ADORABLÈ art by FyreIce369 of my boyes on the fire escape. I love this child v much and am in awe of her written and artistic talents. go stalk her, she's amazing.<3
Thank you so much for this, Bella.

warning for general drunkeness but you knew that

Fallen angel, close your eyes
I won't let you fall tonight.
-Three Days' Grace, Fallen Angel

Phil

We've gone one walk too far and had two drinks too many, and the conversation is doing another one-eighty.

"I am buzzed." Dan says decidedly. "Not buzzed like I'm incoherently intoxicated but like, pleasantly buzzed." He grins at me and I make the effort to smile back, but it's hard because I can't relate. I'm feeling sluggish but cheerful, my eyes captivated by the colour of his lips.

The morning has turned into evening and the rain is still driving down in torrents, the two of us definitely past the point of being gone a reasonable amount of time in our friends' eyes. I'm sure Cat is probably back by now with Earring, I'm sure they're all probably wondering where we are. But there's thunder and lighting and it's all so loud it makes my ears ring. I'm warm too, hyper, and I don't think my mind has felt so alive in while. Dan's grinning from ear to ear and it makes me happy because I can't remember the last time I saw him smile like this, for so long and so widely.

We're definitely drunk. There's no sense denying it at this point. The last few hours have blurred by in a mixture of conversation and cuddling up to him while he switched us to another new bottle, the shelves still loaded up with stock from the normal days.

"I feel so warm." He informs me. "You must have picked something really special."

"What the hell do you mean I picked something special?" I scoff, tipping the drink hazily. "It's the same stuff we started with."

It's obvious that whatever it is that we have available to us, it's been picked over in the past. I can practically picture the way some desperate citizens or maybe even confederation members broke down this shop's door back in the day, snatching all the expensive liquors and exotic wines, leaving only the cheap beers, the waters, and a few wayward wines at the end. Fortunately for us it hasn't made much of a difference, having been broke uni students in our previous incarnations and well used to this sort of young life taste.

We'd originally started sharing the drink for fun, making little games out of our conversation, but it evolved into less casual and more necessity once my inhibition started to feel deliciously meaningless. Everything seems hilarious right now and Dan looks really good, not that there's ever a moment where he doesn't. Not all is bad in the world. Memories of my home are fading into a dull ache and I'm not even thinking about the place, really. There's nothing to come back to anymore.

We're also on bottle two of the drink we'd started with, the taste mattering less and less. We mutually decided to sit on the floor, our backs against the panelled wood of the bar island just because we could. I don't think I'd be able to sit upright on a stool or on the counter right now, at least not without seriously injuring myself. My balance was never good to begin with.

"It's special because I'm not cold anymore." He explains. "I was freezing when we came in here, even with that denim jacket. Obviously you know how to problem-solve."

Speaking of the denim jacket, he's got it pulled around himself like a shawl right now, using it more for a blanket than properly wearing it.

"Also Dan, you chose this drink. Not me." I remind him, reaching out a hand to try and shift it back into place. He was the one who'd jumped up mid-conversation to grab it, claiming we couldn't have our metaphorical bro brunch without it, but a few indulgent hours later that clearly seems to have slipped his mind.

He flicks his hand irritably. "Irrelevant!"

The high-pitched loudness of his voice catches me off guard and I turn my head to look at him, giggling slightly at his demeanour.

He's acting anything but calm right now and I'm living for it. I remember in university when everyone got all party-giddy and the night began to blur into fun, not fun that could be placed exactly or described in one word because no two parties were the same but still a night full of excitement. In some way, somehow, this doesn't quite feel the same. Uni was all about rowdiness and loud noise and bonding with some stranger that prior to this party you didn't even know. This feels like a milestone in Dan and I's friendship. This is something that, despite all we've experienced together, we've never actually, properly done.

He holds out the bottle to me again and I shake my head, taking it from his hand and tilting the bottle upward. I can barely taste the liquid anymore and for all I know he could be poisoning me, there really isn't any concrete way to know.

"Can you kiss my forehead again?" He asks me, blushing as he does. "I know I was sobbing the last time that happened but I think I need it. It's calming."

"What, right now?"

He nods.

His round eyes are so fixed on me I'm squirming under the pressure, mind racing as to try and figure out whether or not he's serious. He certainly looks serious, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he said he needed it.

"I can't!" I squeak. "That would be so awkward!"

He shrugs lazily and slumps down against my shoulder. Or at least he aims for my shoulder, his head brushes right past my shoulder and ends up thudding into my lap.

"Do you care?"

Maybe it's the alcohol swirling in my veins, but suddenly it's almost as if I don't care anymore. My hand shoots up to grab his jaw, thumb pressing into the soft skin. He just stares at me hazily, grinning at me in a bemused, unfocused way. This isn't like last time, when we were forced into a drunken state and scared out of our wits by the confederation men around us. Tonight, it's just me and him.

"Maybe I don't." I say thoughtfully. "But you will."

He considers this, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he articulates his thoughts. His thin shoulders are being swallowed slightly but the oversized jacket and his curly hair is pushed clumsily away so he can see. I can see the evidence of the haircut I gave him back in the bunker now, more apparent when it's all rain-curled and tousled. Then I see him bite his lip, and my eyes trace the path of his teeth worrying over the skin.

"You'd be surprised what I do and don't mind." He says indifferently. His expression turns into a soft frown and I relax my hold slightly, realizing that pressing my fingers into his skin could possibly be painful.

"Oh, trust me." I say cautiously. "I didn't know you even cared about that. You'll mind it by tomorrow."

"Cared about what?"

I throw out my hand. "Me... kissing you- or your face- cheek, you know?" There's really no way to not deliver it awkwardly, it's about as bad as it sounds.

"Should I care?"

I try to think back to what he should be caring about but it's gradually slipping from my mind. "Probably." I say with a shrug. "Whatever it was. I don't remember."

He's still biting his lip absently and so I extend my thumb and pull it forward, stopping him from making it bleed. He sticks out his tongue at me, laughing when I jump back to keep from having him lick my hand.

"Phil, I'm gonna tell you a secret," Dan laughs softly, leaning into the grasp on his face and easily darting away from the topic that he'd brought up in the first place.

My heart is beating quickly. The first thing my stupid mind jumps to is that he's about to confess to me as though my attraction hasn't been one-sided, following up from his speech of acceptance earlier. His face is painted with a lopsided smirk, dimple appearing encouragingly to greet me as I feel the his pulse fluttering against my skin. "What's that?" I mange to squeak.

"I don't know how to drink." He admits. "I haven't had the university experience, and that wasn't exactly proper drinking with the confeds."

I laugh too despite my small disappointment, by now I'm getting used to the fact that it might always be this way. I let the laughs out freely, gazing into his gorgeous, hypnotic eyes. He looks so cute with this relaxed, dreamy smile, his gaze on me affectionate as he takes the bottle out of my other hand and takes another daring sip.

It's strange to think that Dan's university experience has been cut so short. He didn't get to make new friends or get far too drunk with them like I did, that one party in high school the only thing close that he ever got in four years.

"That high school party taught you one thing." I say haltingly.

"Perhaps." He agrees. "I guess it taught me to never get drunk but... hey..."

He relaxes his arm and cups my face with both of his hands, pulling my head down at an awkward angle so that even though his head is on my legs, I'm looking into his eyes.

"Phil, I'm drunk!"

I pull back and giggle at how happy he seems to be about this, running my fingers through his hair.

"You're already an expert." I say cheekily, looking to the drink. "Judging by the way you're talking, I'd say you're already drunker than me."

He looks considerate, furrowing his brow as though this as a topic is highly fascinating. "Now what would lead you to believe that?"

"Well..." I murmur, sitting back up but still running my fingers along the edge of his jaw, tapping my thumb on his chin. "I'm drunk, but I think I'm thinking straighter than you are."

My lowered inhibitions have me wanting to get as close to him as possible. Just being able to touch his face has me smiling and giddy. He isn't even stopping me. I can tell that his mind is going a little hazy, he's smiling at me absently with a glazed look that suggests he's not entirely there.

He takes far too long to answer me, my previous words hanging awkwardly in the air. I see the look on his face and realize he's clearly trying to decide whether or not to say what's on his mind, brow creasing indecisively before I see the cheeky grin returning.

"Oh yeah?" He replies, smirking. "Well I think I'm straighter than you are."

I gasp, dropping my hand from his face and staring at him incredulously. He sees the horrified expression on my face for about two seconds, and then his composure cracks and he explodes into little giggles.

He keeps laughing and laughing, whereas some of the fog has cleared from my head with this alcohol-induced admission. He rolls off of me and giggles softly into the floor in a curled-up heap and I just stare at him, my breath hitching in my throat and my heart beating out of my chest.

"What do you... mean?" I mumble, a frown crossing my features. How can one sentence hold so many implications? "That's not exactly on topic."

He stops laughing abruptly, looking shocked upon realizing his own question. He composes himself quickly and sits back up, resting his back against the island and playing with a lace on his shoe so he doesn't have to look at me, but it's obvious I'm about to get the answer.

"Oh, uh... aren't you gay?" He asks with a shrug, taking advantage of my dropped hands and scooting over to drop his head onto my shoulder. He doesn't even wait for an answer, just keeps talking.

He knows. But how the hell does he know?

It doesn't seem to matter to him, but my heart is still suddenly beating way too fast and I'm not sure exactly how to contain it. It wouldn't be so bad, but I've never told him anything about it, it's the one think I've kept to myself, the status of my attraction. His soft curls brush against my cheek and it's only making it worse for obvious reasons, and I can feel panic rising in my chest.

He seems all-too aware of this, voice switching to low and soothing in an instant so I don't freak out.

"You are, you said so to Mark, so that's the joke." He informs me helpfully. "Mark always makes fun of me because he thinks I'm gay, he brought it up twice, once at the half-light camp and once just a few days ago. I don't care, you and me are best buddies right?"

The way he says buddies is a touch sarcastic, but in an affectionate, endearing way. My tongue feels too big for my mouth and I gape idiotically, still not entirely sure what's happened.

"Uh...yeah?" I squeak.

Yeah doesn't even begin to sum up anything I'm thinking or feeling at the moment, I want to cover up my face and hide.

"Best buds- Dan Howell and Phil Lester. Hah. Someone should put that on a mug." He mumbles.

"Dan," I say cautiously, "you're really drunk."

"I wasn't done Phil." He whines, digging his shoulder into my elbow as he snuggles closer. It's like he's trying to fit himself into the curves of my side, lips turned up serenely like there's no place he'd rather be. "Does Mark ever tease you about it, or does he just have it out for me? I swear to god I'm literally not."

My heart sinks instantly, my foggy head trying to pathetically string together a reply.

He's not. I don't have a chance in hell with him, and here I was only moment before believing in miracles. I look at him and the forlorn feeling pushes through on my face, my gaze fixed on him with a weak expression.

"You're not gay?" The alcohol asks.

He looks up at me, still with that hazy smile. His breath breezes over my neck, making me shiver even as the smell of the drink hits me, mind going hazy at the sensation of his breath on my skin. The smell is tart and fruity, I can see a hint of purple on his lower lip.

