FicWad

Dan wakes up to the sound of – not his alarm clock ringing, but his mom banging on his bedroom door.

"Wha-?" Dan mumbles and rolls over, eyeing the alarm clock propped up against a pair of glasses, straighteners and books on the bedside table. It informs him, somehow mockingly, that he is fifteen minutes away from a detention for being late to school.

Dan's immediate reaction is a loud "Shit!", and hopping around in circles pulling on the school uniform. He forgoes the hair-straightening and goes to wash up at lightning speed because he would really like to get his ass out of the house in ten seconds, thanks. He scoops up his schoolbag with one hand, grabs the crumpet with the other when he rushes into the kitchen and ducks out again before he gets intercepted by his mom's usual hugging and hair-ruffling. He's halfway down the road by the field between his home and school, when he remembers he's left the psychology paper on the printer tray at home. Of course. With his fucking luck, he'd probably get a cramp and die in the middle of the road.

Okay, so that probably doesn't happen in real life, but still, he's got the shittiest luck. This is only confirmed when he finds out from Phil that they've got some kind of monologue that's gonna be assessed today in drama that morning – wait, monologue, what monologue? His life, seriously. He does a spectacular headdesk right in the middle of the first period meeting in the homeroom, certified by a loud thunk that gets a few looks from other classmates. He lets them look. Call him emo, but he's too preoccupied with self-pity at the moment.

History is the land of ultimate boredom that totally induces suicidal tendencies, and he gets glared multiple times for doodling in his notebook. English Literature springs a surprise timed essay on him, and in his mind Ms. Payne dies in a thousand different ways possible – although, not really. She's usually a cool teacher, but that still doesn't reverse the fact that he sucks at timed essays. He ends up bullshitting half of the stuff he's put on the paper. Lunch is a whirlwind of ten minutes gobbling and running around trying to get permission to use the school printer to reprint his psychology paper. He manages to submit it in time in Psychology afterwards, but then he gets to Art a whole ten minutes late because of course they relocated the classes to the other side of the school and Dan isn't notified. Dan doesn't even remember why he chose art at all; maybe it was for the extra credits. But he's already not the artiest student in his class, and he doesn't need more reasons for the teacher to give him C's.

Sighing, he utters an apology and slinks into the nearest empty seat, then commences on making himself look as small as possible. He hears Mr. Smith picking up from where he left off, but something's off. Dan glances up, and it isn't Mr. Smith at the front, it's – somebody else. He asks the guy sitting next to him on the same bench in whispers. "Mr. Way. New art teacher, mostly does subs for now. Mr. Smith called in sick today," the guy whispers back. Huh. He looks up again, and the man's still talking, but he's getting increasingly animated, using his hands a lot and reminding Dan of last year's biology teacher, Hank Green. He's left the school now because every good teacher eventually does, fucking stupid school. Anyway, Mr. Way is still semi-flailing, so Dan stops thinking about other things and actually pays attention; maybe what he has to say is just as interesting.

Dan means to listen attentively, he does, but he catches himself checking the art teacher out. Mr. Way's got black slacks and a plain white shirt on, the cuffs buttoned, and adorned by a red tie that's mostly hidden under a plain black waistcoat. He completes the apparel with a pair of chucks, which is admittedly a bit odd, but it works. Dan doesn't know what the hell's wrong with him, he sees guys wearing ties and plain white shirts in the school corridors and classrooms all the time, but somehow Mr. Way just looks really fine in those clothes. But then again, none of those other guys had his face. He's got youthful features, his pale complexion contrasting with his messy shoulder-length hair, jet black and so obviously dyed. Dan can't really see well from his angle, but, /shit/, is that eyeliner? It gives Mr. Way a slightly feminine look, but he somehow pulls it off looking pretty and hot all at once. Slightly intrigued would be the wrong words to use here; Dan can't stop staring.

So, naturally, when Mr. Way looks over to his way – it's just a small glance, but a look nonetheless – and catches Dan staring at him, Dan can't look away in time. Which, great, now he probably thinks Dan's a creep that has a hobby of staring at substitute teachers. Dan hopes his facial expression wasn't too stupid, but he looks downwards anyway just to be safe. And, worse still, now Mr. Way's stopped talking and everybody's leaving their seats, gravitating to the supplies cupboard to prepare for whatever the fuck they are supposed to do, and Dan hasn't comprehended a word of the task they're supposed to do because he was too busy eye-fucking his substitute art teacher. Fuck. He sits there looking slightly forlorn and contemplating his next step, but before he can make an escape and ask a random person what their task is for the lesson, Mr. Way's already coming over to his bench. "Are you Daniel Howell?" Dan freezes, and looks guiltily up to the teacher. Hot, his brain reminds him uncooperatively, and a boner is exactly the last thing he needs in an art lesson.

