#and those who genuinely have nothing tangible to work with yet are the most insufferable amongst us

[ef-1]

the way some of you manage to take the fun out of rpf with surgical precision needs to be studied

[lestered]

lost in your paradise

m, 9.3k

It’s been six years of surreal friendship, and an even surrealer crush. Six years of traveling all around the world, and wanting to kiss him in every place.

Six years of chickening out every time.

Dan has no reason to believe that Japan will be any different, but anything can happen when you get lost under the Tokyo lights.

read on ao3 or under the cut

written for @starboydjh for @phanfictionevents spring fic exchange! thank you Hadley for giving me such an amazing prompt to work with!

many thanks as well to my beta, irl bff @b-j-e who definitely isn’t reading this because he hasn’t used his tumblr in five years and has probably had enough of this fic by now, but still deserves an mvp award.

He wants to kiss him in Manchester.

60 meters up in the sky, gazing out over Phil’s favorite city in the world. The one he’d insisted that Dan come to visit so that he could really meet his new best friend.

Well... he'd phrased it that way at least, but Dan could’ve sworn that the words ‘best friend’ were laced with something else. Something in Phil’s eyes, in his tone of voice, in the way Dan could see his eyes moving over the screen, flickering from his lips to his bare chest and back into his eyes - that said they were best friends, no doubt, but maybe they could be more. That maybe Phil wants more. Wants what Dan had suspected himself of wanting since before they’d even spoken, and what had been confirmed on that train platform when he’d finally locked onto that ocean-blue gaze in person and been tugged so easily into a warm, tight embrace that had left him flushed and happy and still, hours later, charged with an overwhelming urge to pull Phil in close again, to put his hands on him and kiss that adorable, lopsided smile off his lips. To put it all on the line even though it’s a bit terrifying.

Not even a bit terrifying, actually. Just… regular terrifying. So he sits close and lets their thighs press together and their hands and elbows brush and meets each of Phil’s curious, unreadable glances with something just as unreadable, just hoping Phil picks up on his wanting and leans in and does what he doesn’t have the courage to do himself. But whether Phil’s just as nervous and unsure as Dan, or because he genuinely doesn’t want to, his wish goes unfulfilled.

He doesn’t kiss him on the Manchester eye. He also doesn’t kiss him that night in his bed, or all the other times in Rawtenstall, or in Phil’s crappy first apartment or the first that they share. He doesn’t kiss him all the times they find themselves leaning in too close, holding each other’s gaze for too long, letting little offhand but suggestive comments drift out and float almost antagonizingly in the space between them.

He wanted to kiss him in Manchester.

But he didn’t.

***

Their hotel room in Japan is unreal. From the plush beds to the high-tech toilet to the mirror-TV, it’s by far the nicest room they’ve ever stayed in. It’s cool - too cool for them, frankly, but no one really needs to know that. Dan’s definitely not one to complain.

Personally, he’s a particularly big fan of their jacuzzi tub. It’s big enough to fit his giant noodle body, for one - a luxury that most tubs don’t afford him. And for another thing, he’s found that there’s nothing quite like a nice hot soak after a full day of walking around, exploring, because they can’t miss a thing, because Tokyo’s been their dream destination for years and who knows if they’ll ever get to come back.

It’s a lot of activity.

And it’s definitely worth it; it’s just also a bit strenuous for someone who spends most of his time slumped in front of a computer screen. Some warm bubbles go a long way when it’s time to unwind from it.

He may have stayed in a bit too long tonight, judging by the pruny state of his fingers and toes, but he can’t bring himself to care as he dries off, taking some extra time to towel the wetness out of his hair. The sooner it dries, the sooner he can straighten it.

A puff of steam follows him when he steps out into the bedroom a moment later in just his t-shirt and boxers, causing an unintentionally dramatic scene.

He half-expects Phil to notice and tease him for it. However, Phil’s laid out on his bed, still in the exact position he’d fallen into upon arriving back to their room - flat on his back, fully starfished save for the phone that he’s now holding to his ear.

“No, come on, don’t apologize. Tell him we hope he feels better soon, yeah?”

Dan gives him a curious glance as he flops forward onto his own bed, stretching out on his stomach and sliding his arms around to hug the pillow that he’s smushed into his cheek.

“Right, good luck. And seriously, thanks for everything you guys’ve done for us here, alright? Yeah… talk to you later.”

Phil blows out a breath, sets his phone down and rolls over to face Dan in a position that mimics his own.

“That was Mimei.” He tells him, though Dan figured as much. “They can’t come out tonight, apparently Duncan’s a bit under the weather and she’d feel bad leaving him alone. I guess he doesn't handle being poorly too well.”

Dan feels the corners of his mouth turn down in a small, disappointed frown. “Oh." He shifts to adjust the positioning of the pillow under his head. "That sucks, I wanted to go out one more time. I guess we could get room service, though, and now I won’t have to straighten my hair…”

“What are talking about?” Phil interrupts him before he can finish his thought. “We can still go out.”

Oh, god. Six years later, his heart is still full to bursting with love for his best friend, but he can’t deny that Phil has a tendency to lack crucial self awareness in situations like these. Phil must sense the apprehension on his part, because he quickly follows it up:

"It's our last night, we can't not go out!"

“Phil.” He rolls his eyes. “We can’t go out alone at night. We don't know where we're going, we can’t read the signs... we can’t use data here, so Maps is out of the question if we get lost which, since you have the navigational proficiency of a blind goose with vertigo…”

Phil’s spare pillow lands against his face with a soft thud before Dan can finish whatever hyperbolic insult he was ready to make up on the fly.

He knows what comes next: the pillow falls away and he’s met with big, blue puppy dog eyes and a pout. Phil doesn’t even need to say anything, and he knows it. Pure evil, he is.

