Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have human names.

-Nikita Gill

Prologue

Bittersweet.

That was the word Dylan would use to describe this whole summer camp thing.

On paper, the job looked relatively straight forward; sacrifice your summer to watch over the county’s youth in the middle of nowhere. For two months, be stuck in the confines of a summer camp’s regulations and in the company of some strangers and even more strangers' kids.

Dylan was ambivalent on the topic of kids, an opinion that remained solid even as he spent an entire summer in their company. He'd managed to categorize them to the best of his ability within the first week or so, and had figured out which ones were chill and which ones he had to dial down his sarcasm around. 

His fellow councilors helped in that regard, as kids with attributes similar to their own tended to migrate in their respective direction. By the time the first week of camp had ended, it seemed almost everyone had found where they wanted to be, for the time being. 

That wasn't to say they were easily organized. Every person was different and, unless they wanted to, didn't fit into one specific box. Dylan had learned that the hard way what felt like a long time ago.

Each kid had their own unique personality and attitude, a lot of which included sass and endless questions. Even as the age group varied, they all seemed to blend together, especially when it was nearing the end of the day and Dylan’s patience was beginning to wear thin.

One may question why he would volunteer himself to spend an entire summer with kids if he didn't have to, but it was less about the experience of being a counselor and more about wanting to see what he was leaving behind, as well as trying to delay the inevitable.

Because, while he was technically an adult, legally, he sure as hell didn't feel like one. When these two months are over and he returned to his normal life, he'd have to “man up” and start taking responsibility seriously. There wouldn't be a plan to follow if he didn't make one.

Problem was, he didn't even know where to start.

Whether Mr. H was secretly a psychic disguised as an overly optimistic cornball, or this was just a case of situational irony, was yet to be seen. Dylan had narrowed down his suspicions down to those two results to explain how he'd ended up in charge of scheduling, of all things. 

Ironic circumstances aside, Dylan was overall glad he'd decided to take the offer. Sure, he was stripped of his cell phone and stranded in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, but it was better than rotting away in his bedroom stressing about the life he was going to be thrown into as soon as the clock hit September.

Not only that, but he got his desired sense of nostalgia watching the kids running around like the chaotic balls of energy they were. While he was leaving his adolescence behind, some of these kids were just starting theirs. It was interesting, to say the least.

And there was another unforeseen factor (the decision of whether or not it was positive or negative hanging in limbo) to the whole situation that had caught him completely off guard. One could say it had knocked him off his feet, and even now, he hadn't been able to get back up just yet.

Dylan liking men hadn't really been a surprise to anyone, and while he didn't openly advertise it, he wasn't ashamed of it, either. It had been the least of his problems when he'd figured it out, and had remained that way ever since. 

However, ever since arriving at Hackett's Quarry, the relevance of that fact was made very clear to him when it hit him like the mini flash flood of water from the tipping bucket at the water park his dad had tricked him into standing beneath under the guise of getting a photo, and refused to be ignored. Almost nothing could distract him from what was certainly going to become yet another problem if he didn't get it under control.

The subject in question was Ryan. Well, more like Dylan's oh, he's cute radar lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree this summer, especially with where he'd be spending it, yet here he was.

Something about Ryan had drawn Dylan in on the first day they met, in the parking lot in the little town that Dylan had forgotten the name of. While Mr. H had taken on introductions, Ryan Tetris-ed all of the bags into the back of the van with practiced ease, and gave them a nod and wave when Mr. H pointed him out.

It seemed that, ever since then, Ryan had lassoed Dylan’s attention onto him, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't escape the rope.

At this point, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. It's not like Ryan would notice.

It was honestly getting ridiculous how infatuated Dylan was becoming with the guy. Their current relationship status as coworkers had him admiring from afar, and thanks to his almost perfected poker face, he could hold himself together around him. It was when he was by himself and he could take the mask off that he'd realize how scrambled his brain was regarding the very subject of him.

Dylan figured that part of the reason was because he was a bit of a mystery - unfortunately, Dylan was as susceptible to the allure of a mystery as the first man to die in a horror movie going into the woods without a flashlight. Despite having an obvious connection to Mr. H, and, by extension, Hackett's Quarry, the other six knew next to nothing about Ryan, other than the fact that he was the sailing instructor, he wore black in plus thirty degree weather, and liked music.

As for actually establishing some kind of connection with him … Dylan couldn't say he was surprised when they didn't click. By all appearances, they were on complete opposite ends of the “sociable” spectrum, with Dylan being the exuberant, extroverted jokester and Ryan being … well, Ryan.

Unforeseen attractions aside, Dylan found he liked most of his rag-tag team of fellow councilors. They all had their differences, sure, but nothing so staggering that they couldn't find some kind of compromise, even if said compromise was tabling the discussion until further notice.

Kaitlyn was intimidating and prideful, with a natural leadership streak and very judgmental stares, and someone who Dylan managed to befriend through their mutual appreciation of terrible jokes. 

Emma was loud and pretty, with very little shame and a whole lot of sass, and somehow had the majority of even the most stubborn pre-teen girls wrapped around her finger, which Dylan heavily admired. 

Abi was shy and timid with a passion for art, and seemed to genuinely enjoy working with kids, even if she appeared to be in over her head sometimes. Especially when it came to a certain Aussie they worked with.

Jacob was the textbook definition of “dumb jock”, though he did have his moments, with a lot of macho and lame slang. 

Nick was cool and laid back, Australian down to the roots, and was genuinely terrifying when it came to accompanying him in the kitchen, though Dylan seemed to have found his way into his good graces.

And Ryan. Everyone knew Ryan.

So, how did he feel about his final summer as a “kid” being spent in plus twenty degree weather wrangling a bunch of other kids in the company of a group of teenagers on different levels of inexperienced and a mall Santa-esque boss whilst battling his own inner demons of self doubt and fear of the future with a massive crush on one of his fellow coworkers?

Bittersweet. Dylan couldn't consult an online thesaurus and that was all he could come up with, so it would have to work.

<>

Chapter Text

Roughly a week into camp…

Dylan had made a mistake.

It wasn't anything new to him; he'd gone through many, many fuckups, a lot of them a result of his own actions. He'd accepted he wasn't the swiftest rabbit in the forest sometimes ... in fact, he had a tendency to not realize until it was too late that he'd not only been one of the slowest rabbits in said race, but he'd face planted and got left behind.

Dylan thought he'd left his anxiety about being perceived in the past, but there was something about this group of people he was stuck with for the summer that bugged him more than the moths that seemed to spawn in his cabin the moment he decided to go to bed. And the kids too, of course, though they weren't quite as perceptive ... and it's not like the kids really cared the way he knew his peers would.

For as much of a show as Dylan put on, he knew that, deep down, he was insecure. He knew that, in the long run, it would be better for him to just be himself and throw his fucks about other people's opinions to the wind, but it had become a habit by now.

It being Blasé Dylan.

He couldn't help it. Every time he tried to be “himself”, he was immediately thrown back into his younger school days, being picked on for being geeky, weird, and an outsider. Regardless of how hard he'd tried to fit in, it just wasn't working, like trying to shove a circle into a square opening on one of those problem-solving toys for toddlers. And even if he tried to be indifferent, they still wouldn't leave it alone; he wasn't bullied, per se, but he was definitely made aware that he wasn't anyone's first choice.

Then he'd hit puberty, grew like a fucking weed, and somewhere along the line he'd developed this ability to mesh with people. If someone were to ask how, he wouldn't know how to answer. Unfortunately, the universe hadn't come to him with the secrets of how to become one with the beast that was a social setting, he'd just tried something new one day and bam , all of a sudden people seemed to want to talk to him. And from then on, Blasé Dylan was born and raised.

However, he'd now graduated school, and was only stalling his entrance into the “real world”, which would be a whole other can of sardines. Hell, it probably wouldn't even be sardines, more like an entire goddamn ocean that he'd get dumped into. And he knew that things would have to change if he was going to adapt, which was necessary.

One thing Dylan refused to do was crash and burn. He'd seen it enough times to know that it took a lot more work to rebuild yourself than it did to just keep moving. 

His grandfather had explained it to him with life being like climbing a hill. Eventually, it'll even out and you'll get to the top, and you can rest your legs. But if you give up in the middle, the hill is still gonna be there, and you're still gonna be on it. It's better to crash at the top rather than falling all the way back down.

The old man had been gone for a few years now, but the wisdom remained, partially locked away and held close via the pendant around Dylan's neck. 

In this case, he was still climbing the hill, but had done the unfamiliar action of looking back and examining his progress. In this case, it was to figure out where he'd screwed up.

Blasé Dylan protected Dylan Dylan, was a shield from the world that had been almost as judgmental as one of Kaitlyn’s side-eyes. It had been working for a long time now, had fooled people long enough for Dylan to test the waters and ensure a landing pad for Dylan Dylan before he let him seep through some of the cracks.

It was an almost perfected art. A ritual.

One that had been interrupted and completely flipped upside down the first time Dylan and Ryan had had a proper conversation. 

It had been earlier in the day, during the otherwise uneventful lunch period. Dylan had inhaled his food and had gone to “supervise” - in reality, he couldn't get his leg to stop jiggling, and it had kept shaking the table. The kids weren't amused by his DIY earthquake simulator, so he'd gotten up and taken to standing at the side of the room, watching.

The windows were open, letting in what seemed to be the first cool breeze they'd had that day so far, and Dylan was enjoying the feeling of the occasional light gust of air against his face. That was until it was interrupted by someone else’s presence beside him.

Dylan glanced over, then had to do a double take. Ryan, of all the people, had accompanied him at the side of the room, and was now standing there in silence with him, watching the kids. Immediately, Dylan’s brain went into problem-solving mode to try and determine the cause of such an event.

Is this the only open window in here? No. Why is he standing so close? Is there enough room for him to stand? Yeah, it's fine, we’re not even close to touching. It's a normal distance away for just standing next to each other. Is this the best place to supervise from? I'm looking at the back of a lot of the kids' heads, so probably not. I am taller than him, though. How tall is he, even? Is there room by the other windows, or is this the only available space? No, there's two other vacant spots under the windows over there, so that's not it. Okay, maybe he's just -

“You'd think Mr. H would have invested in an AC by now, huh?”

Dylan hadn't expected to hear Ryan speak, let alone hear his voice directed at him, and he had to quickly factory reset his brain.

In the few seconds it took, Dylan’s autopilot replied with:

“Oh, yeah?”

Ryan quirked an eyebrow. Dylan, now back on track, tried to recover the somehow already flopped conversation.

“I mean, the rest of the place looks pretty, y’know, decrepit. An AC might look out of place.” he continued.

“Didn't know you knew such fancy words.” Ryan commented.

“I possess a stellar vocabulary.” Dylan replied.

“So I've gathered,” Ryan said. “But is that why you're over here?”

“For the window? Kind of. Also was causing a bit of a social disturbance, so I excused myself.”

“Wow, guess there's a first for everything.” 

Okay, ouch.

Dylan glanced at Ryan, who appeared completely unphased by the gravity of what he'd just said - but Ryan was actually looking at him rather than his eyes appearing disconnected from his attention. It was really throwing him off ... him being Blasé Dylan. Logically, he knew there was no offense intended behind Ryan's words - it wasn't so much he was insulted, but more so that Dylan was usually the one making out of pocket statements in response to literally anything, so having someone else abruptly steal the mic kind of deflating his hot air balloon of control over the situation.

“You've been counting?” Dylan countered playfully, Blasé Dylan throwing out anything he could just to stay afloat like a poorly acted demonstration of drowning in a kiddie pool.

Ryan gave him one of the most convincing impressions of a deer-in-headlights, and kind of just stared at him for a few seconds, before clearing his throat. Dylan didn't know if it was a trick of the lighting or if Ryan's face had gone a bit red, but for his own sanity, chose not to think about it.

"Not really," Ryan said eventually. "Figure of speech."

Dylan nodded, resisting the urge to bang his head into the wall a few times to get his brain functioning again.

“Makes sense you'd be here, though.” Dylan said, after a few moments passed and neither of them spoke.

“Oh, yeah?”

Copycat .

“You seem to gravitate towards the sidelines, staying out of people's sight,” Dylan explained. “An observer, if you will.”

“You think I'm observing?” Ryan asked.

“Either that, or you have one hell of a resting bitch face.”

Ryan actually chuckled at that, which soothed a bit of Dylan’s anxiety.

“Yeah, you would know, wouldn't you?”

The fuck?

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dylan asked, unable to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

Ryan noticed and seemed surprised, but answered nonetheless.

“I mean, just … you notice when people are like, spaced out. You can tell the difference between talking to the person and, I dunno, a zombie.”

Goddamn it, Dylan.

“Ah,” Dylan said, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, well, it can be hard to tell if someone even has a brain nowadays. The green skin might give it away, though.”

There was a pause, before Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, it probably would.”

The conversation then died, and the two stood next to each other by the window until lunch was concluded, and they went their separate ways. 

They didn’t speak to each other directly again for a few days after that.

<>

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like Dylan was actively making an effort of counting the days that passed where he and Ryan didn’t interact outside of a professional setting. It just so happened that he noticed the lack of Ryan’s presence in his personal schedule. Outside of his counselor duties, he was nowhere to be found, and Dylan got the feeling he wanted it that way. He tried not to take it personally.

Of course, as soon as he made an effort to think a certain way, his brain wanted to concentrate on the complete opposite. Despite his best efforts, as more time passed, Dylan couldn't help but seek out the familiar, brooding figure that seemed to make a habit of hiding in the shadows the more people sought him out.

About four days after their mildly awkward conversation in the lodge, the universe took pity on Dylan and his racing thoughts when he, Ryan, Kaitlyn and Nick were tasked by Mr. H to haul a portable stage out of a storage shed for Emma's kids’ theatre production they'd be presenting later in the day. So, that was how Dylan and the other two found themselves following Ryan across the main field of the camp towards a small gathering of decrepit little buildings, each housing some hidden artefact from the summer camp's history and probably a dozen insect nests and small creature hidey-holes. 

Dylan made sure to watch out for any random divots in the ground as they neared the gathering of sheds; he still hadn't completely recovered from the ordeal of stumbling into a hole in the forest and being forced to abandon his shoe unsuccessfully trying to extricate his foot with it on, then retrieve said shoe all whilst in the middle of a hike with his group of campers. 

Ryan aimlessly spun a key ring around his index finger as he walked, the other keys clinking together and making the sound of a mini wind chime. And because the world hated Dylan personally, Ryan was wearing a pair of well-fitting jean shorts that showed off his never-before-seen pronounced calf muscles. Dylan hadn't initially thought the job could possibly place him in such a compromising situation, but here he was, being tested with the overpowering, all-consuming forces of homosexual desire. He'd known from the beginning, after initially meeting Ryan and feeling his heart jump in his chest every time they spoke after that, that he was down bad, but now he knew for a fact that he was absolutely screwed six ways to Sunday. And it was only Wednesday.

“You're staring,” Kaitlyn half muttered, half whispered from his side. She'd fallen into step with him, likely when he'd been too busy ogling at Ryan to notice.

“Can you blame me?” Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow and trying his damnest to calm the roaring of his blood in his veins.

“Yes,” Kaitlyn replied matter-of-factly. “I feel obligated to call you out when you start looking like Jacob whenever Emma enters his vicinity.”

Dylan visibly shuddered before he could stop himself, the image of Jacob's slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression the first time Emma reciprocated one of his flirtations infiltrating his thought process without permission. The very picture of testosterone-induced infatuation.  

“Okay, yeah, fair. I … yeah, that makes sense.” Dylan said, then after a beat, asked:

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yeah, dude,’ Nick chimed in from out of nowhere, appearing on Dylan's left. Graciously, he kept his voice low. “Pretty sure he's the only one who doesn't know, at this point.”

Dylan shrugged, ignoring the inner romantic inside of him being slowly crushed by the hydraulic press of reality of falling for a guy who couldn't give less of a fuck about what people thought of him, positive or otherwise. 

“Doesn't really make a difference,” he said. “We already know what's gonna happen with the lovebirds; don't need a double whammy on that life lesson.”

“Whoof, yeah,” Kaitlyn said, taking the bait for the conversation change. “Kind of intrigued as to what might come out of that blowup.”

“I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not,” Nick told her. She smiled mischievously.

“Good."

“Okay, the stage is in there,” Ryan's voice interrupted their hushed conversation, and they all looked up to see him pointing at the end shed, the last in line of the three stationed at the edge of the woods.

Like a lot of things in the camp, the shed was as weathered up close as it looked from a distance. It seemed like someone had taken all of their scrap wood and jumbled it together into something resembling a building, then hit copy + paste twice to make a small row of sad-looking shacks.

The other three waited as Ryan approached and unlocked the right side of the double doors. He then jiggled it back and forth, loosening it from the narrow divot in the ground formed from years of the dirt being scraped over and resettled, and pulled it open, assaulting everyone's ears with a painful-sounding, metallic groan. 

Nick helped Ryan repeat the process with the left door, Dylan and Kaitlyn staying off to the side, and all of them grimaced as Nick pushed the door open from the inside, and released the essence of what sounded like an old woman screaming bloody murder, complete with the voice cracks interspersed as they struggled against the rusted hinges. 

“Damn, you need to get some grease on those hinges,” Kaitlyn commented as they approached the gaping maw that had become the shed entrance.

“Not exactly in the budget right now,” Ryan said.

“Couldn't that count as a public safety hazard, or something?” Dylan quipped, feeling more confident in more of a group setting. One glance at Kaitlyn would confirm if he made a fool of himself or not.

Ryan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Probably. So could the chimney. Makes more sense to just replace it, but …” Ryan lifted his arms into a quarter-shrug, before dropping them down to his sides. “Not in the budget.”

“The stage is safe though, right?” Nick asked.

Ryan nodded.

“It's pretty new; a few years, maybe,” he replied. “C'mon, let's get it out of here.” 

Kaitlyn immediately took charge and positioned herself on one of the outside corners, and directed Nick to the corner across from her. The predicament she’d set up for him was realized too late, as he was traversing his way through old sports equipment and stacks of Tupperware totes, and noticed he was being followed. It didn't take a genius to deduce it was Ryan, and Dylan had to make an effort to keep his outward demeanor normal. 

