Chapter Text
And Tyler’s desperate, he calls him. Gets Dylan groggy, half-asleep, confused and kind of wary.
“Dylan,” he says, and his throat seizes up, and he doesn’t know what to say.
A short pause. Dylan says, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I,” Tyler says, and his face is hot, and he doesn’t know why this is so hard. They’re always talking.
Just not like this, just not like...
“You know, um,” he says. Hears himself say, too late, embarrassingly. “There’s a pilot. There was gonna be.”
Nothing, nothing. Dylan doesn’t say anything. He always used to break the tension, before.
He’s so good at it.
“There was gonna be a lot of things, I guess,” Tyler says, finally.
“Probably,” Dylan says, and Tyler might be choking. So maybe he’s sick already, so maybe this is an even stupider question than he thought.
“I miss you,” he says, and Dylan sighs, loudly.
“It’s been five years, dude. What do you want?”
“Four years,” Tyler says. “I think it’s been four years, actually.”
Dylan sighs again. “I didn’t mean since we’d seen each other. Or spoke...”
“We talk sometimes,” Tyler says, and Dylan says, “Are you drunk again? Or is that just gonna be the excuse.”
There is wine involved. Obviously. Tyler hesitates. “That’s not why.”
“I bet,” Dylan says. Too tiredly. “G’night, Tyler.”
“Wait,” Tyler says. Something in his throat working too sharply, and tears pop in his eyes. “Wait, wait. I have to ask you something.”
Another sigh. “After the pilot, right? After the show. Or maybe after the next one.”
“My roommate’s sick,” Tyler says. “Or... thinks he’s sick. He’s coming home, and he wants to quarantine. Without me.”
“Whaaaaaat?” Dylan says. There’s something so flat to it. “But you’re such a nice guy.”
“And I can’t,” Tyler says. Acid in his throat, or glass, but he has to say it. He has to ask, because if he doesn’t... He just needs this, right now. “I can’t go to my parents, because they—”
“Oh no, Tyler,” Dylan says, and it’s how he used to sound, a million years ago. “And you don’t wanna be alone.”
Any other conversation, any other real one, Dylan wouldn’t say that so seriously. Like he’s sorry, like he still cares. Like it matters at all what Tyler’s feeling.
“I just need—a room,” Tyler says. Shutting his eyes, scrubbing at his eyelids. Trying not to get overwhelmed by the feeling. “You don’t have to talk to me.”
“What an offer,” Dylan says, and he’s back to dry again. “I guess I’m the only guy you know with a house, huh?”
“You’re not the only one,” Tyler says. “I just... Please.”
One more soft sigh, and Dylan nods. Tyler can see him nodding. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says. “I—Really.”
“I already regret this,” Dylan says. “I hate myself. Honestly.”
I love you, Tyler almost says. But even he’s not that stupid.
He says, “That never made sense to me.”
“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Neither did a lot of things, probably. Tell you what, huh? Window’s closing. You can get here approximately, I don’t know, now, or forget I was ever offering. You know we’re on our way to a lockdown, right? Like, the real thing.”
It still feels unreal. “I know,” Tyler says.
“Yeah, so get here,” Dylan says. “I hope you’re already packing. Do you have a car?”
Tyler snorts. “Of course I have a car.”
“That you’re driving,” Dylan says. “And wash your glasses, by the way. You know how long it can live on those things?”
“What?” Tyler says.
“Nine days!” Dylan says. “Isn’t that crazy? And right near your eyes, that’s like the most vulnerable—Did you hear, that the space around your eyes is so... Like, the soft tissue.”
Sounding like he used to, suddenly. Switching over, that easy.
Tyler lets out a long breath.
“And wear a mask, too,” Dylan says. “Not like a, like a real one. Save those for, you know... But like, a bandanna or something.”
“A bandanna,” Tyler says, a little numbly. Trying to—find it funny, or do a Derek thing.
“Yeah, with like rubber bands,” Dylan says. “I’ll make you a video. Not that—You know, it’s easy.”
“This feels insane,” Tyler says, and Dylan says, “You’re telling me? Hypochondriac’s worst nightmare, everyone taking him seriously.”
“Really?” Tyler says, and Dylan says, “Apparently! Who would think.”
