Warning: This is sad. There will be character deaths. If you are sensitive to suicide, self harm or eating disorders, do not read. This is a one-shot. It will not be continued. Completely fictional.
Phil couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. He couldn't go on hating himself. He couldn't go on thinking that he was the biggest waste of space ever. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror. He couldn't go on pretending to smile. He couldn't hide his scars anymore. He couldn't go keep throwing up everything he ate if he even ate at all. Dan tried to help him. He truly did. He told him how important he was. He hugged him when he cried. He told him just how beautiful he was. He snuggled him. He kissed him whenever he woke up crying. He held his hand during therapy. He hid his blades. He made him feel as loved as he possible could. But that wasn't enough, because one night, Dan had gone out to get some groceries and when he came back, he found Phil dead on the bathroom floor with an empty pill bottle in hand and pills scattered around him. Dan's heart was broken. The love of his life was gone. He couldn't help but feel that it was his fault. He visited Phil's grave every day until he decided that he couldn't do it anymore either. One Friday night, when the streets were still busy, Dan stood on the edge of an overpass. He stood, waiting until the right time. The world seemed to stand still for a minute. He jumped in front of a large truck that killed him on impact. He and Phil would finally be together again. Forever.