"I – yeah. That's me," Dan manages to get out. He steels himself a bit and adds, "Um, I'm sorry for being late. I thought we were still having the lesson in the old room, and just, yeah. I'm sorry." Dan internally cringes; it sounds so much like a flimsy excuse even to himself.

To his surprise, Mr. Way just ticks off Dan's name on the register and waves his hand a bit like it's no big deal. "I'm just your substitute art teacher, I won't be the asshole that hands out detentions." Dan notices that Mr. Way talks with a slanted mouth, one side opening bigger than the other, and it's a little intimidating and does nothing to quell his fright, even though Mr. Way's said clearly that he doesn't mind. But then he drops the bomb.

"What I wanted to ask is why you're sitting here and not doing anything."

Dan apologises again, and there's really no easy way out but to admit that he wasn't paying attention. God, he's actually gonna die of embarrassment. He stares at the ground instead of Mr. Way, awaiting his verdict with a hugely visible blush all over his face and neck. But Mr. Way doesn't admonish him, just says, "It's okay, happens to the best of us." Dan looks up with a surprised expression. Mr. Way explains, "You just looked so guilty, and it's honestly a little hilarious, no offence. But you're just ten minutes late, and you haven't missed much. Please do pay attention next time and don't be late again – I'm supposed to tell you that, yeah, but it's not like you've committed a crime." Mr. Way shrugs. Then he repeats the whole explanation of the task just for Dan, and if Dan isn't being relieved, he's pretty sure he would've been too distracted by Mr. Way's looks to hear what he's saying again. But he's in love with Mr. Way either way, because this is the first lesson of the day where things don't go to shit.

"So you know what to do now? You won't be sitting here all alone and looking like a sad puppy anymore?" Mr. Way asks, and Dan laughs at the latter question.

"No, I'm good," he promises, and tries to quieten the part of his brain that thinks they're flirting.

"Sure?" Mr. Way's smiling too, now, and fuck if that isn't worth swooning over. He smiles like a girl, all pretty and sweet. Dan is so screwed.

He manages to reply with a simple, "I'm sure." And Mr. Way leaves him alone for the better part of the lesson after that.

*

Dan doesn't get his painting finished in time, and when the bell rings, all he can do is look at his half-finished canvas in dismay. Out of all the media he can't handle, painting is his worst, but Mr. Smith just has to set that as the task the day he isn't here to help him with his brushstrokes, doesn't he. Dan sighs half-heartedly and decides to revisit the painting another day, maybe try to right the disaster a bit, but he can already envision it going into the trash pile and not making it for the end of year coursework assessment. What's worse, is that now he's the last person to leave the classroom, so the duty of cleaning up any neglected paintbrushes and spills is more or less left to him. To top it off, he's now all alone in the classroom with Mr. Way. He doesn't know whether to rejoice over that or curse his luck and pray to God he doesn't do something stupid. In the end, he just keeps quiet and wipes the spills as fast as he could, feeling overly self-conscious. He scuttles out of the classroom the moment he's packed everything up.

*

The next art lesson of the week, Dan walks into the classroom to find Mr. Way up at the front of the classroom again, waiting patiently for everybody to file into the room. Dan is pretty puzzled, and someone supplies helpfully that apparently Mr. Smith is in the hospital now, nothing too serious, but still enough to keep him on leave for the rest of the month, and Mr. Way's gonna be covering every lesson until then. Dan's stomach does a few flips, and he feels a bit guilty for being excited because there's a teacher in the hospital. He shouldn't be feeling celebratory, hot substitute art teacher or no. Still, he spends the lesson surreptitiously staring at Mr. Way while trying to be as invisible as possible again, and he almost succeeds to stay out of his attention for the entire class. Almost.

Fifteen minutes before class ends, Mr. Way decides to come over to his bench to check on student progress, and he stops by Dan's side. Dan swallows and concentrates on completing his sketch, fighting off the urge to look up.

"What happened to the painting from Tuesday, Daniel?"

