#dylan and aaron

[dylanstewarts]

Phone Call | Dylan & Aaron

Aaron: What… What’s wrong, Dylan?

Dylan: -picks up, breath shaking.- N-nothing. I'm okay. Honestly. I-I'll be fine.

[dylanstewarts]

[voice mail] Hi. -grins- My mom is out for the entire weekend this week, she's even going to take, Sarah and Rachel too, so I'll have the house to myself. I was thinking we could have a Dr Who Marathon. Ninth doctor. And we could bake something, or I could cook something, and you could stay over. I mean if you want to. I need to go get ready for work. Call me back. -disconnects.-

[dylanstewarts]

[text] I love you.

[text] You're just saying that to make Dylan jealous.

[dylanstewarts]

[voicemail] Is it normal to miss someone as much as I miss you? Probably not, but I don't even care enough to do the research. Hi. This week is going incredibly slow. And I miss you. I really, really miss you. I love you too. Get some sleep. I'll try and stop by for a bit after work tomorrow.

[dylanstewarts]

Reciprocal Function | Dyron

In which Dylan asks Aaron out. Behind the jump because it's a long one.

When he closed his eyes, he saw in vivid detail his own narrative interpretation of what would happen — and each time it ended in relative happiness. Typically, this would have been enough to egg him on, convince him to get out of bed and go over to Aaron’s, because it was rare for his mind’s eye to see a situation go well. He was a realist, he knew, but a cynic, and he always anticipated to worst would come of things. But he knew what Aaron would say, he knew that Aaron would say yes, and yet this still wasn’t enough to make him realize he was doing the right thing. This is what he wanted, after all, what he wanted more than anything else. Last night, when they — him and Aaron and Rory and Kaylee — were watching Firefly, it had just seemed natural. Even if Rory had insisted on sitting between them, Dylan caught himself looking over at Aaron and, on one or two occasions, he could have sworn that he had just missed Aaron looking over, too. The butterflies in his stomach didn’t subside when they were together. It all felt new, and organic, like anything was possible, like everything was whole again. 

He wanted to. More than anything he wanted to ask Aaron on a date, ask Aaron to be with him. He wanted to promise to Aaron that everything would be okay, that he would always be there for him, that he would protect him, and comfort him, and love him unconditionally for the rest of his life. A part of him wanted to propose to Aaron but that seemed like a stretch. Too fast, too soon. He wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for that, and besides he didn’t know how legal that was in Virginia, and he didn’t want to move to Canada just to be with his best friend. No, this would have to do. In his prayer-like position, he nodded his head slightly and sat up. That was all the encouragement he needed. He wanted to be with Aaron, nothing else mattered: the doubt, the fear, it was all second to how he felt with Aaron, and nothing was going to stop him.

Walking to his car took what felt like forever, each step taking him further away from his final destination, lowering his resolve. When he finally touched the handle to the car door, he felt like he was going to be sick, but forced himself into the driver’s seat, inserted his keys, turned on the ignition, and let out a quiet groan. His head snapped back against the cushioned headrest behind him, and he closed his eyes, and he replayed his imaginary scene in his head. Aaron still hugged him. Aaron still said yes. Aaron still loved him. Pulling the car into reverse, he made the trip to his best friend’s house in total silence, beyond the slightly worrisome sound of his car screeching as he turned. 

As far as Dylan knew, Aaron would be home by now, and probably wouldn’t have anybody else over. It was a Thursday, which meant that Aaron would have work in the morning, and Dylan would have school tomorrow. Knowing Aaron, they would just have a quick conversation before he went off to bed, and Dylan would be too embarrassed to ask to stay a little bit longer, or spend the night and sleep on the floor, but would go upstairs, say hi to Aaron’s mom — feeling guilty the whole time, considering how long both their parents assumed they were together — and then leave. He would take the quiet, solitary drive back home, collapse on to his bed until he, too, managed to fall asleep, but his thoughts and his dreams would keep him distracted for much of the night. This was all well and good, but he wanted more, he needed more, and this felt like the logical first step to that point.

