Dylan's pov

//

I was empty of emotion as my plane came in for a fast landing, the ground coming closer at an alarming pace. I bit my lip, watching water droplets race from one end of the window to the other, bracing myself for landing.

When the wheels of the plane finally collided with the runway, my scattered emotions came spiraling up, as if the rough landing awoke them inside of me. Relief, excitement, nerves--hundreds of emotions flashed through me, and my heart pounded loudly.

When the plane finally rolled to a stop, I slipped on my Mets cap and got to my feet, Emma following suit. We grabbed our carry-ons, and stepped into the aisle sluggishly, as per the flight attendant's instructions. I shot a polite smile at her as I exited the plane, and I noticed a light pink blush dust her cheeks.

The long exit-hallway was quiet, few murmurs in the air. Though it was nearing noon here in Louisiana, the occupants of the plane were weighted with tiredness, myself and Emma included. I never liked sleeping on planes, and though the flight from New Jersey wasn't too bad, jet lag still took a toll on my body.

As we neared the exit, loud voices and angry shouting breached the silence of the chamber. Emma stepped out before myself, blocking my view of most of the airport. My eyes blinked at the brightness surrounding her blonde head, and I followed closely behind her, my eyes squinted shut.

The first thing I noticed about the airport was that the "natural" light I had thought I'd seen, was anything but.

In fact, it wasn't solid light at all, but flashes of cameras illuminating my view.

"There he is!" Someone shouted in front of me, and heads turned in my direction. I looked behind me, only meeting the confused looks of other passengers. Foot steps thundered in the airport, and suddenly Emma and I were surrounded, before I even had time to blink.

Voices laced over other voices, and I vaguely made out my name and parts of questions.

Holy shit.

This was all for me.

My eyes were wide, like an innocent child. The group closed in on all sides and I looked around wildly. What was this?

Emma's soft hand gripped my arm, instantly calming my racing heart, though I was still overwhelmed. She started pushing people out of our way, and I think I heard shouts of airport security behind us, trying to organize the crowd.

"Dylan! Over here! Here!" I heard over and over again, and my head spun wildly around. I was so lost, so overwhelmed, and without Emma's warm hand pulling me forward, I had no doubt I'd be eaten by the crowd around us.

We kept going, and a security guard had appeared in front of us, helping to make a path. We half walked, half jogged through the airport, until we stood outside in the pouring rain. Emma pulled us to a waiting taxi, shoving me in (of course I face planted) and giving a grand wave before following me in. The door slammed shut, and the taxi suddenly felt too quite in contrast to the noise outside.

"Emma, our luggage--" I started, eyes still wide.

"I'll call and have them send it to our hotel. I didn't realize there'd be so many..." she trailed, basically talking to herself. I stayed silent, slightly scared, slightly agitated she hadn't warned me.

"What happened back there?" I questioned as the cab pulled out of the airport into traffic.

The rain drummed incessantly on the roof of the car, and Emma's breathing was shallow, her eyes concentrated. Her backpack was laying at her feet, and her fingers tapped on her thighs.

"Were they there for me?" I edged on. I felt egotistical to assume such things, but unless they were there for Emma, I didn't see any other options.

Emma nodded distractedly, proving my thoughts correct. She looked at me, sighing, before saying, "I'm sorry Dylan. I didn't think the press would even recignize you, let alone know when and where your flight was due to land."

My eyes softened, and I shot her a reassuring smile. "It's okay. As long as it's not always like this..." I joked.

Emma didn't laugh, instead pursing her lips. "Oh, it won't be." Then she turned away from me, muttering under her breath like she didn't want me to hear, "It will be much, much worse."

*********************

Luckily, the paparazzi didn't show up at our hotel.

Unluckily, neither did anyone else.

"What do you mean we're a day early?" I asked Emma, watching her type frantically into her phone.

We stood alone outside the rundown hotel, where very few cars were parked outside. The April rain ran down my spine, though I was more focued on the fact that Emma screwed up the dates of arrival.

"How do you screw this up? You're my manager! You're supposed to always be right!" I ranted. Emma ignored me, muttering under her breath angrily.

