I had so much fun writing my first kid fic with the help of my beta, @heartthrobphilly and basing it off of @bluevlvvt ’s artwork (the link above!) —— Word count: 2.6k Prompt: Phil offers to drive his friends daughter (lola) to her ballet lesson. he runs into a cute dad with his daughter rosie. he offers to drive lola to her ballet lessons every week after that. (slow plot development lol) Warnings: light cursing, angst —— It’s 3:02pm as Phil waits outside of Brookside Elementary School. According to Ian, Lola usually exits through this door and waits to be retrieved from the playground. So far, there’s no sign of the little blonde girl playing outside.
A shout of “Uncle Phil!” catches his attention and he turns around to the soccer pitch just in time to see the kindergartener running at him, embracing him in a hug when they collide. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking care of you tonight, remember? Your dad has a big business dinner, and your mom is in Wolverhampton for her job, yeah?”
“Ohhhhh, I just thought Grandma would be taking care of me again,” the six year old explains, not seeming particularly fussed.
“C’mon, let’s head home.”
Two hours later when Phil suggests they order Chinese to the brick house, Lola quickly shuts his craving down. “Uncle Phil, we can’t have Chinese tonight, Thursdays are always Kraft Dinner nights, dummy!”
“Hey Lola, are you done with your dinner? You have ballet soon and still need to get ready!” Seeing Lola’s face that has a bit of the cheesy noodles left on it from quickly scarfing down her meal, Phil grabs a paper towel from the roll on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah! Do you have my leotard?” Phil grabs the light green leotard out of the overnight bag that Lola had brought along, handing it to her with the napkin, (“Lols, you’re a mess!”) her slippers, and a pair of tights.
The drive to the Portner Ballet Studio takes about 15 minutes, with Phil accidentally hitting every red light possible. This causes Lola some distress, claiming that the five minutes she has before class “isn’t enough to talk to Rosie, and she’s the only nice one there that I like.”
Nevertheless, when the raven-haired man and his favorite “niece” enter the building, a small girl with fluffy brown hair immediately runs up to Lola and hugs her. “Rosie, this is my Uncle Phil!
“Lola! You’re finally here! Daddy said you might not be coming today because you’re normally here before me,” the brunette pauses, “but you’re here now, see, Daddy? I told you she would come!”
Phil is frozen. The man who walks up behind Rosie is the most beautiful person Phil has seen, and that’s saying something, considering that Chris Hemsworth exists. But no, the curly brown fringe, hazel eyes, tall, lanky stature, and his soft face (not to mention his monochrome aesthetic and “best dad in the world” travel mug) easily outrank even the likes of Thor.
“Um, hey?” Phil is snapped out of his trance, needing to be able to respond to the greeting. “You’re Lola’s uncle?”
“Well, um, sort of? I’m really good family friends with Lola’s dad, and so I’m kind of an unofficial uncle to her.” Had he been responding to anything else, Phil probably would’ve stuttered, but the number of times he’s had to explain the title makes it so he can explain perfectly, even in front of someone this stunning.
“I’m- I’m Dan.” The two men glance over at the young girls who are chattering animatedly.
“Oh, yeah, Phil Lester.” Dan holds his hand out for a handshake.
“Rosie’s my daughter,” he says quietly, but there’s no mistaking the fondness he has when he says it.
“I can tell, she looks just like you, without the black and white.”
“Oh, I guess we do? My parents keep saying she looks like, um, Angie-” Dan’s voice decrescendos as he gets further along his sentence.
“Angie … is Rosie’s mom?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” Phil’s heart drops.
“Cool.” Not cool. Dan has a wife. Dan had a kid. With his wife.
“Have you got any kids?” Dan asks, a light blush still visible across his cheeks.
“Ah, no, I didn’t have time to find someone in Uni and now I’m single with 2 masters degrees.” Phil unconsciously plots a way to make himself seem more interesting.
“What are they in?” Dan asks, looking genuinely curious.
“I got my first one in English language and linguistics, and my second in post-production editing.”
“What do you do with those? How do they fit together?”
“I’m a special effects engineer for Disney, and they don’t really fit together to be honest,” Phil pauses, “although I do make YouTube videos and that kind of meshes them together,”
“Wow, um, cool,” Dan stutters.
“So what about you?”
“Huh?”
“What’s your job, besides ‘best dad in the world’?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m stupid.” Phil giggles, thinking of how his father would reply with ‘Hi stupid, I’m dad!’. “But I’m a writer for Vogue and I dabble in fashion photography. It’s mainly just taking photos of Rosie if I’m being honest, but the photographers sometimes get sick and I end up doing the shoot.”
