Thomas's pov

*five days later*

American football.

Grown men chasing after a big, heavy ball, pushing each other to the ground like neanderthals, and throwing hissy-fits when their team doesn't win. What's not to love?

Well, as it turns out, there's a lot not to love.

The first, most prominent reason that comes to my mind when listing everything wrong with the bloody sport is how so many people actually like it. They find actual enjoyment in playing fetch on a field while the threat of breaking your fucking spine is a very real concern. For some reason unbeknownst to me, American football is fun and entertaining to them.

And guess what? Guess the good news! Guess who really l o v e s American football? Kaya Scodelario.

And you know what they say: Kaya gets what Kaya wants.

And Kaya wanted to play American football.

I could tell the moment the cast stepped onto the field that there were several people who didn't look too thrilled to be taking part of this either. Kaya had insisted however, saying how our 'time together was running out' and we 'should make the most of every moment we have together' and though I partially agreed with her, I mostly just couldn't find a reason not to come. So I let Kaya's bouncing form drag me onto the muddy grass, sighing as my white shoes turned brown.

Kaya began her excited babble as we all gathered in a circle. She started explaining the rules, and I tried following, I really did, but that's the other thing that I hate about American football: it's so bloody confusing.

I zoned out after about a minute. Looking around the park in which we were playing, I saw that there were quite a number of young teenagers here. We had yet to be discovered, but I doubted that that would last long.

I began looking at each person in our group individually. Will made eye contact with me, giving me a do we actually have to do this type of look, and I shrugged. After I had scanned the crowd, I noticed Dylan wasn't here, though that wasn't unexpected. He had been working crazy hours lately--almost sixteen hours on set a day--and with the high physical demands of the movie, his body was taking a sure beating. Filming was about half-way done at this point, with just a week left, but I was worried Dylan wouldn't be able to make it that long. Our coffee chats had become part of our new nightly routine, partly because we had both found that the other was actually enjoyable company (even if he refused to admit it), but mostly because Dylan was so tired he needed the extra shot of caffeine to get him through the rest of the night.

I was wrenched from my thoughts as Kaya began dividing us up into teams, obviously finished with her lecture. After a few moments, her brow scrunched up, and she said, "The teams are uneven."

I perked up at that. "Oh, darn!" I exclaimed. "I guess we can't play."

I even snapped my fingers as if I was disappointed, though Kaya saw right through my act with a scoff. She opened her mouth to reply, but was promptly interrupted.

"Of course we can still play," came an all too familiar voice. I didn't turn around before I groaned out loud.

"You just had to show up, didn't you?" I exclaimed, turning towards a worn out Dylan. I must have missed him approach, though there was no ignoring him now. Deep bags were under his eyes and his face was layered in dirt and sweat, but somehow, he was still smiling.

"Geeze," he began mocking, "Don't be so happy to see me, Tommy."

Will snorted next to me, shaking his head. I just rolled my eyes.

"Excellent!" Kaya smiled. "That evens out the teams. Dylan, you're on Ki Hong, Will, Thomas, and Jacob's team."

Dylan nodded to show his understanding. We split up, Kaya and her team moving away, our team gathering into a tighter-knit circle.

"Alright," Dylan said, automatically assuming the role as leader. "How many of you guys have played football before?"

Ki Hong raised his hand.

Ki Hong was the only one to raise his hand.

"Great," Dylan said dryly. "Well, this should be interesting."

Kaya shouted from the line of scrimmage, or in this case the middle of our field, telling us to 'get our pretty-little twinkle-toes in line'. Will and I glanced at each other, silently pleading the other for help we couldn't give, as the other team got into formation. It took about two seconds for Dylan to realize that Will and I were just standing there, so with a roll of his eyes, he directed us where to go.

"Alright, cupcakes," Kaya said once we were all in position. "I want a nice, clean game. No maiming, punching, or killing allowed--"

"--darn," muttered Dylan with a joking smile.

"--and no crying either. Y'all are a bunch of pussies sometimes."

A few people objected, but Kaya just winked in reply. She counted down, three, two, one--and the game began.

