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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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adorkablephil · 6 years ago

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Fic: The Roles We Play (6)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 6,941 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Love Letters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! This chapter, in particular, gave me some trouble (due to rl stress), and India was my total hero.

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[ All Chapters Masterlist ]

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8 January 1939

Dan arrived at rehearsal the next day only to find Phil unexpectedly absent. He waited and waited, watching the door, because he and Phil usually chatted a bit before the rehearsal started, but that tall, slim form never appeared.

“Mr. Lester has been called away on urgent business,” Drury announced at the start of the rehearsal, making Dan start. He looked around in hope of some explanation. “It is regrettable, of course, since he plays one of our most important roles in this production, but Mr. Joseph Walker will be reading his part during the rehearsals until Mr. Lester is able to return. He fully expects to return before we broadcast on 18 January, but if he is unable to be present by that time, or if he is unable to attend enough of the rehearsals, then Mr. Walker will read the role of Jack in his place.”

Dan had great difficulty focusing on the rehearsal and flubbed his lines several times. Drury grew increasingly impatient with him until finally he simply cut the rehearsal short, sniffing disapprovingly, “I hope we shall all find ourselves more fully present and focused tomorrow.”

Unsure what to do, Dan went home and phoned Phil’s house. Gemma answered the phone, sounding coolly polite as she informed him that Mr. Lester was with family at present and might be away for some time. When Dan pressed for more information, she simply told him that Phil had given her no estimated date of his return and that there was not, to the best of her knowledge, any family tragedy involved.

Phil had simply decided he must spend some time with his family.

He’d said nothing about this the previous night when they’d been chatting after dinner, so something must have come up quite suddenly. And Dan did not understand why Gemma seemed so much less friendly. Was it perhaps that her easy, teasing demeanor depended on Phil’s presence? Or was it something so simple as feeling more formal on the telephone than in person? Whatever the reason, it made Dan uneasy. He had been looking for reassurance in phoning Phil’s home, but had received none. He knew it would be inappropriate to request the phone number of the Lester family residence, so he did not ask, no matter how much he longed to do so.

Had the baby suddenly fallen ill? Dan hoped dearly that young Steven was safe and healthy. Or Mrs. Lester? He thought of the woman gently kissing him on the cheek at Christmas. He thought of each of Phil’s family members in turn and fervently wished them all well.

Most of all, he hoped that Phil himself was well. Why had he not phoned? Why had he sent Dan no message whatsoever? Why had he simply left without a word?

Dan changed out of his suit and into a comfortable pair of slacks and the oatmeal-colored jumper Mrs. Lester had knitted for him. He curled up on the sofa in his lounge under a thick blanket and sent all his anxious good wishes winging toward the north.

******

13 January 1939

After what seemed an interminable length of time, Phil reappeared at rehearsal one morning, and Dan immediately ran to him. “Is everyone well? Is young Steven in good health? Are your parents well?” he asked in a torrent of words, voicing all his worries of the past week.

Phil smiled a little, though he looked rather more pale than usual and a little sad. Phil did not reach out to rest his hand on Dan’s shoulder or arm as he had so often done in the past, but just looked down at the floor and then back into Dan’s eyes. Dan braced himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry I left you with such uncertainty,” Phil apologized, but he seemed distant. He had been gone from London for days, but the tone of his words now made him seem even further away than he had been yesterday, despite their now being in the same room. “I just … needed to be with my family for a time. But they are all well. You needn’t have worried.”

Dan frowned. “But of course I worried! You left without a word, and all I knew was that you had returned to the north to be with your family. You’ve never done such a thing before, so I assumed something serious must have happened.”

“As I said, I apologize for worrying you. They are all well, and … send you greetings.”

Dan felt terribly confused. “Are you quite well, Phil? You seem … different.”

But Drury called the rehearsal to order, and Dan never got a real answer to his question.

When rehearsal had finished, Phil left abruptly without bidding Dan farewell.

Dan spent another evening on his sofa, wearing the oatmeal-colored jumper for comfort, trying to remember the happiness he had felt with Phil and his family at Christmastime, only a few weeks ago. He heated a tin of soup for dinner and went to bed quite early, though he lay awake, unable to fall asleep, for a very long while.

