Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phil thought this would get easier as he became more experienced. He thought he would have his anxiety under control, that he would plan things better. But he’s perched on the edge of his hotel room’s scratchy grey couch, his knee bouncing uncontrollably while Martyn prattles on in his ear as he stresses internally about work.

His fingers are drumming on the armrest while his other hand grips his iphone mini. He sighs, audibly, as he realises there’s less than half an hour before he has to catch an uber to his publisher’s office in downtown Manchester. He thought it would be better if his hotel apartment was located near the train station, for a quick getaway. But now it just means that he has to brave the mid-morning city traffic to get to his meeting today.

He’s really not looking forward to it, despite all the work he’s put in. He wishes he had more time to prepare.

"Did you even hear what I just said?" Martyn's voice echoes down the line."We've gotta book the flights before the 25th to get the group booking discount. That's in two weeks. Can you find the cash? It would mean so much to Dad."

"Yeah, yeah I'll find it." Phil decides to actually pay attention to this conversation, maybe if he fakes being an adult to a family member, it will be good practice for the meeting later on. “What would help is if this publisher likes my idea. If they think it's any good, of course.”

"You'll be fine, you're already a published author. I don't think you’re going to mess it up." His brother is a great cheerleader for him, usually. But today’s different.

"That's not the problem and you know it."

Phil’s knee temporarily eases, but only because he decides to stand and pace instead. He walks over to the window overlooking the depressing Manchester street-scape and leans on the thin metal window frame with one hand, wishing again he had booked a different hotel. It's overcast outside, of course, and the wind is whipping through the sad looking trees outside the hotel. The window frame is cool under his palm.

“Post-apocalyptic sci-fi zombie survival horror stories are a specialist genre. Nonfiction won’t grab the same audience or numbers”. It's almost like Phil’s trying to talk himself out of it.

“Phil”, Martyn chastises, “if this is about what David said… then you know he’s wrong, I could wring that man’s neck.” Martyn’s positivity seems to be waning, which is never a sign for Mr Optimism Personified.

“Ok Mart it's time for me to go, thanks for the vote of confidence!” He swiftly ends the call before Martyn can continue.

Phil really doesn’t want to talk about David today, especially his views on Phil’s “low brow” writing and lack of ambition. Phil’s doing this meeting for himself - not David - however much he pushed it on him, while simultaneously crushing Phil’s confidence in his ability to write at all.

To his credit, Phil has managed to get himself dressed in a crisp white shirt, and his best navy blue suit, one with a subtle black check through it, which brings out his eyes. His hair is perfectly coiffed. He’s kept his glasses on today, sharp black frames to impress on the world that he can in fact be a Serious Author when he needs to be.

He desperately needs to be one today.

While he’s dressed to impress, and has but minutes to leave, he still needs a coffee. It’s a habit ingrained in him by his mum, bless her, from the tender age of nine.There’s a Costa across the road but he doesn’t have time to order anything. Luckily this shitty apartment hotel provides a mini-kitchen - microwave, toaster, kettle - along with basic tea and coffee supplies, so he can get his caffeine fix.

He boils the jug with just enough water for one mug, and mixes in three teaspoons of instant coffee with two sugars, sculling it back like it didn’t burn the top layer of his throat. Sure, it will increase his anxiety, but it will make him more alert, so the trade off is worth it.

A message pops up - the uber’s here - quickly followed by a second message from his agent confirming he needs to be on his way.

Here goes nothing.

***

B meets him outside the office, in her pinstripe power suit and knee high boots. It compliments her fairy floss pink hair tied back in a bun. She’s checking her phone when Phil’s car pulls up, ever the picture of a woman in charge of her own life and destiny.

Phil’s eyebrows shoot up when he spots her, always slightly surprised when he sees her in ‘work mode’, although he really shouldn't be. They had been at uni together, him and B, a dynamic duo that bonded over science fiction and Z grade horror films. B had even been part of a slasher movie that Phil had made for one of his classes. He’d loved the creativity, the energy of writing and directing and filming.

Ultimately, Phil had realised his talents lay in the writing part, not the film making. And B had realised she didn’t want to be an actor - or a writer for that fact - and instead landed a job at a talent and literary management agency looking after creatives.

That had come in handy for Phil, who always needed a little guidance. Someone to keep him on track, remind him of deadlines and manage expectations on the other side.

You could say that Phil wasn’t the most organised person in the world. It didn’t fit within his creative process. He preferred for his creative juices to just flow, and see what happened. Sometimes that involved going into a writing cave and emerging only to eat. Sometimes that involved sitting with B at their local wine bar with her listening to his rambling thoughts until he figured out his next plot point.

B was able to wrangle his process into something productive and manageable and which, to date, had resulted in four published books.

“Alright Mr Amazing, are you ready for your first foray into nonfiction?”

“Ugh cringe, I've told you not to call me that.” Phil fiddles with his cuffs. It was his twitter handle at uni, he had ditched it years earlier. “I’m ready as I’ve ever been.”

“And you’ve deleted those emails from David like I told you?”

He most certainly had not. They were sitting there on his gmail account, accessible on his phone at the touch of a button and burning a hole in his pocket and self-confidence with their awful and probably honest appraisal of Phil’s writing.

“Phil - tell me you’ve deleted the messages and cleared your head.” B’s tone is sharp and unimpressed, like Phil’s a naughty child needing to be reprimanded.

“I’m sorry B but this is not the time to institute a new email filing system. I'll get to it later. I’ve been focusing too hard on this pitch”, he snaps back, matching her tone and frown. It's almost the truth. “You know, this book is going to break me into the mainstream. It will be my swansong, my bohemian rhapsody.” He softens his face, smooths his forehead, tries to think positive thoughts.

“That’s not a saying Phil, and I don’t think swansong means what you think it does, this isn’t your last book. You’re only 34.” B replies, nonplussed, but what’s new. At least she’s looking amused now, not annoyed. “Come on, let’s go.”

The walk through the newly refurbished foyer of the publishing house is uneventful, marble clicking under their shoes. Thankfully, the plush mirrored lift ride is smooth. Phil had almost been expecting it to get stuck between floors, or for someone to spill a hot beverage down his front. Expecting - or wanting - either way it didn’t happen and now he has to face the corporate overlords who will decide his fate, and whether he gets to go on his family holiday.

He picks at the cuticle on his thumb, nervously, in any event, stopping once the lift opens with a ding into another marble hallway that they briskly walk, side by side.

They’re welcomed into the board room by two publishing executives - men, of course - in suits and with smiling faces. They look so similar, Phil wonders if they’re twins. Ken-doll pretty - blue eyes and perfect blonde hair. Tans in the middle of Autumn in Manchester means expensive holidays to Tenerife or Mykonos. Wedding rings and small talk about sports means they’re probably straight.

His pitch just got a little harder to sell.

Phil can’t decide if he’s going to cry or laugh. Despite his flagging confidence, he really is passionate about his project. He desperately wants a break from zombie death and robot stories so he can reset and gain new inspiration. This project is what will do that for him.

He’s going to write about queer British cinema. Even though he didn’t go into film, he still loves the medium. There’s been a few film festivals recently, a few articles online, so he knows there’s interest in the topic, a ready-made audience. It was recently the 25th anniversary of the film Beautiful Thing, which he absolutely loved, so it’s topical too.

Ken-Doll 1, whose name Phil has definitely missed hearing in their introductions, is telling B and him how much he loved Phil’s other books, how excited they are about the pitch, he can’t wait to hear more. Phil can’t quite believe these people have actually read his books, he’s sure they wouldn't approve of the alien gore he loves so much.

He wedges his hands into his pockets to avoid shaking Ken’s hands and stands awkwardly nodding with glassy eyes and smiling without teeth, until B glares at him and nods towards the vinyl office chairs placed around a large glass conference table in the middle of the room. Phil notices the air conditioning is set too cold - to keep the office minions awake most likely - but it does nothing for Phil’s current state.

B starts the pitch in the absence of his actual brain working. “So it's part film critique and part film history, but interspersed with funny quotes and anecdotes from current film directors and actors.”

“Fantastic, lovely, sounds great” Ken-Doll 2 enthuses. “But we should really get Danny from Legal in here.”

There’s an awkward pause while Phil and B shoot a look at each other, Phil with panic and B with distrust - why would you need Legal at a pitch meeting? There shouldn’t be any legal issues to deal with, they haven’t even got a contract drawn up to negotiate over. But the Kens haven’t noticed anything’s amiss, so Phil has to roll with the punches. His favourite activity.

There’s a flurry of activity when a woman Phil hadn’t previously noticed on the opposite side of the room pulls her phone out and dials. There’s small talk about the Manchester weather and no actual explanation as they wait for the interloper to arrive.

Danny from Legal slinks into the room and slides down into a seat a few minutes later with rosy cheeks and furrowed brow. Phil’s pleased that he looks as confused as Phil feels.

Part of Phil’s brain points out, however, that this imposter is actually not bad looking, in his black wool turtleneck sweater with a zip up the side of the neck, long legs in black dress pants and chunky chelsea boots with a silver toe cap which are, of course, black. They seem to add about three inches to his already impressive height.

One of the Kens invites B and Phil to re-start the pitch, for Danny’s benefit. This time Phil takes the lead, with his confidence finally returning to make an effort and a genuine smile to boot. He gets into the swing of it, his nerves finally melting away. Nothing like the basic urge to impress a hot man to bring out the best in him.

He gets through his presentation with only minor shaking of his hands and slightly sweaty palms.

The Ken Dolls, who Phil has now figured out are called Brad and Bobby (which is to be fair not much of an improvement), are both still smiling plastic-ly and making all the right noises about the timing of the project being right for the strategic objectives of the company. But something isn't quite right.

Brad seems to be saying yes, but there’s a catch. Well, he isn’t saying it explicitly, but Phil can tell from the tone of his voice they’re about to propose a compromise. Phil’s never been great with listening to the actual words people say, but is fantastic with tone and body language. There’s a hesitancy there, in Brad’s demeanour. A twitchy eye, perhaps, a side glance to Bobby, that gives both nothing and everything away.

“Phil, we love this idea. But what we also love in the nonfiction section here is research. Our main customer base comes from the university sector, and they need references. Citations. Evidence. So, we want Danny here to help you.”

Brad looks excited at his counter offer but Phil is honestly just confused and a bit pissed off. He needs total creative control on his projects - B has always secured this for him. He looks across to B to check in and sees her nodding in agreement. His eyes widen in disbelief at the betrayal. Traitor!

Bobby adds to Brad’s explanation, “Danny’s well known around the office for being a bit of a film nerd himself, aren’t you Danny? And you’re good with all that research and detail.”

Danny isn’t looking all that thrilled, to be fair. His mouth is pressed into a firm line, like he’s trying hard to school his features into something neutral. He’s failing terribly. Maybe this is news to him as well.

“We want you to work together to rework the pitch and present to us again next Wednesday with a new outline and draft of the first chapter.”

The more they talk, the more Phil’s blood pressure rises. This was not supposed to be the deal. But he really doesn't want to screw this up. He wonders if Dan is happy about being dragged out of his presumably very important legal job. As he drags a critical eye across to Dan again, he decides that Dan's clearly an arrogant asshole, because he’s apparently now agreeing to take this project on.

Dan’s obviously full of himself if he thinks he can come in and take over Phil’s project. Phil has to figure out a way to wrangle the project back. Find his weakness, take him down, slash his tyres perhaps and leave a bloody note in his letter box telling him to back off.

His revenge fantasy is interrupted by Brad wrapping the meeting up.

“That’s seven days boys. You think you can do it? Cooperation and collaboration is going to be key to make this project work.”

Phil finds himself nodding compliantly despite his murderous thoughts, before being ushered out of the meeting room with B. He looks back to see Danny having an animated conversation with Bobby and the woman, hands thrown in the air, gesticulating wildly. He looks… upset? Obviously he thinks he's too good to work on this. Too smart. Too many important legal things to do.

B glares at him as they enter the lift. He was expecting support from her, but clearly that’s not coming. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and he knows he’s about to get a bollocking, she’s got that look about her he knows well. The lift lurches and Phil grabs the handrail as it makes its descent, staring at his empty reflection in the mirrored wall, soft background music playing that Phil had completely missed earlier.

“You are not going to destroy this opportunity, Lester. I can read your mind from here.” Phil feels sheepish at being so seen. Serves him right for having his best friend as his agent. “Working with an exceptional legal talent who has been recommended to us by the publisher will elevate your work.”

B looks expectantly at him and he fidgets with his phone which he has unconsciously pulled from his pocket; anything to distract him from her gaze.

"So. You're going to play nice. Here’s Danny’s email, I know you weren't listening when they spelled it out for you, you didn't even write it down you little shit”. She’s grinning now so she can’t be that upset, Phil concludes, stepping out of the lift into the opulent foyer, B close behind.

“Email him now while I wait. You're acting like a petulant toddler, and I’m not letting you self sabotage this because of whatever is going on in your head.”

Phil’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. Of course he needs to make it work. He needs the cash, the break from his other writing. He needs to show his breadth as an author and yes, maybe he wants to prove David wrong. He can't miss out on his sweet, sweet revenge - no scrap that - his career progress - because of a petty fight with a pretty lawyer. A fight that currently only lives in his head.

Phil emails Danny from his phone while B watches, standing outside and shivering in the cold afternoon air. He turns his phone around to show B that it’s been sent, wrapping an arm around himself to guard against the chill, smoothing his blue suit jacket sleeves down to self-soothe the turbulence he’s feeling.

“Happy?”

B nods with a smirk, tilting her head to look at Phil critically.

“You know, I think this new challenge will be a great circuit breaker for you, Phil, in lots of ways.” Phil doesn’t know what she’s getting at, but is happy to give anything a shot, at this point.

“I’ve taken the liberty of extending your stay at your hotel apartment for another week, make the most of this week, ok Phil? I’ll see you in a week.”

She steps gracefully into an uber and waves through the window. It hits Phil that he’s on his own again, staying in a temporary apartment, with just seven days to sort his life out. Deja vu, he thinks, despondently.

Chapter Text

The email notification on Dan’s laptop pings for the 17th time this hour and he huffs in frustration while he frantically types out his memo on loss minimisation for the head of the insurance department. He has enough fucking work to do today without those idiots in non-fiction calling him into a meeting with that buffoon author - without warning or time for any kind of preparation expected of him.

It’s fucking embarrassing that he has to pander to their demands, be at their beck and call. He’d told them that, in not so many words, before he left the meeting. His hand gestures alone should have demonstrated how unimpressed he really was with the situation. But his stern words would have had an impact.

He’s a professional, dammit, who prides himself on always being ready for everything. Except when that ‘everything’ involves work outside his actual job description, and assholes take advantage of the conversation he had with Sandy from accounts in the lunchroom yesterday which he knew that Brad had been eavesdropping on.

That’s the last time he tells a colleague about his personal life. Even if it was just small talk about a queer film festival he attended for the 25th anniversary of Beautiful Thing. So what if he was 5 when it came out, it's a bloody cult classic in the gay community, thank you very much.

