Chapter Text
Dan's favourite coffee kiosk serves him his caramel macchiato decaffeinated for some inexplicable reason, so this means he has to get it changed, and this means he arrives in the studio just as the intro finishes playing, slides on his headphones and announces a rather frenzied hello to the UK. Nick rolls exasperated eyes at him, but starts carrying on a conversation about his weekend which Dan can mindlessly slide into while booting up his laptop.
So he really only realises twenty minutes into the show.
"And this is Newsbeat with Tina Daheley," he informs everyone, fumbling for the right button.
"We had Newsbeat less than five minutes ago," Nick says. Dan ignores this. He gestures at the glass. "Who's that?"
"Someone who I'm reasonably sure can see and hear you," Nick says, giving the person on the other side a little wave. "That's Phil Lester, our new producer."
"How come I wasn't informed?" Dan demands.
"I texted you about the meeting two days ago-"
"It was at eight am on a Saturday-"
"And so I decided on behalf of everyone to give you a nice surprise," Nick concludes. "Surprise!"
"Where's Fred," Dan says, "why'd he leave!"
"Fred's been saying for ages he was going to retire this year."
"I thought he was just threatening to do it 'cause I kept swearing on-air," Dan says, dismayed. "I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye!"
"His retirement party is this Friday." Nick studies Dan's blank expression. "You really don't read any work related memos at all, do you?"
"Sure I do," Dan starts indignantly, but New Producer Guy Phil Lester gestures at them through the glass, and Nick puts his earphones back on.
"And that was Newsbeat with Tina Daheley for the second time in ten minutes," he says. "Here at BBC Radio One, we place a great deal of importance on the news. Apparently. Speaking of news, let's welcome our new producer! Say hello, Phil Lester."
"Hi, hello," Phil Lester says, and his voice is deeper than Dan had been expecting. If he had been expecting anything. If he had been given the time in which to form any sort of expectation. He realises they're both looking at him expectantly, Nick having offered up an explanation for Fred's sudden abandonment. "Oh," says Dan, like the professional BBC radio DJ he is.
He tries again. "Yeah, it's come as a bit of a surprise for me, too, thanks to Nick here. Walked in today, it was like ta-da, hello new guy fiddling with the control board-"
"It's the first time Dan's met Phil, too," Nick explains. "Slept in on a weekend morning meeting, didn't he?"
"Thanks, Nick."
"Anytime," Nick returns, easy. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll all get along famously. Either that or we'll crash and burn the Breakfast Show, ha ha."
"Very optimistic of you," Dan says, and Phil says, "Yeah, I love that faith in my producing ability."
Nick laughs and introduces 5SOS' new single.
"I'm just saying," Nick says, as they pack up their stuff; Phil had given them a thumbs up and disappeared almost immediately after the show, and Dan had kind of been expecting an official introduction but hey, if that was how this guy rolled, "blue eyes, nice smile."
Dan narrows his eyes at him. "What are you saying, Nick? Do elaborate."
He slings his backpack on and Nick pushes open the door for them, his mouth open around a reply, but Dan's spotted Phil waiting right down the corridor, so he elbows Nick in the ribs. Hard.
"Ow!" says Nick. "I'm not stupid, I have eyes! Hi, Phil."
Phil smiles at him - he does have a nice smile, Dan notes, and then curses Nick for this - and sticks out a hand, meant for Dan. "We haven't had a chance to proper meet yet," he says. "Hi, I'm Phil."
"Dan Howell," Dan says automatically. Phil's grip is firm and his fingers are dry and warm, and Dan's inner voice is spouting clichés at this point, let's be real.
"I know," Phil says, still smiling. "I'm a big fan."
"Oh," Dan manages, for the second time in three hours.
"Oh," Nick mimics, low, by his side. Dan is going to elbow him again.
"So - Bill and Audrey," Phil says, "want to get together this weekend, discuss some ideas for the show."
"Ah," Nick says sadly, "Dan and work on weekends, not a great combination."