He did not understand what had gone wrong.

******

14 January 1939

When Phil arrived at rehearsal the following day, his smile seemed a bit more natural, less forced, and he chatted with Dan both before and afterward as was their usual habit, though he did still seem slightly subdued. He did not suggest that they go to the pub or otherwise spend time together that evening and simply took his leave after some polite chat.

Dan stared after him, feeling lost.

******

18 January 1939

Drury decided that Phil had been gone for enough of the rehearsal time that it would be best to have Joseph Walker play the role of Jack. Phil graciously acquiesced, but Dan himself felt quite put out. Phil had been so excited to perform this particular play, and he himself had so looked forward to their characters’ lively banter … playing opposite Joseph Walker was a tremendous disappointment.

When he heard Joseph Walker’s aristocratic voice speak the line, “Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to,” he wanted to weep. At least previously he’d had a beautiful friendship with Phil, even though he knew it could never be anything more than that.

Now it seemed he had lost even the friendship. Had he done something to offend Phil? And, if so, why did Phil not simply tell him what he had done, so that they might clear it up? Surely they were good enough friends to weather a storm or two?

At least, Dan had thought they were.

******

24 January 1939

“Would you like to stop by the pub for a drink before heading home?” Phil asked after the repertory company’s business meeting to discuss upcoming productions and potential casting.

Dan looked at his friend in surprise. This was the first time since the dinner at Phil’s house, more than two weeks ago, that Phil had initiated any social interaction beyond a polite chat at the BBC. Dan had tried to suggest that they spend time together once or twice, but Phil’s apparent lack of interest had discouraged him. Always a bit in awe of Phil, even after they had become more comfortable with each other, Dan had been hesitant to continue asking after being rebuffed.

So Phil’s invitation to the pub felt like rain in the desert. “Yes,” Dan agreed eagerly. “Yes, I would love to have a drink with you. I’ve missed our time together.” He bit his lip, worried that he had said too much, but Phil smiled faintly.

Phil’s cheeks looked a bit pink when he admitted, “I have missed you, as well.”

They went to the pub across the road, as they had done on previous occasions, and Phil ordered his usual sweet cocktail. Dan ordered an old fashioned.

“Old fashioned again,” Phil commented for no apparent reason.

“Yes,” Dan replied. “I rather like them.” He took a sip.

“I’ve never been much of an old fashioned man,” Phil said, and then took a sip of his sweet concoction. His face looked surprisingly melancholy for such a banal conversation.

“How are your family doing?” Dan asked, still puzzled about what had happened with all that.

Phil smiled. “They’re fine. You can stop worrying, Dan. I’ve already apologized for alarming you. I just … I needed to be with them for a while. But I’m back now.” His eyes still looked troubled. “I would not want anything to adversely affect our friendship,” he said seriously. “Your regard means a great deal to me, and I’ve come to enjoy our time together very much.”

“Of course nothing would affect our friendship,” Dan replied, concerned. “Why should it? Is something the matter? Did I … was it me? Did I do something?” This was the question he’d most feared to ask, afraid of what Phil might say, but Phil only shook his head, looking down into his drink and stirring it absently.

“No.” He glanced at Dan and then away. “No, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He met Dan’s eyes, and Dan could not read his expression, but it certainly was not a happy one. “You’re a good man.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t go that far!” he joked.

Phil smiled at him and reached out to rest a hand on Dan’s shoulder for the first time in weeks. “I would.”

******

27 January 1939

They were doing Shakespeare again: Hamlet, this time. Phil, as one of the BBC’s most enduring stars, had the title role. Dan had been assigned the role of Horatio. Drury seemed to like Dan and Phil’s easy camaraderie and so had taken to quite often giving them roles as characters who were friends. Horatio was a plum role for Dan, probably more prestigious than any other role he had played in the repertory company thus far, so he was quite excited. His character appeared in almost every scene, as did Phil’s, so they would be spending a great deal of time together in rehearsal, and Phil would be able to indulge his love of puns again. Despite being a tragedy, Hamlet was chock full of wordplay.

