Symbiosis (Phan)

7: Get The D (Grade) For The D(ick)

It was sort of awkward between them.

The awkwardness was of course a product of their own construction, but yet not something either of the two could be specifically blamed for.

It wasn't his fault.

It wasn't her fault.

This was just the result: the consequence.

And all their friends remained oblivious - not their collective friends because they didn't have collective friends - this was the way it went. There were his friends whom he didn't particularly care excessively for, and there were her friends who she found herself trying too hard to give a shit about.

They were both, a little disconnected, and brought together by her friend and his friend, who were dating at the time, dating still, and someone had once thrown in the idea of a double date: an idea they'd both felt forced into but had let occur nonetheless. It was, in short, an idea that did not work.

They had indeed spent time together, because they had shared things in common, but just not in a way their friends felt they were supposed to. They were both artistically inclined - something the majority of their friends were not and in that they found a connection: he being a drama student and she being an art student, and they found a creative kind of atmosphere in conversation with one another, which was what had really cultivated the friendship.

Their friends all believed it to be something more - their friends all wanted it to be something more - their friends all saw that this was the only way they could possibly spend so much time together, and that perhaps was what had led her to look at him like that - like they asked him to.

He didn't look back.

And through a series of events and his bedroom floor on a Tuesday at two am and music in the backroom a conclusion came of it all. A conclusion of an attempted kiss and words slurred and truthful murmurs in darkness, and cursing of friends, and solace in one another, and confessions in regards to her insecurities, and how he shared them.

And then the cherry on top of it all.

The real page turner - the truth, the secret that only she knew, the reason why he wasn't kissing back, the reason why he felt out of place with his friends, and the reason why he tucked himself up in dark corners and produced even darker pieces of art.

He liked boys.

And she didn't expect that at all.

But she didn't judge - she wouldn't have judged - they reached that point of understanding with one another.

She didn't quite know what to say, though. Silence was indeed sufficient and things had gotten a little twisted because she started to notice how their friends forced the idea of them as a thing upon them, and the idea of heterosexuality and dating girls upon him, and how that must make his head ache.

And then she understood.

Then he made more sense.

He made short films: creative pieces - that he showed to very few people, and seemed abstract and holding very little sense or coherency, but still stood out regardless. But with that, they made sense. And they were dark, so dark, and she was so sorry for the boy with the curly hair, who she'd kissed a bit, who was the subject of that so dramatic photography that Dan Howell had asked about.

She wasn't sure what to make of Dan Howell, and of course, she'd brought that issue to him, because she found herself disregarding what her friends said so much more as of recent - this was down to him, and his way of thinking, which she was only beginning to crack, but indeed, this boy was so much more than thoughts - he was galaxies and constellations in human form.