"Nick, stop making me out to be that bad," Dan says. "I'm not that bad," he assures Phil.
"Good to hear," Phil agrees. "So. I'm gonna-" he thumb jerks at the door, "see you guys Saturday, huh? Or Friday, Fred's retirement shindig. Or. Wait. Tomorrow." He grins sheepishly and darts back through the door.
"I'm just saying," Nick says, "he's your type."
"Shut up, Nicholas," Dan says, "you don't even know if he's single."
He's not single.
Dan holds out until Thursday, and then he says something on-air that he doesn't consider particularly funny, but when he looks up, Phil's laughing in the other room, hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled. Dan goes home and holds out for thirty seconds more and then furiously types in his name.
After a cursory google search, and a viewing of some of his older Youtube videos (all the way back from 2006; he's a youtube dinosaur), he summarily curses Google, Nick Grimshaw, and then himself for harbouring even that tiny fragment of hope. He does not curse Lisa Engleham, who looks like a lovely person, and should have lovely pretty-eyed babies with Phil. He lets out a low, sad whale sound.
Chris, spread out on his stomach on Dan's sofa, eating Dan's tomato Pringles, looks up.
Dan turns the laptop towards him. Chris views it with his neck bent an awful angle. It makes Dan wince to even look at it.
"Phil Lester. Your new producer? He's PJ's friend. Nice chap. From up north." Chris pronounces this last bit like a seal of approval.
Dan lets out another long, keening noise.
"What's wrong? Oh, you poor bastard," he says kindly, peering at Dan's face. "You've got a bit of a crush on him, haven't you?'
"Ugh, I don't, I might have had, but anything I might have possibly harboured has been crushed underfoot," Dan says, "thoroughly. Comprehensively. And even if I did, don't you dare tell PJ, either. I know how this chain of thingy thing goes. Seven degrees of separation. It'll get to Phil."
He lies back on his carpet and dramatically lays a hand on his forehead. Part of it is so Chris will sympathise with his predicament and hopefully word will never get to PJ. Dan has high hopes, he knows, but one might as well dream big.
Chris peers down at him. "Stop behaving like a regency maiden," he orders Dan disapprovingly. So much for sympathy. "And I won't tell PJ. Promise."
"Pinky promise," insists Dan.
"Alright," Chris says, rolling his eyes and reaching out. "Pinky promise."
He might have a shot, then. Even Chris knows pinky promises are sacred.
The next night is Fred's shindig, so Dan spends two hours in front of the mirror, deciding between a nice white shirt with a black floral print and a nice black shirt with a white dotted print.
"I didn't know you liked Fred that much," Wirrow says, observing him from the lounge.
"Why are you here?" Dan asks. "I only invited Bry to help me choose."
Wirrow amusedly holds both hands up. "Defensive, Howell," he says, grinning.
"Dan," Bryony says exasperatedly, "I'm going to hold both of these out, and you're going to just close your eyes and pick."
Dan covers his eyes with one hand and blindly reaches out. He gets the black shirt. "Nah," he says, ignoring Bry's "this boy," and picks the white one from her hand. He buttons it up and starts on his hair.
"This'll take another hour," Bryony says, heading towards the lounge.
"Is he cute at least?" Wirrow asks, flipping through the channels.
"I'm not impressing him," Dan says, and regrets opening his mouth, because a) he's just sprayed a cloud of aerosol over his head, and b) Wirrow's horribly triumphant expression.
"So it's a he!" he says. "It was 50 - no no, bad bad. 33/33/33. Toss up between he, she, and gender neutral pronouns. Worse odds, and I still got it in one."
"Well, I'm not impressing him," Dan insists. "I like Fred, and there're gonna be big uppity bosses at this thing, and so what if I want to make a good impression on my new producer? Who's got a girlfriend anyway," he adds pointedly, and he isn't too busy with his hair to miss the way Wirrow and Bryony shoot looks at each other. "Alright, I'm leaving," he says, like a Statement.
