Dan looked out the window, thoughts as cold and grey as the clouds outside. I don't have a job, my friends don't know I exist and the love of my life disappeared thinking I don't need him. I don't have anything. He grit his teeth. I don't have anything without Phil. With clenched fists, he paced over to the wardrobe, the very thing, it seemed, that had caused this turn of events. CRASH! Dan winced as his hand met glass, and the mirror in the wardrobe shattered.
Picking up a piece of the mirror, he held it to his wrist. Blood trickled down his fingers, falling like rain to the carpet below. Tears pricked his eyes. Living wasn't worth the heartache anymore. The shower of blood pooled on the floor in ominous puddles. Blackness dulled the edges of his vision, and he let go of the glass. With a final tear that trickled down his cheek, Dan Howell fell back against the wall.
Icy black pressed in from all sides, making him shiver. He couldn't see, could barely even think. Sluggishly, Dan's mind tried to understand what had happened. I'm supposed to be dead. What's going on? He tried to reach out and feel where he was, but his hands met only ruff carpet. Very familiar, ruff carpet. Warmth spread through him, and he blinked his eyes open to the golden glow of his flat with sunlight pouring in the window. But the warmth that he could feel around him wasn't caused only by the sun. A strange certainty crept over him. Dan peered around the dark, wooden wardrobe and froze. The mirror, which reflected himself clearly, was still intact.
Dread chilled his blood, and he called out tentatively, "Phil?" Hope, seemingly useless hope, warmed him. "Phil?" Now praying, Dan sidestepped the wardrobe and looked around. "PHIL!?" Suddenly, there was a small scraping noise. "ROAR!" The mirrored doors flew open and Phil climbed out. Dan stared uncomprehendingly at his friend, his features blank. Phil, gasping with laughter, met his eyes. A slow smile crept over Dan. "Did you get in the wardrobe?" He asked sceptically. Phil, clearly pleased with his joke, smiled happily in reply.
A whisper, barely loud enough to hear, murmured far back in Dan's mind. Always be grateful for what you have. Sometimes, though, don't question too much. He shook his head, thanking whom or whatever had made this possible. With a glance down at his wrists, he murmured. "A world without Phil is not one I want to live. After all, I wouldn't even be living it if not for him."