Your Love's a F*cking Drag (But I Need it So Bad)

Chapter Four

Phil liked going to parties as a casual observer. And for the alcohol. He liked getting drunk just enough for his thoughts to get fuzzy around the edges and his reason to blur, but not enough to forget who he was and why he was there. Unsurprisingly, Dan was a massive fan of parties. The boy had attended more parties than Phil could keep track of. To say Dan was the life of the party wasn't an exaggeration; he always seemed to be surrounded by people, occasionally with Cheryl perched on his lap. In contrast, Phil usually spent his time mixing his own drinks and giving them away to his fellow partygoers. They were surprisingly not shit, and more than once he'd considered dropping out of uni to pursue his true calling--bartending.

The party Phil was currently attending wasn't different. He'd taken a break from creating his next masterpiece and opted for the stool in the corner. He hadn't really been in the mood for socializing, and had almost decided not to go. For the first time in forever his professors hadn't given him a ridiculous amount of homework. Maria had left a few days ago, and with Dan at the party Phil would've had the room to himself. Buffy, popcorn, and his favorite hoodie were the only plans he'd booked the night with, and frankly he had been looking forward to it. Until a certain brown haired roommate who wore too much black had talked him into going out, that is.

Dan had beaten him to their room after classes and was sitting on the sofa, phone in one hand and an unlit match in the other. He didn't seem to notice Phil's arrival and he paused in the entryway, partly to recover his breath from the flight of stairs outside their dorm and partly because Dan looked a few breaths away from crying. The hand clutching the phone was white with tension, shoulders hunched and head bowed. His grip seemed to tighten on the matchstick, and with a crack it broke in two.

"Dan?" Phil closed the door as soundlessly as he could, crossing the distance to his friend in a few steps. "What's wrong?"

There was a moment of silence. Dan uncurled his fingers, the broken halves of the match falling to the ground. He didn't look up, even when Phil sat beside him. Phil hesitated, wanting to hug him. He wasn't sure that gesture was one that would be too appreciated however, and he settled for sliding his hand into Dan's. His palm was cold, and as unresponsive and vacant as everything else about him. "Nothing," Dan mumbled.

"Bullshit," Phil said, concern settling in the cracks of his voice and enveloping his words. He laced their fingers together, squeezing. Holding hands with Dan was a foreign feeling, but not an entirely unpleasant one. It felt strangely safe and secure, a memory of childhood brought back to life. "I've been stuck in the same room with you for longer than I want to remember, and you honestly expect me to believe that nothing's wrong?"

Dan's phone went off with a chiming sound, and without looking to see who it was he muted the device and shoved it into his pocket. Phil frowned, Dan was tied to his phone and rarely missed a call. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, dropping his eyes back to the floor.

"Okay." There was no point in pressuring Dan, especially when it came to talking about his feelings. "If you change your mind, let me know."

"Will you do one thing for me?" Dan's eyes darted back up Phil's, wide and imploring.

"Of course," Phil said immediately. Agreeing without knowing what he was getting himself into was probably a mistake, but there was nothing else to say.

"The party tonight." Dan inhaled audibly, a sharp gasp that reminded Phil of someone drowning. "Will you come?"

"I was going to go anyway," Phil lied, bidding Buffy, peace, and quiet, farewell. "Sure."

A smile flickered across Dan's face, the flash of a firefly, disappearing a moment later. His grip tightened, "Thank you."

So it was that Phil found himself playing with an empty vodka bottle, bored out of his mind. He'd half hoped that Dan would've talked to him at least once, but he should've known not to set his expectations too high. Phil pulled out his phone, unlocking it and flipping back and forth from icon to icon in an attempt to look like he had something to do. He checked the time, releasing a long suffering sigh. Still a good few hours until things were likely to wind down.