Moving in (y/n pov)

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I hate myself. More importantly, I hate what I will forever feel guilt towards. Regan Lockhart, a girl who was my greatest friend. Regan died the day we had a fight. I was in my car, driving the boxes of personal belongings and IKEA furniture to my new apartment in Manchester. I was listening to twenty one pilots, but I didn't dare sing along. After hurting someone with my words and not being able to apologize before they died made me learn sign language, and not speak. I made films on YouTube, where emotions were used to communicate instead of words, and I made enough money to keep that as a job.  Other than that I played Piano, did art and was mad into photography. I went into the elevator and loaded a few boxes into it, leaving them outside my apartment on floor 17. When I left 6 boxes a man who looked about my age waved at me and pointed to my boxes, then at my apartment. I pulled out my note book and wrote
"Do you know sign language?"
The man signed back a 'yes' and we started to have a sign language conversation in the elevator.
"I'm y/n, you are?"
"Phil. Are you mute or do you just not speak?"
"Oh I just don't speak. Are you mute?"
"No, same as you. Do you like video games?"
"Yes I love them. Do you live alone?"
"No I have a flat mate named [dan]"
"Does he-"
"Yes he speaks but he learned sign lab for me"
At this point we had taken up all of my 12 boxes of stuff and he asked me if I needed help building furniture.
As we were building a table, he started humming to himself. I got a good look at my new friend Phil and realized how good looking he was. A black fringe, blue green eyes, pale skin, a tall figure. Dam, he was good looking, and really friendly. We worked on setting up my apartment into the night when he left with a smile and a wave. He told me why he didn't talk, the story was so similar to mine, and for some reason I felt a bond towards him.

You hear my voice|Phil Lester x readerWhere stories live. Discover now