Dan took another big swing at the bottle and stumbled on the pavement.
The alcohol was fogging his head, he couldn't remember how much he'd drunk.
How many bottles did he buy again?
It was night-time, slightly foggy, and the streetlamps lit the roads with a dim, yellow light, casting huge shadows across the paths.
A few cabs rolled by, and the occasional car of some 40+ year old man or woman, off on their way somewhere.
Nobody stopped and nobody looked twice.
Dan could have been invisible for all he mattered in the world right at that moment.
He was in Manchester.
He didn't know how he'd gotten there from Wokingham, or where his car was.
Had he driven?
It was all a bit of a blur.
Dan didn't really care either, as he lifted the bottle, once again, to his lips.
It was cold and he shivered.
Why didn't he have a jacket on? It was October for Christ's sake.
Even drunk he should know that.
Wrapping his arms around himself, Dan sighed.
He didn't want to be out here, drunk, in the middle of the night with no jacket, no car, and an almost empty wallet.
He shivered again.
Dan had no idea what to do, he couldn't just sleep in a doorway, so he continued with what he'd been doing for the last god-knows-how-many hours; aimlessly wandering the streets, drinking from his vodka bottle and trying not to think of everything that had happened that day.
'Why am I even in Manchester?' Dan mumbled to himself, his voice slurred.
He honestly didn't know the answer.
Did it even matter?
Apart from the fact that he was jacketless and cold, with nowhere to stay the night, he couldn't imagine sitting alone in his university dorm room in York would be any better.
And he certainly couldn't go back to Wokingham and his family.
Not after what had happened earlier that day.
Or yesterday.
Was it morning yet? Or still late at night?
'All kind of the same thing, really. Doesn't matter.' He muttered.
A drumbeat was thumping somewhere in the distance, and Dan kept walking.
He reached to take another swing from his vodka bottle and realised it was empty.
'Oh well, I've probably had enough already anyway…' He thought to himself as he dropped it into a standing bin, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he walked, arms tightly wrapped around himself as he tried to conserve body heat.
A car skidded by; music thumping from it's stereo, swerving all over the road.
It almost run up the path straight into Dan as it roared past, before hitting the bin with a large crack, then rounding the corner and driving off into the darkness.
Dan stood on the far side of the path, still slightly shocked after jumping away from the speeding vehicle at the last second.
The street was quiet again, and Dan sighed as he continued to walk, making his way through the empty outer-city suburbs. He rounded the corner and looked out across the dark expanse of grass before him. Dotted throughout the park he could vaguely make out the odd bench seat or table set.
Dan stumbled over and collapsed onto an old, wooden, bench, laying backwards and looking up at the overcast sky.
'And all I need now is for it to rain…' he thought sadly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter.
Dan didn't smoke, but he knew people who said that smoking when your upset clears your thoughts, and he'd decided to give it a try back at the bottle shop.
Placing the cigarette between his lips, he flicked the lighter a few times, debating the health consequences.
"That's not good for you, you know." Said a voice behind him.
Dan, shocked, jumped off the bench, and tripped over his own, unco-ordinated, drunk feet as he tried to spin around to see who'd spoken.
His face hit the muddy earth and a few seconds later a hand reached under his shoulder and helped him to his feet.
"Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. What's your name?" The guy asked, guiding Dan back down onto the bench and sitting beside him.
"Umm, Dan. Dan Howell." He muttered, trying to keep his voice even because, god-dammit, this boy was hot.
Jet-black hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, awesome taste in fashion- he took Dan's breath away, and being drunk and sprised, Dan didn't really have much of that left.
"I'm Phil," he said, "Lester," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"H-hi." Dan stammered, glad of the darkness so that Phil couldn't see the way his cheeks blushed as they shook hands.
Phil leant against the back of the bench, legs out in front of him with his ankles crossed. He tilted his neck backwards and looked at the sky.
"So what you doing out here, Dan?" He asked, "It's the middle of the night."
Dan pulled a leg up to his chest, looping an arm around it before answering. "I don't know."
Phil looked at him.
His eyes might be round, and light, and innocent, but they seemed to look right through Dan's mind and into his very core.
Dan dropped his gaze.
"Hey, stuff happens, Dan. But you shouldn't hide it, you look like you need to talk, so talk." He said.
"It's…. nothing." Dan muttered, not meeting Phil's gaze.
"It's not. Otherwise you wouldn't be out here at 2:30am, drunk, and without a jacket."
Dan fiddled with the fabric of his jeans, rather then answering.
"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Yeah."
Dan looked up at Phil, who, despite the cool-guy posture and cute eyes, looked genuinely concerned.
"Have you got anywhere to crash?" Phil asked, eyes on Dan's.
"Um, no. Not really. I kind of just, took off. I don't know where my car is…" Dan sighed, and shivered as the slight wind around them picked up speed for a moment.
"You can come back to mine." Phil offered, and when Dan didn't reply for a second he looked uncomfortable, as if he'd thought he said something stupid, "I mean, if you want to. It's just an offer, didn't think you'd want to spend the night out on a cold bench. I have sofa." He mumbled quickly.
"Oh, um, yeah." Dan said, nodding his head, once he'd registered what Phil had actually been saying, rather then the cute way he spoke and how soft his lips looked.
Phil stood up and reached out to Dan, pulling him off the bench.
"So Dan, how old are you?" He asked as they started walking, Phil acting as though he had completely forgotten to let go of Dan's hand.
It was warm, and also distracting, Dan thought as he struggled to think of his age rather then the idea of him and Phil, pressed together with nothing between them.
It was the alcohol, fogging his thoughts.
