IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (47 page)

“No, I really did.”

She chuckled again before offering her hand. “It was nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You beamed as you took her hand. “Likewise, Emma. And keep the outfit; no one’s going to miss it here.”

She squeezed your hand and smiled at you again, and never in your life had you wanted to not let go of something so much. You’d only thought of her as a character you loved before, but now you liked the person she was too.

Reluctantly, you took a step back from the melted ice cream, bucket, and towels and watched as she got back into her car.

“Smells good in here now,” she said with one more musical laugh before swinging her door shut.

You held up one hand in good-bye and kept it there until she was completely out of sight.

AS PROMISED,
you came into work the next day at six in the morning, a little more than exhausted and unbelieving of yesterday’s events. You were sure it had been a dream—more than a little sure, especially with its just being too surreal.

You shed your jacket and went into the break room. However, upon opening your locker, you froze, because instead of your usual loose receipts and random junk, there was a long gray box. With a disbelieving frown, you pulled it out and opened it.

Inside was a long, wooden wand intricately designed for the one and only Hermione Granger. Atop it was a note in gorgeous cursive handwriting:
Try not break this one.

Y
our expectations might’ve been slightly unrealistic when you first moved to London a few months ago.

Imagine that.

Living in the heart of the capital meant everything was on your doorstep, and you’d kind of assumed that’d be reason enough to be out every night, living the type of wild London lifestyle all those reality shows had promised. You envisioned top-floor penthouses, a trendy group of friends, sipping cocktails in bars you couldn’t afford. No one thought to mention that the reality of being a freelance writer in the capital would be a little less glitzy.

Instead of being out partying until 3:00 a.m., your weeknight evenings have lately been taking on a significantly tamer routine, and today is no exception. It’s Tuesday, and though you should be working on your article due at the end of the week, your spot on the sofa has never felt comfier. With YouTube open on your laptop, there might be no need to move for hours yet.

Which is fine. You’ve got days to finish the article, and watching old Dan Howell videos back-to-back is a perfectly good use of your time. Kind of.

You’re two minutes into one of your favorites, “Internet Support Group,” when the sound of knocking cuts across the living
room. Closing the laptop, you get to your feet, confused about who’d be visiting at this time. You’re not expecting anybody; your best friend’s working late, and since all other members of your family refuse to live anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of central London, there’s nobody else in the city who would want to see you.

Pulling open the door, you get the shock of your life.

There, standing face-to-face with you, is none other than the guy you’ve spent the last hour watching through a computer screen: your next-door neighbor, Dan Howell.

It shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise. You realized he and Phil lived in the apartment next door two days after you moved in, when you first bumped into each other in the hall. Still, months later, and you’ve yet to move past the polite-but-awkward greetings that ensue whenever you cross paths. You’d rather die than have him realize you’re one of the five million plus avid viewers of his YouTube channel, keeping up with his videos from the other side of your shared wall.

But, for some reason, he’s here, standing in front of you, looking slightly flushed and clutching a laptop in one hand.

“Hi,” you say, because you’re not sure what else to do.

“Hi,” he begins, with a slightly odd smile. “I’m Dan, your next-door neighbor. I appreciate this is a really weird way to have a first conversation, but is there any chance you could spare your Wi-Fi connection for half an hour?”

For a moment, all you manage to do is stare, your mouth hanging slightly open. “Uh . . .”

“Let me explain. See, I do this thing where I make videos on the internet—”

But you already know what’s coming, and you cut in before he has to get too far into the awkward I-swear-this-is-a-real-job spiel. “Your YouTube channel,” you say, with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard of it.”

Relief breaks across his expression. “Oh, good. I suppose that makes things a little less weird. See, the thing is, I’m due on a live broadcast right at this minute, and my friend Phil has chosen a really stupid time to start downloading the world’s longest compilation of cat videos.”

