Demonic // phan

Eight

  Phil woke up the next morning with a raging headache and the taste of vomit in the back of his throat. He couldn't remember if he'd actually thrown up last night, but since he didn't smell anything, he was just going to hope he hadn't.

  His face was pressing into the carpet of his room floor, and his body ached. He sat up slowly, groaning as his head throbbed and his stomach lurched. Something was covering him, and looked down to see the dark fabric of a jacket falling off of his shoulders. Dan's jacket.

  Dan. Shit.

  Phil's mind was still fuzzy, and all the details weren't too clear, but he did remember Dan, and kissing him. Like, a lot. And he was fairly certain  that they'd started doing body shots at some point, which would explain why his shirt was missing.

  The room was empty, no bottles littering the floor like they'd been last night, and no Dan. Phil was almost one hundred percent sure that they'd ended up collapsed on the floor together, but he wasn't there anymore.

  He struggled to his feet, grabbing onto the edge of his dresser and heaving himself up. He felt like shit, his stomach rolling constantly, and everything was too bright and too loud. Thank god it was Sunday, cause he didn't feel like dealing with anyone today.

  He found Dan in the bathroom down the hall, his head near the toilet and one of his legs dangling inside of the bathtub. Phil would have laughed, but he was sure that if he did, he'd just end up vomiting. He knelt down slowly next to the sleeping Dan, reaching out his hand hesitantly and shaking his bare shoulder. Oh yeah. Definitely body shots.

  "Dan." He whispered, cautious not to be too loud because the boy had had way more to drink than Phil, and his hangover was likely to be much worse. "Wake up, asshole, you can't sleep on the bathroom floor."

  Dan groaned, rolling over onto his side and burying his head in his arms. His jeans had somehow made it past his hips, on the verge of showing off his ass, covered by his thin gray boxers. "Leave me alone." He moaned. "I'm dying."

  Phil shook his head, smiling and shaking him again. "C'mon. That floor can not be comfortable."

  "Oh, it very much is."

  It took way longer than necessary to eventually drag Dan out of the bathroom and lay him across the couch. Phil actually felt sorry for him, but he also had to admit, it was fun watching him be so out of it. He was usually all cool and calm, and it was nice to know that there was something that could break him.

  It took three aspirin and half a pot of coffee before Phil's headache was subdued enough to actually begin functioning. His head was a lot more focused, and much to his dismay, detail from the night before began surfacing.

  He swore on his life he was never going to drink again, especially not around boys he liked. He didn't need all this tension and drama in his life.

  Phil took a deep breath, calming himself down slightly before heading back into the living room with a cup of coffee and a bottle of pills for Dan.

  "I suggest you just take the whole bottle, you look like shit." Phil said, tossing the pills to Dan, who was sitting up somewhat painfully.

  "I feel so much worse." He said, taking the cup from Phil gratefully. "I don't remember a thing."

  Phil stared at him for a moment, then sat down next to him, pulling his legs up onto the couch. "Not anything?" He asked softly.

  "I mean, I remember when we started drinking." Dan said, then laughed weakly. "And you saying something about my eyes. But after that, no. Complete blank." He downed half of the coffee, throwing the pills into his mouth and then draining the cup before glancing over at Phil's. "What about you?"