update 3/3 that didn't get published on time. I'm sorry, I have personal reasons but I did my best. I'm not feeling all that great at the mo, but I love you guys and writing this story does take my mind off things. So thank you<3

I was just an only child of the universe
And then I found you.
-Fall Out Boy, The Last of The Real Ones

Dan

Being a happy child is a blurry memory. A crinkled, faded photograph. I remember I used to think my mother and father were perfect. I had my own imaginary worlds, didn't care about friends.

Honestly, I still don't care about friends. I don't need them. Want them. I don't.

There was a time in life when I thought it'd be good to make some, and at one time I did try- I tried to make friends, I tried determinedly at both schools I went to, not just the lowly town one I left quickly but also the one I'm still at, the high school that was supposed to make a change. I tried my damn best with what I had as a person and guess what, it didn't work.

I don't know what it is about the kids my age, but they seem to believe that it's their moral duty to as middle class white boys to be as degrading and arrogant to those who aren't like them as possible. And never do they seem to sit at the bottom of the social ladder, no. For some reason, these are the kids that everyone flocks to and admires, and that's why I don't have any friends my age.

Because I'm weird, I'm unusual, I'm one of those odd people at school who you know, actually smiled at people in the hallways and doesn't enjoy sports just because I'm supposed to. For some reason, this kind of existence needs to be punished. It's not that I don't stand up for myself- I just don't try anymore. I'm tired. I'm tired of everyone, everything.

I certainly don't smile anymore.

I say that I don't want a friend, and I mean that. I've watched too many bonds fall apart, backstabbing and teenage drama so typical and unnecessary you just want to throw up. If someone wants to be close to me, and I haven't the faintest idea why they would- they'd have to be a really patient and tolerant person, and those are hard to find these days. Everyone's trying to be someone else, trying to be better than everyone else. It's not real, I don't fit in with that.

For god's sake Dan, leave the house for once.

If mum was offered the opportunity to stop telling me this she probably wouldn't take it. Like a record on repeat, it's her favourite line seemingly. Some other classics run along the lines of try to make some friends, find a nice girl, and my personal favourite, you just aren't trying hard enough.

I'm just not trying hard enough. She tells me this like the way others choose to treat me is at all under my control, like I am the sole voice of their opinions and I can orchestrate whatever they do. You might argue that I can at least influence it, but if that were the case, I wouldn't have stopped trying so long ago before. High school kids are a mystery, everyone's trying to figure themselves out but at the same time, no one wants to help each other.

There must be at least one person! Mum prods me exasperatedly from time to time. I absolutely hate this question, I'm sick of it, because in my real life there really is no one at all. I wouldn't be in this cycle of self-doubt and discouragement if I'd managed to find at least one kid, at least not in this town where everyone acts the same and nothing ever happens.

But what she doesn't know is that there is someone.

There is only one person who seems to have any kind of positive impact anymore. I could speak his name aloud to anyone in my real life and they'd have no idea who I was talking about, in fact I suspect if I told my brother he'd laugh and claim he's imaginary. My mother would tell me to go outside and forget him. After all he's just someone who makes me happy, in some semblance of the word, but it wouldn't be normal for Dan to say positive things about a real, live person. And who is this person, because despite what I've mentioned earlier, he's known by many others that I don't know at all.

Phil Lester. I know him by name and I know many details of his life, yet not once have I ever met him. Or even spoken to him. There's a lot I could say about Phil as a person, but the most notable one I suppose is the one that's the most important, the one my family would be apt to bring up first before anything else: He has no idea who I am.

Phil is four years older than me, goes to York, and twice a week puts out short sketch videos on the internet, usually just talking about life or telling a particularly crazy story. He's amassed an impressive number of followers on this video website, which is so obscure and new that you'd think only recluse losers like me would be on it. And I've been on it from the beginning. So has he. AmazingPhil is his persona, and I don't think anyone can quite put a finger on why it's so relieving to watch his videos. What puts him out for the rest of the crowd. All I know is that it is.  That he is different, and that he understands me.

That's right. He's just a guy on the internet.

I've gone through a lot of viewing phases on the internet. I do watch other people, but Phil in particular seems to stick around. I'm always eager to see what he'll do next, always anticipate and enjoy each video. Too bad I can't anticipate and enjoy anything else.

While I do feel better letting his world take some time out of my day, there's a tight feeling in the pit of my stomach that wishes I could step into his reality. Every time he mentions an interest that we share or a personal trait we have in common it feels almost like a taunt to see how someone like me is actually out there, living a happy life with a supportive family and friend base, sharing himself with the world and being praised for the very things I'm told are not enough. But I guess that's why I can't leave him. He reminds me I'm enough.

It's Phil that I'm watching as I go over the events of the day today. It was great, I was called several things for being reclusive and guarded, both by mum, who'd had rough day at work today and dad, who's angry because I'm angry.

I close my laptop for a moment, getting up to stand in front of the mirror. Dull dark eyes gaze back at me, and words rush in. They're in my voice but they came from other people, words that they thought meant nothing but stuck for prolonged moments in my mind. Judgements. They're all judgements.

My mum's voice: Too skinny. Antisocial.

My English teacher's voice: quiet, troubled.

Students voices, chiming all sorts of things: weird, loser, freak, gaylord..

The student voices are the best ones because I can bask in the sheer number, the vast volume of voices by people who don't know me at all but do what they can to fit in. The simple, easy detour of shunning Dan Howell, the one that bullies love thoroughly and the route that's doubly easy because Dan won't fight you back. Dan just takes everything, an emo, abnormal gaylord they know nothing about.

It's not like he's contemplating a way out with every day that goes on.

Then below me actual voices leap up, sounding through the floor. It's Mum, fighting with Dad again. I envy the kids whose parents talk their issues through rationally, or at least have  the sense to fight behind closed doors. My parents shout it out no matter where they are, all their troubles spilling out in an ugly mess. They're nowhere near close to divorcing, too attached to the sanctity of marriage shit that holds us four in this house as if life has only ever been perfect.

They certainly have a lot of troubles, being tired, overworked and somewhat broke just to name a few, but the fact of the matter remains that one of their greatest troubles above any at all is me.

It's your fault he's like this! He should have had a father figure, not a man who's never around!

Mum's voice is pitching wildly. Who knew she even cared about this? Good to know this was a point of discussion after all. Glad she showed me as much. When I'd admitted to her this single, terrifying truth about me, all she'd shown was indifference.

You think I had any control over this? Dad sounds ready to walk out again. That's happened a few times. Our son isn't queer because of a goddamn missing piece or whatever. He's like this because you didn't teach him anything. He's saying whatever will get him attention.

As the shouting continues indecipherable below me I stare back at the boy in the mirror. Such an innocent face. Wide brown eyes and a sweep of dark brown hair. Round cheeks and narrow shoulders, a thin neck. A boyish face. I look cute and huggable, an insulting appearance when the reality is anything but. I harden my features and the eyes go dead, concealing my emotions even from myself. I'm becoming less of anything every day.

Queer. They think they know me, think I'm problematic because of a goddamn label I can't change. I don't even know anything! I don't know what I am, who I am. They're making an assumption based on my breaking up with my girlfriend, something that happened nearly a year ago when she decided I wasn't worth staying with anymore. She lost her unpopular status, I lost my only friend. And then I watched a boy a little too closely in public, and mum made me explain what was going on. Why are you watching him?

I dunno, I think to my mirror self as I look back on this unenthusiastically. He looked just as lost as I was.

The older I get it seems, the more I've learnt to be guarded with my feelings. If no one can get in, no one can hurt me. And neither mum nor dad ever mean to hurt me. But they did. Because for once in my life I opted for honesty, I told them the truth about why I was so distanced from everyone, how I tried with my classmates and I tried to keep the girl, but oh, was I wrong. They took it about as well as any kid would fear it to go, deciding I was gay and not telling them and blaming them for why my emotions are so fucked up. And now they're screaming, leaving me here as if I ever had a choice.

