#i could tag everyone but. i won’t do that to you. martyn is the focus of this so he gets special tagging privilege | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dvp95 · 4 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (15)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 49.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"So," Phil starts, and then pauses. He has no real idea how to say this.

His parents wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts and his mum mutes the telly. Having their undivided attention doesn't really help, it just makes Phil sweat a bit. He can't even bring himself to sit down, too wired with anxious energy as he is.

The video has only been live for a day, but it's already one of Phil's most popular. People are clamoring in the comments for more; demands for proof and simple curiosity about what could explain his experiences. He's already had a call from Martyn about the benefits of going back and doing an update, but PJ and Sophie have put their two cents in as 'absolutely not'. Chris offered a don't care and then asked for Phil's mum's lasagna recipe.

Phil wants to stay. It's not so much about the mystery, for him, but he's pretty sure his friends and maybe even his brother already know that. He's got his own reasons for not buying a train ticket the moment the video went live and asking his divisive audience what they wanted him to do. Yeah, he'd been sort of hoping for this outcome.

He's not sure if he wants to stay for himself, for the stagnation that being here allows him, or if he wants to stay for deep dimples and a nice laugh. Probably a bit of column A and a bit of column B, if he's honest with himself.

"I uploaded the video on this case," Phil tells his parents. "And there were a lot of, um, unanswered questions. Because of that whole thing with the footage."

"Phil," his dad says, exasperation in his voice already.

"And that means more money from one case," Phil presses on, "because I don't have many expenses here and the ad revenue was really good in comparison to my last five videos. Martyn really thinks I should look into this some more. I promise I won't be here for months or anything, I just - just give me another week. Please, I just need a week."

Money talk usually gets his parents to back down a bit, but they exchange a long look between them that convinces Phil it isn't going to work this time. His mind is already whirring quickly, trying to settle on arguments that it thinks might win him this battle. He considers telling them that this is more than just a video to him, that his whole future feels like it's resting on this one mystery, but he has a suspicion that they wouldn't be very impressed with that lack of foresight. He's ready to bring out specific numbers when their silent communication breaks and his mum gives him a small smile.

"Phil," she says, echoing his dad with a bit more warmth and a lot more pity. "You know we need to talk about this, dear, why don't you sit down?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets so they don't see the trembling. He's not scared, he's just anxious, and his brain and body are conspiring to make him feel like he's going to die if something unexpected happens.

Phil doesn't like change. He doesn't like seeing his childhood house like this, he doesn't like having his career up in the air, and he doesn't like the way his parents no longer trust him to do what's best for himself. The worst part is that he's not even sure they're wrong - Phil knows he isn't thinking logically right now, that Martyn is the one who even mentioned ad revenue while Phil was busy wondering how best to prove himself.

"I'm good," says Phil. He hopes that the nerves aren't as palpable as they feel to him.

"Okay, well," his mum says, briskly rearranging things on the coffee table like she has to be doing something with her hands while they talk about this. He's reminded a bit of Dan in the coffee shop, of Chris in the attic, and he wonders what it is about him that makes people need to split their focus like that. "Your dad and I have been talking."

"About how I need to grow up?" Phil offers, heart in his throat. It feels like he might laugh or cry at any moment. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"We're retiring, Phil," his dad says. That's not exactly news to Phil - he knows why they're selling the house, after all - but he bites his tongue and lets his dad speak. "We've understood the... unstable nature of your work for several years now, but we can't keep bailing you out whenever you have a bad month. You're a smart man and you've got a good degree, you should have something steadier under your belt."

"We love how creative you are," Phil's mum chimes in. It almost sounds like they've practiced this. Phil bites down harder. "And if you can channel that creativity in a way that isn't so dangerous, you'll have our full support."

Phil kind of wishes that he already had their full support, but he's already had this conversation with himself. The work isn't fun for him anymore, and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing isn't a low one. It's almost not worth it when he doesn't have that full-blown excitement about a case.

He doesn't need every haunt to have a nice ending wrapped up with a bow, but he does need to like the content he's producing. Otherwise there isn't any point to it.

Still. It sucks to hear.

Phil deflates a little bit. His automatic defensiveness that springs up whenever his parents start questioning his many bad decisions in life is fading to something that feels like bone-deep exhaustion. The anxiety is still there, thrumming under his skin, but there's nothing he can really do about that. The truth is that he's been feeling listless and defeated and trapped for a lot longer than he's been back in his parents' house. There's no real point in pretending otherwise.

"Give me a week," he repeats, quiet. "I want to finish this project either way, y'know? Just let me stay for the rest of this week and - and if it doesn't pan out, if I don't find anything new, then... then I'm done. I'll stop. I'll find something else."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his mum asks. The relief that pulls at her shoulders and her pursed lips is enough for Phil to be sure.

"Yeah," says Phil. He gives them a little shrug. "I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. I like making videos and exploring places with cool stories, and even talking to people has been getting better. But you're... you've got a point. I can't keep doing this forever. Not at the pace and quality I like to maintain. If this video goes well, it might help me break into a more diverse and less dangerous niche, which would make everyone happy, I think."

His dad nods at him. "Okay. You can stay until Sunday, because that's when we're going to the Isle. You can do whatever editing and post-production stuff you need to when you get back to Brighton. We'll expect a call when you know for sure what you're going to do, Phil."

Phil swallows, clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. "You'll be the first to know."

Nobody asks Phil to leave, but he can't stay in the aggressively neutral version of his parents' house and field their 'casual' questions about what sort of things he might want to do if YouTube doesn't work. He escapes to the city again, sending a message to Dan on the bus. Instead of asking if they want to hang out with him, he simply asks where he can meet them today. As if it's a given that they're going to be spending time together.

Maybe that's presumptuous of him, but Dan uses an exclamation mark when they reply, im at home!, so Phil thinks it's probably fine.

Dan meets him at the door this time, mid-ramble about the broken dishwasher in their flat as if social niceties are no longer expected of them. That suits Phil. He grins back at Dan and joins them in the small but tidy galley kitchen, letting Dan talk his ear off while they scrub at some discoloured Tupperware.

"Sorry," Dan interrupts themself, turning big and apologetic eyes on Phil like they've just registered that he's standing there. "I'm having a weird brain day. Bit all over the place, you know."

"That's fine," Phil says honestly. He smiles, because Dan doesn't look all that convinced by it. "No, really, I don't mind. I like listening to you talk."