It was dark in the shed, getting progressively darker the farther back he went, as the only light came from outside, interrupted by Nick and Kaitlyn's silhouettes, alongside the barricade of the stage that took up half the space. If Dylan stretched his arms straight out, he could probably touch the wall and the stage … assuming he could get his arm through the thick curtain of disheveled nets of varying kinds hanging on the wall.

It smelled dusty and dank, which Dylan had kind of expected, but it got worse the farther back he went. The heat from outside turned to mugginess, moisture descending onto Dylan’s skin like a coat of acrylic paint, prompting him to want to get this stage out of this goddamn shed as quickly as possible so he could escape it.

Concentrated on his end goal, and with the less-than-sufficient lighting, he didn't notice the tipped-over crate of plastic frisbees until he stepped on one of them, which proceeded to support his weight as efficiently as a banana peel in a cartoon, and it slipped out from under his foot.

Having been top-side down, the plastic disk slid against the dirt ground of the shed and was thrown back in the general direction of its crate. Meanwhile, Dylan’s right foot was forced upward and abruptly tipped him off balance. He flailed in an attempt to catch himself, throwing his arms out and effectively smashing his left elbow full force into the unforgiving wood of the stage beside him with a loud bang .

However, before he could stumble any further like a newborn giraffe strapped into some roller skates, someone had stepped into his predetermined crash route and caught him. Dylan figured out who it was pretty quickly when he tried to stand up properly and failed, having forgotten to lower his right foot after it had launched a Frisbee with the force of a missile into the wall, and stumbled even further to the left, and into Ryan.

He'd stepped up between Dylan and the stage, catching him in such a way that he supported Dylan’s weight with his torso, so Dylan’s side was pressed into his chest. Ryan’s one hand was pinned between himself and Dylan’s ribs, the other on his right shoulder, perhaps as some kind of stabilizing force for the unsupported side, or because he didn't know where else to put it.

For a few seconds, time stood still, the adrenaline from his near-fall spiking Dylan's blood with electricity, already previously alight with the flush of being called out by Kaitlyn. He could feel the nerve endings in his face and arms tingling, save for the ones in contact with Ryan's body heat. 

It was a different sensation, something Dylan didn't think he'd notice in any other predicament. Ryan wasn't a touchy-feely person in the slightest; likely the complete opposite of that spectrum, so obviously he hadn’t ever anticipated gaining the knowledge of what exactly touching Ryan felt like. But right now, pressed against his body, against his chest he kept guarded with crossed arms or earbuds, he couldn't help but take in everything he could in the split second he was granted to learn. 

Ryan was warm, but not like the baking rays of the sun or the muggy, moisture-filled warmth from the atmosphere of the shed, but more like a blanket of calidity settled over his shoulders after coming inside from the rain, mixed with a hint of what felt like the burn down his throat after a swallow of alcohol. It effectively smoothed out the goosebumps that had broken out over Dylan's neck and arms, banishing the clamminess from the oppressively moist atmosphere. Dylan's side was pressed against Ryan's chest, so he could feel the thumping of Ryan’s heartbeat, and how it gradually increased the longer they stayed in that position. Dylan wasn't unaffected, either; the shed suddenly got a lot warmer than it already was, to the point he could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

For the first time since the frisbees effective banana peel stunt, Dylan turned his head to look at Ryan. It was still dark, but he could make out the telltale features on Ryan's face, and saw what looked like amusement and exasperation hidden behind a smooth mask of calmness. Their eyes met, and Dylan swallowed heavily, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

“Hey, you okay over there?”

Kaitlyn's voice snapped Dylan out of his trance, and he immediately made moves to separate from Ryan, much to his heart's dismay. However, he still hadn't completely regained his footing, and it took a bit of stumbling and shuffling around before he could gather his bearings. Meanwhile, he answered Kaitlyn.

“Yup, just tripped over some shit. I'm fine.”

The entire time Dylan was sorting himself out, Ryan hadn't taken his hands off of him. Even now, as Dylan was finally standing up straight, he kept a hand on his shoulder.

“You good?” he asked quietly, as if he hadn't just served Dylan a heart attack on a plate with his touch alone.

Dylan swallowed again, wetting his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm good,” Dylan said. “Thanks.”

“You sure you're alright?” Kaitlyn asked from outside.

“Yeah, it's fine! Not a lot of room to work with, kinda hard to … regain stability, or whatever.”

Dylan's train of thought evaporated as Ryan suddenly stepped forward, entering his personal space even more than he already had been … not that Dylan was complaining. Before he could do anything stupid like gaze longingly into his eyes or say something that was supposed to be witty but would come out obnoxious and dumb, Ryan stepped around him and further into the shed, venturing further to the back end of the stage.

Right. The stage.

Dylan followed him, pointedly ignoring Kaitlyn’s voice muttering from behind him, and when they got to one of the back corners, Ryan turned to face him again.

“I’ll go to that side, you push from here?”

As he spoke, Ryan pointed at a barely human-sized crevice between the stage and the back wall of the shed, and before Dylan could reply, Ryan pressed his back up against the wall mission-impossible style, and began side-stepping his way into the darkness. With him out of the immediate vicinity, Dylan's brain got a chance to reboot, and by the time Ryan knocked on the stage to get his attention, he'd mostly sorted himself out.

“You ready?” Ryan asked.

“Yup,” Dylan turned to face the still open door leading to outside, which was beginning to look more and more like the gates of heaven the longer they slow-cooked inside this impromptu wooden toaster oven.

“Kaitlyn! You guys ready?”

“About time!” came her response.

“Yeah, we’re good!” Nick chimed in.

“Alright, on the count of three, we pull, you push,” Kaitlyn ordered. “One, two, three!”

The process of getting the stage out of the shed was mostly uneventful, as entertaining as unloading large, awkward cargo could be. Once they got it outside, Dylan saw that they had an audience; a few of the kids, one of which was from Dylan’s group, had approached their little operation with a loading cart. Sent by Mr. H was what they said - pretty ironic timing, really. Dylan didn't think he'd ever wanted to scowl at a man and shake his hand simultaneously before that moment.

With the kids’ help (if moral support counted as helping), the four loaded the stage onto the cart, and began wheeling it over to the predetermined spot that would become their outdoor auditorium. Mindless chatter and conversation ensued, and Dylan didn't pay much attention to his co-workers until the stage was planted, concluding their labor disguised as a small teambuilding exercise. Ryan left to lock up the shed, and Nick began wheeling the cart back towards the parking lot, leaving Kaitlyn, Dylan and the kids standing by the stage.

Despite having been outside the whole time, Kaitlyn appeared to have worked up a sweat, and Dylan could only imagine what he looked like, having worked the rear and casually broiled inside what felt like the devil's asshole for an indeterminate amount of time. For a few moments, they stood there catching their breath, and Dylan positioned his hands on his hips, trying to keep as much of his skin from touching the rest of his body as possible. The band of kids began to depart, either trailing after Nick or heading towards the lodge. Except for one, who stuck around long enough to ask:

“Hey, Mr. Dylan?”

“What's up, dude?” he replied.

“Are you okay?” the kid asked. “You're bleeding.”

The kid then pointed at Dylan’s left arm, with his elbow jutted out towards Kaitlyn. Upon closer inspection, Dylan realized that the kid was right; he must've hit the stage with more force than he'd originally thought.

“Oh, shoot, you're right,” Dylan said, straightening his arm and twisting it get a better look. “I didn't even notice. Thanks.”

“You're welcome!” the kid replied, then turned around and took off after some of the others.

Dylan assessed the damage; the uneven wood from the stage had created a scrape harsh enough to bleed, but it wasn't that big of a deal. It had gone unnoticed for long enough that some of the blood had begun to drip down his arm, though it had dried before it got any further than his forearm. It had mostly clotted up already, but it was still bright red and obviously fresh. And apparently, severe enough to concern Kaitlyn.

“How did you not notice that?” Kaitlyn asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Probably a mixture of his heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer inside his chest while his mind filed away the very important information regarding what being touched by Ryan felt like. But he wasn't going to tell her that.

“Was a bit busy trying not to break my neck,” Dylan replied. “Dark as hell in there.”

“Clearly. Does it not hurt?”

Well, now that she pointed it out …

“Now that I'm aware of it, it stings a bit,” he looked up from his elbow, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Why? Think you'll need to cut it off?”

Kaitlyn audibly sighed, likely cursing whatever force had gotten her stuck with a buffoon like him for company, before he tilted her head in the direction of the lodge. The kids had disappeared, and Dylan could see Nick following their path from across the parking lot. Looking to his right, he saw that Ryan had locked up the shed and disappeared, as he had a habit of doing, leaving him and Kaitlyn the only ones outside. 

Kaitlyn watched him look around, and when he met her eyes, she repeated her gesture with a bit more attitude, her eyes clearly saying: well, c’mon, let's go . Having fallen victim to Kaitlyn’s impenetrable death stares one too many times, he obliged the silent request, and began following her towards the lodge without comment.

<> 

Chapter Text

The kid's production from Emma's theatre group was as decent as one would expect from a team of rambunctious children. It was better than Dylan had anticipated, honestly; only three of the kids got stage fright, the forgotten lines were made up for by interesting improvisations, and the kids actually looked like they were enjoying themselves to some degree. Emma was in her element, and Dylan was beginning to see why the girls liked her so much; as opposed to how she acted around the other counselors, she was kind and sympathetic to the kids, prompting those who forgot their lines with a quiet voice and a smile, and giving those riddled with stage-fright an encouraging thumbs up.

Their small production (some kind of twist on Little Red Riding Hood, or something to that degree) was rewarded with a round of applause from the audience, who’d been surprisingly quiet, as opposed to the lunch periods; Dylan had had to defuse the beginning of what would have become several food fights in the first few days, both to avoid the mess and to save his and everyone else’s hides from Nick and Mr. H.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Mr. H dismissed everyone from the lodge for some down time. Later in the night, they’d all be congregating by the fire pit in the dark, probably to listen to even more of Ryan’s spooky stories. It was one of Dylan’s favorite parts of the day, and not just because he got to listen to Ryan talk for more than five minutes.

Ryan seemed to come to life a bit more whenever he talked about the supernatural, and he’d mastered the art of using his monotone, broody voice to his advantage to give the stories more of a kick. There was an eeriness felt by even the counselors listening to someone explain cryptic tales in such a calm tone, though Dylan mostly tuned out the words and just listened to his voice. 

The down time was for the counselors, too, which Mr. H had explained to them within the first week.

“You guys do most of the hard stuff, so you deserve a break, too. Wouldn’t have very good reviews if I worked my employees to death.”

Despite his other reservations, Dylan didn’t mind Mr. H as a boss; he clearly cared about the kids and had their best interests at heart, and he was the same about his counselors. Sure, he was a little old-fashioned, but that was to be expected from a guy who’d watched kids come into the camp with childhood innocence and leave a few years later without it. Something had to stay consistent.

Consistency was a bit of a taboo topic for Dylan. The natural, human inherited ability to create routines to navigate day to day duties must have skipped over him, because there’d been very few times where Dylan actually felt like he was in control of his life. By now, he’d kind of thrown the idea of routines out the window, and just did whatever he felt like doing in the moment (within reason, of course), because regardless if he was abiding by said routine or not, something always went sideways.

It felt like he was standing on the middle of a seesaw, one foot on either side of the center point to keep the board straight, maintain balance. Trying to change anything too drastically was like putting too much weight on one side; it’d be fine for a while, until he hit the ground and either had to summon all of his leg strength to right it again, or get back on the contraption entirely.

He could follow external schedules, though. Having a set time for a certain activity and it almost never wavering for an entire thirteen years of his education meant he hadn’t had to worry about making the routines for himself. He could just follow the crowd, meanwhile trying to sort out the mess that was his brain.

But now, having graduated and practically thrown out of the nest with no real clue how to fly, his future and regards for what he wanted to do with his life had been tossed in the air with him, and he had to figure his shit out before he hit the ground. Whether or not he or his opportunities for a somewhat stable future would hit the ground first was unknown.

It was why Dylan had taken this summer job; it got him away from his life, from the stress of having to decide what he wanted to do with his future, which commitments he wanted to take on, how exactly he was going to navigate a world that seemed to have it out for him since he’d first stepped foot on it. There were few things more distracting than wrangling a small army of children through a solid two months in the middle of nowhere. Plus, it counted as a physical getaway, too.

Back in the present, it was the time of day where the sun was beginning its slow descent into the western horizon, giving way to a darker toned sky and freeing the stage for the moon. One of the first things Dylan had noted about this place was the placement of the quarry itself; it was positioned at a spot in the camp where, at the right time of day, someone could watch the sunset over the expanse of the water, watching it slide below the trees, the island in the middle of the lake an unmoving spectator. The position of the docks was likely intentional; whoever had designed and built the camp had seen an opportunity and ran with it. Or built on it.

Dylan had watched the sunset on the docks before, and it was truly something to behold, though the sight wasn't quite as breathtaking when he'd first seen it now that he'd been around it for a while. It was kind of like living in Paris, around the Eiffel Tower (not that he'd know from experience, but it was fun to daydream). It'd be spectacular for the first little while, waking up and seeing one of the world's most popular landmarks outside the window, but after a certain point, it'd just be another large, oddly shaped building that people unfamiliar with it were entranced by.

Goosebumps broke out on Dylan’s arms when a cold gust of wind greeted him coming around the lodge. He dismissed the shiver descending down his spine, and began trailing after the others, who’d already decided how to spend their bit of free time. As he walked across the camp, with no real destination in mind, his eyes kept wandering to the sky, noticing the color change in the clouds as they chased the slowly descending sun. He pondered how it might look over the water, if the glassy lake would reflect the colors accurately like the mirror it often pretended to be.

Again, Dylan had seen plenty of sunsets before, but there was something that was calling him to this one in particular. He gave in to that particular urge and decided to go to the lake, just to look, before finding something else to do in his down time. He should probably get a sweater, though.

When he'd gotten to his room and began rooting through his stuff, almost to his elbow in clothes to get to the bottom of his bag, he didn't know, but he became acutely aware of his surroundings when the door opened, and Nick walked in. He and Dylan had coincidentally ended up rooming together, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, considering Jacob’s snoring could often be heard through the thin walls of the appropriately named “Counselor Cabin”. Aside from Nick's occasional sleep talking and Dylan’s reportedly “violent twitching”, the two got along fine as roommates, and the setup had prompted a chill friendship between them.

“How's the arm?” Nick asked as he passed by and sat down on his bed.

With said arm currently headed towards Narnia with how deep it was in his bag, Dylan wasn't able to show it off like he had with the persistently nosy kids, but considering it hadn't bothered him since Kaitlyn had patched him up, he deduced it was fine.

“Eh, it's alright,” he said. “Just a scrape.”

“No splinters?”

Dylan finally found what he’d been hunting for, and gradually unearthed a zip-up hoodie from the bottom of his bag with the grace of a group of children playing tug-of-war against a sumo wrestler as Nick watched, elbows on his knees.

“Not that I'm aware of,” Dylan replied, followed by a victorious grunt as he finally freed the sweater from the portion of a closet he'd stuffed into a bag.

“That's good,” Nick said. “Figured I'd ask, since the “wolf” from today’s show went to Kaitlyn earlier with a bunch of ‘em in both feet.”

“Shit,” Dylan answered half-heartedly, slipping the sweater over his shoulders, though leaving it unzipped to show off his bland t-shirt in all its glory. “Mr. H know about that?”

“He does now. Think he's got some of us on sanding duty tomorrow,” Nick told him. “As well as a new rule about shoes. Something about sacrificing authenticity for safety.”

Dylan snorted.

“Guess the whole “what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger” mantra is really working out in his favor,” he said sardonically.

“Had to have come from somewhere,” Nick replied, then proceeded to kick off his shoes and shimmy himself up onto his bed properly, before dramatically flopping down onto his pillow and throwing an arm over his eyes. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m not in the land of the living.”

“Isn’t it the “land down under”?” Dylan quipped. 

Nick’s unimpressed look from his slightly raised forearm was an answer in itself, and Dylan raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Alright, point taken. If someone asks where you went, I’ll casually allude to your potential doom.”

Before Nick could answer, Dylan and his poor sense of humor excused themselves from the premises and onto the main field. The wind had picked up, bringing along the chill that came with the beginning of the evenings, and Dylan subconsciously shoved his hands in his pockets. He kept his eyes trained on what he could see of the dock, ignoring the confusion-riddled questions his brain kept tossing around as to exactly why now, of all times, he was deciding to visit the lakeside. He’d never been particularly invested in the rise and fall of the sun, but tonight was different, for whatever reason. Something other than his disorganized thoughts was pushing him in this direction, and who was he to disobey?

As he made it to the beginning of the dock, with the lake fully in view before him, he caught sight of something that immediately answered all of his questions, and planted a sprout of nervousness in the pit of his stomach; Ryan was sitting at the edge of the dock with his back to Dylan, his figure highlighted by the setting sun he seemed to be watching.

Oh.

For a moment, Dylan was mesmerized. He’d seen Ryan in awe-striking positions before, like when he worked with the kids or was concentrating on his ghost stories, but there was something different about this particular moment. Dylan tended to associate Ryan with the monotone calmness he outwardly presented, with things like shadows and cool tones and low-volume music. Maybe it was stereotyping, but it was a bit difficult to get a read on someone when they actively made it a challenge to even make their book cover legible.

But seeing him here, bathed in the glow from the fading warmth and brightness of daylight, had him thinking differently. It seemed to banish the cold exterior Ryan tried to emanate, and instead pulled away his layers and set them aside to allow the mystery hidden within to soak up some light before he hid it away again. It was almost intimidating, how beautiful it was … Dylan felt like he was intruding just by observing, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

On the outside, it was just a guy sitting on the dock watching the sunset. But for Dylan, it painted Ryan in a whole new light. Literally.

After a few moments of undeniable gawking, he realized how creepy he must be looking at the moment, and decided that, despite the unknowing force’s influence guiding him here, it was time to leave Ryan to his peace. However, as he turned around, someone spoke.