So I become closed off, and I only heighten this defence mechanism as my life drags on. I reject friendly words and deny myself hugs because they mean personal connections. It's easier. That's what I tell myself. That's what I've always told myself. I don't want to love anyone be it girl or boy. I won't even befriend anyone. I don't want to live my own life anymore, but I'm afraid to take the easy way out.

So for a while don't live my own reality, I live through Phil. Phil always has fun, quirky stories. Phil always greets with a fond hello, looking into the camera as if each and every individual watching is looking back, inviting them into his carefree world. Phil answers comments and constantly acknowledges his viewers, making sure to remind us we're not alone out there.

What I wouldn't give to live like that. It's not like he ever notices me. How could he? I never talk to him. I don't comment vying for his attention or send him messages on twitter. All I do is like his videos, it's the least personal way to show him my support. But he feels like my only friend. It's sad, maybe, but not to me.

Until even that is not enough. He will never want to be friends with me, he'll never even know who I am. My bond with him is fake, it's an illusion. Even getting a reply from him on a comment doesn't mean anything. He won't talk to me ever again. He'll just forget, move on to the next person.

Wouldn't it be a shame, if my heart just stopped beating? If I fell asleep and never woke up? I don't know if I want it exactly but as life wears on, it all sort of feels inevitable. Maybe just to fall asleep for a while.

Dad comes stomping up the stairs a few moments later, after the shouts have finally dies down. He's headed, I know, towards his bedroom. Going to sleep off another lie, another attention-seeking stunt his odd, useless son is pulling. Despite myself I pull open my door, stopping him in his tracks as he looks at me irritably.

"Dad," I ask hesitantly. I notice that mum hasn't followed. "what's going on?"

"Clean your room." He answers as way of replying. The answer is curt and feels like a punch in the gut, and so I shut my door and ignore him, emotions surging through me all of a sudden that are just begging to to be released, urging me to lose control. I think about all the awful things I could to him or to myself in reaction, showing him once and for all that he's stupid for treating me this way, but at the same time I'm scared, so I reach for my laptop.

I don't clean my room. It isn't enticing or frightening enough to channel my emotions, so I make a split-second decision, and I do the most stupid thing instead: I log on to Twitter and click on Phil Lester, and for the first time ever, I send him a message.

It is in no way impressive. Actually it's horrifying, an incredibly weird awkward hello, paired with a message saying we're both equally lame people, in a good way in his case at least. I'll figure out why I accept him for who he is and all his quirks but not myself for the same traits later. I figure his dms will be swamped anyway, it's a good solution. Talking to a real person who yet would never see. I could feel relief at the confessions without feeling judged.

Then I get another idea. My fingers tap without conscious thought, I spill my story and my words into that text box with no intention of ever sending it.

I watch your videos on some of my darkest days. I don't have a real friend but I feel like we are, even though you don't know me. You're a brilliant person, you make me feel a little less strange when I feel like I'm not enough.

But I don't send that, the it's is just mindless typing, just me putting my own words out in front of myself to make it all make sense. I'm not complimentary enough to say anything more sincere, I'll erase it later. He got the hello and I finally told him we had a lot in common, now he can see it or not see it and if he so wishes to, Phil too can choose to reject me. I wouldn't really be surprised anyway, he has plenty of others to fall back on and wouldn't notice my disappearance regardless.

It doesn't matter anyway. I'm not going to ever use it. I stare at the bubble for a little while longer before remembering that I'm technically supposed to be cleaning my room.  I go to close my laptop, preparing to forget about my message immediately.

Except Phil answers.

Hi! A speech bubble appears on my screen, announcing itself with a ding. My name's Phil!

I read it quickly.

Yeah, man. I know that. I think. Everybody knows you.

Then I realize what I'm reading, and my eyes go wide.

I just got a message from Phil.

I'd been midway through erasing my paragraph, all my confession spreading before me like a vessel to pour out my fears. It takes a long time to get over the initial heart attack, I have to look away and then look back several times to confirm it's true.

Phil Lester sent you a message: Hi! My name's Phil!

My trembling hands go to hit backspace, unable to send the message now that I realize he actually can see. He's waiting for my reply. And my heart is pounding. How in hell has Phil Lester messaged me?

Phil Lester is talking to me. I should probably fucking answer.

My confession now reads:

I watch your videos on some of my darkest days. I don't have a real friend but I feel like we are, even though you don't know me. You're a brilliant person, you make me feel a little less strange when I feel like I'm not eno

That's how quickly he's answered. I only managed to to get rid of three letters. How fast does this guy type?

I hit the button, but the message doesn't vanish. It sends.

No. I'm panicking, no, no no. I hit enter. How did I hit enter. The message isn't even complete anymore- he's going to think I'm an idiot who doesn't even finish his sentences-

Phil: typing...

oh god.

Phil: That's amazing, thank you Dan! I've never had somebody tell me my videos have helped them before, that means so much to hear. Always remember you're enough. You're worth something to me. <3

What.

Phil: If you watch my videos we're already 50% friends! I'm here for you anytime you need me.

What.

I gape at my screen, shaking and unable to move at first. He doesn't even know me. How could he just-

My fingers fumble.

Dan: are you sure?

I jump three feet back, collapsing onto my bed and cringing at my own awkwardness. Way to just lay out my insecurities to my idol.

But I really don't know what to say to him. Now I've really done it, shutting down the friendliness he'd offered in the most unhelpful way I could. This is another reason I'm so anxious around other people. As soon as someone decides to be a nice person, I just don't know how to handle it.

I prepare myself for an endless silence, but then my laptop pings and I'm lurching across the mattress again.

Phil: of course! There needs to be more people like you.

I shake my head, shame seeping into my stomach slowly but deliberately. I'm reminded that he doesn't know anything about me. As soon as he finds out what a loser I am in real life he'll surely change his mind. He's mistaken if he thinks the world needs more people like me.

Phil:Your profile says you like Muse and Final Fantasy? Both? Are you some kind of miracle?

I forget what I'm thinking, distracted. He looked at my profile? Phil saw my interests and thought they were good things? It's true that my love of bands and certain games is basically my identity these days, after all they're escapes from this place, but it doesn't mean I'm proud of them. I respond ridiculously fast, worried he'll have to go offline suddenly.

Dan: I wouldn't go that far.

Phil: I would. NOBODY GETS HOW AMAZING THEY ARE. Just for that we're 75% friends now.

Dan: just like that? I would have messaged you a lot sooner if it was that simple.

Phil: you should have, Danny.

Phil: wait can I call you that

I raise my eyebrows, surprised by his cheekiness.

Dan: no.

Phil: pls

Dan: ...

Dan: okay

Phil: 85%

Dan: WHAT.

Suddenly, impossibly, a smile breaks across my face. I stare at the little icon, the green online symbol that tells me there's a real person speaking to me. A specific person. He's so awkward and gentle, different from his camera personality but not in a bad way- it's even better.

Phil: seriously though, if you want to talk more then we should. We seem to have a lot in common. I still can't believe you watch my videos.

Dan: are you kidding? Everybody watches you on there. You have what? 2,000+ subscribers?

Phil: ahh >_< don't mention it. It's actually crazy intimidating to think about. I'm so quiet and unassuming in my real life.

That comes as a surprise to me. He's so open about his life to all these strangers. He takes the time to answer nice comments with equally nice responses, looks right at the camera and speaks in confident tones. The idea that he might, just might be as awkward as I am makes me like him all the more, and against my will I begin feeling like maybe this wasn't a mistake.

Dan: really?

Phil: you have no idea. I never thought anyone would watch me. I just started posting you know, because I could.

Dan: had me fooled. I'm kind of in disbelief that you're talking to me.

Phil: 86%

Dan: what was that for?

Phil: you're making me feel famous.

Dan: aren't you?

