#dylanxreader

I walk into the kitchen, barely balancing the dishes until I feel a hand brush against mine, taking the weight off my arms. "Need a little help?" I hear Y/N giggle, I flush as I stumble my words "Yeah haha, I uh, I guess I took too many at once um" "I appreciate the help Dylan, but you know you could've just left them on the table outside the kitchen." I watch him walk to the sink, carefully setting the dishes in the sink. "Yeah I know, I just wanted to uh, come ask you something." Y/N hums as he takes the first plate and rinses it. "Well uh, I've noticed that my hair has grown quite a bit, and seeing that the campers come to you for help with their hair, I thought you could uh give me a small trim?" Y/N waits a second before responding "Yeah for sure, I'll meet you at your cabin at 7?" He looks over to me and I nod "I'll see you then" I walk out of the kitchen and bump into Kaitlyn, "Soo?" She coos "He said he'll do it" 

I was currently in the radio shack playing some of my favorite tunes before talking on the microphone "Alright campers, we have a couple optional night time activities for you tonight, We have campfire stories with Ryan or if you prefer something quiet and chill, Abi has her art class open until 9:30. If these don't toot your horn, you're free to stay in your cabin until bedtime. Have fun campers and remember, 'What doesn't kill you, will make you stronger'" (I know there's nothing that actually says that kids got to choose what they wanted to do at night and nothing about Dylan announcing it but I just wanted to put it in.) I turn the microphone off and glance at the clock for the 20th time this hour, 6:52pm. I walk out the shack and lock the door behind me, continuing to the cabins.

I'm about to sit on my bed when I hear a knock at the door, I rush to it dusting my clothes before opening it. I feel my face warm up as I look at the boy holding a suitcase in front of me, "Is now a good time" His voice makes my heart skip a beat "Uh yeah, now's great" I stiffen as he walks past me and into the bathroom, he starts to set everything up and I take that as an opportunity to calm myself down. "Hey Dylan, everything's ready" he calls from the bathroom, I quickly scurry to the bathroom, and stand awkwardly waiting for him to tell me what to do. He smiles and gestures to the chair he had placed Infront of the mirror, I quickly take a seat and he chuckles "How short did you want to go?" I feel his fingers glide through my hair, gently pulling it up. "I uh, um I just want an inch or 2 off all of it." I see my face redden. "Yeah alright, is that all you want?" He combs my hair back with his fingers "I uh, yeah. yeah that's all." He smiles and nods as he starts to part my hair pulling certain layers up to see how much to cut off. My knees buckle as I feel his hot breath hit the back of my neck, I look up at him through the mirror, cheeks burning harder as I watch his focused face. I can't help but to shiver at the feeling of his hands running through my hair and his breath kissing my neck, I let out shaky breaths as I try to keep my cool. 

I feel him step away and I release a breath I didn't know I had been holding. He turns the chair around and now I'm face to face with his chest, he puts his hand against my jaw and turns it side to side, there is no way he can't see the heat on my face now. He does a few more cuts to the front bringing his face even closer to mine, I sweat as I now feel his breath against my lips, he puts the scissors down and runs his fingers through my hair again. My hands shake as I decide to just go for it, I smash my lips against his, grabbing the bottom of his shirt with my sweaty hands. I feel fear bubble inside me as he stiffens, but all that fear immediately gets washed away when he gently pulls the hair on the back of my head and brings himself closer. We only split apart once we couldn't hold our breaths any longer. He rested his forehead against mine and whispered "You don't know how long I've waited for that" I chuckled and leaned my head into his shoulder.

-Written by Owner 1 

--------------------------

Exert from Chapter 1

“It was really really nice to meet you. I’d hate to hold you up.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I don’t say anything.

We just kinda exist in the aisle together, me awkwardly cradling a stack of books that’s a little too heavy for me to hold all at once while shifting from foot to foot and him using his thumb to pop each finger on his right hand.

“Do you need help?” he finally asks.

My throat is like the Nevada desert. I try to swallow non-existent spit, but my words still come out a bit hoarse, “Do you want to help?”

“Why not?” He finally stands, picking up a different stack on the outer edge and reading the binding for the author’s name. “Alphabetical, right?”

“Um, yeah.” My arms tremble from the weight of my own stack, and I notice for the first time how sweaty my hands are as I readjust my grip.

He notices my struggle and easily shifts his stack to one arm, then reaches out to take the top two books off of mine. “Man, how are you not, like, ripped after carrying around this many books all the time?”

His question breaks the tension, as I’m sure he designed it to, and air huffs out my nose in a silent laugh. “We’ll have to arm wrestle later.”

“Oh, bring it.”

----------------------

I’d woken up well before Dylan did, curled up against his side, his arm around me and mine draped over his stomach. I’d laid there for a long time, watched the sun start to make its way through the blinds as his chest rose and fell evenly alongside a steady heartbeat.

Peace. It’s the only way I can describe it, a peace I hadn’t felt since I got the phone call from the hospital that day telling me my husband had been in an accident. But it’s also an uneasy sense of settlement, because the tangibility of Dylan feels ephemeral, like he can and will disappear at any second.

My brain was wide awake, so I’d stealthily slipped out from underneath his arm, made some cold brew coffee, left a trail of notes for him to find upon waking up, and went to sit with Zeke in the garden to process through my many thoughts.

“Hey.” I look up as he walks over and joins me on the bench, one arm immediately finding its way around my shoulders while the other hand holds his coffee. “I’m surprised I fell asleep.”

I relax comfortably against his side and adjust the blanket I’d brought out with me around my bare legs. “I don’t even think I made it to the end of the movie.”

“Yeah, no, you definitely didn’t.”

I crane my neck to look at him. “Wait, did you make it to the end?”

“Of course, it’s ‘Gladiator’. The ending is the best part.”

I speak in concurrence with my brain’s processing of his words. “So… you chose to stay.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and then pulls me closer into his side. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“What does that mean?”

He pauses, thinking. “I don’t know. I just know I wanted to stay...so I did.”

It’s a fair answer. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have answered my own question. I know that I love spending time with him, talking to him, just sitting here with him. I know he helps still my restlessness, and I also know that deep in my bones there’s still that itch, that drive forward, the desire to move towards something else before what I’m currently existing in becomes tainted, a new adventure to counteract the possibility for stagnancy.

“I’ve been making plans to travel to Colorado for a few weeks, once I got the van fixed,” I say quietly, “and now…now I’m not sure if I should go anymore.”

“Why not?” he asks, pulling away slightly so he can see my face better. “That sounds awesome, and I’ll be stuck in Canada soon for filming, so it’s not like I’d be around here to see you.”

My teeth find my bottom lip, chewing gently. His hand is suddenly on the side of my face, a few fingers under my chin tilting it up, brown eyes intently capturing mine. “Hey, you should never give up something like that for me, for anyone. If that shit makes you happy, you keep doing it, and don’t let anyone or anything stop you.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and he drops his hand to draw me back against him.

I swallow and manage the next few words as a whisper. “Do you want to stay? Do you want me to stick around? Because it wouldn’t be hard for us to disappear from each other’s lives. It’s only been three days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just… I don’t want to complicate things for you,” I say, growing more adamant with each word. “I don’t want to be a burden, a regret. Your life is about to get really busy, and I don’t want to be the one who holds you back in some way. So we can end this, now, while everything is on a good note, and then we won’t have to-”

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down,” he interjects, setting his coffee down. This time when he lets go of me, he turns so that he can grasp both of my shoulders in his hands. “Do you want that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want-”

“Actually, it really fucking does.”

I avoid his determined gaze and look down, and that’s when I notice pink paper sticking out of the pocket of his shorts. I pinch the edges of them with my fingers and lift them out, holding the notes up for both of us to see.