They wave absently, already absorbed with Quantico and his popcorn, because all the people in Dan's life seem to have a habit of constantly eating his food. Dan huffs and grabs his jacket, closes the door behind him.
The taxi finds its way to Fred's place fine, with Dan giving vague directions; he's been here only once before, for Fred's kid Ant's seventeenth. It's a classic suburban house, large front lawn and vines creeping up the sides, straight out of a Home and Living magazine. Fred's served the BBC faithfully for thirty years, and he's always tolerated Dan with a kind of shaking-his-head fondness; he deserves all the nice things in his retirement.
Ant opens the door and grins at Dan's bottle of wine. "That's for your dad," Dan says, and Ant says, "yeah, yeah," takes it from Dan and grins up at him, lets him in.
The lounge is already full of people, 70% of which Dan knows, 30% older people with broad red friendly faces like Fred's. Who, speaking of, is heading over to Dan and wrapping him up in a hug.
"Man of the hour," Dan says, patting him on the back, "man of the night."
"Sorry, sorry, I know, personal space. I'm just getting maudlin already." He lets go, claps Dan's shoulder.
"Nah, it's good," Dan says, and it is. Fred's hardly a stranger, he was there on Dan's very first day, helped show him around. Dan realises, all abrupt, that he's going to miss him.
"Speaking of maudlin," Dan says, "I know you're probably glad to be rid of me and the many mini heart attacks I almost caused you with my tardiness, procrastination on assignments, et cetera, but it's going to be all odd without you."
Fred looks shocked. "Who are you, and what have you done with Dan Howell?"
"Funny, funny," Dan says. "See if I ever sap on you again."
"I'm gonna miss you too, kid," Fred says, looking fondly upon Dan. "God, it was your first day yesterday. One last sappy, maudlin thing for the night: I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, Fred."
"You're in good hands, though, Phil's great. He's over there-" Fred waves vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, "asked after you earlier, if you'd come. Told him Dan Howell's always late, he's just going to have to get used to it."
"Thanks, Fred," Dan says. "Between you and Nick, he's going to think I have the worst work ethics. He was only supposed to find out after, like, a month at least."
Fred pats him again. "Off you go, enjoy the party, don't forget to check in with me before you leave," he instructs. "I'm off to find that bottle of wine I know you brought and my kid's squirreled away." He goes to greet new guests at the door, and Dan looks around and sees El and Fiona, who wave him over.
"You look very nice," Fiona comments approvingly. "New shirt?"
"This old thing," says Dan, "got it at a yard sale, yeah..."
"Oh, Georgio's having another one of those?" Fiona says, tartly, because they know all about him and his fashion weakness.
"Don't you have a drink yet?" El demands. "Let's get you to the kitchen, chop chop." Which is how Dan finds himself being herded into Fred's kitchen, where Phil Lester stands at the counter, in conversation with Nick and Fred's wife, Laura. They're making her smile, and Phil's refilling her glass. But she turns as Dan enters, exclaims, "Love, you made it!" She kisses him on the cheek.
"I suppose you've met Phil," she says.
"For all of a week," Dan agrees.
"You two're such sweet boys," she says. "I know Fred's confident he's left the place in safe hands."
"Am I not a sweet boy?" Nick enquires, to general amusement. "Alright, alright, don't even start," he says, as Dan opens his mouth.
"You don't even try," she says. "Come along, now, Fred's beckoning and you can cover me from Mr Weston's general viewing, in case he tries to strike up a conversation."
"Milady," Nick says, and they head off, and El and Fiona have melted away with their respective drinks, so Dan finds himself alone with Phil.
"Hello," he says. Phil's wearing a nice dark blue collared short-sleeved shirt, with tiny white dots that appear to be snowflakes when you peer at them closer. He's got slacks and red sneakers on, and his eyes look like a confused pre-storm sky in this low kitchen light.
"Oh, hi, Dan," Phil says, then, "nice that you came."
"Yeah," Dan says, "Fred's a good guy."
It's all polite and mundane, and Dan's just going to get himself a drink, when Phil says calmly: "So Chris said you have a crush on me."
