You could feel his eyes on you from all the way across the room.
You smiled and nodded at the girl in the purple, silk dress (what was her name...Stephanie?) trying focus on what she was saying to you (something about one of the actor's looks not matching the character from the book), but your mind was preoccupied, unable to follow the conversation.
As she continued to ramble on, you stole a glance to your right, just managing to catch a glimpse of him by the buffet table through the many people socializing in the crowded room: tall, sharply dressed in a black suit, eyes still fixed on you.
Feeling butterflies stir your stomach, you quickly turned back to Stephanie, now desperately trying to look engaged with her monologue, but still unable to comprehend a single word that was coming out of her still-moving, shiny lips. Thoughts were flying around your head like caffeinated birds.
What was going on? Why was he looking at you? Did you have something on your face? No, you hadn't eaten anything. But he was looking at you, right? Or was it your imagination? Maybe you were just too self-absorbed. He probably wasn't even looking at you at all.
You stole another quick glance in his direction.
No, he was looking at you.
Definitely.
You swallowed, forcing your lips into something of a smile in response to whatever Stephanie had been cluelessly babbling on about for the last fifteen minutes. Then you felt a hand on your arm and jumped at the unexpected contact, earning a bright, ringing laugh from Dylan O'Brien. You let out a relieved inward sigh, smiling despite your nerves at Dylan's simple delight at having scared you.
"Easy, Y/N," he said, still chuckling. "You'd think I was an axe murderer or something."
"Why says your not?" questioned Stephanie.
"Good point," said Dylan with a wink, draping an arm across your shoulder and pulling you in for a tight, side hug. "So, what'cha two been talking about?"
You looked from him to Stephanie, feeling your face turn red as your mind scrambled like puppy on a wet floor, trying to remember even the smallest fraction of Stephanie's longwinded speech, but you were hopelessly lost. And from Dylan's amused face, and Stephanie's offended one, they knew it, too.
"Eh, relax, Steph," Dylan said to the upset girl in his usual, lighthearted tone. "Not everyone is interested in hearing your diatribes on how movies don't follow the books they were based on."
Stephanie crossed her arms, opening her mouth as if she were about to launch into yet another monologue, but Dylan cut her off before she could.
"Besides, who cares if the movie doesn't follow the book when you've got such fantastic acting in it?" He squeezed your shoulder. "Am I right?"
"Right," you echoed, if nothing more than to bring out the adorable smile of pure happiness that had brightened Dylan's face.
"Knew you'd agree," he said as if he'd never doubted you.
"Whoever played that Thomas guy was totally amazing," you added. "I wonder if I'll ever meet the super talented, totally gorgeous, mega-star who played him?"
"Ho, right," Dylan laughed again, and you smiled at his modesty.
You had grown up in the same neighborhood as Dylan and had known him since you were six. He had always been the fun, older brother you had always wanted. The two of you were practically inseparable, which was why Dylan had invited you to come with him to see the premier showing of The Maze Runner--his most recent film. He had even half-convinced half-dragged you to the reception. But you were glad that you had come, if only for Dylan's sake. You felt somewhat out of place among the other, well-dressed, glamorous "somebodies" of Hollywood. But Dylan had said you looked spectacular in your dress, which made you feel significantly better, but had done little for your nerves.
