suck. Lit-kids love that shit and I’m going to seem vapid when they realize I’m into pop culture. I don’t even like Shakespeare much. Where art thou real fuckin’ English,” She says.

“I mean, pop culture is popular for a reason.” He points out.

“But in academia,” she wiggles exaggeratedly, “people can be pretentious as hell. I know they look down on pop culture and fanfiction, I can feel it in their vibes.”

“Well maybe your vibe checking skills is just your anxiety, right? I talk about anime and video games now and everyone really does like that nerdy stuff, just like you said!” He dusts without looking at what he’s doing.

“It’s not the same, video games have been seen as cool and masculine and even anime is all badass with titties bouncin’ everywhere. People just see me as a silly fangirl.”

“Have you ever watched a full anime, Bry?”

She gives him an exasperated look.

“C’mon. Stuff that girls like is seen as way more embarrassing.”

Phil nods his head. “Okay, yeah. But maybe some of the people getting a literature degree are the kind of people who don’t conform to those things.”

“Or maybe they do even more.”

“Maybe, you should be yourself and let the good people come to you.”

“Maybe I should drop out and write fic for a living. You’ll support me financially?”

“Yeah. For sure,” Phil says, sarcastically.

“Sometimes I wonder if I really like books or if I just like to play with these same lovely and safe universes over and over again.”

Phil faces the bookshelf, frowning. “I wonder that, too. For myself, I mean.”

He follows her to the next row of bookshelves.

“When I read a good book it is really good and I want to be a writer, but when I try to fill my quotas and expand my reading list, it feels like an obligation. One that just isn’t fun.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I only really like movies,” Phil says. “Easy, feel-good stuff that doesn’t hurt my brain.”

They hear a shh through the bookshelf. Phil looks at Bryony with wide, guilty eyes, but she just rolls her eyes. She checks her phone.

“Good time to take my last fifteen. I’m getting antsy, anyway,” she whispers. “Wanna come?”

“I’m here ‘till midnight, I need to save it.” He pouts.

“Fair. See ya soon.” She brushes past him, shooting a glare back to the direction of the annoyed shusher.

Phil stands holding the duster with absolutely no motivation. He turns to the next bookshelf and is surprised to see eyes looking at him, through the crack above the books that peeks through to the study table. It’s that same fluffy haired guy, and he drops his head when Phil meets his eyes.

He’s so pretty, Phil thinks, with some regret. It’s probably messed up to think that when this guy is obviously not in a good mood, and hasn’t been in a good mood that Phil has ever seen. Especially when he must hate Phil by now. He walks away.

When Bryony is gone for good, and there’s nothing more for Phil to do, he reads rather boring book descriptions. Maybe his tastes are just childish still, magic and fantasy and horror and world-altering stories that get his heart beating. Especially if there’s a good soundtrack.

He doesn’t quite feel like he belongs among the classics and historical fiction. Not to mention the research assistance in his future if he goes along with that Masters. The endless databases and search tips, the abstract mining and the citation help, what on earth is he doing here?

He’s more anxious than he usually is. It’s a relief when the night is almost over, but as he walks around to announce the fifteen-minute warning, his heart picks up. He walks slowly, then peaks around the last bookshelf into the corner. The fluffy-haired guy is still there, staring at his laptop with his hands resting in his lap.

“Fifteen minutes!” Phil says quickly.

The man looks back at him and Phil makes an effort to back up slowly instead of the suspiciously rapid speed he wants to run away with.

“Hey, you, wait.”

Phil pauses.

“I wanted to apologize, I think I came off as rude. I probably sounded like such a dick the other night. Then I shushed you earlier, but I swear I thought you were these kids who were here before… but yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding sincere. The bags under his eyes are dark.

“Oh. It’s alright, I shouldn’t have been talking, anyway.”

Dan begins to slide his laptop into his bag and swings one leg over the bench. “No, I don’t care usually, I swear it’s just my own frustrations. I’ve been on edge, I’ve been trying to practice mindfulness, but the only times I do it I pass out.” He exaggerates a sigh.

Phil giggles at that. “Were you meditating on the bench?”

He cracks a small smile. “Not...really. Not doing yoga and humming, if that’s what you mean, just trying to clear my mind so I can focus.”

“Does it usually help?”

“No. But I’ll try anything at this point.” He frowns deeply.

“I recommend instrumental movie soundtracks, personally. No words to distract you and you feel like you’re saving the world while you do boring assignments.” Phil leans against the bookshelf.

“Huh. Yeah, I listen to classical music, but soundtracks would be more epic.” He nods.

“Yeah. John Williams has, like, all the good ones. And Hans Zimmer.”

“Cool. I’ll look them up.” The man smiles up at him, dimples sink into his cheeks. Phil has to gulp.

“Yeah. If you need any help with library…things…I’m Phil.” He gives a little wave.

“Dan.” He waves back.

Phil smiles and nods and slowly walks away before he can say any more strange things, or wave again, or embarrass himself in general.

He does wave again. His hand seems to do it on its own when Dan walks out, shooting a smile back at him. Dan raises his hand and wiggles his fingers before he disappears outside the door frame.

Phil listens to his favourite soundtracks the whole bus ride home.

He wakes up the next day to three missed calls from his mum. He knows by now she’s trying to guilt him into waking up earlier, but it does worry him enough to call back right away.

“Good afternoon, child.”

“Hey.”

“They’re still giving you these late shifts?”

“I’ve told you, I like evening shifts.” He stretches and sits up in bed to tug open the blinds and let in the white light of the cloudy sky.

“You eat dinner at a good time?” she asks.

“On my break.”

“And get enough sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“You sound off today.”

He holds back a sigh. He can’t hide the weight on his chest from her.

“Just a bad dream,” he says. It’s definitely part of it, the dreams that replay everything that he’s worried about in real life on loop. He almost misses the way his brain used to manifest monsters and serial killers, those tangible nightmares where he could wake up and try to imagine Buffy coming in to save him. Will Buffy save him from the Master of Library Service applications? No, probably not. She would empathize with him, though.

He realizes he’s zoned out his mom while she talks about her friend's kid who takes sleeping meds, so he hums to show some engagement.

“You’re in another world today, child,” she says eventually.

“Sorry, Mum, I guess I’m distracted.”

She tuts. “I do hope you’re sleeping and eating enough. You’d better come for a long Christmas, spend some time relaxing with family again, have some home-cooked meals.”

“I cook sometimes. I made tacos the other day.”

“ Healthy meals back home.”

“Oh, because your cakes are so healthy and green?”

“We all need some balance. At least a week, Phil?”

He smiles at the thought. “Yeah, I’ll try to get the time off.”

It helps a bit to listen to her ramble on about the stuff that goes on in the neighbourhood, the trip she’s planning, how Dad is. Her voice doesn’t comfort him as much as he wishes it would. He can’t talk about the anxiety he’s been feeling without worrying her too much.

She can’t help him with all his life decisions either, as much as he wishes she would. He just needs to make up his mind on becoming a real librarian. His parents will support him, he knows that, as long as he’s happy.

When they finally hang up, he heats his leftover takeout and plugs his PC into his flatscreen. He lays back and lets his mind wander while videos play, stuff that distracts him and looks nice and makes him laugh with no brain effort needed. He finds himself watching a cooking YouTube channel and lets the nice cakes fill his mind until he has to catch his bus.

When he finally makes it to work, he sits at the front desk to help people check out their books. Most of them use the self-service so he doodles with different coloured highlighters, but someone eventually appears in front of him, someone tall enough to block the light from the front.

“The Interstellar soundtrack is some freaking quality composition.” Dan makes a circle with his pointer finger and thumb, nodding appreciatively.

“Oh. That’s my favourite.” Phil smiles excitedly.

“I remember liking the music in the movie but it’s just as good standalone. I just don’t like the long silences they’ve included.”

“Right. I want to stay immersed into feeling like I’m in space.”

Dan chuckles. “Right? Let’s see if Hans can inspire me to read articles now,” he says. He salutes with two fingers, his eyes crinkling, and then he walks on to his corner at the back.

“Good luck!” Phil calls after him.

Too pretty to be fair, he thinks

Bryony doesn’t work the next day, so Phil is stuck with all the cleaning. He picks up the broom first to get it out of the way, then carries it the far end of the library where he peaks at the corner where, sure enough, there Dan is again. He quickly moves out of eyesight again. All he wanted was to check.

His thoughts serve as good entertainment while he sweeps, his mind wanders to how nice a real boyfriend would be while he puts away books. He’s never had one of those, enough nervous dates to last a lifetime, but no boyfriend. He’s not obsessed with this random man, though, it’s only a fantasy. Fantasies are what he does best, he has a million renditions of himself in different universes, all in his head. Many of which have some form of a boyfriend.

