Thomas's pov

34 days remaining

"I'll see you in two weeks, okay?"

Dylan kept his head angled down, watching our intertwined hands like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Neck bent, eyelashes fluttering, and the laugh lines around his eyes rather pronounced, I watched him carefully, afraid to move or even breathe. I tilted my head, moving closer to him.

"It's just two weeks, Dyl," I reassured again. I leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Dylan sighed. Finally he glanced up, though he avoided my heavy gaze as he looked out the side window of the car we occupied. In order to avoid being swarmed by the paparazzi, Dylan and I had decided to say goodbye in the car, rather than outside for the whole world to watch. Unfortunately, the paparazzi had figured out that we were coming today anyway, and were now milling around everywhere looking for us. Dylan pursed his lips, unsuccessfully hiding his sorrow as he watched the press flit by unknowingly. After a few brief moments, I followed his gaze as he he let his eyes settle on a crying couple a few meters away from the car.

"I never liked airports," he muttered, eyes still locked on the couple. We watched as they shared a final kiss and then split, tears falling.

"Why not?" I questioned, pulling him closer.

Dylan shrugged. "I don't like goodbyes, I guess. They're too sad."

I smiled softly. Wrapping a second arm around him, he fell into my chest with a sigh. I pushed my lips next to his ear and I replied, "Well, I guess it's good we're not saying goodbye then, huh? I'll see you later, that's all."

Dylan nestled his head under my chin. "'See you later' is the cousin of goodbye that nobody likes either."

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply in. A strange calmness settled over the car, and I found that I didn't want to move yet. I wanted to stay here forever, in peaceful ignorance, with Dylan curled up around me like some sort of koala bear. I saturated in his scent and let his slow breaths draw out our last remaining moments. Here, with the thin brunet in my arms, nothing could ever go wrong.

But it could.

It was going wrong actually, no matter how much I craved to deny it. My eyes flew open and I let out a deep breath of air.

Each second that elapsed was another second I lost in trying to make my plane. Each beat of my heart was a wasted beat in the wrong place. Each calming breath was a lie, a traitorous exhale to the boy unknowingly resting near me.

I wasn't allowed to feel like this near Dylan. My plan didn't include cuddling with him and whispering sweet-nothings into his ear and giving heartfelt goodbyes. I wasn't allowed to feel like I was being drawn towards him like two opposite poles of magnets, only complete when we were together, touching. That wasn't how this was supposed to work.

I retracted my arms from around his waist. Dylan sat up, his eyes clouded over in a daze of confusion and for a brief flash of a second I twitched to hold him again. That would be unacceptable though. A brief flash of a second of losing control over myself is still a moment too long.

"I have to go now," I whispered, trying to seem as normal as possible. I grabbed my shoulder bag and reached for the handle of the door. Just as my fingers folded around the black latch, Dylan's hand pulled me back to face him.

"Wait!" he exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow as he paused, mouth floundering for words he couldn't quite form. Finally, after looking like a complete fool, he shyly muttered, "Sorry, I just didn't want you to leave yet."

And just like that, any of my recent prohibitions faded away, becoming quiet echoes in an empty space. "I didn't want to go yet either," I said back, forgetting my earlier reluctance. I smiled, hating myself for how genuine the confession felt.

Dylan lightly laughed, looking down into his lap. "I feel like I'm being super clingy."

"You are super clingy," I smiled. I leaned forward, unable to prevent myself from pressing another soft kiss to his hair. "But it's cute."

Dylan looked up and smiled to hide his blush. His brown eyes shimmered with warmth as if they could shed some heat to my cold soul with a simple blink. The shy uncertainty of his expression made my stomach shift with a feeling I hadn't experienced in a while, and I didn't like it in the slightest. I wished he would stop looking at me like that.

I opened my mouth to speak again but felt as though someone had wrapped their hands around my vocal cords, preventing any and all sound from escaping my lips. Dylan tilted his beautifully crafted head, the wrinkles in his forehead contrasting the calmness of his eyes. Those stupid brown eyes so full of warmth.

And just as I finally worked up the courage to say something more, an unwanted voice filled my head, wrapping around the insecurities and doubts and guilts that have plagued me for months. Kaya's voice is shrill and loud in my ears but I'm certain I'm the only one hearing her. You need to tell him she repeats in my thoughts again and again and again a thousand times and if the repetition of the simple phrase could not drive me insane than the guilty swathe of emotions that lay tied to her words would surely be enough.

The goodbye on my lips died instantly. Before I can even process the mental shift in my brain, my lips are moving to form different words, to confess the dirty actions that contaminate me.

"Dylan," I breathed. "I need to tell you something before I go."

I need to tell him but I can't tell him. I can't watch as he shrinks away and yells and screams. I can't watch his warm eyes become cold. I need to, I have to tell him about the bet that I made in a moment where everything was different, but I can't. I can't because moments like these draw me closer to victory, and I want to win. I need to tell him, but I need to win this bet too.

