#so i can feel at least 18% human for this last wretched flight

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Cherryheads when I say that I am so fuckin done with today right now

[adorkablephil]

Fic: Hide Not Your Face (Chapters 3 and 4)

Title: Hide Not Your Face Summary: Chemistry grad student Phil Lester wants to make the world a better place, but a strange creature named Dan appears when Phil tests a potion intended to get rid of negative emotions. Rating: Teen (for a bit of language) Word Count: 3.4k (Chapter 3), 3.8k (Chapter 4) Tags: Phandom Reverse Bang, Scientist AU, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Magical Realism, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Angst, Angst with A Happy Ending Author’s Note: Thanks again to the @phandomreversebang, @ribenaflip, and @rwdaf! There wasn’t much interest in the first two chapters of this story, so I’m going to post a couple more chapters at once to see if maybe I can get past the slow beginning and maybe people will become more interested. (These chapters won’t make any sense if you don’t read the first two, though, so consult the masterlist.) Also available on AO3 here

[ Chapter Masterlist ]

Chapter 3: Return

***

[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations] 14/02/18 07:55 - Ejected trespassing creature (man?) from the premises. Subject (self) experienced feelings of revulsion in the creature’s presence, utterly at odds with all other concurrent positive emotions, aside from an uncomfortable conflict with the feeling of sympathy. Easily resolved once the creature had gone. 08:00 - Ensured that remaining 150 ml of potion was safely secured in a sealed glass bottle in temperature-controlled container at precisely 15° Celsius. Effects on initial subject to be observed for one week (UNTIL 15:30 HOURS 20/02/18) before application to additional volunteer test subjects. In reaction to the experiment’s apparent initial success, subject perceived feelings of contentment, excitement, pride, hope, and even elation. 08:30 - Subject departed flat and found positive emotions stimulated further by external environment. The brisk coolness of a breeze against the skin, the beautiful pale light of the sun, the sight and sound of birds taking flight nearby, the shining faces of busy passersby in their colorful clothing—all inspired feelings of happiness, optimism, and good will. 08:45 - Subject tasted coffee for the first time since ingestion of the potion. Bliss. 09:00 - Subject felt an unusual degree of appreciation for Professor Solomon’s seminar on “Advanced Chromatin Structure” and contributed to the discussion with enthusiasm.

***

It was a glorious day.

Phil felt as if he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life, as he felt more cheerful and energetic than any other time he could remember. Everything he saw or heard just served to make him even happier. And he felt none of his usual self-doubt or anxiety.

He’d finally perfected his experimental solution. He felt certain of it.

His entire life, he’d been dreaming of this. Despite his naturally cheerful disposition, he’d suffered moments of unhappiness, like most people. He’d sometimes felt almost crippled by anxiety and self-doubt. And worst of all had been the moments when he’d lost his temper. Speaking or acting in anger always made him feel guilty for weeks afterward. Even just shouting at the video game had shamed him! He wanted to always be generous and kind, always be able to see the other person’s perspective, never a bother or problem. This was what he had always wanted: to be simply happy.

After Professor Solomon’s fascinating discussion in seminar, Phil decided to go for a bit of a walk before returning to his flat. The day was so beautiful, he just didn’t want to hide away in his literally monastic flat away from the fresh air and sunshine. So he walked through a local park, enjoying the sounds of the birds in the trees, the sight of the bright yellow daffodils, the jewel-like green of the grass. Springtime in London was so lovely!

He smiled at the people he passed along the path, and some of them smiled back. The majority ignored him, as Londoners are wont to do, but Phil understood that they most likely had things on their mind. He hoped that their days went well.

Eventually, he could no longer wait to return to his flat, because he wanted to reexamine his notes and make a more organized, formal description of his process. This formula might very well change the world, and so Phil knew its importance could not be exaggerated. He was proud of his achievement, but primarily because he hoped that it would help many people to live happier, more productive lives … that it might in fact significantly reduce or even eradicate the world’s problems resulting from anger, sadness, fear, greed, and other negative emotions. He imagined a world with no more war, a world in which everyone felt kindness and generosity toward others!

He nearly raced home after those thoughts, eager to reexamine his notes and prepare them for presentation to a more global community of chemists. Should he publish in one of the more highly respected journals? Or should he instead post the results of his research directly onto the Internet, where chemists all over the world would be able to access the information immediately instead of waiting for the tedious publication process?

