A Hundred Days | Dan Howell x Reader

Chapter 8.

You seemed to now see him everywhere, brushing past you on the train, sitting on the bench you frequented in the park as you approached it— but everytime you got close enough either it wasn't really him, or Dan Howell had simply been yet another figment of your extensive imagination.

And you found your boss at The Record reminding you that you were being paid to write, not to stare off into nothingness, a wistful expression etched upon your face. He, your jounalism boss, Michael, was rather nice about it, though, admitting that he often did the same and needed a prod in order to carry on with whatever it was he was doing. Sara at The Dancing Fox, however, was rather grouchy about it. But come to think of it, she seemed to be one to be grouchy about everything, from the weather to the state of her finances. And not only did she complain, but she was loud, so that the Fox's entire staff knew what time her husband arrived home, late, every single night, and that she was seriously considering becoming vegan. You thought of how Dan would likely have, as Sara's employee, ranted about her in a video.

Get out of my head.

You had to constantly tell yourself not to think of him, but then of course, in doing so, his distinctive half-smile and the way he'd shyly glance at you from beneath his dark lashes, shot to your head.
You wished you wouldn't conjure him up around every corner, wished your shoulders wouldn't visably slump when it wasn't Dan who entered the room.

And, for crying out loud, you had to know why, why, why was Daniel always on your mind? And what was it that crept up your every limb and your spine, rushed through your blood and your bones when you thought of deep brown, enigmatic eyes, the same brown curls, paired with a lopsided smile?

Whatever it was you felt, it distracted you in every waking moment of your day and in the repetitive dreams that had begun to occur throughout your nights. Every word that met your ears and fell from your lips led back to him somehow, to something he'd said, or something he'd done.

And whatever it was, you wanted nothing to do with it.

These 'feelings' plagued you when you worked, wriggled into your thoughts as you spoke with friends and family; they encouraged Eileen to snap her fingers in your face when you were too far gone.

It was a sickness.
It was a curse.
And you wanted it to be broken.
You wanted to be rid of it.
To be rid of him.

• • •

For the following two weeks you blocked him from your mind (as much as you could) and devoted yourself to your business at The Record and at The Dancing Fox, your employers noting your tireless work. Except of course Sara, who scowled and muttered something along the lines of about time.
So basically just Michael, then.

That Friday evening you were so ready for the week to end, but upon hearing your neighbour exit their door as you struck your key to the lock, you decided to make one final social interaction and turned to greet them, never having actually met nor seen them, until now.

And instantly, you regretted your polite choice, wanting to scream as Dan Howell raised his eyes and his curly crown up from where he had been looking at his phone to say,
"Hello", with a darting smile and light dancing across his pretty eyes.

Then his face broke into a grin, albeit a bemused one, around about the same time you plastered a smile over the grimace your features had been forming.

And that was all it took. You were lost again.
So damnedly distracted.

Focus, Y/N!