Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun in Zante was like stepping into an oven.

Dan felt the heat hit him the moment he stepped off the shuttle bus, a dense, shimmering wall of warmth that made the air feel heavy in his lungs. He squinted against the brutal glare, one hand rising instinctively to shade his eyes as his trainers met the dusty, cracked pavement outside their hotel. Even in the shade of the narrow palm trees that lined the drop-off point, it was sweltering — the kind of heat that wrapped around his body and clung, thick and sticky, to every inch of exposed skin.

His rucksack was already sticking uncomfortably to the sweat collecting at the base of his neck, and the polyester straps dug into his shoulders in a way that made him want to shrug them off and just lie down in a patch of shade for the rest of the day. Not exactly the glamorous arrival he'd half-imagined when they'd first booked the trip.

PJ, meanwhile, was bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’d just necked three espressos instead of only managing two hours of awkward, neck-cricking sleep on the flight over. His sunglasses were slightly crooked, his shirt already half unbuttoned, and he looked unreasonably cheerful for someone running on fumes.

Chris was less enthusiastic. “It’s like being microwaved,” he grumbled, dragging his suitcase with the kind of theatrical suffering only someone as pale as him could convincingly muster. “I can feel myself combusting.”

Dan glanced sideways at Phil, who was adjusting his own sunglasses, already grinning like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. His hair — always a little messy, like it existed in a permanent state of windblown — was flopping across his forehead, and his shoulders were already starting to flush a light pink in the unforgiving sunlight.

Dan looked away quickly, trying not to stare too long. He was used to that smile — had seen it hundreds of times before, on school trips and sleepovers and in the glow of streetlights after gigs — but something about seeing it here, surrounded by blue sky and the sharp scent of sea air and a week of total freedom, made something twist deep in his gut. Feelings that he had had for years suddenly intensifying.

“This is gonna be so good,” PJ said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Seven full days of sun, cheap booze, and no revision in sight. Actual paradise.”

Dan forced a laugh. “Yeah. No flashcards. Bliss.”

He meant it. Kind of. They’d survived A-levels, just barely. Six weeks ago, Dan had been holed up in his room, panic-writing essays about the dissolution of the monasteries and pretending he didn’t care what happened if he got a B in English. And now here they were: post-exam, post-school, in some chaotic resort town in the Ionian Islands with nothing to do but drink and tan and possibly make a few terrible, unforgettable mistakes.

And yet… something inside him refused to settle. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited. He was. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip was going to mean something. That something was going to shift.

Maybe it was just the heat. Or the finality of it all. Maybe it was the way he kept catching himself glancing over at Phil without meaning to, his gaze drawn like a magnet to the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his grin, the little scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose that only came out in the sun.

He’d told himself for years that this was nothing. That the tightness in his chest when Phil sat too close, or complimented his hair, or fell asleep beside him during movie nights — that it didn’t mean anything.

But that lie was harder to believe now. Not when the world felt wide open and unspooling in front of him. Not when the future was something uncertain and sharp-edged, looming just a few short months away.

“Dan, room key?”

Chris's voice pulled him out of the spiral. A small envelope hit his chest, and Dan caught it reflexively.

“Right.” He glanced down at the paper inside, clearing his throat. “Um… me and Phil are in 206. You and PJ are across the hall. 209.”

Phil gave a triumphant little fist pump and threw an arm casually over Dan’s shoulder, the bare skin of his bicep warm and slightly sun-slicked. “Roomies. Again.”

Dan’s laugh came out a little tighter than he meant. “Just like the Paris trip.”

“Except with less museums and more vodka,” PJ called from behind them, kicking the wheels of his suitcase as they moved toward the entrance.

The hotel was… fine. Better than Dan had expected, really. A low-rise building painted a faded yellow, its white trim a little cracked, with vines growing haphazardly up one wall and the constant, far-off splash of someone doing cannonballs into the pool. The air smelled like chlorine and salt and that sweet, artificial tang of suncream — the same scent Dan always associated with childhood holidays and corner-shop ice lollies.

Inside, the corridors were dim and tiled that looked like they had faded over the years. Their room was basic, but functional — twin beds with blue patterned sheets, a rattling ceiling fan, a mini fridge stocked with tiny glass bottles of complimentary water, and a balcony that looked out over the pool and bar area.