Phil: no way! Famous is like, Beyoncé.

Dan: Beyoncé doesn't answer her dms

Phil: are you subtly trying to tell me you dm'd Beyoncé?

A small laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth, pulling the laptop onto my lap.

Dan: lmao no I've never messaged anyone before.

Phil: ok now I feel extra special thanks Danny

Dan: you're welcome

I hesitate for a moment, an idea dancing in my mind, looking at the words on the screen. Phil is typing but I've thought of what could happen if I move forward from here, my mind toying dangerously with the thought that he might be genuine in his offer. So I let the keys click on the keyboard, and send out my response.

Dan: you're welcome...Philly

Phil: typing...

Phil: plus more percentage points.

I suddenly imagine Phil at home in his bedroom, sat on his bed that's in every video as part of his background, sat on his own laptop with his messages open to me. And I can't. This is crazy. Our conversation is coming so naturally, when we've been speaking mere minutes.

Dan: so what does that make us, then? 89% friends?

Phil: no way, man.

I bite my lip in apprehension but he only leaves me hanging for a second, tacking on a smile so I don't mistaken the meaning.

Phil: 90 :)

Phil: I have to go, but pls pls stay online for later, I'll be back! It's nice to meet you Dan! :) <3

Phil Lester has gone offline.

I gape at my screen in wonderment, plugging in my laptop so that it can stay open all night. I get up off my bed hazily, standing up and cleaning my room.

---

My life takes a U-turn from there. After that one night Phil takes the time to message me every day, and I still panic a little every time it happens. But it's panic of a good sort, and despite all the fears I'd had earlier, we actually do become closer. I don't know why he keeps coming after the first time but what matters is that he does, and I'm still not sure how to handle it.

Phil's follower count grows as he puts out more videos, more people reach out and start vying for his attention, but I'm not lost in the crowd. He actively tries to make me a part of the community, tweeting me and @ replying on the comments I leave- because somehow, I don't know how, I've started leaving comments. And tweeting him. And I always message him back.

Within weeks we've learned nearly everything about one another. The more we talk the more we learn we have in common, the later we stay up the funnier the jokes seem to get. Phil becomes less of an enigmatic internet face and more of a real person to me, he's highly energetic and complements my lowkey self very well, filling in the blanks when I don't know what to say and making me laugh when anyone else would find it a challenge. He doesn't mind my reluctance to open up and encourages my piano playing that my dad had always looked down on. I also learn he has a serious side, he tells me about his struggles with friends who like others better than him and body image issues, very real feelings that I'd never imagine someone like him to have. When Twitter dms switch to Skype calls and 1 hour message turn to all-nighters, it hits me for the first time ever:

I actually have a best friend.

It's Phil that I go to three months later when the shouting downstairs rises up yet again, but this time ends in a jarring door slam that shakes the entire house.

It feels like awful deja vu. Dad's feet sound on the stairs, stomping angrily after a shouting match with mum that's driven her out for the night. I hear the lock on my little brother's door click as he hides himself away for the night, not wanting to in any way get involved. I can relate.

I hear dad's heavy breaths as he heads to his bedroom. He passes my door and against my better judgment I crack the door open shakily, calling out his name. And again I ask,

"Dad? What's going on?"

He stops in his tracks and looks at me, red eyes glaring and loathing painted so bluntly on his face that it makes me shrink back.

"This is all your fault." He spits. "Stay in your room, don't talk to me, don't even look at me until tomorrow. You're a disappointment to both of us and you're the one that's ruining this family."

He grabs the handle of my door and I flinch back, tears blurring my eyes as he slams it shut. My mind goes numb, trying not to feel. Trying to build up the wall like I always do. I try to tell myself that he doesn't mean it, that there's deeper things going on that surely aren't my fault. That's what Phil always tells me. Don't let him blame anything on you, Dan. Things like that will never, ever be your fault.

But why else would my parents be fighting? Their child is sullen and problematic and and does nothing but put stress on their relationship. They can't brag about me to their friends or be proud of me together. I've been too hard to talk to. I haven't done enough to fix things. If my father himself is saying that it's me then it is.

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at a crack in the ceiling. Once again the feeling starts to creep in. I start to wonder if dad would be better off without me. If I were gone... would he even miss me?

I'm pathetic. I'm sitting here alone in my room, crying like the weakest goddamn child ever, knowing full well that I deserve this. I bet dad would scoff if he saw the tears on my face. He'd think I'm weak for not being able to keep it to myself. I shouldn't be allowed to cry, I don't deserve pity. This family is falling apart, and it's because of me.

So that's it I guess. Nobody would miss me.

Just as this thought crosses my mind my laptop sounds, alerting me to a new message. I consider ignoring it.

But I don't. I take a deep breath and blink hard, reaching out with one hand and opening it up.

Phil: Skype tonight?

Of course it's from Phil. I want to answer his question with a yes but I'm also not sure if I want to show my face right now. I can't have him notice my expression and see right through me, it's embarrassing. Phil knows about my parents and their ups and downs but I have to be careful when I talk to him.

My parents definitely don't approve of me talking to a twenty two year-old on my computer when I'm only seventeen, going on eighteen, and I definitely don't want him to feel like he's causing trouble in my life. I can't have him feeling like he's doing anything wrong, he's the only person to really care about me in a long, long time.

There's nothing worse than being told that the thing that makes you happy is wrong.

I quickly type out my answer, sure that he'll understand, then I sit back, sure I want to fall asleep and never wake up.

Dan: I think they're going to divorce. It's all mum talks about.

Dan: I can't be here, Phil.

I see the three dots that indicates Phil's typing something. I watch them ripple repeatedly, then suddenly- disappear. I wait for it to come back up, sure that he wants to be here for me, but it doesn't. Then the dot goes red, and Phil Lester has gone offline.

My throat prickles and I take a shuddery breath, my heart sinking as I see the line stay dead. Maybe he lost internet connection. Maybe he's unplugged his laptop by accident.

Maybe he's left me just like everyone else.

My mind races as the air seems to close in around me, claustrophobic to the point where I'm gasping. I need him so badly right now. I can't do this by myself anymore. I feel weak and useless, my whole world crumbling around me as my only friend leaves me too- and I don't blame him. I've driven him away by being nothing but negative, he deserves better than that in his much better life.

My screen is suddenly filled with a box indicating a Skype call request, and then it hits me- He wants to talk to me face to face. I nearly choke out a sob in relief that he hasn't abandoned me, the fears of the previous moment blurring away. I click the answer button and drag my sleeve across my eyes, erasing the evidence that anything is amiss at all.

I'm strong, I'm okay. I'm falling apart on the inside but I'll hold myself together. I can do this.

The screen blows up to a full size image as Phil connects, his pixelated face appearing in front of me looking serious but kind, smiling at me gently as I watch his face appear, slowly becoming more focused as the connection gets better.

"Hey, Danny." He greets quietly, waving and pulling his laptop closer so that it's resting on his knees. His black hair looks shorter than the last time I saw it but still as pin-straight and mildly messy as ever. He's told me before that he doesn't even comb it for videos.

"Phil." I say softly, my throat tightening and a twisting feeling in my chest. "I need to tell you something."

"No, it's okay." He says quickly, drawing his blue and green checkered comforter to his chest. "Let's not talk about that yet. I'm going to take your mind off it for a while."

I falter, surprised by the genuinely caring statement. He doesn't even know what's happening yet, but he's still making the effort to be gentle. How does he always know what to do?

"Are you sure?" I ask softly.

He nods. "Of course I am. We can talk about anything you want to."

Relief floods me instantly. I cup my chin in my hand and welcome the opportunity for distraction, sinking gratefully into his gaze.

"Thank you."

"I told you, I'm always here for you." He reminds me. "I think we mutually agreed that we're 90% friends a long time ago."

I half-smile, fiddling with my fingers. "Why are we only at ninety?" I inquire, giving him a curious look. "You're my... best friend now. I-I think."

