Dylan O'Brien (ıṃѧɢıṅєṡ & ƿяєғєяєṅċєṡ)

The. Last. Imagine.

Give him space. That was the advice you got in order to help getting back the love of your life.

But you've given him two months without you, that was enough space.

You walked into the coffee store, hoping to order the same kind of coffee you get everyday. Coming into this store was a daily routine for you. Usually your friends would be beside you, but the last week you've had a falling out with them. And as you walked up to the counter his greeting came. "Hello, what would you like today?" He asked, even that sentence could flip your stomach. This wasn't the first time you've talked to him, but it felt like it.

You tell him the drink you want and he turns around to make it, almost instantly its finished. "If it tastes bad, my name is Bill, okay?" He said jokingly as he handed it to you and you let yourself laugh freely for once. You only did that a number of times before, and only one person could make you.

"Okay."

You took a seat over by the plug in section, and plugged in your phone and laptop charger. As your laptop screen brightened, your eyes roamed over it. Then just as you had expected a blank document had come up. Your hands rested on top of the laptops keyboard, they hovered almost.

What to write?

Then your hands began to move, your fingers pressing down automatically as ideas came to you mind.

She walked past him everyday, hoping he'd look at her, but he never did. He was to busy paying attention to the girls who were normal, who seemed to be perfect.

To him, that wasn't her.

Well, not anymore at least.

You took away your hands and stared at the black letters on the screen, or well, in the screen. "Hey, I forgot—" You slammed your laptop shut, you hoped he hadn't seen anything. His eyes looked bright and confused as he stood next to you. "Are you... Are you alright?" He asked as he glanced over at your laptop.

He probably thought you were a freak now, great going (y/n)! "Yeah," you let out a small laugh. "I'm fine."

He clicked his tongue before swiftly walking over to the seat across from you and sitting down. "You write?" He asked generally curious and a light blush came to your cheeks, had he seen what you wrote? Because it was about him. "On your screen was a Microsoft document so I just assumed..." You snapped out of your thoughts and answered him.

"Not career wise," you said staring right into his brown orbs. "It's just a hobby." You looked down at your drink, glad he was talking to you.

"You any good?" He asked and you fought the smile that wanted so badly to show. What kind of question was that? How did you know if you were any good? But you remembered this was Dylan, that was how he was.

"Possibly," you said. "I mean I aced all my writing classes in high school so that has to mean something." He was right there with you.

"No," he said. "I mean do you have any creativity?" You thought so, and he had told you that before. He had told you that you were going to sell millions of copies. If only he remembered his words now.

"Yes."

"Good," he praised. "Because if your mind was dull I wouldn't want to know how your books would be." He smirked but it quickly wiped off his face when his boss yelled his name.