34 days remaining

Dylan's pov

"You invited who to our what?" My mother's voice pierced through our small kitchen, echoing loudly on the polished appliances. She fixed me with a wild stare, daring me to repeat myself.

I grimaced despite myself. Forcing an innocent smile onto my face, I slumped back into the kitchen chair, trying not to meet her gaze. Her anger seemed to flare throughout the entire room, brief waves of rage coursing through the air. I almost didn't want to tempt fate by repeating myself. After all, her first reaction was clue enough to how a second backlash might play out.

"I said," hesitating only slightly, "I invited Thomas Sangster to stay for a couple days."

Just as I expected, my mother's face reddened, her eyes flashing in unmistakable fury. She dropped the wooden spoon in her hand and clenched the linoleum countertop, a habit she had adopted when I was a troublesome kid. I resisted the urge to shrink away from her.  

"You..." my mother started, her voice surprisingly level. I grimaced again, trying to look as harmless as possible. For a few seconds, she didn't say anything. She just stared at me, eyes wild, nostrils flared, cheeks flushed.

I tried pulling a cute, adorable smile. You know, something that might ease her anger, that could reassure her that I'm just a simple, virtuous child, who made a small error in judgement.

Unfortunately, my plan backfired.

As my lips quirked up, my mom seemed to shock herself back into reality. Her arms rose up in sync with my grin (which quickly fell) and her voice, loud and full, began echoing throughout the house again. To someone standing outside, her sudden shouts could have easily been mistaken for a small explosion.

"Dylan O'Brien!" my mother began, her voice cracking and pulsing with an electric current. "You invited a celebrity to our household without asking your father and I first?! What were you thinking?"

My mother didn't wait for a reply though, quickly continuing in her thoughtless rampage. I knew from years of experience that it would be worse for me to interrupt her while she yelled, so I stayed silent. Glancing over at Tyler, who sat across from me at my table, I inconspicuously shrugged.

Looking back, I had acted rather rash when I had asked Thomas to come. It was completely uncharacteristic of me. I was generally a pretty thought out, type A kind of guy. Unlike Thomas, everything I did was done deliberately. I thought, I calculated, I acted accordingly. That was who I was, and who I thought I'd always be.

I still wasn't quite sure why I had asked him so abruptly. It was so effortless; the words were spilling past my tongue before I even processed what was happening. It wasn't something I would usually do, and I couldn't deny that. So what had I been thinking?

The truth was that I hadn't thought at all. My mind had blanked; suddenly I was blurting words and thoughts that should have been left unspoken, and the only explanation I could possibly offer was that Thomas usually had that effect. It was so unfair. He would just grab my hand or stroke my hair and then I was putty in his hands, becoming basically a mindless slave.

Thomas made me stop thinking, stop calculating, stop acting. He just made me live.

Perhaps that was a bad thing, but it sure didn't feel like it. Despite the fact that my mom was still bellowing in my ears, a small smile crept onto my face.

Maybe Thomas made me reckless, but he also made life more fun.

"You weren't thinking, were you?" I heard my mom continue to shout. "This was so foolish, irresponsible, a ridiculous idea--"

I rested my head on the table. I was familiar with the scolding that came next. Half listening to her spew out adjectives about how I had been so stupid, I glanced over at Tyler again.

He was slyly grinning, as usual, with the same familiar twinkle in his eyes that always gave the impression that he was planning something. Though annoyingly charming and funny, Tyler's rebellious side had gotten him into trouble numerous times before. Adults loved him--my own parents included--but that didn't stop the stern scolding he always received after he got caught pulling some type of trick. He had been in this exact position, with my mom ranting and raving at us, with me too many times to count.

Tyler's lip quirked and he mouthed the words you brought out mamma bear. I rolled my eyes, turning back to where my angry mother was now pacing.

"--And how on earth do you suppose we will have the house clean enough to be suitable for company--"

Though knowing I was playing with an already fraying wire, I couldn't help but interrupt. "Tyler sees our house all the time when it's not clean, and he doesn't seem to mind."

My mother froze, looking unhinged. "Yes, Dylan, but he's Tyler, not a celebrity."

Tyler glanced over at me with his eyebrows wrinkled together. "Should I be offended?"

I ignored him, replying instead, "Mom, Thomas is a friend of mine! We don't need to treat him like the queen is coming to town."