(Not really. Pure evil would be if he knew what those eyes really do to Dan, if he knew how desperately Dan wants to make them light up and kiss the pout off his lips. But he doesn’t know. As it stands, Phil just believes himself to be an exceptionally talented beggar.)

“Fuck off.” He groans, and turns his face fully into the pillow before he gets too caught up. “Fine, we’ll go out if you'll stop being an insufferable spoon.”

The giggle he gets in return lets Dan know that Phil’s very pleased with himself, but he doesn’t need to look up to see his smile. He’s got it memorized already.

***

He wants to kiss him in Wokingham.

It’s not the right time, though.

Wokingham isn’t what he wants or who he wants to be; It's everything he wants to leave behind. It's loneliness and confusion and self-doubt - really, it's everything that Phil’s not.

Phil is warmth and support and a genuine hope that maybe he won’t have to define himself by the first eighteen mediocre years of his life. Phil is someone who actually believes in him in a way that he hasn’t believed in himself for years.

Phil’s the future he wants. Their first kiss ought to be in some place that represents his hope for that future, not the place he’s so eager to ditch.

Right.

That’s what he tells himself. Really, it's a convoluted excuse to cover the fact that he’s just scared shitless. Again.  

Having Phil with him in Wokingham is strange. He’s been happy letting these two parts of his life exist completely separate from each other so far. Of course, Phil makes him feel safe, but he’d be lying if he said that having him in his hometown doesn’t make him feel… exposed. Vulnerable. As if Phil would arrive here and immediately sniff out all of Dan’s yet-unspoken baggage - that uneasy balance between stupid teen angst and real, confusing, lonely, amorphous sadness that hangs so heavy in the air of his teenage bedroom that it’s almost tangible to him.  

He thinks, at first, that Phil's not picked up on it. Phil’s just happy to see him, always so happy to see him. Inexplicably so, in Dan’s opinion, no matter how many times Phil tries to tell him otherwise.

He doesn’t realize until late that night, in bed, that Phil’s more perceptive than he’d given him credit for.

“Thanks for letting me come here, Dan.” His voice is laced with understanding when he whispers into the dark, tugging him into his chest and sending Dan's heart into overdrive. It’d be so easy to do it now, to tilt his head up, to lean in just a bit, to brush his lips against Phil’s.

But he's frozen in place because a kiss could lose him this embrace if Phil doesn’t kiss him back. And he realizes he’s not ready to take that risk.

Will he ever be?

“You’re welcome.” He whispers instead, letting his eyes fall shut and releasing the breath he’d been holding. “I’m glad you’re here, Phil.”

He wanted to kiss him in Wokingham.

But he didn’t.

***

“Remember you want the tuna roll to end up in your mouth, and not on the back of some poor unsuspecting lady’s neck across the room.”

Phil kicks his shin under the table, but his blush and bitten-back smile betray any malice he might’ve been attempting.

“I hate you.” He mumbles. “You can't just let me live that down?”

“Do you even know me?” Dan crumples his straw wrapper into a tiny ball and flicks it across the table. It lands in Phil's lap and his mind may or may not be playing tricks on him when he thinks he sees a hint of fondness in the eyeroll that follows. “Of course not.”

They’re sat at the sushi restaurant from a few nights ago. It was their safest bet - the majority of the waitstaff speak at least some English and they know enough rudimentary Japanese food-words to pick things off menu. The overlap is enough for them to order their rolls and an extra side of spicy mayo, which suits them just fine.

Last time they sat at the bar, this time they're tucked into a table-for-two in the back corner. It's clearly not meant for two men as tall as them. They keep accidentally stepping on each other's toes.

(Maybe not always accidentally on Dan's part. Lamely, he knows that it's probably the closest he'll ever get to a game of footsie.)

“Do I get to tell the internet about how you cried at the Ghibli museum, then?” Phil asks, and this time there's definitely a fond glimmer behind his teasing expression.

That earns Phil his own kick to the shin. “Go ahead. They won’t judge me for it, they’ll judge you for being the soulless robot who didn’t cry.”

The look of shocked indignation on Phil's face before he schools his features into a cooler, more neutral expression is incredibly precious.

“Whatever." He retorts. "I was emotional too, I just held it together so I could be there to support you.”

The joking lilt of Phil’s voice unfortunately doesn't tame the swooping sensation he feels by default in the pit of his stomach every time Phil says something that makes him wonder if there's any truth, any genuine feeling behind the bants.

He decides that he's feeling a little too sober for this.

***

He wants to kiss him in Blackpool.

It's a getaway, not quite the way they’d planned it, but it can still be… romantic. Maybe. If he manages to actually do something right.

It’s just the two of them and that’s gotta to mean something. Do strictly platonic friends go on holiday for no other reason than wanting to enjoy each other’s company in a more private setting?

Maybe, but do they? Dan can't shake off the feeling that this trip means something more. He’s sure he senses it in the way Phil’s fingers still for a moment on the trackpad on his laptop, the cursor on the screen hovering between the one- or two-bed options on the hotel website.

The brief silence is excruciating, but no more so than the mouse click when Phil ends up selecting the room with two beds.

He supposes that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's just that neither of them spoke up.

Blackpool turns out to be a shithole, though, so is it the right place?

Probably not, but… it'd be far less shitty if Dan could muster up the courage one goddamn night to crawl into Phil’s bed with him, instead of his own.

He actually almost does, stumbling into their room giddy and wine-drunk after a too-expensive dinner on the last night, trusting Phil to support about half his weight with the arm slung around his waist, and his arm around Phil’s shoulders.

“Fucking hell, finally.” He doesn't bother untangling them before falling backwards onto the bed, landing Phil on top of him with a surprised 'oof.'