Well, in any case, he first needed to allow this first week of observation to pass, taking careful notes on the potion’s effects on himself. And then he would test the formula on a random assortment of other willing test subjects—or as random as he could obtain. He already had a list of students who had participated in previous tests, but he would put up notices on campus and elsewhere in York tomorrow. Online, as well, and perhaps even in the newspaper. Older residents might still get their news from the newspaper, and it would be best to test the formula on subjects as diverse as possible.

Contemplating all of this over a cup of steaming tea and his piles of notes, Phil unexpectedly heard his doorbell chime. While he did have a number of friends, none of them were likely to drop by without the politeness of advance notice. Still, perhaps someone had stopped in just to say hello because they happened to be in the neighborhood. He went to the door with a smile.

***

The smile left his face quickly when he saw the wretched creature that had rung his doorbell. Phil felt an immediate rush of sympathy for the … thing … of course he did. How could he not? But, really, what could one expect? The creature had in fact broken into his flat last night, crouching creepily in the corner until Phil had woken and forced it to leave. What even was it? Not a man, surely. But this was no science-fiction film, and so Phil could not think of what else it might be.

It spoke like a man—a very pitiful man—babbling entreaties and weeping so pathetically on Phil’s doorstep that he motioned the thing inside to at least give it some privacy in its distress. Once he’d had a moment to think, he would decide what to do.

As the creature entered the room, Phil saw that it was—in fact—a man, its deformed appearance merely the result of shoulders bunching up toward the ears and rounding forward in a defensive posture as the creature … the thing … the … young man? As the … young man wrapped his arms around himself, greasy head ducked down as if expecting a blow at any moment.

Protectively hunched over and contorted like that, the fellow did not look quite human now in the shadows of the flat at sunset, and so Phil understood his own morning assumptions before sunlight had even touched the windows, leaving the room quite dark. Yes, this was a man, but Phil completely understood why anyone might doubt the fact in dim lighting and wonder what monstrous thing they faced.

And, to be honest, the morning’s feeling of revulsion persisted, though Phil did not understand its intensity. Phil wanted nothing more than for this person to vacate the premises again and never return. Phil had a great many things to do, and this fellow’s situation, whatever it was, provided a distraction and complication he would prefer not to deal with. As in the morning, however, this instinctive antipathy warred with an equally instinctive wish to be kind, to be generous, and so Phil reluctantly welcomed the thing—he still had difficulty thinking of it as a person—into his home.

The manthing continued to cry fat, streaming tears, begging and thanking Phil in words that flowed so quickly they could barely be distinguished.

Phil interrupted him. The man’s hair was filthy, and Phil gauged the parts of him covered by clothing would likely be no better. “You should take a shower,” Phil said bluntly. The sobs grew even louder, but the fellow nodded in obvious eagerness, and so Phil herded him toward the bathroom, where the grimy sight disappeared behind a closed door and Phil heard the shower turn on.

The young man—man? why did Phil feel so hesitant to label him so?—would need some clean clothes, as the ones he wore looked ready for the bin, and Phil certainly had enough to spare. If he’d guessed correctly, despite the fellow’s contorted position he seemed similar in size to Phil himself, so he picked out a clean pair of jeans, one of his least favorite t-shirts, a hoodie, and some pants and socks.

He knocked on the bathroom door, but heard only the sounds of the shower inside. He opened the door a mere crack and shouted, “I’m leaving clean clothes for you outside the door.” He closed the door again before hearing any response and set the pile of clothing on the floor. Phil then returned to his kitchen laboratory, his pile of notes, and his cup of tea, though it had now grown rather unpleasantly cold. He dumped it down the sink and put on a fresh kettle. The fellow in the shower certainly looked like he too could do with a cuppa.

And perhaps then Phil could send him on his way. He imagined himself afterward with the glowing feeling of having done a good deed for a very odd and unpleasant stranger whom he would never see again.

***

The form that emerged from the bathroom in Phil’s own clothing looked decidedly more human, though the shoulders still hunched unattractively. The fellow’s skin now looked more pale than gray, and his hair, no longer flat with grease, now looked rather unruly in thick, shaggy waves. He could seriously use a haircut, but the features now more visible on his cleaned face were surprisingly handsome. The smooth, boyish jawline made him look softly vulnerable, and his lips looked plump and pink, though a bit chapped.

Why was Phil looking at this stranger’s lips? He abruptly averted his gaze upward.