As soon as the words leave my mouth I want to take them back, they make me feel so vulnerable. It's a stupid thing to say, I know he had other people besides me. I'm just a needy kid that won't leave him alone and he's probably so sick of me. I avert my gaze from his face, choosing instead to look at his wallpaper.

He grins, shaking his head at me as I'm silly. "You're my best friend too, Dan. Don't worry. You're probably one of the best friends I've ever had, honestly. There's people in my real life who I've known three times longer who I don't feel nearly as close to."

"Same." I manage weakly, trying to stifle the flicker of hope in my chest. He laughs again and then settles into silence, and for a moment we just sit there, before I speak back up.

"So why are we only at ninety?"

His expression turns thoughtful as he ponders this fabricated percentage between us, likely inventing the rules as he goes.

"Because we haven't met yet." He decides. "That should be our final goal- to meet in person. If you think of a house as a metaphor for our friendship that would be like, the last brick or building block. We've done pretty much everything else at this point, we know pretty much everything important at least about one another and I think we both agreed we have scarily too much in common for this not to be some kind of awesome twist of fate of some kind. Also I kinda want to destroy you at mariokart but like... in real time."

I feel an odd flutter in my stomach at the suggestion he's making. It makes this whole thing feel strangely weighted, reminding me that Phil is in fact real and not figmented in my mind and that an actual person genuinely thinks I'm worth so much of something that they want to see me, meet me apparently. Even if he does use dumb house metaphors and tacks percentages onto our bond he's still a real person, and this real person is speaking tentatively, as if I'd ever disagree.

I raise my eyebrows, nervousness seeping into my words. "Do you think that'll happen?"

He nods. "We will one day. I know it. And I'm going to give you the biggest hug ever when that day happens, the kind that you deserve, and I am so ready."

The words tumble out of my mouth. "You... want to hug me?"

He laughs. "Is that bad?"

"N-no!" I blurt without thinking, even though I know damn well I haven't hugged or been hugged in many months. "I'd hug you if could too, even though, you know..." I gesture vaguely, aware that he probably knows how long it's been and therefore why it's so important.

"Dan. I know you're far away but we'll find a way to get you here. I want to see you, you know-" he turns his laptop clumsily and points it at the chair in the corner, gesturing with his free hand slightly inaccurately, "-there! For example."

A light laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth, not sure if I deserve to be doing that right now. "You're such an idiot." I sigh, and he turns the camera back, grinning bashfully.

"But I'm your idiot."

I roll my eyes. "No. You're just an idiot."

I hear a door open down the hall and dad's voice ringing out.

"Daniel, if you're on the phone right now-"

He tone indicates that I better not be. I see Phil's smile vanish and I feel anger all at once for having my one tiny bit of happiness shattered and I don't even care if I'm keeping him up through a nap or something, not at four in the afternoon.

"I'm not on the phone." I reply coldly.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't answer him." Phil murmurs quietly. "Dan, don't make him mad."

"He's blaming me for tearing the family apart!" I blurt, ruining the light conversation we could have had, that we'd had only moments earlier. I can't keep it to myself anymore. "That's why I needed to talk to you, Phil. He's fighting with mum nearly every day and he's the one who wants to leave but he still says it's her fault, or my fault. He just wants to get away from me because I'm problematic and he won't give me a fucking break and I'm just so tired-"

The door bangs open and dad's suddenly standing in my field of vision.

"Who are you talking to?" he roars accusingly. I open my mouth to answer but he cuts me off instantly, not actually interested in the response. As soon as he sees my open laptop his face flushes angrily- talking to strangers on the internet is practically banned for me, he assumes everybody on there is a dodgy predator and always pretended Phil didn't exist when I brought him up. I swallow when I realize he's heard our conversation.

"Spreading lies behind my back to a stranger?" He asks. "You're that miserable and ungrateful? I am your father, for fuck's sake. Get off the computer. Now."

He doesn't wait for me to move though. Striding forward with a hand on my chest, he pushes me back against my bed, the first physical force he's ever used against me. I choke out a sound as my head hits the mattress, knowing full well that Phil saw it and not daring to move. I can feel him shifting over and feel him grip me by the arm like a dare to fight back, and then he rounds on the open Skype call.

"And you-" he growls, looking Phil right in the eyes and glaring at him so angrily his eyes widen and he shrinks back- "who the hell are you?! stay away from my son."

"Wait!" Phil shouts, looking at me with wide eyes, "Dan-"

I try to sit up but dad grips my arm, obscuring us from each other. "Don't call Daniel. Don't talk to him. I don't want to see your face on here again, this doesn't involve you."

"He's my friend." I growl, my heart pounding in my ears. "Phil is my friend. Since when do you stop me from having friends?"

His eyes flare. "Well tell Phil goodnight." He snaps.

Dad moves the cursor angrily and clicks the button at the bottom of the screen, ending the call. Phil's face vanishes and dad slams shut the lid of my laptop, leaving me alone in the room with just himself and the pounding of my heart in my chest, the tears in my eyes.

"Look at me." Dad demands. I keep my eyes on my hands instead.

"Daniel." He threatens, still using my formal name. "Look at me."

I raise my gaze in a glare.

"Any excuses you'd like to share?" He demands, tone telling me I better not even try to use one, "Or are you going to cut the bullshit and tell me who the hell that just was? Are you lying to me?"

Lying?! About what? The folded laptop stares out at me like a reminder of who I am, who I'm not, the injustice of the last few minutes slamming into me.

I can't believe I'm being punished for having a best friend. He wouldn't punish me if he found out I was playing sports or dating or going to a party but because I have an internet friend, a person on a platform that he doesn't understand because he never uses it, he thinks he has a another reason to put me down?

Hot anger boils in my stomach and I surge forward, opening my mouth to scream. He stands up and knocks down my desk chair, raising his voice at the same time-

And then I'm falling. Falling and falling into a never ending darkness.

I wake up then, gasping as I remember how to draw in air. My eyes shoot open and I feel gritty gravel under my arm, sunlight making me flinch for several minutes as I breathe in short, sharp bursts of air, completely disoriented and forgetting where I am.

Eventually it slows, but the dream is still playing in my memories, viciously vivid in the things I now remember. I haven't thought about that, any of that, in a long time. My throat is burning and my whole body aches. My shirt is torn from where that girl grabbed it. And now my heart hurts, looking back.

My shoulder is pushed into the dirt and above me I can see the looming walls and windows of the factory. Behind that, open sky extends to the edge of my field of vision, reminding me vaguely that I'm kind of outside.

My heart feels heavy at the thought of my father. My nerves feel shot from the party, but... I'm okay. We're away from that now.

We.

I realize my arms are around Phil. While that's somewhat surprising unto its own, it's even more so that it doesn't seem to be bothering him at all. He's completely relaxed in my hold, body small and curled next to me and all the strain gone from his expression. I'm transfixed by the trust and comfort in his sleeping face. I can't say it particularly bothers me either.

I lift my head to look down at his slack face. Unexpectedly emotions- several of them, assault me all at once upon focusing on his familiar features.

Phil. Though we've arguably saved each other countless times in the last few months, nothing can ever repay the first time he saved me. How did we ever get here? I remember nearly losing my mind when I realized he'd seen that stupid message.

That's amazing, Dan.

Always remember you're enough.

You're worth something to me.

I'm here for you anytime you need me.

I shake my head, feeling a strange warmth and pull for him, even through the pain and damage this night has inflicted. Yes, it was years ago before he knew anything about me, but those words still came from him. Even then, he deliberately tried to make me happy.

He shifts in his sleep for a second and a section of his fringe falls over his face. I extend a hand and move it, just stunned that we could ever be here.

Those words came from you, Phil. I think disbelievingly. It was Phil who took the time to help me when he could easily have never tried. I would have had no way of knowing, but he did it anyway. If anything, he was more determined to be my friend than I was to be his. It's the same Phil, I know him even better now.