“Hey.”

It was Ryan’s voice, obviously. Dylan froze, before slowly turning around, though he remained in place. Ryan had shifted from his previous position, and had now pulled his (bare) legs up onto the dock. It was then Dylan noticed Ryan’s shoes sat next to him, and immediately felt like an even bigger piece of shit. Clearly, Ryan had been intending to be alone and stay that way, and here Dylan was stumbling in like some unrehearsed circus act.

“Ah … hi.”

Even though he couldn’t see him very well, Dylan was almost positive Ryan had his eyebrow raised. The sprout of nervousness had bloomed into a full on tree in the short time Dylan had let it marinate, and its branches were crawling their way up through his system, the leaves sticking in his throat and seemingly taking his ability to breathe properly, let alone think.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Is this a trick question? If I lie, will he call me out? If I tell him the truth, will he be creeped out? He’s probably already creeped out, so it doesn’t really matter … then again, I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, more than he already is, anyway. I should’ve just stayed in my damn cabin and minded my own damn business, and put up with Nick’s melodramatic tangents about how cooking is-

“Uh … just walked up here, actually.”

There was a pause, in which Dylan took in a breath and held it. This was the moment that would potentially alter Ryan’s perception of him for what could be the remainder of the summer. Did he think of him as a liar, a creep, or just extremely annoying and accident prone.

Preferably none of those.

“Cool. You, uh … doing rounds, or something?”

Well, alright then. Crisis averted … maybe.

“Nah, just … needed some air,” Dylan explained, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “Thought I’d find a place people didn’t come to often, but it seems like you and I had the same idea.”

Ryan nodded, his arms crossed and rested over his knees. From where Dylan stood, he looked like something out of a painting, the backdrop of the setting sun making the sight all the more majestic. Seriously, if Dylan wasn’t focused on having a conversation and not sounding like a complete doofus, he’d absolutely be analyzing the sight like an art critic, down to taking notes and getting a close up view of the details.

“Why here?” Ryan asked next.

Good question.

“Well, uh … I dunno, I just …” Dylan trailed off, his mind racing. How the hell was he supposed to casually explain the empowering urge to walk over here like a moth drawn to a flame? Except the flame was more like a bonfire, and Dylan was just as helpless as a moth’s paper wings to the inferno.

“I like sunsets.” Dylan eventually landed on. “Yeah, on the lake, with the water and the sky … really pretty. I like watching it.”

Real smooth, Dylan.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, at least somewhat, Dylan could make out more of Ryan’s features. He couldn’t see his face in detail, but he could tell Ryan had raised his eyebrows, as though surprised by Dylan’s answer. 

“Oh, really?”

Whether that was intrigue or skepticism in Ryan’s tone, he didn’t know. But he took the bait anyway.

“Yeah,” Dylan said, and suddenly, words were falling out of his mouth faster than he could process them. 

“First couple of days here, I thought it was like, really cinematic, you know? Like something out of a movie, with all the colors and the reflection of the sun in the water. Was kinda starting to believe those Disney channel summer camp shows might actually be kinda accurate.

Came down here a couple of times during Mr. H’s lectures on how to make sure kids don’t get mortally wounded under our care, just watched it. Magic kinda wore off after a while, though.”

In the silence that followed, Dylan accepted the fact that he’d basically just blabbed Ryan’s ear off about literally nothing, and that he’d probably have to make a cinematic exit very soon. So much for relaxing … 

“Never watched Disney channel, but I think I get it,” Ryan said, nodding. “It is pretty … cinematic.”

Ryan never watched the Disney channel?

Ryan turned his head to look at the scenery once again, and Dylan took the brief grace period to run his hand through his hair in an attempt to get his head screwed on straight. He could do this, this was fine. It was like talking to Nick or Jacob, just another one of his coworkers. Nothing to get worked up over. 

But, once again, the sight of Ryan silhouetted against the continuously sinking sun seemed to completely discombobulate his system, no matter how many times he tried to restart. It was so effortlessly captivating, somehow even more beautiful than the initial sunset had been, and back then, Dylan had thought nothing could beat it. What a fool he was.

What a fool he’d become.

“Wanna come watch it?”

Surrounded by trees, Dylan couldn’t really feel the nip of the wind anymore … or maybe because his body temperature was rising more rapidly than the color in a cartoon character's face when they got angry, steam coming out the ears and all. The lack of rushing air made Ryan’s voice able to be received crystal clear, and yet, Dylan momentarily thought he might have misunderstood; he knew for a fact Ryan couldn’t read minds, especially not his … how had he known exactly what Dylan had been tempted to do?

Or maybe he hadn’t misunderstood at all, and Ryan was actually asking him to …

Calm down, Dylan.

Dylan took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily and forcing the tree of anxiety back down where it had come, cramming it into a jar and setting it on a shelf in his brain like a little terrarium. He allowed the coolness of Blasé Dylan to settle over him, soothe his nerves, relieve the now blistering heat that had begun to permeate from his face.

He could do this. This was fine. Just another one of his coworkers, like Nick or Jacob.

“Sure.”

Dylan approached Ryan, noting how the latter scooted over a bit, setting his shoes behind him rather than beside, leaving space for him. He sat down as casually as he could, putting little effort into restraining the old man groan that escaped his throat upon relaxing his knees and back for the first time in what felt like hours. He could sense Ryan watching him, and he could see that his knees were still pulled up to his chest, though he looked more like he was imitating the butterfly stretch than a cannonball, with his arms circled around them and knees pressed to the inside of his elbows, his hands folded in front of him. Still secure, but relaxed.

Up close, Dylan could now see Ryan properly, and he had to force himself not to ogle more than he already had. He’d seen Ryan in the sun before, playing games with the kids or giving them instructions, but he’d never seen him quite like this. His features relaxed, tension (mostly) absent from his stature, his eyes partially closed as though he were soaking in the moment like Dylan was. His dark skin looked richer, healthier, even more enchanting, and when he met Dylan’s eyes, they remained a deep, mesmerizing dark brown, perfect to get lost in.

They sat in silence for a moment, and somehow, it wasn’t awkward. Ryan released his legs and dangled his feet off the edge of the dock again, dunking them under the water and slowly swinging them back and forth, making small ripples that drifted away from them towards the island and under the dock. Dylan joined him, relishing in the coolness of the water, and tried not to notice whenever his and Ryan’s skin brushed under the water, or their legs bumped one another's as they continued to make small waves in relative silence. The two sat there for a while, or what felt like a while, and for once, Dylan didn’t feel the need to break the silence.

Usually, he preferred outside stimulation to keep his attention away from the obnoxious whirring of an overworked machine inside of his head, and when there wasn’t any available, he made some, either by striking up a conversation, or finding other ways to release the spare energy he seemed to never run out of. Even after working with kids all day, every day, without rest for nearly a month straight at this point, somehow he still had enough juice left in him to overthink absolutely everything. Like the cycle of a hurricane, adding more and more power to the storm the more water was created within the clouds, his mind ran itself in circles, constantly contradicting itself and turning itself upside down and inside out … and for what?

But here, now, at this moment, Dylan didn’t feel any of that. No need to exert any excess energy, no desire to create outside stimuli, no thought hurricane to try and navigate with the efficiency of a paper boat. It was calm and peaceful, as though their current environment had projected itself into his brain, to tell him it’s okay , and for once, his mind actually believed it. Considering the laughing track that usually played in response to that statement whenever he was in Ryan’s vicinity, he considered it progress.

Dylan may not have a clue as to what he and Ryan were, per se, but he could enjoy the company of a fellow human on a peaceful evening regardless.

“How’s your arm?” Ryan asked, interrupting the stillness.

It took Dylan a moment to reboot his brain into working order, but he managed to respond in a timely manner, totally not distracted by Ryan’s eyes on him. How can someone’s eyes be so captivating? It’s like trying to see the bottom of a lake that you know is deep, and you feel obligated to look even though you know there’s no point because-

“Eh, it’s fine,” Dylan replied coolly. “Just a scrape, nothing to get overly worked up about.”

Ryan frowned. Uh oh.

“Really?” Ryan inquired. “Kaitlyn said it bled more than she expected.”

Ryan talked to Kaitlyn?

Dylan ignored the surge of embarrassment that washed over him, and looked away from Ryan, at something beyond him, suddenly unable to look him in the face. Blase Dylan had left the building the moment the silence had persevered, and had yet to clock back in.

“Oh, uh …” Dylan stuttered, trying to keep his wits about him and failing miserably. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

Dylan honestly hadn’t paid much attention to his injury, if he was being honest. Kaitlyn had deemed it uninfected and properly assessed, and he trusted her judgement. He’d only kept the bandage on for convenience sake … the kids got a kick out of him sharing that he’d “fought with the stage and lost”. For Ryan to pay it any attention was mildly bizarre … then again, he had been there when it had happened. Hell, he’d been the one to catch Dylan’s dumb ass before he potentially injured himself further.

He tried not to let the memories of the previous day in that cramped, muggy shed where he got an idea of what Ryan’s heartbeat would feel like under his skin cloud his judgement, and focused back on the current conversation.

“Did you not notice?” Ryan asked next.

“Not really, no,” Dylan responded. “Actually, it was one of the kids that pointed it out. Probably wouldn’t have clued in until later, otherwise.”

“Huh,” Ryan commented. “Guess I’m used to the kids making a big deal out of stuff like that.”

Dylan chuckled.

“Well, I can make a big deal out of it, if you want,” he suggested.

Ryan made a face, something between annoyance and a grimace.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” he replied, then paused for a moment, seemingly deciding on what to say next, before continuing.

“You nearly biting it because of a frisbee was bad enough.”

Did he actually just bring that up?

Something warm and electric fizzled it’s way up from Dylan’s chest into his face, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling like a fucking dork. Ryan had just made a joke at his expense, and it somehow felt like he was stepping out of a dark room into the sunshine for the first time in hours.

“Oh, you saw that, huh?” Dylan asked, strangely unperturbed, especially considering the rat race of emotions he’d had literally moments ago.

“Kind of hard to miss someone nearly going head-first into a wall,” Ryan replied. “Especially when they almost knock you over.”

Dylan pretended to be aghast.

“And here I was thinking you’d actually cared enough to rescue me from the clutches of frisbee-induced disaster,” he teased.

It was Ryan’s turn to look flustered, and Dylan forced himself to ignore how pleased he felt upon being the cause of it. Despite his dark complexion, it was easy to see the warmth that had contaminated Ryan’s cheeks.

Damn, he’s cute.

“I did kind of insert myself into the situation, so I guess that one’s on me,” Ryan half-muttered.

Dylan grinned.

“It’s all good, man. I appreciate it,” Dylan said. “And, my arm actually is fine. Just haven’t bothered taking the bandage off yet.”

Ryan nodded, still not looking at him. Dylan wasn’t perturbed by it; it was endearing to see Ryan flustered, for whatever reason that may be, as opposed to the unphased, mellow exterior he usually wore.

Things were quiet for a moment, and Dylan took the time to study Ryan’s side profile. Just like the rest of him, it was exquisitely pleasant to look at. By now, he’d completely forgotten that his feet were submerged in the lake, only reminded when Ryan readjusted next to him, and brushed his leg against Dylan’s, their skin sliding against one another’s under the water.

“For the record, it’s not that I don’t care,” Ryan broke the hush once more, his voice steady now. “I just prefer not to show it.”

Dylan didn’t know where this blatant honesty had come from, but he didn’t doubt a word. For whatever reason, Ryan was opening himself up the tiniest bit for him to see, and like back in the suffocating shed, pressed against him like a sticky note to a piece of paper, he was going to learn as much as he could.

That was the thing about investigating a mystery; you take as much as you can when you can without overindulging. Dylan had gained experience from this just by interacting with those around him, regardless if he was actually interested in getting to know them or not. It was honestly surprising to see how much people dubbed as “mysterious” expressed themselves … it came down to knowing what to look for.

But Ryan had turned out to be an anomaly unlike Dylan had ever seen, and he was encapsulated. And now, he was able to get a glimpse into this remarkable person who’d made his heart race and stomach churn like nobody else had before, but in a good way. Maybe now he could find out why.

Dylan hadn’t put much thought into spirituality or anything of the sort, but he was open to the idea that something inside him, his soul, maybe, saw something in Ryan that his mortal eyes couldn’t. And he wanted to find out what that could be.

“Oh, yeah?” Dylan parroted Ryan’s earlier inquiry, trying to tread carefully.

“I mean, I haven’t known all of you for very long,” Ryan explained. “Feels kind of weird to care about someone you didn’t even know existed a few weeks ago.”

“I can understand that,” Dylan answered. “Caring about people doesn’t always have to be on the same level, though.”

Ryan looked at him, his eyebrows raised. There was curiosity in his expression, intrigue, and a vague familiarity. Dylan got the impression that Ryan knew full well what he was talking about, and yet still wanted to listen. His heart rate sped up the smallest bit.

“What do you mean by “level”?” Ryan asked.

Dylan took a breath, trying to wrangle his thoughts into a somewhat legible sequence of words.

“Well, we’re all human, obviously,” Dylan began. “Humans are biologically animals, and animals are created with the instinct to stick with the same species as them … same applies to us. Regardless of how complex our brains are, when we boil humanity down to its main components, we still have that instinct to look out for one another.

Caring about someone doesn’t have to mean you know them personally, or even at all. You hear on the news that someone got in a car accident, and the automatic reaction is “oh, that sucks. I hope they’re okay” … that counts as caring. You may not know who they are or what kind of life they’ve lived, but you still care. You still want them to be okay.”

There was a pause as Ryan seemed to take in Dylan’s words. Dylan, in turn, did his damndest not to hold his breath, knowing he’d probably pass out from lack of oxygen, considering he didn’t think he’d taken one breath during that entire rant.

His heart rate had increased significantly, and the way Ryan was looking at him right now was not helping.

“Interesting,” Ryan eventually said. “Obviously, I’ve thought about it, but at this point in life, it kind of becomes background noise.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Dylan replied. “It takes genuine effort not to care about people. Obviously, it’s possible, but the average human usually doesn’t see the need to do it. It’s natural.”

“Makes sense,” Ryan responded. “It’s just when that consideration of other people reaches a different … level … is when it gets complicated. For me, at least.”

If Dylan was treading water before, he was on paper-thin ice, now. And yet, he wasn’t nervous in the slightest (his heartbeat would suggest otherwise).

“I’m assuming “different” is alluding to “increase”?” Dylan suggested.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied almost sheepishly,  his gaze concentrated on his feet, now still in the gradually darkening water. 

The sun had since set, surrounding them both in the surrounding darkness of night, but it was still light enough that Dylan could easily see Ryan’s face, and take in his expressions.

He brushed off the implications of the “increase” statement for future Dylan to process. Despite his increase in blood pressure from his erratic heart, he was actually enjoying this conversation. Attraction aside, he found he liked talking to Ryan; the way they spoke felt like discovering the harmony to a song, and finally being able to understand and move along with it.

“I can see that,” Dylan said. “It’s hard to express emotions when they can be judged so easily.”

“Do you have experience with that?” Ryan asked. 

Is that a deflection? 

“You could say that,”

With that, they fell into silence once more. Again, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, and Dylan felt no urge to break it. His mind was as calm as the water his feet were still submerged in, as opposed to how it typically was around Ryan, and he found he definitely preferred it this way. 

He didn’t know what had initiated the shift, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. Maybe now he could actually try and forge a somewhat steady relationship with the guy rather than just daydreaming about one.

Even as the night wore on and they had to depart from the lake in order to continue on with the evening’s activities, Dylan’s mind stayed in that tranquil place by the lake. Any time he wasn’t actively involved with someone or something that required his brainpower, his focus reverted back to him and Ryan on that dock, sitting in peaceful silence, enjoying one another’s company. If he could have any image he wanted to base a relationship off of, it would be that one.

Listening to Ryan tell his spooky stories, the fire lighting up his features in an alternate yet strikingly similar way as the sun had as his voice took on the mystic, enthusiastically dark tone used specifically for this type of activity, Dylan felt a shift of the internal seesaw, the one he’d been struggling to balance on for an indescribable amount of time, so long that he couldn’t remember not doing it … until now. Because Ryan had become the gravity on one side of it, and like the fool he was, Dylan was more than willing to let himself fall. 

And he knew that, while he had the strength to right it again, it was unlikely that he’d ever want to.

<>

Chapter Text

By some stroke of luck, the chill, relaxed atmosphere between Dylan and Ryan forged at the lake had persisted, and Dylan was beginning to feel like he might actually be able to keep his head screwed on straight. 

He'd accepted that yes, his little crush on Ryan was getting a bit out of hand considering his limited knowledge of the guy, and how they'd only managed to have one in depth conversation almost halfway through the summer … and it had been Dylan that had been doing most of the talking. It wasn't his first time accepting that his way of thinking was bordering on the line of erratic … unfortunately, Dylan had far too much experience with mitigating the catastrophes that occurred in the Bermuda Triangle that was his brain.

With that out of the way, Dylan was mostly able to tune out the inane ramblings of the lovestruck idiot that piloted a part of consciousness and focus on being a functional human being. Which included doing his job, which just so happened to include sweeping the grounds every evening to make sure all the campers were where they were supposed to be.

Mr. H wasn't usually overly specific about how he wanted the “sweeping” done, but tonight was different. He requested that everyone walk the full perimeter of the camp, including the tree walk, as part of their sweeping rather than just vaguely checking the area and doing a headcount afterward. Everyone assigned themselves a section of the camp and set off for their evening walk. 

Dylan's legs and shoulders hurt like a bitch today, as he'd ended up assigned as a supervisor over the kids in the pool. And because he was a good counsellor who understood the childish appeal of having an older person join in on the fun, he'd hopped in and spent a solid hour and a half taking part in all sorts of water activities and games. 