He pulled into Aaron’s driveway, the porch light on — maybe Aaron was expecting him — and he turned off the car, sticking his keys into his pocket. He got out and stretched. The chilly air whipped across his face and served to cool him down, because suddenly he realized he was sweating. He couldn’t decide if it was nerves or the heat of the suit, but he chose to remain still for a few moments, hoping he would stop sweating. He stuck his hands into the suit jacket’s pocket, fingers gently running over what he had gotten for Aaron. Originally, it had been placed in a box, but the feel of the velvet unnerved him, so instead Dylan had decided to just keep it without wrapping. Warm to the touch. He ran a hand along its length and smiled weakly as he picked out the engravings, and this pressed him forward, closer to the door, and without hesitation he knocked. 

Aaron’s mother answered the door, and they exchanged pleasantries. She questioned the suit, her mouth thinning into a straight line, but Dylan deftly stretched the truth, saying he had just gotten back from a school function (his face only twitched twice, but he managed to cover it up with a smile), and she didn’t dig deeper than that. He stepped inside, removed his shoes, and hurried towards Aaron’s room, heart aflutter, brain a mess.

The door was closed, and for a few moments Dylan considered that maybe Aaron hadn’t heard him knock, and he smiled vaguely, thinking he could use this to his advantage. This gave him a few moments to breathe, to clear his head, to work up the conviction. He pressed his hand to the door knob and the small smile he had formed grew wider than that, it became an expression of pure joy. Turning the handle, he quickly stepped into Aaron’s room, and closed the door behind him. 

Now was his time.

“Aaron,” he said with his wide smile, letting out a nervous laugh, and he faltered slightly, breaking the eye contact and looking down at his feet. His hand replaced itself into the pocket of his jacket, grasping the trinkets tightly between his fingers and thumb, and he was fairly certain his face was turning beet red. But none of that mattered, now, because he was about to have what he wanted. He needed to pull it together, he needed to stay strong.

So he looked up, a breath catching in his throat, and took a long, hard look at his best friend. His confidante. His lover. “Aaron, I don’t... I don’t know about you, but everybody keeps saying that... that we have this... connection. Chemistry.” He laughed weakly, running his free hand through his hair. He was nervous, Aaron could probably tell that, but he sort of hoped Aaron was nervous, too. 

He took a few steps further into the room, and continued speaking. “And... and lately, I’ve given it some thought. And I agree with them. I think we... I think you...” He looked away, but this time it was only for a moment and he found his courage again. “I think you are... the most amazing man in the world. You’re my best friend. You’re my other half. I can’t imagine living without you, and... and...” He nodded a few times. 

His hand closed in a fist around the gift, and he removed it from his pocket. In a few small steps, he closed the gap between them, standing probably closer than was modest or allowable, but he could feel Aaron’s body heat, he could smell Aaron’s breath, and it was intoxicating and invigorating, and he wanted to kiss him right then and there, but he had to finish his speech, or he would never ask the question. “And I love you. And I know you love me.” As he spoke, he took Aaron’s hand, placing the trinket in his palm. It was a set of dog tags, engraved with the words ‘I love you’ on one, and ‘I know’ on the other, the Star Wars reference too good to pass up, the silver metal was matte, but adorned with a nintendo layout at the base (sort of like this). Dylan pulled his own hand away, and chewed for a moment on his cheek, before he finished. “And I would be... I would be really, really happy if... I would love it if you wanted to be my boyfriend. And if you wanted to go see Salmon Fishing in the Yemen with me, because Ewan McGregor's in it, and...” His voice trailed off. "Everybody likes Ewan McGregor."

