Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Disclaimer: The reader in this story has a few ‘unique’ characteristics in regards to their appearance/style. I’ve modeled them slightly after myself, as I do with almost all of the readers in my fics; it’s just more evident this time around. Writing the main character in this manner helps me craft the story easier :)
Soundtrack: For the first time in a series, I’m pairing each chapter with a song that compliments it. I’ll update the playlist here as I post chapters. Feel free to or to not listen before/while/after you read. Each song will be linked within the chapter.
Chapter 1: “Hello My Old Heart” by The Oh Hellos
Chapter 2: “Honey + Tea (Acoustic)” by Mozi
Chapter 3: “North Dakota” by Mako
Chapter 4: “Open Skies (Wildflower)” by The National Parks
Chapter 5: “Seven” by Sleeping At Last
Chapter 6: “Life is Good” by The Hunts
Chapter 7: “Wolves of the Revolution” by The Arcadian Wild
Chapter 8: “Make It Out” by Boundary Run
Chapter 9: “Anchored At Sea” by Act As If
Chapter 10: “Shoulders” by Levi Matthan
Chapter 11: “West” by Sleeping At Last
Chapter 12: “Promise” by Ben Howard
____________________________________
Hello, lovelies!
I’m back in the Tumblr writing world after falling deep into a Dylan O’Brien hole (I actually think I’m still falling, haven’t found the bottom quite yet). I know this isn’t my usual SPN niche, so I’m not planning to use any of my usual tag lists. If you want to join this adventure, let me know via DM or an ask that you would like a tag and I’ll be honored to oblige.
Much love,
Jess
Sneak Peek Beneath the Cut :)
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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.”
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Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 3,308
Warnings: language
Soundtrack for Ch10: “Shoulders” by Levi Matthan
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
My feet are propped up on the dashboard of the Jeep, soaking up the toasty sunlight. My arm dangles outside the rolled down window, my hand catching the wind as it whips through the vehicle, making my loose hair blow every which way. My left hand is settled in Dylan’s lap where he consistently finds it between gear shifts. Zeke pokes his head out the window, tongue hanging out of his mouth and a goofy grin on his face.
It’s a perfect day, and I’d decided at some point last night to kill my anxious thoughts of Dylan leaving and just focus on being in this moment. So far, it hasn’t been that hard to do. He makes it easy to let go of all the weight, like it’s just dust being brushed away.
“We’re here,” he says with a rub of his thumb across the back of my hand.
We pull off seemingly randomly on the side of the road, and I sit up from my previously relaxed position to search for a trailhead. “Where exactly is here?”
He pulls the keys out of the ignition and points off into the woods. I squint my eyes and look harder, finally spotting a pale stripe of blue on a tree a few feet in, marking a trail.
Zeke’s tail is thumping hard against the back seat, and he enthusiastically jumps down from the Jeep when I open his door. It feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere, so I clip his leash to my hiking pants in case we need it and decide to let him trail run.
We each don a camelbak backpack and then head into the treeline, Dylan leading the way. The trail is overgrown in sections, and the lack of footprints lets me know that not many people make it out this way.
“How did you find this place again?” I ask as we climb over a fallen tree across the path.
Dylan offers me a helping hand down. “I used to explore a lot back in highschool with a group of friends. We would go on all these website groups and try to find the best abandoned places, trails, stuff like that. This was one of them.”
It’s a good two mile hike, and I’ve got a damp trail of sweat down my back and chest by the time we come to the end of it. The bushes begin to thin out, and then everything suddenly opens up to sand and water as we come to a small lake. Zeke immediately runs into the water to swim and lap up a big drink, coming out with a big shake that sends droplets flying.
I set my backpack down on the ground and take it all in. “This is amazing.” I hear rustling and look over at Dylan to see him shirtless and undoing his belt. “Um...whatcha doing?”
His pants hit the ground and he kicks them off, leaving him in his boxers and socks. “Going swimming.” He pinches off one sock, then the other. “You coming?”
He runs into the water, Zeke fast on his heels, and they swim out a few feet together. I peel off my sweaty shirt to reveal my sports bra and ditch my pants as well, thankful I’d worn good underwear today. I walk into the shallows, a shiver running up my body at the contrasting cold, and then Dylan is suddenly beside me. Before I can do or say anything in protest, he’s wrapped his arms around me from behind and falls backwards, taking me with him.
I have one second to draw in a deep breath, and then we’re submerged beneath the water. Dylan releases his grip on me, and I push up with my feet on the soft sediment to break the surface again, slicking my wet hair back from my face and rubbing the liquid from my eyes.
“Hey!” I yell at him. His eyes are crinkled on the corners, his nose barely poking above the water and the rest of him immersed, like an alligator.
I dive after him, barely brushing his toes as he swims away. Zeke and I chase him around the lake, finally catching him on the opposite shoreline. We all flop down in the sandy dirt together, giggles interrupting my heavy breathing. I roll onto my side so I can look at him.
His diaphragm rises and falls as he regains his oxygen levels, the smoothness of his skin exemplified by the water remnants and bright sun. I reach a finger out and run it down his ribcage to the hemline of his boxers, then change course and trace random routes on his muscular arm. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s focused on my every move. When my finger goes over his shoulder and gets close to his neck, he suddenly turns his head and fake bites at it, making me jump and let out a sharp exclamation of surprise.
He laughs and grabs my arm, guiding me with a gentle pull back towards him. I settle fully on top of his frame, arms folded beneath my chin acting as a pillow against his chest, my legs stretched out on top of his. He props his head up with his arms as well and looks down at me with a grin.
