Chapter 1: "You're hired"
Summary:
The one where Dylan gets interviewed.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
6:40 | SEPTEMBER 22 - DYLAN
Dylan wasn’t happy about it, but he was standing in front of Norte at a godawful time in the morning on a Saturday. Not Sunday, not Friday. Saturday. He stood there after knocking, glaring at the brown door. Orange door. Well, the longer he looked, it dawned on him that it was more of a terra cotta. The color actually quite complimented the dark brown brick walls of the cafe, especially as the building itself weathers away with age and sun-bleaching. If Dylan wasn’t exhausted and desperate to be back home in bed, he would take in the cool air wafting in from Oneida Lake and the sun starting to peak over the sleepy town’s waterfront. Maybe he’d be present in the moment and take in the honey saccharine scent baked into the walls and entrance of Norte. If he did that, he would be taken straight back to his childhood, running down the sidewalk with classmates or his mom to get something sweet at Norte.
Because it was Norte. Norte was The Iconic Cafe and Cookie shop in town, and even in surrounding towns. It boasted a scenic view of the lake and new ice cream and sherbet flavors regularly, always made in-house along with its coffee. The shop practically begged locals and tourists alike to stop by for a cone before walking along the beaches nearby. In recent years, they’ve actually expanded under new ownership. The guy, Chris Hackett, with his two kids moved into town a few years back and purchased the property off the original owner, a sweet little lady who just liked baking cookies. Under new ownership, they increased the working team, expanded into cafe, bakery, and Creamery, and actually started a beta version of a delivery system for their products.
Now, all that aside, Norte was still good old-fashioned Norte, and it was still an early morning Saturday. Dylan was exhausted. And he would love to be back home asleep in bed. So he would not be “reflecting” and “enjoying the moment”. He would continue to glare at the terra cotta door to the shop until it opens because, goddammit, he’s tired but he still needs a job. The owner had called earlier in the week about coming in for an interview, which was a score for Dylan. Interviews were kind of his forte. He didn’t count on the earliest time to be before opening on Saturday, but he’s not one to complain. Outwardly at least.
Dylan adjusts the collar of his sweater with a shiver, the autumnal breeze seeping through and chilling the skin underneath.
The hell’s taking so long? They weren’t even open yet, he was told specifically before opening. He goes to knock again and connects once with the wood before it swings open. Leaving him standing in the chill, arm raised, and whiplashed with the overpowering smell of coffee, chocolate, and tooth-rotting sweetness. He blinks at the figure, nearly a foot shorter than him, in slight surprise.
She blinks back, eyes sweeping up and down slowly. Surveying the newblood.
“So you’re the applicant, huh?” She greets and he nods.
“Sorry for the delay, Ryan and Mr. H are setting up for the weekend. He told me to come get you.” The employee turns back, leaving Dylan gaping.
“Name’s Kaitlyn, by the by. You might want to come in.” And she sasses him. Before learning a man’s name. Dylan decides a couple of things: she’s a piece of work and she’s gonna be his friend very soon.
“Dylan.” He shuffles in behind her, “So you work the opening shift?”
“Sure do. I’m not a veteran or anything, that would be Ryan. But I still know my way around.” Kaitlyn replies, a small smile on her face. As if she were smug. For what she could possibly be smug about, the boy had no idea.
“Cool, cool,” Dylan offered, and he was prepared to deliver a finely crafted pun, something about ice breakers as they passed a wall of freezers (heh, nice one) before she flung a door open and picked up the conversation herself.
“I’ll leave you in the office, he’ll be in soon.” The door squeaks shut behind him, and he is left alone again. Dylan hears a delayed, peppy ‘Best of luck, guy!’ through the door as he surveys the office (that definitely and respectfully needs some tender lovin’ care) and takes a seat.
“Welp,” Mr. Hackett says with a clap. “It was great meeting you, kiddo. As an owner of a small business, I like to keep things transparent and quick so I’ll just say I think you would make a great addition to the team.”
The waiting and interview itself kept him in the chair for well over an hour. Not like he was complaining. It went great. Chris Hackett was relaxed and clearly knew how to run a business, valued his employees, and he was maybe a little bit eager to keep things casual and “young”. But things looked great in both their eyes and the promise of a position was within Dylan’s grasp.
“I do have to ask some clarifying questions, if that’s ok. They may be a bit unsavory,” With that, Dylan soured, and the man flashed an apologetic look with a glance down to Dylan’s left sweater sleeve. “But they’re important to ensure your safety and health considering your situation.”
And the situation was made clear early in the application process, obviously. Any application you fill out for anything would probably ask whether you’ve got both hands or not, in more polite terms. And Dylan was one short.
“Yep. No, yeah, I know, I know. Americans with Disabilities Act or whatever.” Mr. Hackett levels Dylan with an even stare, slightly unimpressed if he had to guess.
“Sure. But I was thinking more about how I can make sure you work comfortably and confidently. Keep you on some tasks and have the other kids work on others you might not be cut out for.” A notepad is pulled out of a drawer in Mr. Hackett’s desk and a pen is clicked.
Dylan stares back.
“Mr. Hackett, I can use an ice cream scooper.”
“I’m just asking for what you might need in terms of accommodations.”
“And I appreciate that, man, I do!” Dylan scrambles, not quite a shout but much more elevated than the subject matter called for. Which makes him cringe. Outwardly. Oof. The interview was falling out of his control right at the finish line. It was almost poetic in the way that it happened as soon as his Problems were mentioned.
At Dylan’s outburst, Chris Hackett clicks the pen again and places it down on the desk. Both sets of eyes meet and Dylan, face flushing with hot shame, looks away first.
“I would like to say I understand, Dylan, but I don’t. But I can understand why it might be hard to talk about.” Chris’s eyes flit away from the boy across from him, over 6 feet tall but shrunken to as small as he could be in the chair.
“Look, it’s fine. You’re hired. We would love to have you on the team. And we can be flexible, alright?”
“I can be flexible too, Mr. H. I can handle it.” Dylan replies, leaning back deeper into the chair to emphasize the point. Confidence, he reminded himself. Nonchalant effortless confidence, hotshot.
Chris totally doesn’t buy it. But mercy smiles down on Dylan as he doesn’t mention it.
“I’ll have you start Monday, the weekends can be hefty.” Mr. Hackett stands, empty notepad and pen forgotten on the desk, and Dylan stands with him. “You can come in tomorrow after hours for training with Ryan.”
“Sounds good. Uh, Ryan who?”
“Ryan would be your manager.” And Mr. Hackett, seasoned business owner entrepreneur, flushes with what can only be embarrassment.
“Ah, shoot, sorry, Dyl. Haven’t even met the crew yet and I’m telling you to meet some strangers. Here, follow me, shop should be starting to fill by now.”
And it was. Some time through the interview, the pair had to project their voices above the commotion just outside the door. As the two left the office, the noise hit full force and Dylan was faced with Norte’s weekend morning traffic. A sizable line had formed despite the early hour, locals likely grabbing a coffee and a pastry before tourists flooded into town. Most employees were stationed at the coffee and bakery stations, and Dylan recognized the girl from earlier. Katie, maybe. She was working a blender with a light sheen of sweat on her brow, with a tanned curly-haired man next to her at the espresso machine. Above all the commotion, a blonde girl, done up with a swinging ponytail and a confident swagger to her step, was gathering orders and delivering steaming cups across the table in front of the station.
Being distracted by the scene (as is typical for Dylan), he didn’t catch what Mr. Hackett said. But the stable hand on his shoulder told Dylan to stay put and out of the way. A chorus of ‘hello’s’ drones out from the early rising employees as the owner makes himself known, greeting customers as he passes.
And Dylan takes the moment to sit down and take stock.
He snagged a job. He’d gotten over the grumpy early morning brain fog and is slightly more awake. He’s practically hugged by the smell of coffee, chocolate, and salt. He makes eye contact with the Katie person as she swings an arm to catch his attention, waving at her back in a small greeting. And she smiles back kindly, and maybe a bit tiredly. But she still shoots a thumbs up at him.
Not bad, Dyl Pill. He resigns himself to buying a coffee as a reward for a job well done on this fine Saturday morning.
“Dylan, meet your manager.” He snapped back to attention and eyed Chris Hackett and his manager.
“Hey. Ryan.” Dylan is not proud to admit that the smooth voice erupting from the guy’s throat brought goosebumps up on the back of his neck.
“Dylan. You might already know that though.” He clasps Ryan’s offered hand.
He’s not proud of the way that he also admires the firmness of the handshake. Or the way that he stares at the small mole on the edge of the guy’s lips. Yeah, he’s not proud of getting so whipped so fast so early in the morning.
“Uh, not really, actually.”
“Oh, no, no, that’s alright.” And like an old well-worn coat, Dylan felt an uncontrollable need. It was nearly a biological instinct to completely mask his nerves in some way or another. “You will, buddy.”
Apparently, this time, it was thinly veiled and vague flirty humor and affectionate name-calling. And Buddy, of all things.
And if Dylan were in any other position, he would pull his prosthetic out the socket and punch himself in the back of the head with it.
Ryan, his manager who he would certainly be spending plenty of time around, doesn’t respond. If not for a slight tilt of his head and furrowing of his brow, Dylan might’ve thought he didn’t even hear him. Nice one, hotshot. But god bless Chris Hackett for swooping to the rescue, none the wiser to Dylan’s inner turmoil and heart flip-flopping in his chest.
“Now, the interview has concluded, Dylan will be joining us on Monday.” The man drawls and turns his attention to Ryan.
“If it’s ok, I’ll have you train him tomorrow. Standard stuff, coffee, bakery, you know the works.” Ryan nods and the attention swings back to Dylan. The look in Mr. Hackett’s eyes shifts the atmosphere to a place that Dylan does not want it. He's not taking the shifting atmosphere laying down though, not if he has anything to say about it.
“Ryan’s essentially my right and left hand around here, he can help you with any issue you come across. If he somehow can’t, he’ll bring the issue to me. Now again,” Chris Hackett fixes Dylan with a cool level stare, “Any problem or issue at all, I expect you to let Ryan or myself know. No shame in that, Dyl, right?”
“10-4, cap.” Dylan mock salutes, happy to deflect from the deeper issue at hand (ha). Sure, it's the first full-time job he had since losing his hand. He could probably look past that. He can’t look past the fact that he’s being trained by a dreamboat and working full-time with said dreamboat.
“Perfect!” Mr. Hackett claps, yet again. “Now if you two will excuse me, I think the kids could use some help. Ryan, you can actually start showing Dyl around if you wan-”
“I uh..” Dylan’s own voice surprises him, and he fights down the urge to shrink as both sets of eyes turn to him. It’s almost funny. He’s taller than one and about the same height as the other but the attention still makes him feel like he’s on fire.
Focus, Dylan.
“Sorry, not that I wouldn’t love to get a tour of Candy Land with my guy, Ryan.” Don’t look at him.
“But I did kind of have plans later today to get ready for?” He lied.
“That’s fine, kiddo, just keep tomorrow free for training. Ryan’ll let you know when traffic slows enough to start training.”
Notes:
This is kind of like a little pet project for me so I hope you guys like it! I do have the next chapter written and another somewhat planned out but I think the vibe of this will mostly be "Dylan's sweet shop hijinks with a side of romantic pining". Do not worry. They WILL get together by the end of it. I just need to figure out where the "end of it" is.
Also if you wanna listen to the cheesy candyman playlist that I made for this fic, here you go
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3bzg5TFiL1ibkx4Q0DqiPU?si=561adc705f614c51&pt=ea649634bb5b81aac89c8ea650c1108b
Chapter 2: "Aprons are over there"
Summary:
The one where Dylan bonds with his coworkers and goes through training.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
19:00 | SEPTEMBER 23 - DYLAN
Ryan, sure enough, let him know he could come in at about six in the afternoon the next day.
Dylan surprisingly didn’t fling his phone at the new number sending him a text message. Only when he read the contents (A simple hi. this is ryan from norte. just letting you know that the store is slowing down so you can come in soon.) of the message did he almost fling the thing into space.
And so he found himself at Norte not long after, where he was brought in by a man, spotted with freckles and sparkly blue eyes. Quick introductions revealed him to be Max, usually present in the evening shift, and quick introductions lead to relentless banter. Max and Dylan were cut from similar cloth, and having Kaitlyn - not Katie - present only made the banter quicker and saucier. But all good things come to an end, especially when the end looked like training with Ryan Erzahler.
“Hey, don’t go too easy on the guy, alright? He got snappy and trashed my pastry wrapping technique.”
“Kaitlyn, I’m just saying that I could package a cookie with that same quality without training.” Dylan amends. “And without the prosthetic.” He adds for good measure, pleased with the blanching of Kaitlyn’s face and the tight press of her lips together. Max stands stock straight behind her as if frozen in time, mouth twisting into something between a grimace and a shaky smile.
“Are..can we laugh at that? I feel like we can’t do that.”
“I am not dignifying you with an answer, buddy.”
“Ok, ok, stop.” Kaitlyn takes command of the conversation with a deep breath, hands raised up to appease the giant idiots around her.
“We’ve messed around long enough. Now I don’t know about Max, but I’ve got a hot date with my couch and Hulu to get to, and you have quite a bit of training on your plate for just a night, guy.” huffs Kaitlyn as she shrugs on a jacket.
“Yeah, I should probably head home, too.” Max shrugs off the apron that lay forgotten on his figure. “I don’t personally feel like sticking around for scooping lessons, no offense, Dyl.”
Before Dylan could utter a syllable, Kaitlyn butts in, “And pastry wrapping. And the standard health and safety shpiel. And the whole coffee thing. And shift discussion.”
Amid her animated listing of training goals and obligations, going as far as to count on her fingers, the boys stand and stare. Dylan deflating. Ryan schooled into a poker face. And Max just a touch nervous to not interrupt her.
“And I’m probably missing something else, but yeah. Oh, and cleaning up the stations. Important one.” She winks. Pleased with herself, clearly. A beat passes where they all glance at one another.
“Yeah, wow,” Ryan drones evenly, “If only I laid out what training will look like, like, half an hour ago before leaving like she did just now. Oh wait...yeah, I did.”
Maybe it’s the deadpan delivery or the lack of a simple twitch of the guy’s face. Or maybe the fact that Dylan was terribly infatuated with everything about the guy contributed a bit, from the incredible cheekbones to the smooth skin to the clothes that adorn the man’s figure in front of him. He oozed coolness and angst and it all seemed actually effortless! But the factors all aligned to make Dylan bark out a laugh. An unattractive one. A guffaw.
Dylan was not a praying man, but he wished whatever was listening would will the Earth to swallow him up.
A chorus of laughter followed promptly during Dylan’s rumination. A glance to his left reveals the smallest smile on Ryan’s face. Barely a smile actually if it were on anyone else, but on Ryan, it screamed ‘hell, yeah'. Ryan sort of seems satisfied. Dylan feels warmth spreading inside out.
Kaitlyn mimed wiping a tear from her eye and waves on her way out the door. Max’s laughter drifts off, and he offers a fist bump goodbye. Very endearing of the guy. What a dude.
He’s startled out of his ruminations (again) by a cough from Ryan.
“Well uh. Let’s get down to business then. Aprons are over there.”
In retrospect, maybe Dylan should have expected that one-on-one training for hours with his personal Adonis would lead to both awkward strips of silence and inane rambling to try and avoid said silence. Fortune, however, smiles down on Dylan tonight. He has yet to cross any lines of coworker civility, and Ryan is. Well, he’s not a surprising conversationalist. He can barely be considered a conversationalist. 90% of what was said by him was instruction and the other 10% were replies to whatever bullshit Dylan uttered. But Ryan, fortunately, seemed as chill as they come, efficient in his spoken direction, demonstrations, and stepping aside with his phone in hand to allow Dylan a few times to try himself. ‘To nail the technique down,’ he explained.
Running through pastry etiquette was a relative breeze. The coffee station rundown consisted of naming the machinery, what they did, how to work and clean them, and a quick crash course in coffee.
‘Espresso, latte, macchiato, and americano. Ask Emma if someone asks for something with an actual weird name.’
It got a little weird in a ‘oh, Chris absolutely told you about his prosthesis-related concerns’ way when they hit the ice cream and sherbert cases.
And let Dylan be the first to say: He gets it.
Part of him - the attention whore part - appreciates the caution and concern even. Dylan had to learn the history behind disability in the country quickly and intimately all at once, so this treatment was quite nice and reasonable - assuming it wouldn’t be held against him, maybe financially. And if he was realistic? Yeah. Losing a hand and a good chunk of forearm did actually complicate things. It would be reasonable to make sure that an employee who would work with their hands in a fast-paced environment could, you know. Perform?
But Dylan was also touchy-feely and despised feeling insignificant or not good enough, so bite him.
The change in atmosphere between the two was charged and Dylan quickly extinguished it - ‘All good, I’ll just hold the cone in the bum one.’ You know, a standard compromise.
Needless to say, the friendly vibe between the two hit slightly strained, pushing them into silence throughout the practice and even as Ryan and Dylan covered all the ice cream tubs for the night. Dylan had every intention to fix the vibes but he’s a little rusty on how to do that.
“So cleaning up for ice cream is pretty easy, we’ve got the heavy-duty sinks in the hallway where everyone puts used utensils.” As emphasis, he drops his scooper in and starts cleaning. Dylan walks past and turns another on, cleaning his own - the very scooper that he licked clean because he's a heathen.
“Yo, pass the dishes.” A clatter rang up from the wash basin as Ryan shoves the pile over between the two.
A beat of silence resounds. Well, not silence, water is rushing from two industrial sinks, and metal utensils and pans are being scrubbed and banged around. It was actually sort of deafening.
“So what do you bring to the table?”
“Sorry?” Dylan couldn't really be sure he heard right.
Ryan has the bright idea to look up from dishwashing at Dylan, and Dylan has the brighter instinct to look back. “We aren’t explicitly looking for new hires. We’re busy but not hounded. You brought something else to the table that Chr-uh Mr. H likes.”
Something that feels like awe tangles Dylan’s tongue in his mouth. Observant. A looker and a thinker. This guy’s a whole package.
“Alright, alright, you caught me. I, uh. Well, I’m really local. I’ve known most of the businesses in the area since I was a baby or have known them since they popped up. Networking and all that is pretty good for a new promotional manager.” A growing warmth colors his ears, he can feel it, and it only keeps creeping down his neck as he feels Ryan’s eyes bore through him. “Slash employee, I’m not trying to snag your manager title, no worries.”
He’s answered with a mumble, could have been a soft ‘cool’. And Dylan’s just not satisfied with that. He wants more from this night. At least a little something, some connection. He’s whipped but not unreasonable, he at least wants to be friends.
“So uh, how long have you worked here, man?”
“A while.”
“Cool. Must be a pretty decent gig to keep employees around. Retention rate and all.” Dylan adds lamely.
“I know the Hacketts pretty well. I pretty much grew up with Mr. H’s kids…Family friends and all.” he threw his own words back at him with a small smirk, the sexy bastard. “He offered a job, as permanent as I want it to be, and I’d be pretty dumb to refuse.”
“Meh, I’m sure that’s forgivable. Looking like a beu-uh” the scooper slams against the metal basin as his grip slips, “a badass probably gives people passes to be dumb.”
And Dylan was fully prepared to throw himself down the sink drain if Ryan hadn’t laughed. A quick sideways glance showed Ryan gently smiling, brows pulled inwards in his own surprise at the laugh. And Dylan stares. He would say verbally that it was in shock, but really, how could he not take the chance to admire the pull of his cheeks and the teeth peaking out his lips. Ryan had a nice smile.
“Badass?”
“Uh…yeah” And Dylan admits that the question confuses him. “Is badass not what you were going for?”
How could it not be! The guy had tattoos. Nay, correction, full freaking sleeves. He wore rings on more than half of the fingers he had. How can you not be going for a sexy grungy toxic badass that is extremely climbable and serves ice cream to kids!
“I guess I was going for uh…Ryan?”
“Oh shit, well. Newsflash, Ry-guy. I think Ryan looks cool enough to be a badass.” Ryan huffs at that, smile still gently and pleasantly resting on his face. He straightens and wipes his hands.
“Two things." A finger points, "1. Thanks." Another finger points out, "2. Are nicknames gonna be a common thing with you? Just for reference.”
“Oooooh yeah, so you just get comfy and enjoy Ry-guy. Only so long until I come up with worse nicknames.” Dylan quips over the shoulder. A THWAP followed by an embarrassingly clipped yelp resounds in the small hallway when Ryan twisted his hand towel into a lethal whip.
“Finish up with those dishes, Dylan.” His name uttered in that deep voice soothes the physical pain in his back somehow. Or turns the physical sensation into something less savory and holy, he’ll never tell. And he doesn’t care, because Ryan’s full attention is on him. And he’s standing in the hallway at full height - yes, Dylan is taller, but he is currently slouching, ok? - with the towel draped over his shoulder and a smile still gracing his face.
“...You got it, coach.” said so meekly that Dylan can hardly believe it was his voice. But it was still good enough for Ryan, who turned to a cleaning supplies closet and continued.
“After that, you can just leave the apron and go home. I can handle the garbage and locking up.”
Dylan actually does need a second to process that. But his momma raised him right.
“Uh, no?” The rummaging in the closet slowed. “I’ll take out the trash, dude, you can handle things in here.”
“Are you sure..?” And it happened so quickly that Dylan would have missed it if he were still slouched over the sink. But he’s gotten so fine-tuned to people and how they view him. So it wasn’t hard to pick up the way that Ryan’s eyes, as he stayed slouched on his knees on the ground, stuttered on his arm as they were panning up to Dylan’s face. And fuck, did Dylan’s chest actually hurt. Ryan is only human, he's not mad about it. But for a second, Dylan could actually almost forget the whole hand situation with his company.
But now’s not the time for that.
“Ryan, are you really complaining about a handsome strapping young lad like myself offering to handle your chores?” Dylan places his hand, delicately and well-practiced, on his chest. “You really need to work on why you keep pushing away nice things, my friend.” The hand on his chest migrates to Ryan’s shoulder. An amiable shoulder pat. Like bros with no baggage.
“Just point me out to where to put the garbage and I’ve got it.”
And he did have it. It took three trips while maybe it would have taken Ryan two, but he passed the threshold to the store’s open lobby, apron-less and successful. Ryan, similarly missing his apron, had wiped down tables and swept the floor and is currently turning off lights as he drifts from room to room.
“Going my way, stranger?” He says, with a finger pointed left out the doorway and as cheesy a smile as he could possibly manufacture.