There's no real way I can ever truly thank him or explain this, so I don't. I just pull his unconscious form closer, closing my eyes and letting the bittersweet memory fade away. This nearness is comforting. I don't want it to go away. He can't see or feel it, I might as well enjoy this assurance while I can.

Thank you. I tell him silently in my mind, as if my thoughts will transfer into his dreams. As if words alone can amount the dangerous amount of sentiment choking me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The fact that that honest, good-intentioned person on the internet who defied my parents wishes and his own comfort zone to look out for me is him, that the shy, star-struck kid is me- it puts into perspective just how much we've both changed. And how perhaps we haven't. He still is all those things, we're just on a much more equal playing field now.

My thoughts go back suddenly to the girl at the party, the memories slamming back to the forefront of my mind, and immediately feelings of disbelief and hatred rush in. I've always been good at being particular to negative emotion and so feeling like this comes easy, but it makes me remember why I'm here all the same.

I think about how we escaped, and I wonder why this bothers me so much. Really, the whole situation does, but it's something about that girl and the way she thought she could just take Phil like that.

I mean, she was drunk, and of course even in an apocalypse some things never change, of course there will be girls that will be drawn to my best friend, that's always been the downside to associating with other people, but I can't ignore how strange it felt to see someone making a such deliberate approaches on him even though it happened plenty of times before in the normal days. She used another person to physically break us apart when she couldn't, and then she tried to make him say he wanted her, wanted her over me no less.

She didn't just stop at holding him. She took him away from me, she kissed him. The sheer terror and violation he felt must have been unbelievable, and it disturbed me for more than one reason. I feel like I could have stopped it. All I had to do was be a little more convincing, step out of my comfort zone a little to save Phil from her grabbing at him. I feel like I'm the one who hurt him, I might as well have, for all the good I did.

And then there's the matter of how I felt when I saw it. It wasn't just that I felt disgusted and angry, I felt... possessive.

I know that's stupid. Phil isn't an object, but try as I might I can't deny there was also this strange feeling. As I look back on it now, this notion is overwhelming me. It was so strong, so overwhelmingly compelling in that moment. She tried taking what belonged to me, and there was the irrational fear that she could have.

He's mine. Not hers, not anyone else's. I'm supposed to protect him.

So I did the first thing that crossed my mind; I stepped over and pretended to be his boyfriend, something my ex-girlfriend had said worked for her friend once when she was followed by a creep in a bar somewhere. Our case was much more extreme, yes, but Phil was scared and it was easier than trying to fight her while half-intoxicated. It felt much more natural than any other scenario would have, it worked at first, and it let her know that Phil wasn't hers.

I can't imagine him with her obviously, we will hopefully never see that girl again, but it makes me realize for the first time that he could very well end up with someone. Phil could fall in love and no longer need me, and then I'd be alone in a world where no one has anyone.

He'd have someone who actually cared about him openly the way he deserves, not like me who's clung to him for too many years now in the same way I did then. I take so much and I don't give enough, I hurt him over and over and I've put him in so much danger. He doesn't deserve that.

My entire life for the past few years has been centered around Phil. He's the one loyal constant, the best and only real friend I've ever had, the only one who takes my closed-off and angry nature and somehow makes something beautiful out of it. The only person who ever cared about me or took the time to know me really well.

That's all true, so why do I feel so weird about this knowledge suddenly?

I don't like that she was disgusting and made Phil uncomfortable. That's all it is. I tell myself. I can't imagine someone as amazing as him with someone like her. She belongs to the Confederation. For fuck's sake, she threatened us with a gun.

I'm suddenly thinking so hard about this. All of these things that feel like they've been floating around my mind forever- I'm finally taking the time to assemble my emotions in my head.

I can't really imagine Phil with someone who isn't her either, but that's besides the point. There's no way that I'm jealous, he wouldn't leave me for a romance, would he? Is that selfish to wonder?

I can't even imagine him without me.

My eyes widen and Phil shifts in his sleep. That's how much I depend on him. That's why I can't see him anywhere but in my life. How has this never come to my attention before? I actually can't imagine myself without him. Aside from my closed-off nature my envy is one of my worst qualities, and never have I felt it so strongly as now.

I can't decide if that's incredible or sad. My head is pounding and the sleeping form beside me is too dead to the world to talk to, even though I'm not sure what I would say to explain the things I just felt. I don't know what I'd do if he left me. If I hadn't had him two years ago, I probably wouldn't even be alive today. It's thanks to my dream that I remember that again.

You're probably still drunk. I remind myself. Maybe even drugged. Anyway, you're not thinking straight.

Though I formed that thought pretty clearly. It's perfectly natural to feel so many things for your best friend. Not everyone is so adamant about ignoring things as me, and he could have fucking died several times in the last few weeks. Even so, I take the time to pull my arms more securely around his waist, telling myself over and over again that it's going to be okay.

I wasn't that hard to act a bit when we needed a solution fast. Just draping my arms around his neck and moving in closer, shooting her a pointed look that was oh so satisfying. It was comical how quickly she backed off as soon as she realized he was mine, glancing from my lips on his neck to his arms around my shoulders. She switched tactics very quickly when she knew he was apparently taken. Unlike seeing her try and put her hands all over his body, the motions of the two of us and the reassuring movements- they felt right.

I wonder if we'll have to act through a similar situation, if once again I'll be able to hold him close to me and just-

No.

I'm not even going to go there, I decide firmly, closing my eyes and blocking out any incriminating thoughts firmly. Why the fuck would I even think that? Here I am worrying about not thinking straight...

But how can you not think that?

I settle my chin in the crook of his shoulder, surprised at how comfortable it is. My fingers go out to trace the single bitemark on his neck, physical evidence of the assault he suffered by that girl. He shivers at the touch on sensitive skin, making me draw back so as not to wake him up.

I look at his closed eyes, at his mouth slightly parted and his bruised cheekbone, at his body curled loosely on the dirty ground and it occurs to me suddenly just how much my best friend really means to me. My past and present come together in my mind to send both dreams and nightmares about him to me, my hopes and fears both focus on his being okay. What are you to me, Phil? I wonder suddenly.

Just earlier last night I'd thought this exact same question, but now it's coming to me in a totally different way. I think about it for a second, sleep deciding to elude me entirely now. I don't know where this sudden need is coming from, it's hitting me all at once. Am I still drunk? I feel like absolute shit.

Drunk.

My tiredness vanishes suddenly.

Oh my god.

All of a sudden another, much more eventful memory comes rushing back to me, the feeling that overtook me right before I passed out after the party. My breath catches in my throat and I choke, my heartbeat suddenly noticeable as I remember our conversation as we sat half-conscious against this same wall, how angry I'd been at myself for letting those things at the party happen to him.

All I could think about was how the girl didn't believe us when I said we were together. When she saw Phil and I first that was the immediate assumption, but watching us on the dance floor had quickly changed her mind. She'd turned to face me and called us on the act, sneering at me because I couldn't even kiss him. As if that amounted to proper romantic behaviour.

And we did get away from her. Phil shot the confederation guard non lethally, though I barely remember that part. Last night brings memories mostly of pain, punctuated by moments of being separated from Phil, finding Phil, having him yanked away and getting him back again. Then we were in the hallway, my vision bordering on black as Phil led the two of us out of there. We collapsed in this enclosed area, abandoned by anyone with sense, and I-

I...

A wave of pain shoots through my head and my throat feels too dry.

Do you believe me now?

I remember it clearly, more clearly than it perhaps felt at the time. I remember the warped vision and hallucinogenic effects of whatever had been put in that drink we'd been given. I remember my legs refused to follow the most simple commands. I remember the pain in my head that mirrored what I'm feeling now.

At the time, every emotion that occurred to me felt intense- my fears felt stronger and my guilt felt heightened. I was obsessed with my worry for Phil, and in the midst of my drink-muddled mind I thought to ask him, are you okay?

