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"Why don't you lay down, think of a movie you wanna watch, and if you can't think of anything, then I'm putting on Lost Highway."
"God, no. Nothing thoughtful and smart, I'll puke."
Dylan huffs. "Fine. Heathers?"
"Fag."
"Heathers it is. Now let me up, god."
Eric was wrapped around Dylan's middle, face pressed into his stomach. One of the side effects of Eric finally dealing with his repressed, immature emotions, was clinging to Dylan every chance he got, especially when he wasn't feeling good. Dylan mostly didn't mind but right now-- "I have to piss. Reb. Unless you want me ruining your couch, let me up."
For a second, Dylan thinks Eric won't budge, will stay stubborn and awful, and Dylan will get a UTI by the time he's actually able to make it to the bathroom. Eric lets go, slowly and begrudgingly, but he lets go.
"Make me toast or something while you're up," Eric says while Dylan peels himself away.
Dylan rolls his eyes. "Only because I'm convinced you might actually be dying."
Eric flips him off but manages to make it feel affectionate. Dylan steps into his bathroom, sighs. They aren't technically dating. They would never call each other boyfriends. But Eric kisses him when they're alone, wraps himself around Dylan any chance he can get. It's not everything Dylan could ever want-- he has this recurring fantasy of Eric being out and proud, defending himself and defending Dylan from anyone who tries to talk shit about them.
It's a pipe dream, really. There's no version of Eric that is proud about dating Dylan, no version that could even admit to dating Dylan, even if there's a version that doesn't mind being gay. Or bi. Or whatever he was. And Dylan can handle that, really. He just can't think about it too hard. He can appreciate the amount Eric is willing to give. He can keep himself from being bitter about all the things he'll never have with him.
Dylan isn't the one to try and out Eric anyway. He alone gets bullied enough without anyone thinking he's actually gay. And it isn't like he's really keen on having another aspect of himself torn apart in public for the rest of his high school career.
He thinks about it anyway. Eric and all his anger being turned into spite, Eric and all his rebellion and defiance being used to be happy with himself, or at the very least taken away from hating himself.
Dylan leans against Eric's kitchen counter, waiting for the toaster to be done when he hears footsteps. He thinks it's Eric, gets ready to tell him to go lay back down, relax for once. But it's his dad. Gruff and mostly silent Wayne Harris. He doesn't even look at Dylan, walks past him to the coffee maker. Dylan avoids even acknowledging him.
From Eric's perspective, his parents were either clueless, gullible, no big deal, or overbearing, overwhelming, untrusting. It was like he could never quite decide if they hurt him with intention or not, if they were malicious or just incompetent. From Dylan's perspective, they were awful, and he didn't have to dig through their intentions, didn't have to parse any of their actions. Eric deserved better, and Dylan didn't have to pretend otherwise for the sake of his own survival. He had the benefit of being Eric's friend and being able to take his side no matter what.
He keeps his eyes low, crosses his arms. Eric's dad looks at him once, without any notable expression, then pours his coffee, keeps it black, almost ignores Dylan completely. Setting the coffee pot back into its place, he speaks quietly but clearly. "You're sure over here a lot."
It's such a small comment, but it makes Dylan realize exactly why Eric could never be okay with himself, with dating Dylan. It's not the bullying at school, not any genuine hatred, but the fear his dad's put into him for god knows how long. Fear that if he didn't perform the role of Perfect Son well enough, that his dad wouldn't see him as his son at all.
Dylan feels anger crawl up his spine, He digs his nails into his arm, doesn't say a word. As a single interaction, it's nothing. Taken in context with every rant Eric's ever gone on, every time he's locked himself in his room, every time he's come over to Dylan's house to take a break from the anxiety his house struck in him, Dylan has never been angrier at a single person.
"Trouble at home?"
Dylan thinks about NBK. Thinks about Eric standing over blood and bodies and bullets, thinks about the look that'll be on his dad's face when he sees the footage, the aftermath. He shakes his head, smiling politely, "No," Dylan says, a not-too-noticeable amount of force behind it, "Eric wanted me to come over. Doesn't feel good." And Dylan thinks about what it means to tell Eric's fucking parent that his child doesn't feel good.
He nods. "Oh." Raises his eyebrows like he doesn't quite believe him. Raises his mug to his lips.
The toaster dings. Dylan grabs the toast, goes back to the basement as quickly as possible, not caring that he's practically burning his hands, nearly throws it at Eric once he's down there. Eric sits up a little, furrows his brow, is about to ask something when Dylan starts pacing.
He's not an angry person, really. He just has moments, and they're always some idiot's fault. A jock at school saying something stupid, a girl acting like he doesn't exist-- Now Eric's dad implying... What? That Dylan likes hanging out with his best fucking friend? That Eric likes having him over? That they're having sex under his roof? Eric's too fucking complex-ed to even talk about sex with Dylan, always brings up girls even when physically attached to Dylan's side. Even when it's clear he doesn't want a girlfriend, doesn't care about girls beyond the amount of social power they'd give him.
And he's made progress, absolutely. Eric's more affectionate now than he's ever been, but he's still so terrified of doing anything more, of Dylan doing anything more. Eric might have to overlook all the shit he's internalized from his parents for his peace of mind, but he can't stop Dylan from being angry on his behalf.
Dylan, breaking slightly from his train of thought, notices Eric already has the movie playing. Buried under multiple blankets, pale and observably unwell. Dylan almost feels sick to his own stomach. He doesn't deserve any of this. And Dylan can't do much to change any of it.
There's a universe where Eric and Dylan meet, and neither of them is crowded by the shitty internalized expectations of boys their age, and neither of them feels any reservations about dating, and neither of them is scared to be out. There's a universe where Eric has better parents, a better understanding of himself, and his rebel attitude actually extends to his opinion of himself.
Dylan sighs, tries not to pity Eric. He knows what Eric's capable of, what this universe has given him in exchange for his self-hatred. Dylan has the same poison in his chest. And it'll be expressed soon enough. All the shit they've been given, all the cards they've been dealt, will be repaid soon enough.
He shakes his head. "Your dad's a piece of shit," he says, moves Eric's feet off the couch so he can sit down. Then decides, since no one can see them, to nudge Eric forward, lays behind him, basically spoons him-- is actually spooning him. He can't think about it too hard. Eric opens his mouth, maybe to defend his dad, maybe to protest, but he doesn't manage the energy to say anything. He settles against Dylan.
The room is quiet except for the movie playing. Dylan adjusts and looks down at Eric after a while only to see him asleep, peaceful. He can't give Eric much besides an escape, a promise, a glorified suicide pact. He can't change the universe they landed in. But he's grateful for moments like this, moments where it doesn't feel inevitable. Where he and Eric are friends, more than friends, and everything that's in the background of that friendship quiets down, and Eric is just a sick kid accepting whatever comfort he can find.