Dylan O'Brien imagines

Coffee and Sex

*Dylan’s POV*

It was filming day again, and I couldn’t focus my mind at all and the lines just weren’t sticking. The walk down to the coffee bar seemed endless, but so did the clouded void in my mind. How ironic, my character on television just killed his void self, and now I’m struggling to do that myself.

My emotions had been washed away with all the tears spilling and now, nothing but a numb feeling was left. I felt hungover, but I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in weeks. Considering how long it’s been, I should be able to get a decent nights rest by now. I think I had slept four hours last night; and that was a lot compared to the other nights recently.

I couldn’t shake her though. Everything I did opened up gates to a flooding stream of memories, and I even found myself ordering her usual drink when it got to me in the line at the coffee bar. I collected my coffee and took a seat in one of the booths along the far wall of the café. My phone rang which I ignored. I was exhausted and the crew would get over the fact that I was going to be late today.

Putting the black plastic lid up to my mouth, I sipped cautiously. The familiarity of the drink was overwhelming; bitter expresso and sweet chocolate combined to form the same taste that was always on Y/N’s lips. I traced my finger down my lips, the cracked, coarse skin that contrasted her soft, plump touch.

I was close enough to the register that I could still hear the orders, but hidden, behind a small half wall. The next customer sounded like a echo of my words mere minutes ago.

“Hiya, sorry to be a bother, but could you add some extra foam and add some whip in my mocha?”

It can’t be.

I moved my head so I could see from behind the half wall.

“It’s funny, some guy was just in here; ordered the exact same thing.” The barista giggled to himself and carried on making her drink.

Y/N was standing there, a look of worry painted on her face. I couldn’t help but want to comfort her, to hold her, to kiss her; just one last time. But I couldn’t though. Her cold last words lingered in my mind: “Don’t even bother saying hello if we run into each other.”

I couldn’t do that though. I couldn’t let the love of my life just walk away like that. I needed to hear her say my name just one last time. I instinctively grabbed my drink as I softly shouted her name.

“Y/N! Hey! I just wanna talk-” I was cut off by her quickly pacing off in the opposite direction, out the door.

I groaned as I followed her out, the barista calling out her name for the order but that but eventually, that became a mere echo.

"Y/N please." I begged, catching up to her quickly. I stepped in front of her, forcing her acknowledgement.

She glanced up, making eye contact with me for the first time in what seems like forever. Her hair was a different colour, but still tousled under her favourite beanie. You see, her favourite beanie was one she stole from me. Seeing her wearing something of mine brought a smile to my face.

“Dylan,” Y/N murmured. “I can’t talk to you.” She tried to weave around me, but I was bigger and quicker than she was.

"Dyl, please. I told you not to talk to me ever again. It’s better that way." She trailed off as she ducked around my body.

“No, it isn’t Y/N.” I spoke up and she turned around to face me hesitantly. “It’s been, what, a month and bit, and I still can’t fall asleep at night. I refuse to wash my sheets to preserve that faint smell of your perfume that lingers on them. I subconsciously ordered your drink today and god dammit, it tastes like your lips and I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than I do right now.” The words came out more like word vomit, I had no control over them.