It is raining.
Cold and heavy, drop after drop hits the window in front of my face, streaking the glass and blurring the street below.
I shake my head and stand up. Sitting here is doing nothing.
But what can I do? He'd made it very clear. Very clear that he was gone.
"Phil," I whisper. My throat tightens. Why is it so difficult to say? It's just a name.
Just a name.
But it isn't, and I know it. It's a name that brought me all the happiness in the world. It's a name that consoled, comforted and supported me more times than I could count. It's a name that was always there, my first port of call, my best friend.
It's a name that is no longer mine to speak.
I swallow hard and close my eyes in an attempt to avoid the tears, but it's too late. I feel the warm, salty beads streak from under my eyelids and drop off my chin. Why bother to stop them.
Your fault, your fault. My thoughts won't leave me alone. They're swallowing me, smothering me. I shove my hands over my mouth and breathe in short, panicked gasps. Of course, it's my fault, I know that. I only wish it wasn't.
TWO DAYS EARLIER
I sighed and put down the phone. Phil was ill for the second day in a raw, leaving me at work all alone. I didn't mind that particularly, it wasn't like I didn't like anyone else there. But Phil always made things a little more entertaining.
I left the room, shaking my head. "He's still ill," I called. From the room next door I heard a groan.
"You'll have to work on it yourself, then. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll just follow along on Sunday. If he's better."
"Yeah, ok. Sure."
Humming softly, I closed the door and jogged down the stairs. The day was hot and I was thirsty. I'd start the work in a minute. But I did feel weird doing it on my own. Why was Phil ill again? I didn't like working on the shows alone, I was always scared I'd do something wrong and overstep the line. Phil was the careful one, I was more reckless. Together, we balanced each other out.
The kitchen was a small but modern room near the bottom of the building. I reached the bottom of the stairs opposite the kitchen and stopped. The door had been pushed ajar to allow air to circulate around the building, but that wasn't what stopped me. There was a tall man inside, bending over the sink. I frowned. I was sure I'd never seen him before. That wasn't normally unusual, but if he was my senior he shouldn't really be making his own coffee, it should be got for him, and new runners were generally not allowed in this building.
I raised my hand to my mouth and coughed lightly.
The man at the sink jumped and dropped the mug he'd been washing up. "Oh I'm sorry!" He laughed nervously. "I didn't see you."
I laughed. "Don't worry. I, um, haven't seen you round here before. What's your name?"
"Adam," He said. "Adam Sanchez. I'm a new runner."
"Hey Adam. I'm-"
"I know who you are. You're Dan Howell."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Sorry." He grinned sheepishly. "I've seen your show. Nice work, by the way."
"Um, thanks." I smiled. "You want a coffee or something?"
"No thanks, dude."
"Ok."
We stayed in silence while I made the coffee. I didn't know what he wanted; was he a fan? Did he want a picture? Should I be talking to him? Shit. If Phil was here he'd know.
When I was done, I picked up my mug and backed out towards the door. "Nice to meet you, Adam."
"Yeah, and you." He reached out his hand with the intent of shaking mine, but just as he did so I began to turn away. His hand shot out and hit the coffee mug, spilling hot liquid everywhere.
"Shit!" He muttered. "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry. Here-"
He grabbed a tea towel from the counter and lifted up my T- Shirt. "This should get it off. I'm sorry. I'm sure you really didn't need this…it's not like you need to be any hotter, after all." He flashed me a grin.
"What?"
Smirking, he dropped my T- Shirt. "You heard me."
Shit. "Yeah. Um. Adam, I'm flattered, but I, uh, have a boyfriend.."
The instant it was out of my mouth I regretted it. "I mean- I'm in a relationship-"
But he was already smiling again. "A boyfriend, is it?"
"Yes."
"Would he be, by any chance, the illustrious Philip Lester?"
I narrowed my eyes. "That's none of your business."
"I'm sorry." Suddenly he was back to the sweet, smiley man he'd been before. Innocently, he reached out and put his finger onto my face, slowly tracing my jawline. His eyes, a swirling caramel blend, drew me in, rendering me useless. He was so close that I could smell his aftershave, see the stubble on his chin. Coming closer, closer…
"No!" I shouted. "No. I won't. I can't."
His face fell. "Dan, come on."
"No."
"It's just a bit of fun, Dan. Come on. He's not ever going to know unless you tell him." He leaned in again, his eyes half closed and glinting in the sunlight.
The second time, I didn't resist.
