Hi. I´m sorry.

Message not delivered.

Please call me.

Message not delivered.

I´m sorry, please call me.

Message not delivered.

I´m taking off soon, I´ll be at home in like a few hours.

Message not delivered.

Please call me, I just landed.

Message not delivered.

Open the door, please. It´s cold and I can´t find my key.

Message delivered.

The door opens and he looks into this familiar eyes, this somewhat perfect face, the face that makes his stomach turn over and his smile grow ten sizes.

But right now, these eyes only have hate for him, strong hate, and hurt, and he can´t even be angry about it because he deserves it and he knows he deserves it; and it feels weird, because he knows what he has done. Maybe he should turn around and go right back to America, to Troye and Tyler again.

But there is no turning back now, so he just gets out his phone and writes a message to the boy across from him.

Hey.

Message delivered.

He looks at Phil, who is taking out his phone, looking at the message shortly, before talking.

" That´s stupid and you know it. Just get in the flat, I´m tired. By the way, I turned up the heater in your room, so it isn´t so cold in there for you to sleep." Phil says, and he frowns. There hasn´t been his room before he left of.

Can we talk about this, please?

Message delivered.

" You´re stupid, Dan. Just bring your things in, we can talk about this...later. I´ll be in my room. Sleep well." Phil says, turning around.

Phil, I´m sorry.

Message not delivered.

Can you please not walk away?

Message not delivered.

I´m sorry. Can I sleep with you tonight or...?

Message not delivered.

He stands up, walking into the flat, carrying his things behind him, and is suprised when there is everything the same in his room, it only is warmer. He is a bit happy, but he misses the time before he flew to America for two weeks.

He plops down in his bed, and he can hear muffled screams from the other side of his room, he can hear muffled crying, and he is crying to, taking out his phone again, writing messages, but the crying just continues.

Phil.

Message not delivered.

I´m sorry.

Message not delivered.

Phil

Message not delivered.

Let me explain.

Message delivered.

stop. Just, stop Dan. I´m deleting your number.

He lets out a muffled scream, his eyes widening, and he cries again, burying his head in his pillow, crying so loud it hurts inside his throath, but he deserves all of this, and even more. He is a cruel, terrible person.

He deserves this.

Phil?

Message not delivered.

Okay, I guess you really deleted my number.

Message not delivered.

Phil?

Message not delivered.

He closes his eyes, his tears dripping onto his phone as he types again, just typing what he feels.

I love you.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Message not delivered.