you can hear it in the silence
Word count: 2.3k
Genre: Fluff/Smut/tiny bit of angst i guess
Warnings: Mentions of sexual content, mention of slight anxiety
Summary: Dan and Phil meet in a nightclub; eight years later, Dan turns 26.
A/N: A timeline of Dan and Phil’s relationship after they meet for the first time in a nightclub. This is a fic inspired by Taylor Swift’s song “You Are In Love” (lol) and also by snsknene’s fic “@AmazingPhil: Landed in Vegas!"
It’s dark in the crowded room, and the music is way too loud for Phil’s liking. His jacket clings to him because of the thin layer of sweat forming on his arms, and the lights are making him dizzy. And yet, the beat that pulsates up his feet and through his spine and up his head is numbing and relieving, like laughing at a dumb joke.
He walks across the room, happy and annoyed all at once, thinks about getting a drink just to have something to do with his hands. The music only seems to get louder, and the people start chanting a chorus he doesn’t know the words to, but thinks it sounds familiar, thinks he must’ve heard it somewhere, thinks this kind of music is always around somehow even if you don’t actively search for it.
Bartenders at clubs must know how to lip read, he thinks, ordering his drink with a loud shout that he’s sure got lost in the loud thumps of the music that seem to glister through the air itself. It’s dark and the music is slower now and the lights are dancing green and pink; the waiter hands him a drink that reflects the neon blue and he recognizes a stranger from across the room.
He drinks a big gulp of his cheap tequila mojito, ignores the fact that it’s not a real mojito because there are no mint leaves in it, and looks across the room to make sure it was real, make sure he was real. His eyes reflect the dark sort of light that shines in here, and Phil walks towards him with steady steps, and manages to make it across the room without spilling any of the drink.
When he finally gets there, he can’t even make out the difference between his heart and the deafening beat, thinks about how clubs aren’t even his kind of place; thanks about every god that could exist for putting him in this club at this exact moment.
It’s almost like a silence, the lights starts turning on a off really fast and everything is like a stopmotion movie, the kind that he’d like to make someday, and then the lights are out and a song is surely playing but Phil can’t hear it.
The stranger turns to him, smiles and then turns serious again, staring at him so intensely that Phil doesn’t know how to act. He reaches out a hand and Phil takes it, lets the stranger come closer, their hands clasped together above their heads as the music shakes the floor and their shoulders brush.
The stranger whispers into Phil’s ear, and he feels like it’s impossible that he actually heard it, but he does, hears him so clearly when he says,
The road is dark and quiet and long ahead of them, and the heating makes a quiet and rumbling noise and there’s nothing besides that and Phil’s breathing keeping Dan from falling asleep. The clock on the dashboard reads 2:30AM, but it feels like another dimension where time doesn’t exist, where nothing exists beside what’s right there beside him.
The radio still plays Phil’s playlist, the one with all the slow, melodic, instrumental songs, and although Dan was fearing falling asleep the playlist was comforting like few things were. In between songs he listens to the sound of the wheels on the concrete, tries to see the road behind the headlights and gets a little terrified when he realizes it’s way too dark for him to be able to make out anything. He imagines the headlights giving out, the complete darkness that surrounds them, thinks about whether the knows the number to emergency –
Phil stirs beside him, leaning his head towards the middle rather than the window, and mumbles something Dan can’t make out. He stirs again when they reach a curve, and the phone on his lap falls to the floor.
His eyes open, and Dan has to try very hard to focus on the road when he sees the way Phil’s eyes shimmer in the very dim light inside the car. “You’re up” he says, his voice quiet and strained from the things he didn’t say. There are very few things he hasn’t told Phil yet, but even those are weighing on his chest like his ribs are made of marble.
They stop a few miles ahead for gas and coffee, and Dan’s really mad at Phil for still having perfect hair after a 3 hour car journey where he fell asleep. He buys them both coffee while Phil uses the loo, puts the cups on top of the car and breathes in the cold air on the outside, hands in his pockets while he listens to the silence.
Not thirty seconds later Phil is walking towards him, the white light of the convenience store lighting up half of his face and making him look like a creature out of another world or dimension. Dan catches his breath and almost turns to look the other way, feeling embarrassed at the feeling rising at the base of his stomach.
Phil reaches the car and stops in front of Dan, pulls him in by the collar of his jacket and kisses him so deep that Dan feels the breath being pulled out of his lungs, and says,
“Thanks for driving. You should’ve woken me up.” He says, with a yawn that contradicts what he’d just said. His eyes crinkle and the convenience store lights flickers, Dan’s thinks how stupid it is to say he’s going home when he feels at home right there.
“I love you” he says, still a little bit mumbly and breathless from the late hour and the kiss, and Phil reaches into his pocket for the car keys.
“I love you too.”
The lights are off and Phil’s hands are fumbling around searching for the lube he out of the drawer just a second ago. It’s silence and breathing, and Dan’s lips are firm and insisting against his; his breath is so warm, Dan’s so warm.
He finds the little bottle, pours some on his fingers and loves the sound of Dan whimpering beneath him, loves that Dan’s comforter is on his bed, loves the fact that he didn’t draw the blinds and that he could see the twinkling lights of Manchester out of the corner of his eyes.
“I’m ready Phil,” Dan breathes out, whispers, nearly doesn’t make sound. Phil positions himself and slides into Dan, kisses him as deeply as he can, wants Dan to know that he’s everything, everything. It’s silly and Phil’s heart is bursting, he feels like he’s going to die with the amount of feeling.
