straight // phan

eleven.

adamant on accomplishing his one veritable aspiration, phil hurriedly approached dan's locker.

"hey, uh, what-"

"i want to learn."

grinning, dan leaned against the extensive array of lockers, using two fingers to push his own locker door closed.

"i mean, i reckon i could teach you a few things about the ol' bee-ball. i don't mean to toot my own horn or anythin', but you know, i'm not too shabby of a player myself."

phil raised his eyebrow, seemingly amused by dan's abrupt cockiness. after a long silence, dan continued,

"okay yeah, i'll teach you."

"when?"

"well, we can start any day i don't have practice. um, you free this saturday? unless you're not, then that's totally fine or whatever, we could try-"

"yes." phil wasn't hesitant to answer.

"oh" dan let out a slight chuckle, the apples of his cheeks gradually reddening. "well, okay then. yeah, cool. saturday it is then."

phil gave a nod of approval, starting to head towards the opposite direction.

"hey, wait!"

phil turned his head, taking a few steps back towards dan.

"i kinda uh, need your number."

as he listed off each digit of his phone number, phil found himself growing more and more exhilarated.

"i'll text you, yeah? i'm just letting you know now so you won't be freaked out by some rando trying to text you or whatever." dan let out a nervous titter, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

phil nodded, a smile creeping up on his face as he once again turned towards the direction of his next class.

...

arriving home from school, phil instantly locked himself in his room — to nobody's surprise, in complete and utter isolation from the rest of his family.

phil threw his bookbag on the floor, plopping himself onto his bed.

his mind raced with reveries of potential conversations to be held with dan. eyelids gradually drooping, phil clutched his phone closer to his chest. his quick rest was interrupted by the subtle vibrating sensation atop his chest, the word "hey" flashing across the screen.

bringing the phone towards his face, the corners of phil's mouth turned upward into a smile.

his sudden sense of elation was followed by an overwhelming flood of confusion. he furrowed his eyebrows. what was he meant to reply to "hey" with? "hi"? no, that'd be too casual. "sup"? no, again, too casual. "hello"? too formal. his finger lingered on the send button for what seemed like an eternity, until —

"hey, what's up?"

after a few minutes of continuous gazing at the screen for a response, he buried his head in his pillow. he'd done it again — he'd somehow managed to screw everything up.

his timorous thoughts were followed by his phone vibrating.

"deciding whether or not i should study lol, how are u?"

as the conversation continued, phil's gingerly formulated responses progressively became less and less thought out.

more notably, sentiments phil never grazed the surface of were being uncovered through his seemingly everlasting conversation with dan. for the first time in his life, he understood what people meant by the "butterflies". why they were there, he couldn't exactly pinpoint. but they were there. they were there, they were alive, and their movements were far too accelerated for phil's liking. but how bad could they possibly be?

—

hi ur fav flop is back from the dead (again)

ok so i've been kinda overwhelmed with things and to be completely honest - i hate my writing so much and it's really annoying!! then i realize that reading a story updated every 50 years is probably immensely tedious and i am so sorry omg pls don't sue me