“Shit, sorry mate.” He manages with an indelicate snort as Phil lifts himself onto his forearms. Then suddenly, Dan isn’t sorry at all - not with Phil on top of him, face flushed from the alcohol, eyes half-lidded and searching.

He really, really isn’t sorry.

“S’ok.” Phil mumbles in reply. He stays hovering over him, unmoving, his voice barely above a whisper and Dan swears he sees those pretty eyes flicker down to his lips.

If there’s ever been a go-ahead to kiss him, kiss him right fucking now, this would have to be it.

He just needs to collect himself first. Just a few deep breaths.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale— oh.

Oh no.

“Uh, Phil. I need you to get off me now.”

All he registers is a glimpse of the confusion in Phil’s expression when he rolls off of him, only for Dan to bolt straight to the bathroom. He makes it to the toilet just in time to collapse onto his knees and empty the entire contents of his stomach.

Perhaps he’d overdone it on the liquid courage.

“...Dan?” He hears Phil’s voice drifting in from the bedroom. “You alright? Can I get you anything?”

He sounds concerned, and understandably not the least bit turned on.  Nice.

“Totally fine.” He rasps in reply, and groans internally over how his voice echoes pathetically out of the toilet bowl while he rests his forehead on the cool porcelain rim.

They go to sleep in separate beds that night.

He wanted to kiss him in Blackpool.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil, in an unprecedented display of chopstick dexterity, manages to actually finish his sushi without accidentally assaulting anyone. Dan is secretly a little bit disappointed. Dumbass moments like those become fond memories and inside jokes and another reinforcement to a bond so unique that nobody ever could manage to steal it away from him.

He'll make a memory anyway, a mental snapshot. Phil looks handsome and the lights are low and the music is soft and the food is good.

Oh, and the scorpion bowl in the middle of their table is very strong, and should definitely be shared by more than two people. But they're not letting that stop them.

In fact, Dan's been sipping a steady stream out of his straw for god knows how long.

“Christ, Dan, you're not eighteen anymore.” Phil nudges Dan’s foot with his own under the table. "Slow down if you don't wanna be hungover on the plane tomorrow. Plus you keep slurping."

“I’ll slurp your mum.” He replies without thinking, still holding the straw in between his teeth. He registers what he's actually said a second too late, just a moment after Phil looks at him with a horrified expression and he sputters before dropping his head down into his hands.

“No, no. I take it back. I didn’t say that, I did not say that.” He tries to insist, but he’s wheezing and his shoulders are shaking with laughter and he can’t take it back. Phil's joined in on the laughter and he's definitely not gonna let him take it back. “Fuck.” He sighs out when he catches his breath. “Don’t tell Kath.”

Phil’s cheeks are flushed a dark, rosy pink by the time he regains his composure and takes a long sip out of their shared drink again.

“As if I’d ever repeat one of your terrible jokes to her. She’d be scarred for life.”

Dan almost points out that Phil’s mum watches their videos, and he’s said worse on camera, but he stops himself.

Because one day of vlogging aside, this vacation has been a welcome escape, a break from the constant thought loop of youtube, youtube, fans, fans, radio, radio, youtube youtube youtube that refuses to leave them alone back in England.

His life could be a lot worse. But that doesn't change the fact that they're here right now in a whole new world where they've not been recognized, not even once, and he's breathing so easy, like a gigantic weight he hadn't even registered before has been lifted off his chest.

It’s amazing. He looks across the table at Phil. He can do that here, where they won't run into anyone, where it's unlikely that anyone's secretly watching - look at Phil for as long as he wants, not bothering to worry about schooling his features into something that definitively does not resemble heart-eyes. Phil catches his eye and stares back at him with an intent, albeit slightly unfocused gaze. He's not used to Phil looking at him this way, but his fuzzy brain can't bring itself to decipher what might be going on in Phil's head.

Whatever it might is, his best-friend-intuition tells him he likes it.

“Hey, Phil.” He says after a final decisive drink, still focused on those sparkling eyes. “Let’s go exploring.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Portugal.

It's what Blackpool was supposed to be after all, vacation-wise.

It can be what Blackpool was supposed to be kiss-wise, too, if he doesn’t majorly fuck up this time.

It’s much prettier here than Blackpool. Much prettier than anywhere they’ve been, really.

Phil especially looks pretty here, even with his pale skin slathered in SPF-one million. He’s pretty at the Zoomarine, where his eyes gleam with excitement and he makes friends with a large turtle. He’s pretty with his face flushed and his smile wide and uninhibited after a bit of sangria, when he tells him his skin looks nice under the blue sun.

He’s so very pretty on the coastline, with his sunglasses a bit crooked and his face turned up towards the sun and his hair tousled from the salty wind, sitting right next to him on the warm rocky ground.

His chest hurts when he looks at Phil like this. He’s scared sometimes of how badly he wants him.

Phil shifts closer to him, and their hands, outstretched behind them, overlap.

...Interesting. Is that more or less scary? He feels hot all of a sudden and he suspects it's from more than just the sun.

But they stay like that, and his heart races, and he has no idea what to do because Phil’s acting like they’re doing nothing unusual even though it’s been a while since they’ve touched like this.

His stupid inner romantic has never fully ruled out the possibility that maybe Phil wants him too.

So is this a move? Is he going to make another? If he does then that’s a lot of pressure off of Dan, for sure.

He waits.

He waits for a long time.

And he probably doesn’t have a right to feel disappointed when nothing happens, but he does anyway.

He wanted to kiss him in Portugal.

But he didn’t.  