The room is dark and Dan’s breaths fill the air, Phil shifts position and Dan moans, pulls Phil closer, so close, his fingernails digging into his back. They are sweaty and it’s nearing 4AM on a Tuesday morning, and in the darkness of the room everything clear and glistening with how true it is, how real.
Phil feels like he loses all his senses for a moment, can only make out Dan’s chest against his, his whimpers in his left ear, and the rest is all gone. And even when there’s silence after they stay like that, refusing to let go even amongst the stickiness and the damp bedsheets. There’s no proof of feeling, Phil thinks, there’s no way to get into a different person’s brain. But his heart is beating so hard against his ribcage he’s sure Dan must be feeling it, wants to make sure that he is.
He brushes Dan’s hair out of his face, takes his sweaty hand and brushes the fingers against his lips, holds it against his upper rib cage, tries to contain his breathing. Dan lays his head on Phil’s shoulder and breaths out a shaky breath, feels like close isn’t close enough; nothing could ever be close enough.
The toast is burnt and the coffee is watery, the weather is shit and Dan’s having a horrible day.
He goes out to get a haircut, proceeds to hate the haircut and hate even more the fact that he fakes a smile at the lady who cut it. He can’t stop messing with it for the rest of the day, and Phil notices when they meet up at Starbucks for lunch.
“I think it looks good” He says, biting into his bagel and sipping on his macchiato, playing on his phone and brushing his stupid straight perfect hair out of his eyes.
“Hmpf” is all Dan manages in response, annoyed at himself for being annoyed, annoyed that he was unable to have a real conversation with Phil, making the terrible mistake he always made of expecting this to be the start of something worse, something bigger, something ending.
They go to Ikea and shop for dumb kitchen utensils and Dan feels weird, hates that he’s in such a terrible mood, is so annoyed at everything Phil says.
“Dan, we can come back another day, or you can go home and I’ll do it myself if you’re not up for it” Phil says, and it’s in a sweet and caring tone, but Dan knows him well enough to know that this is his annoyed voice, the voice that would rather he left.
“Well, fine” he says, overreacting, regretting it as soon as he says it. He turns away, waves a lame goodbye and tries to make himself cry listening to sad music on the bus ride home. When he gets there, he walks up the stairs pitying himself and hating himself, throws himself onto the bed and wishes Phil would come home soon more than anything else.
When he finally does, Dan’s in pyjamas in the lounge, dozing off while watching the great british bake off, doesn’t know exactly when he started being tired as soon as 10 PM. He looks at Phil and sighs, not wanting to be the one who apologizes, feeling like an idiot for having so much pride.
Phil takes his time placing everything into the kitchen – Dan hears him drop things about seven different times, – and when he finally walks back into the lounge, also wearing pyjamas, Dan’s dozing off again.
“C'mon, we’re going to bed now” Phil says, stretching out a hand at Dan, whose eyes are burning from sleepiness as well as the almost-tears that sting his eyes at the fact that Phil is still there, still willing.
He gets up, follows Phil into the room, gets under the covers even though he hadn’t brushed his teeth, and drifts off, only properly falling asleep when Phil turns off his bedside light and pulls Dan closer to him with warm hands around his waist.
It’s very late – or very early – when Dan wakes up again, kind of panic-y, kind of sweaty and feeling constrained in the sheets, instantly searching for Phil and accidentally kind of punching him in the process.
Phil wakes up with a muffled ouch and sits up to put one hand on Dan’s shoulder, doesn’t even say anything before Dan’s leaning into the touch, turning around to grab Phil’s shirt and dig his head into Phil’s chest.
“You’re my best friend Phil. I’m sorry” is what he says in the hazy state of semi-consciousness, and they both lay back down, Phil placing a kiss on Dan’s hair, interlocking their legs.
They’re sitting in one of those weird private rooms at the sushi restaurant, and Phil’s forgotten how to use chopsticks again. Outside the voices are loud, but this little room is quiet and excluded and poorly lit, and Dan loves sitting on the tatami floor with his knee brushing up against Phil every so often. He loves trying to teach Phil how to hold the chopsticks, loves that he can use it as an excuse to touch his long pale fingers.
Phil eventually gives up, picks up one of the maki rolls between his fingers, dips it in the soy and only spills a few drops when trying to feed it to Dan. He laughs and laughs at himself, and Dan cannot stop smiling even though his mouth is full.
It’s just the two of them this year, no friends, no tour crew, no family. Just them, just the way Dan likes it.
Dan almost forgets the occasion until the waiter drops in and clears their table, putting a bowl with three mochi and one slice of not-japanese-looking chocolate cake in front of them. When he leaves, Phil says,
“The cake is not from here, I got it at that weird bakery you liked that we went to once.”
Dan’s eyes go watery and he tries to blame his feeling on all the sake he’s had, but the truth is he’s so happy. So happy he giggles, smiles a watery kind of smile when Phil starts singing happy birthday in a low voice.
“I love you” Dan says, doesn’t want to blow out the candles but does it anyway because Phil’s taking pictures of him doing it. It’s silly but Dan feels like he’ll remember this moment forever; sitting in the dim reddish light, watching Phil’s eyes light up behind his phone.
“You haven’t blown it out properly!” Phil exclaims, his voice going up a whole octave and Dan goes against his beliefs, makes a wish, wishes for cheesy and dumb things like eternal happiness, Phil by his side forever.
“It won’t come true if I tell you” he says later, when they’re changed into their pj’s, ready for bed and Phil hovers above him, crawls over him on the bed to kiss him.
“Hmm” is what he answers, licking into Dan’s mouth as he reaches to turn off the light.