Archive of Our Own ^beta

So this is how it ends. This is how he dies, sixteen and filled with regrets, bleeding out in the arms of a girl whose memory he will always love, the world around them going up in flames. He was too late and so was she, fierce determination and good intentions pooling in one last precious, hopeless vial in their clasped hands.

They’ve run of out of time. This is goodbye.

She apologizes for her own mistakes, for choices she did not carry the responsibility for but which weigh down on her thin shoulders all the same, and he forgives her then because he shares the burden and the guilt. They started this together. It is only fitting that they should end it the same.

He kisses her with trembling lips and her tears fall down onto his cheeks like little shards of glass. He’s dying, they’re both dying, and she’s holding onto him like she’s still trying to find ways to save him somehow, like she’s willing to give up her last breath to ensure his survival. But in the end the pain and the sacrifices don’t matter at all. They could not save the ones who needed saving the most. He’s crying too.

“And cut!”

They break apart and Dylan sniffles a little to clear his stuffy nose, carefree grin slipping back onto his face when he notices everyone clapping and cheering them on for a good take. He lets his head fall in Kaya’s lap, raises his arms to start clapping too, chuckling when he sees Kaya rubbing her eyes and wiping her cheeks.

“Shush, it’s just the smoke, it stings.” She smacks his shoulder. “And you got soot in my mouth.”

“Excuse you, it’s makeup –”

“Still shouldn’t be in my mouth,” she complains, loudly. There’s sudden laughter in the background.

Dylan huffs. He’s surrounded by traitors who love her way more than they do him. “I’m dying here, you could be nicer to me. Weren’t you supposed to be on my side? Is this how much you love me? I’m literally dying –”

“No. Nooo.” Kaya rolls her eyes, her small hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Stop talking.”

He does, but only because he’s too busy grinning at Ki Hong and Dex, who decided they should reenact the scene and make it about twelve times more ridiculous and cheesy and – for some reason there’s a very dramatic dip happening currently, Dylan won’t even ask, he just hopes someone’s getting on camera the equally dramatic not-kiss that follows.

“Thomas, if you’re not filming this, you’re disowned!” Kaya yells before Dylan gets to complete the thought, and, yes, this is why he adores her, she is just as terrible as he is himself. He’s very proud of her terribleness.

A couple feet behind Dex and Ki Hong, Thomas is standing with his phone in his hand, looking appropriately smug as he gives Kaya the thumbs up. Dylan is even prouder of Thomas’s developing terribleness. He’s not trying to brag or anything, but he’s pretty sure he and Kaya have a lot to do with it.

They lock eyes a moment later, matching grins splitting their faces and Dylan feels – warm. Content. Serene. His heart does a little jump, like a greeting, hello you, a subdued version of the nerves that used to fill him up when things were a lot less clear and his heart’s gymnastics routine a lot more confusing.

He winks at Thomas. “Am I good at dying or what?”

“Fantastic,” Thomas deadpans, absentmindedly pocketing his phone. He looks up and grins – teasing, sharp. “Too bad you’re such an awful kisser.”

Kaya laughs so hard she pushes Dylan off of her, hands clutching at her stomach as everyone joins in with cackles of varying degrees, Thomas included. Dylan doesn’t know what he ever did to them to deserve all the bullying, but – okay, yeah, never mind, he knows.

He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs again. “You’re all being very mean to me right now, just so you know,” he says, deliberately leaning against Kaya so that she’s supporting most of his weight. He narrows his eyes at Thomas, silently promising retribution, but then Kaya ruffles his hair and he’s very happy to just shut up and slide down until he’s resting his head on her thighs, watching Thomas laugh in a way that had been somewhat foreign to him when they’d first met, fearlessly open and comfortable.

/ / /

Dylan is all too aware that is the last time they will ever get to do this together. So he focuses on having fun. He jokes and overreacts and makes everyone laugh no matter the question, a kid enjoying his last days with his friends, their last hurrah. Luckily, the interviewers play along, and he hopes he’s not actually annoying enough to make anyone actively think he’s insufferable by the end of the press tour. But this is it, the last movie, no pressure about the future of the franchise riding on their shoulders. It’s been years, he thinks they deserve to go out with a bang. A laugh. He means a laugh.

