Show Them All You’re Not The Ordinary Type
this was meant to be inspiredby that scene from dan’s video in which him and a classmate have a run-in ending in ‘do you wanna make out?’ although it took a very different unexpected turn oops
basically dan’s this badass kid and phil tries to make him moan
smutty elements but not sex cause i chickened out again
He doesn’t know why out of all the social network-based apps his phone has to offer, he’s gone with Instagram as a passive distraction.
He’s sure he’d rather scroll through the cyber tsunami of eggs and spam accounts he keeps meaning to unfollow than pictures of people’s selfies from parties slipping their sober memory and dinner filtered heavily through unflattering brown/orange-hinted colours; what some would class as 'vintage’ or 'trendy’.
Phil prefers the term 'totally fucking pretentious’.
He doesn’t know what’s stopping him from simply clicking off the app and returning to the world of drivel squished into 140 characters or less, either; he reckons there’s something about Instagram and secretly following all the people from school he hates that brings him a sense of pleasure (or humour, rather) out of smirking at the sight of their photography and modelling attempts, with the genuine belief that 130 likes and 'this is hot stuff chickkk’ next to a flame emoji is one step away from stardom.
He’s using up his 4G, too; it was only last month he’d had to deal with the dreaded text from EE informing him on the £40 extra that had been added to his bill which he probably had this exact mindless distraction to blame; and he still has the rest of it yet to pay off.
He hitches his bag strap further up his shoulder, clicking his phone locked before the £40 expands to another horrendous price he’ll have to sacrifice his wages from his weekend job to; and he can safely agree a 4AM – 10AM shift certainly isn’t worth a few extra minutes laughing (or rather giving hidden smirks) at still images of the lives of the people he has the most dislike for; which is pretty illogical considering they aren’t even lives he particularly cares about.
He glances up from the corridor floor for the first time; actually taking in his surroundings in the effort of trying not to bump into anyone like last week; and he shudders at the embarrassment of revisiting the memory of colliding with the likings of Dan Howell, resulting in him hitting the floor along with the clatter of nearly the entire contents of his unzipped bag while a ripple of cruel laughter consumes the population of the corridor, serenading his thoughts of considering how he’d rather soar straight out of the second floor window than stand another moment in the painful humiliation.