“This is what I want. I meant it.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Stick around?”

“Hell yes.”

He’s smiling, and my cheeks mimic his. “So… what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’ll be at Comic-con,” he reminds me, releasing his grip on my shoulders.

“Shoot, that’s right.”

A pause, then-

“Come with me.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Go with you?”

“Yeah, why the hell not?”

“Um....” I immediately think of a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t go with him, why I can’t go with him. And then I look at his expectant face, at his unsure smile, at his eyes, watching, waiting for my response. “...Okay?”

His grin becomes more confident. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound self-assured, “why the hell not?” Zeke comes into my peripherals, rolling on his back in the grass. “Shit, I don’t know if my dog sitter will be able to watch Zeke on such short notice.”

“Call her,” Dylan says. “Where’s your phone at?”

I reach into my pocket to pull it out and am reminded that it’s not the only thing I have in there. “Oh, hey, I have your phone. The rice did it’s thing.” I place it into his hand and go into my contacts to pull up the number for the local college student I’d found who watches Zeke for me from time to time. I dial and hold my phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” Her voice comes through the speaker after the second ring. “Y/N, what’s up?”

Dylan nudges me with his elbow, prompting words to form. “Hey, Melody, I have a really inconsiderate and kind of desperate request.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, could you maybe watch Zeke this weekend?”

“Umm…possibly? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yes, everything is fine. I just got a last minute invitation to go somewhere and I can’t take him with me.”

Dylan leans in my direction, “Tell her you can pay her double.”

I give him an incredulous look, but he just gestures for me to keep talking. “And, uh, my associate here is authorizing me to pay you double the normal rate.”

“Man, you really are desperate. Okay, let me move some things around in my schedule. I’ll text you in a bit, but I can make it work.”

To my surprise, it’s a feeling of anxiety, not relief, that begins to creep in on me. Because this is actually about to happen, and I’m not entirely sure if I’m crazy for doing it or if I’m even ready to try.

“Thanks, girl, you’re the best. I’ll Venmo you the money soon and leave the key in its usual spot.”

“Perfect. What time are you leaving today?”

I look to Dylan to answer that one. He holds up one finger, checks a message on his phone, and then three more join it.

“Around four. I’ll feed him before I go. And there’s leftover casserole in the fridge, so help yourself to that and anything else you find.”

“Sounds good, Y/N. I’ll text you in a bit to confirm everything.”

“Great, thanks so much.”

“Sure thing. Bye!”

I end the call and let out a deep sigh. “I guess I need to go pack. And shower. And probably run Zeke. But not in that order… backwards from that order. What exactly should I be bringing? Do I need to book a hotel room? They probably won’t even have one available this late in the game. What city are we going to again? I want to check the weather for rain. And I have a shift at the coffee shop and the bookstore that I’ll have to call out of.”

“Okay, um, one question at a time would be great,” Dylan says. He looks me over, and I wish I could hide the anxious creases around my eyes that I clearly feel. “You good?”

I nod a few times too many. “Yeah, just processing.”

“Alright, well, let’s start by getting inside, eat some food, and we’ll take it from there. Don’t worry about getting to Comic-con; I’ll be here at four to pick you up. And for the hotel room, I’m sure you can crash in mine or with the girls.”

“And by the girls, you mean Holland and Shelley.”

“Crystal should be there, too. Pretty sure the whole gang is going to make it out for this one.”

“Oh god.” The anxiety grows as the thought of meeting the entire cast becomes an enlightened reality. Part of me has always wanted to meet them, but that was the fantasizing part of me, where it was just a nice scenario in my head. Now the real me, the one about to actually live it out, just feels nauseous.  

“Come on-” he stands from the bench and offers me an extended hand- “we’ve got this.”

“But do we?” I sound a bit sick. Hell, I might actually be sick in a minute. From excitement, nervousness, anxiety? A bit of all of the above.

He tugs me inside the house and we forage for breakfast. I go through the motions of feeding Zeke, changing into athletic clothes, and lacing up my sneakers for a run while Dylan dresses in his dirty clothes from yesterday and waits for me by the front door.

The three of us walk out together, and for the first time I see the vehicle that he’d driven over in.

“It’s the Jeep!”

He laughs and swings the keys around on his finger. “Yep. Best damn thing I could have taken from the show.”

“I’ll say.” I run my hands along the metal hood and peer inside. “This is awesome.”

“I’ll have to take you out for a drive in it someday.”

“Um, yes please.”

He opens the driver’s door and hops inside. “So I’ll be back at four. Text me if you need anything before then.”

“Text? You mean message. On Twitter?”

“Nope,” he says with a mischievous grin.

He starts the Jeep and backs out of my driveway before I can ask him anything else. I open my phone and go into the text messages. There’s a new one there, Dylan’s name on the banner.

You look cute when you sleep.

Right below the words is a picture of me with my head on his shoulder, half of his face in the frame smiling cheesily at the camera.

I zip my phone into my pocket, tighten my hold on Zeke’s leash, and take a deep breath.

“Alright, boy, let’s do this.”

---------------------- read Chapter 6

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch​ @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales​

“Oh, shit, yeah, I’m so sorry.”  The small wall of books I’d stacked into piles around me had spread significantly since my initial settlement in the aisle. I stand, my floral skirt billowing around my ankles, and try not to wince as sharp pins and needles flood my left foot. “Here, let me… just step here-” I point to a microscopic, barely visible piece of the tile floor- “and then if you could kinda jump-”

His laughter cuts me off, loud and deep, and I hesitate a second before the contagiousness of it has me giggling alongside him.

He claps his hands and rubs them together. “Okay, I’ve got this.”

And he does. In seconds he’s cleared my chaotic mess and is on the other end of the shelving. He spins to face me, and I do my best to wipe the stupid grin off my face with little success.

“Oh my god, do you have a pillow and blanket? Are you camping out?”

I self-consciously tuck my gray shirt back into the hemline of my skirt from where it’s rebelled. “Um, something like that?”

To my surprise he drops down, crouching on the balls of his feet, studying the different books I’d constructed in an almost semi-circle around me. I follow suit, re-adjusting my position on the floor pillow I’d brought with me.

“What’s what here?”

I slide my glasses back onto my nose and push my loose hair behind my ears. “There is an order.”

“Obviously. You set up camp, so this is some serious sorting shit happening here.”

“So I start by pulling book covers that I like-” I point to the largest stack- “and then I sort them out by genre-” I gesture at the five outer stacks forming the curve of my enclosure- “and then I read the book summary. If I like it, I make another stack. If not, it goes back to the outer circle.”

“This is fantastic.”

I let out a short laugh. “Some would call it insanity.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but since you did…” He’s fully settled on the floor now, leaned back against the end of the bookshelf, one leg extended and the other bent with his arm draped across it as he leans over my piles. He points to the smallest stack of books, only two, that are closest to me. “So what’s this?”

“These are the ones that made it. After the summary, I read the first page. If it doesn’t catch my attention, back it goes.”

“Oh man, just one page?”

I shrug. “The first page tells the most about a book, in my opinion. Well, about the author more than anything. Their writing style, the main character, if they can carry a conversation. It’s like a first impression of someone, I guess.”

He cocks his head in thought. “Wait, wouldn’t the front covers be the first impression?”

I smile. “A lot of the covers just look nice, but their insides are crap.”

He nods and picks up a book on the outer circle of my piles, turning it over in his hands to read the back.

“So… are you here looking for a certain book? Maybe I could help?”

He looks up at me. “Do you work here?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s cool.” He sets the book back down and reaches a hand out to me. “I’m Dylan, by the way.”

I mentally steady my hand as I take his warm one in mine, giving it a firm shake. “I kinda knew that already.”