The eyes that did not quite meet Phil’s were an almost golden shade of brown—like the tea before he’d added the milk—red-rimmed, no doubt by tears. Without a word, Phil held out a mug of piping hot tea, milky and sweet, and the cringing young man took it with pathetic gratitude.

They both drank their tea in silence for a moment, and then Phil asked, “What’s your name?”

The other man mumbled several words into his steaming mug, but Phil thought perhaps he’d understood half of them. “Your name is Don?”

“Don” shrugged uncomfortably, glancing toward the floor, and Phil guessed that was the best answer he was going to get out of him. Don just kept slowly sipping the tea, closing his eyes and holding the mug with both hands as if trying to get warm, though the radiator was working just fine and the flat was quite comfortable. Phil watched him, puzzled, forgetting the mug in his own hands.

When Don had finished his tea, though Phil had barely touched his own, he handed the mug back to Phil and said, much more clearly, “Thank you for that. It was lovely. The most lovely thing all day.” His voice sounded surprisingly posh and articulate coming from such a hunched and pathetic figure, but he looked at Phil with a tremulous smile, and Phil felt an upwelling of generosity and kindness for this poor fellow to whom a simple cup of tea had been such a blessing.

But Phil reminded himself that he had things to do. Important things. And this man had his own life to live … elsewhere. Phil was glad he’d been able to offer some simple comforts, but it was time for Don to continue on his way. But apparently Phil’s thoughts had been evident on his face, because Don rushed forward, hands reaching out as if to touch Phil’s but then pulling away again and wringing together anxiously.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Don said, his voice desperate as it had been in the doorway but more intelligible now. “I know that you told me to go away. But … I did bad things when I was out there today. I yelled at people … and I stole a woman’s handbag … and I was angry and frightened and…” Don stopped, but not as if he had finished speaking. Rather as if he was having trouble finding words or courage for what he wanted to say. He looked into Phil’s face, his brown eyes hollow and sad, and he admitted solemnly, “I wasn’t a good person out there. I didn’t like the person I was.” He looked down at his hands as they clung to each other in desperation. He spoke more quietly, more sadly when he continued, “Maybe I’m still not a good person.” He looked up to meet Phil’s gaze again and said, “But I don’t feel so angry here. Nor so afraid. I feel … safer … better … here.” He looked down at his hands again, sparing Phil that intense gaze, and pled miserably, “Please? I know you don’t want me here, but … please? May I stay?”

***

[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations] 14/02/18 17:55 - The creature has returned and appears to be a young man, or at least in man shape, though his/its origins remain mysterious. How did it gain entrance to my bedroom this morning? Why does it seem so repugnant to me when all other negative emotions seem to have abated or disappeared? And why do I also feel an odd and unexplainable connection to this creature? I have reluctantly agreed to allow him to stay in the flat overnight. I wish only for him (it?) to be gone, but gentler emotions, no doubt strengthened by the potion, make it impossible for me to reject him entirely. Surely none of this pertains in any important way to the experiment at hand, but I record these observations purely for scientific thoroughness, for one never knows what seemingly insignificant detail may later contribute to a crucial breakthrough!

***

Phil ordered Indian for supper and set aside his work to share an uncomfortably silent meal with his unwelcome guest. Don did not speak at all and kept his eyes, for the most part, directed toward his food, his hands, or the floor.

When Phil prepared for bed, he gave Don a blanket and pillow so that he might make himself comfortable on the sofa in the lounge. But the young man would not be happy with even that much. Why must he always ask for more than Phil wished to give?

“May I sleep in your room?” Don asked, stammering. He blushed brightly and quickly explained, “Not in your bed, of course! Of course not! Just … perhaps … in the corner? Where I woke this morning? I don’t mind the floor. And I feel…” he hesitated, then looked up to meet Phil’s gaze, those golden brown eyes full of entreaty, “I feel safer … closer to you.” He shrugged a shoulder awkwardly and looked away again, toward the aforementioned corner. There was longing in his body language as well as his eyes, and Phil found that the plea touched his heart. He certainly did not want this stranger—this creature that did not even seem quite human—sleeping in his bedroom, but his own kind heart would not allow him to refuse.

***

During the night, Phil woke to the sound of Don whimpering in the darkness. “Don?” Phil whispered, but received no answer. Was the thing having nightmares?

Lying awake now in his bed, unable to fall back asleep, Phil contemplated the fact that though he felt sympathy, he didn’t actually feel bad at the thought that this Don suffered.

