Your Perspective

     I woke up to the sound of pounding an yelling at my bedroom door. I checked the time, 3:00pm, and groaned, rolling off of my bed and slowly walking to the door, completely forgetting about my laptop. I had fallen asleep while I was watching YouTube, so it was still open on top of my bed. I unlocked the door, eyes still closed, and prepared for what might happen when I open them.

     "Yeah?" I asked, pulling open my door and opening my eyes at the same time.

     "Why the fuck are you still asleep?!" Brady started screaming nonsense in my face. I basically tuned him out. So much that I didn't realize when he stopped.

     I only knew what was happening when I turned around to find him looking furiously at me, holding my laptop. Not only did I completely forget to hide it, it also happened to still be open to Dan's video. I froze, but not before covering my ears from all the screaming. All I could understand was gibberish. It was probably better than whatever he actually was saying. I ended up getting pushed out the front door, my laptop, phone and some of my clothes being chucked out after me.

     The front door slammed and I tried to calmly get up and gather my possessions. I only had one slight problem, my ankle was sprained or worse, broken. All I knew at the time was that it was painful to move it. I would basically scream in pain each time I put pressure onto it.

     "Broken most likely," a fairly familiar voice said. I looked up to see someone I would have never expected. Phil Lester. I instantly had butterflies in my stomach and lost all of the things I was going to say in response.

     "I- Well I mean- You know, you never know-" I rambled, cutting myself off multiple times. I just stopped completely before taking a deep breath and starting over, "Yeah. Hi, I'm (Y/N)."

     "Well, I'm Phillip. But you, lovely lady, can just call me Phil," he gave be bright smile, holding out his hand, "Let me help you there."

     I got into a position that would be easy to be pulled up from. Since Phil was taller than me, it was pretty easy for him. He threw my right arm over his shoulders, helping support my injured ankle. He insisted on bringing me to a hospital straight away, but I kept refusing, not wanting to face any more doctors than I needed to. Even though I probably needed one. I did, however, agree to being brought into his apartment, which, surprisingly, was right across from my and Brady's.

     As he sat me down on the couch, he quickly ran to the kitchen, probably grabbing ice. I took the opportunity to look around the room. There were mostly boxes stacked on one another. With the few furniture pieces, including the couch I had been set down on and a half-made coffee table from IKEA. Phil rushed back, ice pack in hand, and balanced some pillows to make a place that would lift up my ankle a bit.

     "Thank you so much Phil," I giggled a bit, "I don't know what I could do without you."

     "Well, now that you're partly taken care of, would you mind telling me why you just got thrown out of what I presume was your apartment?" he raised an eyebrow at me, suspicious.

     My mood dropped, "Oh, you saw that?"

     "Well yeah, it was a little hard to miss. I was originally going to come over and ask what all the ruckus was about, but walked out just as that man had pushed you." Phil explained with a solemn look on his face.

     "Well . . . he just has really bad anger issues and I had done something that made him mad. He's my, uh, boyfriend. He just gets like that sometimes. It's nothing."

     "I that how you have all of those bruises?" he asked, pointing to my leg where I had pulled up the pant leg a bit, which I quickly covered, "And what did you do that made him that mad?"

    "I cheated!" I lied, saying the first thing on my mind and obviously answering his question way too fast, "Yeah . . . I cheated on him and he found out."

     "Right . . . and the bruises?"

     "I'm a very clumsy waitress," I half-joked.

     "Wait, you're a waitress? That's actually really cool! My flatmate is actually interviewing to become a part-time waiter. We both have jobs, but what's a little more income, ya know?" he rambled on and on. I was glad that he did most of the talking. It lasted for hours.

     In the back of my mind, I was just thinking about what he said in the beginning. His flatmate was going to become a part-time waiter. His flatmate was becoming a part-time waiter. His flatmate was Dan Howell.  I internally screeched, but immediately composed myself. Just because he was gonna work as a waiter, doesn't mean that he would be working at the same restaurant as me.

     "Well, thank you so much for taking good care of me Phil, but it's getting late and I kind of have to get back home," I smiled, trying to get up, but failing, again.

     "No, no, no. I can't let you go back there. He could just hurt you again. You're staying here tonight and I'm taking you to the hospital tomorrow morning," he insisted.

     "I can't do tha-" he interrupted me.

     "Yes. You can and you will. You can take the bed. I'm sure my flatmate won't mind taking the couch tonight."

     "No, Phil-"

     "Don't argue with me, (Y/N)."

     "But, where are you supposed to sleep?" I asked, concerned that I would be taking up too much space by staying here.

     "We have an air mattress in a box . . . somewhere. I'll find it and sleep on that. I promise, you are not making this a problem. Do not make yourself feel that way."

     It was like he had read my mind. And I was utterly grateful, and tired. He practically carried me up to his room, which I didn't recognize right away because it didn't have it's usual setup. I thanked him for what seemed like the hundredth time, before passing out on his bed.

I passed out on AmazingPhil's Bed

{a/n: I just realized that both of these chapters ended in you falling asleep. Weird.}