“You’re a fan?”

“You could say that.”

“Anything specific?”

I smile. “Pretty sure I’ve seen everything you’ve acted in.”

“Oh that’s cool. Do you want to take a picture?”

I do, I really do. But I also know that once the camera clicks, it’s a definitive ending. Just another fan, another picture, another forgotten encounter. He notices my hesitation, and I see confusion tinge his features.

“Or...not?”

“Actually… I was headed to a coffee shop after this if...if you maybe wanted to join me?”

My voice had gotten higher with each syllable to where it was almost a squeak by the last word. A blush rises to my cheeks. I instantly hate myself to the very pits of my soul for letting those words come out of my mouth.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t really show it. In fact, I can’t really read his face and ergo his reaction to my bold, idiotic, absurdly stupid question.

“It was a stupid thing to ask,” I backtrack. “Forget I even said anything.”

I want to disappear in between the books on the shelf. Hell, I’d take a bolt of disintegrating lightning. I stand and step over my book stacks to the outer edge and grab one of the first piles I can lay hands on. “I’ve got to put these back.” I force myself to look over at him, still sitting on the floor. He’s just looking at me, and the heat that was already in my cheeks expands down my neck.

“It was really really nice to meet you. I’d hate to hold you up.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I don’t say anything.

We just kinda exist in the aisle together, me awkwardly cradling a stack of books that’s a little too heavy for me to hold all at once while shifting from foot to foot and him using his thumb to pop each finger on his right hand.

“Do you need help?” he finally asks.

My throat is like the Nevada desert. I try to swallow non-existent spit, but my words still come out a bit hoarse. “Do you want to help?”

“Why not?” He finally stands, picking up a different stack on the outer edge and reading the binding for the author’s name. “Alphabetical, right?”

“Um, yeah.” My arms tremble from the weight of my own stack, and I notice for the first time how sweaty my hands are as I readjust my grip.

He notices my struggle and easily shifts his stack to one arm, then reaches out to take the top two books off of mine. “Man, how are you not, like, ripped after carrying around this many books all the time?”

His question breaks the tension, as I’m sure he designed it to, and air huffs out my nose in a silent laugh. “We’ll have to arm wrestle later.”

“Oh, bring it.”

I quickly reshelve my stack and grab another. Dylan does the same, and the edge of competition slowly makes itself known as more and more books fly back onto the shelves. There’s soon only one stack left, and we both go for it, but he barely whips it up off the floor before I can with a victorious laugh. I throw my hands up in defeat and then collect the only two books that had made it to my inner circle, placing them and my blanket into the bookbag I’d brought with me.

“Don’t you have to pay for those?”

“Shhhhhhhh, someone’s going to hear you.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow. “Wait, are you seriously-”

“Oh god, no,” I quickly clarify, “it was supposed to be a joke. They just come off my next paycheck when I work.”

“Oh… right. Funny.”

I swing my backpack over my shoulder and grab the handle of my floor cushion. “Thanks for helping me clean my mess up.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

My eyebrow raises in a silent question.

“Well?” he asks.

“Well what?”

“Didn’t you say something about coffee?”

Once again, the inability to form words claims me. I use my free hand to pinch the skin on my left arm, just in case I did fall asleep in the bookstore and this is a crazy dream after all. The pain tells me it’s not, but I still don’t fully believe this is actually happening.

“Or was coffee code for something else, because if that’s the case-”

“No! No, I really meant coffee. My favorite place is just a few blocks away.”

“Alright, I’ve got-” he checks his watch- “maybe an hour until I need to get somewhere. Let’s do it.”

I decide not to question it any more. “There are some backstreet cutovers if you don’t want to take the main route.” His face holds the question that I answer. “I mean, if you were wanting to avoid running into crazed fans.”

“Well, I ran into you.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

He follows me as I cut down the narrow book aisles, past a very shell shocked coworker at the checkout counter, and then through the back door into the alley.

“Wait, slow down.” I do, and he falls into place beside my relatively brisk pace. “I don’t even know your name.”

I smile at him. 

“It’s Y/N.”

------------------------------ read Chapter 2

I jump, and Zeke awakes with haste and clumsily scrambles to his feet with a low growl. I turn my head, heart pounding, and see Dylan leaning over the wooden planks of my fence. His bare arms rest on the top posts, tan skin contrasted by the white of his T-shirt. He’s grinning, obviously pleased that he’d scared me. I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I can picture the mischievous twinkle there.

Zeke lets out a low, warning boof, and I rise to my feet, knees cracking. “It’s okay, Zeke. This asshole is a friend. For now.” I make my way to the fenceline, Zeke trotting by my heels. “A heads up would have been nice.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

I open the latch and swing the gate open for him. “Come on in. You can help me water the plants.”

He walks through, sightlines immediately falling on my dog. “Can I pet him?”

“Yeah, just let me-” I go to Dylan and wrap my arm around his waist in a side-hug manner- “gotta let him know you’re a friend. He’s a bit protective. Zeke boy, come say hi to Dylan.”

It’s happy tail wags and endless kisses after that, and Dylan is soon on the ground, khaki shorts covered in dirt as Zeke bounces all around him, reveling in the attention.

“Zeke, love, give him some breathing room.” I offer Dylan a hand, and he grasps it to let me help pull him to his feet. “Sorry about your clothes.”

“What? No way, don’t even worry about it. Worth it.” He looks around my backyard, then back to me. “Your house isn’t exactly in Bradbury, you know.”

I shrug, “It’s close-ish.” He hasn’t let go of my hand, so I use the connection to tug him towards the gardens while walking backwards. “Come on, I’ll show you where the hose is.”

He jumps right in to help me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And… it kind of is. We fall into casual conversation while we work, him going from garden to garden to water, me slightly ahead of him to weed. We talk about his upcoming film, what he’s excited about and what he’s not, how his sister is planning to come out for a bit to visit him while he’s there. I talk about my van adventures, how I’d lived off of ‘just add water’ pancake mix for a solid week, how I’d found my current home as a foreclosure and fixed it up to what it is today.

“Why here?” he interjects at one point.

I look up. “What do you mean?”

He shuts off the valve on the hose sprayer and focuses fully on me. “Well, you’ve never bought a house anywhere else, I’m guessing. So, why here? Why now?”

I stop messing with the weeds and wipe my hands on my shorts. “No one’s asked me that before.”

“Well?”

My brow furrows. “I… I’m not really sure. I just happened to see a flier for this place when I was exploring downtown one day. And the air here, it’s not as heavy as other places. It’s easier to breathe, you know?”

“So you stayed on a whim?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“But you didn’t initially leave on one.”

It’s not phrased as a question, but I answer anyway. “No. No, I definitely didn’t.”

I don’t even see it coming. A wave of water, precisely aimed for my face, finds its mark with deadly accuracy. A squeal slips out of my lips as my hands fly up to shield myself, my hat falling to the ground. The water stops, and I slowly peek over my fingers to look at the fake expression of overt concern on Dylan’s face, one of his hands holding the water hose like the weapon he’d just used it as.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even see you there. Are you okay?”

I slowly stand and comb the loose tendrils of wet hair back into place with my fingers. “You’ve made quite the mistake, good sir.” I gather my hat and walk the few steps to the garden shed. Dylan rotates with me, keeping the hose pointed in my direction.

“What can I say? I’m clumsy. Finger must have slipped.”

I sidestep, inching closer to my mark. “But what you failed to calculate into your plan, sir, is one key thing.”

His eyes quickly bounce around the surrounding area before landing back on me, face skeptical. “Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

I yank the object of my attention out from under the shed and turn the second water source on simultaneously, the nozzle trained on Dylan’s form. The spray hits him dead on, making him yell in surprise as I relentlessly soak his clothes, hair, and face while yelling above the noise of the water-

“I have TWO HOSES!”