I groaned, sitting down on the sidewalk.

"Hello, yes...yes, this is Emma Fitz, manager to Dylan O'Brien?" I heard Emma say, obviously talking into the phone. "You see, we're in a bit of a predicament..." Her voice trailed off as she walked away, and I was left sitting on the sidewalk alone.

I pulled out my phone, wiping away water droplets as they gathered. I hit the lock button, and my screen brightened, revealing a dim picture of Tyler and I dressed up in princess costumes for Halloween.

A wave of homesickness washed over me, and I yearned for nothing more than to be with my family again. So far, I wasn't too thrilled with this whole "famous" thing. First, I was wrenched from my family. Then, I was swarmed by press. What could possibly come next?

I just wanted to be home, with my family, and with my best friends. I just wanted to be sipping a beer on the couch, watching the Mets game. Was I really ready to abandon my laid-back, carefree life for a career that always kept you on your toes?

I wasn't sure I was.

Emma returned, breaking me from my depressing thoughts. I looked up at her, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

She shook her head no, avoiding my gaze.

I stood up quickly, storming towards the front door of the hotel. I may have let fame take me from my family, my friends, my old life, but I refused to let it take away my dignity as well. There was no way in hell I was going to sit outside in the drizzling rain looking like a hobo a moment longer, not when a perfectly good hotel was 30 yards away.

"Dylan!" Emma shouted behind me, her feet scurrying to catch up as I barged into the hotel door.

"Dylan!" Emma called again, this time closer. We now stood in the hotel lobby. I barely processed that the inside of the hotel was nothing like the outside, rather fancy in comparison, when Emma pulled me back, spinning me around. She put her hands on my face, smooshing my cheeks together, something she often did when I was being rash and needed to calm down."I don't know what you are planning to do, but I guarantee it's stupid. Let me handle this."

Her hands let go of my face, returning to her sides. She glanced over my shoulder to the front desk, then stepped around me, careful steps carrying her to the balding man perched behind a laptop. He looked up when he saw her but gave no sign of greeting.

"Um, hello, sir," Emma waved awkwardly. He barely acknowledged her presense, giving a soft grunt in response. Emma bit her lip, unsure how to continue. "So," she finally said, choosing her words with great care. "You see, my...friend and I have reservations for this hotel."

"Name?" The man gruffed.

Emma gave a forced, fake chuckle. "Um, here's the thing. I sort of confused the date, and it turns out we're a day earlier than everyone else."

"No reservation, no stay," the worker replied stiffy, like he was used to repeating the mantra.

"Oh, come on! How much business could you possibly have in Baton Rouge that you don't have one room available?" Emma argued.

The man looked up from his laptop for the first time, narrowed eyes glaring at Emma. "It's our company policy. If you have an issue, ask the manager for a room."

"Well, who's the manager?" Emma ground back.

The man shrugged. "I am."

Emma took a deep breath, clearly loosing patience. "Then can I have a room?"

"No."

Emma groaned exasperatedly, spinning away from the desk and running her fingers through her hair. She thought for a second, then turned back to the worker, her hand outstretched to point at me. "Look, I didn't want to pull this card, but do you know who he is?"

The worker ceased his typing, taking a moment to look at me. His eyes scanned my face, but no recognition sparked on his face.

"That's Dylan O'Brien. Famous actor? Do you live under a rock? He's been in everything!" Emma emphasized her words, and I realized what she was doing: make me sound like a bigger deal than I actually am and maybe we will get some special treatment.

Without even hesitating, I rushed towards her. "Emma, shh!! Stop shouting my name, I don't want anyone to know I'm here!"

The worker still looked hesitant. "Oh yeah, what've ya been in, kid?"

I hesitated. Should I lie?

Emma broke in before I could reply. "Oh my god, this is actually insulting. Dylan, maybe we should go somewhere else."

I frowned, using my best acting skills. "Cut the guy a break, Emma. I'm sure he's seen something," I turned back to him. "You ever seen Mission Impossible?" It wasn't technically a lie, since I asked if he had seen it, not whether of not he had seen me in it.