“Vogue? Like, the fashion magazine?” Phil doesn’t know much about fashion, but he’s seen the magazine numerous times in the Tesco checkout lane.
“Yeah, well, technically it’s British Vogue, but…”
“Yeah.”
There’s a calm but slightly awkward silence as the conversation loses direction. The two men avoid eye contact, not wanting to make it worse.
The silence is broken by Dan’s tenor voice. “So what films have you worked on?”
“I got to work a bit on Spiderman: Homecoming, but the Live-action Beauty and the Beast was pretty fun. You know the scene where the gold leaf comes off of the ceiling to go on Belle’s dress?” When Dan nods, Phil breaks out into a grin. “That was me.”
“Wow.” Dan breathes out. “After she saw that, she kept trying to put stickers on her ceiling in the hopes that they would transfer to her shirt. It was a nightmare.”
“Ah, sorry.”
“Nah mate, it was kind of funny as well. I’ve got a few photos that I’ll save for when she graduates.”
“She’ll love that,” Phil chuckles, and the deep, throaty sound makes Dan’s heart stutter. “So you’re into fashion?”
Dan blushes. “Yeah? I mean I can’t really afford any designers, but I’ll turn into a fanboy at times.”
“Why do they charge so much? Like, half of the suits these designers make look identical to something I could buy from a department store for thousands of dollars less.”
“Well, a lot of designers carefully hand-make every piece, whereas the stuff you get in a store has probably been made by a pre-programmed machine and poorly paid workers in a factory. There’s also differences in fabric types, quality, and origins. And, a lot of designers will tailor the suit to perfectly fit you for a slightly higher price. If you go to a department store-”
“I see what you mean when you say you turn into a fanboy, but thank you for the mini lesson on why celebrities are willing to spend so much money on a navy tux. Your insights are amusing.” Phil grins.
“Did you also know that navy suits are better investments than black ones? It’s because the blue fits into so many more settings than a black one.”
While Phil could watch Dan talk about his passions for hours, just watching and memorizing how the lines change across his face, and God, that dimple, Phil supposes his relentless staring would get a bit creepy. “So what are the ballet lessons like? I’ve only been to a few of Lola’s performances.”
“Oh, um, well, they spend the first 20 minutes warming up, and then they move to the barre where they practice a bunch of stuff that’s in French that I can’t remember, and then they start to go over the routine for their next performance.”
“What is it?”
“What?”
“Their next performance?”
“Yeah! Sorry, I’m stupid,” Dan blushes for what must be the fiftieth time since he first met Phil. “The studio is putting on The Firebird.”
“No! Um, I mean, you’re not stupid. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with The Firebird. What is it about?” Phil has heard the name before, but only in the context of movie scores resembling Stravinsky’s composition. “It sounds kind of intense, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know much, but from what Rosie’s told me, the firebird gets caught by a prince and when he lets her go she helps him defeat the magician to save some princess, but I’m pretty sure I’m missing like half of the plot. I would say to just Google it and not to go by my word,” The nervous laughter emitted by Dan makes Phil instantly worry that he might have made the brunet uncomfortable or misread Dan’s friendliness as a blossoming friendship when it might have been a ploy to gather gossip for the nosy ballet moms.
“Thanks, I think I’ll trust you on that.” Dan offers a small smile at Phil’s response, letting the two men fall into silence as they watch the group of young girls and 3 boys practice their pliés and dégagés. An hour and a half later, the children exit the studio and find their guardians to go home.
“It was nice meeting you, Phil,’’ Dan admits as Rosie and Lola exchange a goodbye hug. The six words send Phil’s heart into overdrive and he feels his cheeks heating up.
“Yeah, you too, Dan,” Phil replies, proud of himself for not tripping over his words. Looking back, Phil’s whole interaction was impressive, considering his track record of ending up injured in some way.
Last time, Phil wound up with a broken ankle, having paid more attention to the cute digital renderer than the set of stairs they were walking down. It wasn’t all for nothing, though, Phil having gained the cute man’s phone number. Not that that did much for his love life, finding out two days that the boy he had his eyes on was dating the very female gaffer of their most recent movie, but that’s not the point.
This time, nothing will happen, because a) Phil dropping Lola off at ballet was a one time thing, so most likely, he’ll never see Dan again, and b) Dan has a daughter, who is his genetically, which means he has (or had) a wife, all summarizing that no matter how cute the brunet is, Dan is straight.
