Finding You || Dylan O'Brien

thirty one (edited)

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At the entrance of the airport, Dylan tripped over the curb and stumbled into a family. The father's stern, wrinkled faced scowled at him and the mother clutched both her children fearfully as they marched away. He muttered an apology but it was too late. 

Suddenly, a firm hand gripped his shoulder. It was Minho. He pulled both his suitcase and Dylan through the sliding glass entrance silently. They sat down on a metal seat. Dylan covered his head with his hands, feeling nauseous from the loud announcements and bustling of people. His eyes were stinging. 

"Get some sleep on the plane." Minho said, patting Dylan on the back. "That's an order."

"Yeah." he mumbled.

Over the past few days leading to his trip, he hadn't slept. Every night he would clutch the phone, either Astrid or his mother a phone call away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Everything he thought to say sounded terrible. He couldn't climb out of the hole he had dug for himself. 

It took Minho an air horn, a glass of cold water, his deodorant and some hairspray to persuade Dylan to wake up and get dressed. Even now, at the airport, his phone was gripped in his hand. He hadn't yet made any calls, other than the ones forced by Minho to call work to say he was feeling ill.

Now, he could barely speak. 

"Hey," Minho said gently. "Let's go get some coffee." 

With his friend's large hand on his back, Dylan toddled towards a short queue nearby.  Dylan, who felt as though he was about to pass out, sat - fell - onto the ground and curled into a ball on the floor. He heard Minho apologising to someone.

"Dude, get up."

He didn't have the energy to look up.

"Seriously, the lines moving. Get up off your ass."

Someone asked him to move in a gruff voice.

"Please, Dylan. Come on."

A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He leaned on Minho's shoulders and let him drag him forward. He focused on his shoes, scuffing them on the marble ground. His mind raced, despite being so tired. This was his last chance to back out, ditch the plane and run to St Marrus Church, 89 Tamworth St, Springhill. The address was seared into the back of his mind after staring at it for so long.

"You look like shit." Minho mumbled in his ear. "Do you want to sit down again? I'll bring you coffee to you."

Dylan shook his head. "I'm okay. I'm fine"

"Are you-"

"I'm fine!" He hissed. "Just leave me alone."

They continued to shuffle on. Dylan tried to stay upright. The man behind them kept muttering under his breath. Minho tried to cheer him up by babbling nonsense, but Dylan thought it was only making the man behind them mutter more.

"The joke about the guy blowing bubbles in the toilet? Ben told me that the other day and I pissed myself. It was great. It's weird though because we went to the bathroom afterwards..."

He wrung his hands.

"...which got me so pissed. Why aren't their enough cubicles in the guys bathrooms? Are they thinking of of the LGBT community at all? Obviously fucking not! But also..."

They were almost at the front of the queue now. Dylan's hands were on the handle of his suitcase, but Minho was pushing it along as he rambled.

"...and we're like, oh shit they're going to find us in here, but turns out it was a girl and she went into the wrong bathroom. Do you know how hard it is to keep your feet off the floor in the bathroom? I was a gymnast, but after that she left and we, yeah, and we also mixed up ties and it was horrible..."