There's a sharp tapping sound on the window behind me and I nearly jumped from my skin. Turning in shock, I meet the frantic gaze of my manager, Jack, mouthing for us to hurry. All I can do is stare blankly at him for a moment, too dazed by the pounding in my head to remember that I was about to miss my flight. I had to go. I had to run, fly away.

"Cracker--jack is getting worked up," I said distractedly, keeping my tone light for a try at nonchalance. "I really do need to go now."

I faced Dylan again and pulled him in for one last hug. He sighed into my chest and pulled back slowly.

"My manager warned me, you know," he whispered. "Emma. She said that the press would--would always be following me around. I thought it was bad a few months ago when hardly anyone knew me. I just--I didn't think she meant I'd have to say goodbye to my friends in the back of a car kind of bad."

"You think all those people are here for you? They're here for me, sweetcheeks," I joked. I pressed a kiss to his dimple as he lightly smiled and then added, "I'll see you in two weeks, babe."

My guilt still pulled me back into the car but still I pushed forward. My mother and sister were waiting for me at home; I had to make this flight. Once more I let my fingers curl around the door handle, and found once again that I was being pulled back towards Dylan.

"Wait, before you go, I just--okay, look," Dylan started talking quickly, as if he had been building up to this the entire time. "I just called you my friend and you didn't say anything about it! I basically called you my pal, my buddy, my amigo and I got really no reaction out of you which is cool I guess if we're friends but I mean we went on a date together and we kissed last night and neither of us have even mentioned it today so I--I really don't want to be your friend...I mean, I'll be your friend if I have to--I, fuck this is coming out wrong, I just--"

I interrupted him. "Dylan! You're rambling."

He flushed. "Right, sorry."

I glanced towards the door, released my bag from my hand, and grabbed both of his hands in mine once again. Then I said, "Look, I like being your friend. I'm comfortable being your friend."

"Oh," Dylan said after a moment of hesitation. "Oh, yeah. That's cool I--I guess."

"But," I continued like he hadn't spoken. "I'd prefer to be your boyfriend."

The words barely escaped my lips when Dylan is grabbing my face and pulling my lips towards his. I can't help the small grunt that escaped on the impact, but I'm soon pulling his body closer to mine and angling my head for better access. Our lips move amorously and firmly together, passionate and desperate for more.

He leans in close and nibbles at my bottom lip, and I can't help but let out a soft moan into the kiss. Threading my fingers through his hair, he pushes up against me harder, kissing me almost hungrily. More, more, more is all I want because each time our lips collide my nerves burst alive and no amount of this could ever be enough.

It ends all too soon though when the car door opens behind me and I'm being yanked out by my shirt. I yelp and struggle to get away, but Jack's grip on my back is too tight. His red-bearded face is now impatient as he glares down at me, so I take that as the final warning that if we don't leave now, we'll never make it.

I'm breathless and my heart is beating rapidly. Ignoring the tingling sensation in my lips, I watched as Dylan pulled himself out of the car after me. He held out my carry-on to me, breathing slowly to catch his breath as well. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown black in lust, and it takes everything within me not to simply devour him right where he stood. When he smiles at me, I can almost believe that everything is right in the world, that we were meant to be.

"What were you going to tell me before?" he asks as I shoulder my bag.

With that I'm reminded that the security his smile gave me was just a trick of the light. It was an illusion. None of this was real, it could never be real.

I press my lips together and smile as if I mean it. I pull him into a hug and vaguely note the cry of paparazzi and the beginning flashes of photography, but Dylan is really all I could focus on right now. Pulling away, I shake my head.

"Nothing," I lied. "It was nothing. I'm just glad we're official."

I wish I could say that my voice was genuine and real. I wish I could tell you that it was a believable lie that slipped past my lips like soap falls from your hands in the shower. I wish I could describe Dylan's eyes as they refilled with that beautiful warmth, my beating heart as my guilt faded away, or the careful smile we both shared soon after.

But I can't.

The only thing I can describe is the confusion that clouded Dylan's face, the way I turned my back on him as he called my name again, and the shame that choked me with fire.

I can only tell you that lies are what inevitably create messes, no matter how much you wish you were telling the truth.

__________________________________________________________________________________

London hadn't changed at all in the two years since I'd last visited. The city was intense, if nothing else. People crowded the streets in their brightly colored array of raincoats, talking on cell phones or strolling past the illuminated window displays of every nameless store. The clouds hung low overhead but the twinkling lights of street signs brightened the atmosphere. Warm smells of open bakeries danced across my nose, infected slightly by the notable gas and smoke of the idling cars nearby. The familiarity of it all hit me like a slap to the face.

I was home.

