Dylan's pov

Three days later

"It's really not that hard," Kaya said, casting a glance at me over her shoulder. Her black hair cascaded down her back in perfect curls, her eyes glistening with makeup as she shrugged, as if to further prove her point.

I rolled my eyes as I followed her off set, using a damp towel to (attempt) to wipe off some of the dirt on my face. Our footsteps echoed off the walls as we hurried down a barely-lit hallway, each stride making my stomach sink even further towards my knees. Kaya's eyes flicked forward again as we finally emerged in a room I had never explored before, cameras and lights filling the majority of the room.

Despite the fact that I was exhausted from filming all day, my stomach still managed to do backflips as I looked towards the two chairs centered in front of at least a dozen people. The day had finally come. I couldn't avoid it any longer. Today, we would be filming our on-set interviews.

I gulped. My first ever on-set interview.

Tearing my eyes away from the two seats, I glanced at Kaya, muttering broodingly, "You've done this a hundred times; of course it's not hard for you."

Kaya turned, her eased expression conveying how comfortable she was with the situation. She took a step closer to me and used her hands to straighten out my suede jacket, all the while shaking her head at me, as if saying, 'stop being an idiot, dumbass'. Then she grabbed the damp cloth out of my hand, reminding me of a mother as she rubbed hard at some particularly stubborn grime on the tip of my nose.

When she had finished pruning my outfit and making me look cute, she looked me in the eye and said bluntly, "You'll be fine. Just don't be a dick."

I rubbed my sweaty palms together as she stepped back. I nodded slowly, saying, "Got it. Don't be a dick. You got anymore life-saving advice?"

The sarcastic words wormed their way out of my mouth, and Kaya rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Honestly, I don't get why you're so afraid. What's the worst that could happen?" she asked.

I sucked in a breath and released it slowly, glancing over at the two chairs where the interview would take place again. They looked quite like death traps, I decided. Or perhaps torture chairs? Yes, torture chairs seemed most fitting, as every second I spent under the blinding lights would be comparable to an agonizing hell.

My heartbeat was steadily increasing as I thought over Kaya's question. Possible scenarios flashed through my head, each one worse than the last. My eyes widened as I saw myself throwing-up on the interviewer, or having a sudden heart attack, or--was it a full moon?--then maybe I'd turn into a werewolf and eat everyone--or, oh god, what if I suddenly get really sexual and get turned on?--or what if my head explodes because--

"Okay, okay, okay! Stop thinking about the worst thing that could happen!" Kaya sputtered upon seeing my panicked expression. Her hands rested on my shoulders, trying to comfort me, and for a moment, it worked. But then she continued, "Whatever, you're thinking, it won't occur. I promise. I mean, the only possible worst case scenario is that you slip up and say something really embarrassing or awful. Like, so bad that no director ever wants to hire you again so you'd lose your entire career and you'd go broke and--"

"Kaya!" I exclaimed in alarm. I wasn't even thinking like that. Oh god--

"Sorry," she apologized as a look of horror dawned on her face. "I'm not very good at the whole 'comforting' thing, am I?"

I frantically shook my head, gulping again. My throat was tight and I was definitely more nervous than I should be. I mean, it's just an interview. But Kaya's words were now haunting my thoughts, and I could feel my knees weakening at the very prospect of screwing up the interview that badly. What if she was right? What if I really really messed up?

"Kaya?" came Wyck Marty's deep voice, the executive producer of the Maze Runner. He gestured towards one of the two torture chairs, the other already occupied by a nervous interviewer.

Kaya gave me an apologetic smile as she hurried off towards Wyck, her face instantly morphing into a perfectly crafted smile. I watched as she shook hands with the interviewer, and I certainly didn't miss how just after she rested her hands on the arm rest, her hands tightened on the chair. Great, so she was nervous too. If she was scared, even if just a bit, I should be doubly nervous.

I chewed on my lip for a moment as Wyck called for silence in the room. Then, seeing a snack table in the corner of the room, I ushered away to go comfort myself in the best way possible:junk food.

It took less than half a second for me to realize that I couldn't stomach any of this food (even if it would be mouthwatering under different circumstances) so I settled on a water bottle instead. I tried calming my breathing and thinking about legitimately anything else, but it was hard when the only audible voices in the room were those of Kaya and the interviewer. My breathing rate only increased and--were the walls closing in? I needed air. I can't do this, I can't, I really can't. Breathe in, breathe out. Kaya stuttered on an awkward question. I could hardly hear her anymore. My ears were pounding, my chest hurt. I can't, please don't make me--

"Hey, take a deep breath," came a soft voice in my ear. My fingers clenched harder where they rested on the wooden table, despite the fact that I couldn't remember resting them there. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Dylan, it's okay. Relax."