He does a lazy job of sweeping and an even lazier job of dusting as he rubs the puffy stick against the base of statues. His glasses slide down his nose constantly. He’s sleepy and bored when he hears his name in a loud whisper.

Dan beckons him forward, peeking out of his little corner. Phil’s feet carry him forward quickly.

“Hi,” Dan says.

“Hello.”

“So, uh, with your master librarian skills, I was wondering if you could help me with searching up stuff. I keep getting all these articles that aren’t relevant and I’m getting nowhere. If you have tips.”

“Oh, I’m not… really a librarian librarian, the ones in the desks at the front will have much better advice.”

Dan shrugs. “Well if you want to practice on me, I don’t mind. I feel like you might be more patient than them.”

Phil looks behind him and back again, but he doesn’t feel like he can say no. “Well. Okay.” He clears his throat and follows to sit on the bench with Dan. He looks at his little Macbook with the Manchester University library page open, but no other tabs at all. Dan looks at him expectantly.

“First we need to come up with keywords, want to tell me about your search and we can come up with some?”

“Sure, so, I’m looking at the philosophy of aesthetics.”

“Oh? So that's… ”

“You know… what is art, what counts at art, is it in the eye of the beholder or based on the artist, is taste real… that fun stuff.” He shrugs it off.

“Cool,” he says, not sure if he means it.

Dan straightens up. “I’m interested in how aesthetics affect people, socially. How we can be affected through escapism, catharsis, or change our views of reality. Art humanizes people, creates empathy. It’s already been looked at how art can be a vessel for social change, but I want to look more inward.”

“Oh okay.” He shuffles a bit closer and Dan tilts the laptop toward him so Phil can start typing.

“So let’s do ‘aesthetic’, and a star at the end means it can be found with any endings, then ‘and’ in caps, then, uh, philosoph- same thing. Then ‘and’...are there any theories you want to look at?” Phil asks.

Dan clears his throat. “Well, I’m looking at how queer aesthetic can mediate personal growth and self-love through turning identity into art. So. Queer theory? Or just queer. Oh, ‘camp’.”

Phil nods, maybe excessively, while he types and avoids eye contact. “How about the acronym?”

“Sure.”

“So these we do in brackets with ‘or’ in caps… oh, I need to put quotations so the words are together. Do you want to specify anything else?”

“No, that’s good.”

Phil clicks enter and waits for the slow Wi-Fi to load.

“There. Only twenty-six papers to look through.”

“It’s my lucky day,” he says sarcastically. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Yeah, anytime,” he says, thinking about how he used all the basics of searching, stuff that Dan might have known already.

Dan nods and Phil realizes he’s probably overstayed his welcome. He steps back over his bench and heads off.

Phil finishes his tasks early, again, and decides it’s a good time to spark a conversation. He runs ideas over in his head. Read anything good? Or maybe still searching away? Or found the meaning of life yet, Aristotle? Maybe it’ll be too obvious that he doesn’t know anything about philosophy.

He decides to go for it and strolls toward the corner, plastering a smile on. When he turns, the table is cleared of Dan’s Macbook and things, all that sits on the table is Dan’s cheek pressed into the wood. Dan doesn’t move at Phil’s presence, only his eyes look up.

“Oh. You alright?” he asks.

“Taking a break.” Dan says it so abruptly that Phil doesn’t need any more hints, he wants to be alone.

“Okay,” he says, and smiles so he doesn’t come across as judgemental. He walks back the way he came.

Tonight, Dan is out the door right before Phil’s fifteen-minute warning.

“He’s got a really calming, soft voice, and a nice smile, and he’s searching up gay stuff so….” Phil shrugs and tilts his head. Bryony gives him a funny look.

“I’m excited for you but—”

“You don’t have to say it, it’s not like I’m going to ask him out.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Bryony says. “Just, don’t jump ahead and get your heart broken. Why aren’t you gonna ask him out? I think you should ask him out.” She stirs her tea over and over again, watching him. They’re in the coffee shop across the street enjoying a break together. It’s so cramped and tiny that all the new people bump into the back of Phil’s chair.

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m annoying as hell,” Phil says.

“I do too, and we’re still friends,” she says, making him smile.

“Still. Too pretty, probably dating someone, probably hates me.”

“Dating someone when he’s here every night? Doubtful. And never say ‘too pretty’ Phil, don’t put yourself down. You’re a pretty boy, too.”

He tries to shake that off before he blushes with embarrassment. “I’m bein’ realistic, I just wanted to tell you about it.”

Really, he just feels like he never has anything interesting to share these days.

“My job description as designated biffle goes much further than listening to you squabble on.” She points at him with her little spoon. “ I think you wanted me to convince you to shoot your shot.”

“I did not! Another thing, if he rejects me, I have to awkwardly see him at the library still. So, no.”

“People suffer all around the world, Phil, you’ll survive some awkwardness.”

“Who are these people you’re torturing, Bry?”

She tries not to smile. “ Maybe it’ll be worth it and you’ll finally have a boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” he smiles. “Let’s move on. What antics did you get into this weekend?”

“I won’t forget about this, y’know, but I’ll accept the change of subject. This time.”

Phil is working when he sees Dan come in the next day.

He’s putting books into their shelf of holds, while Bryony sits at the desk and shadows the librarians like Phil should do sometime.

Phil smiles at him, then looks away, then looks back to see Dan walking toward him. He’s in a black hoodie that’s as long as a short dress and carrying a Starbucks cup with a tote bag over his shoulder.

“Hey, when you’re not too busy, do you think you could help me find some history databases? The UK in terms of art and fashion...any time periods but the Renaissance especially would be helpful, if that’s not too specific,” Dan asks.

“Oh! Yeah, for sure, I’ll come to your table after I put these away!” Phil smiles cheerfully.

“Cool.” He nods and walks on.

Phil probably looks like a manic while he stocks the books rapidly. He just needs to get a real librarian to write down these databases for him.

Bryony stares at him with amused puzzlement the whole time, spinning a highlighter in her fingers. He tries to ignore her gaze as he waits for the Librarian to scribble his request on a notepad, but Bryony is insufferable with her teasing gaze.

Finally, he gets to escape. He sticks his tongue out at her on his way to casually stroll up to Dan’s table.

He waves the note in the air. “Here’s some fun databases for you. The top one is the best but its actually, like, fifty databases separated into time periods.”

“Oh great, even more sites to search on,” Dan says.

Phil straddles the bench facing Dan. “Do you want tips?”

“Please, Mr. Librarian.”

Phil rambles on about using the search history and filters and anything else he can remember. At least this time he had a moment to recall his library sessions from undergrad. Dan listens intently, nodding along.

“… and, yeah,” he finishes. Dan nods once more.

“Did the search help before?” Phil asks.

“The papers looked good, if only I had the energy to understand them at all,” Dan says. “I saved some, though.”

“This venti coffee with three-times espresso isn’t enough to keep you wired?” Phil asks, reading Dan’s coffee cup.

“No fathomable amount of caffeine will be enough to make me excited about philosophy papers.”

Phil giggles. “It’s not the time of your life?”

“Spiralling through philosophical Wikipedia articles and Youtube videos, that I can do. It’s this tedious reading that gets me.”

“If it’s philosophy, why do you need to do research? Isn’t it just all thinking?”

Dan gives him an amused side glance.

“What!”

“No,” Dan holds back a laugh. “You’re right, who needs citations? I’m just gonna think my way through this paper.”

“Hey, excuse me for not knowing anything about philosophy. I’ve heard from someone that it’s pretty boring, anyway,” he points out.

“It has the potential to be interesting, it sucks that philosophers are so dry. Philosophy consists of all the most boring gay men in the history of the world.”

Phil snickers.

“I’m not lying, not one bit. These bearded daddies were so dull.”

It makes Phil laugh more. “You’re not making me want to ever learn about philosophy.”

“Good. Run. Far away.”

“Before it enslaves me and I turn into the dullest gay guy of this century,” Phil says, recognizing the bravery of what he’s mentioned with a lurch in his chest. He makes an effort to look casual.

“Exactly. Don’t be like me, laying on the floor having existential crises about what those boring, gay dudes said.”

“If I find you on the floor in here, like, laying under the table, should I be worried?”

“No, that’s just a normal day for me.” Dan’s dimple sticks out as he grins.

“No judgement here.”

Dan smiles warmly at him and they lull into silence.

“I suppose I should let you try and work,” Phil eventually says.

“If you must.”

“Maybe I’ll come distract you some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Dan tilts his head and smiles. Phil has to look away from that glimmer in his eyes. He slowly shuffles off the bench with a smile on his face.

“I’ll see ya,” he says, waving, and Dan waves back.

