#Apparently his brain should taste like frozen pizza or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

is0gild · 4 years ago

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Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 13

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 4,108

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"Why are you stuffing the freezers full of Sven plushies?"

My arm stopped mid-motion and I blinked owlishly up at Frozone from where I was kneeled down on the Ice Palace floor in front of said freezers.

...I wasn't, was I?

Looking down at my hand and, more specifically, what was in it, I winced.

Yes. Yes, I was.

Fudge.

Hastily scooping them all off the stacks of ice cream bars and back out onto the tiled ground beneath me, I shot up to my feet, hiding one behind my back with a tiny, awkward laugh . "Oh! That! Yes, uh… I was just… trying to give them a… nice… frosty sheen! To, erm, make them more… authentic? Yeah, you know, since reindeer are from the frozen north, or, ah… somewhere… like that, heh!"

His eyelids drooped. "I… see."

"Oh yeah, chilled plushies are the new 'It' thing." Really? This was the hill I was choosing to die on? Apparently it was. I shoved the little caribou I was still holding into his face now, showing off the icy glaze to its fur coat as I pressed on, "They're all the rage in, er… Norway."

"Norway. Right," Frozone deadpanned as he gingerly took the proffered doll by one of its antlers. Don't think he was quite convinced. Just a wild guess here. "Call me old fashioned but for now, let's just keep all the plushes at room temperature, shall we? And please, run any other... innovations you might have by me first," he flashed me a thousand watt smile, "sound good?"

I returned it with a shaky one of my own, "A-absolutely!" He nodded and as soon as he turned his back on me, my grin faded into a grimace and I buried my face in my hands.

This hadn't been the first of my little "innovations" since starting my shift today.

Other winners included almost dumping used popsicle sticks instead of ice cream into the soft serve/milkshake machine, trying to pile scoops onto straws instead of cones, and giving taste spoons out as change for payment.

Yeah, that particular customer hadn't been exactly thrilled by the last one. Apparently the world just wasn't ready for my groundbreaking and avant-gard new form of currency.

But really, I just wasn't paying attention. I couldn't help it! I was too distracted and completely unable to focus. Hadn't been able to since the study session had ended yesterday. I'd hadn't even gotten a wink of sleep last night, merely tossed and turned while my thoughts had kept running round and round in endless circles.

I just… still couldn't get over it.

Me.

Having a crush.

My brain wouldn't wrap around it. I quite simply did not grok.

For starters, was I forgetting the six year relationship I had just been in? The fiancé I'd left at the altar a few short weeks ago? What was he, chopped liver? How could I just start having… feelings or whatever for someone else so quickly? I mean, okay sure, I hadn't been in love with the guy, but still… wasn't this breaking the rules or something? Committing some sort of romantic faux pas? Spurning basic etiquette in matters of the heart?

Perhaps I should take a step back and look at this all more objectively. Maybe I was just confused and didn't really know what it was I was actually feeling. Just what were these emotions exactly, anyway? I'd definitely never felt them before, and certainly not for my ex. But just because these sentiments were new and I was experiencing them only in the presence of a certain boy, didn't necessarily mean they were, um… affectionate in nature, right?

Yeah, this didn't have to be a crush. I was only jumping to conclusions! Lea was a great guy, absolutely, and I liked him, you know, as a person, but that didn't mean that I, like… like-liked him! I barely even knew him, for crying out loud! Granted, I did know he was kind, sweet, caring, funny, clever, made me feel comfortable around him (that in itself was kind of a miracle), and was a cutie-patootie to boot, but that didn't-

Wait.

Back up.

What was that word I'd just used?

...cutie...patootie?

Bleh, where had that even come from?

That's the thing about crushes, boo. You don't have to really know the person, just think they're a total cutie-patootie!

I shuddered as my roomie's earlier words came back to haunt me.

Thanks, Ghost of Rayne Past, this was exactly what I didn't need right now.

Okay, fine, so maybe it was a crush. I don't know! This was new territory for me! And even it was, so what? It's not like it mattered. Lea wasn't dating at the moment. Girls were a distraction, he was focusing on his school work, yada yada, that whole thing. And say, for the sake of argument, that weren't the case. It's not like I'd ever have the guts to…

...what?

Ask him out?

Pffft, me? Elsa, Queen of the Chickens?

Please!

And even if I went all the way to the magical land of Oz to ask the great wizard himself for some courage so I could so much as even begin to consider acting on these alleged feelings I may or may not have, Lea didn't see me like that. He'd made that abundantly clear. When he'd finally ended his self-imposed exile to the bathroom yesterday, the sheer amount of awkward that had filled the room after that had been enough to suffocate. And even when we did eventually manage to fall into a comfortable study rhythm once more, it didn't slip my notice that he'd always seemed to try and keep the table between the two of us for the rest of the evening.

So really, it was all moot. Lea wasn't interested. Which was okay, because I wasn't interested in him either! ...or maybe I was, but that was beside the point! The point was that this crush, if that's even really what it was, was a non-entity. Nothing that was ever going to be acted on. Nothing worth losing my head over like this, getting all-

"Elsa?" A throat cleared nearby and I glanced over my shoulder to see Frozone, back once more, now complete with a deadpan look. He held up a metal scoop. "...try this maybe?"

I stared blankly from it to him.

...crud, had I done it again?

I looked down at my hands and immediately got my answer.

Indeed I had. I'd zoned out for the umpteenth time and gone on auto-pilot. And my auto-pilot? Sucked. Big time.

Last I'd checked before I'd gone all space cadet, I'd been cleaning up the pile of Svens off the floor and hanging them back up on their hooks. Now that I was tuning back in, it seemed I'd wrapped up that task and had since moved on to assisting a customer. That customer had requested scooped ice cream on a cone - or so the hope would be, given I had a cone in hand (good start) and had opened the glass display to the refrigerated tubs. However, I'd apparently been about to start scooping… with nothing but my bare friggin' fingers.

I looked back at Frozone, plastering on a smile. "Oh, this? This is just, ah… well you know, studies have linked the use of traditional ice cream scoops back to, er… male… pattern baldness!" Ugh, just stop already, mouth, you're not helping! Do you not remember how bad at lying we are?! "Something about the way the, um, the metal... alloy interacts with the sugar is just… just yeah, bad juju or something." What I wouldn't give for a muzzle right now. What even were the words coming out of my mouth anymore? "Nine out of ten experts agree that, ah, scooping with just your hands is the safest, healthiest option, so… there you go! A great lil tip there for you, so yeah… you're welcome!"