"19." Dan replied, and asked Phil the same question.
Phil smiled, "24," he said.
Dan shivered in the breeze.
"You cold?" Phil asked him, their fingers still linked.
"Y-yeah. A bit." Dan muttered, slightly embarrassed.
Phil shrugged his jacket off and passed it to Dan, who pushed it back to him.
"Phil, I can't. It's yours."
"Sure you can, I'm letting you."
"Yeah, but I won't."
"Why not?"
"You'd get cold."
Phil stayed silent, still holding out his black jacket, still walking down the road.
"No. Really." Dan said with finality, looking Phil directly in the eye.
Phil slid the jacket back on and shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets. "Up to you."
Dan bit his lip and watched the footpath as he walked.
"Sorry." Dan said, after a minute.
Phil shrugged and when Dan looked at him he grinned.
"That's okay," Phil replied, smirking, "it just gives me more reason to do this..."
He stepped closer to Dan as they walked along the pavement and drew an arm around his waist, pulling him against his side.
Dan laughed and rested against Phil slightly as they walked.
The black-haired boy was warm, but what was even better was how his fingers kept tracing seductive little circles along Dan's arm where his hand rested.
Dan smiled.
"Um, just here." Phil said, slowing down outside a small apartment building.
Dan nodded and Phil dropped his arm to unlock the door.
They stepped through and took the stairs up to Phil's floor.
"Isn't there an elevator?" Dan asked.
"There was. Still is technically, but it doesn't work. Some guys blew it up with rocket fuel."
Dan looked at him, laughing. "Rocket fuel?! Seriously?!"
Phil smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I heard."
Phil handed Dan a pillow and a blanket. "Here you go, hope that'd be warm enough."
"Yeah, thanks. It should do." Dan replied, feeling awkward. He didn't know what to say.
Here he was, in Phil's apartment, with the light on so that gorgeous Phil could see Dan's curly, messy, hair and crinkled t-shirt.
Phil left the room.
Dan sighed and sank into the sofa.
It was comfortable and the room was warm, but Dan's chest felt like a massive hole had been blown in it.
He was beginning to sober up and now that Phil wasn't beside him he felt so, very, incredibly, alone.
The tears started to fall, and Dan didn't even try to stop them.
He didn't notice Phil re-enter the room, but suddenly felt his arm warm around his shoulders, Phil pulling him in against his chest.
Dan didn't know how long Phil held him like that, arms around him, his chin resting beside his ear, occasionally whispering to him.
"Shhhhhhh, honey, it'll all be alright. You'll see."
"It's okay, gorgeous. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter."
"Dan, sweetie, you'll be okay."
Phil's breath was warm on his ear, and every so often he turned his chin the slightest bit to lightly kiss Dan's hair.
Slowly, his sobs started to subside.
Dan pulled away and wiped his eyes.
His nose was running and he sniffed, embarrassed.
"S-sorry, Phil." He muttered, eyes on the ground.
The right shoulder of Phil's t-shirt (he'd removed his jacket) was damp from Dan's tears.
Phil rested a hand on Dan's shoulder.
"It's fine, Dan. Really." He added, as though he knew Dan didn't believe him.
Dan sighed and closed his eyes, still sitting up.
"Here, love. Drink this. It'll make you feel better." Phil whispered, leaning forwards and picking up a cup of hot chocolate he'd placed on the coffee table when he'd seen Dan crying.
"Oh, um, thanks." Dan muttered, taking the cup and raising it to his lips.
Phil smiled and drank from his own, sliding his arm around Dan's shoulders.
"Wow, Phil, this is… really good." Dan said, drinking the warm, chocolatey milk.
Phil blushed and laughed, "thanks, Dan." He replied.
Dan's cup was empty and he put it back onto the table, leaning into the couch again.
"So, Dan, what happened?" Phil asked, concerned.
Dan sighed and curled his legs up beside him, facing Phil on his couch.
Phil did the same, but left one foot resting on the floor.
Dan was silent a minute, thinking, and Phil waited.
Eventually he spoke, looking down at the floor.
"My parents kicked me out." He whispered, so quietly that Phil could barely make out his words.
"Jeez, how come?" Came the reply.
Dan sighed and ran a hand through his brown, curly, messy, hair.
"I told them I was gay." He said.
"And they kicked you out? God, no wonder you got drunk…" Phil said, amazed and slightly angry at the same time.
Dan was only 19 for goodness sake!
Who kicks their 19 year old son out of home for being gay?!
"Yeah…" Dan muttered, still not meeting Phil's eye. "They hate me, now. And it's all my fault. Because I told them. I should have just kept my bloody mouth shut, it's not like I even live with them anymore. I go to university in York." He added, his eyes going wet again, but no tears fell.
"It's not your fault, Dan." Phil said.
"It is, I- I shouldn't have told them. I don't even know why I did. I don't have a boyfriend at the minute or anything it sort of just, came out."
Phil placed his hand on Dan's knee, leaning towards him. "Dan?" He said.
Dan didn't answer, his eyes still on the floor.
"Dan, look at me. Please." Phil added.
Dan blinked and his eyeline shifted but he still avoided Phil's gaze.
"Dan, if your family kicked you out, it's their fault. Not yours. They've just lost the most amazing, gorgeous, perfect son in the entire world because they couldn't accept him, and that's their mistake, Dan. It's not your fault."
This time the brown eyes did meet the blue, and Dan whispered, "perfect?"
"God yes." Phil replied, and their eyes suddenly weren't the only things that met right then, as Phil Lester leaned forwards and kissed the cute, 19 year old, brown-haired, still slightly drunk, gay boy he had saved that night from the Manchester cold.