Thomas's pov

I've never ever, ever, experienced a more painful walk then the stroll to the actor's trailer Dylan and I would be sharing.

Not only was my leg throbbing (Dylan had taken it upon himself to blame me for our predicament, which inevitably ended with him kicking me in the shin), but I was forced to endure nearly five minutes of his ridiculous complaints as we walked (I can't believe I got stuck with you, how much further, I'm going to talk to Wes, do you even brush your hair because it is a mess in the back).

By the time we reached the small trailer, I was about ready to throttle him.

I didn't even bother waiting for him as I unlocked the door. I pushed the handle, only to find it stuck. I jiggled the handle again, harder this time, but the door refused to budge. Leaning against it, I put my full body weight into pushing the door open, and still, nothing happened. I stepped back with a sigh.

"You gonna open the door, or...?" Dylan teased behind me. I rolled my eyes.

"Trying," I grunted. I heard Dylan tsk behind me, shifting on his feet.

Frustration was starting to grow within me, and in one last attempt, I leaned back, then threw my shoulder into the door again.

A deafening crash breached my ears as the door relented under my weight, opening wide and swinging into the wall inside the trailer. I couldn't catch myself, and before I even registered what happened, I had a face full of carpet. I groaned.

An unfamiliar laugh shattered my discomfort, reminding me of the person who had accompanied me here. I twisted my back to face him, but he wasn't even looking at me anymore. Instead, his head was tilted back, his eyes squinted closed. He was holding the collar of his t-shirt, (still wearing those disgusting clothes from before) and he laughed so carefree, so joyously, like a child experiencing the thrill of a slide for the first time. I found myself captivated by the crinkle of his nose, the faint dimples around his mouth (were those always there?), the peaceful sound that erupted from his lips.

And then I realized what the bloody Hell I was thinking, and I turned back around so quickly, my back cracked.

Dylan had subsided into only occasional bouts of chuckles as he stepped into the trailer, taking care to avoid stepping on my body. I refused to move, taking up a majority of the small floor and not leaving much room for Dylan to stand.

"Comfortable?" Dylan asked, his tone smug.

I flipped onto my back with a moan, glancing up at his figure towering over me. "If I recall correctly, you had a similar entrance when walking into our meeting this morning."

Much to my displeasure, Dylan's smile stayed annoyingly bright as he leaned down closer to me. "Yes, but I made it look cute."

I snorted. Starting to get to my feet, Dylan moved around me, hollering over his shoulder, "Oh yeah, and pull up your pants--your boxers are cute and everything, but I'd rather not barf up my lunch from the sight of your butt."

I fell back to the ground, grasping at the top of my gray jeans in embarrassment.

Dylan stopped at the end of the trailer, not far from where I sat. It wasn't that large, smaller than some of the personal trailers I've had in the past. Eyes wide, Dylan glanced around quietly, soaking in our surroundings. He looked fascinated by the small room, and I almost questioned why, until I remembered that he was still new to all of this, and this was probably the first cast trailer he had ever been in.

"This trailer sucks," I said, voicing my thoughts aloud, "It's so small."

"Do you always have to be so goddamn cynical?" Dylan retorted. His sudden cold tone startled me, and I looked up at him in surprise.

His usual warm brown eyes stared at me for a moment, much darker than his happy look from just seconds before. I looked away, unable to bear his intense gaze. I got to my feet and turned my back to him, angry with myself for the small part of me that felt shameful.

Tension filled the trailer and I almost cursed. I knew that if Dylan and I continued to snap at each other like this, then the likelihood of us enjoying filming this movie was zero to none. Not to mention that I'd be spending a majority of my time in this trailer, so I'd quickly tire from the incessant arguing and bickering.

There was a fraction of a part of me that wanted to get along with him, mostly because it'd make my life easier. I'd basically be living with him over the next few weeks, anyway. And then...I had something else to think about...

The bet.

Again, I almost groaned. If I wanted to win the bet, I'd have to get along with him.

Should I apologize for my bitterness? I argued with myself, completely torn. Just as I decided that maybe I should, my mind flashed to this past afternoon. I recalled him calling me a bad person, and suddenly, I wasn't too fond of the idea of apologizing--especially when he had yet to do the same. A flash of rage rushed through me again, and I decided I had nothing to apologize for. Dylan was just overreacting to a harmless comment.

By the time I turned back to face him, Dylan had vanished. A rustling came from the back of the trailer, coming from a small closet that held items we may need.

