Dan Howell
He was by my locker. Why? Why now? I was already in big trouble at home, I'd failed my civics test. I couldn't be seen talking to him. He was the biggest fuckboy in our town. Not to mention the fact that he was sin incarnate. I murmured a prayer to protect me from anger as I approached him.
"Why are you here?" Phil gestured to my locker. A piece of paper was taped to it. A phone number, to be precise.
"It's mine. Call me," He said as he walked off. As if I muttered to myself, getting my books and heading to class
*
I sat in bed, Tears ran down my face and sobs racked my body. I tugged at my hair, curled into a ball - anything to stop the pain. I reached out to my phone. I needed to do something, to talk to somebody. My hand flew out to my desk, grabbing the crumpled slip of paper. I started typing shakily
howell-at-the-moon: meet me at the football field asap. I need help
happylittlephil: i'll be right there
