Miss Matched // Thomas Sangster Fanfiction

Chapter Thirty-Four - Run With It

"Yooouu can dance, yooouu can driiive, having the time of your life!" Dylan sings, dancing and buttoning his shirt up. A small CD player sits on his desk, playing a mixtape that Thomas is sure has been illegally burned.

Thomas sits on his bed, feeling tired, but slowly getting ready for the dance nonetheless. It seemed as though Dylan had been storing his energy today, specifically for the dance this evening. Like a bear in hibernation. But that bear was on crack.

"So, I take it you like school dances?" Thomas asks, sliding his socks on. He'd been laying on his bed, wearing a t-shirt and boxers since he'd gotten back from the showers. If his boxing mates hadn't threatened to pants him outside the dorms, he might not have been going to the dance tonight. The match had really taken it out of him.

Dylan gives him a critical look, as if Thomas is mad, and says, "What's not to like about dances, man? Music is great, the girls always look pretty, and I'm not the best at dancing, but I am great at making a spectacle of myself to make people laugh."

Thomas considers, nodding, "Yeah, that sounds accurate, actually."

"You seem to be in a good mood after your match today." Dylan adds, "Even though you lost."

The first words out of Dylan's mouth when Thomas had arrived in their dorm were, "Did you win?" Losing might have been embarrassing to some, but Thomas was actually feeling pretty good about it. He'd given it everything he had, and he felt like he'd earned the score he'd gotten.

"I haven't been having many good days lately," Thomas muses. "And I know I lost my match today, but it feels like a good day anyway, so I'm going to take that feeling and run with it."

"Do what ya gotta do, man." Dylan nods along, still dancing to the beat. He bursts into song again, "You are the dancing queeeeen, young and sweeeeet, only seventeeeeen!"

Thomas groans, flopping back on his bed, "Couldn't you listen to something a little cooler? I feel like this song isn't going to win us any popularity points."

Chuckling, Dylan quips, "I don't know if you've noticed, Thomas, but I'm not exactly the most popular guy at this school."

"Neither am I, but that doesn't mean I can't try."

"I'm not even going to try. I'm just going to keep being unpopular and weird. That's all I've got. Well, that and my sweet style," Dylan says, popping his collar and sending a smolder in Thomas's direction.

Laughter escapes from Thomas and he chortles, "Dylan, put your collar back down, and don't do that to any of the girls you see tonight or you might get the creep police called on you."

Dylan checks the clock on his desk, clicking his tongue and giving Thomas a disapproving glance, "We're already late for the dance. You're not even dressed!"

"I have a shirt on," Thomas says, looking down at himself. Blue and white shirt, socks on his feet, shoes ready to be put on. All he needed was to find a clean pair of trousers.

"Dude, put your pants on!" Dylan exclaims.

"You put my pants on," Thomas mumbles, heaving himself off the bed and opening a drawer to snatch a pair of slacks out. Groaning, Thomas slides the pants on his legs with a wince.

Dylan frowns, looking a little worried, "Are you sore from the match? You get beat up that badly?"

"Nah," Thomas shrugs it off, "I'm just being a whiny bollocks. You should have seen Fleur during her match though. That guy she fought was strong, but she was just so quick!"

"Uh-huh."

Thomas continues, adamantly, as he buttons his trousers, "Seriously, mate, she was amazing. Like lighting, she was. She was there one second and here the next, and she looked so worn down, but she just kept going. I wish you could have seen it, I can't even do the story justice."