“You’re young, though,” Tyler says. “Low-risk.”
“Sure thing, Father Time,” Dylan says. Tyler rolls his eyes.
“I just mean,” he says. “You’re not really in danger of it. Comparatively.”
“Yeah, I love not seeing my parents,” Dylan says. Tyler shuts up. “Who, who doesn’t wanna lose their family.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Tyler says. “Obviously.”
“I don’t know, drunk you says a lot of things,” Dylan says, and then, too brightly, “Anyway. Forget driving out, I’ll come pick you up. I’m losing my mind, I need to do something. I’ll make you a mask, don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says, genuinely tongue-tied. It’s the last thing he ever expected Dylan to say. Yeah, sure. Come live with me. I’m fine with that, and seeing you, and your stupid face. I’ll even drive out and bring you PPE. Wait, did I say that? Oh man, so sorry! I was drunk!
That, that would make more sense, at least. For the Dylan outside Tyler’s head, it’d be reasonable.
And he almost says it again. Says, “Dylan.” Shaking his head a little. “Dylan, I...”
“Don’t,” Dylan says. “You’ll regret it. Trust me. Anyway,” he says, and there’s that sharp brightness again. “On my way to my car now. So—shut up, and get ready.”
“You got it,” Tyler says, and for a long time, Dylan doesn’t say anything.
“Dylan?” Tyler says, and Dylan says, “You should bring wine. Probably. Might make it a little easier, being around me.”
Tyler swallows, and Dylan says, “Don’t think I’m not gonna be this much of an asshole the whole time.”
Tyler swallows, nods. “I can handle it.”
“Good,” Dylan says. “Great. Okay, I’m leaving.”
“I’ll see you,” Tyler says. “Stay safe.”
He’s suddenly sober, scared to death. Dylan’s coming. Dylan’s coming here.
Tyler isn’t ready. Isn’t, he never even really moved in, or decorated, he barely knows where anything is. And he hasn’t been to the gym in—too long, he hasn’t looked in a mirror.
He does it now. Recoils, instantly, rushes to grab a razor. Collects the empty bottles on the dresser when he’s done. He can just see it, Dylan’s eyes flickering across the room, stopping there, too knowingly. And moving on, like he didn’t see anything.
He’s almost never drunk. He just likes it. The warm feeling.
And all the little worries go away. All the—complications of everything.
And he probably just lost his job. So what exactly should he be doing? With all his sober, suddenly free time.
He cleans it up. Cleans it up, gets rid of it. And he won’t bring wine to Dylan’s, either. Unless maybe he will.
Dylan, this is Dylan at his most generous. For Tyler? That’s his most understanding.
He’s gonna be at Tyler’s throat. For... for as long as this thing ends up lasting. All those passive-aggressive swipes at him, and then they’ll get less passive.
This was probably a huge mistake. Even as a last resort, as anything. Dylan’s eyes on him if he takes a drink, if he says a word, if he doesn’t. If he just sits in front of the TV and thinks about nothing, if he tries to get a second alone.
I knew it. I knew it. You don’t care.
And all at once, Tyler’s too exhausted for anything. For—packing, or cleaning, or being presentable. Isn’t the world falling apart? Why is his appearance still so fucking important? It won’t make Dylan find him any more likable. He’s not gonna be going anywhere.
Everything’s stalling, for an indefinite amount of time. Tyler’s the only one who still gives a shit about it.
But he gives a shit about it. So he grimaces at the mirror again. Tries to figure out what else he can do to fix it in the next half hour. Spends six minutes taking off and putting on the same jacket, staring at the reflection of his arms.
And then his phone goes off, and Tyler’s head snaps up. It’s been years since he heard that ringtone.
Dylan set it up.
“Hey,” Dylan says. Just hey, just moving on. Like he calls Tyler all the time, like this is nothing. Hey, can you believe this? Turn on the TV.
“Dylan,” Tyler says, apparently incapable of being normal. “...Hi.”
“Hi,” Dylan says. “Been so long, I know. I guess I really missed you in the last five minutes.”