"Nah... I'm special because I'm only half gay." he chides me. "It's too articulate to explain to him. Mark doesn't like to think that hard. Why? Did you think I was?"

"Half-gay?" I sputter, aware even in this slightly off-kilter state that's a ludicrous statement. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Like a half-life." He giggles quietly, "but gayer."

I shake my head and lift a shaking hand  to his chin, turning him to look into my eyes. "I'm serious Dan. What does that mean?"

I'd be okay to let it go if he were kidding but somehow, call me crazy- it sounds like he's trying to tell me something. I just can't give up hope when I so badly want to hear anything but what I'm currently worrying is true.

He rolls his eyes. "Phil." He groans, his time teasing and playful. "Half-gay. Stay with me here."

I try to focus on his words but the room is blurry, confusion riddling my system at how someone could only be half-gay, which would technically imply that they were also half-

Oh.

I feel like I'm at a girls' sleepover, cuddling up to a friend and telling secrets and gossip. This is a question I've had about him for years, I can't believe he just told it so casually.

It seems, as far as I can tell, that I talked with Mark on the balcony and I guess somehow, Dan heard me. All the struggle and speculation, all the times I'd been too awkward to ask him, all amounting to this casual admission that he's bisexual as hell. Do I dare allow myself a flicker of hope?

My heart starts to beat out of my chest and he grins nervously as my mind connects the dots, clearly anticipating my reaction.

"Are you kidding me?" I stammer. "You-?" He smirks at me, raising his eyebrows. "-I mean, no, Mark hasn't actually called me out. But I think he knows?"

"Why?" He inquires, making me blush. Not that he can see it.

"Um...because everybody knows it?" Like hell I'm actually gonna tell him why. Mark knew even before I told him because he could see how in love with Dan I am. That's not something I can just say, not to Dan himself.

"You can't answer a question with a question." he says cheekily, passing the bottle back to me with his one hand wrapped tightly around its neck, and it irks me that he's so intuitive and intelligent despite the fact that he's drunk, considering I've already said too many things that should stay in my head.

It's interesting to see all the different ways a body chooses to handle alcohol. Some people get really aggressive or obnoxious, acting happy and wild with the loss of inhibitions. Some are sad and mopey, crying about issues that sober they'd scarcely remember they had and spilling out their heart to someone they don't know. Dan however just seems really cute and giggly, even a touch flirty with this close contact and open emotion. It's like him without the wall built up and a weird injection of new personality, although I can see the glint of awareness in his gaze that indicates he isn't totally stupid.

And that's what's irking me. To at least a mite of a degree, he knows what he's doing.

I think back to our conversation earlier. The words he'd said to me, they suddenly make so much sense. It doesn't matter who you're in love with, Phil. He'd assured me quietly. Even if it's you who's in love.

He was telling me in a gentle, offhand way that he knew I was gay, but he was fine with it. It gives the whole speech he'd given me so much more context. I could have told him at any point and he wouldn't have minded, and I don't know how to feel about him knowing my secret before I was ready. Is he mad at me for telling Mark but not him, my closest friend? Does he realize the implications behind our relationship given how I act around him? I mostly feel relived that he found out without me having to say anything, and now he's given me the truth so easily in return.

"So you heard Mark and I talking?" I ask, suddenly way too aware of just how much I'd revealed in that one conversation. If he heard everything then he'd know that I'm gay, that I told Mark about his darker days, and that I'm totally in love with him. My heart drops in an instant, skipping a beat at imagining that conversation. Has he known all day that I love him? How do I even go about fixing that?

"Only that part." He says honestly. "I didn't stick around after that but it sure caught my attention."

I take the drink eagerly, downing as much as I can before immediately regretting doing so when the taste burns overwhelmingly in the back of my throat. I don't want to feel this rush of embarrassment right now, I want to blur all the lines and soften the feelings, allowing myself to just be with Dan. Maybe I'll get so intoxicated I'll forget how beautiful he is. If that's even possible. I almost collapse and sigh in relief.

I mentally relay the events of the past few days. I suppose this revelation is fairly recent, so at least I don't have to worry about him needing to harbour that knowledge for too long.

"So you've only known since-"

"-yesterday." He confirms. "Literally yesterday."

"Oh-" I mumble, mid drink for the fifth or sixth time, the liquid going down the wrong way.

Dan's distracted by the sudden coughing fit that overtakes me, my throat on fire. He forgets about the question he's asked me as he pounds on my back helpfully, and I don't even feel that bad. It wasn't that big of a deal to him apparently if it's slipped his mind so easily, but then he obviously doesn't see the strings that are attached. In the end, it always comes back to him, but it's not like it's necessary for him to know that.

He'd wanted to know what made people suspect me in the first place. That's an answer I just can't give him.

I take a gulp of the drink to stop the coughing from the last gulp, wincing a bit at the bitterness. The taste of the drink is almost worse than the smell, as per usual in the grapevine world.

Wine is so strange, I think to myself. We're literally drinking fermented grapes. How weird is that? Am I even drinking wine right now?

It's funny that we're doing this. We don't even know what we're drinking.

"Is it obvious?" I ask him curiously. "Like did you have any idea before I told you that I am?"

"It's not." He replies unexpectedly. "I never even suspected or thought about it. Mind you I don't put much thought to sexuality at all, but..."

"But generally, no?"

"No." He confirms. "You're not exactly... flamboyant or whatever. I don't even know how accurate of a judgement that ever is. It doesn't make you any less of a person, it's just like... you."

"Why thank you, Dan." I trill jokingly, reaching up and mussing his hair. "It doesn't make you any less of a person either."

"Have I never told you about that before?" He asks confusedly, ignoring the touch completely and staring right at me through a mop of messed fringe. "Why don't we talk about these things if they're so important? Huh, it's like a drinking bonding game."

I drink to that, feeling my head spin slightly as the next gulp hits my system. I can't remember the last time I've done anything like this. I'm having uni fresher year flashbacks.

"It's not that important." I reason, and he just nods.

"Nah."

"How did you find out you were...?" I as in fascination. I gesture at all of him vaguely, as if my indication equals Dan and I'm presenting him acutely. "Have you ever like, you know... with a guy?"

Stupid question. My brain scolds me instantly. Would you want someone to ask you that?! Probably not. And this is Dan, for gods sake.

"Phil you idiot." He laughs, shaking his head at me. "You know this. I haven't dated anyone before, unless you count that girl back in high school. I don't do people. No pun intended."

Not exactly what I was implying, but it gets me the answer all the same. Sometimes I forget about the girl in high school. I didn't know him back then.

"Then how do you know?"

He chuckles. "How do you know you're gay, idiot? I just do. I've always been, it just took a while to realize that I'm gay, but only in certain circumstances."

"Aka," I clarify, "after loads of denial and three years with that Erin girl, you eventually realized you liked a guy."

He blushes. "Um... yes. Only realized it in the last bit of my denial stage."

Wow. The words pique my curiosity and I can see him looking at me imploringly, pleading not to ask, but I can't help it. "Really? Who?"

He squirms under the full attention he's getting under my gaze, brushing his hand over my cheek to try and swat me away.

"Phil, please don't ask me that." He protests.

His face is a deep red now and I feel totally merciless, because if he's asking me not to push that topic it means I probably knew him in some way. I lean forward, winding my arms around his chest and pulling him clumsily into my lap. He's not light but he's not heavy either, I feel like I'm hugging an undersized bear. "Why?" I tease him. "Is he cute?"

"Ye- no! Jesus." He protests, smiling weakly. "It's a secret. I don't want them to find out."

The lamest of all lame excuses. Considering this is Dan, I would have thought he'd come up with something more evasive than that. He must be really drunk if this is at all amusing to him.

I sigh in mock exasperation. "Dan, it's the apocalypse." I tease. "You'll probably never see him again."

He laughs. I meanwhile am preparing to fight this unnamed secret guy who won over my Dan. Am I jealous? Absolutely.

"Oh, you never know." He retaliates. "I'm sure I will."

"When was this?" I prod him. "What was so great about his traits? Was he taller than me?"

Dan snorts and punches me in the side, but it doesn't at all prove to distract me. It feels entirely unfair that the boy I'm in love with has his thoughts on someone else, especially because of how long it's been and how I know now that I could have had a chance.

"What? Shut up and stop being weird." He complains. "There's more important things to think about. And for the record, he's about your height."

"Oh?" Of course he would be. I bet he's absolutely perfect.

He nods. "Definitely."

"You're my best friend." I pout, grumpy like a toddler refusing to share.

"Don't worry! You're still my favourite." He adds affectionately, and I punch him for pretending he's worried he's made me feel bad.

"I'd better be." I say threateningly. "No one else would take a bullet for you when Felix got pissed off."

His eyes widen indignantly and he scrambles off my lap, glaring at me in offense.

"Hey! I took one for you!" He protests, yanking down the neck of his shirt. "Remember?" This makes me gulp in a nervous way, though, because while I can indeed see the slowly healing scar from Wirrow's bullet marring his skin, I'm also being provided an unbroken view of his pale collarbone, and I think he might even know that.

But two can play at that game. I extend a finger and touch it to his neck, tracing the soft, sensitive skin towards the injury. He reacts immediately.

"Phil!" He shouts, jerking away from me and curling in on himself. "Please don't... touch my neck."

I shake my head and retract my hand, raising my eyebrows. "You're one of those people?"

"If you're suggesting I have some sort of neck thing then you can just-"

"No!" I protest, face burning hotly. "I meant you hate getting your neck touched!"

"Sure." He trills.

My heart starts to beat faster and stare him down, hoping he believes me.

"Anyway," I continue, shooting him a look as he smirks knowingly. "We're not talking about neck fetishes or whatever. It's nice and safe from the zombies in here. What could we do until morning? Sleep?"

Thunder rumbles outside and another flash lights the room, throwing his whole appearance into the light for me.

"It's probably only like eight o'clock." Dan points out. "I think we should at least stay awake and see if the rain stops."

We probably should've gone back to the apartment a long time ago, but the rain wasn't stopping and we couldn't afford to get lost or sick. Good thing we replaced patience and problem solving with a heart to heart and some alcohol. Our friends are probably planning how to turn us in to the confeds right now.

"It's not going to." I complain.

"We should ask each other questions we've never asked before." He suggests wickedly. "I've been sitting on my gayness for ages now. That was kinda fun, and a lot easier than expected. To tell you."

I let that sink in for a moment, the idea that he's thought about it before and this admission of his wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing before quietly settling into the comfort that he's practically exuding, unable to keep a laugh back from the phrasing.

"Sitting on your gayness sounds kind of wrong" I giggle, trying to will away the mental images but ultimately failing.

"Oh god," he exclaims, covering his eyes and hiding half his face in my sweater hood. "I didn't say that. What happened to your innocent mind?"

I don't know what innocence he's referring to, though it could just be a dig at the impression I seem to make on people. The sweet, friendly, innocent Phil. I wonder if my alter ego is straight.

"You've known me for years, Daniel." I remind him. "You know I'm not an angel."

In fact he probably doesn't know everything there is to know about me and how calm my teenage years actually were, but I can't pretend I'm a pure cinnamon roll of a being by any means.

