Shivers.

All over his body.

Goosebumps.

The sweet, familiar sting of alcohol singed down his throat.

More, more.

He tipped the bottle back and gave his body what it desired.

Always more.

Phil didn't want him.

But the drink certainly did.

Heavy breathing, fingers letting go.

Fuck.

Smash.

"Steve!"

"Don't you fucking dare come in here!" He roared, although it felt more like he was watching from outside his body.

Vision blurred, shifting.

Glass shards seeping into flesh as he stepped.

Blood.

That was okay. He had his whiskey back.

That was all he needed.

Surreal. Blurry. Tasteless, but delicious.

Never alone again.

No more pain.

No more heartbreak.

Phil's screams became a thing of the past.

Slipping, slipping

Falling, falling

Down, down

The floor was getting closer.

Glass.

•

"Steve! Steve, get up! Fucking wake up now, you piece of shite! Why did you do this to yourself?!"

Phil stared in horror down at the glass shards embedded in his love's face as he flipped his body over in his lap.

Whiskey covered the floor, the sickeningly sweet scent making Phil want to break down.

Steve was out cold. It was probably better that way, anyway, for the time being.

"Fuck.. fuck.." Phil managed to get to his feet, dashing into the living room where the only phone they owned was stationed.

Hospital, hospital. Shit, fuck.

Phil glanced into the kitchen where Steve was still out like a light.

"I swear I still love you, Steve." He choked out as the phone rung, although he knew that his love could not hear him.

•

Phil wrung his hands nervously as he sat in the waiting room. Too many times in the past few months he had been in a hospital.

The surgeons were removing the glass from Steve's flesh.

They should be done soon. They have to be. Phil shuddered.

Why does it matter? He hates me.

Those two thoughts had been darting through Phil's mind for the past hour and a half.

Why was it taking so long?

Someone knocked on the door. Phil stood, making his way over and opening it.

"Phil Collen?" A nurse asked, studying his face.

"That's me." Phil nodded, trying to get a glance of what was on the paper she had attached to her clipboard. She purposely moved it out of his sight.

"Steve was lucky. The doctors were able to remove all the glass without making large cuts in his face. They also removed all glass from his arms and hands, and thankfully the glass hadn't cut any major veins or arteries. His feet were okay, too. The alcohol level in his blood was much higher than normal, though. Watch that. He'll be in the room in a few minutes, but he probably won't wake up until morning."

Good, that's time for me to think of an apology speech.

The nurse stepped out of the doorway, then paused.

"Oh, I almost forgot. This ring was dropped in the ambulance. I believe it was Mr. Clark's. Phil.." The nurse placed the ring in his hand after she read it, finally putting two and two together.

It was a promise ring Phil had bought and been harboring just before everything had begun to go downhill. He was wearing his, 24/7, but Steve hadn't noticed. Phil had lost his chance to give it to his love, but now that it was returned to him, he was starting to see a chance.

"Thank you." Phil murmured, slipping the ring into his pocket.

The metal was cold, just like Steve's hand when Phil held it.

He looked peaceful at rest.

Gently, Phil slipped the ring onto Steve's finger. It fit perfectly, the glint of it in the pale moonlight making Phil wish he could apologize and start over.

"Steve. This is a promise ring. With it, I promise you to always hold you, protect you, and love you, even when you don't want me anymore. I promise to help you through this, all of it, I will never let you go. I love you."

The stitches on his face forced Phil to tear up. He leaned over his love's unconscious body, sobbing until the late hours of the night.

Steve woke up cold. There was a strange lump draped over his torso. Blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight shining in from the open window.

Phil.

Why is he on top of me?

Something stopped him from removing the other man from his body, though, and Steve couldn't figure out what.

Where am I?

Softly, a throbbing ache started in his body. It spread through his limbs, drawing tension through his muscles and his skin felt tight, although the thirst remained, dry in his throat, desperate to be quenched.

Steve glanced down at his hands. Stitched.

He never noticed the ring with Phil's name etched into it.

"What happened?" He whispered aloud. The man on him shifted suddenly, jumping up and vanishing into the shadows of the corner.

"Phil?"

"I'm sorry, fuck, Steve.. I'm sorry.. please-"

"Why are you apologizing?"

Phil fell silent.

He doesn't remember.

"Steve, promise me you'll never drink again."

"No. Where's my whiskey?"

"No." Phil choked out through reappearing tears.

"I'm thirsty, Phil."

"No, Steve. No."

Steve turned over in bed, and promptly fell asleep.

He wouldn't remember the exchange when he later awoke.

Phil flopped down in a chair next to the hospital bed, burying his head in his hands. Can I even trust him alone anymore?

•

The hospital let Steve go after three days.

Phil sat in their room, staring down at his notebook, singing quietly to himself.

Steve was asleep next to him, the scent of alcohol wafting off his lips.

"No promises, no guarantees. When you come down here you're already on your knees." Phil's singing always put Steve to sleep when he was drunk.

Phil just couldn't stop him anymore, so he monitored it.

During these sessions when he put him to bed, Phil took advantage and wrote new material.

"You wanna ride White Lightnin', then just sign your name. If you wanna dance with the devil, you gotta play his way."

Steve had been out for a while now, but Phil liked the way this one was coming along. It didn't exactly fit into the mood of Hysteria, but maybe it could be used for another album in the future. Or just Steve's lullaby.

He always thought Steve looked like 'White Lightning' when he darted across the stage in those bright outfits.

"You gotta taste that sweetness, 'cause you can't say no."

Phil was terrified for Steve's life. He watched him and took care of him as best as he could, but he didn't know what to do anymore. The only days where he drank lightly were those when they were writing or practicing in Joe's garage.

The winter of 1986 was creeping closer. Time was slipping by. They had ended up scrapping Desert Song and Fractured Love. Eleven record-ready songs, with some wiggle room to work on.

Phil didn't think there would be one hit on the album. He was convinced Hysteria would be as much as a flop as High 'N Dry was.

The phone rang loudly in the other room.

"But are you ready for the nightmare when you can't let go."

Phil grumbled the last line he had written before trotting off to pick it up.

"Phil!"

"Joe?"

"We've got a new song! Get down here with Steve!"

"Uh-"

"This is the one! Hurry!"

Click.

Great. Now he had to wake Steve.

This had better be a good fucking song.

It was useless to fight with Joe.