Symbiosis (Phan)

4: Dan Is An Emotional Wreck And It's Relatable AF

Dan was sprawled out across his bed in a particularly unflattering position: on his stomach, with the duvet half wrapped around his half clothed body. Half clothed referring to last night's jeans with a casual food related stain on them in at least two places, and a shirt that was now only sort of on his body. 

He looked a mess, he was a mess, but seriously, it was five thirty six am, what else could seriously be expected of him?

Before him, was his laptop: white screen light illuminating the otherwise pitch black nature of his bedroom, because Dan was, of course, too fucking goth to open the curtains, like seriously, sunlight, who did the fucking sun think it was?

He swore to god that he'd fight the fucking sun one day.

In hindsight, maybe not.

But still, the ambition was what counted, surely, even at half five in the morning, with no sleep as he lay in celebration of fucking finally getting his photography done, but as a result, finding himself far too fucking caffeinated to possibly even consider sleep as an option, even at five thirty in the morning, also known as a time only for people without common sense and those fucking annoying birds that insisted upon declaring to the whole world that they were indeed awake by means of bird song.

Dan had resulted to shoving his headphones in his ears in order to counteract this - not that he hated bird song, or nature in general, or didn't agree that it was, to some degree, beautiful, but it was now, as he lay there irritated, sleep deprived, and yet still buzzing from something like eight cups of coffee, that he knew that perhaps the last thing he needed in literally the whole fucking world was the sounds of birds fucking tweeting at each other.

Instead, he brought up his spotify and put a playlist he'd entitled 'sleep' on shuffle, and turning the volume down as much as he could so that he could still sort of vaguely hear it, but not so much that the sounds of, Morrissey, which was what shuffle had brought up, because Dan was of course a massive slut for the Smiths, and less of a slut in general due to the fact that he was kind of a massive fucking nerdy virgin with very few friends, drowned out the sounds of motherfucking nature outside.

Dan lay there in an odd sort of contemplative, what the fuck am I doing with my life silence for a good two minutes as he listened to his shitty pretentious morisseyfucker69 playlist- well, it wasn't actually as such, but honestly, it might as well be, because Dan was so up Morrissey's ass that he may as well be his prostate.

The realisation that you could indeed be the prostate of Steven Patrick Morrissey, was not one Dan had expected to come across at five in the morning, but one that he found himself not particularly questioning.

He wasn't even sure what he was intending to do as he scrolled vaguely through various sites, but he was pretty certain that there was no hope of him getting back to sleep now, and that was a realisation he found himself embracing with significantly less vigour, but, ah fuck it, it was nearing quarter to six in the morning and Dan lay there, with no sleep, and more caffeine than he'd care to admit, to his name.

It was then that he found himself growing so desperate that he resorted to seeking distraction from facebook, like seriously, facebook, of all things. He barely even knew why he had one. It was just, well, everyone else has a facebook, so he might as well have one. Much like, oh, everyone else has a shit emo kid fringe, so he might as well have one, and, oh, everyone else is much fucking cooler than him, so he might as well admit defeat to the world and sit around like an emotional wreck in the early hours of the morning.

However, as he found himself mindless checking how many likes his dumb fucking facebook profile picture had, (about six, two of which were from his grandparents, which didn't count, so four, one from Chris, and three from people with seriously nothing better to do, but seriously what was he doing, fretting over how many likes his fucking profile picture had? He thought himself better than this, at least, seriously?) that he came to remember perhaps the only reason he ever should have cared about facebook in his whole entire life.