All He Wrote // Phan AU

Chapter 0.4

A/N - Trigger warning. small anxiety attack

other than that i hope you enjoy this new chapter, i hope you have a lovely day, and i hope everything works out for you.

remember someone loves you

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Dark purple – the feeling of anxiety, weakness, or being out of control of a situation. Synonyms: Powerless, anxious, nervous.

Phil's P.O.V

Well, that was weird. The one and only quiet kid at this school just lost his shit and stormed out after literally nothing? He was just sitting there writing before he just flipped it. That's a perfect representation of the education system for you. Turning innocent, quiet people into monsters who are afraid of themselves more than anything. To be completely honest nobody really knows what's up with that kid. He just spends all of his time writing in books and I really don't pay much attention anymore. Sometimes when trying to understand something you have to know your limits, you cannot understand everything, nobody can. If we could understand everything somebody would have figured out the universe, but he is just as hard to decipher. Maybe that is exactly what he is.

I try to focus my attention back on the board but the memory of the note in my pocket is keeping my eyes glued to a random uninteresting spot of carpet.

Who wrote it?

Why did they write it?

What is the meaning behind it?

Who are they writing about?

Why do they feel this way?

All these and a million other questions flood through my mind like a tsunami wave headed for a desert island. My mind isn't accustomed to constant thought and everything is starting to give me a headache, so I reach into my pocket and fiddle with the small square of paper while I begin to take notes with my free hand.

Class drags on, since the incident with the quiet boy everybody is fidgety and restless and there is never a moment of silence in the room. It is only filled with constant chatter of "the boy the world is scared for."

Nobody is actually scared of him, except maybe one or two people who think he is quiet because he has a lot of pent up anger and one day he is going to explode in a mass of cuss words and broken bones. No, everybody is scared for him. Everyone thinks that something goes on at home, or he harms himself, or that one day someone is going to hurt him because he doesn't really look like someone willing to defend themselves. I don't think anybody even knows his name, the teachers don't even call it out because they know he is always here. As far as I know he hasn't missed a day.

I drag my mind from the boy I do not know the name of and I try to focus on the new information on the board but before I have the chance to write anything down the bell rings loud and distorted through the halls. I hastily take out my phone and snap a photo of the board as everybody piles out of the door. I am, as always, the last to pack my bags as everybody does it five minutes early, desperate for fresh air and trees and grass and I don't know. I really don't know what people want to leave for, but whatever it is, I don't really see the appeal of it.

I stuff everything into my bag and shuffle my way to the door, waving to the teacher who gives me a half-hearted smile. She's a kind old woman on a fast track to retirement.

As I reach the door I notice a small piece of paper lying face up on the ground, shoe prints covering its surface and creases at odd angles, but I recognise the handwriting and bend to pick it up.