The role assignment meeting drew to a close, and everyone stood up from the table. Dan walked to Phil’s side and asked casually, “Care for a drink at the pub?”

“Er … I’m going to a film this evening, actually.” Phil flushed and looked away in apparent embarrassment. “Nothing that would interest you, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” Dan tried not to let his disappointment show. “Going with some friends?”

Phil’s flush deepened a bit. “Despite what you may think, I don’t have a large number of friends. And I’m not acquainted with anyone who shares my interest in horror films, so I’m attending the film showing alone.” He tilted his chin up a bit, as if feeling defensive. “There is nothing wrong with a man going to the cinema on his own.”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “No, of course not! There’s nothing wrong with attending a film showing alone. Unless, perhaps, a friend might like to join you?” He smiled tentatively. It seemed a risk to invite himself along so brazenly, but he and Phil had been carefully finding their footing again, returning slowly to the easy comfort of their friendship, and so he was willing to take the chance.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Phil protested immediately. “It’s nothing intellectual or philosophical. Nothing intellectually challenging at all. Just a frivolous bit of something frightening, for you know I love a good horror story.”

“I do know that,” Dan replied. “And while my reading tastes may differ from yours, I must admit to enjoying a good horror film. Not all my tastes are so fussily pretentious, you know.” He grinned at Phil.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were pretentious!” Phil gasped in denial.

“Of course not,” Dan’s grin grew wider. “That’s why you were going to invite me to come with you to see … what is the film you’re seeing this evening?”

“It’s called The Face at the Window,” Phil replied, sounding very unsure of himself. “Are you certain you would want to go to a horror film?”

“It will not be the first, nor that last, that I watch with pleasure. I love a good scare! Having your company will only make it all the better.”

After a long hesitation, Phil eventually suggested, “Well, if you are certain, let us get a taxi. We may get dinner near the cinema, if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Dan replied honestly, and he felt as if everything in his world had fallen back into place.

******

10 February 1939

Despite Phil’s extensive social connections, it had taken him some time to find a new club that suited him. “You must come,” he insisted to Dan. They’d gotten over their mysterious awkwardness entirely now and were as close as ever. “They have an actual gaming room which allows non-members! They’re much less snobbish than my previous club. I don’t know why I ever tolerated that place—it must have been the popcorn.” Phil tapped a finger against his chin. “Perhaps I shall be able to persuade the new club to forgo the cucumber sandwiches.” Dan laughed.

Phil’s new club had two rooms in which non-members were permitted: a quiet lounge similar to the one at Phil’s previous club, and a gaming room complete with a billiards table. The gaming room was noisier than the lounge, since men played games in pairs or small groups, but everyone still kept their voices low.

Dan and Phil played a game of billiards—primarily for the novelty, as they’d never played the game together before—but then returned to their favorites: chess and goofspiel. They played a round of each, chatting quietly over their games, until Phil made some remark that made Dan laugh inappropriately loudly. He clapped a hand over his mouth, then made a silent grimace of apology, but Phil told him, “I love how you throw your head back when you laugh with your entire being. Few people appreciate life enough to show that kind of joy. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Let them look.”

“I don’t really think of myself as a joyous person,” Dan objected.

Phil shook his head. “But when you laugh like that, the truth shows through. There’s joy in your heart. There may be sadness there, too—and you may not see it yourself—but the joy is there.” Phil’s blue eyes shone with intensity.

The heart Phil spoke of beat faster. As he had told Phil upon their first meeting, Dan did not think of himself as a particularly cheerful or happy person, but he had experienced more happiness since meeting Phil than he had any other time in his life.

“It’s because of you,” he told Phil honestly. “I’ve never had a friend like you, never known anyone who made me laugh the way you do. So thank you. Thank you for bringing more joy to my life.”

Phil looked down and blushed. Dan became aware of the intimacy and sentimentality of their conversation and glanced around self-consciously at the men scattered around the room playing chess, billiards, bridge, and other card games.

“Have you discovered yet whether they serve popcorn at this club?” he asked to dispel the seriousness of their interaction.

