I Like Bad Boys (Phan)

Chapter 3 - I Like Bad Boys

Dan's POV

The next day, Emma nudged me in class. Our teacher was out, and naturally the substitute didn't do anything. It was like a free class for a day. The entire class was boisterously chatting away to each other or spending time on their phones.

"Hey, remember? I had something to ask you?" she asked.

"Oh, right!" I adjusted my body to face her, who was sat at the desk to my side. "What was it?"

"Okay, this is a little weird, but I realized we've never really talked much about this."

Only a few seats from me, the punk from yesterday, with the blue hair and lip piercing, was looking in my direction. Not directly at me, but near me. There was no other guy from his group for him to converse with in this class, so I figured he was bored.

"Okay, Dan?" Emma called me. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah."

"So, I was wondering," she said, "what's your type?"

"My type?"

"Yeah! I kinda figured, 'hey, I really don't know this about Dan. I should ask.' I mean, what kind of guy are you into?"

I put my finger to my chin and looked down in thought. My type? I didn't think I really had a type. But if I go back and think about most of my crushes from the past, or my exes, I noticed it did in fact follow a pattern. Maybe then, I figured, that would be my type.

"I guess..." I prolonged my answer, "I guess you could say that I like bad boys."

Emma smiled and tilted her head. "Bad boys?"

"Yeah," I grinned. "I guess that's it. I don't know why, but there's something about dyed hair and kissing someone with lip piercings that I find so.... What's the word?"

"...Hot?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Aww, cute!" she exclaimed. "So... like punks?" She had added that part with a touch of nerves.

"Well, personality counts too. Just because a boy is attractive doesn't mean I have to go out with him. Some of the punks are jerks. Some aren't."

"Hmm. I see."

"Ha ha," I said, a little awkward. "So yeah, I guess I like punks. But anyway, what's your type then?"

Emma went into detail about her Prince Charming, who would have perfect hair and beautiful eyes and would sweep her off her feet. I could barely listen to the whole thing. I looked over at the punk again, who was scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

Phil's POV

I heard what he said about liking punks. He said he likes guys with colour in his hair? And piercings? I have blue in my hair, I was thinking. And a lip piercing he could kiss.

Why was I thinking about this? Him, a pastel, of all people?

The truth was that I was in the closet about a lot a lot of things, one being that I felt I may be bisexual. I've always liked girls, and I've been with quite a few, but I have this feeling that some boys are actually pretty attractive. I would never tell anyone this. I didn't trust anyone but Alex, and only half the time with him. He would probably get pissed off about it if he knew. I didn't need to lose the only person I could consider a friend. And even then I didn't consider him that close anymore anyway.

I don't understand why I felt so affected by this. There's no way I could be attracted to him. I didn't even know his name.

That's a lie. I listen to too many things. The girl's name was Emma, and his name was Dan. I also didn't know why I denied myself the privilege of knowing this. It just felt weird.

I watched him listen to his friend chat away about her "type" after explaining his. I felt so awkward, now knowing he likes people like me. I've seen him everywhere – in the halls, at lunch, in some of my classes, too. When he sees a punk, he will sometimes stare or quickly look at them. Maybe I could have guessed he liked some of them.

"Some punks are jerks," he had said. "Some aren't."

Was I a jerk?

Why did I care? I couldn't actually find him that attractive. If I had to use a word to describe him, it might as well be "cute." He wears that stupid purple flower crown all day, and bright colours, and has stupid soft-looking brown hair and stupid brown eyes to match, and when he smiled, a stupid dimple appeared on his cheek. His stupid hands looked soft and his stupid lips were perfectly pink and his voice was stupidly sweet and timid and calm.

But yes, he was definitely "cute."

I didn't think too much about my next act. I grabbed a piece of paper and began to write something down. That way, if it was secretive, no one would know that all these stupid things about him were actually the answer as to why I found him "cute."