Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

11. Team-Bonding Trips

Dylan's pov

I couldn't sleep on Sunday night.

It wasn't because I was homesick, or wide awake, or simply just not desiring sleep. In fact, under any other circumstances, I could have fallen asleep within, legitimately, seconds. The week had exhausted me, from the long hours on set to the late night escapades that my castmates had chosen to drag me along on. I was more tired than I had been in my entire life, and all week I had craved nothing more than going to bed early tonight.

And now that Sunday had come, my mind refused to be silenced.

As I laid in bed, it was the thoughts that had circled my head all week, like a dog chasing its tail, that kept me up. No matter how hard I tried to stray my thoughts onto another topic, I always found myself back on square one, the same confusing subject.

Thomas Sangster.

The past week had been nothing but confusing. Why was he suddenly being so nice to me? He was supposed to hate me, not clean my room and bring me lunch and buy me coffee. Was this some form of joke?

And more importantly, did I want him to stop?

I stared into the darkness of my room, listening to the creaks and groans that emitted from the walls of the hotel. Emma had left earlier in the week, leaving me alone in the large room. I curled up under the heavy duvet, praying for sleep, but knowing it wouldn't come. Clenching my eyes shut, I forced my body to relax, but when my thoughts continued multiplying behind my tired eyes, I finally gave up.

Tossing the blanket from my body, I stood from my bed. I strode across my empty room towards the heavy wooden door, then threw it open, squinting in the onslaught of light. I cast a glance down the hall, then vanished from the doorway, determined to go find some comfort food.

I found a vending machine within minutes, mouth watering as I scanned the unhealthy food (thanks, America). I eagerly put in a dollar bill, bouncing like an excited five year old as a bag of oreos slid from the shelf. I spun back around once I held it, only to cry out and drop them (RIP oreos) upon being greeted by a small figure in front of me.

I stumbled backwards, more surprised than actually afraid. My heart beating frantically, I sagged in relief upon recognizing the figure.

"Thomas," I breathed. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Thomas looked tense, dark bags beneath his eyes. His eyes fell to the carpet, as though shrinking beneath my gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, quiet and low.

The air held a certain fragility as we stood so near, the only sounds being our shallow breathing. I shuffled forward, but he stepped back, and my eyebrows crinkled in. Confusion rose in my chest, particularly towards this timid side of him that I had never witnessed before.

"What are you doing up?" I finally asked, my voice scratchy from speaking so hushed. It was nearing two in the morning, after all. He should be asleep. I should be asleep.

Thomas still refused to glance up. "Just couldn't sleep," he said curtly. He fidgeted nervously with the hem of his pajama shirt (which read, 'You Snooze, You Lose' in bold letters) and seemed peculiarly smaller than I had ever seen him before.

For some reason, my chest clenched with his words. My mind flashed to earlier in the day when I had snapped on him, and hoped that that wasn't the real reason he wasn't asleep now.

But judging by the way he kept shrinking away from me, I guessed that that was exactly the cause.

I bit my lip, watching him intently. After a beat had passed, I said, "Well, goodnight then."