Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

38. The 7 Stages of Grief

A/N

The photo attached has literally nothing to do with the chapter but I really felt we needed some puppers to lighten the mood. enjoy <3

Dylan's pov

It's fine. Everything's fine.

The sun was dancing across my skin, the wind fresh as it wove through my hair. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the glass-like lake stretched out in front of me. Enjoyed the wildflower smells, the grass still damp from the early morning rain. A deep breath filled my lungs, a flutter of my eyelashes against my cheek as I blinked. Still and as steady as a statue, allowing the calm of dawn to embrace me in its warmth.

I sighed. It was probably time to go home.

Reluctantly I stirred from my spot on the ground, climbing slowly to my feet. With a last look over my shoulder, I began the trek home. Something about the sound of twigs crunching beneath my feet and the twist of rocks tumbling behind me was oddly soothing, like it made the silence inside of me just a little less loud.

No. Everything's fine. I'm fine.

By the time I made it home the sun had fully risen. I was tired, and my eyes were beginning to droop, and my legs were sluggish and slow. I knew I wouldn't sleep though. I barely had for four days. But it was okay. It was okay.

The kitchen door was unlocked still. I stepped inside quietly and shut the door just as softly.

When I turned, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at me. Her arms were crossed and she didn't even have her coffee. I felt a small pang of guilt at the sight and found myself glued to my spot beside the door.

She wasn't a morning riser. She never waited to have her coffee. She didn't just sit at the kitchen table.

She was waiting for me. Just as she had every morning for the past few days.

"Go to bed," she said, softly yet commanding. It was the same command every time. Her eyes were unwaveringly on mine, reading me, calculating me, feeling me.

I opened my mouth to reply but found that I couldn't. Instead I simply shook my head, eyes falling to the ground. She knew what I meant though.

I didn't hear her stand up but I saw her feet as she approached. Her arms wrapped around me slowly, comfortingly, and she pulled my head down so that I was smaller in her hold. Her hands graced my back in slow circles and my eyes fluttered shut.

"At least lay down," she pushed, still soft, still careful. Her voice was a breath in my ear.

My throat felt tight suddenly, so instead of arguing I just nodded into her shoulder. Her fingers ruffled my hair as she pulled away, but she stayed in our embrace for another few moments, just staring at me. I weakly smiled at her in reassurance.

Then I moved away, out of the kitchen and onto our living room couch. I couldn't bring myself to sleep on my bed yet. I sank onto the couch slowly, my breath escaping me as my exhaustion seemed to exponentially increase. My shoulders sagged, my back arched, my head fell into my hands.

My mom sat down beside me after a few moments. She had a book in her hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Her shoulder nudging mine, I obliged to her silent urges and sprawled myself on the hard cushions. My head fell into her lap and I curled into a ball as her hand, now empty of coffee, began running through my hair in a soothing pattern.

We didn't say anything. I let my eyes fall shut, she opened her book. It was just us, quiet in the very early hours of morning, listening to the other's breathing. It was the type of comfort I hadn't realized I needed--the presence of someone who still cared.