“This is nice,” I say quietly.
He nods. “Yeah, it is.”
I remember fighting against anxiety back when I was living my old life, and it was over things that now seem so insignificant. Like getting stuck in one spot in the house at night, overthinking about tomorrow, unable to muster the energy required to get up and get ready for bed because that meant I was one step closer to having to face a new day. When my husband had died, my anxiety did a one-eighty with how it manifested itself, shifting from always being stuck to always being on the run. As long as I was busy, as long as I was moving, as long as something around me was distracting, I didn’t have to think about what had happened, what was going to happen, and how I’d have to now face it alone.
I feel the change reverting now, because I don’t want to move from this spot in time. I want to lay here, with Dylan, and stop tomorrow from happening. And it’s not that I feel dependent on him, or need him to complete me or give me happiness or however else you want to phrase it, but being with him is just good, a goodness I don’t want to lose. And I know I’m about to.
“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper.
He removes a hand from behind his head and brushes a thumb down my cheek. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had someone to miss.”
“Well, aside from Tyler.”
“Oh, yeah, we have to video chat every night so I don’t cry myself to sleep.”
“Do we get to video chat?”
His hand moves to play with the loose ends of my hair. “I think that would be nice. I’m not sure how much free time I’m going to have, but I’ll definitely want to check in with you. When are you planning to leave for Colorado?”
My brow scrunches as I run calculations. “Well, I need to get my van into the shop, replace some parts. And I’ll want to work all this week to get some petty cash, and my manuscript is due on Saturday so that should help-”
“Wait-” he raises his brows- “manuscript?”
“Yeah, job number three. I edit for a local publishing company.”
“I honestly thought you were kidding when you said you worked three jobs. That’s kinda cool and crazy at the same time.”
“Eh, sometimes it’s interesting and sometimes the stuff they send me for the month is hella boring. But it helps pay the bills.”
The sun has done a good job of drying me out, so I push myself up and off of Dylan and brush the loose sand and dirt from my garments and skin. I offer him a hand up, and then we start to walk around the shoreline back to our castaway clothes.
“Truth or truth?” I ask.
He looks at me questioningly. “Shouldn’t it be ‘truth or dare’?”
“But the dares are so... juvenile. And definitely not as fun if you aren’t in a group. Besides, it’s the truth questions that really show you who a person is.”
His arm goes around my shoulder. “I think you’re just afraid to take a dare from me. I’m the king of dares.”
I wrap my arm around his waist. “Truth or truth?”
“Well, guess I’m going to have to go with truth.”
“What’s one thing you regret in life?”
“Man, you’re really just going for the kill right there, aren’t you?”
I poke his stomach with my finger. “I play to win. What’s your answer?”
We’ve made it back to our pile of discarded fabric. I let him think while I pull on my hiking pants. My shirt is still damp with sweat, so I find a low tree branch to hang it over to let the sun do its thing.
“So,” he starts, “I don’t think I regret a lot of things in life, because that’s the only way you learn and grow, you know? Nobody’s perfect.”
I smile. “Agreed.”
“But,” he continues, “something that comes to mind is how long it took me to start putting myself out there for auditions. I never really pictured myself as an actor, it was almost something that just kind of happened, and I never actually thought I was going to make it, some kid who’s only experience was doing YouTube videos in his spare time, and those same videos getting me rejected from every film school I applied to.”
“Hey, you can sing the Spice Girls to me anytime.”
“Hah, funny. But yeah, I think if I could go back I’d audition for a lot of the things I wanted to, but chickened out on.”
I nod in thought. “That’s a pretty good answer.”
His shorts are back on, but his shirt has joined mine on the tree. We sit down together, and I dig into my backpack to find the PB&J sandwich I’d packed.
“My turn, right?” he asks.
I take a bite and nod.
“What was going through your mind the first time we met?”
“Oh man,” I say around a mouthful of peanut butter and bread, “what wasn’t going through my mind. So many things.” I swallow and pet Zeke’s head, nestled in my lap to beg for crumbs. “Mainly shock. Confusion. Adrenaline. Not logic or reason, that’s for sure.”
“Why’d you ask me for coffee?”
I smile. “Because you stayed. You sat down and entered my crazy world, asked me questions about my books, and then you stayed and helped me clean it all up. And you didn’t have to...but you did. You just… you took a step into my bubble, and I didn’t want you to leave.”
I find his hand and entwine our fingers. “I guess I figured that the worst that could happen was you’d say no. Which I was honestly expecting, so...yeah. My turn. Why did you say yes?”
I feed Zeke the last bite of my sandwich while I wait for him to answer. The last time I’d asked him that question he’d told me he didn’t know why. Judging by the contemplative look on his face, I’m hopeful he might have a different response this time.
“So when I first saw you, huddled up behind your little fortress of books, I was honestly just curious as to what the hell you were doing. And then-” he looks up at me- “I don’t know, you just…talked to me, like I was anyone else. Treated me like a human being. Made me freaking jump through an obstacle course so I wouldn't mess up your thing rather than clearing the way for me. I loved that.” He grins. “And you’re beautiful, so that helped.”
I blush and look down, intently studying my bare toes. He reaches out and pulls me into his side, pecking my temple in a quick kiss.
“Alright, I’ve got one for you,” he continues. I look up, waiting, watching his face as he takes a minute to compose his words. “After your husband died, why did you start traveling? You kind of left everything behind and started new, which I can understand, but it also feels like the route you went was a little...extreme I guess?”