It’s exhausting, and he loses another bit of his sanity somewhere between Asia and the States, so by the time the US and Europe press segment rolls around, he’s happily agreeing to letting Newt and Thomas get married, and is having more fun playing games instead of answering questions. He’s not alone at least, Kaya and Dex having his back with more jokes and general ridiculousness. Thomas, too. And that, Thomas being relaxed and playful and coaxing genuine laughter from the interviewers, is what Dylan lets himself think about every time he has a second to breathe and there’s no one around to want something from him.

They don’t talk about it. No one mentions it, but Dylan notices nonetheless, sees the tension leave Thomas’s body when they’re doing interviews together, his willingness to open up and goof around, the way he accepts Dylan into his personal space so easily, public scrutiny be damned. Sees how Thomas is more closed off and reserved when Dylan isn’t around. Not uncomfortable but – cautious. A little unsure about what he should say and do, what not. With Dylan, he’s at ease. Allows himself to let loose. It doesn’t have to mean anything, Dylan thinks, except – he knows it does.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t about them either.

/ / /

“Well, that was productive,” Thomas says on a cigarette break after an interview where the only clear information to come out was that Dylan wanted to meet Little Mix.  

“Aw, sick of me already?”

Thomas arches an eyebrow and smiles at him like he always does when Dylan says something particularly dumb, lips pressed tightly together like he’s holding in laughter, little dimples coming in at the corners of his mouth. “Two plus two equals sixty?”

Dylan hmphs and turns his head away, looking in the distance for a moment, nose turned up. “Well you’re clearly not appreciating my sense of humor, which means you can’t wait to get rid of me and my big mouth. Also, you probably hate me.” It’s not like he’s trying to make sense of his words. He’s tired and almost deliriously happy, it’s a terrible combination. His lips twitch slightly.

Smiling still, Thomas takes another drag of their shared cigarette and nods. “You’re kind of missing the point of this press tour, aren’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, coffee eyes sparkling in the artificial light of the studio lobby in a way Dylan has become painfully and wonderfully familiar with over the years.

He almost sighs like the infatuated schoolboy he feels he’s spent the lasts months turning into. Almost. He does still have some self-control left, so instead he shrugs, keeps his face schooled into a neutral, unassuming expression, and says, “You mean the point isn’t to enjoy your company and make you laugh every chance I get?”

And it works like a charm, Thomas letting out a surprised laugh as soon as the words leave Dylan’s mouth, shaking his head like he can’t believe this is what his life has become, but his eyes only turn brighter. Dylan’s pretty sure his heart and brain are high-fiving and doing a victory dance right now, like, yes, good job, he’s happy, you made him happy, well done. He knows he’s whipped. He really doesn’t mind.

Looking around to make sure they’re alone, he steps closer and bumps their shoulders together, gently, letting his hand brush Thomas’s for a brief second before wrapping his fingers around Thomas’s wrist to give a reassuring squeeze. He’s not an idiot, knows this is the most he can do. Knows the illusion of privacy is all they have these days, never the real thing. He can’t risk – can’t be impulsive and reckless when it comes to this.

Thomas’s smile turns softer then, a little vulnerable, always beautiful. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs, but his tone is more amused than anything.

“What’m’I doing?” Dylan asks with a small grin, pleased that Thomas’s eyes don’t leave his, not to nervously check their surroundings, not to look down timidly, not at all. They’re good at this, he knows. Slipping into their own little world, forgetting everything else around. It happens. For better or worse, it happens a lot.

They’re called back into the studio before Thomas can give an answer and the typical commotion starts all over again, a quick minute spent on fixing their hair and makeup before they greet the next interviewer and attempt to answer at least a couple of questions like professionals. Dylan spends the following conversations pretending not to notice how softly Thomas smiles at him the more ridiculous his answers start to sound.

/ / /

It becomes a thing after they resume filming, after Dylan’s injuries turn into faded scars and still-too-vivid memories, after the shock and concerns give way to endless relief. He makes the first move again but this time doesn’t pull back, silently laughing at his past self as his lips cover Thomas’s after shooting for seven hours straight, tired and lightheaded and stupidly happy. It’s different than it would have been if he’d gone through with it all those years ago; they are different, their lives are different, the private aspects of it too. It means – something else.

They’ve never named it. Never tried to define it. Dylan doesn’t push because he understands it’s too soon, Thomas’s heart still a little broken and mistrustful, and rushing him isn’t something Dylan would ever want to do. Besides, it’s not like he feels the need to turn this into something bigger than it is, either. So kissing happens sometimes, and, yeah, alright, that doesn’t really fit under the good friends label, but it’s been months and it hasn’t become a problem. It’s a nameless thing with murky boundaries, and it’s fine, so. Why would he complain.