Phil dropped his bag the moment they walked in and flopped onto the nearest bed, starfishing dramatically. “This. Is. Heaven.”

Dan lingered near the window, one hand still clutching the strap of his bag. Outside, a group of girls in brightly-coloured bikinis were ordering cocktails at the bar. The sun shimmered off the pool like it was made of glass, and someone somewhere had already queued up a playlist heavy on Pitbull and Calvin Harris.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected this holiday to be. A celebration, maybe. A last hurrah before uni scattered them across the country. A way to burn off the strange, weightless anxiety that had followed him since the last day of sixth form.

But something about being here — in this place, at this moment — made it feel like more than that. Like the start of something he didn’t quite have the language for yet. Like if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t keep himself in check, he might say something he couldn’t take back.

Phil was still lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling lazily through his phone. He looked utterly at ease, like he belonged here — like the sun and the sea and the faint throb of dance music were all just extensions of him.

Dan turned away from the window, heart thudding.

If they weren’t going to be in the same city come autumn — if this trip really was the last time they’d be in each other’s pockets like this — then maybe it was okay to feel everything a little too much.

Maybe, just once, it was okay to let this trip swallow him whole.

By the time evening rolled in, the sun was dipping low behind the jagged rooftops of the hotel, sending long streaks of gold and amber across the courtyard. The pool below shimmered in the fading light, its surface hazy and soft, as if the heat was still lingering there, refusing to let go. The whole world felt slower, as if the day itself was sighing, stretching out and soaking up the last warm rays before nightfall. It was the kind of heat that wrapped around your skin and settled deep in your bones, thick and heavy but somehow comforting.

Inside their room, the air-con had given up entirely. After ten stubborn minutes of hoping for a faint breeze or even just a cool whisper of air, Dan gave in, pushing the balcony doors open with a frustrated sigh. The air that hit him wasn’t much better — thick, sticky, still heavy with the smell of suncream and something faintly salty — but at least it moved. A warm breeze fluttered the loose curtains and carried the distant sounds of the hotel’s evening life: splashing from the pool, the clink of glasses, laughter drifting up from somewhere below.

Phil stayed inside, half-lounging on the bed, one leg bent beneath him as he scrolled through his phone with a lazy smile. His skin was still warm from the sun, slightly pink in places, and damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Dan watched him for a moment, feeling that old familiar twist of something sharp and sweet in his chest, before turning back to the balcony.

He leaned against the railing, elbows resting on the smooth metal, the warmth of it seeping into his skin. His eyes were fixed on the sky, now streaked with deep oranges and pinks, the kind of colours that made everything feel a little unreal, like the edges of the world were melting. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there—long enough for the buzz of the pool to drift away into the background, long enough for the rush of thoughts that usually raced through his mind to slow and quiet.

From behind him, Phil’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Dan? Shower dibs. Fair warning.”

Dan turned just as Phil padded across the room in his boxers, towel thrown casually over one shoulder, phone still in hand. His skin looked even warmer in the dimming light, slightly flushed and glowing, damp from the shower he’d just taken. Dan had to look away before his thoughts started spinning again.

“Noted,” Dan said, forcing a crooked smile. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

Phil grinned over his shoulder, that easy, teasing smile he always wore. “We’re in Greece, mate. It’s all hot anyway.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and Dan was left alone with the faint hum of the hotel settling into evening.

His eyes drifted to the suitcase by the door, half-unzipped and messy with clothes spilling out in a careless jumble. He nudged it closer with his foot and pulled out the outfit he’d picked out for their first night: a loose black shirt with sleeves he could roll up if it got too hot, and a pair of linen shorts that would feel light against his skin. It was perfect for the weather — cool, casual, and maybe just enough to make him feel like someone worth noticing.

From across the hall, PJ’s laugh floated through the open balcony doors, loud and bright, followed by Chris’s unmistakable cackle. The sounds of the hotel were shifting—the lazy stillness of the day giving way to the pulse of evening. Somewhere below, music thumped from the bar, bass vibrating faintly against the walls. Flip-flops slapped on the tiled floors, voices echoed between balconies, and somewhere a bottle dropped, the sharp clink breaking the warm buzz of the night.