"...I think I'll take my chances," he said, tone flat. Then he was pulling me to one side, out of earshot of the patron, "Okay, girl, you clearly got a lot going on up in there at the moment," he tapped me on the forehead a couple times, "so tell you what. I'll finish helping this customer while you gather the rest of the scoops, take them to the back for a rinse and use that minute to clear your head. Alright?"

Straightening up slightly, I gave a quick nod. "Yes sir."

"Atta girl." A quick pat on my shoulder from him, then he was moving off to greet the customer.

Giving myself a small shake, I then quickly set to work collecting the steel utensils. Focus. Focus! This wasn't the time to be twisting myself up in knots over something so inane. There'd be plenty of time for such self-indulgent stupidity once I got back home later tonight. For now, think ice cream. That's it, pure and simple. Ice cream. Live it, breathe it, bleed it. Ice cream. Nothing else existed. Nope, not a thing. Most definitely not-

My gaze chose that second to flick up, glancing towards the other side of the food court. Yup, you guessed it. A certain redhead was currently on shift at a certain pizzeria across the way. Lea was back at it with the pizza dough sorcery, spinning and tossing one on each hand. By chance, our eyes met and to my surprise, gone was any trace of lingering weirdness from yesterday. In fact, his face brightened as he flung one disc up into the air, freeing up that hand to give me an energetic wave.

There was a tiny spasm in my chest and I spun on my heel, turning my back to him.

We've been hit by friendly fire, captain! Status report.

Eyes? Wide and unblinking.

Hands? Strangling metal scoops while simultaneously pressing them against my hammering chest.

Face? Roasting like a honey-glazed ham on Christmas Eve.

...hold up… gah, what the heck was I doing?! Why was I freaking out? Weren't we past all this already, Elsa? Hadn't we left that awkward stage of your friendship with Lea in the dust behind us long ago? So what if you maybe, kind of, sort of had a teensy-weensy crush on him now? This wasn't grade school, you were a damn grown-up! So start acting like one, turn your butt around and wave back at him already!

So I did. I squared my shoulders, put on my best smile, did another about-face and waved back.

...and in my enthusiasm in said wave, I managed to smack myself in the face with the handful of metal scoops I was still holding.

Nailed it.

"I saw that," I heard Frozone's dry voice behind me and I whipped around to discover him all done with the customer and now standing there, arms crossed. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Whatever hang-up is going on with you has to do with that pizza boy." Pause to quirk an eyebrow. "Again."

I gulped, eyes darting to the left. "Heh… pizza what? Boy who?" Crickets. "I'm-going-to-go-wash-these-now-okay-bye!" I blurted out like it was all one word and bolted through the door to the back.

Whew! Dodged that bullet like Neo!

A few minutes later I was walking back out to the storefront, freshly cleaned utensils in hand and hoping Frozone wasn't going to feel like picking up exactly where we'd left off in that conversation. Seemed I was in luck, for all he said was, "I'm gonna go on my lunch break now. Should be slow since the rush just died down." He gave me a pointed look, "I trust you're all good now and can handle things on your own for a bit?"

Relieved, I gave a nod as I started putting the scoops back in their spots. "You can count on me."

"That's what I like to hear," he grinned, holding his fist out for a bump and I only hesitated for a second before lightly tapping my knuckles to his. "Alright, be back soon!"

I watched him go, then finished returning all the utensils before taking up position behind the cash register. Okay, you can do this. Don't let your mind wander. Stay in the here and now. Look around and pick something to concentrate on, keep you grounded. Like that plastic spork underneath that one table out there, dropped and forgotten, yet to be swept up by a roaming janitor. Or… that grey tabby at the Lucky Cat Café, what was his name again... Chirithy? Yeah, that sounded right. Or at Anna over there, bursting through the double doors, running straight for me as if her life depended on it and-

...wait, what?

Anna?

What was she doing here?

And why did she look so frantic and horrified?

When she got close enough, I began, "Anna, why are you-"

"Sis!" she shouted, stumbling to a stop in front of me and slamming both her hands down next to the register. "Shush! Listen!" She looked like she'd just ran a marathon and was out of breath, her every word punctuated with a pant or a wheeze. "Back… Back at- Overheard... Talking... Yelling… Mall ice cream! Mad, so… so friggin' mad! Drove… drove here! Quick as I- Right behind me! Just barely got here before… before-" She suddenly hissed in pain and pulled one knee up to her chest, grabbing her foot in both hands and bouncing up and down on the other. "Frick! Owie, charley horse! Charley horse!"

Figures her super human power to babble would fail her in the hour of her greatest need.

At a loss, I reached out across the counter to rest a hand on her arm, "Anna, slow down. Breathe. I can't understand you, you're missing some nouns there. What are you trying to tell me? Why-"

Using the countertop for support now, she grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me closer, bringing us nose to nose. "He's here! He knows!"

My blood ran cold.

I swallowed hard. "H-he? He w-who?"

Please, please, please don't say-

"The Duke!"

...oh.

Then it wasn't-

Well that's a relief!

Wait… Oh… Oh dear god, no… no, it most definitely was not!

Those food court's doors banged open a second time now and in he marched, proud and regal in all his big-nosed, bad combover, bushy mustachioed glory.

Weselton "The Duke" Fryse.

Aka my great uncle.

He and I weren't exactly on the best of terms, and that was even before I went all AWOL on my wedding day. Me being the eldest and heir to his nephew's fortune, he'd never quite forgiven me for not being born male. But I mean, come on pal, that was over twenty-two years ago - let it go already! The man was the very definition of dotty old coot and insufferable windbag. And for someone who talks so much, he surprisingly says very little. Mostly antiquated opinions and unsolicited advice, every last bit of it wrong and holier-than-thou. For all his ramblings over the decades, we had yet to even hear the story of where his nickname had even come from. Did it have to do with the esteemed university? Had the Queen of England herself actually honored him with the title? Did he have a reputation back in his day of settling matters by "duking" it out? Who knew? And honestly, who really cared?

But none of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was that he was here. That he knew. And if he knew, that meant mother and father knew. And if they knew… he probably knew as well. You know. Him. My ex.