A full on water fight ensues as we chase each other around my garden. Zeke runs around with us, jumping into the water streams and barking with excitement. We’re both yelling and laughing and soaked to the bone, and the steady brightness of the sun is a close comparison to the way my heart is feeling when Dylan eventually yells ‘Truce!’ and we both flop down, breathless, onto the grass.

“I think-” breath- “you might have-” breath- “overdone it-” breath- “with the watering,” I wheeze out between giggles.

He looks at me, squinted eyes slowly widening as if he’s remembered something, and then his hand digs into his short’s pocket and pulls out a dripping cell phone.

“Shit,” he mutters.

My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes droplets from his phone with one hand and waves me off with the other. “Casualty of war.”

I jump up and find my own phone, miraculously dry and leaning against the side of one of the box gardens. “I have some rice in my kitchen. We can try and dry it out.”

I shut off both hoses and leave them sprawled out in the yard, a visual memory for me to have for tomorrow. We make our way into the house, ditching our sopping shoes by the back door, and I make Zeke wait outside until I find a towel to dry him off with.

“Here, uh-” I rummage through my cabinets to locate the rice and ziploc bags- “let me just pour some of this in here.” I dump a generous amount into the bag and set the rest on the counter. “Where’s your… Dylan?” He’s disappeared from the kitchen.

Considering that my house is tiny, it takes me less than seconds to find where he’s wandered into the living room. I lean against the entryway frame and watch as he runs his fingers down the spines of the books that live on my shelves, his lips silently moving as he reads their titles. He gets to the fireplace mantle and pauses, taking in the largest photo resting there.

“I lost him three years ago,” I say quietly. “Car crash.”

“You guys look happy.”

“We were.” My eyes fall to the floor and immediately notice the trail of water that he’s leaving in his wake. “Here’s the rice for your phone. Let me see if I can find you a change of clothes.”

I bound up the spiral stairs to my dresser and rummage through the bottom drawer. I find some of my husband’s old shirts and athletic shorts and pick one of each out. I hold them in my hands, staring without really seeing, and then Zeke’s nose bumps my back to remind me that I’m not alone in my house. I strip my own wet clothes, throw on some soft cotton shorts and my favorite T-shirt, and pull my hair loose from the now very messy braid so it can air dry. My feet lead me back downstairs to see Dylan flipping through one of my books, crouched on his haunches beside the bottom shelf.

“Here-” I hold the clothes out to him- “I think these will fit you.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking them from me. “Bathroom is…?”

I point to the only closed door. He goes in, and I force myself to go back into the kitchen so I won’t linger.

“We should probably feed him, right?” I say, mostly to myself. Zeke whines at the word ‘feed’, so I give him his dinner a bit early and then begin a hunt within my cabinets for anything that can be turned into something that doesn’t resemble what a poor college student eats. I’d thankfully been to a farmer’s market this past weekend, so I have some potatoes and vegetables. The rest of the rice comes into my peripherals on the countertop, and I begin to formulate a plan for a thrown together casserole.

“Need any help?”

“Yeah, um, could you-” I turn to face him and stop mid sentence. It’s a literal shock to see him standing there in my late husband’s clothes. They fit him almost perfectly, the T-shirt just a bit tight across Dylan’s chest. He’s smoothed his wet hair down and ditched his socks with the rest of the pile of clothes he’s left on the floor of the bathroom. His presence is such a natural addition to my kitchen, like he’s always there in his bare feet and comfy clothes. I know I’m openly staring at him, but somehow that feels okay, too. “Sorry, I’m...um...yeah, if you could get the cutting board from beside the fridge and start dicing those carrots and onions that would be great.”

I turn on some instrumental background music and we get to work. It’s just easy being with him, making dinner together. Easy to talk, easy to joke around, easy to make heavy topics flow almost weightless in the conversation. I find myself opening up about my husband as he asks me questions about how we met, our wedding, what he was like. I haven’t talked this much about him since he died; not many people want to hear the widow obsessively ramble through past memories. But he does. For some reason, he seems perfectly content to listen to story after story, and with each one I find my soul settling more and more, like a therapeutic release of compressed sadness as it transforms into light.

The large mixing bowl that we’ve been tossing ingredients into starts to overflow. I manage to mix the spices and can of condensed soup in with only minor spillage hitting the counter, then floor, before rapidly being cleaned by Zeke’s waiting tongue. Everything gets dumped into the casserole pan and stuck into the oven. I set a timer for forty minutes and then turn to look at Dylan.

“Well, we’ve got some time. Anything you want to do?”

“Can I use your computer, actually? I need to get some details worked out for tomorrow, and I don’t think my phone is going to suddenly resurrect.”

“Yeah, of course.” I go to my work corner desk, unplug my computer from it’s charging cord, and place it into his waiting hands. “What’s tomorrow?”

Dylan settles into a nook of the couch, and I sit a few feet away. Zeke jumps up as well and settles in his spot on the very end.

“Have you seen anything about the Comic-con this weekend? We’ve got a reunion panel.”

“Oh, that’s right. I remember reading about that somewhere. Apparently tickets sold out overnight.”

He pulls up his email and starts typing. “Yeah, after the Teen Wolf reunion we did during quarantine, MTV decided to see if a private reunion panel with all the cast would be a hit.”

“I mean, considering how fast those tickets disappeared I’d say they made a good call. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow evening,” he replies. “My driver never settled on a time, though.”

“Your driver. Fancy.”

He rolls his eyes and keeps typing.

I slide off the couch and go to the TV stand. “We could watch a movie? Let’s see-” I open the cabinet- “we’ve got American Assassin, The First Time, Love and Monsters, Maze Runner, oh, all six season of Teen Wolf on Blu-Ray.”

The keystrokes stop. “You’re fucking with me right now, right?”

I laugh. “Yeah. What about ‘The Matrix’? Or ‘Gladiator’? I’ve also got ‘She’s the Man’, a timeless classic.”

“That variety, though. I vote ‘Gladiator’, as much as I do enjoy a good Amada Bynes movie.”

I pop it in the DVD player and return to the couch, snagging a blanket along the way. Zeke has stretched out, taking advantage of my minute absence, and I end up only a few inches away from Dylan when I resettle. He finishes up what he’s working on and closes my laptop, stretching out to set it on the old trunk I use as a coffee table. When he leans back into the couch, his arm goes up and nestles on the back of the cushion right behind my head. I think calming thoughts and try not to hyperventilate.

“So how upset will you be if I quote all of Russell Crowe’s lines?”

I give him the side eye. “One hundred percent permissible...if you do it with a thick British accent.”

“Oh, hell yes. Prepare to be entertained.”

And I am, thoroughly. It’s hands down the best viewing of ‘Gladiator’ that I’ve ever seen.

When the timer goes off for the casserole, I have tears streaming down my face from trying and failing to hold in my laughter. We pause the movie and go to the kitchen to get us both a plate for dinner. I watch as Dylan ladles three hefty helpings for himself, eyes wide.

“You don’t even know if you like it yet.”

“Well, if it tastes like how it smells, it’s going to be great.” I hand him a spoon, and he scoops some into his mouth, chewing slowly, head nodding. “Holy shit, that’s good.” He uses the ladle to dollop a little bit more onto his plate, and I instantly feel like the best damn cook in the entire world.

We return to our seats on the couch, knees now touching as we inhale dinner and resume the movie. Our plates are soon empty and sitting beside my laptop on the table, our bodies burrowed into the couch cushions. The sun is starting to set outside, so I flip on my string lights. Dylan looks up at them with a smile that makes my insides feel all warm and light.