/ / /

He does wonder sometimes whether he’s doing too much again. Admittedly, it only happens after he can’t take it back anymore, but Thomas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell him to rein in it, so Dylan doesn’t stop. They banter and pull faces, laugh at and with each other, share looks that no one else understands the meaning of, and Dylan thinks it’s never been easier to communicate without using words.

It’s natural and sort of too obvious. It’s a little terrifying.

The interviews where Kaya joins them are the ones Dylan feels the least self-conscious about in retrospect. Having her around reminds both him and Thomas to snap out of their bubble and acknowledge the other people around them, and she’s just as comfortable with them as they are with each other, keeps the jokes coming and the laughter flowing. Dylan knows whenever the three of them are together they look like a regular group of friends having the time of their lives; it’s not just a seemingly genuine façade, it’s their actual relationship. But having her by their side helps disperse the tension that sometimes he feels he’s drowning in when it’s just him and Thomas.

He isn’t doing it on purpose, honestly. Finding reasons to touch Thomas, coming up with replies and comments that make Thomas turn to him with wide eyes or chuckle helplessly as the interviewers hang on to Dylan’s every dumb word and laugh good-naturedly when he tangles himself up in his own ideas, his brain-to-mouth filter nonexistent as always. He isn’t trying to prove anything. It’s just – a natural reaction to being near Thomas, and reminding himself to stop acting like a love-drunk idiot is a weak as shit afterthought that doesn’t help at all. Ever.

/ / /

Dylan wouldn’t call it getting caught. They’re friends before anything else, going out together for a drink or for dinner is normal. So, they end up running into fans more often than not, which is cool, and almost everyone asks for selfies – politely, he appreciates that – which is also cool and expected and something he’s more than used to.

What throws him off a little is how comfortable Thomas seems with the entire process now as well, how readily he complies when someone wants a picture with both of them, always reaching out so that his hand rests on Dylan’s shoulder or back as a grinning fan takes up the space between them. And Dylan knows it’s his own paranoia making him overanalyze every gesture, every pose, every lighthearted smile, but seeing Thomas so relaxed and unconcerned about what anyone might think makes him –

It gives him hope. Makes him believe, maybe, someday –

“Hey, man,” he all but whispers one night, after a small group of fans leaves with wide grins and excited thanks yous, and motions for Thomas to come closer. The restaurant is less busy at this hour, music playing quietly in the background, the lights dimmed. Fewer eyes and ears around, and Dylan feels safe. Or maybe he’s tipsy enough not to care whether this is what just friends do or wonder if he’s crossing some lines again.

Thomas takes the seat next to Dylan, lips still curved upwards as he appraises Dylan with curious eyes. “What are we doing?”

His hair is getting longer again, falling over his forehead, golden tips tickling his right cheekbone. Dylan wants to push the strands away, indulge in the little things and be the cliché boyfriend for a second, laugh at how predictable he’s becoming. But there is what he wants, and then there’s an unforgiving reality this fleeting impression of privacy can’t protect them from, so what he does is put an arm around Thomas and pull him closer until their sides are glued together, thighs brushing comfortably under the table.

“Making some memories,” he finally replies, grinning, opening the camera app as he presses his cheek to Thomas’s and feels him start to laugh. He’s not letting this moment go yet, he decides, snapping a few selfies, grinning wider in each one as he takes in Thomas’s scrunched up nose and the constellations in his eyes.

/ / /

Unsurprisingly, the kiss is brought up a lot. The so-called love story too. Dylan thinks about how Thomas and Newt spend the whole movie trying to rescue Minho and wants to say there’s definitely a love story there but probably not the one the media wants to hear about.

It's on those occasions that Thomas goes quiet in a way he hasn’t been in years. Not like he does before he gives a moving, insightful answer that knocks the air out of Dylan’s lungs like a swift quick to the gut, because Thomas is nothing if not dedicated when it comes to his characters. He doesn’t just play a part, he becomes them, has a bone-deep understanding of who they are; Dylan knows he’ll never forget how easily Thomas wrote some of Newt’s most emotional lines and how natural and true to him they’d been. But that’s not what this is. It’s not about Thomas regrouping as he slips back into his identity after going back to thinking and feeling like his character for a moment, even if only to answer one single serious question in the entire interview.

