Give Me Some Of That Bass // phan

Harlem

He does get a few weird looks as he pushes through the crowds of people, even a couple of sneers and snarky comments, but he ignores them and heads towards the kitchen. In his experience, there are usually less people there because the beer is in the lounge and that's mostly why people come to these things. Phil hates drinking recreationally, and without the influence of his band mates, he's gonna be stone cold sober tonight.

The only thing remotely pleasant so far is the music. At least his sworn enemies have good taste.

"Kill me now," he mutters under his breath, leaning against the counter heavily.

"Well, that would be no fun," says a voice to his left, and he almost yells when he looks over towards it. PJ Ligouri smiles at him in the confident and slightly intimidating way that Chris is always cursing him about, a bottle hanging effortlessly between his fingers as he steps closer. "Is my party that boring?"

Phil has no idea how he managed to even hear him over the loud music that's shaking the floors, but he doesn't question it for long. He hadn't exactly planned on having an encounter with PJ at all and is more than confused about how to handle himself. He's never had a decent conversation with the guy before, not to mention that if PJ even knew who he was, he'd probably humiliate him in the worst way possible.

"Oh," Phil stutters. "Um, no, I wasn't suggesting that. I just....parties aren't my thing. In general." He's fucking terrified that Peej will recognize him by his voice or some shit like that, and he tries to seem natural. "Nothing personal, honestly."

"That's good news, then," he replies. "You look like you could be a lot of fun."

Holy shit, is PJ Ligouri hitting on him? He feels like laughing and crying at the same time, but he settles on a nervous chuckle that he hopes doesn't seem inviting. "Not really. I'd probably just be a killjoy, mostly."

"Would you like a drink?" PJ ignores his disinterest, inclining his head towards where all the booze is. "You seem kind of tense." Shit yeah, he's tense.

"Leave him alone, Pascal, you're scaring the poor guy." Jesus Christ, Phil's never been happier to hear Dan's voice.

"I told you not to fucking call me that," PJ glares as Dan steps up next to him, arms folded across his chest. He's looks different for some reason, but Phil can't pinpoint exactly what has changed about him.

"It's not my fault your mum overshares," Dan retorts. The two continue staring each other down, and Phil thinks they're just like Grayson and Elliot, but a lot more hostile. PJ scoffs, smiling encouragingly at Phil one last time before leaving.

And then it's just Dan and Phil, and neither of them say anything to each other for a moment. They haven't properly talked since Wednesday night, when Dan called him and they worked things out slightly, and Phil's almost forgotten how to start a conversation with him.

Because what is he supposed to say? He can't exactly apologize to him with The Who blasting through the speakers.

But thankfully, Dan does speak up first, and Phil has to lean in to hear him clearly.

"So you still came here?" He says, as a question. And it's right then that Phil notices what changed about him: he's got dark marks under his eyes, so pronounced it looks like he's put makeup on. Dan never has marks, no indications that he doesn't get enough sleep. As much as he complains about stress and difficulties in his life, Phil has never seen him physically affected by it.

"Course I did," Phil replies, deciding not to mention them. "I mean, Chris kind of forced me to, so I didn't have much of a choice."

"Sorry about PJ, he flirts with anything that's not an animal," Dan says with a wry smile.