He’s restless when he returns to his duties. Well, his boring duties of putting books on the shelf. Bryony is distracted and he’s grateful. She’s going to make fun of him and grill him and though it’s out of love, he’s had enough excitement for now. Whether or not he made a friend or just had a surprisingly lovely chat, he’s been energized.

When his break finally comes he sneaks out to the cafe across the street. It’s so tiny and cramped that he can’t imagine who designed it and how it passes any health inspections. He shuffles to the counter and waits for a worker to come out the back.

He orders a pumpkin latte and a premade steak panini sandwich, microwaved to perfection. He takes it to a cold seat by the window, lets the almond milk warm him from the inside. He stares across the street. The library looks extraordinary from the outside. It looks creepy and old, like a scary orphanage from a movie, and he loves it. Sometimes people come just to look at the decor and he doesn’t blame them, even though he doesn’t have much of an eye for art himself.

But here he is, with an apprenticeship at this slightly pretentious Manchester library, shadowing and learning to be a librarian himself, until he spends his days among books and gets to assist calm, quiet people in an entrancing atmosphere. That life sounds kind of nice.

When it nears the hour and the caffeine has raised the hair on his arms, he shuffles back to the counter and orders a large black coffee to go. With a confident pep in his walk, he crosses the street and enters the big doors of the library. The coffee burns through to his hand as he walks to the back corner. He keeps his eyes forward so he doesn’t make eye contact with Bryony. He can feel her eyes on him and he tries not to smile.

The first thing Phil sees is an empty word document and Dan with his head in his hands. He hesitates, wondering if this was a good idea, but Dan looks back at him.

“I know you said nothing helps, but maybe another batch of coffee will do some good.”

“What? You got me coffee?” Dan asks, staring as Phil outstretches his arm. He walks over and sets it on the table when Dan doesn’t move.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “We can see how much caffeine we can get in you until even the most boring philosophy sounds interesting.”

Dan looks up at him. “You should have just asked to get coffee together.”

“Oh,” Phil says.

“Tomorrow? Wanna get coffee together tomorrow?” Dan asks.

“Yes,” he says immediately.

“Cool.” Dan smiles up at him and takes a sip of coffee. Phil rocks back on his feet, jitters run through his body. He’s a bit stunned.

“Five?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

“Cool. Okay. See you,” Phil nods and walks away with a smile creeping onto his face.

He walks behind Bryony and leans into her ear. “I think I just might have a coffee date tomorrow, possibly.”

“What!” she screeches so loud the librarian shoots her head up in alarm.

“Sorry,” Bry whispers, before she turns back to Phil. “With tall man over there?”

“Yes, he’s a very nice tall man.”

Bryony smiles and grabs his hand to shake it excitedly.

Phil speed walks toward Dan. Water splashes beneath his feet and makes his toes damp. It’s barely sprinkling now but he has his hood on for fear of ruining his quiff, so meticulously sea-salt sprayed today.

Dan leans against the library, protected from the rain by some scaffolding. His legs are crossed and one hand is in his coat pocket while the other scrolls through his phone. He seems to always wear black, intimidatingly dark and a bit alternative. The smile that spreads across his face when he looks up is the opposite. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and Phil can only wave as he approaches.

Dan pushes off the wall into a standing position. “Coffee?”

“Please,” he says, nodding to the cafe across the street. Dan falls in step with him toward the crosswalk.

“This place had better be good. I spend too much on Starbucks,” he says after a moment of silence. Phil hates that he feels so nervous and awkward, like he can’t be his best self when he really wants to be his best self.

“It’s amazing, you’ll see. I love me some Starby’s but this place is even more delicious,” Phil says.

“Alright,” Dan huffs out an awkward laugh. He opens the door for Phil.

They slide in past the tables to the narrow counter. It’s more quiet than usual, a barista peeks out the back while they slip a phone into their pocket.

“Hedgehog Latte, medium,” Phil says.

“Hedgehog?” Dan echos in confusion.

“Yeah. They blend up a hedgehog and mix it in,” Phil says. The barista gives a weak smile at the overdone joke.

“Hmm.”

“It’s hazelnut, so good.”

“Ooh. I’ll have the same.”

Phil slides in front of the cashier and Dan lets him pay. They lean against the counter to wait and Phil fiddles with his wallet, thinking of something to say.

Dan beats him to it. “So are you a stereotypical librarian, spending hours here drinking cutesy lattes named after animals while you read books?”

“Umm… no, I don’t read all that much.”

“What? You’re a fake librarian!”

“I’m not a real librarian, anyway. I like Stephen King, and a bunch of graphic novels, some manga, but mostly I like cool films and anime.”

“You’re very interesting.”

Phil chuckles awkwardly. “I’m sure you read more than me, all that crazy philosophy that would make my head explode, even if it's boring.”

Dan shrugs. “Aside from the boring gay dudes, it’s also just a lot of old racist men I skimmed before getting to stuff that mildly interests me. Well, I guess I like Sartre and thinking about the meaning of life, but who doesn’t sometimes.”

“I think the meaning of life is to have good lattes,” Phil says, smiling as the barista places their coffees in front of them. The foam resembles a hedgehog, though it is little more than a blob. Phil grabs two sugar packets and heads to the table he and Bryony always sit at.

“I have no argument for that,” Dan says.

“Will you tell me about your research?” Phil asks.

“ Research ,” Dan says it sarcastically and Phil isn’t sure why. “You really don’t want to hear me ramble.”

“I think I do. At least your opinion on it? Is it about queer artists, what they do?”

“It’s a lot more broad.”

Phil lifts his eyebrows and waits.

“Well. It’s more complicated than it might sound. What even is queer aesthetic? Rainbows? That’s a very specific ‘Western’ capitalist fad, but let’s say I just focus on the UK, there’s still so much to consider. Camp is a fucker to define as is, and what about the different ways of being non-conforming without being queer? Is a stinky man who doesn’t conform by not showering queer? How about a straight cis woman who likes Kristen Stewart and follows lesbian fashion trends? No, I need a solid way to define it.”

He stops to sip at his drink, wincing at the heat, and Phil continues to stare at him in wonderment.

“You sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” Phil nods him on.

“So, the most integrative way would be to study queer aesthetic as far back in history as possible in as many cultures as possible, but that’s so beyond the scope of my abilities, and maybe some time periods were rational instead of performative, anyway. I should mention, it isn’t just fashion, it’s song and dance and drag and pop culture and the whole range of actual art and literature.” He gesticulates wildly. “So let’s say I choose a few case studies to analyze, it’s bias amidst a world of diversity. Not to mention the issue of aligning queerness only with aesthetics which offers a conundrum for people who identify as queer but don’t pass or act on it or embrace the subculture. But then again, I want to know, do personal aesthetics have the ability to align someone's identity, or even make them love themselves and heal from trauma by creating beauty out of what is denigrated? In the context of being queer in a cis-heteronormative world, I mean.”

He stares in Phil’s eyes as if waiting for an answer.

Then he barks a laugh. “I want easy answers without doing the goddamn work, is my fuckin’ problem. How am I supposed to cross that gap?”

“Well, jeez I barely know what to say because I don’t think I’m smart enough, but it sounds interesting. It must be interesting to read, at least? You seem passionate?” Phil asks, surprised by the gloom on Dan’s face.

“Sometimes I think I just need therapy instead.” He lifts his coffee cup in cheers.

“You’re thinking of yourself in the research question,” Phil says.

“Yeah.” He shrugs half-heartedly. “I mean, I thought that would make me motivated.”

“What is it...like, why are you doing this? What is it for? Grad school?” Phil asks.

“Under. Undergrad.” Dan shakes his head like he’s ashamed. “I was doing Philosophy with Honours. I got through everything… except for my honours thesis. I put it off and it never happened. I can’t graduate without it, and this is my make-up year.”

“Oh. Well, lots of time to focus on it?”

“Well, after work at Asda in the morning, I get the entire evening, so you’d think I’d have enough time. Guess how many words I have? Zero. It’s like I physically can’t do anything.” He looks at Phil and shakes his head again. “Sorry. I’m dumping it on you, I always do this.”

“No. Hey, I like hearing about it. And I get it. Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong at my job, and it makes me feel like I can’t do anything of value. I thought I was going to do a master's for library studies, but it feels impossible some days.”

“Why do you want to be a librarian?” Dan asks.

“I did English Language and Literature. It just seemed like the easiest course of action from that. ‘Cause I wasn’t gonna be a journalist or an author.” Phil says. He doesn’t know if he’s said that out loud to anyone. He’s used to justifying his “dream” by using his interest in media and stories, the ways he likes to help people, the nice atmosphere of libraries. That stuff is true, but being a librarian doesn’t always seem like the best means of fulfillment.