Ryan glances up as he knots his boots, traded out with his work sneakers. “Actually, yeah.” Dylan’s tummy warms with the potential of walking home with Ryan, who adds, ”You live far?”
“Nah, I’m local, remember? A little west towards the marina?”
“Oh, wow.” He straightens with an audible pop in his knee. “Wonder why I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Beats me. Who could forget seeing a face like this.” It’s a bit of a dishonest answer, really. Tastefully formed to deflect Dylan’s known reality that he hasn’t gone into town much in recent years, much less the town center. The response earns him an eye roll to end all eye rolls.
“Right. Get your butt out of the store before I lock you in.”
Dylan is greeted with a gust of late-night wind, smelling of humidity and gasoline. Quite the adjustment from the shop. He greets the outdoors back with a smile and offers Ryan a chuckle as he locks up.
“You, sir, would be liable for a sugar overdose if you left me alone in there.”
Notes:
I just appreciate them and want them to have nice things in a local shop. Until I want to break them physically and spiritually. But that's a different story.
Anyway I'm pretty satisfied and happy with this chapter. This next one is beating my ass. Also, I started school at the time of drafting the third one AKA right after I finished this update, so things may get slower or shorter, we'll see.
Chapter 3: "I'm the Candyman, now."
Summary:
The one where Dylan makes big plans, and Emma and Abi make some observations.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
11:18 | NOVEMBER 18 - EMMA
Dylan was great. Emma really liked the guy. She genuinely really appreciated his presence and his community-based approach to promotional work, and she would never admit it to his face, but his sense of humor and ability to sway the atmosphere of a room was something she admired. She would be jealous of him if she couldn’t do the same thing herself. That was something that they both picked up within a couple of conversations with each other. She looked into his eyes and just knew that he was as much of a performer as herself.
Life was a performance. And they were clown #1 and clown #2.
Speaking of clowns. By the time he was done speaking, she was in hysterics at their little booth.
As promotional managers, Dylan and Emma worked closely together, of course. Finely crafting and planning marketing events for the shop. Granted, Emma largely handled the social media promos and presence while Dylan worked on weekly specials for the menu and networking events with nearby stores and organizations. But the united goal of getting the store out there placed upon them by Mr. Hackett meant they collaborated often.
Collaboration for them looked like little meetings with notebooks and laptops scattered on the table along with their coffee, with gossip breaks in between.
“Dylan, I’m sorry,” she gasped, out of breath and red-faced, not sorry in the least bit, “I’m so sorry, but you want to do what?”
“...I frankly do not appreciate your tone.”
“No, but, really!” Dylan huffed and reached an arm up to rub his shoulder. It was insecure. And Emma actually almost felt a little bad. Almost.
“...ok,” she continued, “listen, I’m just trying to follow. You can sometimes shoot for the sun and forget that I’m not on the same rocket ship.” Which was very true. This would not be the first time nor will it be the last time that Dylan came up with an idea, fleshed it out in his own time, and proposed it at the speed of light expecting Emma to be near perfectly on top of his explanation. It would be endearing, and it was sometimes. But it could be very unproductive.
“Well, I mean what’s there to get lost with? Add a little candy shop corner. Self-serve kind of deal, and we could partner up with that toffee and chocolate shop on 12th street.”
“Mmhm. Now, pray tell. Where would we put the candy corner?”
Dylan scrunched his face up, waving his prosthetic around haphazardly. And she knew where this was going before he even started. He pulled this stunt before, it’s one of his favorites. She could practically hear it, a lackadaisical:
“Wherever. You know.”
“Yep. Figures.” She finished, lamely, but still with a smile. The goofball had some good ideas, she’ll admit. But she’ll admit that later. Not when some eye candy just walked into her presence.
“Wait, wait, shut up!” She stage whispered with a wide glance over his shoulder, making his mouth shut with a clack. “It’s cutie o’clooock…”
Dylan feigned a stretch, twisting his back left and right to both crack his achy vertebrae and to sneak a glance behind him.
Walking through the door was a man who couldn’t be much older than them, with his nose buried in his phone, a baseball cap pulled on, and adorned with a bright red lifeguard hoodie. Objectively and conventionally speaking, he was pretty attractive. And huge.
“...Emma, that guy looks like he could kill, like, Kaitlyn if he accidentally steps on her.” His eyes did not pull away as the stranger started glancing around the shop. It wasn't lost on the pair that his eyes brightened when he found the aforementioned Kaitlyn. “He’s a total hunk, but you kind of gave me Harry Styles lover.”
“...Wha? Dylan, no. The girl in line. Dyed hair?” Sure enough, there was a girl with hair dyed ombré red in an oversized hoodie in front of the lifeguard. Now that checked out. She was cute, with a kind face and-
“Dylan, you’re staring.”
“Yep, right, I’m done staring.”
“Mmhm,” her lips puckered and eyes squinty, “because we all know you’d rather be staring at a different hunk, huh.” And he took a long, long sip of his iced coffee. But that was perfectly fine for Emma. She’ll wait as long as she needed to for this.
“You really wanna go there? After announcing your little ‘girl with the red-dyed hair’ meet cute hopes and desires to me?”
“I would love to.”
And in a wonderful twist, very ‘speak of the devil and he shall appear', a stack of folders smacked onto the table. Ryan leaned over his side of the booth, and Emma was delighted at the way that Dylan used the hand that shot up in a panic to cover his face.
“Hope I’m interrupting actual work and not just you two gossiping.”
“He wants to open a self-serve candy section in the store.”
“It’s an awesome idea, Ryan.”
And Ryan, bless him, tried to process. It’s obvious in his furrowed brow and downturned lips that he’s deep in thought. Emma’s gaze drifted to Dylan, with one hand on his tablet and the other fiddling with the drawstring on his apron.
“I think,” Ryan started slowly, “that there is a bunch of logistical garbage that you two definitely discussed that I don’t know about. Good luck with that. Anyway.”
And Emma tuned the rest out. It was undoubtedly about the files delivered on behalf of Mr. H and what to do with them, but she’s not too interested in that. Because Dylan literally deflated at Ryan’s reaction. Very interesting.
Because you see. You would have to be both blind, deaf, and walking backwards into hell never to be seen again to miss the pure fondness and admiration that Dylan had for Ryan. Now, Emma had working eyes: Ryan was attractive in a ‘moody emo loner’ kind of way, but it was honestly sickening the way that Dylan practically oozed intrigue. He melted for the guy! It actually only got worse over the months since he joined the team.
And she would be ok with that. But when she said it got worse, she meant it. It actually got worse, because somehow Dylan got bold but in the Wrong Way. How he managed to start flirting and still fail so spectacularly at the art of seduction, Emma would never know. Because Dylan was attractive, too! Dylan was really tall, broad-shouldered, and he had a nice face. Leaning a bit towards baby face territory but that’s fine. All that, and he was still failing! So she was actually not ok with that. No one at the shop was ok with it, in fact. And the worst part was that no one could figure out if it was Dylan’s method or Ryan’s nonreceptive nature that was the problem.
Emma would never call herself a matchmaker. Not to say she hasn’t done the work - sometimes people need to be pushed for the greater good - but she hated making a habit out of it. Her own love life resume was a glaring example of how truly unqualified she was at romance. But Dylan’s proclivity to be a mood maker, capable of shifting the vibe of the whole shop, while being hopelessly whipped, and additionally feeling so clearly down when he didn’t like Ryan’s reactions all pointed her to an obligation. You could call it a mission. Dylan and Ryan needed to suck each other’s tongues. For the greater good.
14:55 | NOVEMBER 27 - ABIGAIL
Abigail could cry with how much trouble the dress was giving her. Clothes truly were the bane of her existence.
“God-” she mumbled, rubbing the end of her graphite pencil to the page with restrained fury.
This was a usual scene for her. An afternoon spent hunched over her notebook at the coffee place with a frappe, a donut, and a vendetta against the subject of the day. Today’s subject was a little girl, she couldn’t be more than ten. But she was just too cute with her hair up in puffs under a sun hat and this pretty little dress. And this dress. This goddamn dress.
“Frappe?” She jerked away from the sudden voice with a gasp. Ryan laughed at her.
“Jerk.”
“What’s got you so tense, huh?”
“Art block…and it was going so well! Look, I just can’t get these folds right.” The notebook was pushed his way. Had it been anyone else, not a chance, but Ryan understood, he was into animation and storyboarding anyway.
He hummed as he leaned in. “Anything I can do to help?”
“You know,” she leaned back, “a pun sounds great right now.”
Ryan huffed with a small smile.
“Ok, uhhh…”
“Think really hard, I will not accept a reused one.”
“No, I’ve got it. So what do you call a sheep covered in sugar?”
Abi met his gaze with her own narrowed ones, tight-lipped and poker-faced. This was a skill that caught Abi by surprise when they first got to know each other. Abi, of all people, knew not to judge a book by its cover. She liked to think of herself as the typical grungy gen z rebel with values that would make anyone above the age of forty balk. But that was all hidden under her shyness, which bordered on crippling social anxiety. God forbid she was put in a social situation she wasn't ready for. But she could never have guessed that Ryan - at that point, all she knew was that he was interested in applying to the same art school she goes to, was into metal, and all around was super nice - had accumulated a sort of stock of candy-related puns and jokes in his years working.
“I don’t know, Ryan. What do you call a sheep covered in sugar?” She managed, breaking into a smile as Ryan also started breaking. But he was much better at schooling his expression, pulling back into a neutral vacant frown.
“A candy baa.” He was met with dead silence, Abi refused to be swayed into laughter.
He leaned in closer. Quiet.
Intense.
He whispered, “Abi." Her walls crumbled, ready to burst into laughter in his face. "A candy baaaaa…” She let out a giggle, losing her battle of will.
“That was so bad. You know it was.”
“You asked for it.” He flicked her discarded straw wrapper at her.
“Yeah, yeah…” She placed a slip of paper in and shut her notebook, “ok, enough about me. How’re you, how’s the shift?”
“Not bad. Holding the fort down ok.” His attention swayed back to the store, to his coworkers bustling behind counters and at workstations. His eyes flicked to their newest, waving Kaitlyn’s scooper over his head as she stared him down, or up rather, with a glare that could make war criminals cry. Chris was right. Dylan was a great addition to the team. He brought a freshness to the store’s vibe and can be credited with some of Norte’s most lucrative special events and partnerships. Chris actually was in the process of reviewing one of his and Emma’s newer ideas. It’s an ambitious one, that’s for sure…ah, fuck, Abi said something.
“Hm?”
“You sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah, I’m ok. Really. Just uh…I guess I’m just zoning out a little.”
“Little bit of brain fog, maybe? Or weird stimuli?” She supplied. If she were in this position a year ago, she would be much more concerned, but she quickly made peace with the fact that Ryan sometimes just ‘flew away’ as she affectionately called it.
“Maybe, also just like. Managerial duties, I guess. Keeping track of everybody. We have a new guy that I gotta keep an eye on.”
“Yeah, I noticed!” She brightened and looked over. “He’s pretty fun, he writes little jokes with my pastries.” And little doodles recently, once he found out she drew. She has them all saved. The most recent one, a little sheep doodle complete with a "love ewe!", was her favorite. It was actually really sweet…
Ryan hummed, eyes not leaving the counter. They had resumed work activities, but not without Dylan noticing the staring. He waved at them with a smile, then pointed to his scooper with a questioning look, as exaggerated as everything else he does, complete with an innocent pout. The pointer finger drifted across the shop towards Abi. Oh, shit, wait.
“Oh, no, no, I’m-” she waved her hands, even making an ‘X’ with them, “yeah, I’m good.” She trailed off quietly, only audible enough for her and the man seated next to her. Who yet again, smiled at her with restrained laughter. Jerk. She stuck her tongue out at him as he looked back to the store. Like a mature person would.
Dylan flashed a thumbs up and a smile. But it was tense. Abi has spent too much time people-watching and immortalizing them and their wide range of emotions onto paper to not recognize the forced pull of the new guy’s lips. Even the glance down to the counter seemed rushed to her. And it’s not lost on her how Ryan - sweet sweet Ryan who can be daunted by eye contact - had to be nearing 30 seconds of uninterrupted staring at his coworkers. Presumably ‘the new guy’. Huh.
“So…” Ryan glanced back at her, “how is the new guy doing?”
He looked up at the ceiling. “Well. He seems to be doing fine. Picked things up quickly. Had no complaints from him or customers.”
“Any complaints from coworkers? Yourself?”
“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ as he leaned back in the chair.
“Hm…no complaints at all, huh.”
He looked at her, squinting. “I don’t like that. What are you doing…?”
“Not a thing, Ry.”
16:16 | NOVEMBER 27 - DYLAN
Dylan held the door open for himself, Kaitlyn, and Emma, the two trailing behind him as they left Mr. Hackett’s office. The eye contact between the trio was dodgy, and they walked in silence down to an exit to the alleyway outside. The stale alley-scented air greeted them. Emma took a seat in front of the doorway, Kaitlyn leaned against the wall, and he crouched next to her. A glance told Dylan that the girls found the opposing wall incredibly interesting right now. Which Dylan would not stand for. Not when he made the plea of his lifetime. Not when he had the blessing of Chris Hackett himself to organize the self-serve candy addition to the store and even a small showcase fundraiser event with local artists and product deals for charity. It was gonna be awesome.
“So like, you’d pinch me if I asked you to, right?” That must break them out of this spell they’re in because Emma broke into a blinding cheeky smile and Kaitlyn wordlessly moved in to pinch him, forcing laughter out of her victim and the bystander of their antics.
“Dylan “Dyl Pickle” Lenivy,” she was relentless, not giving up on pinching him no matter how much he shoved her away, “you absolute mad man, I can’t believe he gave the ok!”
He launched up from his squat, engulfing her into his frame and simply straightening until she swung in the air. She let out an indignant cry. Probably a threat. But oh well. He was giddy. In fact, he was feeling pretty freaking stellar right now. He didn’t even register his own laughter - his giggles - over the chatter between them all.
“For real though,” Emma stood, “not to say I doubted you but I kind of doubted the budget and your ability to explain yourself.”
“Emma, your words wound.” With an eye roll, she dusted off her pants, tossed a sincere 'nice one, Dyl' that was disguised as a tease, and saluted as she turned to the door.
The door that swung open in her face, with a wide-eyed Max and Ryan framed in the doorway. Their faces held questions as they stared wordlessly. Mainly "What the hell is going on out here?" and "How did it go?" Must be quite the scene, too, with Kaitlyn dangling in Dylan’s arms, Dylan red-faced and out of breath, and Emma just barely out of range of the door.
“Join the party, boys!” He dropped Kaitlyn like a rag and opened his arms wide in invitation.
And Dylan’s not usually like this, especially not after watching the guy of his dreams talk up Emma’s red-headed crush, - he’s a slut for attention, not a homewrecker - but he felt great. And he’s also newly in Ryan’s presence. And he felt the need to preen or something. So what he was saying is that he was feeling kind of bold.
“And for the record,” he turned to Ryan, “I’m the Candyman now.”
What could only be described as smiles of sheer delight, or pride maybe broke out on Max's and Ryan's faces alike. Max whooped and turned back into the shop with Emma behind him as Ryan leaned back, propping the door wide open with his body. Casual. Cool. Very very cool.
“Uh-huh. Looking kinda pale to be the Candyman.” He nodded his head to the side. “But you can tell us about it inside, we need you.”
Dylan passed through with a cheeky thank you, making Ryan another eye-rolling victim of his antics.
And their little party migrated back to the store lobby, finding it sparse and quiet with a few regulars and Emma manning the shop solo. On her phone. What a trooper. At this point, Dylan’s worked long enough to identify the regulars, even picking up on their scheduled arrival on some days. One of them, Laura or something, actually stood staring at the drink menu. She’s cool. She would come in for coffee after her classes. Another, the lifeguard at the beach - Jacob - would finish his shifts with a sherbet. Jacob was…a character. But Dylan was too, he wouldn’t judge. But it was super painful watching him try to flirt with Emma, especially when she gently yet firmly shut him down. So maybe he’d judge a tiny bit in the romance department. But he was a good character, good fun, and friendly, if not a bit much sometimes. He quickly found out that he and Kaitlyn were childhood friends, and any old friend of Kaitlyn is a friend of his. And, of course, Ryan's the redhead, Abigail. She was cute. Or whatever.
“So…” Ryan coughed the rasp out of his throat, “Sorry, there’s gonna be a candy place here? Like actually?”
“Yep.” he popped the ‘p’. “We’re gonna have toffee and, like, jelly beans, maybe. Maybe some chocolates. Got any requests?”
“Hm. You know, I’m not really a sweet kinda guy.”
Dylan paused, slackjawed. “What.”
“What?” With a smirk and a side eye, he popped open one of the display cases, pulled out a fruity danish, and went to wrap it. “You want me to sugarcoat it for you?”
And Dylan dignified him with a laugh. It wasn’t actually intentional, he’s not immune to a good pun. Especially not coming from maybe the last guy he expected to have good puns up his sleeves. Wait, was Ryan funny?
Oh god, he’s so fucked.
Change the subject, Dyl.
“So really? Not a sweet guy.”
With a hum, “Not really, no. Kind of grew up not eating sweets. Never got into it and I don’t feel any cravings for it anyway.”
“So what’re you into then?” Dylan had to fight off a cringe because that totally didn’t sound like he was asking the guy what team he played for. And it was like Ryan picked up on it. Because he laughed - short exhale of breath with a smile, really - and gave him a look.
“Well, I’m kind of particular about food. Picky-eater and all…I do like Chinese takeout. Mexican’s good too. And grill. Loved cookouts as a kid.”
It occurred to him that Ryan was sort of. Human? Right now? Sorry, no, that’s dumb. What he meant is that he knew next to nothing except the bare minimum about Ryan. He knew more about everyone else on shift. Emma nearly perfected her encyclopedic knowledge of how algorithms worked and how to maximize exposure. Kaitlyn’s family owned a mechanic garage in a town over that she worked at for a while as her first real job. Max’s first Halloween costume as a baby was Chucky. Chucky the evil demon doll. Because his family’s full of horror buffs with a great sense of humor. He even knew Nick beyond the obvious Australian immigrant on the morning shift; Good ol’ Nick went to prom with his best friend instead of a date. They had matching suits and everything. The pictures were adorable.
Ryan remained his hot manager who got the job from family friend connections. The only personal thing he knew about him was still connected to work. Until now. And yeah, food’s great but Dylan can’t work with that. He needed more. He always will need more from and about Ryan.
“You’re not busy, are you?”
“No, why?”
With a sly smile, “20 questions?”
Oh, but he was nervous. It’s probably weird to ask the colleague you were least familiar with to a game on the clock.
“Who goes first?”
Dylan smiled. He mentally pat himself on the back, took a breath, and gave Ryan the open - ‘I asked about food last’. Ryan fell quiet in thought and Dylan stewed in the familiar quiet. With Ryan, it was usually quiet. Which was ok. He’d normally not be ok with it, and sometimes it still drove him up the wall but, you know. Familiarity breeds comfort or however the saying went.
“Any boundaries I’m not allowed to cross?”
“Hm? Oh, no, no, dude, it’s al-” and like it had a personal problem with him and demanded his attention, a nerve in his left forearm fired and reminded him that Yeah, there are some things you’d like to not get into, Dylan.
But it’s Ryan. And he already started digging the hole. Dylan, you are in the middle of a sentence.
He coughed. “All good!”
Ryan spared an unreadable glance at him, and Dylan felt heat. He felt scrutinized. As if Ryan could read the words in his brain like they were a page in a book.
“What did you do before coming here?” Here being Norte, without a doubt. Dylan sighed, relieved. Ryan was chill…he wouldn’t go there for 20 fu- uh fudging, we are around kids, Dyl - questions.
“Well, I went to school. Had an on-campus job there at the bookstore. Was pretty chill but school was generally kicking my butt, I was running out of my meds for the good ol’ ADD, and I eventually dropped out when things got kinda rough.”
“Oh, what were you studying?”
“My turn, eager beaver, slow down.” He handed a warmed strudel across the counter. But what did he want to know? He wanted to know everything, really. Where do you start when you want to know everything about the person next to you?
“What do you do outside of work?”
It was lame, but it was a safe start.
“Not much. I kind of babysit my sister, drive her where she needs to go until she can drive herself.” He paused, deliberating, and wiped at the counter. “I draw. I like art and stories and stuff. I listen to a bunch of podcasts and they kind of inspire my art. Kind of inspires everything I do and think about, really. Dunno if that’s weird or not but…yeah.”
“What, no, man, that’s cool. I’m heavily restricted to the stick figure realm of drawing so that’s pretty sick.” That earned him a snort and a headshake. But the smile was fond. He’ll take it.
“Ok, so tell me what you studied. What interests you? It counts as one question.”
“No, it doesn’t, you totally just asked about school and my interests. Two things.”
“Dylan.”
“Yeah?”
“Just tell me.”
Dylan was only human. He would not be faulted for the way he shivered at the demand. And he could humor him anyway. He would humor him. Maybe a year ago, he’d give a shabby lackluster answer clouded with humor. But a trip to the emergency room and an amputation later forced him to reconsider how he navigated being himself in the world. Not to say he’s a picture-perfect example of healthy coping mechanisms, honesty, and authenticity. But he’s gotten better at blending all these different ‘Dylans’ into Dylan-Dylan. So he humored Ryan, for that reason alone. And definitely not to ignore that very interesting and very involuntary bodily reaction to Ryan's commanding voice.
“I was a physics major, focused on quantum mechanics and theoretical physics. Dabbled in philosophy too. I uh…I tinker sometimes at home now. I really like music too so I make playlists and stuff.”
He was met with silence, and that was maybe the worst. Definitely worse than being called a nerd or being laughed off. It happened before and he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened again. It was a true and honest answer but he still kept it to his chest. Even that confession was toned down. He didn’t mention the thought experiment he did when he first was released from the hospital, which resulted in pages upon pages of notes filled out with hasty scribbles. Nor his cat, Schrödinger, and the way his mom practically begged to give her more of a normal name. He currently had a makeshift radio in pieces on his desk, his latest pet project, still not working. And his playlists. Can’t forget about the playlists.
“Sorry. I kind of know all those words separately. Quantum physics?” Ryan said, sheepishly. And very cutely.
“Yeah..?”
“...like Neil deGrasse Tyson?” That startled a true and honest laugh out of him.
