Darkened Skies ➢ Dylan O'Brien

chapter two ✓

VOTE PLEASE, STARS ARE PERFECT

I felt a hand touch my forehead, and I tensed under the gentle touch. It quickly went away as it felt my sudden movement. My name was called with the same voice from right before I blacked out. The voice became clearer and louder. My mind was a bit out of it, so it couldn't process where the voice came from. My eyes flittered open, and I saw Dylan's worried expression on his face, hovering over my own. His head was dangerously close to mine as I felt his warm breath on my cheeks. I felt my cheeks get warm. Please don't tell me I'm blushing. I quickly got up from my lying position without any warning to Dylan and we both collided heads. We both groaned from the sudden contact. I looked around where I am; I was in my room again on my bed. Dylan reached to touch me to give me reassurance, but I slid away from him towards the edge of my comforter.

"Don't touch me," I warned, staring at his hand that was about to come in contact with my own. He sighed in reply and took his hand away slowly, placing it back on his thigh. I glanced at his features, teenage model-like brown-black hair, kissable pink lips, and chocolate-brown eyes, pretty tall and kind of built. He was the exact type I would date, but I didn't plan on being in a relationship any time soon. Then I noticed his shirt was ripped into shreds; blood seeped through small cuts that weren't too life threatening. Does he have abs? Wait, what am I thinking? "W-what happened?" I slightly trembled then stopped.

"Well, I-I had to k-kill all those z-zombies that were surrounding y-you with the gun you left. I look you inside the house as I fast as I could and you were unconscious f-for three days straight," he answered, fumbling with words and playing with his thumbs, nervously. "And y-yeah, that's basically it." He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and gave me a smile. I don't know why, but I thought that was attractive. I've seen many people do the exact same thing with me. It's just different with him.

"Well, um," I cleared my throat and urged myself to say the next two words. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he replied, and then I heard his stomach growl loudly like a lion. I suddenly felt the feeling of worry and fear even for him. Why? I didn't have these lovey-dovey feelings for him before. Probably it's just instinct. I care for people, sometimes.

"Did you eat anything when I was passed out?" I asked. "You're free to look through the kitchen if you want. I'm not going to kill you for that, and plus, we both need to survive after all."

"Oh, yeah, about that... I was too worried to eat. I thought you were d-dead, and I-I couldn't stand seeing someone die right in front of m-me," he answered, stuttering nervously. I thought, 'Okay, first he was absolutely cocky, and I couldn't even stand it. And now, he's all vulnerable and nervous with himself. It makes me want to comfort him. Wait, what the heck am I saying? I do not like him. Period.

"Why would you even care that I was dead or not?" I shot back, but then something inside me made myself regret saying those words to him.

Dylan looked shocked as he widened his eyes and said, "Um, I-I kind of... It's nothing. I just want to know the feeling of actually saving a person, tis all."

"Okay," I raised an eyebrow. I was confused. I noticed he was going to drown in his blood if he didn't clean himself up. "I'll be right back."

I left the room, then walking into my brother's room to find some extra clothes for Dylan. Hm, they were about the same size. I ran back and threw them at his face. He stared at them for a second and said thanks. He changed in the bathroom that was across the hallway from my room. If he changed his clothes in my own room, I would die by freaking out so much. I quickly changed into a sweatshirt and pair of black leggings. He came back, wearing the long sleeve shirt and the skinny-ish jeans and holding the first aid kit in his hand and fixed up the large cut on my arm from my incident with the zombies. He already cleaned up his own cuts; that was good.