Dream a Little Dream // Daniel Howell x Reader

Chapter 9

Dan sighed uncomfortably when he woke up, the sheets around him beginning to create a sudden, sweltering heat. He could feel himself beginning to break out in a sweat, the very real possibility of dying from heat stroke becoming a reality. With a grumpy huff he pushed the sheets off of himself, a cool breeze lightly dusting his flushed skin. He hummed happily once the unbearable warmth began to disperse, his mood slowly getting better.

He brought his hand to his forehead, silently noting how the fever seemed to have subsided for the time being. It must've been the medicine... He thought to himself, noticing how the aches from before had disappeared as well. Dan sighed and layed in bed a little while longer, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as he debated whether or not he should get up and do something.

Quickly becoming bored, he decided he should risk the quick trip around the apartment before he died from the insouciance of the world.

He pushed himself off the bed, a small cough sounding from his chest. He cringed slightly at the rumble, trying to ignore the dull pain as he instinctively reached for his phone. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he made his way to the door, grabbing a thin blanket that was rested against the end of his bed for warmth. He poked his head out of his doorway experimentally, tuned in for any sounds around the apartment. He noticed how dark it had gotten since he was last awake, any trace of sunlight now swallowed by the cold grip of nightfall. He swallowed nervously, an odd feeling of dread creeping to the back of his neck. He shuddered at how uncomfortable it made him.

Dan tried to raise his voice to the empty corridor. "Phi-?" He began to hack in the most god awful way, subconsciously raising his hand to rest on his burning throat. After a few more coughs he was able to choke some of his illness, wincing at the disgusting substance that had escaped his windpipe. He sped to the bathroom, grumbling to himself as he spit out the terrible phlegm into the sink.

He groaned at his pathetic state, cautiously raising his head to see himself in the mirror. Thankfully he didn't look nearly as pale as Phil had described him before, yet he was still anything but healthy. You could see the dark bags forming underneath his brown eyes, the once familiar glimmer now replaced with a dull tint. His hair was sticking up at every angle imaginable, each chestnut wave coming out like the curve of a sickle. Dan chuckled a little as he tried to calm the storm, the hair popping into the air once his hand was removed.

When the curls showed no sign of submission, Dan decided it was time to give it a rest for the moment. You couldn't force things to be straight when they didn't want to be anyways. The images of his old hair straightener drifted into his mind, reminding him about how much time he had wasted in the past trying to straighten his hair everyday. Pssh, thank god my hair's easy to deal with now, He thought to himself.

Dan stepped out of the bathroom, the thin blanket wrapped around his frame as he made his way towards the kitchen. He didn't really want anything to eat right now, but he figured that he might as well get some nutrients so he wouldn't keel over from the sickness. Once he arrived to the kitchen, Dan surveyed the cupboards for something to eat. His eyes drifted towards the cupboard where he kept his cereal, the thought of eating it tempting him with each passing second. However he decided against it, opting from some chicken noodle soup instead. That's what sick people eat anyways, right?

He began preparing the soup, finding one of the many mugs adorned with video characters to serve as its vessel. Dan heated the rather bland supper, grabbing a spoon and straw for when he wanted to take small sips. Once finished, he carefully walked towards the living room as he cautiously held onto the steamy cup, fully aware of the dangers hot liquid could cause to a person's hand.

The familiar sight of the sofa greeted Dan, inviting him to relax against its comfy cushions. He gladly accepted, placing the mug on the coffee table and slowly sinking into the puffy couch. He wiggled his way into the seat, a sofa crease beginning to shape into his back, cradling him lovingly. Sure, he'd probably have life long back issues because of how he sat, but that was in the distant future. For now he just wanted to relax.