Shoutarou could remember every detail of his time spent with Phillip. He remembered the rage he felt at the boy for the first year. How he blamed himself, Phillip, the world for the boss's death and how his anger had always just been lurking under the surface.
He remembered the day he had finally given in and made his uneasy truce with the strange kid that now lived in his garage, the strange kid that he needed to transform into W. They had stared at each other uncertainly until Shoutarou had quietly extended his hand and after a few minutes of uncomfortable staring Phillip had finally taken it. That day had entwined more than just their lives.
He remembered the first time he had felt the fear of possibly losing Phillip. How the boy had freaked out at the mention of family while fighting the money dopant and the right side of the mask had gone dark. A wave of panic had welled up in his throat and choked off his voice as he had desperately tried to make contact with his partner again. The boss's death had played over and over again in his mind until all he could see was Phillip dead instead. When the screen had finally popped back to life he had felt the breath he had been unconsciously holding in his lungs leave his relief had been so strong.
He didn't know when his feelings for Phillip had changed but they had and now they were heavier than anything he had ever felt before. They weighed him down like a lead balloon on his chest, compressing his lungs and heart until he felt like he was going to pass out. But when Phillip smiled or he heard the boy laugh that lead balloon lost some of its air and he could finally relax.
As Shoutarou looked around the quiet darkened office he felt his heart breaking under the pressure of the balloon. The end to their beginning had come too soon and he was lost. W was gone, the right to his left having disappeared only a few hours earlier into a puff of data and now he was alone. The box that Phillip had given him the night before still sat unopened on his desk and as he reached for it with shaking fingers he could feel tears gathering behind his eyes. He stared down at the top, his vision getting blurrier and blurrier until eventually he had to put the box down for fear of throwing it across the room in a fit. Maybe someday he would be strong enough to open it, to finally write the end on their story, but for now Shoutarou needed to believe that there was more and that the author had just gotten writer's block.