Feeling the dread starting to rise, Dan closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders a couple of times and stretches his neck from side to side. He takes two deep breaths to centre himself, squeezing his fists together to keep the impending doom at bay. He repeats his daily mantra under his breath, not caring that he looks a little unhinged right now in the open plan office, they’ve all seen it before. “The world is burning but you are alive, you are smart, you are in control”.

Reopening his eyes, he checks the email to find that it’s from the author, Phil Lester, asking to meet up to start work on the pitch. Dan checks his calendar and sends a curt response back, before getting back to his memo so he can finish it by 5pm as promised. He can turn his mind to his new, additional work, once it’s done, including how the hell he is supposed to juggle some kind of research proposal as well as prepare the Burns file subpoena for filing next week as well as prepare for the Smyth royalty negotiations.

Luckily he had no other plans outside work - or friends, really - so he wouldn’t be letting anyone else down except himself if he worked a little later than normal over the next week. Manchester was hardly his hometown or first choice of city; the publisher had relocated him there when he sought promotion last year, to justify his pay increase. They said there were enough senior solicitors in the London office and that promotion would come at the cost of moving North.

Dan hadn’t really seen the problem with that. So he’d settled into a life in the city with an apartment within walking distance from work, near the river Irwell and with park views to boot.

And if he is being honest, while the invitation was a surprise he really wants to try his hand at a non-fiction pitch. Not that Brad knows that. He was no stranger to peer reviewed and properly cited writing: he had authored a number of articles for the International Insurance Law Review and the Annotated British Compendium of Contract Law. In fact, this little side project would probably take him no time at all, provided the blundering idiot he’d been paired with played ball and worked according to his rules. The Smyth negotiations could probably be bumped back up his to do list, no problem.

****

As he sips his iced oat milk matcha latte in the warm Starbucks opposite his office, Dan feels centred and calm. He’s enjoying the clear morning light filtering through the office buildings through the window.

His iPad is connected to both the wi-fi and his trusty portable keyboard, and a blank document sits open ready for minute-taking. The camera might be spying on him but it’s an efficient device, he carries it everywhere. He’s got all his favourite productivity apps like Asana, Trello, and his pomodoro timer. He’s even got an app that plants trees the more focused he is - both on the screen and in real life. The cursor at the start of the empty page flashes at him, inviting him to start working.

He congratulates himself, smugly, for suggesting a time and location to meet this abominable writer that’s on his home turf and at a time that will let him get a full day’s work done afterwards too. He didn’t do it to control the situation or give him the upper hand, necessarily, but it certainly helps put him in the right frame of mind.

Mornings like this are usually Dan’s favourite, before the hustle of his day begins. He’s worked hard to get here, he’s done the preparation, he’s earned it. He almost didn’t make it through his law degree, he was completely broken on a personal level, but he persisted and came out the other side like a fucking legend. A phoenix rising from the ashes. Or some shit.

He breathes deeply, checking the time on his phone. He feels a flicker of irritation disrupting his zen as the minutes tick past. This guy is late, what a surprise. He couldn’t even pay attention or focus in the meeting yesterday, why would Dan expect him to turn up on time. Hopefully he also missed the part of the meeting where they kept calling him Danny - his most hated diminutive of his name. He had time to set the author straight about it, so that would be fine.

As the minutes creep closer to his assigned starting time, Dan’s chelsea boot starts tapping an irregular beat on the floor in annoyance. Obviously the guy doesn’t value Dan’s time or input - that much was clear from his facial expressions yesterday, and the unprofessional bickering with his agent he could hear coming from the corridor after the meeting.

Dan doesn’t have high expectations for this whole arrangement.

He’d been told that Phil Lester had some mildly successful sci-fi novels but that really wasn’t Dan’s cup of tea so he hadn’t bothered to look them up. He’d dabbled in the genre at uni but with his coursework, internships, part-time job at the local hardware store, he hadn’t had much time or energy for recreational reading.

Of course, nothing could be better than the speculative fiction he had recently started reading. They were so futuristic, Dan could easily turn his brain off and get immersed in the dark world of AI becoming the dominant intelligence on earth and beyond, with humans relegated to be reanimated corpses.

Given the state of the world, with society crumbling and the earth dying, these books hardly seemed like fiction. They could easily be a dark prediction of the bleak fucking future the world had to look forward to. He couldn't wait.

Refocusing on the present, Dan reminds himself that Phil hasn’t written any non-fiction and that is the most important piece of information. He certainly has not been featured in the British Insurance Law Association Journal’s Special Issue on Dissent in Insurance Law like Dan. No sir.

Dan knew he was going to have to do the heavy lifting when it came to this pitch and take charge if it was going to work. He might be neurotic and anxious but he had the skills to take this book to the next level. Plus, with the world turning to shit, there was so much to be learned from history. Dan wanted to play his part - even if it’s a small part - in re-writing the future to be more bright.

The door of Starbucks opens with a gust of wind, blowing Phil in along with half the dust and dead leaves on the footpath outside. Phil looks around the cafe with a wild look in his eyes and his black quiff all out of place. One hand clutched a ratty spiral bound journal, the other running through his hair, messing it up worse than the wind. Phil half waves, half salutes when he spots Dan at his table, and Dan cringes with second hand embarrassment at how damn awkward this guy is.

Phil points at the counter before heading over to presumably order some kind of abomination of a drink. Dan can just tell by looking at Phil that he had no taste buds.

This morning Phil resembles the bumbling author that Dan had expected yesterday when he had been called into the meeting. He had been impressed by Phil’s handsome suit in the meeting, before the annoyance had set in. But today Phil is dressed in black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt with what looks like an ice cream on it, and a denim jacket. He gets points for the NASA sneakers, but for a sci-fi author they are a little on the nose, especially paired with those Buddy Holly glasses.

The fact he looks like the kind of guy Dan would chat up if they met at a bar is beside the point. He’s late, ergo he is dead to Dan.

Steaming drink in hand, Phil flops into the chair opposite Dan, throwing his notebook onto the table but, at the same time, knocking the side with his knee so that the whole thing wobbles dangerously and Dan’s matcha threatens to spill over. Dan frowns, unable to help himself.

“Watch it, idiot. This jacket is vintage All Saints and cost me more than your next book advance”.

Phil’s tentative smile drops instantly, and Dan feels a twinge of regret at his harsh tone. He has twenty minutes until he has to be on a conference call with the London office, so he takes a deep breath and brings Phil up to speed on his plan.

“Look mate, I don’t know how you operated in the backwaters of who knows where, but time is money and I don’t have enough of either to be here right now,” he barks, impatient.

“This is what we are going to do - you will email me a list of the films you want to include, directors that need research undertaken, and the outline of your first chapter. I will devise a plan to aggregate the data, develop a bibliography, and we can synthesise the results over the weekend.” Dan starts tapping notes onto his tablet before he glances up.

That was a mistake. Phil’s face has dropped into a deep frown, with his eyebrows furrowed and thumb in his mouth worrying the nail cuticle. Dan’s conscience catches up to him suddenly. Maybe he made an error of judgement approaching this like a case management conference. His plan to take charge of the process and narrative is quickly going down the drain. The fucking puppy-dog eyes Phil is making could break any man, gay or straight. And Dan was firmly in the former category. Shit.

“London”, Phil all but whispers.

Dan is perplexed. “London? What about it? What’s that possibly got to do with getting this pitch done?”

“I’m from London, actually. Not a backwater anywhere. I mean, I grew up in the North, close to Manchester, and my parents are on the Isle of Man, but I’m based in London. That is. And this is my fifth book, I know how to prepare a pitch and research my sources.”

Phil inhales deeply, before gulping down his boiling coffee, all the while not breaking eye contact. During this ramble, Dan had become fixated on Phil’s eyes - has probably been staring for an inappropriate amount of time.

“Ok then. What’s your plan”, Dan blinks to break his trance, glancing at his tablet to check the time. He can compromise if it means getting to work on time. Phil just has to prove he has a viable alternative. His eyes flick back up to Phil’s, which have narrowed in some kind of resolve. But the light has moved from behind the buildings and is now hitting the side of Phil’s face, illuminating the blue of his eyes. It’s super distracting.

“My plan, Danny”, Phil starts slowly, “is to email you a list of films, directors, screenwriters and my outline. Which I have already prepared, because this is not my first publishing rodeo. You can do the bibliography, or research plan or whatever the fuck you want, and then we are going to work out why I wasted my time coming here just for you to be a prick.”

“What.” Dan blinks repeatedly. He was really losing it this morning, he needed to pull himself together. Phil is pissed off but has actually agreed to his plan. Mostly. He quickly reasons he should take his wins where he can, given he has less than ten minutes to be at his desk and he has no idea how to diffuse the tension.

Snapping his tablet’s cover back on, he scoops both it and the keyboard into his satchel. He maintains his eye contact with Phil and, with more confidence than he truly has, stands to leave.

“In that case, have it to me by 4pm today and I will meet you tonight to start our analysis”.

Dan strides out into the cold, resisting the urge to look back into the cafe, and gets to his desk only a few minutes before the conference call. He brings up the files and his speaking notes with a practised ease.

The day goes smoothly and before he realises, it's 3.58pm and his inbox is pinging with a message from none other than Philip Lester. He’s surprised to see the details he asked for, sent to him on time (just), and with an address across town and instructions for bypassing the concierge of the apartment building to get to Phil’s floor.

Bold of Phil to require him to go across enemy lines to his home turf after their encounter this morning, but he has to say, it seems like a real fucking power move. His own home is a sacred space, only for the inner circle and those initiated into Dan’s special brand of neuroses. It’s where he is free to express himself so he would never invite Phil there to work, not in a million years.

He gathers his bags and heads for the door. If he wants to make it to his usual Thursday yoga class and then across town in time, he needs to get going.

A call from across the office stops him on the way out - Brad has spotted him leaving and is jogging over to catch up.

“What’s up, Danny boy? How’s that pitch coming along?”

Dan internally gags at the nickname but hesitates, not sure how much to give away about the disaster collaboration.

“It’s coming along, nothing to worry about”.

Nothing more than a white lie, at this stage. It seems to placate Brad, as a grin has taken over his tanned face. Dan wonders if he uses a sunbed still, it’s almost winter and he’s positively glowing with the UV damage.

“If this goes to plan”, Brad continues, oblivious to Dan’s inner monologue, “we’re considering starting a series of queer-themed history texts, so don’t let us down!”

Well isn’t that fucking grand. Isn’t that something to incentivise Dan to play nicely. Contributing not only to this book but creating opportunities for others. Nothing like the soul crushing weight of the gay community to keep his irritation in check long enough to get the work done. Don’t fuck it up, Dan he tells himself as he heads out.

***

Yoga works its magic, and Dan leaves feeling revived and calm. He’s still wearing his black yoga pants and a long sleeved black tee with his classic All Saints jacket over the top when he arrives in an uber at the address supplied by Phil. His work clothes are stuffed into his satchel but they would be wrinkled now, so he’s not putting them back on. While he feels slightly under-dressed, he can hardly imagine Phil will be in professional business wear after their meeting this morning.

He bypasses security as instructed, and surprising nobody, Phil lets him into the apartment looking like a hot mess. He’s changed into grey sweatpants and his socked feet are mismatched, with one blue and one orange sock. His black quiff is looking like it’s had fingers run through it too many times to count over the course of the day, and there are smudgy fingerprint marks visible on Phil’s glasses lens.

Dan glances behind him into the apartment and despite Phil’s outward appearance, it doesn't appear like he’s been doing any work and he’s certainly made himself at home.

There are socks everywhere, the table has the ratty notebook from this morning with pages torn out and scrunched up on the floor; on the bench there’s an empty bowl with popcorn kernels and a salty residue around the rim, no less than four used coffee cups, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer is playing on the TV in the background.

“Been doing some research, have you? Working hard?” Dan can’t help himself, making the snippy jab at Phil’s productivity without a second thought.

“Dan, come in. Thanks for your observations, that I have.” Phil steps back into the apartment. "Hopefully you can suppress your snark for an hour so we can get this shiz done."

"Shiz, what are you, a child?", Dan snaps, before following Phil into the room and carefully seating himself at the table. Tablet out, keyboard out, ready to go.

Dan watches as Phil wanders over to the kitchenette, opening the fridge, pulling things out and fussing with some plates. He grabs glasses out of the cupboard, leaving them hanging open.

“Need a hand, mate?” Dan queries.

“Nope”, Phil replies as he tucks a bottle of Ribena under one arm and balances the plates in his hands, a disaster waiting to happen. He dumps everything on the table in front of Dan, looking more pleased with himself than he really should for completing a basic task.

Phil appears to have ordered them dinner, with a selection of sushi rolls, inari and nigiri. There are sachets of wasabi and little soy sauce fish bottles thrown onto the side of the plate. Dan’s stomach growls at the sight and he silently thanks Phil for thinking ahead.

“I was getting a bit peckish so I grabbed it from the YoSushi at the station, just down the road. I’ll probably be living on the stuff while I’m here” Phil starts grabbing rolls off the plate, squirting the soy sauce directly onto the sushi. “I didn’t know what you would want so ordered two of everything.”

There’s one tiny problem.

“Um, I’m actually vegan.”

Phil doesn't seem phased, popping a crunchy prawn roll into his mouth and speaking as he chews. “More teriyaki chicken for me! There’s some avocado and cucumber maki, yasai dragon rolls and some inari tacos there as well. Help yourself”. Phil points haphazardly at different items encouragingly.

Dan starts to pack the tablet away, resigned to not getting to work immediately, and pours himself a Ribena.

“You know, Dan, we need to clear the air. Get our dirty laundry out on the table”. Phil frowns, momentarily pausing before popping a spicy tuna roll into his mouth. “Ugh, I hate mayo, but when it's combined with the rice I suppose it's ok”.

Dan gives in and starts serving himself up the vegan sushi, just a tiny bit impressed at Phil’s ordering skills. It's not a high end sushi restaurant but it's going to hit the spot after a long day, even if it has been bookended by this buffoon. He wonders where Phil’s motivational speech is going.

“I get it, you’re smart, but you’re uptight. You need things done your way” Phil continues, taking no prisoners. “But for this to work, you need to trust the process Dan. And by that I mean my process. You’re going to need to go with the flow, turn off your mind, surrender to the void. Think about how we can sweeten the deal for you. I can’t work with all this tension. You need to keep your eye on the prize. This is going to be one for the history books, because it is actually a history book.”

For some reason this pep talk is actually working on him. Dan recalls Brad’s words from earlier before, and realises maybe, he should really pull his head in and try to make this work. He wasn’t going to surrender his methods entirely, but he could consider modifications.

They settle into an uneasy silence while they eat, Phil seemingly satisfied that he has tempered Dan’s need to control the process, with the sound of the TV still murmuring in the background. His mind wanders to the cold empty flat waiting for him when they’re finished, the tidily made bed with a folded cashmere throw and one ergonomic pillow, and the LSE Welcome Pack sitting on his desk, unopened.

A tiny masochistic part of him wants the night to end late so he’s not spending his evening alone or on grindr, just for once. It’s an insidious thought, and it hums around his brain as Phil finishes eating and starts tidying up to get ready to work. Phil's grey sweatpants aren't helping things, either.

“Let’s start with the list of films and directors so this night doesn’t end up being an endless goddam nightmare”, Dan suggests, pulling out his tablet again and opening the list Phil sent him earlier.