My mom came forward, raising a pointed finger. "You're missing the point, Dylan O'Brien! You cannot just invite someone we've never met to our house without our consent. And where is he to sleep? And when? For how long?"

I bit my lip, trying to bite back a smile. I knew the worst of her anger was over as she threw her questions at me, but I didn't want to reignite her rampage again.

"I'm to call him today and plan it all out," I explained carefully. "He only got home a few hours ago."

My mother sighed, visibly deflating. I hesitated, watching her like she was a deer I didn't want to scare away. She met my gaze and when her eyes softened after a few moments, I almost couldn't stop the squeal of victory that burst in my chest.

Turning from me, my mother bent to pick up the spoon she had dropped. The silence following her angry rant seemed uncanny, and across from me Tyler squirmed. Still, neither of us said anything, knowing how critical this moment would be.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," my mother confessed as she haphazardly tossed the spoon in the sink. "Actually, I think it's a complete bullshit idea."

Tyler snorted, unfazed by my mother's profanity. I raised an eyebrow.

"He'll be an absolute angel, Ma," I persuaded. "It'll be like he's not even here."

"He's Thomas Sangster, Dylan! He's one of the biggest actors in Hollywood. Why would he want to spend time in the middle of nowhere--New Jersey?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but quickly stopped myself. Tyler coughed awkwardly and when I met his eyes, they were shining in laughter. Trying to keep my face neutral, I remembered that I might have forgotten to mention to my mom that Thomas and I were dating. Perhaps it'd be better to leave that little detail out now.

I sighed. "Can he please just come, Mom? Just for a week. You'll love him, I promise."

Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, my mother bit her lip. The wrinkles on her forehead became more pronounced as she squinted, thinking hard. I could practically see the gears in her head turning as she leaned against the counter, never once looking away from me. I tried for a weak smile, but it only came out as a pathetic grimace. My heart spiked--what if she actually said no?

Finally, after feeling like an eternity had passed, my mom let out a breath of air. "I suppose he could come for a brief visit," she muttered, the words so sluggish she must have had to force them out.

My eyes widened and my heart soared. Shooting to my feet, I pumped a fist into the air. I stepped forward to pull my mother into a hug, rocking back in forth in my excitement.

"But," my mother bit out, and I immediately froze. "I want every last detail of his presence. I want his arrival time, what he eats, where he sleeps, his weird habits, his--"

"You're beginning to sound like a stalker, Mrs. O'Brien," Tyler interrupted.

"Oh, hush. I want every last detail, Dylan. And no more inviting celebrities to our house without asking first."

I grinned, unable to keep a straight face anymore. "Of course, Mom. He'll be the perfect visitor."

My mom sighed, pulling away from me where I still gripped her shoulders. She shook her head, fighting a smile to remain looking grumpy. Everything was perfect. My mom was happy, I was happy, Thomas was coming soon--

And then Tyler had to shoot my perfection into a million pieces.

Laughter bubbling in his throat, he innocently asked my mother, "Is now a bad time to tell you that Thomas and Dylan are dating?"

Just like that, my mother exploded again.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

As the skype call rang in my quiet room a few hours later, I took a deep breath. I felt oddly nervous, for some reason. My heart beat swiftly, my stomach kept feeling like it was dropping to my toes. It's just Thomas, I reassured myself. Stop acting like a hormonal girl.

Ah, replied an evil voice at the back of my mind, but this is your first conversation since you started officially dating. If you mess this up, maybe he'll realize that he doesn't actually want to date you--

I pushed myself away from my desk and stood. Glancing at my still unpacked bags--I had only gotten home that morning--I began pacing back and forth. I gnawed at my lip, casting fleeting looks at the call screen of my laptop. I felt as if my entire world zoned in on the illuminated screen, an object of both excitement and dread. Any moment he would pick up, and I would see him again.

I shook my head, groaning aloud. Running my fingers through my hair, I pulled lightly, trying to find some sanity in my crazed mind. It's just Thomas.

"You alright there, mate?" the object of my thoughts suddenly drawled in his perfect accent.

I jumped--like actually jumped. Missing the way the call had stopped ringing, Thomas's voice had surprised me, jolting me from the maze of my mind. I jumped so high my feet left the ground and then--

And then my lack of coordination and horrible balance brought me crashing to the ground, sprawled horrendously across the beige carpet.