I nodded dully even though I couldn't see who was speaking. I knew though, somehow I just knew who it was without even glancing back. As my mind cleared slightly and my rapid breaths slowed, I could tell it was Thomas who was standing just inches behind me, his soft breath ghosting across my neck.

"You'll be fine. Just breathe."

I did. Thomas was here. I was okay. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he whispered behind me. My heartbeat had slowed significantly, and my fingers unclenched from the wooden table.

"I saw you panicking with Kaya," Thomas continued to whisper quietly. I refused to turn around and he refused to move away, so I stayed in my position, listening carefully with my eyes trained on the wall. "I'm assuming it's about the interview?"

I nodded but stayed quiet. Thomas continued, "Why are you scared?"

I tried to reply but my voice failed me. Nerves, I guess.

Thomas seemed to understand what I wanted to say, because he continued as if he already knew what I was thinking. "Well, I'm here to assure you that nothing will go wrong. You're going to do absolutely amazing, because you're you, and everyone loves you. Everyone."

I began shaking my head, but Thomas continued. "No, it's true. Trust me, once you start, you'll be fine. Just pretend like you're having a regular conversation."

I gulped. My heart was slowly increasing its pace again. "I--I'm not very good at conversing with strangers," I finally managed in a choked voice.

There was a pause as Thomas let that sink in. I was just about to turn and face him when he spoke again, this time even closer to my ear, "Then pretend like you're just talking to me."

His voice was so soft, like silk beneath my fingertips. My breath hitched, and suddenly my heart was racing again, pounding painfully hard against my chest. It didn't feel like quite the same flutter; before, I had felt nothing but dread, but now...?

Thomas, mistaking my silence for fear, placed his hands on my shoulders. Fingers moving lazily against the curve of my back, he continued, "Just stay calm. You can do it."

His hands moved forward so they rested on the front curve of my shoulder, just below my ears. My heart spiked again, and the hairs on my neck seemed to raise as Thomas stepped even closer. His hands softly pushed my shoulders back, forcing me to straighten my posture, all the while continuing to murmur in my ear, "Just remember not to slouch,--" and he paused to move his right hand up to ghost under my chin. He pushed up and my head was forced to be held up too, and he muttered, "--to keep your chin up,--" and then his right hand fell across my stomach, his left hand relaxed just over my collarbone as he concluded, "--and to keep your core tight."

He put only a slight pressure on my stomach, but it was enough for my heart to start beating frantically in my chest. I prayed he wouldn't feel it beneath his stretching fingers when he didn't move, staying in that position for two seconds, three seconds, four seconds...

When he finally pulled away, I was ready to blame my racing heart on nerves, though I no longer felt weak in fear, but alive with energy. Thomas grinned in comfort, a smile that calmed my nerves a thousand times more than Kaya ever could, but it only made my breath stutter again.

"Dylan," Wyck called. Oh god, was Kaya done already? My head flew around as I looked over at the two torture devices, but for some reason they didn't look as scary anymore. I again glanced at Thomas, taking note of his leather jacket, the jacket he insisted made him look tough, and he nodded reassuringly. I stepped away, focused only on making it to the seat without passing out.

Then Thomas's hand was on my elbow, and in a low voice, he gave one more piece of advice, "And Dylan, if all else fails, just start talking about how great the cast is. That's always a safe bet."

Numb, I nodded.

Each step away from the food table felt like my descent into hell. I felt as if everyone's eyes were on me, and everyone was secretly hoping I'd mess up, though common sense told me that I had at least one person who was routing me on. Glancing back at Thomas as I sank into my chair, I felt a wave of reassurance.

It was smooth sailing after an awkward encounter of sweaty palms while shaking hands. The interviewer asked mostly about the Maze Runner and my role as Thomas, and I answered quickly, albeit awkwardly. I tried looking at the camera as I spoke,but my eyes kept drifting to Thomas's encouraging smile behind the set of blinding lights and rolling cameras.

I was nearly done when the interviewer started asking personal questions. At first, when she asked, "So this is your first role, correct?" I was caught off guard. It was easy talking about my character, because that was just my job. But talking about myself? That felt strange.