I’m so deliriously happy and content in this moment. It’s been years since I’ve shared my life with anyone this intimately, and the familiarity of it is like being wrapped up in a soft blanket. I nestle even further into the couch and draw my quilt close around my body.

I don’t even remember closing my eyes, but when they crack open again it’s completely dark outside and the DVD player has turned off on its own. My head is against Dylan’s chest, his arm firmly around my shoulders, our legs side by side beneath the blanket. I peek up without moving; his eyes are closed and his mouth is slightly open, deep in sleep.

I think about pulling my phone out of my pocket to check the time, about waking up Dylan so he can go home. I think about how he probably accidentally fell asleep, about whether he actually would want to sleep over on my couch, beside me. I contemplate if this means anything, if it could mean anything, if I want it to mean something, if he wants it to mean something. I think about us chasing each other with the water hoses, recall his loud laughter, remember the look on his face when he smiled at me. My brain fumbles through a lot of things in the spanse of about twenty seconds, and then… I decide to stop thinking.

With Zeke warm against my right side and Dylan securely sandwiching me in on the left, I snuggle closer to him and promptly sink back into a reposeful slumber of my own.

--------------------- read Chapter 5

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch​ @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales​

I might have stolen one of the books from your backpack. I wanted to see if there was a method to your madness. It’s actually pretty good so far.

What are you up to?

Just realized what time it was. You’re probably sleeping.

I click my phone off and just kind of sit there on my bed, staring blankly at the gray walls of my bedroom. Zeke nudges my leg with his nose, the coldness making me jump a little, and I come back to reality.

“You hungry, bubs?”

His tail wags at torpedo speed, and he jumps down off the bed to do a series of happy spins, dancing to the stairs and back, waiting for me to follow.

I slide off the bed, bare feet cold on the wooden floor, and walk the few steps to the spiral staircase leading down out of the loft and to the living space below. Zeke’s toenails clack on the metal stairs as he follows me, and then we’re in the small room that’s actually the biggest space in the house.

Built in bookshelves line almost an entire wall from floor to ceiling, sectioned off in the center with a gas fireplace. Pictures line the mantle and books and trinkets fill the shelves. Potted plants fill every corner and succulents sit on sunlit surfaces. One overstuffed couch sits in the corner, string lights criss crossing on the ceiling. The only sectioned off room down here is the bathroom, and that’s where I head first before making my way to the black and white tiled kitchen to fill Zeke’s dog bowl and grab a yogurt out of the fridge for me. I eat it slowly while my coffee pot does its thing, the sound of Zeke crunching away and a lone bird trilling outside the window the only sounds to break the silence.

We head outside once my coffee is ready, the brisk air a nice contrast to the sun spilling through the clouds. It’s still early morning, and the acres of wooded land spilling around me are dusted with dew and solitude.

I plop down onto the bench swing in my garden, set my coffee on the side table, and pull my phone from my pajama pant’s pocket to read through Dylan’s messages again. My thumbs hover over my phone for a few seconds before I type a reply.

Good morning, thief.

To my surprise, the ‘replying’ dots almost instantly pop up. Zeke comes over from his morning sniffs and bumps my leg with his head. I absentmindedly scratch his ears while I wait.

Harsh, but fair.

I smile - You were only supposed to find me on Twitter, not make me trend.

I made no such promise.

A notification pops up, showing a new DM from someone else. My eyes narrow as I click it, and I read the message from someone I’ve never heard of before.

DO YOU KNOW DYLAN?

I roll my eyes and delete the message, only to have another one from a different stranger roll through.

BITCH WHO ARE YOU?

“Good lord,” I mutter under my breath. That person gets blocked. I go back to Dylan’s message and type.

You’ve attracted the haters.

What do you mean?

People I don’t know are messaging me wanting to know how I was worthy of a retweet from you.

Well that’s fucking stupid.

A third message pops up, and I immediately go on Google to research how to change my settings.

Zeke starts whining, letting me know he’s ready for his walk, and I sigh and make my way back into the house to change, pull back my unruly hair, and brush my teeth. We’re out the door in ten minutes at a brisk jog that picks up in pace as we progress through the backroads. We go for a good two miles, both of us panting when we make it back. My phone isn’t as overwhelming when I pick it up, and I find myself thankful for privacy settings being put to use for the first time in my social media experience.

What kind of stuff are they saying?

You okay?

Y/N?

Easy, no one died over here. I went for a run with Zeke. Just got back.

Zeke?

Air huffs out my nose in a quiet laugh - My dog.

Oh my god you have a DOG????

I take a quick snap of Zeke sprawled out at my feet and send it.

The typing dots pop up, but then disappear.

“Man, Zeke, Dylan O’Brien must find you repulsive.”

Zeke raises his head to look at me, happily wags his tail, and then lays back down with a heavy sigh.

It’s past time for me to get ready for the day, so I climb the staircase to my room to pull some clothes out of my dresser and then make my way back down to the bathroom to shower.

I can’t stop replaying the last twenty four hours in my mind, just like I did last night while trying to fall asleep. It all still feels like a dream. Hell, maybe I got into a terrible accident and I’m in a coma right now. That honestly makes more sense to me than what’s actually been happening.

Dylan still hasn’t messaged me back. I realize I’m obsessively checking my phone about two hours into my workday, and I’m instantly disappointed in myself. I purposely stand, walk into the kitchen, set my phone down on the counter, and then go back to my laptop in the living room to continue editing the manuscript I’m on this week.

The cast of the sun through the window blinding my vision lets me know more time has passed than I realized, and the clock on my computer confirms it. I’m already dressed for the evening, so it doesn’t take much to get ready to leave; light foundation, eye makeup, ditch the glasses for contacts, some fresh deodorant. Zeke gets his dinner and his water bowl refilled, and I grab a few snacks because I definitely missed lunch.

I put on my shoes, grab my phone off the kitchen counter, sling by bag over my shoulder, and bend down to Zeke’s level.

“I’ll be back later tonight, bud. Keep an eye on things for me.” I give him a bone to chew on and he happily trots to the couch and settles down.

It’s a decent walk to the bus stop, and I thankfully make it just in time for the earlier route. It’s only when I’m settled in my seat with my headphones in that I allow myself to unlock my phone and open Twitter.

Shit.

Do you ever reply to something in your head without actually replying?

Yeah.

Zeke is amazing. How long have you had him for?

So I went by the coffee shop you took me to so I could get more of that coffee, and when I walked up to the counter to order I realized I didn’t know what the hell to actually ask for. So I stood there like an idiot for a solid minute before just ordering a black coffee. I 100% blame you for this.

You doing anything with your Wednesday night?

I can feel the stupid smile spread across my face as I read through his messages, the last one sent over two hours ago. My thumbs hover over my phone screen, contemplating, before I type.

I rescued Zeke when he was three weeks old. Bottle fed him and everything. He’s the best. The coffee I made you isn’t actually on the menu, so I’ll have to write down what to ask for next time. And I’m actually on a bus into the city right now to go dancing.

I hit send and then pull up my favorite playlist for the remainder of the ride. The bus finally pulls into my stop, and I hop off with a quick ‘thanks’ to the driver. The studio is only a few streets over, and the coolness of the approaching evening has me pulling my long, knitted cardigan tighter over my cropped workout top and leggings.

A few friends greet me when I walk through the front doors, the music already playing with a steady eight count beat. I find an empty chair to put my cardigan and stuff on and do a side lunge to stretch my legs out while checking my phone again.

Dancing? Where at?

A place on E. 7th St. They do open dancing for West Coast on Wednesdays.

I was picturing a club.

I have more class than that.

You any good?

I’m decent.

“Y/N, hey! Want to dance?”