“Well, kind of? He’s involved in quantum theory but he’s an astrophysicist. Great stuff for the record, astrophysics.” Before he could go on, Ryan stepped away to the coffee machines, where Emma was physically struggling to keep up with the orders and Max was distantly leaning across the counter, too busy talking with Laura to help. Probably a blessing that he walked. For his sake. And Ryan’s. Dylan had the abominable habit of rambling, and combine it with physics? He would’ve talked Ryan to actual death about stuff he didn’t care about, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
“Chin up, Dyl-do. We’ll get ‘im next time.”
“Shut up, shark Kait.”
“Shark Kait?"
“You know.” Dylan whipped around with his scooper brandished like a sword, and the sullen look in his eyes was wiped away with a measured smirk. “Like shark bait?”
Something that simmered in Kaitlyn’s eyes made Dylan slow and stop, though. Her eyebrows knit together and she swayed with a hip popped out. Deliberation. She had thoughts running through her head, and Dylan could fall to his knees and beg, please no more thinking.
Like she heard him verbally, she shook the thoughts out and readied her own weapon of choice: the broom she was sweeping with.
“Hit me with your best shot.”
18:02 | NOVEMBER 27 - ABIGAIL
So she gave up on the dress and started freehanding. So what. She could afford to be a bit lax on her practice today, she’d try again tomorrow anyways.
After all, she was a bit busy at the moment, because the bombshell barista, who was engrossed in a frantic hush-hush conversation with another employee, had been caught glancing at her multiple times in the last few minutes. Abi could maybe handle it. Ignorance is bliss, and she would rather die than confront the blonde about the staring.
But that was out of her control. She was already pushing the short one out of the way and making strides towards the booth.
Curse Abi. Curse her selfless need to wait and keep Ryan company as he finished his shift.
“Hi. Emma Mountebank. I have some questions to ask you.”
“Wh-uh-wha?” Real eloquent, Abi. Good grief.
“My name’s Emma. You’re close with Ryan, right?”
“Oh,” she dropped her eyes, not quite able to meet the green or maybe it was something between green and blue eyes. She was really pretty. And really forward. “Uh, yeah. We’ve gotten pretty close…why?”
“Close how?”
What the heck?
“...sorry, these questions are kind of crazy for meeting officially like 4 seconds ago.”
“Ok, ok. Sorry, you obviously need context. Allow me.” Emma made her home in the booth and sat across from Abi with her hands clasped. Like Dr. Evil, her mind helpfully supplied.
And Abi quickly got a feel for who Emma Mountebank was as she launched into an animated, downright theatrical, explanation of why she and her friend, Kaitlyn, needed someone who can pick Ryan’s brain for them. It was quick though. But Abi was focused. Only because Emma needed her help. Nothing more. Honest.
And she’s glad she followed her explanation. It only gave her personal validation. Abi wasn’t imagining things; Ryan certainly was behaving a bit off and, according to Emma, the new guy - Dylan - had a ‘quote’ total thing ‘quote’ for Ryan and was failing spectacularly at making a move. Hilariously failing actually.
That’s great!
Well, no, not great.
It’s great that there could be someone for Ryan! He struggled a lot with connecting with people which made Abi’s heart ache. He was such a great guy, super sweet, and actually really funny. He’s just…a bit…odd. A bit reclusive. But deserving of love nonetheless, and God help Abi if she wasn’t a closeted hopeless romantic.
Just. One tiny issue though.
“But how am I supposed to help in all that?”
“You know Ryan. You’re the insider. Pick his brain. Maybe…steer him towards Lovin’-Ville. Or at least see if he’d even be interested. And keep me updated, obviously.”
“He’d be interested. For sure. But I just don’t know if I’m su-”
A sharp gasp cut her off, “Shush, shut up, shush!” She leaned in, eyes wide and focused solely on Abi’s, like she could see The Stuff she was made of. Abi broke a sweat, for God’s sake. “Speak of the devil. And he shall appeeeaaar…” She singsonged and wiggled her fingers in faux ominousness before pointing a delicate manicured finger past Abi.
Abi slinked back in her seat, and stole a glance over her shoulder, watching Ryan pop past towards the short girl - Kaitlyn, she thought - and Dylan.
She looked back at Emma, and they reached a silent conclusion as their eyes met.
We’ve got to follow this thing through.
Emma Mountebank, in all her majesty and prestige, stood up to take her leave.
“Wait, uh,” Abi sweated, like having a prolonged, if not one-sided, conversation with Emma was a marathon. “My name’s Abigail. Well, Abi, actually.”
Emma smiled at her, and Abi’s heart was ready to explode.
Emma turned and left. But only after winking and slightly bowing. Like she wasn’t ruining Abi’s life and whole existence as a single Pringle.
And she would’ve been happy to pack her stuff up, put in her headphones, and wait for Ryan to inevitably kick her out. In fact, she was in the process of it. But the background noise started to separate into discernable Specific Things. She could suddenly make out the clatter from the hallway, old tunes from a playlist running through the room, sinks rushing with water, many conversations from the employees left behind, and most interestingly, Ryan’s conversation.
Abi popped her headphones in, neglecting to play anything on her phone.
“I just can’t believe she started moaning and whining over extra ice cream. I did her a favor!” That was the Kaitlyn. The only feminine voice to be heard at the moment.
“Well, I would’ve had to charge her for it.” Ryan replied. Logical as ever.
“And are you complaining about extra money now?”
A new voice chimed in, coated with a sarcastic tone, and various enunciations, “Yet again, questioning nice things that happen to you. Not a great habit, Ry-guy.” Ry-guy. Ry-guy? Geez, so cheesy.
“Maybe I’m just destined to be skeptical of things.”
“Or greedy for more nice things. And believe me, greed’s not a great look on you, buddy.”
“...and you’re sure about that, Dyl?” the words practically fell from Ryan’s mouth, and they dripped with suggestion.
What?
“Wow, ok, so,” That’s Kaitlyn after a beat of silence, “oh, would you look at the time! I’m not looking for overtime nor am I willing to third-wheel so I’ll be on my way, boys.”
Well, that was unexpected. For everyone, if the resulting silence implied anything. She had no idea Ryan had that in him. Ryan was…well, meek. Reserved. Funny, yes, but they were strictly platonic; she had no idea that he had game!
A peek showed Ryan shuffling something behind the counter with his back turned to both her and Dylan. Dylan who was red-faced and nose-deep in his phone. Dylan who looked up-shit.
This Dylan guy must have a super sixth sense or something, this is the second time today alone that he caught her staring.
“Hey, Dylan, for the record?” Ryan must’ve turned back around towards him, his voice just a touch clearer. “That’s all pretty badass of you. That’s hardcore stuff you’re into.”
“Psh, naaah. It’s just like…nerd….stuff.”
A pause.
“Dylan, you went to college for something that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around. Just a google search had my head spinning.”
“...you google searched my major?”
Oh…my god.
“I googled quantum physics real quick. I even watched a short video on break. All I got was, like, electrons and particles being everywhere at once? And something about “entanglement”.”
Abi’s stomach warmed as quickly as it dropped. That’s so cute…Ryan can be so sweet without even realizing it. Trying to get into other people’s interests was how Ryan connected. Sharing passions. If Dylan responded poorly, she’s getting up and wrapping Ryan in a fucking blanket with a kiss on his forehead.
A laugh scared her out of her thoughts. She glanced back, instinctually, and found Dylan laughing, squinty-eyed, and with Ryan’s full attention on him. He’s smiling. Basking even.
“Well, that’s one way to see it? It’s more complicated than that but I think you can guess.”
“Yeah…even just saying that, I wasn’t sure if it was right.”
“You know, I could like, uh, I guess give you a TedTalk type lesson. I guarantee that there’s something you’re interested in that I could relate back to physics.”
“You want,” Ryan asked through breathless soft laughter, “to give me a physics lesson. I doubt it.”
“What, like it's hard? I'm just saying, it’s something we both could be interested in.” The conversation migrated further away, into the bustling hallway, and Abi had to pull her headphones out to hear anything quieter than a shout.
“We’ve got each other’s numbers and uh…well, I like spending time with you.” That made her drop the goddamn case for her headphones. She was invested.
“Ah…you know? You’re right. Could be fun.”
Abi flopped back into her seat as the pair walked back out to the main lobby. Ryan definitely saw her. Like, there is not an ounce of doubt, they made eye contact and everything.
“Welp,” Dylan stretched tall, “sounds like a date, Ry.”
“You wish.”
“Uh-huh, yeah. So do you, big guy. Now I’d love to stay and entertain more but my bed is calling me. Peace and looove.”
Literal goosebumps rippled across her arms. Not only had she witnessed a whole new side of her friend, but she watched as a date was maybe actually planned. She’d never seen Ryan smile so wide before. And never so often while on shift.
And she never saw him school his face back to complete neutrality so fast, if not a full-on frown, as Dylan left and as he stalked back towards her booth.
“What’s with the face.” It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.
“Ryan Erzahler, did I imagine all that?”
“What?”
“Ryan. A date!”
His eyes widened, shut, and he leaned back with his face pointed to the ceiling. Or the Heavens, maybe asking for a well-placed lightning strike to take him out. “Oh my god…well, for one, stop eavesdropping on conversations. And two, that’s just how Dylan is, ok? It’s not a date. There probably won’t even be anything coming from that conversation anyways.”
Not on my watch, buster. You’re going on a date, and another one, and as many dates as you guys need before something official is declared. I will shake you until those marbles in your head knock together into a legible thought about giving it a try. You’re learning physics between makeout sessions and that’s a threat.
“Uh huh,” is what was actually said, as dry as she could manage, “I’m sure, Ryan. Now close up, I wanna go home.”
Notes:
This chapter beat my ass. But it is a longer one. So I hope you appreciate it.
Also in a surprising twist of events, I actually LOVED writing Abi, idk why or if it comes across, but I had so much fun with her.
As always, give me your thoughts and hopes and desires. don't be greedy. share.
Chapter 4: Good grief, Dylan
Summary:
The one where Dylan has a shit day but his friends care about them in their own ways.
CW : Panic attack, depressive episode, very negative self-talk, animal attack
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
3:48 | DECEMBER 12 - DYLAN
It was painfully ironic when Dylan said that he was lucky.
He was told he was lucky when he woke up in the hospital by doctors. And afterward by his parents and extended relatives when on house rest. So it was only natural that Dylan had internalized a sort of hatred for the idea of 'luck' and 'being lucky'.
In fact, in his own silly way to cope, Dylan loved joking about how lucky he was that the majority of his trauma manifested as night terrors. The truth was that they were easier to hide than if he got panic attacks randomly throughout the day. Very seldom did he have panic attacks. Not unheard of per se, but definitely not common. He definitely trained himself to push down panic attacks back when he was an anxiety-riddled tween Dylan. And if he needed to bury it down most when people walked their fucking dogs, no, he doesn't, and you better not mention it.
When he had night terrors, they drained him, making the event of sleep completely irrelevant. He was exhausted often, running on fumes and the energy of the people around him. But it was easy to hide that behind a practiced upbeat attitude, complete with a blasé overtone, and some concealer to hide the dark circles, acne, and other blemishes on his face.
And those very night terrors that he was so lucky to have are why Dylan found himself staring with rapt attention at a singular point in his window curtains for a very long time. It was way too early to even entertain the idea of getting ready for the day, but the nightmare that he woke up from left flashes of big teeth and so much blood imprinted on his eyelids. He wasn’t going back to sleep tonight.
And that, to him? Was agonizing. Reeling from the aftermath of a terrifying dream in the isolation of his room with nothing but his own brain for company? Oh goodie! Dylan could practically feel the dredge of panic mucking up his heart as his brain raced with thoughts. Thoughts that were just endless. From facets of his dream, to the exhaustion he knew he’ll be batting through the day, to the post-Christmas fundraiser only a couple weeks away, to the dream, to all the little obligations he needed to be on top of for work, back to the dream.
Good god, he’s gonna chug so much iced coffee later and his Adderall will not agree with him for it.
His bare feet met the rug and then the chilly floor, making him flinch as he left the room. He needed company. Desperately.
“Heeere, ‘dingie, ‘dingie, ‘dingiiieee…” He walked in the inky darkness in his apartment, relying on muscle memory and the vague outlines in the rooms. “Come on, girlie…Papa needs his cuddles.”
Somewhere in a corner behind him, a THUMP and loud shuffling sounded out. And Dylan felt something like dread cool his gut. Made his head warm and heart race.
A loud mrooow droned out from the darkness. A tiny head pushed into his outstretched hand before a small, furry body threw itself onto his shoulder.
He turned back with a loud sigh, dopamine flooding his systems now that he had Schrödinger, his American curl, his darling princess, with him.
It would be a long night. And it’s not much. He’ll still be wrestling with the worst thoughts he had about himself and his life. But he'll work with it as Schrödinger snoozed away on his belly. Had no other option than to deal.
14:22 | DECEMBER 12 - MAX
“Wh-hey, dude, what the flip?!”
If you told Max that he would walk into work that day and be promptly and swiftly shoved into the bathrooms, into a stall, by an alarmingly tired-looking Nick, he would probably laugh awkwardly and walk away after giving you a look.
But there he was. Staring down into Nick’s baggy eyes, and his shirt bunched up at the collar in the guy’s fists.
“No. You just listen to me, Max. I did you a solid taking the first half of your shift today, but you’ve got to do me a favor back.”
A favor? Dude.
“You can ask me for a favor without making me fear for my safety. Like what's all this for? You afraid I’m gonna say no? ”
Nick’s eyes only narrowed, his tanned face darkening with a blush and his hands loosen a bit. He’s still not free, his back was still pressed to the wall. But he got Nick to feel bad so it shouldn’t take much longer to be let go.
“Fine,” the hands left his person, “Listen, Dylan’s been off all day and we’re all pretty worried about him. Do me a favor and keep an eye on him today. Try and figure out what’s going on with him, make him feel better, whatever.”
And that was fine. Max could handle that and he said such. And followed up with sheer confusion and concern when he fully processed the request because that was weird. Dylan being off was weird.
“Yeah, no kidding, it’s weird! It’s sort of like seeing your mum drinking beer. Just doesn’t happen.”
“Speak for yourself, dude, my mom's a beast. Anyway, I will. I’ll see what’s up, no worries.” Nick nodded and untied his apron, heading to leave, until a hand plopped onto his shoulder. “Hold on.”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you push me into the bathroom stall for this conversation?”
Oh, Dylan was indeed off. And it was indeed weird. Even more when seen in person.
It was like Dylan walked around with chains around his ankles, and a hefty weight pulling on his head, forcing him to hunch over. He was so sluggish that Kaitlyn and Emma had to gently nudge past him multiple times as they bustled around for orders. He met Kaitlyn’s eyes multiple times, frustration was palpable in her eyes, but not as much as the clear concern. If Max was sincerely worried, Kaitlyn was downright panicked with this development. And Laura, who was sitting with her caramel latte, made eye contact with Max earlier and jerked her head past him at the offending issue in the store. What’s up with that guy. He couldn’t offer more than a shrug. Even Ryan who sat at the register at the other end of the store for the last hour had been caught staring at Dylan with a bouncing leg and nimble fingers tugging at his own sleeves.
And Dylan was worse for wear. Lifeless, clumsier than usual, and spiritually tanked. Any resemblance of the easygoing goofball was gone, replaced with a hollow quiet man, with tacky pale skin and brown eyes that sunk deep into his skull.
Dylan the Zombie had entered the building.
Max quietly swayed next to Dylan at the coffee station, not quite nudging the guy with his shoulder. He gently pressed his arm against Dylan’s, waiting for him to notice.
He never did. His eyes were glazed over, staring at the cup filling with steaming decaf in his hand.
“Dylan."
No response. Not even movement.
“Dylan.” He pressed more firmly.
The cup filled up and was put to the side, “What’s that? Sorry, dude, I’m a little out of it.” Max sagged a little, slightly reassured that Dylan could at least have the mental space to seem embarrassed. Not much reassurance, mind you. Dylan hasn’t cracked a joke all day. But it was a small blessing at least.
“Yeah, man, no worries. Just uh…” Max trailed off, mouth dried as he remembered. He was bad at this. He’s bad at vulnerability and comforting people. “If something’s up, you can tell me, you know.”
“I know, thanks.” Dylan practically tossed a smile, as empty as could be, and turned back to his task of looking at the stacked cups. As an afterthought, he mumbled something about just being tired. Or a rough night of sleep. Something like that, Max was still wrestling with inner conflict and worry.
“Yeah, but, Dylan. You kinda look like garbage. No offense. I get being tired but you look like you crawled out of a coffin after 50 years of eternal rest.”
“Well, maybe I’m used to my beauty sleep. No need to rub it in that you can be tired and remain pretty, Max .” His own name was spit at him. Max was way more confused than hurt (venom was not something that belonged in Dylan's mouth) but he still couldn’t help but recoil as he silently watched Dylan rub his eyes furiously. A long, loud sigh was let out like Dylan was trying to release those 50 years of eternal rest from his very body. He was met with a soft apology.
“It’s ok, Dyl…” Max placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth. “I won’t push but I’m serious. You can talk to me. Or anyone really. Go take a break, maybe, you could use it.”
Dylan looked up from his hands. His eyes were beady and bloodshot, and he was as pale as any human could be. But the smile on his face was small and genuine. Grateful. Max smiled back.
19:18 | DECEMBER 12 - DYLAN
In retrospect, Dylan should have probably seen this coming. Call him Icarus, because he flew waaay too close to the sun and was currently burning the fuck up.
What was he thinking? You’d think that he would try to coast by his first real job since losing his arm. Just subtly and casually breeze by, like a ghost. A funny one, who everyone could depend on to lighten the mood, but a chill ghost nonetheless.
Ha!
No.
Once a gifted student, always an absolute mess, as they say. He did great in school, actually; college probably would have gone ok if he didn’t lose his actual arm. But pairing the trauma of that along with the deeply rooted desire to be praised and highly regarded that he got from being a gifted kid gave him a one-way ticket to dropout-town. And that? Sucked. Hard.
So yeah, as much as he tried to pull off the chill ghost vibes, he failed. If he had to guess, he probably gave off more of an “annoying jester that stuck out like a sore thumb compared to his colleagues” vibe. If the team of Norte had to do a police lineup for a crime, all eyes would flock to him first. And not just because he was the tallest. He was tall, yes. And lanky. Like a gentle gust of wind would blow him across state lines. And he had a fake arm. He looked like an oversized baby pirate, is what he was saying. And that? Next to an actual influencer, Nick the golden-skinned Aussie, and a piece of grungy eye candy? He got nauseous just thinking about it.
So that’s why he was found curled up like a pile of laundry in the bathrooms at Norte after closing time. He offered to close specifically to be alone in the shop - much to the disapproval of Kaitlyn, Max, and Ryan - to go over every single regret in his life. Starting from most recently: why the absolute shit did he not allow himself to be a chill little ghost at work? He got a job. Great! That was above and beyond what anyone expected of him so soon after his accident. Why did he go the promo route? And why did he try so hard to get so many big projects off the ground? A candy addition to the store?? A fundraiser???
Good grief, Dylan.
So yes. He was in fetal position in the furthest corner of the bathrooms, behind the stall walls, with nothing but the echoing of his soft sniffles, aching heart, and loud mind to keep him company. It was well past working hours. It was so vacant and Dylan was in such a state that the shop itself seemed to give pity on him, offering its own sort of company in the form of random clanging, droning, whining noises, and pattering. Norte wanted to give him the illusion of company… how sweet.
And as Dylan sat there, sniveling and shaking pathetically and alone, the clattering and whining of the shop droned on. If nothing, it ramped up. Dylan must really be in a sorry state for his own environment to try and make up for the heartache. He felt like he was dying. It was as if there was a hand reaching into his chest, grabbing at his heart, and squeezing for all it was worth. And the worst part was that the hand stemmed from his own stupid brain.
God help him, his own brain was trying to kill him.
In his panic, the clattering continued on its exponential climb like it was an old railway train speeding uncontrollably down its line. Or a stallion, freed from its confines and desperate to get away. Like footsteps of a human being dashing from danger as quickly as possible. Desperate.
Something told Dylan to look up. Something made the hair on the back of his neck and head stand on end. Really, it was probably the thought of a human being’s footsteps echoing with him, desperate, loud, and getting only louder, that made his body react beyond the panic and look to the door.
The droning, and the clanging, and the sniffling were all broken apart, nearly commanded into silence, when the door to the bathroom erupted. Through the murky tears that stung his eyes, he saw Ryan. Like a knight in shiny freaking armor. Because of course, it had to be Ryan to find him in maybe the worse breakdown he’s had in a little while. Why would it not be his hot manager who found him in the corner huddled up like a baby. Because of course, Dylan would get complacent and let his guard down. Only a dumbass would forget that healing isn’t a straight fucking line and jump straight into the fray without considering if he could handle the pressure.
And Dylan Lenivy was nothing if not a buffoon and a loser.
“Dylan!” A sharp, clear shout broke through the clutter of the physical room and the figurative room in his pitiful brain. “Dylan, hey, look at me.”
Dylan didn’t notice when Ryan had crossed the bathroom to his side so fast, but there he was. Ryan was kneeling in front of him, eyes shifting around Dylan’s person, even to his own shaking hands. As if Ryan discovered he had hands in the very corner Dylan was having a panic attack.
So how could he not do what Ryan said.
Dylan liked to think of himself as a reasonable man with the power of somewhat free will but let’s be realistic. There was no free will to be had when a gentle deep voice begged him to look into a pair of deep brown and painfully expressive eyes. In an unconscious and muggy part deep in his brain, he registered the way that Ryan was rubbing up and down his own arms, finally allowing himself to touch the quivering boy in front of him, providing heat and connection. Something to ground him, or to feel beyond the sheer dread he was bathing in.
“Just chill…breathe more, deeper.”
If this were a scene between two love interests in a movie, he would shit on the advice given - ‘That’s such basic bitch advice, and without a countdown to demonstrate too? No words of reassurance? Come on, dude.’ But he couldn’t begin to criticize, not when Ryan was going as far as to touch him. He was holding and staring at him like he’d fizzle away if he looked away or let go for a second.
And for God’s sake, Dylan was so simple, and just a weak man. Maybe a loser. But definitely a sucker for someone who cared so fiercely.
His head flopped back onto his folded arms.
“You’re gonna kill me, man…” Ryan flinched, and so did Dylan at the sound of his own voice croaking. Never did Dylan regret stringing a set of words together as quickly as he did at that moment.
Good going, dumbass. Way to make McDreamy feel bad.
