Thomas's pov

"Thomas?"

Snap.

I felt like I was underwater. Each labored breath hurt in my strangely constricted chest, and my surroundings were slightly distorted. The chatter of the restaurant was suddenly distant and wavering, as though I was trying to listen to someone speak while I sat six feet beneath the water's surface.

Snap.

The sound barely made its way through my ears and to my brain. I blinked slowly, feeling sluggishly behind reality.

Snap.

My head turned slowly, watching the movement of the people in the restaurant. Even they looked like they were playing in slow motion. I settled my gaze on Kaya, and though I saw her, I didn't process her. Nothing processed but my irreversible mistake, which was on a constant replay everytime I blinked my eyes.

Snap.

"What was that?" Kaya's dark eyes were first to penetrate my dazed mind. Her gaze pierced through my clouded thoughts, dragging me out of my shell, vulnerable to my emotions. Shock and disgust were so blatantly tattooed across her face that my exchange with Dylan burned even brighter in my mind's eye.

And just like that, a monsoon of guilt came crashing down on me in a powerful wave, and my mind caught up to reality.

Dylan--he didn't deserve to be insulted and embarrassed like that. Sure, he was childish and immature when we first met, and he knew exactly how to press my buttons, but other than that--he really didn't do anything wrong. I was the one at fault here, and he didn't even know the extent of my betrayals.

I almost gasped for air as my chest clenched painfully. My eyes flickered around like I was reading piles of information, and for the first time I was looking at my actions through his perspective...and I certainly didn't like what I saw.

He must have been so embarrassed--heck, he had every right to be pissed at me. Besides the fact that I just blatantly pointed out all of his insecurities in front of his first potential love interest here in Louisiana, I had destroyed any of the confidence he had begun to build up with the rest of the cast. The poor kid was probably wallowing in self-hatred now, and it was all my fault.

All my fault.

The words felt foreign to me. I could hardly remember the last time I took responsibility for my actions by my own choice. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt genuinely guilty for hurting someone. Guilt clawed up my chest like a wild beast, making my stomach churn and my heart pound. I was so painfully aware of my mistake, and not because someone had told me to look regretful for the press, but because I was actually guilty.

It was completely my fault.

"Thomas?" Kaya repeated again as I abruptly stood from my seat, my chair screeching as it slid across the wooden floor.

"I have to fix this," I muttered, almost to myself. "I have to fix this!" I repeated it louder, with more conviction, determined to repair the past few moments, and particularly, to mend my relationship with Dylan.

I ignored Kaya's questions as I threw a wad of cash on the table, stumbling blindly after Dylan.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Two hours later, I was just about ready to give up my sudden resolve.

I had looked everywhere, from the hotel to the local coffee shop that I noticed he had had a habit of frequenting. No matter where I looked, however, the little bastard managed to evade me.

My phone had been ringing incessantly ever since I had bolted from the restaurant, though I refused to answer it. It was only Kaya, after all, and she was probably just going to go all mom on me and yell at me for leaving so quickly anyway. Yeah, it was probably better to deal with her wrath later.

Dylan had seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth. I tried texting, calling, tweeting him--everything, but he refused to answer. He gave me no signs of life, which I deserved, but still, a single text telling me something, anything, (even if it said he hated me) would make me feel better. Just knowing that he was, ya know, alive would put me at ease. But no, he left me with only the silent treatment.

And that irked me even more. The silent treatment? Seriously? Are you five, Dylan? I never realized how much time I spent ignoring his stupid annoying tweets and annoying texts until his annoying self decided to cut off communication with me. It had only been an hour or two since he had participated in the group chat or tweeted or texted me, but it was all just utterly annoying.

It was for this reason that I didn't give up looking, though every tired muscle in my body told me it was hopeless, that he had probably called someone and went to a local bar or something. Still, I ubered my way around all of Baton Rouge, looking for the stupid brown-haired boy with the stupid dimpled smile.