"Fuck," I cursed immediately. My arm had landed beneath me, taking the brunt of the fall. I pushed myself to my knees, closely examining my forearm, frowning at what would almost certainly become a bruise. "Dammit."

It wasn't until I heard a concerned, "Dylan?" that I realized my fall had been in complete view of the camera. I immediately flushed bright red, warmth spreading from my cheeks to the back of my neck. Climbing to my knees, I met Thomas's curious gaze on the laptop. He smiled slightly when he saw me.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I cradled my arm to my chest, blushing deeper still.

For a second, I wondered why he wasn't laughing at me. He always laughed when I fell--history could prove that. Instead, he held me in a careful silence, seizing me up from the small screen.

The thought vanished from my mind, however, as I muttered, "I don't know why I always fall around you."

Thomas smirked, which did nothing to lighten the color of my cheeks. "You know there's this crazy thing called gravity--"

I glared at him and he immediately shut up. This again struck me as odd; my glares had never worked on him before.

Recovering quickly, I said, "Be mean to me all you want. Trips and falls may break my bones, but your words will never hurt me."

Thomas rolled his eyes and fought a smile. I finally climbed all the way to me feet, sitting in the desk chair propped in front of my laptop. He didn't say anything as I moved and this raised another red flag in my mind; he usually would never miss an opportunity to poke endlessly at me. Maybe he was just tired. He had been flying all day, after all.

"Ow," I complained again as I looked back down at my arm. "My arm hurts."

I glanced up at Thomas, scanning his face. He certainly did look tired. His eyes were drooping, his cheeks puffy. I couldn't help but notice that he looked flushed, dull, pale--but tiredness did that to a person right? He had been fine before he had left, nothing could have happened to upset him, right?

I should've just asked, but I didn't want to seem too overbearing. Instead, I groaned and said, "It really hurts."

"Oh relax," Thomas said. "It's not like you lost an arm."

I glared at him. "Tom, my bone is throbbing."

When Thomas smirked again, his eyes lit, his face conveyed only mischief and evil and childish excitement. It was the exact smirk he usually wore, and I was almost certain nothing could be wrong. Not if he was capable of still smirking like that.

"What a coincidence," he said slyly, "you make my boner throb too."

My eyes widened and I reeled back. Almost subconsciously, I glanced towards my door, checking to make sure it was closed. He had said that much too loud for my liking.

"I don't like what you're insinuating, mister," I all but squeaked. My cheeks, which had only just returned to their normal color, reddened again.

"You want me to be more forward?" He asked. Before I could object, he continued, "You're so hot that it gives me erections."

I couldn't help but laugh, but his declaration did nothing to lessen my blushing. "You're so charming."

To my relief, Thomas smiled brightly. He didn't look tired anymore. "And everyone says chivalry is dead," he said with a wave of his hand.

I shook my head with a smile. Leaning forward, I rested my head on my hands. Again, I found myself studying him.

I had always known Thomas to be the highlight of every room. Though I had originally hated this fact, it now had become so normal that I just came to expect it. It wasn't entirely his fault; his title in Hollywood always turned heads, no matter where he was. But now I knew him as a highlight not because of his fame, but because he was always the brightest person in the room. He was the most full of life, the most courageous, the most outspoken of anyone I had ever met, making those around him pale in comparison. More often than not he seemed larger than life, a personality that commanded respect. He was, quite literally, born for the spotlight.

But as I watched him now, he didn't seem like that person. I couldn't quite explain it. He didn't do anything different from what he usually would. In fact, he just sat there normally, looking, breathing, living.

Yet I could still see something off. The longer I looked, the more I noticed that he just didn't stand out like he usually would. He seemed...dimmed. It was like someone had come and taken out some of the color of his world, leaving only a faded reflection of what used to be. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find the happy, lively Thomas that I knew so well. He looked faded, empty perhaps? It wasn't the look of someone tired, and I was now certain of that.

It was the look of someone breaking.

"Are you okay?" I asked as soon as the realization hit me. My heart jumped and tumbled over, feeling lost. For the months I had known him, Thomas had never shown even a suggestion that anything could make him upset.

Thomas's brow quirked. "Of course I am," he said, seemingly confused. The lie was convincing enough to seem true, had I not worked with him as he acted every day.

"You can talk to me if you need," I said instantly, though I immediately regretted it. I didn't blush though, despite feeling like I could die of embarrassment. I sounded so clingy that it actually pained me.

