for you, I always wait up

It's quiet, but humid as he walks around the apartment. It's a lot later than someone should be awake, but he didn't exactly sign up for normal. Nothing about his life is normal, which is of course, unsurprising given his background.

Former Prime Minister, divorcee, life in the public. It seemed aeons ago and yet yesterday at the same time. Then came his downfall, Natalie leaving him after finding out they weren't exactly able to have children, the attempted assassination, the loss of the one job he'd wanted for years and then, his change of name and relocation.

David didn't mind being called Phillip now. It had been so long since he was even David that he barely remembered that part of himself anymore. Of course, he still longed wistfully for the glory days, of traversing around 10 Downing Street and making his homeland a more respectful, better palace, but if he hadn't been almost shot...he wouldn't have met him.

The fans on the ceiling ting, ting, things like the music in his head, almost reflecting the current song on the record player coming from near the settee as he kneads dough with his hands, baking becoming a new favourite hobby as it gets all the vitriol and worry out he feels.

'He's just settled in, a middle aged British man in witness protection in the southern part of the US he'd never been in and with no one even in a mile radius who would know him, yet, there he was at his door, almost as if he'd been waiting for this moment.

The first thing that told him he was absolutely fucked was his eyes and how they looked like they were taking him apart piece by piece, even casually. Natalie had never looked at him like that. He could count the number of times he had done so to her on one hand, however, so it was quite strange and honestly endearing to see it aimed at him.

It seemed he knew a lot more than he'd guessed, however, for as soon as he invites the man in for tea, they're sitting across from eachother bitching about politics. Oh, the irony. He wasn't exactly the most willing to open up given Natalie had worn him down, but found himself freely expressing his distaste for his replacement and the politics of the US as a whole, which makes his companion both heated and agreeable.

Both the emotions are actually attractive to David and it doesn't take long for himself to fall, which makes him curse his sins in the interim. So, he decides the only way to resolve this disturbance within himself is to avoid him entirely...which doesn't work.

Seems the more uncomfortable he looks, the more the other somehow ends up being around him, like he knows that his mere presence is wrecking the other inside and out and he intends to see the distress caused though like one of his cases. He almost wants to punch him, but knows that wouldn't work either. He'd most likely come back anyway.

Eventually, he's cornered like a bird in a cage with nowhere to go by him, tall figure hovering over him and making him swallow hard as he's forced to look up at him, eyes flickering and sweating nervously. None of the skills he'd learned trailing the halls of Parliament and in various political spheres and engagements have prepared him for this at all.

The man seems...hurt and it makes him feel guilty. He actually addresses him as 'Prime Minister, sir' and that doesn't make him feel the need to throw himself out of a window, at all.

(Spoiler: It does, no one's called him that for almost a year now.)

Just as he's thinking about this, fingers digging into the counter, he can feel hands suddenly slip into his apron pocket. While any normal person home alone would suddenly whip around and hit the offender with a frying pan (that he has done before), Phillip settles into it, a quiet chuckle coming from deep in his chest. "You're home early."

"Sorry to disappoint." A Southern accent drawls behind him, kissing him behind his left ear and making him shiver, huffing with a glare as a laugh follows. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I was baking some sugar cookies for you to put in those care packages you insist on sending out now that the pandemic is over-" Phillip sighs, shaking his head as the hands return themselves from his shoulders back into their original place, swaying him as he speaks candidly. "-but I'm not so sure now considering I just got accosted and there's a baking tray next to me."

He eyed the shadow of the other as the feeling of someone leaning against him fizzled out the last of the worries he'd had building in his chest like acid. "I'm fighting the urge to pick it up and bash you over the head with it."

"Are you, dear?" It was said with humour, a joking question, because of course he would answer it like that. He always answered things like that. This is what he gets for marrying a detective and a famous one at that. That night Benoit got him when he least expected it only to end up chasing him through the apartment lobby to wake up naked next to him was probably the best night of his life as it truly meant his old life as David was officially over.

Surprisingly, he was okay with that.

"Why don't I get the whiskey from the cabinet and you put the kettle on?" Benoit, the smug git, suggests behind him and Phillip rolls his eyes before grumbling 'just let me prepare myself first before my brain converts to the same consistency as this', hearing his husband's muffled snickering all the way to the living room before he smiles at his back.

He might not be getting any sleep tonight, but Benoit is home and that's all that matters.