Kaya instantly went beast. She was easily the best player on the field, though Dylan was a close second. People began shouting, Will started running in circles, and I just kinda stood there, too lost to remember how to move my legs.

Two minutes into the game and it seemed that Will and Jacob had caught on to the objective of the game, to get the football into the other end zone. I, on the other hand, never claimed to be good at sports. Five minutes later and I still wasn't sure which way we were trying to score, and Dylan kept shouting orders at me in attempt to help me understand what was happening.

I was the weakest link; that much I could see. In fact, I was probably the worst player on the field. It's not my fault! I always sucked at sports, hence why I am an actor, not a football player. Kaya had noticed my lack of athletic ability as well, ordering her teammates not to bother guarding me. I was offended at first, but honestly, she was right. I sucked.

"Thomas, forward!" I heard Dylan say, and I let my legs carry me in that direction. I dimly heard him say, "We're going first down, first down!"

"A first what?!" I shouted back. Then suddenly the football that was previously in his hand was flying at my chest, and my reaction time is so slow that it collided with me full force. It was hard enough to knock me backwards, and I fell into the mud with a groan.

Ki Hong was above me in a moment, hand outstretched. "A first down, you idiot. Now get up. We're not going to win with you laying on your ass the whole time."

He helped me to my feet, my back now covered in mud. Did I mention I hate sports? Because I hate sports.

The rest of the game went pretty much exactly as the first eight minutes went; Will, Jacob, Dylan and Ki flew back and forth on offense and defense, keeping even with the other team. Kaya, despite evidently stacking her own team with actual athletes, kept a tied score with us the entire time. I was doing pretty great at doing nothing, if I may so myself.

The sun was setting when Kaya finally said, "Alright, alright. Next team to score wins."

Dylan nodded, calling us into one last huddle. His face was lit with determination, a clear desire to win. I had only ever known him as a passive person, and this competitive side was something new altogether.

We met at the line of scrimmage for one final time. Kaya's team had the ball, so our chances weren't looking too great, but Dylan refused to give up. Kaya looked him dead in the eye, but his gaze didn't lower.

And suddenly everyone was up and moving. I wasn't sure when this game became so high-stakes, but suddenly everyone was driven by a fierce determination to win.

Then everything slipped into slow motion. My hearing became garbled and my vision tunneled. The ball slipped from Kaya's grasp, turning once, twice, three times in the air before falling to the ground.

And it rolled directly towards me.

With no one guarding me, as Kaya had instructed, I scooped up the ball without thinking. Then everything moved back into regular speed and my racing heart couldn't keep up with the fast pace of reality.

"Drive! Drive!" Dylan was shouting at me from across the field. I could see my opponents quickly closing in on me, surprise easily recognizable on their faces.

My eyes widened. "How? I don't have a car!" I squealed, though my feet were already moving.

"Not with a car, with your feet! Towards the end zone--run, Tommy! Run!"

So I did. I ran as if I were being chased by a swarm of angry bees, and when my lungs started burning and my legs started aching, I still ran. I reached our end zone with the ball in hand, throwing it to the ground and choosing to dab for my touchdown dance. Kaya moaned behind me, but her despair was quickly blocked out by four other bodies abruptly surrounding me.

Will patted me on the back, not really caring that we won, but happy we did. Jacob and Ki Hong high-fived me, actually jumping up and down like a bunch of five year olds. All three of them looked exhausted but enthralled, looking at me as if I had performed nothing short of a miracle.

But Dylan was most excited. In his exhilaration he turned to me, eyes bright and smile wide. His arms flew open and suddenly I was thrown into his soft embrace, my face smothered in his firm chest. My own arms moved on their own, naturally resting around his middle. He pulled me closer, holding me tighter and tighter as excitement radiated out of him, but suddenly my head was swimming and everything was upside down and I couldn't hear his shouts of victory. All I could focus on was the scent of Dylan's cologne, of how comfortable his arms felt draped over my shoulders, of how fast my heart was still beating. I was only in the position for mere seconds but it felt like eternity; it felt like I was holding my breath and I needed to breath, god I needed to breathe so bad, but I couldn't and the moments kept stretching on and on and on. I needed oxygen, I had to breathe, but the ticking seconds lasted forever.