Dan cringes as he looks up – it's almost a reflex reaction now to teachers calling him by his full name, but this time it's more to do with the very mention of his painting, he's sure.

"I um, I'm really bad with paints. And Tuesday's painting's kinda ruined…" He trails off, biting his lip. He lowers his eyes to the sketch in front of him again.

"It looked fine." Dan peers up at Mr. Way in disbelief. Mr. Way laughs, and, gosh, how can Dan find that attractive too? It's just noise, Jesus. "Okay, maybe you need more practice, but you're not that bad. And believe me, painting isn't that hard."

"It is, for me." Dan mumbles despairingly.

"Well, just try, that's all I'm asking. Don't limit yourself to one or two media for now, you're still young." Mr. Way says with a smile, and that horrible feeling of self-consciousness comes creeping back. Maybe he hadn't meant it, but what Mr. Way said is kind of patronising, and reasonably so as well. Dan is young, which is exactly why he shouldn't be having inappropriate thoughts about the teacher, fuck.

Dan bites his lip again, and since when did that become a habit of his? He sighs, but thanks Mr. Way.

"No problem. You know, if you're really struggling with paints, you can always stay behind after school. Not to sound self-absorbed, but painting's kinda my forte." Mr. Way pauses a bit, grinning a little, and Dan notices he has sharp little teeth. Kind of weird, but adorable in a way. Dan wants to lick them. Shit. "So think about it. I don't leave the school until seven, and I'll be here the whole time."

Dan's stomach does flips again, except more ferocious ones that make him feel like he just got off a roller coaster. Mr. Way's just being nice, he reminds himself. Still he considers the proposition – no harm in honing up his painting skills for free, right? Right. So he says yes.

"Awesome." Mr. Way brandishes his smile again, like he's extremely glad about the arrangement. Dan's heart may or may not have fluttered. He'll have to remind the organ later that he's not a girl.

*

Dan bids his friends goodbye and walks up the corridor in the opposite direction as everyone else. He arrives at the art room and takes a few breaths, reminding himself not to do anything stupid, and knocks. When there is still no response after a second round of knocking, he opens the door gently and walks inside to find Mr. Way hovered low over something on the teacher's desk. At a closer glance, it appears that he's drawing. Dan shuffles up to the teacher's desk and stands there for 30 seconds or so, wondering how to say hi without sounding too awkward. Not an easy thing since, y'know, Dan is born to be an awkward teenager, he's convinced. But still, points for trying, right?

It's almost a minute before Mr. Way looks up from his drawing and sees Dan. "Oh, hi! Um, sorry, you can take a seat first, I'll just be finishing this up." And he goes back to shading his drawing. Dan doesn't want to come across as nosy, so he wanders over to the benches and sits, despite his curiosity over what Mr. Way is drawing. He looks at the art room, noting in detail about its differences from the old art room, and occasionally he would sneak a few glances at Mr. Way. The teacher is wholly concentrated on his drawing, a few strands of hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. Dan feels a tingly urge in his fingers to push back the strands of hair and tug them behind Mr. Way's ears – he stops himself before the thought can go any further. He resumes staring emptily at the art room just to avoid treading in dangerous waters again.

"Okay, so, Daniel." Dan looks to the teacher's desk, where Mr. Way's sat and now, looking at Dan attentively. He lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "What would you like to do now? Do you want to practice basic skills or just get on with your painting?"

"Um, I think… I don't know." Dan blushes, his response making him feel entirely inept.

"How about we take a look at your painting and see what's wrong first? Maybe then I'll know which parts you'll need help on."

Dan doesn't trust himself to speak anymore, so he just nods. Mr. Way rises and goes to get the painting, and Dan feels awkward again, so he just stares at his toes until Mr. Way's come over and set the painting on the surface of the bench. He looks at the painting and grimaces. The brushstrokes are either too strong or too light, and some parts of the canvas look as if it's bleeding because Dan is still a noob at mixing the paint with water. Dan looks up and sees Mr. Way surveying the mess that is his painting, too. Probably thinking of ways to save the mess. Dan waits.

"So I think it's better if we start from the basics," Mr. Way says after a while. And so begins their little extra sessions after school.

*

Dan goes to the art room afterschool whenever he's free. If you ask him, he'll most probably deny that he's just pining for Mr. Way, hard. Although, he's definitely not complaining about being all alone in the art room with the extremely attractive teacher, no matter how creepy that sounds.

