INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
FUCKBOY (26) is lying in bed with QUIETTYPE (26) draped over him. They’re kissing.
QUIETTYPE
You can stay... if you want.
FUCKBOY
Yeah, thanks.
Nestled on his shoulder, she’s starting to fall asleep. Carefully he eases his arm from under her, swiftly replacing his body with a pillow like Indiana Jones replacing the golden skull with a sandbag.
INT. RESTAURANT - EVENING
QuietType is sitting in a busy restaurant. She’s sitting with BECKY (27) who’s nodding along but her eyes are glazed over.
QUIETTYPE
...anyway, I’ve not heard from him yet but I think he’ll probably call tonight or something.
Becky nods, she’s not listening.
BECKY
I think we should end things.
QuietType stops in her tracks.
QUIETTYPE
Oh... I thought things were great with you and Derek.
BECKY
I’m not talking about Derek.
Becky fiddles with the stem of her wine glass.
BECKY
We’ve had a good run, I think we’ve just grown apart.
QUIETTYPE
Wait, sorry, who are we talking about?
(a bit too loud)
Are you breaking up with me?
BECKY
(hushed)
I can’t be breaking up with you if we’re not a couple.
QUIETTYPE
Well you’re fucking saying the things you say when you break up with someone.
Becky shifts awkwardly, can barely look at QuietType.
BECKY
I think we’re just better off if we...
QUIETTYPE
If we what? If we’re just friends?
Becky downs her wine and finally looks her fully in the eye, her face an emotionless mask.
BECKY
I can’t be your friend anymore.
QUIETTYPE
Oh you can’t?! Is there a gun to your head?
(her face falls)
Oh fuck are you dying?
Becky rolls her eyes.
BECKY
I just don’t want to be your best friend anymore.
(mumbles)
Sorry.
QuietType and Becky stare each other out for a heavy moment. QuietType’s face falls first.
QUIETTYPE
(almost a whisper)
What did I do?
Becky looks like she could cry but doesn’t let QuietType see.
BECKY
We’ve just grown apart a lot over the years. We’re not the same people we were when we met.
QUIETTYPE
We were 11 when we met.
BECKY
Well, yeah I know. My point is people change.
Their food arrives, they both take the opportunity to look away. The WAITRESS (20’s) brandishes a large block of parmesan and grater.
WAITRESS
(to QuietType)
Parmesan?
QUIETTYPE
Er, yeah please.
The grating of the parmesan seems to go on a long time. Eventually:
BECKY
I think that’s enough, thank you.
QUIETTYPE
Don’t tell me how much parmesan to have!
The waitress smiles politely but can’t completely hide a pained look on her face, as she walks away.
BECKY
You’re being childish.
Becky starts to get up. She gets out her credit card and gestures to the waitress.
QuietType watches her former friend pay the bill and leave the restaurant without looking back. She sits there stunned.
INT. FUCKBOY’S FLAT, KITCHEN - MORNING
Fuckboy unlocks the door to his flat. As he walks in he can hear the unmistakeable sound of people having sex. Loudly. The woman theatrically climaxes.
FUCKBOY
Nah, no way that’s not fake.
INT. FUCKBOY'S FLAT, KITCHEN - LATER
Fuckboy’s sat eating toast and scrolling through his phone. Off screen kissing and giggling can be heard.
Fuckboy cranes his neck round the door to see his flatmate, MIKEY (25) canoodling with a girl STACEY (25).
Fuckboy makes a face like he could puke and looks away. He puts his headphones in and blasts music.
Suddenly Mikey’s face is looming in front of his, grinning. Fuckboy rips out his headphones.
FUCKBOY
Man, what the fuck?
Mikey giggles. He hides his face like a naughty school girl.
MIKEY
Did you see her?
FUCKBOY
I fucking heard her mate.
MIKEY
I think I’m in love man.
Fuckboy scoffs.
FUCKBOY
That good yeah?
Mikey ignores him and starts singing, Fuckboy eyes him like Mikey’s just told him he’s suicidal.
INT. CAFE - DAY
QuietType types studiously at her laptop. She spots Stacey waiting by the counter for her coffee. Instinctively she shifts down in her seat, hiding behind her laptop. Stacey notices QuietType staring at her.
STACEY
Oh!
QuietType sinks lower.
QUIETTYPE
Fuck.
It’s too late, Stacey is in front of her.
STACEY
Oh my gosh, hi.
QuietType smiles weakly.
QUIETTYPE
Heyyyy.
STACEY
Kingston Grammar right?
QUIETTYPE
Yeah, Stacey, hi.
STACEY
I remember you! Didn’t you used to hang around with like Becky and Danielle, and like that group, no?
QUIETTYPE
Huh, yeah that’s right. And you were always in the popular group.
Stacey laughs.
STACEY
That’s so funny. How is Becky?
QUIETTYPE
Oh, um, we... drifted apart a bit, I guess.
STACEY
My god really? You were like thick as peas.
QuietType scoffs.
QUIETTYPE
I don’t think that’s-
STACEY
It was good seeing you.
Stacey hurries away.
Quiettype opens her phone and texts Becky: Sorry I know I was a bit dramatic, but can we talk?
The sent ticks don’t appear at all.
She googles: how can you tell if someone’s blocked you on WhatsApp?
INT. QUIETTYPE’S FLAT - NIGHT
QuietType is curled up on her sofa, crying. A small dog at her feet. She cradles a comically large glass of wine. Her eyes are red and she stares into the abyss.
Her phone buzzes and she jumps for it almost spilling her wine. It’s just a Uber Eats notification for a discount. She slumps back down.
She has a staring contest with her phone, her phone wins. She picks it up and calls Becky. It rings then cuts to voicemail.
INT. QUIETTYPE’S FLAT - LATER
The night is starting to take on the bluey tint of dawn. She’s on the tequila now. QuietType is drunkenly howling along to records and has the photo album out. It’s picture after picture of her and Becky at weddings, at hen do’s, on night’s out, at theme parks, on holiday. She gets a notification on her phone. Becky is going live on instagram.
QuietType watches Becky dancing in a bar with friends.
BECKY (O.S.)
Woo!
QUIETTYPE
That’s our bar.
She gathers her bags and keys as fast as her drunken state allows and stumbles out the door.