It was official.

This was it.

The Worst Day Ever.

My chest seized. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. All I could do was watch in abject terror as the Duke drew ever nearer, head held high and stern, bespectacled glare burning holes into me. In fact, I think those glasses were even magnifying the sheer, seething rage contained within that scowl of his and turning it into a straight up death ray.

So this was how I was going to die, huh? Funny. I'd always thought clowns would be the ones to do me in. Well… this was the Duke after all, so… close enough.

How had he even found out? Anna never would have told him. How on earth…?

He at last came to a halt before me, hands folding behind his back. He spared a brief, unamused glance out of the corner of his eyes towards Anna, gracing her with a sniff of disdain. She merely glowered back at him. Then his full attention was on me. "Well, well, young lady," he intoned coldly, staring down his nose at me, "just what do you have to say for yourself?"

Okay, Elsa, easy there. You're going to get through this. Put away the shaky knees and sweaty palms. You're calm. You're collected. Just rationally and eloquently explain yourself to him so he sees your side of it and he'll understand and be on his way.

Clenching and unclenching my hands, took a deep breath and opened my mouth.

Calm. Rational. Eloquent.

Here we go.

"I, um… hm… guh… nhg?"

Well done.

"...quite." His mustache twitched dangerously from side to side. "Please then, allow me. You ran out on your wedding. Wasted your father's valuable time and munny. Broke your poor mother's heart. Embarrassed your whole family. Disrespected your betrothed's family. Disappeared with nary a trace, not so much as one word from you for a month, worrying us all sick... All for what? This?" His narrowed gaze gave the Ice Palace in its entirety a once over and, clearly, found it wanting. "...a ramshackle ice cream booth in a mall. A mall of all places!" he roared and I flinched, but said nothing.

I couldn't. Words had abandoned me. Panic had paralyzed me. All I could do was shrink more and more in on myself, wishing for the ground to swallow me up as his lecture turned into a full on tirade now.

"Working like some lowly, middle-class plebeian! Living heaven only knows where! Fraternizing with commoners! Have you no shame, child?! You little ingrate, you… you little monster! I always knew you'd be the downfall of this family! Of all the selfish, witless, deplorable, irresponsible, contemptible, impudent-"

"Cram it, Weaseltown!" Anna spat out, putting herself between me and him.

Oh great. Now here my baby sister came to fight my battles for me while I cowered behind her. My humiliation was complete.

He took a step back, nostrils flaring and mustache flapping violently as he huffed and puffed. "It's Weselton! The Duke to you, you spoiled brat! I always said your father should've used a firmer hand with you! You've grown wild! You're a disgrace! The both of you are! Why, if your father were here right this second, he'd-"

"Yeah, well he's not!" Anna got in his face now, staring him down as she stabbed a finger into his chest, "You are! Why is that, I wonder? Where is Daddy Dearest anyway?"

Talk! Say something, damn it! Please, just stop standing here doing nothing like a total idiot!

"Such impudence!" he slapped her hand away. "He's back at home, tending to your grief-stricken mother who is inconsolable, simply inconsolable upon learning the truth! Neither of them could bring themselves to come down here and bear the wretched sight of their eldest! So I took it upon myself after breaking the dreadful news to-"

She stamped her foot and snarled, "So it was you! Oh I bet you just couldn't wait to go and tattle to our parents as soon as you knew! Bet you were just positively giddy. How'd you do it? How'd you find out, you big weasel?!"

Their shouting match was causing a scene. People were beginning to stare. Including… I reluctantly dragged my gaze over towards the Pizza Planet… yup. There Lea was with a frown and one eyebrow cocked as he set the dough aside to watch this bit of drama unfold.

For the love of all that is good and mortifying, just end me. End me now. Please.

The Duke stiffened, face blotchy with barely restrained fury. "Hold your vile tongue, you snot-nosed whelp! I'll have you know the information was as good as mine the minute you told us she'd texted you. I knew if I hired a man to follow you, you'd lead us straight to her."

Anna gaped, "You had someone friggin' spying on me?!"

"And rightly so!" he harrumphed, puffing out his chest. "The scandals he reported back to me, why, I nearly died from disgrace! Carousing in a seedy, two-bit pub! Mingling with the filthy yokels! Prancing about on some stage, making an utter mockery out of yourself! Not to mention naught but days later, rendezvousing in secret at some mongrel's hovel and holing up in there with him for hours, you, you, you trollop!"

My stomach fell further and further, my face paler and paler with every word. Dear lord, he knew about all of that?! And what was he even talking about, holing up with- wait, was he talking when I'd helped Lea study? There'd been someone there, some sort of, what… private investigator or something, watching me the whole time? Might still be watching me, even now?

Oh crud, now Lea was over his counter and heading this way. Turn back, you kind, brave, naive fool! You know not the powers you seek to tangle with! Back! Back, I say! Back to the craft of pizza and outer space from whence thou came!

"So the frick what?!" my sister gave a scoff. "Elsa can do whatever with whoever she wants! As far as I'm concerned, what she does with her life is none of your business, you old fart!"

"I make it my business when her actions ruin this family's good name! Now enough of this charade, this, this absolute farce!" The Duke looked past Anna to point at me, "You have a duty to perform, young lady! A responsibility to uphold! You will come home this instant and marry-"

Shoving his arm away, Anna snapped, "She will not! Don't you understand? She doesn't love him, she wasn't happy!"

This was getting out of hand. Somehow, someway, whatever spell that kept me frozen abruptly broke. My feet were suddenly on the move and I was running out from behind the counter. I had to do something. Get between them, break this up, I don't know… just something.

The Duke sneered, "As if love and happiness matter in a marriage, bah!"

"They do when it's… it's…" she frowned in thought for a split second, then her face broke out into a triumphant grin. "When it's true love!"

A huff of a derisive laugh. "True love? Now you're just spouting off nonsense, pure hogwash!"

"Nu uh! In fact," there was now a sly gleam to her eye, "Elsa's already met her true love."

"She's what?!"

I've what?

At her words, I staggered and tripped, nearly colliding into my sister. Anna grabbed my shoulders, keeping me upright. Then she gave me a wink, grin twitching wider before looking back at our great uncle, "What'd you think? That that 'secret rendezvous' as you put it was... what? Just a fling? A one night stand? A booty call? Ha! Well jokes on you, Weaseltown, cuz that was her boyfriend!"

