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You don't know exactly when you last saw Dylann. All that's left of him is a hazy image of a blond side part, and all the times he got in trouble with your history teacher.
She argued that his flat tone of voice was disrespectful. He always replied that he couldn't help it. You felt bad for him whenever this happened. But a part of you cherished these memories as the few times you actually heard his voice.
Dylann was quiet. He kept to himself and mostly hung around the same group of guys. You were never able to bring yourself to approach him, and that didn't help. The rare times he participated in class were your way of feeling closer to him. There was a certain encounter between the two of you that drew you to him in the first place.
You recall a time your english teacher, Mr. Anderson, made you read "The Lord of the Flies". He was an odd man, and his teaching methods were just as eccentric. That day, he took your class to a park near your school, just to deliver his lecture there. He defended that the closer you were to nature, the more you would connect with the characters and story. He then split everyone in groups for "discussion time". Your group was mostly silent, until a guy assumed the role of a spokesman and began asking everyone individually what their thoughts on the novel were.
When he landed on Dylann, he said:
"Honestly, I haven't like read it. Haven't made it through a page of any reading list stuff. Passed the last one 'cause I saw the film." His voice was soft. By "the last one" he meant Pride and Prejudice. He ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, readjusting his bangs.
You were pleased to find that someone hadn't read the book as well. Then, you were asked what you thought.
"I actually did the opposite Dylann did. I read Pride and Prejudice but I couldn't get though this one so I saw the movie instead."
"I bet you hated it," He said, as he locked eyes with you. He was right, but for whatever reason you didn't want to admit it.
"I bet you hated your movie as well." You responded. The little you knew about Dylann was that he liked Call of Duty and weed. Romance movies were the last thing you'd expect from him.
"Pftt, no." His quick reply proved you wrong.
"Why not?" You inquired.
"Cause Dylann right here is a romantic at heart," his friend answered for him, with a teasing tone. The way he jokingly nudged him with his elbow was the cherry on top.
"Shut up," he muttered, embarrassed, as he tried to casually hide his flushed cheeks with his hoodie.
That day was as monotonous as any other, but Dylann lingered on your mind. And that made it stand out. You weren't used to whatever it was you were feeling. You knew his friend was joking, but you couldn't help but find Dylann's reaction adorable. You felt drawn to that side of him, and you wanted to see more of it. But you never figured out how. Guess taking action was never your strength.
You were upset when he stopped coming to class. You didn't know how his absence was so obvious to you, when you practically never spoke in the first place. Eventually, the image of that guy you had a crush on buried itself in the back of your head. But the thought of him never actually left it. The mere mention of Jane Austen or Pride and Prejudice always brought him back to you.
Sometimes you heard people gossiping about him, but his life after dropping out of school didn't seem to take a brighter turn. You heard he got arrested for drug possession and then for trespassing. He had a reputation for being a pill-popper back in high school. So, as cold as it may sound, you didn't find it the drug possession part too surprising.
You still hoped he would get his life together, but you never said it out loud. Much less to him. There were times you could have sworn you saw him. One at the supermarket, another at the bus stop, and another one just now.
You wanted to look closer to see if it was actually him, but the rational side of you forbade you from just staring at a stranger. At least not tonight. Your friends convinced you to go to this party to have fun, not to overthink whether that guy on the corner was or not Dylann. His hair was shorter anyway. One of your friends noticed you glancing at him.
"Did anyone catch your eye, ____?" She asked, taking a sip from her drink.
"Why are you asking?" You answered, clearly knowing what she was referring to. You might be worse at
playing dumb than making the first move.
"Come on, you're practically drooling over that guy." She said.
"What? Of course not." Your little grin gave away your lie.
Your friends were right. You still behaved like a middle school girl when it came to crushes. They encouraged you to talk to him. The whole scene looked like a mom trying to feed broccoli to her one-year-old. Except you weren't a one-year-old, you were grown and you actually really liked broccoli. You had been craving it for years. Why run away from the chance you had been yearning for?
When you looked back at the corner where you last saw him, he wasn't there anymore. Just like in high school, he slipped away from you before you had the chance to do anything. You felt dissappointed, but you didn't want to spend your night mourning what could have been. You stuck with your friends until something caught everyone of guard.