"Well your mind isn't." He agrees. "But you are."

I take about three seconds to process his words and then furiously blush, not sure how to feel about that fact that he's called me an angel after I made a dick joke.

"That's stupid." I exclaim.

"Anyway, I wonder if there's something about you that I don't already know." He continues. I have to hide my face now to keep from giving away my nervousness with my expression. He knows a lot, but I can think of one thing right if the top of my head that he never think of, even thought it haunts me every day.

"What is this, two truths one lie?" I joke. "I didn't realize we'd be sinking to the level of party games."

"Oh, we're not." He replies seriously, his tone full of a lot more purpose than I'd expected. "This is just a conversation, trust me. You know me better than anyone, but I think we'll use this alcohol to our advantage. I still love getting deep."

To our advantage? What does he possibly think he can get out of me that drink hasn't already gotten out of my system?

"I know you do." I agree, because quite honestly, so do I. And with him? Even better.

"So ask me something." He prompts me.

"What, now?"

It was his idea, but he's apparently putting me on the spot to come up with something brilliant to get the ball rolling. It's probably just his drunken mind riding on the high of confessing one honest statement to me, but I'm suddenly realizing how much potential I have before me to really, really know my Dan. I could learn so much about him, tell so much to him, all I have to do is word it right.

He nods in answer to my question. "Yeah."

My mind is drawing a blank, the only think I can think of to ask him is if he's ever been in love with me. But that's ridiculously presumptuous, not to mention gives away what I want with no real fairness because I'm all too aware he'd say no. I can't ask it, it'd be awkward and pointless.

But perhaps it could be reworded a bit.

"Fine." I decide, preparing to expect anything. "So this means you want to go first?"

He nods. Instantly, one very specific question comes to my mind. I'm pretty sure that now is a good time to take the risk because we're both drunk off our minds and I can easily dismiss it as such tomorrow morning, and this is something that, with very few exceptions, I don't think I'll ever be able to get out of him in any other way.

So, before I can even taste the sentence in my head or debate the consequences in my mind I've jumped straight in and left it to chance, my clumsy lips fumbling and asking my greatest, burning question:

"Dan," I hear myself ask haltingly. "Have you ever, you know, been in love?"

He blinks, looking up at me in surprise. Apparently that's not what he thought he'd get from me.

I don't know what I'm expecting in answer, either. A fireworks show? A heartfelt admission?  I guess it's an unfortunate side to being a person of optimism, but it's a question that I've never been brave enough to ask before. Now my mind isn't clear enough to know all that's wrong and right, and with the memory of his lips on my cheek only hours before, Im almost hoping that he'll change his mind in a second, forgetting all that he's said and thought before, and decide to realize that it's me that his thoughts centre around me, not that other boy. Could I even get that lucky?

Of course not.

In reality, he doesn't look particularly fazed at all to my surprise, just smirks at me bemusedly like I could have tried harder.

"I'm sensing a theme here," he chuckles, and at first I panic thinking he knows exactly what I want. "Is my love life more interesting now that you know I'm more diverse? Hey-hey." He brushes my hand and swings the bottle up to his lips, looking at me even as he drinks before setting it back down again and wincing at the bitterness. "I guess that's cool. You deserve to know."

"But.." I prod determinedly, "have you?"

He looks over at me blankly, then shrugs, dismissive. It's so quick that I can't even doubt him. "Eh." He says in a bored voice. "Can't say that I have."

I can't help the pitch at which my voice rises. "What?!" I squeak. Even though I knew that, well... I always hoped for more I guess.

He sees my expression and mistakes it for confusion, seeming to actually think back on his own situation because his expression gets unusually sad. Drinking makes you feel small emotions more strongly than you'd expect yourself to, and it's clear with Dan that this is no exception.

"Unless you count you know, unrequited." He adds softly, voice worried as if he's concerned that's not something he should have said.

I actually snort at the irony of that statement, staring in disbelief.

"Oh, Dan." I say loudly, clapping my hand on his shoulder and shaking my head, feeling the dull twist in the pit of my stomach because somehow I know that feeling all too well. "You know nothing about unrequited love." Because if he's really holding true to that statement, then he's unknowingly saying my love for him is invalid.

"Yes." He huffs irritably, frowning suddenly at the very notion that I could think so. "Actually. I'm pretty sure I do."

"Well I think I know more." I don't think I know, I do know more. And to think that for a few drunken hours, I'd believed he'd felt the same.

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't." He stares at me challengingly and I shrug in a nonchalant way , not really inclined to win.

We both sink into our own thoughts for a second and I can picture him trying to find some semblance of something in his life, going back far to try and input.

"I mean," he says quickly, "I did love my girlfriend, I guess. We were together a long time. But it wasn't... happy love, you know? It wasn't what you'd expect in a lasting relationship."

My uneasy feelings soften at that.

It makes my heart swell suddenly. The notion that Dan's aware that love isn't black and white or straightforward. It's not always perfectly requited, it's not always good or happy. Some of the times, like in our case, it's too tentative to be considered romantic, but it exists in full force for me every day, and it's interesting to see him acknowledge that his love for his girlfriend did exist, it just didn't last because it wasn't what was good for either of them.

"Well if it wasn't happy love then maybe she wasn't right for you." I say quietly. I reach out my hand again and place it on his shoulder, and he smiles at the touch. "I- you matter a lot to me, you know that? You deserve someone who cares about you."

I immediately cringe at the wording that sounds so cheesy it could make a better person roll their eyes, but it's not like I can just bust out an I love you because he mentioned the girlfriend he had in his high school years wasn't the one he was marrying or whatever. It's not all that often that first relationships last.

He gazes at me, brown eyes hazy as he's choosing his words carefully.

"In the way you do?" He asks quietly.

My heart damn near bursts out if my chest. My voice catches in my throat and my mouth falls open, terror filling every corner of my mind at the words. "What?"

His eyes widen. "Not like that!" He blurts nervously. "I don't mean like...I'm saying that nobody, and I mean nobody has ever made me feel as important or as- as wanted as you have. Most people can't stand me because of how difficult I am but you just don't care. I want someone like that."

Me. My mind screams. But I can't say that. Not after such a panicked reaction to the mere suggestion of us being more. My heart is still pounding because I thought he'd meant it another way, the way that I really feel constantly and he's too oblivious to figure out.

"They're out there." I conclude in a stiff voice, passing back the drink before I throw up. My vision is bordering on blurry and I definitely don't want to forget this, or not be conscious of what I do around him.

I realize this predicament runs two ways and end up grabbing the bottle just as he's taken it, wrapping my hand around his and guiding him to set it down. He doesn't protest, rather he seems to understand my line of thinking. My mind is preoccupied with moving the bottle away before it can tempt either of us and so I don't see him moving in closer, not until I turn around and very nearly collide heads with him.

Immediately I realize something's wrong when I see the hooded look in his eyes, a curious smile on his face while he keeps his hand stilled under mine. He shifts himself so that he's half leaning on me, face hovering above mine and hand settling on my knee. Everything I'd been thinking vanishes in an instant, nerves exploding from my mind to my heart.

He reaches forward and crawls his fingers up my chest, making me shiver as they slowly move closer to my face, but it's not in an unpleasant way.

No, this feeling is desire.

"Oh?" He drawls knowingly. I feel warm fingers at the edge of my jaw, different things pulling at my focus in all directions. "They're out there? Where can I find one?"

His mind is way, way too impulsive right now, he probably doesn't even know what he's doing. He likely thinks he's annoying me but the reality is he's provoking me to do things I'll definitely regret, biting my lip as he continues to stare right at me. I can feel my heart racing harshly because I can think of a very closely located one right about now, one that he doesn't even have to look for to find.

I gulp. "You don't find one." I joke, desperately trying to redirect whatever mood we've fallen into as colour flushes his skin. My voice is so nervous I bet he can tell, hands almost trembling at how close his lips are to my face. "You'll just decide one day that that's the one, and then you'll marry them and all that good shit."

He blinks, fingers touched to my neck now. "You seem weirdly informed about this."

"I-I really am not." I assure him. "I'm just the reassuring spokesperson role."

My fingers drift up to brush his face and he smiles at the touch, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning into it.

It's strange to see him receptive to a borderline romantic advance. It's not that he's flirting back exactly but he's reacting so calmly to everything that I do and I'm realizing he might not even be picking up on it, but just simply taking it in stride.

"Good spokesing." He compliments when his eyes reopen, then frowns in confusion at his own wording. "Spokespersoning?" He tries again. "Spoke-ing? Speakening?"

I snort, trying not to betray just how funny I find his drunken self. "How about speaking, Dan?"

"Phil Lester!" He shrieks, making me jump so hard I let go of him. He wobbles slightly but he doesn't even seem to care, placing his hands on my chest. "You're a genuis!"

"Shh!" I exclaim, doubling over in laughter as he beams at me like he's inherited the Bank of England. "Zombies! There could be zombies."

"Personally, I'd like to see you fight a zombie while you're drunk." He points out cheekily. "It'd be so entertaining."

I shake my head, trying to imagine myself fighting when I can't even stand up. This also reminds me of how vulnerable we technically are to the confederation right now, but since there's little we can do, I ignore it.

"You got bitten by one in a lake when we were sober." I point out. "I'm way clumsier than you are and I'm not immune, so I'd realistically just die."

"A fair point." He agrees. "Don't die on me, Philly. I kinda maybe need you."

I look at his cheeks and notice even in this dim light that his skin is speckled with faint, endearingly scattered dots, smiling to myself at the constellation over the bridge of his nose.

"You have freckles." I say softly. "I never noticed that before."

He touches his fingers to his cheek with an absent expression and runs his finger over it as if he can feel them. "Do I?"

"Yeah. It must be all the sunlight." I reason. It makes sense with all the time we've spent living outdoors that he should maybe have some, especially considering he didn't when we never used to go outside before. "That's so cute."

"Well you have freckles too." He mumbles. To prove his point, he sticks out a finger and pokes one. "If were assuming I'm bisexual then we can conclude that at least one of my freckles is gay."

I shake my head, not even sure any more of what level of wasted this boy is at. "Is that so?"

"Assuming." He confirms. "Hey! We could send them off together and they could be the one for each other. They could get married and all that good shit!"

I don't even have time to stop and process that, or to think about what to say in response to the fact that he's just quoted me before his eyes, inches from mine, widen as if he's come to a profound conclusion.

"Hah." He chuckles. "If we're not married by thirty we should just marry each other."

I choke, mind exploding with the implications of that small, singular suggestion.

"I'm a genius!" He exclaims, beaming at me. On the face of my stoic best friend, the expression looks so incredibly out of place.

"You can't even get married anymore." I protest, face flaming at imagining something like that and mind also racing to desperately try and come up with a nonromantic answer to such a careless thought. "And we won't hit thirty at the same time. Do you mean your thirty or my thirty?"

"Either. Neither." He says with a shrug, as if this would actually happen one day. "I don't care."

The way that he says it has me imploding, I'm trying to figure out if he's serious. He sounds like he's arranging a picnic, like we're just talking over our day plans.

"We're not even dating." I blurt, cursing myself immediately.

"No we aren't." He sighs. "But I'd like to try it, before I die."

