prompt: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.
a/n: oh my gOD this chapter is so long wtf i’m so sorry so much happens it takes quite a dark turn towards the end and it gets very very emo i really wasn’t kidding when i said shit happens in vienna
tw; brief mentions of suicide attempts, self-harm & smoking
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Eighteen
Dan opens his eyes to the mid-morning sun struggling through the slightly parted curtains, warming the room with its golden, mid-July glow. He studies the room with a sleepy squint, and a couple of seconds of recollection is all he needs to realise that no, this isn’t a dream and Phil is still fast asleep beside him, his hair unruly and his breathing steady. He smiles softly, taking a moment to study his sleeping expression, contrasting his usual, carefully composed, thoughtful expression Dan so often sees him with. Without composure, it’s so different, so vulnerable, and it’s laughable because he’d almost say it’s innocent.
He sighs through his nose, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when the last time he fell asleep with someone who was still actually there when he woke up, was. True, they are on a supposedly ‘educational’ trip as opposed to back home in London, but even still; if Ryan tried a sly morning escape in Vienna, it wouldn’t exactly surprise him.
It isn’t long before his black-haired partner rolls over, inhaling deeply and consuming himself in a stretch before burying himself back into the duvet and opening his eyes, blinking sleepily at Dan.
Dan gives him a lazy half-smile. “Morning.”
Phil frowns, hesitating quietly before sighing, shutting his eyes again. “What’s the time?” His voice is scratchy and thin with sleep, creating another contrast to the daytime smoothness Dan’s used to. He reckons it’s probably the smoking as well as the morning fatigue, though, and he screws up his face when the small cardboard Marlboro pack sticking out of his tatty rucksack catches his eye.
“Er- I don’t know, something-past-eight, I think.” Dan cracks his back as he stretches, and Phil winces. He sits up, still frowning at the cigarette packet. “You’re not planning on doing that, are you?”
“What?” Phil frowns, sitting up and flicking his fringe out of his eye. “Having a rucksack? Look, I know it’s not exactly new anymore, but-”
“Not
the
rucksack,
you pillock.” Dan shuts his eyes. “In
the rucksack?”
“Wh- oh, that.”
Phil smirks lazily, leaning over the bed and reaching for it, his
pyjama shirt rucking up slightly in the process and exposing the
paper-white skin of his torso. He drags the pack out, sitting back on
the bed and flicking the card lid open. He whips one out, playing
with it in some kind of admiration that Dan’s disgusted by.
“Don’t even think about it.” Dan whips it straight out of his fingers and tucks it under his pillow out of his reach. “We’d be in enough trouble already if they found out about the wine.”
“But they’re not going to find out, are they?” Phil’s eyes glitter, and he half-grins, leaning over Dan and retrieving his cigarette, sliding it back into the pack and dropping it on the floor in the approximate direction of wherever his open rucksack is. He sighs, flopping back down onto his pillow and staring at the ceiling.