Phil sat on his bed. Tears streamed in rivers down his face, but he didn't make any noise. He sat there, paralyzed, phone pressed against his ear. His eyes looked at the painting on the wall without seeing the dark figure surrounded by flames depicted on it. His own world was now collapsing, going down in flames. He was held back by Chris's voice coming out of the cell phone in his hand, captured by the dark twists and turns of his own mind telling him to stay, telling him to wake up and stop dreaming, telling him it was alright... He suddenly realized, it wasn't a dream. This was real. His friends were out there somewhere. And Dan was…
'Dan', he whispered, a look of sheer terror quickly spread on his now even paler face. The phone slipped out of his hand and hit the bed with a soft thump.
Phil rushed out of his bedroom, grabbing his coat and keys on the way to the door. He jumped of the stairs, taking them three at a time. He made it outside in a record tempo. Not even checking the front door twice before racing onto the street. The world shot past him in a blur of black and grey. Cars abruptly stopping, angry drivers yelling at him, people jumping aside. But he just ran, he ran as fast as he could, not wanting to believe he was already late. One little phrase echoed through his head over and over again: "For a last goodbye…"
A last goodbye. He didn't want to say goodbye, it was such a cold word. A word that meant never seeing each other again, being alone. Unfortunately, he had nothing else to offer now. All he had left for the person he had given his love, his attention, his everything, were seven meaningless letters. Why hadn't he heard his phone ringing? He could have helped, he could have… Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the pavement, shocked by his own thoughts. It wasn't his fault, was it?
The black haired boy shook his head and started running even faster than before. Just three more streets. His mind was now clear of any thought. Except for those eyes. Big, loving, brown eyes that pleaded him to come. He tried to push just a little bit harder, he had to go faster. Two streets left. Black dots clouded his vision. One more street. Should he slow down? No! He could see the hospital already. He was almost there.
Phil stumbled through the doors, totally out of breath. He was panting, trying to recover from his race across the streets. It was a miracle how he managed to get out the words: 'I'm looking for my friend, Dan Howell." The reception girl – who was most likely only 17 or 18 – started typing on the keyboard of the massive computer in front of her, but she wasn't quick enough. In fact, she was almost agonizingly slow.
'Come on', Phil said impatiently, 'Hurry up!' The girl ignored him and kept on typing. The sound of her long purple fingernails made a clicking noise that sounded like 21 guns being fired all at the same time. It echoed endlessly in the small and silent room. After a short while she pointed at a dark pink double door. 'Third floor, room 594', she said in a voice that reminded Phil of his old history teacher. He shot her a death glare and still yelled a quick 'thank you!' over his shoulder. He doubted she heard him though, since he was already halfway up the stairs.
Twenty seconds later he came to a skipping stop before the door of Dan's room. After a soft knock a young nurse with a lot of brown curls came out. She must have recognized the look of intense worry on his face, since she just stepped aside, letting the exhausted boy pass. Before he entered, she stretched out her arm.
'You are just in time', her voice was strange and deep, with a strong accent to it. 'Keep in mind you can't stay for too long, visitor's hour is over soon.' Phil nodded and walked into the room, feeling the door being closed behind him.
When he saw Dan lying there, chocolate brown eyes forever closed; he knew it wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. No, it was much and much worse. The full realization of what had happened struck him out of nowhere. He would never hear Dan's voice again. Never again feel that warmth beside him, staying with him until morning came. Never again just enjoy each other's company. They had never needed words to know what was going through the other's head. Phil collapsed next to the bed and started to cry. Terrible, heart shattering sobs that filled the room with an intense sadness. And Phil's last bit of hope faded. The hope that maybe… just maybe Chris was wrong. That Dan's heart was still beating. But as he lay there, with his head on his boyfriend's chest, and instead of the usual strong beating heard nothing but a strangely empty echo of what once was. He knew that he was wrong. He would never again feel those arms around him, never again… never again… As the tears still streaming down his face landed on Dan's black, bloodstained shirt, all he had left inside was a gaping black hole. And a shimmering, a shimmering made of all the good times they had together, mixed with the words he could never say enough, and now repeated for the last time.
I love you Dan…