The blush spreads across Dan's face too quickly for them to hide by turning away. They try, anyway, and Phil is left looking at their face in profile, turned down and rosy as it is. "Normally I at least break for breath. What's new with you?"

"Since two days ago?" Phil teases. Dan's dimple makes an appearance right before the smile splits their face, and Phil has to twist his own fingers together so he doesn't reach out and poke at it. He's still working through some stuff, still doesn't want to make any decisions about this without thinking it over carefully, but he's never been good at resisting temptation either. "Uh, not much. My parents are still on my case. I'm getting good feedback on the video, but you probably know that already."

"It was a good video," says Dan. They pause as they dry their big hands on an old tea towel. "I... appreciate you saying that stuff about me."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Dan meets his eyes again, almost stubbornly ignoring the colour in their own cheeks. "I can appreciate things that you think are true, dingus. Take the gratitude already."

Phil grins. "Never."

There are snacks after that and some video games that Phil loses spectacularly and some good ferret snuggles. As the afternoon turns to evening, Phil watches Dan rearrange some titles on the bookshelf as they chatter about one of their science-y classes, no longer self conscious about how much they're talking. He's sitting on Dan's soft, unmade bed with Pixel, who keeps rolling around in the sheets like she's trying to get comfortable.

Phil is already comfortable. It's hard for him to ignore that Dan's bedroom feels so much like a safe haven in the way that his old house no longer does.

At some point Dan gives up on whatever system they were trying to implement. They pick Tofu up off the floor and flop onto the bed with Phil, wiggling around in almost the exact same way Pixel had. Phil presses his lips together tightly so he doesn't laugh.

"I think that things can be improved," Dan is saying, and Phil tries to figure out if they're still talking about the environment or if Dan has picked up the loose thread from their earlier rant about Bethesda. Pixel and Tofu are both running around like Dan and Phil are just bony jungle gyms, and Dan barely even stutters when one of them steps on their nose. "Of course they can be improved, it's not something you just give up on when things get tough, but the problem is that the people in charge have to implement the changes that are necessary for improvement, and - ow, that's my ear, don't bite that - and, uh... where was I?"

"You were telling me about climate change," says Phil. "Or potentially Todd Howard's ambivalence towards a quote-unquote 'perfect game'. I honestly lost track."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Phil's anxiety rears its head for the first time since he got here, but luckily he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth this time - Dan starts laughing, more or less cackling, and they roll closer to Phil to bury their face in a pillow.

Phil grins and reaches out to tug at one of Dan's curls, fascinated by the way it just springs back into place. He's done this to PJ once or twice or six times, but he's usually had a couple drinks before he resorts to it. Dan comes out of hiding with tears of laughter welling up in their pretty brown eyes and their dimples in full force, grinning up at Phil like he's the funniest person in the world.

"Those are both really important issues," Dan says, trying their best to sound deadpan when they're so obviously gleeful.

They wiggle around again and Phil says, "You look exactly like Pixel when you do that."

He's pretty sure that Dan honks at that, but he's immediately distracted by a ferret trying to bite his eyebrow.

This is good. Phil likes this. He's trying to dig himself out of the mindset that he'd backed himself into when he first started noticing Dan, because PJ might have had a point. Okay, so PJ definitely had a point, and Phil has been a bit of an idiot.

He won't know for sure how Dan feels about him being gay and uncompromising about that fact unless he asks, and he doesn't think he's ready to do that just yet. But there's a rainbow flag on Dan's wall and they don't consider themselves not not a guy, so... Phil thinks that maybe he's been assigning a strictness to Dan's own relationship to gender and sexuality that isn't actually there.

Dan is talking again, to their ferrets this time, and Phil is almost overwhelmed by the force of affection that washes over him now that he isn't trying so hard to hold it back. Dan's leg is pressed against his own and they're holding Pixel up like they're playing airplane with her and Phil likes them so goddamn much.

"Did you want to," Phil starts, interrupting Dan's musing about what goes on in a ferret's tiny brain. Dan looks up at him with such genuine happiness on their face that Phil's words stick in his throat. He should be asking if Dan wants to go out for dinner again or if they've seen whatever blockbuster action film is playing in cinemas this week, but that's not what comes out of his mouth. When Dan raises their eyebrows quizzically, what Phil ends up asking is, "Uh, come spend the night in the haunted house with me?"

Great. Real romantic.

Dan doesn't make a secret about how much they hate this plan. They say it over and over, but they don't take any of the outs that Phil offers them.

"I hate this plan," Dan says as they make a bunch of sandwiches. It seems like way too much for just the two of them, but Phil isn't about to say no to having a near endless supply of peanut butter and bread when they're stuck in a dusty attic again. "This is stupid. You should have just left it at the first video, Phil, that was fine."

"You don't have to come with me," Phil reminds them for the umpteenth time.

Dan glares. "No, I'm coming."

"You're a very complicated person," says Phil.

With a heavy sort of sigh, like they've been dealing with Phil for years instead of a week, Dan finally sets the peanut butter down. "Look," they say, pointing the dull knife at Phil for emphasis. "I can hate this plan and still want to make sure you don't get fucking arrested or possessed or trip down the stairs or something. PJ knows where I live."

"I think he'd be in the camp of me deserving it if I died in the Wilkins place," Phil says, his lips tugging into a grin. "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan mutters. "Will you at least tell me why we're going back? I know you're fucking stubborn and all, but I didn't figure you for someone who beats dead horses."

"Oh, that's a terrible idiom," Phil says, mostly to himself. He reaches out to squeeze Dan's shoulder when he sees them get all huffy at the apparent avoidance. The tension leaving Dan's body under his palm is frustrating to feel, because there's nothing Phil wants more than to lean into it. The problem, of course, is that he really does need to talk to Dan before he starts trying to hug them in their own kitchen. Phil lets his hand drop awkwardly between them and shrugs. "Well, uh. This is the first time in a long time I've actually been excited about a project. And that makes me think that maybe I've worn out my welcome here. Not... not here like Manchester here, but here like... my job, here."

Dan leans their hip against the counter and looks at Phil with their brow all furrowed. "This is an ultimatum," they say. "Like, to yourself."

"Yeah," says Phil. "I need to solve this - or at least find something else that I can show to people. Because if I don't, then I need to actually look at myself and admit I'm not doing something I like anymore."