My sunglasses covered enough of my face that I wasn't being swarmed by fans, thankfully. Yes, I'm that guy that wears sunglasses at five o'clock at night on a cloudy day, but hey, you do what you have got to do. Sue me.

I stared up at the familiar flat from the sidewalk. Nothing had changed much in my time away; the flowers in the window sill were a bit overgrown, the white paint of the door had chipped just a small bit more, but the picture in front of me was still the same. It was my childhood home. The sight of it brought a grin to my face.

I took a hesitant step forward, and then before I knew it I was falling forward into a flutter of clumsy steps up our broken stairs. In the blink of an eye, my hand was on the door handle and I was pushing the door open. Bracing myself, I peered inside, feeling my chest twist again at the sight of the familiar hallway.

"Mum?" I called out. The apartment lights were dimmed, but I could hear the vague sounds of movement coming from the kitchen.

"Mum? Are you home?" I called again, louder this time. I stepped inside hesitantly, closing the door behind me.

The apartment suddenly quieted. It was a careful hush, the kind that settles over a crowd when they've just witnessed something unexpected. I placed my bag down and kicked off my shoes, but didn't move from the doormat. I felt frozen, stuck.

And then she came peeking around the corner, her eyes wide and glossed by tears. Her face was so pale I could have been staring at a ghost. Her red hair was tied back in a tight bun, her hands shook gently. For a moment, all we could do was stand and stare at each other.

Shakily, she finally spoke. "My baby..."

We both seemed to burst alive at that moment, rushing forward. She wrapped her frail arms around my waist, sobbing quietly. I too felt the rising tears prick at the corners of my eyes but I pushed them away. I bit my lip, hugging her closer.

"You didn't--" my mother started after a few silent minutes. She hiccuped, then continued. "You didn't tell me you were coming home!"

She lightly hit my chest, but the smile on her face didn't look angry. Her tears continued to fall as she ushered me further inside. "Why--how--what are you--?" my mother stumbled as she pushed me into a chair around the kitchen table.

I let her fuss around me for a few moments, relishing in the memories that danced through the walls of this house. My mother was sniffling as she wiped at her nose and she kept coming over to kiss my forehead. She didn't seem capable of finishing a question, so eventually, I decided to ask my own.

"Are you painting again?" I asked, looking pointedly at the newspapers scattered across the table in front of me beneath a half-decorated flower pot. It was a stupid question really, considering anyone with eyes could see the haphazard paint brushes dripping with wet paint. Still, I felt like I had to ask.

My mother hadn't painted in years. When my dad left when I was seven, she simply hadn't had the time nor the energy needed for any creativity. She dedicated herself to raising me and my subsequent sister, whom she had been pregnant with at the time. I thought she had completely given up, but I guess not. Apparently things change.

"I am," my mum was able to say as she sat down. I glanced up, starting to notice for the first time the happy lines crinkling around her eyes. I hadn't seen those happy lines in years.

I couldn't speak for a moment. Studying the intricate designs my mother had been executing on the pot, I let my mind wrap around the surprising news. It wasn't just that my mum was painting again. It was that she was her again. Clearly, in the two years that I had basically ceased speaking to my family, life had changed here in London. My mother had found time for herself again. My sister--I don't even know what I've missed in Ava's life. We barely speak.

My stomach curled. I missed them. I hadn't missed anyone in all of the time I had been living in L.A., and now suddenly I was longing for my family again.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "I should've called more. And visited more. We've barely spoken at all over the past few months and it's completely my fault and I'm sorry, I--"

"Tom, sweetheart," my mother interrupted with a crinkled brow. "Don't apologize. You've said you were busy."

"I know, but I could have made time. I never made time for you guys and now I've gone a missed so much and--"

"Thomas!"

My mum stood from her chair and rested against the counter closest to me. "None of that matters," she continued, "You're here now. You've made time for us now. Which reminds me, what exactly made you fly across the world in the middle of producing your next movie?"

"I don't..." I paused. Now that I thought about it, I really didn't have an answer. I hadn't made time for my family for two years and now suddenly I was showing up on their doorstep?

"Things are just different now," I said instead with a smile."I'm different now."

My mother's eyes softened. "I can see you've changed. But I don't understand--"

She gasped, slapping her hand to her forehead. "There's a boy, isn't there?"

I balked, completely thrown off. "How did you--what are--?"

"That boy taking care of you when you were sick! And from the airport!" my mother gasped again. Her face lit with a childish excitement. "He's the one, isn't he?"

I froze. "Dylan? How--what do you mean the boy from the airport?"

"There's pictures of you two hugging at the airport; it's all over the Twatter!"

I stared at her blankly for a second. "Twitter. You mean Twitter."

"Oh, same thing," my mother shrugged indifferently.

"Nope, uh--a twat usually refers to a woman's genitals so--I really don't think it's the same," I muttered.