To be honest, Phil simply didn’t feel bad anymore.

Sorrow and guilt and pain and doubt … all were gone. The potion had been successful in accomplishing that! He prided himself on the fact that he did not feel angry that Don had returned. Anger, too, had been eradicated, of course. He just felt sympathy for the poor soul, that distant kind of sympathy that is so easy when it does not inconvenience our lives.

He certainly did not want this Don to suffer, but he really just wished that the whole issue would disappear, that it would no longer inconvenience Phil personally. He longed for Don to leave, so that Phil did not have to see him or deal with him, and Phil could return to the happiness of the earlier part of his day.

He did not want to face this … ugliness in his life. This … unhappiness. This … suffering. It was unpleasant.

He’d given this Don fellow a place to sleep, hadn’t he? Most people would not have done even that much! He felt a bit better as he thought this, but also some small voice in the back of his mind wondered why he worked so hard to convince himself.

***

And, somehow, Phil found himself not forcing Don to leave in the morning. Don implored silently, simply gazing at Phil with such sadness in his eyes, that Phil agreed that he could stay another night. It would be cruel to force Don to leave, and the potion had leached all cruelty from Phil’s psyche, so he allowed the man to stay.

It continued for three more days, in fact. Phil came and went to the university, trying to ignore Don’s presence, trying to focus on his tedious coursework and much more fascinating experimental observations regarding the potion, the effects of which seemed to be permanent, much to Phil’s joy and pride.

But it was difficult to ignore the morose, shadowy presence that lurked around the flat. Don apparently figured out how to play Fortnite on the PlayStation, because before coming into the flat after a day at the university, Phil often heard him through the door, loudly berating the game with elaborate insults. When Phil opened the door, however, Don always leapt off the sofa as if burnt by hot coals and retreated to loiter in the corner of the bedroom where his pillow and blanket lay, as if he were a dog with a bed on the floor.

Strangely enough, when Phil himself played Fortnite now, he never became particularly emotionally invested. He enjoyed the challenge of the game, but he never shouted or raged at the screen as he once had … or as Don did, when he did not know that Phil could hear him.

This cringing, unstable, unpleasant creature seemed to embody all the things Phil had previously disliked about himself, and so having him always nearby felt like constantly reopening a wound that had barely begun to heal. Don was anxious, sad, pessimistic, guilty, and occasionally even frustrated or annoyed, though he seemed to try to hide those feelings from Phil, always making abject apologies if he expressed aggravation, as if constantly afraid that Phil might force him to leave again.

Phil wondered why he didn’t force him to leave again.

The problem was the damned sympathy, kindness, generosity—all the things he had wanted to strengthen with his potion—they wouldn’t allow him to put Don out on the streets … and yet he could barely stand to be in the unpleasant man’s presence.

So they lived an awkward life together those few days. Until Phil received a text from his younger brother, Martyn that changed his plans.

Martyn: pls come home at the wknd!

The exclamation point indicated that Martyn was clearly extremely upset. Martyn rarely bothered with punctuation in his texts.

Don’s response surprised him. When Phil said he’d be gone for a couple days, Don begged him not to leave. Even when Phil reluctantly offered to allow Don to stay in the flat while he was gone, Don still wept and pled for him not to leave him alone. In the end, he actually closed the door in Don’s face and ran down the stairs until he could no longer hear the sobs echoing from his own flat.

***

After two fairly uneventful days with his family in Rawtenstall, Phil was still on the train back to York when he received an unexpected text from Martyn. They’d just seen each other! What did his little brother want now? The conversation made little sense to him.

Martyn: what ws that all about

Phil: What do you mean?

Martyn: with mum n dad

Phil: I just want everyone to be happy.

Martyn: well im not happy!

Phil: What did you want me to do, Martyn?

Martyn: i wnted u to stnd up for me!

Phil: Stand up for you how?

Martyn: …

Martyn: nvr mind “BRO”

Martyn: wont bother you nxt time

***

***

Chapter 4: Realization

Author’s Note: The RNCM is the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester.

***

When the door closed behind Phil, Dan stood there for a moment staring at it until he heard the key turn in the lock and knew that Phil had really left. Then Dan turned to rest his back against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

Phil had said that he would be gone for “a couple of days,” but that Dan could stay here while he was gone. Dan had heard the reluctance in his voice. He knew Phil didn’t want him here, whether Phil was present or not.