Dan changed quickly into his boxers, leaving his outfit out on the end of the bed. He ran a hand through his curls in the cracked mirror above the desk, trying to calm the strange flutter of nerves in his chest. He wiped a hand over his face, hoping it might settle his breath. It was just a night out, he told himself. Just the first night of many to come.

The bathroom door hissed open behind him, steam curling out like smoke, and Phil stepped into the room, towel tied loosely around his waist, hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. His cheeks were rosy, flushed either from the heat or the shower—or maybe a bit of both.

Dan caught the way the light played over Phil’s skin—warm and glowing in the fading sun—and for a moment he thought, as he often did but never said aloud, that Phil looked good. Like he was exactly where he belonged.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Phil said softly, sliding past him toward the door.

Dan nodded, grabbing his washbag and darting past before Phil could say anything else—before the scent of the shower gel, fresh and clean and unmistakably Phil’s, could stir up any more feelings he wasn’t ready to face.

The bathroom mirror fogged immediately after Dan shut the door behind him. He stared at his own reflection, fingers gripping the edge of the sink, heart racing in a way he didn’t want to admit. He wasn’t sure why he felt so restless tonight. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to say it out loud.

When Dan came out twenty minutes later, clean and half-decent, Phil was sitting cross-legged on his bed, sleeves rolled up, hair styled just enough to look effortlessly good. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just a hint of collarbone that caught the light. He looked relaxed, like he hadn’t tried at all—but Dan knew better.

As Dan was finished getting dressed, he could feel eyes watching his every move.

“You ready?” Phil asked, glancing up and catching Dan’s eyes for a flicker before smiling. “Nice shirt.”

“Cheers,” Dan said, voice dry and just a little shaky.

Before either of them could say more, the door burst open and Chris and PJ stormed in, both already a little tipsy. PJ was waving a half-empty bottle of vodka they’d picked up at the airport, one of those duty-free deals where you got two bottles for the price of one.

“Pre-drinks, lads,” PJ announced loudly, plopping the bottle on the cluttered desk. “Zante style.”

Phil jumped up to help pour drinks while Dan sat on the edge of his bed, watching the three of them laugh and joke, the last of the daylight slipping behind the buildings outside.

Dan’s heart hammered in his chest, the heat of the day still wrapped around him, but beneath it was something else. Maybe the quiet anticipation that this holiday, this night, might be the start of something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

By the time the four of them finally left the hotel, the heat of the day had softened into something softer and more alive. The streets of Zante were waking up in a way Dan had never seen before. When they finally reached the strip, neon signs flickered to life in blues, pinks, and greens, casting sharp splashes of colour across cracked pavements and sun-bleached walls. The thump of bass spilled out of open club doors, rhythmic and steady, vibrating through the soles of Dan’s sandals. Groups of students spilled from beach bars, their voices loud and carefree, their clothes light and bright—crop tops, ripped jeans, glittering accessories catching the light with every movement.

Dan pulled the collar of his loose black shirt up against the slight evening breeze, which did little to cool the heat still clinging to his skin. He tried to steady his nerves as he followed Chris and PJ down the bustling strip, the uneven pavement bouncing under his feet. Phil walked beside him, close enough that sometimes their arms brushed, a little jolt shooting through Dan each time.

“You okay?” Phil asked softly, glancing over with a small, knowing smile.

Dan nodded quickly, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Just—this is a bit mad, isn’t it?”

Phil laughed, low and easy. “Completely mad. And we haven’t even done our first shot yet.”

PJ was already dragging them toward a place called Sizzle—a low-lit bar pulsing with fluorescent lights and the kind of music that made your chest thump like a second heartbeat. The place smelled faintly of sweat and cheap perfume and something sticky sweet—like they’d stepped inside summer itself. They found a table near the back, a little tucked away but close enough to the dancefloor where bodies pressed and moved like a tide.

Within minutes, PJ was back, balancing a tray piled high with something electric blue in small shot glasses.

“To finishing A-Levels without actually dying,” Chris declared, raising his glass high.

They clinked glasses together, a soft chorus of cheers, and Dan felt the burn as the first shot slammed down his throat. He choked, eyes watering, and Phil clapped him hard on the back, laughing.

