A Hundred Days | Dan Howell x Reader

Chapter 9.

You shut your door and managed to lean against it and take a few deep breaths before sinking to the floor with your back to the wood.

He had given you his number.

Sure, it was no big deal, given that you were neighbours and you probably could just have politely asked your landlady for it. She would've given it to you, Mrs. Turner would've. She was too nice for her own good— she'd checked in on you and Eileen at end of the week you'd both moved in to see how you were settling in, she'd bring you both cookies when she'd just baked them that Wednesday (Wednesday was her baking day, and Mrs. Turner swore up and down that since she'd turned thirty, she'd never missed a Wednesday baking in her life; she was now in her seventies), and above all, the elderly lady was wonderful company with an endless array of stories up her sleeve, a love for card games, and a willingness to listen. Mrs. Turner had many mother-like qualities and you (and even the slighly-overboard, loud-mouth Eileen) already adored her, three weeks into your renting.

But Dan Howell, your idol, and now perhaps friend—

or something more! whispered a voice in the back of your mind; you shut the voice up quickly—

had given you his number. Meaning that he was not entirely bored of you, nor that he thought of you as only another fan, and that he was giving you a chance to get to know him.

You allowed yourself a smile.

You felt ecstatic, exhilarated even, and excited and other adjectives that started with 'e'!

Enough!

Who were you kidding?
Numbers meant about as much as words. And words were just different combinations of the same twenty six boring old letters. And letters were just shapes. And shapes were just lines. And lines were just ink and imagination. And imagination was just fantasy. And fantasy is as good as nothing. Because how real was that Tom Felton/Eddie Redmayne/Misha Collins/Orlando Bloom/Benedict Cumberbatch/David Tennant/Matt Smith/Tom Hiddleston fantasy your friend (insert friend's name here :)) had?
Yeah, not a chance.

So it was nothing, but you had made another friend, and that, you thought, personally, was quite an achievement in itself.

You retrieved your phone from your go-to messenger bag and typed in his phone number, intending to send a text to say a quick hello, but to your surprise, a series of messages appeared back and forth on your screen.

But of course.

Lou.

Phil.

Fussy with grammatical errors.

Dan had 'wrong-numbered' you, of all people when he had been checking if he and Phil were still bringing those cupcakes to Lou, Louise Pentland, aka A Sprinkle of Glitter (asprinkleofglitter??).

With a smile, you composed an SMS.