Ferbs was on his sofa.

Phineas didn't know why his soulmate was sleeping on his sofa in his apartment. It was one more confusing thing to add to the growing list of confusing things. Something had happened yesterday. He knew that, but it was blurry and didn't make any sense in his head.

What happened that led to Ferbs sleeping on his sofa? He didn't even look comfortable. His legs were hanging off one end and his head was bent at an angle that was sure to make his neck hurt when he woke up.

Phineas pressed his hand against his mouth, smothering a yawn. Apart of him wanted to forget Ferbs was here and go back to sleep. Even if he'd already slept later than he normally did. At least, he believed he had, he couldn't find his phone to check the time and didn't feel like booting up his laptop.

Phineas made a mental note to buy a wall clock.

Was it creepy that he was watching him sleep? Probably. It vaguely reminded him of that movie about the vampire and werewolf his sister had dragged him to years ago. But it was interesting to him in a way he couldn't explain. Ferbs seemed smaller asleep, somehow, even though he took up the entire sofa.

Ferbs shifted, lifting his head from where it was buried in the crook of his elbow. His bleary eyes locked onto Phineas.

Why Ferbs had kept his eyes hidden had certainly been a question in Phineas' mind. The pink tinge of Ferbs' right sclera, that seemed to highlight the deep blue of his eyes, and the surrounding discoloration gave a convincing answer.

They stared at each other.

Whatever surprise the black eye had caused Phineas disappeared as he realized that Ferbs had caught him watching him sleep. Phineas looked away, cheeks burning. It was creepy.

Ferbs shot up on the sofa but remained seated.

When Phineas glanced back, the sunglasses were back in place. "I already saw it."

Rather than take them off, Ferbs tilted his head and shrugged.

"Why are you here?" Phineas had a weird feeling that Ferbs was staring intently at him under those mirrored lens. It was different from the mental undressing he'd been sure of yesterday but felt just as intrusive. Maybe more. He wrapped his arms around himself. "Stop that."

Ferbs stretched his arms over his head before flinching and rubbing the back of his neck.

"What are you doing here?" The sooner Ferbs told him, the sooner he could tell him to leave, and then Phineas could go back to bed. Maybe. He was kind of awake now. As if to contradict that, he yawned again.

Hands smoothing out his heavily wrinkled shirt, Ferbs said, "You had some type of panic attack. You were rambling incoherently, and as such, I decided it would be best to not leave you alone." He paused a second. "I tried to calm you down, but it was unsuccessful, and I—" Breaking off, Ferbs ducked his head slightly.

"You what?" His self-hug tightened. What had Ferbs done?

"I brought you home after you... you fainted for a minute for two."

Phineas' eyes widened. He'd fainted? He'd never fainted during an attack. Was he getting worse? The attacks had been coming more frequently. What would cause that? He remembered a news story about a guy fainting and cracking his head open and it led to them finding out he had a brain tumor that caused the fainting in the first place. What if he had a brain tumor? What kind of doctor did you go to to find that out?

Ferbs had raised his head, and he frowned at Phineas. "I wouldn't concern yourself with it."

Phineas fought to keep his voice level, "Why wouldn't I be concerned?" Didn't he get it? Fainting was a big deal. There could be something actually wrong with him. Did Ferbs really care enough to spend the night but not enough to be concerned about his overall health? How did that make any sense?

"You were hyperventilating. A simple lack of oxygen could account for it." Ferbs stood. "Perhaps I should go."

Ferbs had barely taken a single step when Phineas blurted out, "Wait!"

"Yes?"

Phineas licked his lips. "Where's my iPhone?" He didn't know why he felt Ferbs would know. Maybe because he'd been here. It was just as likely he wouldn't know.

Raising his eyebrows, Ferbs pointed at the counter. The phone in question sat in clear view. "Is that all?"

"Yes, I mean, no." Did he really want to ask? "I mean, how'd you get the black eye?" Phineas didn't know why he wanted to know.

Ferbs faced him, unmoving for a few seconds, before giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I'll tell you how when you tell me how you gained your own war wound."

Phineas' mind blanked for a reply. If Ferbs had brought him home, it wasn't outrageous that he'd seen Phineas without his shirt but hearing was different. It was a sensitive topic and Ferbs was acting like it was a joke. A surge of anger hit Phineas.

"Get out." The words were barely above a whisper.

Ferbs' brow furrowed. "What?"

"Get out!" It was too much. He pressed his palms against his closed eyes. His heart was already speeding up. Why did this keep happening? He didn't want this. He couldn't do this. It was too much. Too fast. He wasn't ready.

"Phineas?" The sudden switch in Ferbs' tone, the pure concern, almost made Phineas want to take it back.

"Please, leave." He needed his pills. He needed to think. Alone. He needed to be alone.

"Alright." Footfalls on the wooden floor followed his path to the door. "Phineas, I didn't..." He trailed off. "Take care of yourself."

Phineas waited until the door had closed behind him and then some. With every second, the anger faded, guilt taking its place. His heartbeat still felt off but had slowed down to its normal rhythm.

Why couldn't he just put up with it? Do what was expected of him? Whatever that was. He didn't even know.

Didn't it mean something that Ferbs had stayed? Even if Phineas didn't like it.

Why couldn't he just be happy?

Why did he constantly do things to keep himself from being happy?

Removing his hands from his eyes, he swallowed, mouth dry. Phineas walked across the room to the kitchen counter and picked up his phone. Unlocking it, it ignored the notification that he had several dozen missed texts and went straight to contacts.

Letting himself sink to the floor, he waited for it to stop ringing.

"Isabella?" he croaked out. "I screwed up." It took everything not to tack an 'again' onto the end of his sentence.