He was sure he was okay. But how could he have been? He'd been mere seconds away from sexual assault only a little while before. He'd had a stranger kissing him as he struggled to stay upright and breathe. He'd shot somebody. All in the span of minutes.

I didn't believe him, and I felt like it was my fault. It's always my fault. He was my best friend and it wouldn't have taken much to convince her of something just a reach beyond that. My dad had thought I liked boys once. I could have made it look that way so easily. The only thing that stopped me was that it was... well... Phil.

But all he told me was that he was okay, because he had me.

I didn't kiss his lips. I aimed for his face, in my mind it felt logical. She didn't say where I had to kiss him. My mind had thought. I was obsessed because she'd told me that that's how she could tell. I thought that if I did kiss him she would believe me. And we were in the perfect place, leant against each other with our arms wrapped around the other, with our recent escape in mind the prospect was so tempting.

I didn't even think to consider that she was nowhere around.

Now though I am aware of that, and with that in mind it really means only one thing at this particular moment:

I've kind of kissed him.

"Oh god." I croak, much louder than I intended to. I slap a hand over my mouth but that jostles Phil more and all at once he stirs, groaning and arching back against me and making me suddenly freeze in place.

How are we ever going to address this? How can I explain to him why I felt the urge to do that, especially when our bodies are tangled together like they are? I panic as he comes to life and his eyes slowly open, blinking several times and giving me no time to prepare.

I watch him apprehensively, not having enough time to move. This is bad. This isn't the right situation. I need time to think of a justification, I need to smooth this over in my own head so I can straighten it out in his. Surely he'll be confused, and very much so, especially when up until that point it'd been all an act.

Just act like nothing happened at all.

He lets out a deep breath, blinking heavily and nuzzling into the warmth of my chest. He's clearly still half-asleep, he has no idea what he's doing. I tell myself I don't want him to do it, but I don't push him off either. I hold perfectly still.

No, tell the truth. I reason. You've always been honest with each other. Besides, maybe he didn't even think it was a bad-

No, please no. My heart is racing at the unprecedented contact.

Go back to sleep. I beg him silently. I try to push away but there's a wall behind me, meaning my only option is to let go. I don't know what to do.

He freezes as my hands shift against his waist, eyes opening fully as he rolls his stiff shoulders, turning his head to look up at me. His irises are half-concealed by sleepy lashes, face creased in probably the same pain as me. I don't know what to do under the sudden and prolonged eye contact, he gazes at me blearily and my mind thinks it's seeing confusion.

He takes in our proximity to each other, eyes trailing back and forth.

For a few moments there's silence. I'm highly aware of the beat of my heart, trying to think of another place to stare at that isn't his eyes but he's so close to me it's not really an option, with my arms still half around him I'm pretty firmly rooted in place.

With nowhere else to look, my eyes settle carefully on his face.

"H-hi." I mumble, a light pink tinge dusting my cheeks as I try to nonchalantly let go of him.

He turns the rest of his body over to face me and my hands fall away, our knees brushing together as he rests his head against his elbow and meets my eyes.

"Hi." He replies softly, catching me totally off guard. He isn't uncomfortable?

My arms hang limply and I end up drawing them to my chest. I let our feet tangle together and our knees brush to keep from having to hold them suspended in space, and he leans into my touch even as I'm moving away from him, rooting me to the spot as his eyes fall shut again momentarily. It's not that I mind touching him-  quite the opposite actually, I just wasn't expecting reciprocation.

My thoughts are a mess right now because they're literally fighting each other, trying to read how he's feeling from a mostly blank face. And to figure out what I'm feeling, because he sounds all right for the most part and I'm suppressing the urge to sit up and pull him back against me, both because I want to comfort him and, admittedly, for selfish reasons.

He went through so much last night.

"A-are you..." I bite my lip and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I think about his last twelve hours and I've no idea where to start, looking at him desperately as I'm assaulted by equal parts worry and embarrassment. "How do you feel?"

The question is fairly innocent, it doesn't indicate anything or reveal too much about my own internal monologue. I stare at him resolutely, dying to know where his mind is at.

He keeps his eyes closed. After a prolonged silence he frowns.

"Like shit." He replies honestly. He laughs lightly but I can't bring myself to do the same through my nerves. I'm waiting for the moment the memories come back to him just as they did to me.

"We're alive." I declare halfheartedly, half expecting his expression to change. "At least we're alive."

I see a flicker of emotion across his face and his shoulders sag a bit, the weight of recent life returning. It hurts to see.

I expect him to say something about it but he only sighs, rubbing his eyes. "I guess we are, aren't we?"

I press myself back as far back against the wall as I can, trying to move myself away from him despite our overlapped legs. It's strange enough for him to have woken up with me cuddling him, he probably doesn't need my uncharacteristic clinginess as well. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.

He looks around, taking in our surroundings. "I feel like I just fell off a building." He mumbles. "Everything hurts. How did we get here?"

"What do you mean?" I ask confusedly. He's the one that got us here. He practically carried me into this room. He was the less affected one last night, as far as I can recall anyway.

"How did we get away from that party?" He elaborates. "The guard had his arm around your neck- you have a bruise, actually..." his finger ghosts over the purplish spot on my neck and I gasp, my heart skipping a beat at the featherlight touch. "-I thought he was going to kill you. How did we get out?"

His voice wavers and trails off at the end of that sentence and he looks at me even as I blush hotly and gaze off distractedly, silently hoping I can fill in the blanks. He doesn't say anything about me almost kissing him, he looks genuinely lost. Does he not remember?

It all makes sense suddenly. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember getting away. He doesn't remember escaping down the hall. He doesn't remember breaking down the barrier and collapsing. Besides what he's told me, he's forgotten everything else.

And while relief rushes into me like a tidal wave of disbelief, I feel strangely sad about it too.

I shake my head. Why. There's no reason to for me to. We're better off this way, I think. I have no idea how I'd explain it to him and even if I could remind him, I'm too much of a coward to do so. Perhaps it's better that I keep this in my mind. It's hard for me to even come to terms with for myself.

"Hey Phil." I ask suddenly, making him jump and then prop himself up on his elbow, still with that soft expression.

"Yeah?"

I'm thinking back to my dream now, strangely pleased that I got to relive my first few months of friendship with him. My brain gave me vivid memories mixed in with the times when I'd had so many problems with my dad, problems I've all but forgiven him for now. They're such good memories, it's weird that I'd so easily let them go.

There's one part of that memory that I'd forgotten about until the dream reminded me, and now I'm genuinely curious. It'll be a nice distraction from his pain, too. If only for this little moment, I can delay having to think about what I saw at all.

"If I asked you what percentage friends we are now," I ask slowly, already knowing that to him, this will sound way out of the blue, "what would you say we'd be?"

For a split second he stares at me, an eyebrow raised in confusion.
"What percentage...?"
He frowns and for a moment there's silence, and then his face dawns with comprehension.

"Oh my god." He opens his eyes, looking over at me wide-eyed. A smile breaks across his face, tongue poking out between his teeth as he laughs. "Oh man. I remember that."

The sight calms me immensely and I feel a warm sensation in my chest just looking at it, allowing myself to relax.

"Yeah?" I let out a soft laugh, the kind only Phil can seem to draw out of me.

"Yeah." He breathes, sounding relieved to move past his gap in memory. "Wow. Where did that come from? I haven't thought about that in a long time."

"Just... thought about it." I say hesitantly, for some reason reluctant to tell him I've dreamt about him two times in a row. "I remember actually taking it seriously." I muse, punching him in the shoulder and moving to sit up. "I really wanted to meet your ambiguous standards."

"Did you?" He sounds a little guilty, looking up at me with sad eyes. "Like I deserved to to rate you with a system in the first place. You've had me since the first night, you know that?"