He’s not got high hopes as the document loads, but his breath hitches as he reads Phil’s first entry.

Beautiful Thing (1996) Jonathan Harvey (screenwriter) Hettie MacDonald (director)

Chapter Text

“See, what did I tell you! You’ve still got it!” B’s enthusiasm is infectious as she smiles down the phone at Phil. “Now tell me more about how it went”.

Phil’s sitting on the scratchy grey couch in his apartment and it’s Friday morning. He’s got his cup of joe with 7 sugars, he’s in his PJs and he’s facetiming B, because everyone needs a metric ton of caffeine and debrief after meeting professionally with their mortal enemy properly for the first time.

“Well, we worked through the list I sent, and he actually seemed to know most of the films. He even suggested a few I hadn’t heard of, from Southern England. Must be where he’s from, with that posh accent of his.”

B hums and nods, encouraging him to continue. “They did say he was a film buff, didn’t they? Guess they were right.”

Phil tucks his legs up underneath him on the couch and looks out the window at the typically grey Manchester day, reflecting on the previous night. It really had gone much better than he expected.

“He started all hostile as usual, but when we started on the list he had this look on his face, I don’t even know what it was, but his eyebrows are so expressive, and he talks with his hands, and when he smiled he had this little dimple that showed up…”

He stops when he notices B is silently laughing at him through the screen.

“Yes, yes, Phil, I get it, he’s a snack. It sounds like you just need to keep working your charm on that man, and he will be eating out of your hand.”

“I would eat sushi out of his hand, or maybe off his body…” Phil trails off, giggling. He glances across at the table that he and Dan sat across last night, actually making progress on the proposal by narrowing down the list of films, directors and interviewees they would need. A dining table which would probably not support one of their bodies, if it came down to eating sushi like that, there.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Lester,” B admonishes him, “For now at least. Maybe you can work up to that. After you’ve actually written and submitted the proposal, hmm?”

“But B, he was wearing yoga pants last night! It’s not fair, I’m only human, I’ve got eyes!”

Oh boy, those yoga pants. Phil had nearly had a heart attack when Dan had waltzed in, condescending as ever, with his ass just right there to be looked at. It had very nearly made him forget the dinner he had prepared, in a sort of peace offering. Why were the mean ones always so dang hot?

“Well I know you’ve got some food kink but let’s focus on the prize right now, which is not that man’s ass. It’s getting the publishing deal signed, sealed and delivered. Remember, we planned this yesterday afternoon! What’s the next step in your plan to charm him into submission?”

The pep talk with B had really helped focus him yesterday afternoon, after he had called her in a panic after submitting the documents to Dan. She calmed him down, sensibly talked out the options, as usual. She knew that he really hated being bossed about and working to other people’s deadlines.

If he was being truly honest, it was giving him unpleasant flashbacks to the way David used to behave. Be here at this time, wear that brown sports jacket to make yourself more presentable and for god’s sake, don’t embarrass me by talking about aliens…

Phil shudders and pushes it out of his mind, glancing down at his familiar old notebook. It had seen better days at this point, but he had bought for himself to document and plan this project after B herself had encouraged him to face his fears and just give it a go. What else are best friends for?

“I’m going to meet him at the library this afternoon to work on our references. I won’t be late. I will be professional. But I will be myself.” Phil recites B’s instructions, seriously.

“Yeah!” B cheers, “Go get em’ tiger!”

***

It’s just after 3pm when Phil arrives at the Manchester Central Library.

It’s a beautiful building, from the 1930s if he recalls correctly from his days studying English Lit at Manchester University. The main feature is a massive circular structure with a central reading room complete with skylight and huge Corinthian columns out the front, built to look like the Pantheon in Rome. He knows he’s early - he made sure of it - and is browsing the gift shop to kill some time.

After ending his call with B, he had spent the rest of his morning relaxing, texting Martyn about their vacation rental in Florida to make sure there was a pool, and watching the 1964 horror The Creeping Terror. An absolute classic, if you asked him. Not that anyone had. He may not be writing non-fiction right now but he does his best work when his brain is full to the brim of handsome American scientists battling paper mache aliens.

He probably should have come into town a bit earlier and hit the local Top Man to pick up some extra socks and t-shirts - but hey, he’s sure Danny has other things to worry about than whether Phil is repeating outfits. This afternoon he’s back in his black skinny jeans, NASA vans and a black London Pride t-shirt over a long sleeved purple tee which may or may not have a Gengar face on it. He may be an adult but it's fun to have secret pokemon hiding under your shirt. Despite the layers it's still bloody freezing so he’s got his denim jacket buttoned tightly up and a purple and grey beanie knitted by his Auntie.

While walking between shelves of coffee table books, vanilla chai scented candles and hipster tote bags, he spots some cute notebooks. One is bright yellow and has “save the bees” in script on the front, and another has a gothic looking print proclaiming The Glamour of Manchester. They’re only 5 pounds each, so he decides to snap them up. They’re a nice souvenir of this trip, or maybe he can even give Dan one as another peace offering. Force him to go analog for a change and forgo that damn tablet.

He throws in a blue t-shirt with another bee on it for good measure. Maybe he could use a change of clothes for tomorrow, and he doesn’t mind looking like a tourist.

Dan’s been allowed to finish early to work on the proposal and seems flustered when he arrives just after 3.30pm, all corporate casual in ankle-skimming houndstooth print slacks, a soft black button up and a chunky black cardigan in lieu of a coat. He’s frowning, as usual, as he appraises Phil standing in the library’s stained glass Shakespeare Hall entrance and nods hello.

Maybe his ankles are cold, Phil muses with a smirk, he should have worn a boot not a loafer.

He kind of admires that about Dan, making brave fashion choices, being serious and observant. He kind of wants to say “Ankles out for the lads, eh Danny?” but they’re probably not quite there yet with the banter. Instead, he cautiously greets him with the Northern classic, “All right?”

They walk through the marble foyer into the central circular reading room, in silence, and Phil’s eyes widen at the art deco interior design, with beautiful wooden desks and curved back chairs. Phil had totally forgotten what a gem this room was. Dan picks a spot near the door, presumably for a quick getaway when he’s ready to split.

The room is well lit and pleasantly warm compared to the foyer. There’s a low hum of people talking indistinctly but otherwise the room is quiet, the patrons all focused on their study and maintaining a respectful silence. It’s the perfect place for them to keep on track and get some work done.

Phil already knows what's coming next - and true to form Dan flips out the tablet and keyboard and powers it up. He also pulls a stack of papers out of his bag, neatly stapled, and places it on the desk between them.

He plops himself down in the seat next to Dan, leaning back into the chair lazily and pulling his beanie off and shoving it into his backpack, not bothering to pull out his notepad for now. It’s a bit of a squeeze, with his other purchases in there, but he makes it fit.

This afternoon they need to revise their outline, plan and start filling in references. Should be pretty straightforward, Phil thinks. Should be finished in time to see if his old uni mate Charlie is free for a drink - it is Friday night after all and he would be remiss if he didn’t visit some of his old haunts.

“Right, I’ve spent most of this morning on updating our plan, did you want to take a look while I pull up the library catalogue?” Dan can’t help taking charge, Phil notices. It's less grating than it was yesterday, so he picks up the stapled papers and starts flicking through. And keeps flicking. It’s… thorough. It's 15 pages long.

It’s actually bloody impressive, although Phil’s at a loss as to what could even be in those 15 pages?

He continues skim reading the plan, and a strange feeling bubbles up and overtakes Phil’s feelings of calm admiration, fuelled by jealousy that Dan’s been able to pick this topic up so quickly. His shoulders start to tense, and he furrows his brow in concentration as he takes in the updated document.

He’s confused, and agitated, all at once. He feels like he ate rocks for lunch, his stomach aches. His calm and confidence from earlier has fled the room, and he feels just like he did in that first meeting with the Ken Dolls. He has spent months thinking about this effing topic, brooding, and contemplating, before even discussing it with B. How has Dan even found the time to get up to speed on this subject matter with all his stupid wanky lawyer work?

The publisher was right to bring Dan onto this project, Phil’s clearly not up to it. Maybe Dan should just take this project over entirely. He pauses a beat, battling his inner voice, trying to figure out the game plan here. No, he doesn’t want to give up the project. Or creative control. Dan’s here for academic rigour, references. He needs to learn his place.

“Boooring," says Phil, flicking the papers back at Dan. It just comes out, a little too loud for a library reading room, and he can’t stop it. People nearby turn to look at him, shocked at the noise. He’s a petty bitch when he’s threatened.

The paper lands precariously on the edge of the desk and falls off, under their chairs. Phil doesn’t bother picking it up.

Dan looks up from his tablet where he’s been browsing the library catalogue. His face pinches at his outburst, lips pressed together, eyes narrowing, as he swivels sharply to face Phil in his seat.

“First of all, shhhh” he tuts, finger to his lips in censure. “This is a fucking library, have a little respect and keep the volume down. Second, what the actual fuck. We literally discussed last night what we were going to do, and I’ve wasted perfectly good time on this that I could have been working on indemnity and subrogation clauses for this allegedly boring fucking document!” He’s whisper-shouting at Phil and roughly runs his hands through his hair, agitated.

“Third, and most importantly, what have you brought to the table today except criticism and a chaotic dress sense?” He gestures violently at Phil’s outfit, before leaning down and collecting the plan.

Phil’s hackles rise. He has hidden pokemon in this outfit for fuck’s sake. That’s not chaotic, it's genius.

“Sure, this is a great document and all, but you have to admit it’s hardly going to result in the next Booker Prize winner. This book will be a flop without my imagination and creativity. I might be “chaotic” but face it, you need me.” He mimics the quotation marks with two, or maybe three, of his fingers on each hand, to emphasise the point.

Dan’s face has gone a lovely shade of beetroot red. “I need you like I need a hole in my head. I need you like I need all the extra fucking work you've put on my plate this week. I didn’t ask for this!” His voice is rising - he's more than whisper-shouting now, he’s… he’s going to get them in trouble if they don’t shut it down.

The temperature in the room seems to have risen several degrees and Phil wishes he had taken his jacket off with his beanie when he sat down. But despite the warning signs, Phil’s urge is to argue back and his impulse control is non-existent. “You know, I don’t need you either! I’ve been fine writing on my own forever! You can’t write an interesting paragraph to save yourself!”

“You don't know me, Phil, you don't know what I've written!” Dan splutters, “I’ve written all kinds of interesting articles and stories…”

“Yeah?” Phil cuts him off, “Glee fanfiction doesn’t count, Danny, let the real authors do their job and stick to your self insert Darren Cris fic”.

Phil’s really hit a nerve it seems. Dan is clearly super offended now - he slaps his hand on the desk and verbally hits back. “Excuse me, Lester, how dare you assume to know my fandoms and slander fanfic writers like this! You’re a fucking pratt, you wouldn't know a properly articulated storyline if it bit you on your pasty moon butt!”

They're up in each other's faces. Dan is screeching, but somehow still in a whisper. Phil is starting to get handsy and not in a good way, his long fingers poking Dan in his surprisingly solid chest.

“Well, you're a boring paper pusher, you wouldn't know good fiction writing if it hit you over your inflated ego. John Grisham books don't count!” Phil goes in for the king-hit - everyone knows lawyers love Grisham novels.

The hit lands but it doesn’t feel as good as it should. They’re making a scene. Everyone around them is straight up staring at them, as Phil feels a tapping on his shoulder. He turns, wide eyed, his jealousy bubble popping and the gravity of how they’re behaving finally registering and B’s advice to remain professional echoing in his head.

A librarian with silver teashade glasses and a serious frown glares at both of them, and says "I'm sorry sirs, you must leave right now".

Without glancing back at Dan he grabs his backpack, and makes a hasty exit back outside. He flops onto a park bench to the side of the walkway like a tantruming child, and feels Dan sit quietly next to him, the tension continuing to simmer as they try to calm down.

It sounds like Dan is doing some kind of breathing exercise, his hands clasped in his lap but one finger tapping out beats. Phil recognises it from when David would do it - after Phil pissed him off one too many times.

“Erm,” he starts as Dan says “Look…” They both pause, again.

Phil tilts his head gently so he’s staring at Dan’s knees, his ankles out in the cold, his stupid shiny loafers being all fashionable and sensible. Maybe Phil needs to be sensible too. That’s what David would have expected.

Phil feels a bit sick. Maybe he is the problem after all, making these pretty men upset and stressed.

“You know, the North West Film archive is around the corner, maybe we could watch some archive footage or see if there’s interviews with the directors we’ve chosen”, he carefully suggests.

Dan sighs, and Phil looks up into his eyes. He’s not sure what emotion Dan’s feeling right now, but he knows David never let things go this quickly. “Sure, Phil, let’s go.”

***

He doesn’t know how it happens, but they watch interview footage at the film archive at the back of the library for over two hours. They sat side by side in a dark viewing pod, Dan tapping away on his tablet and Phil scribbling notes by hand. Dan controlling the tapes of course, but Phil making the call about what clips to watch.

When Phil’s stomach starts to grumble, they agree to call it a day. Dan’s happy with the progress they’ve made and they’ve successfully padded out the outline with research points and areas they can investigate separately tomorrow.

It feels good, actually. They somehow worked as a team - even if it was mostly in silence.

They exit the building and stand on the footpath near the busy tram stop, commuters rushing past them to get home for dinner, catch an episode of their favourite show, and spend time with their families. The street lights have all turned on and the gloomy sky has made way for a stunning sunset. Golden yellow sun at the core, with vibrant oranges and reds spreading out like wildfire into the darkening night. It's still chilly, but it's a beautiful sight.

Phil unzips his backpack and pulls his fuzzy beanie out. As he does, something else comes with it, falling onto the pavement. Dan bends to pick it up, quicker than Phil to figure out what it was. “Did you get a new notebook, that other one finally pack it in?” he quips, more good natured than snarky for a change.

“Oh”, Phil falters, he’d forgotten about the bee notebook. It feels like he purchased it months ago, when he was clear eyed and optimistic about the day’s trajectory.

“Um, I actually got that for you. Thought you would vibe with the endangered worker bee motif…” he trails off, unsure about how the gift will be received after everything that’s happened.

Dan clears his throat, and Phil tenses for an awkward rejection.

“Thank you, Phil, that’s really nice of you.” Dan tucks the notebook into his satchel. “I was actually eyeing up prints of the cover only a few weeks ago so this is fortuitous. You may not be aware but it has a somewhat double meaning. The worker bee is on the Manchester city coat of arms and represents our industrial pursuits and trade which have suffered in recent economic recessions, but in fact our real bees are also in danger from overuse of industrialised farming techniques and pesticides. So really, both of them need saving right now.” He seems genuinely pleased with the gift.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Phil starts laughing at the unexpected outburst of passion from his erstwhile nemesis. It’s like a dam has broken, and Dan joins in, cackling candidly.

“Ok, professor, go off” Phil jokes, still giggling. “Well the notebook is all yours, use it for whatever you want - critiques of industrialisation, poems about Taylor Lautner - it's good to go and doesn't need to be charged.” Dan’s laughter continues.