I see the worry as he looks down to meet my gaze, like he’s afraid his question might have offended me. I smile gently, and he relaxes.
“So after I got the news, after I buried him and after the whole storm of people had died down, I guess I just looked around our house one day and realized how empty it was. I hadn’t gotten rid of his stuff, so everything almost felt normal, like he was going to walk through the door at any second, like nothing had happened.” The feeling of the memory of that first month isn’t a pleasant one. The ache in my stomach reserved for that loss grows slightly. “And then Zeke, he didn’t understand what had happened. We’d let him smell the casket and everything, but he still didn’t get it, you know? So every day around six he was sitting at the front door, waiting for him to come home. And he wouldn’t leave that spot until I’d gotten into bed for the night.”
“Hey, you good?” Dylan asks gently. His thumb brushes my cheek, and only then do I register that some tears had slipped through. I lean my head into his hand and take a deep breath.
“I’m okay. It’s just hard to talk about.”
“You don’t have to-”
“No, I want to. I need to.” I clear my throat, take a breath. “So one day I woke up and knew I was going to drown if I stayed there any longer. I sold almost everything in one estate sale, listed and sold the house, took the equity and bought a camper van, and I just... took off with Zeke. I’ve been living off the leftover house money and his life insurance for a while now. The odd jobs I pick up help me find routine, provide some extra cash and keep me busy and connected to people.” I settle against his chest, and he wraps an arm around me, securing me to him. “But at some point I always get that itch to leave again. I’ve been planning the Colorado trip for a while now.”
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
“I think one week from today. I drop the van off at the mechanic tomorrow, and it should be done by Thursday.”
“So we’ll both be adventuring at the same time, then.”
I smile. “Yeah, but my trip is going to be way cooler than yours.”
He laughs. “You’re probably right. When I get back, we’ll have to go somewhere together.”
I stretch up, place a kiss on his cheek. He turns as I’m pulling back, his hand going behind my head, and he kisses me, slow and soft. My fingers find his hair, his bare arms, the muscles on his stomach, and he’s pulling me impossibly closer to him, to where I can feel his heartbeat against my own chest.
Zeke suddenly lets out a loud bark, and we both jump, pulling apart with laughter.
“Sorry, bud,” I say, “are we boring you?” He wags his tail at us, and I reach out to ruffle his ears. “Want to go back and ride around in the Jeep?” He barks again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Dylan stands and offers me a hand up. “Are you planning to sell your current house anytime soon?”
I catch the double meaning in his question, and it makes me smile. “No, I’m going to keep this one. It’ll give me a place to come home to.”
We put our now dry shirts back on and begin the trek back, his hand holding mine like a tether, leading me down our path.
----------------------
We drive aimlessly for the next few hours, taking winding back roads and enjoying the views and the weather. Twilight eventually finds us, and Dylan turns the Jeep towards home. We get back as the moon begins to peek out from behind the clouds, and I don’t even have to ask the question as Dylan shuts off the engine and follows me into my house, a bag slung over his shoulder.
“So… do you want to take the first shower, or…?”
He sets his bag on the floor. “We could arm wrestle for it.”
“Well that hardly seems fair-” my words get stuck in my throat as his right hand trails down my arm, grabs my hand, pulls me closer to him, his left hand settling on the base of my waist- “f-for, uh, fair for you, that is.”
“Oh yeah?” His hand is behind my neck now, eyes intently focused on me. “I think I could take you.”
My heart is pounding rapidly in my chest, all of my senses on fire as he lowers his forehead to mine, our noses brushing.
“Are you trying to take advantage of me, Dylan O’Brien?” I whisper.
His nose slides down my cheek, his lips finding my neck, leaving a gentle kiss there and then brushing across my collarbone. “Me? Never.”
“Because...two can play at that game.”
His eyebrows go up, and a sly smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “I dare you.”
My hands slide under his shirt, firmly grasping his waist, thumbs dipping under the hemline of his shorts. “Now that’s a dare I’m willing to take.”
----------------------
I wake up in a tangle of sheets and entwined limbs. I’m smushed into Dylan’s side, our legs hooked together, arms around each other’s torsos, my face in the crook of his neck. I let out a deep sigh, and he shifts under me.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says quietly into my hair.
I reposition myself so I can see his face. “Hey, you. How long have you been awake?”
“A while. I didn’t sleep all that much.” He runs his hand through my messy hair. “You slept like a freaking rock, though.”
My brow furrows. “You had trouble sleeping? Was it my fault? I could have-”
“No, not your fault. I just-” his forehead creases, his hand still playing with my loose hair- “I had a lot on my mind last night.”
“Anything you want to share?”
Some of the tension leaves his face and is replaced with a small smile. “Mainly thinking about everything that’s going to happen in the next few months.”
“Well, no one can predict the future.”
“True, but there are some things I’d like to know.”
“Well-” I pull myself up slightly, propping my head up in my left hand- “if you’re worried about being trampled to death by a moose in Canada, I can give you some of my best moose defensive moves.”
“Oh my god-” his head falls back into the pillows- “it’s like you can read my mind.”
I pull myself out of the covers and sit criss-cross on the bed, looking down at him. “Hey, everything is going to be great.”
He opens one eye and looks at me. “Is your fourth job fortune telling?”
I grin and pick up the hand resting on his chest, raise it to my lips and kiss the back of his fingers. “Maybe. With some things, at least. Now, let’s get you ready so you don’t miss your flight.”
Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 2,053 (this one’s a bit of a filler chapter, more action to come later ;)
Warnings: language
Soundtrack for Ch5: “Seven” by Sleeping At Last
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
It takes him a few seconds to remember where he is when he wakes up.
Dylan blinks the sleepy haze from his eyes and sits up on the couch, arms extending above his head in a stretch. Y/N and Zeke are nowhere to be seen, but the dinner plates from last night have disappeared, and in their place sits a bright pink sticky note.
He picks it up with a smile and reads -
Coffee is in the fridge.
He stands up and scans the room for a clock to determine the time. A manual one in the shape of a dinosaur hangs above the mantle and informs him it’s about half past six.
Dylan makes his way into the kitchen and pauses upon seeing another sticky note on the fridge. He pulls it off -
I know we just met a few days ago. I know we don’t really know what this is. But...
He flips the note over, but nothing is on the back. He opens the fridge and sees a cup of coffee on the top shelf with a third note attached to it.
...I know I want you to stick around.
He picks up the mug, and a final note appears from underneath it.
I’m out in the garden.
He closes the fridge with a smile, finds his almost dry shoes, and heads outside.
----------------------
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.
Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 1,672
Warnings: minor language
Soundtrack for Ch1: “Hello My Old Heart” by The Oh Hellos
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
“Did you get a permit for this aisle...or…?”
I pause in the middle of the sentence I was reading, a crinkle finding my forehead at the irritation of being interrupted. I put my finger in place, look up from my criss-cross position on the floor of the bookstore, and open my mouth to let the smart retort I’d formed loose.
It doesn’t get past my lips.
In fact, my words are sucked clean from my lungs as surprise, then shock, then blatant disbelief washes across my brainwaves.
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for my response. The best I can do is openly stare, taking in his jeans, gray t-shirt, well built frame, and the scruff on his cheeks that are currently turned up in a small smile.
Dylan O’Brien. That’s Dylan-freaking-O’Brien.
I swallow, push my glasses up on top of my head, and set my book down.
“Hi.” My mind somehow forms the word, managing the single syllable without too strong of an I am a bumbling idiot tone.
“Hi,” he replies back, a full smile dimpling his cheeks now. “So… can I get by, or is there a certain traffic pattern I need to follow here?”
“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.”
Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 2,667
Warnings: language, nightmares, road accident
Soundtrack for Ch11: “West” by Sleeping At Last
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
“Hello?”
I splutter into my tea at the sound of his voice, choking on the herbal flavors. I cough to clear my lungs, my eyes watering slightly. “You, uh, you weren’t supposed to pick up.”
A lamp clicks on, and Dylan’s face comes into view on my laptop screen. “You’re the one who Facetimed me.”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t expect you to answer.”
He rubs his eyes with one hand and squints at his phone. “God, it’s three in the morning. Everything okay?”
I set my tea down on the ledge beside the bed and interlace my fingers tightly in my lap. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have called you.”
He sits up in bed and runs his hand through his slightly wild hair. “What’s going on?”
I bite at my bottom lip, debating.
“Hey, your eyes look red. Did something happen?” He’s fully awake now, focused on me. My eyes roam his features while I piece words together in my head. His beard has grown out some, his bare chest coming into the frame as he readjusts his grip on his phone.
I feel like shit for waking him up. I don’t even know why I called him in the first place. I woke up, and it was almost instinctual to immediately click on his number.
“I… I just had a nightmare.”
He draws his legs up and then leans forward, resting his chin in the crevice of his knees. “What was it about?”
My pulse jumps a bit as my brain returns to the memory of it. I rub a small circle on the back of my hand with my thumb to give me something to focus on. “I’ve had it before. A few times, actually.”
He raises his eyebrows, waiting, and I take a deep breath of the night air drifting in from my open back van doors and then dive in.
“So in the dream I’m driving in the car with my husband. We’re on some mountain road, lots of twists and turns. The radio’s playing, it’s sunny, he’s holding my hand.” I swallow and take another breath. “And then… everything just suddenly goes black, and there’s this loud sound, almost like a train whistle, but I know it’s the wind, like what a tornado sounds like, you know? Then, out of nowhere, these two bright lights appear. And then…”
I’d been looking down while talking, studying the stitching in my bedspread. I look up now, at the concerned expression on his face, and I wish I could reach through the computer screen and grab his hand to hold onto.
“And then I’m suddenly back in my old house, and it’s completely empty. There’s no furniture, nothing on the walls, everything is almost gray. Just… hollow and blank. And I’m alone. I go to the front door and try to open it, but it won’t budge. I feel like screaming, but no sound will come out of my mouth. I keep running to the windows, to the back door, trying to get out, but everything is stuck shut. And then… I wake up.”
“Damn, Y/N,” Dylan says quietly.
I release my death grip on my hands and wrap my arms around my bent knees, copying his position. “I used to have that one every few nights or so. Not always identical, but close.”
“Used to?”
I smile softly. “Yeah. Until I met you.”
His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.
I pick up my tea again and take a small sip, glancing at my image in the small, corner square on my computer, illuminated by the twinkle lights lining my van’s ceiling. My hair is a crazy mess, my eyes puffy, the sweatshirt I’m wearing sporting a stain on the right shoulder. I fight off the embarrassment trying to well up in my cheeks. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I just… I needed to hear you. I knew it would go away if I could just hear your voice.”
“Well that sounds kind of codependent, if you ask me.”
I roll my eyes and smile alongside him. “Says the guy who called me last week, put me on speaker phone, and had me explain to the barista at Starbucks what you wanted in your coffee.”