Dam fervently wishes he'd poured himself that drink earlier, just so he could splutter and choke on it. As it is, he settles for spluttering and saying: "What - I -"
"He also said you'd told him that he couldn't tell PJ," Phil continues, still horrifically calm, "but you never told him he couldn't tell me."
"I am going to kill him," Dan says, equally as calmly, "and then I am not going to speak to him for three years."
"That's very specific," Phil says, smiling.
"I can't keep a grudge for longer than that," Dan admits sadly.
"He's my friend, and he's out to ruin my life."
"Friends tend to do that," Phil agrees.
"I mean, he was joking, because obviously I know you've got a girlfriend-"
"Ah," Phil says.
"Oh god, I'm not the kind of creepy stalker who just knows that. I googled you. No, that came out wrong-"
"It's alright. I often google people after first meetings myself."
Dan doesn't know whether he's joking.
"Did you google me?"
"I didn't need to," Phil says. "Told you I was a big fan."
"No you aren't. Also I'm kind of super embarrassed now."
"You don't need to be." Phil grins at him. "And even if you are, it's nothing a drink can't fix." He inclines his head towards the makeshift bar on the counter.
"D'you know how to make a cocktail?" Dan asks, distracted.
Phil shakes his head. "I can try - I'll probably smash all the glasses in the process." He picks up a cocktail glass, squints at it, pours some wine and adds a cherry from a bowl. He presents it to Dan with a dramatic flourish. A bit of wine sloshes out.
"A work of art," Dan comments.
"It's nothing," Phil deadpans, all modest, but then there's the distinctive sound of metal tinkling against glass, and when they peer into the lounge, there's a small crowd forming around Mr Weston, who's clearing his throat.
"Oh, man," Phil says with feeling, and Dan has to agree.
"Hey," Dan says, suddenly. "Let's grab a few of those tiny cheesecakes on toothpicks and hide out in the garden."
Phil looks at him, and grins, quick. "C'mon. I'll grab the drinks and cover you."
Outside it's nice and breezy, and they settle into the lawn chairs and clink their glasses to escaping Mr Weston's waffle about his own self-importance.
"So," Phil says, "what else did you find out when you googled me, besides my relationship status and weird 2008 videos?"
"Your Myspace," Dan says, and Phil groans. "I do my research! Loved the ginger hair, you should go back."
"You know what, Dan Howell," Phil says.
Three years gets bargained down to three hours, because Chris pays for pizza and orders the cheesy bread Dan loves. It's not much, but Dan lives alone in central London, buying him out isn't pricey. Also he's more forgiving because he's had nice time tonight; he may have made a friend, something that happens infrequently enough that it's something for Dan to sort of note and then despair that it's something to sort of note.
The next morning he wakes up to the tinkle of his phone; he sighs and reaches out for it with his eyes still closed.
you're already late, Nick's sent, and then another one, where are you
Dan jerks upright and is halfway through brushing his teeth when he realises the sun isn't slanting through the bathroom window the way it would be if he was already late. He checks his phone again: five-thirty am.
fuck you i fuckin had a heart attack
ghjiddjijd i was counting on you panicking and not looking at the time
Thanks to Nick wake up texts, at any rate, Dan's early to the meeting room; he gets his latte on the way, and is sipping it and reveling in the warmth, at the head of the table with his feet up because he's alone and he can, when the door swings open and Phil enters, bearing one of those Starbucks cartons with six drinks in the slots.
"Oh," he says, smiling at Dan. "I wasn't expecting you to beat me here, I like being early." He sets the drinks down, and Dan despairs; he's a Nice Person. "Guess I'll have your latte then."
Dan clutches at it. "I need all the caffeine I can get, thanks."
"How bout we share, so we can each be a hundred and fifty percent caffeinated," Phil bargains, walking around to the other end of the table and settling down. He steeples his hands together and affects a serious expression.
"Is that your megalomaniac CEO of a powerful corrupt company pose?" Dan asks.
