The villains head into the institute and Cry splits off from the others, going towards the boss' office without a word. Dan trails after Jack, his head pounding and his body aching from the day. Two missions within 24 hours of each other is a lot.

Jack collapses onto his bed with a heavy exhale, not even bothering to change out of his suit. Dan pulls off his boots and flexes his socked toes, barely registering the long sigh that escapes his lips.

"Will you survive alone if I go and change?" Dan asks, and Jack's mumbled response is accompanied by a thumbs-up.

The Brit heads to his room and strips out of his skin tight suit, glancing at himself in the mirror momentarily. His cheeks are flushed and his curly hair is sticking up at odd angles, old and new bruises peppering his pale chest. He grimaces at his reflection and pulls on sweat pants and a hoodie before making his way back to Jack's room.

The Irishman sits on his bed, fiddling with the strings on his sweats as Dan walks in. The Brit settles on his bed and lies down across its width, his feet resting against the wall while his head is mere centimetres from falling off the edge of the mattress.

"What's on your mind, Jack?" he asks, although it's kind of a stupid question. They're waiting to hear what the boss has to say about Matt and Ryan getting kidnapped. They're waiting to either get beaten or get spared.

"Matt and Ryan. What the boss is going to do to us. That sort of thing," Jack replies, confirming Dan's suspicion. "My head also hurts. Six shots is a bad idea."

Dan nods and exhales, letting his eyes fall shut. Phil waits for him in his mind's eye, that small smile seared into his brain. Maybe in a parallel universe where Phil wasn't born with powers and Dan was never mutated, their coffee conversation became a date. If they were both still in England, maybe they went on a walk through a park in London afterwards. What if it started to rain? Maybe they ducked under a bus shelter and huddled close for warmth. Maybe they looked up at the sky and let the water droplets run down their faces, and once that date ended they went on more.

"Dan? Did you fall asleep?"

Jack's voice pulls him out of his daydream and he opens his eyes, throwing himself back into their cruel, cruel reality. A reality where his body doesn't go a day without bruises and scarring is frequent. A reality where his best friend is an Irishman with an eyepatch because without the covering, a demon will possess his body and control others. A reality where Phil is a hero, a sworn enemy, who probably just thinks of Dan as a nice guy when he's not being a villain. It makes him want to cry.

"Nah, I'm just thinking," Dan replies softly.

"About what?"

"Parallel universes."

"Don't go giving yourself existential crises."

A smile crosses Dan's face. "No promises."

Jack pats his shoulder with a small smile and pulls himself to his feet. "I'm gonna go check on Cry, okay?"

"Mmkay."

Jack slips out of his room and Dan closes his eyes again, letting himself fall into his daydream once again.

—

Phil makes his way home, completely exhausted from what feels like the longest day of his life. His flat is within walking distance of Curatrix, which he's grateful for. The last thing he wants to do is take a bus or drive with tons of other people around. The noises of the city help distract his frazzled mind, which is just an added bonus.

He reaches his flat and pushes the door open, dropping his bag on the floor just as he always does. Moving to the kitchen, he starts up the kettle and sits down at the breakfast bar, watching and listening as the water starts to boil. In the solitude of his kitchen, he finds his mind wandering back to Dan and how nice it would be if right now, he had another person to talk to. If Dan was sitting beside him right now, smiling and talking with his warm hand on Phil's leg, his house would feel a whole lot less empty. If Phil went to bed each night knowing that someone was there, waiting for him, maybe he would feel less lonely all the time.

Back in that bookstore, Dan had probably just been curious. He's probably sitting in his bedroom right now, Phil the very last thing in his mind. He most likely has things that are far more important and prevalent than some lonely hero.

"I'm pathetic," Phil mutters to himself, resting his head on his closed fist and exhaling. The kettle responds by clicking off and the hero drags himself to his feet, making himself a cup of tea. The mug clinks against the counter and the water makes its own gentle rippling sound as it fills the cup, and Phil can't find it anything but depressing. The quiet is oppressive, and with each passing moment he hates it more.

Phil heads to the living room and settles on the couch, turning on the TV in an effort to fill the silence. A newscaster drones on and on about the two robberies that happened in the span of 24 hours and the villain involvement, and Phil finds himself zoning out. His brain supplies him with a pleasing image of Dan in his skin-tight black suit and the hero has to slap himself in the face to stop it. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. It can't happen, Phil. He's a villain. Give it up.

His self-scolding makes his heart ache and he finds himself fighting off a sudden surge of tears. He knows he's being ridiculous, but he can't help it. Finally hanging out and talking with someone that isn't a hero felt so good, and the fact that Dan is British was just another bonus that helped curb the homesickness. Being with another person on something that resembled a date only reminded him how much he misses non-platonic companionship. His last relationship ended a few months after he came to America all those years ago. Is it so much to ask for another one?

Phil finishes his tea in silence as the news plays in the background, and as soon as his cup is empty he deposits it beside the sink and heads to his room. He switches his jeans and t-shirt in favour of pyjama pants and climbs into bed, falling asleep to the hum of his own thoughts.