A Procrastinator Fears the Future (Dan Howell/danisnotonfire fanfic 3)

Part 3 - The Bride's Bouquet

My vision bounced ecstatically, the fireflies of light hazily blearing in and out of sight. I felt cold, shivering, with a sense of emptiness welling up in my chest. The feeling was consuming, bubbling through me and infiltrating my mind like a well-timed administration of anxiety-poison. I felt tight, wound up stiff like a clock work toy soldier. But I couldn't do anything about it.

Beside me, I was vaguely aware of Dan resting a hand on my leg, ever present through the aftermath of my stress. He knew I liked it when he was just there with me, just there to confirm that I was real and safe, secure and grounded. After the stress of a social situation, and a day of forced smiles and pressure, he could obviously sense my ebbing positivity levels.

Our orange mini felt claustrophobic. As beautiful as it had been hours ago, now, as Dan and I were escorted away from the venue in the small hours, it felt like travelling in a hollowed out baked beans can. I held the bouquet of sunset orange and violet flowers to my chest, gently stroking the petals and stems amidst my muddled thoughts.

The lulling motion of the car slowed, the breaks easing and the pinpricks of light outside coming into clear focus. Dan exchanged words with the driver, I think, before he was gently nudging me towards the car door. Next thing I knew, his arm was around my waist and leading me to the front doors of the building with clucking-concern.

I wasn't drunk. I didn't think I was. The acrid smell of alcohol still made me feel sick, like a hangover without the inducing agent. And yet, I hadn't been able to leave Lucy at the bar by herself. And because of my usual aversion to alcohol, just one strawberry daiquiri was enough to intensely trigger my anxiety and alter my perceptions. I didn't really do anything, of course not, but it was enough to tip the scale on my ability to manage my stresses. Hence why Dan and I had left hastily after Lynn and Phil's departure for their honeymoon in Fukushima, Japan.

Nearly a year ago, when Phil and Lynn had announced that their wedding would take place in Carlisle, I had joked that Dan and I should make the most of the visit and have a 'Northern Adventure' trip for a few weeks. I'd had three main motivations for this not-so-joke: one, I didn't want Dan and I to return to our shared townhouse with Phil and Lynn and it be empty. This had been the predominant cue to action, seeing as I knew I couldn't bear not hearing the Buffy intro playing every night at ten pm, or the sound of Lynn's morning routine before she left for work each morning. If I knew that I would feel uncomfortable at the lower floor of our home being empty, vicariously imagining Dan's reaction made my heart ache.

Secondly: I have a weakness for romance. If I could go to a wedding, the epitome of love, and then get to spend romance themed time with my boyfriend afterwards, then it would quite possibly be perfect and make me and my heart melt at the very idea of it.

And number three: the opportunity to see my parents. Three accumulating factors that would hopefully make this the best fortnight holiday I'd had in months.

However, Dan hadn't said anything to confirm the romantic side to these ideas. Aside from the four star hotel we were entering, which was a pleasant enough indication.

"Look out for the lift," Dan pointed out to me as we made our way past the reception of the gold-leaf hotel. In my sleepy state, I gave him a bleary smile as we waded through the perfumed atmosphere. Dan and I still retained some childish qualities, and evoking those was an effective way of lifting my spirits. Like reminding me that I could press the buttons in the lift; the naïve joy of simple pleasures. I loved him so much.

I sank down onto the black silken bedcovers of our monochrome hotel room and let out an exasperated sigh. Dan shut the room door with a click and walked in after me, a hand scruffing up the hair on the back of his head as he let out a similar breath.