“Good one Phil.” Dan replies, and there’s an awkward pause, before he continues. “So, are you still hungry? We’re not too far from Chinatown and some pretty good wine bars, fancy getting something to eat?”

He’s surprised, for sure, he had been expecting to part ways after the emotional rollercoaster of the day. But Phil finds himself agreeable to this suggestion, given he only has coffee, pot noodles and popcorn at his apartment. He’s familiar with the area from late night dinners after drinking at the uni bars, but hasn’t kept up with the restaurants in the area and is keen to know what’s still around.

They start walking briskly north past the Cenotaph and take a right down Princess Street, behind the grand ashlar stone city art gallery. A sharp left into Fawkner Street brings them to a whole selection of Chinese restaurants, Noodle Bars, sneaker stores and migration agents. Red and purple neon reflect onto the brick buildings and the scent of something delicious is in the air.

“Did you know there’s a fortified nuclear bunker underneath this footpath?” Dan mentions, as they stop to read the menu at a Vietnamese restaurant. “Plus four miles of underground tunnels. They say it was built for the telephone exchange, but I heard it was used by the MI6 for training during the cold war.”

This strange gem of knowledge seems totally normal coming from Dan, now Phil has had a glimpse into how much of a nerd Dan is for local history. The dust from their afternoon barney is well settled and Phil feels strangely comfortable walking through Chinatown with Dan.

His attention is caught by a restaurant advertising itself as a Dessert Room specialising in Chinese sweets. Without thinking, Phil grabs Dan’s wrist and drags him over to inspect the menu - he cannot pass up the opportunity to have some Snow Ice or Pandan waffles. Tapping the wall where the menu is displayed he makes sure Dan is paying attention. “Look here, they even have tofu pudding, you could have that right?”

Phil’s excitement peaks when he peers in the window and notices they have a conveyor belt with snacks and small dishes rotating around complete with a miniature bullet train pulling the plates along. Dan’s easily convinced to head in, and they take in the decor as they’re seated - it's busy but there’s room for them as it's still early.

Phil realises he’s still holding onto Danny’s wrist as they sit down, and he releases it without making eye contact, hoping that Dan wouldn’t notice.

The server comes over quickly and explains how the restaurant works: they can order from the tablet attached to the table, or simply take what they want from the train as it passes, as long as it’s not someone else’s order.

Phil gasps when he notices gashapon vending machines above the conveyor, grabbing the soft sleeve of Dan’s cardigan again to draw his attention to it. He really can’t help being this tactile, its second nature to him. So far, Danny hasn’t noticed, or seemed to mind.

The server explains that their plates will come with tokens they can use in the machines to get their toys. And the tablet menu has 8-bit two player games available. This has to be the coolest restaurant he’s ever been in. The absolute beauty of this set up, aside from the toys and the cute train, is that they don’t have to share food, or agree on what to order. They can just pick it up and devour it.

They settle into their seats, and start grabbing items from the conveyor train. Unsurprisingly, Phil gravitates towards the sushi - it’s easy to eat from the little plates, and they have the chicken teriyaki and california rolls he loves so much. Plenty of clearly marked vegan plates for Dan to choose as well and the best part - the desserts - are just as tasty as Phil hoped.

Using the tablet, Phil orders a fruity cocktail to enjoy with his chocolate chip bubble waffles and Dan simply drinks sparkling water with his green tea snow ice, which comes out looking like an icy christmas tree. Phil considers bullying him into having a cocktail as well, but second guesses himself. He’s actually enjoying himself, he doesn’t want to spoil the mood.

When the server comes past with Phil’s concoction, he is sure she gives them a once over. His suspicions are correct when she checks in with them.

“Havin’ a good night boys? Enjoying your wee date? This is such a good spot for it, hope you boys have fun.”

As she sweeps past them, Phil catches Dan’s eye. He freezes in expectation of the super awkwardness that will come from the server’s comment. But Dan cracks a gorgeous smile, dimple fully on show, and simply starts cackling loudly again, “That was a good one, ey? Who would think we were on a date together!”

He smiles but the joke doesn’t seem that funny to Phil - why couldn’t they be on a date? It was Friday night - a classic date night - and this is a good date spot. He feels a little flat, and while he doesn’t want it to ruin the evening, he’s having yet another flashback to a past date night. One where a waiter similarly asked about the date, and his actual, real-life partner denied it.

As he pushes his plates away, stomach churning, his phone lights up and starts buzzing against the formica tabletop.

“Ello?” he answers, quickly, thankful for the distraction.

“Philly boy it’s me”, Martyn hollers down the phone. “Is now a good time for an update on that pool at the rental?” Classic Mart, always thinking that Phil will be available at the drop of a hat.

“Actually no, I’m out at dinner right now”. Phil decides to push back for a change. Even if his mood had soured.

“Ooh, who are you with? Didn’t B leave already? Find a date on Bumble while you are there, did you?” Martyn is pushing his luck, Phil is not going to share anything about his dining companion. He swiftly moves to end the call and deflect. “Nope, just someone from the publishing company. Sorry, can’t talk, bye!”

Dan is staring at him like he’s got two heads. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or his facial expression when he answered the phone.

“Everything ok, Phil?” Dan asks gently.

He’s not sure if he said something wrong, but suddenly he’s exhausted and all he wants to do is go back to his stupid apartment hotel and sleep. Or watch the 1982 horror classic Basket Case, which he knows is available on BBC i-Player. He can come back and play the 8-bit games and get a toy from the vending machines later, when he’s here on a real date. With someone who isn't ashamed to be with him. Not that Dan is “with him”.

“Family stuff, you know”, Phil curtly responds, making a snap decision. He’s good at those.

“You know I think it’s time to call it a day. You ok getting home?”

Dan nods his head, and Phil jumps up, grabbing his coat and backpack.

“This was great, have a great night, great, bye”, he rambles, pulling his beanie on. He will catch an uber, that will get him back quicker.

“Phil, are you sure you’re ok?” Dan inquires again. He’s being way too nice - Phil can’t deal with this right now. It was easier when they were fighting, or working in silence. Genuine and empathetic Danny with a lovely smile is not someone he can deal with right now.

“Sure am. Let’s talk tomorrow, ok?”

With a quick glance back at Dan, an apologetic smile, Phil heads out into the freezing cold night, wondering how on earth they are going to finish this pitch. Will the hard work be worth it?

Chapter Text

Phil wakes on Saturday before his alarm. It’s not that it’s never happened before, but it’s never a good sign for his mental health. It usually means his brain is working overtime and this morning, his first thought is how embarrassed he is for leaving Dan so suddenly last night. His second thought is that he doesn’t want to screw up their working relationship.

They had been having such a good time, made such good progress during the day despite the rough start. He had to go and let his emotional dysregulation go and eff it all up.

The sunlight is trying to break through the curtains in his bedroom, and while its still chilly the ambient temperature is warmer than it’s been all week so it can’t be that early or that awful outside today. There’s no time like the present for some self-care before he greets the day.

Over the last year he’s worked hard to learn different techniques to calm his anxious scattered thoughts. Meditation, yes, but also visualisation to help him focus, improve his confidence, and reduce his anxiety. He learned pretty quickly that he was rubbish at journaling because it reminded him too much of his day job. So he sits himself up in bed, closing his eyes again to focus on his breathing. He can hear the fridge humming in the other room but it isn’t too much of a distraction. He thinks about his project and tries to picture what the end of this process might look like, how he will feel.

Him in his trusty blue suit in the boardroom on the top floor of the publishing building overlooking the Manchester skyline, shaking hands with Brad and Bobby, signing a six-figure, multi-book contract. B is there, smiling behind him, her pink hair out and fluffy like candy floss. A bunch of faceless publishing minions standing in the background, admiring him, clapping and opening champagne to celebrate the occasion. He feels accomplished, grown up, successful.

Holding on tight to those ideas, he starts to feel calmer but also excited about finalising the pitch. Something seems to be missing though. He concedes, perhaps, Dan could be there too. He probably wrote the contracts. So he re-visits the scene, and sees Dan shaking hands too, in those chunky chelsea boots, tight black trousers and a striped jumper, looking like a smug prick and showing off his assets.

Phil giggles at his pun, “ass-ets, more like”, feeling immediately better. His stomach feels a bit jittery though. Maybe it wasn’t the thought of sealing the deal with the publisher that gave him that feeling, but Dan’s dimple, which was on full display in this fantasy - no - visualisation. Whatever it was, Phil’s in a good mood, feeling energised and ready to start his day.

He swings his legs out of bed, his tartan pyjamas keeping his legs cozy in bed but not quite enough for the nippy apartment. He pulls on his jeans and a pair of socks which definitely need washing. The black t-shirt he wore to sleep in doesn’t quite cut it either, so he pulls on a black woolly jumper with cute grey flecks through it, as he makes his first coffee for the day.
His work is already out on the table from where he dumped it last night, so he carries his mug over and sits down to peruse his notes.

The notebook is filled with chicken scratch notes taken over the past few months. To anyone else it would look like nonsense, with squiggles and doodles in the margins, diagrams, arrows and random words scattered over the pages. He’s sure Dan has a conniption everytime he pulls it out.

Phil feels a bit nostalgic as he flicks through, mulling over Dan’s attitude and adherence to rules. Sure he’s giving them the “rigour” that Brad and Bobby wanted, but it was still a bit overkill. Surely there must be a reason why Dan is so picky about following this particular process. He’s probably just like that at work - professional, procedural, a fucking kill joy. But he knows his stuff, and he does get things done. He’s thorough, that’s for sure, and Phil is absolutely not.

A flicker of guilt tugs at Phil’s conscience, for the fight he essentially instigated yesterday getting them kicked out of the library. He knows for his own part, he has reasons why he developed his own process - why he wants this project to succeed, but he also knows his own limitations, when he’s forced to confront them.

He is just used to working alone. Being alone. Relying on no-one but himself and setting himself stupidly high standards. Getting shiz done, using his own damn process he had honed over his last four books. It's chaotic and messy but it works for him. He didn’t want to wake up this morning and be stressed and embarrassed, he had enough of that with David, and he had come too far, really, and didn’t want to go back to that dark place. At least he had the emotional maturity to realise this and resolve to be better unlike some people, David .

In fact, maybe he should re-read those emails from David, for some perspective, on how far he’s actually come.

As he opens his emails on his phone, he thinks back to his life with David, in their Islington townhouse with its sleek modern interior, Miele kitchen appliances and architectural glass extension. Spending hours writing in his office overlooking the leafy terrace with its stupid water feature that David wouldn’t put fish into. Listening to Muse on his headphones around the house to block out the constant classical music that David piped throughout the house, but also to block out David bagging his ideas and career. Going to bed early, and alone, because David was out with his friends and didn’t want him to go.

You never contacted that literary agent, did you darling? No, I know you have B, but she’s not really an agent is she, she’s just your friend doing you a favour.

You’ve got so much talent Phillip, pity your focus is on those silly stories. You could really make it if you focused yourself a bit more.

Oh, the working title is “The Dawn of the Cyborg Storm 2399”? I thought you were going to make it more mainstream this time? No, don’t ask Johnny and Marcus what they think when they come over for dinner, let’s just have a bit of fun.

You’re wasting your time on this sci fi nonsense, darling, you’re so much better than that. Why don’t you try writing something a bit more straightforward, like a nonfiction book?

He closes his emails, locks the screen again, and tries to focus back on his notes. He can’t stop the noise of David’s criticism from taking over.

He was glad to be rid of David, his stupid friends Jonathan and Marcus, and their wanky dinner parties. It was never his style, he was always expected to sit there and play nice, despite having absolutely zero in common with them. Suppose he should have expected that kind of socialising with them, after all Johnny was a hedge fund manager David worked with, and his husband Marcus was a professional flautist with the London Symphony Orchestra. More money and style than they knew what to do with.

And then there was David. To whom Phil had handed over his whole heart, so naive and trusting. Thinking that a partnership meant unconditional love and support. Phil couldn’t have been more wrong about that. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

A knock at the door interrupts Phil’s unwanted trip down memory lane, jarring him back to reality. In his rush to get up and open the door, with his body holding all the nervous tension from the past five years, he bumps his mug with his elbow. It tips over seemingly in slow motion, and coffee drenches his notebook and the research plan Dan had carefully prepared and printed for him.

“Nooooo”, he screeches, grabbing a tea towel from the bench to try and mop up what he can. It’s no use, the notebook is absolutely ruined, unusable, and unreadable. The page he had flipped open to tears down the middle as he rubs the cloth over it. A profound sense of grief overcomes him for all the hours of work gone, just like that. The knocking continues, so he throws the tea towel into the sink and abandons the clean up as futile.

He mopes over to open the door to tell them to piss off but when he opens it, like some kind of religious moment, Dan is standing there backlit with a halo of the morning light from the windows in the corridor. He’s got his satchel slung over one shoulder and is drinking a keep cup of tea like an arrogant self-righteous… snack. Fucking fluffy curls and bright chestnut eyes. The flighty feeling in Phil’s stomach returns, nervous energy matching Dan’s nervous facial expression.

Phil had no idea he was coming over but all is forgiven and his notebook momentarily forgotten when Dan hands him a giant starbucks cup steaming with hot milky coffee.

“Hazelnut caramel macchiato, sounded sugary enough for you, right?”, he says, foregoing a greeting and stepping into the apartment. He glances at the mess on the table, sidestepping the sad little puddle on the floor, and leans across the couch to plug his tablet into the outlet behind it.

He’s not wearing yoga pants today sadly, just skin-tight black jeans with a striped boatneck jumper that shows a hint of his collarbones. Eerily similar to the one in his visualisation this morning. Might feature in a visualisation later that evening, too. Phil’s facing a whole lot of truths this morning, and his ever-growing attraction to Dan is certainly one of them.

Dan perches himself on the edge of the couch, his long legs too much for the small rented space, and launches into an explanation for his early and unexpected arrival “... so I was playing around on the Jstor archive last night when I found a peer reviewed journal article that’s exactly on point to our focus in chapter 3, and I found a downloadable copy of the 1957 Wolfenden report. I had to share this with you before we went any further because it could change our chapter outlines.”

Phil realises he is still standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open and clutching his coffee when Dan clicks his fingers at him. ‘Phil, wakey wakey. The Wolfenden report was only one of the singular defining moments in British history for gay men, don't you understand? It sold over 5,000 copies - a parliamentary report, can you believe!”

No, Phil really can’t believe, and he really hopes that Dan won’t make him read either the article or the report. It does sound important though, and he’s actually quite impressed at Dan doing more work when he got home after dinner. He’s not sure what his face is doing, but Dan is now staring at him. “Wait, are you ok?”

“Uh, sure. Just let me absorb these sweet beans and I will be back on top of everything.” He schools his features and though Dan doesn’t look convinced, he launches back into his explanation of the report. Phil settles down in an armchair across from the sofa, hooking his left ankle across his knee casually - sitting next to Dan feels too much for some reason.

He wants to keep a little distance from him but decides he’s happy to give Dan the reins once he’s finished his monologue. “Ok, sounds great. Tell me what to do”.

