Anonymous sent: hey! i’m not sure if you still take requests, but i was hoping for something with dan and the reader just being sweet and cute together? maybe still trying to figure out how they feel with one another, but it’s like that lightbulb ‘oh’ moment? thank you so much – hope you’re doing well!
A/N: First fill coming back, with a new name to call me, a new layout, and a new posting format ! This request was from all the way back in 2019, so if you're still around anon, I hope you see this, and I hope you enjoy ! I honestly had a really nice time getting back into the swing of writing things like this for you and your fellow readers ♡
I THINK WE MIGHT
LA was full of places like this – bright and flashy, packed with people, just a little too loud. You were used to it, after living in the city for so long, but sometimes, some places still caught you just a bit off-guard. You didn’t even know a place like this still existed, all neon signs and retro arcade cabinets lining the walls, especially one with a fully-stocked and well-manned bar, but leave it to a man like Arin to find a place so uniquely perfect for you and the rest of your friends. Going out to bars and clubs was never much your style, but when you get invited by some of the best people you know, how could you say no? Especially when they, too, didn’t go out too often, and that alone should be taken full advantage of. Everyone seemed to have turned out tonight, from familiar faces you saw daily, like Vanessa, to friends you had missed for a while and were overjoyed to see again, like Ross. Of course, there was one that stood out among them, the closest to you – both in proximity where you stood playing skee-ball and in just how much you two seemed to care for each other – who had just gotten back from a whirlwind tour around the States for his flourishing music career. Dan was a wild halo of brown curls and magnetic hazel eyes, taller than most everyone with you by a wide margin, somehow fitting in and standing out at the same time wherever he went. The two of you had flocked together over a shared love of the music that shaped you growing up, and the friendship had only grown stronger since. It was an easy, peaceful sort of friendship, despite the shenanigans he often got into with his own best friend and how often you found him shouting at videogames; it was one that you knew you wouldn’t be able to live without. Yet it had never been anything more than that, you knew, for either of you. He was a naturally warm and inviting person, one who leaned onto someone when he laughed too hard or stood as close as he could when talking to another to make sure they knew he was listening. Attention and presence was something coveted for him, a performer all around. It mattered to him, so it mattered to others; he was surprisingly perceptive like that. People gravitated toward him for all sorts of reasons, his personable demeanor chief among them.
Since he had been gone for so long on tour, everyone wanted to see him tonight; you couldn’t seem to get him alone just to say hello yourself. It made sense, you didn’t hold it against him or anyone else, it had been months since you’d all last seen him. Though there was still a feeling, misplaced, oddly defined, too much and not enough in your chest. You had wanted to see him before everyone else did. Instead, you were playing skee-ball. Some part of you, deep-down, hoping that he would come to you instead, loudly and lovingly declare how much he missed you, sweep you into his arms and hug you tight. You could hear his laugh through all the noise, so familiar, pulling at your heart, an invisible string. Underhand-tossing the ball, you fought against it, thought better, put more force and energy than necessary into the roll, watching it careen and bank off of the lip, up into a high point hole. Well. You huffed out a breath, standing straight and shifting from one foot to the other. At least there’s that.
As you went to your shorts pocket to pull out another token for the game, warmth found each side of your waist, making you freeze and eyebrows raise. Hands, large, thin, one holding a cup of something cold with condensation bruising the shirt you wore. “’Scuse me, lovely.” There was a tone to the familiar moniker as it moved, a smile circling around to find its way to your right. You turned with it, felt the grin overtake your features, recognized the face framed by tight, long, chestnut curls, bathed in pink neon glow and twinkling gold. “I call dibs on next round.” “Danny! Hey!” Loud enough to express the fullness of your joy, you bounced onto tiptoes, throwing your arms around his neck. “Oh my God!” He bent low to meet you there with a light chuckle, arms coming around your waist, squeezing you affectionately, still holding whatever he was drinking. “It’s so good to see you.” He pulled away, keeping you close, yet letting go, the space where he had touched you feeling strangely empty. “Been a minute,” he agreed. “Sorry for not texting.” There was a genuine twinge of guilt in the words. “It’s alright, old man,” you quickly teased, your grin going sideways. “I know how hard it can be with you and your weird thumbs.” He faked a pained seethe. “Oof. Double whammy.” His look changed, too, going challenging. “I might just have to totally kick your ass at skee-ball for that.” It was teasing, but you had a competitive streak; he was playing it up, an obvious attempt at bait. “Oh, you think you can kick my ass?” Of course you took it, ready to prove him wrong, more than ready to spend time with just him. “You’re on, loverboy. Loser buys the winner a drink.” To drive the point home, and to further push his buttons, you leaned over and took a sip from the drink he held, the burn of alcohol and tang of citrus immediately hitting the back of your throat, making you sputter and laugh. “Hey!” He laughed too, pulling his drink up and away from you, using his height to his advantage. “You know what – That’s what you get.” He pointed at you. “You’re on.”
