Phil hadn't brought up Dan's cutting since the day he'd found out. He didn't know what to say, or what to do, or even how to handle it. He wanted Dan to get help, but he knew that Dan probably wouldn't respond well to professionals sitting him down in a room and grilling him about his behaviour, but if he didn't… what would happen? The last person that Phil knew that hurt himself… he couldn't even think about it. He figured that Dan was really good at keeping this secret of his on the down low, especially since he hadn't seen Dan hurt himself, or any sign or trace of having hurt himself, since that Sunday morning. He wasn't careless or stupid enough to think that Dan would have just stopped because Phil had seen his tortured arms and cried. He'd cried. He felt so horrible for crying. He shouldn't have reacted like that, he should have offered his support to Dan, but instead Dan had offered Phil comfort in his arms. He just didn't know how to tell Dan that he was there for him.

Twelve days passed, Dan was distant again, but not cold, and Phil had noticed that while there was a string of girls in and out of their room all week, as was usual for Dan, there weren't as many of them. Over the course of the almost-fortnight, there had only been 4 girls that Phil saw, which stood as quite a dramatic decline for Dan. Phil wasn't sure how Dan did it. Was Dan really that charming? He knew some of the girls, they weren't stupid, and so Phil assumed Dan must've had SOMETHING going for him that he was unaware of. Or maybe it was the rumour that had made its way back to Phil, somehow, that Dan was extremely good in bed. Divine, even. When he'd heard that from one of the girls in class as she was telling PJ, he had to stifle a laugh. He wasn't sure why it was funny, but it certainly was. Phil's thoughts were disrupted by the beeping of the keypad at the door; it was Dan. Dan tossed him a piece of paper on his way through to his bed and dropped down onto it pathetically, adding a sigh for dramatic effect,
"What's this?" Phil said, unfolding the white, A4 sheet to read whatever was printed on it.
"It's my assignment," Dan said softly, folding himself into his bed and making himself comfortable with his pillows and duvet,
"And why is it in my hands?"
"Because I thought you'd like it," Dan mumbled just loud enough for Phil to hear, "Don't read it now, though." Phil nodded and folded the paper back up, sliding it onto his bedside table.
"How are you?" Phil asked before the nerve to do so left him,
"I'm good," Dan nodded from within his cocoon of bedclothes,
"Are you?"
"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Dan looked over at him,
"Because… you know…" Phil said, almost incomprehensible. Dan rolled onto his side to look at Phil better, "And, um… you haven't had as many visits from your girlfriends. I don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing with you, though…"
"I have better things to do with my time," Dan faked a smile, "Like, you know…"
"Drugs?" Phil finished his sentence for him.
"Do you know the names of anything, or do you just refer to it all collectively as 'drugs'?" Dan laughed,
"Of course I know the names of things," Phil frowned, "I just don't know what you take."
"Okay then. I do weed sometimes, not often, it's a bit lame honestly. Mostly it's just E, but sometimes I'll do ice or something. No big deal,"
"No big deal?" Phil repeated, a query in his tone, "Look, Dan… I know it's not a big deal for you, but it's not safe…
"Don't worry about me, okay?"
"No, I'm going to worry. You're my friend and I care about you!"
"You're my- We're… we're friends?" Dan faltered, and Phil observed the look of confusion on his face. He looked almost flattered and surprised.
"Well, yes. Now that I'm at a place where I can believe that you're not going to break my bones," Phil joked to him with a laugh, "Don't you think so?"
"Does it matter what I think?" Dan shrugged,
"Of course it does, Dan. What are you talking about?"
"I just… I didn't know that you saw us as friends… I haven't exactly always been nice to you," Dan bit the inside of his lip and thought back to the dozens of times he'd made mean comments to his new friend. His eyes became a little foggy and he blinked a few times to clear them, though it was to no avail. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a friend that didn't demand for him to get drunk, or high, or do other stupid things with them, he couldn't remember the last time someone had shown that they legitimately care about him.
"Dan," Phil said, getting up and walking over to him, "Are you crying?"
"No," Dan shook his head,
"Are you okay?" Phil asked, sitting by him and letting in a deep breath,
"I am, yeah- I'm… I'm- thank you," Dan's bottom lip quivered for a moment before the first tears began to fall and he laughed, "Now- now I'm crying."

Phil lent onto Dan and enveloped him into a hug, feeling Dan let out a shuddered breath,
"I'm here for you, alright?" Phil said, and Dan nodded his head. "I just want you to be okay, because you have so much potential, Dan. So much. You're not a bad person, you just act like it sometimes because… I don't know why, actually, but you're nowhere near as bad as you think you are, and don't you dare doubt me on that." Dan rolled over in Phil's embrace and hugged him back, pushing thoughts of how weird this entire scenario was. It wasn't normal for Dan to show affection, not this kind of affection, to people. "Dan, I think we need to talk."
"Only if you get off me and get in," he said, shuffling himself closer to the wall to make room for Phil and lifting the covers. Phil smiles at the boy and climbs under the duvet, a more than a little surprised when Dan, puffy-eyed, tear-stained Dan, wraps his arms around his waist and hides his face in Phil's chest, still clearly very emotional.
"Have you ever… gotten help before?" Phil asked hesitantly, Dan pulls his head up and looks at him, his face painted with an expression that Phil couldn't put his finger on,
"…Yes."
"Is there a reason you don't now?"
"Because," Dan said, thinking of how to phrase it, "I don't like it. They make me feel like I'm… less than them, and everyone else because I..."
"I'm sorry…"
"I'm not addicted to using, you know," Dan told him, "I hate to sound cliché, but I don't have to do it. I can stop. I just don't want to,"
"What about drinking?" Phil humoured him. He didn't know if Dan was addicted or not, he didn't know if Dan would even know if he was addicted, so he decided to skip right to the alcohol.
"I don't drink as much as you think," Dan laughed, "Trust me,"
"Okay," Phil nodded with an encouraging smile. Dan was surprised. In the past, literally anyone that he'd spoken to about this kind of thing with would argue and deny whatever Dan would say, but Phil hadn't.
"Wait. You believe me?" He asked, shocked,
"Should I not?" Phil frowned at him,
"No, no! You should! I just didn't think you would…" There was silence for a moment before both of them heard shouting from the next room. Chris and PJ's room, to be exact. Phil took in a deep breath and swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth,
"I used to have a friend that hurt himself," Phil stated abruptly. "We were really close…"
"Were?" Dan breathed. Was that the reason they were no longer friends? Was this going to be Phil's way of saying that if he didn't stop, they wouldn't be friends anymore?
"Yeah. Were."
"Why aren't you- how come you're not friends now?" Dan asked cautiously, noting the distinct look in Phil's eyes, the look at told him that soon the two of them would be wet-eyed and cuddling in bed together like… like…
"Because it's very hard to be friends with someone after attending their funeral." Phil's voice was cold and hard, but inside his chest, his heart was breaking all over again, "He's dead."