Dan, surprised, asks him to draft a chronology of key events and work on the referencing, digging through his satchel to pull out a wad of papers. Phil takes them - he’s no stranger to random notes on scrap paper - but sees they’re actually alphabetically listed articles to start looking up. Phil does have a laptop - he just prefers paper - so pulls it into his lap from the coffee table in front of him and gets to work. It's mindless but it’s a very good distraction from everything else, and he can actually see how it's going to help the structure and content. Not that he will admit it out loud.

As he skims through one of the articles Dan asked him to find, he gets a spark of inspiration. It reminds him of that filmmaker that was a guest speaker in his media studies class in third year, maybe they can reconnect. He opens his gmail and flicks out an email to his old professor and to the agent of the speaker. While the browser is open, he puts an order in for some ramen, edamame and avocado rolls to surprise Dan for lunch. At this point he doesn’t really know what other takeaway options there are and he knows while Dan is vegan this is something he can eat.

They keep working at a steady pace throughout the day. Lunch arrives and Dan laughs at Phil’s unimaginative order, but eats it all the same. They make their way through Phil’s supply of instant coffee and popcorn, and around mid-afternoon, they take a break from the substantially completed outline as they argue over the instant noodles Phil has bought.

“No, Phil, you cannot eat that shite, it will turn your guts to concrete. You can buy restaurant quality hand pulled noodles and have proper ramen kits delivered to your door, yes, even here in Manchester. We should have done that today. It’s an absolute disgrace you don’t know this, look I will send you a link.” Dan is passionately making his case against the noodles, when there’s a banging on Phil’s door.

A surprise visitor for the second time today is a bit odd - he literally knows no-one else in the city except the one currently sitting with his feet up on the coffee table absorbed in his phone finding the noodle delivery service.

Phil jumps up, stretching his back and flicking on the overhead light as the daylight is quickly passing. He opens the door to a grinning Martyn, in his oversized sweatshirt and acid-washed straight legged jeans, backpack slung over one shoulder and travel suitcase next to him.

“Surprise little bro, I’m in Manchester for the weekend. Thought you could use a break from the hustle.”

He pulls Phil in for an aggressive bear hug, squeezing Phil’s arms against his body. He can’t quite believe Mart is here, he didn’t think to mention this little trip on the phone last night? Or any of the other times they’ve talked this week? It seems highly suspicious.

“Are you checking up on me?” Phil is released by Martyn and squints to inspect Martyn’s facial impression, looking for a tell for the real reason he is here. “Can’t a bloke want to hang with his bro without an ulterior motive?” Martyn shoves his way past Phil into the apartment and does not seem at all surprised to find Dan on the couch.

“Hello there, I’m Martyn, and you are?” Dan stands awkwardly to shake Martyn’s hand, and Mart turns back to Phil and gives him an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up.

Phil closes his eyes and rubs his eyelids with the heel of his palm. He knew he shouldn’t have lied on the phone last night. Martyn seems to be able to read his mind and cannot help meddling in his business. Even more so now David is out of the picture. Mart can be a lot when he gets an idea about something and he clearly has an ‘idea’ right now.

“Righto, you lads are coming with me to the pub. You’ve clearly been working hard, You should both come out tonight! You've earned it, I insist!” When Phil starts to object because of the state of his clothing, Mart waves his concerns off. “You're both dressed fine, we're just going to a bar!”

After stealing a pair of fresh socks from his brother’s bag, brushing his teeth and Dan collecting all the mugs and plates and putting them in the sink, they head out in an uber to a destination chosen by Martyn. Phil knows not to argue when Martyn’s like this, but Dan has also been strangely compliant in this takeover of their afternoon - surely he has somewhere else to be tonight? It is Saturday, after all. Instead, Phil sits silently in the front seat as Dan makes small talk with Martyn in the back, about the obscure house music he listens to. They seem to have found some common ground in a DJ they both know from London.

As the car pulls up to the curb, they find themselves at The Botanist, a swanky cocktail bar on the other side of town. Martyn knows Phil doesn’t drink beer, so it’s a good choice as far as forced outings go. They head in and are directed to a table in the far corner of the venue, golden lamps illuminating the potted plants and vines that cover the walls and ceilings. There’s light background music playing, something a little folky with acoustic guitar, but it’s not overwhelmingly loud. It’s like sitting in an overgrown treehouse, and it’s definitely Phil’s vibe. He wonders idly if B is watering his plants back in London, he has completely forgotten about them during this trip.

They order drinks through a QR code on the table. A rose spritz for Dan, and a Cherry Blossom Martini for him. As Martyn chatters about their upcoming holiday and sips his beer, Phil reflects on the fact this feels a bit like a chance to do-over the night before, an opportunity to make amends with Dan and perhaps get to know him better. The last few days have been a real whirlwind and they’ve not really had a chance to talk - and talking is going to get them past the lingering animosity they are both clutching to for their own selfish reasons. There’s no way Phil’s visualisation will become reality without communication. He knows this first hand.

As another round of drinks and a charcuterie board with pickled vegetables, hummus and meatballs appears at the table, Martyn appears to spot someone across the bar. “Back in a minute boys”, he quips as he downs his pint and leaves to talk to an incredibly short redhead with a pixie cut and bright red lipstick.

“So, Phil, are you a fan of Schitts Creek?” Dan asks as he nibbles on a piece of cauliflower. Phil can work with this - it’s a safe topic, he watches a lot of TV. “Yeah, of course, Patrick is such a sweetheart, right?”

It’s an easy conversation, talking about their favourite episodes and moving onto other TV shows, which Dan has strong opinions about. They both like anime and Dan even admitted to watching - and enjoying - Million Dollar Listing, one of Phil’s favourite reality shows. It’s nice to see Dan relax, and talk about something other than work. For his own part, Phil hasn’t had such a free-flowing conversation where he didn’t feel judged for his trashy taste in entertainment in a long time. In fact, the whole day has been like this, now they’ve moved on from antagonising each other, and the playful jabs Dan makes are more like banter than anything with ill intent.

“You know, these shows have been my guilty pleasure for years, my agent B isn’t interested in them and my ex, David, thought it was too low brow”.

“Well David needs to fuck right off. You shouldn’t feel guilty for having shows you like - if it makes you happy then you should watch it. I’ve spent hours of my life voluntarily isolating in my apartment - I don’t get dressed and go anywhere. I sit inside in my PJs and play mario kart and watch trashy TV. No-one gets to judge me for that.”

Dan’s passionate about his hobbies, it seems. Phil tucks this bit of information away, along with his history trivia, his fashion sense, his incredible intellect. Fuck. He seems to have developed more than an interest in Dan’s appearance, but his personality as well. He may be pretty and arrogant, but there’s a sweet and kind nerd underneath that exterior.

“Don’t worry”, Phil chuckles dryly, “David has fucked off. With a 22 year old Spanish model named Carlos.” It’s worth bringing up his pain to see the look on Dan’s face. He’s outraged, on Phil’s behalf, apparently, which is a nice change from Phil eliciting the same reaction from him. “It’s fine, it’s fine, really, forget I brought it up”, he tries to placate Dan.

“No, Phil, it’s not fine. I want to choke the fuck out of him for turning down such a sweet and funny man like you, but he would probably like it.” The outrage settles and a look of sympathy comes across Dan’s face. “If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. I’ve had my share of existential crises and complete life breakdowns, if you want to trade war stories.”

Perhaps it’s the multiple cocktails he’s consumed by this point, the cosy atmosphere in this little corner of the bar, or perhaps it’s the human need for connection with someone who isn’t judging him and finding him wanting, and who calls him sweet and funny. Whatever it is, Phil decides to share. And once he starts, apparently he can’t stop. He’s talked about this with B and Martyn before, and they were there for when it all happened, but there’s nothing like talking to an impartial observer who has already offered to defend your honour through asphyxiation. It’s kind of sweet.

He explains to Dan that David was a financial adviser at a big bank, they had met at a film festival when Phil was running late and David had bought the last of the popcorn but offered it to Phil as a gesture of kindness. They rushed into the cinema together and, somehow it was a subtitled French film, not the 70s slasher flick Phil was expecting. They figured out afterwards that he actually was at the wrong cinema complex entirely. But during the movie David had charmed the pants off him. Literally. In the back of the cinema, like horny teenagers.

“Whoa Phil, TMI”, Dan interrupts. “What went wrong?”

“It was simple”, Phil replies, “I wasn’t good enough. At anything. When we met I had only been in London for two years, and my second book ‘Black Moon of Hades’ had just been published. He was so supportive and loving and I was just swept up in it all. We took French lessons together, visited Paris, and he proposed to me there. We were married after only a year and we hadn’t even lived together. But it turned out that David liked the idea of a creative husband more than the reality.”

Dan’s face is one of concern now, brows furrowed in that cute way normally reserved for concentrating on work. Phil’s not sure how he feels about it being focussed on him, on David. The music has changed up a bit, it’s slower, more moody and the lights seem to have dimmed a bit more.

“And then?” Dan won’t let the story end there.

“Well, I was working on my third book, ‘Dawn of the Dionysus Cyborgs’, when the criticism started. It was pretty relentless, my career wasn’t good enough, I was wasting my talent, I should focus on other things. We only ever socialised with his friends - people from the banking or arts world, who shared his views. He was embarrassed for me to talk about my work or interests around them. I ended up isolated from my friends and family and doubting my career.”

“That fucking degenerate, I’m glad you’re free from his clutches now. It’s abuse, he should be hung, drawn and quartered.” Dan pauses, “but really, Phil, French lessons? Paris? I barely know you and that does not seem like your scene.”

Phil’s cheeks flush, camouflaged by the dim lighting, hardly believing that Dan has seen him in such a short time. He looks away across the bar at Martyn who is still chatting up the redhead, and making progress by the looks of it, with his arms draped over her shoulders oblivious to the people around them.

“Well it's definitely over Danny. I was on the book tour for my fourth book, ‘Phantasmal Death Eclipse’ when I got a booty call text that was clearly not for me. I turned on the security cameras and caught him with Carlos. Confronted him by phone the next day. When I got back from the tour my things had been boxed up and I had to stay in the spare room of B’s house until I could afford my own place. Even then, he kept emailing me to ‘encourage’ me to use my talent to write something less ‘embarrassing’.” Phil cringes at the memory, and the knowledge those emails were still in his inbox.

“Time out, did you say Phantasmal Death Eclipse was your fourth book?” Dan raises his hands in a T shape, right hand frantically tapping the fingers of the left. “And you also wrote Black Moon of Hades and Dawn of the Dionysus Cyborgs?”

Of all the things to take from the story, he wants to ask about the book titles? “Yeah Dan, plus my debut was ‘Lawless Sun over Arcadia’, back when I was only 25. I’ve come a long way, huh?”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand Phil. You wrote those books?!” Dan is low key worked up. “I had no idea, I thought you wrote cheesy sci fi novels, not post-apocalyptic dystopian epics!”

Phil starts to laugh, “Didn’t you look me up?”, he asks. “Obviously not!” Dan exclaims. “And anyway, those books are written by Michael Retsel, not Philip Lester!”

“Um yeah Dan, Philip Michael Lester - which backwards is Retsel. Super imaginative, as David pointed out on many occasions.” Phil is full on cracking up now over Dan’s obliviousness. Yesterday it would have made him mad, angry even, but this evening after a few cocktails and with the progress they’ve made and bridges they’ve built, it’s hilarious.

“Philip Lester, you’re a bloody literary genius!” Dan’s so excited about this discovery. “I am so sorry for ever doubting your writing abilities. David can get fucked, he clearly knows nothing about how the world around us is disintegrating like chalk and we have nothing to hope for except to be saved by our gracious robot overlords.”

Over the last few hours, something has really clicked between him and Dan. This last morsel of support for his books has really cemented it. Phil can’t really believe that Dan has read - and liked - his books. But he’s going to jump into the gift horse’s saddle and ride his enthusiasm as far as it will go.

“I promise you, Danny, I’m better now, and David is long gone. Sounds like I owe you a drink, to thank you for your patronage of the arts.” He scans the QR code again and orders a bottle of rose, just as Martyn comes over with the redhead. The music is much louder now, and a quick check of his phone shows it’s approaching midnight. The unwavering support of Martyn, B and now Dan, bolsters his confidence and it’s time he purged David from his life once and for all.

“Wait - Mart, Dan, I need you to both witness this”. Phil opens his emails to the folder he’s imaginatively entitled “Ew, David”, and quickly hits ‘delete’. He even goes into the ‘deleted items’ folder and deletes it permanently from his account. No recovery options needed here, thank you very much.

He looks up to see Dan’s mouth gaping, and Martyn smiling as broad as he can. His gal pal looks on with eyebrows raised, clearly not fully across Phil’s dramatic love life.

“Good one, Philly, knew you could do it eventually”, Mart says as he enthusiastically pats Phil on the shoulder before pulling him into another big hug. “I’m proud of you. I’ll catch up with you before I leave tomorrow.” With a quick salute, he’s gone, leaving them alone at the table with a full bottle of rose.

Dan starts to pour their glasses and raises his in a toast. “To new beginnings and adventures.”

Phil taps his glass against Dan’s and basks in all the progress that the day has brought. He feels in the bottom of his soul that he’s one step closer to that morning’s visualisation - and at moving far away from his haunting past. Maybe the destruction of his notebook this morning was a harbinger of positive changes in his life, a symbol of moving on from one phase into another.

Dan grins at him across the table, his dimple making another appearance, and Phil wonders how he can keep that smile there. He can’t wait to figure it out.

Chapter Text

Dan wakes up with a hangover but a sense of optimism. Always an early riser, he’s unable to sleep in even after an epicly late night drinking. Lying on his back in bed, sheets pulled up to his armpits and staring at the off-white textured ceiling, he takes stock of how he’s feeling.

He has a dull thump in his head but there’s no impending sense of doom, like he normally would have after two cocktails and five glasses of wine. Or after a normal week at work, even. In fact, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. It has nothing to do with a certain charming author, he tells himself, and everything to do with the fact he’s been efficient at work, maintained his exercise schedule and has started furthering his career through this research project.

Who is he kidding, his out-of-character effervescence is 100% due to Phil.

Mr Smiles-like-Sunshine and Mr Twinkle-Eyes. Ugh. He’s hot, smart, and funny. And enjoys trashy TV as much as Dan does. Why can’t Dan keep his distance and his air of academic superiority over Phil? It’s so much easier to compartmentalise and get shit done that way.

With a sigh, Dan rolls over onto his side and gazes out his window. He loves this view, out across the treetops that line the street outside his first floor apartment and to the community garden where his weekly tai chi classes are held. He lets himself gently relax into his Sunday morning - it's the one day he doesn’t force himself up and be active before 7am. He’s almost a different person on Sundays. Monday through Saturday he’s a machine, but Sunday he switches gear and goes into restorative mode.

He may have only had four and a half hours sleep and been halfway into an existential crisis about a pretty boy but he wasn’t going to miss tai chi. It was an important part of his Sunday rejuvenation ritual. And if he’s honest, he needs it today to really centre himself.

He had been nervous to go out with Phil and his brother last night. He can put on a brave face and schmooze with the best of them - as a lawyer it's practically a job requirement - but as an introvert he’s never loved meeting new people and social situations. He’s always done the bare minimum at work functions and always opted out of potentially awkward social situations in favour of staying in and playing video games or watching old movies.