I wasn't even quite sure what I'd say when I found him. I never apologized--not sincerely anyway--for anything. Could I even get out a half-assed apology?

My two hours of searching suddenly turned into four hours, and those four hours became five, and suddenly it was two in the morning and I had work early the next day, and with Dylan nowhere to be found, I finally threw in the towel.

As I laid down in bed seven hours after I had begun searching, I checked my phone again, seeing that Kaya had texted me 57 times. Sighing, I unlocked my phone, lazily scanning her furious words and colorful curses. My eyes reached the bottom messages, and for a second, a jolt shot down my spine.

KAYA: Yo doofus. If you'd check your phone you'd know that I found Dylan an hour ago. Check the cast trailers mate

I was out of bed faster than a kid on Christmas morning, heart pounding. Of course. Why didn't I even consider the cast trailers? It was the most obvious place in the world!

I texted Kaya a quick thx hun before I raced out of my hotel room and outside, not even stopping to consider that I was leaving in only my pajamas.

It was raining when I stepped outside. Thunder rolled across the night sky as I stepped into the parking lot, already making my way to the vans left available for the cast. I prayed that someone had left the keys in the driver's seat as I neared, shivering as rain ran down my collarbone. For a brief moment I regretted wearing only boxers and a fur sweat-shirt, but that thought was quickly forgotten as I thanked the heavens that the keys were on the dashboard of the car.

My clothes and hair were damp by the time I settled into the driver's seat (on the left side of the car, bloody hell??). Tightening my fingers on the steering wheel, I pulled out of the parking lot, glad that it was the middle of the night.

I survived the ride there (somehow) and was quick to haphazardly park the car. I sprinted up to the security gates, hoping that someone would still be there to let me into the trailer park.

The rain was falling much heavier now and everything felt painfully cliche as I banged on the glass of the security window, catching a dazed chinese woman by surprise. Her tight lips widened in dismay and confusion but she straightened her blouse, coming closer to the window suspiciously.

She took me in for a moment, and I kept shivering. The rain fell in heavy sheets around me, and while the security guard was warm and dry inside, I was severely wet and extremely unhappy waiting in the rain. I gritted my teeth impatiently, waiting as she slid open a small speaker flap on the bottom of the glass so that we could talk.

"Who you?" She spoke in a heavy chinese accent, her english barely decipherable.

"Thomas Brodie-Sangster," I answered quickly, stepping back from the window so that I could bolt through the locked gates as soon as she opened them.

She however, had other ideas. "Only cast and crew in trail-ahs."

For a second, I thought she was joking. Then I cursed because fuck it was three in the morning and these were probably the security guards who didn't even know what movie they were on guard for. I groaned, stepping closer.

"I am part of the cast," I explained exasperatedly, trying to warm her up with a forced grin.

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I know cast is old men. You too young."

"I'm twenty-four!" I exclaimed automatically in self-defense. I took a deep breath, then said, "Look, lady. I have to get in there."

"No enter wit-out I.D.," she said sternly. She puffed out her chest and I almost screamed in agitation, but then reached towards my pocket to grab my wallet.

And then came that oh fuck moment again, because genius me did not think to stuff his wallet in his boxers.

The chinese woman must have seen the panic in my eyes, because she repeated, "No I.D., no enter."

"But I'm Thomas Brodie-Sangster!" I complained like a five year old, more than fed up at this point. I restrained myself from stomping my foot.

"Thomas twenty-four, you sixteen," the woman shook her head firmly, completely convinced.

"I am twenty four!" I roared again. I stepped back, knowing that I had to compose myself. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, checking to see that it was nearly three a.m.. The odds of Dylan being here still were slim anyway...

But I had to try. I was struck by an idea, clicking open the internet on my phone.

My screen was dotted with raindrops by the time I finally pulled up the correct screen, smiling triumphantly as I did so. I pushed my phone through the speaker flap, and the old woman took it into her hand cautiously.

