Jealous? (Dan Howell/Phil Lester x reader)

7: Followed

note: Y/F = your friend

Your pov

I vaguely noticed I was enveloped by clouds. Everywhere I turned they wrapped around me like thick, fluffy blankets. I was sure I found myself in complete darkness, but despite my conviction I saw whisps of bright blue and deep pink shimmering underneath it. My hand reached to push away some cloud, and I noticed it was surprisingly solid. In the distance I heard a recurring beep, so faint at first that I though it had been my imagination. I tried to turn around to find out where the noise was coming from, but found myself firmly stuck in strangely solid fluff. The beep was temporarily drowned out by a moan. Hold on... That was my moan!  I tried to moan again and started kicking at the clouds around me. My foot broke free and kicked my beeping phone straight off my bedside table. In a split second, I was wide awake. My head jerked up and emerged from my tangled bed sheets in a whirl of messy hair. It took me a minute to get oriented. My head was nowhere near my pillow and trying to figure out how my feet had even began to be in a position where they could kick my phone off my bedside table was too hard a chore this early in the morning.

My phone had slid under my dresser and was still attacking my eardrums with its obnoxious beeping. Grunting in frustration, I toppled onto the floor and stared at it for a few seconds. I stretched out my arm, only to find it was just out of reach. I let out an angry growl and went through the considerable effort of moving my body two inches closer to the dresser. I fished my phone from underneath it with a loud ugh and turned off the alarm. 

"Great", I sighed, as I noticed I'd also missed a call from Y/F. I wasn't feeling up to calling her back just yet. She'd probably just called to tell me all the details of the awesome sex she'd had with whatever girl she had managed to take home from some party or another last night. I stared at my ceiling and briefly pondered the possibility of just not getting up and lying aimlessly on the floor for another hour. Then again, books don't write themselves. Ah, the perks of being all artsy and self-employed! Procrastinating to the point that you simply have to get up early after a party night because your deadline was yesterday.

Stumbling down the stairs I noticed how sore my muscles were. Note to self: less enthusiastic dancing. Or, you know, more regular exercise so a night of dancing wouldn't cause me to feel like an old hag in need of a hip replacement. Did I feel like breakfast? Of course not. Not the kind I should have anyway. Instead, I went for leftover pizza. The counter felt cold against my bare legs as I sat on it with the pizza box. There I was, in nothing but a light blue button down shirt two sizes too large, a head feeling like it could explode any minute, and the cold yet sinfully satisfying taste of greasy yesterday's pizza. Life, am I right. One minute it's an awesome gig of one of your fave bands, the next second it's an entirely fucked up morning with shit like 'obligations' and 'responsibilities'.

The ringing of my phone snapped me out of the complicated chain of thoughts about the meaning of existence and the endless void that is the universe, that was quickly unravelling in my brain as I munched with rapidly decreasing enthusiasm. Y/F's phone number flashed on the screen. I rolled my eyes, but decided to pick up. God knows what she'd do if she eventually got worried. I wouldn't be surprised if she bloody well came over and broke a window to see if she could discover my lifeless body tied up in a closet somewhere. She'd be equally shocked and heartbroken, and living for the drama of it. 

"Ugh. Yes?" I picked up.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME."

I had no idea what was going on. Maybe some ex-girlfriend had started online drama. Maybe someone had already told her I'd gone to see Ghost without her, on a whim. Possibly the girl she'd taken home last night had tits the size of watermelons and she was still trying to cope, who knew.

"What is..."

"IS THIS A JOKE? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. I DEMAND ANSWERS OH MY GOD WHAT AREN'T YOU TELLING ME. IS THIS FOR FUCKING REAL WHAT THE HELL Y/N, I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE..."

"STOP. SHOUTING."

Holy shit, this was out of the ordinary even for her. For as far as I could tell from her screaming, I'd apparently done something quite horrendous.

"But, you don't understand, I NEED TO KNOW WHY THE...."

"SHUT."

Y/F went silent. She knew I was serious when I didn't say "oh my god bitch calm the fuck down!" and had probably realised my morning temper was not to be messed with.

"Y/F, can you fucking just calm and collectedly tell me what you're screaming at me for? Yeah? CALM and collectedly. Shoot."

"Fucking check your Twitter."

"What? Why? What's on Twitter?"

"Will you just do it already? Oh my god!"

"Ugh, hold on..."

I walked over to my laptop and looked at my notifications. My jaw dropped.
"Holy. Shitballs."

"WHAT DOES THIS MEAN", Y/F screamed.

"No fucking way...." I mumbled, not really responding to what she'd said.

"Okay. That's it. I'm coming over."

She hung up without waiting for a reply, as I was still blinking at the words on my screen.

                                                                        Phil Lester followed you.