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“This was a terrible idea. Rehearsals start at eight tomorrow.”
“It wa- hic -it was your idea.”
“Why’d you listen to me? I’m supposed to say the stupid ideas and you’re supposed to tell me why they’re bad, tha’s how this relationship works. What do I pay you for?”
“Maybe I don’t want to be the buzzkill all the time. Besides, you’re older than me, you should be the responsib-bobi-respobib-“
“Responsible?”
“The responsible one. Shut up, I was getting there.”
Phillip screws up his eyes for a moment to blink away some of the haziness, staggering a little in his step and bumping shoulders with PT, who was equally inebriated and didn’t seem to notice.
“Who designed cobblestone paths anyway? They’re so stupid and hard to walk on and bad for carriage wheels? It’s all for aesthetics. They’re just dangerous,” he mumbles. As if on queue, his boot catches on a cobblestone for the third time on their walk from the bar, making him stumble.
PT puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him, a smug grin painting his lips. “The roads are fine, it’s you that’s dangerous.”
Phillip shoves the man’s hand from his shoulder playfully. “Says the man who wanted to set fire to himself after ten shots to find out if he was flammable.”
The elder man snorts loudly and stumbles a little himself. “You know I was only joking. I just wanted to see the look on Charles’ face when I suggested it.”
“I can never tell with you, you’re always doing stupid things,” Phillip retorts fondly, holding back a laugh. “It was pretty funny.”
PT gives him a gentle push, which makes Phillip pitch precariously to one side. With a chuckle he throws his weight back into the older man, knocking him several steps to the side and nearly off the curb with a surprised laugh.
“You should come to my place, it’s closer. I don’t trust you getting home by yourself.” PT suggests as he glances back over, expression suddenly serious. “Can’t have you passing out in a ditch and being late tomorrow.”
Raising a brow, Phillip stumbles back to walk shoulder to shoulder with the man. “So thoughtful. Glad someone is concerned about my wellbeing,” he teases.
PT smirks, throwing an arm around his shoulder teasingly. “’Course I’m worried about your wellbeing, but I’m also worried about the possibility of having to run the show hungover and alone.”
The warmth and closeness of the other man makes Phillip feel a wave of tiredness wash over him, though he still jokingly tilts to one side to make PT trip on the curb, chuckling deviently to himself. “I do handle a hangover much better than you do.”
“Comes with age. Trust me when you hit your forties you’re going to feel it much harder,” Phineas remarks dramatically. “I handled my drink much better at your age than you do.”
“I handle my drink very well, thanks.” Phillip replies indignantly as he trips on another cobblestone and vaults forward. This time PT doesn’t catch him and he plants face first into the ground with a winded grunt.
The elder man immediately doubles over in booming laughter that makes his head hurt. Phillip gives him a sharp look as he wobbles to his knees, only reluctantly taking the man’s offered hand to help himself up. He dusts off his muddy knees with a scowl. “It’s not because I’m drunk, the cobblestones- I- they’re bumpy. I tripped. Shut up.”
PT continues to cackle for a few moments, putting a firm hand on Phillip’s shoulder with a raised brow and a tipsy grin. “Sure, that’s why.”
“Hey, listen, maybe I’m stumbling a little, but at least I’ve never tried to drunkenly catch a swan,” Phillip huffs, smacking PT’s arm playfully and smirking when the elder frowns indignantly.
“I had a good reason. Besides, Charles tried to pick a fight with a goose and no one ever brings that up,” He complains with a frown. He looks a little distracted for a moment as his eyes scan Phillip, stopping on his hands. “You’re bleeding.”
Blinking a little in confusion as he takes in the words, Phillip glances down at his palms, a little blood seeping through the grazed skin. “Ah shit. Must have scuffed them. S’fine, doesn’t hurt.”
“You’ve tripped one too many times, I’m carrying you before you end up maiming yourself.”
“Whu- absolutely not!” Phillip responds in an offended manner, furrowing his brow in surprise more than irritation.
Seemingly ignoring his protests entirely, PT squats down a little. “Get on my back.”
“No!”
“Phil, get on my back.” He insists with more mock force.
“I’m too heavy,” he grumbles, regardless stepping forward and reluctantly putting his arms around PT’s neck as the man hoists him off the ground. He snorts in amusement as he wraps his legs around the man’s torso for stability and rests his chin on Phineas’ head. “You are ridiculous.”
“You weigh less than Charity,” PT chuckles as he starts wandering forwards with the younger man in tow, suddenly looking thoughtful. “Wait, don’t tell her I said that.”
Phillip bursts out in boisterous laughter, leaning heavily against the other’s back. Phineas’ warmth is strangely comforting, and Phillip lets his tired eyelids droop a little. “In that case, giddy up horsie,” he teases, gently pressing his boot heel into the elder’s side.
“Hold on tight or I might just buck you into the river,” PT shoots back. “At least you’re about the size of a jockey.”
“Watch it,” Phillip yawns, pressing his face into the ringmaster’s soft curls. “I’m barely a few inches shorter than you.”
He isn’t sure if PT responds to him with a sarcastic remark, he imagines he does, but by the time the words have left his mouth Phillip’s already asleep. The warm still air of the night envelops him like a blanket, and the feeling of PT’s heartbeat resonates through him like a lullaby. He knows come morning he’ll likely regret this night, but right now there is nowhere else he would rather be.