Still, I replied, glancing again at Thomas as I spoke. "Uh, yeah. My first movie role, anyway. I did a couple commercials, but never a big blockbuster like this."

I smiled, but the interviewer didn't smile back. Instead, she asked bluntly, "So how did you get the leading character in The Maze Runner?"

My smile fell slightly. Not that her tone was rude or obnoxious, but something about the question rubbed me the wrong way. Looking at Thomas, I could tell he was thinking the same thing as myself. It almost seemed like the interviewer thought I didn't deserve the role. Or that I--that I had cheated to get it. Was--was she insinuating that I had slept my way to the top?

I decided I couldn't assume that that was what she had meant, so I answered with a bright, "Well, I auditioned a lot, but really, it was just constant hard work. My best friend and my manager never lost faith in me, so I didn't lose faith in myself. I guess that's how I got it...by never giving up."

The interviewer nodded, but it looked as though all her etiquette was gone. It didn't even seem like she was listening to what I was saying as she skipped to ask, "What do you think of all the casting directors?"

I tilted my head, trying not to let my confusion show. How was this relevant? Nobody seemed ready to jump to my aid, so I replied safely, "Uh--they're a very nice group of people. And--" I looked up at Thomas, whose eyes were wide, "--they picked a very lovely cast for me to work with."

The interviewer's nostrils flared, reminding me of a bull ready to charge. Did I say something wrong?

"Kinda odd that they'd take such a bold risk to hire such a new, young actor like yourself," the interviewer said with a slight air of arrogance.

Not sure how to reply, I glanced around the room. Some people, like myself, showed only signs of confusion. Others, like Thomas, had eyes wide with alarm, as if they could already see where this was going.

"Uh--I--I guess?" I said. My voice wavered. I thought to Thomas's advice, trying to save this interview. "My castmates are quite experienced however, and they've been so--"

"It's a good thing you're attractive; it probably helps you land a lot of roles," the interviewer cut me off in an offhand voice. I was about ready to get up and walk away, but my confusion left me rooted to my seat.

"N-no, like I said before, I've never really had any other roles before--"

"I'm sure those casting directors love hiring actors like yourself, especially if you're willing to offer up part of yourself for the role, eh?" My eyes widened abruptly with her words. Thomas's jaw had fallen slack, and Wyck looked around with utter disbelief.

"If you're suggesting that I got this role based on something besides acting--"

"I'm not suggesting anything." I looked away from the shocked camera crew and met the gaze of the interviewer. Her eyes were icy blue, so fierce I felt as though they could freeze my heart. My mouth clamped shut, and I was finally put at a loss of words. I could tell just by her rigid posture that she was suggesting something, that she did believe I had unfairly gotten the role as Thomas. It wasn't true, but I could see the disgust in the curl of her lip as she held some sort of prejudice over me.

She actually thought that the only reason I had gotten the role was because I had had sex with someone of higher power.

A thundering clap broke the tense silence of the interview.

"Well," Thomas said with a forced friendly smile, "I think that's a wrap. C'mon Dylan!"

His voice was so cheery it actually hurt my ears. I opened my mouth to object, but with a nod from Wyck, I clambered to my feet and hurried out of shot. People shot me varying degrees of pity as I strode past, all obviously feeling bad that the interviewer had treated me so unfairly. When I reached Thomas, he let me pass.

I was almost out the door when I realized Thomas wasn't behind me. I turned, and saw him unmoving, staring at the interviewer with a vicious snarl.

Then, I heard him holler, "Ma'am?" to the interviewer, in his still fake cheery voice.

Her icy blue eyes fell on Thomas. When he knew he held her attention, he asked, "Ma'am, when are you due?"

The interviewer immediately looked offended, her hand falling to her stomach. "I'm not pregnant!" she gave an indignant cry.

Thomas's face mimicked an innocent boy as I coughed awkwardly. Then he replied, "Oh, sorry, I saw you in that dress and I just kind of assumed..." he trailed off. His mouth formed a yikes expression as he looked her up and down.

The interviewer looked as if she had never been so deeply offended, and had it not been for the situation, I would have laughed. Thomas however, merely smiled in fake apology.

"How dare you--"

Suddenly he let his cheery persona fall, a cloud passing over his face. Then he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear, "Oh, I'm sorry, did my incorrect assumptions offend you?" He paused, allowing her to realize what he was hinting at. He pressed further, emphasizing his point as much as possible, "Were you uncomfortable with the ideas I was falsely planting in my peers and coworkers heads?"

