Phil POV

Phil looks up as the teacher calls his name, frowning. 

Miss Gravix shakes her head, "Sorry, I meant Bill. Your names are quite similar." She corrects herself and Phil smiles, not minding. Next to him, Harry laughs, scribbling a message on her notebook for him to read.

He grins and shakes his head, "She's just old."

"No, she's forgetful." Harry corrects, "You gotta learn to be mean."

"Then you'd be out of a job." Phil smirks.

Harry stifles her laugh, shaking her head, "That was clever, I'll give you that."

Phil mock-bows and shuts Harry's notebook for her as Miss Gravix walks past.

Harry whistles, "Do you think she'd notice if you'd left it open?"

"Oh, come on, you remember Derek, right?" Phil raises an eyebrow and Harry instantly nods, remembering the poor guy who'd obviously written something incriminating and had then been suspended for a month.

They quickly jot down the notes, Harry copying off Phil as he copies off the board because she can't see it over the girl in front of her, who's unusually tall. Afterwards, they pack up and meet the others by the lockers, Harry hugging Laia. George and Sandra arrive at the same time, swinging their hands between them, shortly followed by Michael and Rosie, who arrive separately.

As they get on the bus, Phil ends up by himself, the other six all sitting with their respective matched. Not being divisible by two is the only downfall to having a friendship group of seven. That and the fact that the others are all matched already, which is extraordinarily rare. Most of the time it doesn't affect him but he does sometimes wonder if and when he's going to find his match.

He doesn't necessarily mind sitting by himself on the bus though, listening to music as they reach his house. They assemble at a different house every month. Well, at least one day is planned and then any others they need are impromptu. Today happened to be Phil's house, which meant the longest bus journey. Once they do get home, they decide to share their English results, all trying to improve on it as the school had recently decided to change the entire exam they'd spent so much time preparing for.

Phil puts the popcorn in the microwave as they dump their bags on his bed and sit on the floor, in a makeshift circle with their books in the middle.

"Hey, how'd you know that Henry knew he was in danger?" George asks.

Phil settles beside him and opens their book to a relevant page, "His manner. He's glancing in all the mirrors and biting his nails."

"We were meant to read their body language?" Laia asks, groaning.

"Yes, you dingbat." Harry laughs, elbowing her while the rest of them laugh. They all know Harry's insults and pet names for Laia were appreciated by said person every single time.

Laia sighs, "Okay, but that doesn't explain why we were meant to figure out Jessica was the killer."

"Yeah, that is weird." Phil agrees.

"No, it's because she used her cats as an alibi when they were all with Frank." Michael explains, "Plus her daughter died three years ago so there's no way she could have given her poison."

"Oh, damn, I forgot about that." Sandra whacks her forehead, "I put that the daughter could have influenced her."

"Well, she was delusional. Technically, the daughter could have influenced her." Phil argues.

"What I don't get is why Henry didn't just marry Jessica's daughter in the first place." Rosie frowns, "Surely that would have solved everything."

"It wouldn't have been a seven hundred page novel then, would it?" Laia smirks.

It takes them half an hour to fully exchange notes before settling down in Phil's attic. Briefly arguing over a film, they settle on a horror film, squashing onto the beanbags with their remaining popcorn. Phil decides that he can make his video later, opting to watch the entire film despite the abrupt ending that manages to create more plot flaws than the entire film.

The film is a short one, ending before the neighbourhood goes dark. Harry, Laia and Michael leave together, George heading to his house soon after and Sandra waiting with Rosie while Sandra's Dad gets there to pick them up.

After they've all left, he opens up his laptop and starts to edit the video so he doesn't miss his mental deadline. Not that his subscribers would be mad at him if he didn't but that's just who he is and he can't feel at ease unless he's made his video. It's only once he's uploaded it that he blinks himself out of his editing trance and back into his bedroom, where he notices the alerts of comments and messages.

Today happens to be one of those days where, apparently, people weren't feeling generous or supportive. Almost every other comment is negative, some being draconian and simply cruel.

Phil shuts his laptop as fast as he can without damaging it and sits on the floor of his room, his head resting in his hands. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to erase the image of any negative comments. He knows it shouldn't bother him. He's old enough to know – fifteen for heaven's sake – that he should ignore them or tell someone close to him but who?

He doesn't want to disturb his brothers with something that should be insignificant, distracting them from their advanced, probably vital, work. He can't tell his parents as one isn't here and the other may as well not be for all the good they do. He mentally chides himself; at least he has parents. Ideally, he would have gone to his match but he hasn't met them yet, the lack of which is usually one of the main insults thrown at him. He groans softly, subconsciously curling into himself even more.

He doesn't hear Jack calling him, he doesn't hear Mark cracking jokes in attempt to lure him down and he doesn't hear the two of them climbing the stairs. He doesn't hear Jack's shocked gasp, he doesn't hear Mark's rage-filled inhale and he doesn't hear them opening his laptop. He doesn't hear them quietly read the messages, he doesn't hear them confer with each other and he doesn't hear them slide down on either side of him. But he does notice their arms around his shoulders and their soft humming and whistling.

He smiles and lifts his head, noting the two of them in matching shirts while uncurling a little so he can hug them.

Jack smiles and ruffles his hair, "Dude, you totally ignore the buffoons of idiots that say those things, hear me?"

Phil nods, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand to exile the stray eyelash that had fallen in. Mark grins, "Remember the good, Philly. Remember the good."

"I will." Phil murmurs, "Are you sure they're wrong though?"

"What? Saying you're terrible if you haven't met your match? People meet their matches at eighty, don't worry about it man."

"What if my match is repulsed?"

"Then they'd be lying." Mark replies, knowing how he feels. Phil nods and Mark holds up a new version of Sims, "Look what I found."

"There's another one?" Phil asks incredulously.

Jack nods, "With new features. Wanna try it out?"

"Don't tell Henry. Man, he'd go ballistic."

"Bring it on." Phil laughs, his mood brightening as they three of them head downstairs to challenge the latest update of Sims. The negativity forgotten as they start playing, he vows to keep making videos for the people that do appreciate it and he vows to someday find his match.

For now though, he's perfectly content with playing about on and vicariously living the life of his Sim, simultaneously trying to imagine what his match will be like and how long they have to wait before meeting.

This was also posted on Phil's birthday so *continued future celebration*