They also kind of bond over the lessons, idle conversations revealing that both of them likes alternative rock music and horror movies. Sometimes they'll have debates over the two subjects. Although mostly, Dan just admires everything Mr. Way says and goes home to listen to the entire Misfits catalogue the day Mr. Way said he likes the band.

(At some point Dan succeeds in getting Mr. Way to call him Dan instead of the full name, and he counts that one as a small victory, even if he's going to pine for rest of eternity.)

Dan also notices little things about Mr. Way. Like the fact that he wears chipped black nail polish on the days when he doesn't have classes with the lower years (lest the stupider students mock him for it), and the way his hair's tidiness is in correlation with the amount of assignment he has to mark. One time during a conversation over cleaning up paintbrushes together, Dan learns that Mr. Way has a penchant for all kinds of coffee, and the next day he runs to the nearest Starbucks afterschool before he shows up at the art room, coffee in hand. He has a semi-heart attack at the infectious beam Mr. Way gives him.

Since then, he's been bringing Mr. Way coffee as frequently as possible. Dan thinks there's some kind of rule against students bringing random gifts to their teachers, but considering how Mr. Way's been sparing his time to teach Dan extra lessons about painting techniques, it only seems fair.

(It is an absolutely absurd notion that he is seducing his teacher with coffee. He's not.)

One day Mr. Way asks him about his earrings, and they launch into this big discussion about accessories and heteronormativity. That's how Dan finds out about Mr. Way's bisexuality (although, it isn't like he's the straightest person around) and somehow, Dan wounds up confessing his bisexuality as well. Mr. Way stops mid-rant and looks at Dan for a moment, before asking, quietly, if it's true.

"Uh, sure?" Dan replies, puzzled.

"Does anybody else know?" Mr. Way looks a bit concerned, and Dan doesn't understand why.

"My friends do. I think a few other people who went to last year's Christmas house party also knows…" Dan blushes, but he doesn't specify. Mr. Way doesn't seem to pick up on it, and if he noticed Dan's hesitation, he didn't ask, so Dan continues, "Why?"

"It's just that growing up, I got a lot of shit for being the gay art kid." Mr. Way says, a bit muted. He has a bit of a sad look in his eyes, distant unhappy memories unfolding in his mind. Dan wants to hug Mr. Way, just do something, to make that look go away. He doesn't. He just puts a hand on Mr. Way's arm, uttering, "I'm sorry." The touch snaps the teacher out of reminiscence, and he looks at Dan, smiling, albeit a bit sadly still. "It's okay. You're a lucky kid." Mr. Way's smile turns up a few notches, and he looks at Dan in the eye. "You have great friends, and this is a great school. Don't let anything stop you, alright?"

Dan doesn't really know what to say to that, so he nods. Mr. Way's smile widens to a proper smile, and Dan feels himself smiling back in return. It's a few seconds before Dan realises his hand is still on Mr. Way's arms, and that they are still staring at each other. He retracts his hand a bit too hastily, although Mr. Way doesn't seem to notice.

He's turning back to the sketch in front of them, that they're supposed to be rectifying, and Mr. Way asks, "Do your parents know?"

"Probably not. I mean, I haven't told them yet."

"You should," Mr. Way tells him, and Dan nods again. But Mr. Way insists, "Promise me you will, Dan."

Dan thinks it's a little weird, but he promises anyway. Mr. Way grants him with another gentle smile, and Dan has fucking butterflies in his stomach now.

So they're both bisexual. It doesn't mean anything.

*

So Dan should probably have thought things through a bit more, because he never thought the extra lessons would be a problem until Mr. Way started teaching him about brushstrokes. It never occurred to Dan that he'd suck so much at controlling the paintbrush that Mr. Way has to grip his hand with his own, but it happens. Dan has a hard time suppressing a boner; thinking about dead birds and his grandma doesn't work half as well when he's got Mr. Way's warm hand on his own. Mr. Way is hovering over him, close enough that Dan can hear his every breath, and Dan has to keep his breathing in check every second. Mr. Way lets Dan paint on his own after a torturous ten minutes, but he still remains too close to Dan and seriously, it'd take supreme willpower for Dan not to just turn around and jump his teacher on the spot. Dan still manages to finish the painting exercise with a pretty satisfying result, the still life objects at least looking more realistic than Dan's usual works. He whips around to announce his success – only to find Mr. Way still entirely too close, so close that Dan can see the splashes of dull gold in his eyes, and the tiny freckles scattered over his face, only visible this up close. He's beautiful.