"Dating me?" My heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest.

His eyes widen, fingers moving to cover his face. "Uh, well, I meant getting married as a general topic but-"

"Jeez." I blurt. "There's some top tier communication happening right now."

He laughs uneasily, finally seeming to become aware at the direction he's made my mind go in, and I can see the smile wane apologetically by a noticeable amount.

"It's all good." He says finally. "We'll stand by proudly and watch the gay freckle marriage happen, and the world will never be the same."

That's all I really need to conclude any insight about how he feels on any topics and situations, weddings and dating Dan notwithstanding. The pressure is off me to look composed but now the new, unusual mood has also vanished, replaced by uncertainty as he remembers how to be self-aware.

There's an awkward silence that I don't even know how to puncture now, he's lowered his head back to my shoulder and his leg is swung over my knees, but we're not sure what to say next. He fiddles with a strand of hair at the back of my head and I take a deep breath, trying to slow down the rate of my heartbeat. At least his breath isn't skimming my face anymore.

My mind can't settle on one singular thought and I can feel the stress building. Every time I try to move towards logic my brain decides to blur or move to something else. Dan wasn't wrong when said I was a lightweight- I don't know whether to cry, throw up, or pass out. None of them sound very dignified with this very specific boy laying over me.

"Now's when I get to ask you something, Phil." Dan reminds me suddenly and I snap back to reality, remembering our little game. "And trust me, I'm a lot more merciless with my questions than have you been in love."

I process that that statement, taking in his messy brown curls and pleasantly pink cheeks, the word merciless about the last word to pop into my head while looking at him.

"Right." I agree with a definite note of sarcasm. "Besides, it's an interesting question! You never know what people might say."

"Interesting, whatever." He dismisses. "I'll come up with something deep."

"Ask away, merciless Dan."

"Wait." He mutters. "Wait. I need to think of a good one."

He sits back and his brow creases as he ponders, and I eventually see him raise his gaze, an idea apparently crossing his mind. My breath bates in anticipation of the question and I don't know what I'm expecting, but it turns out to be something different from what I'd guess.

"What's something you really wanted to do," he asks quietly, "but backed out of at the last second?"

Instantly, hundreds of instances cross my mind, most if not all of them circulating around him.

I think about the past year. All the stolen glances. The half-truth admissions. The veiled meaning behind the things we both said to each other, and briefly I wonder if he asked me this for a reason. He looks so fascinated, but I can't make my mouth form the words.

I almost kissed you. I think wearily, gaze casted innocently to his lips. I almost blurted everything I've ever felt about you on multiple occasions. I almost told you I loved you, once. Like, really loved you. More than once honestly. The list goes on and on.

His eyes meet mine from where he's settled against me, and just that contact makes my heartbeat pick up all at once. As a teenager I'd never believed I'd ever love somebody this much, even now you'd think the stress of survival would have driven our friendship away and replaced it with strain. But it's not strange- it's so easy, everything about our dynamic is easy, it makes you question the odds of the universe and how we even managed to find each other at all. You always think you'll be alone forever, then suddenly the perfect person walks unsuspectingly into your life just as you've grown to forget.

I think he knows there's something wrong in my hesitation. I can see the way his head tilts and his mouth opens to ask me what I'm thinking. I know how we work. I'd ask him the same questions. Honesty is threatening to overflow.

My drunken mind wants to say it so badly, but there's so much fear. Enough so, in fact, that the impulsiveness is overrun. I try to think back to some of the biggest decisions in my life. I think back to before Dan, before I knew who my perfect person was, and I was pining after boys just because they looked my way.

"I almost... had a boyfriend." I admit.

Dan raises his eyebrows. "What do you mean, almost?"

It's interesting how quickly the conversation's gotten along. In my head when I imagined telling Dan, I always thought it would take a while to get used to, but he hardly even seems to think on it.

"Like it almost got to that point, but I'm a meerkat in social situations and noped the hell out." I explain to him.

It's a simple as it seems. I liked a boy and we were in the hallway at school, a bunch of our friends prodding us on. I feel a strangeness to telling this story. This is something I never even told to my parents, a single night in my life that I can never shake from my memory.

"Everybody knew I guess that my friend really liked me, everybody except me apparently because I thought I was all alone."

"Was he cute though," Dan interrupts me, prodding my chin with his finger. "I need to give myself a visual."

How long is it going to take me to get used to him talking like this?

"Not as cute as I am." I dismiss him sarcastically. When I'm stuck here staring at him while he's practically on top of me, Dan's basically dimming any memory of some kid from my year nine nearly a decade before. "Looking back on it he was kind of an awkward guy but he had a really pretty face, I guess. I liked the element of nerdy and odd, it suits me better than some carved out of stone god guy would've."

I realize how obviously that description probably lends to Dan's traits and hurry on, even though he looks like he's picturing it and might actually be oblivious.

"I was just going about my life and he always acted kind of different around me. It got to a point where I was pretty sure I liked him, then all of a sudden we were playing truth or dare at lunch and my friend Anya dared him to kiss me. And he-" I look to Dan's face to see any indication of what he's thinking, but his unreadable expression is entirely flat, an unusual contrast to only a few moments ago. "-he did. Not my lips, he kissed my cheek instead because I was hiding my mouth with my arms and blushing horribly. He was still really excited. By the time we made it out of maths class at the end of the day he'd already built up the courage, and before I could even get on my bus he was asking me out."

Dan's eyes are wide and it takes several seconds of awkward staring for him to realize I'm done. He rearranges his expression in an instant and laughs good-naturedly as he shakes his head at me, eyebrows raised in an expression of awe of a story that, had we stayed sober, he'd probably never know.

"Phil you absolute flop." He manages eventually. "You could have gotten yourself a soulmate way back then. Why the hell did you not let some perfect boy kiss you?"

"He wasn't my soulmate." I protest, almost rolling my eyes at the wording. "I didn't even let him finish kissing my cheek. I pushed him away because I was really embarrassed and confused by my feelings."

"You didn't let him follow through?!" He exclaims, staring daggers at me with a cheeky grin. "Fourteen year old Phil was a heartbreaker."

"I also said no to him asking me out!" I recall. "I was so terrified at the idea that the cute friend I had actually wanted me as his boyfriend, I basically apologized to him and he didn't talk to me for ages. I felt so awful!"

"You're a twat." Dan teases decidedly.

"What about you?" I inquire defensively. "You must have gotten close to someone in your time that at least stood out in some way."

"I didn't figure it out in time enough to accept that I could have a boyfriend." He sighs. His gaze lingers on my face and it's like he's dissecting my expression, the look forlorn and the words he's speaking escaping suddenly in a hush. "Otherwise I... I guess I could have gotten one a whole lot sooner."

He looks far, far too emotionally open right now for it to be within his personal boundaries. I don't know what's wrong with him but I wind my arm around him and hug him to my chest, apparently proving to be the right decision because he gives in to the touch without a word. Once again, I can smell the lemongrass in his hair.

"I mean I guess. It's probably not all it's cracked up to be." I blurt out of awkwardness.

"I mean, I'll be honest." He informs me. "None of it really is if it's not the right person. Cuddles, kisses, the sex and all that. It's not much of anything if you're just dating for the sake of dating."

I know he's trying to be profound right now but I've only heard one word in that entire sentence. My head snaps over to gape at him and my eyes widen in shock, to which he looks at me confusedly until I actually voice my thoughts.

"You-" I stutter clumsily. "You've had sex?"

He blinks. "You haven't?"

"Dan-" I sputter, blushing for some inexplicable reason. "I literally just said I haven't even... kissed anybody. I was not expecting to hear something like that coming from someone like you."

"Mind you, you also didn't have a three-year girlfriend." He reminds me. "It's not all the magic and fireworks or whatever that the media portrays it. It was what she wanted, and that's what a lot of our relationship was founded on."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"It wasn't." He agrees. "It was nice at first, when that heady oh my gosh I have a girlfriend rush still dominated my life. But then that was like, all we did. We didn't have plans together, we had little in common. It was a weird and unfortunate thing where I liked her face and she was endeared by drunk me at a party, and it just dragged near the end."

As he's been speaking he's shuffled his way back to my side again with the obvious intent of warming his frozen fingers on my neck, but I still can't help but notice the way his mouth moves to form every word, a faded bruise on his cheek so close to my chin it's blurring in my vision.

I freeze in place as his face stops inches from mine. For a moment, we're both silent. He looks up, and so do I.

"Oh hey, Phil," he murmurs, announcing himself like I didn't notice already. "You know, you let me kiss your cheek just earlier." He pokes his finger into my side and I squeal, slapping him away as we both dissolve into fits of laughter. "Why aren't I getting rejected like that poor truth or dare guy?"

He jabs his other finger into my tummy and I scramble away from him, slapping away his hands and then pushing him to the floor so that his back hits the dusty planks and his hair falls back from his face on all sides, the longest curls pooling on the floor just behind him.

I continue to bombard him with little slaps, unceasing and merciless until he shoots his hands forward and catches both of mine midair, the limbs hovering over him weirdly like the rest of me.

"No. No attack." He scolds, looking haughty even with his red nose and cheeks. When he sits up he sways dangerously and I sweep forward to catch him, only to realize how unsteady I am and ultimately taking us both down. I fall onto my side with him on top of me, feeling his limbs scrambling as he tumbles uncoordinated.

"I didn't reject you, I hate you." I quip with a smirk, still gripping his wrists as I roll over sideways to dump him off. The immature way he's acting reminds me of our Skype days, but all that means is that Danny boy is still really cute. He makes an indignant sound and pins my shoulder to the floor, trying to get his fingers in my hair to mess it up. "You already know that, so the rejection is not needed."

He shakes his head and though he's laughing softly it's cut of by a sudden bang of thunder. We both fall silent, I feel a haziness run through me as the silence sets in and my mouth tastes like the drink.

It's odd how the night grows less and less dark the longer you sit in it. I can see every shape of him now. My eyes have adjusted, or maybe he's just that close. Maybe both. Anyway I can see him, and what I see, I like. He's just half laying on me, his hand resting on my shoulder so that he can prop up his head in a wobbly way. I open my mouth to ask a very direct question, when he beats me to it.

"Do you take me for the kind of person who takes kindly to rejection?" He asks me. "What do you think would happen if I had tried at uh, at some point?"

"Well if you're half-gay..." I begin helpfully, hoping he'll take the hint. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea.

"Find me the right guy," he agrees, nodding thoughtfully. "who knows what'll happen."

I bring my face closer, making sure he can see me in the weak light. An idea has struck me suddenly, context and sobriety be damned. "Who would the right guy be?" I ask tentatively, keeping a level smile even though internally I'm poised and tense. "Describe him. I'm curious."

Curious, or perhaps hoping to drop hints or mold my standards to suit him.

A small part of me knows that the things we're doing and saying are being heavily influenced by the alcohol. That any words said by Dan are just the drink talking.

But aren't drunken words sober thoughts?

The question reels fitfully in my mind and he smirks at my proximity, raising his eyebrows. Maybe I'm transparent and he can see through me after all.

