Work Text:
Step 1. Drink
Phil didn’t drink.
He said it casually when offered drinks, which was happening a lot in his life. Lots of late-night radio shows and gay clubs or mixers and fun things in the city came with funky cocktails and shots and beers.
But he could turn it down, easily. Laugh. Joke. “I drank enough in Uni to last my liver the rest of my life,” He’d tease, sipping at a Ribena or sparkling water.
It wasn’t hard, not anymore, at least. There was a point in his life when he wouldn’t have been able to turn it down, but through countless 12-step meetings and avoiding triggers for a bit, he was fine. Had been for two years and four months.
He had to remind himself of that, at some points. For as much “one day at a time” stuff he told himself, the days crossed off the calendar really did mean something . They had to, right?
He tells himself that as he finds himself in the liquor store around the corner from his flat for the third time this month, just staring at the rows of bottles with the hunger of a starving man.
Two years, four months. Around 850 days or so.
(862. He did the math last night.)
Just because work was going crazy, and his last guy he had gone on a few dates with had just stopped texting him, and last time he saw his dad he had looked weird, and the constant anxiety acting as a kickdrum beating in his chest started pounding louder more recently-he wasn’t going to slip up. He was fine.
And so, just as the three times before, he turned around and walked out of the liquor store, clenching his empty shaking hands.
He makes it to 874 days, when his Mum calls him to come home for the weekend. Tells him the news about Dad. Starts crying. He starts crying. Even Dad got misty-eyed.
He takes the train home. He doesn’t even stop to get a bite to eat, just takes the cab straight to the liquor store, buys himself a bottle of the first thing he sees, storms home, and starts chugging.
874 days. Down to zero, just like that.
Step 2. Make Mistakes
Phil didn’t drink anymore.
“Can’t.” He’d say when people pressed him about it, which happened more often than he really cared to admit. “Drank too much at Uni. Wasn’t healthy.”
But to be honest, it doesn’t feel unhealthy right now. Right now it feels great .
The guy he was talking to started texting back! And Dad is doing okay-well, as okay as he can be.
And work is still crazy. But now that he’s finally joined his coworkers for drinks after work, he’s really fitting in.
“You know, Phil-I hated when you got hired. Moved into a position I had been eyeing for half a year, and he’s some 20-something, waltzing on in.” Krystal slurred, laughing and smacking him on the back. Phil laughs uncomfortably, reaching for another shot. “But look how fun you are now!”
“I’ve been trying to get a show together for people your age. Something with all those kids on the internet. These damn kids won't get off the internet, you know that?" She slams her glass down so hard Phil's a little nervous it'll crack. But then another couple shots are getting passed his way and he slings one back.
"You're tellin' me." He says, letting out a long breath.
"Bet some of those Facebook guys would love to get on the radio. Give 'em some real world experience or something."
Phil nods, letting his eyes fall shut and her words wash over him. He doesn't need to listen. He doesn't need to think about work.
He can just sit and feel the warmth in his stomach and chest bring him sweet joy from the inside out, and then open his eyes.
Look at that-another shot. Like magic.
He giggles a bit, picking it up and looking at the clear liquid, before slinging it back.
Warmth. Love. Joy.
A few days later, he's out with the boy. Jeremy, he remembers now, when suddenly Jeremy is taking too long to place his order at the sushi place and Phil feels hot anger rise up in him. It's like someone pressed the gas pedal in his chest and suddenly he's shaking, hot rage rising in his throat and he just wants to scream at him-
"I need to pee!" He barks out, too loudly.
Jeremy turns, probably giving him a strange look. But Phil's already halfway out of the shop, nearly sprinting to the stupid hipster liquor store a few buildings down in the shopping center. He grabs a full handful of tiny bottles of something brown, hands shaking so bad he can barely swipe his card.
I haven't shaken like this since
But his brain doesn't complete the thought. His brain just shuts off, letting his legs take him out back and his hands open two of the bottles and his mouth gulps it down.
Finally, finally, the calm-down comes. His body sags with the weight of it and he leans his head against the brick wall, letting out a soft groan.
How long does he stand like this? A minute? Ten? Thirty?
Long enough to pop some gum into his mouth. Long enough to realize he needs to go, and so he steps out from behind the building towards the sushi restaurant, where Jeremy is waiting outside.
He looks hurt and worried. "Hey, hon, you okay?"
"M'okay." Phil says with a weak but genuine smile. "I'm perfectly fine. Just really had to pee."
"You're a little strange, you know that?" Jeremy teased lightly, furrowing his eyebrows.