“Sorry, no, that-” Dylan’s croaking voice gave out, forcing him to cough and sputter. ”No…I just. I thought I was alone. Scared me…” He amended. Finished with a slight huff of a laugh. He looked up and Ryan’s eyes said it all. Dylan had a revelation in that brief moment of clarity. Ryan saved his energy. He didn’t say much. What he did say, though...it was honest. In good spirit. But what he showed. God, that was a different realm completely. Ryan showed it all. It’s like every single thought and feeling he ever had, that humanity was capable of feeling even, was held not on his sleeve, but in his eyes. His eyes screamed, what’s wrong, what do you need me to do, how can I help you, please, please, please, be ok.
He verbally said, “That’s ok. Just breathe some more, ok?”
And Dylan allowed himself a moment of respite, eyes shut and lungs filling as Ryan shuffled to sit by his side. Backs against the chilled laminate of the bathroom, the men sat. Quiet and very interested in the hexagonal-tiled flooring.
“Hey, Ry.” He grunted in acknowledgment, “20 questions?” He looked back at the brunette, a single eyebrow raised, what?
“Just trust me on this, ok? I need to make this a game, dude.”
“Who goes first?”
“Why did you come back?”
Ryan’s chest shook, breath stuttering at the suddenness of his question, “Forgot to leave my apron.” Dylan glanced at his apronless figure.
“Are you telling the truth?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question.”
He chuckled, an empty one that crackled in his worn throat. But it felt good nonetheless to laugh in his presence.
“Go for it, man. Hey, listen.” He looked at Ryan, eyes imploring, trying to pour every ounce of authenticity and honesty into his eyes for Ryan to see.
“No boundaries. Ask away.” He meant it.
“What’s going on?”
Dylan, like the nuisance he was wired genetically to be, eeked out a loud and obnoxious imitation of a ‘wrong answer’ buzzer before outright refusing.
Wrong question, bud.
“Try again, Cap’n Crunch, different question. You know the one…”
“...what um..what-” Dylan felt bad, awful actually, for doing this to Ryan. Ryan’s hand met his own shoulder and squeezed periodically. Grounding himself. “What..happened to you? Like, your hand.”
Bingo.
Dylan’s head thunked against the wall a second time that night, with his eyes closed and breathing measured. “It’s kind of stupid. Like really...really stupid actually. I was camping with my family in bumfuck nowhere in a forest for a weekend last year. My mom and I were going for an evening walk and there was this like..” he waved his arm halfheartedly. The good arm. ”Stray fucking dog or something. Knowing my luck, it could’ve been a wolf. Guess it was hungry or threatened or something, but it mauled the shit out of me. Had a particular issue with my arm.”
The pitiful attempts of humor echoed around the room and fell flat in the responding silence. Ryan’s hand stopped pulsing on his shoulder. He resorted to letting it squeeze his own shoulder hard and continuously. He was practically white-knuckling his own body as the story went on. Dylan himself had unconsciously grasped and squeezed at the space just above where prosthesis met fleshy meat. The nerves screamed at him, begging him to stop. But he craved the throbbing sensation. He was a glutton for punishment. His eyes watered. He was a loser. But he had to continue. Ryan was waiting for him to.
Against his better judgement, he meekly added, "...I didn't even see it coming. I heard it first. And um. Well, we got to the hospital. Went into sepsis from infection, and they had to amputate. Not in that particular order, mind you, the boundary between sepsis and amputation gets foggy for me.” He lapped back into silence and let it simmer.
It was out in the air now. The vulnerability coated the walls and soaked the floor, and the pair marinated in it themselves.
Ryan whispered, “Your turn.”
The tears burnt his eyes but refused to fall, “...am I some kind of dumbass or what.” He felt and heard movement next to him, but he barreled forward like a bat out of hell, voice cracking and giving out randomly. He was in the thick of it.
Dig a deeper hole, Dylan.
“Like, all that garbage, and I still can’t stop and let myself breathe. I can’t sleep right anymore, Ryan. The wound healed but the memory is still there and it’s like I’m still chasing something. I’m burning myself out and for what! I can’t sleep. I eat like shit. I-I make more projects than I can handle and abandon them all. And here I am, la-dee-da-ing at work making more projects. And these, I can’t abandon. I am stuck with these brain babies until they lift off or I fu-ucking fail.” Dylan struggled to get through the rant, hiccuping and shedding tears halfway through. It was only made worse when Ryan draped himself around Dylan’s body like a weighted blanket in a hug. Like he could somehow shield him from his own brain.
“You’re a little bit of a dumbass.”
“...what?”
“You said dumbass or what…Dylan, you might be the smartest guy I know, are you kidding me? And because you can’t see that, you’re a dumbass.” Ryan pulled away, hurt and with his face pulled into a tight scowl, but didn’t let go. His eyes said, please, please, listen to me.
“Dylan, I had-fuck...I had no idea you were struggling so bad…that’s on me. But I know now. I need you to know that you can depend on me too. Emma’s helping with the events and Kaitlyn’s backup, but I’m here too. I don’t really…well, do business stuff, I scoop ice cream and tell shitty puns sometimes.” He pulled his lip into his mouth to chew. “But I care about you. A lot. And you’re really funny sometimes- ” he trailed off with a small smile, eyes mischievous. “But uh…I think, more importantly, you’re a great guy. You’re funny but you’re nice. You care about other people, do anything you can to make us all smile, and you’re so smart, Dyl.”
He’s gotta have the key to your heart or something, Dylan mused to himself. The more Ryan spoke, the more Dylan relaxed in his hold. He even went as far as to smile. Genuinely and uncontrollably. A quiet thanks was spoken between the two, followed by a soft ‘anytime’.
“It’s my turn, right?”
Dylan stiffened in his hold, “Dude.”
“No, really, I have something else to say. A request, I guess.”
“Pft. Fine,” Anxiety licked up in Dylan’s gut to the impending question, telling him to run, panic, get away, you’re gonna die. So begrudgingly, he added, “but only after you get off me, the coffee smell in my apron's giving me a headache.”
The two untangled and rose from the floor, both equally stiff with popping joints and numbness in their legs.
“Dyl?”
“...yeah?”
“So uh...not to put you on the spot after all that, but can you promise me that you’ll ask for help? Talk about all this with me and stuff? I’m not a business guy but-” Ryan’s posture changed in an instant as if something got in his shirt and forced him stock straight. The wide crooked smirk spoke otherwise though. “I’ve got some good ideas brewing up here.” He said with a finger to his temple.
“...a coffee joke? In this climate?” Dylan was amazed. Dylan suspected he’d always be amazed by Ryan. There’s more to Ryan than even Dylan had expected. Dylan was hit with the familiar pang of simply wanting more.
“It was perfectly timed, ok? Now, answer the question.”
Dylan turned back and took stock of the situation. Here he was, freshly broken down and put together at least somewhat in an empty bathroom save for him and the guy that he craved. The same guy that held him. Not only that. Ryan heard him. And Ryan cared about him. Sure, Dylan could talk himself out of it, he could pretend that it was strictly professional, but it was obvious even without Ryan spelling it out for him. It was made obvious from the fact that he still stood there in the bathroom with him, in his chunky boots, vintage graphic hoodie, and ripped jeans looking at Dylan with nothing but warmth. His eyes said It’s all good, man.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that, pinkie promise.” Ryan beamed, and Dylan would make promises all his life forever if it made Ryan light up like that again. ”Uh-sorry. For the record. About all this.”
“Nope. I won’t hear it.”
“Bu-” Dylan was interrupted with his own name, shouted by the man in front of him. Ryan grabbed at him desperately, complete with eyes drowning in fear, and posed in defense. Posed to fight.
Dylan did not yelp, “Wh-what, what the fuck, what’s going on?!”
In all his terror-stricken panic, Ryan straightened to full height (a full few inches less than Dylan) and clenched his fists even tighter into the thick fabric of Dylan’s apron. When his eyes found Dylan’s, they were focused, with the pupils dilating before his very eyes in real-time. Dylan read about this before online somewhere. Pupil dilation to increase light entering the eyes. Very useful for absorbing environmental information, especially in danger. When in fear. Or love, a part of his brain supplied unhelpfully.
Ryan let go, reeled back, and lightly punched him, “Got you going, didn’t I?”
A pause.
“Oh my god.”
“Had to stop you somehow.”
“Ryan, oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah, get your apron off.”
20:02 | DECEMBER 12 - RYAN
His hands shook in his lap.
Ryan didn’t think of himself as a guy that was easily shaken. No one else would claim that either: he ate the entire genres of horror, true crime, and paranormal folklore for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He won a bet against Abi on who would first tap out of an obscure Japanese horror movie marathon they had. He won, of course.
But there was something about Dylan in agony all alone in the shop after looking half-dead all day. Hearing his story about his hand. The knowledge that Dylan might have just stayed there if nobody came to check on him. That something made Ryan shiver, despite the layers he was clothed in.
Ryan shook his head and bumped his shoulders back against the brick behind him. The music thrummed in his ears, crashing and glitching in a cacophony of Garageband-esque chaos. He left Dylan in the store to settle down. Maybe clean up a little and put his stuff away. But not without an additional promise to walk him home.
He needed to make sure Dylan got home.
Another shiver wracked his frame at the intrusive thought of Dylan, vulnerable and exhausted, disappearing into the night, leaving everything and everyone behind. Including Ryan.
Ryan wasn’t the best, exactly, at meeting new people. And he was actually worse at maintaining relationships if he got past the stage of meeting people. It was just so much easier to let things happen. And more often than not, in the grand scheme of Ryan’s life, the connections he made were painfully temporary. If his life were a line drawn on the ground, it would be littered with other lines - other lives - that touched his line at a minuscule point or two, and drifted off in a different direction. Small connections. Never substantial.
Ryan skipped to the next song.
But Dylan’s line was new. Dylan’s line looked like Abi’s but not quite. Abi’s line met once with his, twice, and then a third time. Each time, the distance her line moved away got smaller and smaller until eventually, their lines were next to one another. Never too far, overlapping often when they met up randomly.
Dylan’s started to look like that initially. Their lines crashed more than overlapped the first time they met. Then their lines wavered when they met for training, then crashed again. Over the months since Dylan started, Ryan’s line started acting funny. That was new. Ryan’s line started wavering, moving here and here, baiting Dylan’s line to follow. Waiting for Dylan’s line to follow his way and not come back when Ryan’s switched the other way. His line never did that. As much as Ryan tried to shake him off his life-line, he hung on. And over time, it got harder and harder to tell who was hanging onto who.
Ryan mentally tsked as the song ended, skipping until he found something that somewhat matched the scrambled state of his mind.
Dylan was consistently just there. Promo planning with Emma, chatting up customers, coffee cup stacking, dishwashing, fiddling here and there. And always with an easy-going smile or a smartass comment. He was popular, charismatic, if not a little weird and awkward. Friendly with a sarcastic bite, but wouldn’t let you leave until he had you smiling. It would’ve been so easy for him to let Ryan fade into the background of his life like a side character, only ever interacting over work stuff. But he simply pulled Ryan in, held him in place, and carved his own little place into Ryan’s chest, just like he carved his spot at Norte.
Yet Dylan wasn’t consistently there when he was deep in his head like today. Drowning in pressure and stress, Dylan isolated himself at Norte. So…realistically, Dylan was still consistently there at the shop. It was just Ryan who wasn’t there. Ryan left.
Like a dumbass.
The door to his side jingled open, pillowing him with a cloud of sweet-and-coffee-smelling warmth as Dylan stepped out in his own thick layered hoodies, complete with a little winter hat and scarf. And the small smile we wore when Ryan was around. Right where it belonged.
He pulled his headphones out, “Ready to go?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna continue the game?”
Dylan sputtered, “Wh-uh-really? Why?”
“I dunno,” he looked at the sidewalk, covered in dirty sludgy snow, and scuffed his boots through it. “Pass the time? I like learning things about you.”
Dylan’s nose was colored a dusty pink. “Cool…me too, by the by.”
“I’ll go first. Boundaries?” He suggested.
Dylan was raw. Their last ice-breaker session wore Dylan down to his bones, so he’d happily steer away from anything. There’s plenty more to Dylan than his hand. Or well…absence of a hand.
“Nah.”
“Dyl-”
“No, no, I’m serious, man. I’ve cried myself out for the day, need to recharge at this point. Pinkie promise.”
Ryan slowed and looked up, squinty-eyed.
“I wouldn’t pinkie promise for nothing…” Ryan had to laugh. Never would he expect a phrase like that coming from Dylan, who adopted the look of a kicked puppy very quickly.
“Ok, ok. Uh…does it like. Hurt?”
“Well..sometimes. Depends. It used to hurt a lot more like constantly. You know phantom pain?” He nodded. “Phantom pain’s a bitch, Ry. It can happen just because but I’ve also had tingling and pain when like. Shaving. Or…scratching my face. It just happens. It’s gotten better, less frequent, but it still happens, I guess.”
“Right.”
“Ok, um…” Ryan let Dylan stew and put one headphone back in. Just for the reassuring presence of it in his ear. Their walk away from Norte was one they often traveled together. Dylan lived by the marina. Where exactly, he didn’t know, but it was in the general direction that Ryan had to go before splitting up at a fork in the road. They would split up, with Dylan going back home and Ryan going back to his own. Where he would inevitably be bullying Sarah into doing the dishes or, if it were a particularly long day, sheltering in his room for the night.
Ryan chanced another look at his company. Still deep in thought. Still tucking his hand up to the nape of his neck, and again. Ryan wasn’t the best. But he recognized nerves when he saw them.
“Don’t think too hard now, Dyl, we need that brain intact.” His heart swelled when Dylan was shocked out of his stupor into a snort. Not unlike when he caught Sarah on video calls with her friends, playing online games, chatting, and laughing with reckless disregard for their volume level. If Ryan didn’t recognize his heart-throbbing reaction as the same as what happened with Sarah, he would think he had a medical condition maybe. Or a meltdown. But no. He recognized it.
It was affectionate in nature.
“Asshole. You’re just afraid of the sheer genius that this brain can come up with. You’re threatened by it, I can tell.” He eye-rolled. It’s the best and the only way he knew to avoid admitting something without dismissing someone.
“So the question, genius? You’ve gotta have something, you were quiet for so long. By your standards.”
“Welllll…” The aforementioned fork in the road approached them. “Maybe we can continue this next time. Gonna have to split.”
That stopped Ryan in his tracks, “I thought we agreed that I’d walk you home?” Dylan responded with a questioning look, stopping to remain within talking distance.
“...Dylan. The whole way home.” He deadpanned, and he subsequently admired the sight of Dylan - in all his 6’1 goodness - rubbing at his nose and shying away. “That’s ok, right?”
Dylan blazed ahead, his long legs carrying him a mile per stride, and Ryan followed. “Yeah, yep, all good. Walk me home, Romeo. Just warning you,” He waggled his eyebrows, “You won’t get lucky tonight.”
“You think you’re Juliet?”
“Obviously. Look at me.” The cheeky bastard turned and walked backwards, fluttering his short eyelashes in his best attempt of a damsel, and Ryan could not fight his smile away. “A boy this pretty was made to be Juliet. At the very least Mercutio, but I’m no fighter.” His face fell. “Uh, you know, actually. Kind of reminds me of my question.” He stopped in the middle of the fork. In the middle of the road. Where both Dylan and himself were alone with an old streetlight buzzing nearby. Ryan slowed to a stop with him. It didn’t quite feel right to disrupt Dylan to pull him aside to the sidewalk. There was some kind of energy now and Ryan was not in the emotional know-how to be able to identify it. Instead, he hummed. He was listening.
“Do you have any boundaries, Ryan?”
Did he?
That was...not what he was expecting. Ryan loved asking about boundaries, it was so much easier to just get those out of the way first, and then power forward; but it wasn’t exactly usual that other people asked Ryan if he had boundaries.
“Um, I don’t really know. None that I can think of. I guess we’ll see?” And that seemed to work just fine for Dylan. Because he nodded his head and looked away from Ryan to the darkening sky. Then to some place to the side of Ryan’s head. To the streetlight. His eyes wavered all over, everywhere but Ryan’s person, and Ryan felt a pit form right in the middle of his chest.
“So like…” The man in front of him started, tearing his eyes back to Ryan. Somewhere on Ryan’s face at least. Ryan watched, nervous but sort of amazed at Dylan’s inner battle. He wondered what Dylan was fighting in that mind of his. Who was winning? And for a moment, Ryan feared that Dylan lost, as he bit at his lip and threw his head up to the sky, exasperated with something. “Ugh, fuck it-” was mumbled and that, against all odds, calmed Ryan’s fears.
“So are you, like…seeing? Someone? Girlfriend?”
And there Dylan was. Surprising him again. “Uh…no? Not really.” Dylan blinked at him, expression unreadable (at least for Ryan).
"You're not? What's not really supposed to mean?"
"Wh-" Ryan was almost offended, "Wh-I dunno, Dylan, I'm just not." And that seemed to convince him. Dylan swayed on his feet, and looked off to the very interesting air, with his brows raised and a corner of a lip raised just a tiny bit. “...boyfriend?”
“Isn’t it my turn?”
“...Ryan.” Dylan whispered. The tiny quirk of his lip was gone, and Ryan could identify this expression. He was afraid. Dylan was maybe hurt or something. And that did absolutely nothing for Ryan. Nothing but panic because Ryan freaked out at the idea of Dylan hurting point blank period. Being the source of that hurt was paralyzing. Ryan was missing something. Ryan ran through a mental catalog of what was said, what did he miss, where did he fuck up, why did they even get to this conversation. Why was-
Oh, Dylan was interested in if Ryan was single.
Oh…
Ryan, you dumbass.
With an exhale of a laugh, Ryan said, “Free real estate.” Very cool. Idiot.
But how cool Ryan was or whether he said the right thing or not didn’t seem to matter to Dylan, if that cheeky smile on his red face said anything about it.
“Cool. That-that’s cool, yeah.” Dylan turned and waited for Ryan to join him as they walked side by side again. “Same here.” he added, as an afterthought, and the pair trailed off into amiable silence. Whatever the energy was earlier dissipated, and they were left with peace, something gentle in the air. Just the way Ryan liked it. He pulled the one headphone out of his ear. He didn’t need it anymore, not with the gentle cold air and the silence, and the warmth of the sensitive and simply fascinating man next to him.
22:38 | DECEMBER 12 - DYLAN
Dylan was fine, normal, and totally sane. He promised. His heart was definitely not thumping violently in his chest, and he didn’t spend a good portion of the hour bouncing around his room with music pounding in his headphones. He was so completely fine that his beloved Schrödinger had taken shelter in her little kitty crate outside the kitchen.
Oh, who was he kidding?
Dylan was a tornado.
And Ryan was single. Ryan was not a straight boy dating a pretty artsy redhead. Ryan was stupidly hot and stupidly kind and walked him home. Had these revelations not been discovered that night, Dylan would absolutely be shriveling up like a pitiful raisin at having a breakdown in front of the guy. But said revelations more than made up for it. Ryan didn’t seem to mind, after all.
He was startled out of his controlled chaos with the sight of his phone lighting up on his desk: a phone call.
“Hello, Dylan Lenivy, coffee and candy extraordinaire, speaking.”
“Well, someone’s chipper for about…11 PM.” Kaitlyn’s voice hummed through the speaker. “Especially considering you looked like total garage all day.”
“1. Rude. 2. Sometimes people just bounce back. If you had normal healthy relationships with regular people, you’d know that.” A faint uh huh resounded on her end along with some shuffling and what could only be the phone being put down and picked up periodically.
“I think that social rule of bouncing back only applies in cases where you don’t look like you’ll drop dead at any second.” Her voice boomed as the phone was pulled back to her face, “Or in like. Mood swings, I guess. So really, what happened, doofus, I expect a solid real answer.”
Dylan bit back a laugh. If anyone at work even sort of knew Dylan Dylan, it was Kaitlyn. She instantly picked up on his instinctual need to play, to joke and have fun; and she forcefully broke through that uncaring, casual exterior to his fleshy real center. Kaitlyn took one look at blasé Dylan, figuratively said I’m gonna one-up you in the spoken language of sarcasm, and crawled into his affections as his favorite little monster.
“...Dylan?” He was broken out of his thoughts and his fondness, “Does this have something to do with one sexy sexy manager perhaps?” He smirked at the tone and hummed in the affirmative. Yet again, Kaitlyn saw right through him. And she didn’t even need to actually see him physically to do so. “Dylan, holy shit. Spill. Immediately.”
“Ok, just a sec,” he pulled out his earbuds. Not exactly necessary considering his only company capable of eavesdropping was a cat with a staring problem, but it was more for Dylan. He liked the illusion of closeness it brought. “So for context. Uh. Ok so yeah, I had a rough night which bled into a rough day and it all kind of came on top of me at once. I’ve been stressed out about the fundraiser and stuff but I’m fine now.” He was. Promise. He was just…weird about admitting it, ok?
“Sounds vague, but I’ll let it slide this once for the juicy tea. Just-Dylan. Talk to me whenever you want, ok? Even if it’s late. I’ll answer or do whatever you need us to do. I’ll beat your ass another time for waking me up but the moment will be yours.” Dylan couldn’t help but coo at Kaitlyn’s attempt at comfort through the phone. As she rattled on, disgruntled with him, he zoned out because Kaitlyn practically declared her love and care for him. ‘I’ll beat your ass but…’ was Kaitlyn speak for You could be a nuisance but you will always be my nuisance, I love you, and I will never leave you. And that nearly brought tears to Dylan’s eyes.
So he said so.
“Kaitlyn, that’s so sweet…bringing tears to a man’s eyes so late at night, you rascal.” As a pièce de résistance, Dylan brought up his stub, with the prosthesis abandoned by his bed, and wiped his eye with his forearm. Kaitlyn didn’t need to see, she could probably guess anyway.
“Whatever, just keep that in mind. Now stop stalling, I got my context, where does Ryan come in.”
“Ok, so,” he crumpled onto his bed and assumed starfish position, “I’m sitting there like the mess that I am, yeah? And the door busts open, Ryan is frantic, ok, he’s like a madman.” And Dylan rattled on, recounting the events with embellished detail and his special brand of drama. He emphasized their game of 20 questions (with tasteful avoidance of the details of his amputation), Ryan insisting to walk him home, and the sheer romantic vibes of the walk as the snow fell around them, in the glare of a lone streetlamp.