Tyler swallows, swallows. Opens his mouth to say—
“Anyway,” Dylan says. Tyler shuts his mouth. “I know I maybe freaked you out about the glasses, but you’re not wearing contacts, right? Because that’s so much worse. Sixteen percent... Sorry, I’m freaking you out.”
“No,” Tyler says. “Maybe a little bit. I don’t...” Shaking his head. “How do you know this stuff?”
“Obsessive reading?” Dylan says. “Like everyone else on the planet.”
“Is everyone...?” Tyler shakes his head. Everyone’s still wearing contacts. There’s not a million people wearing glasses, suddenly.
But maybe they’re just not taking it seriously.
“Disposable ones are better,” Dylan says. “Like, between the two. Or, call your doctor, actually.”
“I’m sure she’s busy,” Tyler says. “So... Glasses, apparently.”
“I don’t know,” Dylan says, suddenly panicking. “I just read one article, dude, I don’t know anything. I’ll send you the link, maybe...”
“I’m sure you didn’t miss anything,” Tyler says dryly.
“No, I don’t know,” Dylan says. “You would know better than me, how you’re feeling. I just didn’t want—like, to panic you into a worse one.”
“I’m not wearing glasses,” Tyler says, and Dylan makes a nervous sound. “Or contacts. It’s fine. I like things blurry.”
Joking, but Dylan sounds increasingly freaked out, without having to say anything. Tyler just knows the look on his face.
“I’m nearsighted,” he says. “I’m not—I can manage.”
“Nearsighted, that’s the one...” Dylan says, and Tyler laughs.
“I can see things in front of me,” he says. “I just can’t—drive. Or, it’s not advisable.”
“Good thing I’m picking you up, then,” Dylan says, sounding too relieved, and Tyler laughs again.
“I would’ve found something. Went with... one or the other.”
“Oh,” Dylan says. “Okay, cool. As long as you’re... Yeah. Okay, I’ll see you.”
“See you soon,” Tyler says, and Dylan takes a weird sharp breath.
“Dylan?” Tyler says. Trying not to... It’s nothing, he’s just breathing. He’s fine, Tyler’s just too aware of it.
“Sorry,” Dylan says, and Tyler tenses, forces himself to relax again. He’s not even thirty. He’s healthy, he’s in good shape. “Um, yeah. See you.”
I love you. I love you. Dylan, I...
“See you then,” Tyler says, and Dylan says, “Yeah.” Hangs up, and Tyler’s gripping his phone, not thinking.
If Dylan coughs or something, Tyler is going to lose his mind.
Dylan comes to pick Tyler up, and the very first thing he does is give him a hug.
“Dylan,” Tyler says, a little speechless, a little too... everything. Dylan’s always been too good at this. Along with everything else.
“Needed that,” Dylan says, pulling away. “I don’t care who you are. We’re quarantine buddies, it’s not gonna come from anywhere else.”
“Ah,” Tyler says. Trying to... He doesn’t know. Sound normal. “Right.”
“Anyway,” Dylan says. “You have your stuff?”
“Inside,” Tyler says. “I... It’s not a lot, really.”
“Should’ve known,” Dylan says. “You always were a minimalist.”
“I like,” Tyler says, and smiles, a little wryly. “Not being tied down, you know. Being able to travel.”
“Well, then this is gonna suck,” Dylan says. “Unless you mean, like, pointless car rides. Or watching travel channels.”
“I think that would just depress me,” Tyler says. “Rather not focus on it.”
“You’re good at blocking things out,” Dylan says. “Being... single-minded.”
Tyler looks at him.
“I get obsessive, you know,” Dylan says. “Can’t just actively, like, decide... Anyway. You’re a good distraction.”
Tyler goes hot. Even if it’s not, even if he’s sure that’s not what Dylan means anymore. It still sounds like it.
“You’re wearing glasses,” Dylan says, and Tyler blinks at him. Reaches up—right. “I need to see what I’m packing.”
“That sounds dirty,” Dylan says, and Tyler flushes again.
So maybe he is doing it on purpose. Or maybe... Tyler doesn’t know anymore.
“Boxes,” he says, unnecessarily. “For... you know.”
“Thanks for clarifying,” Dylan says, kind of laughing, and heat crawls up Tyler’s neck. His ears are burning.
“You can hit me, if you want,” he hears himself saying. “Just... To get it out of the way.”
