Chapter Text
“… I swear to god Marcy, this place looks just like those summer camps we saw in movies growing up… like that one movie with Lindsay Lohan playing a twin?”
“Ugh, such a queen…”, he hears his old school friend Marcy drawl over the phone, though he can tell she’s a little bit distracted. Probably busy with her art or something. Unlike him, she had a very clear idea for what she’s doing after high school: three years of art college before looking to invest in her own studio through various kick-starter campaigns.
“So, it really is okay there Dylan? The kids aren’t being too bratty?”
“The kids? Nah, they’re fine. Maybe a little too well behaved honestly, gets a little creepy when they’re a bit too obedient, ya know? And the other counsellors are really cool people, no complaints there. Well, Jacob and Emma can bring the drama sometimes, but that’s just the straights being straight.” He pauses, putting his ear to the door to make sure no-one is in close range for listening in. Not that anyone would want to listen in, but thin walls, ya know? “And… there’s this guy here who’s kind of cool. Kind of quiet but… really funny. And nice. And he’s into all that alternative music you like, so I think you’d like him…”
“You know guys aren’t my type Dylan.” He can practically see her smirk over the receiver, her interest fully piqued now. “So, what? You got a crush on this guy or something? You made a move yet?”
“I mean… no? Like, I’m not sure if he… well if he’s interested in… stuff like that…”
“Stuff like that?” Dylan can imagine her back tensing with those words. “So… you don’t even know if he’s into guys…”
“Well, I can’t exactly ask him outright, can I? Would make him think I’m interested in him…”
“But you are interested in him.”
“Yeah, but I gotta have at least the illusion of not seeming desperate.”
“Dylan…”, Marcie sighs into the receiver. “Just… be careful, alright? You don’t want a repeat of…”
Her voice trails off and Dylan frowns, annoyed now.
“Repeat of what Marcie? Repeat of ‘oh no, Dylan caused gay panic in another dumb pretty boy with anger problems, why won’t he learn’?” he spits out, trying his best to sound joke-y, but unable to keep the venom from bubbling up.
Marcie to her credit doesn’t rise to the bait, instead just sighing once again into the receiver.
“Sorry Dylan, I shouldn’t have brought that up… I know you can look after yourself. I’m just protective of you, you’re like a brother to me.”
“Gay-lesbian solidarity say yuuuhhh!!”, Dylan yells into the phone, punching the air even though she’s unable to see it.
“Ugh, you’re so fucking dumb…”, Marcie groans, but laughs despite herself. “Anyway, speaking of lesbians, Anya’s taking me to film fest tonight so gotta get my makeup and hair did.”
“No problem.”, Dylan murmurs, looking into a nearby mirror and giving himself finger guns. “Doing a campfire tonight with the kids, so gotta get my hair and makeup did.”
With a last laugh, the two friends give a cheery ‘ciao’ before hanging up. Dylan looks down at the tiny burner phone he’d brought to camp to get around the ‘no smartphone’ rule and sighs to himself. Of course, he was happy for Marcie and the long-term relationship she’d managed to obtain in their hometown, a place that was just as small as it was backwards. But it also seemed like just yet another way he had to compare his best friend to himself and all the ways they differed: stable, long-term relationship, while his entire dating experience consisted of sweaty grappling in cupboards at parties. Had her whole life mapped out and a clear passion, while he was basically using a dartboard to pick out what he was majoring in at college. She was pretty and interesting, with her bright pink hair and tattoos while he… well he had jokes.
And even then, he wasn’t especially funny.
His embarrassing bout of self-pity was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door. Jumping, Dylan quickly shoves his phone underneath the bed sheets in case it’s Mr H coming to check up on him. Running over to the door, he’s surprised to see the brooding loner himself, Ryan Erzahler standing at the door, holding a stack of A4 paper. Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees him then quickly looks at a space just beyond Dylan’s head, his face darkening with blush. Dylan had noticed pretty early on that Ryan had a little trouble making direct eye contact with people, the only person he seemed especially comfortable around being Mr H. Dylan had often wondered how Ryan knew their camp leader so much better than the other counsellors, but he didn’t wanna pry too much.
He preferred to just tease the guy.
“Uh, hey sport. If you’re hear to read me the riot act…”, Dylan smirks, waving at the paper still clasped in Ryan’s hands. “… too late. I already have plenty of dastardly schemes planned up for tonight…”
Ryan blinks at him then smiles slowly as he begins to realise he’s just joshing him. Dylan had always liked that about him- he may be a little bit slow at getting a joke, but he always showed his appreciation for his personal brand of humour.
“Hardy-har… actually I just wanted… your advice on something.”
“You? Want my advice?”, Dylan mock-gasps, putting his hand to his mouth. “Oh god, did literally everybody else in the camp die or something?”
“No! I mean… well, we’re doing campfire stories for the kids tonight right?”, Ryan babbles, clearly flustered now. “Well, I got a bunch of ghost stories here because I like to… well, write as a hobby. And I… I’m not good at improvising so I thought I’d use one of the ones I’ve already written but I’m not really good at knowing what kind of stories kids like. So I thought I’d ask you because… well, you’re good with kids, you might know what they like.”
“What, you’re saying I’m immature?”, Dylan huffs, mock-offended.
“No! I mean, you are, sometimes, but I don’t really mind…”
“Oh, just hand them here Edgar Allen Poe…”, Dylan exclaims, holding out his hand and Ryan holds them forward gingerly. Dylan snatches them out of his hands, and plops himself down on his bed, eyes darting across the page, eating up the first paragraph hungrily. He glances up at Ryan who is still standing there awkwardly, still not making eye contact.
“Hey! Sit here with me!”, Dylan laughs, patting the space on the bed next to him. “You should be able to read through your own work, practice your own inner critic!”
Ryan does so, after pausing for what seems like only a second. Together, they sit there, eyes scanning the pages, but Dylan can’t help being distracted by how close he was now to his summer crush, warm legs underneath denim fabric rubbing up against each other, his musky scent of pine and normal boy sweat making him feel… things.
As he watches Ryan’s eyes crinkle as he manages to make him laugh once again, all Dylan can think is:
Man, I am so screwed…
… and not in the fun way.