“I swear to God, Kaitlyn, when he dropped me off at the front door? I felt like the lead singer of Berlin because he totally took my breath away.” Dylan was alone in his room, with no one but Schrödinger to pass judgement; but even so, he tried to bite back a smile and covered his eyes with one hand. As much as Dylan had the tendency to exaggerate, the way that he was shocked into silence when Ryan leaned against the front doorway and bid him goodnight could only be described by the 1986 Golden Globe and Academy Award-winning hit by Berlin: He took his breath away. He wiped the remnants of all badness and made Dylan feel safe and alive. Dylan liked to think he was past the cheesy teenage romance shit but the stir in his chest and throat whenever Ryan gave him a toothy smile said otherwise.
Dylan was down bad. Like Bad bad.
“...Jesus, Dylan, you’re down bad.”
He couldn’t hold back the embarrassed giggle, which was followed by a pang of worry in his belly. “Listen, uh,” the new tone made Kaitlyn shift on her end, at attention, “I know we talked about this but you promise this doesn’t bother you?”
“Dylan, if it bothered me, I wouldn’t let you talk to me about your lovesick fantasies when I should be sleeping. Or fantasize with you in the middle of work. We’ve gone over this, you’re so right, bucko. He’s hot. I’m hot. You’re…ok. But you’re also like…in love with him though. I'd without question sleep with the guy but I think there's something...more for you boys.” The dismissive flavor of her mini-speech did nothing to quell the gnawing of anxiety creeping around - in love with him though.
Avoid, Dylan, hurry.
“...so you finally admit it.”
“...what?”
“You think I’m a hottie.”
“That is not what I said, don’t put words in my mouth. You’re attractive in a nerd way at best.”
“Uh huh, uh huh. So…you find nerds attractive.
“There you go again, putting the words in the mouth. I find grungy guys who are no good for me hot. I.e., Rodrick Heffley from that nerd movie.”
Dylan blinked vacantly and supplied, “...Diary of a Wimpy Kid?”
He’s met with silence, save for more shuffling fabric and a soft clunk.
“Kaitlyn,” he starts slowly, ”Have you watched ‘quote’ that nerd movie ‘unquote’ just for that guy? Because that is cinematic genius and you’re lying if you don’t agree.”
Dylan was met with…more silence. Weird uncomfy silence.
“Kaitlyn…you secretly love that nerd movie, and not just for Rodrick, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not, go die.” And the final syllable of her terse threat of death was abruptly caught off explained by the blinking ‘Call Ended’ message on his screen. He didn’t even pull his eyes away yet before his phone buzzed in his hand with a text from his ‘favorite gremlin’.
for real tho. i know what you were doing
seriously you’re good for each other
you have my blessing
dweeb
Dylan’s heart panged again with affection.
thx
no idea what id do without you. love ya
nerd lover
He tossed the phone, suddenly overcome with exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. He tossed around, plugged his phone in (with some difficulty one-handed), tucked under his covers, and let the promise of good - at least decent if he’s lucky - sleep pull him under.
And as Dylan dozed, practically dead to the world around him, with crickets and toads and fireflies filling the night with their presence on the marina, he was rendered unaware of another sleepless soul across the drowsy town.
Sat at his desk, with his grandparents in the living room having a hushed tender conversation and his sister making frantic progress on her collage project, Ryan Erzahler pondered the rough sketches on his wall. It was a project he had been working on for months at that point. Something that mattered deeply to him, with a plotline following heroic protagonists who were ruthlessly kind and brave battling unfamiliar challenges in the name of their loved ones.
His attention trailed back down to the new, even rougher sketch on his desk surface, messy with inky scratches arranged into a bust of a man with soft cheeks, eyes filled with mirth, and composed of flesh and metal. He was posed with an easy smile, one eye scrunched up more than the other, and a hand - metal in nature - raised up as if he were scratching the back of his neck. In a story, this character might be a trusty sidekick or a childhood friend. Possibly the sociable shopkeep. But that alone didn’t sound right to Ryan, maybe he could be something unexpected. Something new. Something utterly fascinating and unexpected.
Regardless, the character came to him in a burst of energy and inspiration, never even meant to be part of the story, and maybe he won’t join the story anyway. But that all was irrelevant because Ryan faced this character, born of his mind and his feelings, and made some key observations:
- This character was meant to and needed to exist in some form in every multiverse.
- This character held a special place in Ryan’s heart.
- This character, who was oh so very familiar, represented something to Ryan, and Ryan couldn’t quite pinpoint what that was yet.
And Ryan focused his attention back on the sketch, with the paper smudged in some places with undried ink and folded slightly in other places. With a moment’s pause, a smile unconsciously made its way onto his face as he went back in, thickening lines and correcting details in the prosthetic arm (mechanical objects were never Ryan’s forté, but he could try it out) and hair. To Ryan, this was intimacy. This was the affection that Ryan wished he could express as easily outside of the realm of his artwork. There was a fondness in his heart when he fiddled with the eyes, adding a twinkle in the iris. He identified the urge to physically reach his hand in and brush his fingers through the hair that flowed over his ears.
Now Ryan wasn’t an idiot.
Ryan knew this character. Personally. So Ryan know that he wanted to brush his fingers through Dylan’s hair. And he wanted to, bad. He bit his lip, to hold back an embarrassing giggle and an evergrowing grin.
Holy. Shit.
Notes:
We were overdue in the angst department, the lil guy needed some anxiety.
Also overdue in the romance department. Hope this was romantic.
Also humbly informing that I will move away from weekly updates into a more biweekly update, maybe even monthly. School and all. I will still pump this fic out bc I love it and I love writing.
Chapter 5: "...pretty, huh?"
Summary:
The one where Ryan gets a pep-talk, and Norte prepares for the Christmas fundraiser.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
13:00 | DECEMBER 19 - LAURA
“Do you think Ryan would yell at me if I sneaked past the lines?”
“...babe, he totally would yell at you.”
Laura snorted, “Well, that’s not convincing me not to do that.”
Laura tilted her head inquisitively at the display on the other side of the construction tarp. She was maybe one of the first customers to be informed of the exciting new addition to the shop, with her insider source of info being Max. She wasn’t the biggest fan of candy but she could appreciate the aesthetic. The setup was nearly complete, with pale mint green and baby pink shelving, see-through plastic containers with sampling spoons, scoops, and decorative bags, and signage with hand-written cursive scattered about. All that was missing was the candy. And grubby germy children.
“What would you even do? There’s nothing there yet.”
“I dunno, those bags are super cute though.” She smiled, cheeky when Max pushed her with a side-eye. “For the record, maybe you should be nicer to my manager?”
She scoffed, “Absolutely not, not when he makes making fun of him so entertaining. Tell him to stop being so easy,” then she was struck with a grievance, “and, now that I think about it, so weird with that one guy.”
The way that Max snickered, after correcting her on who ‘that guy’ was, set off every alarm bell in her brain, and she whipped around, “What? I’m not wrong. He’s been, like, insufferable recently. He went from being followed by Dylan.” She took her right hand and gestured to her right. “To sticking to his side 24/7.” And finished with her hand trailing to her left.
Max did nothing more than blink at her. Slowly.
Her hackles rose and made her snappy, “What?”
“I dunno, I think it’s kinda cute. Like inseparable puppy love, you know?”
“It’s only cute when you do that, big guy.” She patted his cheek and left him reeling and red behind her; she was tired of standing and observing an unchanging display case. “Just weird when he does it. Fawning over people doesn't seem like a Ryan kinda thing.” She sat back in her seat. The seat that was claimed specifically and only by Laura Kearney, in a corner by the windows, with decent shade around midday. She scolded Max when he shoved her backpack and coat over in the booth, otherwise not objecting, as he took his seat across from her for his break. His lunch break was spent with her as long as she was there for it. And she was there much more often recently.
Their relationship was new and, in her opinion, unexpected. But it was fun. It was exciting. She wasn’t the kind of person to claim she had a type or anything, but she certainly believed some people had certain characteristics that she didn’t appreciate. Max was relaxed. She more or less wasn’t. Max went with the flow. She definitely did not. Max was relatively stable. She sometimes felt like she was whirling chaos, bouncing between biology majors before she settled on pre-med veterinary work and even between jobs to support her education. Max stayed in the same position for a couple years now. Max was static. She was violently dynamic. She hated the phrase 'opposites attract', but she’d be an idiot to say they weren’t made for each other.
Or maybe they were more like a balancing act.
Yeah, that felt more accurate.
“Can I be honest?”
“Max, don’t talk with your mouth full, I’m disgusted.”
He swallowed a bit and took another bite of his panini. Like a douche.
“There’s been a lot of talk. I think Emma and Kaitlyn have something on those two. And maybe Nick but he’s lowkey about it. There’s definitely some romantic and/or sexual tension between them.”
“No shit, Sherlock. What do you mean they’ve got something on them? Like a bet?”
“I don’t exactly know.”
Lo and behold, a short woman stepped out of the hallway, and Laura perked up. “Hey, Kaitlyn!” She shouted across the room. Max was not prepared, and Max was clearly not excited at the prospective conversation. He, of all people, knew that Kaitlyn and Laura tended to meddle when left to their own devices. It was just in their combined nature.
“Yo.” The offender plopped her water bottle, a pillaged cookie, and a stool to join the couple. “My presence is needed why?”
“Tell us about Dylan and Ryan, Max isn’t useful for that.” In the background, he balked and whined. Kaitlyn, on the other hand, couldn’t restrain her glee even if she wanted to.
“Ok, so,” She tore into her makeshift lunch, “Emma can also vouch but it’s pretty obvious that they're sickly sweet on each other.” The couple nodded, knowing. “Like it kind of makes me nauseous sometimes, which is why we can’t have them dancing around each other any longer.” Laura shot a playful glare at Max. Told you so. “So we sort of hatched a plan including one of the regulars who’s close with Ryan buuut,” Kaitlyn leaned in, voice lowered and beckoning her forth with her story. Even Max shifted his weight onto his arms on the table, invested. “It kind of sounds like things are happening without our input.”
“No way.”
“Way, Max.”
“How do you know? What happened? Kaitlyn, get me involved.” Laura hissed.
“I don’t usually kiss-uh-or, well…hear of kissing, then tell, actually. But I would for you. And about Dylan. Always.”
Max watched blankly as the women high-fived.
“So. They usually walk home together.”
“Already a green flag.” Laura piped in before Kaitlyn continued.
“Indeed. But a few weeks ago when Dylan was feeling shitty, Ryan helped him out and walked him all the way home. Dylan dished the whole thing out, it was almost gross. I could visualize him kicking his feet and twirling his hair like a girl in a movie set in the 80s. And combine that with how Dylan usually fawns over Ry? I expect a marriage proposal sometime around New Year's.”
Laura gaped. Because Kaitlyn had a point. It’s like they simultaneously are going at a snail’s pace and also are going at lightning speed in terms of pursuing a relationship. Because they walk home together, work together, play and tease, comfort, and yet have probably not confessed an ounce of clear interest to one another through it all, especially having known one another for months at this point.
And Laura, who sat comfortably and happy in a new relationship that was started after a few weeks of getting to know Max, thought that was bull.
“Where’s Ryan?” A small bubble of pride surged within her as Kaitlyn paused midbite and Max blanched in clear panic. They spoke over one another, with Max in the firm negative to talk Laura out of whatever plan she had brewing and Kaitlyn, ever the terse mastermind, saying a simple “Mr. H’s office maybe.”
“Just-Christ, Kait, why are you like this?” Max went to break a piece of her cookie for himself, as compensation for the blooming headache, when Laura leaned over, kissed his temple, and stood from her seat.
She saluted, “Don’t wait up for me, guys. I’ve got some business to attend to.” Max sighed deeply, exasperated, and munched on his small piece of cookie. It was a sad sight.
Laura snatched her drink and made her way to the hallway leading to..well, every part of the store that’s not available to customers. Including Chris Hackett’s office.
13:44 | DECEMBER 19 - RYAN
“I’m just saying, it feels…odd, yeah, I’ll say odd, that the hotel staff was aware of this all happening and didn’t call the police until some bellboy found him in a puddle of his own blood.”
“It is odd, Anton, and I’m so glad you mentioned that! Because it leads us to our theories.”
An ominous tune sounded out in his headphones.
“If the first theory implicates the staff along with the actual killer, then I agree and we can end the episode at that, right?”
“No, because we’d skip over the really juicy and funny theories. But yes, the first theory has to do with the extremely suspicious behavior of the hotel staff..” Ryan could nearly doze off as the episode continued in the background. He heard this one before and it was one of his favorites to play when he needed mindless noise. This was filler. He’d solidified his confidence in the first theory when the episode came out; so, when the episode played, it didn’t quite distract him anymore as other episodes with more vague endings and unlikely theories did. And he needed to be completely focused on his search.
Chris asked him specifically to take charge for the next couple days when he left for a family event out of town. The register was having trouble. He wasn’t tech-minded enough to fix it on his own. But there was a backup log somewhere he could use to troubleshoot it. Maybe. Fuck, this stressed him out. But he fixed this before, he just needed to find the damn thing.
To an outsider, Ryan was shuffling through boxes of old records, cables, notebooks, and other odds-and-ends in the silence and the darkness of his boss’s office. Empty boxes were cast to one side and stacks of books were at another, waiting to be sorted through and reorganized. Annoyingly, none of them were useful. A string of cracks resounded as Ryan straightened up on his haunches, sighing at his lack of success.
He didn’t spend too much time thinking about it when a puff of cold air brought goosebumps to his neck and made him flinch. He pulled a headphone out, scanning the room around him, still as vacant as he walked into it. The headphone was put back in, greeting him with Grace’s exciting account of the theory that a potential demonic possession killed the victim of this episode. Not quite able to refocus, Ryan turned back to the boxes still stacked along the wall and wiped a bead of sweat on his temple.
If only Dylan were here. He probably could figure out the software. He took the day off, with a text letting Ryan know he needed time away to sort out finalized plans and the schedule for the so-called “Grand Candy Opening” and associated fundraiser. And a side note of a mental health day. Ryan bloomed when Dylan admit it. Even if it was a side note, it was still noted that he was stressed out and needed to stay home. But Dylan could have handled this register garbage if he were here. Or at least have been good company while searching. So. Double-edged sword, as they say.
The thought was interrupted when Ryan felt a distinct, strong, and unmistakable tug on the leg of his sweatpants. He ripped the headphones out of his ears, many unsavory words tumbling out of him, as icy terror gripped him because what the fuck? A frenzied scan revealed the room as dark, quiet, and empty as before but that simply didn’t check out because Ryan’s heart was beating out of his chest. He could hear it thrumming in his ears. He’s not an anxious man, by any means. He was calm and collected. Always. He was sweating with goosebumps all over his body simultaneously. Something was just wrong in the room.
Visually, nothing had changed, but, with his headphones out, he was now exposed to, and entirely focused on, the room. Any coherent thought was replaced with sheer panic, only escalating when he checked under the desk and found a concerning amount of nothing, fuck, fuck, holy fuck, oh God.
By all accounts, the logical decision would’ve been to call for help or flat out leave, but something settled in Ryan’s bones, clamming him up. He couldn’t shake it. He wasn’t alone. He couldn’t be. The way his pant leg was pulled out and up higher on his ankle spoke volumes, no matter how much he thought he hallucinated as the nothingness of the room continued.
His eyes were drawn to the one window in the room, blinds drawn and allowing slivers of warm sunlight through. Slivers that warped oddly when his eyes traced them along the opposite wall. They looked a bit like snakes as they warped continuously from one side of the wall to the side closest to him. As if the light was landing on something in front of the wall first, but even then...that just didn’t make sense. The visual fuckery had distracted Ryan to the point of near deafness, completely oblivious to the sound of creaking footsteps in the room. A spot at the bottom of his back twitched when the puffs of cold air came back and flowed over his ear. A part of Ryan, something deep in his brain and primal, told him to run. Another part kept him chained to the spot, and it told him he was gonna die here.
A voice that Ryan did not recognize, clear as day, echoed in the room, “Go…” and honestly, that’s way more than Ryan needed.
Ryan cursed Past Ryan for leaving so many boxes on the floor, as he dashed and jumped as fast as he could to the door and ripped it open, old hinges protesting the force used. A pair of big blue eyes stared up at him, and he couldn’t hold back the shout. It ripped its way out of him, battering his unused voice, and a shrill scream burst back in his face.
“Jesus, God, Ryan! What the hell is wrong with you!?” A shocked Laura crumpled into a squat, holding her hands over her chest, willing her ribs to contain her pounding heart.
“Laura? Guys, what’s going on?” A deeper, timid voice found its way to them from the storefront, and Kaitlyn peeked around the corner in silence. A smirk broke on her face.
“Max, these dweebs look like they saw a ghost. Scared each other.” Her eyes widened. “Quick, take a picture!” Laura unfolded and threw a lethal glare at Kaitlyn, who responded with double finger guns and a wink in kind. She turned back, blonde ponytail swishing behind her, to face Ryan, “What in God’s name were you doing running out of your boss’s office like a fire was lit under your ass?”
“I just,” He was at a loss. What do you even…say after that. Ghost? Demon?
That’s stupid.
“I thought there was someone else in there with me.” Not technically wrong.
She narrowed her eyes, “So you decided that barreling out of the room was the correct course of action.”
“Uh, yeah? What, you’re not running out of a room if you think you’re being watched?”
“Ryan, shut the fuck up.”
“Alright, alright, lady and germ,” Kaitlyn waved between the two, mirthful and good-spirited, “your paranoia, which probably stems from your consumption of fear-inducing media, might I add, is not what we’re interested in at the moment.”
She clapped and placed a hand on Ryan’s and Laura’s back each, pushing back to the booth, where Max sat alone. And red-faced. Very not happy to be in the position he was in, clearly.
“So,” Kaitlyn headed the conversation, allowing Laura a bit of dignity and time to calm her racing heart, “Dylan.”
Ryan allowed his eyebrows to climb up to his hairline, waiting, because apparently, that was as good of a conversation starter as any to Kaitlyn.
“Dylan?”
“He likes you. Hardcore.”
Ah…figures.
“Maybe he does. So?”
Laura thumped her hands onto the table, slackjawed. “That just can’t be your reaction to someone liking you. I’m begging, Ryan.”
“Well, what do you want from me? It’s been sort of clear.” he pulled a napkin into his hands and ripped into it mindlessly.
“Ok, bucko, listen. I’m merely an outsider in this compared to these two, but the idea that Dylan’s into you, and you knowing, and not doing anything with that will kill me. Max, help.”
Max held a hand up in surrender, weakly 'eeeeh'ing out a noise, perfectly representing how badly he didn’t want to add to the conversation. A hand, framed with a scrunchie at the wrist, pinched at the fatty part of his arm.
“Ok, ok, jeez! God…look, man. Guy to guy, what’s the worst that could happen, right? Best case scenario, you’ve got a comedian for a boyfriend. Worst-case, things are a little awkward and maybe you have a conversation and maybe you dudes can chill out and stay friends or something?“ By the time Max was done, Laura had resumed pinching at him with a scornful glare and Kaitlyn gifted him a simple yet unimpressed ‘dude’.
“Why do you guys think I wanna date him? Or like him back?” Their little party turned to him, nothing short of shock and disbelief splayed across all their faces. Ryan felt sweat collect in his collar.
Oh boy.
“That is. The fattest. Steamiest. Pile of bullshit. I have ever heard in my life, Ryan.”
“Laur-”
“No, no, she’s right.” Kaitlyn cut Max off before he could even start. “In fact, this is fine. Ryan. You like lists. Allow me…to list the reasons why not only we think you like him back. But how we know.” And Ryan sweat more. He was furious with his body because he felt the way his hoodie stuck to his sweaty back and felt his face and ears darken with blush. Because Kaitlyn listed thoroughly.
Now, Ryan wasn’t that oblivious of a man.
He knew and realized that he latched onto Dylan a bit more recently, that was sort of intentional. Sue him for being concerned as Dylan’s deadlines approached. He was still his manager, and he had to have close contact, of course. And well...if Ryan’s been on the fence about submitting his own work for the art showcase fundraiser thing, and has been trying to subtly figure out what kind of work was submitted already, no, he’s not and he hasn’t been. Honest.
But he hadn’t realized that he followed the man around. Like some needy dog, according to Laura. Or that he’s been more touchy-feely. He hasn’t even realized that he kept his headphones out of his ears way more often recently.
“And aaalll that? Pales in comparison to the sheer fact that we have proof. We have a mole…on the inside.” She threaded her fingers together in finality. With a look that dared Ryan to deny.
“...mole?”
“It’s not super subtle when you start drawing fanart of the guy of your dreams, Ry!”
For fuck’s sake, Abi.
“She didn’t.” He all but hissed, desperate for it to not be true.
“Emma and I enlisted her help. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Emma, not Abi. Emma will verbally degrade you to ash if you take out your emotional constipation on Abi. All she told us was that you’ve ah…what was it,” she tapped a finger to her chin, “found ‘new inspiration’ for your art.”
Ryan practically dripped in sweat and radiated heat, because, fuck, this was so weird and awkward. And it hurt. It sucked that Abi tattled. In the last couple weeks, Ryan and Abi had met to discuss their submissions for the showcase. Or rather, hype each other up to work up the courage to make any submissions in the first place. It was a vulnerable process, sharing personal artwork with one another and revealing which pieces made them feel what.
“Ryan?”
But it was a steady growth process. Getting used to showing personal work and more personal feelings got easier each time. Never easy, but easier. And each meeting solidified their resolve to put something out there. Anything. They went as far as to make an oath: 'If you submit something, I will too'.
“Yo, Ry."
To know that his work was being discussed without him knowing? To his own coworkers? It’s like he got burned.
A hand shook him out of his stupor, “Hey, man…you good?” Laura, with all her brashness and with her teasing nature, rubbed his shoulder before letting go. She looked mirthful, mischievous in the face, but there was an underlying concern in the way her eyebrows scrunched together.
“...kind of sucks that you guys enlisted my best friend to spy on me. Feeling a little betrayed right now.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but based on Laura’s face falling to downright open concern, he didn’t succeed.
“Ah, shit, Ry-” He didn’t even let her finish, “No! That sucks, Laura!” It registered somewhere deep in his head that Max pulled Laura back and away, but that’s not necessary information. He had something to say.
“Do you not get how fucked up it is to go behind my back like that with Abi? That stuff is so personal, and I actually do have a problem with that.” He felt frantic. And he felt hot, battling between not wanting to cause a scene, and really really wanting to cause a scene. Kaitlyn holding her hands up, like he’s some feral misbehaving dog, didn’t help.
“Ok, alright. Firstly, you’re right.” Kaitlyn stood, beckoning him to the hallway. She flapped a hand towards Max, and he took his seat back in the booth with Laura. This was a private matter now. He couldn’t quite tell if he felt better with a one-on-one away from public eye, but logically, it was better.
