Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

14. He's Not That Bad

Thomas's pov

Dylan and I didn't leave the trailer that night.

(No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter, geeze.)

After I put the glasses on top of the fridge, making a mental note to clean it up later, things got pretty awkward--well, kind of. It wasn't awkward in the sense that either of us were uncomfortable, just awkward because neither of us knew what to say or how to act anymore.

Over the course of the past two-ish weeks, Dylan and I had had a very limited amount of actual, legitimate conversations--so few in fact, that I could count all of them on one hand. Very, very few times could I recall being in the same room as him without one of us mocking the other.

But making fun of him wasn't exactly on the table right now. That's not what friends did--or acquaintances for that matter. As much as I wanted to (and God did I want to) I couldn't be snarky. So what was I supposed to say?

Why the heck was apologizing even invented? Why couldn't I be guilt free? I'm Thomas Brodie-Sangster, I'm known for being unapologetic unless it affects my career. Or at least, I was. Then Dylan had to come waltzing into my life and basically do the Salsa all over that idea. Stupid Dylan. Honestly, it's his fault that this is all my fault.

Am I supposed to thank him for giving me a chance? The awkwardness in the room was crawling down my throat and resting right over my trachea, making it impossible to even try to speak. I had to say something, but what was I supposed to say to the guy who I'm now acquaintances-with-even-though-he-probably-still-hates-me-but-he-is-too-nice-to-reject-my-apology? I fumbled for words, trying to figure out where to start.

"So...now what?" Dylan voiced my thoughts aloud, scratching at the back of his neck.

Though I don't personally apologize, my characters in movies often do. I thought for a second, trying to recall what my characters did after apology scenes. Then it clicked.

"How about we just start over?" I suddenly offered, taking a step closer. "We can pretend like none of this ever happened. You know nothing about me and I know nothing about you."

Satisfied, I held out a hand, but Dylan hesitated. His eyes flickered to my face, then back to my outstretched hand. He seemed as if he was internally arguing with himself, his eyes becoming a cloudy brown. Then they cleared as his mind did too, and he extended his arm to me as well.

"Hi Dylan," I said as his soft palm slotted with my mine. "I'm Thomas Brodie-Sangster. It's nice to meet you."

Dylan's big brown eyes watched our hands. Finally he looked up, looking me dead in the eye as he said, "I hope I can say the same."

My lip quirked up with his reference to our first encounter. His words didn't anger me this time, nor catch me off guard. It was exactly what I expected, if not better than I hoped. His words proved that he really was willing to put the past behind us. He couldn't trust me yet, but hopefully, one day, he'd be able to look me in the eye and respond, 'I know I can say the same' instead.

Then I smiled, wider than I thought I could. Dylan almost looked surprised, but he didn't comment.

Why did I suddenly feel so warm? (No, not down there. Again, get your mind out of the gutter, geeze.) My chest felt light and everything suddenly looked so much more vibrant, and I just--I felt so good.

I knew it was Dylan's choice that was making me feel so...weird. But why? Why did I care so much about his opinion of me?

Oh, the bet. Right.

But the longer I thought of the bet, I was sure that wasn't right. Until now, the bet hadn't crossed my mind once all night.

Which meant that there was a teeny, tiny part of me that was glad he would attempt to be my acquaintance (but it was miniscule, like, almost not even there, I swear).