The anger is gone. He can smile down at the cute guy standing in front of him and take his hand. "So they tell me."
A week later, the cute guy sparks his anger again. He’s tired-it was a long day at work, with his computer shutting down randomly in the midst of some pitch for a new show to desperately try to get people to care about BBC radio again in the 21st century, and the train was so crowded at home-and now Jeremy wants to ask him “where he thinks this relationship is going” and “do you think I should start to introduce you to my friends” and “do we have a label yet” and-
“Jer, can you just shut up long enough for me to kiss you?”
He plays it off like it’s a joke. But his words have bite to them, and he’s gripping the pillow hard with his trembling fingers.
Jeremy stares back at him before frowning. “I don’t-that’s not funny, Phil,” he says patiently, like he’s explaining it to a child.
Part of Phil wants to apologize, but the fire consuming the inside of him wants to scream at him. He forces a quick compromise. “It’s a joke. Relax. I didn’t mean it.”
“Well-I still don’t like it. I want to be able to talk to you about this kind of stuff.”
Phil clenches his jaw, feeling his whole body fill with this burning need.
He must be sitting there for too long, because Jeremy gives him a concerned glance over. “Phil-you’re sweating, a lot. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sweating!” He snaps, standing up and trying to find his footing.
“Phil-”
“If you’re going to be like this over a simple joke , I’m out of here. Sorry. I really am. But-not right now, Jer, jeez.”
“Phil!”
Phil shakes his head, bile rising in his throat as he grabs his jacket and practically trips over the coffee table on his way out.
Screw the coffee table. Screw Jeremy’s crappy apartment his parents help pay for because they can, because his dad isn’t dying, because Jeremy is this jerk and this wonderful man who cares about him and how dare he, and screw him for liking him, and screw him for tilting his head like that at him when he’s clearly in the wrong, screw everything .
The only good thing, he decides, about Jeremy and his stupid apartment is the bar down the street.
So. He stops in. Might as well.
Step 3. Pretend You Don’t Remember
Phil might be drinking these days. But it’s controlled, responsible use.
“Not everyone can stop drinking 100% of the time,” someone on the comments of a recovery YouTube channel tells him. “It’s just not realistic in today’s world.”
That’s why he’s started to keep a clear bottle filled at work, tucked in an old PR box underneath a stack of files he could’ve thrown out a couple months ago, right when he started drinking again.
And he has been responsible with it. He doesn’t drink at all before work anymore-not like back in Uni, where he had to drink to keep himself from having panic attacks in class.
He just drinks when he gets to work sometimes-to help with the hangovers. And when things get stressful. And he’s so tired when he gets home from work that a few beers helps put him to sleep.
Everyone does that. Krystal does. And Krystal seems to be doing fine.
That doesn’t matter. He’s thinking about YouTube during his meeting today, about how each time he looks there’s more and more videos on there. He spends a good part of his bedtime routine just scrolling around, drinking and watching videos and getting lost in Japan vlogs and strange recipes and cats being dressed up in darling little outfits.
He’s thinking about one particular cute kitty when Alicia calls on him, looking tired.
“Phil-our numbers are tanking. Please tell me, as our resident millennial, what are we supposed to do?”
Phil looks up a bit too fast, head spinning as he glances around the room. “Um, well…”
His brain is trying to work as fast as it used to. Can you believe this is the same guy who graduated secondary school a year early? Now all he’s thinking about is cat videos, a voice hisses in his ear. Can’t even think of a way to tell his boss nobody gives a crap about radio anymore.
“Nobody gives a crap about radio anymore.” Phil blurts out.
All eyes are on him now, and he feels dread pool in his stomach. Of all the stupid things he could have said-
Thankfully, a light switches on in his brain. “That’s what kids are saying, at least. They all care about the internet. YouTube. There’s people on there actually making a living just-talking about stuff. If we can find some people there-maybe they could bring their built-in audience, make us seem younger, more hip. Make something interactive, too.”
The room is silent, but a slow smile spreads across Alicia’s face. “This is why we hired you, Phil!” She laughs and claps wildly. The other people in the room join in, still side-eyeing him slightly. “I told you guys we needed some young blood in the office. You’re good with spear-heading this project, right?”
Phil bobs his head quickly, giving her a thumbs up. By the time he leaves, he’s got a month to find a group interested and plan a special as a trial run. Alicia is singing his praises, and Phil beams with pride.
His little idea could be made into his own show!
He’s working on it a few days later (his baby, as he’s already grown to call it) when a hand slams down on his desk.
“I’m going to hit you.” Krystal growls, leaning over Phil’s shoulder.
