summer

two- sawyer

Dylan sat up and punched his bed, then rolled over to glare up at the ceiling. He'd been sitting in his bed fuming for a bit now, but it wasn't helping much. The walls, ceiling, and otherwise did not provide any satisfaction to quench his rage.

He had a pretty dismal room- gray walls and a gray blanket on a wooden bed. A bookshelf (made with the same wood as the bed) sat next to the door and a desk (with, again, the same wood) leaned against the wall. It was pretty drab other than the fishbowl sitting on his desk with a handsome Siamese fighting fish in it named Newt. Therefore, he had nothing interesting to scowl at, and he liked his fish enough to spare him of his glowering. 

       "Dylan, come downstairs, now!" Yelled his mother, resulting in a loud groan from Dylan. He pulled a pillow over his head and sighed, but he knew not to fuck with her when she was in a mood like this.

      "What?" He snapped, still pissed at her offhanded comment about his brother. He'd always been compared to Eric- his grades, his looks, his personality. Literally everything. Eric was a star student, football prodigy, perfect cliche. Dylan, however, was not.

        "Sawyer is here. Come downstairs!" Dylan sighed once more, heaving himself angrily out of his bed. He threw open his door and stormed down the stairs; he was pissed at his mother, the world, Sawyer (even though he couldn't even remember meeting the guy), and, naturally, himself. He turned to the kitchen, collapsing onto a stool as he heard his mother chatting with Sawyer. They're probably at the door, Sawyer chatting her up so he can sneak in his weed and throw parties when she's away, Dylan fumed, fidgeting with his hands. After all, he got kicked out for a reason, so he's likely not the best of people. "Dylan, come say hi!" She called, laughing.

        "I'd really rather not," Dylan hissed back. "I'm already downstairs, what more do you want?"

      "For you to be a good host!" She snapped back, clearly still angry. "I'm going to the grocery store for ingredients so I can make dinner, so at least come give him a tour of the house and show him his room. He's taking Eric's." Dylan's face hardened even more at her mention his brother, again. He slipped off his stool, unnecessarily angry.

      "I'm here now, lets get this over with," he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as he turned the corner and almost walked directly into Sawyer. Then, he turned to look up at him. He was quite tall.

"Hi, there," said Sawyer with a raspy Californian accent, dragging his vowels slightly. Dylan hadn't originally realized people from California really had an accent, but there was something about the way he spoke that didn't sound like the voice of a regular resident of New Hampshire. His sandy blonde hair hung in front of his ocean blue eyes, showing off his tanned skin. Dylan backed up slightly, still close to him after nearly hitting him when he'd turned the corner.

"Hi. Let's get this over with," he responded with a sigh, trying not to blush at the awkward situation his mother had tossed him into. What a great surprise this was.

"Dylan, be nice," warned his mother as she left. Dylan rolls his eyes and turned toward the kitchen as Sawyer hastily grabbed his bags.

"You coming?"

>><<

"That's my bedroom, that's my mom's, that's Eric's room, which is now yours, there's the bathroom, you already saw downstairs," lazily finished Dylan, gesturing to the different rooms. He knocked some of his black hair out of his face and turned to Sawyer. "Can I please go into my room now?"

"Sure," said Sawyer with a mischievous grin, putting his bags in front of his room- Eric's room, but not going in. "But I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. You've got your room, now leave me and mine alone," Dylan hissed, turning down the hall. "I don't want you here, I don't want to know you're here, and we definitely aren't becoming friends."

"Oh, so you're saying you want to be more than friends?" Teased Sawyer, following him down the hall.

"No!" Snapped Dylan, spinning around in anger. Sawyer raised one eyebrow and leaned against the wall, crossing his legs. He was clearly enjoying messing with Dylan. "I just want to take a nap, please," begged Dylan, giving up as he opened his door. "By myself."

"Come on, I just wanna get to see you again! We haven't talked in so long, not since we were kids!" Exclaimed Sawyer, throwing his hands in the air and grabbing Dylan's shoulder as he turned to escape into his room. He spun him around, smiling down at him. "I just wanna talk to you is all." After Dylan didn't respond with words- only a very sharp glare- Sawyer laughed and continued. "Why is your name pronounced like that? It's spelled D-Y-L-A-N, but pronounced die-lynn. That's weird," he joked.

"Thanks," Dylan sighed. "Would you leave me alone now?"

"You're nothing like I remember," he laughed, grabbing Dylan's arm again to keep him from leaving. "You've gotten skinny. And pale," noticed Sawyer, looking him up and down.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Dylan cried, ripping his arm out of Sawyer's grasp in a panic. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to right his breathing that was now coming in heavy gasps. "And I'd appreciate if you stopped making fun of me," cried Dylan, slipping into his room. He slammed the door, silencing Sawyer and sliding down it.

It had been a while since anyone but his mom had touched him, except for assholes at his school shoving him around. He was aware he was touch deprived, but only then did he realize that he was afraid of physical contact. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut once more, anger coursing through him. He'd expected Sawyer to be annoying, but not a jerk. His comments on his appearance had stung, a lot. Dylan had always had difficulty with his looks, he knew he was unattractive but he'd convinced himself that he was a monster.

It hurt. A lot.