***  

Stepping out into the fresh air sobers him up a little bit. Not a lot, but enough that he and Phil don’t need to lean on each other when they walk. That’s good, he doesn’t feel like looking sloppy even though Phil’s seen him at his sloppiest. And wherever they’re about to go, he wants to remember it.

They don’t talk about where they’re going, but head off at the exact same time in the exact same random direction. They walk in silence for a bit and Dan doesn’t mind. Silence is quite alright, especially if he’s sharing it with Phil. His mind is foggy and the Tokyo streets are loud enough and Phil’s right there, next to him like always. That’s enough for him.

He’s actually startled when Phil finally speaks up. “I kind of can’t believe we did this.”

Dan looks over at him and Phil’s gaze is a little distant, his voice a little dreamy, and his lips quirked into a bit of a smile. Dan’s heart swells.

“Came here, you mean?” His voice is barely above a soft murmur, but he knows Phil can hear him anyway. They find a break in traffic and cross the road towards some building he doesn’t recognize with some neon pink sign in the front that he can’t read. “I know. Kinda doesn’t feel real.”  

He thinks back over six years, how many times they talked about Japan. Too many to count, and never in concrete terms, always some vague, faraway goal.

He thinks of the times they’d sit a little too close on the couch and watch anime over breakfast, all the skype calls in the very beginning when they’d spend ages rambling to each other about Pokemon and My Neighbor Totoro. He thinks of standing at their breakfast bar in Manchester and mixing up Popin Cookin sweets, of losing their shit over Bishi Bashi special.

When he glances over to his side, he sees Phil looking right back at him. Dan can’t quite decipher his expression again, and he’s not sure it’s from the alcohol this time. The look on Phil's face quite resembles the one he'd had after spontaneously booking their tickets and following the initial excitement, something softer, but contemplative too. He likes that look. He likes having it aimed at him. He’s pretty sure his buzz intensifies for a second.

“It’s real.” Phil breathes, locking eyes with him and then looking away a little sooner than Dan wants him to. “Definitely real.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Jamaica.

He thought Portugal was pretty, but Jamaica is on a whole new level. And, as with anything else amazing that’s happened to him as of late, Phil is right there with him.

It feels kind of like a dream, if he’s being honest - that anyone would consider him important or influential enough to be on this trip.

The only reason he knows for sure that it’s not a dream is his hobbit hair. In a dream, he’d have it perfectly straightened and under control. But with the water activities and humidity here, any effort he puts in to taming his curls is entirely in vain.

Phil ruffles his hair and tells him his curls are cute. He cares a lot less after that.

What he does care about is filming and jumping off cliffs and tubing and sunset swims where Phil photographs him without his knowledge.

“What?” Phil comments when Dan whines to him about it. “It’s a cool photo. It’s artsy. You look nice.”

He scoffs at that. “It’s just my silhouette.”

“Well, it’s a good one.”

Everything around them is shades of pink and orange and gold. Warm and beautiful. Especially the golden light, bringing out the specks of yellow in Phil’s kaleidoscope eyes. Looking into them, he feels a distinct tugging somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and drifts over to Phil almost mindlessly. Phil smiles when he’s close enough.

“You have so many new freckles.” He murmurs, and taps him lightly on the tip of his nose.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. They make me look like a fucking eight-year-old.”

It’s the least sexy reply he could’ve given and he mentally scolds himself for it, but Phil doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Shut up, they suit you.” Is all he says in reply and Dan’s lucky that there’s not enough light for Phil to see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

He doesn’t even need to make an effort to get any closer to Phil; the current does all the work for them until their knees touch.

He’s close to leaning in. More than anything, he wants to close the fucking gap.

Just his luck, though, Phil glances up just then and sighs. “Crap, it’s getting dark. We should go back, don’t wanna be late for dinner.”

He can’t find it in himself to muster enough courage after that.

He wanted to kiss him in Jamaica.

But he didn’t.

***

The place with the neon pink sign that they can’t read is some kind of karaoke bar, they realize once they’ve crossed the street and lean up against the wall for a breather and immediately hear the distinct beginning of Get Low by Lil John and two, mildy-drunk sounding voices belting along into microphones.

“Oh my God.” Phil’s eyes are wide. “Do you think they know what this song means? Like, what they’re actually saying?”

Dan holds up a finger and they go quiet.

To the windowwwwww (to the windowwwww)

To the wall (to the wall)

Til the sweat drop down my balls

Til all these bitches crawl

“Definitely not.” Dan snorts, and Phil rests his head back against the wall to breathe out a disbelieving laugh as well.

“I mean… I guess it’s not hurting anyone.” Phil shrugs. “We sing anime theme songs all the time and we have no clue what they mean. For all we know they could be incredibly profane.”

“Yes, Phil. I’m sure the Attack on Titan theme tune is incredibly profane. Come on, you spork.” He pushes off the wall and walks off a few feet down the sidewalk, only to realize that Phil’s not following him.

“Uh, Phil?” He turns around, eyebrow raised when he sees Phil still standing against the wall. “Don’t you wanna go find something to do?”

Phil hesitates, seeming to ponder something for a moment before breaking out into a smile. He pushes off the wall and takes a few steps backwards towards the door to the bar, his eyes just the slightest bit challenging.

“I think we just did.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Italy.

Chris and PJ aren’t stupid. They nudge him, shoot him looks, strategically leave him and Phil alone multiple times a day with fully conspicuous parting winks.

And he won't do it. If he’s going to kiss Phil (which, admittedly, is feeling like more and more of a lost cause), it’s going to be on his terms. It’s going to be when he feels it’s right, not when their well-meaning but idiotic friends decide.

It actually does feel right at one point, when Phil’s chasing him in a tipsy, spontaneous game of tag while they’re alone. Phil catches him and he wants to spin around right then, crash their mouths together, let Phil know that he’s got him in more ways than one. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or adrenaline, or maybe he’s just damn fed up with not having Phil’s lips on his.