It’s weird, seeing him standing in front of you, when you’ve spent so long watching him crack similar jokes from behind a screen. Your fifteen-year-old self would probably be passed out on the floor already. All you can do is thank God you’ve since reined in your fangirl tendencies.

“So, what I’m trying to ask here—could I possibly crouch in the corner of your living room for half an hour? You won’t even know I’m there. Well, you might hear a bit of pointless rambling, but I’ll try to keep it down.”

It’s not exactly an unreasonable request, and, well, let’s face it—your inner YouTube fangirl would kill you for passing up the opportunity to spend more than a couple of seconds in the company of Dan Howell.

So you nod. “Sure”—you pull the door open a little wider—“come on in.”

As he steps inside, you take a cursory glance across the living room, hoping it’s at least half-tidy. Dan takes a seat on the sofa, setting his laptop down on the coffee table and clicking through a couple of settings.

He looks up. “Have you got the password?”

The single question is enough to stop you in your tracks, and your cheeks begin to burn the moment your eyes meet. How did you forget? Ten seconds into your first proper conversation, and you’re going to look like a complete stalker. . . .

“Yeah, it’s . . . uh . . .” You mumble it quietly, like this might tone down the embarrassment.

“Sorry?” Dan frowns.

There’s no avoiding it. One way or another, you’re going to end up embarrassing yourself. “It’s . . . danisnotonfire09.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking amused.

You begin your defense before he can say a word. “I was a fifteen-year-old fangirl, okay?” you blurt out, hoping your face isn’t completely red in the light of the living room. “And I haven’t changed my password in a long time. Please let’s forget about this.”

Dan just grins, returning his gaze to the laptop, like he’s relieved not to be the first one to embarrass himself. “I’m not saying a word.”

His fingers tap across the keyboard at lightning speed, and you watch as he pulls up his webcam on-screen. “By the way, you might want to avoid the camera shot. My fans don’t tend to . . . well, take kindly to female company, let’s put it that way.”

“Right,” you say. “Because they’re convinced you’re in a secret relationship with Phil?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Something like that.”

He’s starting to set up the shot, so you take this as your cue to head to the kitchen, figuring you can busy yourself there. As flattered as you are to be able to help Dan out, you’re not quite prepared for any of the onslaught associated with his army of teenage fans. However, after cleaning up a bit, you find yourself at a loss for jobs to keep you busy. Your laptop is still sitting in the living room, and retrieving it would mean walking right into the camera frame of Dan’s live broadcast—you’re not quite that desperate yet.

But that doesn’t mean you’re entirely immune to temptation, either. With the kitchen spotless, and the contents of your fridge shelves already rearranged twice over, you find yourself edging closer to the living-room door. You can hear Dan chatting away into his webcam, trying to convince the viewers that the different background is just another room of his and Phil’s apartment.

Ha
, you think to yourself.
Like those fourteen-year-old superfans are going to fall for that
.

Eventually, though, you hear him taking his final few questions and getting ready to say good-bye. Once you’re sure the camera is switched off, you work up the courage to head back into the living room, where you find Dan closing down his laptop.

“How’d it go?”

The sound of your voice makes him jolt in his seat, the laptop slipping sideways from his lap. “Christ, you scared me.” He clutches his chest.

“Sorry, I kind of crept up on you.”

“Don’t worry.” He shakes his head. He gives the laptop the once-over, but his catching it in time seems to have averted any potential damage. “I thought I’d spent too long in somebody else’s company without embarrassing myself. I was well overdue.”

You laugh. “Could’ve happened on the live show.”

“Very true.” He nods. “It did go pretty well. There weren’t too many freak-outs at the mention of Phil’s name, and I didn’t fall off my chair. Hard not to consider that a success.”

“Nice one.”

“Thanks for letting me hijack the Wi-Fi.” He leaves you wondering if it’s a normal reaction for your heart to jolt when his gaze meets yours. “Seriously, I owe you one. If there’s anything I can do to return the favor, let me know. I mean, I’d offer you free use of ours, but it seems like you’ve got a better deal going on here than Phil and I.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. If sitting in my apartment for thirty minutes is going to get thousands of fangirls off your case, then it’s the least I can do.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” He reaches up to push his bangs back into place. “I’m still going to say I owe you.”

