A Hundred Days | Dan Howell x Reader

Chapter 6.

After quickly dropping by your flat in Camden Town, pushing past the stalls of the Market to reach your door, you were on the tube again, and then on the Heathrow Express, soon arriving at the airport to help Eileen make her way to the flat you were to be sharing. Her things were to be delivered the following day by a lorry that had driven across land and been shipped across sea to reach the busy city that was London.

From the monitors that read 'Arrivals' you could tell that Eileen's flight was on time and had landed half an hour ago. You stood in the designated waiting area, making your way to the front of the gathered people so that you could see Eileen immediately when she came.

You were incredibly excited to see her again, bouncing on the balls of your feet in the place where you stood.

And there she was.

You let out something between a squeal and a scream, rushing forth without caring what the people around you thought.

She spotted you, and cried out, running to you and hugging you with such force that the air was knocked from your lungs.

"Y/N/N!" she said, a brilliant smile across her features when the two of you finally let go of each other. "How've you been?"

"I've been all right, you?"

"Shitty as well, thanks". She always made you laugh. "What?" she winked. "Nobody ever tells the truth when you ask 'em that question, and I'm already weird so I might as well stand out in this aspect, too".

"How was your flight?" you asked her.

She groaned. "Hell, as per usual. Security in departure was absolutely AWFUL, and I had a baby screaming in my ear throughout the flight..."

"Oh, well", you said. "Nothing out of the ordinary, then".

She laughed. "No, not really".

You offered to help with her bags, but she would only let you take her handbag. You obliged and headed for the Express, taking the Underground to reach what was now to be home.

On the tube you looked around hopefully for Dan, but he was nowhere to be seen. Your shoulders slumped, but you supposed it was for the best. No need for any more distractions than you already had.

Back at the flat you gave Eileen her house key and resolved to help her unpack the following evening when you'd come back from work and classes.

After ordering some take-away for tea and eating the probably-not-nutritious-but-nonetheless-delicious meal, the two of you bid one another good night and split off to your own rooms.

You thought you'd be lying awake for hours on end like you did on any average night, but to your surprise, you were out like a light, though not before the image of a tall man with curly hair and dark eyes intruded upon your mind, his smile and the crinkle of his eyes the last thing you saw before darkness.

• • •

Your morning started early, at the atrocious 5AM. You couldn't imagine anyone enjoying the task of getting up, and you often pondered over why some were morning people. It made no sense; you liked your sleep and wished not get up. It was that simple.

Waving a drowsy good morning/goodbye to Eileen who was still half asleep, you passed by a stall in Camden Market for breakfast, eating your food on the tube to Bank.

Getting out at the station, you threw away your rubbish and headed for the print offices.

Your job as a journalist was all right and it paid well, though what you really wanted was to be an author, to write thought-provoking stories and books that left your mark upon the world. But as your mother had always said,
"No one becomes a bestseller overnight". And while she was obviously right, the truth stung like salt to a wound: if you weren't an immediate sensation, you'd end up on the streets. Thus, you had ended up writing for The Record. Your job was proving to be quite fun, as a matter of fact, but it was still work.