"It sounds like you're already looking at yourself," Dan says quietly.

"I guess."

"No, you are," Dan insists, their voice stronger now that they can assert an opinion. "Trust me, I'm a pro at unproductive self-reflection and existentialism. Who am I, what does it all matter, I know the song and dance. And I don't think that getting more footage is going to erase what you're already thinking, Phil. Tell me if I'm out of line, whatever, but if you want to do something else with your life then just do something else with your life."

The automatic defensiveness threatens to make Phil snap back at Dan that this isn't any of their business, but he's had a lot of practice in keeping his negative thoughts to himself. He gives Dan a little humourless smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"You're twenty-one," Phil says. "And a student. I don't really expect you to get it."

Dan puts their hands on their hips like they're settling in for a proper row, but instead they just say, "I know. I don't know what you're going through, sure, I doubt anyone knows what anyone else is going through at any time. And, yeah, I've got another year before I have to worry about my career. But I've made some fucking tough decisions in my life, mate. I dropped out of my law course after two lectures. I don't talk to my family anymore. I've tried on so many different names and labels that it would make your head spin. You don't like your job anymore, and one video isn't going to change that."

"Yeah, probably not." Phil looks down at their little collection of sandwiches, feeling lost and stubborn and a bit scared about how much Dan sees him. "But I have to try, y'know? I can't just give up. I have to try."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Dan sighs.

"Okay. Put these in a container, we don't use unnecessary plastic in this flat. Just whatever they fit in. I'll make some coffee for the road and find our Scrabble board."

#quiet on widow's peak #words words words

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danfanciesphil · 5 years

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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 Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

The Fitzgeralds want omelettes for breakfast. But not just one each, Dan learns, when the two adults clean their plates and tell him, patting tummies and grinning, that they’re ready for round two. He’s not sure where the youngest member of their party is hiding, but Dan doesn’t blame her for passing up on watching her parents shovel eggs into their gawping mouths like there’s no tomorrow. Dan has the unfortunate job of telling Louise that she’s expected to fry up unlimited omelettes until the two older Fitzgeralds are completely satisfied. When she smacks him with a yolky wooden spoon, Dan can’t say he blames her.

“You’re so violent when you’re mad,” Dan complains, dabbing at the yellowish stain on his shirt sleeve.

Louise shoots him a glare, whisking eggs vigorously in a bowl. “I have good reason to do a lot worse, so I’d scarper if I were you.”

“I’m not doing anything worse than what Nikolai is doing to-”

“If you think that’s a viable excuse, I’m going to chop you up and feed you to the Fitzgeralds in their next omelette.”

Dan sighs, folding his arms and feeling a lot like a petulant child. “Agree to disagree, I guess.”

“Dan, you cannot fight fire with fire. Nikolai is a powerful man. He’s going to steam roller over you without a second thought if he catches wind of what you’re up to with his man.”

“Well, he won’t catch wind. Our wind is thousands of miles away from anyone up here.” That hadn’t come out quite right, Dan thinks, wrinkling his nose.

“Not from everyone,” Louise rightly points out, grinding pepper into the bowl.

An image of Martyn Lester’s exasperated face flashes into Dan’s mind, and he chews his lip, wondering if he and Phil are anywhere near done chatting yet. They still haven’t left Mona’s office, and it’s been over half an hour. Mona’s going beserk, muttering about etiquette and rudeness, scrubbing tables and dusting corners because she can’t get to her desk. Dan can see her through the serving hatch, polishing the huge balcony windows with irritable vigour.

“Do you know anything about Martyn Lester?” Dan asks in an attempt at nonchalance.

Louise’s lips press together, and she pours some of the egg mixture into the pan. It sizzles pleasantly, immediately beginning to bubble and release a fragrant, delicious aroma. Dan’s stomach rumbles; he hasn’t eaten anything today - too busy sorting out the miraculous appearance of Phil’s sibling.

“I do.” She pauses, prodding at the slowly solidifying omelette with a spatula. “We used to be pals, actually.”

“Used to be?”

“Well, he quit being Phil’s publicist. Pretty abruptly. Just up and left. I haven’t seen him since he walked out.”

“Oh,” Dan says, brows knitting together. The anger in Louise’s voice is unmistakable, but Dan senses he shouldn’t press the still-sore wound. “Do you know why?”

“I imagine there’s more to it than just this, but he was never Nikolai’s biggest fan,” Louise says, then deftly flips the omelette. “He told me that the only reason he ever became Phil’s publicist was to prevent Phil from getting fucked by the guy.”

She pauses, reflecting on her words; her eyes meet Dan’s, and they both snort with laughter.

“You know what I mean,” she says, “Martyn’s a protective older brother type. He and Nikolai did a lot of butting heads.”

“Isn’t it kind of hard to butt heads with someone who’s never around?”

“Yeah, that’s another reason Martyn got so frustrated,” Louise says, shifting omelettes onto plates with swift, practiced movements. “It was always Cornelia he’d have to argue it out with.” Louise looks at Dan as she shoves plates into his hands. “You met her, right? The fiery redhead?”

“Yeah. She seemed cool.”

“Anyway, I don’t know much more than that, but if he’s here after having quit so dramatically, I’d say it’s doubtful that he brings good tidings.” Louise gives him a ‘well?’ look, gesturing to the plates in his hands. “Off you go, then.”

Awash with new information, Dan then turns to the door of the kitchen, and heads out to deliver the Fitzgeralds their second serving.

It’s two in the afternoon, and Phil is avoiding him. There’s no definitive evidence of this, but Dan’s ninety-nine percent sure. He’s been glimpsing Phil all day, through the window in the door of the gym as he works out, hurrying through the lobby in damp clothes, sat at a table in deep conversation with Martyn, but he hasn’t so much as caught Dan’s eye. It’s pissing Dan off to no end, though he’s trying to make excuses for him as his brother’s sudden appearance could mean all sorts of things.

Still, he feels like grabbing Phil by the shoulders and spinning him round so that they’re forced to lock eyes, then telling him ‘hey, dickhead, you were inside of me last night, the least you can do is nod in my direction, even if you have to wait until Martyn is looking the other way’.