“Hey, that’s not my fault! You said you’d write it down for me.”
“Maybe it’s just my way of keeping you attached to me. You know, kind of like this guy I know who stole a girl’s book so she’d have to wait until he finished reading it to ask for it back.”
He snaps his fingers. “Speaking of, I finished it. Yesterday, actually.”
“Oh yeah? And your verdict?”
“I’m not saying I teared up at the end, but I’m also not saying that I didn’t tear up at the end.”
I finish my tea, put it back on the ledge, and draw the covers up and over my body, settling into the pillows behind me. “What a big softie. I don’t know if I can be seen with you in public, knowing you could break down crying at any second.”
“When do I get to see you again?” he asks, falling back into his bed.
“Doesn’t that depend on your filming schedule?”
He shrugs. “I mean, you’re the one in the traveling home right now. You could always cross over the border, see how life is lived on the other side.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Man, what are you getting into up there that could be so exciting?”
“Oh, fucking everything. You know how I do.”
My mind has finally settled, the traces of the shadows from my nightmare now gone. My brain runs a quick calculation, roughly estimating the many miles that are currently between us. “It’s tempting. Very tempting. I’ve never traveled north from this area before.”
My laptop is sitting on the pillow beside me now, my head resting on my own pillow. Dylan’s face is sideways on my screen, turned with his phone’s angle, and it looks like he could fall asleep any second.
“I miss you,” I say quietly.
His features soften, a small smile gracing his face. “Yeah, I miss you too.”
“Thanks for answering my call.”
“Anytime. You know that.”
I exhale slowly and reach a finger out to hover above the trackpad. “Goodnight, Dylan.”
“Night, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”
The call ends, I close my computer, and within seconds I’m finally deep in a peaceful sleep.
----------------------
It feels like I lived an entire lifetime in the spanse of the week I’d spent with Dylan, and now that we’ve been apart for almost a month it feels like time has decided to work in reverse, to slow to a lazy crawl.
I travel with Zeke from campsite to campsite, using trusted apps to guide me to new locations that others have visited before me. We run into other groups in vans and busses from time to time, and although I find the company welcoming, I always feel relieved to set back out on our own again. It’s been far too long since I’ve taken off into the unknown to explore, and satisfying the itch is like breathing in a huge gust of cold air after having a stuffed up nose - life giving and clearing to the soul.
Dylan and I had texted every day when we’d first parted ways, called each other frequently to give updates, sent photos and videos of what we were up to. But as the days, and then weeks, had dragged on, our correspondence became less frequent. I would still send him a photo of Zeke and I’s adventure that day, but I didn’t always get a response back. I knew he was busy with filming, one hundred percent understood… I just missed him. And that lovely, consistent friend of mine called anxiety was starting to poke into my mind, asking the question of if I was even a thought to him during his day.
Right now, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, legs dangling out the back of the van, watching the sun rise on a new day. I sip at my coffee, keeping a close eye on Zeke as he investigates the surrounding bushes of our campsite. The air smells like rain, and I make a mental note to keep most of the electricity off in the van to conserve solar power so we can have AC tonight.
My phone dings at me, and I lean back from my perch to grab it. A text from my Comic-con friend, Anna, fills the screen.
Okay, so that was the sweetest thing I have ever seen tweeted by anyone ever.
Man, I feel like I’m so in the know, and no one else knows, and it’s just awesome that I know, you know?
My brow wrinkles - What the hell are you talking about?
OMG HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT YET???!!!?!?
Seen what?
Dylan’s tweet. He literally just posted it a half hour ago. GO LOOK AT IT, WOMAN!!!!
I close out my messages and go to the Twitter app. I don’t have any notifications, so I search for Dylan’s profile and then scroll down to his feed. I read his most recent tweet. And then I read it again. And then one more time. And then I just sit there, staring at the painted clouds as sunbeams cut through them, unable and not really caring to deplete the stupid smile clamining my facial features.
----------------------
It’s Thursday, and I know I should be heading back home, to California, but I’ve been sitting in the driver’s seat of my van, ignition running, for about seven minutes now and have yet to shift the gears into drive.
Zeke pulls his head back out of the window from the passenger side and looks at me with what I assume is confusion. He cocks his head and whines low in his chest. I readjust my grip on the steering wheel and let out a long sigh.
“I know, I know. I’m working on it, bubs.”
But I’m really not. I’m just sitting here. Thinking.
“We really should head back home,” I say to him. “I’m supposed to start working again next week. You’ve got an appointment with the groomers. And we’re almost out of the cash we’d budgeted. Gas is freaking expensive, I need a proper shower, and I could also go for some curly fries right now. Could you go for some fries?”
His tail thumps against the side of the seat, and he whines again.
I pick up my phone and cancel the route I’d just programmed in. “We should really go home.”
I go to my text thread with Dylan and scroll through our messages, landing on the one with an address that I’d sent a box of shortbread cookies to last week.
“We’ll have to use the credit card. That’s only supposed to be for emergencies…”
The map loads, and I stare at the ridiculous amount of hours and miles on it. My passport peeks out at me from where it’s tucked safely away in the middle console.
“I’m crazy. This is crazy.”
Zeke lets out a loud bark, making me jump. I shift the van into gear and take a deep breath, in and out.
“We’re definitely stopping for french fries. Probably more than once.”
Then I drive the car out of the campsite, navigate to the main road, and start heading northwest.