"Before I answer that, can I tell you something Phil?" he whispers, placing a hand on my cheek. I've barely registered that motion before he's rested it there more firmly, his gaze never breaking from the hold he has on mine.

My eyes widen and my vision blurs. I gulp, nodding stupidly because I can't think. I'm actually breathless, because he's the one leaning in, he has his arms around me. He's coming closer, and we're drunk as hell.

I feel his heartbeat against my chest as he moves in, feel both warm arms snake their way around my neck even though I'm hovering above him. My heart is pounding and I stare at him with something akin to fear, odd as our eyes meeting tantalizingly in midair, blue irises with blazing brown. I'm quickly distracted by his full pink lips again though, just begging us to do what should have been done a while ago, because it's him that's shifted himself closer so deliberately. He actually has the gall to look amused right now. No matter what level of drunk he might be at, I can't delude myself that he doesn't know what he's doing.

His lips. My lips. His breath is touching my lips.

My brain feels like shapeless cloud, I'm not thinking about regret or consequence. I'm thinking about Dan.

"It's really, really important. You swear you won't judge?" He gazes at me unblinkingly, face serious as I try to remember how to speak. Does he know something?

"Yeah," I whisper. "I promise."

"Okay. Just let me think of how to put it."

He nods thoughtfully, tracing my face with the tip of his finger. He leans in closer, so that our foreheads are touching and our eyes are too close together to look into. I close my eyes because I'm ready for it, not even hesitating to to bring my hands up to his cheeks as his lips draw nearer. His warm breath ghosts over my mouth, and I wonder all along if he's really liked me too.

"The secret is that I- I think you're..."

He hesitates, making me swallow nervously. He looks right into my eyes and I can't read his expression, though the trepidation is clearly there.

"I'm what?"

He leans forward.

"A fucking dork!" He shouts, making me jump horribly and scramble back with a horrified expression on my face.

I push away from him with wide eyes so abruptly he lands against the bar island, back to a sitting position in moments.

He grins and I let out a squeak of protest and then watch as he explodes into giggles, dimple poking into his cheek prominently and his smile so wide as he tips his head back, head bonking against the bar island.

My face blazes with heat and I know even in this shit light he must see the redness. Dan looks at me affectionately, even as I sit there gaping like a deer in the headlights with my eyes hidden behind my fingers. I glare at him angrily, even as love threatens to bubble through at his adorable laugh. He was playing with me, pulling a joke and I can't believe it. I feel stupid. I feel horrified.

"That's a really shit secret." I spit, trying to maintain some dignity. Dan shakes his head and wipes a tear from his eye, his face almost as red as mine from so much laughter. Despite the circumstances it took to bring said laughter, this happiness really does look quite beautiful on him. Too bad my heart is beating far too fast and I almost want to cry in frustration. I cover my eyes and lay back on the floor in humiliation, back pressed against the solid wood as my stupid heart continues pounding.

Because god, he had been about to kiss me.

Suggestively. That's what he'd been intending to make me think he was gonna do, he knew it would rattle me and used it to make that joke. Surely he has no idea that he was actually playing with my heart, but I would never have expected him under any level of influence to try and pull something like that. It's almost worse because he's likely going to wake up not remembering any of it, whereas I've sobered up pretty quickly and will probably recall this for the rest of my life.

As if alerted by this thought he gets up, moving back over apologetically, and extending his hand. I take it without meeting his eyes, feeling myself get pulled unsteadily to my feet, his glittering eyes finding mine in the dark. I don't want to reveal just how upset I am and so I settle for holding on loosely until he resigns himself and shifts his fingers to encircle my wrist instead.

He tugs gently. "C'mon." He whispers, and it hardly sounds like a command.  Then he yanks me forward, so abruptly I almost lurch right to the ground. He's leading me towards the front of the winery restaurant where the booths and tables are clustered in front of the window, the open street barely visible through trails of rain speckling and running down the glass. Our approach is not at all graceful and he's taking steps that could hardly be considered linear, but despite his lack of coordination, he seems determined all the same. We stumble through the darkness.

Within moments we've reached the corner seat. He pulls me down into his arms in a second, disorienting tug, pulling me into a clingy armlock so abruptly it knocks the wind out of me. I weakly place my arms on his waist to steady myself, seeing him put a hand on my chest and move to sit up as he gets about as far as my shoulders, trying to clumsily fit is both into the space.

I sit stiffly, trying not press too close to him even though he's holding onto me. I don't want him to think I feel for him romantically or that I'm purposely trying to cozy up. The last thing I need after letting my guard down before is to encroach on him in any way, so even when his hand comes up to cup my cheek I just let him do it, letting my head be turned but not helping it move in any way for fear of making a mistake.

"Phil." He prods me. I just stare stiffly ahead, still thinking about the incident only moments before even though his eyes bore into mine. I press my lips together and grudgingly meet his stare, and he shakes his head at my sulk.

Smiling dazedly, he slides his hand down to my chin and lifts his head, pressing his lips suddenly to the base of my jaw. My mind goes blank. The touch lingers for a moment, then he draws away.

"I'm sorry." He sighs gently, turning my face to look at him and gazing at me with a soft expression. He meets my eyes so I know that he means it and I just look at him, my heart in my throat, my hands shaking still with the shock of what's happening. "I was only joking with you."

I can only stare.

"Are you okay?" He whispers. His proximity makes me me shake my head and he looks at me in concern, running a finger over the lines of my brow. It feels good. It feels so impossibly good, and with his face so close I want to lean forward and return what he's done, whether it be pressed to his lips or not.

"C'mere." He murmurs. He moves to make a bit of space for me on the cushiony seat and then encircles me with his arms as I do my best to nestle myself into his side. It feels weird and wrong and like I really shouldn't do it, like any minute he's going to remember that it's me and push me away. So it's a surprise when he turns himself so that we're wrapped up in each other comfily, pressed in between the window and the padded seat.

He rests his head against mine and looks out the window. I can see rainwater rushing in torrents down the storm drains, waves and waves of the stuff still filling in the pits and cracks arching through the paved streets. Somewhere out there is my old apartment, today being the first time in a year that I'd actually seen it in anywhere beyond memory. I reflect on this as Dan moves to read the expression on my face, his eyes still hazy as he gazes in an observant, almost curious way at my mundane features.

He doesn't know what's going on. He's hazy and unaware of his actions, and I need to say something before he does anything stupid. I don't object when his hand moves to settle on my neck, but I do when his look becomes glazed.

"We're drunk." I remind him quietly, thinking of how the morning could be filled with regret. I don't want this to be like after the confederation bunker where everything went wrong and we argued, I want us to be happy and for everything to turn out fine. Now that adrenaline has shot through my body my head has definitely cleared a little. I think about that amount that I've admitted and how much flirting I directed his way, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach at the mere thought. Seeing how our thoughts always seem to be similar I expect to see his face falter but it doesn't, he just nods at my expression and carefully smiles when I turn.

He looks at me thoughtfully, a strange calm taking over his face.

"I know."

He lets go of me slightly, a bit wobbly as he moves to give me space by sitting up fully and letting our shoulders press together, still keeping us in contact while closing his eyes.

I let my head fall down to the padding behind me and lay next to him, feeling the coolness of the cushion against my warm skin and listening to his breaths rising and falling quietly. He extends a hand and slips it into mine suddenly, slotting together our fingers before I have time to react. There's no reluctance, no hesitation of any kind and he doesn't let go, making my heart flutter as I accept it, my eyes on the dark wooden beams of the ceiling above.

This building really is beautiful, looking just like some kind of authentic winery. Brick walls and wooden beams, vines lining the walls and tucked into the corners of the ceiling as if placed by a garden, it's the perfect thing to look at while I squeeze his hand gently, lying pressed against him and looking at the sky like I would have done if it were a starry night when I was a child. Just like we did in that old apartment attic, but with no chance of interruption this time.

It fits in mine so perfectly, curling around my fingers just as easily as the vines do around the masonry. I move so that I'm also leaning my shoulder against his, pressing them together and filling me with a happy sort of warmth that I don't often know. My heart is having trouble coming to grips with this but he doesn't let go of me, in fact he steadies his hold and runs his thumb along mine, back and forth as if he were meant to.

Dan is holding my hand. I didn't reach out first, he did. And he looks happy about it.

"You, Phil Lester, are the best thing to ever happen to me." he says quietly, suddenly. "I really, really mean that."

I smile and rest my head against his shoulder, wanting to kiss him so badly that it hurts. "You too." I tell him honestly, lifting my free hand to push the coppery curls back from his face. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

A silence follows this little admission, a comfortable one in which he nestles me closer and sighs, still holding my hand but now leant in an angled way that has us face to face with one another. Our woven hands rest between us, my eyes adjusting to the dark even more than they already had- I can see him clearly. His eyes are calm and sleepy and the moonlight casts a shadowed glow on his pale face, making him look ethereal and different despite the fact that we're on the floor of a bar. His hand moves up to run along my cheek again, caressing lightly as he closes his eyes and tips a little, settling against my forehead and letting our noses brush together.

I swallow as I feel warm breath fanning my face. Dan on the other hand just relaxes and smiles, lying back down so contentedly calm and quiet that it's almost as if he's fallen asleep. I wonder if this is how the night will end and am completely all right to let it, at least until he opens his eyes again, the smile waning, and I'm lost in the deep expression.

"I'd be dead." He says bluntly, making my eyes widen even though I'm not entirely surprised. I was reminded of this particular memory only one night before, but somehow it's seems so much more real when he talks about it.

"Surely you would've made it without me." I reason. "Dan you were such a strong person even back then."

He just shakes his head, not coming any closer but also not moving his face.

He looks at me and I look at him, an unspoken feeling seeming to pass between us both. Before I can even begin to process what it means he shakes his head, a sudden urgency to his exhausted voice.

"I think..." he says softly. "I think we need to wait. I probably shouldn't talk to you until I'm sober."

"What?"

But I love you. It's on the tip of my tongue, it's aching in my chest to not be able to tell him. I want to tell him everything and so much more even if I am drunk and passionate and going to regret it later, and I'm almost angry at him for being so goddamn sensible. This feels like it might be my only opportunity to get it out and never have I so strongly meant it, my hesitation a beat too long.

"I..." I try to take his other hand but he lets go of me, smiling apologetically.

"Tomorrow." He breathes, gaze sliding out of focus. His eyes fall shut and he slumps over my chest, burying his nose in my shoulder. "Don't say anything now. Ask me about it then."

My heart is beating rapidly again. I move my free hand and try to lift his slack face uselessly, earning me nothing more than a face pressing more urgently against my neck to fight off my motions.

"About what?" I cry, shaking him slightly, which makes him frown.

"You know." His words are slurring. I can't accept in this moment that he's about to pass out. Too much is happening at once. Moments before we'd been so close.

"I don't." I protest.

He opens one eye and looks at me sadly, something unspoken in it that he doesn't want to say.

"I don't want you to forget, Phil." He mumbles.

I press my forehead into his hair and breathe in the lemongrass smell still left over from the sheets back in our hiding place, his hair now mostly dried in the aftermath of the rainstorm. I hear him exhale and hear a soft roll of thunder above, it's not even close to nighttime yet but already I'm feeling drowsy.

I brush his cheek. "Forget what?"