Posting up next to you at the empty lane, Dan set his drink by his feet, then, digging a token out of his own back pocket, inserted it into the machine. With a loud click-clunk, down rolled his set of dark wooden balls, the digital score card resetting with it at the top of the game. For a moment, you found yourself caught up in watching him, moving with a certain kind of grace, even in his black and white flannel and his dark denim jeans, as he picked up the first ball, focusing up and taking a deep, steadying breath. You’d always thought he was handsome, it was hard not to, but as you studied him, the contours of his face, the length of his arms and legs, something shifted. Maybe in the time and distance apart, maybe only now, you hadn’t been aware of it until this moment. It sure wasn’t the sip of whatever strong concoction you’d snuck a sip of making you feel that way. You blinked; he moved, pulling back and tossing the ball underhand, perfect form, the ball rolling up and banking, catching the dead center ring and clunking into the hole. Not knowing if you were supposed to be doing it together or separate, suddenly entirely too aware that you had been staring, it spurred you into action, following his lead – token in slot, ball in hand, then tossed to roll, haphazard, landing low and earning less points. “Already losing?” Egging, yet still sweet, no malice, but making you throw a fiery look his way. “I didn’t know it was going to be this easy!” You huffed, only half playing it up. “Should I just tell you my drink order now?” You faced your lane once more, grabbed a ball, wound up, and tossed, watching it roll fast and arc high, landing in the highest-point, corner hole. It made him laugh out loud, impressed, as you put your hands on your hips. Something under your skin burned bright, a desire to do nothing but impress him almost overwhelming, making you take another ball and start again. Both playing side-by-side until you were out of balls to throw, the red numbers of the scoreboard flashed bright with the ending of the game, declaring you the victor by just a slim margin. You whooped, he cheered with you, coming together for a congratulatory, excited, triumphant hug. Arms around his neck, around waist, fitting perfectly together, you more aware of it than ever, how nice he smelled, how right it felt being held by him. The thought alone made you blush pink; pulling away, you hoped with everything in you it wouldn’t show under all the blinking lights. “Alright, little winner.” He scrunched up his nose when he said it; you mirrored him, the both of you laughing, heart fluttering. “Pick your poison.” Giving him your drink of choice, he took to the bar, leaving you standing alone under the golden, colorful glow of the games, bright pinks and baby blues, soft gold and bright white. Left there, some kind of feeling, one like before, too muddled with other feelings to precisely pin down, filling your head, winding through your chest, making it a little hard to breathe.
You searched the groups and crowd in the direction Dan went as a momentary distraction, finding another familiar head of curly hair, this one short and onyx, paired with glasses and rosy cheeks. Vanessa caught your eye from across the floor at the bar too, beaming in greeting. Quickly glancing from you to Dan who was approaching the bar top, her eyebrows raised, noticing something, then looking back to you with that same expression, something like confusion, maybe surprise, possibly even a touch of excitement. Putting two and two together just a split second before you did. You’re in love with him, her expression declared from the barstool which she sat. It made you raise your eyebrows as well. The feelings cleared, like fog dissipating, leaving you standing there in the clearing. Aware of your feelings over the last hour or so, across the last year you’ve known him. You might be right, was all your shrug and smile could say in return.