Suddenly, everything seemed to disappear again, and all he could see was Aaron, but he couldn’t look directly at Aaron any longer. This was where it could all go wrong, this is where the narrative broke off. It was no longer in Dylan’s control, it was up to Aaron, and more situations than just the one seemed to be running themselves in fast-motion through his mind, but he did his best to appear strong, to appear happy, because if nothing else, he wanted Aaron to think he was happy.

[dylanstewarts]

Statistical Anomaly | Dylan & Aaron

In which Aaron tries to comfort Dylan in his time of need.

Aaron: Pulling up at the Stewart's, Aaron parked his scooter against the side of the curb, took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. There was a lot to count, a lot to consider, but for the first time in honestly awhile; like back to the time he thought he had loved Bella, all he could think about was Dylan. Even a whole stack of paperwork couldn’t keep him away tonight. Dylan had become the prominent want in his mind and perhaps he always had been, but it wasn’t until he allowed himself the chance to let himself go and do something he never thought he ever would be able to was he able to realize that. Aaron in the first time in his entire life felt free. Grabbing a yarmulke from his back pocket and slipping it onto his head; because it was passover today, and walked up to Dylan’s front door; probably stepping on a bunch of cracks on the way and not even caring. It was Dylan’s mom that eventually answered his knocks and Aaron happily displayed his kippah; good impressions now after all, before ditching pass her and heading downstairs to Dylan’s basement. “Dylan? Buddy? You down here---?”

Dylan: Moving was difficult. Everything was difficult, really, even the fundamentals. He couldn’t think, or speak, or breathe without hardship. His room was dark, the door opened just a sliver to let in the light from the hallway but not enough for his mother to feel the obligation to check up on him. He was pretending to be ill. He had skipped out on the family get-togethers all weekend, confining himself to his room. Even when he had run away, his parents had been oblivious, in North Carolina at the time. His insides were eating away at him, physically and metaphorically, and when he heard Aaron arrive — first the knocking on the door, then the footsteps, finally his voice — Dylan’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second. Now would be the perfect opportunity to feign death, but he didn’t want to do that to Aaron. He couldn’t do that to Aaron. Instead, he flipped over slightly, rolling onto his side in a slow, pained movement. He stared at the door, waiting for Aaron to come into view. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice hoard. “In here.”

Aaron: Aaron had taken one look at his friend and calculated that he was a mess; an adorable mess, but still a mess. “You’re a mess. Have you even brushed your teeth today?” He swayed on his heels a little, as his urge to run his hands through the tangled mess that was Dylan’s head grew a little more every second. He might not have been counting, but he still knew how to calculate and he knew it would only take roughly five steps and a quarter before he was able to do just that. “Here you want me to get your mom to warm you up some lamb?” He took off the kippah and folded it back into his pocket for safe keeping.

Dylan: “I’ve brushed my teeth,” Dylan assured as quickly as he could, though the words came out painfully on his tongue. He didn’t want to admit that the only reason he had taken that initiative was because he had thrown up several times and couldn’t stand the aftertaste. He narrowed his eyes slightly, a faint smile crossing his face as he saw Aaron coming into focus. For a brief second he considered sitting up, but the effort still seemed to be too concerted to be worth it. Instead, he remained still on his bed, just watching Aaron. The folds and creases on his shirt. The subtle movements he made as he breathed. “I’m okay,” he responded, still finding talking to be a challenge. “I... I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, probably not a convincing one, but he also knew that any attempt to hold down food would be in vain. Better safe than sorry. He didn’t want Aaron to see him sick, so he pressed on, all pretense of pleasantries and idle chatter lost on him. “Bella and I are done. Broke up.”

Aaron: Aaron had been in a button up and tie for most of the week and earlier that day, that it felt good to be back in one of his simple plaid numbers. “Okay.” His brow frowned slightly, because he still wasn’t quite sure if Dylan had brushed them recently and if he was going to kiss his friend again he at least wanted him to taste good. Like he had tasted the other night in the bathroom. Like, spearmint and something uniquely Dylan, not late morning breath. The tip of his tongue brushed out across his bottom lip as he thought about it and for a moment; even though it was totally illogical, he thought he /could/ still taste him. He had been about to protest, because Dylan really looked like he could go with some food, when his best friend’s next few words had the reply Aaron had been about to let fall off his lips rewording itself quickly, because he no longer cared too much about food. “Is it ba-bad to say I’m ha-happy to hear that?”