Jacob and Kaitlyn had been assigned the same position alongside him, therefore joining him in the pool, and Kaitlyn developed an annoying habit of convincing the kids to jump on either his or Jacob's unsuspecting backs and try to wrestle them under the water. He probably had a good percentage of the pool's water still stuck in his ears and sinuses, despite all the advice a smug Kaitlyn had given him to get it out. He'd been looking forward to laying down tonight, but obviously he wasn't going to disobey Mr. H, so now he was getting extra, unnecessary steps in. At least he'd be tired enough for bed.

As Dylan began walking his section of the campground, scanning the trees and the rest of his surroundings, he internally cursed the culprit responsible for initiating this whole thing. Dylan didn't blame Mr. H in the slightest; as opposed to a lot of his other decisions, Dylan understood where the guy was coming from. Considering all the stress on his shoulders, how he hadn't blown a gasket on the responsible party was a mystery.

The story was that, the previous night, some dunce of a camper decided it would be a good idea to hide out in the forest during wind-down time and see how long it took for people to notice he was gone. 

It wasn't long, because Dylan and his coworkers actually gave a shit about the kids they were supposed to be looking after (and not just because they knew they'd have Mr. H up their asses worse than three day constipation), and the counsellors had quickly assembled into groups to search for the kid all along the grounds, yelling out his name and acting like a full on search party, flashlights and everything. Mr. H had turned the lodge upside-down, fully prepared to drive into town for service to call the police. Abi had stayed back with the kids, checking the cabins periodically in case the little idiot came back. Meanwhile, the rest of the counsellors had spread out for the impromptu game of hide and seek.

The commotion didn't last long, as the kid quickly realized his goose was cooked and abandoned his scheme, then tried to sneak back into his cabin while Abi was checking the other cabins, as if that would've worked out in his favor. The rest of the night had been a blur, mostly because Dylan had spent the majority of the time remaining in the day picking thorns out of his pants after he'd slipped down an embankment and got himself stuck in a briar patch. 

Dylan didn't know what ended up happening to the kid; he hadn't been present for any of the activities earlier that day, so he assumed he was getting seriously reprimanded. He did not envy him in the slightest. 

Dylan kept his hands in his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists to ignore the stinging in his nose and throat as he continued to look around. He knew nobody else would be dumb enough to repeat that stunt, so he wasn't exactly expecting to see anything. Still, he put the effort in, because Mr. H had enough on his plate already.

About more than halfway through his search, a total of ten minutes had passed, and Dylan sensed he was no longer alone. He concentrated on what was in front of him, and saw a silhouette approaching from the distance, walking towards him. His heart stupidly jumped when he recognized it as Ryan.

Dylan had completely forgotten that his and Ryan's paths would converge, considering the ground they'd individually chosen to cover, having been more concentrated on his annoyance towards the twerp that had gotten him and the other counsellors stuck doing this thorough inspection. Now that he'd noticed him, though, it was hard to forget, and he could only hope that Ryan didn't think him choosing this specific route had been intentional.

Ryan may be a little socially avoidant, but there was little chance he didn't know about the massive infatuation Dylan was harbouring towards him. 

Then again, maybe he didn't.

“ I think he's the only one that doesn't know.”

One could only hope.

Dylan, not wanting to seem like he was actually anticipating running into Ryan even though he very much was, avoided looking in his direction and concentrated on the kid-less trees around him, pretending to take his task much more seriously than he actually was. He only “took notice” of Ryan's presence a few moments before they met up. 

Predictably, Ryan didn't say anything when their paths finally converged, and seemed surprised that Dylan stopped in front of him. For a moment, the two just stood there looking at one another, before Dylan broke the silence:

“So … everything good on your end?”

He must have given Ryan a lightbulb moment, considering the look of understanding that graced his face. As much as he would do for Ryan should he ask, he had to draw the line at walking through yet another section of the camp looking for something that likely wasn't there (god forbid he was wrong, he'd dealt with enough surprise briar bush attacks to last him a lifetime). Ryan had put this together by the looks of it, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Didn't see anything.” he confirmed.

Unanimously, they began walking back in the direction Dylan had come, Dylan spinning on his heel to walk beside Ryan, absolutely not on purpose falling into step with him. 

“Someone would have to be pretty stupid to pull something like that again,” Dylan said, and his voice cracked like a pre-teens halfway through his sentence, forcing him to clear his throat. The damn pool water was still out to get him, it seemed.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied simply. 

There was a beat of silence as they walked, only disturbed by their footsteps on the grass and the wind rustling the trees around them. Surprisingly, it was Ryan who broke it, this time.

“Your voice okay?”

This surprised Dylan, who had been anticipating spending the rest of their journey without conversation, and had to scramble for an answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, just … pool water,” Dylan said lamely. “I don't know if you saw, but Kaitlyn made a game out of trying to get the kids to drown an unsuspecting me and Jacob.”

Ryan chuckled at that, and Dylan, ever the master of his emotions, tamped down the elation his heart suddenly exploded with.

“Yeah, actually, I did see that,” Ryan replied. “Seems like you all got really into it.”

“Kinda hard not to - the surprise wore off after the first couple of times, especially when they started jumping off the ledges whenever we were around,” Dylan said. “Kids are many things, but they aren't subtle.”

“Nope,” Ryan responded. “Though, you kinda egged them on with pretending to be sea monsters.”

Dylan rolled his eyes.

“Did I mention Kaitlyn was the mastermind?” Dylan asked sarcastically. “You try to get a bunch of kids to stop tormenting you when one of your colleagues is deliberately telling them that it's okay.”

Ryan just shrugged.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation seemed to die, after that. At least, until Ryan broke the momentary quiet yet again; that had to be some kind of record, at least in Dylan's experience.

“You got pretty into character with them,” Ryan said casually. “I looked to see what all the yelling was about on my way by, then saw it was mostly you.”

Dylan tried not to be embarrassed; he could vividly remember bursting up from under the water from behind a couple of times to get some kind of revenge on the little rugrats Kaitlyn had recruited to target him.

“Well, it was like Emma's theatre production … had to get into character. Y'know, make it more convincing,” Dylan explained. He hoped the fib wasn't too obvious.

“Yeah, that makes sense …” Ryan trailed off, and from Dylan’s peripheral observation, he appeared to want to say something more, but couldn’t quite get the words out. Dylan’s heart pounded, but he kept up his outwardly calm demeanor.

“I don’t know, it’s just …” Ryan spoke up, then immediately seemed to regret it when he wasn’t able to finish his sentence right away. Dylan waited, forcing himself to keep pace with Ryan and not start stress speed-walking as a poorly disguised getaway tactic.

“I don’t get you, is what I’m trying to say,” Ryan eventually said, and Dylan felt his already hammering heart skip a beat; this conversation was not good for his blood pressure, clearly. “Around us, like, the counselors, you’re pretty chill and give off this laid back jokester vibe. But with the kids, you have a lot more energy - almost looks like you come more alive … if that makes sense.”

Well, strip his gears and call him shiftless. Number one award for reading Dylan like a book without being aware of it went to one Ryan Erzahler.

“It’s not a big deal or anything, I’m just curious, I guess,” Ryan continued, oblivious to the error 404 code present behind Dylan’s eyes. “I noticed you’re not like that around the rest of us … makes me wonder if there’s a reason behind that, or if I’m just thinking too much into it.”

Thankfully, Dylan managed to reboot his system enough to get a reply out before the silence reached the realm of awkwardness (he’d been so discombobulated that the thought of making a joke about Ryan thinking about him didn’t even cross his mind until much later). Then again, conversations with Ryan tended to be more awkward than silences were. 

It seemed like things were changing between them, and Dylan didn’t know how to feel about it.

“I dunno if there’s a reason, really,” Dylan spoke up, internally grimacing at the way his voice shook slightly. Blame it on the pool water. “I guess it’s just more of a habit.”

“Habit?” Ryan inquired. Dylan had noticed that Ryan had turned his head and was actually paying attention to him as he spoke, which wasn’t helping his nerves in the slightest.

“Yeah … I mean, I don’t do it on purpose,” Dylan replied. “I don’t consciously think, “oh, I’m going to be a wise-cracking smartass now”, it just … happens.”

Ryan turned his head to look forward again, and Dylan ignored the internal conflict between his disappointment and relief.

He was heavily tempted to just let the conversation drop; he knew he wasn’t doing a good job of masking how off guard Ryan had taken him with his observation, and Ryan was known for letting things go when there wasn’t anything else to say. However, there was another part of Dylan, the part that wasn’t scared shitless of the changes he was sensing and instead intrigued, that ultimately won over his next course of action.

“Didn't think you'd notice. Or say anything.” Dylan said.

In the beginning, when Dylan was still getting to know Ryan (if one could even call it that; more just heavily observing and mentally taking notes so intently it could’ve been seen as creepy had anyone noticed), he’d had to get used to the momentary silences in conversations, especially if he wasn’t the one to start them. All of the counselors had experienced the embarrassment of repeating themselves to Ryan under the guise that Ryan hadn’t heard them, only for him to tell them that he was, in fact, listening, and instead just trying to come up with an answer. Dylan recognized this momentary silence as one of Ryan’s thinking moments, and despite the impatience driven by mild panic gnawing against his ribcage like a disgruntled parrot, he waited.

“Has nobody asked before?” Ryan asked.

Ryan was full of surprises today. Of course it had to be the day that Dylan was 100% not prepared for it. Then again, was he ever really prepared to even exist around Ryan, let alone interact with him?

Blame it on the pool water.

“No. At least not as straightforward as you, and even then, it’s not really discussed. More of a passing comment type thing,” Dylan said. “I’ve found that, even if people do notice, they don’t tend to comment on it. Not that you saying something is wrong, or anything like that, it’s just … never really happened before.”

As Dylan spoke, he snuck glances sideward at Ryan, who was still facing forward. But, with the few times their eyes met, he could tell that Ryan was listening. He didn’t really know how to feel about that; this conversation topic, in the maybe three times it had come up in the past however many years, nobody really paid attention past the answer they were looking for. For Ryan to actually be listening, retaining the information, even, was … new.

Ryan contemplated his answer for a few moments before he spoke again. His mouth moved awkwardly, as though he wasn’t sure how to say the words.

“So, people know, but they don’t … care?”

Dylan’s automatic response was to just laugh. It sounded pretty dejected and humorless, but this conversation had drained what little positive energy he had left into making it sound convincing.

Blame it on the pool water.

“Well, when you put it like that …”

Ryan didn’t say anything in response, and Dylan might have thought Ryan didn’t hear him if he wasn’t acutely aware of the other’s eyes on him. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but for once, Dylan was desperately hoping he wouldn’t. 

His wishes were answered, as Ryan seemed to think better of it.

“What makes the kids different?” he asked instead.

Okay, his wishes had been answered, but not exactly fulfilled. He’d take what he could get at this point, though.

“What do you mean?” Dylan asked, feeling pretty sure he knew what Ryan had meant but asking anyway. Just in case .

“You’re different around them than you are around the others.” Ryan clarified. So, yeah, Dylan had understood him correctly. He didn’t really know how to answer that, though, so he let his defenses take the reins.

“I think that’s the case with everyone.” Dylan said, his tone a bit rougher than he’d been intending.

There was a slight pause. Glancing at Ryan’s face, from what little of it he could see from the angle, he thought he could see a bit of … discomfort? As though he’d just walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see, like a very poorly concealed Jacob and Emma sucking face. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Ryan said, his voice low.

His tone of voice just confirmed it for Dylan … at least, as per his interpretations. Despite his own discomfort regarding the situation, he didn’t want Ryan to feel like he couldn’t have an open conversation like this with him; it wasn’t his fault that the conversation topic just so happened to be the kryptonite Dylan had been carrying around for the past couple of years. It’s not like he could’ve known.

In that moment, Dylan decided to embrace whatever changes were happening between him and Ryan, consequences be damned. After all, he had wanted to get to know Ryan better, and the kind of exchange to get to that point was a two-way street.

“I guess it’s because I already know what they think of me, and that it’s unlikely to change no matter what I do,” Dylan explained, ignoring the urge to cringe inwardly on himself. “So what if I’m a little more exuberant than usual? It’s just me being more fun, or whatever.”

Dylan was used to Ryan’s momentary silences, and yet here he was, on the edge of his metaphorical seat, waiting for his response. He didn’t even know what he wanted the response to be, he just wanted him to say something, to prove that he wasn’t-

“That makes sense.”

Somehow, it was the most typical Ryan answer Dylan could’ve gotten. What was he expecting, anyway? There weren’t really any other responses to something like that without making it unnecessarily weird. Besides, Dylan should be grateful that Ryan was affirming in his response … not that he expected Ryan to be a dick about it, but Dylan didn’t exactly have much experience in this field of conversation. Like, at all.

Ryan took a noticeable breath, and spoke again.

“I do it, too. I think that’s why I noticed.”

Dylan managed to cover up his momentary shock by playing the oblivious card for the second time that conversation. He was dreading the moment it would stop working, but it’d done the trick for now.

“Do what?” Dylan asked.

“Act … different,” Ryan clarified. “Around the kids.”

Interesting.

“Ah,” Dylan responded. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“Pretty sure everyone has.”

No argument there. Not that Dylan was inclined to make one.

For a few moments, the two walked in silence. Dylan was torn between breaking it and letting the entire conversation be left behind them in the grass to be swept away by the breeze. But yet again, Ryan was full of surprises.

“So, are you afraid of what the others think of you?” Ryan asked.

Well, fuck. Just how deep was Ryan going to go?

Better question, just how honest was Dylan willing to be?

Blame it on the pool water.

“Not exactly. I don’t really express that side of myself very often, so I’m not as “in control”, as one might say, than I like to be,” Dylan explained, hardly aware that he was even talking. “But I guess, around the kids, I was doing it without even noticing.”

Ryan seemed to mull it over for a moment, visibly chewing his lip. Dylan chose not to dwell on either of those details.

“You don’t like expressing that side of yourself?” Ryan asked.

“Kind of?” Dylan tried to let his anxieties go; he was too far in to turn back now, he may as well just keep the conversation rolling. “It's not that I don't like it, it's just uncomfortable … mostly because I know a lot of people won’t understand.”

Once again, Ryan paused to ponder. Him biting his lip should not be that attractive, good lord…

“Won’t understand?” Ryan implored.

Dylan heard himself sigh. Whether it was to prepare his lungs and vocal chords for the impending word vomit, or the last shred of his dignity escaping his body, he didn’t know.

“Well, I created a version of myself I thought people would like, because nobody understood me when I was just being myself, and that shit was isolating. But I kind of screwed myself over in the long run, because by forcing myself into a mold, I had to suppress who I really was, if that makes sense.

It’s easier to be myself around the kids, because being a little weird isn’t out of the ordinary, or even that noticeable, considering the entire world is a gigantic question mark to them. I’m just another mark on the tally.”

By this point, Dylan had managed to shut off the motor-mouth that was his brain in moments of panic. Whatever happened happened, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Where this sudden acceptance of the potential fate of his reputation and worth as a human being in Ryan’s eyes came from, he didn’t know, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. 

Sometimes, maintaining the defenses hurt just as much as fending off the attacks, Especially if the attacks weren’t even attacking.

“Huh. Seems like you’ve got it figured out.” Ryan said, after a moment.

Dylan didn’t know how to feel, but he took the unmistakable relief blooming within his chest as a positive sign. Now was probably a good time for a fallback - Dylan didn’t know how long he could keep this facade of not caring going, and he didn’t want to risk it. 

“Sure wish I felt like it.” he snorted.

Ryan quirked a smile, and for a few moments, Dylan relished in the quiet. He didn’t have a single clue as to what the fuck was going on or how he’d ended up here, but he wasn’t complaining … he didn’t feel like he had anything to complain about, at least. Especially not with the enrapturing view of Ryan’s side profile in the dying sunlight with the green backdrop of trees, highlighting his dark skin and soft features as he concentrated on where he was walking. Seriously, how can one person be so goddamn attractive?

A breeze blew past the two as they continued their trek towards the lodge, ruffling their hair and clothes. Ryan seemed content to make the rest of their trek in silence, but Dylan found that, despite the conversation topic, he liked talking to Ryan, and not just because of his infatuation with him; he was a nice person, as opposed to everyone’s initial impression of him, and maybe it was a little opportunistic of him, but a part of him wanted to continue the conversation, even at his own expense, at the chance of getting to know Ryan just a little bit more.

“What about you?” Dylan broke the quiet. Coincidentally, the breeze that had been pushing against them and sending a chill down Dylan’s spine as his still not dry hair was tousled, vanished, making Dylan’s words sound louder than he’d intended. Whoops.

“What about me?” Ryan asked.

“You said you’re aware you act differently around the kids than you do with us. Do you know why?” Dylan inquired.

Dylan knew he was beginning to wander into hazardous territory, but he didn’t backtrack; it was a little too late for that anyway. Besides, the atmosphere between them was casual, comfortable even, and the question didn’t sound out of place. One might think it was a risky question to ask, especially considering it was Ryan, but Dylan also figured that it wouldn’t be unexpected of him to ask, considering he practically scraped out and spilled the depths of his soul to Ryan, whether the latter knew it or not.

Ryan seemed to think the same, or maybe just wanted to continue the conversation, because he answered, keeping his eyes forward.

“I think so.” he said, then paused, and took a breath. “I don’t know who I am.”

Dylan, unable to formulate a reply, just looked at him. There wasn’t exactly anything to say.

“And it’s easier to deal with that fact when nobody else knows who I am, either. Letting people figure it out means I don’t have to meet any expectations.”

So, the complete opposite of me, in a way. Fantastic.

“Around the kids, that’s okay; it’s like you said, the world is one big question mark to them, or whatever. They don’t know who they are yet, and it doesn’t matter to them. So it doesn’t matter who I am, either.

Dylan didn’t know when they’d stopped walking, but they had, and were now facing the horizon before them. The lodge was closer than when Dylan last recalled seeing it, and it loomed in the corner of their view, a silent reminder of the time limit on their conversation. Somehow, this didn’t alarm Dylan; he kept his head cool, and replied the only way he felt was appropriate: honestly.

“To be fair, I don’t think anyone really knows who they are … not completely,” Dylan said. “There’s always some shadow of doubt. Some people believe life is about figuring that out, especially considering how much we can change over time.”

