Word count: 315
Summary: Dan comes back from the club late at night. He got into a fight and Phil scolds him like the dad he is (I mean flatmate what).
Phil was awoken by the soft click of the front door being closed. He squinted at the alarm clock on his bedside drawer. 1:56am.
Burglar, was his immediate thought. Phil grabbed his glasses and reached for his camera tripod, which was conveniently laid beside the bed. He winced when the bed creaked a little as he stood up and tiptoed to the hall.
Even in the dim light emitting from the city streets though the window, Phil could make out the shape of a dark figure hunched over, and seemingly heading towards a light switch. Without thinking a second thought, he shouted and raised the tripod, aimed at the figure.
"Phil Lester!" Dan shrieked, blocking the tripod and grabbing it before Phil could take a hit at him. Phil froze.
"Dan?"
"Yes, it's me! Put down your weapons!" Dan flicked on the light and glared at Phil.
"What's with your face?" Phil reached to touch the light purple bruise forming on his right cheekbone. He brushed the spot lightly with his fingertips and Dan flinched before slapping his hand away. "'s nothing."
"What do you mean it's nothing? Come here," Phil clutched his hand and led him into the lounge. Phil rushed into the kitchen to get an icepack. "What happened?" He pressed it on his boyfriend's cheek. Dan grimaced. "You didn't get in a fight, did you?" Dan cracked open an eye to look at him guiltily.
"I mean, I wouldn't call it a full-blown fight..."
"Dan, we've talked about this. You can't just go around hitting people. Violence isn't always the answer," Phil scolded. "You can get hurt. Worse than this, I mean."
"Well, the guy was being a prick and I think he deserved it." Phil crossed his arms. There wasn't much he could say; he wasn't there to see what exactly had happened.
They sat in silence.
Phil cleared his throat. "So did you win?"
"Yup."