Dan’s at the front desk, checking in the new couple that have just arrived with Kaspar in tow: Ms Stone and Ms Harris. They’re both in their seventies, and Ms Stone is in a wheelchair, so it’s pretty impressive that they’ve made it up here at all, but they’re perfectly chipper, papery, ungloved hands tightly clasped. Dan hands over their room key, and just as Kaspar is jerking Ms Stone backwards and spinning her, rather alarmingly fast, in the direction of their wheelchair lift, Phil appears from nowhere, at the side of the desk, bright eyes screaming ‘we need to talk’.

He says a polite “hello” to Kaspar, who bellows an enthusiastic response that makes excessive use of the word ‘Philly’. Then, seeming not to be able to contain his urgency, Phil turns to Dan, inclining his head towards Mona’s office.

Dan nods at him, a little annoyed that he’s being so obvious in front of people, but telling himself Phil must have a reason. Phil slinks off, and Dan turns back to Ms Stone and Ms Harris to tell them that he’ll be up shortly to deliver their bags. Just as they’re disappearing from view, Dan’s preparing to creep round to the office when he senses eyes on him. He looks about, searching for the source of the prickling sensation that’s grazing the back of his neck. At the last second, he looks upwards; peering over the edge of the mezzanine rail is the Fitzgerald’s teenage daughter, her blue strands of hair dangling over the wood.

She’s looking directly at him, her stare wide and unfaltering, like she’s attempting to pierce into his head telepathically. He cocks his head to the side, wondering whether he should call out to her, though he doesn’t even know her first name. Just as he’s debating what to do, she ducks backwards, out of sight, and the moment is snatched away.

When Dan gets into the office, Phil is leaned up against Mona’s desk like some hip CEO with an ‘open door policy’ for his office full of workers. He looks weary, which Dan supposes isn’t so surprising, given that he happens to know Phil got a lot less sleep than usual last night, but there’s something underneath it too. A bone-deep exhaustion, so intense that it radiates off him in waves.

“Nikolai’s coming,” Phil says without preamble. Dan’s only just clicked the door shut behind him. He blinks at Phil slowly, a dread creeping over his body from toe to neck. “He’ll be here soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe earlier.”

“Oh,” Dan says, then feels dumb for not having a better response to hand. “Why?”

Long fingers carve narrow valleys through jet black hair. “Apparently someone tipped off the media that Nik and I are definitely breaking it off.” He shrugs. “I mean, I thought I already made that pretty obvious at the charity event. Someone had new information though, I guess.”

“What? Who could possibly have any new information?”

“My guess is one of the vapid yuppies Nikolai has trailing around him 24-7,” Phil replies with a sniff. “Maybe one of them overheard when I called him yesterday. Decided to make a quick buck.”

“So… Nikolai’s coming here why?”

“He hasn’t been able to contact me about all the new stories flying about, so he got in touch with Martyn, figuring he’d be able to snag my attention,” Phil says, sounding bitter. “Martyn listened to Nik ranting about my radio silence for roughly thirty seconds and then hopped on a plane to warn me-”

“Sorry, why hasn’t Nik been able to contact you?” Dan asks, too sharpened from nerves to care about the details. “I thought he was texting you constantly.”

“Well, yeah, he was.” Phil’s eyes, which have been glazed, staring into the near distance, refocus on Dan. The corner of his mouth twitches, and one of his sleek, dark eyebrows arches upwards. “And then I suddenly became somewhat preoccupied.”

“Oh,” Dan says, then trips over what seems to be his own foot. “Right.”

Phil’s little amused smile is not as laser-focused on Dan as he’s grown accustomed. Dan gets the distinct feeling that whilst Phil is still all too happy to have a chuckle over his idiocy, his conscious brain is somewhere else. It’s kind of unpleasant to suddenly have the spotlight whisked off him, after having been the sole focus of Phil’s attention for so long. He kind of wants to snap his fingers in front of those blue eyes and bring him back into the room.

“Nik likes to be the centre of a scandal, but only when he’s in control of it,” Phil muses, arms folding across his chest. He’s silent for a moment, and Dan can practically see the wheels turning in his brain. “There’s… something else, too.”

“Yeah?” Dan’s heart picks up its pace.

“There’s a rumour, apparently, that I have… someone.”

“Someone?”

“Like, someone that’s making me want to leave my husband.”

Dan’s breathing stalls. He feels Mona’s floor cracking beneath his feet. “Surely people can’t know about-”

“I don’t see how,” Phil says, running a hand through his hair again. It seems to be an unconscious action, whenever he feels stressed. “But we should probably be careful.”

“Careful?” Dan repeats, astounded. “You mean like subtly beckoning me in here to talk in private, right in front of brand new guests? And Kaspar?” Phil gives him a look, but Dan can feel himself getting worked up. If he stays in this small room with Phil for much longer, he’s going to boil over and say something he regrets. “I-I have to get out of here-”

Behind him, the latch of the door twitches before he so much as moves a muscle. Dan knows this because he’s leant against it; the wooden lever is digging into the small of his back. He locks eyes with Phil, alarmed, and witnesses what he imagines is reflection of his own fear painting Phil’s face. The latch lifts properly this time, and the door pushes against Dan, but he uses all his weight to prevent it opening.

He mouths ‘help me’ to Phil, who jumps to action at once, coming to assist Dan as he holds the door closed. From the other side, Mona’s voice calls, “who’s in there?”

“What are we going to do?” Dan hisses under his breath. The door rattles; she’s growing impatient.

Phil is staring searching Dan’s face for some kind of plan. “It’s me, Mona,” Phil calls out. Dan gapes at him. Surely he cannot be about to reveal that the two of them are in here, alone, seconds after telling Dan they need to keep their shit on the DL. “My brother and I needed the office again. I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. The door stops rattling. “Why is the door locked?”

Dan presses his mouth together, trying not to breathe too loudly, in case Mona could recognise the air rushing from his lungs. Phil looks skyward, grasping for a response. “We, uh, didn’t want to be disturbed. It’s a serious, uh, matter we’re discussing. Could you just give us five more minutes, please?”

“Mr Novokoric, I really need to get to my desk.”

“Just five minutes,” Phil begs, then squeezes his eyes shut.

Dan bites his lip, praying. Eventually, Mona says, “fine. But after that, you’ll have to find somewhere else to go. Like your suite, perhaps. Or Mr Lester’s perfectly adequate room.”

“Sure,” Phil says, shooting Dan a look of relief. “Thanks, Mona.”

“Five minutes!”