"Her what?!"

My what?

"That's right!" she cackled now as the Duke spluttered and wheeze, his hand going to his chest. "They're in love! Have been for a while now! She… oh! She ran away from her wedding to just be with him! Yeah!"

Anna, what are you doing? Anna, please stop!

"Hey, what seems to be the problem here?" Lea stepped up to join us just then.

Turn back! Back, I say!

"Well if it isn't the man of the hour!" Anna beamed at him, to which he just merely blinked and tipped his head to one side. "Weaseltown, allow me to introduce you to," she shoved me at Lea who caught me as I crashed into his chest, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead in confusion, "Elsa's one and only… her beau, her lover, her boyfriend and one true love! They make just the cutest couple, don'tcha think?"

"Wha- huh?!" Lea's grip on me tightened, his eyes widened and his face flushed bright red.

As for the Duke? Well, I suppose he handled it about as well as could be expected.

He fainted.

Author's Note: Anna, hon, no… Anna why? The way that girl's mind works sometimes, I swear… Lol! You might be able to guess where this is going, dear readers xD But if not, don't worry, it's gonna be spelled out for you reeeeeal soon xP Also, yay, a cameo from The Duke in all his huffy, stuffy, blustering glory! Just what we needed to mix things up, and boy, did things EVER get mixed up!

Next chapter, how will Elsa react to her sister's lil "announcement"? Not to mention, how will LEA react? Will Elsa ever be able to sort through her tangled feelings about this thing that may or may not be a crush? Is Elsa ACTUALLY onto something there with the frozen plushies idea? Is the Duke just straight up DEAD?! …probably not, but it was a fun question to ask xD Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

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danfanciesphil · 6 years ago

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

*Warning: This chapter has a mild reference to an eating disorder. Nothing graphic, and nothing more than a mention of past issues with it. But if you are easily triggered, maybe avoid this chapter.*

Three hours later, Kaspar is departing after a quick check around the hotel to see if anything needs repairing - “Little Dan, your handyman skills are excellent! You wound up Mona’s big ugly clock, and fixed all her trinkets! I am impressed!” - and then loading the cable car with around twenty large bags from the outside bins, which he does once a month.

“I am in for a smelly ride!” he shouts cheerily as he squeezes into the cable car amongst the bags, and waves to Louise and Dan as if he’s a child on a merry-go-round waving to his mum and dad. “See you soon, friends! Please do tell lovely Mona I think of her constantly, and send kisses upon kisses!”

Louise leads Dan back upstairs then, sits him down in a chair in the mezzanine, and brings him a freshly baked cupcake. He blinks down at the treat once it’s placed in front of him, pleased but bewildered.

“What’s this for?” He picks up the cupcake anyway, marvelling at the swirled peak of blue frosting. His mouth waters as he peels off the paper case.

“Well, I was hoping to get a smile out of you,” Louise says, pulling a chair around to sit beside him. She rests her chin in her hand on the table, and looks at him with obvious concern. “But perhaps I’m dreaming too big.”

Dan sinks his teeth into the cupcake. It tastes like sweet relief. “Unfghh,” he says, eyes falling shut. “Sensational.”

When his eyes reopen, it’s to Louise’s pleased smile, but her worry lines peek through, betraying her. “Was it that bad?” she asks.

“Meeting Nikolai?” Dan asks, and wrinkles his nose, contemplating the question. “Meh. I’m used to dealing with snobby wankers at this point. Though he makes Phil seem like a peach.”

“No, not that,” Louise says. “Obviously he’s a Royal pain. Could you tell he doesn’t remember my name? He learns it once and makes a big show out of using it, but after that you’re less than dirt to him, though he tries not to let it show.”

“Dick,” Dan says firmly, then takes another bite of fluffy, crumbly goodness.

“But I meant the weekend, Dan,” Louise says, apparently not willing to let this drop. “I knew you could handle it, but I did worry. What with all the... friction between you and Mr Novokoric.” She pauses, eyebrow arched, perhaps to give Dan a chance to jump in, which he doesn’t, instead opting to finish off the cake. “Did something happen? Another argument?”

At her first question, Dan almost chokes, but is quickly placated by her second. He thinks about pretending that nothing whatsoever occurred, that they barely glanced at each other in three whole days, but decides quickly that it would be far less believable that things went totally smoothly.

He shrugs one shoulder, trying to exude nonchalance, then licks his fingers of crumbs. “Some minor disagreements. He called me bony.”

Best way to disguise a lie is to conceal it in truth. That’s what Dan’s always found, anyway. The admission makes Louise laugh, and mercifully she seems to relax. “Struck a nerve, did he?”

“I have a perfectly normal amount of bones, thanks very much.”

She titters again, then eyes him curiously. “Anything else? You were alone up here for three days together. I half expected to walk in on a crime scene.”

Dan can feel the traitorous blush creeping into his cheeks, and he shrugs again, trying to think of something that will appease her. Perhaps he should give her a small nugget of the real story. The shock of it might be enough all on its own to get her to ease off.

“We, uh, went skiing,” Dan tries. “Briefly.”

She balks at once, lipsticked mouth falling wide. “You what?!”

Okay, perhaps that nugget wasn’t the best one to choose. Dan winces at her obvious flare of anger. “I know it’s against the rules, but Phil’s super experienced. And anyway he practically dragged me out the door!”

“Do you even have skis?”

Dan hesitates, biting his lip. No point trying to backtrack now. “Phil lent me his new ones.”

A weighted blanket falls over the conversation then. It feels like Louise is scrutinising him, for some reason he can’t put his finger on. As if he’s accidentally revealed that he has gills beneath his shirt collar, and she’s spotted them peeking out.

“Did he now,” Louise murmurs. It doesn’t seem to be a question.

In the hopes of lifting the quilt of this weird new atmosphere, Dan decides a change of subject is in order. “Anyway, enough about me and dick-brain. How was it with Pearl?”

Despite her obvious reservations, Louise’s smile breaks through upon hearing her daughter’s name. Relieved to be off the hook for now, Dan listens avidly to Louise as she gushes about her little girl, about how she’s grown, about her predictable but adorable three-year-old interests - Frozen, My Little Pony, Peppa Pig, etc - and sits patiently smiling at photo after photo of the blonde toddler, beaming her gap teeth at the camera, ribbons decorating the wavy locks she inherited from her mother.