A short walk, that Ryan spent deep breathing, brought them to the employee bathrooms for said private matter. Again, for Ryan. If this trend kept up, he’d be Pavloved into expecting emotional vulnerability in employee bathrooms. Kaitlyn leaned back, hands on the sink, and continued. “You’re right. And again. Please, don’t take this out on Abi. She didn’t want to at first anyway. But just hear me out, please?”
He couldn’t bring words out. He settled with a hand gesturing to continue.
“This was never meant to be something like…big. Especially not something hurtful. The intention was just to like. Be good wingmen, I guess. It’s just so like,” she struggled with the words, somewhere in her head, “You guys like each other so much, Ry.”
His shoulders sagged. She looked at him, softly. Not an ounce of the Kaitlyn that loved to ‘misplace’ his zippo or spread fake rumors and stories for the hell of it. This was a Kaitlyn that was capable of feeling guilt and cared.
“Like it’s wild how much Dylan likes you. I think he’s got this fairytale Prince Charming delusion going on in his brain that turned you into some dragon-fighting king in his eyes or something. But he likes you so bad. And now, we know you like him back. Is that fair to say?”
He nodded. The anger simmered away into exhaustion, making him too tired to fight or deny or evade.
“...Ryan, can you actually say what you think? I’m not gonna be responsible for putting words in your mouth.”
He was taken off guard. Yet again, he’s asked something he’s not usually asked. And for anyone even remotely like Ryan, the act of verbalizing something was leagues above just unconsciously knowing it. “I’m still sorting it out. But yeah. I do. Like him, I mean.” He wasn’t a praying man, but he’ll pray for that to be enough for Kaitlyn.
She looked away, down to the ground. She bit at her lip and nodded. Contemplating.
“We just want you guys to be happy. Abi really wants you to be happy, man. That’s it. Sorry about all this.”
The atmosphere wasn’t exactly tense. It was more like a dense fog had seeped into the bathrooms through the vents. Not inherently uncomfortable. But not welcoming. It was just there, floating and all-encompassing. Ryan couldn’t find it in himself to rekindle that anger. Maybe if you asked him tomorrow, he’ll say it’s ok, just a mistake, but now, he was sort of hurt and he was mostly bone-tired. And a deeper part of him was touched in a weird way. He was proud of his little team at Norte, reliable and competent when the situation called for it. But they may put him six feet in the ground by the time he’s 25.
“Well uh…” he rubbed at his nose, “I get it, but I really wish you didn’t pull Abi into this. I guess I appreciate the idea. Maybe.” Kaitlyn brightened with a sort of pride and with a soft smile.
“So…does that mean it’s ok if-"
“Just ask me. Stop going behind my back, you runt.”
The patrons could make out a cackle that rang out from the employee bathrooms.
8:24 | DECEMBER 22 - DYLAN
Dylan actually couldn’t taste the flavor of the coffee in his hands. He scalded the hell out of his tongue on his first coffee this morning. But it at least gave him the familiar warmth and the satisfying experience of drinking a little beverage as he worked. Not necessarily effective to him, caffeine made him more tired than anything else. But it was his little treat. He deserved it after all this bullshit.
Said bullshit that manifested as Abi and Ryan ruffling through folders and thick portfolios of artwork that fluttered around in their hands before he could make heads or tails of what was on the pages.
Now, not to be rude. He loved him them dearly. He just didn’t anticipate adding ‘advise your art friends in their panicked last-minute decisions over what to submit for an event your brain birthed’ to his to-do list. And his to-do list was already incredibly long without this addition clogging it up.
He habitually riffled through his phone’s apps, cycling through Twitter, his notes app, the calendar, refreshing Twitter again, opening his SMS messages (revealing nothing new), and back to the calendar. Four days. They had four days left. And that included the weekend, which didn’t guarantee him being able to get a hold of either of these two. And only now were they trying to finalize their decision.
He loved them. He did.
He sighed.
He could at least thank his lucky stars that the candy corner was set and ready to go, unlike some people. It looked good, he mused. It was ready to be stocked up, with Nick currently emulating his ‘very best’ cursive to finish their little descriptive signs. Dylan couldn’t judge. He’d do much worse. Somewhere behind him, Emma and Max - a rare surprise from the evening-shift holder - were keeping up with coffee orders and the occasional pastry. And Dylan sat right where his lily-white butt parked an hour earlier. Finalizing submissions, printing brochures and little placards, and planning placement areas for the work they have submitted. That’s not everything, but if he kept going, he’d think himself into a coma.
“Any day now, fellas.” He quipped. Maybe a bit rudely. He was ignored regardless. The hushed conversation – argument? – didn’t falter, with Dylan catching only bits and pieces. Sometimes, a distressed question on where something went; other times, an inquiry on ‘if this made sense’, or ‘is nudity ok?’; generally, a lot of decisions not being made.
A soft voice called his name, and Abi was looking right at him. Somewhere in his internal monologue, Abi had mustered up the courage to approach his seat.
“I know you said anything goes but…” he did multiple times, but he couldn’t quite muster up anything resembling anger towards Abi. “I’ve got this one piece. I’m not sure how the lighting’s gonna be set up but I think it’ll look nice? Hung up?”
She rolled out a long piece, almost like a tapestry, smothered in creamy, dream-like colors made to emulate a landscape of grassy rolling hills overlooking a lake. In the middle of the water was a blonde fair woman, bent over with her back to the viewer, scooping water into a vase. It was a simple concept, but intimate and pretty. And Mr. H probably won’t balk at the horrifying nudity of a single butt in the middle of the entire landscape. Dylan wasn’t a critic, his art critic jargon was a bit out of practice, but the point was he liked it. And he liked the idea of a finalized submission even more.
“Yeah, that’s superb actually, Abi. Very pretty, a perfect addition, I’d say.” Abi gave him a shy grateful smile, “Got a title?”
“Uh, no, it’s untitled.”
“Alrighty. Do you have it scanned or…”
“Oh, uh…no, not yet. I’ll do it later today and send it over to you?”
“Fine by me.” He said, even though sweat broke out across his forehead. He didn’t wanna be pushy, it messed with his whole vibe but…“Tonight is the deadline for you two, I really need this done, Abi.”
“No, I know! I’ll get it done for sure. You’ll have it digital super soon, promise!”
And as much as it was relieving to hear. As much as he trusted someone like Abi, who had digital backups of nearly all her work anyways, and his phone number to boot, he couldn’t quite shake it because that was only a quarter of the battle. At best.
“Abi, Abi..” She turned back, eyes wide. He lowered his voice, “Look…I understand this is a stressful situation for you guys but how likely is it that Ryan’s gonna make a decision today?” And he could only sag when Abi blushed and looked away, an uneasy smile on her face.
She hummed, “We’re both almost done, I promise. I got my piece so I’ll be helping him decide now, trust me.”
“Yeah,” The fleshy fingers of his hand met his own eyes, rubbing much more aggressively than the early morning called for. Because for fuck’s sake, he needs this to be over. Not that he didn’t trust Abi or have faith in Ryan. He did. Mostly. But he needed to piss much more than he felt like waiting.
With his pants zipped up, prosthesis adjusted to give his stump a break, and bladder more or less empty, Dylan, newly refreshed from the bathroom, faced his table. Where Ryan now sat. Laptop and portfolio spread in front of him next to Dylan’s stuff. Even as he sat, Ryan didn’t look back up or even acknowledge his existence. The man’s dark eyes flit over his computer screen. Dylan could pick up hints. He knew a man at work when he saw one. So he politely opened his email, sorting through submissions and information to be printed on their placards, allowing them to work as a pair in silence. Abi sat, with a frappuccino at her table, newly cleared of paper, and not even hiding an expectant stare at Ryan.
A cough, deep and crackly, pulled Dylan’s attention back to Ryan, who had turned his laptop to face him.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” he nodded towards the paper on the table, “and this digital one that I think would work? I uh…wanna know your thoughts. As like. The organizer, I guess.”
The art that stretched over the table, in his very respectful opinion, was very Ryan. It was very endearing that Ryan’s very essence permeated into the stuff he made.
He was faced with a family portrait: at first glance not quite stellar, but the longer Dylan looked, it unsettled him more. He couldn’t quite tell if it was the penetrating stares they all emulated, right at the viewer, or if it was the decayed state of the room from peeling brown wallpaper to the shredded, maggot-and-mothball-covered furniture they sat on.
Another piece brought cold dread to Dylan’s heart: a bright cozy modern bedroom, with a sunset sunrise? peeping through the singular window in the wall directly opposing the viewer. From the point of view within the room, Dylan could note the unmade bed, messy desk, and closet next to the desk. A closet that was just barely eeked open, revealing cloudy darkness and a pale face smiling out from within. The face was just… eugh! 1. It wasn’t a familiar face in the first place. 2. The idea of a face of any kind peeking out of your closet is horrifying enough. And 3? The face…the pull of the smile on the face didn’t quite match what a smile was supposed to look like. Or what a face in general looked like. It looked like an alien’s crude attempt at recreating a human face with Play-Doh. It fit somewhere in the uncanny valley.
Ryan was really fucking good at giving him goosebumps.
On the computer screen itself, the file only showed a piece in monochromatic browns and blacks: a face, specifically the area from the eyebrows down to mid-nose, from temple to temple. A pair of deep brown eyes with dark, boney fingers reaching up and only somewhat obscuring them. Almost like this person was covering his face, but now peeked through the gaps at the viewer. He was exhausted, sparse freckles dusted his face, and bags hung under his eyes. These eyes carried weight. It was a hefty gaze that broke through and left something in Dylan’s chest. It was intimate…Dylan felt the need to look away. Or to beg to see the full picture, even if it didn’t exist for this piece. He wanted to see more. A glance up to the corner of the file revealed the name of the piece.
The Artist.
“Ry,” he swallowed down the voice crack, “These are like…amazing. I don’t know what I was expecting but…just wow.” His heart panged when Ryan looked away, ears flushed hot and dark. He nodded.
“For, um, the sake of the showcase. With kids potentially being here and all? I think this one would fit better than the others. The others are great but they might make Mr. H blow a gasket if he sees spooked kids. Oh, and it’s already digital! Perfectly set and ready to go.” If Dylan wasn't the one sitting and rambling? If he were looking at himself from outside his own rambling nervous body? He would gladly tackle himself because, for god’s sake, stop talking and wipe that blush off your cheeks.
“I was hoping you’d say that…I really like that one.” Ryan was smiling. Fully, with teeth. And at Dylan. Eye contact and all. The eyebags greeted him but the exhaustion was shadowed by something so warm, it had Dylan blinking away a sudden moistness in his eyes. Jesus, the physical effects Ryan had on him needed to be studied. Scientifically.
“Yeah. It’s intimate, I guess. Pretty in a way, with the eyes being the window to the soul or something. Maybe a little...sad? I dunno, this person looks like he's gonna drop out of exhaustion any second.” Dylan's heart panged when Ryan laughed softly and nodded.
“...pretty, huh?”
He sucked in a breath, feeling a little pathetic and seen, “I sure did say that…” A chanced look up showed Ryan biting his lip, holding back a smile that was only growing.
“You know, you still owe me that physics TedTalk, right?”
And Dylan, the oh, so, lovesick fool that he was, wanted to count his lucky stars and try a cartwheel, hollering in joy. Maybe jump up and click his heels together like a Scrooge who just figured out the meaning of Christmas and a life filled with holiday cheer.
“Well, I’ll give you one more chance for an out because I still don’t know if you reeeally want that? If you actually want that, we can make plans, I guess. After the fundraiser though, I am practically and actually liable to be the worst date ever unless I’ve got time to recover from all this planning.” Somewhere in all that, Ryan had actually held a single hand up. Dylan barreled through until he noticed, but because he was a good person, he clammed up accordingly.
“No outs. I want that. Are you ok with that?”
And it was so simple with Ryan. Outlining the facts and finishing with an out for Dylan to take or refuse. Every ten thoughts of sheer panic and indecision that Dylan had was matched and dissipated by a single verbal clarification by Ryan. He could kiss him for that. Oh god, he really wanted to fucking kiss him for that…
“Not to be bold or whatever, but I’m down for anything.” He fought down a blush, poorly, when Ryan pulled his laptop back with a big, fat knowing smirk on his stupid, handsome face.
“That so?” Dylan didn’t like to dwell too much, but it was in his nature. And if he dwelled and read deeper into it, he’d dare to say Ryan was hopeful. That Ryan wanted anything to do with him as much as he wanted to do with Ryan. That train of thought was addicting. He hummed in the affirmative.
“Well,” He flipped his laptop screen closed. Dylan faintly registered the tinny sound of his email notification pinging through his headphones on the table (turned up deafeningly loud, just how he liked them), “sounds like a date?”
God help him, he’d do anything for this man slouching in front of him.
Anything but give him a solid answer apparently; Dylan nodded and felt the smile on his face wobble as his heart dropped out of his chest, open and bleeding and needy. Ryan’s own smile shrank, something concerned falling over his eyes. Dylan, the master of miscommunication, wasn’t having it.
We can’t have that.
“If you don’t bring flowers, I’m kicking you out of my house.”
He didn’t even realize what he was saying until it floated between them. Dylan wasn’t sure what got into him. Maybe some kind of love (love???) induced delirium dissolving his brain-to-mouth filter. So he couldn’t even tell you what the desired effect of his insanely forward yet comedically timed demand/threat was. But the actual effect was so much better than anything he could have dreamed up.
Ryan's eyebrows climbed up, eyes widened in surprise, and his smile was completely replaced by his mouth gaping just a tiny bit. The absolute shock on the man’s face quickly shifted again into unbridled glee. His lip was pulled into his mouth but the smile that was hidden in his lip bite reached his eyes anyway. Dylan’s heart squeezed furiously and his eyes watered again. When it felt like his heart fell out of his chest onto the table for all to see? It stayed there, still bleeding and needy, but it thumped furiously and shredded itself into fibers at Ryan being as fucking Sweet as a Button.
The culprit of Dylan’s gay little aneurysm cleared his throat, looking back at him with an easy smile and relaxed eyes. Eyes that said ‘I’m really glad this is happening'.
“So ah…sometime after the fundraiser? Your house? Physics date complete with flowers? You just let me know when you’re free and,” he waved his hand at the table, “well-recovered from this mindfuck, and we’ll go from there.”
“That sounds perfect.” Every syllable that fell from his mouth was exactly what it was, without anything to disguise it. Dylan’s heart kept oozing on the table. Every ounce of his usual charming humorous tone was gone, leaving just Dylan. Dylan, who was suddenly so naked, honest, and vulnerable, and so so grateful at how good Ryan was at being straightforward and crystal clear. No bullshit.
“Yeah…well um-” Ryan’s fingers drummed on the table, ”I sent you an email with the file and dimensions and everything. Should probably…let you handle all the prep. I’ll go man the coffee.” Dylan nodded, shooing him off with a flicked wrist. “Need another?”
Dylan’s cup was empty, and Dylan’s heart was long-overdue for its return to his chest, hidden under a layer of ‘goofy, suave, I’m probably better than you’ humor.
“...if you would, please. Fetch me a cold brew, Erzahler.”
Ryan snorted and sent a two-finger salute as he turned.
He waited until Ryan disappeared into the hallway, no doubt storing away his laptop and portfolio, and setting up for his actual shift before Dylan fumbled with his phone and pulled open his cell’s contacts.
He only had to wait for a single beep.
“Kaitlyn, you won’t fucking believe this.”
Notes:
Wow I got sick in the middle of writing this and school is sister stressing me out so yeah, pray for me.
An unnecessary supernatural event in a Quarry fic is necessary, and I wanted to try horror for a sec, how'd I doAlso, huge round of applause for stristead for beta-ing this chapter. Taught me the word 'beckoning' in the process lol
Any grammatical or spelling issues still present are my fault and mine alone
Chapter 6: “I could use some air.”
Summary:
The one where the goobers enjoy some quality time at the Candy Fundraiser Extravaganza and Showcase Spectacular.
CW: Drug references (weed)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
7:02 | DECEMBER 26 - RYAN
As he stared at his hands, gingerly placed on top of the steering wheel with his fingers extended, Ryan realized he couldn’t recall the last time his hands shook this bad before. Every single muscle fiber and tendon in his body lit up with unreleased energy and nerves. It’s a wonder he managed to get to work in such a state without hitting a curb or running a stop sign.
It was happening. It arrived. The very event that he was worried would drive Dylan into an early grave was actually sending him into cardiac arrest. Somewhere in Norte, his own piece was set up on a wall to be scrutinized by the public. And respectfully. Some of the public were stupid as shit. So forgive him for not being ecstatic at the prospect of exposure for his art.
If he himself was reacting this way, Dylan might be dead in a ditch somewhere at this point from stress.
He sighed, pulled his hoodie tighter over his head, took his keys out of the ignition, and left into the fray.
Norte itself was closed technically, to prepare for the event tonight (promptly starting at 6, as Dylan reminded the team many, many times), but the American thirst for coffee was intense. So coffee was still being sold out the pick-up window, where he could actually make out Emma’s bracelet-covered hand placing online orders.
“Mornin’, Ry. Running a bit late today?” It was Nick that greeted him first, Emma manning the coffee stations, and the man of the hour, DJ Dylan himself, sitting isolated in the hallway.
“Uh…sorta? Everything seems okay from what I can tell.”
“Yep. No fires that you needed to put out. We managed somehow,” he pouted, with a hand on his chest, imitating a truly saddened person, downright grieving the loss of Ryan for the first hour of his shift. Ryan huffed and shouldered past him, good-naturedly, “Seriously, you’re never late. All good?”
“Yeah, just overslept. Couldn’t sleep much last night.” He admitted.
Nick hummed, scanning the hooded man in front of him, “Nervous for tonight then?” Ryan could only purse his lips. Nick’s People Sensor impressed Ryan often (unless certain lifeguards were around, flirting like crazy; that sensor turns off periodically at those points).
“Yyyep…”
“Join the club.” Nick pointed with his lips (weird Furcillo family thing) towards the hallway. “Seriously. Go talk to him. He’s pretty freaked too, I think you both could use another panicked individual to talk with.”
It took until he was standing maybe an arm’s length away from Dylan’s crouched form for him to be noticed. Dylan looked as tired as Ryan felt, understandably so, but he brightened up at Ryan nonetheless. He crouched next to the man as Dylan pulled out his headphones and took command of the conversation.
“Big day. How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy keen.” He noted Dylan shivered, rubbing at his left bicep. “Definitely fine and normal about my art being displayed for everyone to see. You?” The deprecating yet honest attempt at humor brought a smile to Dylan’s face.
“It’ll go well, Ry. For sure. Still uh…weird. Definitely nervous. I get it-...how you feel, I mean. Seeing all this start to take shape is like seeing my actual baby take its first steps.”
“You’re right.” He sniffed, “It’s gonna be great.”
It wasn’t like Ryan to try to comfort someone, by just repeating what they said essentially. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. This wasn’t necessarily his area of expertise. The pit in his stomach that he woke up with deepened when Dylan pulled his knees in closer to his chest. He was sat like some bullied kid in a coming-of-age movie, with his much-too-big body wrapped into a squatting ball on the floor. Out of the way.
“Are you gonna be busy when the showcase starts?”
“Hm? Ah, no. Once it starts, it’s out of my hands. All I’m gonna be responsible for is looking at art, shoving chocolate Sno-Caps in my bottomless stomach, and making sure the tunes don’t quit.” He waved his phone, where a playlist in progress was opened.
“So you’ll look around with me?” He smiled at the pink blooming on Dylan’s ears. It was endearing. His heart pumped affection through his veins.
“Is that even a question, Ry? You won’t be able to get rid of me. I’m a leech.”
“Yeah, ok, bottom feeder. Good luck with your playlist. I’m gonna help Emma.” He turned back once Dylan threw up both arms, one missing an entire prosthetic (he’s gotten better at giving his arm breaks at work), to give a thumbs up. Maybe two thumbs up in spirit. That’s a joke Ryan would make if he was in Dylan’s place. Dylan’s obnoxiously widened stare at his stub, in absolute fabricated shock, was verification that the joke was indeed ‘I threw two thumbs up in theory and failed in practice'. He rolled his eyes fondly and left Dylan chuckling on the floor. Hilarious, he thought.
Emma smiled gratefully as he picked up a printed order receipt, then turned back to the order window. Ryan could take the time to mindlessly make coffee. Pasting receipts up to the wall above his station where the order details - what milk, how much espresso, what flavor shots, foam or no foam, so on and so forth - can be read easily and followed accordingly was prime for Ryan to zone out.
The standard latte was easier than literally anything else, and Ryan was happy to survey the near-empty shop as he ran on autopilot. Emma was chatting up customers as they picked up their orders behind him, Nick meandered around, shoving tables and stacking chairs against a wall closer to storage. With furniture being moved, the store felt so much bigger. It would almost be daunting if there wasn’t Christmas holly and holiday cheer in the form of decorations all over the place. The store was quiet save for the bustling of employees and humming of machinery and heating; the lack of drifting music was a sign if anything that Dylan was working on his playlists. He couldn’t make out Dylan from this angle, or even the hallway itself exactly.
The room, sparse of furniture, suddenly felt a little like a dance hall. The walls had long tables stretched out where giveaways, snacks, and water would be set up, and the walls themselves were littered with twinkling Christmas lights and artwork across all media. Ryan couldn’t hold back the cringe. Those Christmas lights needed to go. Definitely couldn’t imagine that anyone, himself included, would want their stuff lit with red and green of all things. That complaint aside, the walls looked good. Ryan’s fingers thrummed back up in excitement as he put the latte down for pick-up. It’s been a while since he’s gone to any kind of showcase: back in high school, maybe. He missed the whole experience of walking around, completely unaware but open to whatever he might face in the exhibits. It’s like walking into a Narnia of emotions; not entirely expecting much but being faced with so much in the end. Usually, in his experience, other people liked to throw out stuff that made him feel awe or something sad or bittersweet. This was no different: a scan from wall to wall showed various landscapes, portraits, and other subjects that made his heart race with anticipation. Along the scan, he saw Abi’s piece closer towards the shop windows and his own on another wall, leading his heart to race with nerves instead.
As he placed another salty caramel latte on the window, his focus was broken as Chris strolled into the room with Dylan trailing behind, both stocked up with boxes in their arms. His bold voice called for Nick and himself - ‘we’re gonna need help over here, boys!”
“You’re gonna be okay over here on your own?”