Dylan pulled away whilst leaving his hands rested on my shoulders. A wide smile stretched across his face, a smile like I had never seen before in my twenty-three years of life. And suddenly I could breathe again because that smile was my oxygen; his pure, uninterrupted happiness was everything that I needed, everything that I subconsciously craved.

"How'd you do that?" he asked, his voice raised slightly.

I shook my head, because right now I knew I couldn't form a coherent sentence. Dylan accepted my loss of words and clapped me on the back, finally completely pulling away from our embrace. His smile didn't fade as he sauntered over to a brooding Kaya, rubbing our victory in her face in the same manner a brother taunts his younger sister.

When we packed into the van half an hour later, the sun had fully set. I was tired, my hair and back were still muddy, my shoes no longer looked white, and yet, for some odd reason, I vaguely wished that we were still celebrating on the field.

______________________________________________________________________________

Dylan was acting odd the next night at dinner. His eyes were trained to his phone, his mouth drawn tight. When we asked him questions his responses came out clipped and short, as if he only had half a mind on the present, half a mind trained on whatever he was scrolling through.

"Alright, Dylan," I finally sighed. The cast all turned to us, likely guessing what I was about to ask. "What the bloody hell is bugging you?"

I expected him to deny it, to play it off like it was no big deal. Instead, he turned his phone around to me, showing the screen for everyone at the table to see.

Kaya immediately squealed, but it took a moment for me to process what I was seeing. When it clicked, my mouth fell open.

It was a really fucking artsy picture, to say the least. The sun was setting, painting the outdoor sky in spectacular colors; but that wasn't what caught my eye. In the center of the picture lay the field we had played football on just the night before. And to the side of the picture...

It was clearly focused on Dylan and I. On both sides of us, Will, Jacob, and Ki Hong were celebrating, but their forms were slightly blurred as the jumped up and down. Dylan and I, however, were captured in perfect clarity.

The picture captured the moment we had pulled away from our hug, our faces just inches apart, smiles brighter than the sun behind us.

I guessed that a fan had taken the picture and posted it to Twitter, and Dylan nodded in reply. He explained how it had virtually blown up overnight, and how now, everyone thought the two of us were dating.

"Is this what was bothering you?" I asked him while handing his phone back.

Dylan pursed his lips, then shook his head.

"No," he muttered, "I don't care much about the picture."

My brow furrowed. Dylan tilted his head away, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. The cast glanced at each other, but when no one pushed him further, we all turned back to our dinner.

A few seconds of awkward silence lapsed over the table, before Will cleared his throat. "Don't we start on-set interviews soon?" he questioned no one in particular. I was certain that he already knew the answer, as Wes had informed us of the interviews just this morning, but I was thankful that he was trying to change the conversation for Dylan's sake.

He received a few spoken answers from around the table, and the awkwardness cleared again as everyone slowly returned to their previous conversations. However, my eyes stayed glued to Dylan's hunched form, not quite ready to let our conversation die without figuring out what was going on in his head.

Upon thinking that he was no longer the subject of conversation, Dylan returned his attention back to his phone. His finger moved up along the screen as he scrolled down, eyes flicking back and forth as he seemingly read something. I watched him carefully for a few more moments. He seemed completely tuned out of everyone around him, as if he forgot where he was, and slowly the purse of his lips fell further, until I was staring only at his frown.

Normally I wouldn't be bothered by this; I mean, people frown all the time. For a lot of people, frowning was their resting face. But this was Dylan we are talking about, and Dylan rarely frowns as it is, especially when he's with his friends.

And another thing--this wasn't a resting face frown, but something else altogether. The corners of his lips were still drawn, and the crinkles around the curve of his mouth seemed more deeply etched than usual. Maybe it was my imagination, but this frown looked bitter, sad, almost disgusted in its intensity. Disgusted with what, I couldn't tell.

My eyes scanned upwards until they landed on Dylan's own. His glare was hard, strong--pained. Behind the squint of his normally warm, brown eyes was an expression that made my stomach sink just looking at it: despair.

