Dan shuffles cross the blackened sidewalk.

He's alone always alone.

His music player broke a long time ago, so now he just walks in silence.

He's slightly drunk, swaying a little as he makes his sorry walk home. Phil was still gone when Dan finished the bottle.

His tall frame leaned forward slightly, his loose black clothes billowing in the mild breeze.

Metaphorically he was a grown man, capable of moving on living with the decision Phil made. Literally, he has no idea what to do.

He wanders into a toy store. He's not sure what possess him. Looking at the bright, colourful items makes his heart swell with sadness.

He pokes at the wooden bricks in the display box, then leaves, his heart now heavier.

He has written "Help me" with the wooden letters.

He tries not to think anymore. Thinking has become a painful process, burning harmful words into his already sick mind. He drinks to try to drown them out, but it doesn't help for long. He's drowning on his own.

He thinks about the end.

He thinks about his end.

He thinks about their end.

But when he thinks about who he would live for, who he would die for, he gets the same answer.


He's an idiot. Thinking this way will only hurt more. But in the course of a human existence, we all need consistence.

And his only source of consistence was Phil.

But Phil wasn't here anymore.

It physically hurt to think about, that someone he loved was gone and didn't return the want, no, need, to be near the other person that he felt.

He couldn't trust anyone anymore.

He was jumpy and easily spooked. His eyes darted around in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact. He realized he probably looked a little insane, with his hair sticking on end in wild curls, and darkly circled eyes.

But honestly, he didn't care anymore.

What was the point anyway? He had nothing to prove.

All alone, in an apartment meant for two.

The heavy brass key was cold in his hand as he fumbled for it inside his skinny jeans pocket.

He slotted it through the key-hole and the door swings open to the dark, silent abyss that used to be his home.

It was devoid of the bright colors of Phil's belongings.

It didn't echo with Phil's laughter.

It wasn't filled with their playful bants and his sarcastic comments.

It was empty of Phil.

Now it was colorless, joyless, and eerily lonely.

He hated it.

He hated it with every fibre of his being because this very place, the broken wasteland of twisted memoires was where he lost Phil.

And now all he could think of was what could have been, and what once was.

Regret sat as a hard lump in his stomach, a throbbing tumor of pain, and he wished for the millionth time he could take it all back.

"Phil!" Dan yelled, looking at the floor in disgust.

"What?" asked Phil, poking his head around the door. He looked like a deer in headlights.

Dan gestured at the floor, too angry to speak.

Phil's confused gaze warily left Dan's and drifts to the floor.

There, was a sticky mess of paperwork and coffee.

Phil's eyes widened, panic stricken.

"Do you know what that is? Dan asked, in a low, dangerous voice.

"Oh no, Dan! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean –"

"That was the script for my new video."

"I'm sorry Dan, I didn't think! I-"

Oh I know you didn't think! I told you not to leave out your coffee on the counter for hours, and I told you I put my script there, I also know you knocked over the cup."

"I didn't even notice, I was running late to see PJ."

"So you rush out the door, ignoring the cup I told you to throw out, then, on you way out, knock over said coffee cup, breaking it and spilling it over the already fallen papers," Dan finished, still fuming.

"Uh, well, yeah."

Usually, Dan wouldn't have flipped over such a small thing. They could clean up the mess, and he could print out a new script. But today hadn't been a good day. He exploded.

"Phil are you serious?! Why are you always so careless?! You're a grown man yet I'm always babysitting you! Why can't you just do one thing?"

Phil's face was pursed, his eyes like watery pools of blue-ish, green, yellow. He hated when they yelled for real.

"Dan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Look, I'll clean it up."

"You know what? I don't care. Do what you want. I'm going out," he spat.

He grabbed his coat of the rack and slung it over his arm.

"Please don't go out, you're angry, you're not thinking clearly," Phil pleaded.

"In case you forget Philip, I am also a grown man. Goodbye."

And with that Dan tugged open the door, ignoring Phil's teary-eyed worried gaze.

He slammed it so hard the frame shook.


It was raining outside now, pounding against the tiles of the roofing as he sat on the lumpy couch. He remembered how he stormed through the park, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket.

He took it out.

From Phil: Where are you?

From Phil: Come back, it's getting late.

From Phil: Are you ok?

From Phil: Don't make me come out after you.

From Phil: I'll call the police, you see if I don't.


From Phil: … Dan, please stop being mad.

From Dan: Just leave me alone. Go away.

From Phil: Fine. If that's what you want.

And in another hour, Dan returned to the flat, cold, and soaked, only slightly subdued.

No one greeted him at the door.

No one bear-hugged him in the entranceway.

No one was there at all.

Phil was gone.

