Phil's POV.

For a good few weeks after... After I'd come home, I felt drained. Completely void of energy or motivation. I tried my best for Dan, doing everything I could to show him that I was here and didn't plan on leaving him anytime soon, but it was exhausting. There were times when I could feel myself utterly zoned out, miles away from where I should be, and it was then that the guilt would set in. Constantly gnawing at my insides or hammering inside my skull, refusing to give me a minutes peace, it would remind me that I had no idea what I was doing. That I was completely unqualified and unable to help Dan properly. God knows it was all guesswork, instinct at best. I couldn't shake the overwhelming fear that it would be my fault if he got bad again, that I would never be able to get through to him. Every night, including this one, was sleepless for me now, and I found myself almost involuntarily hugging him or reaching for his hand just to check that he was here, alive.

Exhausting.

So goddamn tiring, being constantly on edge. Constantly terrified that I would somehow fuck things up for him, us... Everyone.

Maybe that was why I became hooked - dependent, actually - on painkillers to get me to sleep. They made everything quiet for just a while, long enough for me to slip into unconsciousness for an hour or two every night.

Maybe that was why Christmas passed unnoticed in our flat. Not a single decoration, phone call or present acknowledged.

And maybe that was why I'd taken to carving into my legs with a small penknife.

Never deep enough to bleed a lot, of course - that would be noticeable. Just enough that it hurt, reminded me not to go easy on myself because I had almost let my best friend die. It was something I never thought I'd do, but I guess life was fucking great like that, wasn't it?

Everything seemed to grind to a halt. I stopped live streaming when the viewers could no longer ignore my bleary eyes or slurred, unsteady movements and the concern became too much.

Phillip Lester, get your butt to bed, you look shattered!

Phil, I hope you're ok!xoxo

Phil, are you alright? Quick reminder that you are awesome and we love you!

No, no I wasn't. If only they knew...

Deep breath. It wasn't their fault. Of course, neither Dan or I had given any hint as to what had happened so all the fans had to go on was that we both looked awful. Most assumed we'd been working too hard on some kind of secret project and 'reassured' us that they were all happy to wait.

I wish.

I tried to forget about it all for just a moment, burying my face in my pillow and scowling as my eyes began to water. Today, like most days, had been endless of hours in which I felt as though I was holding my breath or balancing precariously on a knife edge. Like most days, except there had been an awful phone call with Dan's Mum. who had turned to me when Dan refused to pick up the phone.

I'd had to tell her.

How the hell do you tell a mother her child was so unhappy that he had tried to end his life without a word of warning?

You can't. She won't want to believe it. There'd been tears, of course. Anger - rage, even. Betrayal. Accusation. Most of all, pleading.

'Phil, you have to watch out for him. Don't leave him alone... Let him know that... that we love him. That we're here. And Phil, look after him. Just... Please. He won't let me, but... Somebody's got to take care of him.'

'So I'll quit work and that's what I'll do.' I replied simply, my voice flat and without argument. Like I'd ever give myself or consider any other choice.

And I had quit. Quit filming. Quit the radio show. Quit going live on YouNow after my last attempt at a live stream resulted in my staring wordlessly at the screen for 30 seconds before cancelling it and claiming I had had poor connection. In reality, I just didn't have the energy. I wasn't strong enough to shoulder the weight of Dan's suffering, my growing anxiety and the constant fear of failure on top of well meaning fans.

For fucks sake, stop wallowing you self absorbed prick, I thought angrily, turning onto my back and resigning myself to another night of staring at the ceiling. Searching for some distraction, some way to keep the panic and confusion at bay, I reached for my phone - just as it lit up, a message on the screen. Who the hell would be messaging me at... 3 in the morning?

Dan, of course.

Hobbit Hair: You awake?

Yh. Why?

Hobbit Hair: Can't sleep. Up for a trip next door?

... I guess. Be right there.

But I paused, for just a moment. Why would Dan want me to come to his room in the middle of the night? What would it mean if I went? Did I care at this point how much it would hurt either way?

Honestly? No. Not anymore. Dan wanted me and that was that. I pulled back my duvet and crept out of my room, not sure why I was bothering to be quiet when I knew that Dan was a) awake and b) expecting me. All too soon, I was pushing open his bedroom door and standing in its frame, paralysed with uncertainty for an endless second.

Dan's POV.

I'm not sure why I end up texting Phil. Every night since... he came home, I've resisted the temptation, ignored the childish need to have him next to me, hands in mine or arms pulling me close. Every night I've told myself to get over my own selfish, clingy wants, but I'm done. I'm not strong enough to be alone right now.

I'm not sure I ever will be, and that makes it slightly easier to swallow the sudden rush of panic., shrug off the juvenile impulse to feign sleep when all too soon my door is opened. I bolt upright, running a hand through my hair and bring my knees to my chest as, for an infinite moment, Phil and I are seemingly suspended in indecision, speechless.