Suddenly, Dan's painfully aware of the minimal gap between them, and he knows, if he were to just lean forward a little bit, he'd be kissing Mr. Way.

He spins away before anything can happen, and for the rest of the session, he remains quiet.

He ends up having to deal with a hard-on that night, and he tries not to think of Mr. Way's face because then he would never be able to look the teacher in the eye. He has to stop for several times just to stop his mind from straying to Mr. Way's hazel eyes, gentle smiles or long long legs. In the end he manages to get off with Buffy on his mind, although he still feels wound up afterwards.

The feeling doesn't go away until he sees Mr. Way smiling, cradling a cup of coffee the next day.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

*

The thing is, Mr. Smith's been discharged from the hospital for a little over a month now, but Dan's still keeping up with his extra lessons with Mr. Way. Mr. Way hasn't said anything about that yet, and Dan just kinda assumes he's still welcomed at the art room afterschool, although it would suck horribly if he ever told Dan otherwise. But he's still greeting Dan with warm smiles every time Dan shows up at the door of the art room, and Dan doesn't understand how he isn't grating on his nerves yet.

It's another day after school, and Dan catches himself declining Chris's invite to go the malls and pester PJ, who's having his shift at the clothing store. He makes up a bullshit excuse about a biology lab report that's due in that week, and Chris looks at him suspiciously for a moment before letting him go. Dan all but runs to the art room when Chris has disappeared out the front gates, and silently wonders why he's choosing art lessons over his friends now, and more importantly, why he's lying about it.

Dan's beginning to realise that he looks forward to these little extra lessons a lot more than he should, and some days, those are the only things that gives him the vigour to go to school at all. He tells Mr. Way this much, somehow feeling that the important discovery should be shared.

"I look forward to our lessons everyday too, Dan," Mr. Way concurs, gentle-voiced. Mr. Way is looking at him with a hint of a smile, and Dan can't help but match it with his own.

Sometimes Dan visits Mr. Way in the art room just to be near him. Mr. Way lets him in every time, even if Dan is just sitting at the benches doing homework for other subjects. Sometimes they'll chat, and sometimes they'll work in silence, Dan typing up essays and Mr. Way marking assignments. Sometimes Dan will look up, and his eyes will meet Mr. Way's, and they'll smile.

One time, Dan falls asleep halfway through writing an English assignment. He doesn't remember falling asleep, just that one second his eyelids are drooping as his scrawls on the page become increasingly messy, and the next second he's waking to Mr. Way gently shaking his shoulders.

"Dan. Dan, wake up."

Dan may have made some kind of undignified noise before he opens his eyes. He sees Mr. Way smiling down at him, almost affectionately. Dan's stomach somersaults. His brain's just tired and he's overanalysing things. He gets up from his sprawl over the surface of the bench and packs his stuff in silence. They walk out of the art room in companionable silence, only broken when Dan's phone buzzes against his leg in his side pocket. It's his mom, and she's semi-hollering down the line about the whole family waiting for him at the dinner table, and if he doesn't come home this second, Daniel James Howell, she will make sure he gets no internet for the rest of the month. Dan blanches, and his mom's already hung up before he has a chance to protest. He checks the time and shit, it's nearing half past seven.

"You want a ride?" Mr. Way offers. Dan looks at him maybe a bit adoringly, nods fervently, and Mr. Way laughs. "I'd feel bad about leaving you all alone here at night anyway. Come on, this way." Mr. Way nods in the direction of the teacher's car park, and Dan stumbles a bit to follow. They stop in front of a Subaru that just sort of blends in with the background, and Mr. Way unlocks the doors, getting into the driver's seat himself. Dan stands there for a moment, looking dumb, before Mr. Way pats a bit at the shotgun seat, and Dan gets in.

Dan gives directions to his home, and he doesn't fall asleep once. He's too alert, the enclosed space of the car somehow making him feel like he's too close to Mr. Way. (He's afraid of what he'll do, if he's given the chance.) It's not enough to make him claustrophobic, but it eats at his brain. He stays still as a stone the entire way, and he only relaxes when they slow to a stop in front of Dan's house. "Here's your stop," Mr. Way says, maybe a bit unnecessarily, and Dan snaps out of his motionlessness. He looks up at Mr. Way, who's eternally smiling, and it tugs at Dan's heartstrings.

