Pillowtalk S2 | D.O'B.

1. Where Are They Now?

Rory and Dylan haven't spoken in over two years.

2 years, 6 months, and 13 days, to be exact.

Not that Rory is counting.

Truthfully, she isn't counting. She's reached a point where her—for lack of a better word—fling with Dylan is nothing more to her than a distant, albeit bitter-tasting memory. So fleeting, she refuses to acknowledge its existence.

The last time she spoke to him (with words, that is) was August 15th.

Eleven days before his birthday.

It was the first time in her life that she'd truly experienced the term heartbreak.

Experienced each and every aspect of the word. Every syllable. Every crevice of every synonym.

Her soul physically cracked in on itself, collapsing inside her chest before bleeding out onto the sidewalk she was knelt on.

To see him there...like that.

She had thought, once upon a time, that she was far above begging. That she'd never be caught debasing herself in such a way. That she'd never submit to the disparaging practice of depending on someone to give her what she deserves.

She begged him that day.

She begged for a lot of things.

But above all, she begged each and every god in each and every universe to release her from the shackles of existence if it meant she could keep him for just a moment longer.

Her Dylan.

That's what everybody called him. Her Dylan. Their siblings, their parents, their friends.

He was her Dylan. And she was his Rory.

But he's not her Dylan anymore.

He made that very clear.

She decided on that day that she would never forgive him for demolishing the walls she had built around herself. For taking a sledgehammer to her heart and making a home in it.

Because now her heart is empty.

Two years, six months, and thirteen days ago, she lost him.

And two years, six months, and thirteen days later?

She's all right with that.

Truly, she's never been happier. Never been more at peace. Never felt more content in her own skin, her own body, her own brain than she does now.

For the last two years, she's done nothing but work toward her future.

Her future without her Dylan.

While it used to look like him, it now looks like a degree in forensic psychology. Something even she herself couldn't have anticipated.

But she quite enjoys it. Enjoys the challenge. Enjoys the tedious yet daunting career she's working toward and everything it entails.

She doesn't allow herself the luxury of focusing on anything else besides her schoolwork, and her degree, and her future.

Something she learned from Dylan, she supposes.

The only other indulgence she allows herself is Sage.

Two years, three months, and five days after losing Dylan, she met Sage.

It was karaoke night at some local pub. Sage was an enigma. Possessing the stage like it was built just to serve her. Entertaining the crowd until they were pleading for an encore.

Rory had felt happy that night. She hadn't remembered the last time she felt happy.

That happiness brought her to Sage where, for the rest of the evening, they fed off each other. Fed off the feeling the other had to offer them. Fed off the excitement of meeting somebody who makes you feel alive.

Rory knew that night that Sage was her new indulgence.

Sage told Rory she loved her one month, three weeks, and four days later.

Rory had kissed her.

But she never said it back.

She knew the moment the proclamation left Sage's mouth that she'd never find the strength to say it to anybody else in her lifetime.

Not to anyone who isn't her Dylan.

She wants to, of course. If for no one else but Sage.

Patient Sage. The only person Rory imagines could put up with her the way she has these past three months.

She wants to love Sage. She imagines she might. She yearns to verbalize the feeling in her gut when Sage enters the room. Wants to concede her true sentiments.

She's not there yet.

Sage has promised to wait until she is.

"Hi, baby."

Sage beams the moment Rory enters the room, eyes following her figure as she sweeps through the doorframe, her bag filled with books colliding with the tabletop.

Rory makes her way to Sage's side, hopping onto the desk as Sage turns in her library chair to face her.

"Hi," she returns, fingers dancing along Rory's thighs as she pulls them apart so she can place herself between them. "How'd it go?"

Rory shrugs, her palms meeting the table as she leans back, eyes dancing about the room. "Fine. S'easy."

"Yeah? Good." Sage moves back as well, focus moving to the incomplete research paper open on her laptop. "Couple hours and then we're good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rory agrees, glancing down at Sage's hands, taking note of the twitch in her fingertips as they hover above the keypad. "How long you been working on this?"

"Uh...since last night."

"That's what you were doing?"

"Well...yeah." A scoff. "Dr. Jensen is a hard ass."

Rory hums, leaning down until her elbows find rest on her knees. "He's a softie."

"Yeah, to you," Sage corrects, giving a sideway glance to her girlfriend. "You know this shit inside and out."

Rory's lips fight a smile as she shakes her head, wishing more than anything she could ease the tension in Sage's shoulders. "S'fine, baby. You know the material. And I'll help."

"Okay...okay, thank you," Sage breathes, muscles already melting with relief as she nods her acceptance. "Let me just finish this paragraph and then you can look it over."

"Okay."

Sage's fingers fly along the letters, the words appearing on the screen faster than Rory can read them, and as she swallows an amused laugh...her eyes flicker towards a shadow in the corner of her peripheral.

She drinks in the tall stranger standing near the library entrance. His light-wash jeans. His clean white t-shirt. His hands as they pull what looks to be a leather jacket around his shoulders.

He turns, calling a final goodbye to the girl he was previously engaged in conversation with.

She waves goodbye.

He winks.

That's when Rory sees it.

That's when she knows.

The curve of his nose. The moles scattered across his cheeks like stars in the sky. The sharp edge of his jaw.

She'd know that profile anywhere. Could draw each feature with her eyes closed.

It's Dylan.

Her Dylan.