Probably a combination, to be honest. But mostly that last thing.

He spins and just like that, PJ and Chris come right up behind them.

Some God that he doesn’t believe in really wanted to fuck with him tonight.

They seem to realize that they’ve come upon something they shouldn’t have, but Phil catches sight of them too, and then the moment’s gone.

He wanted to kiss him in Italy.

But he didn’t.

***

Phil must be drunker than Dan previously thought, because the Phil Lester that he prides himself on knowing extremely well does not just get the spontaneous urge to saunter into a karaoke bar. Yet that’s exactly what he does, and Dan kind of has no choice except to follow him.

The air inside is thick and hot and noisy, with a couple fans whirring on either side of the bar and a floor setup of basic tables and chairs, some mismatched overstuffed armchairs against the far wall, and most importantly a small stage (more like a platform, really) all the way up at the front, complete with a karaoke setup of two mics and a screen that flashes song lyrics in bright, loud colors. Phil leads them to the only empty armchair at the edge of the room, conveniently wide enough for the two of them to squeeze into.

And Dan has to admit it’s pretty cool. The bar may be hot and crowded and loud but it’s entertaining. They hear some regular, innocent songs. They’re quite nice. But they also hear uncensored renditions of Pony by Ginuwine, The Real Slim Shady by Eminem, and a personal favorite of theirs, My Neck, My Back. They contain their laughter for the most part, meaning a lot of the time they’re red faced and shaking. The laughter gets harder to contain when they’re sent a free drink each from a couple older ladies at the bar.

They don’t really need to loosen up more than they already are, but they drink them anyway.

Of course, the best part of the whole thing is being pressed up so close to Phil. He’s warm and smells nice and Dan would very much like to kiss his rosy cheek, but he’s not quite uninhibited enough for that.

“Right, my ass is falling asleep, we can probably get walking around again.” Phil says when he stands up a while later with a stretch and a yawn. Dan follows, and just then the current song ends and the next karaoke slot opens up.

A seed of an idea plants itself in Dan’s mind, and he flashes Phil the same challenging look that Phil had aimed at him earlier. “Or, maybe not just yet.” He grins and pulls a shocked, protesting Phil up on stage. He’d be painfully too awkward to do this sober, but his head is swimming a bit, so he’s alright.

Phil is still looking incredibly alarmed as Dan sorts through the song selection, and it doesn’t take long for him to find the perfect one. He hits play and Phil pales when it starts up. Dan merely gives him a cheeky smirk and picks up his mic.

mmBaby can’t you see, I’m calling

A guy like you should wear a warning

It’s dangerous

I’m falling…

Your turn, he mouths to a Phil who now looks less terrified, more intrigued, and in a sudden show of bravery, grabs his own mic.

There’s no escape

I can’t wait

I need a hit

Baby, give me it

A loud cheer coming from somewhere around the bar puts what Dan could almost describe as a sultry smirk on Phil’s lips. Surely that’s not on purpose.

You’re dangerous

I’m loving it

It sends a rush of blood down in between his legs anyway. He breathes in deep, locks eyes with Phil and joins back in.

Too high, can’t come down

Losing my head, spinning round and round

...

...Do you feel me now?

***

He wants to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas, and LA.

He doesn’t even need an excuse as to why he won’t. More and more, they’ve been keeping some distance from each other. There’s pressure mounting. A rapidly growing fanbase, thousands and thousands of prying eyes.

Thousands and thousands of hopefuls wanting the things Phil said in that damn video to be true just as much as Dan does.

And just as much as he has to act like he doesn’t. The situation may not be that out of control, but he’s living in his own personal spiral of misery. Phil moves further and further out of his reach and it’s not supposed to bother him - hell, it’s partially his own fault.

He doesn’t know if it bothers Phil or not. They don’t talk about it. They still talk, all the time, about everything else. Just… not that. Never that.

He doesn’t hope at this point. Not the way he used to. He still wants, he still wants so bad that it hurts. All he can bring himself to hope for is that their on-camera life doesn’t bleed into their off-camera life more than it already has. He couldn’t handle it.

He wanted to kiss him in Orlando, Vegas and LA.

But he didn’t.

***

They’re giddy and nearly delirious when they stumble out of the bar later, courtesy of a couple more free drinks and the adrenaline from two encore performances after their smashing performance of Toxic.

“Fucking hell.” Dan laughs when they lean up against the outside wall again, right where they’d been leaning before. “That was…” He shakes his head and laughs again before gulping down as much fresh air as he can. “That was pretty fucking epic.”

“It was.” Phil agrees with the same type of laugh, wiping the sweat off of his brow. “We haven’t done karaoke in way too long.”

“We’ve never done karaoke, you dingus.” Dan snorts and bumps his shoulder weakly into Phil’s. “Rock Band doesn’t count as karaoke.”

Phil bumps his shoulder right back. “It does to me, you... you… rude person.”

Phil really isn’t good with the insults in his regular state. Drunk Phil’s insults, though, are simply laughable. “Ouch, Phil." He feigns hurt. "I might not ever recover from that absolute zinger.”

Without thinking, he grabs the shoulder of Phil’s jacket and starts to tug him along while Phil follows along with a weak retort of “your mum.”

He’s not sure how far they walk, arms and hands brushing and shoulders bumping and cheeks blushing, before they come upon a small, well-lit ice cream shop. Dan hadn’t even thought about ice cream, but now the light inside the shop may as well be a beacon of heaven.

They keep walking once they’ve got their cones, and Dan can’t hold back his satisfied groan when he takes his first lick and it instantly hits the spot. “God, why isn’t ice cream like, the most popular drunk food?” He asks around his next several licks. “It’s filling, it’s cold, it’s refreshing… it's literally perfect. We’ve been so blind.”