He breaks. Before he knows it, he's clinging to Mr. Way with a hug.

Mr. Way gives a little huff of laughter, surprised, but he hugs back. When they break apart, Dan's got the biggest grin on his face, and he's never felt so alive before. He gets off the car, school bag clutched against his chest, and he casts a lingering look at the teacher. "Have a nice evening, Dan," Mr. Way says, like he really means it, and Dan believes him.

"You too, Mr. Way." Dan gives an awkward little wave and walks slowly up to his house, where his mother will inevitably be waiting for him at the dinner table with another lecture about punctuality. He doesn't give a shit, though. He's happy now, feeling slightly like floating on a cloud, like the world is his and he can just reach out and grab any one of the stars tonight, and they'll oblige to be collected.

It isn't until his mom mentions the time again that Dan realises Mr. Way probably waited a full twenty minutes before waking Dan up, because when Dan opened his eyes, Mr. Way's desk was cleared, and the teacher good to go. Then he recalls that the teacher never had that much work to do that afternoon, to begin with, and there was absolutely no need for him to stay until seven. Dan's heart does something odd, he can't quite describe it, but it's odd in a good way.

He's a balloon that's strayed away from the ground, head bumping against the ceiling, and he's staying there for the rest of the night.

*

It's only the next morning, when he gets ready to leave the house, that he realises he left his hoodie in Mr. Way's car last night. He does the obligatory internal freak-out before he tumbles out onto the road. Good thing he isn't too late today to skip the school bus, so that he wouldn't have to bear the cold (his other jackets are never warm enough; besides, that one is his favourite hoodie and it fits just right). He worries his head off until he sees Mr. Way coming up to him, hoodie in hand during the afterschool lesson that day, and Dan's heart does that weird thing again. Dan hugs Mr. Way as well, slightly testing the waters, but Mr. Way surprises him by reciprocating the hug yet again. Dan can't help but think he's like a big Teddy Bear hidden under the sophisticated appearance, all soft and squishy and cuddly, and Dan laughs out loud at the silly notion. Mr. Way asks why he's laughing, and Dan wouldn't spill, so he pesters him until Dan relents. He comes right out with it and says it exactly the way he thought it, and then he thinks maybe he's crossed a line there, but then Mr. Way's cracking up with this loud honking cackle, just slightly bordering on obnoxious. Dan decides he likes it, because Mr. Way rarely laughs out loud. (Then again, Dan's yet to find one thing about Mr. Way that he doesn't like.) Before long, Dan joins him, and they just stand there laughing like idiots.

After that, Dan's taken to be more tactile with Mr. Way. The teacher doesn't mind it, and sometimes he'll even laugh when Dan practices surprise ninja hug attacks on him. Although, Dan feels kinda weird when he bypasses Mr. Way in a hallway full of other students, because the distance between him and Mr. Way just doesn't feel right, but it'd be worse if he actually hugged Mr. Way in front of everybody else. For a brief moment, Dan feels slightly possessive; then he admonishes himself for feeling that way, because he doesn't have a monopoly on the teacher. He's just a stupid 17 year-old with a crush on his art teacher. He suspects that this little crush has developed into something more, maybe even as severe as infatuation, but he's okay with that, as long as he gets to see Mr. Way every day.

Then he stops that train of thought entirely before it can progress anymore, because he may be lame, but he's not that pathetic.

*

But it gets difficult when Mr. Way's being so friendly with him, and sometimes Dan just can't see where the line is anymore. They're just poring over comics together, the books spread out over the teacher's desk. Mr. Way finally brought in his favourite ones to show Dan, instead of just ranting all about the wonderfulness of comics. Sometimes Dan swears the teacher is just as geeky as himself, and that's saying something.

So right now, Mr. Way is introducing a whole new world of superheroes and villains to him, and Dan is listening with rapt attention. It's just something about the way Mr. Way's entire expression lights up at the mention of comics and illustrations, and his excitement is almost contagious. He rambles about comic characters and story arcs unfamiliar to Dan, and he makes it all sound so wonderfully interesting. Although, Dan figures Mr. Way could be postulating about lollipops for all he cares, and Dan will still find it interesting. Dan's opinion's kind of invalid in that sense.