He doesn’t necessarily look upset. He doesn’t laugh if the rest of them do, settles instead for a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, his gaze unfocused. He isn’t upset but he’s absent, withdrawing into himself while the rest of them remain locked outside, which Dylan thinks it’s worse.

He does his best not to let it show that he notices, but he can always feel the minute frown creasing his forehead before he reminds himself that very public interviews are not the right setting to reveal the secrets he’s keeping close to his heart. It bothers him more than it should, partly because he can imagine what is going through Thomas’s head, but also because he can’t do anything to get the grimace off Thomas’s face. He doesn’t know if he should even want to. If it is his place to comfort Thomas about this. Maybe he’s reading too much into it and Thomas isn’t actually – doesn’t matter. Dylan isn’t happy with the whole situation nonetheless.

In retaliation, he makes sure his answers get even more over the top the longer they have to sit through the same questions. Kaya is instantly on board when she realizes what he’s doing, and, really, he could not love her more for it. To be fair, most of the time it’s easy to shift the focus after a few vague answers about how they can’t give away too much; it turns out his character’s other relationships are interesting enough for some media platforms to warrant asking questions about those topics as well. Not like Dylan wasn’t aware of that. But he also knows non-romantic relationships don’t get the official, high-profile kind of coverage, so he doesn’t feel too bad about acting out.

Thomas is less certain than Kaya about actively joining him in his shenanigans but what he does do perfectly is react to Dylan’s I-really-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore attitude. So they discuss Thomas and Newt’s relationship with a goal-oriented kind of emphasis, and Dylan keeps an arm on the back of Thomas’s chair more often than not, closer to his shoulders every time he finds himself doing it, or a hand on his knee as he answers questions about the love between their characters. They play up the relationship because they have nothing left to lose, and it takes Dylan a while to realize how that influences their own behavior as well. It takes him a little longer to notice how Thomas leans into his touch instead of pulling away.

/ / /

“So there’s this very emotional scene,” the interviewer begins with a coy smile, and Dylan barely resists the urge to rolls his eyes, “that involves a bit of kissing. Now, that’s all I’m gonna say because I don’t want to spoil the scene for anyone, but it’s very gut-wrenching, so I wanted to ask what were you thinking about in that moment to bring those emotions across.”

“My husband,” Kaya deadpans.

Dylan chokes. It’s been her go-to answer for every question that veers into romantic or would-be gossipy territory, so he should be used to it by now, but her ability to keep a straight face every time she says it still gets to him.

“Cheating! You’re cheating,” Dex laughs, leaning on Kaya’s shoulder as she joins in with a light giggle, and they go for a fist bump that then turns into a more complicated handshake.

“Okay, yeah, that’s not fair,” Dylan agrees instantly, just to provoke her. “You can’t keep saying –”

Kaya turns to him, lighting-fast, eyes glinting with mock-offence. “How is that not fair –”

“It’s not fair to those of us who don’t have a spouse! We can’t just get away with it like that, we have to look deep within ourselves to find –”

“Oh my god, stop talking –”

It’s chaos and it’s typical, and Dylan realizes once more how much he’s going to miss this. Them. He’s better at handling it now, moving from one project to the next, understanding their episodic nature. But this is different. It’s almost half a decade of work and emotional investment and finding friends that he loves like family. He pokes Kaya in the ribs, smiling as she laughs in his ear, and thinks that some aspects of this experience won’t be only temporary. He turns to look at Thomas, who once again sits quietly with a barely-there smile on his lips, and thinks – no. He tells himself, determined, confident, that he won’t just let a good thing end if he has the power to do something about it. And he does. He knows it.

“Dylan, what about you,” the interviewer tries again, though she’s still chuckling, “what were you thinking about?”

The question makes him pause for a moment. It makes his heart speed up, makes him fucking nervous all of a sudden, like there’s a truth on the tip of his tongue that wants to jump out of his mouth and into existence. He was thinking of losing people you love. Of watching them slip through your fingers as the light leaves their eyes. He was thinking about loving a boy and holding him in your arms as he dies with your name on his lips while you’re begging reality to be only a nightmare you can wake up from again. He was thinking about unspoken words and regrets that can’t bring a loved one back into your life.

He thinks he might be getting some things mixed up. So he swallows his truth back down and chuckles, runs his fingers through his hair as tries to come up with an answer.

“Uh, I,” he says eloquently, sneaking another glance at Thomas who is looking at the carpeted floor, “was thinking about Kaya’s husband too,” he says finally and everyone dissolves into laughter again.

