Jealous? (Dan Howell/Phil Lester x reader)

1: A Night Out

Your perspective

I looked myself up and down in the bedroom mirror.  Was this oversized tank a bad idea? I lifted my arms and assessed if the amount of bra strap visible crossed some kind of arbitrary line of decency. I examined my backside. The fabric loosely falling over my hips only barely covered my bum, my legs, enveloped in fishnets, on full display. I was wearing black boxer briefs underneath, but still... I bit my lip, insecure, doubtful. I sighed, frustrated with myself. I resented that I'd grown up to feel like I should simultaneously be modest and desirable for others. Simultaneously fuckable yet not a slut. I resented that I couldn't simply throw on my fishnets and oversized tank because they were comfortable and I thought the outfit was cute in contrast with my army boots. That someone somewhere would always be judging it as either an invitation, or a reason to spit on my so-called shitty morals.
I angrily stared at my reflection, my face contorted into a scowl. 
No, Y/N. You go out there and don't give a shit what anyone thinks. Screw them.
I was grateful for that ever present grain of defiance. 

It was a hot summer night and I risked going out without a jacket. Unencumbered by anything but a small purse dangling from my shoulder, I happily skipped out into town. I was proud of myself for wearing exactly what I wanted and felt completely empowered. Sexy too, though that didn't mean I was on the lookout. I briefly wondered what dimwit ever came up with the idea that feeling sexy should always be for someone else's benefit. Heck no, I was going to have a nice solo night out, have a refreshing drink or two, sway to some beats while paying attention to nothing or nobody but the music and feel alive. I took a deep breath. The scent of night blooming jasmine was thick in the air. An almost sultry kind of sweet weighing heavy on the night.

"What's kicking, Y/N", Dave said as he poured me my regular choice of alcohol upon entry.

"Tell me what's good tonight mate", I replied as took a delighted sip of my drink.

"Depends on what you're looking for."

"Good beats, no socialising.'

Dave grinned. He always knew where to find the best event or party for any mood or purpose. 

"The Arena has a concert tonight so nobody there is going to be looking to date unless they already have one", he winked at me.

I chuckled into my glass and downed my drink. "Who's playing?"

"Forgot the name, never heard of them. Something obscure and progressive I heard."

Good. This was right up my alley. This place wasn't going to be too busy, and with a bit of luck, nobody would be paying attention to me bobbing away near the bar. I gave Dave a cheeky wink.

"If I go missing, you know where I was tonight."

"Holy shit", I mumbled to myself as I arrived at The Arena. 
Dave had been right: the band in town was both obscure and progressive, but little had he known that I had been low key obsessing over Ghost for over a year now. I failed to understand why they hadn't yet gone world famous. I felt guilty for not knowing they were playing in my home town today. Hashtag fake fan, ugh. Thank god for Dave.

The Arena was exactly as you would expect: round. I was early. On stage, roadies were still taping down cables to prevent tripping. Save a few eager amateur photographers, people were still loitering on the platform near the bar at the back of the venue. I made my way down to the stage, hoping for a peek at an unguarded setlist. Alas, there was no setlist in sight

The latest The xx album was blasting through the speakers and I casually tapped my fingers on my purse as I turned around to make my way to the bar. A few steps in, someone caught my eye. The image lingered in the back of my mind for a bit first. A tall shape on the platform, leaning on the railing, staring dreamily in the direction of the stage. It triggered something in my brain and it slowly dawned on me that this shape seemed somehow familiar. My eyes shifted to the railing. I stopped dead in my tracks. No... it couldn't be. I blinked and looked again, meanwhile pretending I was looking for something in my purse so as to be less conspicuous. I had been right the first time. Sure enough, right there on the platform stood Phil Lester. I had never thought of myself as an overly obsessive person. Sure, I had my favourites on YouTube. Sure, I enjoyed engaging in fandoms, but I had always been fully aware that a lot of it was a matter of appreciative exaggeration. I'd thought that if I'd ever meet these creators I liked so much, I would be a perfectly normal adult about it. I'd be all "Hi, so nice to see you! Really appreciate your content, thanks for that. Won't bother you any further, bye!"

But here we were. Phil Lester, in the flesh, was standing mere yards away from me and my heartbeat was involuntarily sky-rocketing. It was one thing to have the opportunity to meet your idols at conventions, where these interactions were carefully planned and expected, but it was entirely different to casually run into them at random. The internal struggle was savage. I debated whether going up there and talking to him would be an invasion of his space. What if I were famous? Would I be annoyed by the idea I couldn't even leave my house without being claimed by some fan with a misplaced feeling of entitlement to my attention? I had no idea what to do. I was taken aback by my own strong emotional reaction to Phil's presence. I wasn't even that into him. Not that I disliked Phil, he was nice enough and so was some of his content, but my appreciation for him was nothing compared to my love of his best friend and roommate, Dan Howell, and admittedly, I mostly liked watching Phil in tandem with him.

Get yourself together, Y/N. I decided I didn't want to be a crazy person, that I would just casually stroll over to the bar and sort of hang around in his vicinity tonight. If I happened to find an unobtrusive way to start a conversation, I would, and otherwise I'd just content myself with having been in the same venue for a night.

I walked the ramp up to the platform, which had me going somewhat in Phil's direction. Just as I was about to divert to the bar, I thought I saw him look in my direction. Was this my imagination?  Was I secretly thirteen and a lot more obsessed than I was willing to admit? Was this choice to be minimally invasive and mature about this merely a wafer-thin façade? I slowed my pace and glanced his way. Bright blue eyes fixed onto mine and Phil smiled.

He had definitely made eye contact, and now he was coming towards me.