"That is indeed my megalomaniac CEO of the world pose," Phil agrees, aiming a narrow-eyed glare at Dan. "If you would be so kind as to get your filthy feet off my gold-plated table..."
Which is how Nick and Fiona find them, giggling over whether Dan can get Iceland in exchange for Japan - Phil needs it so he can breed his pandas, Dan, you don't understand the importance of this - when they walk in half an hour later. Nick takes in the projection screen, with the huge map of the world where Phil's added a drawing of two pandas mating where Japan's situated.
"Ah," Nick says, "I see we're going with the getting along famously option." He takes off his sunglasses and takes a coffee. "Who bet against me?"
"You didn't make a bet," Fiona informs him.
"Sad," Nick sighs theatrically. "I'll just have to make a different one."
Dan doesn't like the look he shoots Fiona at this, like, at all, but Bill Kreppe comes in and so does Audrey Myers and the meeting is declared officially underway.
Apparently they want Phil to take a more active role as a producer, because of his natural talent at presenting and Youtube background, which everyone agrees with, yeah, it'll be cool if Phil makes comments here and there and Dan and Nick include him in their discussions, sure. Then they want Phil to lay out some of his ideas and he obliges; he hurriedly gets rid of the panda slide, Dan grinning, and offers something called Internet News, which personally Dan thinks sounds fantastic.
"We can do it with like, black horn-rimmed glasses, very official presenter," he suggests, and Audrey points at him, "yeah, make it a proper visual thing, put it up on the site." Bill agrees, and Phil proposes Fan Wars.
"Very internetty!" Fiona says. "Get the younger listeners involved. I like it. Winner can request a song of their choice."
"Good, good, it all sounds great," Bill pronounces, and then they talk official business things that Dan has never been quite interested in before everyone starts clearing out and wishing each other a good weekend.
"You know what you should pitch," Dan says to Phil, holding the door open as Phil balances his laptop and downing the last dregs of his coffee; frankly, with that kind of balancing, Dan's worried that the coffee's going to land all over him, but Phil narrowly misses him when it inevitably spills, gets a bit of the carpet and most of the bin.
"Oh, dear," Phil says sadly.
"You didn't get me, I'm counting it a win," Dan decides.
Phil stuffs the laptop in his bag and makes a conceding sound. "What were you saying?"
"You should pitch the Seven Second Challenge," Dan says. "You know, the one you did with PJ, which a bunch of other Youtubers stole?"
"Have the listeners do the challenges?" Phil asks. "Or the presenters?"
"Okay, I hadn't thought it up that far, this literally just occurred to me," Dan says. "But it'd be fun to do a DJ vs DJ thing, you know?"
"Yeah, it would, actually, make it a little competitive." Phil does a sort of boxing motion in the revolving doors.
"Only one can survive," Dan says.
"We'll bring it up next time. Tube?"
"Nah, I'm taking a taxi, traffic isn't shit and I'm going to make the most of the rest of the weekend," Dan says. "And by this I mean: sleep."
"Good plan," Phil agrees. He waves at Dan, is swallowed up by the street.
Dan tries not to notice how we'll sounds better in Phil's mouth when it refers to him and Phil by aggressively sticking out his hand for a taxi.
On Sunday Phil texts him a picture of some horrific mutated creature. household dust, he's captioned it.
And then a few seconds later: It's Phil btw, like they hadn't saved each other's numbers on Saturday.
Gross, Dan replies. the household dust, not you. Wtf is that anemone
thanks glad you cleared it up. also idk but it's probably on your eyelid rn
Dan sends him a gross emoji.*
On Monday him and Nick film the first Internet News segment; Phil's compiled stories about baby seals barking to Born This Way, New Year's cards gone wrong, and a baby who can sing opera. It's all very quirky and endearing. Dan makes a mental note to contribute weirder stories to Phil next week; c'mon, man, it's the internet.