Dylan: Now seemed as good a time as any to sit up. It was a stiff movement, the rigidity of his body unprepared for the change in position. He raised slowly, his hair a tangled mop on his head, completely covering one side of his face. As he groaned, he ran a hand through the mess to move it from his eyes. So he could see Aaron again. He wanted to smile, but the pains in his body prevented it. Instead, he simply stared ahead, fixated on Aaron, a slightly quizzical look on his face as he tried to rationalize something. “Yes,” he said, then paused again. He blinked, and the process was so slow that he was worried his eyes would remain sealed shut. “But it doesn’t make me think any less of you.” That made him smile, his own corny attempt at lightening the situation. That single sentence eased the tension on his body, and he carefully rolled his shoulders to begin recirculating the blood. “I don’t feel very good about it. I feel awful, actually. I feel like a total monster. I broke her heart. I stepped on it. A million pieces.” He cut himself off, feeling the sting of tears starting to form in his eyes, and stopped while he was ahead. “I’m glad you came.”

Aaron: If Aaron was more self-aware, he would’ve probably been a little more sincere towards Dylan, but he wasn’t. Instead he just nodded, because he didn’t feel bad, he rarely did. When it came to feeling anything, Aaron usually had to ask people how he should have been reacting to whatever situation was unfolding at the time, and then proceed to try his best to portray it. The only time things didn’t feel like a complete act was when he was around, Dylan, because he didn’t seem to care if Aaron felt bad or not, he just seemed to care about Aaron. “It was inevitable. Me and you, were ine-inevitable. So, really, Bella was al-always going to get hurt. And Bet-better now than if you we-were married te-ten years from now.” Walking over, Aaron leaned down and pushed his face against Dylan’s neck. Trying to comfort him, “I’m glad I’m here to-too.” He managed to mumble out against his friend’s neck.

Dylan: The sound of Aaron saying they were inevitable gave Dylan pause. He did not look stunned — he couldn’t possibly look more aloof that he already did — but he certainly felt that way. They were inevitable. Soulmates. The idea brought another small smile to his face. As Aaron crossed the few steps separating them, Dylan moved his hands to the side to give his friend space, and then once again felt the flesh against his, the warm touch of Aaron’s cheek pressed to Dylan’s own skin. Unable to say anything, Dylan simply brought his hands back, wrapping his arms around Aaron’s shoulders, bunching up fists into the fabric of his best friend’s plaid shirt. He bowed his head into the crook of Aaron’s neck, breathing in through his nostrils, taking in his smell again. All Dylan was aware of was that he hadn’t showered in days and probably smelt like peanut butter, permanent marker, and the gin they had used to clean off said marker. Thinking about that made him think of Bella, which upset him further, setting off a chain reaction. He held more tightly to Aaron, and for what felt like the hundredth time that weekend, he start to cry. Messy, salty, warm tears feel down his cheeks, and Dylan wiped them on the shoulders of Aaron’s top, trying to speak but finding himself unable to come up with the right words beyond “I don’t know what to do—”

Aaron: “--I don’t th-think we’re meant to know w-what to do all th-the time, Dylan.” It was something he had painfully had to admit to himself over the duration of his life so far. As Aaron might have known a lot of things, but when he realized he would never know /that/ (at least up until recently), he decided maybe no one was meant to know it. His hands moved up to brush through his best friend’s hair, gripping his scalp for a brief moment and not even minding that Dylan clearly needed to have a shower. Oddly, he didn’t mind that Dylan was a mess today, because as long as he got to be the one to clean him up, and as long as he was /his/ mess, Aaron really wouldn’t have minded if Dylan smelled like vomit and tequila. His hands moved down to rest behind the back of Dylan’s neck, his own fingers entwining with each other and locking his grip into place only a few seconds after he had done so. He used his new grip to pull Dylan’s face away from his neck, so he could look at him again. Really look at him. “It doe-doesn’t matter if you don’t know wh-what do anymore an-anyway. Because /I/ do. And I’m not g-going anywhere.”