“One down,” Phil grinned. “Six more and we’re fluent in Greek.”

The night quickly spiralled into a whirl of music and colour. The DJ switched between pumping dance beats and slower, grinding songs that filled the air with heat. Dan let himself get lost in the chaos—the thud of the bass syncing with his heartbeat, the wild laughter of PJ spinning with some girl in a glittering crop top, the sharp shout of Chris arguing good-naturedly with the bartender over the price of tequila shots. Phil’s laugh cut through the noise like sunlight—bright and steady, never quite fading.

At one point, Dan found himself on the dancefloor, the heat of bodies pressing close around him, the music vibrating through his bones. His shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and for a moment he just let himself move with the rhythm. Then, as the song shifted, his gaze flicked across the crowd—and landed on Phil.

Phil was standing just near the edge of the dancefloor, arms crossed, watching. His eyes were locked on Dan, steady and quiet, like he was memorising every movement. The air between them felt suddenly charged, a flicker of something unspoken sparking in the space. Dan’s breath hitched and he looked away, cheeks burning hotter than the night air.

Minutes later, Dan caught Chris and PJ in a ridiculous dance-off near the bar. Chris was flailing arms and legs in a way that made Dan laugh aloud, and PJ was filming him on his phone, egging him on with wide eyes and a grin that stretched ear to ear.

“Oi! Come on, Dan!” PJ shouted, waving him over.

Dan hesitated, then shrugged and let himself get pulled into the madness, dancing with a carefree abandon that surprised him. Phil stayed close, moving a little too smoothly, like he belonged right there beside him.

After a few more shots, a few more drinks, and the music blurring into one endless thump, Dan found himself outside the club, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. The cooler night air hit him like a wave, sharp and fresh after the sweaty heat inside. His head spun, his mouth dry and salty. Everything felt a little too bright and loud and fast.

“Here.” A bottle of water appeared in front of him, warm fingers slipping the plastic into his hand.

Phil stood beside him, close, the outline of his figure softened by the streetlights. His voice was quiet, steady. “You good?”

Dan took a long swallow, grateful. “Yeah. Just—drunk.”

Phil smiled softly, eyes gentle. “You’re handling it better than Chris.”

They both turned to watch through the club window as Chris tried, and spectacularly failed, to do the Macarena while holding a new drink in one hand. PJ was there too, phone out and laughing, capturing every embarrassing moment.

Dan laughed, the sound easy and warm. But then he caught Phil’s gaze on him again. It was steady and unreadable, like Phil was looking right through the noise, right through Dan himself.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Phil said, nudging him lightly with his elbow.

Dan swallowed hard, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. “Just thinking.”

Phil’s smile turned mischievous. “Dangerous move.”

They stood like that for a moment—two people caught in the space between words, the night humming around them. Dan’s thoughts were racing, faster and faster, until finally the words tumbled out.

“Phil,” he said, voice low, nearly lost in the night, “can I ask you something?”

Phil turned to face him fully, eyes wide but steady. “Yeah?”

Dan swallowed, suddenly feeling small and a bit exposed under Phil’s steady look. Around them, the music thumped and people talked, but all that noise faded into a quiet buzz, like the world had shrunk down to just this moment between them.

“Have you ever… thought about us? Like, more than friends?” Dan’s voice was barely above a whisper, nervous and full of things he’d kept locked away for years.

Phil blinked, his eyes searching Dan’s face like he was trying to understand the weight of what he’d just heard. The air between them thickened, and everything felt like it slowed down.

“Dan—do you mean that?” His voice was soft, careful, but there was something honest in it that made Dan’s chest tighten.

Dan nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m not just saying it ‘cause I’m drunk. I’ve… thought about it for a long time.” Saying it out loud felt like both a relief and a risk all at once.

Phil’s eyes flicked down to Dan’s mouth for a second, then back up, serious and open. Something passed between them that didn’t need words.

“Okay,” Phil said quietly, a small breathless smile playing on his lips. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Before Dan could even say anything, Phil leaned in. Their lips met—messy and a little rough, not slow or perfect, but full of years of quiet wishes and stolen looks.

Dan’s hands found Phil’s shirt, gripping it, pulling him closer. The taste of him was familiar and new all at once, like coming home and realizing things had changed. His heart pounded, heat rushing through him.