There was a beat of silence, and Dylan saw Ryan nod out of the corner of his eye. Neither of them had turned to look at one another once during this second stint of conversation, but it wasn’t necessary.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too,” Ryan replied. “It’s just … at this point in my life, I feel like I should have my shit together, but I don’t.”

Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Join the club. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing; I just like to pretend I do.”

Ryan looked at him and smiled, and Dylan could’ve sworn the skies opened up and showed him heaven with how beautiful it was.

“I think that’s most people, at least from what I’ve heard.” Ryan said.

Unanimously, they resumed walking towards the lodge, keeping pace with one another. It was slower than Dylan usually walked (the curse of long legs, his dad had always said), but he didn’t mind. It was nice to slow down, even just a bit.

“Funny how we hear that, and yet we still try to meet expectations,” Dylan pointed out. “Whose expectations are they, if everyone feels the same?”

Dylan didn’t exactly know what they were talking about anymore; some other section of his brain was manning the station, and he just let it happen. The rest of him was too preoccupied replaying the moment Ryan had smiled at him, really smiled, and Dylan didn't have it in him to make himself stop.

“That’s a good question.” Ryan said with an affirming nod. He didn’t seem to have an answer, though. Oh well.

There was another lapse in time where they walked in silence, but conversational Dylan was on a roll, and before he could double check it with the main system still drooling over Ryan’s smile, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Y’know, with how different we are personality wise, I feel like we have a lot in common,” Dylan said rather abruptly. “It doesn’t feel wrong to be talking about this kind of stuff with you, even though it feels like it should be.

Ryan seemed to mull over his words in that quiet, broody way of his, before he nodded.

“Yeah. Kinda weird how that happens.” Ryan replied.

Dylan turned his head and quirked a brow at him, letting his jokester persona enter the scene. It was like a video game, with the lodge being the beacon that replenished the player’s stats once they were in its vicinity, like a reset or refresh button. For Dylan, though, it just shoved the fragility Ryan had managed to pry out of him back into the box, and nailed it shut.

It’d been nice while it lasted, he supposed.

“You’re the expert in the weird, unexplainable shit. Got any ideas?” Dylan continued the interaction as Blasé Dylan manned damage control.

“I don’t think there’s any supernatural explanation for two people having an in-depth conversation.” Ryan deadpanned, but the expression on his face showed the mirth in his eyes.

The two had reached the gravel before the lodge in time to see Mr. H coming out the front door and onto the porch. Dylan immediately switched his vocabulary back into PG rated.

“Well, darn. Crud outta luck, then.” he said, not really aware he was saying it.

“Darn, indeed.” Ryan answered.

Neither of them acknowledged the slightly awkward ending of their conversation, as Mr. H greeted them with a tired smile and gave them a wave, which Dylan and Ryan returned. As the two approached the steps to the porch, the others rounded the corner, presumably having grouped up on their way back and met up with them, with Nick appearing from behind out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of Dylan as he casually spawned next to him as they all walked up the steps.

The wrap-up meeting wasn’t anything special. They all gave their nearly identical reports of no children in the forest or anywhere else they shouldn’t be, and made rough plans for the course of events the next day. Whilst Dylan partook in the conversation, his head was partially up in the clouds, and he had to force himself to stay focused every time he and Ryan made accidental eye contact. It wasn’t awkward or anything, but every time Dylan caught a glimpse of those eyes in his direction, he immediately thought of that smile, and had to re-orient his train of thought before it derailed completely.

Kaitlyn, ever the observer, picked up on this and shot him a questioning look, but he didn’t bother answering her. There wasn’t exactly a way to describe all of what had happened without words. And, if he was being honest, he didn’t really want to.

Obviously, their conversation had been private and personal, so it made sense that he’d want to keep it to himself. But there was an added element to it that made it stand out to him even more; he’d sensed the shift in his and Ryan’s dynamic in that conversation, and had not only shared pieces of himself he’d long since buried like it was the daily news, but Ryan had done the same. And while Ryan may think that it wasn’t a big deal, his reciprocation had meant the world to Dylan.

Ryan had become someone he could let his defenses down around, at least somewhat, not only because he knew he wouldn’t attack, but because the potential attacks were coming from another form of defense. Ryan understood him, at least it seemed like it. And even if he didn’t, he’d made an effort to.

The last person to ever do that for Dylan had died three years ago, all that remained of him being a memory encapsulated in a pendant that hung around his neck, hidden by his shirt from the rest of the world.

It wasn’t that Kaitlyn or the others wouldn’t make an effort to understand, but there was something different about Ryan, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He decided to just leave it as yet another question mark in the world of question marks they lived in, lest he drive himself crazy. As a science person, he knew full well that some questions just didn’t have answers.

On the walk back to their own cabins, Dylan was ahead of the rest, considering he wasn’t purposefully slowing himself down to keep pace with anyone. However, Kaitlyn quickly caught up to him, and Dylan was reminded of her attempt at telepathy across the table earlier that evening. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Kaitlyn asked him, her tone genuine. Dylan slowed his pace so she wouldn’t have to speedwalk and overwork her short legs. “You looked like someone drugged you at the meeting.”

Does Ryan’s smile count as a drug?

“I feel fine,” Dylan said. “But who knows, maybe all that pool water is starting to liquify my brain. Is there such a thing as a chlorine overdose?”

“Okay, yeah, you’re good,” Kaitlyn replied simply, jabbing him in the arm with her elbow for good measure. Dylan just laughed as they continued towards their respective refuges for the night.

Yeah, Dylan thought as he climbed into bed, his hair miraculously dry enough to not damage the condition of his pillow. Yeah, I’m good. 

Despite the aching in his shoulders and legs, Dylan fell asleep rather quickly, his thoughts jumping lethargically around from a heavenly smile to a recounting of a strange but fulfilling conversation to a subtle yet abrupt urge to suffocate a sleep-mumbling Nick with his discarded blanket.

<>

Chapter Text

“ Really spooky story you shared for us tonight, Ryan. Very scary.” 

It was yet another evening in Hackett’s Quarry, putting an end to a very action-packed day - Mr. H had disbanded the groups the kids were in for the day and initiated several camp-wide games such sardines, different types of tag, capture the flag … Dylan had honestly lost track of everything they’d done, considering kids had attention spans equivalent to that of a swarm of flies and wanted something new every ten minutes, which left the counselors literally scrambling around the campground for basically the entire afternoon.  As a wind-down activity, Mr. H and Ryan had initiated yet another night by the camp-fire to sing songs as the sun set, and once the stars had come out, Ryan had launched into yet another scary story.

Well, scary was a bit of an objective word for tonight’s story, as Kaitlyn had pointed out. Dylan didn’t know if she was right, as he’d been more concentrated on not falling asleep to the sound of Ryan’s voice than on whatever he’d been saying; it seemed his body had a limit to how many times he could race a bunch of boys across the camp's massive field. Jacob and Nick had been in a similar condition, with the three of them occasionally catching one another’s eye when they snapped themselves awake. How Ryan was able to walk around and speak without tripping over himself was anyone’s guess, considering he'd been involved, too.

Speaking of Ryan, Dylan heard him scoff in response to Kaitlyn’s remark. Mr. H had since come down to tell everyone it was time to “hit the hay”, then had been swept away by the stampede of kids, leaving the counselors to pick up whatever mess they left behind, which thankfully wasn’t much this time. They’d then followed in the herds footsteps and had stationed themselves as a group by the lodge, watching kids running back and forth from their cabins to the bathrooms to wash up. Thankfully, none of them had had to step in to break up a football tackle induced brawl like last night … yet.

“You try coming up with something new to keep a crowd of kids entertained after telling them nearly every scary story known to man.” Ryan replied.

“Challenging, but not impossible,” Kaitlyn said with a shrug. “I could definitely do better than bigfoot, though.”

“Eh, it had somewhat of an effect.” Emma chimed in from beside her, having extradited herself from a conversation with a group of girls from her cabin. “You got a lot of the girls pretty disturbed at the thought of a hairy man running around in the woods like an ape on steroids.”

“Ape on steroids?” Kaitlyn said. “You mean Jacob?”

As if on cue, Jacob approached, having been preoccupied putting all the supplies from their campfire away in the shed.

“What about steroids?” he asked.

“Do you take steroids, Jacob?” Nick asked, completely out of the blue, poking his head out from behind Dylan. 

When he'd gotten there or where he'd come from, Dylan had no clue, but he managed to keep himself from exclaiming his surprise at the last second, dulling it down to a small jump. The guy could be sly as a fox when he wanted to … for someone that fought like a kangaroo, anyway.

Jacob scoffed.

“Pfft, fuck no. I’m all for natural progression.” Jacob said proudly, squaring his shoulders like an offended peacock.

“If that’s the case, I think your brain capacity is gradually being substituted by muscle mass.” Kaitlyn told him offhandedly.

Jacob shrugged, all too used to Kaitlyn’s jabs by now.

“Whatever. I still won that pull-up contest - you couldn’t even reach the bar, so you can-”

“ Ahem.”

Before Jacob could continue on whatever tirade he’d started, Chris emerged from wherever he’d come from, and joined the group, an amused expression on his face. Dylan managed to wake his brain up the slightest bit by shaking his head, enough that he could actually register what the man was about to say. Hopefully.

“As interesting as this conversation sounds, I’m going to have to interrupt,” he said coolly. “All the campers are headed to their bunks?”

“Yup.” Ryan confirmed.

“Good,” Chris said. “I know I’ve asked this already, but you checked the woods, right?”

“Yup. No stragglers.” Kaitlyn told him. Not that they’d checked … Dylan didn’t think he’d be able to handle another “sweeping” without collapsing on the grass.

“Excellent. Well, let’s sit back and wait until everyone’s washed up, and then we can hit the hay ourselves. Sound good?”

They all gave resounding sounds of agreement, then the group meeting dissolved into smaller conversations as they all watched the kids continue their trek from their cabins to the washrooms, then back again, poking fun at one another, chatting and laughing as kids liked to do. Not for the first time, Dylan felt a pang of jealousy; he wished he could feel that kind of freedom again, even if it was just for a summer. That’s what he’d tried to do by coming here, but alas … 

“Hey, you alive over there?”

Dylan’s attention was drawn to Kaitlyn, who was standing next to him and had just nudged him with her shoulder. He looked down at her, blinking slowly like a frog, which he supposed answered her question, in a way.

“Huh?”

“You alright?” she repeated. “You looked about ready to fall over at the campfire.”

Dylan physically shook his head again, trying to haphazardly reorganize what had become brain stew into some semblance of an operating system.

“I think I am,” Dylan replied. “Pretty sure my brain fell out of my head during one of those races.”

“Nah, I think that happened a long time before that,” Kaitlyn quipped. “Just tired, then?”

Kaitlyn’s ability to continue a conversation by steamrolling over an insult never failed to amaze Dylan, especially because it always seemed to work. Not that he really had an argument to that, considering she’d basically described what he felt like.

“Probably. Or I need more water, like Mr. H would suggest,” Dylan said.

“Go dunk your head in the lake,” Kaitlyn suggested. “Maybe you’ll find your brain in there.”

Dylan looked at her, affronted.

“What is it with you and brain-related insults today, hm?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. She just met his gaze, her brown eyes even and unphased. “And of all places for my brain to potentially be, why would it be the lake ?”

“Well, after that little vacation you took with Ryan a few days ago over there, considering how you were acting afterward, I thought it’d be a good place to start.”

…well, fuck. She really did know everything.

His lack of response was an answer in itself, as Kaitlyn just smirked at him, knowing she’d just caught him like he was a fish out of water and she was a proud dad displaying his flopping carcass to the camera.

There wasn’t really anything to say to that; she probably wasn’t wrong. Dylan had been feeling a little different since his and Ryan’s conversation by the lake, even more so after their walk and talk where he’d casually flayed his chest open for Ryan to see … that’s what it had felt like, anyway.

“I'm not trying to be mean, by the way,” Kaitlyn continued. “But you've been acting a bit different since then, at least to me. I'd have wanted to know, if I was you.”

Despite having only known her since the beginning of the summer, somehow, Kaitlyn was able to process how his brain operated better than he could. By now, he wouldn't be surprised if she could think for him and make it sound believable.

Was that really what this was about, though? Had opening up to Ryan more than he’d ever done to all of his friends combined caused his brain to fray a few wires? He thought he’d been acting fine over the past few days until now, but Kaitlyn’s comment was now making him question himself.

Considering he couldn’t recall much of what they’d done other than where Ryan was involved, he figured she might be onto something. Fuck.

He needed to get his head screwed on straight. He’d come here to try and get a break from the stress, goddammit, not add more. Just because it was in a different font and made him feel different things didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize it for what it was.

As much of an idealist Dylan tended to be, he tried to keep his feet planted in reality, regardless of how much it hurt. It hurting was just more proof that he needed to get his act together, get his head screwed on straight, and focus on the facts. The cold, solid truth, not what he wanted to be true.

And the truth was that he and Ryan, while their relationship had built up some texture over the last little bit, were just friends. That’s all they ever could, and would, be. After this summer, they’d go their separate ways, and probably never see each other again. 

Dylan felt a physical ache in his chest, and he let it burn. He’d keep it burning until it extinguished itself, because eventually, it’d run out of fuel. Even if Ryan really did understand him the way Dylan felt he did, he knew it was too good to be true. What a cruel twist of fate; the time he took to escape the stress of hiding Dylan Dylan was where he found a haven for him, in the shape of deep brown eyes, a monotone voice and what was probably the most angelic smile he'd ever seen. And just when he’d been getting used to the idea of letting him out of the box he’d kept nailed shut for so long, he’d come to the realization that it wasn’t going to last. 

And, if Dylan Dylan was as stubborn as Blase Dylan, then forcing him back into that box was going to be less of a fight and more of a boxing match with someone who had maces strapped to their gloves. The thirteen days between when summer camp ended and school began again (Dylan didn’t think he’d be able to handle being stuck with an unoccupied brain for a few months or a year to take a break, so he’d hopped on the first metaphoric school shuttle without really paying attention to where it was taking him) wouldn’t be long enough to wrangle himself into a presentable human being, let alone someone who could function in a world knowing that who he was wouldn’t ever get that taste of freedom he’d selfishly indulged in again. All in an attempt to keep himself from getting hurt.

What a paradox he’d become.

What a fool.

<>

Love creates fools. And fools fall in love. - us

<>

Dylan didn’t know when he’d disengaged from reality, but it had happened at some point between talking to Kaitlyn, where’d she’d dropped that mindfuck bomb in the form of her observations on him, and now, where he stood in front of a mirror in the communal bathroom, staring at himself.

The air around him smelled sharp, like chemicals and steel and the unfortunate permanent stench of “public bathroom”, but it didn’t bother him as much anymore. It was the least of his concerns. 

Dylan looked himself in the eyes, not really seeing anything, as he brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face in some attempt at self care. Going through the motions. Autopilot. Nick had been the last one to leave the bathroom other than Dylan, giving him a simple “goodnight” and a wave, which Dylan had half-heartedly returned. There was a good chance that the guy would be unconscious by the time Dylan returned to their room, which was a blessing, in a way. What he wouldn’t give to be able to fall asleep that fast …

All things considered, Nick was a pretty good guy, at least in Dylan’s eyes. They talked about random, surface level stuff in the mornings, worked well together as coworkers, and was a mellow enough guy that he could chill out even the most rambunctious of boys. He was a good roommate, too (aside from the creepy sleep-talking) - honestly, Dylan could understand Abi’s shy but obvious infatuation. Other than Nick himself, Dylan didn’t think anyone had missed the heart eyes she’d been giving his oblivious back this whole time (Nick was many things, but observant was not one of them), kind of like how nobody had missed whatever the fuck kind of effect Ryan had on him.

After some indeterminate amount of time, Dylan snapped out of whatever haze he’d fallen into, realizing he’d been leaning against his hands on the counter, staring at the black hole of the sink drain that probably had some of the unholiest concoctions known to man stuck in it. He lifted his head, noting how his hair was longer than he last remembered it, considering the way it shadowed over his eyes like a curtain. He must look like an emo boy band’s poster child right about now.

Having nothing left to do, Dylan packed up his miniscule bathroom supplies and began the return trek to his lodging. It was dark, the waxing moon shining brightly with the sky free of clouds, painting the black abyss above with stars. Without any light pollution, Dylan was often awestruck at the expanse of the night sky. Having always lived in the city, there were only a handful of times he’d been able to look into the darkness and actually pick out something glittering that wasn’t a satellite or plane. This summer now part of that handful. It was the small things.

Before he forgot and got reprimanded (again - kids will always be snitches), he went and checked on his campers, who’d all gotten themselves tucked in. Some of them were already asleep, those that weren’t either in the process of getting there or quietly whispering amongst one another. After ensuring everyone was still breathing, he bid them goodnight and left the cabin. He saw Kaitlyn closing the door to one of the girls’ cabins, and gave her a wave when she turned around, which she returned, and continued his venture back to his lodging.

Besides the sound of the crickets and occasional breeze rustling the trees of the surrounding forest, it was almost silent on the quarry grounds. Dylan could hear each of his footsteps, felt the different tones of the air rushing by his ears as he walked back to his room in the counsellor cabin, was acutely aware of each noise he made as went about returning his things to his side of the room. Nick had been considerate and had left the light on, so he wasn’t stumbling around in the dark (likely more for his own sake than Dylan’s, considering the racket Dylan had accidentally made that one night there was no moonlight outside to shine through the window and he’d been completely blind as to where he was going or what he was doing). His roommate wasn’t asleep yet, but definitely close to getting there, considering he was doing quite the impressive impression of a dead body thrown onto a mattress like a sack of potatoes. 

Dylan sat down on his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor between his shoes. He’d done everything required of him for the night, all he had to do now was turn off the light and turn himself into the influence of darkness. He was totally ready to go to bed … but suddenly, he wasn’t tired. Like, at all. 