Dylan: Being so close to Aaron — able to see him, to smell him, to hear him — seemed to bring every emotional that Dylan had felt over the past forty-eight hours to arms, as each unwanted feeling washed over him in rapid succession. His eyes were red, his cheeks puffed and swollen, he was a well and true mess, but still Aaron remained closed. Still Aaron wanted to be around him. Pulling his hands back to his own person, relinquishing the hold that Dylan had on Aaron’s shirt, he wiped away the remnants of the tears and returned the gaze, though his own eyes clouded and glazed over as more tears threatened to pour. Aaron would always be the strong one. “I just...” he spoke slowly, softly, but was interrupted by the sound of a laugh escaping from his throat, well-intention and high-pitched. He couldn’t help but offer a crooked smile before he overruled Aaron’s hold and leaned in to kiss him. This time, he didn’t pull away, part of him couldn’t even if he wanted to. Everything was lost to him. How he smelt, how he would taste, how this would look if his mother chose to use this conversational lull to barge into his room. All that mattered to him was Aaron. All he wanted, all he needed, was Aaron, and he knew that things would be better.

Aaron: Aaron’s words had not been; at least in a cliche way, stolen from. He hadn’t even been thinking of reply at the time because he had still been waiting for Dylan to finish his own when his best friend had leaned in and kissed him (again?). A lingering thought that he really was going to have to be the one to initiate it first next time stayed with him until his basic instincts kicked in and his mouth began to move back over Dylan’s, because he couldn’t think of much else after that. Although honestly it was a mess. Just like Dylan tonight. Tongues were being pushed up against one another not exactly sure what to do and Aaron couldn’t seem to get comfortable, but then it suddenly wasn’t -- or if it was it was a calculated mess and one that made perfect sense, like the lines of a linear equation; straight to a point, and that point was his best friend. His hands eventually slipped away from behind Dylan’s neck and moved to grip his shirt and pull him impossibly closer as he let out a noise that had been building up in the back of his throat for awhile now; one of want and need for the brunette in his grip. When Aaron pulled away, it was only to catch his breath. A crooked smile appearing on his face when his eyes found Dylan’s again, as he took the time to steady himself. “Now t-that--” His hand reached forward, as he knotted his fingers in the fabric of Dylan’s shirt; not wanting to let go of him just yet, “-- is what I call a m-magnetic force.”

Dylan: The kiss was over too soon, before it had even begun. Dylan let Aaron go up for air, and wasted what was left of his willpower to hold off, not to go in again. It was animalistic now, for him. Lust that came with the easing of fear and of dread that had permeated his being since the night of the stoplight party. He had felt free of himself, of his problems, of his life, and that euphoria lingered, dwelling in the post-mortem of the kiss, but slowly it faded away. Responsibility, doubt, grief, they all came flooding back into his memory. He continued looking at Aaron, blinking his eyes clear of the passion that was burning, yearning to lash out again, but he remained calm. He took a breath. “I—” Once again he cut his speech short, but he remained where he was this time, unable to complete the thought out of sheepishness. He was going to say he had never kissed somebody like that before. It had never been so... gravitating. So sobering. ‘Right’ wasn’t the right word for the situation. Another breath, and he let out a small, close-lipped smile to Aaron. Dylan’s hands reached to touch Aaron’s sleeves, and slowly drew themselves to where Aaron held on to Dylan’s shirt, interlocking their fingers. “You should sit,” he said finally, running the pad of his thumb over one of Aaron’s knuckles. “And we should talk.” His voice cracked, shaking over the words. “And I should shower.”