On Tuesday they introduce Fan Wars, and a One Direction fan faces off with a Little Mix one, which is exciting enough as it is, except the Little Mix one refuses to stop singing, which has the studio in hysterics, because she just keeps hitting those high notes over 1D's No Control, and in the end Nick, still giggling, has to say, "alright, alright, darling, we're cutting you off." Phil's got his hand over his mouth, which Dan is beginning to realise only happens when he laughs really hard.
On Wednesday Nick tells him he's the new X Factor judge, and to keep it quiet; Dan goes wide-eyed, congratulates him, says, "you're not leaving us like this, are you?" Nick rolls his eyes. "Not quite yet, Howell, there's no need to look so betrayed."
On Thursday he happens to mention that he loves Mario Kart, when Phil and him go out for a breakfast brunch thing after the show, and Phil informs him, "I love Mario Kart!" Dan says: "alright, alright, it's not a competition over who loves it more," and Phil's eyes brighten, and he decides, "well, it wouldn't have to be, we could decide it once and for all. Come over Saturday and play it," and Dan's not going to say no to a Mario Kart gauntlet thrown down like that.
On Friday Internet News is broadcast, and it gets their site a bunch of views, which is nice.
On Saturday he stands on the doorstep of Phil's apartment, suddenly abruptly nervous; he's only known this guy for two weeks, and he hasn't exactly had a history of making friends that easily. He can't get rid of the feeling that he's gonna fuck it up somehow. So he stands there, alternating between nerves and telling himself to shut up, until Phil opens the door and he takes a surprised step back, forgetting he's on a doorstep and almost falling backwards.
Phil steadies him with a hand on his arm. "It's nice to not be the one tripping for once," he tells Dan.
"Ha ha. Hm. Ha," Dan replies intelligently, inviting himself in out of embarrassment.
Phil's apartment is a bit bigger than Dan's, and everything is bright and primary coloured, on Phil's mini apartment tour he sees a main bedroom, a spare, a basket of expensive-looking soap in a basket in the bathroom, a spotless kitchen.
"I live with my girlfriend," Phil says, "Lisa, she's gone off to Manchester the next few months for work."
"Oh, right," Dan says, "I'm just going to attribute the overall cleanliness and tidiness of your place compared to mine to that fact that you've got someone to moderate it and I don't."
"Whatever makes you feel better," Phil says, grinning. "Settle yourself onto the sofa, I'm going to get the snacks."
Phil's chosen Pop Tarts and Pringles and Fanta, good choices, Dan approves of these choices. It's all going swimmingly, bit of banter back and forth, until they start the game, and then it's full-out war.
Phil's good at it, Dan wonders if it's by practice or natural talent, but Dan's battle-hardened by years of not many irl friends and therefore racing against internet masters, and he wins the first game, then the second, at which Phil gives a little shriek and declares it's out of five and wins the third. Dan edges past him in the fourth race and Phil blames the wheels of his car for being too fast, the spork, and informs Dan that it's best of ten. They play until evening, until the sun begins to set, and then Phil throws down the controller and says: "Ceasefire, ceasefire!"
"Or we could just call it what it is: a complete whitewash," Dan suggests.
If you'd been keeping score, Howell, you'd understand that it was fairly even, and I could sense that my luck was about to change," Phil says loftily. "Aren't you hungry?"
They'd both lost track of the score about thirty minutes in, and Dan is extremely hungry - lots of shouting and fervent finger action will do that to you - so they go out for sushi near Phil's place, which Phil recommends as good, not great, but for the location alone I'll give it four out of five, and they trash talk each other's Mario Kart skills for a bit, but then they talk about other video games for a bit, and then they start on anime, and then the sushi itself, and it's by then Dan discovers Phil's a gigantic weeaboo, too. Final Fantasy and Kill Bill (Volume 1, duh) and Free!, and fuck Dan's secretly delighted, but it's not going to stop him getting into it with him over the merits of Makoharu as opposed to Rinharu. These are the important things.
