Dylan groaned. The week had gone by quick, sure, but now it was Thursday and after his sudden realization about his feelings about a certain classmate, he dreaded the day. He rolled out of bed as his alarm rang and threw on some clothes.
Riley was already up, sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea.
"Good morning," she smiled. How was she so awake already? It was barely seven.
"Good morning."
"You seem down, what's up?" Observant as ever, she gestured for him to sit. He shook his head at the offer and went to put on some coffee instead.
"It's all good, just tired," Dylan avoided thinking about that he was going to Chris's house today. That was just an extra stressor that he didn't need.
"Okay." Riley took a bite of her sandwich.
"If you're ready by eight I'll give you a ride." Dylan poured the coffee into a cup and took a seat at the table.
"Really? Aren't you driving Felicia?"
Dylan shook his head. Felicia had told him that she would get a ride from Blaire on Thursday and Friday. She hadn't said why but Dylan didn't mind. Even best friends could have secrets.
"No, she's getting a ride from someone else," he explained and drank some of his coffee.
"Alright, I'll be ready then," Riley smiled. Dylan gave her a short nod.
"What classes do you have today, then?"
"Humanities, Science, English and Art," Riley answered with a sigh. "We're getting a test back in science."
"I'm sure it went well," Dylan assured.
"I hope so."
"Will you text me if it did?" Dylan asked with a bright smile.
"Why?" His sister frowned and downed the rest of his tea.
"I don't know, you don't have to," Dylan shrugged.
"We'll see."
__
Dylan knew the way to Chris, yet he found himself looking at the GPS every five minutes on the way there. Just as he pulled up to the driveway, his phone pinged. He parked the car and looked at the screen. The message was from Riley.
'I got an A!' It said with at least ten happy emojis. Dylan smiled.
'Great job, Ry!' He replied with and got out of the car.
How Chris had gotten home before him, he didn't know, yet when he rang the doorbell he was met with Chris's usual smirk, though for just a second he'd thought he had seen something that almost looked like nervosity.
Dylan stood still for a moment. Chris must have just gotten out of the shower since his hair was wet, some of it draping over his eyes slightly as opposed to the soft waves that he usually had. He wasn't wearing what he usually did either; his usual tee changed into a navy sweatshirt and instead of jeans, a pair of light sweatpants.
It suited him. He seemed softer, especially in the golden light of the sun as it descended.
"Come in," Chris said, turning and walking into the house. Dylan followed, letting his bag drop from his shoulder. "We can sit in the kitchen or my room, you choose."
"Uh," Dylan hesitated, "your room, maybe? Whatever's fine with me." He shrugged.
"My room it is, then."
The two of them went up the stairs and down the hall. They'd already walked that exact way the previous Friday, but now it was lighter and more as if someone lived there.
"When do your parents get home?" Dylan asked, setting the bag down on the floor and walked around the room. The drawings on the wall caught his attention once again, and in the daytime, they were easier to see.
The portraits and profiles that decorated the wall were absolutely stunning, made to look so hyperrealistic that Dylan almost thought that they were real people trapped in the wall. Some were landscapes, as well, but not nearly as many.
"They've gone to the mountains," Chris said, bringing Dylan away from his thoughts, "they planned on being back on Sunday, but they decided to stay another week at the last minute."
"So you have the house to yourself?"
"Yeah."
Dylan sat down on the bed. "You're very good at drawing. Do you take AP art?"
Chris shook his head, which surprised Dylan. "No, dad wants me to focus all my attention on football. 'It'll get you somewhere' he says."
He frowned.
"Don't you want to?"
Chris shrugged. "I don't know? I didn't even like it at first. I guess I like it better now, though. Maybe because I'm good at it. And I like playing for Greenhill way better than Wedgewood."
Dylan looked at the clock. He'd already been there fifteen minutes and they hadn't even started.
"Why did you change schools?" He continued. The energy to study just wasn't there and they couldn't go over the project since they wouldn't get it back before the day after.
"You've already asked that."
"We didn't know each other then and you didn't give me an answer."
Chris was quiet for a long time. At least a few minutes. Then he sighed.
"I don't know what to tell you," he said, going over to his desk and started looking for something in one of the drawers, "I didn't get along very well with some of my teammates. You can believe what you want, but they blamed a lot of shit on me that isn't true."
"And you let them?" Dylan said before he could stop himself. Maybe it was an unfair question, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to know.
Chris looked at him like he was trying to find the right way to react and say. "I... Don't know how to answer that? What would you have done, I was still there 40 hours a week and I didn't want to stand out? Sure I was one of the inner circle, but peer pressure is still a thing."
Dylan frowned. "You don't strike me as a person who would let people treat you like that."
"Maybe you don't know that much about me then."
"Maybe I don't."
The silence that followed was tense. Dylan found himself frowning deeply and forced himself to relax. The atmosphere was almost electric, more so than any other time he'd quarreled with anyone before, and it made him shift in his seat.
He stood, feeling oddly restless. Finally, he decided to lean against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Anyway, I won't be able to make it next week," Chris broke the silence, setting a stack of papers down on the window frame.
