Phil's POV.

I try not to take offence to Dan's expression when he sees me. I try not to take it personally when his face falls and his jaw sets angrily.

I try not to show my concern when I note his shaking hands, the scratches and tear tracks that mark his cheeks, and I really, really, try to control the impulse to hug him, to run my hands through his sweat-drenched curls.

Or kiss him.

Honest, I try.

For the most part I'm successful; I give his shoulder what I hope is a reassuring squeeze before taking a step back, giving him space. I lounge as nonchalantly as I can against the sinks, shoving my hands in my pockets to try and defuse some tension (and not, I tell myself, just because if I didn't I might be tempted to hold his hands or something equally as embarrassing).

'Are you ok?' I ask, the words falling clumsily in the silence. For a moment, they sit there, sloppy and awkward, and I wonder if he'll acknowledge them at all.

'Are we talking now?' He counters, and the shiver in his words makes their attempted bitterness easier to ignore. 'Sure I don't repulse you?'

'Of course you don't.' I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. 'If you did, I wouldn't have followed you, and I definitely wouldn't be asking how you were.'

'Doesn't matter how I am. No need for you to care.' Dan replies with a small shrug, and I watch as he steps towards the sink next to me, refusing to meet my eyes as he splashes his face with cool water.

'But I do.' I say, turning so that I meet his gaze in the mirror. He must find it easier to talk to my reflection, because when I ask again, 'Are you ok?', he hesitantly picks the words up.

'No. No, I'm not ok.'

I can almost hear the snap inside him as whatever was holding him together breaks.

'Ok. Want to talk about it?'

'With you? Sure.' He scoffs, instantly on the defensive.

'Fine. I'm not going to force you. All I'll say is this: I can see you're in pain, I can see you've been through more than anyone our age ever should have, and I'm here. If you need anyone… I'm here.'

I nearly walk away.

I'm supposed to walk away – but then Dan opens his mouth and bites back:

'You don't 'see' anything, you pretentious prick.'

And I almost explode.

Clearly, I'm not going to get anywhere with this boy unless I'm completely honest with him.

'I see a lot,' I begin carefully, 'like… things not everyone else does.' I add, deliberately raising one eyebrow in an almost challenging way. In spite of his snapping, I can see that Dan's intrigued.

'Like what?'

'Like… colours. Auras, emotions, stories.' I try to explain, knowing I sound crazy, but unable to stop now I've started – there's something about this kid I trust.

'Uh-huh. And I see dead people.' He snorts, sending himself up as he mimics the famous movie line.

'I'm serious.' I say, laughing myself now. 'I mean it!'

'So Sherlock,' Dan begins, considering me carefully, 'what's my story?'

'Are you testing me now?' I tease, feeling my vision go blurry as, without even thinking about it, I try to see through his colours. If I concentrate, I should start to see shapes, pictures… little glimpses of this stranger's life.

'I suppose I am.' He says, and my lip quirks at his cocky tone.

'Give me a minute.' I reply; I can't see Dan anymore, just the all-consuming black cloud around him and the feeble sparks of gold trying to break through. Before long, pictures start to form. I see gashes of light bleeding through, row after row of neat… lines? Streaks? Cuts.

Cuts.

I see a tiny, skeletal frame drowning in the gashes, dodging blow after blow from above. He cowers, this figure, and then he's gone, smothered by a sudden rush of smoke. When it settles, the ashes aren't ashes; it's dirt. Soil, a huge heap, growing and growing and growing – and now there's two figures. Two boys. The scene takes on a silvery glow, and I know I'm seeing a glimpse of something coming. One of the boys beats at the soil, desperately hurling it as far away as he can, and the other clutches at it desperately, swallows it, hoards it…

Buries himself in it.

'No!' I scream, completely unnerved. I've never seen anything like this before, and as my thoughts are jarred back to reality, I feel my hand throb. When I look down, I see one of the knuckles has split – I must have hit the wall. Literally. 'No.' I say again, my voice stronger now, and I know I've just made a promise I'll keep all my life.

'No what?' Pleads a small voice, and I turn to see Dan cowering, waxy skin and trembling lips betraying his terror.

What the hell have I done?

Dan's POV.

'Are you testing me now?' Phil asks, his tone light and joking. I feel myself smirk; whilst I was beyond annoyed and terrified when I realised he'd followed me, I can't seem to help myself now. I'm more than intrigued by this strange boy.

'I suppose I am.' I challenge. Instantly, his gaze seems unfocused, and I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't see me at all. It's like he's on another planet.

'Give me a minute.' He murmurs, and I resolve to wait patiently – but within seconds it all seems to go wrong.

If possible, Phil's pale skin loses even more colour, and his whole body shakes violently. My arm starts to stretch, subconsciously reaching out to steady him, but before I can do anything, he screams a nearly incoherent 'No' and launches a fist at the wall. Bile rises in my throat as his fear seems to clutch at me too.

'No what?' I beg, trying to bring him back to the present. He takes a few deep shuddering breathes and by the time he looks at me, his face is flushed with what I can only assume is guilt.

'I'm sorry,' he says, 'I didn't mean to see all that.' And now it's my turn to flush, my heart racing with the suspense. He knows. He'll think I'm a freak and I'll lose the closest thing I have to a friend here.

'What did you see?' I ask, wary now.

'Pain. A lot of pain,' he replies slowly, like he's weighing the truth of the words on his tongue, 'and heartache. I saw blood. Self harm, I think – and emptiness. Loneliness, starvation? Abuse? But… internal. Like it comes from yourself. You think you're alone, and you're desperate to… escape?'

But escape is the wrong word, and he knows it.

'I –' I start, not sure whether I'm about to apologise or accuse, explain or evade.

'Dan, how badly do you want to die?' He asks bluntly, and something in the pit of my stomach drops. I feel everything in me collapse.

'More than anything I've ever known.' I admit, and in those words is everything, all the years of self-loathing, isolation, convincing myself that the very idea of my existence is unnatural… all the years of self-destruction sit in the air in front me, like I'm physically reaching out and offering Phil a handful of my broken pieces.

The question is, what will he do with them?

And what the hell have I done?

Authors Note: Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Reviews, suggestions, and feedback are always appreciated so please don't hesitate to message me or leave reviews:) What do you think will happen next?