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The whole thing starts with a magazine left on set because there's a piece on the show in it. It's yet another “light-hearted, fast-paced magazine catering to young people” which is of course just business speak for “let's make as many teens as possible feel inferior and star-struck so they'll buy our mediocre shit”. So of course half the article is about how sexy the whole cast are.
It's season one, only a few episodes in, and Dylan has been to a couple of interviews already. He's still kinda blown away by it all and he still sucks in every single thing anyone ever writes about them and the show. They tell him he'll get over that really quickly, but it's still a novelty to Dylan, so they can all bite him.
This article is a brief character introduction piece where they go over all the main characters, and Dylan gleefully eats up every morsel about Stiles because if what the magazine is describing is what the viewers see then Dylan is making Stiles come out right, and that just makes him damn proud. He moves on to the others, and some of those are more hit and miss, but none of them are more ridiculously off the mark than Tyler Hoechlin's part. Derek Hale is apparently nothing but a dark soul wrapped in a piece of very delicious man-meat if this magazine is to believed. Dylan snorts at that, because he knows what's coming and boy, do they have their Twilight panties on backwards with that one.
He gets a familiar little twinge of envy over the loving description of Tyler's muscles, because Dylan is still basically just a very well animated stick man, but then it suddenly occurs to Dylan just how much of the article is about how sexy Tyler is. Barely two words are devoted to Derek Hale as a character in comparison to the text-gasm about abs and pecs and asses, holy crap. Whoever wrote this definitely had their sexual compass pointed squarely at “beefy”.
Now, Dylan isn't blind, or even 100% sure where his own compass points, and he has no trouble seeing what the magazine is gushing over. But he can't help but laugh because if this writer had spent more than half a minute in the same room with Tyler they'd definitely not be focused on his body so much. Tyler is sweet and smiling and overflowing with love and puppies, to an extent where Dylan sometimes has a really hard time even remembering that he's cast as the saddest asshole to ever grace the screen. Tyler is so much more than his pecs, and it boggles the mind how not everyone sees that.
Dylan has a good giggle over the magazine, and then moves on. But then it happens again and again and again. Every article, interview and God forbid, fanfiction (that Dylan was told to keep away from, but again, they can all bite him) devotes such a huge amount of time to rhapsodizing about Tyler's physique that frankly Dylan starts to think it's ridiculous. Tyler seems to take it all with good grace, sometimes even looking flattered that someone notices how much goddamn time and effort he puts into looking like he does, because that shit is a full time job all on its own, but mostly he just nods and moves on. Because he's a professional and Dylan still marvels at how smoothly he handles the press. Well he would, because he learned from people like Tom Hanks, oh God. Even after rubbing shoulders with Tyler for months and even talking about getting a place with him and Posey, Dylan is still a little star-struck himself.
But then comes a day where Dylan ends up dealing with a small gaggle of fans next to Tyler. As usual Dylan tries his best to do exactly what Tyler does, because he never leaves his fans anything but smiling and satisfied, and Dylan wants that too. But then a fan comes up to Tyler and tells him in a very small voice how his acting made a such difference for her, and how she followed his career, and how much she looks up to him, and how nice he is and... well Dylan is a little awed on Tyler's behalf, frankly. And not once does she mention his looks. Not once. He gives the girl a tight hug, along with the autograph and picture he gives everyone, and Dylan catches him taking in a shuddering breath afterwards as they share a cab. He doesn't intrude on the moment, but that is the point where Dylan decides that enough is enough, and that he's gonna throw right back in people's faces how superficial and douchy they all are.
So from that day on, he is the first and loudest to step up and declare Tyler Hoechlin the perfect specimen of male sexual perfection. The man himself is a little baffled at first but then Dylan just ramps it up a bit more and the laughter it startles out of Tyler is worth every single side-eye he gets from interviewers and fans alike. Dylan's mission is a go.
Posey is confused about it for all of five minutes before joining in. Not to the same degree as Dylan, but Posey is the best bro to ever bro and supports Dylan in everything.
He's never felt so blessed in his life.
Especially since Tyler's method of returning the sentiment is to go on endlessly about Dylan's amazing acting skills. Which, wow, couldn't he at least have gone for Dylan's funny face or his flailing arms, because no magazines out there are gushing over Dylan's talent, no matter what it might look like. Dylan likes to think he's funny and hard working, but talent? That's all Tyler's and Posey's, seeing as they've been doing this since Dylan was in diapers. Not to mention Linden, dear God. Okay, Dylan might be a little more star-struck than he's willing to admit. And it doesn't help one bit that he's gotten to know these people. Even after having lived with Posey and Tyler for quite some time, the glamor never quite faded. Seeing Tyler Hoechlin hung over in his rattiest board shorts and eye-searing neon flip flops eating pizza and playing Halo still doesn't quite lift the spell of knowing the people this man has worked with.
Dylan will always be a fucking spring chicken here.