My mum waved me off without thought. "This Dylan boy is good for you. He--he gave me my little boy back, didn't he?"

My smile seemed to fade away. Dylan hadn't been part of my decision to come home, but maybe he indirectly had been. I'd never missed my family before while living in L.A., and then miraculously, as soon as I met Dylan and the rest of the cast at The Maze Runner, I was racing home.

I didn't know why, but I knew I had certainly changed.

"Oh, shoot!" My mother said, bouncing away from the counter. "I'm late for picking up Ava from basketball practice!"

Ava plays basketball? I shook my head, not at all surprised that I had missed another part of my family's life. "Can I come with you?"

My mother glanced up at me as she hurried around, looking for her keys. "Of course. Can you look for my keys under all the newspapers?"

I nodded. Scooping up the piles of newspapers, I scanned the table to find it empty.

"Ah, here they are! You can just throw all those in the bin," my mother called from down the hallway.

Hearing the urgency in her voice, I threw the pile of newspapers haphazardly into the garbage bin. In my haste, a single newspaper slipped from my grasp, floating to the ground like a feather on the wind. Rushing forward to pick it up, I half noted that it was the town obituaries from nearly nine months ago. Just as I turned to throw it away too, I froze.

No.

My heart stopped beating, cold washing me numb. I stared at the familiar name on the bottom of the page, hardly believing it, not wanting to believe it. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I gasped as if I had been punched in the gut.

In dark black lettering, I read:

Elijiah Burton
passed away Saturday morning after a two year battle with lung cancer.The Burton family welcomes everyone to the service being held on Sunday the 24th, in the Seaton Funeral Home.

And that was all. Two short sentences that flipped my entire world upside down, that felt like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the stomach. I gaped, blinking back my tears.

"Thomas, are you coming?" my mum called from the hallway. I barely even processed the ringing of her voice.

I couldn't move. I could hardly breathe. I didn't even know she was sick; this was a joke, right? I felt pressure building up in my chest, pain that could never be washed away by any medicine or treatment. My hands started to shake and I reread the two sentences until I had memorized them, burned them into my brain. She only got two sentences? She deserved more words than any language even has!

"Thomas, what are you--"

"You didn't tell me," I whispered. I finally looked up, a single tear tracing a slow path down my cheek.

My mother froze in the doorway, looking dreadfully confused. Her lips opened and closed, searching my silence for a clue, a hint, a reason. She met my watery gaze and shook her head.

"Thomas?" she questioned carefully, looking at me like I was a wounded animal she didn't want to scare away. "What...?"

She trailed off when her eyes fell to the shaking paper in my hands. One second, two, and then her face changed completely. Her eyes filled with tears and her lips thinned into a straight line. I swallowed roughly, horror filling me to the brim.

"Oh, Thomas," she whispered, quietly, oh so quietly into our silent kitchen.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I all but breathed. It was all I could do to keep standing, to hold myself up, to keep from crumbling away.

My mum shook her head. "I didn't think you even remembered her."

I bit my lip, looking to the ceiling as if that could stop the hot tears from falling. I didn't notice as the paper slipped from my grasp. I didn't see my mother approach, didn't feel her arms wrap around my thin body in a tight embrace. I didn't feel anything. She's dead she's dead she's dead she's--the words echoed around my mind and that was all I could feel and hear and no it can't be true this is Elijah she couldn't be dead. Elijah.

I gasped as my tears fell more heavily. Though I was taller than my mum I suddenly felt like a small child again. I leaned my head down into the crook of her neck, too numb to even apologize for getting her shirt wet.

"Of course I care about her," I muttered. The words felt like poison on my tongue, treacherous, evil, wrong. "She was my best friend. I never stopped--"

And then a powerful sob ripped through my chest. I pushed my face into my mother's neck, clinging to her painfully hard. I shook like my entire world was turning upside-down and my mother's arms were the only thing keeping me together. I couldn't stop, I couldn't prevent myself from falling to pieces in her arms.

Then, though I was still shaking and my tears nearly choked me, I whispered, "I never stopped loving her."

//

A/N

Aight I've gotta apologize. I literally disappeared for over two months with nothing more than a shitty excuse to boot. Im so so so sorry, and I hope y'all can forgive me. More, I haven't written nearly anything in that time period, so my writing skills are kinda rusty and crusty right now...so sorry for the bad chapter as well.

But hey, you learned a little about elijah, so yay for plot development

um, for future reference, can we take a vote? who wants smut in this story?

ALSO GUYS ITS SNOWING BY ME TIS' THE SEASON

What do you call a fly without wings?

A walk ;))

Happy almost-thanksgiving to everyone, even though that's really just an american holiday. Im gonna be cliche and say I'm thankful for all of you :)

stay beautiful

until next time,

//sam\\