----------------------
The green lights of the dashboard clock display two twelves as my headlights cut through the darkness in front of me. I probably should have pulled over at the last truck stop a few miles back, but the temptation of the ‘electricity included’ campsite I’d found about thirty miles ahead had me pushing through the tired film trying to wrap itself around my brain.
Zeke is asleep in the seat next to me, his soft snores the only sound filling the front cab. A road sign for Great Falls, Montana - 32 miles flashes past on the right side of the road, and I breathe in and slowly let out a deep breath, pushing my glasses back up my nose and then gripping the steering wheel tighter.
My phone starts to chime, the sudden noise making me jump and jerking my brain to a higher level of awareness. Dylan’s name lines the top of the screen, a Facetime request awaiting my finger slide. I do a mental check on what my appearance currently is and brush some loose hair wispies back into place before answering.
“Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” he replies. “Are you driving?”
I keep an eye on him in my peripherals from his position on my dash stand. “Yep. Got about twenty eight miles left until our stop for the night. Did you just now wrap up filming for the day?” It looks like he’s in his hotel room, laying down in the bed. There’s still make-up on his face, a fake scratch above his eye half smudged and rubbed off.
“Yeah, it was a long ass day.” He rolls over onto his stomach, head propped up in his hand. “How close are you to home?”
I feel my features involuntarily make the face of betrayal.
“You were headed home today, right?” he continues, slowly, eyes now sharp and calculating as they process my reaction.
My eyes dart to look fully at the phone screen for a quick second, then back to the road. “Um… I was supposed to be heading back today… but then… well, actually, Zeke here talked me into...extending our trip.”
His smile is uncertain, not sure how to judge my tone. “So where are you at now? Don’t make me track your phone.”
I smile, knowing full well he would, and had in the past. “Uh, at least three french fry stops north. So… Montana.”
“Montana? Wait a second-” his face gets super close to the phone screen- “are you-”
“Well you’d mentioned it, and I thought it could be fun-”
“So you’re coming up this way?”
I can feel the pending anxiety in my twitching fingers and stomach. I take a quick second to study his face. “Is that...is that okay?”
I don’t hear his response.
It comes out of nowhere, the curve in the road suddenly flooded with two blinding lights in our lane and the screeching of tires. A scream is stuck in my throat, my hands jerking the wheel away from the oncoming truck, foot stomping on the brake to slow us down. The back tires of my van skid, the world spins around us in confusing flashes, and then the road barrier stops our momentum as we slam into it from the side with a jarring crash.
Airbags deploy, hitting my face, and an instant gush of blood runs out my nose and down the back of my throat. I cough and gag, my head spinning, my mind in a blind panic as I turn my neck to the side, unable to move properly with my seatbelt locked in place, the strap cutting into me making it a challenge to find air. I pull my broken glasses off my face and then search blindly with a shaking hand for Zeke in the seat beside me, a relieved and strangled sob breaking past my lips when my fingers find his fur, my ringing ears tuning into the sound of his frantic barking.
“Y/N?! Y/N!!”
Dylan’s panicked voice joins the overwhelming noise around me. It’s coming from the floorboards, on repeat, and my brain registers that my phone must have fallen.
I try to clear my throat, try to swallow the metallic taste of blood down so I can make room to form words.
Tears are streaming freely down my face, my whole body numb from shock. “I-I’m, I’m o-okay,” I croak out, my voice hitched and broken. “I th-think we’re okay.”
And then the second car hits us from behind, and everything goes black.
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Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 2,888
Warnings: language, mention of a deceased spouse
Soundtrack for Ch4: “Open Skies (Wildflower)” by The National Parks
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
Here’s my address. Drop by anytime if you have the time.
I check Twitter again, but still only see the last message I’d sent Dylan. No typing dots, no confirmation reply, nothing. Which doesn’t send me into an anxiety spiral that has me questioning all of my life choices. Nuh-uh. Not at all.
My trowel hits the earth, stabbing around the pesky clump of weeds that have protruded their way into my box garden. It’s a hot day, and sweat rolls down my skin, soaking into my tank top and making me contemplate turning on the sprinklers for the fifth time. My floppy sun hat is the only shade in this part of the yard, my hair twisted into a braid down my back to keep it from sticking to my face. Even Zeke has had enough of the sun, choosing to lie beneath a nearby tree and supervise my gardening from a distance. He’s currently napping, though, the slacker.
I glower at the leafy plants and the seemingly forever green tomatoes hanging there and point at them with my shovel. “You better be worth it.”
“Are you threatening your plants?”
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.
Overview: It started with a chance meeting, a bold request, and a book. With a past full of loss and a future centered on searching for something more, one person may make all the difference in what tomorrow could bring.
Pairing: DylanxReader
Word Count: 2,566
Warnings: mild language
Soundtrack for Ch6: “Life is Good” by The Hunts
Listen on Spotify
Listen on YouTube
“You’re taunting me, aren’t you?”
Dylan’s eyes cut sideways to look at me. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
I blink some moisture back into my eyes to unstick my contacts and reposition my head on his shoulder. “You’re literally reading my book right in front of me, like when the kidnappers reveal the live hostage to their parents.” His finger goes to the corner of the page, like he’s about to dog ear his spot, and I sit up stiffly. “Oh hell no, don’t you dare. Have you been doing that this whole time?” I literally rip the book from his hands, documenting the page number he’s on in my head before thumbing through the previous ones. I spot at least three other creases on corners and turn to him with fire in my eyes.
He looks scared, as he should be. “I, uh, I don’t have a bookmark.”