“It’s definitely better than those kebabs you used to slam with your uni mates after the club before stumbling back to my apartment.” Phil says with a shrug, occupied with his own cone.

Dan thinks that Phil’s teasing might be laced with a bit of fond nostalgia, but he could just be projecting. He has plenty of fond nostalgia over having an excuse to pass out in Phil’s bed, half on top of him a couple times a week. He also has some… slightly less fun memories of Phil nursing him back to health if he woke up particularly hungover.

“Hey, those were good times.” Dan defends, though he’s not referring to the kebabs or the clubbing or even his old uni mates. They walk further into the night, slurping their respective ice creams, and Dan lets himself wonder if Phil ever looks back on those times in the same way.

***

He wants to kiss him in London.

It’s not the first time they’ve been here. But it’s the most important.

It’s the start of something new. A huge step forward in their life, a big risk that they’re taking together, trusting each other to pull through.

There’s actual career advancement on the line. Actual grown-up shit. Actual jobs at the actual fucking BBC. They wouldn’t be here without each other, and he’s so happy. So grateful.

Now more than ever, he appreciates how much he's managed to change his life for the better since meeting Phil. How Phil's been there through everything, stuck by him at his absolute messiest. How he’s cared. So much. More than Dan’s ever imagined, more than he deserves.

They build a crappy wardrobe, and they're definitely a little too proud of themselves for it.

It’s right after that, lying side by side on the carpet next to the only piece of furniture that they currently own, that Dan feels that pull again. He feels it less these days, or maybe he just refuses to acknowledge it. It's hard for now, but he figures ignoring it will get easier at some point.

He’s just not there yet.

He wanted to kiss him in London.

But he didn’t.

***

“Stars are so pretty.” Phil sighs. “You know some of the stars we’re looking at right now are already dead? How crazy is that? They’re just… shiny little... beacons of death. So cute.”

“Oh my God, what are you even on about?” Dan mumbles as he rolls his head to the side. They’re both laying down on a bed of soft, slightly damp grass after happening on a quaint little park 15 or so minutes away from the ice cream shop. Conveniently so, as they were both just about dead on their feet.

They’ve been mostly silent, not talking, not touching. Dan gazes into the dark sky and listens to Phil’s deep, steady breathing. He feels like he’s floating, light and breezy in some space between his reality and a dream. It’s definitely not a bad way to be winding down. He checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly midnight.

“Hey Dan?” Phil’s voice pulls him back to the present after a pretty long while. “Have you got any idea where we are?”

Dan sighs softly in reply. “No clue,” he murmurs, resting a hand on his stomach and letting his eyes slide shut.

“Oh.”

Dan furrows his eyebrows when he hears a bit of an edge in Phil’s voice. It takes him a minute to catch on, but when he does, sits straight up so fast that his vision goes a little bit spinny.

“Oh.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

For no particular reason, except that he still wants to kiss him every-fucking-where they go. But he has plenty of reasons not to.

Firstly, they’re working.  They have a professional relationship now. It doesn’t outweigh their friendship by any means, but it’s there. It’s important. They’re coworkers.

And simply put, you don’t kiss your coworker. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been in love with him for three years.

They make a living off of being friends and nothing more than that. Any failed attempt at love now wouldn’t just put their friendship on the line, but their livelihood too.

Their life is good. He refuses to be the one to fuck it all up.

Secondly, kissing Phil has been off the table for a while, anyway.

Along with self expression, along with anything else that might hint at him being not-straight with a gay-as-hell crush on his best friend.

Not just off the table, even. More like fully out of the question. More like aggressively denied.

Some fans love him for it, lots of them hate him for it. He hates himself for it.

He doesn't really care. He only hopes that Phil doesn’t hate him for it.

He wanted to kiss him in Edinburgh, and New York too.

But he didn’t.

***

Trying to get their bearings and retrace their steps back to wherever the hell they’d come from is by far the least fun part of their night. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Phil worries his bottom lip between his teeth when they pace across the field in what might or might not be the direction they came from. Dan drags his hands over his sweaty scalp and tugs lightly at his hair that’s almost certainly started to curl around the edges.

“I’m sorry, Dan.” Phil sighs after a while, copying Dan and anxiously fixing his own hair. “I really shouldn’t have made us come out tonight, you were right about getting lost.”

Dan frowns when he notes that Phil seems, well… genuinely upset. This has kind of been the most fun he’s had in… a pretty long time. He doesn’t like the idea of Phil regretting it, much less feeling guilty.

“Hey, I went along with it.” He insists. “It’s my fault too. We just need to… fuck, I don’t know, but this is the direction we came from, right? I’m almost positive.”

Phil stops abruptly. “It’s not.” He says quietly after a moment’s pause. “But… oh my God, look.”

Dan follows his gaze and feels his eyes widen when he sees just what Phil’s looking at.

“Holy shit.” He whispers. “Are we gonna…?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

He wants to kiss him in Cyprus.

It’s hard for him not to think about it around Bryony and Wirrow, because with them around it feels like a full-on couples vacation.

Which would be the cringiest middle-class white people thing they’ve probably ever done, if that were actually the case. It’s not, though. It’s not a couples vacation; it’s a couple vacationing with their two lanky, emo, painfully single best mates.

Still, his heart flutters when he watches Phil sip down his colorful, sugary cocktail at dinner, the sunset casting angular shadows over his face. Feels nothing but adoration watching him flail in an unsuccessful attempt to swat away the gigantic, pesky Cypriot bugs.

And to no one’s surprise, especially his own, he does nothing to act on it. Doesn’t even entertain it as a real possibility anymore. It hurts. But it's just a pipe dream now.