Dylan stops laughing. “What?”
“You know,” Tyler says, but he doesn’t. Nothing sounds right, once he says it. “The scene.”
Dylan laughs. “You really still remember that stuff? It’s all, like, this giant fog. And then I’m like, did that really happen? That one insane thing, that still doesn’t...” Shaking his head. “Anyway. Why would I hit you?”
“Forget it,” Tyler says. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Is your mom okay?” Dylan says. “She’s not still, like, going to church, or anything.”
“No,” Tyler says. “She’s... No.”
“That’s gotta be so weird,” Dylan says. “Like, religiously. Having to, just, suddenly... And she’s the active type, too.”
“Do you know her?” Tyler says. He’s trying not to be weird about this. But Dylan, why would Dylan know... Unless they always kept in touch, or something. Just long phone calls, discussing him. Or visits.
“No, I don’t know,” Dylan says. “We’ve met. You’ve said things.”
“Have I?” Tyler says, a little too caustically. Dylan looks at him.
“O-kay,” he says. “No mom stuff. How have you been doing?”
“Super,” Tyler says. And hears himself, and grimaces. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, that’s good,” Dylan says. “That’s a good one. Quick thinking.”
“I really didn’t,” Tyler says. “I just meant—the normal one.” Looking at Dylan again. “You heard about it?”
“You’re Superman, dude,” Dylan says. “Not exactly a secret.”
“But it’s not, like.” Tyler shrugs. “A movie.”
“Oh yeah, only a TV show,” Dylan says. “Starring you. As the biggest superhero on the planet. No biggie.”
Tyler’s blushing again. He says, “But that was—before.”
“So?” Dylan says. “You’re not getting canceled. Did they say you were getting canceled?”
“Indefinitely,” Tyler says, trying to sound indifferent, “indefinitely, uh... postponed.”
“And that sucks,” Dylan says. Tyler stares down at nothing. “That doesn’t mean you’re losing it.”
“Feel like I’m losing it,” Tyler mutters, but he shakes his head. “No, that’s not... No.” That’s not something to joke about.
Hey, Dylan says. Give yourself a break. For a second.
“I’m,” Tyler says, and he shakes his head. “It’s not like it’s... really important.”
“It’s important,” Dylan says. “You put your whole life into it.”
Dylan. Tyler can’t... He shuts his eyes.
“And you?” he says, when he can speak again. “How have you... with everything.”
Dylan shrugs.
“You know,” he says. “In between depressive episodes. Nothing new, really.”
“Wait,” Tyler says. Frowning, focusing on him. “What?”
Dylan shrugs again. And something’s flooding Tyler, now, some sick, slow adrenaline. Did he know? Was he supposed to?
“You’ve been good, though,” he says. “Your career.”
Dylan shrugs again. “Turns out, that’s not the only...”
“But,” Tyler says. He can’t really swallow this. Can’t really, Dylan saying it so plainly, he can’t believe. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, dude,” Dylan says. And the chill gets colder, the sudden fear in him. Wait, wait. “Just too much bullshit, I guess.”
That phone call, Dylan sighing all the time. Tyler thought—He doesn’t know what he thought, he didn’t think—
Dylan just hated him, maybe. Was just tired of him, of everything he turned out to be.
He didn’t think—
“Don’t worry,” Dylan says. “I’m not, you know, active about it.”
Terror jolting Tyler, he didn’t even think about that. He didn’t even think—
“I just sleep a lot,” Dylan says. “And, like, kind of hate everything. It’s not... You know. So dramatic.”
But Dylan... not Dylan. Dylan’s smart, and funny, and easily excited, he’s the one... He’s the bright side of everything. He’s got a punchline for everything, and a hug, he makes everyone feel better.
“Could I,” he says, and he doesn’t even know how to get it out. “Is there... Could I do something? Would it help?”
He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time. It always comes out wrong.
“I mean, how can I,” he says, and wants to cringe again. “I wanna do... something.”
“Not your job,” Dylan says. And then, “Really not your job. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t care about my job,” Tyler says. “I don’t have one.”
“It’s not a movie, okay?” Dylan says. “You can’t fix it.”
“I could try,” Tyler says.