"Forget tonight." He elaborates. "Drinking does funny things to memory, and I don't know if I'll be able to tell you any of this again if I'm not drunk. I'm scared to."

I want to hug him for such an innocently sweet and honest admission, closing my eyes and thinking about the day when I'll tell him something even more.

"Isn't it funny, how alcohol gives you courage?" He asks quietly. "Like I feel so honest right now. I have this overwhelming urge to break down crying and tell you how much you mean to me."

His cheeks are pink with drunkenness and his face is partially lit by a square of moonlight pushing through the blackness of the storm. I laugh a little at the truth of his confession, moving to reassure him.

"That's normal." I chide. "That always happens."

He hardly even seems to hear me, moving over and wrapping his arm around my side. He lifts his head just barely, speaking into my neck.

"Can I tell you how much you mean to me?"

I shrug, well aware of the dazed look in his eyes. "I mean, if you want to."

"Yeah." He decides. "I really do, Phil. You're amazing."

"I was kidding!" I joke. "You don't have to do that. You're not even gonna remember saying any of it tomorrow."

"I will." He breathes determinedly. "I'm gonna remember this for the rest of my life. We didn't stick to the plan we were supposed to follow when we wound up here. That's like the story of my life, and I'm pretty bad at sticking to rules generally when it comes to you."

A knot of guilt and gratitude sits in the pit of my stomach at such a proclamation. It's sweet but it also hurts, thinking about the polar opposite feelings I've brought into his life. He's had to overcome things within himself to be with me even today, not seeming to regret it however.

"What is it that you're afraid of?" I whisper. "It's only me, Dan. You can tell me anything." I'm prepared for any secret he might keep. I'd keep it too, because everything he's feeling matters.

He shakes his head furiously, suddenly awake for a few seconds. I hug him, hoping it'll encourage him to be honest, but his expression stays the same.

"We need to make a promise Phil." He says instead. "If I'm dying of the virus, I want you to shoot me."

His tired eyes scrunch shut and the world drops into silence as he waits for me to process such a serious request, but I can't make myself accept that such a thing is possible.

Where on earth did a request like that come from? Here I am quite literally in his arms, my mind still full of overwhelming love and emotion, and he's on a whole other plane, thinking for whatever reason about taking care of me if he were gone.

"You're immune." I protest immediately.

There's a silence, and then he replies.

"We don't know that."

It hits me then, the awareness that we're both alive right now. His body is a solid form above me, his heart beating gently. I can feel the soft, rhythmic pulses one after the other, can feel warm breaths ghosting my skin, the both of us so very, physically here. It makes me close my eyes and pull him closer, wishing to cradle him, preserve him.

We will never reach that point. I'll keep him alive at all costs. He doesn't need to know the lengths I'm willing to go to to make sure he's okay, he's going to survive and have a future eventually that treats him the way he's deserved for so long. I can tell him anything he wants to hear, but I'll never let it happen. I pretend my arms are like a bubble, impenetrable and surrounding him. As long as that shelter stands, nothing will touch him again. I pretend that I hold his life in my arms, breathing and feeling in a constant reminder. I'm here. You're here.

"Well you have to kill me too then." I snap. "I can't stay here without you and I don't want to become a zombie. You have to promise me too."

"I will." He says instantly.

And it surprises me, it does. I thought he'd argue. Try to stop me even. Maybe he's just telling me what I want to hear too, because unlike me he knows how to work people, to deter them. It's a morbid conversation I suppose to be having with your best friend. But this is the state of the world. A promise like this, however ludicrous the situation sounds, is probably standard protocol between friends nowadays.

"You know what happens if we make this pact, right?" I ask him. "If I'm becoming a zombie, you'll have to shoot me."

I want him to realize what a big deal this is but he's brushing it off like it's nothing, so convinced I'd never be the one to die first.

"It'll never happen." He promises. "There's no reason for either of us to exist as it is but we're doing it. Are we naive? Probably. We're just surviving another day for no real reason, but I don't care. I want you to live. So I'll live too, for you."

The revelation nearly knocks all the air from my lungs. He means it. The unspoken, terrifying truth.

"For yourself too." I argue. "I need you. You need me."

He laughs tiredly, his breaths quieting quite abruptly. "That's... that's the point, Phil."

Feelings overwhelm me all at once and I feel the warmth and emotion swelling in my chest. My nerves from earlier have waned almost completely, a combination of alcohol and honesty at the possibility of just how much I mean to him too. My back hurts from the stiff angle of the seat despite its cushioning, my arms are sore from holding up Dan and my thoughts are so blurry that my mind feels like cotton wool but I don't care.

I close my eyes and nestle close to him, hearing him sigh in content at the returned proximity. Then I tilt his slack face, pressing my lips to his forehead and feeling nothing more than calm. Content. Love as simple as it seems.

He's barely awake, but he smiles. He's still smiling even when I draw back.

"See?" He murmurs. " 'knew you could... do it."

And once again I want to kiss him. To knock the air from his lungs, make his mind go blank. But he said to wait, and deep down I know he's right.

"You're better than any kid in high school." I say quietly. "You'll always be."

"Mm."

The smile relaxes only a little bit on his face, his fingers curling around the front of my T-shirt as his breaths level out. I wiggle my arm out from behind his shoulder a little bit and trace the silhouette of his arm, and the air between us buzzes with a thrumming, peaceful silence. Even the rain is stopping, time has slowed just for me and him.

Feeling braver with the wine in my system I drop a couple more kisses to his skin, one above each eyebrow, one to the top of his head over a mass that in the rain has gone especially curled, and one to the tip of his nose. He doesn't protest. He just sighs in content and lets me. I try to savour it, knowing that sober it'll probably never happen again.

He nods off to sleep somewhere in the middle of this. I shuffle him as best I can so that his long legs don't hang off the edge of the bench, thankful for the wide booth and the cushiony corner to at least take the pain out of the hours ahead. Then I lie back and close my eyes too, taking in the mere moment now where his arms are around me.

I think about Cat and Mark out there, probably worried about where we could be. If they know that Dan is with me. They do, I'm sure. That's what they'd assume.

I do a lot of thinking as we lay in the silence. The events of the night replay in my head on a detailed loop, though I mistrust the accuracy since the alcohol's muddled my mind. I don't know what's real and what isn't, but I'm sure he meant everything he told me today and that's real enough. We've broken some sort of boundary tonight in a good way, and I hope when we wake up I'll still remember.

Eventually it crosses my mind again. I'm tracing my finger over his face in fascination, exploring all the shapes and features I'd never before had the courage to. It happens without conscious thought, my thumb finding the edge of one of his dark eyebrows and tracing over it, moving over to find the next one and slowly doing the same, one edge to the other.

I trace the bow of his lip and the ridge of his nose, when I pass his cheek I feel the smoothness of his skin because despite all protests he still has a baby face. It reminds me of all I have already, the words rising up and the need to tell him strolling back into my mind, the peace guiding my mind into drunken fondness the same way the confederation bunker brought it to fear.

"Dan?" I ask sleepily, my voice ringing out when there's nothing else at all to rise up in sound.

He stirs but doesn't answer, a rush of breath escaping him. He's out for the night now and it makes me pull him closer, words building up and escaping me like a rush of breath.

Is it really a good idea to hold onto the feeling when you're not sure what comes next? Is it wise, to keep my secrets to the darkness when I can't even share them while awake to his open and understanding mind? I don't know how to word anything right or express more than what's beyond superficial feeling. Some things are just better said to the silence, it'll be picked up and whisked away, but at least I won't be the only one to hear.

"Are you awake?" I ask him, just to be sure.

No answer. I close my eyes, feeling sleep creeping in to overtake me and nestling my head into the dip of his shoulder, pulling his hand in mine closer to my chest.

"I love you." I whisper, just to see what it feels like. My words curl out and drift down to trail little invisible marks into his skin, brushing and breezing over him in promise.