Her eyes scanned the screen, and then she said, "What dis?"

I stepped closer, leaning my forehead against the glass window. "It's my Wikipedia page. Look, that's me. Clearly me." I watched the woman look down at my phone again.

"You Thomas Brodie-Sangster?"

NO FUCKING DUH, I wanted to scream at her, but I nodded my head politely instead. Then she asked, "Why you not in bed?"

I let out a breath. "Can you just let me in?" I waved her off. "It's important."

She nodded, sliding my phone back to me. As she ruffled through some papers looking for the button to open the gates, she muttered, "Next time just say you Thomas Sangster and I let you in."

I wanted to yell at her like I usually would when people piss me off, but I had other thoughts on my mind. As soon as I heard the grinding of the gates I took off, bolting in the direction of the trailer.

It was slightly difficult to navigate my way around in the rain, but I managed. The familiar setting came into my view and I sprinted forward, throwing my body weight against the wet door.

My tired mind did not take into consideration that it was 3 in the morning when the door subsequently slammed open.

"AghHH!" I heard someone yelp from inside the dark room. I fell backwards at the sudden shout, and then the lights flared on inside the trailer, revealing the scene. Dylan sat on the couch in the corner of the room, sleep still written in his eyes. His expression morphed by the second, flashing from terrified to angry to plain confused. "Thomas?!"

My mind was a jumbled mess and I suddenly lost my voice. The rain continued to pound on the tin rooftop, but other than that, the only sound in the trailer was our heavy breathing.

Then, "Why do you look like a wet poodle?"

Confused, I glanced down. As the pieces clicked into place, and I groaned.

Let's just say, wearing a fur sweatshirt in the middle of a rainstorm was not my best fashion choice.

It fell silent in the trailer, both of us at a loss for words. The quiet was louder than the thunder outside, pounding on my eardrums and making me want to crawl into my skin. The air between us was filled with unspoken words, unspoken thoughts. Dylan and I were just feet apart, but there was a distance between us that felt like we stood on opposite sides of the world.

My eyes scanned Dylan's face slowly. He looked drowsy, and still noticeably upset. Finally I broke the stretching silence as I asked quietly, "Why are you here?"

Dylan's eyebrow shot up. "I could ask you the same question," he said automatically. I cringed, thinking about my sudden entrance.

"I came to--" I blurted without thinking. My voice broke in the beginning of the sentence and I swallowed roughly.

I tried again. "I..I came..." but my voice faltered once more.

Dylan stood and crossed his arms. He waited for me to continue, but when it was clear I wasn't going to say more, he said, "You shouldn't have come here."

His gaze was leveled at me and did not waver, and suddenly I felt extremely exposed. Again, I couldn't help but glance down at my tazmanian devil underwear. When I looked back up, Dylan's eyes had not left my face.

"Please leave." His voice was gruff when it came out, the only evidence to any of the emotions he might have been feeling. I was suddenly reminded that Dylan was an actor, a (very) talented actor, and the mask he wore now was probably different from what he was hiding inside. Though his face was an impassive frown, he was likely in more pain than he deserved.

"Please." Dylan's lip was tight, pained. My stomach churned and a fresh bout of guilt flooded through me.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to do as he asked. My legs twitched to move away, to run, to hide from this newfound guilt that was slowly tearing me apart. But I couldn't.

"No," I said sternly, finally finding my voice. "No. I came to apologize, and I'm not leaving until I do."

Dylan didn't flinch, didn't cringe, didn't show any emotion at all. His voice betrayed him however, as he said quietly, "Thomas..."

"No." I wasn't going to run away from apologizing this time. I wouldn't let my fear of saying sorry become one of my biggest regrets...not again. I shook my head, refusing to follow that trail of thoughts. "I just...I wanted to say--"

"Say what, Thomas? What could you possibly have left to say?!" Dylan suddenly burst, his emotionless mask finally crumbling away.