And then it all just - snowballs, as brand-new friendships tend to; Dan spends the next couple of months either texting Phil, or going for coffee or sushi or pizza with him, or watching the new Captain America movie with him and his ridiculously bright Avengers socks, or catching his eye when a caller says something especially strange on-air. Phil has an offbeat sense of humour that's dry in a way that's actually hilarious, and he has a knack for attracting strange people on the street that Dan didn't 100% believe him about until it happens to them again and again, which, what, and he's really clumsy and he sings Celine Dion in the shower and hates cheese and has just only realised, after having stomachaches for a year, that he's lactose intolerant, and before Dan knows it he's insinuated himself into Dan's life like he's been there forever and a day.
It's nice. It's like having a best friend. Not that Dan would know, as he hasn't properly had one, like, ever, but before he can reflect upon that too much, Phil texts him asking for the time (it's literally on his phone, the living flop) or the fact that Sarah Michelle Gellar's just follow friday'd him (he's a Buffy stan. It's a big deal for him) and he forgets to reflect, since it's easier instead to laugh and go along with whatever Phil's saying.
"Dan," Chris says. He waves a hand between Dan's face and his phone. "Jesus."
"Hm?" Dan has the vague idea that Chris has been trying to get his attention for some time. "Sorry, sorry, texting."
"I can see that," Chris says snippily. "I was asking if you wanted Thai."
"I had Thai yesterday," Dan says. "We went and tried this new place that just opened up across the street. I wish I lived on his street just 'cause of all the food there. It's a literal hub."
"So no Thai," Chris surmises. "Or, y'know what, you can eat it again, I've been craving Pad Thai for ages.
They watch an episode of Brooklyn 99, then the food comes and they set it up on the table. Dan pulls out his phone to check it - Phil's replied - and he types out a quick answer before setting it down. When he looks over again, Chris is surveying him, but there's no annoyance this time, just a kind of consideration.
"I haven't seen you these last few weeks," he says.
"Oh," Dan says, stuffing an egg roll into his mouth. "Hanging out with Phil, mostly."
"Yeah," Chris agrees, then, since he's always been the kind of person to cut to the chase, "what's his girlfriend think about you spending so much time with him?"
Dan doesn't think about Lisa much. Phil mentions her a few times, here and there: "I went on that ride with Lisa," "it's one of her favourite movies," but he doesn't think about it, really. There's nothing much to think about, anyway; she's still in Manchester, and the rare weekends she does come home Phil doesn't hang out with him, that's all there is to it. "She's in Manchester, mostly, for work," he tells Chris now. "I don't know if he's told her about me." The thought cuts him in a strange stinging way, that Phil might not have considered Dan important enough in his life to tell his girlfriend about. "Also, it's not like that. I know he has someone. I wouldn't be that person."
Chris doesn't look like he's considering him anymore, he just looks a tiny bit sympathetic, which Dan - this calls for the world ending, except Dan kind of doesn't want to comment on it and find out what it is he's got to say. "I know you wouldn't, Dan," he says. "That's not what I'm worried about."
And like - it's easy, the way it hasn't ever been with anyone else. Phil waits for him in the corridor after the show, and they have lunch, finally trying out different places in the area because it's more fun with a friend. They try out bowling one weekend. Phil's good at it until he ventures too far into the bowling lane, slips on the smooth coating, and falls on his ass. He still wins, but that's because Dan's laughing too hard to continue. They start on Making A Murderer. Dan finds out he has two loving parents and an older brother. Dan tells him about his own brother, his grandma, his mum.
Speaking of.
"Hi, Mum," Dan says.
"Oh, you remember what you call me, then," his mum says, "thought you'd forgotten that along with my number."
"Sorry, Mum. I've just been busy."
"Busy, yeah, yeah, I know," she says, heaving a huge sigh. Dan inherits his sense of the dramatic from her.
"With work, and-"
"And?" She repeats. "Is there an and? Tell me there's an and. Is it that nice girl who works with you? The brunette one?"
"It could be a guy," Dan says, feeling defensive. He doesnt know why it matters, so much, right now except that it does. "You said a guy would be fine too, remember?"