It's okay. He's asleep anyway.

~~~

My dreams are disjointed and hazy, the plots of each unclear and dissolving intangibly like fine mist just before I become conscious of what's happening.

They're confusing, too. It's dark and I'm blind in all of them, feeling around and trying to speak out my confusion, the sounds and words slurred. I can feel soft hair beneath my fingertips, run my thumb over a rounded lower lip, and then it's returned. A hand comes up to touch my cheek and I lean in, moving to kiss the lips that are breathing warm breaths over my skin, but the presence dissolves like smoke when I do, disappearing and leaving nothing but emptiness between my fingers. It doesn't return until the next dream, and by then, I'm being held at more of a distance.

And they continue that way. I want to be held, loved, but the touch that had been so warm and close before is slowly cooling and eventually I can't even find their fingers. They let me go, and while my vision had been smoky and swirling greys before, now it all just fades to black. My dreams become filled with me wandering, fingers reaching around trying to find the body again.

By the time morning rolls around and sunlight glares right in my eyes I'm feeling empty, letting the vision fade from my eyes and immediately feeling the heaviness of my entire body. Waking brings an impossible amount of pain, stiffness in my knees, back and neck and I feel awash with loneliness, the abandonment of the dream still half present in my conscience.

I groan and move to roll over, only to find nothing to my left. I pitch off the side of the restaurant bench and my eyes shoot open, barely registering the arms around my waist before I've crashed to the floor, a squeak escaping me as Dan's half-conscious form, which must still be holding me from last night, crumples on top of me and my shoulder hits the floorboards with a thud.

The impact jars me and I groan, curling in on myself and wincing at the pain that immediately shoots up. I hear Dan snap awake, always in danger mode when woken abruptly and fumbling for his crowbar even though it's been gone for days. He rolls off me and falls onto the floor in a heap, his shoulder still digging into my back, breaths stuttering out rapid and loud.

I take a deep breath and press my palm to my eyes to block out the light, shifting onto my back to distribute the pain better and finding his wrist with my free hand.

I feel his hand react to the touch, twisting around closing his fingers around my thumb. He squeezes it gently and gradually seems so regain his bearings, rolling his shoulders while my heart picks up in my chest. I don't know why, though.

"Ugh." He mumbles. "Oh, god. My... head hurts."

His hand fumbles around limply around until his palm lands flat on my chest, and it's at that touch that the fog clears and all the events of last night come crashing back.

I shoot up to a sitting position, feeling a spike of pain and then a pounding thrum enter my head, but I don't even care. His hand slides lazily off my chest with gravity and settles instead on my leg, and I stare at him fully for the first time since everything that happened took place. I wonder if he even realizes it's sitting there.

His whole appearance is disheveled. His hair sits in messy curls pushed off to one side of his head, his clothes are wrinkled and the jacket lopsided. His cheeks are flushed but he's definitely not drunk anymore, apparently plagued with the same headache that's occupying me.

He blinks blearily and I look at him with wide eyes, terrified that he'll be distant any second after remembering what happened last night.

I think about the joking, the flirting. I think about the honesty and the way he'd looked at me when I kissed the top of his head. He'd been so drunk last night, and I hadn't even tried to be careful. I think about the way he'd pinned me to the floor, making me think I'd be kissed.

My heart skips a beat when he catches sight of who he's holding. His expression doesn't reveal much of anything, he just closes his eyes slightly and tries to block out the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Oh. Morning, Phil." He greets.

He doesn't seem to sense the awkwardness in the air, just rolls over and looks blearily at me with a pained frown. His hand lifts off my leg and he nudges the side of his head against my knee, the rest of his body curling in against the cold. It's definitely gotten colder in here.

"M- morning." I stammer.

"God, it's so fucking cold." He complains. "Is there frost on the window?"

I glance up even thought it's still technically summer and see nothing but a bit of fog on the window from us breathing while we slept, shaking my head negative.

"We need to find water." He groans. "I forgot hangovers were a thing. To be fair though, I've never had a hangover."

"N-no," I stutter out. "Guess you haven't." Being reminded of hangovers brings back the knowledge that there was alcohol that we drank, chaos putting us to sleep together and probably even sourcing my unusual dream.

He looks at me funny, like my behaviour is really strange. I may not be able to remember everything, but I certainly recall enough. My stare seems to set off some kind of warning though because he abruptly backs away, giving me space and sitting up against the bench while he looks at me, trying understand what I'm feeling.

"What happened last night? It's all blurry." He asks, trying rid himself of confusion.

I try to consider that maybe he's lying about knowing nothing, but by the way he looks at me he's genuinely confused. I also can't bring myself to think he'd seriously lie to me.

"That's alcohol for you." I say simply, trying to dodge the question.

He lifts his head. "Do you remember?"

I look at him, choosing my words carefully. "What do you remember?"

It's better to see what he remembers before I go off refreshing the night. I can see how he saw everything, for all I know we might be seeing the circumstances in two very different ways. He creases his eyebrows, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. I reach out and grab his wrist, tugging his arms away. I've heard somewhere that doing that to your eyes is not good for them.

"Uh... we were joking about Mark and..." he squints, "oh yeah, you're gay."

"I am." I say, hopefully matter-of-factly, although my heart has just rammed rudely against my chest. He knows now. I can see him thinking back and coming to a realization quite abruptly.

"And...oh shit." His face goes pink, though I pretend not to see it, trying not to laugh.

"You're half-gay." I supply, grinning. "Great choice of wording,"

He smacks a hand over his eyes and collapses against my shoulder, hiding his face in a blatant display of shame. "Goddammit. Yeah."

It's out of selfishness more than anything that I lift my arm and pull him closer, massaging his shoulder with one hand and seeing him close his eyes. He isn't rejecting me and that eases my worry a little bit, calming my heartbeat enough to think clearer. While a lot of last night has me worried, it's very freeing to know we both got that out of the way. It was something I'd always wanted to tell him but had never known how, and it feels so impossibly wonderful to see him aware and just fine with that.

"It's kind of funny we didn't know that stuff about each other, considering we tell each other everything." I observe. My mind begins to race a little bit at the memory of learning he wasn't what I thought he'd be, realizing I had a chance even if it was only in this little way.

"Almost everything." He replies unexpectedly. "There's one thing you don't know."

I swear I see something deeper in his look when he says that. I feel my own cheeks go warm and lower my head between my knees, groaning as my temples begin to throb. He surprises me by dragging himself over and placing down a gentle hand, rubbing slow, calming circles on my back. My eyes widen but obviously he doesn't see it. I relax under his touch, appreciating the kindness of the gesture.

"That's okay. You're allowed to keep things to yourself." I promise him, thinking about my own little secret in turn. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, no, I promise one day I will." He blurts hurriedly, unexpected. "Right now I just... I don't think I'm ready."

"Me neither." I say without thinking, making him freeze for a second before hurriedly continuing his circles, not wanting me to be worried. I can feel the knot of tension in my shoulders beginning to melt away, bursting with fascination at what Dan could possibly be hiding.

"I mean- my thing." I explain. "I admit I've kept one thing to myself, but I intend to let you of all people know you know, eventually."

"I think everyone has something." He interjects quietly.

"Yeah." Yeah, I do. I literally love you, you oblivious idiot.

It's the closest I've ever gotten to outright telling him. This isn't even that much.

He gets to his feet and extends his hand to me so I take it, letting him stand me up and lead me over to the bar. Every step makes me want to close my eyes and sit back down but his hand in mind keeps me from falling, my body hyper focused on that little touch.

I stop for a brief moment to look out the window, seeing morning light warming up everything within the vantage I have of the old English street. The buildings are fairly pretty and there's plenty of planted trees still standing, giving even the broken cars and charred brick a lovelier appearance than normal despite everything still being slightly rain-dampened. The I feel a tug on my hand, and I turn back around, letting Dan lead me along.

He walks us around to the the cashier's side of the bar, his hand moving out of mine as he leans over to check the cupboards and settling on the small of my back instead. It's just an absent, innocent touch while he works but it hits me that it's almost as if he doesn't want to separate us. The silence buzzes while he pushes aside clinking shot glasses and empty wine bottles, his fingers pressed above the base of my spine.

"I'm looking for some waters." He informs me. "It feels like there's a hammer banging against my head."

I know exactly what he means having been there many times and push him to let me look, seeing his brows creasing with every heartbeat he feels.

"Go sit down." I chide him. "My headache's not that bad." He turns to protest but I push a hand over his mouth, raising my eyebrows, and he backs away without a word.

"It's okay." I assure him as he sits on the floor next to the cupboard. "I'll just talk to you."

I reach around the side of the bar and find a shelf laden with bottles. My hand stretches  out into the darkness and I grab around blindly, my fingers skimming over narrow glass ones until finally coming in contact with the flimsy plastic I'm seeking. A sigh of relief leaves my lips.

I close my fingers and draw out a bottled water, slightly dusty but still drinkable nonetheless. I crack the seal and hand it over to his shaky hands as I sit down, letting my hand overlap his so he doesn't drop it. He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks in one gulp, then two, draining about half of it before giving it to me. And I do the same. After a few processing seconds, the dryness and the headache wanes slightly.

"Better?" I ask him, and I see him lift his head and smile faintly, brushing a stray hair out of my face.

He nods. "Better."

After that we sit back against the bar like yesterday afternoon, letting the sunlight filter and reveal all the dust motes glowing in the air, casting a warm, swirling glow on our faces. The light keeps beaming down even through the ivy that's hanging thick on the inside walls and it pools on my cheeks, and though I don't know when or where it happened during this tranquil silence I find us suddenly holding hands again.

I want to mention it to him, but I'm not sure how.

Something is different. Something is definitely different. He seems to be enjoying the feeling more than I am, his pointer finger fiddling restlessly because he's probably not used to having someone to do this with.

I open my mouth, asking quietly because my voice aches to use but I'm feeling a weird bubble of sentiment. "You know what, Dan?"

He's quiet for a second, his hand stopping its motion but still rested on the small of my back. Maybe it's the events of the night that's caused this. Maybe it's all built up. Either way, with his hand wrapped in mine and our bodies equally wrecked, I'm feeling unusually grateful.

"What?"

He looks nervous, like I'm going to ask him more questions about his sexuality or remind him of something he did that he maybe doesn't want to know. All in all I thought the events of last night are something insane and maybe one-time, I'll probably never see a side of Dan like that again. Especially since he doesn't remember. Clearly whatever he did was unwarranted, and it was just because he was drunk.

"I'm glad you're here." I say honestly. "That we're here. We've both made it through everything this world has thrown at us so far."

His hand draws away and I'm afraid I've spoken too strongly about something like this. Then I feel his slim form slumping down next to me against the bar, the side of his foot brushing mine, and the thought is gladly dismissed.

"You don't mean that." He mumbles. He's trying to be defensive but I can hear it in his voice. He's gratified.

"Of course I do!" I protest. "Yesterday was absolutely crazy. If I went back and thought about some of the good days in our life, yesterday would've been one of the best. It made me realize how much you actually mean to me. It literally as soppy as it sounds."

"You mean even with the bad choices and hangovers and the fact that we're now trapped miles from our shelter in your old home city?" He asks weakly.

I nod, lightly tapping his foot. "Even with all that."

He takes a moment to answer, letting the sunlight filter in through the dusty bar windows and drape us both in a cool morning light.

"Me too, Phil." He sighs. "Me too."

I hadn't expected him to agree with me. He seems so tired but affectionate in a way. I let my knees tip casually over to brush against the side of his, resting there more confidently when he doesn't outwardly complain.

We sit there quietly for a bit and take careful sips of our waters, parched and sore but somehow happy all the same. I start to count the fake bricks on the opposite wall absently, running my thumb over his knuckle.

"I've never been drunk like that in a night." He informs me. "I can't believe you told me you were gay just because I asked you."

"Don't remind me." I groan. "The moral of this story is I can't keep anything from you forever. You're just too darn easy to confess to when I'm drunk."

"I mean, same?" He agrees ruefully. "Quality conversation though. I basically already knew it like I told you. Thanks to you and Mark."

"Is that all you remember?" I ask him cautiously. "There was a lot that happened in that conversation near the end of the night."

I look over at him to gauge his expression, trying to see if he reacts strangely. He creases his eyebrows, but I can't make out any semblance of thought.

"I...I think so." He says haltingly. "Everything else is kind of fuzzy. I know we talked about something after and I...hugged you I guess, sorry about that. But I don't know what the conversation was about. Why? Did I do something weird?"

"No." I lie. His face now looks so different from the one that had hovered close enough to mine to kiss me, his irises full and not concealed by hooded eyelids and no breath ghosting over my face. I can't connect it to the same person. I'm beginning to wonder now if it was even real.

"Oh." He laughs. "Okay, good. Thank god."

I have to pretend that I'm not burning up with curiosity, wondering what he's worried he might have done.

"And you give good hugs, for the record." I blurt stupidly. "You should hug more often."

He blushes, dropping his head on his knees.

"Fuck off. My dignity's already shattered."

"I'm serious."

I hook an arm around his neck, smiling softly. "First time getting proper drunk, look at you, Danny. You're a changed man. Hugs are just a part of the evolution."

He rests his head on my hand, clearly wanting to move on from what we're talking about. "You make me sound like a Pokemon." He sighs, and a wash of melancholy hits me at recalling something so nostalgic, though I try to push it down.

"You are a Pokemon." I joke. "I'm the trainer and you are my Pikachu."

"Whatever the hell that means."

He rolls his eyes and it's hardly romantic but my feelings for him are strengthening all the same, which I didn't even know was possible.

He starts to laugh at the same time as I do, when a bang cuts him off suddenly, a weight slamming into the door and making my heart stop.

"What the-"

I see Dan's eyes widen and we both scramble hurriedly to stand up, nothing but our bodies and two water bottles for defence.

I'm awake and sober in seconds.

The confederation.

My mind sparks panic immediately. Who else would be able to find us when we've separated from our group and gone off alone, straight into dangerous territory where they could find us the same way they found us in the tunnel? Panic shoots through me at the realization that we're weaponless, having gone stupidly off the fire escape from the apartment in an attempt to be subtle. I'd been content to pretend we'd be fine, but this is the reality of what happened when we do that.

Stupid. How could we have been so stupid?

"A door." Dan snaps instantly. "There has to be a back door!"

I grab his wrist and pull him away from the entrance, sprinting across the room that suddenly seems far too small and enclosed. The area is packed full of tables and thick wooden pillars for decoration and without the lights it's uncomfortably dim at the back, the opposite of what we need if we want to escape immediately.

I look around for any obstruction in the smooth walls, seeing nothing but grapevines and leaves that last night I had thought we're so beautiful.

My eyes finally land on the backdoor complete with an EXIT sign but there's a heavy wooden shelf pushed in front of it, displays of fake grapes and a painting of a baguette adorning it cheerily in ironic suitability. Vaguely my mind reminds me of the safety videos at my own work that said never block a fire exit with furniture or anything else, bringing the reality forward quite suddenly that we are in fact trapped, completely, and royally screwed.

A second bang sounds and I see Dan's panic become desperation, with no other exit in sight he darts down and grabs the wine bottle we drained yesterday, smashing half of it and scattering the floor with glass. He holds the razor-sharp shard in front of himself and pushes me behind his back, and I desperately want to fight him because it's probably Dan that they're here for.

"Dan hide!" I plead in a whisper, trying to find a cupboard that he could fit in and stay out of sight. My heart is pounding in my chest at the thought of them finding him, about what they'll do if they see him beyond just taking him away. My mind goes back to the bunker, my stomach immediately feeling sick.

He looks at me like I'm an idiot, kicking aside the extra shards of glass so it sits between the door and us.

"What the fuck?!" He exclaims. "No, Phil. I'm not leaving you to die!"

I curse him internally for thinking about me. It's not like I'm just gonna hand myself over to them, but we're not in a position to fight.

"Please!" I scream. I yank him backwards and try to pull him behind the bar and he flails to avoid cutting me with his broken bottle. His free hand clenches mine suddenly and he tries to pull me down with him, out of sight where they won't see us. It's just a shelf on the other side of the room though. All they'd have to do is walk over and see us.

"We're gonna fucking fight them if they come in here." He gasps, but his face is white, his heart against my shoulder is beating far too fast. "I won't let them take you again."

Memories bombard me suddenly of being forced a different drink, being slammed against a wall in the confederation bunker and having a girl's hands and lips all over my body. I see the man with his arm pushed to Dan's throat. The girl with my gun to her head. The blood when I shot the man's wrist. We just barely got away.

"Sneak attack them when they walk over here." I blurt, knowing it's all pretty hopeless. "I'll distract them while you do."

"Stop trying to be so bloody noble." He snaps. "Protect yourself."

"I'm looking after you." I say darkly, and before he can answer, I hear the hinges give in the same way it did when Dan broke us in here.

It's only a matter of moments before our intruder's foot finds the door, their form silhouetted in the bright morning light as it swings open on its loose hinges and slams into the wall.

Dan jumps up to push me into hiding at the same time I move to get in his way knocking us both into the counter as a figure enters the room.

We stand there, completely exposed. Before I can react Dan is charging forward. It's not a group of people as I'd expected, but only one, and I've barely even allowed a squeak of fear to escape me before the girl's lunged forward too and the hand Dan has holding the glass is knocked aside. She pushes him into the wall, sunlight falling over both Dan and the attacker in seconds, and she doesn't even seem to notice me running over.

"Dan!" I hear her shout. My foot catches and I stumble over a plank in surprise, alerting her to my presence as my foot slams down and I realize who I'm seeing, stopping myself right in my tracks.

"Cat."

She drops Dan's shoulder and whips around to glare at both of us, her expression incredulous and her eyes showing mixed parts anger and relief.

"Cat!" Dan shouts, moving forward to hug her, but she shoves him out of the way.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" She exclaims. "I just had to track you down by sense. We thought you got captured or something!"

I exchange looks with Dan and I can see that he's equally stunned. My heart is still racing and I try hard not to laugh at how serious she looks, relief rushing into my body and relaxing my fingers.

She looks so impossibly angry. Her expression still gives away some of her fear and I realize this must be the reaction to our absence, one that ended up being unusually long.

"We thought you were the confederation!" I breathe. "How the hell did you track us by sense?"

"I bloody well could have been the Confederation!" She retorts. "For all you fucking knew. What are you doing without weapons, hiding out in a winery nearly an hour away without telling us?"

"I needed to be alone." Dan pipes up weakly.

"Alone?" She repeats in confusion, gaze sliding over to look at me. I see her expression change in an instant, an idea obvious developing in her mind when she looks at my face. "You needed to be alone... with Phil?"

There's a heartbeat of silence, and amazingly I see Dan's face darken in a blush. "Yes."

He's not oblivious this time. I can tell what it probably looks like and given that Cat knows how I feel about my friend, I'm terrified to think what she might be imagining. Probably a whole lot more than getting caught in the rain and deciding to be drunk.

"I don't even wanna know." She says evenly. "As of now you are both absolute dicks who sent me into a panic and I never-" she cuts off both our protests with one sharp look in our way, "-want to wander a city and smell your blood for that long again. You're both distinctive by now since I've known you so long but I really don't like it. Maybe show some consideration for your zombie friend the next time you vanish."

"It's not what you're thinking." I say evenly. "There was a thunderstorm. We didn't want to die."

"You didn't want to die?" She protests. "Maybe going out on a very cloudy without a gun or a knife in your hand would be a better way of avoiding that. You could have just sat in the balcony."

"It's a bit too late for the what-ifs." I point out.

"Have you been drinking?" She exclaims, ignoring me. She grabs the neck of Dan's jacket and examines the purplish stain from when he must have spilled the drink at some point, her expression only becoming more incredulous.

"Yes!" Dan exclaims. "It was a winery. We had hours, what else did you want us to do?"

She shoots him a look and I really, really don't want her to answer that, shaking my head and cringing at her very knowing smirk.

"Look, I don't care if you're now secretly married and have little Dan-Phil hybrid children." She sighs, making me choke. "I'm taking you back to the apartment now and you're gonna be the ones making dinner tonight, you really are horrible and I absolutely hate you both."

She contradicts this by stepping forward and pulling us both into her arms suddenly, and I don't even hesitate to step forward and hug her back, feeling Dan's warm hand resting gently on my back as he steps in on the other side. The embrace quickly tightens and for a few moments the three of us just hold each other together, the original group, and that's all the apology we can ever give.