"What are you doing?" I questioned him. I glanced at the clock, tensing when I realized Wes wanted us back for one final meeting in five minutes.

"Exploring," Dylan finally said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes, waiting for him to come back out. "Well hurry up. We need to get back to Wes."

Dylan's replied instantly, rather snippy might I add, still not making an appearance. "Are you always this uptight?"

My eyebrows shot up and my mouth fell open in offense. "I am not uptight!"

Dylan emerged from the closet to prevent me from further argument. "Yeah, yeah, that's just what uptight people say." He leaned against the doorway between the two rooms, arms cradling what appeared to be some type of blanket.

I grumbled, crossing my arms. "Maybe I wouldn't be so grumpy if you'd hurry up."

Smirking, Dylan glanced over his shoulder. "You know, I haven't spent that much time in the closet since high school."

At first I stared dumbly at him, wondering why he looked so proud of himself. Then I registered what he said, and my lip twitched up, just slight enough to be noticeable.

Did he just make a joke?

As a look of victory crossed Dylan's face with my faint amusement, I set my face to stone again. A grin spread across Dylan's face, a complete contrast to the look he had given me before.

He stepped forward, brushing past my shoulder to stand in the middle of the trailer. Slowly unraveling the blanket, he formed it into a thin, folded line, then laid it on the ground. It separated the trailer into two parts, like a boundary line. Once he finished, he stepped back to admire his work.

"Are you seriously dividing our trailer?" I asked incredulously.

Dylan met my eyes. "Yeah. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine."

I cocked my head to the left, slightly amused again. Why did he always have to act like a five year old?

Why did I find it slightly endearing?

I shook my head at him. "You're ridiculous," I muttered.

Then I turned on my heel, stepping out of the trailer into the brisk April air, ignoring Dylan's indignant "Hey!" behind me.

I shook my head, large strides carrying me swiftly away from the trailer, from Dylan, from the awful thought that had crossed my mind in the last few seconds before my departure.

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

15 minutes later, the cast sat around a small wooden table, listening to Wes give his final speech for the day. In just five short minutes of talking to us, Wes had managed to completely alter my mood from the the brooding frustration I had had while with Dylan to pure excitement for our new project. Though this was his first ever movie, I could tell Wes was a creative genius, and I was more than willing to do as he asked.

"So we're all going to meet in the lobby tomorrow, 7 am sharp, to do a read-through of the script. Don't be late," Wes concluded, looking up from his stack of papers to stare directly at Dylan. "I mean it."

Dylan turned his face down with a small smile as the cast laughed lightly. Wes continued.

"Alright," he said. "That finishes the meeting, I guess. You guys can go get some dinner, then call it a night. We've got a long day ahead of us."

Two seats from me, Dylan leaned towards Will, whispering loudly, "Is he suggesting today wasn't long?"

Will chuckled. "Sorry, mate. Today was nothing compared to the next five or so months."

Dylan groaned.

"Are you new to this whole movie thing or something?" Kaya asked Dylan from across the table. Dylan looked over at her, opening his mouth to respond.

I cut him off. "Of course he is Kaya. Can't you tell? I'm surprised he was able to even make it to the meeting on his own this morning."

The cast chuckled, obviously thinking I was joking. Dylan just glared at me. Again, he opened his mouth to fire back an insult, but this time, the ringing of his phone cut him off.

"It's my manager," he muttered, reading the caller I.D.. He answered it, stepping out of the circle.

Without even realizing it, I watched his back as he walked away. He raised his phone to his ear, giving a quick hello before stepping out of earshot. Turning slightly as he talked to his manager, he revealed a side profile of himself to my view. Slowly, I noticed his happy expression turn to frustration, then dismay, then end with a sad acceptance. I watched him give a resigned goodbye, before he hung up the phone and placed it back in his pocket, running his fingers through his hair as he did so.

"Everything alright, Dylan?" Will shouted. I blinked, realizing I had been staring.

Dylan looked around with a tired smile. "Yeah," he replied, "My manager just called to say that the airport wouldn't be able to deliver my luggage for another week though..."

The cast gave him sympathetic looks. I was about to suggest that he could borrow some of Kaya's clothes (what? There's no way I'd give him mine. Besides, he might look good in a dress) when a high pitched squeal broke my thoughts.

"Do you know what this means?!" Kaya exclaimed, her eyes lit up.