I couldn't believe it. Thomas was not only sticking up for me, but was throwing the interviewer's actions right back in her face.

The interviewer shut her mouth, her eyes shining with hate. Thomas ignored her stone silence, turning to leave. He reached me in the doorway, gave me a onceover, then turned back to the woman.

"Oh, by the way, Ma'am," he snarled one last time, "Dylan's got more talent in his--in his toenail than you have in your entire body. He doesn't need to sleep with people to have a good career--unlike some people."

He glowered at her, watching as her glare hardened even further. Then Thomas grabbed me by the elbow, and pulled me out of the room.

I waited until we were out of the building before I questioned him, though by the time we were outdoors, I was ready to explode. He stopped, looking at me, eyes searching mine for signs of hurt.

"W-Wha-Why--?" I stuttered.

"Dylan, how many times do we have to go over this?" Thomas asked in exasperation, though his relieved smile told me he was only kidding. "There's a reason the press think I'm a total bad-boy."

______________________________________________________________________________

"It was so bad, Tyler," I muttered, covering my face in my hands. I heard Tyler laugh through my computer screen, but when I shot him a look, his smile faded.

I pushed my dinner off to the side with a sigh. The hotel dining hall was nearly empty, as it had just passed ten o'clock pm. Off to the side, a few business men sat arguing over Donald Trump or something, and behind me, a janitor swept the floor. I was dead tired, but I had promised Tyler I would video chat him after my interview, hence why his unusually cheery face was illuminating my laptop screen.

"You probably did better than you think," Tyler comforted. My eyes moved up to his face, but I continued to frown, scowling slightly. Tyler held up his hands in mock defense, as if I could reach through the camera and slap him. Honestly, if I could, I probably would.

"He did," came that British accent. I turned, smiling lightly when Thomas pulled out a chair and sat down beside me. I watched as he opened a packet of oreos, slapping my hand away when I tried to reach for one.

"Did not," I pouted. Tyler's face had narrowed, and he leaned forward in his chair as if he could get closer to Thomas and I.

"So," Tyler started after a brief pause. "You must be the famous Thomas Brodie-Sangster."

He drawled out Thomas's name slowly, carefully emphasizing each syllable. His eyes had narrowed, and my brow raised. The look he was giving Thomas was scrutinizing and judgemental, as if he was judging him based on our first impression of him alone. I licked my lips, suddenly nervous.

"That's me," Thomas said with a warm grin, as if he was oblivious to Tyler's stare. Tyler's eyes flashed, as if he was surprised that Thomas could be so friendly. "And you must be Tyler. I've heard only good things about you."

I watched their exchange uneasily. My two worlds were finally colliding; Thomas, someone who I had met only a month and a half ago yet would consider a pretty good friend, was at last meeting one of my favorite people in the world. I don't know why I was so nervous; it wasn't like it mattered if Tyler approved of Thomas or vise versa. Still, I hoped they liked each other. It would make life so much easier...

"Yeah, I can't really say the same back to you, buddy," Tyler replied, and basically all my hopes for them to get along vanished.

But, to my utter surprise, Thomas only laughed. "Yeah," he said, taking a bite of his oreos, "I suppose Dylan and I didn't get off to the best start."

"That's an understatement," I muttered under my breath. Tyler missed it, but next to me, Thomas laughed again. For some reason, I bit back a smile as I listened to him chuckle. I didn't want to seem creepy, after all. He placed his arm on the back of my chair, relaxing again.

"Has Dylan been telling you about the interview?" Thomas asked Tyler after his laughter subsided.

Tyler shrugged. "Bits and pieces," he said. "He's too embarrassed to give me the full story."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I exclaimed, sitting up straighter. Now I could feel Thomas's hand on my back, but he didn't move away.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Dilly-Dally," he said with a wink. "I think Tyler deserves to hear the full story though..."

I rolled my eyes and looked away as Thomas recounted the events of earlier, all the while never moving his hand away. I hid my face behind my hand though, refusing to let both Tyler and Thomas see the heated blush that had risen right after Thomas winked at me. I took a deep breath when I felt presentable, ignoring the spike in my heartbeat as well.