It starts getting dark eventually, he and Louise still talking about nothing much at all. It’s so pleasant, just sitting with her and laughing, bantering about life, sipping coffee and eating cupcakes, that Dan doesn’t even realise he’s stalling until Louise points out how long they’ve been doing just that. Reluctantly, Dan starts to extricate himself from the conversation, mind wandering to all the tasks he needs to accomplish. He hasn’t swept the balcony since the storm, and the lobby could do with a mop and tidy after all the hoards of people traipsing through it today.

“Oh, by the way,” Louise says, scooping cake crumbs off the table into her hand. “I don’t know if Mona mentioned, but as we don’t get a lot of opportunities to get into Mr Nov- I mean, Phil’s room, we usually snatch any chance we get as soon as he’s gone for any length of time.”

Dan sends Louise a puzzled look, and she chuckles.

“To change the bed and the bins and everything. He doesn’t let us do it normally. So might be an idea to go and give it a spring clean.”

“Ugh, do I have to?” Dan asks, dreading the idea of re-entering the scene of what feels like his very recent crime.

“You should go in just to have a nose around,” Louise tells him with a reticent grin. “You’ll never believe the size of his suite.”

Dan shrugs, picturing the untidy floorplan of room eight, already moving to the stairs. “The bed takes up most of it.”

He’s already up the second flight of stairs before he realises he’s probably let slip a little too much.

After three trips up and down the three flights of stairs, carrying dirty mugs, sheets, towels, and rubbish, Dan finally gets Phil’s room to a point where he can begin rebuilding. Phil Novokoric has the only King-sized bed in the entire hotel, so there are just two sets of bedding big enough to fit. After half an hour of searching, Dan is still unable to locate the second set, so he gives up, resigning himself to waiting until the sheets currently in the wash are clean and dry.

Knelt in Phil’s ensuite bathroom, scrubbing the glass pane of the shower, Dan is not feeling particularly warm towards the man. The bathroom isn’t dirty exactly, but it’s clear that it’s been a while since the sinks and bath have been properly scrubbed and bleached. By the time he’s done, he’s too exhausted to think about re-dressing the bed or lining the wastepaper bins. Instead, he goes down to Louise, wrung out and pissed off, to complain and beg her for snacks.

“I don’t know where you put them all,” Louise says as she hands Dan another cupcake - his third. “Phil’s right, you’re all bones.”

Dan shoots her a glare, but given that he has blue frosting smeared across his mouth, he doubts it’s particularly menacing. “He’s one to talk, he never eats anything. I practically had to force soup and pizza down his throat.”

She’s quiet for a minute, folding tea towels. “He ate soup and pizza?”

“Only after I yelled at him.”

Her mouth quirks. “What did you say?”

“Something like…” Dan tilts his head, trying to remember. The events of last night somewhat obliterated the rest of the day from his memory. “‘Starving yourself isn’t cute or impressive and I won’t be fired for your valiant attempt at martyrdom.’ Roughly.”

Louise stops folding, then leans against the counter. “And that worked?”

There’s something amiss in her tone. “Apparently. Why?”

She catches a strand of blonde curl in her fingers and twirls it. “I don’t know the extent of it, but I understand he has a tricky relationship with food. His brother, who used to be his PA, told me that once.”

Guilt lashes through Dan like he’s been whipped. “Oh. Shit, wow. I didn’t know.”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as it once was, judging from what Martyn told me,” Louise says with a shrug. “He only said something to me so that I wouldn’t push him to eat, or say the wrong thing. If you ask me, it was probably a sort of rebellion on Phil’s part, to do with all that awful Royalty training he had to go through. Can’t imagine the sorts of things they put him through.” She grimaces, and Dan replays some of the conversation he had with Phil last night, about nose jobs and personality bleaching. “You know, he told me once that they made him do something called ‘kidnap situation training’,” Louise says, clearly not noticing the anvil of guilt Dan’s struggling not to be crushed under. “They stage a kidnapping when he least expects it, take him to an unknown location and he has to get out of it using self-defense and mediation. And they use live ammunition to simulate reality. I mean, obviously they’re experts in avoiding actually shooting him, but can you imagine? It must be terrifying. And he has no choice. He’s forced to do undergo these crazy exercises because he married Nikolai so fast. He probably had no idea what he was signing up for, the poor kid.”

The impossible weight of the anvil buckles Dan’s knees. He feels himself crumble under its mass, slowly, and he has to discreetly grip the lip of the worktop to stop himself from slipping to the ground. Twenty-one, Phil had said. That’s how old he was when he was swept off his feet by a charlatan promising a life of love and luxury, and consequently forced through a complete physical and personal re-design, then locked away up a mountain. Is it any wonder he’s so moody, so snippy, so sad? And along comes Dan, griping and pestering him at every turn, telling him off for things he can’t help, for things he’s been traumatised by.

“I should…” Dan mutters, pushing away from the counter, only to wobble on unsteady legs. “I should get on. Lots to do still.”

“Are you alright?” Louise asks, slipping effortlessly into concerned-mother-mode. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shrinks away. “You’re all pale suddenly.”

“I’m fine,” Dan tells her, managing a tight smile. He walks briskly to the door. “Just… got a load to do before, um, before Mona gets back.”

“She won’t be back today,” Louise says, frowning.

Dan shrugs, already at the kitchen door. “Still. Best to prepare. See you later.”

“He’s alright, you know Dan.” Her voice is soft, careful. It makes him pause, halfway through the door. “He made a bad choice, I’d say, but he’s not completely without a brain.”

“A dick-brain,” Dan says half-heartedly, though he still feels wretched.

“Better than nothing,” Louise says.

Dan doesn’t know how to reply, so he nods, swallowing something acrid and bitter, then pushes out of the kitchen.