And he kept calling him “Don,” but Dan hadn’t felt brave enough to correct him. What right did Dan have to that name, anyway. He had just chosen it for himself because of one kind person. Because of a mistake.

Rage boiled up in him all of a sudden. Phil had no right to treat him with such callous disregard! Whatever had happened to Dan—whatever had caused him to appear so mysteriously and feel so unnatural—he knew for certain that Phil had played some role in it, but he refused to even listen to anything Dan said.

The rage subsided again as Dan admitted to himself that he hadn’t actually attempted to say much of anything. He hadn’t wanted to bother Phil, frightened that Phil would finally make him leave permanently if he became a true nuisance and not just a quiet annoyance.

The anger surged again. Dan was more than just a nuisance, more than just an annoyance! Maybe he didn’t know how he’d come to be here, but now he had a right to all of the good things that Phil had! Why should Phil have this happy, beautiful life, while Dan cowered in the shadows, begging for scraps? And why should Phil spend all his time in that stupid kitchen laboratory, poring over those stupid notebooks and papers, tinkering with all those bits of glass and metal while Dan sat, alone and ignored, in the same flat?

Dan rose to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He pictured himself smashing the whole lot. Everything. Every piece of glass, every delicate metal instrument, swept off the table and ground under the soles of his second-hand shoes. He picked up a beaker and hefted it in his hand, then raised his arm, preparing to throw it across the room, imagining the satisfying crash when the glass shattered against the wall.

But then he imagined Phil’s face when he returned and saw the wreckage. Phil, who was always so happy. Phil, who was, at the very worst, indifferent. He imagined Phil finally truly hurt, truly sad.

Dan didn’t imagine that Phil would be angry, but he did imagine that Phil would regret the loss of his precious equipment, and that he would rightfully blame Dan for repaying his kindness with such betrayal. And Dan didn’t want to see that expression on Phil’s face, didn’t want to see those pale eyes look at him in disappointment and regret … regret that he had agreed to help Dan in the first place.

Even if Dan’s very presence was somehow Phil’s fault.

Carefully, so very carefully, knowing that it was dear to Phil, Dan set the beaker back onto the counter. He stood there, glancing down at Phil’s loose pages of notes, but they were just a bunch of letters and numbers with arrows and other symbols. They meant something to Phil, something important, but they made no sense to Dan.

None of this made any sense to Dan.

And he already missed Phil.

Why should he miss someone who barely acknowledged his existence? And yet he did. Phil, working so excitedly at his lab table. Phil, with his black hair falling across his forehead. Phil, impatiently pushing his glasses up when they began to slide down his nose because he was leaning forward too enthusiastically. Phil, who looked so beautiful when the colors of the stained glass dyed his pale skin a myriad of hues before he woke in the morning. Phil, with his warm, ready smile.

Except when he looked at Dan.

He never smiled when he looked at Dan.

And Dan suddenly realized that he really wished that, even just once, he could see Phil smile at him like that, with that happy expression Dan had only glimpsed occasionally when Phil forgot he was there and didn’t realize he was looking.

Everything felt better when Phil was there. Now he remembered being out on the street, how unkind everyone had been, the woman with the handbag, the little girl who said he was ugly.

Dan walked to the bedroom and lay down on his blanket in the corner. The light from the stained glass windows shone in vivid colors across the rest of the room, across the floor and Phil’s soft bed. Dan didn’t know for sure that it was soft, of course, but he imagined that it was. It looked soft.

Holding back tears, Dan hugged his pillow and pulled the blanket up to cover him in his corner where the multi-colored light never reached, and he tried to sleep. Perhaps he could sleep for days. Perhaps he could sleep until Phil came home.

***

He woke to the rumble of his stomach. Based on the dimness of the room, he had slept for several hours. He went to the kitchen, but realized that Phil had always provided their meals. Another example of his kindness to Dan. Dan felt a rush of affection for this person who really had been kind to him, but whom Dan had given too little gratitude. He would do better about that when Phil returned.

Dan opened the refrigerator, but saw only glass containers containing substances that definitely did not look like food. Rummaging then through the cabinets, he found only a box of biscuits. He had no money, no way of obtaining food, and no real idea of how he would go about doing it anyway.

The thought crossed his mind that he could leave—could find his way to St. Mary’s, perhaps they would give him soup as Henry had suggested—but his heart tightened in his chest at the thought of abandoning Phil’s apartment, perhaps never seeing Phil again. Or, even worse, coming back to find Phil here, Phil not allowing him back inside.