Aaron: “/You/ should.” It was his own amusement that ended up twisting the corner of his mouth upwards as he leaned forward and brushed his hand through Dylan’s hair; the same hair that he had come to dream about running his fingers through, even despite its current greasy texture. “And we w-will.” Right now, Aaron just needed to focus on getting Dylan back together, so they could maybe start working out how everything was going to work now that they were /together/ or kind of together. Aaron wasn’t quite sure what to call it as he was quite certain they didn’t write text books or scientific journals on ‘What to do if you fall in love with your best friend; Dylan Stewart.’ If they had, like all things that pertained to his best friend, he would have read it by now. His grip tightened around Dylan, as he eventually pulled him up off the bed, letting out a quick laugh. With Dylan now impossibly close to him, he took in a breath and even with the lingering smell of peanut butter -- and was that a sharpie? Aaron could still smell /him/. His hand slipped out of Dylan’s hand to run down over his friend’s shirt, settling on the hemline of said shirt once he had reached the end. He had always liked that shirt on Dylan, but right now he hated it. “I-- I -- this should -- you should take this off.”

Dylan: It was not a difficult request, but Dylan hesitated. Instinctively his hands had gone right to the collar of his shirt, the fabric suddenly itchy on his body. This shirt, one of his favourite shirts, one that he had been wearing for however many hours to the point where it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn, was suddenly uncomfortable. But he couldn’t take it off. He was being silly, he knew: Aaron had seem him without his shirt on before. But then it was in passing, or platonic, or whatever you wanted to call it because looking back on his friendship, ‘platonic’ hardly seemed to be the right word to use. His fingers curled around the slightly thicker, stiffer, collar fabric and tugged, pulling the whole of the garment over his head. With his newfound exposure, he lowered the heap of fabric into his lap, bunching it together, and using his hands to shield his stomach — from what, Dylan didn’t know. It felt like he was under scrutiny. Ever imperfection, every lingering stroke of the word ‘Barry’ on his chest, seemed magnified and shown off for the world, his world, Aaron, to see. He didn’t even have the courage to ask him to return the favourite. He simply stared for a moment, the spoke, finally, not really thinking beforehand. “I told people. I’m sorry, I—I was confused, and scared, and alone, and I needed to talk, and then one thing led to another and then I just couldn’t help myself, and—and I’m sorry.”

Aaron: Suddenly the need to push his hand up against Dylan’s chest wasn’t as prominent as the need to understand what Dylan actually wanted right now. It was an equation really, if Dylan didn’t want to be in it, Aaron, even despite how hard he tried, wasn’t going to be able to work out the final solution for them. He couldn’t do this alone. His hand moved up to take ahold of one of Dylan’s wrists and tug his arm away from his body. He could tell that Dylan seemed unsure, but he usually was unless he had a headset on and a controller in his hand. And perhaps the same could be said with Aaron, but replace controller with white board marker and headset with safety glasses. Maybe they really were ‘meant to be’ or how Aaron liked to put it two magnets that were always going to connect someday, no matter how many forces seemed to be holding them apart. “I’m not mad.” He wasn’t either, but he was sure Dylan thought he was, so he needed to straighten that out for him. With his free hand; the one currently not wrapped around Dylan’s wrist taking note of his pulse and how it seemed to quicken every now and again, he moved it to grip the side of Dylan’s face. “Are we -- are we not telling people?”