An unfamilar noise splits through the silent crackle of the night, burrowing beneath the thin skin of Dan’s light slumber, and waking him. His eyes are crusted and filmy with dried tears as he wrenches them open, and he scrubs a hand over them, sitting up. There is only one thought clear enough to articulate in the gloop of his viscous mind: why am I awake? ��

Blearily, he turns to the window, or the place he knows the window to be, given that it’s dark and his eyes have yet to adjust. Nothing seems out of place as far as he can tell. No ghostly movements in the shadows, or unusual shapes that might be demons lurking, ready to pounce. Of course, these things are impossible anyway, but Dan’s rational brain doesn’t like to be disturbed during the nighttime hours. He listens for a good minute or two, ears straining against the thick blanketing silence; faintly, he thinks he can make out muffled movement from downstairs.

He sighs, thinking of Louise scuffling about, trying not to make too much noise, and reaches blindly for his phone. It’s two in the morning. Given that Louise often tells Dan she would rather watch her own legs be chewed off by ravenous wolves than disturb her slumber for anything less than an emergency, he thinks he’d better go and see what’s stirred her. As he peels back the duvet and drops his feet to the carpet, trepidation begins settling around him like a cloak. The more he wakes up, the more images his paranoid brain provides of possible situations happening below: Louise, legless and bleeding, at the mercy of an actual wolf. Some sort of mountain-dwelling-specialist burglar, currently hauling the TV down the floating stairs. A poltergeist, smashing coffee cups and tugging Louise’s curls. He’s barefoot, but it’s not cold in the over-heated hotel, so he pads out of the room and begins making his way down the stairs, wishing he’d thought to grab some kind of weapon on his way.

The shadows paint the wooden walls with hunched, crouching ghouls, warping the layout of the familiar building until Dan is disoriented enough that he has to pause on the lower landing and re-evaluate where he’s headed. Eventually he makes it to the mezzanine, and the moonlight streaming through the balcony windows illuminates things a little better. Dan looks around, thinking idly that he’s likely to find Louise in the kitchen, if anywhere. He starts towards the door, and stops suddenly, heart lurching into his throat as he catches sight of a shape curled in one of the beanbag chairs, large and too bulky to be a stray blanket.

As his eyes adjust, he’s sure he can make out the form of an actual body, and has to swallow a scream of terror. Luckily, as he’s spent the past few days staring at or thinking about a certain sweep of jet black hair, the specific hue of pale skin and big, long-fingered hands, he recognises the blob in under a second. He has to blink a few times to be sure he’s not hallucinating.

“Phil?” he asks once he’s relatively certain this is not a mirage.

Eyes flick open, and that brilliant blue shines out, caught in the wash of moonlight. “Dan.” His voice is barely a croak. He moves sluggishly into a more upright position, as if his limbs are weighted, and presses his palms to his eyes. “Ugh. Di’n’t wanna wake you up.”

Ignoring the urge to unpack that statement for now, Dan decides to tackle a more pressing confusion. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“Plane,” Phil says vaguely, floating a hand in the air above his head, as if Dan needs a visual aid.

“You’re supposed to be in Milan,” Dan says, utterly bewildered.

As his eyes adjust, he can see Phil is in a suit and tie, somewhat creased now, but still obviously expensive and posh. He doesn’t appear to be wearing a coat, which is concerning. Had he walked from wherever the plane landed to the hotel without one? And even then, how he got inside is a mystery. It occurs to Dan that he’s pretty sure he didn’t remember to bolt the front door, which answers that he supposes, but the rest is still completely up in the air.

“Yeah,” Phil sighs, shoulders slumping, “couldn’t bear to be parted from you, I guess.”

Despite the typical sarcastic response, there’s something off about his words; they’re all bumping together, the consonants jostling for position. It occurs to Dan that Phil’s probably drunk, as he’s been at some fancy event, and he doubts the snobs that put those together skimp on the champagne. Further interrogations can wait until he’s sober enough to speak some sense. It’s obvious that Phil is not capable of looking after himself right now, so Dan needs to get this man into bed. He contemplates how best to do this, chewing his thumbnail.

“I stripped your bed earlier,” Dan tells him in a sigh. “Your room’s not ready for you.”

“S’fine,” Phil says, toeing off his loafers and leaning back into the beanbag. “I’ll sleep here.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a prat. Just wait here a sec while I get the bedding.”

He descends into the dark lobby, shivering from something that doesn’t feel like cold, then ducks into the tiny laundry room to retrieve the sheets he’d washed and dried earlier. He folds it all up diligently - though not very neatly - and puts it all into a basket to bring back upstairs. As he passes through the mezzanine lounge, he inclines his head as a signal for Phil to follow him up to the top floor.

Dan walks slowly on account of his weak ankle and the dark, but he can hear Phil’s plodding, unsure footsteps behind him, careless and clumsy. Dan wonders how fast the other man’s mind is spinning, and wishes he had another set of hands to help keep him steady.

“Not far now,” Dan reminds him in a low voice, because they’re approaching the floor where Louise sleeps. “One more set of stairs.”

“Thank God you’re here, I almost forgot,” Phil mutters, though his words are so slurred that the contemptuous remark loses its potency.

In a way, it’s almost soothing to know that Phil is still lucid enough to deride him. They reach the top floor eventually, Dan’s arms aching and his ankle throbbing. He’d left Phil’s door unlocked earlier, so he pushes it open now and heads straight for the bed. Phil ambles in afterwards, moving to switch on a lamp on the bedside, which offers some yellow light that glosses the moonlight pouring in through the huge windows.

Dan sets to work immediately, pulling off the pillows and duvet in order to cover the mattress with a clean sheet. Given the size of the bed, this is no easy task, and the corners spring off twice in his haste. To his surprise, Phil begins attempting to help, moving sluggishly, but managing to hold the corners in position.

They work together silently, dressing the pillows and even stuffing the duvet into its cover. By the time it’s done, Dan’s about ready to drop, but he can feel the weight of responsibility on him right now, along with that anvil of guilt Louise heaved on his back earlier. It’s not something he can just shrug off, so despite the fact his shift doesn’t technically start for a few hours, and Phil is supposedly not his problem yet, Dan finds himself going to Phil’s small kitchenette area and finding a glass. It looks a bit smeary, but otherwise fine, so he takes it into the bathroom, rinses it out and fills it, then brings it out to Phil, who is now sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched forwards, face in his hands. He still doesn’t look up to giving the full explanation Dan wants to drag out of him, so it will just have to wait until tomorrow. Not that he’ll be any more forthcoming then - he certainly doesn’t owe Dan any explanations if he doesn’t want to share.