No, he wouldn’t take the chance of leaving. He felt safest with Phil nearby, but for now at least he had Phil’s things around him.

He ate a biscuit. It was stale, but he ate it anyway.

He played some Fortnite, trying to pass the time, but mostly just sulked in his solitude.

***

That night, he curled up again in his corner with his blanket and pillow. The blanket and pillow that Phil had given him. He hadn’t needed to do that, but he had. Because he was kind. Dan smiled to himself, thinking of Phil’s moments of kindness toward him. He tried to block out all the times when Phil had ignored him or seemed impatient or expressly insisted that Dan leave. He tried to just remember the moments when he’d seen the good in Phil, and he smiled to himself again and curled up under his blanket and tried to sleep, even though he’d slept much of the day.

He would sleep as much as he could to speed the time until Phil returned.

***

The next day, Dan roamed the flat a bit, looking at the books on Phil’s shelves, which surprisingly included quite a few novels among the boring textbooks. Dan flipped through them but didn’t find anything to catch his interest. He was just passing time.

When he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, he ate another biscuit. There weren’t many, so he was going to have to make them last. He wasn’t sure precisely when Phil planned to return, and there wouldn’t be any additional food until then.

He sat for a while on the sofa in the lounge, but didn’t pick up the PlayStation controller. In the afternoon, light shone very brightly indeed through the windows, spangling Dan himself with all the colors of the rainbow as he sat there. He basked in the imagined warmth, feeling only slightly guilty, as if the bright hues belonged to Phil, as if Dan’s illicit enjoyment of their beauty somehow stole something from the other man.

If Dan was even a man. Was he? If not, then what? His enjoyment of the bright colors faded entirely as he brooded. He still could not understand how or why he had appeared in Phil’s bedroom with no memories before that moment. He knew something was wrong there—something very wrong—but he didn’t understand what. It left him feeling as if he were the one who was wrong.

Except, to be honest, that wasn’t a new feeling. It had been there since the beginning.

He looked at the stained glass itself, the framed religious designs from the original monastery reaching nearly floor to ceiling, and regarded the avenging angel depicted in the nearest window.

Would an angel smite him down, or avenge him? Was Dan himself something to be defended or destroyed? The impassive expression on the angel’s face gave him no hints.

That night, his heart aching with confusion and his stomach aching with hunger, he ate the last biscuit and threw the packaging into the bin before retiring to his corner of the bedroom again. For the first time, he noticed that the radiator did not reach this part of the flat as well as it heated the rest, so he lay in perhaps the coldest area possible. The lights were off, with only the dimness of the street lights through stained glass illuminating the bedroom in muted reds and greens and blues.

Dan lay on the floor and gazed longingly at Phil’s bed. It looked so soft. So soft and so warm.

Surely Phil would never know if he greedily stole a bit of that warmth for himself. Just for a few moments. Just for the comfort to balance the gnawing of his empty belly. He would give himself perhaps five minutes. Just long enough to get truly warm, so that he could take that warmth back with him to his chilly corner.

Glancing around as if Phil might suddenly appear without warning, Dan sidled toward the bed and ran a hand over the downy duvet. It was soft. Very carefully, hoping to leave no evidence of his trespass, Dan slid between the sheets, pulling the divinely cozy duvet up to his chin, letting his head rest on the pillow that held a faint scent. He recognized the smells of the shampoo and soaps from Phil’s bathroom, but there were subtle other scents there as well. He’d never been near enough to Phil to notice a particular smell to him, but now he knew that this scent on the pillow must be the smell of Phil’s skin and hair.

Dan rested his cheek against the pillow, clutching the soft sheets and duvet close, seeing the dim colors from the windows lambent all around him, and felt a deep sense of contentment like none he’d ever previously experienced. Not that he could remember, anyway. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to bask in the comfort and happiness of that wonderful feeling … and without even realizing it slipped almost immediately into a deep, restful sleep with shining dreams of a loving, gentle, happy Phil lying there beside him.

***

“What are you doing in my bed?” The shout woke Dan so abruptly that he nearly flew out of the bedclothes, landing in a blinking, confused heap of limbs on the floor beside the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered immediately, still not nearly awake. “I’m sorry. I was just so cold. And I was hungry. And I was … the bed looked so warm and so soft … I’m so sorry!” Tears sprang to his eyes and he wiped at them in frustration. How could he have been so stupid as to fall asleep in Phil’s own bed? Surely Phil would make him leave now. And he didn’t even have his shoes on. Would Phil give him time to at least put his shoes on?