Dan went to his room, only to see his friend's bedroom stripped of its belongings.

Phil's stuff was gone.

Dan whipped out his phone.

From Dan: Phil, where have you gone? Why is your stuff gone?

The irony was not lost on him.

Phil didn't respond. One, five, ten minutes passed.

Dan paced the floor, his heart clenched in panic. Had he lost Phil? Was Phil finally sick of him?

A note on the side caught his eye.


I've gone back to my parents' house.

I can't keep fighting with you.

We need space.

I've turned off my phone for a while.

I just want some breathing time.


From Dan: Phil you can't be serious! You've taken all your stuff, how long are you planning on being gone?

From Dan: I'm sorry ok? I was having a bad day. Please don't abandon me here. I'm so, so sorry.

But Phil never texted back.

He was gone, and didn't want anything to do with him.

That one fight was the tipping of a perfectly balanced pile of repressed emotions.

Dan could still remember how the numb overtook him, bubbling under his skin as he sunk to the floor.

He remembers the burning tears he cried for hours.

He remembers how angry he got after. Furious with himself, throwing glassware at the wall, screaming at the wall, screaming at his phone, his fingers digging red lines into his arms.

This hadn't been their only argument recently though, Dan knew that.

His temper had been short recently, and he had snapped at Phil a lot in the last few weeks.

But he had a reason.

And he had never been mad at Phil, not really.

He was mad at the idea of Phil.

And now, as Dan snapped back into reality on the couch, he felt the wetness creep down his cheeks again. He knew that this mourning would never end.

Three weeks passed since Phil left, and Dan couldn't remember the last time he felt as alone as this. There had been no responses from Phil, and Dan hadn't used his social media accounts in the same amount of time. He wondered if a social shit storm was brewing because of his abandonment.

He didn't care.

They didn't know. They couldn't know. By the next day however he was desperate.

AmazingPhil When are you coming home?

Dan tweeted Phil publicly. He wondered if that was crossing an invisible line, but at this point, he didn't care.

He just wanted Phil back.

As expected, the internet just went insane.

Aw, Dan do you miss Philly?

Phan confirmed

Phil run back to Danny

This is actually really cute


A few hours passed.

Does no one think its weird Phil hasn't said anything?


Is there a deeper meaning to this?

All good in Phantasia?

And then this tweet.

Guys, think about this. Both of them gone from social media. Now Dan is back asking for Phil's whereabouts'. Do you think they fell out?

And then the responses.





At this point Dan hated himself.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters. He's such an idiot. Why would Phil respond? Huh?

Rage, pure and thick fills him, self-hatred so deep he screams.

Why would Phil care? Dan had fucked up everything.

Hot tears streamed down his face, mixing with the screams that gurgled out his lips.

He picks up his long abandonment plate and hurls it against the wall, smashing it into a dozen pieces.

He picks up the broken fragments, letting the ragged edges pierce his hands and relishing the blood that dripped down his fingers. Then he threw the pieces again, and they hit a mirror, cracking it in several places.

He goes over to the splintered mirror and rage fills him. He starts punching it, all he can see is a red haze in his mind, feel the screams in his throat, the tears that stung, the cuts that bled.

"Please, please," he sobbed, his fists slowed as the mirror shattered beneath his fingers.

His bloody fingers littered with glittering pieces of glass wrapped around his chest as he curled into a ball, and sobbed his heart out.

Phil hates him. He's lost one shot at happiness. He's all alone. He's done with living. He hates himself. He hates himself more than ever hated anyone –

A pair of arms wrap around his chest.

Dan feels his body shake in the warm arms but he can't stop the tremors and he can't open his eyes because he's blind from tears.

"It's Phil, Dan. I'm here. It's ok. It's ok."

At this predicament Dan flings his arms blindly around the figure holding him.

"PhilPhilPleaseDon'tLeavePhilP-pleaseIcan't-"his voice cuts off as he gasps for the air that has suddenly become thin and suffocating.

The arms just tighten slightly and Dan's body melts into the embrace tremors finally showing signs of slowing.

"Shusssshhhh, Dan, shush. Don't talk ok? Just breathe." This voice seemed thick and Dan knew the person holding him was crying. It seemed wrong. Angels shouldn't cry….

"I should never have left. I won't again. Ever. You will never be alone again."

Dan feels the final crying whimpers leave him as his body settles on just sobbing, his frame shaking as his body lays limp in these warm arms. And when Dan can stand to open his eyes he sees Phil, wrapped around him, eyes closed tightly, crying right along with him.

His shirt is full of tears and blood where Dan's torn hands have grasped for steadiness.

They sit there for an infinite amount of time, their cry's filling the room, blood leaking like rivers across wooden floors, and broken glass glittering like snow all around them.