Alone Together

Such a Bad Friend

Dan never asked Phil why he had been sobbing that day, and Phil was indescribably grateful.

For weeks after, Phil pleaded with Friend. Friend never once answered. Almost constantly, Phil was talking to Friend, begging for a response, failing to get one. Friend wouldn't talk to him. Phil felt so guilty. He was so sorry. He didn't mean to hurt Friend-all he had ever cared about was Friend's feelings. That's why he hadn't told him sooner. Phil couldn't decide if it would have been better if he had, or if Friend would have left just that much sooner.

Phil knew they weren't strictly friends anymore, but he didn't have anything else to call Friend. Yet he still made sure not to address him as Friend when he could hear him. This hurt Phil. All he wanted was for Friend to be his again.

Please, just talk to me.

Nothing

Come on, you haven't spoken in weeks.

Silence

Please.

No response

No matter what I do I can't get out of my head, and it feels so empty.

Emptiness

You've been there for years. I can't...

Void

Fine. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye. I hope you're happy with your love.

Phil started crying again. It had been twenty-two days since Friend had left. He had counted. He had counted the minutes till they turned to hours, and the hours till they turned to days. He had counted the time since he had lost what meant most to him.

Despite the wetness of his face, the leaking of his tear ducts, for the first time in three weeks Phil's mind went blissfully blank. He wasn't thinking coherent thoughts. He wasn't talking to Friend. His mind was just blank. Sad, tired, and blank.

Phil felt himself falling asleep, and in that moment he didn't care if it was two pm. In that moment he was just completely exhausted, emotionally and physically(the physical aspect of talking to Friend, using the inexplicable telepathic link as excessively as Phil had been lately was quite grueling).

As he drifted off to a blissfully dreamless slumber, Phil felt the thought I still love Friend echo numbly in his mind. He wasn't sure if Friend had heard it or not. He didn't particularly care.

* * * * *

Phil reckoned that since Friend was gone, he probably should've grown closer to Dan. He probably should've recuperated his efforts in YouTube, the book and tour, the radio show, and his now only best friendship. But of course he hadn't done that. Of course he had just let himself slip farther and farther into his head, trying desperately to cling onto Friend. Who could blame him? He loved Friend as much as one person could love another, and the absence of the voice inside his head, the comfort it brought him, hurt like hell.

Phil woke up with a mild headache, but he wasn't feeling quite as bad as he had for most of the past three weeks. Trying to at least pull himself out of his head, if not into the real world, Phil pulls over his laptop. He opens various social media sites, and finds a constant theme. Everyone is asking what's wrong. Everyone had noticed how sad Phil was in his liveshows, how uncharacteristically unenthusiastic he was on the radio show. Tumblr and Twitter and YouTube comments were all dripping with concern.

Though there was something that came as a bit of a shock to Phil. Despite the fact that there was definitely much more concern and curiosity geared towards his state of distress, many people had noticed Dan's as well. Apparently Dan looked tired, and wasn't as happy as usual. There was probably more sympathy for Phil only because he appeared more sad, while Dan appeared tired.

The more that he thought about it, Dan had looked tired lately. He didn't look all too happy. He seemed down. Phil may be lower, but he internally beat himself up for not seeing that Dan was less okay than normal.

I'm so stupid Phil thought. I am such a bad friend. I never notice when anything's wrong, I've been so damn selfish. No one wants to be my friend, and I don't blame them. What am I good for? I need so much more support than I can give sometimes. How had I not noticed?

Phil felt fresh tears start to fall down his cheeks, but he barely registered the increasingly familiar feeling.

Dan didn't deserve to be stuck with him as a friend. Neither did Friend. No one deserved someone as awful as Phil.

But somehow Phil was still Dan's best friend. If he hadn't been there before, he would be now, Phil decided. He wiped his face off until the tears were gone and sniffled. There wasn't anything he could do about the dark circles under his eyes, but it wouldn't have made much of a difference. It was obvious to anyone who had seen him over the past few weeks that he had been crying.

"Dan?" He weakly called as he gathered all his little energy and walked down the hall to the lounge.

He saw the brunette's head snap up and to look at him, surprised. While they had talked over the past few weeks, an inevitability of living together and working together, Phil had put little to no effort into initiating communication.

Dan brushed his fringe out of his eyes, and for the first time in twenty-two days Phil took a deep breath and met his gaze. Blue eyes locked with brown. "Yeah, Phil? Everything okay?" Dan asked, and they both ignored how silly that question was. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Phil was far from okay.

He nearly laughed at the absurdity, but instead he just let himself genuinely smile for the first time in weeks. To Phil's sore face that had grown accustomed to frowning, it felt like the first time he had ever smiled. "No. But that's not why I'm here. Dan, are you okay? I've been... I haven't been the best friend lately, I've been so selfish. So distant, so caught up in my own problems, I didn't even notice when you started to look less than happy. I... I hope you can forgive me."

Dan blinked, seemingly shocked at the question. He just sighed, and Dan actually did laugh. Though it wasn't a laugh filled with humor, the one Phil was used to hearing. It was tired. Phil scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. "Dan?"

Dan looked at Phil like he had forgotten he was there. He put his laptop down next to him and held up his arms. "Come here, you big dork."

Phil sat down next to Dan on the sofa and accepted the hug. It was so warm, so comforting, and just what Phil needed. Phil felt guilty again, not wanting to accept any help, wanting to be a good friend and help Dan, but he figured pulling away would do more harm than good. And Phil wasn't sure he could move if he tried. It felt too good. There was so much love in the hug. Phil could feel how much Dan cared about him seeping through the layers of clothing. He felt luckier than ever to have a friend like Dan. Then Dan started whispering to him.

"Phil, I'm only worried about you. You've been so withdrawn. I can hear you crying all night. I know you haven't been sleeping as much as you should be. You're practically sleepwalking. The bags under your eyes are darker than my wardrobe," Dan mused. "Phil, you've been like this for weeks. You definitely shouldn't be worried about if I am okay."

Phil sighed. "Dan. Oh Dan. I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I worried you. I'm just... I'm just sorry."

Dan pulled away a bit, and he could practically see Dan's heart breaking through his expression. The amount of care on his face for his best friend unsurpassable, and Phil didn't even know how to react. It nearly broke his heart. "Phil, never be sorry. What the hell are you even sorry for? You've done nothing wrong. I'm just..." Dan rolled his eyes and pulled Phil back into his warm embrace. "I'm just so worried about you. I love you, Phil."

Phil practically melted. "I love you too, Dan. You're the best friend anyone could ever ask for. I don't deserve it," Phil responded as he tried and failed to melt deeper into the younger boy's clothes.

Then he felt Dan stiffen. Phil stopped melting, realizing that was probably really weird.

"Phil... Phil, I've got something to tell you," Dan said quietly as he pulled back enough to look at Phil.

"Yeah, Dan?"

Dan inhaled deeply and exhaled. He closed his eyes. He reopened them and met Phil's gaze. Brown on blue. Blue on brown.

"Phil..."