Someone Like You -Phillip Altman x Reader-

Domestic Sweet

Philip's POV:

Would he ever get tired of her?

He asked himself this question every once in a while, more like he feared this question every once in a while, he was known for getting tired quickly, getting bored of what was initially new and attractive to him. It was hard to listen to that part when she sat next to him, one long sock bunched up on her ankle and the other still stretched up on her leg, and his shirt draped over her body, eating cereal like she didn't have him wanting to eat his own cum off of her fingers like it was a Go-Gurt packet.

It had been a week since that and he was still thinking about it, it almost made him forget how much his ribs hurt or his cast itched, almost.

He didn't tell anyone, but the car accident had scared him, sure it wasn't that bad, it still didn't mean he didn't fear for his life when he saw the other guy's car coming straight at him, the initial pain on his side felt like someone was crushing his lung and he couldn't breathe well, when he woke up he was on the ambulance, his vision was blurry and he felt tired.

And all he could think about was her.

Someone call her...

Call y/n...

Was all he could repeat on his mind until he was totally back to his senses and he could mutter it out loud, to the nurses, to the doctors, and finally to his brother, who finally gave him an answer.

The pain didn't feel as nearly as crushing when he was well awake, he knew they had probably drugged the shit out of him, it wasn't so bad really, similar to weed, he recalled. When they explained what happened to him, he remembers blowing out air from his numbed lungs, thinking about the Porsche, and about the way he yelled at her, calling her a liar to her face, he didn't give a shit about that anymore, it wasn't important.

What the fuck was it about anyways?

He thought about that until she came into the room, and it popped again in his mind now as they watched How I Met Your Mother.

Right, her mom. And the apartment. Sure, he had been angry, he was angry that she lied to him, but mostly he could see now that he was sad, because he felt like she didn't actually want him to go with her, it felt like she was pushing him away and leaving him out, even though now the two had apologized and he knew she wanted him to go, it still would've been nice to see the apartment.

Maybe this was the stuff she wanted him to talk about...

Who was he kidding? He knew exactly what stuff she wanted him to tell her. How he uses humor as a coping mechanism, how he puts up the confident facade because at the smallest sign he already feels put aside, how every one of these details are plastered on millions of copies of a best seller book, and the more than logical mommy issues this developed, because most of the times it felt like the times his mother most cared for him were when there was good material to write down.

But she was taking care of him like someone should actually take care of a loved one, she made sure there weren't too many pillows lifting his leg, she scolded him about how he should change between the wheelchair and the bed so his back wouldn't hurt from the bad posture the fluffy pillows had him in. She was being attentive and tender, Philip had no idea when he had become so deserving of the 24/7 attention, but like the youngest sibling he was, he loved it.

He wanted to do the same, maybe this was a good opportunity for him to learn how to properly and truly express all that loving care, get better at it himself so he could one day repay her for all this nurse duty.

His own cereal bowl sat over his lap, now empty, she was munching on the last of hers when he turned to look at her with eyes that screamed 'thank you', that and something else he was a little hesitant to acknowledge just yet, he watched her profile, looking down her neck to the exposed shoulder peeking out of the pine green cotton. A closed smile spread on his lips as he leaned down to plant a firm kiss.