“This is a dealbreaker,” I mutter under my breath, “an absolute dealbreaker. And things were going so well.”
I catch the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror and see the smirk on his face. Then I look at Dylan to see the growing uncertainty on his.
He swallows. “Do you, um, do you have a bookmark I could borrow?”
“Oh no, sir, I’m holding onto this until you can prove proper care.”
“You can’t be serious?”
I slip the book into my backpack as an answer. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, and my cheeks twitch as they try to suppress a smile.
“Hey, Randy,” Dylan says, leaning forward, “can you take the next exit? I think I saw a sign for a mental institution. We need to make a quick stop, drop this one off before she, you know, murders me. Or worse.”
I do burst out laughing then. “Or worse? What would be worse than murder?”
“Oh, you know, excruciating long lectures on proper book care- ow! Hey, hitting isn't nice, Y/N.”
“We’re only eleven minutes away, if you two could just keep it together for a bit longer,” Randy informs us from the front seat. That statement sobers me up a bit. All the anxiety I’d managed to subdue for the four hour car ride comes creeping back in, like unwelcome weeds in a sidewalk crack.
“Hey,” Dylan says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, “it’s going to be great.”
I manage a pinched smile and let my head fall back onto his shoulder.
His cheek leans against the top of my hair. “Look, just follow my lead this weekend. I know the territory, so, as long as you don’t go rogue, you’ll be fine.”
“So stick with you?”
“Exactly.”
I reach for his free hand, and he wraps mine in his until we pull into the parking garage of the convention hotel.
“Damn it,” Dylan mutters as his eyes scan the space out the window. “Randy, man, I thought this was supposed to be a private entrance.”
I glance out and see at least two people with cameras, one with a microphone, and maybe ten average looking people who are probably guests of the hotel. There’s someone in an official looking suit with a nametag trying to shoo them away, but the effort is quickly overrun as soon as they realize whose Sedan is pulling in.
Dylan lets go of my hand and looks at me, and I can read the debate going on in his head as clear as words in a book.
“Hey, uh, Randy, is there a coffee shop close by? Maybe you could drop me there so I can pick up some caffeine first?” I give Dylan a smile. “I can walk over after. No big deal.”
I can tell he doesn't fully love the idea, but Randy has already parked the car and the medium sized wave of people waiting for Dylan to exit is growing more excited by the second. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
I roll my eyes. “I was getting coffee by myself long before I met you.”
“Okay, smart ass.” He places his duffle bag strap over his shoulder and snags his pillow from the backseat. “Just call me when you make it into the hotel so I can find you.”
“Will do.”
He opens the door and slides out, giving me a wink before closing it again. I watch as he walks towards the entryway, the hotel attendance and, judging by her lanyard and ‘Staff’ T-shirt, a Comic-con handler flocking him on both sides to hurriedly usher him in. He hangs back at the door and turns to face everyone pushing in on him for attention, and I smile as I watch him pause to take a picture with a fan and sign a poster for another.
“Ready, miss?” Randy asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.” We pull out of the spot and head towards the garage exit, the navigation system at the front routing us to a coffee place only two streets away. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to check the message there.
Neither of those girls asked me out for coffee. The audacity.
I snort out a laugh.
Randy drops me at the cafe, my backpack weighing heavy on my shoulders as I give him a small wave goodbye. A raindrop hits my nose as I sling my other small bag over my shoulder, and I make it inside right before a steady shower descends from the sky.
“That’s...just great,” I mutter to myself. I set my bags down and dig around to find my rain jacket and umbrella. I order as custom of a coffee as I can for both Dylan and I, hesitating for a second before tacking one on for Tyler Posey as well. Might as well sweeten the first impression as much as possible. I honestly want to order the whole cast coffee at this point.
With my bright yellow rain jacket zipped up tight, my polka dot umbrella shielding me, and coffees in a drink carrier cradled against my chest, I trek out into the light, but thick, rain. It’s only a five minute, brisk walk, but the bottom portion of my striped linen pants are damp and (thanks to a surprise puddle) my flats are soaked through by the time I make it under the awning of the hotel entrance. I shake out my umbrella and go through the automatic doors, my wet soles immediately slipping and squeaking on the slick tile. I kick them off my feet and wrap them and my umbrella in my rain jacket before placing the bundle into my knapsack. Then I dig out my phone and call Dylan.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hey! You here?”
“Yep! Where do I go?”
He leads me on a route through the hotel, getting me turned around twice, leading me into a laundry room once, and then I finally make it to a long hallway by the conference rooms with a security personnel stationed on each corner.
“Alright, I think I’m here.”
“Okay, you should see me in three, two, and-”
He comes into view around the far corner, phone to ear, smiling as his eyes latch onto me. He ends the call and immediately looks down at my bare feet. “Where the hell are your shoes?”
“They were attacked by a puddle,” I say with a shrug.
“Shit, it’s raining? I should have just let you come in with me.”
“No, it’s fine, really. Plus, we’ve got coffee now.” I hold the carrier up on display, and he reaches out to take it for me.
“Three?”
My cheeks grow warm, and I shift from foot to foot. “One’s for, uh, Tyler.”
He throws an arm around my shoulders and guides me down the hall. “Oh man, he’s going to love you.”
----------------------
The next ten minutes are a whirlwind. I’m introduced to so many people, most of whom I already knew and the rest I forget the names of instantly. Holland and the other female cast members are stunningly beautiful, even more so in person, and unbelievably nice to the point where I’m easily conversing and laughing alongside them. I beam like an idiot when I shake Tyler Hoechlin’s hand, giggling when he says something that may not have even been funny. Dylan pulls me away from him with a disapproving look.