Dylan: He felt Aaron’s hand on his face and instinctively turned his head toward it, raising his own free hand to press again that of his friend. Dylan’s gaze turned downward, then he shut his eyes to silence out the world. Still aware of Aaron’s presence, he turned over the arm being measured for blood pressure and balled the hand into a fist. “We can tell people. I wasn’t—I just... I didn’t know. What to say. It just slipped out, and... I wasn’t sure.” He paused to take a breath, to calm himself down. He was panicked again, he knew, and he didn’t want to be. Aaron deserved more than that. He needed to be happy. “I don’t know what any of this means, Aaron,” he said, trying to sound reasoned and composed. He was still conscious of the bareness of his chest and slouched slightly, a mix of shame and anxiety. “You—you need to understand that I’m confused right now. Not... not confused about what I want. I just don’t... I don’t know who I am anymore. This is... this is new, and scary, and different. And I’m scared.”

Aaron: With a nod, Aaron detached himself and reached back down to grab Dylan’s shirt, handing it to him and telling him simply to “-- put it back on.” A few things ever stumped Aaron, but he knew it didn’t exactly work that way with everyone else. That when Aaron was sure about something just by doing a few calculations inside his head and working it into his life plan that it didn’t mean they were sure of it too. People can’t read minds after all, they can presume but that is all they can do. “Why do y-you think, I’m here?” Aaron brushed his thumb over Dylan’s wrist after grabbing it again. “--I’m here to help --- I’m here -- I’m here.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of Dylan’s forehead, his lips lingering for a moment, before he pulled himself back away. “I’m kind of --” What was the word to describe his feelings right now, he contemplated it for a moment because it was a rare one at that, but he had felt it before just usually at the start of debate or a swim meet “-- nervous t-too.” He gave Dylan a small smile, “--you make me n-nervous.”

Dylan: Dylan didn’t know why he was so ashamed, but he was, and it was a feeling unlike anything he had felt before in Aaron’s presence. Perhaps it was because in present company, he valued himself as cheaper than the lint from the dryer. He had no self worth anymore — it had devolved into self-debt, fallen so low that in, in fact, owed self esteem to several other people. Kaylee, Lyla, Melissa, Rory — the girls who had seen to it that he survived the weekend. Hastily, he took the shirt and raised it, contemplating putting it on, but changed his mind at the last moment. “No,” he said, quietly, self-effacing but growing solidly more confident. His body straightened out slightly, the thin, bare, plain frame exposed finally. The action was meant to be brave and heroic, but his pose, body language, and overall build rendered him looking, perhaps, more pathetic than he had before. He chewed down on his bottom lip. “You... make me feel less nervous,” he offered as response, feeling the blood rushing to his face. “You make me feel right again. Whole. But I...” He laid back onto the bed, crashing into the pillow and blankets tangled into knots with a delicate thudding noise. “I love Bella. And it hurts to know that she hates me. That she never wants to talk to me again.”

Aaron: “Uh--” His mouth closed back shut as Dylan moved away, lying back down on his bed as he did, his form; exhausted. It was hard for Aaron to fully understand his best friend’s situation with Bella, even if he had at one point thought he had felt the same. The best Aaron could do was try and understand Dylan and then maybe he would start understanding the Bella thing better and then like all problems; once he had discovered the formula, he would be able to solve it. Heading over to Dylan’s bed, Aaron laid down beside his friend, his arms resting behind his own head as he stared up at the ceiling above. “I don’t have to be h-home till after twelve. I’ll st-stay with you till then, okay?” It wasn’t really a question and settling back more comfortably against Dylan’s pillow, Aaron moved one of his hands away from behind his head and started brushing his fingers through the curly mess of hair on his friend’s head.

Dylan: “Okay,” Dylan echoed quietly, as if that would somehow make everything better, but as his stomach growled and he turned into Aaron slightly — both for the view and to hopefully stifle the noise — he was fairly certain it wouldn’t. It had been two full days he couldn’t think straight, and the more he contemplated, the more confused he became. This felt like a problem that had no answer, something unsolvable and immutable. Aaron wouldn’t believe that. In his world of equations and physics, everything had an answer if you dug deeply enough, but Dylan lived on the plane of emotions and heartbreak. Never before had he experienced pain this badly and, despite his better judgement and the assurances of everybody around him, he didn’t think he’d be able to recover. He spoke anyway, just trying to get his mind off of the dark things encroaching on his sanity. “There’s nothing... nothing I can do, though, is there?” he wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer. His hand reached out to graze a finger over Aaron’s chest, through his shirt. Absently, he began to draw, first a cross, then a star, then he began to work on the reproduction of a Monet, tracing the lines of Aaron’s body where he could. “I can’t—I can’t make her not hate me. She hates me. That’s it. It’s up to her.”

