LlamaStickz

Dan Howell - despite being a hermit - is an obnoxious little shit. This is sort of cute some times (like when he lies in the middle of the hall muttering, 'oh dear lord, I am going to die') and less cute at others (when he won't move when oh my God, Dan, just get off the floor you idiot). "You could do with some help." "Are you my mother?" Phil asks with a grunt, grabbing the box of Cheerios back off of him. "You could drown." "I could-" but then the cheerios are gone and Dan's walking back to his bedroom, hips swaying with every step. Like I said - an obnoxious little shit. -- When the doorbell rings the next day, Phil bounds up to answ

I sigh once again, my head on my knees, staring at the TV. I turn my head to look out of the thin slit between the curtains at my window to see the still bustling city of Manchester, my neck clicking. I sigh to look back at the TV, then to the bedroom door. It's cloaked in dust, not cleaned for months. Because he isn't here. I sigh, trying to stand up. My legs waver and I nearly collapse as I turn to get off the bed. I slowly stand, my legs weak, hardly supporting my stick frame. The belts slung around my waist clatter together, creating disgruntled little clangs every time I inch myself along the wall. I'm at the door. The door that blocks m