Sirens. It wasn't long until everyone started yelling like children when a bee gets into the classroom. And this time the buzzing was replaced by sirens, and red and blue lights you couldn't see yet, but still felt as they were chasing you specifically. As if you were a fugitive with a million dollar reward. Chaos filled the room and it got to the point it clouded your judgment as well. In your head, there was only one thing left. The need to get out of there as fast as you could. Well, as quickly as your heels allowed you.
Everyone in the room began to push each other as they attempted to leave the house. Your gaze searched for your friends, but the LED lights that once lit up the room now made it complicated to tell who was who. Your adrenaline told you to start running, that you'd reunite with them later. So you ran.
The further you got from the house, the less you could hear the screams. But the stress lingered in your heart. The fact that you didn't know where your friends were didn't help. As focused as you were on your way home, you couldn't help but notice a quiet thud from behind you, immediately followed by a louder "fuck!"
Instinctively, you turned around to see that someone had tripped. You approached them to help them up, and they took your hand without saying a word. After a closer look, you could tell that this person was a guy. He gritted his teeth as he stood up thanks to your help. Then, he fixed his blond bangs before facing you. His blue eyes looked so familiar, even if it had been years since they last met yours.
"Dylann?"
"Yeah. Do I know you?" His voice was deeper than you remembered. His flat expression, the one you found so hard to read, was just as you recalled. You noted that he got rid of the side part as well.
"Well, it's been a while. High school, Mr. Anderson's class?" You barely finished talking when he suddenly leaned onto you and gripped your shoulder for balance.
"Are you hurt?" You asked him, worried.
"I'm fine. It's just... not too easy to walk. No big deal," his face remained serene. He wanted to brush his pain off, at least that's what his words said. But the way he clung onto your arm whispered that he needed you.
"I could help you get home if you can't walk well by yourself," you mouthed, as you began to take small steps together.
"Yeah, uh, thanks. It's just..." He cut himself before finishing.
"What?" You asked softly, wondering what he might say.
"Nothin', ___. Just that I should be walking you home instead. Not like this," the way your name left his mouth struck your heart more than you'd care to admit. He did remember you after all.
"Don't worry about it. Just try not to put too much pressure on your foot." You wanted to appear nonchalant to him, even if his touch made it hard to do so. Your worry about the police left your body as fast as it had appeared. The mere sight of Dylann took it away. Until he reminded you of it again.
"You think we passed the cops?" He asked, while trying to keep his usual demeanor. He seemed more preoccupied with them than with his ankle.
"Yeah, I don't hear any sirens here. Do you?" You smiled softly, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light. But he didn't reply. You could tell the whole situation was kind of overwhelming to him. Since you were no longer exposed to those maddening screams, you could think more clearly. You were sober, and since you weren't carrying any drugs with you, there was no real reason the cops could come at you.
But Dylann still seemed anxious about something. You remembered how people used to call him a pill-popper back in high school, but never to his face. You didn't want to be skeptical or paranoid, but your instinct told you that he was hiding something. But you weren't going to interrogate him to figure out what it was.
Your abrupt encounter with Dylann made you forget about your friends for a few seconds. You had to be sure they were getting home safely. You explained to him that you wanted to make sure they were alright before grabbing your phone. His proximity to you allowed him to see exactly what the screen displayed. You didn't bother to hide it from him.
A faint brightness materialized the instant you turned your phone on. It made Dylann's eyes look lighter, but your attention was on the group chat you shared with your friends. Most of them had already left messages stating how they were fine and on their way home. You added that you were safe as well. One of your friends, who left the party earlier, sent a picture from home of her and her cat.
"Cute," you heard Dylann utter. You had forgotten that he could see what was on your phone. Then, he swiftly corrected himself.
"Uh, not her. The cat," he awkwardly finished. A hint of nervousness in his voice.
"Do you like cats?" You asked him. It may be a dumb question, but you wanted to keep your conversation going. You put your phone away soon after saying that, pleased that your friends seemed to be well.
"Yeah, I have one. Her name is Avery," he replied.
"Aww. I'd love to meet her sometime," you added, playfully. That was your way of saying that you wanted to see him again.
"You can. Anytime you want," his expression softened as he said that. His also soft-spoken tone remained the same.
Aditionally, he showed you a picture of himself in his room, holding Avery. He had it set as his lock screen. You found that detail sweet.
"So, how are you doing ___?" he asked you. Over the years, his hair had darkened. But the pale moonlight made it look more blond. Just as you remembered.