This time, Thomas is smiling too. It doesn’t really feel like a victory.

/ / /

They only have a handful of days left to spend with each other; everyone’s going home for the holidays before getting together again for the premieres. Dylan lets his eyes wander around the now-familiar hotel room, slowly reliving memories that are much too recent to feel like he’s already missing them so dearly. He looks at Thomas, lounging on the couch with a faraway look in his eyes, long fingers tapping out on his chest the rhythm of the song playing on Dylan’s phone. And it’s this, Dylan thinks as dark brown eyes find his, this is what he’s going to miss the most. Spending time with Thomas in comfortable silence, bonding over words and sounds that weren’t theirs but which spoke to both of them all the same. Listening to music while sharing stories, a tradition they’d started by chance years ago. Colliding. Connecting. Falling in love with a stranger, falling in love with a friend.  

The air in the room feels heavy, and so is the look Thomas is giving him. Dylan wouldn’t call the offbeat thumping of his heart concern, per se, but it is an unpleasant sensation nonetheless. He lets out a defeated sigh, stretching out and crossing his arms behind his head as he makes his way towards Thomas. The coffee table in front of the couch looks study enough, so he sits on the edge with a little shrug, lets one of his knees knock against Thomas’s.

“Ready to tell me what’s wrong now?”

Thomas hums, distracted, lips curving up into a not-quite-smile. It’s too cynical an expression and Dylan isn’t a fan of the way it looks on his boyish face. “People,” Thomas muses, shaking his head a little, letting his eyes fall shut. “They’re always going to have expectations. Preconceived ideas. Prejudices of all kinds, convictions. They’re going to judge everything and everyone based on what they see and what they’ve always known, and,” he gives Dylan a tired look, smiles like he’s already made a choice, “you’re always going to be that guy who gets the girl in the end.”

So. It sucks, hearing the words. Dylan can’t even say he’s surprised since he was expecting this from the first time he saw the pinched look on Thomas’s face in an interview that now doesn’t stand out from the others. It was never jealousy. Insecurity, maybe. But above all, it was resignation. A lost battle from the start.

Dylan is aware that he’s starting to develop a certain image, and the parts he’s been taking are definitely helping to solidify it. He knows being attracted to men as well doesn’t necessarily fit the picture. But that’s his hurdle to overcome. His skeleton in the closet to worry about, or to hurl out at anyone who thinks they have a say in his life. He isn’t naïve, knows damn well some things are better kept under wraps, but he also knows he won’t hide. If someday there will be someone, whoever they may be, to want to face it all with him, he won’t make them lie and pretend for his sake. Won’t make them feel like his dirty little secret.

“What if I wanna be the guy who gets the guy this time?”

Thomas snorts.

Well, it’s not like Dylan was expecting this to be easy. Good thing that he’s stubborn to the marrow of his bones. He shakes his head. “No, listen to me. Fuck expectations, man. I’m not gonna live my life to make others happy and myself miserable in the process. It’s bullshit, this isn’t –” he pauses, takes a deep breath. He’s not going to let his general annoyance at how unfair the world views particular issues cloud his judgement now. This is about them.

“Okay, wanna know what I think?” Thomas looks unsure, arms crossed loosely over his chest, like he’s putting up a barrier between them, but eventually nods at him to go on. Dylan tries again, determined to make the words mean what he needs them to. “This, you and me? It’s been a long time coming. I think you know it and you’ve known it longer than me, but the timing was all wrong. And I think it took me a while to catch up but I’m here now, and I’m not gonna let a great thing slip through my fingers, because, what, other people feel like they know who I’m supposed to be better than I do? I don’t give a flying fuck, man. What matters to me is what you think, not them. What you want, and what I want, that’s what’s important. And maybe – we can want something, both of us. Together.”

At first, Thomas only watches him with wide, round eyes that seem intent on not giving anything away. Then, hesitantly, he pats the spot next to him on the couch, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he waits for Dylan to sit down. When Dylan does, quietly but watching him intently the entire time, Thomas’s shoulders slump. “How can you be so calm?” he sighs.

Dylan lets out a helpless chuckle. It sounds a little hysterical to his own ears. “I’m – not? Kinda losing my mind over here to be honest.”

“No, I mean about – us? That – you seem certain about that.” Shaking his head again, Thomas turns his gaze to the ground. “But it could end. Badly. All relationships have an expiration date, don’t they.” He chuckles, and it’s a bitter sound, short and sharp.

