Dan, it's time to get a job. Your channel isn't going anywhere at this rate, he realized. But what do I do? I haven't had to worry about this in years. With a glance at the clock, he reprimanded himself. It's too late now, though. I can worry about that tomorrow. With a sigh, he dropped his dishes on the counter and stalked out of the room. He would have nothing to do online, he'd already checked, because if there was no danisnotonfire, there was no Twitter, no Facebook, no anything.
Pacing his bedroom floor wasn't as helpful without someone in the next room to hear. Dan was lost for what to do, though. Should he report Phil as missing? But there was no evidence he had ever existed, no one except Dan to remember him. Exhausted, Dan collapsed into bed, not bothering to turn off the lights. Just in case Phil gets home, he thought, even though he knew he just didn't want to turn them off himself.
Phil wasn't coming back, wherever he was. He had to accept that. He had to get on with his life. Tomorrow he would start fresh. He would look for job opportunities and work from there. Then, maybe, he could try YouTube again, once he had a steady income. Dan stood up and walked over to the window. Glowing lights and nighttime cityscape gazed back. Suddenly, the view turned fuzzy, and hot tears ran down Dan's cheeks.
Where are you? He thought, as he miserably scanned the glowing blobs of colour through his tears. I couldn't have just imagined you, Phil. I know, because you can't fall in love with your own imagination.