“Alas, they do not,” Phil replied, looking up again, having regained his composure. “But I simply cannot tolerate an establishment that excludes my most valued acquaintances, regardless of how fine the snacks they offer.” They both chuckled. “I shall simply have to ask my own cook to learn how to make it.”

At that precise moment, a servant appeared at Phil’s elbow and spoke quietly into his ear. Phil’s eyebrows rose, and he nodded with a smile. After the servant had left, Dan asked, “What did he ask you?”

“You shall see,” Phil responded mysteriously. But only a moment later, the servant returned with tea service and a bowl of popcorn, all of which he placed to the side of their table so it would not interfere with their games. Phil explained, “Apparently, when I inquired about it at my first visit, the club considered my request and decided to add popcorn to their menu. I like this club better and better!”

“And no cucumber sandwiches,” Dan pointed out with a chuckle.

“No cucumber sandwiches!” Phil exclaimed, making other men turn their heads to look at them.

Dan smirked and said, “This time it was you who were too loud.”

“Somehow,” Phil replied, “I get the feeling that this club will not be so quick to evict us. I think less and less of that previous club. What a bunch of stiff-necked prigs! I’m so glad you exposed their true nature. Why, I might have continued quietly among their company indefinitely if you had not discomposed them with your utterly inappropriate, raucous behavior.” He giggled, his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth.

Dan looked at his friend, at the beauty and elegance of his features even as he delighted in life like a child, and thought, Oh no. No. I cannot feel this way. Not for him. I must not lose his friendship, but I know such would surely happen if he were ever to know. I cannot feel this way. I must not feel this way. He shuffled the cards so that he had a reason to look away from Phil’s face. He watched his hands for a long moment as they manipulated the deck of cards.

“Are you quite all right?” Phil asked, sounding concerned.

Dan looked up, forcing himself to look at his good friend’s face with a bland expression, and replied, “Of course.” He forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He looked down to shuffle the cards a few more times, though they were no doubt thoroughly mixed by now. He hoped Phil did not notice how his hands shook. He looked for something to say, anything except what he was thinking. Something proper. Something appropriate. Something a man in his position was expected to say. And then he remembered. “Dora will be arriving in London in two weeks to visit her aunt. She’ll be in town for a month, so we should be able to arrange that dinner soon. I know she looks forward to meeting you.”

With his eyes so determinedly focused on his hands and the cards, Dan missed the shadow that passed across Phil’s face as he cleared his throat and replied stiffly, “Of course. Of course. I’m sure it will be lovely to meet her.”

******

28 February 1939

Even with Dora in town, Dan did not see her often, and still spent much of his free time with Phil. He called on her at her aunt’s home three times during the first week, however, to make sure that he did not seem inattentive or unappreciative of her presence, even if their engagement was primarily just a convenience for both of them. They just did not have a great deal in common and spent much of their time together discussing old school friends in Wokingham. Dora still saw them all often, as few of them had moved away as Dan had done, and so she told him all the news about their lives.

Dan had never been close friends with any of them, and many of the men she spoke of so happily were those who had bullied him when they were boys, but he pretended interest.

Dan had never been close friends with anyone before Phil.

Eventually the scheduled evening came when Dora prepared dinner for them and Phil came to visit. Dora was all aflutter as they waited for Phil to arrive, smoothing her carefully waved blonde hair and applying fresh lipstick. She kept repeating how excited she was to meet a true radio celebrity, which Dan found hurt his feelings a bit. He now appeared on the radio as often as Phil, often as his co-star in their dramatic productions on the BBC, but Dora did not consider him as worthy of regard?

No one in Wokingham ever had considered him worthy of much regard. That was why he had left. One of the reasons.

Phil arrived at the door looking handsome and elegant in his well-fitting but not-quite-fashionable suit and hat. Dan took his hat and overcoat, hung them up, and then turned to introduce him to Dora, who hovered nervously in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Dora, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Philip Lester. Phil, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Dora Williams.” Phil bowed to Dora and smiled.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Williams,” Phil said with a friendly smile. Not the smile Dan usually saw, not the smile reserved for him, but the smile Phil showed to strangers and work acquaintances. Dan felt surprise that he could so easily differentiate between Phil’s different smiles. Then he tried to focus on the social situation rather than aspects of Phil’s face.

