A Hundred Days | Dan Howell x Reader

Chapter 19.

A/N:

The picture above is just some insight to how I picture Eileen; though I think of her with a more open, happier, face, that was the closest picture I could find for everything else (:

~Tina x

• • • • • •

It was a week after planning for Italy, a week after Michael, a week since you'd angrily tutted to Dan that his top two buttons were undone, afraid to touch him for fear of falling into technicolour.

Manic-Michael, as Eileen had nicknamed your ex-boyfriend—

What a weird word.

— had indeed paid your aeroplane ticket from London to Billund, even letting you make sure your seat was close to those of your seven tag-along friends, with your promise not to tell Chief Editor Mr. Osbourne about Michael's fling with you. You'd promised heartily and grabbed the flight papers, leaving the office with an impossibly-large smile that Friday evening. You'd met Eileen outside The Record's offices like you'd organised with her, linking arms as you shared the gossip of the office and the news of your successfully booked ticket to Denmark whilst she squealed and hugged and congratulated you for getting back your rich ex for cheating on you, the bastard.

Now, it was Saturday, and (most unwisely, for the market was packed like a tin of sardines on weekends) you and Eileen were wandering down between the stalls of Camden Market, munching take-away fish and chips, with extra vinegar, as Eileen had ordered for her chips.

A fairly large stall had been selling fandom hoodies and t-shirts from the 'keep calm [insert fandom reference]' sort to the ones with logos and symbols like the flaming star from Supernatural, the TARDIS, the Deathly Hallows sign, 'Winter is Coming', and so on.

At the vast clothing stall you'd bought a Harry Potter/LOTR/Doctor Who/Sherlock/SPN/GoT t-shirt and a pair of beanies embroidered with cat whiskers— a black for Dan, a blue for Phil— smiling to yourself as you'd handed over your hard-earned fifteen pounds. Though, it seemed that you would be gifting the beanies another time— you and Dan were again not on speaking terms.
Why?
Because everytime you were near him, you wanted to brush his hair from his face, knock his knee with yours, hold his hand— he was so distracting— so it seemed better to keep your distance.

"Little Venice?" Eileen asked you, nodding to the boats tied up by the pink fence you and Dan had once meant to meet at.

"Doesn't that seem a little overkill, given we're going to Italy in a week?" you replied.

Eileen shrugged. "This is London, don't expect anything too exotic".

"Tuscany isn't exactly what I'd call exotic, necessarily—"

Eileen wrinkled her nose, "Exotic in a Southern-Euope way..?" She waved a hand. "Babe, you know what I mean— let's go. We can take the tube from there to London Bridge Station, then walk to Tower Bridge and get a couple of their famous soft-ices with a free flake, mmm".

You smirked, "It's clear you're only in it for the ice-cream".

"Is it?" Eileen said. "Screw it, I need ice-cream this time of day", then she hauled you onto the boat and you each paid for your tickets.