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1.
The first time was when Philip almost ran away with Wakana.
It wasn’t like Shoutarou was okay with that, not really, but it was so important to them both, and…if Philip wanted to leave him, if he thought being with Wakana was more important than being with Shoutarou, then he wasn’t going to force him to stay.
That was being unfair; it wasn’t like Philip wanted to leave either, just that he’d found something that was more important than staying with Shoutarou. No, that still wasn’t right. It wasn’t about leaving or staying with him, it was about Philip wanting to be there for Wakana, and Shoutarou didn’t even really enter into it at all.
It shouldn’t have annoyed him as much as it did. They’d have their phones, and the belts, and they could still become Double (although Shoutarou wasn’t exactly sure how Philip was going to explain that to Wakana). It wasn’t like Philip would be really gone, not completely. And maybe in the end he’d decide not to go, and he’d stay with Shoutarou (and Akiko, and Terui) after all, and so Shoutarou didn’t need to be upset at all.
He was upset anyway. He was angry at himself for it, and tried to make it up by being extra-understanding about Philip’s indecision, but Akiko was arguing enough for both of them anyway, and Philip probably didn’t even notice.
So he stayed upset, right until the night before Philip was supposed to leave. Akiko had gone home in a huff, after one last-ditch attempt to convince Philip that Wakana was evil and he shouldn’t even be in the same room as her, let alone running off together. Shoutarou was rearranging the books on his desk, trying not to think about anything at all, when suddenly Philip said, “Shoutarou.”
“What?” he said, looking over his shoulder. Philip was standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest, the look on his face so lost and un-Philip-like that Shoutarou turned around completely and said again, “What is it?”
“Do you think I should go?” Philip asked. Shoutarou opened his mouth to say no, of course not, but then he thought better of it, and stopped.
He wanted Philip to stay; he didn’t know if he should. If he stayed—well, Shoutarou would be happy, and Akiko probably would be too, but that didn’t mean anything if Philip was going to be miserable and wishing he’d gone. Shoutarou wanted him to stay because he wanted to.
After a moment he said, carefully, “If you think you should.”
“Oh,” said Philip. He seemed more disappointed than anything; Shoutarou thought he might have been hoping that he’d just tell him what to do so he didn’t have to agonize over it anymore.
“If—if you do go,” Shoutarou continued suddenly, on pure impulse, “you can always, you know…come back. I'll still be here.”
Philip looked at him, head to one side, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of what Shoutarou had just said. “It could be a long time,” he said.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“It could be years.”
“I’ll still wait for you.”
“You are ridiculously half-boiled,” Philip said, but he laughed when he said it, and it was the first time he’d laughed in days. Something in Shoutarou kind of melted at the sound of it, and—he still didn’t want him to leave, but he felt better about not telling to him stay.
“I will, then,” Philip was saying, and there was still a faint smile on his face. “If you’re waiting for me, I’ll find a way to come back to you, Shoutarou.”
“Now who’s being half-boiled,” Shoutarou muttered, and he abruptly turned around again so that Philip wouldn’t see him smile.
2.
The second time was when Philip’s family took him back, and Shoutarou was left so filled with Terror that all he could do was sit there and scream and scream.
It was Philip’s voice that brought him out of it, at least enough to be able to think again, to realize I’m going to lose him—and the shock of that thought was enough to cut through everything else, enough to make his brain work long enough to get him to the Sonozaki mansion even though Philip was already gone.
Philip was gone, and that was worse than the Terror, worse than anything that Museum could possibly do to him. Philip was his other half, in a way that went beyond being partners, beyond being Double; they were one-in-two as much as two-in-one, and losing Philip was like having a piece of himself torn out. The thought of it was—he didn’t even know; he couldn’t think about it, his mind just didn’t go that far.
But Philip had—he’d said he wouldn’t disappear, not as long as Shoutarou was willing to ride with him, and that was what kept him from going completely mad. He couldn’t lose Philip, he wouldn’t lose Philip, because neither of them would let that happen.
So he called to him through the Driver, saying I’m here, come back to me, and he knew Philip would come.
And he did, slamming into him harder than he ever had before, and Shoutarou grabbed onto him with his mind and just held him there until he was certain that he wasn’t going to slip away again. And then of course everything went straight to hell, but all Shoutarou cared about was that Philip was back and he wasn’t going to let go of him ever, ever again.
For a long time afterwards, Philip was silent and withdrawn. He stayed curled up on the couch in the agency, too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention when anyone tried to speak to him—but he didn’t move away when Shoutarou sat down next to him, and he looked at him instead of through him. Shoutarou chose to take this as a good sign.
“Don’t—” he started, and then he stopped, searching for the right words for what he was trying to say. “Don’t be sorry that you came back. We’re still here for you. I’m still here.”
It came out a little more desperately than he meant it to, almost like a question (are we enough for you? Am I enough for you?). He was almost afraid of what Philip would say, because he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.
Philip said nothing; instead he leaned over, resting his shoulder against Shoutarou’s, and it was enough of an answer that Shoutarou began to breathe easier.
3.
The third time was a year later.
It was the hardest year of Shoutarou’s life, harder than after Oyassan had died, harder even than when he’d lost his first family, because Philip had become so much more to him—more than a partner, more than a friend, more than anything that words could describe—and it didn’t get any easier, no matter how long it had been or how much he told himself that Philip wasn't here anymore. Sometimes it wasn’t as bad, but it never really got easier.
Even when Philip came back—Shoutarou was beginning to think that Philip really had a hard time staying dead—it still wasn’t easier, because then Shoutarou was afraid that it was going to turn out to be some kind of dream, and he was going to wake up and Philip wouldn’t be there and he’d have to go through it all over again, and he just couldn’t, he couldn't do that.
That night after Philip had returned, Shoutarou had given up any pretense of being hardboiled and had just…held onto him, like if he let go then Philip would dissolve away, and this time he wouldn’t get him back. Philip didn’t protest, just let Shoutarou pull him in close, and smiled in that maddening way that meant he thought Shoutarou was being stupid but he was going along with him anyway.
“Shoutarou,” he said, “thanks for waiting for me.”
“What?”
“I told you,” Philip said patiently, like Shoutarou should have known this all along, “if you waited for me, I’d find a way to come back. Weren’t you listening?”
Somehow, that was what made Shoutarou begin to think that this was real, not some kind of dream or fantasy, because his subconscious wouldn’t have had him be so…so ridiculously Philip about it. He’d forgotten about that, actually, but he remembered it now, and he began to laugh.
The laugh broke halfway through, turning into something that was almost a sob, and then he was clinging to Philip again, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Philip stood there, smiling down at him, and didn’t say anything even when Shoutarou held him so tightly that it must have hurt.
He had been waiting; that was why he hadn’t been able to make himself believe that Philip was really gone, because he’d known Philip was still there somewhere, and he’d find his way back home in the end.
“Don’t,” Shoutarou managed finally, his voice only shaking a little, “don’t leave me like this again, okay?”
Philip touched Shoutarou’s hair, a little awkwardly, more like he were petting Mick than trying to comfort another human. “We’re two-in-one, aren’t we?” he murmured, and even though it wasn’t a proper answer, Shoutarou understood what he meant.