"...I just don't think it's gonna work anymore :/"

She's gone. His eyes fix on the screen as he slowly swipes off the DM page. He clicks on her story. Oh, another party. She didn't care. She never cared.

A slight sickness comes over him as he closes his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more. Like a boxer who had just been rocked by a devastating body shot, he slumped. He knows that anger will kick in soon, so he might as well enjoy the swell peace of feeling depressed for a few minutes. Ahh, feelings. Why do they exist? 

He looks up at the ceiling. "God, mate, why did you invent that? Like I get the idea of oxygen and the genius concept of digestion, but all these lovey dovey feelings... they were unnecessary."

He cringes at himself. A big 20 year old lad like him surely wasn't this much of a soppy wimp. He feels his eye start to water. Okay. Maybe this 20 year old is a soppy wimp. He slams his desk with his fist, winching in instant pain and regret as he spins in his spinny chair and launches himself into the safety of his bed sheets. No more thinking. Time to sleep.

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DING DING!! The bell on the shop door rings. 

"Hey, English, get that mop you lazy sod, we have an inspection today." the grumpy old shop lady barks.

He picks up the mop in a huff. It had been 2 years to the day since his... interesting parents took the leap of moving literally across the world to the grand old country of Australia, and he hated it. The sun. Another questionable invention from God. The deadly animals. Refer to the previous answer. As a boy who enjoyed a nice chilly winters day, Australia was far from the ideal location.

He looks over at the fridge section whilst reorganizing the dodgy magazines that had no doubt been touched by the grubbier of fingers. He checks his watch. 39 degrees. Yeah, it was fridge time. As he strolled over with the ever-so-convincing work face, the little bell on the door rang once more.

"Oh! My goodness, what brings you in here sir?"

The uplifted tone of voice from the witch behind the till could only mean one thing. Inspection time. He looks desperately at the fridge as he feels the old lady's gaze beamed down his back. So close yet so far, he hears the Titanic theme tune begin to play in his head as he spins slowly around to face the bland-looking inspector. 

"Ah if it isn't our resident Brit, Mr. Arthur Wild. How do you do fine sir?", he says in an uppity attempt at a British accent, to which he receives a grand total of zero laughs. 

"I'm great." Arthur replies, in a tone that wouldn't seem out of place at an AA meeting.

"... as enthusiastic as always! Hey mate you gotta sortcha' hair out. Looks like a bloody bird's nest that happened to be a subject of the Blitz." Once again, zero laughs.

Arthur ruffled his brownish blondish excuse of a hairdo. His hair was like hay, spraying out at all angles. The clearest example of bed hair that anyone could imagine. He swipes his fringe to the side in an attempt to smarten up, only revealing his dark and tired blue eyes. 

"Good lord mate... Oi Margery, you gotta keep your employees in check, look at the state of this bloke."

Arthur looks away like a spoilt kid, knowing that everything he said is true, but being too stubborn to admit it.

The door bell tinkles again, sparking the 3 employee's of Tina's Convenience chain to glance over. A girl walks in, about the same age as Arthur. In fact, there's something familiar about her tone of her greeting. Arthur's eyes widen as the girl, as if in slow motion, walks past the ailse in which the tired employees occupied.

Ginger hair, an abundance of freckles, dark brown eyes. Shit.

It was her.