Phil woke up to an empty bed- not completely unusual, some times Dan would get up earlier than him or end up falling asleep on the couch, curled up around his laptop. Phil rolled over, nuzzling his face into the pillow, yawning widely. He wriggled further under the sheets, not wanting the morning to start just yet.

'Dan?' He called out. There was no response so he yelled a bit louder, 'DAN?'

Maybe he'd gone down to the shops. He didn't usually go anywhere so early but… Phil was asleep in moments, too tired to reasonably figure out where Dan might or really worry at all.

It was only when he woke up an hour later, sitting bolt upright at the completely silent house, when he began to panic.

Checking his phone, there were no messages from Dan earlier than when he was on his way home two days ago, asking if they needed anything from the shops. He bolted out of bed and ran to the couch, the spare bedroom, anywhere that Dan might be- but he was no where to be found. He called out his name several times, but nothing and no one responded.

Heading back to their room and dressing, he quickly texted all his friends, asking if they knew were Dan was or when they'd last heard from him, and then got dressed quickly and did a second sweep of the apartment, on the off chance that he'd fallen asleep somewhere and hadn't heard him calling yet.

After the house, he headed to town, as if convinced that if he went to their favourite cafés, shops, even the places they stopped to sit sometimes, maybe Dan would just be there waiting for him? He kept catching sight of tall boys with black hair, and his heart would race for just a moment, before he noticed everything about them which made them not Dan, their eyes were the wrong colour, the hair too short, too muscly; and every time his heart would just sink further.

When he finally got back to the apartment hours later, after searching every single place they'd ever visited together within walking distance, he was windswept, exhausted and distraught. Sitting down onto the couch, close to tears from frustration and worry, he had a sudden thought to try contact Dan's parents. He had made it all the way to the contact on his phone and was just about to press call when he suddenly heard a knock on the front door.

Jumping up from the couch, his phone falling to the ground with a noisy clatter, he all but ran to the door and wrenched it open.

When he saw Chris standing there, his heart and face dropped- for one second he had thought the entire morning had been his anxiety playing with him and that Dan would be at the door with a simple explanation and a warm smile. But the look on Chris' face only made him feel worse than he had moments earlier, particularly as Chris let himself in and took Phil solemnly to the couch, in a very un-Chris-like manner.

It was an awkward scene, neither looking the other in the eye or saying anything, until Chris finally piped up and asked if Phil had eaten anything yet.

'No?' Phil was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. 'Is that important?'

Chris looked conflicted and made to stand up, 'I'll make you a sandwich or something, shall I?' Phil grabbed his arm before he could leave, pulling him back down onto the couch with strength he didn't know he had.

'You know something.' It wasn't a question; it was a statement, a demand.

Chris looked uneasy, 'I think you need to have some food in you before we go any further, you must be completely drained, Alex said you've been all over town.'

'Tell me.'

Phil's stare was cold, but desperate. Chris knew he had no other choice and reaching into his pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper with a scrawled message on one side.

'I found this at my door this morning, it wasn't there last night when I got home, he must have slid it under the door or something…'

Phil grabbed it, flipping it over to see that the other side was the title page to Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, with Dan Howell written in the handwriting of a much younger boy on the top right-hand corner. Looking up at Chris, whose face was blank, he turned it over again and read:

Going away for a bit. Please don't follow me, I'll just move

If you really need me:

Chelsea Highline Hostel
184 11th Avenue
New York

Dan

Phil felt his entire body freeze. It was definitely Dan's handwriting. New York?

He flipped the page over again, as if hoping to find another secret message of explanation, saying why he'd left, how long he'd be gone, why he hadn't said a word to Phil- why he hadn't taken Phil with him.

'I'm so sorry Phil..' Chris reached out and put a hand on his Phil's shoulder, but Phil hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were just scanning over the words before him, going away for a bit. This was madness, a bad dream, it couldn't really be happening.

He didn't realize he was crying until Chris pressed a tissue into his hand and he suddenly became aware of the cold tears trailing down his cheeks. Bringing up his knees, he curled up on the couch, unconsciously mimicking the way Dan sometimes fell asleep in that very same spot. But Phil was not thinking of that, he wasn't thinking of anything except trying to understand why Dan was gone, and why he hadn't come back yet.

He hardly noticed Chris pulling a sheet over him, murmuring words of comfort. The apartment grew dark as day turned to night, but Phil didn't move, the note clenched in his hand, his eyes wide and haunted.