Given that there’s no point in attempting to pry answers out of him at the moment, Dan places the glass on Phil’s bedside table and studies the man in front of him, deciding how best to approach the task of getting him into bed. Probably best to start with removing his uncomfortable outer layers, Dan decides, and reaches for Phil’s suit jacket, which he then begins shoving awkwardly down his arms. As he works the material over Phil’s biceps, Dan vaguely notes Phil’s head lifting, blue eyes squinting at him curiously.

After a moment or two, Phil asks, “um, what are you doing?”

“As fun as it would be to watch you attempt to struggle out of your clothes in your inebriated state, it’ll be a lot quicker if I help,” Dan replies, managing to pull the garment off him.

He turns to fold the jacket carefully over a chair, then spins around to find Phil fighting a smile. Dan ignores it, reaching for Phil’s shirt buttons, some of which are already undone. He works efficiently, keeping his mind focused resolutely on the action of slipping the round discs of plastic through their respective holes, and not anything about the soft, pale skin beneath slowly revealing itself.

“Dan?”

Dan tuts, wishing he’d just shut up and be helped without argument. “What?”

“I’m not drunk,” Phil says.

Dan’s fingers still. Phil’s shirt is almost entirely open, revealing the length of Phil’s lean torso in a long, deep ‘V’. “Yes you are,” Dan says stubbornly.

Phil shakes his head. “Not even slightly.”

“But... you were at that event,” Dan tries, though his stomach is squeezing, and he can already feel the blush creeping into his face.

Belatedly, Dan realises then that he’s got one knee on the mattress beside Phil’s left thigh, and the other nestled between Phil’s legs, almost pushing into his crotch. He’s essentially in Phil’s lap, methodically undressing him. For some reason, this incriminating position doesn’t seem to be anything other than mildly amusing to Phil.

“Yeah, well after about a minute of watching Nikolai schmooze a bunch of CEO’s and their wives, I knew I had to make a break for it at the first opportunity.” He shrugs; one of his hands rests absent-mindedly on Dan’s knee, like he’s not even aware of the action. “Can’t fly drunk, so I avoided the free schnapps.”

“Fly drunk...” Dan tries to process this information, and fails. “You don’t mean- you flew the plane up here?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. “And here I thought I was running out of ways to impress you.”

Dan stares into Phil’s eyes - they’re bloodshot and drooping, but the pupils are small, the irises bright and clear. He’s not lying, Dan realises. He’s stone cold sober. Too caught up in the embarrassment of having tried to undress and basically straddle a man who was totally capable, the information Phil is feeding him - that he apparently can fly planes, that he’s been trying to impress Dan of all things, that he’d escaped from Nikolai’s side to come back here at 2am - is enough to have Dan totally flummoxed. He attempts to leap backwards, to extricate himself from Phil, but Dan being who he is, trips and stumbles.

Though sluggish and inalert, Phil somehow still manages to catch him before he lands on his ass. He tugs Dan sharply forwards, and he ends up falling front-ways instead, pushing Phil until he’s toppling backwards, both hands coming down to bracket Phil on the bed.

“God, you’re insatiable tonight,” Phil jokes as Dan attempts to scramble off him, mortified. “Relax,” Phil laughs, though it sounds numb and hollow. “I’m not under any impression that you’re actually that unable to resist me.”

“Sorry, fuck,” Dan says, flushing, having rolled off Phil smartish. “I’m barely awake right now, and I thought you were sloshed and-”

Phil throws him a tired laugh. “Not sloshed, no. Just exhausted. Can barely see straight.”

Dan’s heart is jackhammering, but one look at Phil, sprawled out on his fresh bedclothes, eyes half-shut, tells Dan that this is a lot more than exhaustion. He can joke that watching Nikolai hobnobbing with a load of posh gits is enough to send him running for the door, but if Dan had to guess, he’d say something happened at that party. Something bad enough to have Phil finding the nearest plane and pointing its nose straight back up the mountain he loathes being stranded at the top of.

“Well yeah, I’d imagine,” Dan replies carefully. “Round trip to Milan and back in less than twelve hours?”

Phil doesn’t answer; Dan wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He dithers, shifting, and the mattress bounces Phil up and down.

“Don’t,” Phil mutters.

“Don’t what?”

A pause. Dan’s ears strain to hear the response. When it comes, it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t leave.”

To spare Phil the humiliation of explaining himself given his current state, Dan just nods to the otherwise empty room, and shuffles to the edge of the bed. He gets up to plump the pillows, then pulls back the duvet. He turns to prod Phil in the leg.

“Get in, then.”

When Phil immediately begins moving in accordance with Dan’s instruction, Dan tells himself it’s because he’s so tired that he’d do anything he was told. Once he’s beneath the covers, Phil shuffles around a bit until he’s shucked off his trousers, which he then pulls out in a magician-like reveal, and throws to the ground. Dan picks them up, and folds them across the chair with the jacket. They’re still warm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dan asks as he slides in to the other side of the bed.

“No,” Phil says half into the pillow. He sounds seconds away from unconsciousness, which is promising. Then, quietly, he says, “if you’re really gagging to know, I suggest you check the news.”

Given that Dan himself is about five years away from getting any sleep, he reaches into his pyjama pocket for his phone and opens his news app. He doesn’t even need to use the search bar. Right there, on the front page, blares the headline:

‘SIR NIKOLAI’S HUBBY THREATENS DIVORCE IN SHOCKING DISRUPTION AT CHARITY EVENT’

Dan scrolls down, already alarmed. Granted, the newspaper this particular headline belongs to could probably be best described as a tabloid, but he hasn’t the patience to look for a more reputable source of information just yet. He reads quickly, eyes darting along each line like he wants to get it over with all at once.

‘...came as a surprise to us all when Swiss bachelor Sir Nikolai Novokoric announced his marriage to Philip Lester, a Manchester-born student he’d known for less than a year. The two lovebirds married in a secret ceremony in early 2016. After a few months of being snapped canoodling at various parties and events, Sir Nikolai pulled his new man out of the spotlight, and he’s barely been seen since.

Last night at the annual European Young Person’s LGBTQ+ charity event was the first public sighting of Sir Nikolai’s husband in some time. Evidently, due to the shockingly dramatic stunt Philip pulled during his husband's speech, this absence might be the sign of trouble in paradise between the young couple.