Dan looks sympathetic. “You want to be comfortable and stable,” he says, without any judgement.

“But also doing something respectable, or that sounds respectable. I don’t know, it sounds nice, putting books away and helping people find resources in a pretty library, but I don’t care about it that much and the tasks are actually hard and I’m putting off applying to the course.” He sighs. “How the hell does anyone figure out what they wanna do, or be brave at all?”

“Beats me,” he says. Dan looks instantly less upset, smiling widely at Phil.

“You can’t be smiling like me like that after sending me spiralling,” Phil says. Dan laughs a little too loud.

“C’mon, it’s some solidarity. I’m quite fond of existential nihilism.”

“If you can convince my brain to not care, I’m sure I’ll like it too.”

Dan tilts his head at him and smiles. “Yeah, you seem quite caring.”

“Kind of an anxious mess,” he jokes. He can’t believe he’s saying these things to someone he barely knows, but Dan opened up to him, and anyways, it feels nice.

Dan keeps smiling widely at him.

“Okay. No more spiralling.” Dan gently slaps his hand on the table. “I need to know, immediately, what anime you watch.”

The coffee date only lasts until Phil’s shift. Well, it lasts until ten minutes past the start of his shift because of how much they chat.

Phil bothers Dan periodically that day, and the next day, and the next. He walks over and makes comments and they bant until Phil gets guilty for taking up his time. Nonetheless, Dan’s word document stays empty and Phil gets too bored to stay away. It’s exciting to talk to Dan, it’s like a rare miracle to find someone he instantly connects with, who is both charming and kind.

Dan asks him if he’d like to get coffee again, and even though Phil doesn’t have a shift that day and doesn’t need to bus all the way out here, he instantly agrees.

Today its white hot chocolate with raspberry puree for Phil and a salted caramel cappuccino for Dan. Polar Bear Hot Chocolate and Lion Cappuccino, respectively, following the cafe’s usual quirky fashion. The foamy designs are particularly endearing today, animal faces wonky and uneven.

They sit further away from the entrance, an attempt to hide from the plummeting temperature outside. It’s a particularly frosty day, too ugly and dry to be Christmas-y but too cold to want to do anything but sleep. Nonetheless, warm drinks and Dan were enough to get Phil out of his house, even after the longer than normal sleep in. Phil’s wearing his NASA shirt, a nice change from the business casual he tries to go for, that array of button-ups for the library.

They try each other’s drinks and Dan sits sideways in the comfy chair, rolling his eyes back in pleasure at the taste.

“This is the life. Why don’t I do homework here, an endless supply of drinks coming my way,” Dan says.

“I won’t get to bother you here when I’m working. The librarians might fire me for leaving the building so much,” Phil says. He’s surprised and a little proud at how big that makes Dan smile. Dan lifts his cup to his mouth to hide it.

“True. Besides, I’m in the library for the aesthetic inspiration.”

“Oh, that’s why? Does it help?”

Dan shrugs. “It’s better than sitting slouched on my sofa in my tiny apartment. That corner is familiar and I’m comfortable and hidden from people walking by with a nice view of the street and, of course, the general ambience. Books are comfortable, somehow. I’m right in view of Hippocrates and—”

“ That’s the tiny hand guy?”

That makes Dan burst into laughter and he nods. “Yeah, fuck, those hands are weird.”

“I don’t know how he wrote anything with such little fingers.”

“Well I can’t write anything with my giant sausage fingers so maybe it helped him.”

The joke doesn’t make sense which makes Phil laugh more. Dan lifts his hand to wiggle his fingers. Phil sees that he does indeed have big hands and fingers, but he regards them in a more positive way. Definitely a more positive way.

“I’m glad tiny hand man gives you so much aesthetic inspiration,” Phil says.

“Shut up,” he says. Dan leans back in his chair and yawns, his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re like a bear when you yawn,” Phil says, yawning himself a moment later. He wipes the whipped cream off his top lip, wondering if the sugar makes him say weird things or if it’s the way Dan makes him feel.

“Yeah? Intimidating?”

“Not really.”

“That was one of my nicknames.”

“Bear?”

“Yeah. I’d pretend to be Winnie the Pooh and prance around for my Nan, and she’d call me Bear and make me toast with peanut butter and honey.”

“Aww,” Phil coos.

“Apparently I’d ruck up my shirt and take off my pants too. Embarrassing.”

Phil smiles. “No that’s endearing. Well as long as you’re talking about you as a child, not you last week.”

“Yeah, no, this was me at four, my Nan doesn’t need to get a restraining order against me.”

“I’m glad to hear.” He watches Dan yawn again.

“I’m sorry, ugh, I’m just drained.”

“Is the work getting to you?”

“Yeah. I mean. I’m constantly coming here straight from Asda, like today. It never ends. I keep saying I’ll get enough work done then take a break, but I can’t get enough done to even justify a break.” He takes a long gulp of his coffee.

“I think you need some breaks to be able to think. You need to take care of yourself.”

“Probably.” He scoffs. “My body aches to nap.”

“Why don’t you?”

Dan shrugs. “Gotta work.”

“You need relaxation too,” Phil says.

“This is my relaxation time then, until your shift starts.”

Phil smiles mischievously. “I don’t have a shift. Does this mean I can make you take a break till Saturday?”

“What? You don’t work tonight?”

“No,” he says. “Just wanted to come get warm drinks with you,” he adds.

“You—oh, wow. You’re making it really hard to build up the motivation to go work now.”

“Maybe you should hang out with me a little longer instead,” Phil says.

“I did have a long morning at work,” Dan mutters. “This bitch yelled at me for not letting her return a jug of milk. It was opened! I’m pretty sure she drank some!”

“That’s more than enough reason to give yourself a break.”

“Yeah, alright, you’ve convinced me.”

“Awesome. Doesn’t it feel good? You have the world at your fingertips.”

“The world at my fingertips and I’d choose a nap above anything else.”

“Shall we sleep on the table?” Phil asks, putting his head down on his arms to demonstrate.

“I also live just a couple minutes away. Probably a bit comfier.”

“You want to go nap together?” Phil asks. He smiles warily, not sure if Dan is joking or if he should get excited instead.

He doesn’t miss the way Dan looks him up and down. “Tempting.”

“Well. I’m down,” Phil says.

“If that’s weird, I also have video games, Netflix, snacks...”

“I’m quadruple sold.”

“Cool.” Dan lifts the mug to his face to finish what’s left.

The walk is definitely more than a couple of minutes, hugging their coats closed through the icy wind in their faces. It’s nice to talk offhandedly about video games but by the time Dan’s apartment is in sight, they’re both shivering and rushing through the door, abandoning their conversation.

“I could really use some hot chocolate to warm me up now,” Phil says. His glasses go foggy and he’s blind until Dan grabs his arm and leads him the right way.

Dan snorts. “We must go back! Hah, no, I have heating, we‘ll stay here. You and your weird anime glasses.”

They crowd into the tiny elevator while Dan explains how he thinks he got such a good deal because someone was probably murdered in this apartment. Phil is a bit nervous. He doesn’t really know Dan, they’ve been casually talking for less than a week and despite connecting so quickly, he doesn’t know his intentions. Dan might bring Phil into his bed for a nap and come onto him instead. A casual hook up might be Dan’s idea of a good break while he’s so busy with school, and maybe he doesn’t want anything more from Phil. Phil pressured Dan into this as well, there’s every possibility that Dan thinks Phil wants to hook up. Does he want to right now? What if they hook up, and then they never talk again, not even to be friends?

They ride to the second floor from the top, it’s a long ride and the elevator is a little bit scary, but they survive and walk down the hall where Dan opens the second last door.

“My very humble abode,” Dan says, but it actually is very nice. Just empty.

“A balcony!” Phil exclaims when he sees it.

“Yeah, see what I said about someone probably getting murdered?”

“Worth it. It’s nice but you don’t have many things,” Phil says. The lounge consists of a small TV and a couch and a chair with a clean coffee table. There’s a coffee maker on the kitchen counter but that’s about it.

“I like a minimalist place. My roommate’s super clean, thankfully.”

“Roommate?”

“Yeah. He’s probably gonna be home soon and making dinner, those bloody normal nine-to-five hours. But it’s up to you if you wanna sit out here anyway, though I have my games in my room.” Dan beckons down the hall.

“I’m okay with your room, then. Do you not get along with your roommate?”

“No, he’s a really nice guy, I’m just not that sociable, I guess. I also don’t have the most normal sleeping schedule.” Phil follows Dan.

“I can relate to that,” Phil says. He turns into the bedroom and his mouth drops open.