Physically, maybe, but he wasn’t exactly in tune with his body at the moment. Over the course of the past half an hour or so, as everyone had been winding down, his brain had been keying itself up, firing its neurons in every direction it possibly could. If he got into bed now, he’d be left staring at the ceiling while his thoughts, a current incomprehensible, electric hum in the back of his mind, consuming every shred of his concentration until he ran himself dry of mental energy and passed out. He knew from experience that that process resulted in shitty sleep, which meant an even shittier day for tomorrow Dylan to deal with. Having dealt with enough of those in the month of July alone so far, he decided that tonight was not going to be one of those nights. 

Why tonight specifically, he didn’t know, but he didn’t question it. He was still riding on the high that wasn’t really a high; now, it felt more like his brain was strapped to a rollercoaster fueled by illegible nonsense running so rampant inside his skull it could generate enough energy to make itself go around and around and around again without him even having to pay any attention to the controls, if it even had any. The incomprehensibility had dissolved into static now, not even trying to make any sense, instead just making noise, so much noise, blocking everything else out so Dylan couldn’t focus. 

He knew it was all in his head; he wasn’t blind. He could see in front of him, he knew it wasn’t real … and yet, the rate at which the death coaster his brain was riding on was moving, the twists and turns and loops and spins it was making, was beginning to make him feel sick. The static was no longer bound to the coaster, had exceeded the weight limit of all the carts, and as a result, had begun to fly off and out, out of his head and into the space around him, filling up the room, pressing in on him, making him claustrophobic. 

The space was becoming smaller the longer he sat there staring holes into the floor, similar to how quickly water will start pouring into a boat if it isn’t straightened right away, and all you can do is watch - you run out of dry spaces before you know it, and all of a sudden, you’re treading water with your boat sunken below your feet, staring into the sky wondering how you ended up here. The fuzz in his brain was beginning to drown him. The boat he’d been on had long since sunk below, and he was being dragged down with it.

The fuzzy static morphed into what felt like hands, dozens of phantom hands that were reaching out from the walls that had suddenly gotten much closer than he remembered to touch him, to pull him in different directions based on the thoughts he could potentially pay attention to, even though he couldn’t even understand what those thoughts were or could be. He couldn’t hear anything, he could see but he couldn’t at the same time, he wasn’t even aware if he was breathing anymore. He felt backed into a corner by his own brain …

And what did Dylan do when he felt cornered?

He ran.

His legs were moving before the idea even occurred to him, and he was shutting off the light and closing the door behind him as he left the counselor cabin, practically wrenching the outside door open and stumbling outside. As soon as the cool night air met his skin, the grips of the phantom hands vanished. The static in his mind, though still present, quieted. The longer he stood there, focusing on his breathing, the less overwhelming it all became. The rollercoaster slowed to a stop, his boat returned underneath him, functional and unsunken, as if it hadn’t even been disturbed at all. He could breathe. He could hear, he could see. He could think.

And the first thought that occurred to him was how stupid it all was. Seriously, why did it have to be so fucked ?

Dylan wasn’t dumb. He knew what a panic attack was. He’d helped a bunch of the kids through them at the beginning of the summer, when the pent up feelings from homesickness and fear became too much for them. How many times had he sat next to a kid, keeping them company as they cried, coaching them on how to breathe, getting them to talk and calm down enough that they could rejoin everyone else? Many times, so many times that it was stupid he hadn’t been able to do it for himself just now.

He took a few steps away from the door, allowing it to close behind him. He started walking; he didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get away from there, lest he be even more reminded of how idiotic all of that had just been.

Dylan was familiar with panic attacks, unfortunately. And he knew that he’d been on the brink of one had he not forced himself outside, likely would have disturbed Nick with laboured breathing and unexplainable tears, and he’d done enough questionable shit around the guy already. No need to add to the list.

He concentrated on his breathing, on how the cool night air felt in his lungs and on his sweaty skin. He zipped up his hoodie and pulled the hood over his head to protect his neck, cramming his hands into the pockets, opening and closing them into fists so he was doing something with his body that wasn’t just walking. He’d take as many distractions as he could right now. Whatever diverted his attention from the fact he could feel tears pricking at his eyes and a buzz of adrenaline in his veins, still hanging around just in case.

So stupid. So, so stupid.

How much time had passed or where exactly he’d gone, Dylan didn’t know, but when he felt stable enough to return to reality, he found himself back where it all began; the firepit.

And of all places for my brain to potentially be, why would it be the lake?

Well, after that little vacation you took with Ryan a few days ago over there, considering how you were acting afterward, I thought it’d be a good place to start.

Kaitlyn and her all-seeing eyes. In the short time he’d known her, he’d not only befriended her, but at some point had allowed her to see into the catastrophic mess that was his brain, which then gave her the ability to read and understand him better than he could himself, all without the twitch of a brow or turn of her head … it was honestly kind of terrifying. 

He couldn’t blame her for this. There was a good chance this wasn’t even about Ryan, anyway; the mention of him had just been what pushed him over the edge.

He still didn’t know what to do about … that. How to feel. What he should do. He knew he should probably figure it out, but he had no clue where to start. Kaitlyn was probably right; he had lost his brain in the lake that evening. Maybe Ryan had seen where it went? He’d maintained a tight grip on a lot of Dylan’s thoughts recently, maybe he knew.

Dylan sighed, then tilted his head back to look at the sky again, at the stars. Absent-mindedly, he removed one of his hands from his hoodie pocket and gripped the string around his neck. The pendant pressed against his chest was warm from his body heat, hidden from the elements outside by his shirt, as close to his heart as he could get. Dylan wasn’t one for sentimentality; he had enough stuff going on inside, thank you very much.

But when his dad had handed him the pendant and told him that inside was a portion of what remained of his grandfather, the one person Dylan knew truly understood him for him , and not for what other people thought he was, and told him to “keep it close”, he’d taken it without question and had worn it around his neck ever since. For three years, he’d been carrying all he had left of his grandfather in that tiny thing, aside from memories and the knowledge that likely nobody else could understand him like he had. He hadn’t even had to try, he just did; Dylan had grown up knowing that if he needed someone to be around when he couldn’t understand himself, it was his grandfather.

God, he missed him. No amount of time could erase the amount of grief that loss had cursed him with.

Dylan lowered his head and let go of the string, giving his neck a break, and ventured over to the firepit rather than just standing near it. It hadn’t been long since he’d been here last, and yet, it felt like it had happened the previous day, maybe even the previous week. Time was always weird after this kind of thing happened to him. There was still heat emanating from the smoldering remains of their bonfire, the ashen logs lit up by a faint orange glow from beneath them. Dylan stared at them for a bit, before taking a seat on one of the logs, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

He could see. He could hear. He could think. And that stupid moment was in the past, now.

What better way to celebrate that than be even more stupid?

Following what was probably the most ridiculous impulse Dylan had experienced recently, he leaned backward on the log until he lost his balance and fell backwards like he’d seen so many campers do, though it likely wasn’t intentional on their part. It wasn’t a hard fall - it didn't even hurt. His hoodie protected the back of his head from the ground, and now, he had a full, uninterrupted view of the night sky, and didn’t have to strain the muscles in his neck for it. His legs remained up on the log, the toes of his shoes pointing to the sky. He let out a heavy sigh as he relaxed into the ground, content to stay there for … well, however long he felt satisfactory.

With his phone held hostage by Mr. H in the lodge and being unable to keep a watch on his wrist for longer than a week, Dylan had no idea what time it was, or how much passed as he lay there on his back, staring at the night sky, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, his thoughts going in one ear and out the other the same way the sound of the forest surrounding him did. 

He was aware that he should probably head back, lest he fall asleep out here … but a little bit longer couldn’t hurt. Just as little bit longer - it wasn't like anyone was going to notice he was missing, considering the time. It wasn't a big deal - whenever he felt ready, he could get up and make the trek back to his room, where Nick was probably knocked out cold and mumbling some nonsense that easily could be mistaken for a spell from the Necronomicon.

Just as Dylan was thinking about how to go about not being tempted to strangle his roomate once he got into bed, he picked up on another presence. The sound of walking, and the feeling of someone watching him. Dylan didn’t bother trying to turn and see who it was; he felt oddly stagnant here, the post almost panic attack high keeping him more grounded than he’d felt all week.

“Is this another one of your performances, or are you stuck like that?”

Dylan ignored the lurch in his chest upon hearing the all too familiar monotone voice belonging to none other than Ryan, who he’d gathered was the person approaching him. Dylan snorted to disguise the process of swallowing the abrupt lump in his throat - this definitely wasn’t the weirdest thing Ryan had seen him do, so he felt no inclination to get up or explain himself. He didn’t even know what he’d say, anyway … hell, he hardly knew what to say now.

“Neither,” he answered eventually. “It’s comfy, though.”

That was only partially true. Dylan’s legs had started tingling a little bit ago, but by this point, the earth may as well have grown roots around his body to chain him in place, as he felt cemented there, and knew it’d be a hassle to force himself to leave. Especially now.

Ryan didn’t respond, but before Dylan could think to turn his head and see where he went, he’d approached the log Dylan had thrown his legs over and sat down on it. He took his usual position of resting his elbows on his knees and just looked down at Dylan, who shamelessly stared back at him.

From his position on the ground, he had what would be a picturesque view of Ryan’s face if it weren’t for the fact the sun was long gone from the sky. But even in the darkness, he could make out Ryan’s features almost perfectly … maybe it was because he’d spent so much time looking at them that his brain could fill in the gaps.

An interesting thought. One that was shoved aside to make room for the inquiry of how dumb he probably looked from Ryan’s point of view.

“Is that actually comfortable?” Ryan eventually spoke into the darkness, breaking the momentary silence.

“You think I’d stay like this if it wasn’t?” Dylan responded.

“I don’t know, you’re no stranger to questionable decisions.” Ryan replied.

Dylan knew Ryan wasn’t completely irrational in making that observation … but still.

“Oh, yeah?” Dylan challenged in a teasing tone. “Define questionable.”

“The zipline stunt you pulled?”

… well, fuck, he had him there.

To his credit, Dylan hadn’t been trying to pull any kind of stunt, even if it had looked that way. He’d been left alone with his and Jacob’s group of campers at the zipline for five minutes as Jacob and Mr. H went to get more safety equipment, and in those five minutes, had gone from attempting a demonstration of what not to do and why to showing them exactly why.

It wasn’t much of a surprise that the entire camp knew about it by the time everyone returned to the lodge for dinner. Dylan remembers the amused smirk on Ryan’s face as one of Dylan’s campers chattered away to him in the food line about what had happened, and how Dylan had had to clench his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth would crack to keep himself from smiling, too.

Dylan chuckled at the memory, because yeah, it was pretty funny, and also to distract himself from the fact his face was heating up from the mild embarrassment. He could only hope his skin wasn’t glowing red the way he felt like it was.

“Touché.” Dylan said eventually.

Ryan just hummed with a tone Dylan just knew said “that’s what I thought”, and internally tried not to swoon. God, how was it that everything this guy did was attractive, even if it was completely normal, mundane actions? He’d have thought once that not being able to see him might have helped, but both this moment and his little stunt in the shed of damnation a while ago proved otherwise. 

Dylan chose not to think about the randomness of their current predicament, settling to just enjoy the moment. Considering he wasn’t getting anything new from Ryan’s still form sitting nearby, Dylan’s eyes returned to the stars. Did Ryan like stargazing? Was that why he was out here? Was this even stargazing? Was there criteria he had to meet for his actions to be considered stargazing, or-

“What’re you doing out here?” Ryan interrupted yet another silence, catching Dylan off guard.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Dylan replied before he could think about it. Blasé Dylan to the “rescue”.

“I asked you first.” Ryan said. His tone reminded Dylan of the camper sass he'd had to put up with the entire day, but he also has a point.

“Yeah, well …” Dylan was too tired to satiate the contrasting desires of Blasé Dylan and Dylan Dylan at the moment, so he decided to think with neither, and gave them both the boot. Who was in control now, he didn't know, but again, didn't have the energy to care.

“Not ready to “hit the hay”, as Mr. H so eloquently put it, just yet.”

“You’re not tired?” Ryan inquired. After the day they’d had, it was a valid question.

Dylan shrugged.

“Nah, I am, but my brain won’t shut up,” Dylan said, blatantly honest. “Better to sort that shit out away from where I’m trying to sleep.”

“Won’t shut up?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah. You know, when you’re laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to your roommate have conversations with himself in his sleep as you contemplate all of the decisions you’ve ever made in your life and replaying all of the most embarrassing or awkward moments you’ve ever experienced?” Dylan stated, all in one breath.

There was a pause.

“Sure.” Ryan said, not sounding sure at all. 

Dylan just snorted.

“I mean, I get it, it’s just not that … detailed, I guess,” Ryan continued, his voice a little lower.

Dylan quirked an eyebrow, then remembered that Ryan obviously couldn't see it.

“More of a subdued thinker? Process your thoughts slower, more methodically?” Dylan suggested.

He had no idea where any of this was coming from, or what he was even talking about anymore, but he rolled with it anyway.

“I guess so?” Ryan replied. “Definitely not as fast as you.”

Honestly, Dylan didn’t think anyone relatively sane would be able to keep up with the hamster wheel on steroids he had going on upstairs.

“That checks out,” Dylan said with a nod. “You and your mysterious, broody silences.”

Ryan made a sound, like he opened his mouth to argue or object, then seemed to think better of it. A few moments of silence passed, almost as though Dylan had jinxed them into existence, and right as Dylan felt like he should say something to change the subject, Ryan shifted in his seat to better face Dylan, like he wanted to get a better look at him, and Dylan felt his stomach muscles constrict.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Ryan said directly. 

If Dylan hadn't been paying attention before (as if that was a possibility when it came to interacting with Ryan), he was now.

“Is that why you came out here?” Dylan asked, because he couldn't help himself.

With Ryan facing him, Dylan had a better view of Ryan’s facial expressions, or at least a suggestion of them - right now, it was clear that he was frowning.

“No, not initially, I just …” Ryan trailed off.

“What’d you come out here for, then?” Dylan pressed.

“Hey, don’t go changing the subject,” Ryan said. “I’m trying to ask you something.”

“Go for it,” Dylan told him, as if it hadn't been his fault Ryan got sidetracked.

Maybe he wasn’t as grounded as he thought. He could hear Blasé Dylan and Dylan Dylan banging at the door, demanding to be let back in, and he didn’t know if he wanted to welcome them back inside or go about barricading said door shut.

What was going on?

“Is everything okay?” Ryan asked.

Even though it logically shouldn’t, the question struck Dylan dumb. It wasn't like he hadn't been asked that before; he was pretty sure that this wasn't the first time he'd heard this question from Ryan, either. And yet, it felt entirely different. Because, at least from what Dylan could tell, Ryan was looking at him. Listening to him. It wasn't just a courtesy or passing comment or a potential conversation starter to kill some time with. Dylan knew it was different, because he thought he could hear the silent “ with you” Ryan had omitted.

Dylan knew he’d been acting off this past little bit; god, did he know. The mask had been wobbling on uneven ground for a lot longer than he wanted to admit, and not even Blasé Dylan could smooth talk him out of the imminent destruction he was headed for if he didn’t get himself sorted out. That was partially why he’d ended up here, he figured … some subconscious part of him needed space, a relatively safe space, where he could shut his brain off for a bit, let it reset, to not think for once. 

A place he knew eyes wouldn’t be on him - eyes that couldn’t speak, anyway. The stars held countless secrets and mysteries, and Dylan’s constantly erratic psyche was one of them.

Ryan wouldn’t lie about something as trivial as this, so Dylan knew he hadn’t followed him out here or anything. It just so happened that they’d wandered into one another’s path by chance, and now they were here. And it’s not like Dylan wanted him gone; he knew his previous self would jump at an opportunity to have a serene moment like this. But Dylan was tired, exhausted even, and honestly, felt like he wanted to just melt into the ground and never be seen again.

But that wasn’t going to happen, so Dylan had to face reality. And reality was Ryan … one of the small beauties of reality, but reality nonetheless

Dylan knew he’d been quiet for a while, which probably gave Ryan his answer, but he figured he should speak anyway. He took a deep breath of the night air, and let it out forcefully through his nose, pretending like it made him feel more stable than it did.

“More or less,” Dylan said. “I mean, considering you’re asking me, it must be pretty obvious I’m not all there, but it’s nothing to be worried about.” Dylan follows up with another shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

Again, Ryan frowned … at least, Dylan thought he did. He couldn't bring himself to look Ryan in the eyes, or anywhere near his face in case the lack of clear direction in the darkness accidentally caused their eyes to meet.

“You’ll be okay, though?” Ryan asked him, after a moment.

God, he hoped so.

“Eventually,” Dylan replied. “Some sleep and one of Nick’s mystery meals should set me straight.”

The joke fell flat, like Dylan assumed it would, but he wasn’t really trying to be funny. He didn’t really know what he was trying to do.

“How do you do that?” Ryan seemed like he was changing the subject, but he asked the question in the same tone of voice he had before - it was related to his original point, somehow.

Ryan had always been organized. If Dylan had to guess what his brain looked like, he imagined rows upon rows of categorized folders, perhaps even alphabetically labelled, all with different subsections and specific locations, all locked away behind a broody expression and a mysterious attitude, covered up with a pretty smile and alluring eyes that only suggested a hint at what could lie within.

Dylan tried not to think about if he was in one of those folders or not, or where he’d be organized if he was.

“Do what?” Dylan responded.

“I mean, you just said you’re not okay, at least not entirely, and yet you’re still able to be funny,” Ryan told him. He must have sensed the incoming retort, because he quickly followed up with, “or, you try to be.”

Dylan couldn't help but smile at that, albeit sarcastically.

“Okay, that hurts, for one,” Dylan said, and before Ryan could reply, he continued. “And for two, it’s not a conscious thing. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I don’t actively make the decision to be a wise-cracking smartass. It just … happens? I don’t know for sure … the best way I can describe it is like how you immediately start flailing when someone pushes you into the water off the dock.”

No, he was absolutely not mentioning the time a camper thought it would be a good idea to do that to him. Totally not.

“So, like an automatic reflex?” Ryan suggested.

“Something like that, yeah,” Dylan replied.

