𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

i'd say you let me down, but we've been here before, it's come back around [d.n]

lyrictic heres ur saptzyy req :] sorry abt the ending i was supposed to make it happy but.... this happened so

fic title from ; him - james marriott [which just happens to be a fucking banger, please listen to it i swear it's worth it]

pairing ; saptzyy [sapnap/nick + krtzyy/dave]

prompt ; nobody can hurt him if he's drunk.

cws/tws ; drinking/alcohol, sort of toxic relationship [?]

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

dave can't really explain the feeling he gets when nick flirts with karl.

he understands it's a joke, understands that nick can flirt with whoever the hell he wants to flirt with. and sure, they're together, but it's just a bit. the flirting is all for the fans, so why does he care so much?

maybe it's because dave has always been self conscious about himself. constantly feeling as if he's not good enough, as if he's the shit beneath everyone else's shoes, as if nick likes karl more than he does his own boyfriend.

and he knows nick loves him, he knows it, and he loves nick, but fuck if it doesn't stab dave in the chest every time nick calls karl 'pretty boy' and asks to meet up. he hasn't asked dave to meet up with him, and they've been dating for five months.

man, it would suck if they broke up.

he wonders, too, if nick wants to break up. sometimes, it seems as if he does. like he wants to leave dave for someone better, for karl, and he can't help but feel bitter when nick brushes him off to talk to karl. dave hates feeling bitter, hates the feeling of jealousy coursing through his veins, hates when he feels weak and worthless and not good enough for nick, hates that he's feeling replaced.

that's why he finds love at the bottom of a bottle.

dry vermouth, vodka, a cherry brandy, tequila, a bourbon hot-toddy, an old-fashioned margarita - that doesn't even scratch the surface of what he's consumed within the past week. dave frequents the bar when he's feeling normal, so with all of this extra stress and disgusting feelings weighing on him, he's there every day.

which is fine. he can handle it. he stumbles home alone, drunk and disoriented all the time, he's fine. and if he isn't, he'll be fine soon. as long as he's drinking, nothing can hurt him.

(at least, that's what he tells himself.)

as the bar slowly quiets and the crowds of people flush out, dave is the only one remaining, head nestled in his arms and tears welling in his eyes. lights flash behind his eyelids, and he groans, vision spotting as he pushes himself into a sitting position so he can gather his bearings and leave. it's too bright, stimulating his oncoming migraine, and when he opens his eyes, his vision is blurry, swirling and manipulating what little he can see. his hair droops into his eyes, and as he huffs, trying to get it out of his face, his phone vibrates insistently in his jean pocket, and he fiddles with his belt loop for a moment before fumbling with the already cracked device.

he's too drunk to read the caller id, but shaky fingers somehow manage to pick up the call, and he holds his phone to his ear.