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The cold tile floor next to the liquor cabinet had become Phil's favorite place to be lately, the burn of alcohol sliding down his throat the one thing he could really feel other than pure anguish. It was getting to the point where the pain was physical, although he wasn't sure if that was from Dan leaving or the copious amounts of Jim Beam he'd been drinking. Probably both.
As he slid down the wall, eyes cold, Phil took a swig straight from the bottle and didn't even react when a large amount splashed out onto his shirt. He hadn't changed out of it in nearly a week, so it wasn't clean by any means.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Phil took a breath. It was meant to calm him but it came out shaky and turned into quick, panicked breaths which morphed into messy sobs. He couldn't even be bothered to wipe the tears from his face or quiet the sounds one bit, his dignity having walked out the door along with the love of his life. It's not like there was anyone there to hear him so it wouldn't matter. He was completely alone.
The whiskey wasn't enough anymore. Phil wasn't sure if anything would ever be enough to let him forget the sight of Dan walking out of their apartment. He couldn't forget the way Dan stayed stone-faced as Phil fell apart in front of him, Dan's demeanor only dropping in front of Phil for the split second before the door slammed shut as he wiped at a tear. The way Dan's knuckles turned white from how tight he was clutching his suitcase was burned into Phil's brain.
Dan's suitcase was already packed before that day. It had been packed for a while, hidden away in some random storage closet Dan must've thought Phil had no reason to go in. But one day while Phil was looking for his old winter coat, he found it. He convinced himself it was nothing and never brought it up with Dan, but deep down he knew what it meant. Dan had been pretty distant ever since they finished their tour and Phil couldn't help but notice. Dan was ready to leave whenever the time became right.
Dan gave no real explanation for leaving but Phil didn't need one. Phil knew Dan better than he knew himself and he could tell that the constant pressure from their fans had become too much. They weren't being pressured to come out - everyone already knew they were together. They were being pressured to get married, move into a "forever home", get a dog, adopt a kid, and so many other things that meant they would really be settling down. Dan never said it out loud, but Phil knew he was afraid. As much as Phil knew Dan loved him, Dan was still the same person he was so many years ago, afraid of commitment and being forced to decide. That wasn't Phil calling Dan out, it was just the truth. Phil knew Dan couldn't help it, and it was never reasonable for Phil to hope he would change, he realized now.
But, still, here Phil was, sprawled out on the kitchen floor in a drunken haze and falling apart all over again. His hair fell in his face, matted down by grease. Tears he didn't wipe away dried on his face, chest heavy with despair.
Or, wait, no, he hadn't been breathing. Phil suddenly sat up, gasping for air, feeling as the sharp pain in his chest subsided to a dull ache.
Phil began to laugh humorlessly. He had forgotten to breathe. Of course he had. I can't even keep myself alive without him here, he thought, moving to stand and nearly falling right back down.
He needed sleep. It must've been pretty late, as he was completely exhausted. Maybe he could sleep off some of the alcohol, too. Although, Phil wasn't so sure how long he could actually last without a bit of it in his system. He couldn't remember the last time he was completely sober since Dan had left.
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Phil woke to a pounding headache and a pair of strong hands shaking him. He opened his eyes but quickly closed them when he realized the curtains were open and sunlight was pouring into the bedroom.
"Phil, get up."
Phil stopped breathing.
That voice. It was so warm, so familiar. He could recognize it anywhere.
Dan.
Why was he here? He'd gone nearly two months without contacting Phil at all, and now he was here, in his bedroom?
Phil tried to speak but all he did was squeak. His voice had gone so long without being used.
He opened his eyes to see Dan digging through drawers and throwing things into various suitcases and backpacks. Phil cleared his throat and saw Dan tense at the sound. "What're you doing here?" he croaked.
Dan continued digging as he spoke. "I'm getting the rest of my things. I tried calling but you never picked up. You never responded to my texts either."
Phil's heard Dan say similar things before, but normally they come with a worried embrace and a concerned tone to his voice. Now, there was nothing.
Now that Phil thought about it, he had no idea where his phone was. Probably dead somewhere in the apartment. After waiting hopelessly for it to ring during the first few days after Dan left, Phil gave up and hadn't picked it up since. There were probably so many concerned friends and family trying to get ahold of him.
"I haven't looked at my phone."
"Clearly."
Suddenly, Dan shut the drawer he had been going through and turned to face Phil. He looked good. The circles under his eyes were nearly gone and it looked like he'd put some sort of product in his hair that made the curls look more defined. And, did he have a tan?
Though Phil hadn't looked at himself in a mirror for a while, he knew he looked awful, to put it lightly.