Aaron: Aaron’s life, was complicated, but in its own way. He didn’t allow relationships, friendships or anything like emotions to really confuse him. If his body was telling him it loved Dylan, /it/ loved Dylan. He didn’t even need to think otherwise, which was good because that meant he could think about his work instead. He continued brushing his hand through Dylan’s hair and despite how presumably complicated his friend’s words were, he answered them simply with a ‘Her loss.’ And shifted closer. He wanted to stay there; next to his best friend, for the rest of his existence, but something told him he /was/ going to be there in some way or another for the rest of his life anyway. And that made Aaron smile, and hold out that one day there wouldn’t be a Bella to think about for Dylan, there would just be /them/.

Dylan: Things had been dark. They had been more than, at times, Dylan could stand. He had gone to everybody he knew, everybody he could think of for advice. Everybody said to follow his heart, to do what he knew was right. Each time he said struggled to accept the answer — he knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t so easy. Now, though... now things felt easier. Things felt like they were supposed to. He was lying in his best, lying next to his best friend, his other half, his soulmate, and he considered it. He considered what it all meant. Those words had been tossed around before, not only by them, but by their other friends, their parents. They completed each other. Dylan never realized the implications of those words. He licked his lips again, fixating on the pattern of Aaron’s shirt. In the silence, he had forgotten about Bella. He had forgotten about everything except the present moment, and in the present moment he was happy. Everything made sense, everything was perfect. The moment wouldn’t last, though, he knew, somewhere in the depths of his mind. Once Aaron left, Dylan would go back to the crippling loneliness, the despair, and the fear. He knew this to be true, but it didn’t bother him. These issues wouldn’t go right away. They would haunt him, pester him, torture him until he worked up the courage to move past them. To stop feeling the guilt that had been compounding steadily inside of him for the past three days, and perhaps even beyond.

He stopped drawing, then, his finger stopping itself just above Aaron’s stomach. He flicked his eyes upward, looking at the profile of his face, and smiled. He was lucky, he had realized tonight, to be experiencing this with somebody who felt the same way. It could have been worse — it could have been a thousand times worse. But he had Aaron. He would always have Aaron, he knew, even if that was presumptuous. Whatever happened, Aaron would be there. And that gave him comfort, more comfort than he had felt laying next to anybody else. His hand closed into a weak fist, crumpling the fabric of his friend’s shirt, and then he closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment, lulling himself into security. Dylan felt Aaron teasing his hair and this, too, put him further down. “Don’t ever leave me,” he said softly, before he drifted off — not to sleep, no, but to somewhere else, somewhere in-between dreaming and wakefulness, where he could still sense Aaron’s presence there, laying with him in the darkness, but somewhere he could extend the fleeting moment of joy for the rest of his life, somewhere he could truly be happy.

[dylanstewarts]

[text] It can usually help anyone, but okay if you insist, we'll work something else out. I'll drop by after church.

[text] Great... awesome. Cool. Stellar. See you then.

-At this point, Dylan puts down his phone and starts having a massive heart attack and probably collapsing on to his bed for more fits of sobs and hysterics.-

[dylanstewarts]

[text] Want some help? I can spin by after church and we'll draw up a formula and see what makes sense and what doesn't.

[text] Nothing makes sense and I don't think this is the sort of thing that advanced quadratic functions can help me with. I want you... I want to see you. I just. I just need to think. And to figure some things out.