part one / part two / part three / part four
wildfire au. in which tyler’s just gonna shoot himself in the head. because the joke’s on him, and isn’t it always?
he didn't wanna deal with a mortgage. wanted to pay it off at once, that's what he was fucking waiting for.
pissing in the wind, is that the expression? yeah. he might as well have done that.
but really, he should be grateful.
he wasn’t home when his house burned down.
he gets a hotel room. he’s not—he can’t explain himself to anyone, his thoughts, he needs to be alone.
except that half of southern california clearly had the same idea as him.
“tyler? oh my god,” dylan o’brien says to him in the elevator. “small… small world.”
he looks exhausted. and miserable, and he’s kind of shaking.
but it’s always good to see dylan.
“you… which fire?” tyler says, and then, “sorry.”
“it’s kind of funny, actually,” dylan says. “especially in hindsight, oh my god. but uh, i’ve kind of been… crashin’ in my car for a while. as in sleeping,” he adds immediately. “not, like, the more literal… no, nonono. more in the sense of like, crashing on someone’s couch. but, you know, car-shaped. packed full of my stuff, drivable...”
and tyler knows that things can get bad. it’s never a stable job, acting.
but, dylan?
it doesn’t make sense, with dylan.
but if he is joking, he’s gotten a lot better at keeping a straight face.
“how long…” tyler says, and then, “i could’ve… are you serious? dylan.”
too quick, his head is spinning.
and dylan is kind of laughing now. but not really.
“it gets funnier,” he says. “now? it’s like, the funniest… that my house felt way too big to breathe in, i don’t know. like, too cold.”
in that jokey tone he used to do, but he’s shaking even harder now. he swipes at his eyes.
“nothing really changes, huh?” he says. “i’m still crying in front of you. but uh, it’s been really good to see you. before that, anyway.”
he’s trying not to cry. or make a sound, at least, and tyler feels sicker than he has in a long time.
he puts an arm around him. and another, and dylan shudders.
“god,” he says. “you’re still so sweet.”
maybe. it mostly feels like that part of him’s—calcified. like mostly, he’s too old to care anymore.
just keep to yourself, keep your head down. climb the ladder, and do your job, and you can buy your fucking house at the end of the day.
yeah, life’s funny.
“you can stay with me,” he says. “here, i mean. if you don’t have a room.”
dylan shuddering again. sniffling, and covering his eyes.
tyler says, “it’s been too fucking long since we knew each other.”
“yeah,” dylan says, and nods, and nods. “oh my god. i’m such a mess right now.”
“it’ll be easier,” tyler says. “when we’re—not alone.”
helping dylan with his bag, and hooking his arm around him again.
already feeling warmer than he thought he could feel anymore.
he does have a room. tyler should’ve known, it’s not the main elevator. the one just going inside.
but dylan says, “is that crazy? if i like, just crash with you, instead.”
“it’s not crazy,” tyler says, and dylan says, “i should’ve kept in touch with you.”
yeah, maybe. tyler says, “i should’ve tried harder.”
or made time to have a life at all, in four years. that might’ve been helpful.
“i’ll pay my way, obviously,” dylan says, and tyler says, “you don’t have to do that.”
“you’re getting less room, with me there,” dylan says. “like, per… room.”
there’s no one like dylan. tyler’s already laughing. shaking his head.
“it’s a pleasure,” he says. “having you here. trust me.”
“so many innuendos,” dylan says. “there are so many i could make. pleasure… having me?”
and tyler’s face goes hot. but somehow he can’t stop smiling.
it feels like they’ve fallen back in time.