Dora nervously plucked at the skirt of her flowered dress and smiled at Phil so that her dimples showed. Many in Wokingham had called Dora and him a matched pair because of their dimples. Did Phil find dimples attractive? Would he find Dora pretty, with her pale hair and bright blue eyes? Dan’s stomach turned at the thought.

Dora seemed uncharacteristically quiet, probably too anxious to speak, so Dan guided them into the lounge. “I’m afraid my flat compares very poorly to your lovely home,” Dan told Phil. He explained to Dora, “Phil’s house includes, among other things, a solarium full of beautiful plants.”

She turned to look at Phil with wide eyes. “I do love flowers,” she remarked brightly.

Dan hoped that Phil would not take this as an implied request for an invitation to Phil’s home, because that would seem quite rude, so he hurried to interject, “I would give you a tour of the flat, but I’m afraid there isn’t much to see.”

Phil walked to the piano in the corner of the lounge and ran a hand along its lid. “This was what I was most interested in seeing, in any case. I do hope you’ll play for us after dinner?”

Dan felt his face grow hot, but nodded. “Of course. I know we have spoken of it often, so I perhaps owe it to you after all this time.”

Dora exclaimed, “Have you never heard him play? Oh, he plays so wonderfully!”

“No!” Dan replied quickly. “I do not play very well at all. Dora is too kind. Please do not develop unrealistic expectations.”

“I’m sure Miss Williams is quite honest in her admiration for your playing,” Phil replied with a kind smile to the young woman. “But please do not feel anxious that you must impress us. I have looked forward to hearing you play for so long that you might simply smash your head into the keyboard a few times, and I would no doubt be pleased to listen.”

Dan laughed, but Dora looked confused. Not everyone appreciated Phil’s sense of humor. When she heard Dan laugh, though, and saw the good humor on Phil’s face, she gave a small, self-conscious giggle.

Dora had made a roast for them, and Phil complimented her cooking in glowing terms, though Dan knew Phil flattered her more than she perhaps deserved, as the Yorkshire pudding was rather soggy and the vegetables undercooked. Dora cooked tolerably well, but even her own family teased her about her lack of prowess. They often joked that it was the reason Dan had not yet married her.

And at that moment, Dan found the topic suddenly brought up in conversation as if conjured by his thoughts. “How long have you and Dan been engaged?” Phil asked Dora politely.

“Oh,” Dora blushed under Phil’s attention. “We’ve been betrothed since we were 18.”

Phil’s eyebrows flew up, and he glanced at Dan questioningly.

“Yes,” Dan verified with some embarrassment. “It has just … never seemed like … quite the right time.”

“My friends tease me,” Dora admitted with an amused smile, “because we have been engaged so many years, when so many of them have long since married and have children, but I know that it will happen when we are ready.”

Dan felt a twinge of guilt at Dora’s words. He knew that they should marry, that he should have a family and live the life his parents had planned for him, but he just had not felt able to do so. Not yet. And Dora had never seemed overeager, either, so it just … never happened.

After dinner had been cleared away, Dan played piano for them in the lounge. Though Dora had seated herself on the sofa, Phil chose an armchair some distance from her. Dan hoped nothing was wrong there.

He first played for them Beethoven’s "Für Elise,” explaining that he had heard the piece as a child, and that it had been the originating source of his lifelong interest in the piano.

“You never told me that,” marveled Dora, and Dan realized that he had not discussed the piano very much with her. Despite the enthusiasm she had shown in her conversation with Phil, he had not played often for her, either, because she had shown little interest.

When he finished the piece, he told Phil, “I always longed for piano lessons, but never had them. I cannot read music, and I’m afraid I learn only by ear.” He supposed he spoke to both of them, really, but he only saw Phil.

“But that is a great talent!” Phil insisted. “Playing a piece of music after only having heard it is impressive indeed!”

Dan blushed and looked down at his fingers still resting on the piano keyboard. “Shall I play you some Rachmaninoff next?”

