a/n: i have a secret adoration for John Mayer,, i grew up listening to him and would fall asleep listening to his album. . . just thot u should know

//inspiration: Stop This Train by John Mayer

summary: Dan and Phil get in a fight and Dan packs his bags, boarding a train to anywhere for a few hours- aka just enough time to knock some sense into himself

"I'm tired of you drinking all the time!" I screamed at the blue-eyed boy in front of me.

"Well maybe it's because I'm tired of you never paying attention to me anymore! You've stopped hanging out with me if you could. Even at meet-ups, you distance yourself from me. I don't know what's wrong with you! I miss you, Dan! I miss us!"

"I pay attention to you just enough! You're just too busy being wasted off your ass to remember it."

"That's a lie! The sole reason as to why I drink is because of you ignoring me, not just because I can!" Phil was crying now. I was on the verge of tears. "Are you tired of me? Is that it? Have I finally gotten on your last nerves? Is someone funnier than me? I'm just not good enough anymore, right?"

"That's not it! Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Then stop putting alcohol down my throat!" Phil shot back. I clenched my fists.

"That is bullshit- your drinking problem is your own doing. You didn't bother to talk to me about anything until now, when all I could know is that you're drunk right now and won't remember shit in the morning."

"I don't have a drinking problem!" Phil screamed.

I crossed my arms. "That's exactly what your dad said before-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

I closed my mouth. I shouldn't have said that. "Phil, I didn't mean that. . ."

"You meant it," Phil whispered, turning away from me. He trudged away from me, placing his hands on the counter and letting out a breath, his back facing me. "Get out."

"Phil-"

"Get out!" He yelled, slamming his fist on the wood. I gulped, holding tears back.

I obliged after a moment of silence, stomping into my bedroom and grabbing my suitcase from under my bed. I swung open my closet door and snatched random clothes out, throwing them carelessly into the bag. Once fully packed, I walked back out and into the livingroom.

Phil already had a glass of bourbon in his hand, his eyes still refusing to meet mine.

"When can I come back?" I murmured.

"Just get out, Dan."

I exhaled.

I left to go get the keys from my room and came back, Phil already finishing his glass. "Bye, bear."

He didn't reply. I left the house, dragging my suitcase along with me. As soon as I shut the door after me, I let the tears pour, sobs wracking my body as I dreadfully walked from the boy I loved and the home we made.

I heard Phil's sobs mix with mine and I shook away the sadness, wiping my eyes as I walked downstairs and to the nearest train stop. The same stop where Phil and I first met, where we first hugged, and where I finally got to look at the real him- not just a bunch of pixels on a computer screen.

I shut my eyes, waiting for the first train to arrive, not caring where it went. I checked my phone, hoping to find any missed calls or texts from Phil, but none appeared. I shoved my hands into my pockets, the cold weather nipping at my skin.

A train pulled up and I paid, finding my seat in the very back. I sat down, pulling out my phone to check again. And again, there was nothing.

I began to dial my dad, not knowing who else to call in this time of need. He picked up right away.

"Dan? Is that really you?"

"Yeah," I giggled halfheartedly.

"Wow, are you drunk or something? High? Both?"

"No dad, just sad."

I heard my dad sigh. "And why is that?"

The train began to move.

"Phil and I got in a fight. He told me to get out- to leave. So I did. . . I guess I just wanted some advice. . . I mean, did you and mom ever fight?"

My dad chuckled. "Of course we did. We still do, it's marriage. No relationship is perfect, Dan. Even the one you share with Phil. There's always going to be fights- even over stupid things like who won that certain video game or who watched that certain movie without the other. It's love, buddy. You do stupid things for the other person, and they do stupid things in return." '

"I don't understand," I responded.

"When you're forty-three, you'll understand much easier."

"Then help me understand at twenty-four. I just don't get it, dad. I'm in love with him. I'm in love with everything about him, from his blue eyes to his hair and his body, even little things like the way he always has to hug someone's shoulders and not their waist, and the way he giggles and his tongue pokes out the side, and the way he warns me before he sneezes. . . The problem is I don't know how to tell him."

"What could go wrong?" My dad inquired.

"It's already been going wrong, dad. Apparently I've been avoiding him, and he's developed a drinking problem because of feeling ignored by me."

"Now that I get. You're subconsciously avoiding him because you can't handle being around him. And I don't mean that like you don't want to be around him, but I mean that you want to be around him so bad that labeling yourself as 'just friends' isn't enough. You want to spend the rest of your life with him, Dan."

I felt a tear slip down my cheek. "I don't know if he loves me back, dad."

My dad exhaled. "You're just like your mother, always oblivious. She still thought I didn't love her when I proposed to her," he replied. I laughed softly. "Look son, to me and your family, even your friends, it seems like you both are infatuated with one another. I'm not demanding you to confess your feelings, but it's now or never. If you guys have been best friends for so long, the friendship won't end now because of one falling in love with the other. And if it does, then oh well, he wasn't worth it."

"But I want him to be worth it. God, I want him to be worth all of this."

"Then you have to be worth his time. Show him you care when he feels alone. Show him you're sorry when you need to apologize. Show him you're jealous when someone gets a little too close with him. Show him you're happy when he's happy. Dan, show him that you love him, and he'll love you back just as much."

I wiped my eyes, looking out the window to see we had been driving for a few minutes now. "Thank you, dad. I love you."

"I love you too, son. Now go show Phil that you love him too."

I hung up quickly and raised my hand up. "Excuse me!" I shouted to the driver. Everybody looked at me, some annoyed and some concerned. "Stop this train!"

The driver said nothing but stopped and I thanked her, grabbing my things and running off the vehicle. I ran through the cold wind, pushing past people and rushing to my car. I threw my things inside and jumped in, practically speeding over to our apartment.

As soon as I parked I forgot my things, running up the stairs and back to the front door. I jabbed my keys in the lock and twisted it, pushing the door open. Phil was asleep on the couch, his face blotchy from crying, the TV on and the lights off.

I tiptoed over, carefully picking up the remote to turn the electronic off, grabbing a blanket from the closet and draping it over the sleeping boy.

I checked my phone, and then I noticed the missed call and voicemail from none other than Phil Lester from five minutes ago. I tapped play on the voicemail, raising the phone to my ear.

"Dan? Gee, thanks for answering- shit, sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Let me start over. Dan, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kicked you out. It is my fault for drinking so much, you're right. I just feel like you're going to leave me if I don't do something. Like you're just bored of me after all these years. And now, I'm not drunk- I considered drinking my way out of this but I decided against it when I heard your sobs from outside. Fuck, I feel terrible, alright?

"The thing is. . . I love you. And it's because I love you that I've been drinking so much. I've been trying to drink away the thoughts, the memories- to forget all that I love about you. I know it's not healthy. . . I promise, Dan, I promise you I'll do better if you come back. Just please don't leave me. Please. I love you, I can't do this on my own. I can't get better if I don't have you to help me. You help me get better, you're like my little happy pill and if I don't have you I'll just unhappy. I need you. I need you, dammit, please come back. Come home, bear."

The line went dead and I set my phone on the counter, kneeling down in front of the couch and brushing Phil's hair out of his face. "I am home," I sniffled. "I'm not leaving anymore. I'm staying right here, and I'll help you get through this. We'll do this- together. I love you."

My eyes widened when Phil's opened, bloodshot and red. He shot me a sad smile. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do."

He sat up, and with that, I hugged him.

This time, however, I had no intentions of letting go- mentally and physically.