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step one: drink
Anxiety is a lot easier to deal with after three shitty beers. When faces start to blur together into one glob of “other”, it's easier to forget that you don't actually recognize a single one. The liquid whatever-it-was-this-time was shiny on the bottom of Dan’s flimsy plastic cup, and bounced and splashed with every scratchy thud of the bass pushing out of the overworked speakers in the living room behind him.
(whiskey.)
He’s talking to someone blonde, probably, and he doesn’t know what they’re even talking about, but they keep handing him drinks so that’s fine by him.
(i’m trying to cut back.)
His head clears a little as a gaggle of girls bust in the kitchen, hanging all over each other and one almost falling into the sink full of empty drinks and bottles.
(wine.)
The girl closest to him trips a little and sloshes deep purple liquid down his neck, apologizing between giggles.
(i’m trying to cut back.)
Whoever he was talking to is long gone by the time he gets back from almost accidentally drowning himself in the bathroom sink. He pushing his wet hair out of his face and giving in to the magnetic pull of the almost empty cooler when a hand touches his shoulder and he almost decapitates the owner.
“Phiiil.”
There’s a lot of almost falling and heads bumped into doorways before Dan is forced to stop petting Phil’s hair and concentrate on getting down the stairs in one piece. The stale air of the house rushes out when they make it to the door, and it’s so clean feeling outside that Dan is content to just close his eyes and rely on Phil to lead them home.
step two: make mistakes
"What was the occasion this time?"
Someone must've put in an extra set of stairs because Dan trips on about four steps before actually making it to the front door. Even with Phil's arm around his waist, Dan feels top heavy, like his head is too heavy for the rest of his body and his center of gravity is fucked up enough that he's going to end up tipping over into the potted plants by the railing.
He mumbles something incoherently as Phil struggles to pull his keys from his pocket with one hand, the other trying to keep Dan from falling to the pavement.
"That good, huh?" He pushes at the door until there's enough space to wedge his foot in and open it. Dan takes this as his cue to lurch inside and makes it a couple steps up to their floor before his head sways too far to the left and he smacks it on the other wall.
Usually (and Phil hates that this happens enough to warrant that word) Dan would just brush it off, probably giggle unknowingly a little, and continue his way up the stairs waveringly.
(i'm not just drunk.)
For some reason that doesn't happen this time, and Phil watches as he sinks to the floor and covers his face, not even where he hit it.
"Dan...?" Phil nudges the door shut behind him and goes to sit next to him on the stairs. The matted carpet goes dark with Dan's tears and Phil is awkwardly moving to pat him on the back or hug him or something when his head pops up and angrily wipes at his face.
"Why-" He starts as he pulls his feet up another stair and curls in on himself some. "Why can't I do anything?"
Phil doesn't know what to say and instead settles for wrapping his right arm around Dan until he leans in and buried his face in Phil's colorful shirt.
He makes a couple aborted attempts to get them both upstairs, but every time he tries to stand up or move at all, Dan just clings to him even more. There's a draft coming in from under the front door and Phil's constantly aware that one of their neighbors could come out at any moment and he knows Dan wouldn't want that and yet in his exhausted and drunken state he wouldn't move.
Between awful, heaving sobs, Dan manages to mumble some things, but they're lost in the fabric of Phil's shirt, no matter how hard he tries to make them out.
Eventually he manages to get Dan to pull away long enough to understand what he's saying.
"... but everything always goes wrong and I dunno what I'm doing, Phil, and you're always just-"
(i really think i'm in love with you baby.)
He sways forward just the tiniest bit too much for his inebriated center of balance to handle and ends up crashing into Phil's face, lips first. It's a little painful, mostly awkward, until Dan seems to realize what he's done and just goes for it.
It's a lot less awkward after that, even though Phil is only reciprocating a little, due to one part confusion and two parts disbelief. Only a couple of seconds, he’s painfully aware of how he ca hear nothing but the sound of their breathing and the occasional car driving past outside.
When Dan pulls away (and god, that's a sight Phil hopes he never forgets; his eyelashes close enough that Phil can feel the air moving when he blinks, the way his hair has started to curl up again and sticks up haphazardly here and there), he opens his mouth to say something before he's cut off by a yawn. Promptly followed by him swaying back and hitting his head on the wall again. Asleep.
(okay, i really am just... drunk.)
step three: pretend you don't remember
There's a blindingly harsh light stabbing through the curtains when Dan wakes up the next morning.
The first thing he notices (aside from the feeling of someone attacking his frontal lobe with an ice pick) is that he's lying on the sofa, legs folded up underneath him somewhat uncomfortably and covered in the blanket that usually lies on the back of it.