Phil and Dora both nodded eagerly, and so he began playing the composer’s “Piano Concerto No. 2.” He realized quickly his mistake, however, for it was an intensely romantic piece, and he thought only of Phil as his fingers moved across the keys. He was a cad. To play this piece, thinking of Phil, when the woman he had sworn to marry sat in the same room, was unforgivable.

Of course, it was wrong to play this piece while thinking of Phil at all.

When he had finished, he sat with his head downcast, his hands resting in his lap, while Phil and Dora both exclaimed about how beautifully he had played. “I made a great many mistakes,” Dan said quietly, but they persisted in their praise. Phil’s pleasure seemed genuine, but Dan guessed that Dora merely followed his example. She had no great love or understanding of music.

Without another word, without any warning, Dan began playing a ragtime piece. He could not remember the name or the composer, but the lively rhythm served well to break his melancholy mood. When he had finished the song, he looked up to see Dora looking quite shocked and Phil delighted. “I’m unfamiliar with that tune, and even that style of music, but it was wonderfully cheerful and lively,” Phil declared with a smile that lit a fire in Dan’s heart.

“Er … yes,” Dora said hesitantly. “It was very … different. I’ve never heard you play anything like that before.”

“I like a great many different kinds of music,” Dan explained. “I thought perhaps we could use something a bit more upbeat.”

Phil walked to the piano and stood beside it, gazing at Dan. “I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for playing for us.” He clapped a hand to Dan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I do believe this was the highlight of my week!” Then he released Dan’s shoulder and turned to look at Dora. “Please do excuse my familiarity,” he apologized with some apparent embarrassment. “Dan and I have become quite close friends these past few months, but I did not intend…”

“No, of course, it’s fine,” Dora said. She glanced between Phil and Dan as if wondering why Phil had apologized. Dan found himself wondering, as well, for Phil hadn’t done anything untoward.

Dan played the piano for them a bit more, and they all engaged in idle conversation, until eventually the evening naturally wound down.

Dora left before Phil, as her aunt would certainly not consider it appropriate for her to be alone at Dan’s flat without any others present. “It was really so wonderful to meet you!” she gushed to Phil.

Phil took her hand and pressed it gently between both of his, saying, “It was lovely to meet you, as well, Miss Williams. I hope we shall meet again often.” For a moment Dan actually felt jealous, though he was confused about his reasons. Was he jealous that Dora seemed attracted to Phil? Or that Phil seemed attracted to Dora? The twisting in his belly told him the answer, but he tried to keep a friendly expression on his face as they all said their farewells.

At the door, Dora held her face up for Dan to kiss her cheek, which he dutifully did, and she gave Phil a last beatific smile before running outside to get into her taxi.

“Why did you say all that to her?” Dan asked abruptly as soon as he and Phil were alone.

Phil looked confused. “What do you mean? What did I say wrong?”

“All that stuff about how you hope you’ll see her again often. Are you … were you flirting with my own fiancée right in front of me? In my own flat?” Dan demanded.

Phil just stared at him in obvious incomprehension for a long moment. Then he let out a small laugh, but it didn’t sound amused at all. He lifted a hand to rub pale fingers against his forehead as if trying to smooth the furrows that had appeared there.

“Dan, you are my closest and dearest friend, and I hope to have a long friendship with you for many years to come.” He spoke slowly and patiently, sounding somehow sad. Dan’s emotions still roiled within him, though, and he waited for Phil to say something that actually addressed the issue at hand: to wit, Phil flirting with Dora right in front of him.

Phil looked into Dan’s eyes, and his emotions showed openly on his face. Dan had hurt him with the accusation, and he suddenly felt a rush of shame. “Dan, this woman will be your wife—she will be by your side for as long as you live—so it is important to me that she approve of me as your companion. I hope I impressed her favorably this evening, for her good opinion matters to me a great deal. I would hate for her to develop a dislike of me that might someday lead you to end our friendship.”

“That could never happen,” Dan insisted immediately. He would never abandon his friendship with Phil, no matter what anyone else said or thought about him. Dora could harangue him for the rest of his life without convincing him to set Phil aside.