"Why not?"
"I'm having a game," Chris said, mirroring Dylan's own slightly bitter tone. Dylan relaxed a bit, calming himself down as good as he could.
"Cool," Dylan smiled, trying to diffuse the tension, "who are you playing?"
"Wedgewood."
"For real?"
"Yeah," Chris scratched the back of his neck.
"Oh, I have to watch that." Dylan grinned, but as he did, he saw Chris tense up.
"That's not necessary, why would you want to?" He shuffled his feet.
Dylan made a face that he hoped said 'isn't it obvious?' and exclaimed:
"So that I can watch you beat their asses, why else?"
"You wouldn't want to be there, they're very... hostile,"
"Come on, you can't go all of your life being scared of meeting them!"
"I'm not afraid of meeting them or playing them! I am playing them," Chris argued back, taking a step closer but Dylan didn't back down, even though his heart was beating out of his chest. He was staring into those dazing dark eyes and he could barely breathe.
"So you're scared of me going there? I'm not scared of them."
"You don't know them-"
"So it is that you don't want me there?" Dylan tried to hide his hurt covering it up with anger. "Look, I get that I might not be like them but I actually thought we were friends."
"That's not it!" Chris seethed through clenched teeth.
"Then what is it!?" Dylan all but yelled back, he, too, taking a step closer. His face was heating up, subconsciously taking notice of the diminishing gap between them.
"God, you are so stupid," Chris sighed. In the split of a second, his hands came up and cupped Dylan's face, and then suddenly their lips met. At first, Dylan's eyes widened, but soon they fluttered closed.
If he were to explain it, he would have said that it felt like fireworks. A big-ass cliché, maybe, but nothing could actually describe it better.
Chris's lips were soft, so unlike his hard exterior, and Dylan wanted to drown at the moment. He sighed into the kiss, letting his hands roam along Chris's body, not sure where to put them.
It was like an endless rollercoaster drop, the butterflies going absolutely crazy in his stomach, and every touch was like static. He didn't even notice that they were moving before his back hit the wall.
Too soon, Chris took a step back and pulled away, his hands dropping to rest on Dylan's shoulders. Dylan felt like he was drunk... Or what he'd imagined being drunk would feel like. His head was swimming.
"What?" He sighed finally.
"What do you mean 'what'?" Chris raised an eyebrow.
"I just- what?" He repeated, sounding even more out of breath than the first time. Chris smiled. "What was that?"
"That? That was a kiss. Have you heard of those?" He teased as he took another step back. Dylan couldn't help but groan, sitting himself down on the bed.
"Don't do that," he threw his hands up to cover his eyes.
"You don't want me to kiss you?"
"Don't give me that smug attitude when you can tell that I'm not thinking straight."
"So you do want me to kiss you."
Dylan threw himself back onto his back on the bed. What was he supposed the answer? 'Yes, please kiss me'? Or lie and say: 'No, don't ever do it again!'. Either way, his face heated up. No, he wasn't going to lie.
"Well?" Chris threw himself onto the bed, lying next to Dylan, "Do you want me to kiss you... Again?"
"Yes, okay?" Dylan said and turned his head to look at the other. His face was burning, but when he saw that Chris' face was also tinted pink, he relaxed a bit.
"Yeah?" Chris asked, inching a bit closer.
"Yeah."
When they were about half an inch apart, Chris sat up and turned away from Dylan. Dylan watched through his slight haze how Chris stood up with a grin.
"Okay, but now we've got to study!" He exclaimed.
Dylan chuckled. "Since when do you want to study?"
"I'll have you know that I am not a slacker," Chris smiled, pulling Dylan up by the hand.
"How did the project go?" Dylan returned the smile.
"We'll see tomorrow when I get it back."
"Okay," Dylan let his eyes roam around the room, stopping only when they got to the clock on the wall. "It's six already?"
Chris turned his head toward the clock as well and nodded. "Soon, the clock's a few minutes early, though."
"Mom will kill me," Dylan breathed, more to himself than to Chris, "I'm sorry, I've gotta go."
"That's cool," Chris said in a soft almost-whisper. Dylan grabbed his jacket and bag from the floor where they had been discarded. The two of them walked down the stairs, Dylan taking the lead. The sun was still descending toward the horizon, not quite there yet.
Dylan sighed as he opened the door, feeling the cold air hit his face. Just as he was about to go out the door, Chris grabbed his wrist.
"Hey," he said, giving Dylan a quick peck on the lips, "Saturday at three, a date?"
Dylan beamed. "Sure. Where do we meet?"
"I'll pick you up at yours, is that cool?"
"T-that's cool," Dylan stuttered. He couldn't help the grin that stubbornly stayed put on his face. "I'll see you."
Chris nodded. "See you." He let go of Dylan's wrist.
Dylan kept smiling as Chris closed the door. He could still feel the heat on his cheeks, now amplified by the cold biting at his skin. He unlocked his car and got in, leaning his head back and let out a heavy sigh.
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