The sound of her kitten heels click-clacking away are like music to Dan’s ears. He blows out a huge puff of air, slumping against the door. “Fuck, that was close. No idea how we’d have explained that.”

“And we weren’t even doing anything fun to explain away,” Phil says regretfully, aiming a half-smile at Dan.

He tries not to return it, but fails spectacularly. “I should go,” Dan says, partly because he can sense this conversation heading into dangerous territory, and what they absolutely do not need is for Mona to come back in five minutes and walk in on something even worse. “Let me out first, you follow in a minute or two.”

“Wait, Dan,” Phil says, grabbing hold of his arm. He lets go pretty fast, but it was a telling move. Dan stops, waiting to hear him out. “I- I know this is all… not ideal. I didn’t know Martyn was coming, and obviously the timing is pretty crap what with everything that happened last night…”

Dan blushes, looking away. “That’s family for you, I guess.”

“And with Nik coming, I don’t know when we’ll next get a chance to…” Phil trails off, and Dan’s eyes bulge. Phil laughs at his expression. “To be alone. To talk. Whatever.”

“Oh,” Dan says. “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be wise whilst they’re all… watching.”

“So,” Phil says, leaning back on his hands. His cheeks are vaguely stained with magenta.

“So,” Dan echoes.

A beam of clear, glossy light pierces Dan’s mind, softening his pounding heart. He recognises this half-conversation. Phil is asking for something, without using real words. A tiny smile playing on his mouth, Dan steps in front of him, takes his dumb, emotionally stunted face in both hands, and kisses him, soft and slow. He only lets it last a moment, just long enough for the taste of Phil’s tongue to seep through, so Dan can remember it.

He leans back, and says, “catch you later. Good luck.”

Phil smiles, eyes flicking towards the ceiling for a moment before landing back on Dan. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then moves away from the door so Dan can open it. As he steps through, back into the lobby, Dan turns for a final look. Phil’s watching him with a worried expression, though he does give Dan a tiny wave. “Go do some work,” he says gruffly, then turns back into the office, breaking their gaze.

Not even fifteen minutes after exiting Mona’s office, Dan’s dragging Ms Stone’s and Ms Harris’ cases up the stairs when he hears a sound he vividly remembers being traumatised by at an earlier date. The fact that he knows the deafening rumble from overhead is not an earthquake or avalanche does not make it any less chilling. Dan stops mid-flight of stairs and cranes his neck upwards, as if he could see through the roof of the hotel, then pierce through the steel of the plane into the cabin where Nikolai Novokoric is no doubt lounging in a reclining seat, sipping champagne.

He listens to the plane swoop low, then hit the tarmac, the engine stuttering, then cutting out entirely. With a desperate sigh, Dan continues his climb to the second floor, bags in tow.

Nikolai’s shrill, grating voice echoes off the wooden walls of the hotel from the moment he walks through the door. A shudder runs through Dan’s body as he hears those first few notes of posh, slightly Swiss bolstering. To escape, he goes to clean room two, the Fitzgerald’s room, whilst they’re out on a hike with Kaspar. They hadn’t been enthusiastic to go, but as they’re on an all expenses paid for trip, they couldn’t exactly argue with Mona when she’d scheduled it for them.

Dan closes the door behind him, breathing a long sigh. It feels like the first moment he’s been alone in days, although of course that’s not true. The Fitzgerald’s room is a tip, and it’s not all that surprising. Their mini fridge has been gutted, and there are packets of peanuts and mini liquor bottles scattered on every available surface. It’s a family room, with a double bed on one side, and a single bed against the window. The single bed is half-heartedly made, but the double is in complete disarray - the pillows are dumped on the floor and the sheets are stained with what looks like Dorito dust.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Dan mutters to himself.

He’s just setting to work when he realises that above the mundane cleaning noises, he can still hear Nikolai somewhere downstairs - his loud, boisterous laughter and fake enthusiasm. He needs a distraction, badly, but doesn’t have anything to hand. He supposes he could call his mother back, at last. He hasn’t spoken to her since the day after he arrived at The Secret of the Alps, so he owes her a phone call. He can do it as he works, perhaps that will make it easier to stomach.

With twitching fingers Dan pulls out his phone and dials his childhood home number, before he can talk himself out of it. She picks up on the third ring.

“Dan?”

He swallows, throat tightening. Is it possible that he already regrets phoning her when all she’s said is his name? “Hi, Mum.”

He sets the phone to loudspeaker, and crouches down to begin emptying the overflowing wastepaper bin.

“I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

Wow, straight in with the guilt trip. No point wasting time, he supposes. “No. Sorry. I’ve been very busy here. Long work days.”

“I see.”

The phone crackles. It’s an excruciating sound. To dispel the awkwardness, Dan asks, “how’ve things been?”

She sighs loudly. “Fine, fine. Your father’s had that ear thing again.”

“Oh,” Dan says. He ties the rubbish bag tightly, then sets it by the door. “That’s too bad. Hope he gets it sorted.”

“Well, you know what he’s like about seeing doctors. Stubborn old man, just like his son.”

Dan knows, he knows it’s a provocation, intent on riling him up, but he still falls for it. “I’m not like him.”

“So listen to your mother, and come home,” his mother says, her voice slipping into the one Dan is so used to, sharp and cold. “I know what’s best for you, Daniel. You’re too young make such a hugely affecting decision. Throwing away your chance at a degree, it’s reckless! You’ll end up with no money, stuck in a low-paying job forever-”

“Money isn’t important to me, Mum.” He heads for the double bed, starting to throw pillows onto it.

“It will be important to you when you run out of it,” his mum replies with a sniff.

“I have a job,” Dan says slowly, as if drawing out the syllables could help her understand the one thing she’s always failed to. In his hand he clasps a pillow, ready to be screamed into at any moment. “I have savings, and a place to live. I’m getting by just fine. I don’t see what the point is of forcing myself to toil through a degree in a subject I hate, to secure a job I’ll despise, racking up a load of debt.”

“You’re being naiive,” she says, for what must be the hundredth time. Dan sighs, flopping down onto on the floor by the Fitzgeralds’ bed, abandoning all attempt at continuing the clean. “The world won’t be kind to you if you’re unintelligent and unqualified. What do you suppose you’re going to do with yourself? Change beds in a hotel up God-knows-what-mountain forever? It’s just not realistic-”

Dan looks at the pillow he’s still holding, wondering if she’s somehow able to sense that he’s doing exactly that. “I didn’t say I would be doing this forever.”