He wanted to kiss him in Cyprus.

But he didn’t.

***

Cherry blossoms at night might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Dan fancies himself a bit of a philosopher. Whether or not that notion actually holds any merit is a different story. Still, he’d like to think that all his hours spent facedown in his bed, at his desk, and mostly on the floor haven’t all been for nothing. He’d like to think that he’s formed some sort of coherent opinion on life - why he’s here, what he’s living for, what it all means in the grand scheme of things.

Really, he hasn’t. He waffles too much, he overthinks, and before he knows it he’s back to square one. But he’s learned a couple of things.

First and foremost, that sometimes it’s easier to think in metaphors, as long as they aren’t painfully contrived. Metaphors break things down into simpler terms, put things in perspective.

Cherry blossoms, he read somewhere at some point, are a metaphor. They bloom bright and beautiful when the time is right, and then two weeks later, all too soon, they fall to the ground. Much like existence, they are transient. Fragile. Gone possibly before you can find the time, the perspective, to marvel at them properly. But their fleeting nature doesn’t make them less beautiful when they’re in bloom. Far from it; they’re precious while they last.

Life, from the wholly optimistic perspective he rarely sees, can be the same.

But funnily enough, he’s not actually thinking of that right now.

He’s not actually thinking of much at all.

It’s hard to think, surrounded by so much light.

“I can’t believe we never knew about this.” Phil mumbles from beside him. He’s got his head turned up towards the tree that’s casting its soft pink glow down over and around them. “I totally would’ve forced you to get lost with me sooner.”

He’d almost forgotten not wanting to come out tonight in the first place. I’m glad you forced me out. He wants to say. I’m glad that I’m here with you. But when he turns to his side, Phil’s not standing next to him anymore.

Before he can even panic or call out to him, he spots Phil up ahead just a bit, ambling along among some of the trees that lead down to a nearby river. He’s looking up still, clearly caught up in the ethereal view - seeing the trees lit up, seemingly on their own in the dark, does look kind of like magic. They could be checkpoints in a fantasy rpg, Phil would probably say. Or something of the sort - Dan can always ask him later what’s going on in his mind. Something interesting and strange, he's sure, because Phil’s like that.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks up ahead himself, following Phil from a few feet behind. He has a tendency to lose Phil like this - on the street, in parks, in train stations, when he’s zoned out in his own private Phil world. It’s either endearing or incredibly frustrating, depending on the situation. Right now, it’s definitely endearing.

And it's always kind of funny to see how and when Phil comes back to reality, how he fumbles to regain his bearings and is always startled at himself for having spaced out so long.

Well, this time it’s actually not very long. Phil’s only been walking for about a minute before he trips, stumbling forward a few steps, then righting himself and turning his head to the side, confused. Dan knows it’s because Phil was assuming Dan to be next to him this entire time.

“Smooth.” He remarks with a snicker, coming up on Phil’s other side. “That’s what happens when you’re staring at the trees and not watching where you’re going.”

Phil turns with a startled jump before his face falls into a frown. “You were supposed to be next to me!” He complains. “You could’ve warned me I was about to trip on something.”

“You tripped over nothing.” Dan remarks when he looks down at the ground and sees nothing in the immediate vicinity that Phil could’ve tripped on. “Double smooth.”

“I hate you.” Phil grumbles. “And you’ve got petals in your hair.”

Dan’s cheeks heat up against his will when Phil reaches up and plucks them out. They heat up even more when he smooths his hair back into place for him. They’re on fire when Phil’s hand lingers for a second before he drops it back down to his side, resuming his walking with Dan actually next to him this time.

“The trees don’t even look real, right?” Phil asks, glancing up at them again, briefly and with much more caution this time. “I feel like some NPC from a fantasy game should be living inside.”

Dan has to bite back a grin. Okay, an NPC, not a checkpoint, but still. That psychic connection that their audience, friends and family accuse them of having really is uncanny at times.

“I could see that.”

They stop walking when they reach the edge of the river. There’s a bridge about 20 feet away from them that crosses over and leads to more cherry blossom trees on the other side, but they stay put, watching the lanterns that float along in the water.

When he looks at Phil, he sees the river reflected in his eyes and the warm pink light shining behind him and realizes that actually, the cherry blossoms are only the second prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He feels something click into place.

“Phil.” He sighs. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing now besides chasing whatever feeling, whatever tug, whatever heat, whatever rush of courage he’s got washing over him, cementing his resolve. Whether he likes it or not, he’s not backing out this time.

There’s a storm of emotion looming very close in the distance. It’ll remain unnamed and indiscernible until he reaches his outcome here. Right now it’s only adrenaline, his racing heart and sweaty palms tell him as much.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Phil.” He repeats in a slightly steadier tone of voice. “I need to tell you something, I—”

He turns to Phil and immediately can’t finish his sentence. He’s cut off when Phil’s lips are suddenly pressed against his own.

He freezes, his mouth slack and his arms hanging dumbly at his sides while his brain races to catch up with what the fuck is actually happening. Phil’s kissing him. Phil’s right here, right in front of him, he’s cupping his face and kissing him.

The delayed realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes slip shut and suddenly he’s a live wire, hot and electric from his head down to the tips of his toes and his inner voice screams KISS HIM, KISS HIM, KISS HIM BACK YOU IDIOT.

Phil pulls away before he can and Dan can’t breathe. He can’t even bring himself to open his eyes until a few seconds later. He waits for his vision to refocus and then locks eyes with Phil.

Phil’s taken several steps back from him, eyes wide and his expression utterly terrified, color drained out of his cheeks and both hands clasped tightly over his mouth.

