Parallels | Dylan O'Brien

3 - The Confusion

-Lydia Moon-

"What do you mean?" the brown-haired boy in front of me asked.
"Where are we? Last thing I knew I was going on a date with you and before I even got to my stuff, I was blinded by this bright light. Next thing I know is a strange bathroom," Dylan helps me up to my feet as he looks at me with a confused stare.
"You were going on a date? With me?" the boy questions and I nod slowly. "You? With me?" Am I talking parsletongue or what?
"Yes, that's what I'm telling you, Dylan." He leads me outside and we're faced with a crowd of people and loud music. Where even am I? This isn't San Diego Comic Con.
"I think you need to lay down for a while," Dylan says into my ear as he grabs my hand to lead me further into the house. We pass drunk people and couples making out. I notice Dylan is still holding onto my hand. The softness of his skin makes my toes tingle and my heart beat faster.
"Where are we?" I ask him when we enter one of the rooms upstairs. This one seems like a bedroom. With a king-size bed in the middle, a vanity on the side and two doors that possibly lead to a wardrobe and an on-suite bathroom.
"This is your bedroom, Lydia. Jeez, you must've hit your head pretty bad when you fell," I hear him mutter. "Lay down for a bit, it'll make things better," he commands sweetly, his hands upon my shoulders as he leads me towards the bed. I sit down on the edge but refuse to lay down. What the hell has happened? I don't think I hit my head anywhere. Or maybe I have. Maybe this is all a dream. Then I remember. I remember the episode of Teen Wolf in which Stiles has trouble with telling the difference between a dream and reality.
"Dyl," I start, and his eyes shoot up at the nickname, "give me your hand," before he can even do what I ask, I grab his hand myself. You have extra fingers when you're dreaming. So, I start counting. One, two, three, four... five. This isn't a dream. He has five fingers on each hand. I have five fingers on each hand. This is reality.
"Are you alright?" Dylan then asks. My head feels a little light and it feels as if the room is spinning.
"No, I think I'm gonna-" and before I can finish my sentence, the light goes out and everything is dark.

When I open my eyes again, Dylan is sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling around with his fingers. For some reason, he looks a lot cuter, a lot more vulnerable than when I last saw him. When I saw him before the light took me to this strange place. With the moles scattered all over his cheeks and his nose all cute and boop-able. The slightest movement of my arm makes him look up at me and scoot closer.
"Hey, you okay? You blacked out for a moment," his voice is just something above a whisper, barely even audible. Worry flickers in his eyes as does confusion. He's not sure what's happening. That makes two of us, then.
"Yeah, I just realized I'm not dreaming," I tell him equally as softly. He tilts his head a little, looking like a puppy reacting to high-pitched sounds.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his lips slightly open even after he finished his sentence. I sit up straight with my back against the headboard. I rub my hands over my face, not even caring about the makeup that I've probably smudged right now.
"This is going to sound crazy, Dylan, but hear me out," I start as I try to figure out how the hell I'm going to tell him I think I might be from another universe. Dylan turns his whole body towards me now; his right leg onto the bed, his left still on the floor. He nods his head, urging me to continue. Shit, what do I tell him now? "I think I might be from another universe than this one, Dylan. One in which you're an actor and you play Stiles Stilinski on MTV's Teen Wolf and Thomas in the Maze Runner trilogy and we used to go to school together, but then today I was working at Comic Con and I needed to bring you to your panels with your cast. You asked me out on a date, but we never got to that because I got abducted by this bright light and now I'm here," I ramble it out in nearly one breath. Dylan looks at me and blinks a few times. A smile then appears onto his face. It's not a smile that indicates he's making fun of me, it's more of an endeared smile. He doesn't believe me. That's what his smile says. He doesn't believe the crazy story I just told him. Of course he doesn't, why would he?
"Time for you to go to bed, Lydia. Either you're drunk or you've hit your head really hard. Maybe a combination of both," he tells me, patting my knee.
"I'm not drunk, and I didn't hit my head. Dylan, you need to believe me," I grab onto his wrist, trying to keep him from leaving me in this unfamiliar house. His eyes go from my hand to my eyes, a sigh leaving his body.
"Get some rest, Lydia," he tells me, that same smile still on his face. "You'll feel better in the morning." He takes a hold of my hand with the one I'm not holding and loosens my grip before getting up and walking towards the door. I need to do something before he leaves me all alone.
"Dylan," I make him stop in his tracks. His hand is already holding onto the doorknob, but he turns his head to look at me. "C-Can you stay tonight? I don't think I want to be alone right now." The corners of his mouth curl up into a small smile again. A tender, sympathetic smile.
"Yeah, sure. I'll take the couch downstairs. If you need anything, you can wake me up, okay?" I slowly nod my head and watch him open the door. I don't want him to sleep on the couch downstairs, I want him to sleep in this room with me. Hell, I want him to sleep in this bed with me. I don't like feeling alone in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar house. The door clicks shut, and Dylan is gone. I quickly get up and move to the door to call him inside again, but his voice stops me. My hand is holding onto the doorknob, but that's where it stays. I'm completely frozen for a second as I hear the words leave his mouth.
"I think she's crazy, man. She must've hit her head really hard earlier," my grip on the door handle loosens.
"Maybe she was just drunk," is that Tyler Posey's voice I hear? I shrug the voices off and walk back towards the bed. I don't think I'll be able to sleep in here. Not without something familiar. Or someone familiar. As a kid, I used to go to summer camp and the first thing I always packed was my pillow. I could never sleep without my pillow in a strange environment. But I don't think I can ask Dylan to sleep in the same bed with me. He thinks I'm completely mental. He thinks I lost my mind and I should be locked up in a mental institution. With a sigh, I lay down on the bed and grab one of the pillows to cuddle against my chest. I want to go home. Really home. To my flat in Los Angeles. To Comic Con in San Diego. To my uncle and his business. To Dylan O'Brien who doesn't think I'm completely out of my mind.

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