This was the cycle now-a-days. Get up- Dan already having left the apartment- then have cereal then get showered and dressed, then lounge about or clean up all day as I waited for him to get home from wherever he went. He would never tell me, simply replying with "Adventures" every time I asked.
Currently I was watching a re-run of Elementary while I waited for him to return just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that, scared he would turn up in the same state as he had yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
The second the front door would open, I would usually be up like a shot helping him stagger through to the lounge, but today I decided I wasn't doing that anymore, simply calling out a weak, "Hey."
"Philly," he slurred as he threw the door the remainder of the way open.
"How was your day?" I asked.
"Adventurous," he smiled, plopping down beside me. Ovbiously he was completely pissed yet again, but even worse than the way he acted was the smell of beer on him. That smell that reminded me the disgusting substance did that to him and he could've gotten it from any bar in London, while being chatted up by anyone in London. And you do get some really shady people round here. Sometimes when he didn't come home till late I would panic, imagining him stumbling around too drunk to find his way home, but Dan must've had some kind of homing chip because he eventually did come home, even if it was after three in the morning sometimes. I would tell him to stop but I knew that'd be as much use as a chocolate teapot.
To be honest, the scariest part was I hadn't seen Dan sober in God know's how long. I hardly even seen Dan, period. "So how- Dan, you're crying," I said stupidly.
"N-No amnot," he sobbed.
"What is it?" I whispered softly, throwing an arm around him, but he just shrunk away from me to the other end of the couch and wouldn't say. Dan needed space, I got that, but the getting drunk everyday, avoiding me. It was more than I could take sometimes and it hardly stopped me worrying about him, did it?
Suddenly he was back. He started to sing. That beautiful voice, still beautiful despite his intoxication. "Maybe I'll get drunk again."
When he didn't continue I felt obligued to sing the next line, "I'll be drunk again."
He almost whispered, another tear slipping down his face, "To feel a little love."
And with that he slipped his hand into mine.