Tyler was listening with rapt attention to Thomas, who just so happened to be a fantastic story teller. He brandished his left arm and talked non-stop, sometimes pausing for me to object or for Tyler to stop laughing. When he put his hands on his hips and did a perfect imitation of the interviewer, even I couldn't help but laugh. As he finally started concluding the story, I couldn't help but revel in the fact that something that had been so utterly mortifying not half an hour ago was now hilariously comical. All thanks to Thomas, of course. I doubted I would have felt better about the way the interview went without Thomas there to overly flourish his hands or speak in a chirpy American female accent.

"Did she get fired?" Tyler asked when Thomas had finally finished. Curious, I looked towards Thomas.

Thomas shook his head. "No, her dad is the owner of Fire Flash News. He defended her, but agreed to edit the ending part of the interview out of the video."

I let out a breath of relief I didn't know I had been holding, feeling as though a massive weight had just been lifted off my chest.

Thomas glanced at me as I relaxed. "You weren't worried were you? You know, even if they put the full interview online, you wouldn't be the one receiving much hate. She was the unprofessional one; you handled it like a pro."

I blushed again slightly with the surprise compliment. Thomas crumpled up his now empty Oreo bag, muttering in a different tone of voice, "All because her bloody brother didn't get the part."

"What?" Tyler and I asked in unison.

Thomas shook his head. "She told Wyck that her brother, Jeremiah Trapman, deserved the role of Thomas. Not Dylan. Which, obviously isn't true, but she's willing to believe that the only reason Dylan got the part and not Jeremiah is because Dylan slept with the executive producer or something."

I almost laughed out loud, but decided against it. Really, it was better to just move on.

"Well," Thomas sighed, "It's nearly eleven. I need to go to bed."

He stood up from his seat and stretched, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Already?"

Tyler snorted, and I regretted saying anything instantly. I could already tell I'd never hear the end of it. Thomas however, just squeezed my shoulder, giving me a tired half-smile.

"I've got a date with my pillow, Dylan. I can't be late."

With that he said goodbye to Tyler and mumbled, "goodnight, Dyl," to me. I smiled, watching him as he left. When I turned back to the computer screen, Tyler was glaring at me with wide, accusing eyes.

I squirmed under his scrutiny, unused to being interrogated by him. His eyes kept flickering between me and the edge of the screen, as if he wished he could still see Thomas in the shot. Finally, after I weakly smiled, Tyler finally broke the heavy silence.

"You like him," Tyler suddenly said. It wasn't a question, it wasn't even a statement; it was so stern and strict that it felt more like an order.

I tilted my head in question. "I mean--yeah, friends generally don't hate each other," I replied easily. Tyler was well aware of everything that had gone down between Thomas and I over the last month and a half, so I couldn't understand why he would think Thomas and I still didn't get along. Of course we liked each other, otherwise we wouldn't be choosing to spend so much time together--I mean, unless he meant--

"Wait, you don't--"

"--As more than a friend, asswipe," Tyler interrupted me with a 'duh' look.

I froze.

I blinked.

"What?"

My eyes were wide in horror. Where the fuck did he come up with that one? I shook my head quickly, because no no no we were just friends. I liked being his friend. I was satisfied with being his friend. We were friends, and that was all we'd ever be.

"Dude, calm down, it's okay," Tyler soothed upon noticing my suddenly panicked expression. "It happens."

"No--we're not--I don't--" I stuttered. My head was suddenly empty and my tongue felt heavier than normal. My heart was beating abnormally fast, my cheeks were tinged pink, and Tyler watched my mini freak out with a knowing expression the entire time.

"Dylan!" Tyler said, after my eyes kept growing larger. "Stop freaking out, it's okay that you have a tiny crush."

"I don't have a crush on him," I managed to seethe through clenched teeth. My fingers clenched quickly on the edge of the table, trying to calm my freaked-out mind. This was ridiculous, why would Tyler even think something like that? Gay guys can be friends without dating each other, you know.

Tyler shook his head, looking off to the side with a sigh. Finally, he said, "Didn't I warn you that there was a fine line between love and hate?"

I huffed angrily, now entirely pissed off at his calm demeanor. "Yes," I said gruffly, thinking back to over a month ago. "You did. But it doesn't matter, because I don't like him."

Tyler shrugged, then sang, "Someone's got a bad case of denial..."

"I'm not in denial! I'm in--I'm in reality."

My jaw jutted out. I crossed my arms across my chest, trying to look calm even if my mind and thoughts were doing somersaults around my head. I raised an eyebrow as if daring him to push me further, but Tyler shook his head again, almost as if he were disappointed. He fell silent, and neither of us spoke again as he leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

Our tense silence was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder again. I looked up, and upon seeing the subject of our previous conversation looking down on me again, my heart dropped.