Emma's stare had him withering. “You’re talking to the master of coffee, Ryan. I’ll be fine. If I need you, you’ll know.” The wink dissipated his nerves, relief flooding his bodily systems. Just a joke, Ryan. She’s playing.
“Alright,” Ryan fought a wince at Chris’s clap, “We are T-minus…about 10 hours until showtime. Which means we are T-minus 7 hours until we need to have the shop in shape and ready to handle the incoming masses.” His face was nothing short of grave. His companions were struggling to keep smiles off their faces. “DJ Dylan, what’s our status?”
Dylan, prompted to participate and to entertain while doing so, perked up, “The art’s up and matched with their placards. We need to put away the extra tables and chairs. The snack and drink tables need to be stocked up, we gotta replace the lights.” With his prosthetic back on, the polymer fingers popped up with the flexing of his forearm as he listed their obligations, “And obviously, music needs to get bumping.” He finished, with hardly a flinch to his mouth, set in a grave frown to match Chris's.
Chris studied Nick and Ryan, narrowed eyes and leaning back, with a distinct playfulness in his quirked head. “You heard the man, get to work. The snacks and drinks are in my van. Ryan?” A keychain jangled as it flew through the air. Straight into his open, awaiting palm. Nick nodded in approval and Dylan imitated a gentle golf clap. Score. “Access to the van is yours as you please. Don’t forget to give it back when you’re done. I’ll be in my office making phone calls if you need me.”
The trio watched him disappear into the hallway, the door clicking behind him, and turned to the storefront itself. In the middle of the cleared room, the scale of preparation that still needed to be done loomed around them, in the form of stacked chairs and tables, mismatched lights, and missing food.
“So…gameplan?” Nick chimed.
“I’ll bring the food and drinks in. You guys can start moving everything else into storage?” Ryan looked to them for confirmation.
“Leave it to us, boss.” Dylan slung his left arm over Nick’s shoulder, and straightened to full height (something he often did with the just-barely-shorter Nick around). “We strapping young lads will get everything ship-shape before you even know it.” Ryan turned around with his eyes rolling to fight off the hammering of his heart when Dylan winked at him. And to get everything from the trunk. His main objective, of course. The issue was not that staying around Dylan any longer will throw him into a meltdown of mushy gushy feelings.
It took a grand total of just over half an hour to transfer everything from Chris’s van into the shop and to splay it over the plastic tablecloths. Not bad for the one-man team of Ryan Erzahler. That alone was plenty of time to allow Nick and Dylan to migrate everything to storage for the night, save for a stack of chairs. Ryan wiped his brow, picked up the slack, and brought them into storage.
Nick nodded at him in greeting for a second time that day in storage. The room was maybe big enough to be a walk-in closet, very tight with the many chairs and tables squeezed against the walls. Ryan, against his better judgment, didn’t address the precariously stacked chairs in the corner. Nick and Dylan, faces red and shiny from exertion, probably wouldn’t appreciate that much. Ah, but it might be really funny…
Before Ryan could seize the opportunity, Dylan chuckled dryly and wiped his hair away from his sweaty forehead.
“Ah…hah..you know, I may have lost some weight since the amputation but oddly enough?” Dylan paused and glanced between the two, with his hands on his hips, “Not in healthier shape. Wonder why…”
“Whaaat, nooo…I could’ve sworn you benched hardcore with arms like those.”
“Arm like that, Nicky-boy. Heyoooo, up top!”
The laugh that bubbled in Ryan’s chest fought valiantly to make itself known, but it would only encourage them, so it was fought down with Ryan’s sheer force of will. Because, unfortunately, Dylan was funny. Or rather, unfortunately, Ryan found Dylan very funny. Ryan made amends with a distant and lonely life early on, when he was always the Other Kid in his classes. A little too off. A little mean. Never was satisfying news for his mother to hear, but he never felt bad about it. It wasn’t his fault that they thought he was rude or weird, especially when he wasn’t actually trying to be. This distant and lonely reality was where Ryan dwelled. But with every day and every dumb joke or innuendo, it’s like Dylan was ripping the barrier between him and the rest of the world apart.
That scared him.
He loved it.
“Alright, alright,” he settled with instead, “We’ve got more to do. Emma could probably use some backup so who’s gonna help me with the lights?”
The way that Nick so obviously and shamelessly bumped hips with Dylan before leaving storage had Ryan needing to turn away as his entire masterfully controlled expression crumbled to dust. “That’s enough physical exertion from me, Boss Man!” He called out, and U-turned back in to look between the two, mouthing something to Dylan that Ryan couldn’t make out. Only good things, if the alarm and the blush on Dylan’s face meant anything. He even tongued at the inside of his cheek, bouncing between his options of lunging at Nick or politely pretending he wasn’t going to promptly explode.
It was kinda cute.
Fiddling around with tangled cables and extension cords for 15 minutes was less cute.
“Hey.” Dylan snapped, with a playful smile, “You’re the one with uninhibited fine motor movement. Didn’t take you for a whiner.”
“Just because I offered and acknowledged that the lights need to be changed, doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to a little whining.”
“Uh huh…oh, sure.”
“Hey, I’m just saying. If I didn’t whine about it, you’d have a hoard of angry artists on your tail. Plus, my complexion isn’t flattered with green light.” He gestured to his piece on the opposing wall, already back to looking like the piece he worked on for like a week without the Christmas lights, the piece that he was proud of. Understated. But weighty. Stylized and textured, but still holding an air of realism in the shiny reflected eyeballs.
And when Ryan looked back, he realized the gesturing was useless: Dylan was still looking at him. His gaze was measuring. Or maybe sizing up Ryan.
He hummed. “I guess you’re right. Green light just isn’t your color. Natural light does wonders for you though…” The tone..the insinuation coming across in the other man’s voice made Ryan shiver, made him desperate to lay down because the implication thrummed under his skin like new raw energy. He settled with coughing instead. And a little laugh to be polite because Ryan? Ryan, for all he was worth, didn’t see it coming. Even though he absolutely walked right into it.
“Let’s uh…get these up then.” Dylan simply nodded and reached down for the cables that Ryan held up for him. The residual smile on his face, small and proud, spoke loudly though. He knew he took Ryan off guard. So Ryan had that to worry about.
“The toffee is kind of incredible, just saying. I’m not asking for a lot, Ry, just like two pieces.” Said two pieces were shaken out of the bag onto his hand, and Dylan stared at him expectantly, if not imploringly.
Ryan Erzahler was not a man with a sweet tooth. He, at best, favored sour candies that left the lining of his mouth sore, red, and bleeding.
“If they’re actually garbage, you can kiss that date goodbye.” He snatched the toffees offered and popped them in his mouth, overwhelming sticky sweetness coating his mouth.
Dylan huffed good-naturedly and turned back to the wall, bright and cheery and covered in art that made him feel things. Hard.
He could practically feel the sugar seeping into his bloodstream, and not just from the toffee. The pair had been at this for about an hour at this point: wandering around the room looking at art, at which Dylan would make a joke, then Ryan would offer his own sarcastic bite or a laugh if he was feeling generous (which he was apparently feeling a lot tonight), and they would move on to the next piece. Rinse and repeat. All while munching on candy. So it goes without saying. Great night.
Framed with dark poster paper was an India Ink piece, dark murky browns and sickly yellows melting into each other to form a piece of inverted color. The inversion of color alone was jarring, and that only added to the harrowing thousand-yard stare of the man on the paper. Clearly a recreation of the painting of Ivan the Terrible and His Son, with the haunted man cradling the bloody head of his kin. That haunting coldness penetrated into Ryan’s very bones.
Needless to say, he was looking forward to what charming line the gentle giant next to him would come up with this time.
“Hard knock life, huh…”
“..dude, really?”
“Hey, listen,” for a second, Ryan feared he pushed a button, until Dylan deflated next to him, “actually, I’ve got nothing, nevermind. I just don’t really know what to say. It’s like, uhh..uncomfortable. Obviously.”
Ryan couldn’t think through the fondness clouding his head as Dylan turned back to his candy and the painting.
“No worries, it’s actually pretty refreshing to hear basic comments instead of actual art critiques. Don’t expect you to know the words anyway.”
“I cannot for the life of me tell if you’re calling me uncultured or if you’re trying to reassure me.”
“Ha..sorry. Second option. I guess you don’t exactly look like an art guy to me. Oddly enough, science fits you better.”
Dylan shot him the sassiest look possible (second place in Ryan’s ranking only after Sarah’s), “No offense, like at all, Ry. In fact, it’s a compliment, but you, of all people, aren’t in a position to comment on what people look like they’d be into. You look more like you’d work at a tattoo parlor than a sweets and treats shop. But thanks.” His brows furrowed. “I think?”
“Used to, actually. Almost was an apprentice, but I realized that the uh…human body wasn’t really a canvas I liked working with. Working on children’s dolls was hard enough. I just do commissions sometimes.”
Dylan paused, hand buried in his candy bag. “...that means somewhere in this world, there is a Barbie tatted up courtesy of you.” Ryan snorted.
“Maybe I’ll show you sometime. Her name’s Nancy.”
“Like Nancy Wheeler…Stranger Things?”
“..what, no. Nancy Downs The Craft.”
Dylan blinked. If Ryan listened closely, he might hear the gears in his brain grinding.
“I don’t think I know that one. What year’s that from?”
“Uhh…like. The 90s, I think. 1996? It’s kind of a gay horror staple, dude, I don’t know how you don’t know about it.” If Ryan didn’t know any better, he’d be afraid Dylan never saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Dylan heaved a long drawn-out sigh, “Maybe I am uncultured…maybe I need a dashingly handsome man of culture to have a movie date with. And inject me with all that Culture.”
Ryan responded with a head shake and a small smirk. Dylan was certainly proud of himself for that one. Clever, clever.
He piped back up before the pause elapsed into silence.
“So since I’m not fluent in art, care to give me a taste of actual critique and like a…uh..a show?” Very smooth, Dylan.
But Ryan was a man who pleased. And who was he to deny the chance to use his basic art critique skills to impress.
It was shockingly easy for the man to launch into a short lecture on the effects of monochromatic and color-inverted art, the inspiration behind the painting, how the contrast especially stuck out to Ryan…even how the piece made him feel. Only twice did Ryan feel the familiar pull towards shutting up, some kind of anxiety that he was talking too much, about something not interesting enough. With a glance at Dylan, his panic was assuaged, both times. A small and genuine smile and his periodic nodding were surprisingly effective stress relievers.
“So…yeah.” He blushed a bit as Dylan goaded him on with applause. He bowed for good measure, and Dylan mimed a wolf whistle with his polymer fingers in his mouth.
“How about you give it a try? With this next one.” Ryan suggested. And Ryan felt a surge of pride within himself when he could feel something in the air stir, almost like he was forming a Dylan-specific 6th sense. Dylan had a smile on his face, very clearly trying and failing to push it down. “Dylan.” Wide brown eyes met his and his heart raced, “I mean a serious try. You might not have that background art knowledge but you can still offer good critique and ideas and feelings, you know.” And they just stared for a little while, basking in the silence.
Well…as much silence as you can have in a crowded store filled with people bustling with sugar in their systems on a weekend. Dylan had turned back to the next piece and Ryan followed, allowing his gaze to wander. Predictably, he looked back to where his work was and found a small group, Abi among the masses with a big smile plastered on her face and Emma. Emma, of all people. Maybe Ryan was a bit quick to judge but that was not a duo he saw happening in any timeline. But he settled, reassured that Abi was letting loose all the art knowledge she had and Emma politely and quietly listened. Until she looked back and met his own eyes. Ryan froze, staring back and feeling like both prey and predator at the same time. She was far off, much too far for him to notice the way her eyes flickered between him, Dylan, and their body language, so she took the liberty and jerked her head to the side, with a kind smile and narrowed eyes.
Go get ‘im.
She broke eye contact first, turning back to Abi, excitedly ranting on the rise and fall of monochromatic art and why its existence was essential in the animation industry.
Ryan turned back to his own companion, thoughtfully chewing on Sno-Caps from a new bag he snuck earlier, and the piece he was processing.
Oh boy.
It was dreamy, not unlike Abi’s piece, but also not quite in the same way. Abi’s was dreamy in a fairytale way. This was dreamy in a sleepy way, complete with bleeding watercolor blues and yellows to form a figure, laying in bed, face-down, and nude (tastefully covered with a blanket over the ass). The soft planes of the man’s back were shaded with the barest amount of color and outlined with harsh blacks in some areas: where the blanket ended and the skin began, or where the brown hair was darkest for example. This was intimate. This felt like an intrusion into someone else’s life or someone else’s moment. Ryan’s stare shifted to the man next to him, the flex of Dyan’s jaw, the wide set of his shoulder, and the tiny sway of his body. He swayed quite a bit, never exactly being still. Stillness wasn’t quite Dylan. His eyes traced the boy’s back, slowly, all the way down to his feet, and somewhere along the way, Ryan’s brain caught up with him. He could feel the blush, furious underneath his cheeks, even though no one caught him ogling except himself. Ryan was overstepping, he could feel it. They’re work friends, he managed. Fuuuck, this was way out of line. Out of his comfort zone, it was too-
“Romantic?” Ryan had to shake his head to cover the startle, “Again, this feels intimate. Kind of like yours but completely different. I uh…I like this one. A lot. Feels good.”
He hummed in agreement, “It’s pretty.” Ryan clocked the red on Dylan’s cheeks, and his brain pushed it to the forefront of his mind. Dylan was blushing! Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan!
Maybe the sugar was finally getting to him.
“...what do you think, Ry?”
I think I need you. “I think I agree. It’s very pretty. Intimate…kind of feels like the point of view of a lover.” Dylan nodded next to him, quiet and gently swaying on his feet.
“Wanna..walk and talk a bit more?”
“...yeah.”
So they walked and talked. It was a surprisingly healthy and even dose between the two, bouncing back and forth between stories, feelings, loves, and hates. A witty joke by Dylan followed by an equally clever counter by Ryan. He’s not sure he ever really had an interaction, let alone a fully blown connection - friendship? - that flowed as seamlessly as this. It was like liquid nicotine flowing through his blood, filling his brain with dopamine. He had no idea he was chasing this until he finally had it in longer doses.
Newly fueled with caramels and peppermint bark, they found themselves in the lamest game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ between two people. Less of a game and more of a vehicle to pull out personal information about the other.
“You’re such a liar, man. You cannot be telling me you’ve never gotten high.”
“Why would you doubt me like this, man? I never said ‘never have I ever gotten high’, I said ‘never have I ever smoked weed ’. There’s a difference.” Dylan knocked his fist, with three fingers left up, into his own, “Put that finger down, big guy.
He did. He was down to two fingers. Not his fault that he’s been experiencing the zeal of life.
“I’ve been weaning myself off the good stuff…but I was an extract and edible kinda guy, for the record.” He winked.
“Whatever,” he huffed with a laugh, then hummed, “Ok. Never have I ever…had a hospital visit last more than a few days.” That earned Ryan an indignant snort. “Ryan, I can’t believe you. Using my own trauma against me.”
“Don’t hate the truth, dude. Not my fault, that’s just life.” He stuck his tongue out at him, and flicked a finger down into his growing fist. In Dylan’s thoughtful silence, he pulled out more chocolatey minty goodness to munch on, and threw three fingers up when he was done: One more than just moments ago. The small and blatant attempt at cheating obviously earned him a halfhearted punch to the shoulder courtesy of a vaguely disappointed Ryan. Dylan ‘Cheater in Pointless Games’ Lenivy. He should’ve seen it coming.
“Ok, ok, how about this,” his finger not so subtly flicked down to two left, as the ‘Never Have I Ever’ Gods intended, “Never! Have I ever…” Dylan bounced a little on the balls of his sneakers, something he did a lot when he was excited. Maybe just a little bit mischievous, too. Or apprehensive. Give him a break, he wasn’t extraordinary at reading body language. ”Hmm..kissed a girl?”
Oh, huh. He was brought down to one finger with that, and maybe he hallucinated surprise and disappointment on Dylan’s face.
“So what’s the story behind that? Ex-girlfriend?”
“Eh,” It was a story, a weird one, and not really something he liked to dwell on. Not necessarily that it was awful or anything. Just nothing notable. Yet another failed relationship cut into his belt. “I guess, yeah. It wasn’t anything too serious, didn’t last long.” And contrary to anything Ryan expected, Dylan didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him. The mood was spoiling like milk and Ryan had no idea how to salvage it.
Dylan granted him mercy. “Do you wanna..talk about it?”
“Well, there’s not much to talk about. It lasted maybe a month? Something like that. Just uh…kinda hard to keep anything serious going personally. Usually turns out like a dumpster fire of wasted time.” Dylan sucks in a breath through his teeth, “Oof…sounds kinda-”
“Bad?” Ryan tacked on. He was used to this. Relationships were…touchy. And feely. Two things Ryan wasn’t used to being with other people. But he was used to scrutiny of his relationships - sorry, lack of relationships - his mother found it to be a favorite topic to bring up when particularly stressed with life. Avoid personal stress by pointing out issues in the people around you. That was The Erzahler Way. His own sister was starting to get really good at it, and that scared Ryan. There was a whole lot she could read him to filth over if she ever felt like it.
“Ryan?”
Right…conversation.
You were in the middle of something, Ryan.
“Yeah?”
“I was gonna say tough..you ok?”
With a blessing from the universe itself, Ryan could manage a conversation like this. He let Dylan cry on his shoulder (metaphorically) when he needed it and he valued the man next to him too much to act like he couldn’t trust him with Ryan’s own (extremely layered) complex. In the months that they had worked together, Dylan melted from the snarky wise-cracking smartass (admittedly still fun and nice to have around) to the multi-dimensional being next to him. Ryan would say he’d like to dissect this guy to figure out his motives, his experiences, the very fine and minuscule Things that made Dylan, well, Dylan. But that sounded a little too serial killer-ish so Ryan’s gonna tone all That down.
His tongue tied in his mouth when he tried to speak. It clogged his throat, and that made Ryan nearly spiral into a panic, what with a pair of big brown beautiful eyes not so subtly checking on him.
“How do you feel about analogies?” Through sheer power of will did Ryan not laugh outwardly when Dylan startled, dropping chocolate on the floor. Which was fair, because where the hell did that come from? Ryan does not know a single social script that includes using exclusively analogies to talk about your problems.
“Well, uh,” Dylan physically shook, like he could shake the shock off, “They’re dec. Very useful in storytelling and-oh, you know…life? Go ahead?” And that’s as good of permission as Ryan will get tonight. Not much else to procrastinate with when your companion just says ‘yeah, sure, go on’ and gives you the floor to bitch and moan all you want.
This was gonna sound so stupid…
Sorry, Dylan.
“So..let’s say people are like…velcro.” Dylan, god bless him, nearly covered up the second round of surprise that night, with only his eyes widening a fraction and the hand holding his bag of sweets tightening a bit. “Made to connect and to hold onto another half until, uh…” He felt as pathetic as he must look as he shrugged, “I dunno, something happens and they pull apart. Me though? I think I was born as like …shitty old velcro that doesn’t stick super well anymore. And if it does stick right, it pulls apart easy.” His heart was hammering, and if Ryan could disappear, he’d love to right then and there.
“...you think you were born bad at relationships?” If only it were that easy. If only it was just that he was bad at relationships but nooo. It had to be more complicated than that.
Ryan finally looked up away from the store floor and found himself in front of Abi’s landscape piece. Abi was nowhere to be seen, and the crowd had thinned somewhat after a couple hours.
“N-no, not really. Ok, here.” He could work with this though. “With Abi’s piece? Let’s say that she’s just anybody. Alone in the middle of this forest. You can reach out if you want to, and you do. Want to, I mean, but…she seems like she’s fine on her own. Why reach out when she’s fine doing her own thing?” Why try when people inevitably realize you’re not what they need?
“..wanna…take this outside maybe? Or the bathrooms?”
The frantic thundering in his chest was either a sign that he needed out of the crowded store, or needed to not be alone with Dylan and he wasn’t well-equipped enough to tell which one yet.
“I could use some air.”
If Ryan had to say one more genuine thing about his greatest fears and insecurities, he was gonna explode.
Not really, but the feeling was there. And you couldn’t really blame him considering he was doing it in the cold at ‘too late’ o’clock to the cute boy that plagued his sketchbooks. At least said cute boy could alleviate weird vibes with the flick of a wrist and the dumbest joke he’s heard in a very long time. Which was…nice. It was ok. He didn’t mind this, he even felt okay if he stopped thinking himself into a spiral about it. But there was still something off..something was missing. Knowing himself, he was gonna make it weird. He prayed for Dylan’s sake that they finished this soon. Go back to the stupid riffing and banter they were good at (Correction: Dylan was good at, Ryan tried and was okay at).
“Kinda cold, huh…”
“Hm? Oh yeah. Well. Winter kind of..is like that?” Nice one, Ryan.
“Wh-I know that, I’m just saying. Maybe we should call it a night.”
“Point taken. Not looking forward to being a human popsicle,” He stood from his usual squat, “not how I wanna go personally.” He snorted, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” He hummed back, chipper and content-sounding.
“Uh, Ryan?” It was a very gentle and cautious tone that followed, but it still felt like Ryan got jumpscared at the prospect of more. He’s not sure he could handle more.
“I uh-hoo boy. I’m…glad. That you told me about all that. Hope it made you feel a little better but if not. Just know that you’re not getting rid of me even if you want to. I’m a clingy asshole like that.” That’s what was missing. The little genuine glimpse of a real person under that shell that Ryan was so desperate to see as much as possible. Followed by a joke, obviously, but at this point, he’ll take it. The cold didn’t register anymore, if anything, Ryan radiated heat like a furnace because he was hit with two main realizations:
- Maybe he didn’t need to worry about losing Dylan.
- He was actually worried about losing Dylan in the first place.
And distantly, he recalled an inside joke they had made a while ago, that Ryan was a greedy bastard. An asshole underneath the awkwardness. Ryan knew better because he was. He craved connection and feeling right. Feeling like he was the only one people looked to for help, even if he was not at all qualified. Ryan was greedy as fuck actually.
“Is that a promise, Dylan? I’m not above making work hell for you if you go back on your promise and peel off of me.” He tried not to think too much about the inch or two that he had to look up to meet Dylan’s eyes. Nor the minuscule distance between them, made obvious by their crystalized breaths puffing into each other’s faces. He did, however, think a lot more about the look in his eyes. Something like fear, maybe. A part of his brain said that he was overstepping so many professional and implied personal boundaries and that he needed to give the poor man his space, but that part was easily overruled by every instinct telling him to stay close. Concerningly easy in his opinion. He almost backed off from the sheer silence until Dylan finally opened up.