"Nothing special. Fine," you answered.
"You do look fine," he mumbled under his breath. Lightly, to himself. As if he didn't intend for you to hear him, but he still had to let it out.
"Huh?" It seemed to work since you could only make out the last two of his words. "Look" and "fine". If you had heard the whole thing, you would have melted.
"Nothin'," he replied, with a small grin on his face. His cheeks now had a cherry tint, you could tell since they were just a few inches away from yours. This was the closest you had ever been to him. You were so focused on his features you didn't notice how he glanced at your lips. He just couldn't help it. The closeness between your bodies allowed you to catch a scent of smoke and cigarettes on him.
You asked him how things were going for him. He told you he was doing fine too, but didn't give many details about what he'd been up to. He seemed to avoid talking about his job as well, but you weren't going to pull teeth for answers. You figured it was his business if he didn't want to talk about it.
You two walked and talked about everything and nothing as if you had been doing it for years. The dim brightness of the streetlights lit up the concrete pavement as you walked together. But you were too focused on him to notice your surroundings. Too focused on his tiny habit of chewing and licking his lips. Every crumb of him was lovely to you.
Your conversation with Dylann made it easy to forget about everything around you. And in front of you as well, because you almost tripped. You gripped his arm tightly, but not enough to hurt him. His hand moved from your shoulders to your waist to steady you. Firmly, but not too hard. He helped you up as if you were the one with a sprained ankle.
"Sorry. Got distracted," you told him, a little embarrassed. You didn't want to mess up in front of him. A hint of guilt struck your heart as well. You felt as if you were the one supposed to be taking care of him because of his injury.
"You're fine," his hands didn't leave your waist. And you were glad they didn't. You still couldn't help but wonder if he just forgot to let go, or if he was just trying to maintain his balance considering he was hurt.
At some point, you couldn't tell if you were walking slowly because of his ankle or because you wanted this moment with him to last forever. You two exchanged anecdotes, but one in particular caught your attention.
He asked if you remembered the time in kindergarten when you fell in recess, so he had to take you to the nurse's office. You didn't. You didn't know that he went to the same kindergarten as you, but now you did. Possibly because he wasn't in your class. Dylann was a grade ahead of you at the time. You recalled meeting him for the first time in 9th grade, after he was held back.
"I never heard anyone cry that loud. Guess that made it hard to forget," you heard him say. The stoic look on his face made it feel like rocket science to tell when he was joking. Fortunately for you, you were now an engineer when it came to him. The short time your walk had lasted so far was your degree. The way he looked at you assured you that he just wanted to mess with you a little. To see how you'd react to being called a cry baby. You brushed it off.
A part of you was surprised and glad he didn't forget you. You thought you were a pinch of dust in his life. And even if you were, you wanted to make sure you wouldn't be after tonight. You had to figure out a way to keep in touch with him. It was as if he read your mind when he asked you for your number, after you finally reached his house.
"I, uh, c-can I have your number?" he asked you. He looked away from you, into the pavement when the words "have your number" left his mouth. The thought of romance was enough to make him shy away, like a crab into its shell. You couldn't help but find his stutter and everything about him adorable.
"Yeah, sure," you answered, without a second thought.
You planted an innocent kiss on his cheek before you left. That was the most you'd ever seen someone blush over a peck on the cheek. Despite his nervousness, he seemed to like it. His awkward smile gave it away. He glanced at you, as if he didn't know whether to kiss you back or not. But he didn't. Then, you both said goodbye.
You spotted how he didn't limp when he entered his home. Didn't show the tiniest bit of struggle, despite his sprained ankle. The moment he closed the door, your mind began to race. How did you know he had a sprained ankle in the first place? Maybe he was hurt at first but got better. Then, why did he keep his arms around you, if he didn't need your support? Maybe he did need you. Just not in the way you initially thought of. Or maybe, that brief moment you shared was the best thing to happen to happen to him in months. Of course, you didn't actually think of that last thing. But Dylann definitely did. He hadn't felt like that for a long time. Or ever.
He was covering his face in embarrassment the second he entered his house. The fact that you couldn't see him anymore was a relief to him. But it also hurt. It was painful because he wanted more of you. More than just a walk home could offer him. He was afraid he might have embarrassed himself. Little did he know that he didn't. That you felt the same anxiety as him. That you were beginning to fall for each other.
Fast.
Deeply.
The only way you two know of.