It eats at him, the whole drive, Dylan somehow back to chatty again. Cracking jokes like it’s fine, like Tyler imagined it.
Like things have never been more normal. Except Dylan hands Tyler a bag with a bandanna in it, and everything flips back to wrong again.
“You’re not wearing one,” Tyler says.
“Yeah, I’m being stupid,” Dylan says. “You know me, I’m a thrill seeker. We’re gonna be all up in each others’ spaces anyway, so.”
He shrugs a little, says, “Anyway, I didn’t wanna, like, freak you out. With how weird all this is.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” Tyler says. Swallowing, swallowing. “If I get—freaked out. If it’s important.”
“Oh, man,” Dylan says. “I forgot. You’re, like...”
Tyler looking at him, but he doesn’t finish.
“I’m like,” Tyler says.
“An idealist,” Dylan says. “Like, the most wide-eyed one.”
“I just think, if it’s important,” Tyler says, not really sure what he’s arguing. Not really sure what Dylan means about it. He’s more alert about health stuff than anyone. Not like, diets, but medical conditions. Everything bad that could ever happen to you.
Tyler doesn’t think he’s even ever been sick before. Which would make you anxious, probably. If you have nothing to compare it to.
But then wouldn’t you care about it?
“Yeah,” Dylan says. “I don’t know. You get, like, overwhelmed. Feels... I don’t know, feels like there’s a million things you should be doing. Like, this car,” he says. “I didn’t disinfect this car. And I’m driving you around in it, so like... I could be killing you.”
Tyler laughs. “I feel fine.”
“Yeah, but you don’t,” Dylan says. “It turns so fast. And then... it’s like that.” Snapping his fingers. “Asymptomatic, to like... not breathing anymore. I’m gonna open the window.”
His knuckles are very white.
“So then you’re like, but it hits worse if you’re overweight,” Dylan says. “And like, clearly that doesn’t apply to you. So you’re doing this sick math, trying to feel better about cutting corners. And if you get it, it’s not gonna fucking matter. If the odds were more balanced, or whatever.”
“It’s not gonna be your fault,” Tyler says. “I got in the car.”
“Except you would’ve come in yours,” Dylan says. “But I got, like, antsy. And wanted to see you. Or another human being, you know. Are you okay?” he demands. “On the phone, you sounded...”
“I’m fine,” Tyler says.
“And it’s not your mom, I asked you,” Dylan says. “So... your dad...”
“No,” Tyler says. “It’s not... It’s nothing. Or everything, you know,” he says, rolling his eyes a little. “Everyone’s dealing with it.”
“Because they’ve been shitty, before,” Dylan says. And Tyler shrugs, he doesn’t mean to. It just... happens sometimes. “With, like... career stuff.”
“That’s normal,” Tyler says. Trying to shrug in slow motion, at least. Or something. “That’s... No one likes waiting.”
“My parents just stay out of it,” Dylan says, and Tyler tries a smile. It’s more of a grimace.
“Must be nice.”
“No one has control over anything,” Dylan says. “You can’t, like, micromanage.”
“Do we have to have this conversation?”
“Guess not, no,” Dylan says. “Forget it. Sorry.”
It’s quiet for a while.
“And it’s not about, you know,” Dylan says. “Do they know, that you’re dating... What’s his name?”
“What?” Tyler says.
“Your ‘roommate,’” Dylan says, giving the word way too much emphasis. “The... Toby something.”
Tyler stares. “You know about him?”
“You were in that thing, right?” Dylan says. “The... the short film. And he produced it, and now, you’re like...”
“I’m not anything,” Tyler says. “I wouldn’t be moving out, if I was... I wouldn’t’ve called you.”
“Oh,” Dylan says. A little wide-eyed. “Really?”
“If my boyfriend was sick?” Tyler says, and somehow doesn’t flinch saying my boyfriend. “I don’t think I’d be taking off, no. Leaving him alone. Who do you think I am, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Dylan says, and then, “Guess I don’t know you.”
His eyes fixed on the road, Tyler just staring.
Inside, Dylan points out a guest room, the bathroom next to it. Dylan’s room, the office, the kitchen. Little dinette area, for all his miniature dinner parties. Second bathroom, linen closet. Washer dryer situation. The living room, that gets a lot of mileage. Couch, smart TV. The pool, and the roof.
