Because I Don’t Sleep At All Without You Pressed Up Against Me
HI so this is a kinda sorry-i-haven’t-been-posting-that-much-but-here-have-this-while-u-wait-for-bwybms kinda thing aLso what is UP with the title how long do i have to make it smh im sorry ANYWAY i decided to write a lil more of the more-than-bestfriends-less-than-boyfriends kinda thing because imo it’s so underrated and CUTE so thsi is kinda written on those grounds i hope it ok anyway BYE
dan and phil are tired teenage art students who nap together a lot
Dan doesn’t think it should be legal to wake up before nine am.
He yawns, throwing his bag up to his bed on the top bunk, leaning against the metal ladder, and fighting the urge to throw himself up there along with his luggage. They have to be out of the hotel by six pm, something about visiting a seaside museum, bring your sketchbooks, don’t be late, blah blah blah – Dan had stopped listening after the first two minutes.
He hasn’t slept in what has to be over thirty-six hours; he’d lost last night’s sleep to cramming in some last-minute packing at four in the morning after having forgotten about it all night, and by the time he’d finished, it had been time to leave for the trip. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the coach – in his opinion; noisy, clumsy, uncomfortable and dirty vehicles aren’t exactly the best napping environments; especially considering he’d often be described as one of those annoying ‘fussy sleepers’ who literally cannot get to sleep unless they’re in absolute pitch darkness and silence. Which, considering he’s sharing a room with five others for a week, is probably going to cost him another couple of nights’ sleep, so he’ll be sure to look forward to that.
He doesn’t quite know why he’s even going on this stupid art trip. He’d only used it as an excuse to skip school for a week, but now he isn’t too sure where he’d rather be.
He yawns again, squeezing his eyes shut and scratching his head. Fuck, he doesn’t want to go out tonight. He doesn’t think he can manage it; he’ll get half an hour into the museum before passing out on the floor.
The en-suite bathroom door shuts, and his black-haired classmate emerges, drying his damp face with a flannel. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d assume Phil is just as tired as he is and had just splashed cold water on his face in an attempt at staying awake.
That doesn’t seem like a bad idea, actually. Maybe he should try it.
“You alright?” Dan raises his eyebrows, eyeing the boy up and down.