#i feel insecure about this one because other fic writers have posted laundromat fics which are far better but oh well

[georgiabread]

i’m not in the swing of things (yet)

summary: Sometimes Dan hates university and sometimes any reason to visit Phil is a good one. 

word count: 2.6k

trigger warnings: a mild panic attack

a/n: dan’s laundromat story probably wasn’t as angsty as this but 

The first thing that hits him when he plods into the laundromat is the smell. God, the smell. It’s artificial lime, pungent socks and sweat all blended into one odor to assault his nostrils. It almost activates his fight-or-flight response. But Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat is the only laundry place within a 2-mile radius of his university, and the skinny jeans and cowl-neck cardigan he’s wearing are all that’s left clean. So, while the taste buds on his tongue squirm at the soapy smell of detergent, Dan finds a place in line behind some bored 20-year-old and waits. And waits. And ignores the anxious thundercloud roiling in his stomach.

He shifts his basket of filthy clothes with his knee – the handles are burning into his palms, and that bitter fragrance of underwear has become a little too much for his nose. He’ll be standing here for an hour, at most. There’s at least ten people in this queue, and dozens more slouched upon bench chairs as their clothes tumble about in dryers. And they’re all students. Their buzz of conversation is white noise in his ears, making his fingers twitch and his eyes quiver. They’re intimidating as hell, because Dan only moved into his dorm a week ago and he’s barely 19. Yesterday he had his first proper conversation with one of his housemates – his first social interaction on campus.

Meet people, comes the nasal voice of his mother, banging around his brain. University is so much easier when you have someone to share it with.

And, yeah – that’s probably true. But with one glance at the students crammed into this shitty laundromat, Dan can’t spot any potential friends. He doesn’t feel the urge to strike up a pleasant chat. All he feels is the urge to throw up, really.

He’s a bit pissed. This is a laundromat, of all places, and those irritating fingers of anxiety still crawl into his stomach and churn his last meal like butter. The queue shortens, and with every step, Dan’s chest tightens. And then it hits him – he doesn’t even know how to use laundry machines. The ones back home were simple; his mum even taught him how to work the buttons. But these are modern and unfamiliar, and how could he know which setting to choose and where to pour the detergent and how long he’d have to wait and–?

Dan closes his eyes, drags a stumbling breath through his nose, exhales. It’s okay, he tells himself. You might screw up a million times and keep everyone waiting, but it’s okay. (It isn’t).

He can find a poster with instructions or something. He can ignore everyone else in the room, and their piercing eyes that probably aren’t judging him but definitely could be. It’s fine.

Dan takes another slow breath. The laundromat is loud, stirring the butterflies behind his ribcage, but he tries to drown it out. Two people leave the line; he’s getting closer. His heart staggers in his chest. Why is this such a dramatic affair? He’s just washing his clothes. This is normal. This is routine. Dan pulls his eyes across the other students again. They gaze blankly at their phones, flip the pages of a textbook they’re reading, laugh and talk in small groups. They are normal. So why isn’t he?

Suddenly there’s violent movement in the corner of his eye, and a guy with a black parka and a tattoo on his neck is yanking on the door of a dryer and – and taking out someone else’s clothes? Dan’s mouth hangs open as the prat shoves his own things inside, nicking the time for himself without paying, and an innocent person’s clothes are left in a pitiful heap on the floor.

When another creep wanders past and steals a single sock from the pile, Dan decides he’s had enough. He’s not leaving his belongings here like they’re free to browse, and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he has to get out.

Lugging his basket on his hip, Dan slips out of the queue and pretty much bolts from the laundromat, his stomach still a raging storm.

Outside isn’t any better. Manchester University’s ancient brickwork looms above him, a scornful reminder of his prison home for the next three years. Dan blinks, and remembers his first lecture – a room with a thousand pairs of eyes and a droning professor, and the seats at the back, mocking him. Like they knew that’s where he would always be. Far away. Hidden. Alone.

Unwanted tears sting his eyes. He’s waging wars with cotton balls in his throat. Hunched on a stretch of pavement, clutching a laundry basket as blood drains from his knuckles, on the verge of a sudden breakdown…Dan can’t fucking do this.

But he still needs somewhere to wash his clothes.

With an ugly snivel, Dan finds his phone in his back pocket and flicks to his messages.