And oh, there it is again. His heart is pounding like a frightened animal, trashing around in his ribcage like it’s trying to get out, to escape, not feel the ache that’s starting to take roots inside of it. Not a feeling Dylan can say he had missed. This isn’t about him. Isn’t even about them, not really. It’s about Thomas being hurt and knowing better than to trust blindly, to believe that time and good intentions heartfelt promises can guarantee anything. The future is unpredictable, relationships can and do end without warning. The long-term ones as well.

The thing is, Dylan knows it too. Understands that sometimes things don’t work out despite trying, stubbornly, incessantly. He’s been there. And then found a road towards a better place. He can’t lock his heart away out of fear that it might happen again. It’s just not who he is.

“I know where I’m standing,” he says, voice even as he tries to get his heart to settle back down. “I know how I feel.” It’s almost a subconscious move, the way he turns to look at Thomas; his body decides this is necessary before he can tell his limbs what to do. Thomas’s eyes are still wide and uncertain, but they’re softer too, like maybe he’s daring to let his guard down. Dylan smiles gently. Encouragingly, he hopes. He bumps their shoulders together and tries to make his next words sound light, even though they’re anything but. “I’m not gonna leave. You know that, right? I’m sticking around as long as you want me.”

Thomas nods, drawing in air like he’s close to drowning, letting it out in a sigh that sounds like a confession. He rubs a hand over his face, stalling, borrowing a moment to regain his composure, then nods to himself once more. He gives Dylan a strange look, equal parts cautious and resolute.

“What if I said that would be quite some time, then?”

Dylan can count on one hand the times he’s felt this kind of relief. The kind that makes your head spin and your fingertips tingle, emotions having a field day as they go off like fireworks inside his chest. He would poke fun at himself for being sentimental, but the boy he’s in love with is looking at him with stars in his eyes, and he can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

“What if,” he counters, cupping Thomas’s face and grinning like the happiest idiot on the planet, “we started calling this what it is, then? Because honestly, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t, you know, break up with me before we got together. Like, officially and all.”

Thomas laughs, hands coming up to grab Dylan’s wrists, long fingers giving a playful squeeze. “Is that – is that what we’re doing?”

 “I think so, dude. If you want to, I mean.” Dylan pauses, takes a second to pull himself together, process that this is actually happening. When he blinks and nothing changes, not the room or Thomas’s happy face or the way his heart is flip-flopping like it’s trying to win a competition, he leans forward to steal a kiss from Thomas’s smiling lips. “But for what it’s worth,” he starts again, voice softer, “know that I really do. I want to give this a shot.”

Thomas grins, eyes flicking down to Dylan’s mouth. “So. I guess it’s a relationship, yeah?” He laughs again, and Dylan wants to bottle up the sound and keep it close to his heart forever. “Officially and all.”

Dylan nods, tries to sneak in another kiss between the laughter they both can’t contain. “Yes. Totally officially. The most officially.”

/ / /

“Are you in love currently?”

Thomas freezes, hand hovering in mid-air. His face does – interesting things, that Dylan pretends not to notice, because at least one of them has to keep a poker face here, god dammit. On his left, Kaya bursts out laughing, very much not ignoring Thomas’s shocked face. Okay, so it’s on Dylan to be the serious one this time.

He cooks up a story about Thomas loving singing and karaoke and expressing himself through songs, and, ah, there goes the seriousness. But the fib does its job, even though the interviewer recognizes it for the lie it is and laughs along with them. Dylan’s good at bullshitting his way out of uncomfortable situations.

He exchanges a look with Kaya, who’s still giggling, but there’s a very gentle, very knowing grin on her face when their eyes meet. Technically, she doesn’t know. Shouldn’t know. They haven’t told her yet, haven’t told anyone. Then again, Dylan wouldn’t be surprised at all if it turned out Kaya had known all along.

He turns to look at Thomas, who still seems stunned by the unexpected question. Slowly, though, amusement begins to color his eyes and Dylan lets out a nervous breath through a chuckle as relief settles back into his bones. He has to bite his lips to hold back laughter when he realizes that things are actually fine for once. More than fine, if he’s being honest. He elbows Thomas gently, raises an eyebrow, a question and a challenge at once – well, buddy, are you in love currently.

Thomas grins at him, lets his knee press into Dylan’s thigh, like a greeting, hello you, and he doesn’t have to say the words for Dylan to hear them.

Yes, I am.