Silence persisted once more, and this time, Dylan couldn't tell if it was one of Ryan’s brooding moments, or if there was just nothing left to say. Considering the current predicament, he could hardly believe he was actually making any sense, let alone holding up his end of a conversation. Poorly, yes, but he would take whatever wins he could get right now.

When it was clear Ryan wasn’t going to say anything, and since an awkward silence between them was the absolute last thing Dylan wanted to put up with right now, he struck up another conversation. With any luck, all this talking would get his brain to shut up.

“How about you?” Dylan asked into the darkness, not even knowing if Ryan was still paying him any attention anymore. “What’re you doing out here?”

Despite their momentary pause, Ryan answered relatively quickly. He shrugged.

“I go for a walk before bed sometimes,” he said. 

A simple answer, but an understandable one.

“Just here?” Dylan asked. “Or is that an at-home thing, too?”

Dylan only became aware of how much he might’ve overstepped after the words were out of his mouth, and had to put physical effort into not smacking himself upside the head. If there was one thing everyone knew about Ryan, is that he was reserved - or “broody and mysterious”, as Kaitlyn liked to say. 

Dylan might not have been in the best head space at that moment, but that didn’t give him the right to go trampling over Ryan’s boundaries. And yeah, Ryan had asked him a series of personal questions too, but that didn’t mean he owed Dylan anything - in fact, he’d just been checking in on him, so that made Dylan’s question even more-

“Just here,” Ryan said. “Better scenery.”

Oh.

“I take it you live in the city, then?” Dylan inquired, ignoring the clusterfuck of a thought process that was currently scrambling his brain like a couple of eggs in a frying pan at the back of his skull.

For the first time in a while, Ryan looked down at Dylan again, right in the eyes, and Dylan had to ignore the rush of aggressive butterflies that had migrated from his stomach to his chest.

“I thought that was common knowledge.”

Dylan snorted, and had to force himself not to part from Ryan’s gaze. It was dark out, so he likely couldn't see Dylan’s face heating up ( again ) faster than a water bottle left out in the sun.

“Ryan, nothing about you is common knowledge.” 

“Right, well …” Ryan trailed off sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, I do. Have my whole life.”

Dylan nodded.

“Same.”

There was a pause in conversation. Dylan felt it was safe to look away from Ryan now, and returned his gaze to the sky above him. He saw Ryan copy him out of the corner of his eye, and pointedly didn't address the small rush of something it gave him.

Dylan felt content with laying there quietly, watching the stars with Ryan for company. His thoughts were starting to slow, the anxiety was ebbing away - with any luck, he might actually manage to get some decent sleep tonight. He knows he'll need it, especially after … this.

“Is it actually comfortable to lie like that?” Ryan asked.

Dylan tore his eyes away from above once more to look at him. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really feel his legs anymore … oh well.

“Yeah,” Dylan replied. “At least, I think so.”

Ryan appeared to contemplate for a moment, and Dylan just watched him, no thoughts present. He continued to watch as Ryan proceeded to stand up, walk over and sat down on the ground next to him, then lied down on the grass and swung his legs up onto the log beside Dylan's, and released a sigh as he settled into the position and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was close enough that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, and Dylan tried not to stress about whether or not that was intentional. Probably not.

For the next indeterminate amount of time (whether it's seconds or minutes is unknown), Dylan kept his head turned to the side to look at Ryan, studying his face. The moonlight was bright enough to show Ryan's expression clearly, and Dylan could tell he was studying the stars. Again, he wondered how someone could look so effortlessly pretty … there must have been something about Ryan in the dark under the moon that kept Dylan’s attention magnetized to him, powerful enough that it took genuine effort for him to look away. But he managed.

He resigned himself to looking into the night sky, too, and for a bit, they just lied there together, not speaking, hardly even thinking. It was just them at the flameless firepit, legs up on the log, gazing into the stars as though they had any idea the true magnitude of what they were seeing above them.

“I think you're onto something here.” Ryan broke the silence.

Dylan glanced over at him. “Yeah?”

“It is comfortable,” Ryan said. “Weirdly.”

A sense of satisfaction flickered in Dylan’s chest.

“Yup,” Dylan replied. “I mean, we are laying on grass, and it's not too hot or cold out, so … pretty ideal.”

“I meant the legs being up thing.”

Oops.

“Oh,” Dylan let out a quiet laugh, disguising his minor embarrassment. “Well, that makes sense too; it improves blood circulation. Especially considering that we've been standing all day.”

“Interesting,” Ryan replied, then audibly exhaled, as though he was deflating himself to better sink into the grass and become one with the ground as he continued to look up at the sky, hopefully unaware of Dylan continuing to glance at him periodically. “Another fun fact that I must have missed in biology class.”

“I never bothered with biology.” The admission slipped out of Dylan’s mouth automatically, surprisingly casual. 

“No?” 

“Nah. I'm more of a calculations and numbers person.”

Ryan hummed thoughtfully, and Dylan shifted from periodic glances to fully looking at the person beside him, though he kept his face towards the sky. From the corner of his eye, out of habit, he scanned Ryan’s profile for any signs of him being weirded out due to the random shift in conversation, but there was none. Dylan relaxed a little.

“Good at math?” Ryan inquired.

“By school curriculum standards, yeah.”

“You like it?”

Dylan shrugged lightly, and flicked his gaze back to the stars so as to keep himself from giving in to the urge of fully turning his head  to get a better look at Ryan. If the other were to do the same thing, the proximity between their faces would likely have made Dylan’s blood pressure skyrocket, and he was having enough trouble keeping himself on track as it was.

“Yeah. I guess it was my thing … I dunno.” he answered, lackluster.

Dylan fully expected Ryan to shift gears either into silence or some other topic of conversation, but apparently, he was full of surprises tonight.

“What do you like about it?”

Dylan was struck silent for a few seconds  - he couldn’t remember a single time in his life that someone had asked him that. And since when did Ryan ask so many questions? 

“Uh …” Dylan wracked his brain for an answer that wouldn’t be straight gibberish once it came out of his mouth. “I think it's cool how a bunch of the same formulas can create such different answers, even with the smallest tweak in numbers.”

Ryan appeared to consider that, as he didn't say anything in response. They lapsed into a pause that began to feel heavier the longer it stretched, so Dylan decided to interrupt it.

“What about you?”

“Didn't really have a favourite,” Ryan answered simply, faster than Dylan had anticipated. “Just kind of did it all.”

“You did biology, though?”

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

“It was cool. Seeing all the stuff that's crammed into a human body gave me a bit of a perspective crisis, though.”

Dylan chuckled softly, feeling the tension in the atmosphere and inside himself ease the slightest bit. By that point, with his body contracting and releasing so much with the flow of his emotions, he felt he’d probably qualify for some kind of muscle-building achievement. As if having a bunch of miniature human koalas acting as spontaneous weight training hadn’t been enough already.

“I get that. For all the cool sh- stuff our bodies can do, it's kinda weird how there's still some fried wiring. The whole “immune system attacking the eyes” thing … that freaked me the hell out.”

Even though they were nowhere near the kids (hopefully), Dylan’s PG language filter was apparently still active.

“Yeah, that seems like a bit of a manufacturing error.”

“It's intriguing, though,” Dylan mused, his thought process spilling out of his mouth faster than he could comprehend it. “In the sense that our eyes are a whole other system on their own, to the point that the body they're a part of can't recognize it. Almost alien-like.”

Ryan was quiet for a beat, and Dylan could feel the weight of his gaze, though he didn't turn to meet it - it was easier to just keep his eyes on the stars.

“Did you just say our eyeballs are aliens?”

That drew an unexpected laugh out of Dylan, and the shackles of anxiety abruptly slackened more than they had for the entire conversation.

“Hey, considering the definition of the word, they are!” Dylan said, unable to help smiling as he spoke. “Or a “symbiotic relationship”, you could say.”

Dylan could hear the smirk in Ryan’s voice when he spoke, and it did something to his gut that he pointedly chose to ignore.

“Okay, you're a science guy, I get it.”

“ 🎶 Bill Nye the Science Guy 🎶 ”, his brain unhelpfully sung in the background. 

Dylan laughed again, allowing the casualness of Ryan’s quip to soothe his somehow still active nerves. If he hadn’t been keyed up from earlier, Dylan didn't think he’d have the energy to even speak to Ryan at the moment, let alone be able to be nervous whilst doing so. However, he noticed that, as the conversation continued, he’d began feeling less and less … wired. His mind had quieted, and everything felt softer, smoother, like a quiet creek as opposed to the white water rapids his thoughts had been before. He could breathe easier, think without feeling like his thought process was trudging through a swamp, take in the sight of the sky above him without the shadows of panic creeping into his vision at the sides.

It was odd, for sure. But he wasn't complaining.

For a while, neither of them said anything, and the silence between them was comfortable. The only sounds Dylan could hear not coming from Ryan or himself was the occasional rustle of the forest, leaves being shifted by a weak breeze, the occasional chirp of some kind of insect, the sound of the air just existing around them as they continued to gaze into the sky.

“Ever heard of the fact that we're essentially looking through time when we look at the stars?” Ryan’s voice broke the silence, quiet and soft, but with an audible curiosity to it.

“I have, yeah,” Dylan replied, and once again resists the urge to turn his head to look at Ryan, even just for a glance. He kept his eyes fixated on one particular star above him, and concentrated the rest of his attention onto Ryan's voice. Not that that was ever an issue before.

“So, theoretically, we've already achieved time travel. We just can't control it.” Ryan said.

Dylan considered this; he hadn’t thought about it like that before. Well, he had, but not in that specific configuration of words, and nobody had vocalized it to him before - it wasn’t really a topic that came up in casual conversation. The concept itself was a bit mind-bending, and yet it felt like one of those truths that people accepted without fully comprehending.

“Yeah, I guess we have,” he finally said, his tone thoughtful. “It's probably for the best that remains out of our control, though … if Back to the Future taught us anything.”

“I've never seen Back to the Future.” Ryan admitted, his tone almost apologetic.

Dylan turned his head sharply to stare at him for the first time in quite a while (as if five minutes was some kind of commendable record), incredulous.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I'm assuming it's got something to do with time travel?”

“Oh my god, you actually don't know.” Dylan replied in bewilderment, though he wasn't as surprised as he might have been had their conversation at the lake not happened.

Dylan forced his thoughts away from that entire interaction, and how Kaitlyn’s mention of it to him had been what got him here in the first place … he was mid-conversation, dammit.

“What, you thought I was kidding?” Ryan asked, though it wasn't really a question.

“First Disney channel, now this,” Dylan muttered, shaking his head for dramatic effect, regardless if Ryan could see him or not.  “I shouldn't have been surprised.”

“I didn't watch a lot of TV as a kid.” Ryan said, shrugging lightly, which Dylan felt against his shoulder.

“ Clearly ,” Dylan retorted, though his tone lacked any real bite. “It's okay, we can get you caught up soon enough.”

“We?” Ryan asked.

Shit.

Dylan’s train of thought came to a screeching halt, all of the carts smashing into one another and backing up his brain - it took him a moment to get himself organized enough to answer, which he knew Ryan noticed.

“Hypothetically.”

Ryan paused, and even though Dylan couldn't see his face, he clearly wasn't buying it. Not like Dylan made a convincing argument to begin with.

“Are you hypothesizing?” Ryan inquired - there was something in his tone that Dylan couldn't recognize, and it was making his heart pound a little more noticeably in his chest. So much for maintaining a reasonable blood pressure.

More like backtracking, but sure. We’ll go with that. Dylan thought to himself. Outside of his head, he just said rather blandly:

“What?”

Ryan appeared to be undeterred by that, and continued.

“If I was to hypothetically get caught up on Back to the Future, would the process include watching it with you?”

The teasing tone was still present as he spoke, and Dylan had to force himself to stop overanalyzing everything about that fact in order to answer him. He felt his face heat up despite himself, and for once, he was grateful for the darkness around them.

“I mean, if you want to, then … sure. I'd be down.”

Again, even though Dylan couldn't see him, he could sense the smirk on Ryan’s face, and he had a sudden rush of giddiness mixed with embarrassment, which he struggled to rein in. Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, Dylan sensed Ryan’s head turn back to face the stars, and that’s when it dawned on him; Ryan had been looking at him the entire time.

Yeah, he was definitely grateful for the darkness in that moment.

“Got any suitable equipment in that shack you've taken over?” Ryan asked, his voice projected to the sky, but Dylan could still hear him clearly.

Dylan released an exaggerated sigh. “Nope. Mr. H is pretty set on the whole “no technology” thing, other than the most ancient systems known to man.”

“Sounds like you've got it figured out, though,” Ryan pointed out, no doubt referencing his announcement duties.

“More or less,” Dylan replied. “Probably won't be able to rig up Back to the Future any time soon, though.”

“Tragic.” Ryan said, heavily dipped in sarcasm.

Dylan just smiled at that, whilst simultaneously wondering how Ryan was able to keep himself as steady as he was, switching back and forth between tones and moods like a gearshift. It was admirable, in a way … sure, Blasé Dylan could do it just fine, but there was something different about the way Ryan spoke that was alluring. Part of the reason Dylan was drawn to him in the first place, he figured.

“How far back in time do you think we’re looking right now?” Ryan asked, after a moment of silence. He was definitely going for some kind of record with how many questions he'd asked so far … not like Dylan was complaining. Far from it.

He took a moment to consider, weighing the question, before answering. “I don't know. We’re probably seeing multiple different points in time.”

“Multiple?” Ryan inquired.

“Well, time works differently in space,” Dylan explained. “If the sun were to explode, we wouldn't know for eight minutes.”

“That's … disturbing.”

“Another perspective crisis for you. Enjoy.”

Ryan snorted, and somehow, it was the most genuine sound Dylan had heard from him all night.

“I won’t.”

There was a pause, and when Dylan realized Ryan wasn't going to say anything, he decided to continue talking, feeling a little braver.

“In space, time and distance kind of merge together, in a way, which is why distances from Earth to other things are typically measured by light years.”

“The distance light travels in one earth year?” Ryan’s tone suggested genuine curiosity and interest, which made Dylan unreasonably excited. He tamped it down enough to continue talking normally.

“Yup. Which is 6 trillion miles, approximately.”

“Okay …”

“So, if we were to be looking at the north star, for example,” Dylan pointed into the sky at said reference, and saw Ryan looking in the same direction. “We're looking through however many light years away we are from it. Every 6 trillion miles is 1 earth year - cram as many 6 trillions into how far away it is, and that's how many years into the past you're looking.”

There was a pause, in which Dylan awkwardly kept his arm up, pointing like a kid seeing something out of the ordinary in public with no consideration as to who might see him.

“I want to agree with you, but I don't think I have any idea what you just said.” Ryan eventually admitted.

Dylan couldn't help but laugh, and he dropped his arm, letting it flop down and rest over his stomach.

“Okay, well, the north star is a long fucking distance away, both in kilometers and time. Beyond either of our lifetimes.”

“Duly noted. So, however far the north star is, that’s how far in the past we’re looking?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Cool, huh?”

“Very cool.”

They went quiet again. The night sky overhead gave no suggestion as to how much time had passed, or how much continued to pass, and Dylan was perfectly okay with that. Out there in the grass, legs thrown over the same log, side by side and staring into the seemingly endless night sky above, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them, laying almost shoulder to shoulder, each other’s thoughts a soft hum like white noise of a fan thrumming in and out of their heads and into the air around them. They didn’t even have to speak to know that they were there, and there was a strange, calming aspect to that. To know that they were both thinking, likely not in tandem, maybe about each other, maybe about nothing at all. 

Prior to that, Dylan couldn’t have imagined an extended period of time where he wasn’t overwhelmed by what Ryan could be thinking of him, and yet here he was. The universe worked in mysterious ways, it appeared.

As Dylan continued to gaze into the stars, a thought struck him as though a lightbulb had appeared over his head, and he was suddenly disrupting the hush that had fallen over them. He kept his voice quiet, though, both to keep the volume of the atmosphere around them at an acceptable level, and because he didn’t have the energy in him to speak any louder. 

“We're made of stars, y'know.”

Dylan sensed Ryan turning his head to look at him, and after a moment, he did the same.

“What?” Ryan asked.

In the faint glow of the moon, Dylan could see Ryan’s face more clear at that moment than he’d been able to that entire interaction, and suddenly, the prospect of ethereal beings bathed in holy light bestowed upon those yearning for a miracle suddenly didn't seem that improbable anymore.

Dylan brushed that thought aside, filing it away for later contemplation, and focused on the conversation at hand.

“Yeah. It's not an exact science, but we're about 93% stardust.”

There was a pause. The momentary illumination of Ryan’s features had passed (whether or not it was a figment of Dylan’s imagination is still unclear, but that doesn’t matter in the slightest right now), but Dylan could still see a hint of contemplation on Ryan’s face. It was … enchanting.

“Really?”

For the second time in less than 10 seconds, Dylan had to force his brain back on track. He removed the potential of distraction and subsequent stupidity by forcing himself to look away from Ryan, and gazed up at the brightest star his eyes were drawn to, which happened to be Polaris.

“Yeah,” he replied. There was a faint buzz of excitement in his veins gradually waking him up, and simultaneously activating his nerd brain. “All of what makes us up as humans was fragments of stars, at some point.”

“Interesting.” Ryan eventually answered with a soft exhale, which was immediately swallowed by the night. “What's the other 7%?”

Dylan couldn't help himself; he grinned, and found he didn't care if Ryan could tell. 

“Hydrogen. Which is what stars were made of. When they went nova, the heat caused nuclear fusion, which created the different elements we're made up of.”

Ryan seemed to take a moment to process that - it took Dylan yet another surge of self control to not look over and marvel at his side profile.

“So …” Ryan started, seemingly speaking as the words came to him, his tone laced with intrigue. “The elements of humans came from the explosions of stars?”

“Yup,” Dylan confirmed. “The calcium in our bones, the iron in our blood, all the different chemicals in our brains … all of them were stardust, at some point.”

Dylan sensed Ryan nodding, and again, couldn't keep the smile off his face. Not quite a grin, barely even a tug of his lips … he figured it could be an imitation of Ryan’s little half-smirk he did when he was amused.

“... that's really cool.” Ryan said.