Dylan suddenly gasped, so quiet I would have missed it if I hadn't been paying such attentive attention. Then his right finger clenched to lock his phone, and he placed it down on the table so quickly it was as if it had burned him.

For a moment, he just stared at it. A beat passed. Two. The oblivious cast finally looked over when he abruptly shot to his feet, scooping up the remains of his dinner and shoving his phone into his pocket.

"Dylan?" I spoke as he hurried to clean up. His head shot up and he blinked hard like he had to remember where he was.

His frown was gone with a flip of a switch, replaced by an eerily-crafted smile. "I'll see you guys later," he quipped, but his tone was forced.

I watched his obviously fake smile fall again as he hurried towards the exit of the room. I tried calling his name, but it was too late; he was already gone.

"What...?" Kaya trailed off, glancing at me. I shook my head, pausing for a brief second. I considered my choices for a moment, but ultimately decided that I really only had one option for my next course of action.

"Where are you going?" Will asked as I stood. I began gathering up my own belongings as I thought up a reply.

"To Dylan's room. He's obviously upset," I explained halfheartedly. A few cast members raised an eyebrow, trying to be inconspicuous with their confused stares. I noticed though, so I asked, "What?"

Nobody replied at first. I tilted my head. Will cleared his throat after a second, saying, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

My hands froze in their movements. Firstly, ouch. That kinda hurt. It almost seemed like he thought I'd only hurt Dylan more, which obviously wasn't my intention.

I couldn't blame him though; honestly, two weeks ago, I probably would have replied with a nod and agreed that yeah, maybe someone else should go comfort him. But things had changed in two weeks. We weren't enemies anymore, not even acquaintances. Our relationship changed the moment Dylan had broken into my room, comforted me in my sickened state, and had refused to leave until I was situated. He knew it, I knew it. There was no denying how much we enjoyed sitting together in the coffee shop, how much we craved wreaking havoc on set together, how much we were starting to value each other as human beings, instead of as hated coworkers.
The fact of the matter, believe it or not, was that Dylan and I were friends.

So I replied, "I think it'd be a bad idea if anybody else were to go in my place."

And then I left, following the tracks of a crumbling Dylan.

______________________________________________________________________________

The door to Dylan's room wasn't locked when I arrived. It had hardly even clicked shut, propped open just slightly in the frame. I frowned when I saw that; was Dylan really too upset to even close his door?

I didn't mind though, because now I could get into his room without a hitch. I considered knocking for a second, but decided that if Dylan couldn't even close his door correctly, he wouldn't want to answer the door either. I would just have to pray he wasn't standing naked on the other side. I turned the handle and pushed inside.

The room was dark when I stepped in. The curtains were drawn, all lights turned off. I blinked for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden contrast of light from that of the hallway.

The second thing I noticed was how quiet the room was. The dishwasher wasn't running, the television turned off. I glanced around, taking in as much of the room as I could in the poor lighting. It seemed empty.

Something moved by the side of the room, and I jumped. I turned in the direction of where the bed should be, squinting in the darkness. Vaguely, I thought I saw the illumination of an iPhone light buried beneath a thin sheet.

My frown deepened. Was Dylan going to bed already? It was only 9:00 pm. Hadn't he just told me the other night about how he liked staying up late?

Then I heard a sniff. Quiet in actuality, but loud in the silent room. My eyes widened, and before I knew it I was stumbling forward blindly.

I hesitated, but then questioned in a lowered voice, "Dylan?" as if to ensure that the figure hidden beneath the bedding was actually him.

He started in bed, sitting upright. The covers fell down as he simultaneously closed his phone.

"Thomas?" he questioned, his voice low and rough.

My eyes had adapted well enough to the darkness to be able to see a little, but Dylan's obviously hadn't. I could just make out his messy hair, his wide eyes.

"What--what are you--?"

"--are you okay?" I interrupted him. He stopped, his hand raising to wipe away at his nose.

"Yeah?" he answered, though his voice sounded more like he was questioning it himself. I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat.

"You don't seem like it," I replied softly. I now stood at his bedside, staring down at his form.

When he didn't reply, I blinked, and part of me wondered why the room was still so dark. Shouldn't I be able to fully see by now? Maybe I was just used to the room being filled with light and joy whenever I was around Dylan, so that's why it seemed so much darker, to reflect the strange personality he was now bringing forth.