He has a bed turned horizontal to the door that leaves little room to pass by. Across the bed is more floor space and a cornered desk with two screens in front of large windows with the blinds all the way down. A giant pride flag is pinned taut against the wall, a splash of colour amidst the rather monochrome room

“I suppose it’s not super accessible but I just—” Dan grunts as he rolls across the bed, “parkour around.” He rolls off the side and sits in the office chair.

Phil laughs. “That’s super accessible, I think.” He does the same and rolls over ungracefully until he can sit on the edge.

“You get it.” He laughs, swivelling in his chair.

“This is such a cool desk area, why don’t you work here?” Phil asks. He stands and reaches over Dan to pull the blinds open. The room instantly brightens.

“It’s good to have different places that you associate different things with. So I associate work with work, the library with my writing, and when I come home I get to be creative and relaxed. I refuse to bring work into my comfy place.”

Phil sits back on the bed as his face lights up. “Creative things?”

“Creative things,” Dan confirms with a smirk.

“Tell me.”

“It’s, I guess, a bit of everything… I do like writing when it’s freeform and personal. I keep a journal, stuff like that. Lately, I guess this probably isn’t too surprising, but I’ve been into visual media. I don’t have a good camera but I guess I know what I’d like to capture or film, I watch a lot of visual artists and I mess around in photoshop.”

“You’re too humble, I think that’s awesome. I—I mean, I write scripts sometimes, just for myself but, y’know, just because you don’t have the camera and the equipment doesn’t mean it’s not a super cool hobby.”

Dan nods. “I guess. That’s a good point. The equipment is expensive as fuck, anyway, how is anyone supposed to just have a hobby like that?”

“Exactly.”

“What are these scripts about? What comes from the mind of Phil…?”

“Lester.”

“The magical mind of Phil Lester.”

Phil curls his legs up and hugs his knees to his chest. “Sci-fi type stuff,” he says.

“Ooh, is it space? Time travel? No, I bet it’s a multiple dimensions type thing.”

“You tell me something you’ve worked on first,” Phil says.

“I have worked on nothing.”

“I don’t believe that for a second!”

Dan hesitates, rocking side to side. “ Well, I’ve written scripts, too. Philosophy videos, but instead they’d be more relatable and understandable and socially meaningful, I try to write it out to be funny and self-deprecating. And I’ve planned out what I would use for lights and music, but again, no resources. It’s not exactly original, I like some other philosophy Youtubers.”

“You always try to put yourself down, but I still think everything you say is the coolest thing ever.”

Dan’s eyes widen and his smile falters.

“What?” Phil asks. “Are you okay?”

Dan laughs but it seems forced. “You can’t just say something like that to someone as emotionally unstable as me.” He’s clearly joking but his lip quivers.

“Oh, Dan. I’m not lying, I swear.”

“I just try so hard and I feel like nothing comes out of it, it’s like life is one long brain exercise of trying to balance my emotions and be as smart as everyone expects me to be but it just doesn’t work.” He smacks his head with his palm and groans. “And I’m treating you like a fucking therapist now.”

Phil shuffles to sit as close to the edge of the bed as he can. “Friends talk about deep shit, too. Okay? And if it makes you feel better, I don’t think you’re ‘emotionally unstable’, I think you are sleep deprived and stressed.”

A tear escapes Dan’s eye and he wipes it as soon as it falls, then sniffs loudly. He smiles again, but it’s loose like his other smiles. “I also have chronic depression. There’s a fun mixture.”

“See? You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” Dan breathes in and out.

“What if we actually just nap?” Phil asks.

Dan looks up and slowly smirks, grabbing a tissue as he speaks. “Did you think something else was going to happen?”

“Uhh,” Phil’s eyes widen.

“Don’t look so worried, I’m just teasing.” He stands and crawls on the bed, around Phil to lay on the other side. He stays on top of the sheets. “I didn’t know if something was going to happen.”

Phil shuffles to lay back too. It’s awkward, he’s essentially in a stranger's bed.

“I didn’t know either, and for the record, I wasn’t going to try anything,” Phil says. He lays on his back with his head turned toward Dan.

“Ouch,” Dan puts a hand to his chest. He rolls over to face Phil.

“I mean… it’s not like…”

“It’s okay, really. I’m in desperate need of a friend, too.” Dan laughs. It’s an odd look with his glassy eyes, whether from nearly crying or from sleepiness.

“I just like getting to know people, y’know?” Phil says. “It’s not that… ” he trails off.

“You’ve never been this inarticulate,” Dan says with faux concern.

“Shut up!” Phil laughs and then turns over to face Dan.

“Okay, I’ll stop bothering you now. To be serious for half a second, I do like talking to you a lot. I probably wasn’t going to try anything, not tonight.”

“By ‘try anything’ we’re talking about the sacrificial ritual, right?” Phil asks, unable to keep a smile off his face. Dan laughs so hard he rolls onto his back.

Phil grins at him, at Dan’s rosy cheek and hooded eyes. He decides it would be nice to let this drag on. Just a bit.

He rolls back. “Yeah. But let’s get to know each other first, I don’t want to gut and drain the blood of just anyone.”

“Nasty.”

Dan’s smile falters slightly and he looks out at the room with no floor space. “Also to defend my dignity a little bit, I do have some friends. It’s probably obvious I don’t have guests very often. I lived on res before, and I swear I made friends, but not being around each other makes it hard to stay in touch. I don’t have any more classes to see anyone, and lots of people are graduated and moved on.”

“That sucks, I get that it’s hard. I mostly hang out with my brother and his girlfriend, and then there’s Bryony at the library who’s my best friend. But again, we have excuses to see each other.” Phil puts his hands under the pillow to warm them up.

“Yeah, I have friends at work, but I guess they’re more like acquaintances and usually way off from my age. At least it’s some socializing. If I didn’t get out of the house for work I’d be in this room 24/7.”

“I turn into a hermit when I have days off,” Phil says.

“Yeah, exactly. Adulthood is hard. Already.”

“I think school is probably the worst of it, in terms of having no time to do what you want to do and not having an idea of the things you like.”

“I hope so. I just need to graduate, move onto the next level.”

“Exactly, you’re gaining XP then you’re gonna level up and be way better,” Phil says, smiling at his metaphor.

“Yeah. Also, tell me if you think I’m complaining too much. Probably just more evidence I need therapy.” Dan says, putting a hand on the side of his face and cringing.

“No, I like hearing what you’re thinking. A lot of people I meet don’t seem to, like, open up or be emotional. It’s nice. But I do think you need more time for yourself, even therapy?” Phil says, his voice unsure.

Dan huffs a laugh. “I get this anxiety that I’m not doing enough with my life, that every second being lazy or doing something else is wasting it and I need to keep trying. It just feels like the output won’t come, at least not how I want it. I have written things but I always delete them.”

Phil tilts his head in sympathy.

His voice turns amused again. “I’m a good procrastinator, so I’m betting on myself starting and finishing this thesis the day before it’s due.”

“That’s a good superpower, but also sounds stressful.”

“Not a very interesting superpower. I’d rather have the power of invisibility.” Dan yawns, his eyes squeezing shut. It makes Phil yawn almost instantly.

“I’d go for flying. Or healing. Or laser beam eyes,” Phil says.

“All three maybe?”

“And the catch is they all have to be used at the same time or none at all.” Phil’s eyes widen at the idea but Dan laughs into the pillow.

“There’s your next sci-fi script,” Dan mutters. “Hey! You never told me what you write about.”

“It’s mostly ideas and notes, not really a script, unless you count my daydreams.”

“I think I do.”

“Okay. Well, I’m too tired right now, I’ll tell you another time and blow your mind,” Phil says.

“Alright,” Dan chuckles. “Are you actually down to nap?”

“I very much want to,” Phil says. “And I want you to.”

“Okay. I don’t need any more convincing. Um. Do you want joggers?” Dan asks, looking back and forth at their legs, black skinny jeans with crinkly knees.

“Yes please.” Phil pushes himself up.

Dan hops up to swing open the closet and dig at the bottom. The closet is overflowing with portable shelves and boxes and clothing.

“That’s where your stuff is! I knew no one could be this minimalistic.”

“Shh,” Dan says, throwing sweats at Phil. “Don’t tell anyone my darkest secret. Okay, brb.”

Dan leaves the room with another pair of sweatpants. Phil quickly peels his jeans off so Dan doesn’t walk in on him with his butt out. He slides on the soft sweats, drops his jeans on the floor, and yanks off his sweater so he’s just in his undershirt. He checks his phone and quickly replies to Bryony’s DMs before he sets an alarm and puts it on do not disturb. He shuffles under the covers, delighted to find a fuzzy blanket under the sheet. He sets his glasses on the side table as Dan knocks on the door.

“Ocupado!” Phil yells back.

