delivered

58

phil feels pathetic.

his eyes are glazing over every other second, and the taste of bitter alcohol is dissolving on his tongue. the fact that he has to resort to this toxicity to forget about his own husband is petty in more ways than just one, and he looks over at adrian's room to make sure that it's still locked.

he remembers the time when dan was buying different kinds of alcohol just to keep them against the far wall of their kitchen, unconsumed, and how phil was the one who wasn't in the favour of having such things when they had a child in their house.

today, he feels thankful for the brown whiskey swirling in his glass.

his eyes are fixed on the dimly lit screen of his phone, shuffling through contacts and trying to find someone, anyone, who he can talk to and let this restricted feeling out of his chest. he wants to cry and break things and lie down and eat all at once just to find the comfort that he can't find in his apartment.

his mind is twisting, uncensored thoughts on full display and the disguised thought of seeking revenge, to hurt dan as much as he's hurt him is blaring in bold dark colours in his brain. he wants to shake it out, to find some rationality or any explanation behind dan's actions but he just can't find any.

he doesn't want to doubt dan, that is the last thing he wants to do, but he's feeling utterly helpless and dan's vague explanations are not doing anything to kill the wild suspicion. the thought of dan with another man in the chilled mornings and at the bewitching hours of the night in a club, is something that phil can't forgive even if he wants to.

he shakes his head, his vision blurring just the slightest before he decides to dial a number that he was avoiding, and presses the cold metal against the shell of his ear as he leans over the kitchen counter, his head in hands.

"hello?" the voice is holding slight confusion, as to why a stranger that he met in a bar is calling him at one am, but phil has no other choice but to clear his throat and reply.

"hey," his words are just as slurred as they were at the bar. "did i wake you up?"

"no, no, not at all man, i was just reading something, what's up?" phil hesitates for a moment before opening his mouth.

"i'm just, i'm really pissed at my stupid fucking husband and i needed someone to vent to, i don't know why i called you, i'm sorry," phil rambles nervously, the alcohol dying swiftly from his system as embarrassment replaces it, and he contemplates to just end the call and block the number so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences of his drunken decisions.

"hey no, it's alright, you can talk to me if you want, my life is very boring anyway,"

"nice to see that you find dramatic, married, gay couples interesting," phil snorts, feeling a little less uncomfortable and a slight relief bubbling in his chest.

"my dude," the guy laughs, the sound husky and slightly scratchy in a calming sort of way. "who doesn't?"

"if you put it that way," phil can feel himself ease into the phonecall, feeling his worries melt as he talks to someone who probably wouldn't break his heart, when he suddenly realises he doesn't even know the guy's name. "wait, what's your name?"

"i'm pj, you?"

"phil,"

--

i thought i should just update when my exams end but fuck it