Dan’s arms wrap around the pillow, miserably. He’s trembling slightly, because he detests so much as thinking about his future given that it’s so uncertain. He’s here now, for the foreseeable weeks ahead, and that’s some stability at least. He curls his fingers into the pillow’s soft material, trying to breathe through the anxiety attack he can feel brewing.

“It’s not too late for you to come back, you know,” his mum says; her voice is kinder now, the edges softened. It would be so easy to fall into the trap of her mumsy words, to run back down the mountain into her arms. She’d waste no time in calling up the University and re-enrolling him in his awful law degree, then locking him straight back into his prison-cell dorm room. “Your dad and I would sort it all out for you,” she says, like she can read his mind, “it hasn’t been too long, we could talk to people, chalk this up to a minor blip in judgement.”

There’s a pause. Dan mouths some things he wants to say, but won’t. Why can’t you try to understand me properly? Why don’t my opinions matter just because I’m young? Why would I want to be a lawyer, miserable in my office for the next fifty years just like Dad’s been, living for the weekend like that’s the way life’s supposed to be lived?

“You know, I saw on Facebook that Beth is still single,” his mum says in a hesitant voice, and that’s the moment Dan decides the catch-up is over.

“I have to go, mum,” Dan says, proud that his voice cracks only a small amount as he reaches for the phone. “I’m in the middle of my shift.”

“Wait, Dan,” his mum says quickly, and something about the urgency of her voice makes him listen. His thumb hovers over the red ‘end call’ button. “I... had Vanessa and Darren round for lunch yesterday. They were talking about some scandal that’s been in the news. About that young heir of the Swiss Royal family. The gay one, you know.”

Icy fingers wrap around Dan’s heart. He reminds himself to remain calm, that there’s no way she could possibly know he has any involvement. “He’s bisexual, actually,” Dan corrects in a mock-casual voice. “Vanessa and Darren had fascinating insights into the situation I’m sure, but Mum, I really have to-”

“I didn’t think anything of it at first,” his mum continues, like Dan hadn’t spoken. There’s something wrong with her voice. It’s too shrill, too forced. “But I was thinking it over later, and I realised I knew the place this Sir Nicholas’ husband is rumoured to be. It’s the same mountain you told me your hotel is on.”

Dan’s eyes flutter closed. This surely cannot be happening. His mother barely remembers his birthday, let alone the specific mountain in the vast range of the Alps he decided to run off to.

“Huh,” Dan says, because anything else would be too incriminating.

“Oh, God,” his mother says in a small, strangled voice. “Oh, God, it’s you darling, isn’t it?”

“What’s me?”

Dan’s eyes squeeze together; but even as he wishes for anything else, he knows she’s guessed the truth. Her shame is like poison, seeping out of the phone into his ear, plucking Dan’s worst anxieties from their dark corners.

“I always knew there was something you were keeping from me,” she half-wails in a soft, crackly voice. “Some reason you tucked away inside that you felt made you- you different from everyone else. Oh Dan, honey, this is so not the way to deal with it.”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“I didn’t want to believe it when I had the thought, but I went back through those texts you sent me when you first arrived,” his mum says in a rush. “About the famous guest who you didn’t get along with, how you were dreading spending so much time alone with him. It’s him, isn’t it, Dan? It’s the one they’re all saying is- is- cheating. With a waiter.”

Dan lets the disdain in her voice slip through his skin, burrow into his well of shame that’s already deep and bubbling.

He doesn’t respond for a while, weighing up all the things he could try and say to dissuade her, to convince her that she’s wrong. Instead, wearied by even the thought of exerting himself to insist such a lie is true, he just corrects her.

“I’m a concierge, not a waiter.” His mum lets out a sort of sob-noise. “Mum,” Dan says quickly, frightened by her reaction suddenly, “you can’t tell anyone. Mum, do you understand?”

She breathes thickly. “Oh, God, Dan, this is- why did you-”

“It’s not like I planned it,” Dan says, feeling his hackles rise. “This is so typical of you, Mum, judging me from afar, all my choices and decisions when you have no idea about any of it-”

“So explain this to me!” she cries, still unbearably shrill. “Is this as bright of a decision as dropping out of university, or breaking up with your lovely girlfriend, or running away to scrub toilets up a mountain?! What on earth are you thinking, you daft-”

“I love him!” Dan interrupts, the words surging out of him like vomit. His eyes widen as soon as they’re out, as if he can see them hanging in the air before him, hovering like flies above the Fitzgeralds’ bag of trash. “I- I mean, I care about him. I don’t- I don’t know why I said- forget that. But I do care. His marriage is toxic, Mum. If you knew the truth, if the rest of the world knew - if Vanessa and Derren knew what Nikolai was like-”

“Then what?” his mum asks, weakly. “They’d fall in love with him, too?”

Dan leaves the Fitzgeralds room without finishing the clean; his conversation with his mother has left him too agitated to focus on something so mundane. He remembers now - too late, of course - why he’s been so reluctant to call her back. He had not left home on good terms with his parents - his father refused to even say goodbye. They’ve always been hideously conservative in their views, so Dan with his liberal politics and marginally effeminate ‘emo’ dress sense growing up had never really been their idea of the perfect son.

Through school he’d rebelled against them, which only made everyone unhappy, so once he was older, he tried the opposite - to do what they wanted, to conform to their ideals of being a straight, cisgender young version of his father, on track to be a lawyer. But this was never good enough for them either, probably because it made Dan so miserable that he never truly gave it all he’d got. It’s always seemed to Dan that nothing he did would ever quite please them, so he’d run off instead, done the thing he knew would upset them and said ‘fuck the consequences’. There’s no point trying to explain his actions to either of them - not that his father would so much as speak to him, probably - because Dan doesn’t have answers or reasons for his actions right now, and that’s not what they want to hear.

To distract himself from the thousands of pounding, unpleasant thoughts rampaging through his mind, Dan heads for the stairs, intending to try and creep through the mezzanine without being seen. At a furtive glance, Dan sees the lounge area is rammed with people, some of which are spilling out onto the balcony, through the doors that have been opened. The sleet storm is dying down, but it’s not completely over, meaning that some speckles of icy water are flying in.