“What? Well you better be decent,” Dan says, opening the door. He steps in and smiles, clad in his striped t-shirt and black joggers.

“I’m so ready to turn my brain off. Oh. First, want to see my room in cool-mode?” Dan asks.

“Do I ever.”

Dan turns off the lights and then switches on a glowing lamp thing that shines a warm orange pattern on the wall. He crawls over Phil’s shins and turns on some pink and blue projector lights, a lava lamp, and white fairy lights. He closes the blinds completely and the room is submerged into the array of colours, blending together with different intensities and patterns like an abstract galaxy on the ceiling.

“Shit,” Phil whispers. “So you do like colours.”

“Yeah?” Dan crawls back over Phil’s shins.

“Your clothes are always so dark.”

“Oh. Well, my fashion aesthetic is completely different from my decor aesthetic.”

“Huh.”

“And these only come out when I’m ready to party.” He slides under the covers and lays a foot away from Phil. The lights shine on his face and reflect in his irises, blurred by Phil’s lack of eyesight. His actual skin colour is obscured until it’s like a shining alien face. A very pretty shining alien, with sparkling eyes and curls that flop onto the pillow.

“It’s a party,” Phil says. He stares at the ceiling so he doesn’t have to look at Dan so close yet.

“You smell really good,” Dan says.

“Huh? Oh.” Phil laughs awkwardly. “I don’t even wear cologne.”

“No? I guess it’s like clean laundry smell. I noticed it the first time you helped me in the library.”

“Is that good?”

“Of course.” Dan shrugs.

“Well, thanks.” He smiles and turns away, a futile attempt to divert attention from his red face. He chews on his lip for a moment.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Phil asks, harnessing the bravery he still has.

Dan nods.

“Big or little spoon?” Phil shuffles a bit closer.

“I’ll be little spoon, just because I’m probably on the verge of an emotional breakdown so I deserve it.” He turns around and shuffles back and Phil feels his heart rate pick up.

“Mhm,” Phil says, then wraps an arm around Dan’s chest and slowly shuffles his hips closer.

“Don’t worry, I’m versatile,” Dan says. He breaks through Phil’s nerves and makes him laugh. He wiggles into the bed and is satisfied with how soft the sheets are, and how warm Dan is. Why doesn’t he nap more? Why doesn’t he cuddle with people more?

The lights swim behind his eyelids but it’s nice.

Dan sighs and it's like his chest deflates. “Thanks, Phil. I really needed this,” he whispers.

The alarm blares through Phil’s sleep. He’s instantly awake and trying to find his phone to turn the damn thing off. Dan groans loudly and he realizes he’s patting Dan’s chest and this isn’t his side table.

Finally, he rolls over and grabs his phone and glasses and the horrendous noise stops. He flops back with his glasses wonky on his face.

He looks over and Dan’s eyes are still closed. Phil watches as he squeezes them together, then blinks a couple of times through the puffiness of his skin. His lips are swollen, too, red and pouting. Phil can’t stop staring at them because of it. His arms lift up and he stretches his back. Phil copies him, feeling his back pop. Dan lets out a loud groan.

“Good sleep?” Phil asks, his throat dry.

“I’m so comfy,” he mumbles, dragging out the ee sound.

“Same.”

“Oh, how I have missed you, sleep. I’m never leaving this bed.”

“How will you survive without food? I’m starving,” Phil mumbles.

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“We missed dinner. God. Sushi would make my fucking life.”

Phil groans. “Please tell me there’s sushi close by.”

“Google the walking distance, I don’t want delivery, I wanna be served.”

“Bougie,” Phil comments, and scrambles for his phone. He squints his eye at the brightness and opens Google.

“Eight-minute walk in the cold, will we survive?”

“With an extra hoodie, I say a good seventy-five percent chance.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” Phil says.

Dan slowly sits up and rolls out of bed while groaning. He yanks a couple of hoodies out of the cramped closet by their sleeves, then throws a dark one at Phil.

Phil is a bit confused as he unfolds it until he recognizes the hoodie.

“This is huge! You want me to wear your dress hoodie?” he asks.

“It’s my warmest one and I thought it’d look cute on you. I can get a different one if you’re not comfortable wearing it.”

It’s enough of a compliment to make Phil confident. “No, it’s fine,” he says and pulls it over his head. He instantly feels like he’s drowning in thick fabric. He’s almost overheating more than he did in the few hours huddled under Dan’s duvet next to skin that felt like a space heater.

“Yeah. Cute, see?” Dan says.

“I’m like the Michelin man,” Phil says, thinking about how he has to pull his jacket on next. He stares down at his legs that look as skinny as chicken legs in comparison.

“A cozy Michelin man.”

“Let’s go, they close in an hour and a half,” Phil crawls off the bed. It doesn’t feel like nine pm, it feels like the dead of night.

“Is that not enough time for you?”

“Not enough to eat as much as I want to.”

“Settle down there, bub.”

“I’m going to eat the entire restaurant.”

“Titan Phil then terrorized the streets of Manchester.”

Phil pauses the bants as they pass someone watching TV in the living room. They shove on their trainers and zip up their coats.

“Bye Jimmy!” Dan calls last minute before they shuffle out and shut the door.

“Then titan-me takes over the world and no one can build a sturdy wall before I come and destroy everything,” Phil continues.

“I will be a good titan, then, and save the people.”

“You think those exist?” They step into the elevator discussing Attack on Titan theories.

They’ve clearly just woken up and rolled out of bed, still bundled in their sweats. Phil ties his tighter because of how big they are on his hips. Dan’s hair is particularly fluffy now and pushed to one side. His eyes and lips are still swollen and it makes him look softer than usual, especially with his hood bunched up around his neck all cozy. Dan’s voice is always soft, but it is especially when they stand so close and he’s all quiet and relaxed. His torso sways back and forth like he can’t keep still.

The heat they worked up by hibernating helps a lot through their walk, led by Phil’s GPS. Street lights and store windows light their quiet path to the shining OPEN sign of the sushi place. It’s decorated with a big fish tank and little else, but Dan looks around and nods, apparently satisfied, as they’re given two menus and a sheet to check off items. They’re the only ones getting sushi this late at night, apparently.

They strip off their layers and make themselves at home in their little corner booth. Dan points at the cheap house wine on the drink menu excitedly. Phil nods and asks a kind waiter for two.

They are meticulous going through the menu, debating the choices and finding a good balance between raw fish and fried and grilled, spicy and mild, with bits of every cheap appetizer and some mochi ice cream for dessert until there is far more than two people should ever eat in one sitting. Soy sauce, wasabi and ginger are instantly set on the table and Phil watches as Dan organizes them in a line.

“I haven’t been this rested in so long,” Dan says, a subdued grin on his face.

“The nap was only, like, three hours.”

“Exactly,” Dan laughs. “I just, God. I feel content now. Not a numb content, a happy content. I think it saved me from my near emotional breakdown.”

“I’m glad. It was a good nap. We all need to nap sometimes to keep going I think, and forget about the world a bit.”

“I’m going to take care of myself more. I don’t know, maybe rethink my thesis.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to my advisor. I don’t know why I’m forcing myself through all this suffering. I think, well I guess my philosophy of the meaning of life is just to be happy. Whatever that is, and I’m not even following it.”

“I like that philosophy,” Phil says. “I would say family, movies, and food makes me the most happy, and I should enjoy them more.”

“Laughter, good food and sex make me happy, and guess what? I’m doing none.” He smiles cheekily.

Phil slaps his thigh. “You’re the one with your mind in the gutter, then!”

“Ooh,” he says sarcastically. “Is your mind still on that conversation from earlier?”

“You, ugh, you’re unbelievable!” Phil laughs into his hand.

Dan shrugs it off, “I know.” Phil can see a blush in his cheeks.

They quiet as appetizers are quickly brought. The aroma alone is decadent and it tastes even better. Phil is so wholly satisfied with each bite, the crunch of the tempura and the flavour of the sauce, he and Dan make faces and roll their eyes back. Dan moans and Phil laughs every time.

“I’m going to become a Mukbang Youtuber,” Phil says through a mouthful. “Just so I can eat all the time.”

Dan gives him the strangest look until Phil says “what!”

“You want to be a camboy shoving sushi into your mouth until you’re sick?” Dan asks.

“Camboy? No, a Youtuber.”

“Same difference. Mukbangs are definitely sexual. No kink-shaming from me, though,” Dan says, with a face that says otherwise.

“Nuh-uh, it’s innocent snacking and chatting.”

Dan gives him a look.

“It is!”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m starting to wonder about your intentions, hmm?” Phil points his chopsticks at Dan.

Dan gives him another look, this time far too flirtatious. Phil raises his eyebrows at him and stares back.