After a while, Mr. Way's big long speech dies down a little, and they're just flicking through the comics, cocooned in a comfortable silence. It's a peaceful quiet, the rambunctious noises of daytime all gone with the last students that's trickled out the school gates. For a moment, it's like the only people left in the world is the two of them, and it feels – safe. Dan closes his eyes for a moment, just taking a few calming breaths and revelling in the feeling. When he opens his eyes and looks up at his teacher, he is surprised to see Mr. Way already looking at him, quiet and unblinking. His expression is serious, but mostly unfathomable. Whatever Dan's about to stay dies in a stutter, and his breath hitches.

Dan thinks he's starting to blush again, and he looks back down at his comic before his traitorous face gives him away. A distinct sound of pencil scratching against paper breaks the silence, and Dan looks up to see Mr. Way drawing in his personal sketchbooks again. It sparks Dan's curiosity, and he asks to see Mr. Way's own artwork. They settle into a comfortable rhythm again, flicking through his sketchbooks, Dan occasionally pointing out things and asking Mr. Way about them.

It is only after Mr. Way's gone to the bathroom that Dan gets bored and, nosing around the sketchbooks once more, finds a sketch of himself on the last page of one of the newer ones. It's almost as if Mr. Way's deliberately concealed the sketch, but Dan will analyse the implications of that later. Right now, all he can do is stare in awe at the meticulous details Mr. Way's put into the sketch, and how eerily accurate his features are. Mr. Way has chosen to sketch him with straight hair, and there is no way it should look as magnificent as it is on paper, because every time Dan looks into the mirror, all he sees is an awkward teenage boy with a stupid face. Dan /doesn't understand/.

"I thought straight hair suited you better," Mr. Way says over Dan's shoulder, and Dan jumps, putting down the sketchbook guiltily. Mr. Way rounds the desk and sits in his chair again, his expression nothing but neutral, like he isn't even the slightest bit annoyed that Dan's been helping himself to his things. He's picking up a comic book again, and Dan blurts out before he can stop himself. "How do you do it?"

Mr. Way looks at him a little questioningly, and Dan goes on, "I mean, this looks like a tonne of effort, but I'd take days and never be able to replicate a piece half as amazing as this one." He gestures at the sketch of himself. "I – forget it, it was a stupid question. I guess I'm just trying to say that this is a really amazing drawing, and you're just too talented."

"So you like it?" Mr. Way has a smile on his face, but it looks almost… shy.

"Of course I do!" Dan says with a wide smile, incredulous but fond. "I love it!"

Mr. Way breaks into a real smile, offering to draw Dan a better one – seriously, better one? This one's already perfect, in Dan's opinion – and Dan just has to hug Mr. Way, laughing in delight. He vaguely thinks that he's been doing that a lot lately, hugging the teacher, but it feels almost like a natural thing to do, like it would be wrong if he was to never hug the teacher ever again.

Mr. Way's arms wrap around Dan's back, and Dan thinks they fit just right.

*

"Dan? Dan! Earth to Dan Howell!"

"I – sorry, what?" Dan's jerked out of his reverie by Phil's cry, to see the rest of the Fantastic Foursome gang snickering in sync over the yucky, quite untouched school dinner.

"Seriously Dan, Phil's been asking you the same question for three times now and you're still lost in daydreams." There's nothing accusatory about Chris's tone, but Dan blushes nonetheless.

"I guess… I'm tired?" But even Dan himself doesn't sound very convinced.

Even PJ fixes him with a yeah, right look. Dan kind of wilts a little.

"Is something wrong?" Phil asks casually, although Dan can hear the underlying worry. Dan just shakes his head though. Whatever's going on with Mr. Way is actually kind of awesome. Dan has to suppress a smile when he thinks about the teacher and the time they spend together.

Unfortunately, Chris picks up on that immediately. "Wait, I know! You've hooked up with someone, isn't it!" And before Dan can deny, or answer at all, Chris goes on to fire a series of questions. "Who is it? Is she pretty? Hot? Smart? Or is it a he?"

Dan almost chokes on his juicebox at the last question. He hacks a few coughs that make him sound like he's dying, but when he's recovered enough, he pins Chris with a you're kidding, right? look. Well, at least he hopes he got the look right. "I haven't hooked up with anyone," Dan clarifies, and, what, he's telling the truth! He hasn't hooked up with the art teacher (yet? Dan's brain, quite unhelpfully, inserted a 'yet' there) and he is positively single. "And honestly, do I look like I do relationships? I'd probably scare the other person away in five seconds flat."