Thinking about it, that could have been why he couldn’t get promoted in London - so much of it was socialising and networking; who knows who, and who is fucking who. Or whom. It was never Dan, that was for sure. You would have to leave the house for that. But last night was fine, he had left the house and hadn’t spontaneously combusted! Someone should give him a fucking medal. Of course, Phil had been there, which was incentive enough apparently. But his brother Martyn was actually very easy to get along with, had gone out of his way to find common interests and keep the conversation going.

Dan is still a little confused about why Martyn had turned up out of the blue - Phil clearly didn’t know he was coming either, but given what Phil had divulged about his ex, it seemed that Martyn was very protective of his little brother. Maybe there was something else going on but the situation with David would certainly be enough for Martyn to be wary about Phil’s extended stay in Manchester and Dan’s sudden appearance.

Did that make Dan feel bad about his own relationships with his little brother? Maybe? He wasn’t happy that intrusive thought had popped up and he certainly wasn’t up for examining those feelings at 6.45am. It could wait for his next therapy session.

Dan sits up in bed, rifles through his bedside table and pulls out a worn copy of Phantasmal Death Eclipse. He really did think this book was a seminal work, a leader in its genre, nothing compared. Dan couldn’t believe Phil was actually *the* Michael Retsel, whose books had filled his darkest nights with stories of a fearful yet reassuring apocalyptic future, zombie armies and robotic death rays. Maybe he should get his books signed. Would that be too fanboy? Was he willing to humiliate himself like that? Probably.

God, what will he do about Phil. His smile could light up a room. The enthusiasm and unbridled joy as he discussed that trashy fucking real estate show. Dan smiles to himself and runs his hand through his hair. It’s a mess and he has to wash it again today, all the product has come out and his curls are limp and lifeless. He pops the book back on his nightstand and downs the glass of water and paracetamol that he must have left for himself last night.

The last few nights have been more intimate than he should have allowed. The sushi train restaurant was definitely first date territory and he had freaked out when the waitress had called them out. It’s not Phil’s fault that he’s never actually been on a real date before. What could he say, it was awkward as fuck, and Phil had been uncomfortable. The call may have pushed Phil to leave in a hurry, but Dan had obviously said the wrong thing before that happened.

Then there was last night. It felt so good to just open himself up and not put up walls or expect the inevitable crash and burn. The alcohol had been a welcome boost of confidence, but he had to credit Phil with how comfortable he had felt. Receiving that little fucking bee notebook on Friday had trampled a path through Dan’s icy cold heart he didn’t know was possible.

Dan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He rests his hand across his sternum, pressing on his cool skin as if that could push away the burgeoning feelings that are threatening his self preservation. Before the moment settles, he pushes himself out of bed to shower, make a coffee and start the day.

The gentle morning sunlight filters into the room, as the floor-to-ceiling curtains are still open from when he got in around 2am. He’d simply pulled his clothes off, laid them over his desk chair, and flopped into bed in his pants. The window had really sold him on renting the apartment when he viewed the listing and it always makes his mornings better when the sun’s out. Not that Manchester’s weather was normally that great.

After a scalding hot shower to wash away the rest of his hangover, he throws on a robe and walks barefoot into his kitchen to get the coffee started. It’s modern and tidy with cream stone benchtops, which he hadn’t expected when first viewing the apartment. The kitchen adjoins the living room in one large open plan space, furnished with a black leather sofa and glass coffee table on the other side of the generously sized breakfast bar.

The landlord’s interior decor was a bit soulless, but to be fair, so were all the other apartments he viewed. He had immediately softened the space with a big fluffy faux fur blanket and throw rug, lots of cushions, and some framed art prints like the worker bee one he had mentioned to Phil. But the building itself, that was what had sold him on the apartment despite the unremarkable furniture.

On signing the lease he had looked up the records, and discovered it was a Grade II listed historic baroque building built in 1905. Its character was undeniable, with pretty emerald green mosaic tiles in the foyer and a large porthole window in his bedroom looking over to the community garden. Somehow he felt it was important on a metaphysical level to know the history of the place he was residing, because it was now becoming part of his own story.

He flicks the coffee machine on and starts grinding the beans, savouring the smell of his favourite Colombian dark roast. Sunday coffee was another important ritual for Dan. For years he had suffered through rubbish instant and french press coffee whilst studying law at the University of Reading, keeping him awake for assignments and exam prep. He hadn’t yet learned about the benefits of matcha tea, nor could he have given a shit back then. Staying awake was the main goal. But he swore that with his first professional paycheck he would level up his caffeine game.

He had splurged on a Breville Barista Touch espresso machine as a treat as soon as he started his training contract with local firm Sage & Crawford LLP. The pricey beast was worth every pound for the smooth roast it produced when he was barely conscious and reading hefty textbooks or pretending to be a human at an early morning client meeting.

He was grateful, of course, to have worked at that law firm straight out of uni. It taught him important lessons about hard work, commitment, and sacrifice. When he finished his training contract, Sage & Crawford had offered him an ongoing role as a solicitor in their Reading office’s competition and consumer law team. He had burned bright and fast, and, just as quickly, burnt out.

By 2018, the long work hours, demanding expectations, and quite frankly stifling heteronormative office culture had led to his rage quitting one day, after a particularly brutal performance review. Seems the long hours and dedication weren’t enough, after all, when combined with a global fucking financial crisis. He was easily replaced by another desperate law grad willing to sacrifice their sanity and personal life for the corporate ladder. He wasn’t bitter still, but the memory certainly left a bad taste.

After a few months living back with his parents, pondering his existence on this planet, how to properly live his truth, and teaching himself to play Für Elise on an electronic keyboard, he secured an in-house legal role at the publishing house. His precious Breville machine was promptly loaded into the back of his mum’s car for the hour-long drive from Winnersh to London, along with a box with kitchen essentials, scented candles and two suitcases of clothes and linen. After unloading the car his mum kissed him on the cheek goodbye and wished him well, promised to visit when he was settled in. It was the most emotion he’d seen from his mum probably his whole life. She never ended up visiting, perhaps that was another thing to talk about with his therapist.

London was a culture shock and quite frankly, everything his cold dead gay heart could want. It was true freedom. From his parents and the shackles of billable units. From forced social interaction with stuffy old male partners at the firm, and from his repressed sexuality. It was more “Dan” time as he could actually finish at 5pm and start going to yoga like he’d always wanted. It was the excitement of London’s queer scene right at his doorstep, with all the anonymity that living in a metropolis brings. He appreciated everything the move to Manchester had given him, including his promotion, but dammit he missed London like a limb.

Sipping his coffee at the breakfast bar, reminiscing about London and his shitty Soho flat, makes him think about Phil again, and the research proposal. Glancing up at his wall clock, it's only just past 8am. He’s still got two hours to kill before tai chi, and there’s no time like the present to keep working on fleshing out the book outline. He pulls his tablet and keyboard out of his satchel and sets it up on the breakfast bar, clearing space for it by pushing his unopened mail, a flyer for a window cleaner, and the A4 envelope with the LSE logo that he’s been putting off opening. Today won’t be the day either.

To be fair, he has already received an email confirming his deferred enrolment so he knows he has time to open the Welcome Pack. But there’s something about actually physically opening the letter and brochure printed on shiny cardstock that makes it real. Real in a way that he is truly not prepared for. Real in a way that might mean he has to think about and plan for his future beyond his existence here in Manchester that he is settled into.

Like the unresolved feelings about his family, he’s not ready to face it. Lucky he has a year to do it.

He pulls up his academic databases, reference list and starts plugging the information in, formulating a structure and weaving a story around the interviews they’ve found. He’s glad Phil thinks it looks effortless, that he’s really this organised. It's taken him a long time to get here, figure out what works, how to manage his mood and sleep patterns, keep focussed and stop procrastinating. It’s a lot of fucking hard work.

The thing that’s driving him is that Dan knows if he can ace the pitch, actually write this book, he can take the next step in his career. Applying online to do your dream course is one thing - actually leaving your comfortable career, throwing off the shackles of other people’s dreams and expectations, and becoming a poor student again is another.

Time moves quickly when he’s in the zone, and soon enough it's time for him to get out of the house and across the street for tai chi. He dresses quickly in some loose black trousers, a boxy black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his chunky black cardigan. He tops the look with his black suede Adidas sambas and some dark Wayfarer sunglasses. He has an aesthetic to uphold, and Sunday’s are no exception. As he steps out of the apartment building, the morning is mild but sunny, with a breeze that's the perfect balance of refreshing and brisk.

Tai chi is an opportunity for Dan to slow down, take a moment to reflect and mentally prepare for the week ahead. Plus he gets to chat with his friend Li who is a regular to the class, like him. She’s a firecracker, with off the charts intellect and a dark sense of humour to rival his own. She took Dan under her wing after the first class, where she said he looked like a sad, lost puppy. Took him out for tea, showing him the best matcha spots and where to get discount groceries around the area. Her own son had grown up and moved out, so she adopted Dan. As a project maybe, he never asked, but he's happy with the friendship regardless. He could use a few more friends.

He greets Li with a wave and they sit on the grass to wait for the instructor to arrive. Li is in her mid-50s, a psychology professor with long flowing black hair with a silver streak that she pins in a loose bun, and a penchant for fisherman pants paired with a tank and cardigan. Today is no exception, she's decked out in various shades of indigo and blue.

Dan tells her about Brad's demands for him to be involved with the book, the potential for it to become part of a series of works, the extra effort he's been putting in, and the pressure of having the extra work and expectations on him. He seamlessly moves onto how annoying and frustrating Phil is, how messy, how unorganised, how brilliant. “The thing is, Li, he has these stupid long legs and lovely hands and perfectly straight hair and I bet he's never had to use poundland hair straighteners to sort his mop out.”

Li raises her eyebrows but he barely notices and pushes on. “Worst of all he's super smart and picks up my suggestions and just gets them. And he could actually be a really good non-fiction writer, if he just applied himself. His fiction books are out of this world, no, literally…”

“Dan, my boy”, Li interrupts, clearly hearing enough and sensing a potential meltdown ahead. Dan’s really putting her psychology training to good use this morning. “You've been telling me for months you felt like your job was getting stale, isn't this the perfect opportunity to spring clean? Get your house in order and set yourself up? Surely you're not doing this for free?”

Dan sits straighter and stares out across the gardens, watching the flowers around the border sway in the breeze. He hasn't actually talked to Bobby about remuneration for the project. Brad’s been pushing this so hard but Bobby's the finance guy and he hasn't spoken to him at all. He nods, “I'll talk to them on Monday, great point Li”.

She's right, of course. The project has sparked a fire under him that's been missing, possibly for fucking years. He's overanalysed his future career path and work progression to death and knows, inherently, that this is the best opportunity to get to the next stage. Hell, he was even thinking about it this morning. But having someone else see it makes it somehow more real. Attainable.

He looks back to Li, who has been studying his profile as he ponders his future. She has a cheeky smile and he knows he's about to get teased. “Sounds like Phil has made a real impression on you too and you've got a strong connection. Sounds real handsome. You know, you've been single too long, I've been considering setting you up with my son’s friend Damon. So what you gonna do to lock that ass down?”

Dan splutters not expecting that phrasing from a middle aged academic. Or to be called out so rudely. “I’m not locking anything down, thank you Li. I’m getting a job done. Professionally.”

She pokes him in the shoulder. “Pffft, I’m calling bullshit. You’re scared”, Li really knows when to cut Dan’s crap. “It’s a big deal meeting someone and instantly clicking with them - look what happened when you met me. Took you weeks to warm up and I had to bribe you with little treats like a puppy. Let yourself just enjoy the experience and the excitement of something new. Don’t think about what it is or where it will go.”

Dan feels his face warming up, and he knows it's not the sunshine as he applied factor 50 sunscreen on before he left the house, or the fact that Li still refers to him as a puppy. Li really knows how to slice through the layers of his self loathing and doubt to find the core of the problem.

“So what you’re saying is I need to go with the flow” he says, trailing off as his mind immediately supplies the phrase “turn off your mind and surrender to the void”, in an echo of the advice Phil gave him on the first day. Maybe they’re both onto something. Maybe he’s been holding on so tight that to level up he needs to let go. It’s easier said than done, but the world seems to be shouting it at him, showing him these signs, and perhaps it's time to listen.

“Hang in there, boy, time for class.” Li gently nudges him in the ribs, as they stand and move across to where a small crowd has gathered. Something settles in his chest, as they set up for the first sequence. He can’t seem to stop smiling, and from the look on Li’s face, she knows the reason why.

***

They’re supposed to be working separately today. He’s in restorative mode, he wants to empty his mind and block out Li’s advice and audacious smile as walked him home, teasing him about taking Phil out on a proper date somewhere once the book pitch is complete. He really wants to just blob for the rest of the afternoon and play Skyrim.

But when he gets home, flops onto his couch with the fuzzy blanket draped across his lap for comfort, he turns his phone back on to discover there’s 17 text messages from Phil. They’re streams of consciousness texts, like Phil wants to share his entire thought process. For fuck’s sake. Dan scrolls through them, smiling like earlier, and thinking about Li’s recommendation to just relax and enjoy these moments. He likes this glimpse into Phil’s brain, and is pleased that Phil wants to share it with him.

He doesn’t see anything in the messages he really needs to respond to in a hurry until he gets to the last one. Typically for Phil, it’s about food. He wants another restaurant recommendation to get lunch delivered to his hotel, as he’s run out of popcorn and doesn’t want to go to the Morrisons supermarket that’s like, literally only a 10 minute walk away. Dan’s not surprised he’s not making his own lunch, but he is surprised to find that he’s thinking about it fondly rather than disparagingly like he would have a week ago.

Dan fashions a response with his advice that unfortunately, the local restaurant Shoryu Ramen is really the only option in his area, if he doesn’t want to go grocery shopping or pay an exorbitant delivery fee. It’s the most reliable restaurant in the area, even if they've had Japanese cuisine two or three times already (but who's counting). Piccadilly Station has a Pret and a Burger King, and there are a few fancy Italian and French restaurants, but none of them seem like they would be up Phil’s alley.

Shoryu has his most favourite spicy vegan ramen, made with soy milk & shiitake broth with a spicy miso paste. But they also have a fucking delicious vegan donburi bowl with vegetable tempura, pickles, broccoli and rice. He orders it for himself on a whim, along with a spicy cucumber salad and avocado sushi rolls. Once it arrives, he sends a photo to Phil, who replies with a picture of his own donburi bowl with BBQ pork belly and egg.

It's kind of cute, they ordered the same food, but in a mirror image. That feeling in his chest from the morning reappears, for some reason, and this time Dan doesn't try to push it away. It feels reflective of their relationship too, their yin and yang personalities that could either result in a massive fucking carcrash if they both kept to their subborn ways, or a beautiful mess if they let go somehow. Dan has no idea how he’s come around to this frame of mind so quickly. It was less than a fucking week ago that he was pulled into Phil’s orbit and had his life upended, only two days since their massive blow up in the library.