Then Tyler Posey comes in, throwing the doors to the conference room open with a grand flourish and proclaiming loudly, “Where is she!?”
I'm in midconversation with Holland and Shelley, and I instinctively shrink behind them a bit. “I feel like I should run. Should I run?”
Holland laughs. “Probably.”
In seconds he’s crossed the room and literally picks me up off the floor in an engulfing hug that knocks the breath out of me. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” He turns, still squishing me against him. “Dylan, you didn’t do this woman justice with what you told me.”
I’m blushing from head to toe and struggling to breathe, but I manage to squeeze out, “Well he described your beauty to perfection.”
“Dude, come on, man, you’re crushing her,” Dylan says, pulling Tyler’s arms away from my back to release me from the vice grip. My feet find the floor again, and I’m swiftly tucked into his side. “You okay?”
I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“She got you coffee,” Dylan says to Tyler.
His smile gets even bigger. “You got me coffee?”
“I got you coffee.”
“We’re practically best friends now. It’s official.” He claps a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “What a keeper, man.” He winks at me. “It’s great to meet you, Y/N.”
I smile. “You too.”
A staff member enters the conference room and announces that there’s fifteen minutes until the panel, prompting a sea of motion across the space as everyone heads towards their personal hotel rooms for last minute preparation.
“Here-” Dylan pulls out a lanyard with a pass on it from his jacket pocket- “I picked this up for you. Puts you right on the front row, in the splash zone.”
He slips the pass over my head, and I look up at him with raised eyebrows. “Splash zone?”
He picks up his coffee with an offhanded shrug. “You never know.”
----------------------
I’d never been to a panel before, only watched them on YouTube after the fact. And even if I had been to one, nothing could have compared to being front and center, literally so close I could see the outline of perfect chest muscles beneath Tyler Hoechlin’s shirt. But what I mainly saw was Dylan, because the pass he’d gotten me just happened to be the seat that was smack dab in front of his panel chair.
It was a packed room, and they’d designed the panel to give most of the time to audience questions, which I absolutely loved. I kept a notebook in my lap the entire time, aimlessly sketching and doodling to keep my now sandaled feet from tapping the floor and my brain focused. I was riding a weird high of continued disbelief and excitement and just pure joy as the day continued to unfold.
There were lots of questions about the ending of Teen Wolf, about the projects and movies that everyone had worked on since then, about plot holes and general opinions and personal platforms saying how much so and so had affected them. I loved watching everyone on stage interact with each other, like a family dinner conversation with all its inside jokes and laughter that had the whole audience joining in.
“So my question is for Dylan O’Brien,” the next person states.
“Hi there,” he replies into his mic, leaning forward slightly.
She pulls out her phone. “So there’s a picture of you going around online right now that I’m sure everyone else is curious about as well, so I was just wondering, first of all, what type of dancing can you do, and if the girl you’re dancing with is maybe someone special, or…” Her voice trails off suggestively, and my previous calm state does a drastic one eighty as my pen stops moving mid-sketch on my paper.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, getting louder and faster as the voices around me fade to white noise. I look up and instantly catch Dylan’s eye. He looks away and says something into the mic, and I watch the girl who asked the question walk up to the front of the stage. A security person takes her phone and hands it to Dylan, and the ringing in my ears fades back out as his voice fills the room again.
“Man, you guys are creepily good. I mean, privacy, pffft, what’s that, man?” He uses his own phone to take a picture of her screen and hands it back over. “So, um, yeah, I was coerced into trying out some dancing last week.”
“Show us!” someone from the crowd yells out.
“Hell no,” he replies with a shake of his head. “I suck. A lot.”
My phone vibrates in my lap, and I shield it as best as I can from the people to my right and left as I open a message from Dylan.
It’s a snapshot from Wednesday night of the two of us on the dance floor. My face is only partially visible, but there’s no denying that it’s Dylan. We’re both laughing, his arm on my back and our hands entwined. I have no idea how the hell this got out, or who the hell took it, but I feel an unexplainable anger course through my blood that helps stabilize some of the previous panic.
“Who’s the person you’re with?” the girl asks again, and I very much wish I had packed a shovel to slap her with because god she wasn’t letting this go.
My eyes lock back on Dylan, and the room takes on an almost uneasy silence. Tyler leans over and whispers something into his ear, and Dylan smiles and brushes him off.
“So...yeah. I did meet someone recently. And it’s, uh, it’s going good. Really good, actually.”
There’s a clamor from the crowd of gasps and exclamations and shouts for more information, and I just sit there, frozen in my seat, mouth hanging open.
“Next question!” Posey yells into his mic. “And I’m feeling kind of left out over here, so if it could be for me that would be awesome.”
I snap my jaw shut, mind racing, no longer listening to what people are saying around me or the questions they’re asking. I keep staring at Dylan, knowing he’s doing his best to not stare back, to not give away the fact that the girl in question is literally sitting ten feet in front of him.
I’d been clutching my phone tightly in my left hand, and I bring it up now to type out a message with shaky hands.
Well.
A few seconds, then-
Well, what?
It’s ‘Going well’, not ‘good’.
He literally leans back in his chair and laughs, interrupting Crystal, who was in the middle of answering a question. He shows his phone to Tyler, who reads the message and then laughs alongside him.
I bite my lip to keep my own laughter muted and send another text.
But in all seriousness, I’d have to agree. It’s been great.
