Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

31. Beneath the Moonlight

Thomas's pov

25 days remaining

"What the hell is this?" Dylan's mom asked as Dylan and I stumbled into the kitchen the following morning. The sun was peeking through the schere curtains, casting a soft dawn glow across the tiled floor. I wiped lazily at my eyes as I glanced around the room, my eyes landing on the round form of Mrs. O'Brien, one hand perched on her hip.

Dylan made his way over to the cabinets, briefly glancing at what his mother held. "Chicken liver? It was on the list."

"Chocolate slivers Dylan!" Mrs. O'Brien groaned. "I wrote chocolate slivers."

I fist pumped into the air as a triumphant smile burst onto my face. "I knew it!"

As Dylan began making us both tea, he spared a roll of his eyes in my direction. My smile only widened and I padded quietly over to where he stood. Leaning against the counter next to him, I pecked his forehead. Again he rolled his eyes, but the rosy blush on his cheeks was a clear indication that he was not at all irritated with me.

Dylan handed me a mug of the steaming liquid just as his mum spoke again, her voice laced in frustration. "I can't make the chocolate pudding without the chocolate slivers."

"Ask Julia to go out," Dylan shrugged at her halfheartedly. His eyes flicked back to mine as he leaned against the kitchen counters next to me asking, "Do you want breakfast?"

I glanced at the clock, noting that it was already past eleven, and nodded my head. He placed his mug down carefully and swept past me to the refrigerator, pulling out an egg carton. Holding the eggs up to me, he silently asked if I was okay with plain eggs for breakfast. I nodded again and grinned at the fact that we didn't even need to speak to know what the other was thinking anymore, then watched as Dylan quietly set to work. The whole affair felt entirely domestic.

Mrs. O'Brien mumbled some incoherent grumbles under her breath as she cursed out her incompetent son, before she rushed out of the kitchen. I watched her go with raised eyebrows but Dylan looked unfazed. Turning back to him, he was hunched over the stove, buttering up the pan so that the eggs wouldn't stick as they cooked.

"It's probably better if we stay out of her way until tonight," he said after a few moments. Still keeping his motions dedicated to our breakfast, he continued, "She's going to be crazy today."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Dylan sighed. "Everytime we have company over she automatically goes into psychopathic-cleaning-lady mode. She's like a fucking tornado. She will literally tear you apart if you don't get out of her way."

I shuddered at the image, but chose not to reply. Dylan's shoulders finally relaxed as he got the eggs cooking the way he pleased and he spun back towards me with a small smile. Biting his lip, he sat on top of the countertop, casually resting there as if it was were made for him.

And then something dawned on me.

"Is that my shirt?"

Dylan's eyes widened and he sheepishly smiled. "Sorry," he apologized, though I heard no sentiment in his tone. He blushed an intoxicating red.

I scoffed, shaking my head. Now that I had noticed, I couldn't help but recognize how fucking good he looked in my clothes. Seriously, god-like.

"It smells like you," Dylan offered as explanation, fiddling with the waist. He looked so adorable, like a little fucking puppy, that I couldn't bring myself to even wonder let alone care as to how he obtained my shirt to begin with. I wished I could burn the image of him like this into my brain forever.