Dan doesn’t know for sure of course, but he highly doubts that Mona would have been the one to allow this, so it’s probably a Nikolai-request. He’s almost across the room, at the top of the stairs leading down to the lobby, when Mona spots him.

“Dan!” she near-shrieks, sounding seconds away from an even wilder tone of voice. “Dan, could you come here, please? Now?”

Suppressing a loud scream, Dan fixes a wobbly smile in place, and heads towards her. He notes that every single chair is occupied - people have pulled out beanbag chairs, trunks and stools, and crammed around the scatter of tables. It’s unnerving to see the room so teeming with bodies when it’s usually empty enough that Dan could dance through it in his underwear (provided Louise didn’t choose the wrong moment to look through the serving hatch).

Some of the people are familiar to Dan and some are new to him. Most of the people he doesn’t recognise are huddled together in matching slate grey suits, or grouped around enormous cameras, microphones in their hands. The Fitzgeralds have managed to snag their own table in the midst of it all, looking far too excited (minus their daughter, who is plugged into her iPhone, looking extremely like Dan at that age whenever he was forcibly taken to a social situation he didn’t want to be at). The Fitzgeralds are talking animatedly at Max the security man, who has squished all of his beefy, six-foot-two frame into a beanbag, arms folded, staring stoically ahead.

Ms Stone and Ms Harris are here as well, sipping tea and looking mildly alarmed - but interested - at their unusual surroundings. Dan also spots Cornelia in the corner by the TV, talking into a mobile phone and looking decidedly unhappy about something Dan is sure would push anyone except her into crisis mode. Bryony and Hazel are leaning through the serving hatch laughing about something with Louise. PJ is flitting about, stuck to the walls with his camera to his eye, photographing seemingly everything from the sleet stains on the wooden floor to the whiskers decorating Max’s chin. And Nikolai is here, of course, strolling in through the balcony doors in his long stylish coat, brushing sleet from his shoulders like it should have known better than to settle there.

When he sees Dan, he grins widely, and Dan senses the oncoming hug before it happens. Engulfed in Nikolai’s cold, damp arms, the only thought pumping through Dan’s treacherous mind is, most helpfully, your husband fucked my brains out last night.

He manages not to let this slip off his tongue, mercifully. When Nikolai releases him, he grins again. “My favourite concierge!” he bellows, slapping Dan on the shoulder. Dan wonders if Louise was right about him instantly forgetting the names of people he doesn’t care about. “I was wondering where you were being kept! Didn’t let the place fall off the cliff then, I see.”

“Hah,” Dan says, managing a weak smile as he surreptitiously rubs his shoulder. “Didn’t get the chance. Mona took over responsibility before disaster struck.”

“Atta boy,” Nikolai says; his weird accent does not suit the phrase and he seems to know it, judging by the way he clears his throat and claps his hands, distracting attention. “Right everyone, I know we said an outdoor shoot would be preferable, but the weather is against us, so I suggest you set up right here. I’ve been informed that he will be five minutes.”

Dan badly hopes that the ‘he’ in question is the abominable snowman, but somehow he doubts it.

“...doing my best to make sure everyone has a drink and a place to sit, but you’ll need to help me keep an eye…”

Dan realises, belatedly, that he’s been so busy half-glaring at Nikolai’s big, dumb head that he hasn’t been hearing a word Mona is whispering to him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, of course.” Dan leans in a bit closer to her. “Any idea what this is all about?”

“None whatsoever,” Mona replies, then darts away from him to where a slate-grey-suit man is beckoning her.

Dan sighs, scanning the crowd of people for any signs that someone might be in need of further refreshment. Nikolai has, thankfully, gone over to talk to Cornelia, so Dan is free of further sickening smalltalk with the man. He turns around, hoping to escape and hide in the kitchen so Louise can explain what the fuck is going on, when he bumps straight into Martyn Lester. He looks… completely different to this morning. His hair is neat and coiffed, he’s wearing a suit and black tie, and he has an earpiece over one ear.

“Afternoon, Dan,” he says with a wry smile. “Having fun at the party?”

“The host isn’t one of my best friends,” Dan says carefully, inclining his head towards Nikolai. It’s a bit of a risky comment, given that this man is Nikolai’s brother in law, but he’s hoping Louise wasn’t fibbing when she claimed Martyn loathed him.

Martyn follows Dan’s inclination, smile falling away. He looks quickly at the ground. “Yeah, don’t blame you.”

“What’s with the secret agent get up?” Dan asks, gesturing to Martyn’s new outfit. He’s not sure what it is, but something about Martyn Lester gives of an inherently calming vibe, like he’s radiating the single statement ‘I have everything under control’. Perhaps it’s an older brother thing. Or, more likely, it’s because he vaguely resembles Phil with his confident stance, and exhausted-yet-amused-by-everyone’s-ignorance air. “You planning on taking him out?”

Martyn sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Wouldn’t say that too loud. Max has the ears of a Silverwing and the biceps of a Silverback.”

Dan looks at him blankly.

“One’s a bat, one’s a gorilla,” Martyn explains.

“Oh,” Dan says, “I, uh, dropped out of uni.”

Martyn looks at him strangely. “Are you blaming your abandoned law degree for not knowing your species’ of animals by heart?”

“Well, no, I-” Dan breaks off, replaying the question in confusion. “How did you know it was a law degree?”

“Right, attention everyone,” Nikolai booms, striding into the centre of the room, whipping his coat off as he goes. He tosses the garment in seemingly no particular direction and Hazel lunges forwards to catch it before it hits the ground. Nikolai doesn’t seem to notice. “My soon to be ex-husband has finally decided to emerge from his lair, so we’ll start the interview in one minute, then move on to photos, then...”

Dan stops listening, too intent on scanning the room for Phil. He spots him at the edge of the crowd, arms folded, looking perfect and polished - an action figure intent on some actual action, but being forced to remain pretty and dust-free, displayed on a shelf.

Martyn leaves Dan’s side with a murmured excuse, at once heading to stand with his brother. Across the room, Dan notices Cornelia notice Phil’s appearance as well, and take a step in his direction, but upon seeing Martyn, she stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide and round, then turns abruptly away again. Dan frowns at the peculiar behaviour he’s just witnessed, vaguely recalling something Louise mentioned about she and Martyn having to argue out publicist-related drama between Phil and Nikolai a great deal when Martyn still worked for Phil.

