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If you can’t dance like Drake in the Hotline Bling video, chances are I don’t like you.

I’m Jack, ‘sup?

Ew, it’s you. Yeah, yeah, whatever, Gilinsky. We all know how that would end up. 

Don’t make me beat you up, Mendes. Missed you, asshole.

I mean– for real though, I’m a terrible person. Don’t even bother texting or Snapchatting me, do you know how often I reply? Never. I just looked back at messages that I haven’t responded to in at least three weeks. I just lose interest or forget so quickly that I’ll leave it for days, ask anyone. I am the equivalent of the shit emoji.

You’re easily the shittiest texter I’ve ever met, your husband on the other hand-- what a bae.

I fell asleep in public transit today and I have to say– probably the worst experience of my life. I thought subways and stuff in Ontario were bad but apparently I had no idea that New York City is about a million times worse. They all smell of rotten cheese and body odor and I woke up almost being sat on by a guy who was too busy texting to notice me. 

Oh no, it’s you. They should of drawn all over your face, that’s what I would of done.

Are you.. okay?

If I don’t freeze my nuts off, I’ll be fine.

So apart from being super happy about almost being able to portray a character that’s my own age after five years, I’m still feeling kinda shitty. Being unwell sucks. How’s life everyone?

Hope you feeling better! Life has been pretty sweet, not gonna lie.

After a successful surgery, Dylan was wheeled back into his hospital room. He was still knocked out from the anesthetic, but he could hear everything going on around him. That included the footsteps of whoever was walking into the room.

Stepping into the room, Jack slid his hands into his pockets and approached the boy on the bed. “Man, they won’t even tell me what happened. Can you-- Can you hear me?”