#drunk!dan

One minute Adam is there. The next he’s gone. And Dan is left all alone.

The golden liquid sloshes at the lips of his glass, his left foot leaning against the wall in a way that Dan can convince himself is ‘casual’, but his shaking calf gives him away. He is glad that everyone is intoxicated, it makes his standing alone less lonely somehow. And if he cries no one will question him. That’s always a comfort.

The house is huge and a spiralling staircase hangs above Dan’s head, clear like a window. Dan finds himself looking up, as if expecting scenery, but it seems as if the smoke has curled everywhere. He looks down at his beer. He should be drinking it, he knows that, in fact he wishes that his hand would tilt it into his mouth, maybe then he wouldn’t look so starkly out of place. But he can taste the bitterness in his mouth. Fuck social norms.

The corridor seems never ending. Or maybe it’s a mirror. It’s too dark. Dan almost trips over his shoelaces, as he walks past doors, opening each one without really searching for anything, out of boredom, like the stretching and contracting of an elastic band, never the intention to flick it, never the intention to walk in the rooms. He feels a jolt before the opening of each door, like a ceremony, and Dan wonders how often something has to happen before it is labelled a ‘habit’. Something tells him he shouldn’t open the doors, because oh god what if he walks in on people. Dan’s seen the films. He knows what happens.

The last door. The destiny. All the plot twists leading to that moment. Dan half expects the corridor to start spinning.

The room is pitch black, and Dan almost steps back over the golden line, remembering his ritual, look never enter. But the darkness bothers him, and his fingers fumble for a light switch.

The room bathes in electric light. Not the kind of light that is golden, but rather whiter, like a spotlight that floods the entire room. Like the flash of white that comes at the end, that leads you to the sky. But the light isn’t what Dan is focusing on. The room has hard wooden floors, the kind of polished that make them seem shiny, like a more finished version of the sand that litters beaches. And if it isn’t for the piano maybe the floor could be the centrepiece. But the Piano stands in the corner, sleek and black, almost regal looking, throwing Dan back to every old film ever. A grand piano. Dan has never seen a grand piano before. His fingers itch to dance along the keys.  

Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

And Dan doesn’t know whether it is the alcohol that was unwillingly poured into his veins, or the captured piano in his iris, but he finds himself moving forward, abandoning his own rules, his own morals, shedding them like a coat to the floor.

Like the skin of the snake he’s become.

Dan sits down at the piano stool, feeling his spine straighten, his fingers floating down onto the keys. He feels more at home there, than he ever could downstairs, arms slung across the sofa when all he wanted to do was curl into himself, vodka tipped onto his jeans that he had to wear tomorrow, Adam’s finger pointing to a girl who thought he was ‘hot’, oh god he didn’t even want to think about that one.

Dan can’t remember the first time he sat down at a piano, the notes seem like they have followed him forever. Like they were a part of himself. He almost scoffed. The hours and hours of procrastination, convincing himself that he hated playing the piano, that it was boring, and god-forbid gay, and yet every time he sits down at his piano he wonders why it’s been so long.

That’s the thing about being named a ‘child prodigy’; you’re only going downhill from there. A finger prodding from the top as your feet slip and skate and graze across the metal slope.

The lamp light flickers through the window and the notes fill the room. Dan’s fingers begin to press harder against the keys, as if the music can wipe out all of the anger, all of the lies and expectations that lie within the dark surroundings. No thanks, I don’t want to drink. I am never going to be what you want me to be. Another failed prodigy. No, it won’t be good for me, it’ll be scary. Can’t you just date a girl? But what if I don’t like girls. What about that?

Expectations. Norms. Expectations. Norms. Failure.

The anger brewed and poured onto the keys, his fingers racing across the keys, chasing away the comments, eyes focused on a single reflection hovering above the keys.

The song finishes and Dan breathes.

“Well aren’t you something.” Dan jumps, his hands slipping from the piano keys, throwing his balance off centre. He hits the floor with a thud, his face redder than the dress that hung to the girl before. A familiar sense of sickness fills his stomach, the kind of trickling ice cream down cheeks, when you know it was one too many, the mix of dread and sickness.

Dan can’t even bring himself to look up through his fringe, his eyes boring into the floor, his glare fierce. Why are you so fucking stupid?

A hand thrusts itself into his vision and Dan’s head tilts upwards. The boy is laughing, but not in a way that Dan fears, his laughter is soft and melodic, not harsh and cutting, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in a way that Dan finds endearing. He can’t help but smile.

