dylanscrawfordâ:
Dylan did as he was told and stubbed out the cigarette. He ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed, fingernails picking at the skin on around his nails instead. Something to keep his hand busy. Especially after Emma drops that bomb and Dylanâs stomach sinks.
Leaving Melbourne.
âWhat?â He asks, turning to look at Emma. The thought of her actually going⌠away⌠somewhere, fills him with dread and horror, and he feels sick. âYouâre . . .â Leaving.
Leaving me.
âOh. I see.â Dylan looks down at the floor and lets out a breath. âWell. Good luck with that, I guess.â What else could he say? Donât go. I donât want you to leave. I know I deliberately piss you off but I donât know how Iâm going to survive without you?
She doesnât know what kind of reaction she expected --- or if she expected any at all. Heâs the first person sheâs told, though, since she decided, and for a moment it almost feels like old times, where he was the first to hear all her secrets and her thoughts and her first reactions. Now it just so happens that heâs in the right place at the right time, when sheâs drunk and tired and sad.
Itâs not the same, but thereâs a small part of her that holds on to the familiarity of it, anyway. âThanks,â she replies, still not looking at him. âYouâll be --- good? With the rent?â She pries, knowing heâs unemployed at the moment.