Her breath is hot on his neck, and smells boozy. Doesn’t she know to carry mints with her?
“You’re going to hit me? Krystal, are you drunk?” He hisses, looking around nervously.
“I’m going to hit you!” She says, a bit louder. “You-You took my idea, you cheat!”
People are looking now. Phil sucks in a breath.
That evening. At the bar.
It wasn’t Phil’s idea.
You’re a stupid, stupid man, you know that? The voice hisses. Phil hasn’t drank yet today. It’s louder when he hasn’t. He feels his stomach turn to jelly. You couldn’t have come up with that all by yourself. You’re an idiot.
“Your idea was to use people on Facebook.” He says, lamely. “My idea uses YouTubers. They’re not exactly the same.”
Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. Krystal lets out an animalistic noise, a deep groan, and grabs his keyboard before chucking it on the floor.
The keys scatter everywhere as she begins to scream. “I’ll hit you! I’ll hit you and I’ll show you where you belong!”
Security is there before Phil can really get freaked out, dragging her off. The whole office is staring, mouths gaping wide as they look between the crazy alcoholic and Phil.
“I’m going to leave work early today.” He tells Alicia.
Can I come over? He texts Jeremy.
I’m at work, Phil. Jeremy texts back, followed quickly by I think we might need a little space.
Phil doesn’t have it in him to care. It’s 3PM, he just almost got his teeth kicked in by his coworker (probably ex-coworker by now) and he just needs to get out of his head for a bit, please, God, get him out of his head, please oh please oh please I’ll do anything please
Step 4. Drink a Little More
If you really get to know Phil, he’ll tell you why he stopped drinking if you push him hard enough.
“I’m an alcoholic. Drank at Uni like crazy and it got out of control.”
But he almost never tells anyone about the other part.
Drinking was fine for the first few months. But finals were coming up, and he needed a way to stay up and crank out work.
That’s where the coke came in for the first time.
He never thought he’d be doing lines again. All that was supposed to be behind him-he had been clean longer from the coke than he had the drinks before all this.
But here he was, in the bathroom of a club on a work night (not that he had gone to work in a few days, thank goodness he saved up his sick time) with one nostril plugged for the third time that week.
He loves the initial feeling. He loves feeling his thoughts ping pong around his head-they can’t hurt him when they all come too fast for him to care, and as he snorts, here they come-
Jeremy sucks.
We like Jeremy!
Could we ever love Jeremy? What is love?
We love Dad. Dad is so great-the greatest Dad alive.
Is he going to be alive much longer?
Dad is sick, but he was also so, so mean when he learned you were gay.
.
Closest you’ve ever seen him to tears before he got sick…
Didn’t talk to you for three weeks and four days, you counted.
First words after were “Get your hair cut already”,
Didn’t have a real conversation until my first Christmas back from Uni.
Remember when we first got to Uni and saw the boys there?
Remember robot plushie boy?
Remember AOL chatroom boy who got so scared when you found his Facebook?
Remember weird beer boy?
Remember the prank wars and when you broke your hand?
Remember dancing for the first time, really dancing at a club?
You’re dancing at a club right now.
Oh yeah! I am!
Dancing feels good. We’re good at dancing.
Someone’s giving you a drink. You should drink it.
This is so good-I should never have quit drinking.
I can never stop drinking.
Why did we stop drinking?
After he died. Remember?
Oh. Don’t think about him.
Don’t think about him.
You definitely loved him.
You really shouldn’t think about him.
He was perfect. After your high school thing with that one guy.
He wasn’t “that one guy”. And I said not to think about him.
You were going to propose at graduation.
Please stop thinking about him.
People at 20 shouldn’t die in car crashes.
Can somebody cut off your mic?
The doctors said that he died painlessly
You’re making him cry, look what you’ve done
You drank for three months straight and then did coke for another month and
Shut up just shut up
Have you noticed all your boyfriends leave you you never leave them
Shut up shut up I’m going to hit you shut up
Divorced beheaded died divorced beheaded survived
Everybody leaves you I’m going to hit you
Why are you crying
Why are you crying
Are we outside?
We’re on the pavement now crying
You’re no fun to party with
I think I’m going to hit you now
Nobody actually likes you you’re just a footnote in someone else’s
Can you feel me hitting you?
Do you think he felt the car hit him?
I don’t know, do you think he felt himself dying?
Do you think you know what it feels like to die?
Do you think it feels like this?
Yes.
Step 5: (I Need To) Run Dry
When Phil opens his eyes, he’s in the abandoned building behind his house.
Not his flat. His childhood home.