As the seasons pass, though, it becomes habit. What started as a gimmick is now second nature to Dylan and, while he still doesn't quite buy it, he's gotten better at accepting Tyler's seemingly sincere (damn, that is acting, man) compliments about his skill, still popping up every time a microphone stops in front of Tyler's face for more than a couple of minutes.
It's a thing now. Their thing. Even though they've long since stopped living together, they still get each other, and Dylan thinks it's never more obvious than when they play their little game in front of clueless and shallow reporters. Dylan will declare Tyler's ass the hottest, Tyler will smile and nod, and as soon as there's the tiniest lull in conversation, he'll jump in with yet another variation of “why Dylan is amazing.” Dylan smirks and fidgets because, even though Tyler is hamming it up for the cameras, enough has been said off camera by now that Dylan knows at least some of it is genuine. Tyler really does see something in Dylan, though he'll be damned if he can figure out what it is.
“He's serious, though,” Posey says one day, after Dylan has had another good laugh about how long Tyler went on about Dylan's virtues when it was clear the reporter would much rather have kept talking about Derek's tight pants. “When he says how awesome you are. You know that, right?”
Dylan shrugs. “Well yeah, I mean...” he trails off, not sure if the things Tyler has said in the past while slightly drunk and in private should really be shared. “Yeah. I know.”
“No, but... do you?” Posey insists. “Because no offense dude, but you keep laughing it off and that's just not fair when Hoech's out there every time with his heart on his sleeve.”
Dylan blinks, because he was absolutely convinced that Posey understood the joke, and having to explain it all of a sudden, years later, is just weird.
“But he's not,” he argues. “He's not, because it's... our thing? You know, the thing we do. Like we always do.”
“I get that,” Posey says slowly, as if Dylan is the one not getting it. “But I thought you knew he was serious.” He stares at Dylan, making him squirm under the scrutiny. “You really don't know,” Posey concludes, frowning.
“I know he's exaggerating,” Dylan says defensively, but Posey just shakes his head.
“No. Dude, he's not. Not even a little bit. He means it. I should know, he's spent enough time talking my ear off about how great you are.”
And just like that, Dylan's whole world view tilts. Because he really did think that they got each other, but clearly they didn't. Suddenly he's terrified that Tyler might have taken his ironic gushing seriously, and his panic pretty much overshadows the fact that someone so amazing actually does think that Dylan hung the moon. At some point he's probably gonna have to breathe into a paper bag over that for a while.
“Shit, man, I really thought you knew,” Posey says, his face one big puppy-eyed apology in response to Dylan's sudden pale-as-death look. “Shit,” he says again, and Dylan has to agree.
Posey knows Dylan well enough to realize that he's opened a pretty huge can of worms, and because he also happens to still be the best bro ever he leaves him alone, acting like he never said anything, so Dylan can freak out in peace.
Sadly, Tyler didn't get the memo that any freaking out was going on and at the next interview he stares at Dylan with worry practically beaming from his goddamn color-confused eyes when there's no enthusiastic input from him when the inevitable slobbering happens. The interviewer is one they've talked to before, and of course she realizes that this time she won't be outdone, and consequently drills Tyler about his diet, clothes, hair, abs, pecs and shirtless scenes for a good 20 minutes before Holland cuts her off, obviously speaking for all of them.
It takes Tyler a grand total of two minutes to corner Dylan after they wrap. Dylan slumps, his hopes of a smooth escape dashed, and he pastes on a smile that he hopes won't look too fake as he turns to face Tyler.
“Heey. What's up, man?”
“I was kinda hoping you could tell me,” Tyler says and goddamn him and his soft, concerned voice, because Dylan fucking crumbles.
“You know it's a joke, right?” he blurts. “When I gush over how hot you are. I mean, yeah, you really are hot, but that's not why I say it. It's about them, not you, and I thought you knew that, but now I'm suddenly not so sure and I just-”
“I know,” Tyler says, still so soft and calm that Dylan kinda feels like crying.
There's a really heavy pause and Dylan fidgets because fuck, he's just not good at silence. Just like Stiles he's desperate to fill it with something and Tyler is just looking at him, patiently waiting for him to crack. Because he always does. He can't stand this kid-glove treatment, and Tyler knows that, which makes Dylan angry at him for all of two seconds before he remembers why this whole stupid conversation is happening in the first place.
“Posey said-” he cuts himself off, because that wasn't what he meant to say. He could have at least tried to make it seem like he figured it out on his own, but nooo. Dylan O'Brien, smooth operator. Not.
Of course it's way too late, and Tyler has already sunk his metaphorical claws into the subject and is not letting go.
“What did Posey say?” He's still being easy and kind about it and god, Dylan hates himself so much right now.
“I didn't know,” he explains miserably, whispering even though they're completely alone in the small dressing room they shared for the prep. Usually all the others would be trekking in and out, the whole cast noisily milling around in each other's space because that's the kind of cast they are. But something or someone – Posey probably – must have alerted them to the fact that something serious is going down, because there's not even a peep from the rooms around them. As if the whole building is holding its breath. Dylan kind of is too, until he remembers that he was talking. “I didn't know,” he repeats. “I thought all your gushing was a joke. Like mine.”