Shit.

Have I just completely fucked up?

'Sorry, I don't know why... God, this is fucking stupid... I mean, you don't have to -' I stammer, feeling my cheeks flush in shame and guilt. Phil doesn't deserve this, deserves more than a constant stream of mixed messages.

'Dan, shut up.' He replies bluntly, and even though his voice is rough with fatigue, I can almost hear his eyes roll.

'Right. Sorry. Um, do you want to sit down?'

'No shit Sherlock.' Phil manages, the words almost smothered by a yawn, and I can't help but smile at the familiar note of teasing sarcasm in his voice., 'Move up then.'

So I do, and then he's there, next to me, under the covers and so close that one side of his body rests against mine. He's warmer than me, and I feel an almost uncomfortable heat begin to suffocate us, radiating to my fingertips and washing away every coherent thought until I'm floating, not sure whether my eyes are open or closed, whether or not I am still upright...

I fall into an almost trance-like state, caught between total darkness and dreams so vivid, so perturbing that they may as well have been hallucinations

Bad timing, Dan. I attempt to shake off the drowsiness and force my eyes open, realising as I do that I am lying down, curled on my side with Phil's arm across my shoulder. We are so close that our foreheads may as well be pressed together rom-com style.

Fuck.

I feel my breath hitch in my throat and quickly move my hand to cover my mouth and muffle the exclamation. Of course, it's too late: Phil's eyes fly open, instantly meeting mine as he blinks away the remnants of sleep.

'Another nightmare? You're safe Dan, it's fine. Just go back to sleep. I'm still here.' he murmurs sleepily, seemingly without thinking shifting to pull me closer.

'You are.' I whisper, and suddenly there are tears in my eyes. Through everything, whether or not I have been completely there to appreciate it, he's stayed with me. I will never be able to thank him enough, and I'm so goddamn grateful to have him on my side every time I need him, without question. He's so goddamn selfless, so instinctively caring...

And then I can't seem to help myself. Before I have time to demonstrate any sense of self control, I tilt my head to catch his lips with my own. The tension in every one of my muscles seems to drain as he returns the kiss, our mouths moving together in an unbearably soft, drowsy, clumsy way. My stomach swoops as I sink into the kiss, into his arms, into myself until I couldn't move if I tried and the whole world seems to fall away.

Fuck.

Is this actually happening? What have I just done?

Seized by a sudden sickening panic, I pull away and try and gauge from Phil's expression exactly what's going through his mind. I struggle to rein in the fear that I have just made the worst mistake of my life, but I'm not sure I succeed. I must look mildly horrified because Phil practically recoils, wincing in pain and anguish as I try and fail to meet his gaze or offer any explanation. He doesn't attempt to break the silence, instead hastily throwing back the covers and stumbling from the room and pretending that I didn't see him brushing away the beginnings of tears.

'Phil!' I call after him, knowing that I need to fix this fast. Try and explain that I just got overwhelmed, that I'll understand if he doesn't feel the same... Though it will be torture.

He doesn't reply, and I could've sworn that was the click of our door unlocking.

'Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshittingfuck.' I can't help but curse violently, realising just how bad this could become. I follow Phil as quickly as I can, tripping over my own feet in my hurry to throw on some shoes and race downstairs, practically sprinting out of our block of flats.

'Shit!' I yell as I stumble out onto the street, no sign of Phil or any idea where he might have gone. A blind terror begins to strangle me and I fight to control my breathing. 'Phil?' I try again desperately, pacing uncertainly before deciding to make a quick circuit of the streets surrounding our building. If I go full circle, I'm bound to run into him, aren't I?

And I'm right.

God I wish I wasn't, but... I'm right.

Around halfway through my hastily planned route, I notice a figure slumped in the entrance of a marrow side street from which a thick, greedy darkness seems to seep.

'Hello?' I call tentatively, briefly scanning the area for anyone else. My pace quickens and within seconds I'm running, praying with every fibre of my being that it will be some random junkie sleeping off a high, anyone but -

'Phil!' I scream, crouching beside him and lifting his head a little to see if he's conscious. At the sudden jolt, he groans and his eyes, for a brief second, open. My legs almost give way, and I feel a dizzying, lightheaded sense of relief. Thank Christ, he's still here. As my heart rate gradually slows, my eyes adjust to the darkness and I am horrified by the bruises covering the ashen skin, sickened by the blood coating his hairline, streaming from his mouth.

Who the hell did this to you, Phil? Why couldn't you wait just one goddamn second?

'Phil?' I try one last time, squeezing his hand and gently shaking his shoulder - but there's still no response. With a strength I didn't know I had, I haul myself up and fold him into my arms, trying not to cause him any further pain as I begin the walk back to our flat. From there, I have already planned without realising, I can safely assess just how badly he's hurt and safely take care of him or call an ambulance if necessary.

Goddamn it Phil, it better fucking not be.

Please wake up. Please don't leave me.