I exchanged curious glances with the group, but none of us said anything. Finally, Kaya clapped her hands, flipping her hair as she said, "We're going shopping!"

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

Lord knows how Kaya managed to convince the entire cast to sqeeze into a van (who the heck just has a van laying around anyway) to go shopping for Dylan, yet it only took her about 3 minutes of pleading, a few threats and the reminder that we'd have to work near Dylan in his stinky clothes if we didn't go.

So now, here I am, smooshed in the back seat of some stupid cast car, shoulders hunched and face inches from smashing into the window, listening to the complaints of the cast.
"Ouch--Ki Hong, move your arm!"

"Will, stop poking me in the side with your ribcage!"

"I don't have a choice, dingus, it's called breathing."

"Goddamn--why are your shoulders so big, Aml?"

Kaya snorted, interrupting them, "Oh, hush. It's not that bad."

"Dexter is sitting on my lap!"

Kaya tutted, putting the keys in the ignition. "I have plenty of room," she reminded from the driver's seat. I rolled my eyes, before something dawned on me.

"Uh, Kaya?" I had to raise my voice so she could hear me from the back.

"Yes?" She asked, tone similar to that of a caring mother.

"Do you even know how to drive in America?"

"Nope," she said. That's when I noticed her tight grip on the steering wheel and how she kept drifting to the left side of the road.

I gulped. Too late to back out now.

Kaya pulled out of the parking lot into oncoming traffic, and the cast screamed. A car honked as it swerved out of our way to avoid collision, flipping us off and driving away angrily.

"Who the hell nominated the British chick to drive?" Will shouted to no one in particular, breathing heavily after the nearly-avoided car accident.

"You're British too," Dylan reminded, "You wouldn't have been a much better opt--"

He was interrupted as Kaya swerved again, this time smashing my face into the window. Collective groans of pain echoed in the small vehicle, and Kaya just laughed, apologizing with no traces of sentiment lurking in her voice.

By the time we arrived at a shopping center just outside of town, I was thanking God that I was still alive. Kaya was a great person, but her driving skills in America were seriously lacking (Just ask the three red lights she ran, the four cars we had near-death experiences with, and the old woman we nearly gave a heart attack if you don't believe me). Will and Dylan collapsed out of the car first, falling to their knees and kissing the ground beneath our feet. Kaya gave them a joking glare and I made sure to reassure her that her driving skills weren't that awful (there's a reason I'm an award-winning actor, folks. She actually believed me).

Once we gathered our wits, we headed for the nearest clothing shop, Kaya grasping Dylan's hand and pulling him in behind her. He stumbled with her quick pace, and the rest of us dragged our feet as we followed.

It was almost 45 bloody minutes later that Kaya declared Dylan had enough clothes to try on. It was a good thing too, because the manager was clearly getting a little pissy at our small group (hey, we didn't put the clothing rack in Will's way when he decided to do a forward flip in the back of the store. It's not our fault it fell over). Dylan turned towards the changing rooms, but Kaya's voice pulled him to a stop.

"Wait!" She exclaimed. "You can't go alone!"

"Um, I'm a 23 year old man?" Dylan stated, but his voice made it come out like a question.

"You need fashion advice," she said matter-of-factly. She turned around, eyes quickly scanning the waiting cast. As her eyes fell on me, my stomach filled with dread, already knowing what was about to happen.

Kaya smiled. "Thomas will go with you!"

Immediately, Dylan and I began to argue with her, objections flying our of our mouths like angry bees. Kaya just tilted her head, as though genuinely considering what we had to say.

Just as I thought we may have won, Kaya said, "Oh, hush you two. I'm not allowed inside the changing rooms, and Thomas has the next best style."

I groaned whilst saying, "You are totally stereotyping me because I'm gay!"

Kaya simply smirked, shoving me in the direction of the stalls. I fell into Dylan, whom straightened me without looking, his chin jutted out angrily and his eyes staring at anywhere but me. Slight hurt washed over me when he refused to even glare at me (isn't that our thing or something?), but I quickly erased that from my mind, too afraid to ponder why I wanted him to meet my eyes in the first place.

Dylan strutted away and I followed as the group mockingly yelling nonsense such as, "Have fun--but not too much fun!" And "Don't be silly, wrap your willy!"

I turned to glare at them for one more moment before disappearing into the stall with Dylan, the door promptly shutting closed behind me.

It wasn't until we sat alone together that I realized the awkwardness of the situation Kaya had placed us in. Now, not only did I have to tell him what looked good and what didn't, I had to watch him get changed.