TO: phill ^.^

i’m coming over to do my laundry

The moment the text is delivered, Dan feels stupid. Then guilt tugs his lips into a deep frown. What kind of adult has to go to his boyfriend’s house to do laundry? The house in question is, like, on the other side of the city. Phil must be having a great afternoon in his apartment, and now Dan’s gonna ruin it with his bucket of dirty washing and his incessant whining about the pressures of public services.

But he can’t think of anything better, so he calls a taxi and watches it trundle over to the laundromat 10 minutes later. The driver throws him a questioning look when Dan hops in, beady eyes stuck to him as if waiting for an explanation to crawl out of Dan’s pile of clothes. It doesn’t.

As the city passes by the window in a blur, Dan lets the guilt set in. He revels in it. Takes satisfaction in the way he abuses himself (You’re such a shitty boyfriend. So annoying. You can’t do the simplest of things without panicking. Everyone else can use a laundromat, you’re just a freak).

The taxi halts outside Phil’s apartment building a while later, and Dan steps out bruised and tattered – emotionally. He hasn’t checked his phone since he last sent that message. He can’t read what Phil has to say, probably disappointed that Dan is so reliant on him despite being in university. God.

Then there’s a fiddly entrance, an empty elevator and he’s facing off with the front door of Phil’s apartment. He wonders if he should walk away. Maybe Phil isn’t at home? Maybe Phil doesn’t want to see him? But logic reminds him of the two weeks they’ve been apart; he sniffles, blinks away stranded tears and knocks gently on the wood.

Phil is waiting with a grin behind the door. “So, you only keep me around for my household appliances, huh?” is the first thing he says, crinkles forming around his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dan says heavily, a pathetic attempt at laughter fizzling out. “It’s just – there was a laundromat. But I couldn’t be there. I can use your washing machine, right?”

Phil shuffles back to let him in, raising his eyebrows. “Uh, no you can’t. Not until my worth is measured by something more.”

Dan’s fingers stiffen around his basket, throat thick. “…Well, I-I can leave if you don’t–” His words fracture.

That’s when Phil catches on, jokey expression fading as he leans in and pecks Dan on the cheek. “I’m only joking, you numpty. Go sit down, I’ll put these on for you.”

Dan protests as Phil steals the washing basket from his hands, and stands defeated in the hall when his boyfriend prances off towards the laundry. “You’re making me feel bad,” he cries after him.

“You don’t need to!”

“Well…I do anyway.”

Dan wipes at the mess around his nose. Wandering towards the lounge, he hides in his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. It doesn’t tremble. His anxieties linger on his shoulders, taunting him, but he now that he’s with Phil, some tumble off and land with a smack on the floor. This is more of a home than uni could ever be.

He flops into the creases of Phil’s couch, eyes landing on Final Fantasy paused on the TV. He notes everything sprawled across the coffee table: an empty mug, a crumb-scattered plate, a few uninteresting documents (bills, maybe). And Phil’s York University hoodie crumpled on the corner.

Dan stares at the green piece of fabric. He narrows his eyes. He scrutinizes it. Then he shrugs it on, only because all his jumpers are in the wash, he’s cold and – okay, he hasn’t seen Phil in ages and he misses him and his smell and his everything, so he wears the goddamn hoodie.

“I made you some tea,” Phil says when he returns, nudging a warm mug into Dan’s hands. The washing machine is background noise to quiet affection.

Careful not to spill the drink (a drop of milk and three teaspoons of sugar, just how he likes it) Dan pushes his face in Phil’s shoulder and clings to his shirt with his free hand. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Phil noses at his hair and hides a kiss amongst the curls, an unspoken you’re welcome. “Also, green looks good on you.”

“That’s a lie.” Dan’s cheeks are dyed pink. “Your clothes just smell nice.”

This is the first time Dan addresses the taboo subject of sharing clothes. He hesitates. His eyes focus on a stray thread, dangling from Phil’s sleeve. He squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger and tears it off. He feels like he’s broken a promise of some sort.

But Phil just giggles, leaning into him despite the zero space left between their bodies. “I guess you’ll have to keep washing yours here so they can pick up my scent.”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna keep bothering you with my laundry, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother.”

“Uh, yeah I am. What kind of adult can’t wash his clothes? And has to drive all the way to his boyfriend’s house to do it as some kind of security blanket?”

“Dan, if you feel more comfortable here, that’s…you know that’s fine. Besides, you pretty much live here.”

Dan knows Phil is staring at him, waiting for a sign that it’s all okay. It’s not, but Dan still meets his eyes, watches them soften ever so slightly. “Whatever you say.”

