one shots

Wild Things

Inspired by the song Wild Things by Coast Modern (attached above)
Warnings- alcohol, implied depression, mentions of self harm, language

Phil didn't leave his apartment a whole lot.

There wasn't really any point.

His roommate Pj always picked up groceries and things he needed anyway, because he was already out all day, so Phil had all the time in the world to mope around his small flat and stare at the ceiling.

Phil used to complain about living with Pj, because he was too sad and too stubborn and wanted to be able to cry in the darkness of his room without someone wondering about it, but ever since Phil got too drunk and tried to saw off his hand with a kitchen knife, they were both silently thankful for the arrangement.

Pj was always griping at Phil, telling him to get off the floor and open the curtains, or eat something (besides dry cereal), or stop laying in the floor of the shower and wasting water. But Phil knew that if Pj didn't say anything, no one would, and he would die before he was thirty, so he always gave Pj a small, grateful smile and tried at some degree to do what he asked, even if it never lasted very long.

Pj always invited Phil to go out with him, either all day or all night, but Phil always politely declined. Taking care of himself in the confines of his own home was one thing (and hard enough at that), but facing the general public and going outside was too much for Phil to even think about. He rarely even stepped onto his balcony (which Pj had plenty to say about, because sunlight is apparently essential for your survival), let alone the untamed city streets surrounding him.

Now that it was summer, Pj would disappear for days at a time, always at some festival or concert with his boyfriend, Chris. Phil tried his hardest to keep up with taking care of himself while he was gone, but occasionally, the days would slip by without Phil noticing, and Pj would be back from a three day trip and Phil would have to lie about all the things he had done, since he hadn't really even moved from his spot.

Today, however, Pj was not taking any of Phil's shit. He was, instead, taking him to a concert. Outside. With millions of other people (Pj said there wouldn't be millions of people, but how could he know?).

Phil was almost positive he was going to die.

Finally.

Pj, unfortunately, did not seem to be worried about it (causing Phil to rethink their entire friendship), and his threats did not deter Pj from his mission, so Phil ended up with his ass in the grass in front of a giant stage, with far too many (it looked like millions) people surrounding him.

"Pj," Phil stated, his voice surprisingly calm. "I want to go home."

"Phil," Pj answered, his voice hardened by an edge that Phil was familiar with. "You can't." Phil sighed, already giving up, because he knew Pj was right. In order for Phil to get home, he would have to either get a ride or walk. He didn't have any friends with cars, he didn't have any money for a cab, and even if he walked, Pj had taken his house keys, so he would have to stand outside until Pj returned home anyway.

This did not mean Phil was happy. In fact, he was already planning how to get Pj back for this. He would probably never follow through, because Pj was only doing this for his well being, but it gave Phil gratification to think about, so he thought about it anyway.

Phil sat there, trying to avoid shitting his pants, until Pj and Chris climbed to their feet on either side of him and announced their leaving, and Phil feared that he had.

"What do you mean, leaving?" Phil yelped, tilting his head back to glare up at them.

"Relax," Chris laughed, patting his head. "We're just gonna go buy some food. We'll be right back." And with that, they were gone, leaving Phil bewildered in the grass, wondering why he couldn't come with them.