[Chapter Three]
Thomas paused contemplating whether he should answer with the truth or with a lie, so he didn't feel so utterly embaressed. But, who wants to start a friendship with a lie? He sighed, shrugging awkwardly. "I a-actually didn't,"
The other boy bit his lip, letting his porcelain fingers trail across the script that was laying on the little white coffee table next to them, before he grinned innocently, an idea striking to mind. A small spider ran across the table, its massive legs terrifying Thomas, who let out a shrill shreik and he shuffled to the other side of the small table.
Dylan smiled, grabbing Thomas' hand and pulling him up. "Well, let's go rehearse a few of our scenes then," the brown hiared boy continued to hold the others hand as they walked out of the shop. "S-sorry, spiders s-scare me.." he apoligsed, fingers slipping between Dylans and intertwining with them.
The older boy metally aww'ed, kissing the top of Thomas' hand as they walked to the towns Pavilion centre, a gym, swimming pool, dance rooms and much more inside. "No, it's okay, I think it's cute," he commented, blushing when a girl he was friends with cooed at them.
The rest of the walk they spent in silence. Not uncofrtable, awkward silence, a beautiful one, which was filled with hapiness yet deadly quiet. And neither of them cared. They enjoyed the simple presence of one another, lightly swinging their hands and ignoring the judgemental looks of the public.
When they got to the door, Dylan waved at the recetionist, who nodded her head and smiled sweety, so Thomas guessed he knew her in some shape or form. The two of them walked peacefully along the corridors, and up the stairs, before the older boy pulled the other through a door and into a room with a window into another.
It was one of those things where its a mirror for one side, and on the others its a window. They were on the window side, so Dylan handed Thomas, the only one of the pair who didn't know his lines for this scene, the script, on the page to start. The blonde boy took it, and coughed, a nervous sickness taking over, once again, and his throat feeling like it was closing up.
He sat on the floor, and then leant back, so he was lying on the hard wood of the floor. Dylan then walked over, and did the same thing next to his friend, except with one leg propped up. Thomas blushed as he read the next line, trailing his hand across the floor next to him, and resting it on his friends thigh.
"Today was amazing," he sighed, trying to act content, and luckily it worked, sounding as real as anything he had said that day. The blonde boy also thought he'd continue to feel sick at the stomach, but the second a voice he knew very well started talking, he brothe deeply and felt -suprisingly- normal. His stomach was set, a happy grin on his face as they continued to act the parts.
"Dance with me, Casey," Dylan said, holding out a hand to Thomas, and playing a slow song on his phone. The blonde boy stood up, reading over his next few lines on the script. "I dont dance," he smiled at the small High School Musical reference, knowing the writer was a HSM fan, much like Al, weirdly.
"I know you can!" Dylan giggled too, taking one of the smaller boys hands, and placing the other on his shoulder. They started to sway to the music slightly, and Thomas quickly glanced at the paper on the floor, his breath hitching. He was basicslly doing the right thing, so Dylan tilted his chin up, locking their eye sight.
He leant forwards slightly, ghosting his lips upon Thomas', before fulling crashing them together. Completely forgetting about Kyle and Casey and the show, Thomas eagerly kissed back, his stomach igniting with every spark that cliche stories talk about, his lips shifting against Dylans.
They both knew they were taking it too far, and how it was only supposed to be a few seconds, but they got carried away in their dreams and Dylan held Thomas' thighs, so the younger boy jumped up, wrapping his legs around the beautiful boys waist.
They walked backwards, crashing against the wall as they kissed until their lips hurt. Thomas pulled back, staring into Dylans eyes and god had he ever felt so happy in his life. But, the silence ended, as Dylan placed Thomas down and said his next line.
The small, broken biys heart shattered realising that was absoloutely nothing to Dylan, and that he was just acting for the rehearsal of the show. And after the show, hed want nothing to do with the younger boy. Hell, he'd most likely ignore him and theyd never talk again.
Not ten minutes later, Thomas said he felt sick, and grabbed his bag before taking off down the hall without another word. He didnt even say goodbye, before walking back to his small house and storming up the stairs to his small, yet magnificant room.
The walls were a pastel blue, with a few polaroids of his trip toe Greace the year before hung across his wall on a peice of string, and letters from friends that he moved away from pinned to his board. His bed was placed in the corner, black and white New York sheets covering it.
There were three guitars in the room, too. A grey, silver electric on a stand in the corner, a shiny, new, oak acoustic next to it on its own stand, not been touched. Behind his bed was a box with a tatty acoustic , yet positivley the most beautiful guitar in the room, olace on a stand with a simple, thin black strap haging from it. There was a blue tint around it, matching the blue and black keyboard placed next to the box.
The floor was covered in clothes and empty cans, bookshelves filled with thousands of books and pots all along the window ledge. Thomas grabbed a black blanket, curling his duvet into a corner and taking the blanket over his body, so he was cacooned in the messy pile of warm blankets as his eyes slowly shut, letting his heart fall into a black obyss, as he slept peacefully, with a certain boy in mind.