“Dan,” Phil said gently, waiting until Dan met his eyes. “She’s going to be your wife. She’ll come before everyone else in your heart, and so even if she were not a perfectly sweet girl, I must yet court her good opinion out of fear. I hope she liked me this evening.”

“How could anyone not like you?” Dan asked, though despair swamped him for no good reason he could name.

Phil sighed. “I hope you will allow me to meet her again before she leaves town so that I can… Dan, surely you must see the situation I’m in. I am at her mercy. If she chooses to dislike me, then I may lose your friendship forever. I cannot let that happen.” He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes in apparent weariness or some other emotion Dan could not identify, then put them back on. “Please, allow me to make a friend of her, so that I may keep a friend in you.”

******

3 March 1939

Though Dan vigorously denied the necessity of it, Phil insisted that he would very much like to take Dan and Dora to the cinema before she left town. At length, Dan reluctantly arranged it, and the three met to attend a showing of Errol Flynn’s The Adventures of Robin Hood. It was not quite the sort of film that Dan or Phil would have chosen on their own, but neither did they find it objectionable … and Dora was quite excited to see the film.

Dan enjoyed the film more than he had expected, as he found the action sequences engaging and the humor occasionally clever. Phil, too, seemed quite cheerful as they left the theatre, though Phil tended toward cheerful in the general case. Dora was bubbling over with delight.

Phil suggested, “Shall we have a brief drink before we part, so that we might discuss the film a bit? It may be that I shan’t see Miss Williams again before her departure. I know of a quaint pub nearby that would suit admirably.”

Dora giggled girlishly and said, “Yes, that would be lovely!” before Dan even had a chance to say anything. He felt excluded by their interaction and his mood began to darken.

They walked the short distance to the pub and found seats at a table together. Phil asked Dan, “What did you think of the film?” But Dan merely shrugged sullenly. Phil gave him a concerned look, but Dan pretended great interest in their surroundings. The pub was well-lit and attractive—the sort of place a gentleman might entertain a lady after a date at the cinema. Dan looked back at Phil and Dora and scowled.

“You know, Phil, I think you quite resemble Errol Flynn in his role as Robin Hood!” Dora gushed.

When had Phil invited Dora to call him by his first name? Dan could not remember, but it seemed overly familiar and inappropriate behavior between a single man and another fellow’s betrothed.

“I’m sure you are wrong, Miss Williams,” Phil replied. He put a slight stress on her name, which led Dan to conclude that perhaps Phil had not invited Dora’s familiarity. If that were true … Dan wondered if he should be embarrassed by Dora’s behavior. “If anything, Dan himself looks more like the hero of the film, with his wavy brown hair and pronounced dimples.” Phil smiled at him, and Dan felt his sulk recede a bit. Phil had noticed his dimples? And found his hair attractive?

“Oh, no!” Dora insisted, sipping daintily at her bright pink beverage. She’d been relatively quiet the first time she’d met Phil. What had caused this difference? Dan thought back to how he had told her that Phil wished to spend time with her again before she left town and wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood. Had Dan given her the wrong impression? “You look much more the romantic hero,” she told Phil. “The aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the engaging smile!”

Phil blanched, looking to Dan in a helpless plea for assistance. He clearly had no idea what to say in response to Dora’s indecorous flirting. Dan gazed back at him and smirked, shrugging a shoulder as if to say, “What can I do?”

Interesting that he had been so upset when he believed Phil to be flirting with Dora, when he found the opposite only amusing. It was rather fun to watch Phil squirm.

“I assure you, Miss Williams, I am no hero. If faced with danger, I would no doubt run away as fast as my clumsy feet could take me! And I would most likely trip during my flight!” He grinned, obviously hoping that Dora would go along with his self-mockery. “Not to mention the fact that Robin Hood rode horses throughout the film, and I am deathly afraid of the beasts. I’m sure Dan is much braver than I. Do you enjoy riding horses, Dan?”

Dan saw how Phil had tried to shift the conversation, and he felt much less cross now. He felt as if he were watching a game, observing Phil’s desperate attempts to extricate himself from a socially awkward situation.