I set my phone down and head out onto the floor, the familiar steps taking over my body’s movements as I get lost in the rhythm of the song. As the music fades I’m pulled into the next one by another friend, and it’s not for another three songs that I manage to make my way back to my chair on the sidelines.

I may come see for myself.

My heartbeat picks up, and I move my phone closer to my face to make sure I did in fact just read what I read. My eyes then find the DJ in the corner, and I skirt around the room to make it to his table.

“Matt, hey, can I maybe make an announcement real quick?”

He gives me a questioning look, but hands me the mic as the song playing fades out. My hands are shaking a bit, and I clear my throat before raising it to my lips.

“Hey, everybody, can I have your attention for a second?” About fifty sets of eyes find me, and I quickly continue before the logic side of my brain tells me to stop. “So this is going to sound really unbelievably out there, but…”

----------------------

I actually don’t see him come in, which is surprising given that I’ve been compulsively checking the door every few seconds. Rather, I spot him as I’m finishing up another dance, leaned into one of the corners of the dimly lit room, hands in his jean pockets. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m suddenly lightheaded. I give a strained smile to the person I was dancing with and try to remember how to walk properly as I maneuver around the other dancers.

“Hey!” It comes out too loud, too breathy, too excited. I take a breath and check myself. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I might drop by.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t actually think that you would.”

Dylan kind of shrugs his shoulders. “I was in the area. I wasn’t really sure what I would be walking into, but this is actually pretty cool stuff.” He smiles at me, “And ‘decent’ my ass. You’re really good.”

It’s one of those moments in life when you realize that the words you say and the choices you make can alter the future in a drastic way, and that some of the routes ahead of you aren’t as well mapped out, but the potential view ahead is so tantalizing that you might just risk putting your next step in their direction. So, in the spirit of spontaneity that I’ve been riding the waves of recently, I decide to walk out onto the more unsteady path.

“Do you want to learn?”

I can literally see some of the confidence leave his stance. “Learn… that?” He gestures to the dance floor with a nod of his head.

“No, learn crochet.” I roll my eyes and smile. “Yes, learn West Coast.”

“Um…” he rubs the back of his neck and eyes the people dancing- “that’s not exactly in my skill set.”

“Let’s find out.” And before I can give him or myself a chance to back out, I gently grab his wrist and tug him towards a small group of people on the sidelines. “David! Hey, got a minute?”

The group shifts to look at us, eyes widening when they see who I’m with, but otherwise they don’t show a reaction.

“David, this is Dylan. Think you can show him the basic steps?”

David stares for a solid second, then collects himself and holds out his hand for Dylan to shake. “Hey, man. I’d be happy to teach you some of the basics.”

Obviously caught off guard and not in his comfort zone, Dylan shakes his hand with an uneasy look on his face. “Hey, nice to meet you. Thanks, but I’m not really sure-”

“You’re going to do great,” I quickly cut him off. “Callie, can you be his follow?”

She nods, eyes still the size of saucers, and I can see from the slight quiver of her mouth that it’s taking all of her focus to not explode.

“Great!” I give Dylan’s arm a squeeze and meet his frantic gaze with mine. “Be right back.” I hook my arm through another guy’s in the group and we travel onto the floor for the next song.

I keep my side vision trained on him the whole dance. David has him off to the side, showing him the pattern his feet need to follow. Callie has a dopey grin on her face that never leaves, her excited tone drifting to my ears as she helps him navigate. I hear Dylan laugh at one point, and with a smile of my own I quickly find another partner to dance with. After my third dance, I make my way back over to them.

“How’s it going?”

“He’s actually pretty good,” David replies.

“Want to show me?” I hold out my hand, and Dylan takes it. I lead him to a quiet corner of the dance floor and we settle into the opening position of the dance.

“Don’t believe a word he says, because I’m literally shit at this,” he says, readjusting his hand on my mid back with a scowl. “Way to ditch me, by the way.”

I flash a bright smile at his grumpy face. “I knew you’d be fine. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

His face loosens slightly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

I waggle my eyebrows, “So they tell me. Seriously, show me what you’ve learned. This song is amazing.”

His eyes go to his feet, face creasing in concentration, and he slowly leads me through a full eight count of steps, completely off beat but with only minor faltering.

“Hey, not bad for a ten minute crash course.”

“Yeah, yeah. I suck.”

“What, did you expect to become a pro after one dance?”

Before he can reply, another girl walks up and asks if he wants to dance. He looks at me, and I wink. “Show her your moves.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he mouths at me as she leads him onto the floor. I just give him a double thumbs up.

I’m not surprised when he’s grabbed by another girl to dance, and then another, so at the end of that dance I saunter onto the floor and quickly slide in front of the next eager lady on route to ask him. He looks down at me in relief as I lead him from the floor back to my chair. We both sit down, and when I offer him my water bottle he takes it without hesitation.

“Having fun?”

He glares at me as he takes a deep drink.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

He lowers the bottle and hands it back to me. “Why is everyone being so… normal?”

“Normal?”

He leans back against the chair and gives me a look. “Yes, Y/N. Normal.”

I raise a brow, “Were you expecting flashing cameras and squealing fans?”

“I mean… kind of?”

“So modest.”

He laughs, hands going up defensively. “Hey, I’m not complaining. But it does feel weird to actually, you know, have to introduce myself, like no one here knows who I am.”

“Maybe you’re not as popular as you think you are, Mr. O’Brien.” He playfully smacks the side of my arm, and I grin. “Okay, okay. So I might have had a talk with them before you showed up.”

He smirks. “What kind of talk?”

I shrug. “You know, the one where I say a celebrity might be dropping by, and that if anyone wants the chance to dance with him they better chill and not lose their damn minds.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

“I’m pretty sure people thought I was off my rocker until…” I gesture at him to finish the sentence and then take my own drink of water. “I thought Callie was going to faint when I handed you off to her.”

Dylan laughs. “She told me I was her favorite actor as soon as you walked away.”

I sigh. “Damn it, Callie.”

My phone vibrates, and I fish it out of my bag to see the alert reminding me of the time. “Shoot, I didn’t realize how long we’d been here. I’ve got to get home to Zeke.” We both stand, and I don my cardigan.

“Taking the bus?”

I nod.

“I’ll walk you out.”

We exit the building into the night air, falling into step beside one another.

“I’m shocked that you showed up here tonight,” I say, looking up at his face. “Starting to wonder if you’re actually stalking me.”

He smiles. “Maybe.”

“How’s my book?”

“Okay, so, that is easily one of the best things I’ve stolen, and I’m not even that much of a reader.”

“One of the best things? Oh my god, I’m hanging out with a clepto.”

“Hey, it’s not technically stolen if I return it once I’m done.”

I laugh. “What kind of flawed morality-”

“No need to be mean.”

“You’re the one who stole my book!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Do you want it back?”

“I’m not going to deprive a man of a book mid-read. I’m not a monster.”

“No, just someone who abandons a guy on the middle of the dance floor.”

“Eh, it was the side of the dance floor.”

“Wow. Okay, I see how it is. Next time I’m stealing both books.”

We’ve made it to the bus stop, and I check my phone for the time to find that we’re four minutes early. I settle on the bench, and Dylan sits down beside me.

“So you never told me what brought you to California. Where were you before this?”

I fiddle with a fraying thread on my cardigan. “Arizona, for a while. New Mexico before that, but only for a few months. I stayed on the coast of Louisiana for....about six months when I first started out.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, are you headed anywhere in particular? Or was LA the last stop?”

My brow furrows. “I don’t really know. I’ve thought about heading to Montana or North Dakota next. I’m just… taking tomorrow as it comes, you know?”

“Why so much traveling?”