Not that Phil’s brain will accept that Dan is off-limits as a possible partner. Over the next few days, the image of soft brown eyes, curly fringes, and lanky limbs continuously make appearances in the back of Phil’s head. The very effective distractions cause Phil’s co-workers to worry, and PJ’s repetitive “have you been sleeping okay?”s have driven Phil to the point of insanity.
The answer to PJ’s question is quite easily “no”, Phil having only slept well once that week (he refused to admit it but that was the night that he got off to the image of a faceless figure who looked suspiciously like the boy who wouldn’t leave his head.)
By Wednesday, Phil was fed up with his brain’s reaction to not having seen Dan since the previous Thursday. Pulling out his phone, he does the only thing he can think of to satisfy his hungry mind. He calls Ian.
“Phil? Do you need something?” is the answer he gets when Ian finally picks up.
“No, um, I was just wondering, would you like me to take Lola to ballet again tomorrow?” Phil looks at the lines he had written down on a notepad, an effort to keep himself from going into a 20-minute rant about how in love with Dan he is.
“Sure, I guess? Why are you offering?”
“Just thought that you and Pam could use a break,”
“Oh, okay then, thanks! Same as last week?”
“Sure! Talk to you later!”
Phil’s convinced that his squeal of excitement was the reason that the people who lived across the street turned their lights on and not the fact that their smoke detector went off. He probably set that off too, in hindsight. And caused the stove fire.
23 hours later, Phil finds himself standing inside the dance studio again, surrounded by shrieking kids, chattering parents, and the faint sound of the top 20 radio playing in the background.
“Mister Phil! Where’s Lola?” Rosie pulls on Phil’s sleeve, stopping when she sees her best friend walk out of the bathroom.
“Why, Miss Rosie, she’s right there!” Rosie giggles, pulling out of a hug with Lola.
“I know that now, silly.” She and Lola run into the studio, eager to get to do the optional partner stretches before class starts.
“Are you Lola’s father?” A woman dressed in a skirt suit and heels walks up behind Phil.
“Oh, no, I’m just a family friend. I occasionally take Lola to ballet to give her parents some alone time.”
“Ah.” The woman sticks her hand out for a handshake. “I’m Angela Wright, Rosie’s mom.”
Had there been a small creature under it, Phil’s heart would have killed it from the speed at which it fell. He knew that Rosie had a mom, that Dan had a wife, that Dan wasn’t available. So why did it still hurt so much?
“Oh, cool,” Phil responds a moment later, his voice considerably deflated.
Phil’s unspoken question is answered right as it pops into is head. “Dan contracted the flu, and is stuck at home in bed, which is why I’m here this week. I’m normally responsible for taking Rosie to taekwondo while he takes care of ballet lessons, but that evidently won’t work this week. Honestly, it’s just like Dan to get a winter disease in the middle of summer.”
“I was going to ask about setting up a playdate between Rosie and Lola, but…” Angie trails off.
“Yeah,” Phil nods in understanding, not liking this woman any more than he did a minute ago. “I’m gonna go sit down.” No response comes from the woman, but Phil’s not particularly bothered.
Maybe he should be nicer to the wife of the man he’s stupidly trying to woo, but he just can’t. How is he supposed to be nice to his competition, who’s already clearly won?
When he vaguely notices the ballet instructor make a big motion with her arms, Phil decides that watching a group of five and six year olds is an adequate distraction from the turmoil in his brain. After 10 minutes of watching the kids do various tasks, jumping and prancing around the room, he zones off.
“Uncle Phillll, come onnnnnnn!” wakes Phil from his trance, no longer seeing the ballet students in the studio but now milling around the lobby and leaving. “Class ended like, forever ago! Can we leave? I wanna go get ice cream!”
A quick look at the clock told Phil that class had only ended 5 minutes ago, but to an antsy six-year-old, he supposed that could feel like an eternity.
“Lola, we aren’t getting ice cream. I’d rather not have your parents be mad at me for loading you up on sugar, right?” The small girl pouts but grabs Phil’s hand, dragging him to the car.
While it was easy getting Lola into her car seat, getting her out was a whole other task. It took Phil, Ian, Pamela, a blanket, 2 stuffed animals, and a lullaby to successfully remove the sleeping child out of the carseat, into the house, and onto her bed where she could sleep without interruption.
Once he was back in his car, Phil sat in the driveway, resting his head on the steering wheel, regretting ever offering to take Lola to dance lessons at all. Remember back in college when all those crushes were single? You fucked up, bud.