The man's eyes widened. "I knew I recognized you! I'm so sorry, Mr. O'brien, Im sure we can spare a room for one night."

I struggled to keep a straight face as I nodded. Emma was hiding her smile with her hand as the man found us a room and handed us a key. "Whom should I charge?"

I reached for my wallet, but came up empty."Shit," I cursed under my breath. "I left my wallet in my suitcase."

"Oh, don't worry! You can pay at a later time!" The manager said, giving me a smile. I nodded back at him, then took the key he held in his palm. Emma and I turned towards the elevators, mischievous grins breaking out across our faces in unison. "Wait, Mr. O'Brien!"

I looked back at the worker, turning my face into an unreadable mask again.

He looked suddenly unsure of himself as he spoke, "My daughter is a big fan, could I get an autograph?"

I almost laughed at the lie, considering I had never been in any project large enough for me to have a fanbase. Instead, I nodded, taking the pen he offered and giving an awkward signature. The image burned into my brain, and I almost laughed again; my first ever autograph was for a movie I never even acted in.

When I was done, Emma and I headed towards the elevator. I kept my face neutral, like this kind of thing happened all the time, until the elevator doors shut in my face.

We were quiet as Emma pushed the up button, until she finally, said, "Seriously? Mission Impossible was the best you could come up with?"

Our laughter echoed in the elevator as we slowly rose up.

************************

"Kaya," I muttered under my breath. I was currently trying to match the headshots of my castmates to names. I was doing fairly well, but I wanted to make sure I had everyone down solid. How embarrassing would it be if I showed up to my first movie not knowing anyone?

Truthfully, I was scared out of my wits. Tomorrow I'd meet the rest of the cast. Tomorrow I'd start my career, and I'd either soar or sink. Tomorrow I'd become a different person. Just those thoughts alone made the situation feel much more real, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. I looked to the bedside table, where my script rested open. My eyes flitted over the scene slowly, though I didn't process anything, instead lost in my thoughts.

"Kaya Scodelario?" Emma questioned above me. I jumped, not hearing her approach.

"Um, yeah," I muttered. "I'm trying to remember everyone's names for tomorrow."

She nodded, flipping to the next picture in my stack. Instantly, her face flashed to one of disgust. "Stay away from that one," she ordered.

My eyes fell down to the headshot. It was a young blond man, a smirk etched into a chiseled chin. He was undeniably attractive, though he looked like a Hollywood Barbie Doll, too perfectly constructed to be real. He seemed familiar, and after a moment of staring I realized who he was--Tyler and I had seen him in a video online.

"Thomas Sangster?" I asked Emma, eyebrow arched. He seemed like a dick in the coffee shop video, and I had taken a disliking to him already, but what could he have done to Emma that made her look at him in such disgust?

She answered my silent question. "He fucked my friend over. Totally made her fall for him then broke it off a week after she said she loved him. I don't care if he realized he was gay or whatever; he's an asshole."

I nodded, quickly taking note. I still felt unsettled though, so I set my papers aside, deciding to call it a night.

Tomorrow should be interesting.

//

Holy shit, I have a lot to say.

Okay, so this chapter didn't go as I originally planned, but I decided to try and show Dylan being orientated into the Hollywood thing. Next chapter will FINALLY be the Dylmas interaction, I pinky promise ugh im a mess.

Next, I STILL HAVEN'T SEEN SCORCH TRIALS IM CRY

Also, important: I've changed the time in this fic to april so that it aligns better with real life. At first I had january, but now its A-P-R-I-L.

One last businessy note, for anyone confused about the flights for Thomas and Dylan: Dylan left NJ at 7 AM on idk like april 23rdish, so he landed in Baton Rouge at around 11 AM (bc timezones and shit). Thomas left at 1 am april 24ish from California, and landed in Baton Rouge around 1 am april 24ish. ((Timezones suck))

Uhhh I think that's it? Idk Im planning to start the next chapter tonight but I have a swim meet tmw so idk how far Ill actually get

Peace and pout, girlscout

//sam\\