I look at him and immediately catch his eye. He’s watching me intently again, displaying an actual interest in what I’m saying. There’s a lump in my throat as the familiar pressure of tears builds behind my eyes. I quickly look away.

“I guess I’m kind of searching for myself in all of it. Trying to find home again.”

He doesn’t ask, but the question still hangs in the air. I take a deep breath to try and calm the wave of emotions threatening to rise.

His hand on my arm makes me start slightly and draws my eyes back to him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Y/N.”

I nod and manage a half smile. “Yeah, I know. I guess… I guess I’m just trying to figure out how real this is. If you’re just someone else that’s going to get lost in my memories.”

He pulls his hand back, and the ache that hits my chest at the loss of contact is sudden and unexpectedly painful.

“I start filming in two weeks, in Canada,” he says, “and I’m not sure… I don’t know what…” His head falls into his hands alongside an exasperated sigh. “I’m not trying to, like, lead you on or anything. Shit, I don’t know why I even came to your dance thing tonight, and I don’t know what this is. You just…” He raises his head and looks at me. “You came out of nowhere. I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

The bus rounds the corner, and I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder, mind racing. I don’t really know what all to think, or feel, or, for that matter, what to say right now. I just know that the past two days have been some of the best ones I’ve had in a long time, and I know that I’m naive for thinking that Dylan would want to keep hanging out with me. I’m literally a nobody in the world that he comes from. And yet… I can’t stop myself from gathering a big gust of air to shoot the next words out of my mouth.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

The bus screeches to a stop and the doors fly open. I take a step backwards, still looking at him, my weight shifting from foot to foot.

He gets up from the bench. “Um… I don’t think I really have anything.”

I smile. “Cool. I’ll message you.”

The bus driver yells something at me that I don’t quite catch, but I understand the message and pivot to walk up the steps.

“Y/N.”

I pause on the first step, one foot on one foot off, and look back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

I still can’t read that look on his face, the same one he gave me at the bookstore and the coffee shop yesterday. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, “I’ll uh… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

The bus doors swing behind me as I finally step all the way on, the driver giving me the stank eye. I ignore him and swipe my card to pay before quickly finding an empty window seat. Dylan is still standing there, watching me. I give a small wave, and he waves back.

I keep him in my sights until the bus rounds the corner and he disappears from my view. My body slides down into the seat, my mind still going one million miles an hour as it walks back through every detail of the day, categorizing and trying to make sense of it all.

“Tomorrow,” I whisper.

---------------------- read Chapter 4

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch​ @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales​

I take a step forward only to feel his hand on my arm, holding me back.

“Wait, do you have, like, a scarf or something?”

“It’s the middle of June in Los Angeles. No, I don’t have a scarf. Besides, don’t you think you’d draw twice as much attention to yourself wearing a scarf in eighty degree weather?”

“Y/N, we’re going into a coffee shop. I’d blend right in wearing a scarf in any kind of weather.”

We start walking around the side of the building, slowly, full on creeping on the people walking down the sidewalk, like next level stalkers.

“Are you humming the Mission Impossible theme song right now?”

“No,” I huff. “Alright, looks like the coast is clear. Let’s make a run for it.”

“Here.”

I look over at his arm, perfectly bent for me to hook my own arm through. So I do.

We exit the shadows of the alley together. It’s literally five steps to the front door, the bell announcing our entrance with a happy jingle. I guide Dylan with purpose across the small floor space, around the counter and past the small line of people waiting to order. Everyone is on their phone; no one looks up.

“Hey, Y/N!”

I use my free hand to wave absent mindedly at my co-worker, Andrew. Thank god Tiff isn’t working today.

There’s exactly one table in the back nook. You wouldn’t even know it’s there unless you traveled all the way around the perimeter of the shop, tucked away behind a large advertising chalkboard. Compared to the rest of the shiny and cute sit down spaces, this one is a worn down wooden table with two rickety chairs and low lighting. It’s perfect.

I reluctantly pull my arm from Dylan’s and gesture at the table. “Pick a chair.”

He sits down in the one facing the back wall, hiding his face from the current occupants. I drop my floor cushion and backpack on the hardwood and settle across from him.

“Is there a menu?”

“Oh, we don’t need one.”

He removes his hat and runs his hand through his hair to smooth it down before hooking his sunglasses back on his shirt collar. “So you just magically know how I like my coffee? Oh god-” his elbows hit the table and his face falls into his hands, squishing his cheeks a bit- “is that out on the internet somewhere, too?”

I laugh. “Probably, but I haven’t stalked you that much.”

“Which implies that you have stalked me to some extent.”

It’s a rhetorical question, so I choose to avoid any more embarrassment than I’ve already experienced by ignoring it. “Wait here.”

I duck behind the counter and grab two mugs from the clean rack, making quick work of crafting my two favorite coffee concoctions.

“You working today?” Andrew asks from behind me.

“Nope.”

He sidles closer and lowers his voice, “Who’s the guy?”

I miraculously maintain a straight face. “Nobody. A friend. You don’t know him.” I snap my mouth shut before I can spew out more suspiciously vague sentences.

“Is it a date?” he teases in a sing-song tone.

“Don’t you have customers to attend to?”

“Ooooh, defensive. Totally a date.”

“Shut up.” I add the last touches to the coffees and pick up both mugs, ignoring Andrew’s waggling eyebrows and quickly returning to the table.

Dylan has a smirk on his face, and I wonder how much he overheard. The space is small, so probably everything. Fantastic.

“Here you go.” I set his mug down in front of him and raise my own to my nose to inhale deeply. The steam fogs my glasses, and the happy sigh is involuntary as the delicious aroma fills my nose. I close my eyes with a smile.

“You want me to give you and your coffee a minute alone?”

I open my eyes and narrow them at him. “Just taste yours, then feel free to judge after.”

I watch him carefully as he raises the mug to his lips. The steam curls around his face, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. There’s a bit of cream on his top lip when he lowers the mug, and his tongue darts out to quickly lick it away. Once again, by some miracle of miracles, I keep a straight face. The effort makes my leg twitch.

“Well?”

“It’s good.”

“Oh, ‘it’s good’,” I mimic. “You’re either a coffee snob or colossally ignorant.”

“Oh my god, you’re so mean.” But he says it with a laugh, and I laugh with him while raising my hands in an ‘oh well’ gesture.

“Here-” I slide my mug across the table- “try mine.”

He takes a small sip. “Oh yeah, that’s really good. Yuuuuummmmmm.” My face scrunches in a half grimace half smile. “What? Wasn’t that what you were looking for?”

“Hmmmm, I was looking for more of a ‘this is the best damn coffee my tongue has ever had the pleasure of sampling’ type answer.” I pull my mug back and wrap my hands around it to soak in the warmth. “But I guess what you said is okay, too.”

“Okay, so so far I’ve learned that you have an unhealthy relationship with coffee-” he holds up a finger- “your book finding method is borderline obsessive-” another finger joins the first- “you work multiple jobs-” three fingers- “and you don’t wear scarves in the summer. Oh-” five fingers now- “and you’ve stalked me on the internet.”

“Great Cliff Notes summary, there. I feel like you could write my biography now.”

He holds up his other hand to display six fingers. “Sarcastic.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m actually more of a tea fan than coffee. You should see my collection at home. All the works.”

“Tea’s pretty great.”

“We’ll have to do tea next time, then.”

The words slip out so easily, so naturally, like I’m talking to a long time friend and we meet up on a regular basis for different liquid samplings. Which is obviously not the scenario that is currently happening, but my brain is running on happy juice, and I realize that I’m going to need to do a better job at keeping it in check. 

“Okay,” I quickly continue, “so what about you? I mean, you are at a slight disadvantage here, with a lot of your life being public. But… I imagine that there’s a lot more to Dylan O’Brien than meets the eye.”