Thomas however only smiled, so soft and sincere that I couldn't help but relax. He opened his mouth but hesitated. I tilted my head, wondering what he could be thinking.

"I know I can," he finally bit out, his silence stretching out for just a beat too long. I nodded, but didn't push him. There was no point in pressing him if he didn't want to answer, after all.

There was just a brief moment where he paused though, looking at me with something that I couldn't identify. He sat so still I almost believed the screen had frozen. I waited for him to say something, but with a shake of his head so small I almost thought I imagined it, he stayed silent.

I turned the conversation instead to his upcoming visit. We talked for nearly two hours, bickering, laughing, smiling, living. I drilled him on every possible fact my mother might want to know, and after I was done, he interrogated me. It was like we were getting to know each other all over again, and my heart swelled at the prospect. Each time he answered a question and I answered my heart grew bigger, as if taking in a part of him too. We were on opposite sides of the world, but I had never felt closer to him.

"Okay, okay," I finally said through my laughter, much later. I couldn't ignore his yawns for much longer. "I'll be picking you up at the airport next Tuesday, right?"

Thomas, sensing that this meant I was beginning to say goodbye, sat up a little straighter on his bed. "I'd be honored if you would."

"You might have to beg a little," I replied. No matter how hard I tried, I didn't want to say goodbye just yet.

Thomas rolled his eyes, then morphed his face into a sickeningly sweet expression, folding his fingers together. "Oh my sweet, dear, Dilly-Dally--"

"Stop!" I interrupted at the nickname and he laughed. "I'll do it, just don't ever call me that again."

Thomas grinned. "Anything for you, Dyl-Pill."

"You're a pain in my ass," I growled.

"Aw, I'm sorry. How about Dylan O'Dyin' for that di--"

"I hate you," I cut him off. I laughed though, defeating the point of my words.

Thomas shifted and the camera blurred for a second. When it cleared, his face came into focus with breathtaking clarity, and I bit my lip. I definitely noticed when his eyes fell to follow the motion.

"Now, now," he started, softer than before, "there's no need for those three words."

I rolled my lip between my teeth (on purpose of course) and Thomas's eyes flashed. I said in the same tone as he did, "How about these three words then: fuck you, Thomas."

Thomas didn't smile at my joke, and said almost under his breath like he hadn't even heard me speak, "I want to kiss you so bad right now."

I sputtered, but quickly regained my cool. I can be chill, you know.

"Geographically speaking, that's kind of impossible right now."

Okay, maybe I need to work on my cool a bit.

No kidding dimwit, came that evil voice from before.

Thomas however, only gave a lopsided smile when he heard me speak. Yawning once more, his eyes finally met my own again, and he said quietly, "Goodnight babe."

"Now that's a nickname I can appreciate," I joked.

Thomas yawned again. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. Rubbing at his eyes, he added, "I'll text you tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting," I smiled. He waved to me, offered another goodbye, and then we clicked the video off.

My room seemed unnervingly still now that Thomas's voice no longer filled it. I stared at the ended call on my laptop, then shut it down. Crawling back to my bed, the smile on my face never faded.

Turning off my lamp, darkness encompassed me completely. I rolled over, saturating in the peace and quiet, before I whispered three words into the empty space.

He's my forever.

The words had never felt more true, and I could almost see them as they settled in the air around me, spelling out my heart in the darkness of my room.

I could fall in love with him.

___________________________________________________________________________________

What I didn't know was that Thomas, despite feeling achingly exhausted, did not fall asleep that night.

What I didn't know was that his head spun with loss and pain, pain he couldn't share with me.

What I didn't know was that Thomas, laying on his bed 3,504 miles away, looked up at his bedroom ceiling and whispered three words too.

I'm so screwed.

//

A/N

Happy New Years y'all!

I'm publishing this differently than usual so sorry if the format was weird. My b

Ive been listening to troye sivan for the past three hours as I wrote this I AM ALIVE

also ive made Dylan trip and fall at least three times in this story already I'm sorry I keep doing it but I just find people falling so funny

I gave this joke to my friend for Christmas but its funny so imma share:

a blind man walked into a bar. And a table. And a chair.

I love you all, oh and how were your holidays? I hope all your holiday dreams came true

Looking forward to a new year, new me

until next time,

//sam\\