For a moment, my mouth formed words, but no sound came out. Just a few weeks ago, I never would have dreamed of being in this kind of situation. It was completely uncharacteristic of me. What was Dylan doing to me? I never had to apologize like this before, and I was at a loss for words, especially with his outburst.

"If you're going to give me some bullshit apology like you did to that little girl, you might as well not even bother," Dylan interrupted my thoughts. His demeanor showed that he really didn't mean in at as rude or angry, just slightly hurt.

My mouth fell further open. Dylan wouldn't meet my eyes, where his stare stayed glued to the floor. "You knew about Cindy?" I asked him. He nodded after a brief hesitation, so I pushed, "How?"

"Tyler and I watched the press release..." he said faintly. The rain had eased a bit, making the trailer somehow feel much more hospitable and intimate.

My mind whirled as everything began to make sense. "So, that's why you didn't like me right from the beginning?"

Again, Dylan reluctantly nodded. Then he admitted, "Among other things, yeah. That's how I figured out you are a dick."

My first instinct was to scoff at him. He was rude to me over something that didn't even affect him? What a prick! However, the more I thought about it...the more I realized that maybe it did affect him. Not directly, but in the grand scheme of things, it was understandable that he wouldn't want to work with a guy who yelled at little girls. Maybe his initial reaction was simply self defense. Maybe he just didn't want to get hurt.

Maybe it was all my fault.

All my fault. There those three words were again.

I sighed. "Look Dylan," I started. "I'm...I'm sorry."

The word felt heavy on my tongue, even though it wasn't a lie. I just wasn't used to using it.

Dylan didn't have any reaction, so I continued, "I'm sick of fighting with you." Shaking my head, I finished, "Or I'm at least sick of hating you so much."

Silence. I waited for what felt like eternities, until Dylan finally tilted his head up. "Is that it? Is that why you raced out at three in the morning?"

I took a step back, but even with his words, I didn't regret coming out here. Taking a shaky breath I said, "I can tell just by looking at you that you don't believe me. I can't blame you...but I really am sorry. I was an arse hole back there, and...and honestly I never intended to end up making you hate me so much."

Dylan didn't say a word, so I continued to ramble, "I know I don't deserve it, but if there's any way you could forgive me..."

Dylan stared me directly in the eye for a solid minute, not saying a word. He was looking for something, and maybe he found it, or maybe fate was just on my side, because with a nod of his head, he finally muttered, "Okay."

"Okay?" I asked automatically.

"Okay," he finished. "This doesn't make us friends, but I forgive you. And I guess...I guess I can try to be acquaintances with you."

My heart leaped, beating strangely fast in my chest. I smiled, and Dylan grinned, and the rain outside let up just enough to become a calming song on the roof.

In the quiet that followed, I was struck by an idea. I hurried over to the miniature fridge in the center of the trailer, gathering a bottle of orange juice and two shot glasses. I handed Dylan the drink, and together, standing in our shared trailer, we had a toast.

"To new acquaintances," I said. Dylan tipped his glass towards me and then downed it in one gulp, and as I did the same, I couldn't help feeling both victorious and like the worst person alive.

Because even though Dylan and I were on better terms, I now had to make him fall in love with me.

And when I broke his heart...

It would be all my fault.

A/N

Hi. So...not the best chapter. Please bear with me for the next few weeks, as I recently lost someone close to me in a tragic accident, so writing has become a bit of a struggle. I'm sorry, I really wanted to post something because you have all been so supportive and loving to me recently, and I really appreciate it.

On a different note, it's my birthday today! Here's my gift to y'all for being so amazing and just ugh I love you so much.

also wanna hear a joke??

why can't a cow paint his toe nails?
because he lactoes!! get it huh huh

Im sorry I had to.

I love you, you are all absolutely beautiful human beings inside and out, and I hope everyday is filled with happiness.

until next time

//sam\\