He takes the hand, placing his other hand on the piano stool and pushing himself up. He is face to face with the boy. And the boy is only slightly taller than him.

And Dan stares for slightly too long, but he figures he can blame it on the vodka. His eyes drift over the boy’s face, noticing the grooves in his lips that seem to stretch when he smiles, the smudges of grey from beneath his eyes peeking from behind fluffy back strands of hair, his cheeks just slightly pinker than what Dan figures would be his normal skin tone. Dan can see the slight stubble that lines his jawline.

Dan’s not sure whether the room feels warmer or colder.

“Thank you” Dan says, taking a small step backwards. The boy coughs.

“I liked your playing” he says, his fingers brushing his hair from his face and Dan notices the absence of a drink from his hand. “What’s your name?” the boy’s eyebrows furrow, “that is if you don’t mind.” He hurries the last part. He’s so fucking adorable.

“Dan” Dan mutters, unable to help the small nod that follows it, as if he is confirming that that is indeed his name. He’s going to think I’m a fucking idiot, followed by, why do I care.

“I’m Phil” says the boy, and there’s the smile again.

They stare at each other, the moon watching over them, its craters stretching into a smile that isn’t half as secret as it wanted it to be. “Umm, umm hello, Phil” Dan stutters, and it’s so awkward he wishes the shiny floor would open up, or part of him does, part of him thinks that would be a waste of such a shiny floor.

“I like the way you say my name.” Phil half-whispers and Dan’s head shoots down as he tries to stop thoughts from shooting through his head, because for god’s sake he’s not a 13 year old girl.

He’s sure that if he were in a comic, he’d have red lines across his cheeks.

But he seems to grasp a wisp of confidence from somewhere, maybe from a thread of alcohol, maybe from a smoke of the music that still hangs in the air, or maybe it’s just that he’s fed up of being the doormat, the small, shy one in the corner, and he’s tired of pretending. His eyes meet Phil’s and his eyes are the most electric blue.

He wants to swing his legs from a counter, the dark just light enough, he wants to be the one to lean in and flutter, his beating wings against the darkness.

“Thanks,” he says, mustering a smile made from the beading sweat on his forehead. “I like your eyes.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Are we stuck in a terribly acted rom-com or what?” Dan laughs.

“It’s not funny enough to be a rom com”

“To be fair neither are rom coms.”

“Philip!”

Phil laughs, “How do you know my name is Philip huh? Very discriminatory Daniel, very discrimatory indeed”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Wow, curse words, this is really not going well for you.”

“Is it not?” Dan feels his eyebrows raise, his eyes staring straight into Phil’s “I beg to differ.” he says with a tilt of the head.

Phil laughs, “Do you?”

Dan smiles.

“Oh wow you have dimples! In that case you’re going to have to come with me.” Phil says turning on his heel

Dan’s smile drops, “Umm I’m not err interested in that kind of umm relationship.”

The sound of Phil’s chuckle fills the room, “I’m not talking about sex you fucking dork.”

Dan blushed. “Oh.”

“You need to see this, come on.”

His outstretched hand was pale and Dan wondered how it hadn’t disappeared into the white light. His skin was like a canvas, the kind that has imagined roses climbing up his wrists, weaving under the purple shirt that clung to his skin. Phil’s hair was black. And Dan wondered how someone could be both a contrast and a seamless statue.

The corridor wound on further and Dan became conscious of his hand wrapped up within Phil’s.

There was a small light at the end of the corridor, the light filtering in and throwing light over the shadows. Dan could make out an old grandfather clock, the creepy voice starting in his head, It stopped short — never to go again — When the old man died. There was a level of trust that Dan wasn’t used to.

The night sky was dark and silent and Dan was sure he could make out small ripples now and then, like waves in the sky. It was watching over, throwing arms around the houses with small little lights in the windows, all of its hands used to hold up the moon, which drifted behind clouds. Dan thought about each of those little windows. It was almost like a children’s book. In the dark, dark world was a dark, dark house, and in the dark, dark, house was a dark, dark, room and in the dark, dark room was a dark, dark, chair and in that dark, dark chair sat a man who’s heart beat was slowing, who knew of the millions of others and yet felt special in his own right. Humanity.

The concept of sonder was astounding. And yet it didn’t degrade from the uniqueness of every form.

“You wanted to show me the night sky?” Dan said, turning to see that Phil was closer than he had realised, the stars reflected in the wisps of his hair.

“If we’re already stuck in a cheesy rom-com, I thought there might as well be stars.”

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“I know.” Phil said, leaning down to kiss Dan to the distant sound of music below.