Dan Howell Smut

Mr Howell

Running. You were running as fast as you could through the endless corridors of your University, desperately trying to find something...someone.

It's just past midnight and you were about to go to bed when you got a text from your older brother, a teacher at this university, Phil, who said that he had received suicidal text messages from Mr Howell, your English and Health teacher here at Oxford.

Mr Howell was Phils bestfriend; they were inseparable and spent most of their time together. Heck, they even lived together!

Most of the students thought that Mr Howell and Mr Lester, Phil, were gay and endlessly in love with each other. The art students shipped them unconditionally and labelled them "Phan".

You thought it was cute how much time they spent together and what the art kids called them, but really, some part inside of you felt terrible for Phil as he had a huge crush on Mr Howell...but you couldn't denying it- you too had a huge crush on him.

His chocolate brown eyes, how deep, powerful and intoxicating they were.

His dark chestnut hair, swept to the left hand side of his forehead. You always wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through his curly (when wet) hair or push it all back and out of his face when it was straight.

He didn't have that much muscle, but that didn't really bother you. The one thing that killed you though, were his amazing forearms. Like, fucking god. The forearms are bliss.

So to hear the strain in Phil's voice over the phone when he told you what Mr Howell had sent to him, you felt your heart squeeze. For Phil...but also for you.

You'd seen how Mr Howell had looked at you in class. The comments he would write in your books and how he would always pick you to answer the questions that nobody else knew. You knew he was your teacher and was probably being nothing but nice, yet still, your heart couldn't brush this aside like you had done with every other boy you felt things towards. However Mr Howell isn't a boy, he's a man.

Throwing on your Oxford swimming hoodie that you received when you joined the swim team, over the baggy t-shirt and shorts you called your pyjamas, you ran down the dorm stairs, exited the building and ran into the main building, searching every room for where Mr Howell could be.

Suddenly, when you were running past the English room, you heard...singing?

*Play the song*

"Mayday, mayday, the ship is slowly sinking..."

You walked closer to the door, confusion flooding your mind.

"They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling."

Is that...Mr Howell?

"There all around me, circling like vultures.
They wanna break me and wash away my colours, wash away my colours!"

You peered through the window on the door and saw a curled up figure resting its back onto the wall opposite the door. His position was almost half way between the start of the first row of desks and the teachers desk.
His head was hung, hands raking through what you thought was hair, however it was raven black within the room; the only light was from the moon beaming down through the window and reflecting the persons shadow onto the wooden floor boards, so you could hardly see anything.

"Take me high and I'll sing,
Oh you make everything ok, ok, ok,
K, ok, ok,"

Is he singing? Duh y/n, he must be singing! But is he singing about...Phil?