(i beg the ceiling for forgiveness.)
There’s no sound in the apartment aside from the shower running downstairs, so Dan feels safe in rolling back over and burying his face in the arm under his head.
The water sounds stop and are soon replaced by the sound of the fridge closing, the toaster going off, probably some tea being made as well.
He’s only vaguely surprised when Phil comes out with two plates and two mugs instead of one, and only pulls up his feet to make room on the couch.
(there’s nothing wrong with you.)
Two pieces of toast and one episode of whatever cooking show was on later, and neither of them has said anything. Dan can feel Phil’s gaze flicking back and forth between the quiet TV and his even quieter flatmate. He shakes his head just enough that he knows Phil notices.
(there’s something wrong with me.)
All he does when Phil leaves is pull the blanket a little closer. It doesn’t do much towards blocking out the words clamouring around in his head, desperate to be said, but it weakens the sunlight outside a little, and that’s enough.
step four: drink a little more
It's pretty easy to sneak out of the house when 1) your flatmate is ignoring you out of sheer embarrassment, 2) it's not really sneaking out because you're a grown man who can be held accountable for his own actions, and 3) Phil is not your mother and you don't have to answer to him.
That being said, Dan waits until the lights in the rest of the house go out before he grabs his keys and shoes.
(willingly i’m going to tell whoever asks.)
The first house that spills colored lights on the sidewalk is enough for him to knock on the open door. It’s routine when no one notices a complete stranger in the middle of their party. It’s normal when he acts like best friends with whoever gets him another drink. It’s easier than being around his actual best friend. Pretending when you don’t mean it is better than pretending when you don’t know if you do.
“Are you alright there, mate?” Someone’s hand helps steady the cup in his.
(i feel alright.)
“Yeah, everything’s great. More than great. Everything’s... greater.”
The loud laugh he gets in response deafens the words he knows he doesn’t hear underneath them. It’s not his phone buzzing in his pocket. It’s not his friends hanging around. But it’s enough to make it feel like it.
step five: run dry
It worries Phil how much he isn’t worried. How normal it is for Dan to disappear for the night and stumble home completely hammered. How he doesn’t panic when he wakes up to the sound of the front door closing not-so-gently at one in the morning.
Granted, it had never been after something so drastic a change in their relationship, so that was a little concerning. But regardless, he still trusted Dan to find his way home unharmed. Hopefully.
He was very aware of Dan’s (he doesn’t want to call is a problem, even though he knows it is) thing, but when the door finally swings open at 3:47 a.m. that next night, it’s finally time.
“Dan.”
He’s standing in the doorway when Dan looks up from where he was pulling at the laces on his sneakers.
“I think we really need to talk now.”
He’s steady when he stands back up, but Phil knows intimately the way his feet drag slightly and his eyes are always the littlest bit blurry.
(how come no one believes me?)
He somehow gets to the couch, although he doesn’t remember quite how, but it isn’t long before he’s standing up unsteadily again, hands waving around trying to make his point.
“Why do you have to do this, Phil? Why can’t you just let me be?”
“I just care too much about you to watch you wreck yourself like this. You and I both know this isn’t the way you deserve to be treated, even if it’s by yourself.”
“If you really cared at all about me, why don’t you just drop it? That’s all I’m asking you to do!”
“Because I love you. And I love you too much to let you just do this to yourself.”
(believe me.)
“Why.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question; it’s more of a tired ultimatum than anything else.
He blinks a little too slowly and then Phil’s right in front of him, hands steady on his arms. All of a sudden everything feels cold, even with his jacket still on. Like Phil’s the only warmth in the room and he can’t stop himself from tilting forward slightly.
“Dan...” He’s never been so glad to hear his own name. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He sways all the way into him, forward until Phil’s arms fold around his back and that safe feeling that always comes when you sink into your bed after a long day and the comforter envelops you. He never really thought of it before, but Phil’s like his comforter. In more ways than one.
(cross my heart.)
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it's almost lost in the yellow of Phil’s sweatshirt, but Dan can tell by his half-relieved sigh that he heard.
“I’m sorry too. But it’ll be better one day, promise.”
(cross my fingers.)
The couch isn’t that far a fall, and as soon as Dan hits the throw pillows, he’s already mostly asleep. But he’s conscious enough to feel Phil lean over to turn off the light before he shifts and pull him closer. And he’s conscious enough to curl up closer and wrap his arms around himself. In the dark of the room, a light or two on the street outside, and everything warm and full of okay-ness, it’s the cleanest Dan’s felt in a long time.