Sepia Makes Everybody Cry With a Dyle Fanfic

twenty one

Some sensuality TW

I struggled to stand up, wobbling on my legs like an infant. I placed a hand on the bed, hoisting myself off the ground, and leaned on the posts holding up the bed as if they would hold me up as well. I dug my nails into my palms, gritting my teeth to stop the waves of fresh tears.

"Get over yourself," I snapped. "For God's fucking sake, Daniel."

I took a shaky breath and swallowed. I accomplished something, I thought in a bitter attempt to bring my mind up. And I was fine before Kyle. This doesn't mean the end of... Bastille... I groaned. "Stop. Overthinking. Everything." I wiped my once-again wet cheeks angrily.

I took a few minutes to compose myself before opening the door with the thought in mind to go back to how I was before. To stop the raging emotions and accept—no, return to—reality. If that meant being unfeeling for a while.. so be it.

I could only take deep, slow breaths to keep the stability. I channeled that calm of before as I entered the kitchen area. I think the biggest twist in my chest—besides... you know—was the fact that I didn't know what Kyle had done. If he'd told anyone yet. I'll just have to deal with whatever cards I'm dealt, I thought, nodding grimly.

The kitchen was empty. The deafening quiet only furthered my stress, so I hurried to find the rest of the group. I heard noises down the hall and my stomach dropped. I slowly started walking down, getting more and more nervous as I realized it was coming from the lounge.

I heard loud, cacophonous laughter from behind the door. I couldn't wait another second, gripping the door handle and throwing the door open. I stared blankly at what I found. Inside, were three people. Three very drunk people.

Will.

Woody.

Kyle.

Kyle... 

I took a few breaths. How could they have gotten so drunk in such a short amount of time? I wondered, even my thoughts a whine. I may have spent more time up there than I realized.

Sure enough, the I glanced at my trusty calculator watch and it boasted that a ripe hour and a half had passed since we'd first gone up to the bunks. I swallowed and entered the room.

"Hey, Dan's here!" Will slurred. He made his way over to me, much less graceful than he usually was. "Come on, we're having drinks. I think we may have had a little too many, though," he whispered—though drunken whispers were more hissed shouts.

I rolled my eyes and pushed his arm off me. "Oh yeah? You're kidding me."

He smiled, closing his eyes. "Nope," he laughed, shuffling away.

Woody was a quiet drunk. He was seated, half-asleep, on the couch. Will sat down and the entire thing moved. I was surprised Woody didn't stir. I groaned, running one hand through my hair, then the other. I knew Kyle was there. I could feel him on the other side of the room.

Just like before, I thought. It all began here.

Ridiculous banter ensued me sitting down in a chair. I didn't pay attention, but soon enough, I found myself reaching for a beer. I drank slowly, for once disgusted by the state we would find ourselves in.

I sighed and rested one leg over the other, distractedly playing with my shoelaces. I pulled at my bracelets, tugged at my hair, rubbed my face... I was a wreck. What am I doing here? I covered my face with my hands. I'm a mess. They're a mess. And no one can know. My mind wandered to the fans, then to the interview were were approaching. God, what am I going to say? I'm so off... Someone's bound to notice. Terrifying images of the twitter messages I could be sent—"Hey Dan, what's wrong?" "You were acting so weirdly. What's going on?" "Dan, come on, explain this." "Dan!!!"—spiraled through my mind and I almost couldn't breathe.

I took another drink.

Inevitably, Kyle ended up beside me. He didn't sit, just stood leaning to the side and staring at me. Finally, he spoke. "Hello, my ffffriend." Someone who didn't know him wouldn't have known he was as wasted as he was.

"Hey, Kyle," I said quietly. I still didn't look at his face.

"I wanna—" he began.

"I'm not really in the mood to talk right now," I snapped. I stood up and tossed my now-empty beer can into the recycling bin. The door looked very appealing, and I side-stepped my formerly intimate friend with a heavy heart. I didn't know how I would deal with this. I just hoped if he went back to Janna and no one said anything, we could forget about this. We were friends. Bandmates. We could pass this off as another crazy day in our history. I physically felt a weight settle in my stomach. There. I can just... forget about it.

I almost closed the door behind me, but something stopped it. I knew I shouldn't have turned around, but I did. Kyle was in the doorway. High eyebrows, half-grin, clumsy hands—more than usual—it was everything of the perfect drunk appearance.

"Heywait fer mee..." he slurred out.

I wrinkled my nose and turned around. "No, Kyle..." I replied, clenching my fists.

Suddenly, I heard a clatter and his hand was gripping my wrist. I glanced at the ground. He'd dropped his beer.

"You need to pick that up." I tried to pull my hand away, but he only stepped over the beer and right up to me. My breath stopped and a shiver ran down my veins. His eyes were glassy as they stared at me.

"Kyle, what—?" I hissed, craning my neck to see the door still open a crack. Oh God, if anyone sees us...

My eyes snapped open wide as he brought his free hand to press against the wall behind my head. His face was close to mine and the fumes from his mouth mixed with mine, making my head spin.

"But..." I could hardly manage the word. It was hardly audible.

My eyes stung but I gasped and blinked them away as his right hand left my wrist and landed on my waistline. He pressed his fingers into my sides and I nearly fell to the floor.

I was breathing heavier now. I was almost angry that he wasn't. But then his fingers curled over the hem of my jeans and his breaths were deeper. His left hand on the wall slid onto my neck, wrapping almost all the way around. He pulled my lips to his and my face blossomed in heat. Simultaneously, he began rubbing my thigh, slowly moving from the outer edge inward. My heart pounded inside my chest and I couldn't focus.

It felt painful, holding back. I just stayed still, pressed up against the wall. Deep inside, I could feel the urge to return the touches building. The pressure just grew and grew. He's drunk! He doesn't know what he's doing! my mind desperately screamed at me. But I thought back to just over half an hour before. He'd been so open, so willing. It's him.

I finally gave in. I found my hands gripping at his back, then his neck, then his shirt. He noted me and opened his mouth. I tried to back up more, but there was nowhere else to go. He murmured something, and I groaned into his mouth. His fingertips were fire and the hand on my neck started running through my hair. It sent shivers down my spine, and soon enough, his other hand began palming me between my legs.

I jumped, electricity shooting through me. Kyle pressed me harder and I made a noise, curling over his shoulder. My fingers were shaking, and I hadn't let go of his shirt. I allowed myself to reach under it and feel him shivering beneath me. It was when he began pulling off my shirt and his fingers crept deeper into my jeans that the fog lifted violently and my soul was drenched in ice water.

My eyes snapped open. My hands let go. My knees failed and I collapsed to the floor.

Kyle nearly fell over with the sudden loss of me in his arms. He wobbled—his drunken state not helping at all—and caught himself on the wall.

My cheeks were wet again and I was shaking so much it was hard to breathe. I buried my face in my knees, woundedly pulling my shirt tight to my core. "I want you, Kyle," I sobbed, not caring if he heard me, "but not like this."

what have i done im so sorry