Something has changed (phan)

(There is mention of self harm in this chapter so this is just a warning)

Phil POV

Phil spent the next few days doing the same thing,
Get up
Make breakfast
Knock on Dans door to ask if he was ok
Get told to go away. It was starting to become a concerning trend, a trend that Phil knew could only have a bad ending.

He looked up to the clock, 11:30am, damn it. He has work in half an hour but he really didn't want to go. One because he really couldn't be bothered but mostly because he didn't want to leave Dan alone at home. He had no choice though, so he went up to his room to get changed into his ugly blue and white checkered shirt and black pants, ready for work. Phil worked at a bookstore as books was one of his passions. It was one of Dans too as he was the one who convinced Phil to work somewhere like that. Dan worked at a small gift shop, but because he hadn't turned up at work for so long without notifying, they had fired him.

Phil slowly opened his door, hoping that Dan would be standing outside it but of course, that wasn't the case. He decided to go to Dans room and say goodbye anyway, Phil still always said bye.
Slowly he knocked on the door, heating shuffling from behind it and Phil not realising that he had been holding his breath, exhaled loudly. There was always that thought that something could be so wrong that Dan could...not respond at all and that frightened Phil greatly.

"Dan, I'll be going to work now ok? My shift is only 3 hours today so I'll be home around 3ish. Please make sure you eat something ok?"
No response.
"Dan? Can you hear me?"
Still nothing.
Phil let out a sigh, he knew Dan could hear him, he just wouldn't respond.
"Alright I'll leave now, stay safe"
Nothing.

Phil let out a sigh, letting his eyes linger slightly on the door in front of him, hiding his best friend from his view.

He left the apartment, locking the door behind him and got into his car, staring the engine and driving away from his friend whom was still locked away from the world.

Dan POV
His hands are still trembling, his chest still burns. Dan looks up to the ceiling of his bedroom in which he had locked himself away in. He didn't care, he didn't care about anything.
If he were to die right then and there, he would do absolutely nothing to try and stop it.

The shredded wallpaper hung from strands on the wall. Chipped pain littered the closet. Dans piano had gathered so much dust that it looked to be fading into the air.

Dan didn't care.

He clutched his wrist, one littered with raised red cuts and self inflicted bruises. Although, they were littered across his whole body too.
His life had turned to one of pain and hatred. He hated everything, everything and everyone ... but mainly himself.