“This is gonna sound so fucking stupid, and I’m gonna look like a total idiot if this was all a joke for you but I really..do look forward to that date. If it’s a, like, Date date, I mean. Even if it wasn’t, I’d be stoked, obviously! Hanging with you is always a great time, I just-”
In any other circumstance, Ryan would remove himself from the situation, because the implication of a “Date date” scared the hell out of him; he might have even considered the way that he sort of felt like he was dying? Jesus, was he having a heart attack?? God, and was Dylan still going on??? Ok, ok, easy. Backtrack.
Ryan would usually leave. Flat out. Self-preservation reigned supreme and the situation was probably pushing him into a panic attack (probably the heart-attack sensation now that he thought about it). But he was in this circumstance. Facing the boy that plagued his sketchbooks and his conscious moments - and maybe his unconscious ones too - talking himself into what seemed like his own panic attack. He’d usually walk, but every piece of him told him to stick to his side like some parasite, desperate for more Dylan in his life. The same Dylan that was still talking himself into a spiraling and escalating panic.
“It’s a Date date. For real…and you didn’t promise me, you know. I noticed.” He let the smile split across his face, just a small one, at the way that Dylan’s shoulders relaxed, like he oozed the panic from his pores.
“That’s…yeah. Easy promise, Ry. Like stupidly easy.” He held a hand to his chest and another erect like a boy scout salute, “I solemnly swear that I will be up to no good. And most importantly, plastered by your side as I do so.” The smirk on his face eased into something softer. Something very kissable.
Stop that.
Not now.
He settled with smiling, beaming up at Dylan, really, “Cool, cool. So uh…you just-..reach out whenever you’re free and we can figure things out.” Dylan hummed, not looking away, even long after Ryan had looked back to the storefront. The silence drew on, comforting and familiar between the two.
And it was a little dumb in Ryan’s opinion. Because Ryan didn’t want to finish up here. He was content and happy to stay for as long as Dylan would have him. Somehow, he wanted more even though he spent the better half of the last hour dishing out his less-than-savory traits. At every moment that Dylan could’ve been put off or even not interested anymore - and Ryan gave him many of those - he simply listened, and gave a small smile here and there. He rubbed Ryan’s shoulder at one point when he brought up his absent working mother in passing.
“We probably should head back in and help clean up.” His heart clenched when he suggested it. The ache was only alleviated with the promise of seeing him again. Outside of work. Dylan nodded and sighed, and held the door open for the pair.
“Fair enough. Probably isn’t healthy to have too high a dose of all this.” Dylan shimmied his hips. Or maybe he was actually trying to dance, it was a little hard to tell. Regardless, he laughed. Of course, he did. He found Dylan funny after all. And endearing. Maybe also every other nice trait under the sun.
“Sure, sure. At least I have a secure supply, right?” Ryan riffed back, and he relished in the flash of flustered surprise on his face.
“Pft, yeah. Duh…yyyep.” Dylan lamely threw back. He left the conversation and turned back to Kaitlyn, lugging around a large bag filled with discarded bags of candy, plastic cups, and other trash left behind. Ryan smiled, privately, when he heard Abi snort to his left, still attached to Emma’s side. Abi only snorted at stupid jokes, her favorite kinds. Weird…Emma didn’t seem like she had dumb jokes stashed away. Nick could be seen collecting scoops from the candy corner to be washed, and even Max made it to the event. He stuck around still attached to Laura’s side. Ryan caught him taking a picture of her in front of the new addition to the shop, with a bag of candy clutched in her hand and a tacky pose gesturing to it. They were good for each other.
His attention whipped back to a loud obnoxious laugh from Dylan and Kaitlyn, who were busy trying to pinch at one another. Kaitlyn flicked at Dylan’s forehead, just as he bent over in self-defense, and the flick was audible, and so was Dylan’s anguish (if not a little amplified, for dramatic effect). The soft laugh bubbled up, familiar affection flooded his chest, and actually? His fingers tingled for the nth time that day, but he was sure that it was a good thing. Things were good. The event was a success (if Chris, as charming as ever, bidding visitors goodbye at the entrance said anything), everybody was happy, their little team was flourishing and growing even. This was good…was actually good. No better time to take a risk than now.
Better ask somebody where to get flowers.
Notes:
Perhaps I am very into writing ryan as a little freak with weird thoughts and analogies but himbo ryan still holds true to me. introducing my ryan: the freaky, lovesick, himbo hottie.
Anyway, with that, I truly do think the ending is in sight. It'll be the next chapter as an epilogue of sorts! I probably will be turning this into a series tho with spin-off oneshots so keep an eye out for those.
I’ve also got some little angsty oneshots for each counselor and Travis planned (I use ‘planned’ very loosely) and another quarry story that is heavy on the murder mystery thriller stuff that I am Actually Planning (very excited about that one) so look out for those ;P
Chapter 7: "I’ll get you some daisies or something, chill out."
Summary:
The one where they get together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
17:48 | JANUARY 12 - DYLAN
“So what’s got you in such a mood, huh?”
“Oh you know…nice weather, new year, got a hot date. Just got a feeling this year is gonna be Dylan’s year.”
“Refer to yourself in the third person again and I’ll make sure it's the last year you ever see, buddy.”
“Easy with the threats, butthead, that’s gotta be a hate crime somewhere.” He snorted at her when all Kaitlyn mustered was a stuck-out tongue in response. “Real mature, by the way.”
“Whatever,” she settled, wiping down counters next to him as he swept the floors, “Sooo…date night, Dyl? Elaborate.”
And hell yeah, he’ll elaborate. He’s only been thinking about this for like…a month now? Whenever the first time that the word date came out of Ryan’s mouth. That was when the idea of going on dates with Ryan, seeing movies with Ryan, and talking about stupid pointless utter garbage with Ryan plagued him and rotted his brain every millisecond of every day.
“Ok, so.” The mop was set aside against the table, and Kaitlyn abandoned the tablecloth on the table. Full attention was on him. “Believe it or not, this was in the works for a while.” And she didn’t believe it if her headshake and quirked lip meant anything; nevertheless, onwards he continued, “I think it was..kinda sorta a joke? But eventually, it just morphed into something real...and like. We made the plans sometime after the fundraiser and well. We’re both free tonight, I detoxed from the absolute mindfuck of organizing all that, and he’s hot and so am I sooo,” He laid his hand on the table like he was gesturing to an opened blueprint in a spy movie. “Hot date.” He concluded.
Kaitlyn stayed in place, bent over with her elbows on the table, quietly digesting the information.
“You’re gonna hate me for this.”
Dylan offered a nod, skepticism written on his face obviously.
“I’m not sure if I believe you.”
“Kait,” He rubbed at his eyes, “why is it so hard to believe that I’ve got a hot date?”
“Because it’s Ryan,” she said simply and finitely. As if that’s all the information she needed to write him off. Maybe, in her mind, it was. She was so amused, almost gleeful with a judgemental look flickering all over and around him.
“And? Kaitlyn, you do not give me enough credit. And not enough praise either, since we’re on this topic. I’m so underappreciated around here, it’s not even funny. An-”
“So, if I asked Ryan. Like right here right now. He would say, “Oh, yeah, we’re totally going on a date after work, why?” without hesitation. Dylan, stop laughing, this is serious!” What a cruel woman Kaitlyn was. Asking him to calm down when she gave The Ryan-imitation to end all imitations. It was almost adorable hearing her try to reach down what had to be seven octaves (probably not, how would he know) but still nailing the monotonous drone Ryan was known and loved for and his occasional pitch shift.
He was practically in tears. “Kaitlyn, I’m crying…oh god, please…”
“I’ll wait.” And well. Just like an exasperated elementary school teacher, she did indeed have to wait for Dylan to simmer down.
“So?”
“Ah,” he hefted a deep sigh, “yeah, actually. Look, I know it’s like The Joke to make but like. We did have this planned for a while. I’m actually super stoked about it.” He rambled on more, spurred on by the rare but unmistakable softening of Kaitlyn’s features, her eyes flitting around him more - back and forth from his face and away - and her smile growing in size the longer he droned on. He talked about how they had a ‘quote’ physics date complete with flowers ‘unquote’ and a queer pseudo-movie marathon in the queue. How excited he was to see if or how Schrödinger would approach the broody man. How easy things were with Ryan. It’s like he physically couldn’t stop himself from singing praises. By the time it occurred to him that he was going on for a liiittle longer than his small companion expected, she had her head cradled in her hand resting on the table, listening intently with a wide smile creeping across her face, evergrowing.
She wasn’t making eye contact.
“That so?”
“Sure is.” A deep voice rumbled behind him, making him flush and shiver. Table met forehead as Kaitlyn crumpled over in hysterics, laughing loud enough to garner attention from store patrons. Who knew how long his dreamboat was creeping behind him?
Well…Kaitlyn did, but that’s not the point.
“I’m considering disappearing in the forest. Never to be seen again.” He replied as bluntly as possible, no matter how much his body and voice wanted to waver with barely-contained humiliation. Ugh. It’s like middle school all over again.
“Well, if you do that, your chances for a date are gonna be lost with you.” Ryan shouldered him and Dylan took the chance to scan the man before him. His apron was put away, boots laced up, and face composed, despite the blush dusting his cheeks and ears. Dylan was extremely pleased that he could pick that face apart, specifically noting the tiny, almost smile. It was an easy smile, relaxed, despite the tired post-workshift set of Ryan’s shoulders. Maybe a tiny bit of mirth in his eyes, too, with a single eyebrow quirked up.
Nice. Not scared off yet.
“Almost done here, Dyl?” He matched Ryan’s almost smile with his own big and bold one. “Just about. Gave Max the keys to lock up?” Rather than answering - you know, like a normal person - Ryan pulled his pockets inside out, revealing nothing but his phone clutched in his hand and his home keys.
With that, they bid Kaitlyn a goodnight (who Dylan gleefully and childishly noticed was almost in shock; she had something like pride shining in her eyes), and left Norte, side-by-side.
They fell into their familiar back and forth, on the familiar path they’ve walked on, down the right of the fork in the road to the marina. Where the water lapped at the sand and the wooden docks and the grasshoppers and frogs croaked into the night. Dylan could minutely visualize small watersnakes hanging around in the brush against the lakefront, smiling to himself at the fond memories of being a dumbass kid casually hanging around snakes.
“Pft…hey, you know I got bit by a snake here once?”
“...Dylan, what?”
“Mom, Mom, look!” shouted a little boy before he promptly sprinted away from his mother to a wooden post further down the boardwalk.
She responded with encouragement, kindly, and with an air of caution. It was something like ‘oh you’re so fast, hon!’ or ‘that’s great, baby, hold on though, Mom needs to catch up!’ even though she made no intentional move to pick up her pace. She was just a bit haggard in appearance, clad in jeans, a blue cardigan, and hair up in a messy bun with stringy brown hair whipping around in the breeze.
The boy was none the wiser to her concern, little feet pounding the worn paneling. He had something to prove today, he was turbo super fast…it was obvious in the way that his hair, a bit too long, grown out from his last haircut for picture day, blew backward from his incredible Speed.
“Dylan, hold it!” The tinny voice of his mother was faint and far; so he felt satisfied with his progression and slowed his stride to a walk. Then he sank to a crouch, panting, as he picked at the grass and reeds on the side of the path. This was a point when the young boy loved nature and everything to do with nature. Dogs and cats and other more crazy pets? You got it. The way that the leaves change color and how some plants are carnif-carn-oh boy…Carniv-o-rous? For sure! The weird way that plants feel when you touch them? Some of them are fuzzy, some prickly, some smooth? What’s the deal with tha-
“Ack-” He stared down at his pudgy arm when he felt a tug on it. It almost felt like when he fell into a rosebush on vacation with his aunt and uncle. Hardly a second later, he saw, not a collection of bright and bloody scratches on his irritated skin, but instead, two distinct holes weeping blood on his arm with smaller scratches around them. His arm was quickly swelling, and Dylan was a brave boy, but not brave enough to pretend like he wasn’t frozen in panic at the sight. Tears already fell and dripped off his big cheeks and chin when he shouted “Mooom!!!” and ran back to the path of the boardwalk that he came from.
“...that’s kind of wild, dude.”
“Makes for a great story, you gotta admit it.” Ryan shrugged halfheartedly, but it was completely defeated by the utter fondness on his face, mixed with some disbelief. Which was fair. Most people don’t get bit by snakes and use it as an ice-breaker. He sighed, “Simpler times...funny enough, I think it was the left hand,” and lifted the prosthetic, “What’s your worst injury, Ry?”
Ryan hummed, digesting the story and the question following. “I got burned pretty bad once. I was at my grandparents’ place and I think my grandma pulled out a tray or something and left it on the stove to cool? But I didn’t know that it was fresh out of the oven so I just…picked it up.”
Dylan cringed, “Woof…hand burns.”
“Tell me about it. Took a while to heal obviously. And it hurt like an absolute bitch. Why do you ask?”
“I mean, I’m just curious. Maybe I’m feeling a little bit of that bittersweet symphony thinking about being a kid again. Especially after, you know…being grown. Taking command of my life and finishing a bunch of huge projects and going through a bunch of bullshit, but still walking through the same neighborhood that I did when I was a stupid kid. And because I’m feeling a little bittersweet and soft and vulnerable, I’m more interested in hearing what you’ve got to say than wallowing in all uh…” he vaguely gestured around his head, “yeah.”
“I get it.” Kind, dark brown eyes softened and darted to the taller man, “It’s weird…especially uh, being an older brother, I guess. It’s not the same thing for you, I know, but…like, I look at this person whose diapers I helped change and now she’s out of diapers and getting ready for her driving permit. Puts my own growth in perspective.”
“We’re ancient, Ry-guy…whatever could we do?” It was just a joke. Maybe a dumb one, a stupid jab at aging, especially dumb considering they’re twenty-somethings with their whole lives ahead of them. But with utmost seriousness, Ryan said, “we keep going,” and Dylan gulped. Audibly. His eyes watered with the help from the cold biting wind whipping at his face and with the pure infallible determination in Ryan’s voice, which was almost bored, as if moving forward was the only option.
It’s sort of embarrassing…but that idea didn’t really cross his mind. We keep going. It was an obvious next step, but in certain mindsets, it felt unattainable. But how could he move on when no one knew who Dylan really was? How could he move on when he was short an entire hand? How could he move on when he depended solely on a pet cat (who would probably eat his body if he dropped dead one day) for his joy and happiness sometimes?
Well obviously…he could. He did, in fact. Here he was. In the cold that was numbing his cheeks up on his way home to said joy-providing cat and with maybe one of the few people in the world who has a decent idea of who Dylan Lenivy was.
So…yeah, Dylan could yield. Maybe ‘we keep going’ was the only option.
“Right…we keep going. Because you still owe me some flowers, buddy. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re empty-handed!” Ryan let out a hefty laugh, just on the side of raspy from underuse as they rounded the corner onto his complex’s front doorsteps. Dylan could count on his single hand the times that Ryan let out a laugh that rang out loud.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you some daisies or something, chill out.”
“Bouquet or bust.”
“...bust, huh?”
“If you’re trying to implicate me of a sexual innuendo, I’m extremely disappointed in you. Now shut up and get inside, the boogers are freezing out of my nose.”
You know…Dylan’s a grown ass man. He’s been around the bend, dated here and there a little. Not to say he’s an experienced player or whatever, because he’s not. But he’s cuddled and kissed before. He’s an affectionate man by nature anyway, whether he acts on it or not. He still craves the touch.
So why, pray tell, did he spend the whole evening cuddled up against the arm of the sofa instead of the goddamn Adonis next to him?
Way to go, Dylan. Wasted chance…again.
He thumped his fist against his thigh, just to take his mind off the rapid-fire post-date panic at least a tiny bit, and shrugged on an old coat to accompany Ryan down the stairs to the front door. You know, like the gentleman he was.
All things considered, it went well. Went really well even. But it didn’t quite feel like…a Date date. It felt like two buds hanging out after work with some sour candy and popcorn watching an old horror comedy. Every time that Dylan mustered up the courage to look over, extremely subtly, Ryan was just enraptured with the TV. At some points, Dylan wondered if he even blinked. Was it even a good sign? …what even was the good sign here actually? Having Ryan interested in the movie or not paying attention to it at all…
The biting chill of a very very late night (practically early morning, in fact) whipped him in the face as Ryan stepped out. Dylan leaned against the door, fulfilling the role of an oversized doorstop. As Ryan turned to face him, he molded complete indifference onto his face. Showing that you clearly and obviously don’t want your date to leave doesn’t seem like first-date material. Definitely too clingy.
A look of patience was morphing into confusion, almost concern, on Ryan’s face relatively quickly.
“Dylan?”
“Huh?”
…smooth, dude.
At least it didn’t seem too off-putting. Ryan ducked his head and chuckled, “All good in that head of yours? Zoning out doesn’t seem like a Dylan-Dylan thing.”
“Yeah, all good. Just kinda…you know. Post-date jitters?”
“...post? Pretty sure it’s pre-date jitters.”
“You’re telling me you aren’t shaking in your boots right now?”
“Well, I am but it’s like 10 degrees out.”
“Shut up, man.” The nerves in Dylan’s body lit up, making his body sing. He loved this banter. He lived and breathed it, in fact. As much as he’d try to keep the smile down to a casual, cool, and wry level, he was sure the pure giddiness bled into it anyway. Particularly when all Ryan could do was look back at him in a similar fashion. Just a touch awkward but ultimately content. They were basking in the moment. His heart was swelling.
The air was heavy with falling snow and tension, and Dylan’s pitiful chuckle did very little to diffuse the energy, but he tried nonetheless, “Ah…hey, so. This was really fun. If you’re…interested,” he shifted on his feet, and rested one arm up high on the door (classically stupid flirty move, but he was nervous, ok?), watching Ryan’s eyes flick around his form, “I wouldn’t mind planning for another lesson. You pick physics up really quick.” The fact that Dylan wanted needed another chance to get close and personal and lovey-dovey to make up for a sterile first date wasn't mentioned.
And Dylan will reiterate a few things:
- Not a lick of physics was spoken that night.
- He was dressed in an old coat, slightly stained with some of the stitches in the fabric pulled out and blowing in the wind.
- He was proposing another date in said raggedy coat in a pose that surely looked more awkward to Ryan than it felt for himself.
And maybe the most important development was Ryan’s answer.
“You’re a huge dork, you know? Second date sounds like a plan in my book.” Ryan’s eyes flicked to a spot somewhere above Dylan, painted with confusion, and his hand flapped in a clear gesture to bend down a little.
“You got a lil something…” A firm thumb swiped across his forehead, up, up, until it joined the rest of Ryan’s fingers in brushing through his hair and pushing it away from his face. Embarrassingly, Dylan could feel himself blushing and his eyelids drooping slightly, relaxing into the touch. The hand in his hair pushed at the back of his head and pulled him forward, and Ryan’s lips, chapped and cold, mushed against his forehead. As quick as the kiss was, it ended, and the hand pulled away, but not without a finger getting caught in a knot in his hair. The pair winced at the sound of the knot breaking.
An apology danced on Ryan’s lips but Dylan, fueled by boldness, the promise of a second date, and an actual kiss, planted his own lips on Ryan. Smack in the middle of Ryan’s own forehead.
He didn’t even have to lean down to do it. Ryan was of perfect forehead-kissing height. Ho-ho-holy shit…
Ryan rubbed at his forehead, mouth twisted to no doubt dampen the grin on his face. He gave up on that and laughed instead.
“I’ll see you around, Dyl. Goodnight.”
“Night. See you at work, boss-man.” He winked. Ryan rolled his eyes. But he was still smiling anyway. They both were.
Notes:
Oh god its done...I finished something. This truly was my baby, I was really excited to work on this and try to actually start a project AND finish it so it’s wild that we’re actually here. Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments? I didn’t actually expect 100 kudos, that’s craaazy.
So what’s next for me, you may ask? Good question, Im not sure bc college is kicking my ass lately and my mental health has been in the drain. BUT. My Quarry/radioheads brainrot is stronger than ever so you can definitely trust that I have some things in the works. I mentioned them in the last set of notes but I do have a little collection of angst oneshots for each counselor + Travis and ALSO another multichapter story that is EXTREMELY complicated to plan out and draft. Im shooting for supernatural murder mystery (no werewolves) that involves death and Revival from death. It’s obviously gonna be gay. And it will probably have a very different atmosphere than this one. But that’s for a later time so please keep a look out for it, Im very excited to flesh it out, I think you’ll like..very much.
Now again. Thank you to stristead, who betad for this fic, you caught stuff that I so easily would not have caught lol
And thanks for sticking around, this was super fun! Onto the next writing journey!
friendofdorian on Chapter 1 Sat 27 Aug 2022 04:25AM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 1 Sat 27 Aug 2022 04:44AM UTC
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greyspilot on Chapter 1 Wed 19 Oct 2022 10:18AM UTC
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greyspilot on Chapter 2 Wed 19 Oct 2022 10:33AM UTC
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Dar (Guest) on Chapter 3 Fri 09 Sep 2022 11:32PM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 3 Sat 10 Sep 2022 02:05AM UTC
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greyspilot on Chapter 3 Wed 19 Oct 2022 10:56AM UTC
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infinitastra on Chapter 4 Thu 15 Sep 2022 09:16PM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 4 Thu 15 Sep 2022 11:50PM UTC
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MisguidedBliss on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Oct 2022 07:30PM UTC
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LunarSecret on Chapter 6 Wed 19 Oct 2022 06:52PM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 6 Sat 29 Oct 2022 10:14PM UTC
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AmberGlory on Chapter 6 Wed 19 Oct 2022 09:11PM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 6 Sat 29 Oct 2022 10:11PM UTC
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MisguidedBliss on Chapter 6 Sat 29 Oct 2022 09:37PM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 6 Sat 29 Oct 2022 10:08PM UTC
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fubukkai on Chapter 6 Fri 16 Feb 2024 12:29PM UTC
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MisguidedBliss on Chapter 7 Sun 06 Nov 2022 07:56AM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 7 Sun 06 Nov 2022 04:23PM UTC
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tobeconspicuous on Chapter 7 Tue 08 Nov 2022 11:28AM UTC
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Janesus on Chapter 7 Tue 08 Nov 2022 03:10PM UTC
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tobeconspicuous on Chapter 7 Wed 09 Nov 2022 03:45AM UTC
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taesjeoncena on Chapter 7 Thu 23 Jan 2025 06:03PM UTC
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