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Back in the real world, he'd been addicted to instagram -- a pass-time more or less lost to Austin, at this point. His stream had mostly been fashion, yes: ties and watches, shoes and jackets, coats -- a healthy dose of selfies --

But that hadn't been all of it. Austin had liked food, but not just any food. He'd liked food that was on the cutting edge, places no one else had heard about. He'd liked food that looked good on camera, and that made other people jealous. He liked being cleverer than other people, and discovering things.

This cafeteria, in contrast, was a black hole of the same old thing. Austin sat with a pile of mush on his plate that he couldn't even separate from itself, items that were a uniform shade of grey-brown to his eyes. Still, he struggled to frame a shot that made his life look less bleak than this moment, phone tipped just slightly, missing all his custom-created filters.

At least the grapes had color. He wasn't sure it was the right color, but...

There was a long moment of silence: green eyes sliding up off the screen to lock onto Harvard, narrowing just faintly in something like disgust. He lowered the phone and leaned back, away from the grasping arm and the way the other man settled too close to his chair. Somehow, without saying anything, the look was sarcastic.

"There's no instagram on the island." Obviously. He turned the screen off.

There was another long pause, Austin's eyebrows knitted some, while he looked Harvard up and down as well -- assessing, and not exactly in a kind sort of way. Not in a respectful sort of way, nor even a scientific one. It wasn't quite sneering, but it was a damned close thing.

"Are you an idiot?" Austin asked it slowly, as if he wasn't sure Harvard would understand, otherwise. Each word spoken crisply and clearly, as he reached out to hold up a single pea. At least, he thought it was a pea.

"What the ******** kind of sexting would this even be? I don't think I want to know what your junk looks like."

"It was a stupid question that answers itself." And with that, apparently, Austin was done with dinner -- or, maybe, just with being in Harvard's company. He threw the pea back down and stood, which was awkward, considering just how close the man was. Worse was that he almost tripped over his chair in the process, something annoying enough to make him scowl harder, grabbing his tray and sliding it out of Harvard's grasp so he couldn't take any more grapes.

Austin wanted to throw them away, instead. A small victory. "I don't owe you any answers."

Austin flicked Harvard a look as he dumped what was left on his tray in the trash, pausing to swipe his hands down unhappily with a napkin and throw that away, too. Only once his hands were clean did he snatch up his phone again, starting away from Harvard.

He flicked a look back at him, maybe annoyed. Maybe checking to see if he was still there. Or a bit of both. "Nothing much. Just some weird old guy's following me around."

"No, I was immediately promoted to real work. No summer camp bullshit for me."

One glance was all Harvard got, though, before Austin focused intently on the screen of his phone, instead: paging through boring twitter message after boring twitter message, fights between strangers he neither knew nor cared about, with absolutely no pictures or curated content. Thus far, he hadn't fully engaged on twitter, himself. It wasn't the same, here. He had a captive audience -- people who, it seemed, all but had to follow him -- but none of them had any taste. None could fully appreciate the kinds of carefully constructed outfits he used to post.

And besides. The rot on the walls in his room kind of ruined the aesthetic.

"They saved all that for the B listers."

It got a pause, and then a look up at last: mock-surprise in his eyes, a single arched eyebrow. The phone sat in his hand, for the moment he ignored it to squint at Harvard, instead.

"Are you still following me?" Austin had perfected this bored tone, this better than you attitude, over the course of all his twenty-whatever years. He rolled his shoulders to settle his coat more properly into place. "Obviously I'm more than tolerated, if I can hold onto such a clear fanbase."

He succeeded at that: Austin, for the moment, too annoyed to find his own tongue, swatting after Harvard's hand. He was left patting his curls back down into an orderly tumble, instead of a tangled mess, and scowling down the hall like he was trying to figure out what was down there, more interesting than his company.

"Dry up." He grumbled it to himself, and even left on his own, he couldn't come up with a good retort.