Before Dan could even answer the question about horses—which he did not, in fact, know how to ride, though he had no particular fear of them—Dora reached hesitantly toward Phil’s face and asked, “May I remove your spectacles? I believe your eyes are much more beautiful than Errol Flynn’s, but I can’t see them properly behind the glass.”

Phil jerked his head back, looking extremely uncomfortable, and shot Dan another look pleading for help. Dan realized that Dora was making a fool of herself, and that he had been allowing his friend to suffer simply to assuage his own jealousy. He felt quite a cad for abandoning Phil to such an awkward situation when he knew such social niceties could make his friend anxious. Phil had often told him that it was why he preferred the quiet at the club, and why he valued his friendship with Dan. Though he felt confident in professional situations such as at the BBC, he often felt quite nervous in less formal social situations. He’d told Dan he’d never felt so comfortable with someone else socially, so at ease, with so little anxiety.

And here Dan had been enjoying watching his friend struggle with those very problems, because of his own petty jealousy.

“Dora!” Dan chided. “You barely know Mr. Lester.” Though Dan himself always called Phil by his first name, he chose to be more formal in this case to point out to Dora her own inappropriate behavior. “I know you mean no harm, but manners are somewhat different in town than in the country.”

Dora lowered her hands away from their reach toward Phil’s face, and her lower lip protruded in an unattractive pout. “I do apologize, Mr. Lester, if I overstepped.” She sounded like a sulking child.

Dan felt ashamed on various levels. He felt embarrassed by Dora’s inappropriate behavior, but more importantly he felt tremendous guilt at subjecting Phil to her advances without offering any rescue.

Phil’s shoulders relaxed, though Dan had not even noticed them growing tense, and he smiled hesitantly at Dora. “No harm done, Miss Williams. I hope we can still be good friends?”

Dora smiled, but looked unhappily chastened. “I do believe I’m ready to return to my aunt’s home. Could you fetch me a taxi, love?” she asked Dan. She rarely called him such pet names, and he wondered if she was just trying to pretend that she hadn’t been nearly throwing herself at someone else in his presence. But he simply nodded and stood. He glanced at Phil, uncertain about leaving him alone with Dora at this point, but Phil smiled and gave just the slightest inclination of his head to let Dan know that everything was all right. Dan returned the smile and went to the bar to request that a taxi be called.

Once Dora had left with barely a glance at either of them, Dan and Phil sat quietly at their table for a long moment before they both began to speak at the same time.

“I’m so sorry…” Dan began.

“I’m so sorry…” Phil also said.

They looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Dan assured Phil firmly. “Dora behaved abominably, and I should not have let it go on so long. I’m sorry for allowing her to make you so uncomfortable.”

Phil shrugged awkwardly. “I hope I did not offend her. I do still wish for her to have a good opinion of me.”

“Oh, I think she has a very good opinion of you,” Dan joked.

Phil frowned. “Dan, this is no laughing matter. If I’ve given offense…”

Dan rested a hand on Phil’s arm and insisted, “You have done nothing wrong. And nothing Dora could ever say to me will ever change my mind about my regard for you and for our friendship. I promise you that.”

Phil still seemed to fret, but he did so silently. Dan tried to distract him with discussion of the film, including mockery of some of the more ridiculous stunts, and soon Phil was laughing with him, quite relaxed and apparently happy. They spent another hour together in the pub, and Dan found that it was by far the most enjoyable portion of the evening.

When they parted, Phil reached out to embrace him briefly with a grateful smile. They hadn’t touched each other thus very often, but they had done so a few times before, such as at Christmastime and when they had not seen each other for several days.

Dan allowed himself to soak in the warmth of Phil’s arms around him, however brief the embrace. And then they broke apart, and went into their separate taxis with the understanding that they would see each other again at the BBC on the morrow.

And so Dan went home to his silent flat where he lay alone in bed that night, trying very hard not to let his thoughts linger on the scent of Phil’s skin, the texture of Phil’s wool overcoat, and every other detail of their affectionate farewell.

******

[ Continue to Chapter 7 ]

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