Whatever it was, I didn't like it. My hand reached out, flicking on the bedside table lamp. The bulb was dying. It barely cast any light at all out over the room, but it was still enough for me to be able to see Dylan laying in his bed.

When my eyes fell on him, I audibly gasped. The darkness had hidden what he looked like before, but with the light now casting shadows on to his face, everything came into my view. He turned away quickly, curling into himself in the opposite direction, but the damage was already done. I had seen him.

His face was still dirty from the long day on set. His hair was unkempt, his lips chapped. His eyes were wide and worried, but for the first time, I wasn't looking at any of that when I saw him. My eyes had been drawn to his cheeks.

His usual slender cheeks, perfectly crafted, were covered in grime and dried sweat. I had grown quite used to this appearance, as my own body reflected much of the same filth. But this time--this time there were long, thin lines leading vertically down each side of his face, beginning at his eyes and falling down past his chin. In these spots the dirt had been wiped away.

Tears.

His skin was dry, so I figured that he had only cracked for a few short minutes before I had arrived. Still, the thought of him struggling to hold himself together all alone in the darkness of his room made my heart ache. Even now, staring at his crumpled form, curled into a tight ball, my skin crawled and my stomach dropped.

"Dylan..." I gaped. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he replied. His voice was hollow, empty, desolate.

Not caring whether I was pushing my limits, I sat down on his bed, curling my feet underneath me. I stared at my hands as neither of said anything. Dylan's silence screamed louder than any words he could have said though, and that was all that I needed to convince myself to stay right where I was, my knee brushing against his back.

The seconds ticked by without words. I shifted, but didn't leave. Dylan refused to say anything too.

"I'm going to sit here until you tell me what it is that's bothering you, so you might as well tell me now and save us both the hassle," I finally said after nearly two minutes of silence had passed.

Dylan didn't say anything, but his hand tightened around his phone.

Bingo.

I scooped his iPhone up into my hand before he could object, but he only made a small gesture to stop me before he gave up. My frown fell even further, knowing that regular Dylan would never give me his phone without a fight. I typed in the passcode I had seen him put in yesterday, sighing when it unlocked. Although, my relief was only brief, as it quickly morphed into one of confusion when I saw what he had been looking at.

It opened directly to Twitter. I scrolled, and after a few brief moments I determined that he had been scrolling through the comments and fan responses of the photo he had shown me earlier. I smiled slightly as I read a lot of 'crying' and 'are they dating' and 'I'm dying omfg' that were written oh-so eloquently.

And then I read:

@dylanobrien you don't deserve to be touching TBS like that

My smile melted on my lips. I scrolled further, this time deliberately looking to see if anyone else had written anything nasty or cruel. The harder I looked for the negativity, the more similar comments began to jump out at me.

@dylanobrien faggot

@dylanobrien hope you feel like scum you shitty fuck boy

@dylanobrien fuck you and your fucking shitty acting skills

And worst of all, I read:

@dylanobrien go kill yourself, faggot

I almost couldn't believe what I was reading, though the rational part of my mind knew that these were the harsh facts of reality. Celebrities deal with death threats and hate and mean comments every single day, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. Dylan, a young, rising, openly gay actor, was sure to be a big target.

I clicked close on his phone, unable to read anymore.

"Dylan," I sighed, quieter than my previous voice. "Why were you looking at all of this?"

I heard him sniff, but he didn't reply. Truthfully, he didn't need to, because I could see myself doing the same thing that he was doing now, years and years earlier. Sometimes, we just fall into a pit where we read a thousand nice things and hear a thousand different praisals, and yet, for some reason, the hateful comments are the ones we remember most. It becomes a bitter type of relief.

My hand reached out and rested on his arm. "None of that is true, Dylan, you know that right? They're just trying to hurt you."

He didn't reply, so I took the opportunity to lie down on the edge of the bed, propping myself up with my elbow. The silence fell on us again, wrapping us in its clutches.

I continued, "I know what you're feeling, thinking. I've been there. We all have...It's just--honestly, I don't know what possesses them to write any of that. But it's not true."