When they pulled apart, breath coming fast, Dan’s chest was tight and spinning. He barely met Phil’s eyes. Quietly, he said, “I’ve thought about that for years.”

Phil’s smile grew, slow and knowing. Without hesitation, he slid one hand into Dan’s hair, fingers curling at the back of his neck. His other hand pressed firmly against the wall behind Dan, closing the space between them until Dan’s back hit the cool surface.

The second kiss was different. Softer at first, but quickly deepening with an urgent hunger. Phil’s lips parted, his tongue slipping gently against Dan’s bottom lip, asking for entrance. Dan responded eagerly, tipping his head to give way, his fingers tangling in Phil’s damp hair.

The heat between them spiked—Phil’s hand moved from Dan’s hair to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble along his cheek. Dan’s body pressed into Phil’s, feeling the solid weight of him, the quickening pulse beneath his skin.

The kiss became slower, more demanding, and Dan couldn't believe this was actually happening. Phil’s breathing was hot and ragged, and Dan felt the thrill of being pulled so completely into this moment, into Phil.

When they finally broke apart again, their foreheads resting together, neither wanted to let go. Phil’s eyes were dark and full of something fierce and tender.

“We should get out of here,” Phil murmured, voice low and almost desperate.

Dan nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything to the other two. Quietly, they slipped away, unnoticed, making their way back to the hotel. Their laughter was soft, shoulders brushing, a new kind of closeness hanging between them.

They quietly walked through the hotel lobby hand in hand, the buzz of the night fading behind them as they made their way up the narrow stairwell. The elevator was slow, creaking softly with each floor, and by the time they reached their room, the sounds of the town had softened into a distant hum — the kind of quiet that feels heavy and full, like it’s holding its breath.

Dan’s hand trembled slightly as he closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sharp in the stillness. His heart was hammering beneath his ribs, the weight of everything between them — the night, the kiss, the long-held feelings — pulsing in the silence. For a long moment, neither moved. The air hung thick around them, charged and electric, waiting.

Phil turned slowly, eyes dark and steady, searching Dan’s face like he was trying to memorize it all in one look. The faint glow of the bedside lamp spilled over him, casting soft shadows that made everything feel more intimate, more urgent.

Without a word, Phil stepped forward. The distance between them disappeared in an instant as he leaned in, capturing Dan’s lips with his own again.

This kiss was different — softer, more sure. There was no hesitation now, no nervousness. It was steady, full of purpose. Dan responded immediately, pressing closer, one hand tangling in the fabric of Phil’s shirt, the other resting on his shoulder, feeling the warmth through the thin cotton.

The pull between them was fierce and undeniable, like something that had been waiting too long to finally catch fire. Their lips moved together with a new kind of hunger, slower and deeper, as if trying to say everything words never could.

Dan broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breath hitching, “I’ve wanted this... you... for so long.”

Phil’s hand lifted to cradle Dan’s cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. “Me too,” he said. “So much.”

They stumbled backward, breathless, until Dan’s knees bumped against the edge of the bed. Phil didn’t break away; instead, he followed, guiding him gently down until Dan was lying back on the soft sheets, Phil’s body covering his own like a protective shield.

Clothes began to come off in slow, careful pieces — hands steady but gentle, pausing often to meet Dan’s eyes, silently asking permission. Dan nodded each time, his breath catching, heart racing. When Phil pulled his shirt over his head, Dan sat up a little to help, their chests brushing, skin warm and electric against skin. Then the shorts, then the boxers — each layer falling away to reveal more, to feel more.

Dan lay back fully, pulling Phil down with him, their lips finding each other again in a kiss that was deeper, more open. It was as if every touch, every press of lips, carried a weight of longing and trust. Dan could feel the heat of Phil’s skin beneath his hands, the steady beat of his pulse, the slow inhale and exhale that matched his own.

Phil’s hand moved lower, trailing lightly over Dan’s stomach, fingers dipping cautiously between his thighs. Dan tensed for a moment — not out of fear, but from the sudden shock of being seen so completely, so vulnerably. But Phil’s voice was soft against his neck, a whisper meant only for him.

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s just me. Okay?”