On top of all this, the changing room was rather small, meant for only one person, with mirrors decorating the perimeter of the room. Dylan stood only feet from myself, but felt even closer, as the mirrors' reflections multiplied his image around the room. It was my worst nightmare: trapped in a small changing stall with multiple Dylans.

As I sat down on a chair in the corner, he threw his pile of clothes on top of my head, save for a single pair of gray jeans. Struggling to pull the clothes off of me (while managing to keep my hair looking great), I sat in darkness, grumbling angrily. By the time I had successfully removed myself from the pile, Dylan had slipped into the pants.

Seeing him in anything but sweatpants startled me at first. For the first time, his figure was open for my viewing, and though I hated him, I couldn't help the thirsty part of my brain that scanned his sturdy body. He looked good, I realized, and I found myself nodding in approval.

"Well?" Dylan finally asked, breaking me from my head. Shit, was I staring too long?

"You look slightly less trashy than before," I said, pulling out my phone.

He nodded. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

I snorted, unlocking my phone and ignoring the onslaught of notifications. The rest of the time we spent in the changing room went similarly, except with more insults from my part, and more angry glares from his.

"Are you guys almost done?" Kaya called from outside the door. For the first time, I looked up from my phone when Dylan was changing, just as he slipped off his shirt.

Though I'd never admit it, my breath caught in my throat. His firm chest and flawless skin was outlined by slight muscles, straining slightly as he ruffled with another shirt. My mouth fell open, scanning the planes of his body with an eager greed, happily surprised and slightly mesmerized by his perfect skin.

He looked up, and our eyes met. Shit, does he know I was staring? Judging by the pink blush crawling up his neck, yes, he does. I blushed too, wanting to cave into myself with embarrassment, scolding myself for staring, and even worse, for getting caught.

It dawned on me that neither Dylan nor I had answered Kaya before, so I quickly yelped, "Ye-yeah! All good!" But it came out in a stutter and my cheeks flushed again, and--goddamn it, what is wrong with me?

Dylan didn't mention the fact that he knew I was staring as he finished up, and as soon as he was back in his normal clothes, I shot out of the door, all too eager to leave the sexually tense and awkward atmosphere.

Kaya stood just outside the door, eyebrow arched in curiosity, though she didn't question me. The rest of the cast was nowhere in sight, so I figured they had either been kicked out, or they were waiting outdoors. When Dylan emerged from the stall, we strode towards the cash register, slightly tense and definitely awkward. If Kaya noticed the rising tension between Dylan and I, she didn't say anything, just watching intently as the cashier rang up Dylan's items.

"That will be $74.56," the cashier said, placing Dylan's items into his bag.

Dylan's hands reached for his back pocket, until a look of horror crossed his face. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"You don't have your wallet," Kaya guessed, smacking her forehead. "Let me guess, you left it in your suitcase."

Dylan just nodded, sighing. "Well this was a waste of time..." His face was guilty as he spoke, as though the fact that his luggage was left at the airport was his fault. I sighed.

I don't know what made me do it. I couldn't explain to you then, or the next day, or a week from now why I did it. Acting subconsciously, I pushed Dylan to the side, pulling out my wallet and handing over my credit card. Dylan objected, but I ignored him, taking the card back after the cashier swiped it through the machine.

Kaya stayed silent, watching me with a knowing smile. My face remained impassive as I placed my wallet back in my pocket. Dylan's objections had ceased altogether, and when I looked at him, he was staring at me with a weird look, as though trying to figure me out.

Dylan looked down, muttering quietly but gratefully, "Thanks, Thomas."

I nodded, stepping away from the counter. The reality of my actions began to set in, and a mound of self-hatred fell heavily on my shoulders. How could I do something like that? I was supposed to hate him. I did hate him.

And yet, even as I strode out the door, the bell ringing as I did so, I couldn't find it within myself to regret what I did, the image of his grateful smile shimmering in my memory.

//

HI HELLO THIS WAS A VERY VERY VERY LONG CHAPTER AND IM SORRY ITS LATE BUT LIFE IS STRESSFUL AND SCHOOL IS STUPID AND YEAH BUT HERE IT IS

I am continually shocked by the amounts of positive support this story is getting. Seriously. How. The world may never know.

Thank you so so so much, I hope you have a splendid day filled with sunshine and rainbows and kittens and smiles.

Later, alligators

//sam\\