“Oh my god, Dan.” His voice is muffled by his hands but Dan can still hear how shaky it is. “I’m so sorry, I’m— I shouldn’t have— I don’t know what—”

Phil, he realizes, is apologizing. Apologizing for kissing him. He feels his heart plunge all the way down to his feet and back up because Phil’s apologizing for kissing him and that’s fully unacceptable. His body feels like it’s running on autopilot when he surges forward, tugging Phil’s hands away from his mouth and just barely registering the desperation in his eyes before he grabs his face and kisses him again.

He kisses him hard and Phil’s reaction speed is far better than Dan’s because he kisses him back immediately, heated and urgent and impassioned.

They break apart technically sooner than Dan would like, but as far as he’s concerned, they now have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Phil.” He rasps, knowing that his pupils are surely blown as big and dark as Phil’s when he looks into them. “We need to get back to the hotel. Right fucking now.”

*

In the end, it's a matter of swallowing their pride and stumbling through a half-coherent conversation with a very patient park-goer, who does eventually understand what the hell they're trying to say and points them in the right direction.

Actually getting back to the hotel is a blur.

What's not a blur is the fact that Phil's mouth is on his again before the door's even closed behind him. That’s when everything turns crystal clear. His whole body’s on fire when they fall in a mess of tangled limbs onto the bed, kicking off shoes and wrestling each other out of clothes.

He straddles Phil once they’re both down to just their pants, their bodies pressing tight together when he leans down and slots their mouths together again

It's not quite the tender, romantic confession that Dan had been planning on.

But it turns out that he’s just as fine with words and half-sentences spoken in haste when they’re panting hot and heavy against each other’s mouths.

Phil scratches his nails lightly down Dan’s back and Dan tells him he wants him, wants him so bad. Phil flips them over and presses him into the mattress and latches his mouth onto the warm, sensitive skin of Dan’s neck and murmurs between hot open mouthed kisses all over that he wants him too, so so much, that he’s wanted this forever, since before they even met.

Dan feels like he could cry.

But he settles instead for an obscene moan when Phil kisses him roughly and slots their legs together and grinds his hips down and Dan notices that he’s just as painfully hard as him.

“Phil, please.” He whispers into one more kiss before Phil latches onto his neck again. Phil really doesn’t hold back, nipping and sucking and biting and there’s no way that Dan’s coming out of this without any hickeys but that’s fine. He wants to be marked. He waits for Phil to pull back a bit before reaching down in between them, hastily pushing down both of their waistbands so that Phil’s hard length is rutting against his and his precum smears onto Dan’s belly.

He feels the blood thrumming hot and fast though his veins, up and down his entire body with every hammering heartbeat. All he registers is Phil’s hot breath against his neck and chest and the sound of skin on skin and the white hot sparks of pleasure that start in his groin and travel all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I’m… close.” He moans through gritted teeth when he feels his balls drawing up tight, wrapping one leg around Phil’s waist for leverage and meeting each thrust with his own. His squeeze shut and he sees stars and muffles his moan against Phil’s shoulder when he spills hot and fast in between their bodies. Phil’s hips stutter and he follows right after, and Dan kisses him and clings to him while he rides it out and then promptly collapses on top of him.

For a while there are no words. Just slow, deep breaths and tiny kisses pressed into any available bit of salty skin before Phil finally finds the strength to roll off to the side and halfheartedly clean them both up with the corner of the bedsheet.

They lay side by side, flat on their backs, chests flushed and bodies shimmering with a thin gleam of sweat and then at the same time, turn their heads to face each other and burst into disbelieving laughter.

“Oh my God. Jesus fucking Christ.” Dan manages, tucking his body up against Phil’s side and laying his head on his shoulder. “We actually just did that.”

“We did.” Phil sighs, and reaches over to grab Dan’s hand resting on his chest and lace their fingers together. “We should, uh. Probably talk.”

“In a minute.” Dan whispers.

When they do get to talking, the words exchanged are balm to a burn that’s been scarring Dan’s soul for so many years, for far too long. They talk late into the night, confessions and jokes and apologies and every way of saying I love you without actually speaking the three words, until they both can’t keep their eyes open any more.

They fall asleep tangled up in each other. For the first time in six years, Dan finally rests easy.

*

“Don’t wanna go home.” Dan mumbles, stretched out on his belly with his face mushed into his pillow the next morning. The sun streaming in from between the curtains is an unwelcome presence as far as he’s concerned. Phil runs his fingers lightly up and down Dan’s spine, pauses to rub between his shoulderblades, and taps on his cheek until Dan turns his head and lets himself be kissed.

“I know.” Phil sighs, burrowing closer and nudging his nose against Dan’s. “Me neither.”

It seems unfair, really, that they’re being pushed right back into their everyday grind when they’ve only just made such an amazing, dream-come-true level discovery. They need to go back to England, go back to work. And going back to work means… well, hiding in the closet. The idea of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Nothing has to change.” Phil tells him, as if he’s read Dan’s mind. “I want you back home just as much as I want you here. We’ll…” He sighs, because he surely knows they’re not in for an easy ride. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever if you will too.”

“I’ll do whatever.” Dan answers without hesitation, melting into the warm kiss that Phil presses against his mouth. “Definitely.”

Hours later, he falls asleep next to Phil on the plane, letting his head rest against his shoulder with a final, half-conscious thought that sends a burst of warmth blooming throughout his chest.

He wanted to kiss him in Japan.

So he did.

this fic was prompted/inspired by lost in japan by shawn mendes.

also if you don't know what nighttime cherry blossom viewing looks like, look here because it's very very pretty and you can imagine how it might inspire one to finally kiss their crush of 6 years (inspo for the trees in this fic drawn mainly from #3 on the list)

thanks for reading!