Dan nodded, eyes glassy. “Yeah. I know.”

Phil reached over to the bedside table, fingers brushing over the scattered items until he found what he was looking for — a small bottle of lube tucked between chargers and a half-used bottle of aftersun. He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Dan’s cheek before slicking his fingers carefully.

Dan’s breath hitched as Phil’s hand returned, more deliberate now. The touch was patient and slow, coaxing him open with gentle circles, pausing whenever Dan’s breath hitched too sharply. There was no rush, only a steady, comforting rhythm that made Dan feel safe and cared for.

The initial burn slowly gave way to something fuller, deeper. Dan’s hand found Phil’s wrist, not to stop him, but to feel connected — to anchor himself to the moment, to the person who was here with him. His hips lifted slightly with each careful press of Phil’s fingers, the lube making every movement smoother, less sharp.

Phil leaned in close, his breath warm against Dan’s cheek. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “So perfect.”

Dan let out a shaky laugh, his voice low and strained. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Phil smiled against his skin, then kissed him — slow, open-mouthed, full of something fierce and tender all at once. He shifted gently against Dan, their bodies pressing closer, skin hot and flushed from the heat and the intensity of it all.

“Phil,” Dan whispered, his voice breaking slightly, “please…”

Phil met his eyes, expression suddenly more serious. “Yeah?”

“I need you. I want—please.”

Phil kissed him again, deeper this time, and positioned himself between Dan’s thighs. They moved together, guided more by instinct than experience. When Phil finally pushed in, it was slow, careful — Dan’s legs wrapped around his waist, fingers clutching at his arms, both of them holding their breath.

Dan’s back arched, a quiet moan slipping from his lips. “God… you feel so good…”

Phil exhaled shakily, forehead pressed against Dan’s shoulder. “You’re so warm,” he whispered. “So tight…”

Dan buried his face in Phil’s neck, breathing him in, his voice barely audible. “Don’t stop.”

Their bodies found a rhythm, steady and grounding. Each slow thrust sent shivers through Dan’s spine, and he clung to Phil, lips brushing over his jaw, his ear, any part he could reach. Their hands found each other, fingers lacing tightly.

Phil moaned softly, burying his face against Dan’s neck. “You feel incredible…”

Dan gasped when Phil angled just right, his breath stuttering. “Right there—Phil, oh my god—”

“I’ve got you,” Phil whispered, kissing his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. Honest. And exactly what they needed.

The room filled with the sound of soft gasps and whispered names, skin sliding against skin, and the gentle creak of the mattress beneath them. Dan couldn’t stop saying Phil’s name, voice cracking with each repetition.

He didn’t want to forget this — not how it felt to be seen, to be held, to be wanted like this.

When it became too much — when his body trembled, chest heaving, vision blurring — Dan let out a ragged moan, breath catching in his throat. “Phil—please—I’m…”

Phil reached between them, hand wrapping around him with practiced tenderness, and within moments Dan was coming, shuddering beneath him, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

Phil followed moments later, muffling his release against Dan’s shoulder, arms tight around him like he never wanted to let go.

For a long while after, neither moved. Their bodies stayed tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, the fan clicking softly above them. Dan felt utterly wrecked — undone in the best possible way — but also safe, like he was finally home.

Phil shifted just enough to look at him, eyes soft and full of something quiet and fierce.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Dan nodded, eyes glassy and full. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Phil kissed his temple gently, then pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him like it was the only thing that made sense.

And there, in the quiet dark of the room, they drifted off — tangled limbs, slowing breaths, hearts still pounding in a gentle, steady rhythm.

The next morning came quietly.

Dan woke slowly, blinking into the soft light filtering through the flimsy hotel curtains. It came in long strips of gold, casting shadows on the carpet and the edge of the bed. The room was still, the hum of the air conditioner barely audible beneath the soft rise and fall of another person’s breathing beside him.

For a moment, he was blank — floating in that haze where sleep hadn’t quite let go yet. His limbs felt heavy, the sheets twisted around him, and the air in the room was too warm, heavy with the closeness of two people in a small space.

Then, all at once, it came back.

The kiss outside the club.

The first kiss. Then the second. Then the way Phil had kissed him against the wall.

Phil’s hands on his skin. The slow, reverent way he touched him. How his voice had sounded — gentle, hoarse, right in Dan’s ear.