My face goes hot and I shake my head, pretending not to forgive him and cover the disbelieving, albeit gratified expression.

"I'm serious!" He cries, misinterpreting the lack of answer I gave him. He disentangles our legs and sits up, shuffling to sit against the wall and leaning against it. He looks down at me.

I go to sit up too but my whole body aches. I stretch out an arm, trying not to think about how warm his hand would be if we wove our fingers together and instead trying to grasp at the grooved concrete.

"To answer your question though," he adds thoughtfully, sliding his hand into mine- I'm right, his hand is warm- "100%. Definitely 100."

I take his hand and he tugs me so that I'm sitting up with him, releasing his grasp as soon as I appear steady. I'm upright for about two seconds before I fumble, my legs still feeling clumsy and unsteady from last night. He smirks and I kick his foot, making him wobble and grab my arm for support.

"Fuckin' finally." I quip, helping him regain his balance and settling my back against the rough surface. "Thought I'd have to sell my soul or something."

"I'm not as famous as Beyoncé." He reminds me, and I'm surprised that he remembers the reference. "You have to be cool for that."

"Did you even see yourself last night?" I ask quietly. "You don't think you were cool then?"

He pauses for a moment and his smile fades. For a split second I think he remembers what I did and my heart skips, but then I realize his eyes are glossy and it's more to do with the other part of last night.

I try to backtrack, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing as he takes several calming breaths.

Then he leans forward, tipping clumsily the way I just did earlier and hugging me suddenly, and for once I don't feel the urge to push him away. I wrap my arms around his back and let my head nestle into the side of his neck, and it's then that I realize he's shaking.

"You... were." I say hesitantly, feigning lightness for his sake, but we both know I've noticed.

He gives up all pretense, breathing out a sharp breath and hugging me even tighter.

"Dan, what do we do now?" It tumbles out of his mouth in a disconnected way, letting me know it's what's on his mind's forefront.

My heart sinks at the question. Not only does it mean I'm worrying for him all over again but it also reminds me of where we are, and what is our reality. We're hidden away for the moment and the confederation party is over, but we'll have to go back through the building to get anywhere.

And then what?

"What are we gonna do?" He repeats in a whisper. "They have everybody- Felix, Mark, PJ..."

"Cat." I finish. The mood suddenly sinks to something far more ominous. Without the presence of our half-life, it's obvious our trio is broken and it feels like I've betrayed my best friend.

"We just let her go, didn't we?" He rambles, voice dangerously unsteady. "Oh god. She could be hurt right now-"

"She doesn't feel pain." I blurt stupidly, desperately trying to think of something as guilt and terror grip me like vices. "Please Phil."

I can't think steadily if Phil isn't okay.

A pair of boots stomps over, snapping me out of my state suddenly and causing me to shoot up in surprise. Phil tumbles ungracefully off of me and scrambles back, knocking into my side as a small group of armed guys in everyday clothes bursts through the entryway, looking around for the source of our voices.

If the situation wasn't so serious it'd be almost comical how they don't see us at first, eyes raking over the small enclosure before looking down just off the door and jumping when they see us. The faces that greet us are not friendly, feigning composure for the sake of looking intimidating.

"Who the hell are you?" One man barks, reminding me of the way my father did in my dream. "If you're trespassing here, I'll have you know that we have full authority to-"

"We were drunk and fell asleep here last night." Phil blurts honestly, making it sound as if we had nothing more than a little house party. "We weren't trespassing, we have a room here."

"We're with Wirrow." I add, grasping at straws that they might recognize the association.

"You're with Wirrow?" He chuckles, shaking his head. A couple of others smirk at us. I can't tell if he doesn't believe us or if he's just amused by our appearances, since we probably look like wrecks, and I don't know if it's a good thing that he knows who we're talking about.

I nod confidently and Phil agrees, stammering out a yes. The man's eyebrows go up, the smirk only growing.

"Good."