Tyler blinks. “But you just said that you actually do think I'm hot.”
“Well yeah, but that's not why I say it!”
“I know that. And I'm not going on and on about your talent because no one else knows it, Dylan. You show them what they're doing wrong. I'm showing them how to make it right.”
That... makes a surprising amount of sense. But that still leaves one more big question.
“Then why do you do it off screen too?”
Tyler shifts and looks off to the side. “I'm going to have to kill Posey,” he mumbles. “Look,” he says, suddenly sounding tired. “That's just me being... me.”
“You being you?”
“Yeah,” Tyler says, not elaborating further. And that's perfectly fine with Dylan. He already feels like he needs a week or two to digest the last few days.
“So we're... okay?” Dylan ventures, because he needs to know. Needs to be sure.
Tyler nods and smiles again, like he always does, wide and bright and toothy, making Dylan's knees feel wobbly, because they're okay, they're really okay.
And then they move on. Or, at least, Dylan would like to think they do. But in truth, Dylan... doesn't. Not really. He goes back to praising Tyler's abs to an extent that nearly makes an interviewer cry (which the guy brought on himself by asking Tyler to take his shirt off during the interview, what an asshole) but Dylan doesn't quite feel the same about it. Yes, he does still do it to call attention to the general douchebaggery and to make Tyler laugh about it, but after a few times he realizes that he's also selfishly waiting for Tyler's payback.
Dylan finds himself on the edge of his seat at every interview, folding his hands to avoid fidgeting, because he really wants to hear what Tyler thinks, now that he knows it's all sincere. And where before he'd chuckle and smirk, now he can feel the blush crawl up his chest and thanks his lucky stars he's not prone to reddening cheeks. Because now he cherishes every word, tucks them all away inside, and marvels at how someone like Tyler fucking Hoechlin thinks so highly of him.
Posey gives him a supportive shoulder-punch when he notices, because of course Posey notices. He knows Dylan better than anyone at this point. But Tyler is a close second and it's only a matter of time before he notices too, though he ends up coming to the wrong conclusion. Because Dylan is lucky that way.
“If you want me to stop praising you on camera, you can tell me to stop anytime, you know.”
Tyler's words sound casual but a hush descends on the fairly packed set, leaving Dylan in a nervous sweat all of a sudden, because wow, Tyler picked the worst possible time for a heart-to-heart. Looking around Dylan takes in the dozens of curious faces turned shamelessly towards them, and then pulls Tyler outside by his sleeve. Outside the only one they have to deal with is Colton having a guilty post-interview cigarette, and he shows commendable empathy by removing himself from their vicinity immediately.
“So, here's the thing,” Dylan says, fidgeting so hard he's almost vibrating. “I don't want you to stop. Ever. Maybe if I hear it enough I'll start believing it,” he adds in a low mumble. But Tyler definitely hears it, because his face turns into a grimace of despair.
“How can you not... but you're...” Tyler's mouth shuts with a snap, and they both end up just staring at each other. Which is really kind of horrible for Dylan, because along with the knowledge that Tyler actually admires him came the realization that his compass definitely points in a general direction that includes Tyler. Fuck Dylan's life.
So now he's caught in a staring contest with a fucking beautiful person who genuinely thinks that he's amazing, enough to ramble about him to Posey on a regular basis and offer him a goddamn way out of a stupid joke that took on a life of its own over the years. Shit, Dylan might be a little bit (or a lot maybe) in love with Tyler.
“We should switch it up, though,” he blurts, so desperate to break the tension that he hardly knows what he's saying. “You could rave about my hot bod for a few months, and then I could tell the world how awesome you are for a change. Just to shake things up.”
Tyler is supposed to laugh, because honestly, Dylan's bony ass is worthy of at least a giggle. But what he gets is a long look and then a serious nod. “Sure. Let's do that.”
“What? No, it was a joke, Ty. No one wants to hear odes to my sharp elbows and pipe cleaner arms, dude.”
Dylan takes a step back in surprise when Tyler suddenly looks angry. “Why do you always do that? Make yourself seem less worthy somehow? Why?!” he snaps, arms crossed angrily across his muscular chest. “Who the hell made you think so little of yourself?! Whoever they are, I wanna kick 'em in the balls, because you are amazing and gorgeous and...”
And that's obviously the moment Tyler realizes what he's saying. His cheeks turn adorably red, and he looks away from Dylan in embarrassment. “Sorry, I... sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Just... ignore me and my stupid crush, please.”
“What if I don't want to?” Dylan asks boldly, gut swooping from the sudden euphoria of knowing his interest is definitely requited.
Tyler turns his eyes back to Dylan, looking wary, but also brimming with hope, and Dylan feels like kicking himself for not getting it sooner. He's obviously not as smart as Stiles, which is unfair, because Tyler is a thousand times the person Derek Hale is.
“What... what do you wanna do then?” Tyler says quietly, arms dropping to his sides, leaving him looking soft and human and breathtakingly open.
“I think... maybe I wanna hear more.”
Tyler tells him more. So very much more.
End.