But Phil’s expression looked troubled. “Hungry?” he repeated in confusion, and then he glanced toward the kitchen.

Dan shrugged uncomfortably, still sitting in an awkward pile on the floor beside the bed, afraid to move.

Phil abruptly slapped a hand to his forehead and shook his head in obvious disgust, then looked toward Dan with the gentlest, saddest expression Dan had ever seen on his face. “I didn’t leave you any food, did I? You must be starving!”

Dan looked down at the floor, overwhelmed by that look on Phil’s face. “There were … there were some biscuits … in the cabinet…” he mumbled, shrugging again.

Phil walked toward him and Dan instinctively raised a hand as if to ward off a blow, but Phil only grasped the raised hand and pulled Dan to his feet. “What do you want me to order? Chinese? Thai? Indian? Pizza?” And he smiled at Dan. A real smile, full of warmth and apology. Had he forgotten that he’d caught Dan in his bed?

Dan felt himself blushing in response to the compassion in that look, perhaps even affection? No, obviously not affection. His fantasies from the previous night were obviously tainting his perceptions. Phil would never feel affection for him. Never. Phil had made that more than clear. Dan wasn’t even a real person. Phil could never care about him.

But the smile he gave Dan now made Dan feel like maybe he was glowing from the inside, glowing like the light from the stained glass windows, and Phil would be able to see it, and so he blushed even harder.

“Um…” he began, but didn’t know where to go from there. “Um … whatever you want.” Dan looked at the floor, not able to bear that expression on Phil’s face anymore.

But Phil had not released his hand, and now he gave it a squeeze. “You’re the one who’s been starving for two days. You definitely get to choose!” There was a bit of laughter in his voice, but not laughter at Dan. It sounded like the best sound Dan had ever heard.

And then Dan realized, and his heart sank like a stone within his suddenly ice cold body.

This must be what it felt like to love someone.

He’d understood the concept of love, of course, but he’d never thought he might actually feel it himself. And now he did feel it, but for someone who abhorred him, someone who only tolerated his presence out of some unwilling sense of obligation. Someone who considered him less than human.

Yes, he’d understood the concept of love, of course—all those couples he’d seen kissing in the streets—but he’d also understood that no one would ever feel it for him. Least of all someone like Phil.

He felt his lip begin to tremble, and then his whole chin. He jerked his hand out of Phil’s and raised his hands to cover his face, afraid of what might show there. He couldn’t bear the humiliation.

“Okay, okay,” Phil said gently. “I’ll choose. You like pizza, right? Pepperoni? Would that be okay?”

He was obviously waiting for a response, so Dan just nodded from behind his hands, then heard Phil make a phone call to order the food.

***

Dan was desperately grateful that Phil had ordered more than one pizza, because Dan himself ate one in its entirety before he even began to slow down enough to taste it.

“I’m sorry,” Phil told him earnestly when Dan had begun to take the time to actually chew his bites of food and was no longer simply bolting down slices of pizza as quickly as his body could manage.

Dan glanced nervously at Phil’s face, and Phil really did look regretful. Maybe even guilty. That didn’t seem right. Phil was always happy, wasn’t he?

“Please don’t feel bad,” Dan urged after swallowing the mouthful he had been chewing. He wiped his mouth with the paper towel Phil had given him. “It’s just me.” And he shrugged again, dismissively. He knew he didn’t matter.

But Phil shook his head. “It isn’t just you,” he mused, looking vaguely away from Dan as if deep in thought. “It’s also … my brother is upset with me, too.”

Dan managed to contain his shock that Phil actually wanted to engage him in conversation, then realized that Phil was actually probably talking to himself more than to Dan. He was just thinking aloud.

But then Phil looked directly at Dan and said, “My brother asked me to come home because he’d been fighting with our parents. They’d found out he was practicing piano at a friend’s house when he told them he was studying.”

Dan looked confused, then dared to ask hesitantly, “What’s wrong with practicing the piano?”

Phil sighed. “I wish my parents could understand, but Martyn isn’t interested in academics. He’s been dreaming about applying to the RNCM since he was 13.” Phil took a bite of pizza and chewed.