“Yeah!” Dylan, a little more confident now, replied. “Philosophically speaking, it sorta makes the science of human nature make a bit more sense - we're all different combinations of the same thing.”

Ryan hummed thoughtfully.

“Huh. Kind of like that math thing you mentioned, yeah? With the formulas?”

Dylan blinked, the tune of his thoughts abruptly cut short by the record screech of surprise. He hadn’t expected Ryan to remember that, and his chest suddenly felt very congested with the butterflies that seemed to have migrated from his stomach up into his chest cavity, and had to clear his throat before he spoke, just so his voice didn't sound like an actual record screech.

“Yeah, sorta,” Dylan said, his voice softer. “The number it was before the formulas is always going to be there, you just have to reverse the process until you find it again.”

Another pause settled over them, but it seemed to have the feeling of contemplation embedded within it rather than just a bout of silence. Dylan vaguely recognized it as one of Ryan’s “thinking moments”, though there was something different about it this time. He couldn’t determine exactly what it was that was different, though, so he brushed it aside, and instead refocused on the stars as he awaited whatever it was that Ryan was going to say. 

“So, hypothetically …” Ryan began, then took a breath. He was speaking slowly, as though he were heavily considering each word he spoke, which didn’t help Dylan’s nervous anticipation in the slightest.

“If all humans are made of stardust …” Ryan resumed after a beat, “it's probably likely that some of us are made from the same exploded star, huh?”

Dylan felt his breath hitch. For some reason, there felt like there was more gravity to what Ryan was saying, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. There was something appealing about that, though … the mystery man forming mysteries. 

“Yeah, could be,” Dylan said eventually, his tone contemplative. “I never thought about it that way.”

He was being honest - he hadn’t thought about it that way. His interest in the world of science and calculations often kept him involved with the more logical side of things, where theoretical thinking was only really used when trying to determine an answer. It was expected that there would be an answer; it wasn’t to be left ambiguous.

It was part of the reason Dylan found such comfort with it; everything had an answer. There was a logical explanation and eventual conclusion, regardless of how complicated the process was to get there. It gave him a sense of stability he hardly felt in his own life, and his rationale for his faux optimism was that, if he pretended his life was as straightforward and logical as an equation and that all of his confusion was part of just working out the complicated process to get to the answer, he might actually be able to find an answer someday.

The answer to what, he didn’t know. But a conclusive result to anything would be welcome, at this point.

“And even if we’re from different stars, we still have that original 7% of hydrogen, like you said,” Ryan continued. “... maybe that’s what makes the connections.”

Dylan felt like he’d been knocked off kilter. It wasn’t the first time Ryan had said something that had had such an effect on him, but even so, he wasn’t used to the sensation at all. He tried to rewire his brain so he could respond with something, but it was like trying to walk on a treadmill going at a running pace. Of all the things he could have anticipated hearing, something so poetic was not one of them. 

Not to mention, he was referencing something from their conversation they’d had days ago. And while Dylan knew he’d been listening and actively communicating, the fact that Ryan remembered his random thoughts that had been spilling out of his mouth was … well, Dylan didn’t really know how that made him feel. He’d been pretty unguarded there, and here Ryan was, quoting him in such an eloquent way that it was as though Dylan’s random words strung into sentences were worth listening to and referencing.

It took him a moment to re-orient himself, and once he did, he realized he'd been basically staring at Ryan for an indeterminate amount of time. Even though they couldn't really see each other, Dylan knew Ryan noticed, and he thought he could see a somewhat apprehensive look on his face.

“What?” Ryan asked.

Dylan still didn't know what to say, so as a reflex, he spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“That’s fucking awesome.”

There was a pause. Ryan appeared to go from apprehensive to curious, if not a little confused.

“Really?” he asked.

Dylan turned his head to look at the stars again, as though searching them for guidance. Not even the sun exploding would be able to get him out of this one … not for another eight minutes, at least.

“Yeah,” Dylan answered, sounding more breathless than he’d like. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

It felt like he was able to sense Ryan’s growing curiosity in absence of his sight, and it was a blessing and a curse at the same time. He’d been wanting to know what Ryan was feeling for - let’s face it, practically the entire summer - and now, he had a vague idea. 

But that was the thing. It was vague. Dylan didn’t know if he was right, and it felt like this was a situation where there should be some level of certainty before he acted on what could be false information.

“You haven’t?” Ryan questioned, and it sounded like he was genuinely curious, still.

Dylan shook his head, and though Ryan probably couldn't see it, he knew he could feel it. He’d forgotten about their proximity a few times during this encounter, and it served as a holy shit moment every time he remembered, though he didn’t make it obvious. At least he hoped not.

“Nope. I’m not really philosophical … not more than science allows, anyway,” Dylan replied. “Idealism versus realism, and all that.” 

He risked another glance at Ryan, and had a mini heart-attack when he noticed that Ryan was looking right back at him. At some point, Dylan's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and either it had taken them forever to get with the program, or he just hadn’t realized until now, but he could see a little bit better. He didn’t have to rely on that weird perception (that really could just be educated guessing based on practically invisible social cues) he’d acquired in its absence. Their eyes met, and Dylan had to force himself to remember to breathe. 

In this light (or lack thereof), Ryan’s eyes had somehow become even more encapsulating. They hadn’t changed at all, still the same dark brown as they were in the normal light of day, but now, with darkness surrounding them and the slight backdrop of the whites of his eyes, his irises looked like the infinity one saw when they looked into a black hole. 

While any educated person knew that destruction was the only thing waiting for them should they get too close and be sucked into its orbit, there was something alluring about the unknown that lay within.

“I didn’t think that counted as philosophy,” Ryan said, and his casualness served as a lifeline to Dylan’s nearly drowned consciousness. 

He pulled his gaze away from Ryan’s in order to avoid passing the point of no return, and redirected his line of sight to the sky. It remained unchanged, the same stars and moon looking down the same way he looked up. It felt like Ryan and the night sky were playing tug of war with his attention, considering how often he deviated between the two … but if he were to choose a winner, there was no question who it would be.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, but it sounded philosophical.” Dylan responded.

Ryan’s soft chuckle served as music to his ears, and it soothed his nerves, which had turned on and off so many times by now he was mildly surprised he hadn’t developed some kind of malfunction in the system’s wiring. There were only so many times one could pull the “parent method” of trying to fix something before it was broken beyond repair.

“Any idea that tries to answer the question of why humanity exists could be considered philosophical, I imagine,” Ryan pointed out.

Once again, Dylan momentarily forgets to answer, too caught up in how Ryan had said “humanity” in such a dual-toned manner of speech, like it was something as insignificant as science proved it to be, yet as meaningful as philosophy described.

Blasé-Dylan was having a Hurricane 5 level tantrum outside the door, whilst Dylan-Dylan had completely given up and was just waiting for it all to be over. Dylan continued to ignore both of them.

“Oh, probably,” Dylan answered. “Puts a whole new perspective on religion.”

Yet another thought that had slipped out completely unprompted. Whoops.

The ebbing and flowing of the silences between them reminded Dylan of the lumbering waves at the lake that had lapped at his and Ryan’s legs as they'd sat and talked. Their contemplation was as normal as the frigidity of the water in the summer, as refreshing as its cold was to their heated skin. 

Ryan broke the momentary quiet with a simple:

“Yeah, I guess it would.”

In the next tidbit of quiet, the air between them seemed to shift, just slightly, as abrupt yet subtle as a breeze would ruffle one’s hair and clothes once they emerged from a covering of trees. It felt as though the silence itself was an entity in that moment, asking a question Dylan didn’t know how to answer. So instead, Ryan asked one.

“Are you religious?”

It appeared as though Ryan was following whatever crazy train Dylan’s brain had been on, random thoughts and subsequent conversation starters included.

“Me?” Dylan asked, for some reason.

“No, the guy behind you.”

Dylan turned his head, feigning a glance behind him, playing along despite knowing the answer. Ryan scoffed, and the sound was a familiar warmth further soothing the chill that came with the night.

“Yes, you,” Ryan clarifies, and Dylan could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

Dylan dropped the act and settled again, before shrugging.

“No, not particularly.” he said.

“Atheist?” Ryan inquired.

“Dunno,” Dylan replied. “Haven’t really thought about it. Doesn’t really matter to me, in the grand scheme of things … doesn’t affect my life all that much.”

Dylan hoped Ryan couldn’t sense the little white lie - the pendant against his chest seemed to echo his heartbeat in tandem, absorbing the heat of his skin and returning it tenfold, almost as if to remind him that his answer wasn’t completely truthful. But that was something Dylan for sure didn’t want to talk about; he kept the pendant hidden under his shirt for a reason.

No, Dylan didn’t see himself as religious, but neither yes nor no were accurate answers when it came to his stance. He didn’t know what it meant for him if he had the belief, fueled by grief and hope, that there was a place like how heaven was described that his grandfather’s soul had journeyed to after he’d passed. He hoped that his grandfather was able to see him at least trying to keep his life together, that he was doing his best like he’d promised he would. 

“Fair enough,” Ryan answered with a slow nod. Dylan let out a breath, allowing his chest to relax, ignoring the movement of the small metal capsule on a string as it rose and fell with his breathing.

Dylan hesitated a moment, then glanced sideways at Ryan, the question on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself back, for whatever reason. He didn't want to overstep - even though it had been Ryan that asked the question, Dylan was still wary of his preference for privacy, and this seemed like one of those things that was personal, at least to some.

Something else made the decision for him, and Dylan heard himself speaking before he could come to a proper conclusion.

“Are you?”

Ryan shook his head. Dylan’s glance had turned into him fully turning his head to look at Ryan, who still had his eyes on the stars, taking advantage of his eyes' adjustment to the dark to silently marvel at just how pretty he was. Inside and out, he was coming to realize.

“Nope,” Ryan said. “My grandparents are, but they never pushed it on us - er, me.”

Dylan wasn't phased by his seemingly automatic correction. Pretty much everyone knew Ryan had a sister; he’d spoken about her in passing a few times over the summer. Dylan didn’t know much about her, but he figured that was intentional. It was yet another reason on the ever growing list that Dylan admired the guy next to him.

Dylan himself didn’t have siblings, older or younger, but he could recognize the signs of a strong sibling bond based on how a person spoke regarding the subject, and he could tell just by how Ryan’s features softened and he seemed to brighten a bit whenever he spoke about her that their relationship was something precious, something that Ryan would go to the ends of the earth for to protect.

He felt a pang in his chest, what he recognized as the increasingly hopeless romantic inside of him wondering what it would feel like to have that sort of dedication centered towards him. Specifically, Ryan’s attention. Dylan buried the thought as soon as it arose, and ground the dirt down to smooth it out for emphasis. He was being stupid again.

However, unlike how it would usually go, Dylan’s brain didn’t freak the fuck out upon the passing of those thoughts, or his reflexive reaction. He wasn’t overanalyzing the situation or working himself into a tizzy about literally nothing this time - it remained peaceful. The night sky seemed to act as a mediator between the spiraling of Dylan’s thoughts and his consciousness, swallowing up anything unnecessary or unwanted and casting it out into the abyss of space. It would likely return at some point, like asteroids or the sun in the morning, but that wasn’t important.

“Well, that’s … good?” Dylan tested, covering any hint of emotion spawned by his thoughts with his usual fallback. Blasé Dylan was still outside the door, likely leaned against it and pouting, but he’d left enough of an impression that he could still come in for a rescue, it seemed. “I think?”

Ryan snorted.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he confirmed. “I’ve always appreciated that.”

The next pause didn’t stir up anything new. It remained peaceful, though it was somewhat lighter, perhaps even more companionable. Dylan was aware of the small hum of curiosity at the back of his mind, tempted to press for more information, but like usual, he hushed it. He was grateful he got any of this, compared to how it had all begun.

“Not that it would’ve changed anything,” Ryan continued after a moment, “but it was nice that I was free to explore other ideas without restriction, if I wanted to.”

Ryan suddenly turned his head to look at Dylan, and despite being caught staring red-handed, he wasn’t embarrassed. He just continued the conversation, keeping the influence of admiration to his thoughts regarding Ryan’s features at a minimum.

“Yeah, that is nice,” Dylan agreed. “And now look at you, making theories all on your own.”

Ryan’s expression turned quizzical. It was cute.

“What, the stardust thing?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Dylan said, allowing the natural smile to spread across his face. “I mean, I never thought about it that way before; you’ve enlightened me. That’s what theories tend to do.”

“Right, okay,” Ryan replied, that all too familiar (and unfairly attractive) sarcasm dipping into his tone. “Can I put my name on a philosophy doctorate now?”

“Dude, I can barely be considered a scientist - I’m not the guy to talk to about educational achievements regarding philosophy.”

“I don’t know, you seem pretty philosophical … you’re the one that told me about that stardust thing in the first place.”

“Which you started by mentioning time travel!” Dylan pointed out, his voice teasing.

“Hey, I was just trying to make conversation!” Ryan defended. “It just so happens you’re a science guy that actually knows about that kind of shit  - I didn’t even know if I was right.”

“ 🎶 Bill Nye the Science Guy 🎶 ”, his brain once again sang, the tune weaving it’s way into the forefront of his thoughts.

“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Dylan replied smoothly.

“Oh my god-”

Unable to help it, Dylan broke into quiet laughter, and the ease of the moment settled over him like a blanket fresh out of the dryer in a cold room. Ryan soon joined him, his laugh low and infectious, like always. For a fleeting moment, everything felt effortless, and if Dylan could have frozen it in time and captured it like the memory of the glow from the embers of a fire so it could light up the space that surrounded it the brighter it burned, he would have.

His heart was comforted by the softness of the silence once their laughter faded, furthered by the twinkle he caught in Ryan’s onyx eyes that took his breath away. He’d seen that particular look before a few times, but only once before now had it ever been directed towards him, and he hadn’t completely noticed it until later reflection. 

It had been that time at the lake, during their seemingly casual conversation about a surface topic that, in reality, was as deep as the depths of the water, so endless Dylan saw his own reflection before he could make out the bottom. The twinkle that felt like more of a flash from a camera with how sudden it was, how it left him momentarily stunned - he couldn’t tell for absolute certainty what it was, but he thought it might be … admiration? 

Something like that. A flicker of a feeling he could recognize due to how often it was directed from his own thoughts towards Ryan. And even though he didn’t know for absolute certain, somehow, that was okay. Something told him that not knowing was what made it all the more captivating.

Dylan cleared his throat for the second time, cutting through the otherworldly atmosphere that had begun to make him feel like he was hallucinating. 

“Well, philosophy and science are kind of interwoven by default,” Dylan spoke into the darkness between them. “Can’t have one without the other being involved to some degree, so …”

He found himself trailing off, unsure of where he was going with that statement … probably nowhere. It had become a lot more difficult to speak clearly with Ryan looking at him the way he was right now, but he tried.

‘Tell you what - you be the philosopher, I’ll be the scientist,” Dylan offered playfully, reigniting where he'd dropped his sentence. “We’ll come up with some sort of hypothesis, I’ll do the science, and then you can tell me why it was a good or bad idea afterwards.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“And if it was a good idea?”

Ryan’s downright sinful teasing tone nearly caused Dylan’s brain to implode in on itself, but he managed to hold it together, albeit barely.

“Then … yay?”

“Yay?” Ryan asked, sounding somewhat incredulous. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Dylan released a half-sputtered laugh, completely involuntarily, and threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“I don’t know, man!” he threw out. “We’re literally talking about hypothetical hypotheticals right now.”

“Aren’t hypotheticals in a scientist's field of expertise?”

A groan of fond exasperation emerged from Dylan’s throat, and he let his head fall back into the grass dramatically, though the slight curve of his lips betrayed him. Ryan’s answering laugh is a siren’s melody to his aching sailor heart, and he can’t help but be drawn into it for the few moments it lasts.

“Okay,” Ryan relents, and there’s a noticeable softness to his voice now, thoughtful and deliberate. “So, hypothetically, I could be the philosophy to your science?” 

The words land heavier than Dylan could’ve expected, like gravity overtaking an astronaut the moment they are reintroduced to solid ground. His metaphorical legs were useless, unable to support his own weight, rendering him reliant on the benevolent nature of Ryan’s gaze to keep him upright.

“Science and philosophy have a complex and interwoven relationship, where each influences and informs the other. Philosophy provides a framework for understanding the foundations, methods, and implications of science, while science provides empirical data and discoveries that challenge and refine philosophical theories.”

Dylan had read that somewhere, and it had stuck. It emerges from the depths of his brain, uncovered from the layers of information he’d stored away throughout his time involved in the scientific world, and strikes him a bit dumb.

“Philosophy and science are kind of interwoven by default. Can’t have one without the other being involved to some degree.”

Dylan’s own words had now come back and reared their heads, but instead of haunting, they substantiated him instead. With that, he can’t help the true, genuine smile that emerges, one he feels exudes the energy Ryan’s had radiated upon him all that time ago, when they’d walked and talked and connected in a way that felt like more than what they’d ever done before. 

“Yeah, if you want,” Dylan said softly.

Ryan just nodded, his expression contemplative. His eyes were avidly searching Dylan’s face, and Dylan tried not to let the implications of that interrupt the current peace he felt place its hands on his shoulders, a calm, silent support, one that reminded Dylan of his grandfather’s weathered grip that gently guided him whenever he needed it.

Even as silence overtook them once more, and their eyes deviated from one another’s back to the stars, the tranquil ambience mixed seamlessly with the underlying feeling of something delicate that Dylan couldn’t quite name didn’t dissipate. It remained around them, a strange, transparent barrier separating the two of them from the rest of the world outside. Eventually, they’d have to break away and go back to their individual duties, as individuals and camp counselors, but not right now.

The passage of time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered to Dylan right now, really, other than the feeling of Ryan beside him as they both looked into the night sky. 

And if Dylan shifted closer, intentional enough to notice and far enough for their shoulders to be deliberately pressed into one another, and Ryan leaned into the touch like it was the most natural thing in the world … well, that was something only they needed to know.

In that moment, the sun could have exploded and incinerated them all, and Dylan would have been happy because he’d have spent those final eight minutes with Ryan.

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