“Dan, I’m being serious.” And crap, he’s got him worried. “We’re bloody dating, of course I want you around.”

Dan digs his teeth into his bottom lip, glancing away. Phil sighs and tries a different tactic. “Okay, what happened before? You said something about a laundromat…”

“Yeah, um,” – Dan rubs his eyes, scuffs a bit of fringe out of his face – “It was horrific. Someone stole another person’s clothes. And then, like, there were people there and it smelt disgusting and I had to wait an hour in line. I just – didn’t want to be there. And I know it’s fucking stupid, having a panic attack in a laundromat, but–”

“Dan.” Phil’s fingers brush over the back of his hand. “You could’ve called me.”

There’s a shrug. “Yeah. It wasn’t, you know, dramatic or anything. I just had to leave.”

“Well, I’m glad you came here.” Phil presses his lips against his temple. “What about the whole week? Was uni good so far?”

And Dan snorts, even though this probably isn’t something he should laugh at. “Oh my God, Phil. It sucked. I hid in my room the whole time to avoid my housemates, and showed up late to my first lecture so of course I had one thousand fucking people looking at me as I went all the way to the back of the room. And my professors must be in love with piling intense pressure on their students on the first day. Seriously, I’m so fucking stupid. The workload is massive; I’ll never get it done.”

Phil blinks. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

“Not when it comes to fucking law.” Dan whines in the back of his throat, throwing his head against the couch. “Already a week in and I’m regretting everything.”

“It’s gonna get better, Dan. Everyone has a tough first week.”

“Do they? I don’t think everyone has a breakdown in the middle of a supermarket when they’re supposed to be buying cheese. Wait – fuck, I wasn’t gonna tell you that.” Dan trails off. He glares at the lukewarm contents of his mug until his eyes water. He grimaces at the aftertaste of his words, wide open and vulnerable.

He can hear the pity in Phil’s breath. Hands reach down to remove the tea and place it on the table before the boy hugs him and shelters him. Dan curls into Phil’s side.

“You should’ve called me,” Phil says. “I don’t care what I’m doing, I just want to be there when you’re sad. I hate it when you’re sad.”

Dan closes his eyes. Fuck, Phil. Then he opens them. “I tried calling my grandma, but she didn’t pick up.”

“Dan. Promise me, if no one else is available, that you’ll call me when you’re feeling shitty.”

“But I always feel guilty. What if you get sick of my problems?”

“Never. You have to promise.”

“I despise you.” Dan burrows into Phil’s chest. His next words he sews into the fibres of Phil’s shirt. “I promise.”

Phil kisses his hair and holds him like he’s porcelain. “Good. And yeah, uni sucks sometimes. I actually burst into tears in Tesco while I was buying tea towels. And during my first lecture, I tripped over trying to find a seat and half my stuff fell down a few rows. Everyone gasped. But it’s mostly really fun and as long as don’t procrastinate and take notes, assignments will be easy.”

“How do you even manage that on your first week? And you know procrastination is a chronic illness for me.”

“You’ll just have to come over to study and I’ll motivate you.”

A small disgruntled sound leaves Dan’s lips. “Why are you so nice to me? Idiot.”

“I prefer to call it supporting and caring for my boyfriend whom I love so much.”

“And the medal for the soppiest lad out there goes to Phil Lester, everybody.”

“I’ll wear it proudly.”

“In that case, I can’t be seen anywhere near you.”

Satisfied with Dan’s return to okay-ness, Phil giggles and seizes his controller. “Mind if we cuddle and I play Final Fantasy?”

“Nope.” Dan pops the p, tugging his sleeves over his hands and wriggling under Phil’s arm. “You suck at battles, though.”

“Hey. Not as hard as your mum sucked last night.”

“What the fuck.”

And Phil begins to shake with laughter, a boisterous thing that puts stars in his eyes and makes Dan feel a bit dizzy. A smile wriggles onto his face when the boy tips towards him, sprinkling I’m sorries through his giggles.

“I hate you,” Dan says.

Phil turns to him, gives him a look. Dan’s gaze trickles down his face until he gives in and touches their lips together, chaste and warm-scented. “But I also love you.”

“See? You can’t fool me, Howell.”

Phil resumes Final Fantasy and entwines their legs on the couch. A grin glued to his face, the tempest of anxiety dribbling away, Dan nestles into the quiet and comfort that is his boyfriend and dozes off to Sending a Dream into the Universe. Somewhere in the apartment, there is an ambience of clothes tumbling about in the washing machine, constant and calm and always there.

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