At present, Martyn looks a lot like he still does work for Phil; he’s currently steering Phil into the centre of the room, pushing quite firmly as he obviously doesn’t want to move. Dan tries to catch Phil’s eye, to smile sympathetically, but Phil won’t look at him. He notes that Phil is wearing a tightly knotted scarf-thing around his throat, which was smart of him. Dan knows far too well that the hickey that scarf hides is, as of last night, just as vibrant as ever.

Martyn stands Phil on a small wooden crate that’s been put out, and Nikolai hops deftly up onto another at his side, unfazed. Everything about Phil’s body language screams discomfort, only growing worse with all the eyes on him. Along with the pang of sympathy that surges up in Dan’s chest, swoops the echo of what his mum said earlier - what Dan had said earlier even - how that ‘L’ word had just slipped out. Effortless, like it had been poised on the tip of his tongue for days.

Dan’s never used that word for anyone outside of family before, not even Beth. It must have been an accidental slip-up, born of a desperate desire not to let his mum win the argument, but how bizarre that it chose now to make a random appearance. He cannot possibly have fallen for Phil of all people, the man who consistently infuriates and aggravates him, who has a husband that would feel no remorse if he stepped on Dan’s face on his way out of the building. To fall in love - even the word is terrifying - with anyone, let alone the person he should resist developing any feelings for whatsoever, is not comprehensible. He refuses to so much as dare to believe it.

Even so, Dan wouldn’t wish this kind of horrible, judgemental scrutiny on anyone, let alone Phil (who he does, admittedly, care for - he wasn’t lying about that).

Martyn nods at Phil seriously, telling him something with those matching blue eyes alone, and then steps aside. Nikolai glances at Phil, who doesn’t look back, and sighs. “Okay. First question.”

Hands shoot up; there are four reporters as far as Dan can see - each with their own mini team of tech crew. The first is a woman in a bright red blazer, who Nikolai gestures to with a silky wave of his hand.

“Sir Nikolai, how are you feeling in the wake of your husband’s desire to divorce?”

“Devastated, of course,” Nikolai says sombrely, hands clasped at his waist. “I’ve tried to give Philip all he could ever wish for, but evidently, that was not enough.”

Dan’s hands curl into fists; he looks at Phil, wondering what he’ll add, but he’s just staring at the floor, lips thin and tight. Nikolai gestures to the next reporter, an attractive, honey-haired woman with dark lipstick and a darker fitted blazer tight on her skinny waist.

“Sir Nikolai,” she says in a low voice, ducking her head in a small bow, “would you address the recent rumours of your husband’s adultery?

Nikolai laughs, straightening his tie. “No more than idle gossip sold for a price,” he says airily; Dan tries to keep very still, but he gets the sense that several people are watching him closely. Probably Louise, for one. Nikolai laughs again in a long trill. “For starters, who on Earth would he be cheating with up here-”

Phil’s loosening his scarf, drawing Nikolai’s attention, making him break off before the sentence ends. It’s a subtle move, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Dan catches it. Nikolai pauses, zeroing in on something that Dan can’t see, that nobody can see except him, standing right beside Phil, but that Dan can easily guess at.

What the fuck is Phil playing at? Dan wonders, heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s almost like he wants Nikolai to see- Oh.

In a flash, Dan understands. He does want Nikolai to see the bruise. He wants him to know that the media had been right, there is a ‘someone’. Phil wants to hurt him. Nikolai is still not saying anything. There’s a shadow passing over his sharp, handsome features. And then, in the next instant, it’s vanished, flicked away out of the balcony doors, his easy, carefully morose expression back in position. Dan lets out a sigh of relief, quietly. Phil re-knots the scarf.

Nikolai gestures to a man with a dark widow’s peak cutting a severe expression into his forehead. “Next question?”

“Sir Nikolai, it’s a pleasure,” the man says in a deep, slimy voice; Dan likens it to gooey, dark molasses. “What prompted the sudden split?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Nikolai says with a sad smile. He looks at Phil, who is still staring straight down at the ground, and heaves a long-suffering sigh. “But alas, Philip is the only one who could answer that question. I’m still very much in love.”

Dan snorts, the sound loud and obvious in the hushed room. He brings his hand to his mouth, immediately feigning a coughing fit. As he’s spluttering, he snags Cornelia’s eye across the room; she’s laughing silently at him.

“Yes, my question is for Philip?” the large, bespectacled lady Nikolai has waved to says, peering over her glasses at Phil. Phil doesn’t move, but Dan senses a collective intake of breath shudder through the room, which is then held in thirty or so sets of lungs. “How has your marriage to Nikolai been?”

Slowly, Phil lifts his head. He stares the lady full in the face; there’s no mistaking the white hot fury in his eyes now that they’re visible. “Go to hell,” he spits out. “Maybe you’ll experience it for yourself.”

A moment of shocked silence stretches, elastic and loaded, and then it snaps, the room erupting into noise. The reporters abandon Nikolai’s ‘hands up’ system and start angrily yelling their questions, shouting over each other as chairs scrape backwards and Nikolai’s various staff members jump up to keep everything under control. The most angry of the lot is the reporter Phil told to go to hell, perhaps understandably, and she charges towards the makeshift podiums, only to trip on her way and launch forwards into Nikolai’s legs.

Nikolai stumbles and falls backwards, landing directly on his ass on the wooden floor behind. Shrieks of distress echo through the room, most of them coming from Mrs Fitzgerald, and seemingly everybody rushes to help Nikolai up, except Dan and Phil, who both stand rigidly in the midst of the commotion, turning to lock eyes across people’s bobbing heads.

Finally, Dan is able to send him that sympathetic smile, but Phil just looks desperately miserable, and doesn’t manage to return it. So instead, Dan mouths ‘you fucked that up’. The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches then, just a tad, but still enough for Dan to know he got through. Warm, syrupy pride courses through Dan’s veins, just from knowing he’s able to make Phil feel even a tiny bit better in such a horrendous situation. Phil turns to watch Nikolai being dusted off for a moment, and as he looks away, Dan realises what the sweet, soft, melted-butter-on-toast feeling consuming him must be. He loves this pompous idiot with a fuse shorter than most matches.

Phil fixes that gellid blue gaze back on him and rolls his eyes in regard to Nikolai’s theatrics. And right then, in that moment Dan knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s completely, Royally fucked.

(Chapter Eighteen!)

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

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