He leans back in his chair. “Well, what do you already know?”

I feel the edge of a game coming on and immediately start formulating how I can win in my head. I lean forward on my elbows and smile.

“I do not like the look on your face. At all.”

“So you were born in New York.”

“True.”

“An awkward, but adorable child.”

“Wouldn’t that be more of an opinion than a fact?”

“I’ve seen your YouTube channel videos.”

“Oh lord.”

I take a sip of coffee before continuing. “Your first role was Teen Wolf.”

“Facts.”

“You and Tyler Posey are best friends.”

“Tyler’s the man.”

“You once streaked on a dare.”

The smile fades from his face, and he leans hard over the table, his voice dropping to a lower decibel. “Shit, there’s a video of that?”

“Nope, but it seemed like something you would do aaaaaaaaaand now I know it’s something you did.”

He doesn’t say anything, and the confident edge I’d been feeling is suddenly gone as I question if I’d crossed a line. But then he breaks out in laughter, picks up his mug, and gestures for me to continue.

“You can dance, but you can’t sing.”

His nose scrunches. “Offensive.”

“But you can play the drums, so that kind of balances the score out.”

“There’s a points system now?”

“You have an older sister named Julia, you love chicken and the Mets, and-” I lightly smack the table for emphasis- “you bite your nails.”

“Pretty good, pretty good.” He drinks some more of his coffee and then copies my position. “What about you?”

“My nails are in pristine condition.” I hold them out for confirmation and, to my surprise, he reaches out and holds my fingers with his hand, pulling them to his face for a closer look. The sudden contact is like a jolt of electricity that travels all the way up my arm and settles in my chest with a low hum.

He let’s go of my hand and I slowly place it into my lap so I can clutch my fingers tightly together.

“So have you lived in California all your life? Have family here?”

It’s the last question I wish he’d asked, and the fact that it was the first one out of the gate catches me off guard. I guess part of me knew it would pop up at some point, considering I’d pointed out his sister, but it was also a topic of conversation I did my best to avoid in general.

The lapse in time is obvious before I answer. “They’re, uh, they don’t live here.”

The way he’s watching me, it’s almost as closely as I’ve been watching him, careful, calculating. “So it’s just you?”

I nod.

“How did you end up here by yourself? Did you go to college here or something?” he pushes.

I shift in my seat and construct the most honest answer possible. “I road tripped out here almost two...no three, years ago now.”

“Okay, well that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, in a converted van.”

“Even cooler. What part of town did you end up in?”

“I actually had to take a bus to get here today. The van is the only vehicle I have, and it’s having radiator issues right now. But I’ve got a house on the outskirts of the city, in Bradbury.”

“Nice.”

I really want the subject to change, so I divert.  “So... what were you doing in a random bookstore in the middle of the day on a Tuesday?”

“You ask that like it’s weird to be in a bookstore in the middle of the day on a Tuesday.”

“I mean-” I gesture at him- “does Dylan O’Brien tend to frequent bookstores on Tuesday?”

“He might.”

That makes me laugh. “Okay then, keep your secrets.”

“Nah, it’s not a secret, really. I was-”

“Avoiding someone?” I jump in. Judging by his reaction, I’m spot on. “Someones. Multiple someones.” I snap my fingers and lean back in my seat as the victory of understanding hits me. “Oh my god, you were avoiding fans.”

The immediate tightness around his eyes wipes the smile from my face. I sit back up and reassess my route of conversation. “It’s not… you know, that’s okay if you were. God, I’d hate to be stopped by strangers every day. Probably takes you three times as long to get somewhere. Everyone’s probably asking you for pictures, or to record something for them, or, god, I bet you’ve been unwillingly manhandled, though does anyone ever really want to be manhandled, you know? I’ve seen video clips of people asking you to record stuff for them and it honestly makes me upset that they act like they have a right to you in that moment but I don’t know, maybe you don’t care at all and you actually like getting stopped by your fans and I was wrong about the bookstore and... and...um... ”

My voice trails off. Dylan’s just drinking his coffee, slowly sipping away, an amused look now claiming his features. I’m instantly warm, unwelcome sweat puddling my armpits. I shift nervously in my chair. “I’m going to shut up now.”

He laughs, and I both want to run away in embarrassment and laugh along with him. “No, please don’t. It’s actually… kinda cute.”

What can only be described as an awkward silence follows his statement. Because Dylan O’Brien just called me cute. Me. Cute. And I don’t know what to say. At all. So instead I start to drum my fingers on the side of my almost empty coffee mug and resist the temptation to pinch myself again because no way in hell could this day or this conversation or this general thing that’s happening to me be real. Which is what prompts me to break the moment back open and ask-

“Why did you agree to get coffee with me?”

Dylan rubs his scruff with his hand, avoiding eye contact. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

His feet tap the ground in an offbeat manner. I take the moment to study him some more, just like I’ve been meticulously doing this whole time. It’s actually hard to take my eyes off of him, like he’ll disappear if I blink for too long. And it’s not just his looks, or how well his T-shirt fits the muscles on his arms, or how his face literally lights up when he laughs. It’s also his general manner, how I know he probably does stop for everyone who calls his name when he’s out in the general public, how he actually listens to you when you’re talking, how he takes his time to answer a question rather than just rush into an answer to appease.

“I’m honestly not entirely sure.”

I refocus at his voice, nod my head slowly as I absorb his response. “So you don’t normally go to coffee shops with girls that you randomly meet in bookstores?”

A small smile graces his face. “No. Definitely not.” There’s a pause, and then he stiffens suddenly and glances down at his watch. “Ah, shit, I’m late.”

My mind recalls our conversation in the bookstore. “Damn, I’m sorry. You said you only had an hour or so-”

“No, it’s fine. Honestly.” He stands, and I stand with him. “I’ve actually really enjoyed this. And the coffee was just exquisite.”

I smile despite the fact that I can feel a bit of panic coupled with dread growing in my gut. He’s about to leave. It’s about to be over. Done. This one, sporadically magical moment is coming to a close.

“Can I… can I actually take you up on that picture now?”

“Yeah, of course!”

And just like that, I feel like any other fan that he’s ever encountered.

We stand side by side, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me into him. I hand him my phone and he holds it out, selfie style, and snaps the picture. I take my phone back without looking at it and quickly tuck it into my pocket.

“Can you tag me on Twitter when you post that?” he asks.

“I, uh, I actually probably wasn’t going to post it. I think I want to keep this day for my own memories. I don’t feel like sharing it with anyone else, you know?”

He doesn’t reply, but there’s a small smile on his face. I can’t quite read the look in his eyes as he surveys me.

“Do you have a Twitter?” he asks.

“Yep. But my posts are random and have zero followers. Literally. Zilch. It’s more of an outlet to scream into the void.”

“But you are following me?”

It should be a rhetoric question but I answer it anyway. “Yeah. And I miss your random posts about socks.”

He laughs. “That was such a long time ago. I finally realized just how many people I was reaching, so I decided it was time to start posting about things that really meant something, that could have an impact and let people know what’s going on in the world.”

“Because we all have a voice, and we should use it in a way that matters.”

He nods. “Yeah, exactly.”

He takes his hat off the table and puts it back on his head, pulling the brim low to cast a shadow over his face. “I’ll find you on there, then.”

“Don’t you have, like, millions of followers?”

He grins. “I enjoy a challenge.” He pops his sunglasses on his face and reaches out a hand to shake mine. “It was really nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I grip his hand, probably too tightly, but I can’t seem to loosen my fingers. “It was really nice to meet you, too, Dylan.”

And, just like the ending to a wonderful dream, he lets go of my hand, walks out of the coffee shop, and is gone.

-------------------- read Chapter 3