~~~

It's a very shameful walk back to the apartment, and it doesn't help that both our heads are sore and it takes over an hour.

I'd later learn from Mark that they'd had no idea where we were, ideas ranging from captured by the confederation to hiding from all of them to dead.

It takes a long time to explain and then plenty more omissions, especially considering Dan remembers a lot less than I do. Cat's like a pissed off mother who despite lecturing us the whole walk back home isn't satisfied by the injustice we've caused her, assuring us in an angry, backhand way that she really, really cares about us. It makes my heart feel warm and Felix and Mark find the whole situation funny more than anything, teasing us for getting drunk together and questions along very similar lines to Cat's.

Dan still isn't distant or angry. As we sit on the couch talking, laughing and being harassed by our friends I feel his hand brush up against mine, his eyes focused elsewhere but my skin receiving this gentle, fleeting touch. It makes my heart ache to just reach out and hold it, in front of friends and allies in the exact same way that we'd do if we were alone. It reminds me that one day maybe I'll get the courage to see if I can, settling for the moment on resting my knee against his.

It's after several hours of talking later that Beard suddenly enters the living room, observing us sitting where we've been been since we got back.

It's only moments later that Earring walks in too, his eyes on the hallways and his hand on the doorframe.

He meets my eyes briefly and I see him cast his gaze over to Dan, and I'm expecting him to ask where we went yesterday, but he doesn't.

"Come here." He orders us suddenly, Cat and Felix briefly exchanging a look. "I want you to meet someone, they're a part of my brother and I's epic little smuggler team."

I get up with Dan following confusedly behind me and have barely started walking towards the door when a voice rings out, carrying on down the hallway and making me stop in my tracks.

"Dad!" A high-pitched voice calls excitedly, making Earring turn his head and raise his eyebrows in exasperation.

"Jamie?"

I see Dan's eyes widen as he looks at me, barely exchanging glances before movement catches my eye, a curly brown head of hair that's not Dan's now visible ahead of me.

A little boy, probably six years old comes bounding into the room, glancing at me briefly before tilting his head and moving on and off of his tiptoes.

"I saw a zombie cat right by the doorway outside." He announces, pointing towards the landing the leads downstairs. I'm not even sure if he's talking to Earring or to no one in particular. "Mikey didn't even want to go near it and it still hissed at us, but I didn't get attacked so it's okay!"

"Is that so?" Beard inquires uncomfortably, and I can see his brother mirroring the expression. I'm sure standard parenting in the apocalypse includes worrying that your child will die of ferocious pets.

He's so, so cute. I've never spent a great deal of time around children but this little boy's face is too adorable to put into words. He has light brown hair curling over pale blue eyes and there's some very prominent freckles over the bridge of his nose, he's missing a few teeth too. It's been so long since I've seen a child I nearly gape at him as if he's from outer space.

"It was a black cat." Jamie informs us, looking for some reason to Dan in particular as if he looks like the kind of person to share this interest. "Is that bad luck? I think I remember someone saying that black cats are unlucky."

"I-" Dan sputters, searching for something to say but his social anxiety making him draw a blank.

"Black cats are very lucky." Cat chimes in, making Jamie raise his eyebrows in excitement at the thought.

He looks at her intently, as if demanding more evidence. "How do you know?"

"My name is Cat." She says jokingly. "I know everything about cats."

"No she doesn't, she hates cats." I tease, and Jamie looks to me and giggles.

"That's probably a good thing." He answers. "I think pretty much all of them are zombies."

I'm about to reply when a second boy wanders in. He's a bit taller and slightly skinnier, messy black hair being pushed off his head as he steps up next to Earring. Unlike the other boy who entered so loudly and hardly spared us a second glance, he stares at Dan and I suspiciously and folds his arms, scuffing his battered converse along the carpeted floor.

He quickly casts his eyes to his shoes, making me wonder if he's shy or just uncomfortable.

"Mikey, Mikey!" James prods him, running over and shaking his brother's arm."Tell them about the cat."

"Woah, woah." Earring cuts in calmly. He sets a hand on the boy's shoulder and guides him over to his side, next to Mikey who mutters something under his breath. "Let's just slow down for a minute here.

He pats the older boy on the head and looks up at us coolly. Gesturing between the boys and where we're standing, he opens his mouth to introduce us.

"James and Micheal." He announces formally. James looks up and waves at us interestedly and I see Michael's gaze flicker up in a brief glance, revealing dark eyes that he must have gotten from his mother. The memory of that day in the truck resurfaces suddenly and I remember hearing all about them on the day where we and the two brothers first met, the realization of who these kids are falling into place as I think back on that day where we were smuggled away from the confederation.

"Dan and Phil, I'd like you to meet my sons."

you may ask how self indulgent I felt while writing this?
Uhhh very
~Aly🌙

4K GUYS WE'RE AT 4K WHAT THE FU
Have a hug. Have a jar of my love and happiness. Thank you so much.

I'm super sick right now. I've been in bed writing for two days. Now that's what I call productive. RIP, I lov ya, yay. It's up on a Sunday. Just how the world was meant to be. I feel like death, but I'm happy.