“It’s bloody hypocritical!” Philip spat into the microphone once he’d pushed Sir Nikolai aside [see video below]. “He’s getting an award for being this charitable gay icon, but he’s exploiting his own sexuality.”

As you can see in the video, there was little chance for him to finish his impromptu rant, as he was quickly escorted off stage by security. He did however shout, as he was being pulled out of the building, that he intends to file for divorce. We’ve yet to pin down Sir Novokoric for a responding comment.’

Beneath the wall of text is a video, taken on someone’s phone by the looks of things. Dan’s thumb hovers over the play button, heart pounding. Does he really want to see this?

“Go ahead,” Phil says from beside him, making Dan jump. He’d assumed the other man was asleep by now. “The rest of the world’ll have seen it in a few hours. Why not join them.”

Dan hesitates for less than two seconds, then locks his phone, placing it on the bedside table. “I don’t go in for that tabloid bollocks.”

There’s a moment where Dan thinks Phil might smile, but he just rolls over again, fringe falling over his face. “I was dumb,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Somebody needed to,” Dan replies sniffily, thinking of Sir Nikolai’s irritating winks. “I mean, if you’re right about the exploitation,” Dan clarifies quickly. There’s no use telling Phil that he has a personal dislike for his husband. “That should be brought to people’s attention, if it’s true.”

“Well of course he’s exploiting himself,” Phil says. “And me. And anyone who identifies as gay or bi. He’s pretending he’s the Ellen Degeneres of the Swiss Royal family, happily married to his true love, when he’s actually in the Bahamas, shagging anything that moves - male or female.”

“Well, if it’s male or female-”

“Don’t,” Phil cuts in, tartly. He sits up, pushing a hand into his hair. “Are you really gonna argue, to me, that just because he’s bi, and he’s up front about it in the media, that he still deserves to be heralded as some admirable icon for the LGBT community? Why is it that just because he fancies blokes as well as girls, everyone can look past the fact he’s married? Don’t the public give a shit about what I might feel? It’s all so creepy, the way everyone pretends he’s some Saint, looking the other way when he’s caught snogging models on beaches. He’s a sociopath if you ask me. He doesn’t fuck people based on real attraction like everyone else - for him it’s all about who can get him the most publicity. Who would look best next to him in the paparazzi photos, or in the leaked sex tape.”

Dan is only able to glean bits and pieces from Phil’s rant at a time; the slew of information is startling, as is the sheer loathing coating each sentence. One thing Dan does catch though, are those last two words. “...you and Nikolai have a sex tape?”

Phil throws him a withering look, but there’s a tinge of amusement tucked into its far corner. “Not the point, Dan.”

“Sorry.” Dan sighs, sinking back into the pillows, mind spinning as it attempts to process everything. Dan doesn’t know the other side of it, has never paid attention to the public’s fawning over Nikolai, so perhaps he’s biased, but everything Phil is saying makes a worrying amount of sense. “Seems like he’s an absolute bellend,” Dan says, succinctly summarising his own responding feelings. He can hear Phil snort with laughter, and it’s nice. “Way I see it,” Dan continues, slowly allowing his words to shape around his developing stance on the matter. “He shows up here after months of nearly no communication, expecting you to play along with his plans, go right back to being the perfect little house-husband. If you ask me, it’s his own fault. Anyone in your position would have been fuming, ready to explode at the drop of a hat.”

“Yeah, but other people would probably have exploded in private,” Phil sighs, picking at the duvet cover. “You don’t get it. I’ve been in this world for a while now. I should’ve known better than to blow my lid on a damn stage like that, in front of all the press. Now the world will be on Nik’s side, and I’ll be the trashy scumbag that Kanye’d his acceptance speech and broke up with him in front of a live audience.”

Dan is silent, contemplating this. Instinctively, he reaches out and places a hand over where he thinks Phil’s knee is. Phil stares at the hand, perplexed, then turns to look Dan in the eye.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Phil asks, eyes round.

The bits of Dan that still reverberate with hurt from all his mean comments, and a disgust for the bourgeoise in general, tell him to say yes. Dan thinks he could say yes, if he were crueller, if he didn’t think he’d throw up after watching the glacier-blue eyes in front of him fill with tears. It’s perfectly reasonable to argue that Phil’s been an idiot since the day he put on that bloody ring.

But it’s too late. The pieces of Dan that started, days ago, to warm to Phil, to understand him, to sympathise, now form the majority of Dan’s being. He wonders if it was the same way for Phil, back in the first weeks of knowing Nikolai, as that charming grin and laser-focus on just him began chipping away at his resolve. Dan hasn’t much experience in love, but he’s beginning to suspect that even with every scrap of common sense you have at your disposal, pretty much anyone is in danger of being a complete idiot.

“No,” Dan says truthfully. He remembers Louise’s words from earlier. He made a bad choice, I’d say, but he’s not completely without a brain. She’s a lot wiser than she gets credit for. “A dick-brain, sure. But you’re not stupid.”

“I feel stupid right now.”

Dan lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, searching for a bright side of this gloomy looking cloud above Phil’s head. “At least he can’t pretend that everything’s fine between you now,” Dan tries. “You announced to the whole world that you’re unhappy. Puts him in an awkward position if he tries to just brush it under the rug.”

Phil cocks his head, looking at Dan as if he’s never seen him before. “I didn’t think about that.” He turns away slowly, eyes unfocused as he settles back down into the pillows. “Maybe there’s a way out.”

“Get some sleep,” Dan advises, noting the exhaustion in Phil’s voice. “It’ll all seem better in the morning.”

“Mmm,” Phil says, eyes already closed.

“Can’t believe you Kanye’d him,” Dan marvels, trying to picture it. He notes the twitch of Phil’s mouth, and laughs softly. “And you weren’t even drunk.”

“They should give me a medal for not chugging a bottle of Greygoose, listening to Nik talk about morality and political change like he has any clue,” Phil says, sighing heavily.

“How’d you resist?” Dan asks affably, hoping to send Phil into dream in a lighter mood.

“Just kept thinking...” Phil mutters, trailing off.

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking that if I just didn’t drink... if I could hold on and hold on...” he breathes a long sigh, mouth falling slack, and whispers, “I could fly back to you.”

(Chapter Twelve!)

#phan #phanfic #too high #enemies to lovers au

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