"I remember what I said," his mum says, like Dan's being silly. "It's a guy, then? That's so cute. Dan! What's his name, do I know him? Can I meet him?"
She's speed-rambling in excitement, the way Dan does. Dan doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know whether she's trying to make up for her lukewarm response when he'd told her about his sexuality, or if it's because he found someone, or if it even matters why, because she sounds so honestly delighted, but he makes a confused kind of grunt sound, which she takes as agreement because she gives a tiny yelp of excitement, and changes the subject.
He wants to tell Phil about it; he's going to be extremely amused and bemoan Dan's inability to talk himself out of emotionally complicated situations, Dan can already hear the sound of his laugh. Phil picks up after the second ring, listens to Dan, and says, "Oh, man."
"I know, right," Dan says.
"So she thinks you have someone?" Phil asks. "What are you gonna do if she comes up unexpectedly and you don't?"
"Tell her we broke it off?" Dan suggests. "Or, like, hire someone... she sounded so excited."
"How do you get yourself into these situations," Phil says, sounding amused.
"It'll end up a disastrous spiral of lies."
"As per usual, then. So. Hey," Phil says, "Lisa's in town. You remember Lisa."
"I remember Lisa."
"Anyway, she wants to invite you to dinner tomorrow night! Well. Everyone. Nick, and Fiona. She wants to meet everyone I'm working with now." The way Phil says it makes Dan think Lisa's somewhere in the vicinity; it's not restrained, exactly, but Dan knows Phil enough to know it's different; he realises it's been sort of different since he'd picked up the phone, but Dan had been too absorbed in his story to notice.
"Oh," Dan says, his usual witty self.
"You coming?"
Dan can't think of an excuse not to. Or a reasonable reason he should think of an excuse not to. He likes Phil, and he will probably like his girlfriend too. It's all good. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there."
"Great!" Phil says. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow."
Tomorrow, then, finds him and Nick on Phil's doorstep, Nick with a bottle of wine, Dan carrying a box of chocolates. Nick reaches out to ring the doorbell. He looks at Dan.
"Y'okay?" he asks.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Dan asks back. Nick's about to say something, but the door opens.
Lisa is dark-haired and brown-eyed and small; she's wearing jeans and a white top and she smiles at Nick and Dan, exclaims, "Oh, you shouldn't have!"
"You must be Lisa," Nick says, going over all charming, Dan hands over the gift and lets Nick talk them through the hallway and then to the lounge, where Fiona's already sitting. "Phil's in the back," Lisa says, swinging the door open; Dan follows her, for no particular reason, to where Phil's setting out the cutlery in the dining room. She goes over to his side, kisses him on the cheek, easy, affectionate, and he smiles. There is a sudden twist in Dan's gut, like a dulled blade. "Dan brought us chcolates," she tells him. "He's as nice as you said he was. I've heard so much about you," this to Dan, and so he doesn't gasp from the twist in his gut, and says instead, "Hopefully that I've been beating him soundly in Mario Kart," which makes her laugh.
Dinner is - uneventful. It's good food and familiar conversation, Nick retelling well-known anecdotes, the rest jumping in with a bit of banter, Lisa laughing, and after they've eaten Dan volunteers to help clean up, waving away Lisa and Phil's protests.
"So. What d'you think of her?"
Dan hadn't noticed him coming in with a new stack of bowls. He doesn't jump, but he says, "Phil," puts a soapy hand to his heart.
"Sorry, sorry," Phil says, his mouth curving up in amusement. He comes over, places the stack in the sink.
Nick was wrong, Dan realises. Phil's eyes aren't blue; they're pre-storm pale, they're a shade of green lighter than the green tea he makes, they're almost amber in the right light. Nick was right, Dan realises, and so was Chris, and so was his mum, about the and.
"Lisa's lovely," Dan says.
Phil grins at him then, seems relieved. "I'd hoped you'd like each other. You're, like, my most favourite people ever."
The assurance is tempered with second-prize consolation. Dan swallows through the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah, no, she seems great," he tells Phil, quite honestly, and turns to the dishes again.