Dan took a bit of pizza and chewed as well. His stomach no longer felt like it had been turned inside out, but he still felt a little hungry. After a while, he noticed that Phil hadn’t said anything more. Gathering up his courage, Dan asked tentatively, “You said your brother is upset with you, though.”

Phil swallowed his pizza, wiped his hands, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He typed for a minute then handed the phone over to Dan, who quickly wiped his own hands before taking it. He read the text conversation between Phil and Martyn.

“What does he mean when he says he wanted you to stand up for him?” Dan asked, feeling a little braver now, like they were having an actual conversation. Like Phil wasn’t going to kick him out of the flat for asking a simple question. Like Dan was an actual person Phil might have an actual conversation with.

Phil shook his head and said, “I don’t know. I mean, I got there, and everybody was yelling, and I tried to get it all calmed down, you know? I just wanted everybody to be happy.”

“But it sounds like Martyn isn’t happy,” Dan objected, then almost bit his tongue. It was one thing for Phil to talk to him, quite another for Dan to actual challenge him about something.

But Phil just nodded, looking a little perplexed. “He isn’t. I don’t know what he expected from me.”

Dan watched Phil’s face. He honestly didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but Dan was starting to get an inkling. “So your parents found out that your brother was playing piano instead of studying, and they got mad at him?” Phil nodded. “And he texted you to come help him out?” Phil nodded again.

Could Phil really be this dim? Dan could imagine himself in Phil’s brother’s position so easily.

“So Martyn’s a kid, and his parents are yelling at him for doing the thing he loves, and he calls his older brother in for back-up. But you didn’t stand up for him? You didn’t explain to your parents that he should be allowed to do what he loves and do the piano instead of academics? You just … what did you do?”

Phil looked abashed now, and more than a little confused. “I told everybody to calm down. I spent time with Martyn and listened to him talk, and I told him I support him. And I listened to my parents and told them I understand why they’re frustrated.” He frowned. “I just tried to understand everyone’s perspective. I just wanted peace, you know?”

Dan scowled, starting to get a little angry at Phil now. He was seeing this all from Martyn’s perspective, and he was feeling like Phil had really let him down. Didn’t he even see it? What kind of moron was he? Poor Martyn, having to fight his parents alone!

Dan slapped a hand down on his knee and growled, “It didn’t occur to you to defend your little brother? To stand up for his right to do what he wants? You didn’t explain it to your parents and defend him?” Dan was feeling really angry now.

“Fighting wouldn’t help anybody,” Phil insisted. “It never does. It’s better to just calm everybody down and keep the peace.” He wiped his mouth and hands and stood up. “I’m not hungry anymore, so I’m going to get some work done. Eat as much as you want.” And he just walked away to sit on the stool at his lab counter, where he started writing in the notebook he always seemed to be scribbling in.

Dan was fuming. He wanted to go punch Phil’s parents in their smug faces. He maybe even wanted to punch Phil in his uncomprehending face, because he should have stood up for his little brother! Instead, he’d left him defenseless against parents who didn’t respect or understand him. Okay, maybe Dan was taking this a little too personally, but he actually hurt! He hurt for poor Martyn left alone in that house while Phil just blithely took the train back to York.

Now seemed like an excellent time for a game of Fortnite, even though Phil was there and so Dan usually would go hide in the bedroom corner. Right now he needed to vent, and yelling at Phil seemed like a terrible possibility, so he chose ranting at video game characters instead.

He hadn’t been playing long when he encountered his first real battle, but it didn’t take him as long to get angry as usual, since he’d started the game already riled up. When he found himself surrounded, almost out of ammunition, he knew it wasn’t entirely the video game characters he hated when he screamed at the screen, “You rotten fucking cock badgers!”

Dan heard a gasp from the kitchen and looked to where Phil stood holding his notebook, his eyes wide, staring at Dan. “But that’s … what I said…” Phil mumbled, frowning, then glanced down at his notebook, flipped back through the pages to some earlier entry and seemed to be rereading. He looked back up at Dan, then back down again at the notebook.

And then Phil said quietly, face slack with disbelief, “This can’t … this can’t be … oh my god!”

***

Author’s Note: I’m due to post the first chapter of my other prb fic, “The Body Electric,” on Saturday (the 19th, which is only a few days from now), so after that I’ll be working on both fics simultaneously, which will complicate things, of course. This fic has 4 more chapters.

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[ Continue to Chapter 5 ]