Dan breaks first. “Okay, okay. I’m just in an indulgent mood, alright? But those Mukbangs are a little weird.”

“Okay, maybe a little bit. I just want to get paid for eating pizza.”

“Can you imagine? The life.”

Sushi dishes arrive one by one and they scramble to make room on the table.

“This is the happiest day of my life, I think,” Dan says, looking out at their spread.

They eat and eat and eat, chatting on and off. By the time the dessert comes, after what seems like hours of stuffing themselves, Dan falls sideways on the bench.

“I’m so full.”

“C’mon man. You can’t give up now.”

Dan shifts so he lays on Phil’s thigh and looks up at him. Phil picks up a mochi ball and slowly lowers it down to Dan’s mouth. He looks amused but doesn’t reject it, he takes a gentle bite while he stares at Phil.

“Mmm.”

Phil takes a bite from the same one and nods in satisfaction. Dan stays on his lap and Phil is grateful there is no one watching because he’s very fond of Dan right now. He feeds him again and Dan shakes with laughter.

“Hey, I have a confession,” Dan says after he swallows.

“Yeah?”

“I also am pretty good at search terms. I was just feeling so antisocial and like I needed a friend. You seemed like a good victim.”

Phil lifts his head to hide his expression. “I fell right into the trap, huh?”

“You were too easy.”

Phil tries not to smiles and shakes his head defiantly.

A waiter comes out again with the bill and Phil ruffles in his coat for his wallet but Dan quickly sits up and grabs Phil’s hand. Phil freezes.

“I got it.” Dan quickly finds his wallet.

“We can split?”

“No. You’ve been far too nice.”

Dan grabs the card machine quickly so Phil doesn’t fight it until he finishes and the waiter walks away.

“I’m nice because I really like you,” is what he says.

Dan stares at him for a moment. “And that’s why I want to pay for you, because you’re the fucking sweetest person in the world I think.”

Phil grabs his hand instinctively, then pauses. “We should head out so they can clean before close,” he says. His heart beats shockingly fast.

“Yes, you’re right,” Dan yanks on his hoodie and coat. They slide out together and leave their mess of a table.

They walk only a few feet down the empty street before Phil steps forward and turns around so he’s facing Dan. He doesn’t have anything ready to say nor a plan but it doesn’t matter because Dan steps close and kisses him, hands holding his face. Phil holds Dan’s arms because it’s the only thing he can think to do in his surprise. Dan tastes like soy sauce and his lips are chapped, but Phil’s heart lurches anyway. Dan just presses against him until he opens his mouth slightly and Phil squeezes his wrists tightly.

He pulls back slowly and rests his hands on Phil’s waist, which Phil is grateful for because he’s close to being completely overwhelmed by where this night has taken him. Dan licks his lips and Phil stares, dumbfounded. He can’t help but reach up and put a curl back into place.

“Well, that’s trying something,” Phil finally says.

“What?” Dan huffs a laugh.

“Doesn’t exactly count as a sacrificial ritual, but we’ll get there.”

“Oh. You sure are something.” Dan chuckles, a lovely sound. He squeezes Phil’s waist through the bulk of clothing and then drops his hands.

“Yeah.” Phil smiles dumbly, feeling like he has no brain cells left.

“Can we get coffee tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

“I’d invite you back but if I keep indulging myself I’d probably never let you leave,” Dan says, shuffling his feet. Phil thinks he sees a blush on his face. “And I work at 9 am.”

“Oh shit. I should go home I guess.” Phil pouts. Dan pretends to pinch at Phil’s lip and Phil dodges it, laughing. He’s not sure if his own warm cheeks are visible in the dark.

“Walk me to your bus stop, I’ll wait ‘til you get on.” Dan nods forward and Phil falls in line with him as they walk back under the street lights. They don’t hold hands, but Dan stays close by and then hugs him tight before the bus pulls up.

It’s weird waking up. Phil is instantly hit with the knowledge that he now has a thing with the cute weird guy from the library. Anyone would tell him not to get his hopes up after arguably one-point-five dates but it’s so good already.

This happiness must be having a full-body effect on him because he masturbates with ease, no forcing it or feelings of necessity, his body responds and keeps him on the edge until he’s satisfied. He lays in bed for a while longer, drifting off a bit before the hunger eases him up.

It’s only now that he realizes how much of a slump he’s been in. He hasn’t felt satisfied, nor hopeful, nor like his life was anywhere close to put-together. It’s not, still, but maybe he can progress with a bit more happiness and good food.

Good thing he has the ingredients for pancakes. He makes them American style with frozen berries and chocolate chips because he can’t decide, then cooks them one-by-one in his tiny pan, eating them as he goes. He multitasks by putting on his instant coffee and then slurps it while he runs around the kitchen.

He gets a text from Dan, too, and he stops everything to read. can’t believe i forgot but my other top happy thing is music. Quickly after come screenshots from Spotify. He searches them up and listens to the dramatic soundtrack songs. He cooks and eats an astounding amount of pancakes while he imagines he’s saving the world.

Another text comes in and he snatches up his phone.

and on that note wanna come to a drag show with me on sat? A link is pasted below. Phil opens it up quickly, checks the time, and replies yes!

Then he calls Bryony. He leans on the counter and sips his coffee and listens to it ring over and over again.

She finally picks up. “Are you dying?” she asks.

“No?”

“You never make phone calls.”

“Well, this is an emergency.”

“Oh, my God, who died?”

“I need you to switch shifts with me on Saturday,” he says, wincing.

“… until midnight?” She sounds astounded.

“I will buy you coffee for… two weeks.”

“I’m a grandma, Phil, I sleep at 9 pm,” she says.

“No, you don’t. You just get into bed at 9 pm and then read fanfiction until 1 am. Three weeks.”

“I will agree if you tell me all the tea about why you are so desperate to have Saturday night off.”

He smiles, sitting on the closest chair and pulling up his legs. “So, remember the tall guy from the library?”

“Oh, my God.”

He giggles, “yeah, we hung out.”

“C’ mon , Phil, what happened?”

He tells her about what they did, where they went, but he doesn’t tell her about how they connected and opened up to each other surprisingly well. He’ll save that for himself.

“Mhm. A nap,” she says, and he can imagine the quotation marks she’d make with her hand.

“We did! That’s all!”

“Uh-huh. Why would I give my shift to a liar?”

“You think I—”

“Kidding, kidding. I’ll take your goddamn night shift.”

“I love you!” he sings.

“I kno-ow,” she sings back. “I gotta go to work now. Have fun on your day off, bitch.”

He laughs as she hangs up.

Phil has lots of time before he has to leave, so he lounges on the couch with his laptop on his stomach. He watches videos and scrolls, then he looks at the list of masters courses offered back at York, as well as the ones here in Manchester. It’s on his mind as he opens up Youtube again.

He throws on another jumper and heads out after a long afternoon of internet antics. He listens to the songs that Dan sent on the bus and leans his head on the cold window.

Dan is already in the coffee shop and a big shopping bag sits on the table. He hops up when Phil walks in.

“I haven’t ordered yet. I’m thinking Striped Phoenix, the peppermint one, that sounds good.” He bounces on his toes and Phil wonders if he actually has finished a coffee already.

“Ooh definitely. I’m getting Brown Bear Cub.”

“Nutella mocha? You and your sweet tooth, man.”

They order and sit to wait. Phil stares at the shopping bag and back at Dan with his shaking leg. Phil raises his eyebrows curiously.

“I was impulsive,” Dan finally says, nodding to the bag.

Phil flattens out the bag. “Sony? This must have been a splurge.”

“Oh, it was.”

Phil pulls down the bag and pulls out a large square box with a decent weight to it. He gasps.

“A camera! God, how much did this cost? This is some professional shiz.”

“I don’t want to talk about the price. But I’m going to use it for my thesis, I’ve seen people post and review art many times in articles, so why can’t I make mine visual? And if I fail, well, at least I’ll have finished something I enjoy.” Dan says.

“Really?” he practically yells.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, I was just thinking about how I can actually make the project work with my skills and of course , I can review the shit out of visual art. Theoretical aesthetics are fucking impossible and I was hitting a dead end. Why can’t I be creative? This is goddamn philosophy and I’m not going to be a boring-ass gay dude restricting myself.”

Phil leans on his two hands and smiles at Dan.

“Besides, what’s more queer than being extra as fuck and having a unique, non-conforming expression? It just seems so obvious now. And that’s my goddamn justification, fuck you academia.”

“That’s awesome, Dan!” he says. The barista clears his throat because they’ve been ignoring them so Phil hops up and grabs the coffees. He sets them down, then spontaneously hugs Dan around the shoulders.

“Oh!” he exclaims. Phil quickly sits back.

