epilogue

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Phil cried, of course. There were weeks of tears and comfort from friends and reading through conversations with deactivated accounts, but eventually the pain dulled. He went back to living his normal way, trying to ignore the little things which reminded him of Dan.

He wondered what his real name was.

If he had ever cared at all.

If he had ever regretted how he had treated Phil.

Whether he would have changed things.

Over time, however, he stopped messaging Dan's dead accounts. He stopped trying to get to his dead Instagram. He stopped trying to text his dead number. PJ and Chris did their best to cheer him up, and they succeeded with their usual cheer – but he couldn't help but to envy their relationship.

Five months had passed, when Phil heard a notification he wasn't expecting.

imsorry: phil, it's me.

imsorry: im so sorry.

imsorry: to start with it was just for the money

imsorry: but then I realised you cared about me

imsorry: and dammit, I cared about you

imsorry: and I still do

imsorry: my name isn't really dan. you know that already.

imsorry: i am so, so sorry.

imsorry: I hope you can forgive me.

One day later, Phil took the bus into the Laines. He made his way towards a leaning cafe on a corner and stepped inside. Tentatively, he took the stairs to the top floor and walked into the right hand room, taking a seat by the window opposite a nervous man with brown hair falling over his eyes. He sighed, then smiled.

"Let's try this again."

the end.


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