Before we can say anything else we're both pulled to our feet and asked to follow, not being threatened by weapons or being held onto by any means, but it seems we still don't really have a choice.

~~~

The group leads us back into the building, other people milling about now that it's later in the morning. Nobody casts us a second glance and when we pass the caf I tense, reaching for Phil worriedly, but one quick look in and it's obvious that the place is deserted. The confederation crowd is gone, nothing but discarded plastic cups and the odd bit of debris or clothing items to suggest that anyone but the regular inhabitants had been there at all.

I don't feel relaxed though, much more like I'm just putting off the inevitable. They'd seemed pretty determined to keep us in, especially Chris who had PJ being used as leverage against him. For all we know they could be returning, and I'm not sure if I could face them like that again.

I don't dare ask any of our guides if they know about the confederation workers. They lead us past the caf and down the hallway that, if we kept going would end at the room Phil and I share, but instead of walking further they stop short and indicate a doorway.

"Our room is right that way," I say to no one, gesturing vaguely down the hall. "We didn't mean to sleep in the marked off area, it'd be best if we could sleep in our normal beds."

My eyes go to Phil who's swaying ever so slightly, still tired and a little off-balance in the aftershock of the drunk and drugged state he went through. All I can think about is getting him to bed, locking the doors while the confeds are absent and having some time to think and work out what to do in this mess. I'm so worried about Cat and our friends. I look him in the eye and he seems to know what I'm asking, nodding weakly to assure me that he won't fall over.

The spokesman from earlier shakes his head stiffly, eyeing me apprehensively like I might try and burn the bunker down. "If you're a guest on Wirrow's account he'll want to know what you're doing. He's responsible for you until you're settled in."

He walks us over the last few steps, and before we've even reached the door I hear two voices arguing heatedly, trying- I realize, to talk over each other.

"His blood could be the end of the apocalypse." A man says forcefully.

I realize quickly that it's Wirrow, and when the other man responds to him, he doesn't sound convinced at all by what he's just heard.

"You've said that about people before." the other voice, also a man, tells him dismissively.

"I saw this with my own eyes." Wirrow protests. And though I'd like to say I know what they're talking about, my mind is riddled with confusion. "I know what I'm talking about this time around. I'm not taking the word of some lying half-life, there was an actual zombie involved."

This is the most aggressively I've ever heard Wirrow speak, the most emotion I think I've ever actually heard him show. He pauses and I can imagine him glaring fiercely, standing stiffly and trying to loom over the opposing man. "You want to look me in the eye and tell me I'm lying?" he challenges.

"I never assumed you were lying." The man huffs. He sounds almost bored, and I immediately step forward. One of the guys surrounding us places a warning hand on my chest, pushing me back and shaking his head almost imperceptibly, a firm expression on his face that warns me not to interrupt.

"Then I suggest you stop dodging the question and work with me. We only have a limited amount of time before-"

"Wait." the man cuts in, "We have visitors."

A deathly silence falls at once. The guys surrounding us step to the side and I see the handle turn, in a few short strides Wirrow has made his way over and opened the door.

The room inside is not what I'm expecting. I briefly looks past Wirrow's stout figure and see that it's little more than a storage cupboard, not all that different from the one Phil and I were forced into yesterday before we were separated and given the drinks. The walls are lined with steel shelves, and there's another person in there.

Then my eyes lock with that person and I lurch back immediately, the men who had guided us here blocking my way as my gaze is held by none other than Chris.

"Dan and Phil." Wirrow says as his friends push us through the doors, raising an eyebrow and glancing at us with a smirk. I narrow my eyes. This can't be good.

He shakes his head and draws out his gun, Chris doing the same but pointing it at Phil instead. I step back almost instantly, and wildly Phil grabs for my wrist.

Dread settles into the pit of my stomach and I can feel my heart pounding, betraying my fear, but the worst part is that I don't feel the least bit blindsided at all. Somehow I'd known it was only a matter of time. My arm shoots out and I try to bar them from Phil, but there's nowhere for us to go. We've been effectively boxed in, and our captor looks all too satisfied.

"Wirrow." I say flatly, biting my lip to keep from reacting in the way he no doubt wants me to. "Wow, you know somehow I'm not that surprised."

His eyebrows go up.

"How incredibly perceptive of you Dan." He retorts, his voice annoyed. "You know while I've got you here I might as well say last night went much less smoothly than it probably could have. But since we've gotten here in the end I'm just gonna formally say it; thank you for agreeing to help out the Confederation."

Chris doesn't smile or react much at all as Wirrow talks, eyes on the area where his weapon is aimed at Phil's heart. I feel a surge of anger almost immediately, my throat constricting as I fume at the injustice of this.

"Is it really agreeing when we're at gunpoint?" I hiss. Phil shoots me a warning look.

Wirrow chuckles, though to us it obviously isn't a joke.

"No, I guess it's pretty obvious you're not agreeing at all." He nods at the group and they immediately fall back, shutting the door behind them and standing in front of it like a guard.

"I always knew Danny boy didn't trust me, that was clear right from the start." Wirrow looks at me almost apologetically, like he's genuinely pleased by my outward dislike of him. "But Phil, you were such a gentleman about me joining your little group. I almost feel kind of bad about not letting you in on the whole story."

Phil's face falls and I realize he'd been clinging to the false hope that this might all somehow be okay. His best and worst quality, his optimism, it's doing nothing but hurt him now. I feel a flare of anger and I'm sure he can sense it, I try not to outwardly show it since I'm sure that's what these two sadists want, and I don't want it to in any way affect him.

If what they're saying is true and the confederation truly does want me, then Phil's only purpose to them would be to use him against me. My stomach turns at the very thought.

Wirrow shifts his hand and puts his weapon away, though Chris still has his firmly raised. There's no trace of the cold, heartless person who made our life hell yesterday. He looks shaky, and more than a little afraid. And I hate him for it.

I make sure to look directly at him. "You don't look happy, Chris." I observe coldly. My hand on Phil's chest has begun to shake but I ignore it, not even trying to conceal my words. "Is the confederation disappointed in you because you couldn't catch us? I'm glad you're the kind of person to stand by and let others do the work. I'm sure you've helped PJ a lot."

Chris's face contorts instantly and he whips around to look at me, weapon shaking in his hand and his mouth opening to shout. If not for the circumstance I'd be satisfied to see he has tears in his eyes. I'm glad he's unable to conceal the remorse for his actions.

"You-" he chokes out harshly, but then Wirrow raises a hand and he falls silent at once. For a moment, no one says anything. Then Wirrow strides over, grabbing my shirt by the collar and shoving Phil harshly out of the way. Before I even have time to react he draws back his arm pushing me backward and smashing his fist into the side of my face.

Almost immediately my cheek explodes in pain. I see spots of light in my vision and collapse to the floor, blood beginning to pour from my nose as I'm unable to contain the moan of pain.

"Come on." He growls angrily, standing only a few feet away from us as Phil rushes over, kneeling next to me and holding me upright with trembling hands. I close my eyes and clench my teeth to try to make it dissipate, gasping against his chest as dizziness makes me sway. "None of that now. Your friend Mark was right you know. You are way too impulsive."

I can't even answer now. I avoid his gaze entirely to try and keep any shred of defiance, but the reality is sinking in quickly that there's really no way out.

"Listen." Phil speaks up shakily, unexpectedly speaking. His tone is tense and frantic. "We aren't a threat to any of you. Dan and I can get out of this city. We won't interfere with the half lifes or anything again, it doesn't have to be like this."

Wirrow smirks, shaking his head and sighing. "I know you don't want me to hurt him." He says mock-gently, making me want to scream as he talks to my best friend in such a cutting condescending tone. "But he's kind of an ass. He listens to you, why don't you tell him to do what he's told?"

"What do you want from us?" I spit back angrily, forcing my eyes to focus and look at him with what I hope is defiance.

"You were listening, were you not?" He answers curtly, sounding impatient that I haven't caught on. "I was just talking to Chris about how it's your blood that's so important. The problem is, we can't let go of you. You're a threat to the entire operation. We don't really need Phil, but I dare say you can think of lots that could happen to him if you don't do what we want."

"Are you pleased with yourself for destroying this city?!" I shout, sheer terror blurring all lines of reasonability, "Are you actually proud that you've taken literally thousands of lives?"

Wirrow laughs, sliding his hands into his pockets comfortably. It suddenly strikes me that his face doesn't show a shred of sanity, whatever person got us here that we've seen up until this point has indeed been an act. "Thousands!" He muses, looking down at me like I I'm a kindergartener who just said something outlandish. "The confederation is so far beyond thousands. We have operations in all parts of the world now. The apocalypse is man's greatest creation."

He sweeps his hands around the storage room grandly, as if encompassing an entire kingdom. I meanwhile am beginning to feel really sick. "You will be the instrumental hand in developing the virus even more. Think about the sheer sacrifice. You, Dan Howell, will help us achieve total control."

The last sentence is spoken so passionately the fire behind the words is vible in the expression of his face. I can't comprehend how anyone could want the world to be like this.

"You're fucking crazy." I spit, my head swimming dangerously as my heart continues to pound. "The virus destroyed everything. There is nothing to control anymore."

"You'll change your mind when I take you with us. This would all be so much easier for you if we didn't have to take you against your will."

"We're leaving right away?" Chris asks quietly. It's the first thing he's really even spoken.

"We are." Wirrow agrees. "We'll leave with the next party crowd to Broxbourne."

"What about the others?"

"We've wasted so much time already. We can't let the others know we're taking them. Rigor and Marcus know, I told them because I had to, but we can't let it get around."

Chris looks guilty, apparently we've been a secret here for longer than anyone's let on. I almost pity him for letting it out.

"Oh trust me Chris," Wirrow assures him, eyeing me carefully as Phil helps me to my feet, "My plan is a lot better than yours was. Only an amateur would lock them in a host party. You're lucky I don't tell the man you almost got him killed. We're leaving within the next week, and we need them both. We're telling no one else and it'll be under the cover of darkness."

Wirrow looks over at us and smirks, a thought seeming to occur to him at the sighting.

"And I'm sure Phil and Dan won't be separated." He muses as an afterthought.

He looks right at me and I feel a tight bundle of nerves forming in my chest. It's obvious he thinks he has us suitably cornered, every instinct in my body is screaming at me to fight but I can't. I'm unarmed and they both have guns, no matter what I do it seems more and more likely that it will be taken out not on me, but Phil. He's treating it like a privilege that he's not taking me away from him, and I'm suddenly very terrified that they could.

"I'll keep you two together for now," he proposes, "but believe me when I say you'd better come quietly. Your friends have no idea where you are right now and Chris would definitely not want you endangering PJ any more. You're going to be taken back to your room. Chris, stay here."

He opens the door and immediately two guys have taken hold of each of us, and after glancing around to see if anyone's watching he gestures quickly and begins to lead the way. We're pulled along and I lock eyes with Chris until he's blocked by the doorway, glaring angrily at his pathetic face.

If nothing else, I hope that he's never able to forget.

We're taken back to our bedroom, shoved unceremoniously through the door, which is immediately slammed shut. I stumble next to Phil and try pulling on the doorknob, twisting and shaking it desperately in my grasp, but the door is already locked.

"If you pound on the door nobody will come to help you." Wirrow growls on the other side. "I'm not sure if you managed to guess this, but everyone who lives here is a part of the confederation."

He turns abruptly and the footsteps disappear down the hallway, the room semi-dark as the solar lights remain off for the morning. I look over at Phil as he reacts to this revelation, catching him with one arm as he begins breathing far too quickly, his eyes sliding out of focus as he sinks into panic, both of us shaking as we stare uselessly at the door.

And after the door is snapped shut, it doesn't open for two days.

A/N shoutout to Musicn3rd915 who saw this chapter when I accidentally published it unfinished two months ago! I hope it makes a little more sense now :')