“I’m just happy for you,” Phil says. “I think you’ll get an A*.”

“I won’t, but I’ll do something valuable.”

“You will.”

“So, yeah, you’re good for the drag show? I want to test this camera out there.”

“Definitely, Bry’s an angel and took my shift.”

“Amazing. Hey, another time maybe could I take pictures of you at the library?” Dan sinks back into himself a bit.

“Huh?”

“Maybe not for the thesis but y’know, to collect images of aesthetic things.”

“Aesthetic?” Phil feels dumbfounded.

“You in your button-ups and glasses putting away books in a Victorian style Gothic library? Yeah, an aesthetic.” Phil realizes he’s nervous, with pink cheeks and fidgety hands.

Phil puts a cup up to hide his mouth, he feels shy from the compliment. “Hm. Maybe Bry can be there, too.”

“Yeah, of course. She’s the one in the bright vintage-like clothes? Blonde hair?”

“That’s her.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

Phil nods happily. He already knows they’d get on.

“Can we open up the camera? I wanna see it,” Phil says.

“Yes, please, I was waiting for you.” Dan begins picking at the plastic seal.

They take the camera out and ogle at how shiny it is when they slowly peel the plastic layer. It’s so perfect, not a single scratch, and it looks high tech, too. The instruction manual is thick and the buttons have symbols that Phil doesn’t recognize. Dan looks excited to figure it out. He puts in the rechargeable batteries he bought and taps through the screen, angling it so Phil can watch. Then, he pulls back and snaps a picture of Phil.

“Hey!”

“Need to test it out.” He clicks through without showing Phil until Phil whines and leans over.

He looks mostly scared with droopy eyelids and Dan giggles but says, “cute.” The background looks lovely, the counter and the windows to the cold outside, a person sipping at a mug.

“Good quality at least.”

“It fuckin’ better be for the sake of my credit card debt.”

They chat and take random pictures until Dan has to go outline this thesis plan he has. Phil can tell that he’s excited to do it, as well. Phil buys a coffee for Bryony, a creamy Flamingo, and walks Dan to the library to give it before he heads home to watch movies and text Dan.

Right before Phil has to leave his shift he and Bryony sit between some bookshelves where they’re hidden from view. They stay there for a few minutes, hiding from the librarians and the crowd of students cramming for their imminent finals.

“Is it too fast to fancy him so much, do you think?” Phil asks quietly.

She smiles at him sincerely, all amusement temporarily gone. “No. Everyone’s different. I feel like it takes me a long time, but if you guys connect this much then let yourself be happy.”

“If he turns out to be a serial killer?”

“Then I will avenge your death. I will murder him with my bare hands.”

He cracks up and leans against the bookshelf before he turns serious again.

“I find him very comforting. In a fun, distracting way, like life isn’t so bad. That’s all I think I wanted before.”

“I’m still not fond of monogamy, but I think everyone deserves that. I want that kind of relationship.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes crushed.” He says.

“Maybe be nervous for just a bit longer then until you trust him.”

“That’s, like, weirdly good advice.”

“I write relationships all the time so obviously I’m the expert,” she says, flipping her hair back.

“Okay, so maybe I should take this advice with a grain of salt.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding!”

“Yeah, you better be. And you aren’t allowed to ditch me for him. At least bring me along next time,” she says.

“Will we ever get a night off together?”

“No, probably not, but hopefully we aren’t working here much longer.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He’s rather comforted by that.

“Do you think we have, like, imposter syndrome here? Or do you think we just don’t like it much?” he asks.

“That’s pretty obvious to me,” she says, nudging him affectionately with her foot.

Dan picks him up and they bus to Canal Street. Dan shows him the experimental photographs he took, all random things in his apartment on manual focus and a selfie he quickly skips past.

There’s no lineup to get in but the bar is tiny and completely packed with a whole array of people. Phil can tell they’re being loud but everyone is drowned out by pop music. Phil trails behind, feeling iffy about the crowd, but Dan heads straight to the bar.

He leans right into Phil’s ear. “What do you want?”

Phil’s mind blanks. “Something sweet?”

Dan smiles and gets a hand on the bar, while blindly grabbing for Phil’s hand with his other. The camera case hangs off his shoulder.

His hand holding Dan’s is eventually replaced with a colourful, pretty drink in a tall plastic cocktail cup.

“Ooh,” he says, too quiet to hear. He lets Dan drag him away.

Phil follows Dan to the back wall where he finds a spot to lean. There isn’t room to stand next to him, but he beckons Phil forward.

“You can stand in front of me. I’ll look over your shoulder,” Dan yells over the noise. Phil smiles suggestively.

He turns his back to Dan and stands there grinning. Sure enough, Dan tugs Phil back until he’s leaning against him.

“Okay, you. This good?” Dan asks. Phil nods and sips at his drink, wiggling a bit to be cheeky and letting some of his weight fall against Dan. A hand rests on his hip.

Phil drinks quickly. It’s so good he can barely taste the alcohol. Dan shuffles until his mouth is at Phil’s ear again.

“I like the aesthetic of this bar in particular. It’s small enough that it feels intimate, enough tables to create a more relaxed vibe with the dance floor. I like that it’s relatively monochrome with few rainbows but I think they could have more inclusive decorations. It’s mostly men on the wall but look at all these femmes around. The music is another story, they try too hard to mimic 2000’s house music of mainstream clubs but there’s so much recent pop gay icons that would flow together, like…”

Phil, admittedly, zones out a bit but it’s because of how soft Dan’s voice is vibrating in his ear, not because he’s uninterested. He leans back further and Dan squeezes his hip. He’s extremely interested because Dan intrigues him a lot. It feels like they’ve known each other for eons longer and he wants to fill that gap of knowledge to make it come true. He wants this voice in his ear more often. Maybe 24/7. Dan’s breath tickles his ear in a nice way.

He leans his head back against the wall over Dan’s shoulder. It might be a bit strange but now he can look at Dan and be closer. He nods along, asks a couple questions about the drag show.

Phil’s not even talking but Dan shushes him when the music fades out. People clap and whistle at the performer who walks out. A person with an old Ellen Degenerous type suit vest with a rainbow beard, slicked-over hair and a charismatic smile.

He’s genuinely laughing at the jokes, especially the act where they pull a strap-on out of their pants and swing it around. They announce the first queen and Phil looks back to see Dan’s smile. He wraps his hand around Phil’s torso, pulls him closer.

Dan sways his hips slowly and Phil lets his own body go with the movement. Dancing is usually his mortal enemy but this is extremely nice, comfortable even. It’s both sweet and hot. Dan’s hand is big on his hip and his drink is better with every sip.

One of the queen's lip syncs to TLC and Phil finds himself singing along. He can feel Dan lean closer and shake with quiet giggles. Dan’s chin digs into his shoulder.

“You like it?” Dan asks, in the middle of introducing the next queen.

Phil nods vigorously. He likes being here with Dan. He likes that people can see him here with a hot man, and he thinks it's the only place he’d ever be happy about that. As comfortable and sure as he is, it’s nice to be visible. It’s different than in a bedroom of someone he met online, or in the back corner of a university party he didn’t want to go to. Dan is here hugging him and buying him a fruity cocktail and Phil is sure that he’s found a new person. A person who will stick around.

He feels a quick kiss on the side of his neck and he smiles. It’s his turn to listen to Dan sing along, a bit more in-tune, to a pop song Phil doesn’t recognize. Dan shuffles around and moves Phil a bit out of his way to pull out his new camera. Phil stays against the wall as Dan sneaks around the room to take a few pictures of the stage and crowd. He looks adorably amateur. By the end, he returns to his spot behind Phil.

When the show eventually ends and the presenter throws their strap-on dildo into the crowd, Dan and Phil cheer obnoxiously. Stereo music comes on and the lights turn off, and people migrate toward the bar and the dancefloor. Phil spins to face Dan and leans into him. Dan wraps his arms around his lower back and Phil can’t believe how comfortable it feels.

“I don’t really like dancing or that stuff,” Phil says, wincing with guilt. Dan shrugs.

“Me neither. Are you hungry?”

Phil leans in and kisses Dan, hard and quick, though a little nervous still. He slowly pulls back and nods.

Dan laughs, then takes him by the hand to lead him out, googling 24-hour diners within walking distance that sell lattes.

The street is so bright with fluorescence that the night feels alive. A few people take up space on the pavement, smoking cigarettes and laughing loudly but Dan and Phil shuffle by without so much as a glance. The further away they get, the quieter it is, the cars and drunk people fade into the background. Phil welcomes the hand that slots into his without a glance around. He feels like he could do anything right now.

Notes:

tumblr link!

moodboard by waveydnp <3

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