I Don't Need Your Help; d.h

prologue

Before we start, I'd like to clarify that there will be some typos or occasional mistakes amongst the story. I update on Wattpad mobile and my thumbs are huge and the keyboard is tiny. Don't worry; I often double check my chapters before publishing them. I update every Friday so tune in! Friday here where I live, but probably Saturday or Thursday where you are. (F/N) means Friend's Name, and I suppose you all know (Y/N), (E/C) is Eye Color, (F/C) is favourite color, (H/C) is hair color and if there are occasional additions, I'll inform you beforehand. Enjoy!

Also, this is the rewritten prologue. The old one from ye older times was too cringey.

prologue,

Your P.O.V. :

"Who do you think 'Deactivate Probably (Y/N)' is?" He spoke, not gracing his eyes up to look at you. This time, you were taken aback. Was SBM contacting Dan as well?  

"Uh-"

"And please don't lie to me, (Y/N)." The brown haired man continued to type on his laptop, very meticulous on doing whatever he was doing. You rested one arm on the table, your face leaning on your fist. 

"They only send me letters every month and--" 

"And what?"

"I don't suppose, maybe...hate mail, unflattering pictures and...the occasional death threats?" His shoulders raised as he opened his palms up a little above his keyboard. "I don't suppose you receive those?" 

"Why do you need to know, exactly?" 

"I'm sending this bitch an email." He stopped typing, his hand reaching for his mouse, which he had brought. "They bother me with an email threatening to spill more photos of our dinner and calling it a date. I mean, so what if it was a date?" 

Was he trying to help you?

"I mean, so whatever. It was a date. Who cares? I mean, sure, the Phandom might overreact, but they'll get over it--" 

"Stop," You grabbed his hands at the brink of him sending the email. "Don't. Ignore them, don't make them get the best of you--"

"This is exactly what they're trying to do, (Y/N)!" His hands escaped yours and flailed around for a few. "I'm going to tell them they can't, and they never will-" 

"Dan, please." Your hands gripped his wrists tighter, your (F/C) colored nails digging into his porcelain skin. "I don't want you to get involved in this. The least thing I want to do now is hurt you. I don't want them to send you hate mail, or death threats, or unflattering pictures." Your hands loosened, and wrapped themselves around his hands. "Don't do it, for me." 

"You've already hurt me, (Y/N)." He admitted. "You hurt me by hurting yourself."

---excerpt, I Don't Need Your Help, ch. 19 - the girl and daniel james howell

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