He makes himself a pot of green tea and turns his X-box on to get Elder Scrolls V started, kicking off his sneakers and sitting cross legged on the couch. He plays on and off all afternoon while texting Phil, sending each other links to youtube videos of film clips and interviews with directors they want to include. When Phil starts sending him funny cat videos and animal memes, he rolls his eyes almost fondly. Past Dan would almost certainly have had a conniption that Phil wasn’t working hard enough or focusing on the task at hand.

As the daylight fades, Dan realises he has to venture out again to pick up his weekly groceries, but his heart’s not really into preparing a list, checking the different stores for discounts and meal prepping this week like he normally does.

He texts Phil that he’s done for the day and inexplicably decides to sign off their chat with a selfie of him giving a two fingered salute, index and middle fingers hovering just off his temple and a smirk on his face. He immediately cringes and hates himself after sending it but the damage is done.

The air is chilly as Dan walks down to Tesco Express, and he wishes he’d put on something warmer than his cardigan. He wanders the aisles, clutching a basket anxiously and remembering why he does his lists and meal plans. He’s shit at coming up with food ideas on the spot, too emotional when he’s hungry to make good decisions. He throws some carrots, cucumber and spring onion into the basket, then after thinking deeply about his breakfast options, selects a 6-pack of everything bagels and some Violife alternative cream cheese spread. He tries to picture his pantry - he knows he has soy sauce and mirin at home already, some short grain rice and wakame sheets. He’s got bloody sushi on the brain, but it feels better to make it himself next time he gets the urge. He knows what’s in it, plus it’s satisfying.

Inexplicably he decides to add some chicken thighs at the last minute and some bamboo skewers. He can pick up some sake at the bottle shop around the corner. Maybe his day of introspection has started knocking down those walls he’s carefully built up, because he’s decided to invite Phil over to his apartment to have dinner. No-one is more surprised about this revelation than Dan himself.

Chapter Text

Phil’s heart nearly stops when he receives a selfie from Dan late Sunday afternoon. He looks cosy, in the same chunky cardigan he wore on Friday, his hair all fluffy and curly from being freshly washed. He’s doing a cute little salute, and the best part of all is that his dimple is fully on display.

He stares at the photo for an unreasonable amount of time after texting goodbye, and thinks about it as he finally leaves the apartment and walks down the road to Morrisons to pick up dinner, feeling a tad guilty he didn’t do it earlier. This pitch isn’t a done deal and he really should be saving his money, not buying takeaways every day.

The late afternoon sun warms his bones, the chilly breeze blows away the cobwebs. He had spent the day procrastinating from writing the first chapter - their research and outline was in pretty good shape and he really needed to contribute as Dan was doing a lot of heavy lifting. But true to his style he had been distracted, both by youtube videos and Dan’s sense of humour.

Mart had also swung by that morning to pick up his bag and have a coffee before heading back to London. He had explained the redhead - Cornelia - was a musician he had been messaging over insta and had suggested last minute to meet up. Mart smiled so hard talking about Cornelia that Phil knew this was the real deal - not just a ploy to check up on him. Although it had clearly been just that.

They finalised their family holiday itinerary, with Mart using his credit card to secure the booking. Phil now owed him £740 for the accommodation and £390 for flights - honestly this book money couldn't come fast enough. Mart seemed to approve of Dan and his parting words had been a reminder that David was dirt, was nothing, and that Phil was on the “right track” - although for what, Phil wasn’t quite sure.

He pauses in a particularly sunny spot on the footpath, safe from the breeze, and closes his eyes as he tilts his head into the warmth.

He pictures himself at the theme parks in Orlando and drinking a pink cocktail with a fruity garnish next to the holiday home’s pool. His parents and Mart there, everyone together and carefree. Their family trips to Florida are normally his happy place, although something feels off about this visualisation of it. He’s used to being alone in his thoughts and projects, perhaps he’s just spent too much time talking to Dan this week that the vision seems empty, too quiet. Not enough cackling laughter.

Or perhaps he feels off because he knows things with David are done. Like really done. They were done when Phil caught him cheating, and even more done when he moved out. But deleting the emails really feels like the final nail in the coffin. The pep talk and brotherly love from Mart has done wonders, but Phil still just feels a bit sick that he actually deleted all of David’s emails.

Yes, they had been a source of pain, like a splinter he couldn’t quite reach to remove, buried deep enough to cause pain when pressed but also could be ignored for the most part. They had acted like a twisted kind of inspiration to get his life in order, a marker for how far he’d come. The splinter hurt more to remove than let sit, embedded in his skin.

Not being able to read the emails again left a void in his routine. But he knew it was healthier this way, he was healing.

The walk to the shops is a good circuit breaker but he’s back to thinking about Dan’s selfie as he heats up his pre-made lasagne in the microwave and clumsily plates up a sweet and crunchy salad mix, slivers of carrot falling to the floor when he scrunches the bag up and throws it in the bin. He opens his messages with Dan again as he eats, studying the photo and zooming in a bit on Dan’s dimple. No-one can see what he’s doing, so he’s not embarrassed. B might have something to say about it but he won’t tell her.

Dan is pretty - he’s known that from the first meeting. But this photo captures something about him, a vulnerability that his normally brisk and efficient personality obscures. His skin is clear and his smirk adds a touch of playfulness, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. Phil wonders what makes Dan like this, what gets him to use sarcasm as a sword and his work as a shield.

He wonders what Dan’s hair feels like to touch, if it's as soft as it looks, and what moisturiser Dan uses. Probably not the basic Nivea cream he uses, that’s for sure. Probably something expensive with yoghurt and pomegranate or something.

Phil groans, leaning back in his chair and locking his phone screen. He kicks his feet out under the chair and laces his fingers behind his head to give his shoulders a stretch. He’s a mix of disappointed with himself for obsessing like this but he’s also a bit giddy thinking about last night, and how easy it was to talk to Dan and tell his story. Well, not all of it. But the important bits. And how Dan listened, was a safe space. He couldn’t stop these feelings if he wanted to, anymore. Phil knows it's a terrible path to go down, it can only lead to more hurt.

Especially when the object of your obsession lives in a different town, a three hour train ride away, and has no reason to actually keep in contact if the book deal falls through.

He doesn’t want to even hope about what could happen if the book deal goes through, as much as he desperately wants, no needs it to happen. He doesn't feel like he needs to succeed to prove himself as a serious writer anymore, but he actually wants to succeed. For himself, and himself only. So he can pay for his holiday. So he can keep working with Dan. He’s allowed to want things for himself including happiness. And right now that’s tantalisingly within his grasp.

***

On Monday morning, Phil arrives at Dan’s office at 9am sharp, armed with an extra strong cappuccino for himself and a matcha latte for Dan. He gives the latte a little sniff as he’s travelling up the mirrored lift to Dan’s building - it smells awful but he’s possibly, maybe, ok definitely trying to impress Dan today. He wants to put his best foot ahead or something like that, because they only have a few days left to nail this pitch and he’s really enjoying the work.

Dan insisted that they work in his office because in Dan’s view the hotel apartment was a “shithole” and “wholly unsuited to doing serious work”. A clean, distraction free environment, that’s what Dan promised him. As if he didn’t realise that was the polar opposite of how Phil normally worked. Phil’s compromised so much on this proposal already, one more compromise won’t hurt.

His artistic integrity and independence is intact, and it doesn’t hurt to take some of Dan’s suggestions on board if it means camping out in his office and getting to glimpse the dimple in person.

The thought of having to work in an office had put Phil in crisis mode but Dan doesn’t need to know that. Phil had a small meltdown that morning deciding what to wear, having nothing suitable and appropriate to wear to an office beyond the suit he wore on the first day. Phil drew the line at re-wearing the suit, because he simply cannot think creatively when wearing formal wear. He had frantically texted B, who suggested his skinny jeans and sneakers, with the white button up from Wednesday. So that’s how he has fronted today, sleeves rolled to his forearms and his suit jacket slung over one arm.

When Dan meets him at reception in a white crocheted polo shirt, chunky loafers and wide-leg pinstripe suit pants that seem to glitter in the sunlight, Phil’s stomach flips. Dan smiles warmly as Phil hands him the hot drink, and Phil smiles back. It's sweetly awkward for a few seconds until Dan’s eyes widen when he realises he’s the one in charge here, and should be showing Phil to his work station.

Sipping his matcha latte and slipping into professional mode, Dan strides ahead to give him a quick office tour, showing him where the coffee machine is, how to get to the bathroom, before they settle into a bland meeting room. Dan has booked this room for the next two days for them to get some peace and quiet, to work efficiently. He’s even relocated some of his belongings into the room, to save time going between there and his desk.

Highly unnecessary in Phil’s view but hey, this is apparently now the Dan show, and he’s surprisingly ok with that given his feelings on the matter last week.

The meeting room is a lot quieter than Phil’s used to working in - no background TV noise and definitely no popcorn to snack on. It looks out across the Manchester skyline on one side and has a glass wall on the opposite side which looks into the office hallway. The day blinds have been pulled halfway down, to block the morning sun, shining on three little cacti that Dan has brought with him. They’re the only point of interest in this box aside from an expensive looking abstract print on the wall.

Phil is nothing if not nosy, so he stands to inspect the print, doesn’t recognise it (of course), and moves onto the books Dan has placed on the table in a neat pile. All of them are thick, hefty legal texts except one, thinner paperback sandwiched between Dodley’s Law of Contract, and Copinger on Copyright. It’s got a creased black spine with faded gold foil lettering, so worn that Phil can only just make out the name, Lawless Sun over Arcadia.

His stomach involuntarily flips again, at the thought that one of his own books has made it to Dan’s collection at work, maybe before they even knew each other. At that moment, this project felt like kismet.

He’s rudely brought back to earth by Dan babbling on about the opening statement and construction of chapter one, which he has put no thought whatsoever into yet. He’d assumed it would be a free flow of ideas, at least for the first draft and tells Dan as such. They bicker over the formatting, and then the font, but it's light-hearted and playful.

They agree to use Helvetica over Times New Roman; left alignment over justified; no-one gets offended or injured. The tension stays at a manageable level and Phil reigns in his childish jealousy anytime it bubbles up. They continue working like this, squabbling occasionally but generally writing in silence for a few hours before a knock on the door interrupts their flow.

“Philip, Daniel, how’s it going?” Bobby sticks his head into the office, and smiles blandly at the pair. “We’ve got a quick editorial meeting in the boardroom if you want to join us?”

Phil shoots a look at Dan, to see if he knows anything about this. Dan just stands and nods, like last minute meetings are bread and butter for him. They probably are.

“Come on Phil, hop to it” he demands, and Phil feels an echo of annoyance at both Bobby and Dan for the disturbance with a side of social anxiety. The feeling is erased when Dan leans in and whispers “just let me do the talking.”

Brad and a handful of other suits are already in the boardroom when they arrive, and an intern scurries over to take their coffee orders. “Philip, Danny, thanks for joining us”, Brad starts. Bobby sits next to him and they share a nervous look between them. “We’d love an update on the pitch prep. I know it may seem unusual - but we saw you working hard and thought it was an opportune time to check in”.

Brad’s optimism is not catching. Phil feels a little like a caged animal, like he’s been trapped against his will. He’s never had to give an update to the publisher mid-pitch. But then again, he’s also never written a non-fiction book before. Dan takes it in his stride, of course, as an arrogant smirk takes over his face.

“Alright, thanks for checking in lads, great timing of course, we’ve finished our chapter outline, literature review and are just finalising the first chapter. All on track really, nothing to worry about.”

He’s brisk and efficient, as always, gesticulating broadly with his hands. But Phil feels like there might be a bit to worry about. They haven’t actually written the first chapter, just agreed on an outline. They still have two days to write it but he’s never written anything in advance of a deadline, and probably couldn’t to save himself. He nods in solidarity and smiles, lips pressed together. Fake it til you make it, Philly he tells himself.

“We’ve got a substantive list of directors, films, and pre-existing interviews already identified,” Dan continues, on a roll, “and a forward schedule of interviews that need to be conducted with directors, producers and film studio execs”.

No they haven’t. And this is the first time he’s heard of it. “You’ve hit the nail on the nose, Dan, and we’ve got our ducks aligned. Everything’s on track as planned” Phil contributes.

Dan glares at him and Phil snaps his mouth shut and sits up straighter. Maybe he won’t contribute anything else.

“Well boys, that’s tremendous news. We are really looking forward to seeing your output on Wednesday, we’ve blocked out 11-12 for you to present to us,” Bobby adds, beaming.

Starting to panic, Phil realises that he thought they had until the end of the day on Wednesday. He will have to have strong words with B, she should have told him. He’s having flashbacks to last week. Why does this boardroom make him so stressed and anxious?

His death spiral is interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder, Dan’s hand. It squeezes gently, as Dan assures the group they will be ready by then. Somehow Dan has known he was freaking out and the contact calms him immensely.

On the other hand, Brad, Bobby and their posse haven’t seemed to notice Phil’s imminent mental breakdown, as they are distracted by the door opening and the poor intern walking in juggling a large catering box and a tray of coffees. Setting them down on the central boardroom table, the intern starts to circulate small plates and napkins.

Phil perks up - food is always going to improve his day.

Dan also looks happy that their update seems to have been accepted without question, and that food is imminent.

The lid is lifted on the catering box and Brad tells them to dig in. Phil peers over the edge to see what’s on offer and promptly starts laughing. One look at Dan and they’re cackling together, to the immense confusion of everyone else. A party sized platter of assorted sushi, nigiri, onigiri, and inari stare back at them, with a pile of wooden chopsticks and fish shaped soy sauce bottles on the side.

The editorial staff dig in but Dan and Phil momentarily hold back, wiping the tears of laughter from their eyes and trying to reign in their giggles.

“Care to let us in on the joke?” Brad inquires, as he bites delicately into a grilled salmon nigiri. He looks a bit miffed, actually. “We thought this would be a nice treat - we normally get wraps from the cafeteria downstairs.”

“Brad, Bobby, my sincere apologies,” Dan blusters, “you see we’ve already eaten sushi or Japanese cuisine a number of times this week due to its proximity to Phil’s apartment.”

“We appreciate it, really we do”, Phil adds, leaning forward and scooping one of everything onto his plate, along with the condiments and some chopsticks. He breaks them open, rubbing the wood together to remove any splinters. Now would not be a good time to have a medical emergency from a shard of chopstick wood stuck in his tongue.

“Well eat it or don’t, we’re wrapping up the meeting now”, a woman Phil didn’t notice before with a large folder in front of her and severe frown snaps at them, rudely. “Alright Susan, we’ll get out of your hair” Dan intervenes again, holding a plate of his own assorted goodies and making a mock salute at the group. “Oh and Bobby - I need to see you this week for a personal matter, are you free?”

Bobby nods as he checks his calendar on his phone. “3pm Tuesday?” he suggests, and Dan gives him a thumbs up and nod to confirm.

They take their plates, grab their coffee orders, and head back to their desk, elbows brushing as they walk down the hallway to continue writing. Phil is enjoying their relatively quiet, methodical writing process - not that he would admit it out loud - but they’re making progress and he’s happy to go with the flow, even if it’s Dan’s flow this time.

***

Tuesday brings more of the same, office-based writing to finish off chapter one. The weather is defying all odds for Manchester in the fall, as the sun is shining brightly, the temperature has inexplicably increased a few degrees from the last few days and there’s no frost on the ground as reported by the BBC forecaster.