"Here, Dyl," Thomas said with a smile. "I just ran into Wes in the hallway. He told me to give you the script for the last few scenes. He changed a bit at the end of scene 12,I think."

He held the stack of paper out to me, but I ignored it. I must have been really tired, because as he spoke, all I could think about was Tyler's suggestion. I was too focused watching Thomas speak to really hear what he was saying, I was too submerged in my thoughts to be conscious of my actions. I gulped quietly as my eyes flickered around his face, from the curve of his well-shaped nose to the small dip just above his lips. It was the same face I had seen for two months straight, the same stubborn eyes and clever smirk that I had admired in the darkness of my room just three nights ago, the same warm features and scrunched brow that had become part of my daily routine, and yet, looking at him now, I felt as though I was seeing him for the very first time.

I didn't like him--not like that anyway. I mean, I had hated him just three weeks ago; it's a bit of a stretch for my feelings to change that drastically that quickly--

Thomas's smile wavered when I continued to stare at him, mouth agape. His brows crinkled in to portray a--rather cute--look of confusion, but I barely even noticed it. My mind kept going back to what Tyler had said--no, suggested. It wasn't a fact, it was a...thought.

Honestly, Tyler must have pulled the idea right out of his ass. It was preposterous!

It was preposterous, right?

I shook my head slightly. Nope, nopeity-nope-nope. Not going down that road. Tyler was just messing with my head. I'd never thought of Thomas in this light before, surely a small seedling of doubt wouldn't change that?

The longer I stared at his confused face the more I was sure that I didn't like him. Really. Who cares if I thought he was a bit attractive, and sweeter than I thought, and intelligent, and talented? Friends think like that! He was a good guy, but...no, Tyler was just stupid.

But well, the way the light was framing Thomas's cheek bones right now was really just unfair, because that was obviously the reason he looked more attractive than usual right now, and that was the only reason that I was even considering Tyler's words at all. This was all utterly stupid. Unfair. I didn't like him. This was a stupid thought, and really, I'm wasting my time even considering it.

I couldn't--I didn't--

Did I?

"Dylan?"

Thomas was speaking again, his hand tightening on my shoulder. My attention focused, but my mouth still hung open. I felt as if the entire world had just got flipped upside down, or as if someone had just taken a black marker to a secret message and had colored all over the words to make it indecipherable, just as I was starting to make sense of it all. My picture was distorted, my message unclear, but there was Thomas, head tilted to the side, the only thing that I could really, clearly see.

"Dylan, if you don't close your mouth, you'll catch flies," Thomas said with mirth in his eyes. His hand rose to place two fingers under my jaw, which he promptly pushed up and closed. I shut my mouth, but had to roughly swallow; Thomas had a jovial smile on his face, a grin so small yet full of warmth that two weeks ago I wouldn't have even dreamed him being capable of producing something like that. Even as he pulled his hand away I could still feel the lingering presence of his fingers, my skin hot beneath his touch. Thomas shook his head with a laugh as I continued to do nothing but stare at him, calculate him, understand why I was even still looking at him--

My head turned towards Tyler, and I had no doubt that my eyes had widened to saucers. He was smirking, already knowing what I was thinking and feeling. Already having reached the conclusion I was just barely able to admit, he tilted his head and waited for my confession.

But I could only manage a single word.

"Fuck."

A/N

oh look sam actually put some plot development wow omg what a change

Right, so t h a n k s for 20k views on this mess of a story. dunno how that happened but wowzers. thanks loves xx

AND A NEW COVER GUYS. let's all thanks the lovely voidabrams for creating the masterpiece, as well as the other one posted above. thank youuuu

& thanks to everyone else who sent in covers. honestly, it was so hard to pick just one.

I hope this chapter made sense, and I hope you don't think it's abrupt. I mean, the whole point was for Dylan's realization to be kinda sudden bc let's be real, that's how crushes usually are, but still. eh

um so a cool thing is that I'm like out of school?? so weekly updates might be a thing?? who knows honestly bc not me

one last quick question. Who's your favorite character in this story? It kinda will help with a future plan thing so...thanksss

uh...okay, I might have said this one already but...

what did the farmer say when he lost his tractor?

"Help! I've lost my tractor!"

hehehe have a sweet, lovely day, and stay cool xoxo

until next time,

//sam\\