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The gin burned Dan’s throat as chugged it, but it still wasn’t enough to get rid of the memories of him. The excuses Phil made before he left swam around his mind, murky words paired with the look in Phil’s eyes as he said them. The taste of his injuries stayed the same, no matter how much he drank. His eyesight went blurry as he lay down on the cold mattress, taking another swig as he remembered that he was alone.
Dan stared out his window at the stars, their light dull. Mostly everything in the sky was dull to him. They simply didn’t matter; they were consistent when he wasn’t, always there when he could barely get out of bed every day. It’s not like he had anything to get up to, though– even his fans started leaving when he couldn’t be bothered to make good content.
Tears fell down Dan’s face, the salty taste mixing with the burn of his alcohol. Choking on his breath, he thought bitterly of how happy the other was surely doing at the moment, able to live without drinking his life away.
The liquor was a burden, a substance that he couldn’t put down. He spent day in and day out washing away his life, pushing away the ones who loved him most, all because of the fact that he couldn’t handle losing his boyfriend.
His eyes shot over to the loaded gun on his nightstand, its company more welcoming than anything.
“I can’t take it anymore. It’s nearly time to use you,” he whispered to it, his voice hoarse and broken. He was going insane, he thought; the only thing he’d talked to in months was that damned gun, like telling it his problems would fix everything.
How was he so stupid to think that someone would stay with him forever? Did he really think that someone wouldn’t come up with a ton of excuses to stay away from him?
But then, Dan thought, was it really worth it? Was it worth it to spend his time mourning over someone who didn’t care about him anymore? He sat up and put the bottle of gin on the nightstand. They were all going to die at some point, and when you think about it, Phil didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. They would forget about each other at some point, be another insignificant memory in which neither could even remember the color of the other’s eyes.
Although he wanted Phil to be happy, he couldn’t stand to think that he had to act like it was nothing for the few fans he had left. They never knew that they were dating, so what did they care that he moved out? The way they broke up was as boring as the stars. He wanted it to end in style. And that’s exactly what Dan was going to do. There were too many ways to go out in such a way; there were pills he could mix with the surplus of alcohol he drank, the gun next to his bed, the living room window (he did live on the nineteenth floor, after all).
Instead, Dan stood up and staggered out of his empty apartment. He needed to get out of the building.
The cool, crisp air hit his face, and he sat down next to the pavement. Laying down on the grass, he looked up at the dull stars. They suddenly seemed less boring to him as