"You look awful," Dan said as if he was reading Phil's thoughts. There was no fond inflection to his voice that would normally be there. His face made no indication that he meant anything but. Phil couldn't blame him, really. It was the truth.
"I know."
"The place is a mess, too. And I see you've been drinking?"
"Yeah." Phil didn't try to deny it - it would've been quite hard seeing as there were empty bottles laying everywhere and he smelled disgustingly of alcohol.
Dan just nodded then leaned down to zip up one of the full suitcases. Phil swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, raising his arms over his head and letting out a groan as he felt multiple bones crack. Without looking back at Dan, he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Maybe Phil was being rude. Maybe he shouldn't act as if the man he would do anything for wasn't at his house for the first time in so long.
But Phil was never one to do what he was supposed to.
Instead, he got in the shower for the first time in a week and took much longer than necessary. He made sure to scrub away any bit of himself that might still have a trace of Dan on it. As much as he wanted to hold onto him for as long as possible, he knew it wasn't healthy. He needed to let go, because Dan clearly already had.
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Phil was surprised to see Dan, nearly an hour later, still in their - no, his - apartment. Not only was he still there, but he was cleaning. All the empty liquor bottles were stuffed away in a trash bag and the smell of it all was being masked by a strong air freshener.
Phil hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen before speaking. "Why are you doing this?"
Dan looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes scanned over Phil's too-pale arms and purple eyes that no shower could get rid of, no matter how long it might be. "It's clear you weren't going to."
"How do you know that?" Phil snapped.
"Look at yourself, Phil."
"I don't need you to take care of me." Phil wasn't sure why he was saying these things. He really did want Dan to stay, though he hated to admit it. It wasn't healthy, but he still wanted it nonetheless. Still, he didn't want to seem that way to Dan. It was already pathetic enough for Dan to come here and see the absolute wreck Phil had let the flat become, let alone how bad he'd let himself get. It was a completely different thing for Dan to act like his caretaker.
Dan carefully set down the rag he'd been wiping the counter with and backed away, looking down at his hands. "I think I should get going." Phil stopped himself from saying anything as Dan left to take one last look around the apartment for anything that was his.
Phil followed Dan to the front door despite every cell in his body telling him not to. He really shouldn't force himself to watch Dan leave again, but here he was, so far gone he'd do anything just to be able to look at Dan a bit longer.
"Dan, wait." Dan paused in front of the door and turned to Phil. His face had changed slightly, though Phil couldn't pinpoint what it was. Was it the way his eyes squinted slightly, or the slight turn of his lips? Or maybe it was his eyebrows raised expectantly, or-
"What, Phil?" Dan said impatiently. If Phil was being honest, he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He just couldn't let Dan leave so soon. He just needed to look at him a bit longer.
"I hope you're happy." There was no bitterness to Phil's tone. He didn't say it out of hate or jealousy or anything of the sort - it was completely genuine.
That's the thing about being in love - you just want them to be happy, even if that means you aren't in their life.
Dan nodded, slowly at first, then quicker as he gained more confidence. "I'm getting there."
There wasn't anything Phil could do this time as Dan opened the door and stepped out, struggling to carry the many bags he had. Maybe Phil could've offered to help carry some, but he didn't. The thought didn't cross his mind as Dan handed Phil a key. It took Phil a moment to realize that it was Dan's key to the apartment. They both stared at the key as Phil took it, their hands grazing for a moment. There weren't any fireworks like there used to be when they touched - it was more of a painful flame. A sensation that started at Phil's fingertips and traveled through his arm until it reached his chest, sinking in and feeling like a burning knife sitting right between his ribs.
There was no sad smile, no teary eyes, no final words of goodbye. There was just a door shutting and two men going their separate ways. Dan, down the hall to an elevator where he would, unbeknownst to Phil, break down into a hysterical, crying mess. And Phil, back to his bedroom where he would close the curtains because he really couldn't deal with the world right now.
Phil stripped the bed of its sheets and Dan then walked towards the dresser, opening drawers that had once been full.
He wasn't sure why he felt the need to go through every individual drawer, but he was glad he did.
Tucked away in the corner of an otherwise empty drawer was a sweatshirt. Phil pulled it out and saw that it was Dan's red University of Manchester sweatshirt, coincidentally the one Phil always opted to wear when he was either sick or missing Dan.
It was no accident, Dan leaving it here. It couldn't have been something Dan simply just missed while he checked and double-checked every last drawer for anything of his. He meant to leave it.
Sighing in defeat, Phil pulled the sweatshirt on.