Dylan curled tighter into a ball as he cracked apart again. His shoulder quivered for a second, and then he composed himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost level.

"Do you know the saying, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me'?" he asked.
I was surprised, but I replied anyway, "Of course I do. My mum used to say it all the time."

"Well, it's wrong. Words do hurt. They weave their way into our minds and hearts and very souls and they sit and they wait. And when we're at our weakest point, that's when words strike. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words tear me apart from the inside out. Words hurt so, so much more."

I was speechless. All I could manage was a weak, "I know."

"I'm so goddamn naive," he continued to mutter, like I hadn't spoken at all. His voice was excruciatingly bitter, and I cringed. "I always think that society is so much more loving and accepting than it actually is. So when I read stuff like that..."

"It hurts." I finished for him. I could see him nod his head next to me. I relaxed as I added quietly, "Some fans just seem to forget that their idols have emotions too, I guess."

"But it's not just them, Thomas!" Dylan suddenly burst, catching me off guard. He flipped over to face me, his face screwed up in pain. "It's everyone. People are writing articles and criticizing me and you and every person in this goddamn cast. They point out every single one of our flaws and they flaunt it in front of us, like we aren't even human."

I was quiet for a second, not because I didn't know what to say, but because he was absolutely right. He was saying precisely what I had been thinking for fifteen years, back when I first discovered just how awful the press could be. How savage they could be. I knew exactly what was going through his mind, and that almost hurt more, knowing I could help but understanding that there was absolutely nothing I could say to make him feel better.

Dylan's hand clenched at the white sheets between us. I watched as his fingers tightened and relaxed, reflecting exactly what he was thinking without ever saying a word. His fist tightened, he was angry. The press were monsters. What did he do to deserve such harassment? His fist loosened. There was nothing he could do. It was just the baggage that came with the job. Society was determined to pick him apart. He was resigned.

"I just don't get it," Dylan said quietly with another sniff. "I don't get why they have to be so mean."

"Welcome to the media, Dylan," I whispered. "It's their job to try and break us down, so that we put on a show worth watching."

Dylan shook his head. He settled into the pillows across from me, and the bedside lamp finally went out. My eyes adjusted faster than before as I blinked furiously, trying to make out Dylan's face in the dark. When I finally saw him again, I noticed a few tears trickling down his cheeks for the second time tonight.

"I'm sorry," Dylan muttered, wiping at his eyes. "I'm not usually one to cry."

I watched him in silence as he pushed harshly on his eyelids, practically begging the tears to stop falling. Deciding it was useless, he instead turned to wiping away the tears as they fell one by one.

My hand reached out before my thoughts had formed coherently. I grasped his wrist within my own clutch, halting his movements completely. He looked at me bewildered.

I lowered his hand back to the bed between us, refusing to let go. He watched me quietly the entire time.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," I finally whispered. It came out delicate, and I almost feared that if I spoke any louder the atmosphere between us might break. "Crying doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're human."

Dylan's looked up from our hands, eyes searching mine. I worried he thought I was joking, but I had never been more serious. His eyes fell from my intense gaze and then, like a dam unable to hold back anymore water, he cracked one more time. But this time, the crack was large, deep, jagged. It incorporated every other crevice and fissure in his carefully crafted wall, winding among every supporting beam he put up to keep himself together. He stared at our hands, and without making a sound, he finally broke apart.

I pulled him closer to my chest as he silently sobbed, and that's how we stayed for the rest of the night.

//

A/N

tbh Im not satisfied with this chapter but yolo

i currently have four hours before I have to wake up tomorrow, so imma make this short.

thank you thank you thank you to everyone who sent me a cover. I recieved at least ten or fifteen new ideas, and Im so unbelievably grateful for every single one of them. I have yet to select which one will become the new WTTM cover, but every person who sent me one will be getting a shout out in the upcoming chapters. thanks to all xx

uh i was gonna skip the joke again but i promised shipsforlife3 that I'd do it so

What do you call the place where you bury dead cows? A cemendairy!

I came up with that myself so please dont hit me

have a beautiful day

until next time,

//sam\\