The sight of  Dylan’s little white house with its little manicured yard fills me with nostalgia. There is a curvy cobblestone walkway that starts at the front door and cuts through the middle of the yard all the way to the front gate of his white picket fence. 

His house gives off the same vibe he does; sweet, immaculate, and wholesome.  A lot of fond memories were made in this house. I try to let those memories flood my brain so I can gather the courage to go in. Then I quickly move up the walkway and pray I don’t chicken out. Dylan opens the door before I get to it and I get a glimpse of him before he walks away, leaving the door open for me to follow him. 

His house is all cool blues, grays, and whites on the inside. The lights are off but the flood lights from his backyard shine through the glass patio doors and floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the back wall in the living room. The living room is separated from the sparkling white and silver kitchen by a set of detached kitchen islands with spotless gray granite countertops. The house looks exactly the way it did when I left.

I’m home.

That’s what the voice in my head says to me, but I kindly tell that voice to pipe down. There is no guarantee that Dylan will let me even stay the night.

I look at my baby then. He was straightening up magazines on the coffee table and taking coffee mugs and saucers to the kitchen sink while not looking at me. I watch him quickly wash the dishes and set them on the drying rack. 

When he’s finishes, Dylan brushes by me, his brisk steps making his open baby blue satin robe flutter behind him. I catch a glimpse of his white and blue striped boxers and white tank top underneath the robe. There is whiff of mango from his shampoo.

 “Dylan?”

My voice is soft. Neutral. I’m not quite sure what is happening. Usually, when I arrive, he is still sobbing. Now, even though I hear a consistent soft hitch in his breathing, like he only recently stopped crying, he seems to be calming down on his own. I am both relieved and selfishly disappointed. As much as I am worried about his mental state, a big part of me really wants to hold him again.

Could you blame me though? Even in this state, he is breathtaking. His eyes are red around the edges. His cheeks and nose are very slightly pink. His fluffy, black hair is everywhere. Dylan should look like a mess, but my heart squeezes as my brain screams “adorable”.

You’re just here to be a human body pillow, Bryce. Get it together.

“Dylan, um, it looks like you are feeling better. Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

Dylan turns on his heels and places a hand on his hip. He then marches towards me and stops when he is an arm’s length away, searching my face intently with pursed lips. 

This is so weird. Every other time he would cling to me as if his life depended on it, and it would take at least an hour of cooing to get him to speak and eat. This time he seems to have his wits about him, and I think I’m in trouble?

“Dylan, if you are okay now, do you want me to leave?”

Dylan’s left hand shoots up and he clenches the sleeve of my flannel shirt. He is still looking at me strangely. Shaking his head as an answer to my question, he grabs my hand and leads me through the living room to his bedroom. He lets go of my hand when we walk through the door and looks over his shoulder.

“Just hold me.”

Dylan’s voice is scratchy, and he seems weary as he removes his satin robe and puts it away. For a moment I just stand there, confused about how I should feel about this.

Slipping under the covers, Dylan looks at me expectantly. When he arches a perfect eyebrow at me, I scramble to remove my soft jeans and flannel, which leaves me in my plaid boxer shorts and black T-shirt. 

As soon as I am under the covers, he turns his back to me and places my arm around him. I pull him closer instinctively, hoping he doesn’t mind my hammering heart against his back. Surely, he can feel it.

“You’re trembling.”

Dylan murmurs to me as he gently strokes my hands which are clasped around his slender waist.

“I was worried.”

I whisper my reply as I buried my nose in his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

I could hear the concern in his voice, so I held him tighter.

“Don’t be. I am glad you called.”

Ecstatic, actually. Over the moon to a scary degree. In fact, part of the reason I am trembling is because I am overwhelmed. I don’t want to think about how he will undoubtedly push me away again. I just want to stay in this moment. Just enjoy it. Don’t think too much, Bryce. Don’t.

My mind doesn’t listen to me. I speak before I can stop myself.

“So, do you know what triggered this? You’re different this time.”

Dylan stops stroking my hands. He is stiff in my arms for a moment, but he does not speak.

“Please, baby. You can talk to me.”

He still doesn’t talk so I try again and steel my nerves for the possible backlash. I start to ramble, but I can’t stop myself.   

“Was it the photoshoot? We didn’t really have to be Cody and Dane today, and we’ve had more intimate photoshoots before. Maybe the interview? But you seemed upset already. Was it something I did? Do you need…do we need to talk to the agency about us working together less?”

That last statement hurt as I said it. I already felt deprived of him. But if this is what he needs to be okay, I have to be okay with it.

Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. My right arm is still under him and, after a moment, Dylan rolls over so that his head is on my chest. His right hand clutches my shirt. Putting my left arm behind my head, I  continue to stare at the ceiling.

“It was Amy.”

“Amy?”

“The way you looked at her. The way you held her. How you talked to her.”

Ah. I remember him being a little jealous of Amy and I hugging earlier. Still, what does that have to do with him asking me here tonight? Amy has nothing to do with Cody and Dane. Why would that trigger this kind of response?

“Sweetheart, you know I would never try to take your girlfriend, right?”

I rub his back and kiss the top of his head without thinking about it.

“I know.”

He speaks in a small voice and hides his face against my chest. My pulse quickens when I feel the accidental brush of his lips through the thin fabric.

“Anyway, Amy is like a kid sister to me. You know how sensitive she is. I feel like I have to treat her gently, so she knows I don’t mean her any harm. I can come off a bit…”

“Like a jerk?”

“Hey!”

I fake being offended and he laughs softly. Wow. Hearing that laugh eases the tightness in my chest.

“Yes, like a jerk. I like her, Dylan. She’s a good girl and I don’t want her to misunderstand me.”

“You like her?”

Dylan looks up at me with dark, searching eyes. For a moment my heart stops. He’s so beautiful.

“Yes, but just as a friend. I promise.”

“Like we are friends?”

Oh, sweet baby angel. No. She can’t compare.

“It’s not quite the same.”

“How?”

I fidget a little under his curious gaze.

“Well, I’ve said before that you are my closest friend.  Amy and I are friendly, but you and I are special. You understand me the way most don’t. I trust you, and I can be myself around you.”

Dylan is quiet as he continues to look at me. Then he puts his head back on my chest and drapes his arm across my body. He suddenly gives me a small squeeze.

He’s killing me.

I feel his body getting more settled and I know he’ll fall asleep soon. He yawns like the adorable little kitten he is. I could tell he was in a much better mood now and it was no surprise when he started to tease me.

“Geez, Bryce. You’re so embarrassing. Anyone listening would think you’re in love with me.”

I chuckle and give him a little hug, knowing that he’s in a losing battle with slumber. I wait until his breath evens out before I answer him. 

“That’s because I am.”

I glance at the top of his head, but he doesn’t move.

“I love you so much, Dylan.”

My heart is lighter than it has been in a while. I sigh contentedly and fall asleep soon after.