"Hey, no, I think you're pretty charming," PJ says, and only PJ can make a comment like that and come out sounding completely neutral and sincere. If Chris said the same thing, he'd only make it sound like a pick-up line. It probably has something to do with that permanent leer Chris has on his face.

"Well, thanks. But I'm probably gonna be single for a while." And Dan shrugs, because he really doesn't care. So what if he pines for a teacher? It's not like he's stalking anyone.

Phil pats his arm almost consolingly, and Dan decides he loves his friends.

"Well, you wanna come along to this party on Friday? Afterschool, Stephen's place." Chris offers, and Dan knows he means well, although he can't help but feel like it's going to be another one of Chris's botched attempts at being Dan's matchmaker. Dan agrees to go anyway; at least all his friends will be there.

Sides, Dan should really stop obsessing over someone he obviously can't have. Maybe he really will meet someone within his league. Who knows.

*

Some people say teenage years is when you do dumb stuff, and Dan can back this up with some of his drunken adventures in the empty fields and the pranks he pulls sometimes, but he's pretty sure none of those 'dumb stuff' included this.

Because right now, Dan is drunk. He is so unbelievably drunk, it's not even funny. He has no idea how he ended up this drunk, because he's positive he only consumed one cup of wine since he stepped foot in the house, and he did so by few and far between sips as well. Someone must have spiked his cups of soda afterwards, and he groans inwardly. He knows he's gonna have a killer hangover the next morning, and he really doesn't know how he's gonna hide that from his mom. Being grounded always sucks.

But, for now, he's mostly feeling way too happy. Like, artificially happy – and is that even a thing? Well it is now, Dan just invented it, whey. Dan's giggling to himself before he knows it, but then promptly clamps his mouth shut because, ew, he's not that gay. He thinks PJ shouts in his left ear – or right, Dan can't even distinguish between his two ears now, what the fuck – a question asking how drunk is Dan, and seriously, does he have to ask Dan? Dan doesn't even know which way's up and which way's down now, and how does he expect him to answer anyway? It's not like Dan can just pinpoint his drunkenness, say, on a scale of one to ten. Dan slurs something like an "I don't know", shaking his head, which is apparently a bad idea because the room spins twice as fast, and Dan collapses into a heap by the wall. PJ sits with him a while, and when Dan appears to stay put, he gets up to go seek out Phil because he's not wasting the party away standing guard for Dan, dammit. So Dan just sort of sits there, because now his legs aren't listening to his brain anymore, not even when he pokes at them.

At some point, Dan gets bored observing other people on different levels of drunkenness, and he sticks his hands in his side pockets just to see what treasure he can find in there. He fishes out a few coins, a phone, and some crumpled up receipt. The phone seems like the object that can entertain him the most, so he flips it open and checks for any missed calls from home, and the next thing he knows he's navigated to his contacts list.

Now, the thing is, somewhere along the way of Dan starting the afterschool sessions with Mr. Way and him sitting here on the floor, drunk, Mr. Way gave him his number for emergency purposes, so that Dan can contact him for any art-related problem he encounters even when he's outside of school. What Mr. Way most probably did not intend to happen when he gave Dan the number, was a drunken call from the student at 1am in the morning. But for some reason, Dan's stupid brain thinks it's a good idea to call Mr. Way and be as blunt possible, which is how he ended up drunk-dialling the teacher's number, completely wasted and sprawled on the floor of Stephen's living room.

Mr. Way doesn't answer his phone and it jumps to voicemail, but that's okay, Dan can cope. He can still do his impromptu confession. "Mr. Way. Mr. Waaaaaaay," he begins, and that sounds really funny, so Dan has to pause to giggle a bit. "God, you're so hot, did you know that? It should be like, a known fact that gets published. I always thought you were hot, since the day we met. And," Dan pauses again to gather his thoughts a bit because they're scattering all over the place, "You're the most nice, the most nicest person I've ever met. And I love it when we spend time alone in the art room, y'know? I love it a lot. I just thought I should tell you. I like you." Dan pauses, and he's got this goofy smile all stretched across his lips as he sighs dreamily. But then he remembers he's still on the line, so he starts talking again. "I just… I just like you so much, Mr. Way. I'm in like with you." He giggles again, but he's running out of things to say, so he whispers a "goodnight, Mr. Way", and hangs up.

It isn't until he scrolls through his phone's call history the next afternoon, battling the ultimate headache, that he realises, in horror, the true nature of what he's done.

Dan is properly fucked this time.