He has a camera in his hand and he’s filming. He thinks he’s looking through the viewfinder, seeing the crumbling brick, the late autumn sun coming through the gaps where windows once were, his Walkman playing softly next to him-
“What are you doing here?”
Phil lowers the camera and sees Dan standing over him. He blinks-once, twice, three times.
“Did I fall asleep?”
“You’re not supposed to be here.” He says, furrowing his eyebrows at Phil. “You’re not supposed to be doing this.”
“Sleeping outside?” Phil asks, moving to sit up. His entire body hurts.
“You’re too old for this, Phil.” His vision swims and he sees Dan sit next to him. “Are you just going to throw your life away?”
Phil looks down at his hands. He’s not sure why he does.
“I thought you were smarter than this.”
“I-I’m not-”
“You’re not acting like it. But you are.” Dan says firmly. “You can’t hide in this stuff like you can’t hide in the closet, like you can’t hide in the library, like you can’t hide in ghosts of old boyfriends.”
“ You’re one of my old boyfriends.” Phil points out. “How do you know about-”
“You’re avoiding my point.” Dan hugs his knees to his chest. “You told me you’d be there for us. Me and younger you. So stop being an idiot and wake up.”
“I am awake.”
“You’re not awake. You’re here. Wake up.”
Phil shakes his head. The sun is rising-wasn’t it setting just a moment ago?”
“Wake up.”
The sun is so bright overhead.
“Wake up !”
The sun turns into a hospital light overhead and Phil jerks upright, but Dan is gone.
Instead, Jeremy is sitting next to him, in a hard-plastic chair, sitting next to Phil’s hospital bed. Still, he asks “Where am I?”
“Saint Joseph’s hospital.” Jeremy says with a bite of frustration. “I got called at two in the morning by a rando that said my boyfriend passed out on the pavement outside of a club.”
Phil gulps thickly, sinking down a little under the paper-thin sheets, but he keeps going. “Turns out he just got wasted on coke and who knows what else and dehydrated the hell out of himself. Gave himself a concussion on the way down, too. And might I mention you’re not even my boyfriend?!”
“I’m sorry.” He says, his throat burning, his head pounding, and hot shame washing over him.
“You should be. You said you didn’t drink, Phil.” Jeremy crosses his arms over his chest tightly.
“I don’t-”
“Clearly you do. You’re going to be in detox for the next 48 hours. I don’t want to hear from you until you’re actually sober, got it? No detoxing and retoxing.”
Phil nods slowly, rubbing his face. After a moment, he clears his throat. “I’m going to stop. I promise this is it.”
“I’ve heard other alcoholic boyfriends say that before-”
“I mean it.” He says firmly, pushing past the sting of being one in a list of alcoholic boyfriends. “I can’t hide in this stuff anymore.”
Jeremy gives him an odd look, but his face softens a bit. “I’m not going to date you just because you stop, you know.”
“I know.” Phil says softly, feeling his hair fall in his face. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me. Younger me.”
“Right.” The other man sighs and stands up, knees cracking as they do. “Well. I’m going to go home and sleep, Phil. It’s been a long night for both of us.”
Phil nods slowly. “Thanks for being here with me. You know, Jer-there’s nothing wrong with you, yeah? There’s something wrong with me. And the rest of us who use this stuff.”
Jeremy’s eyes get misty and he nods curtly. “Right then. Get better, Phil. You deserve better.”
For the first time since picking up the bottle again, Phil actually believes him.
Epilogue
Phil hums as he rides the train home from work, thumbing his new chip on his key ring from the meeting the night before. Seven months clean. Not bad.
Krystal had promised to go to the cinema with him after she got off of work-she had a great idea for a new radio quiz show once she had wrapped up her own binge and got her job back, and tonight she had to stay late.
He almost texted Jeremy-he had seemed proud when he hit six months-but he also knew Jeremy had a girlfriend now and probably didn’t need a kinda-sorta-ex hanging around all the time looking for attention. Which was fine.
Instead, he opens Twitter and immediately sees something about #effingpistachiomuffin. Huh ? He clicks on a headline and frowns deeply. Breakout Star Dan Howell’s Viral Muffin Freakout Has Twitter Going “Check, Please!”
Scrolling down-yep, it’s the same Dan Howell. The one and only.
Phil’s hands start to tremble, but he closes his eyes tightly and takes a few deep breaths. He reminds himself of the serenity prayer.
What do I have the courage to change?
He takes a moment before pulling up his work email and beginning to type.
FROM: [email protected]
Dan-
Hi! We’re with the team of Internet Invasion, a weekly BBCR1 show hosted by Brett, Robyn, and Mitch from YouTube…