The way they’d moved together, unsure and perfect and completely new.

Dan blinked at the ceiling, his heart pounding like it had just caught up. He turned his head slightly.

Phil was still asleep.

He was lying on his stomach, one arm folded under the pillow, the other resting across Dan’s waist, his fingers curled lightly against his skin. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his mouth was slightly open. Every now and then, his fingers twitched — like he was dreaming.

Dan stared at him. Really stared. The sight made his chest ache, full and tight and somehow tender. This had been everything he’d wanted. Not just the sex, not even the kisses — but this. Waking up next to him. The quiet that followed. The safety.

But now… now he had to be honest.

Phil stirred after a while. His eyes blinked open slowly, like they were still adjusting to the morning. When he saw Dan watching him, his lips curled into a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep.

Dan smiled back. “Hey.”

They didn’t say anything else for a few moments. Just looked at each other. The air between them felt delicate but not fragile — like it was holding something new, something they hadn’t dared name before.

Phil stretched, his arm brushing lightly down Dan’s. “How do you feel?” he asked, fingers drifting gently to his wrist.

Dan exhaled. “Like I never want to move again.”

Phil chuckled, the sound quiet and warm, and it eased something tight inside Dan. But not all of it. Not the part that had been waiting, panicking, worrying since the moment his eyes opened.

Dan sat up slightly, pulling the sheet with him, letting it settle low around his waist.

“Phil… can we talk about last night?”

Phil’s expression changed, softened. He sat up too, leaning against the headboard, blanket draped casually over his lap. “Of course.”

Dan hesitated, tongue wetting his lips. “I just…” He shook his head, searching for words that didn’t sound like a script. “That wasn’t just a drunk thing for me. I wasn’t doing it because of the holiday, or the shots, or the music. I’ve wanted that. I’ve wanted you. For a long time.”

Phil didn’t interrupt. He just listened, quietly, seriously, his face open and calm.

Dan went on, heart thudding. “Since school, honestly. Maybe before. Before I even really knew what it meant. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. You’re my best friend, Phil. You always have been. But last night… I couldn’t pretend anymore. I needed you to know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thoughtful. Full. Like the room had paused again to hear what would be said next.

Phil reached out, slowly, threading their fingers together.

“I had no idea,” he said quietly. “Not really. I mean, part of me hoped. I think I always hoped. Because I feel the same. I really do, Dan. But you were always so good at pretending it wasn’t there.”

Dan laughed, soft and sharp, a little bitter, a little fond. “I had to be.”

Phil’s thumb brushed gently over his knuckles. “If it helps… I don’t regret a single second of last night. Any of it. Not just the sex — though, yeah, wow — but you. Us. The way it felt. The way you felt.”

Dan swallowed, blinking fast. “So… what does this mean?”

Phil leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together.

“I think it means we stop pretending,” he whispered. “At least with each other.”

Dan closed his eyes and let the words sink in. Relief flooded through him, warm and overwhelming.

“I’d like that,” he whispered back.

Phil kissed him — slow and steady — and Dan melted into it, letting the morning wrap around them.

They didn’t talk about labels. Not yet. They didn’t need to. The truth was out there now, and it sat quietly between them, humming like sunlight through a curtain — soft, certain, impossible to ignore.

Eventually, they got up. Showered. Traded quiet grins and awkward towel wraps. Dan caught Phil looking at him in the mirror more than once, and every time their eyes met, something in Dan’s chest fluttered.

Everything felt the same, and also entirely different.

When they headed downstairs, the small dining room was already half full. PJ and Chris were at the buffet, looking like death. Chris had sunglasses on inside. PJ was slumped over his coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Morning, lovebirds,” PJ muttered as they walked by, not even looking up from his toast.

Dan choked on his coffee.

Phil blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Chris said, lifting his sunglasses. “You really thought we wouldn’t notice you two sneaking off last night?”

“Or the way you’re both smiling like absolute idiots this morning?” PJ added, deadpan.

Dan opened his mouth, ready to deflect, to laugh it off — but then he stopped. He looked at Phil.

Phil just shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “They’re not wrong.”

Dan laughed — really laughed — and sat down beside him.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to hide.