“And that’s, that’s casa del Dylan. Or maybe de, actually. My Spanish is still... unbelievably bad.”
“Nice place,” Tyler says mildly, and tries not to think about Dylan seeing his apartment too much. Tries not to think about how clean this place is. Like he’s expecting a magazine.
“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Dylan says. “Got to buy a house before the world broke down. Get to feel like I have it somewhat together. While everything’s just... chaos.”
It’s been chaotic for a while. Or getting worse, getting... Tyler just never thought it would just stop. Work, and everything.
He’s still holding the mask Dylan gave him. Still can’t really believe it.
“Anyway,” Dylan says. “Do you still have the worst diet in the world?”
“Right now?” Tyler says. “I don’t have a diet.” It’s the only good thing about this.
“Okay, good,” Dylan says. “Turns out, I love cooking. But then I have, like, leftovers all week, since it’s just me. Good to have the extra stomach.”
“You used to cook,” Tyler says. “Back when... years ago.”
“Please,” Dylan says, he’s covering his face. “That doesn’t count. Pretty sure I gave you food poisoning. I knew like, three spices.”
“Are there more?” Tyler says, and Dylan looks at him like he can’t figure out if that’s a joke or not. “I’m kidding,” Tyler says.
He thinks he is.
“You never gave me food poisoning,” he adds, and Dylan says, “You forget things.”
Well, that’s what you get for being nice about it. Tyler says, “Right.”
“I didn’t mean,” Dylan says, and then, “Forget it.”
“Apparently my specialty.”
“Okay,” Dylan says. His voice is shaking, a little bit, his eyes are too bright. Tyler stills, kind of freezes in place, trying... He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to do.
“So, you know how the house goes,” Dylan says. “Where... where everything is. So, bye.”
Turning his back on him, Tyler still frozen. Dylan’s sniffling, scrubbing under his eye.
Walking away. Tyler says, “Dylan.”
He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t have a plan after that.
He just can’t leave it like this.
“Food’s in the fridge,” Dylan says. “And I’ll tell you when I make something. Text, I’ll text.”
“Dylan,” Tyler says again.
“Yeah, so that’s it,” Dylan says. Keeping his back to him. “Nice seeing you, Tyler.”
Like it isn’t. And Tyler might be choking, he doesn’t know. He can’t really unfreeze.
He tries to say Dylan’s name again, but his jaw locks, and Dylan keeps moving.
Tyler finds him on the couch, later, watching something on his phone. Dylan looks up when he sees him, pauses the video.
“Sorry,” Tyler says.
“No, it’s not—Don’t worry,” Dylan says. “Just—You probably don’t wanna see.”
He probably doesn’t. Not by the look on Dylan’s face, like he doesn’t care about their fight anymore. Like he’s just seen something way more serious.
Tyler says, “It won’t help you to traumatize yourself.”
“Can’t help it,” Dylan says. “I can’t, I mean… I can’t not know what’s happening.”
“Nothing good,” Tyler offers. “Now you don’t have to look at it.”
He glances at Dylan’s screen. Shakes his head, looks past it.
“It’s in South Korea,” Dylan says. “Seoul. She’s a YouTuber, you came in at like the worst time.” Picking another section of the video, and it’s just a girl talking in her bedroom. “There’s just, like, a clip. Of what’s happening.”
People collapsing on the street, and medics attending to them. Or no one doing anything.
“It’s a movie,” Tyler says. “It’s just a movie.”
It’s not. But it feels like one. Feels… Weird, and unreal, like he’s walking through a dream.
He should be in Vancouver, right now.
He’s in Dylan’s house. Which is its own… He doesn’t even know what it is. Dylan sitting inches from him isn’t making it feel any more believable.
“This isn’t even now,” Dylan says. “It’s like, from January.”
He looks different. Not that different, but it’s still jarring, realizing you haven’t seen a friend in four years. Realizing people grow, and change, even when you’re not looking at them. Especially then.
Tyler says, “Happy New Year.”
Dylan looking at him, like, What? You must be joking. And hesitating. Studying his face, and his gaze softens.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”