They meet downstairs today, and it's Dan’s turn to provide the coffees. He’s picked a hazelnut macchiato for Phil with a whipped cream topping, so Phil’s day has started off well. He immediately licks the cream off the top like a four year old child, and has no intrusive thoughts about what’s appropriate office behaviour while doing it. Dan just smiles at him, pleased he made a good choice.

They sit on an uncomfortably low couch in the lobby before heading up, savouring the pleasant sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling glass windows and taking a little time for ‘mindfulness’ before the day’s chaos, as Dan explains.

Overnight Dan has miraculously created the forward schedule of interviews he promised yesterday, explaining to Phil he had used a simple project management tool that goes over Phil’s head. It’s done, that’s what matters. The research plan has been updated, and while Dan has bags under his eyes, they’re shining this morning with excitement. He really seems pumped about the project - a real 180 from when they were first lumped together.

The clock is really ticking and Phil feels it acutely, as he sits at the desk in the boring meeting room and writes a stream of consciousness onto his document. It’s an allegory he wants to include in the first chapter that demonstrates the impact that these films have had on him, and people like him. The impetus behind the book and the personal touch he knows will draw the reader in. One part true to life story, one part fictional fable, featuring his childhood pet bunny as the main character.

He thinks it works, but it could also be complete rubbish. Dan will provide the sense test later on. It’s actually a relief to have someone that’s not B review his work for a change.

Phil pauses to google the synonym of a word he wants so he can sound smarter and glances at the clock. It’s almost 2.45pm. Dan seems to be on edge the closer he gets to his 3pm meeting with Bobby. He’s been running his hands through his hair, fluffing it up and flattening it down again. Phil’s sure it isn’t the writing deadline that’s doing this to Dan - he wishes he knew what it was really about so he could offer some wisdom or support.

Dan’s Chelsea boot has been tapping against the side of the desk for the last half hour and it's driving him crazy. The Phil of last week would have had a tantrum. The Phil of this week is more zen and knows Dan means well, he’s just stressed. He should just say something. But what?

Absent-mindedly, he reaches out and pokes one of the cacti on the table, immediately regretting it. It looked fuzzy but it really wasn’t. He turns his back to Dan to covertly pull the tiny white spines out of his finger without Dan seeing. He’s such a clutz, how could he even help?

He really wishes he had more time in Manchester to get to know Dan better. He thinks they are friends now. More than frenemies, that’s for sure. And maybe they could be more. He wouldn’t mind doing long distance friendship or otherwise, it would help build a bond between them. He really needs to get to know someone on a molecular level before he can trust them with his heart again. If Dan even feels the same way, of course.

Dan stands, suddenly, pushing his chair back and declaring he needs some fresh air. “I will be back after my meeting with Bobby”, he tells Phil, pointing at the laptop, “have your part finished by the time I’m back.”

“Alright bossy”, Phil replies with a smile, knowing now this is Dan’s defensive mechanisms at play, he’s not just being a bitch. Dan’s halfway out the door with his All Saints jacket thrown on over his turtleneck sweater when he turns and leans back through the door. “Phil, we got this. And you’re coming to my place for dinner tonight when we’re done for the day.” He grins broadly, pleased with his show of dominance, and walks off.

Phil’s a little stunned, in a good way. Warmth floods his chest as he realises that he’s broken another wall down in Dan’s fortress. He gets to visit Dan’s safe place, his sanctum. He’s been assessed and has met expectations. It’s so typically Dan to dramatically declare it and then fuck off.

His phone tells him it’s 3.30pm when Phil stands to stretch and take a bathroom break. He knows it’s around here somewhere, Dan did show him yesterday but he was a little… distracted. How hard could it be to find? He confidently sets off back towards the lifts, where he thinks he saw them next to a water cooler. The office has a quiet buzz of people working and holding serious meetings, and Phil hums a little tune as he wanders down the corridor, hands shoved in his pockets to avoid touching the stupid little sculptures and artworks the publishing company has decorated with.

As he spots the WC sign a few metres ahead, the door of another meeting room opens and two men walk into the corridor shaking hands. Their backs are to Phil so they don’t spot him heading towards them, but Phil would recognise the back of that head, that style of suit, those pointy-toed designer boots, anywhere. The received pronunciation of their speech, like an archaic BBC newsreader, slaps Phil out of his good mood. They’re spouting rubbish about corporate sponsors of the arts, and the best way to fund new literary projects.

Phil spins away from them and fists his hair, pulling it at the roots, before burying his face in his hands with his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t know what to do, whether he should turn around and go back to the meeting room (if he can find it), barrel past them and ignore them, or say something. His heart starts to race and his palms are clammy.

It’s an instant trauma reaction and he’s got seconds to figure it out before they turn around or he catches up to them.

Why would David be here, of all places? This is Phil's space, his turf, and they’re not even in London. The chances of this happening should be completely fuck all.

To make matters worse, he’s not wearing his power suit, he’s back in sneakers, jeans, his brother's socks, and the touristy blue bee t-shirt he bought at the library. He’s a slob, and he’s going nowhere fast. He shouldn’t have ever thought he could do this. Glancing back over his shoulder, he can see the pair have moved further away down the corridor and haven’t seen him.

He could dash to the bathroom and hide in one of the stalls. It would be the safe thing to do, then text B for moral support.

The lift dings and time freezes, the noise around him dulls. Dan steps out of the lift as David and his associate move to step in. Phil sees them side by side, like a sliding doors moment, with Dan towering a good few inches above David’s weasley form. Dan does a double take, apparently recognising David from the photos Phil drunkenly showed him on Saturday night. It's both reassuring that Phil isn’t imagining this whole situation, but concerning because he has no idea what Dan’s reaction is going to be. He had some pretty stern words for David the other night.

But Dan is a consummate professional and schools his face immediately, replacing his shock with stern confidence. He steps towards David and leans slightly into David’s personal space, his broad shoulder and right elbow catching David’s own as he passes. David doubles over in pain, before recovering and glaring at Dan. Phil gasps, he’s deliberately shouldered him!

Dan’s cool as a cucumber and doesn’t bat an eyelid at David’s response.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was lost in my own world, I’ve been reading this brilliant dystopian epic, you might have heard of it? Phantasmal Death Eclipse, it's considered a real literary gem around these halls. Anyway I was just so deep in thought about the protagonist’s journey to self-redemption through self-discovery and how the antagonist was such a nasty piece of work and really deserved that slow and agonising death after the solar flare defrosted the zombie virus buried deep in the polar ice caps… sorry I’m going on about it but Michael Retsel really is a genius - you’ve got to read him if you haven’t already”.

Dan blasts a frosty smile at David, whose face has contorted into a beautiful shade of beetroot, the kind of which Phil had never seen in the whole time they were together. His companion is just straight up confused and clearly about to intervene, when Dan continues. “Well, back to work lads, enjoy your day.”

He strides away from them, leaving them reeling and Phil full to the brim with pride. Dan did that, for him. Without knowing he was there in the wings, watching the scene play out. No-one had ever stood up for him like that before. B and Mart had supported him, yes. But not going into bat for him like this, with everything professionally to lose and nothing to gain.

Phil stands up straighter as Dan approaches and launches himself at him when he’s close enough. He hugs him around his shoulders, tight as he can, with his head buried into Dan’s neck. He smells clean and woody, a little leathery and smoky. Dan’s slow to hug back but when he does, his hands go around Phil’s waist like they had hugged a thousand times before, one palm moving up between his shoulder blades and the other on his lower back.

“You saw that huh?” Dan says softly. “Well you need to understand, I really love your books, and I’ll defend your honour in any goddam world, Phil. That dickhead David has no place in this building, I hope you know that,” The hug lingers longer than is professional in an office, and Phil lets go reluctantly.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, you saved me, really. I was panicking and would have hid in the toilet if you hadn’t come along!” Phil admits, eyes on the patterned carpet to avoid any awkwardness of the intimate moment.

Dan’s expression is empathetic when Phil looks back up. They’re still standing close, and Dan reaches back out and cups Phil’s elbow, guiding him back to the meeting room.

“Let’s pack up and head off now, we’re so close to finishing, we can do that at my place” Dan suggests, and Phil nods in agreement.

They grab their things from Dan’s office, Phil shoving everything into his backpack haphazardly while Dan slides his keyboard, mouse and tablet carefully into his satchel. They leave the office together (after Phil finally makes it to the bathroom), walking the 20 minute journey in silence, aside from Dan pointing out a few historical buildings along the way.

Once they arrive, Phil is greatly impressed by Dan’s apartment complex. It's a gorgeous seven storied sandstone building with arched windows and a pretty cool circular port window above the entryway. The interior of Dan’s home is exactly how Phil pictured it - cool and modern with homely touches and signs of the vulnerability Phil saw in that selfie. Pictures of his grandma, a small stuffed bear with a lampshade on its head. A gaming system and fluffy blanket. Stacks of unopened mail, a box of trinkets, and some thriving succulents. It's more like home than Phil’s bland apartment back in London.

Dan turns some lofi hip hop onto a bluetooth speaker and starts pulling things out of the fridge - vegetables, chicken, tofu. "You hungry now?” he asks.

“I could definitely eat - those wraps at lunch were rubbish”, Phil answers, taking a spot at the counter next to Dan and pulling the yellow apron Dan passes him over his head, laughing at Dan’s maroon apron which declares “I cook as good as I look”.

“Show me what to do, I can help”.

“I’m sure you’ll make an excellent sous chef, Phil, but I’m nervous about your knife skills. Pass that cutting board and you can be in charge of assembly. We’re doing yakitori.” He passes Phil a container of bamboo skewers which are soaking in water and starts slicing the vegetables. Once that’s done demonstrates for Phil how to slide the veggies onto the skewers alternating with the chicken. Phil finds a good rhythm putting his own together, and Dan makes a start on the tofu.

It's not quiet in the kitchen by any means, Dan definitely feels the need to tell Phil how he’s not doing it properly, cackling when he makes a mess and giving him so much shit for his clumsy hands. The process is methodical and sensible like Dan but Phil’s found a way to make it a creative masterpiece.

But there’s something else there, a peacefulness that Phil hasn’t felt in a long time. The warmth in his belly has settled itself and made a home, only growing more when Dan laughs at one of Phil’s jokes. He wants to poke his finger in the dimple that appears, give it a name, make a home there and never leave. His cheeks ache with his smile that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Now the best part about this is the sauce - watch closely young padawan, you will want to commit this to memory as it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten” Dan jokes, one arm slung over Phil’s shoulder. He’s so relaxed in this environment, his shields are down and Phil never wants to leave. Plus it's early enough that they can get some work done afterwards and be finished ahead of their deadline.

Dan pulls his arm away and Phil misses it like it was his own limb. He watches closely as Dan mixes some mirin, soy sauce and sugar together, and brushes it across each of the skewers, starting with the tofu ones and moving onto the chicken. He places them on a rack resting across a baking dish, and into the oven, closing it gently and turning to face Phil.

Phil doesn't want to fight anymore. Or fight his attraction to Dan, either. A single step brings him closer to Dan, as close as they were in the hallway of the office. He stares into Dan’s eyes, making sure he’s reading this right, before placing his hand on Dan’s cheek.

“Can I?” he asks, quietly. Dan nods and licks his lower lip, slowly.

Phil leans in and kisses him. Their lips connect and Dan instantly melts into him, hands on Phil’s hips, fingers sneaking up under the hem of his blue t-shirt. It's hot, but it's sweet at the same time. Phils other hand comes up and cups Dan’s face, sliding around to the back of his neck and spreading his fingers as he cards through Dan’s hair. It’s as soft as he hoped. It’s glorious. Dan tilts his head, deepening the kiss, licking into his mouth and pulling their bodies closer together. Phil pushes him back against the counter, wanting to be closer still. It’s getting heated, just as the oven alarm goes off.

They break apart, breathing heavily, and Dan turns back to the oven to flip the skewers.

“I think we better save that for later, don’t you?” Dan asks, with a smirk. “A man could burn his flat down if he’s not careful”. Phil wouldn’t mind risking it, but is happy to acquiesce for the sake of the food.

They take their aprons off and sit to eat at the breakfast bar, side by side as close as the barstools allow. Phil curls his foot around Dan’s ankle, and as they dig in he notices the stack of mail with a large envelope sitting on top.

“London School of Economics?” he asks, picking the envelope up. Dan dips his head sheepishly. “Yes, I applied to do the Masters of Law, specialising in legal history and theory. It’s stupid, but I can’t seem to open the envelope.”

“Dan!” Phil exclaims, waving the envelope around, “you have to open it! What if you’ve been accepted?”

“Oh, I already know I have. But I deferred for a year to get my shit together”. He’s looking up at Phil through his eyelashes and Phil very much wants to pick up where they left off, but this is a serious conversation he wants to have. The London School of Economics is in, well, London. And Phil lives in London. He doesn’t want to dare think what this could mean.

“What do you mean get your shit together, Danny? You’re the most put together adulty adult I know, aside from B. You’re organised and smart, and funny, and fit. You would smash a masters degree, or anything else you put your mind to.” Phil shoves a skewer of chicken into his mouth and chews frantically, to stop him saying something stupid, like inviting Dan to move in with him.

“I’m worried I won’t fit in, that I’m starting from scratch”, Dan admits. “I don’t like being out of my comfort zone, I don’t like change, and I really don’t like not having money.”

“Danny, those are all things you can work on. This sounds like an amazing opportunity, whether we get the book deal or not. You know, I did my masters in film studies here at Manchester Uni after I finished my English degree… would have been around 2009. I didn’t know what I was doing and still don’t, most of the time” he reassures Dan. “No-one does, no grad student, no writer, no publisher. We’re all just making it up as we go.”

Phil hopes that Dan feels comforted but this fact, it was advice that Mart gave him when he started writing his first novel and he always came back to it when feeling self-defeated. Dan takes the envelope off Phil and gently pulls it open, reaching in for the shiny coloured booklet with smiling faces holding diploma scrolls.

“I’ve decided to do it, feel the fear and all that jazz” Dan confirms, flicking through the pages. “Autumn term has already begun, anyway, so I’ve put it off." He sighs. "It feels like I’m throwing away my career though, for a whim. No-one needs a legal historian, not in these apocalyptic political times. It feels wasteful.”

“Not every job has to solve the world’s problems, Dan. Do you think writing a book on zombie infested interplanetary travel feeds starving children? No, but I do other things to even the score. Donate to charities, read to kids at the library…” Phil trails off, and Dan puts the booklet back on the breakfast bar. They sit in silence for a beat, Phil wanting to say something else but not knowing what would help right now. Dan leans in, kissing Phil on the cheek, like a promise of things to come.

“Someone wise once told me to trust the process and embrace the void. I think I’ll follow that advice, and have the courage to believe that things will turn out the way they are supposed to. What do you think?”

“So I’m wise am I?” Phil quips back, chest puffing up, feeling all too pleased with himself.

“Don’t make me regret this, Lester”, Dan says, standing and pulling Phil with him over to the couch. “Now let’s get this pitch done. If we finish by 7pm, we can watch Beautiful Thing on Apple TV, and if you’re lucky, we can pick up where we left off.”