The packing up of his laptop is what jolts you. Since you’ve
given him pretty much all you had to offer, Dan is seconds away from heading back to his own apartment. Only then are you struck by the realization that you don’t want him to leave quite yet; after all, it’s the first opportunity you’ve had to have a real conversation, and you might feel like less of a creep watching his videos if you were actually on first-name terms.

“Did you want tea?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I mean, I was just about to boil the kettle, and if you don’t have to rush back . . .”

You can’t tell whether Dan looks surprised by the offer; his lopsided smile refuses to give too much away. After a couple of seconds—each of which you spend cursing yourself for sounding so awkward—he nods. “Yeah, okay. Tea would be great.”

Heading back to the kitchen, you wonder why you suddenly feel so self-conscious. Maybe it’s because Dan’s need to remain in the apartment—and with you—is over, and anything else falls down to personal choice. As you boil the kettle, you tell yourself to get a grip. You should not be working yourself up over Dan Howell, of all people. As cute as he may be, the guy’s practically the definition of awkward. If there’s anybody you can handle, it’s him.

“Thanks,” Dan says when you set the mug in front of him a couple of minutes later. “I feel like you’re just adding to the list of things I owe you for now.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” You settle into the opposite armchair. “Just let me play the friendly neighbor for a while.”

“Friendly neighbor?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or . . . closet fangirl?”

“Oh my God, just forget about the password.” Burying your face in your hands, you hope the flush now creeping up your neck isn’t too obvious. “It was a teenage obsession, okay? Please don’t go thinking you’ve got a crazy stalker living next door.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” He holds his hands up in surrender, but it doesn’t seem over; you have a feeling the whole thing will come back to haunt you sooner or later. Why couldn’t you have thought to change the password to something less embarrassing? That should’ve been your first priority on finding out he was your next-door neighbor. Then again, it’s not like you ever expected him to come knocking on your door.

Dan shoots you a sideways glance. “So . . . did you ever try your hand at making YouTube videos yourself?”

“Uh . . .” The sensible option would be denial, but you have a feeling the look on your face has already given too much away. “I may have attempted it many years ago.”

“Knew it! Should I try looking up your channel?”

He moves to open his laptop, but you’re out of your seat and slamming it shut before he can even get a word out.

“Don’t you dare,” you threaten, your face hovering above his for a moment before you return to your seat.

But Dan just grins, seeming to enjoy the exchange a little too much. “I’m just kidding. Believe me, I know better than anyone that we’ve all got embarrassing moments on the internet. Mine . . . well, let’s just say mine tend to be found a lot more easily.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your tea. “That probably comes with the territory of having an army of teenage internet stalkers at your command.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s true. It definitely took some getting used to.”

“I’ve seen the girls hanging around the door to the apartment block.” You shake your head in mild disbelief. “You can’t say they’re not persistent. They must be really desperate to meet you.”

Maybe you’re imagining it, but the mention of this seems to embarrass him, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck
nervously. “Yeah, I can’t deny that they go to some crazy lengths. I’m still not really sure why. It seems a little bizarre to me. . . . I’m just some ridiculously awkward guy on the internet. Not exactly Channing Tatum, put it that way.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The look on your face seems to make him laugh. “The nerdy-guy thing has its charms.”

“I mean, thank God.” That tugs your smile even wider. “Otherwise I’d be kind of screwed. And Phil, for that matter.”

“Just be grateful for YouTube, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Making nerds like us desirable since 2005.” Dan shoots you a look over the top of his mug, before setting it back down on the table. “Still, I can’t quite believe how long this thing has been going. That so many people are interested, I mean. A lot of the time I wonder when they’ll finally realize I don’t have anything earth-shattering to say and leave me to it.”