(Chris's p.o.v)
She'd been on his tail, stared at him, from the moment that he walked into the house ten minutes earlier, and frankly, he was tired of it. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her, he just didn't want to approach her. He had Dylan, and that was more than enough.
Dylan, who he needed to find and talk to and apologize to. It hadn't been fair to get mad at him, especially not when both of them knew that he'd been right, and he hadn't meant to diss him on Friday. He just... had to come to his senses, and now he had.
"Christopher," Megan was suddenly closer, standing behind him, "I really want to thank you for helping my friend last time, I appreciate that."
"I wasn't the one to do that," Chris said with a shrug, "that was Dylan."
"Oh, come on, don't give me that 'I'm not interested' act. I saw how you looked at us- me- when we helped Jen." 'I wasn't looking at you', he wanted to grit, but he stayed quiet and let her continue with the conversation. Or, 'monologue' was probably a better description. "And while that little stunt you pulled on the news was cute, we both know that 'Brooklyn' doesn't exist. Not in any way that matters, at least."
He matters more than you to me, Chris thought as he rolled his eyes.
"It was too bad that Dylan shot Jenny down earlier tonight," Megan kept on going, the sentence catching Chris's attention and making him smile to himself, "we could have been the ultimate friend couple. I know that the soccer team and the football team have become good friends, it would have been perfect."
"Look, Meg, I'm kind of occupied at the moment," he said.
"Don't lie," she snapped, her goofy demeanor quickly changing into anger, then back again to happiness, "I know that Brooklyn is fake. If she isn't, then tell me who she is. And, also, if she isn't, then she isn't here anyway."
That was... scary. She was either drunk or had lost her mind. Or both.
He gritted his teeth. Then he thought for a moment. He wouldn't mind telling her that he was dating a boy. Not in the slightest, and especially not right now. People could think what they wanted about it and he and Dylan could be happy and out.
But he didn't know how Dylan felt about that, and that mattered more. "She..." The word died on his tongue, and of course, Megan interpreted that wrong.
"That's what I thought," she grinned, getting closer still, "so, what do you say? You and me upstairs, or in the bathroom, or anywhere." She winked and he wanted to gag. He took a step, trying to get past her toward the stairs, but she followed.
"So upstairs, it is," she giggled, and he snapped. In an instant, she was pushed against the wall with him hovering over her. She looked up through hooded lashes, and he realized that she expected him to kiss her.
"Megan, I cannot be more clear than this," he gritted, "I do not want to be with you."
"Aw, come on-"
"No, I will not come on. I will tell you how it is, and this is how it is: I am not interested."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she tilted her head in a way that reminded way too much about Dylan.
"I know you want me," she whispered finally and Chris sighed, turning on his heel and walked toward the kitchen. To his despair, Megan was still behind him, practically clinging onto his shoulder like some type of bug.
"I don't know what you think is going to happen here," he said, pushing thought the crowd.
"Whatever you want," she laughed, way closer than what he was comfortable with. They got to the kitchen and he searched the room, getting more and more desperate to get rid of the cheerleader on his tail.
He happened to look back into the hall, and through the crowd, he thought he saw Dylan's sandy hair. He stared for a moment, and yeah, it was definitely Dylan, and he looked... off. Like something was wrong, and Chris got an urge to run over there, but then Megan was on his shoulder again.
He just had to get her away and then he could approach Dylan. He continued his search, looking for someone who could keep her away from him.
A sigh of relief escaped him as his eyes fell upon Felicia's frame. He took the few steps that remained between them.
"Felicia," he breathed, making her turn toward him, "do you know Megan?"
"Uh, I- not really, a little," she smiled and looked at Megan.
"I need to talk to Dylan, will you keep this chick away?" He hissed, pointing to where Megan was standing. Felicia nodded with a soft smile, and at that moment he could kiss her. Well, he couldn't, but you get the idea.
"Thank you," he sighed, hurrying away so that Megan couldn't see him leave. Behind him, he heard the latter ask Felicia where he'd gone.
He just needed to find Dylan now, but there was no Dylan to be found. As he walked around the house, even upstairs, there was none. Had he left? It seemed that way. He had seemed upset, and Chris just wanted to help. To say sorry.
"Chris, you made it!" An arm swung around his shoulder as he got back on the first floor, ultimately stopping his search.
"Tyler, hey, man, great party," Chris greeted cheerily, still looking around with the hope that maybe Dylan hadn't left. Tyler seemed to notice his unease.
"You okay, Chris? You seem a bit distant," he asked, letting go of the other's shoulder. Chris turned to his friend- actual friend, nothing like the frenemy-relation that he'd had with all of the Wedgewood people- and smiled.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just looking for someone."
"Is it this 'Brooklyn' that I've heard rumors about? Is she here?" Tyler smirked.
"No, no she's not here," Chris sighed, finally settling into the realization that Dylan was gone.
Tyler hummed. "That's too bad, dude, I'd love to meet her. See if she has any hot friends."
"You would," Chris laughed, not pulling away when Tyler started leading him toward the living room.
"Have you gotten yourself a drink yet? I and some soccer players are doing a tequila-line," he grinned.
"Yeah, I got myself some beer earlier, but that's enough for me tonight. I'm driving home," Chris declined the offer and the other shrugged.
"Alright, if you're sure."
"How did you even get that much alcohol?" He frowned.
"Francis's brother is old enough to buy, and he's okay with buying for us," Tyler smiled a self-satisfied smile. Wow, Chris thought, Sam would never have done that. Not for him. It didn't really matter what people thought about his brother, he was a good brother.
Chris hadn't really cared about what anyone thought about him since Sam went to prison, either. It had simply not mattered that much, but now that he thought about it, Sam would probably not like the person he'd let himself become. And that hurt.
"Hey, are you sure that you're okay?" Tyler repeated, making Chris look at him. He seemed genuinely worried.
"Yeah, just a little tired. I had an argument with dad today."
"Seems to be a trend," Cole laughed from the sofa, "to fight with parents. Dylan fought with his mom yesterday- but maybe I wasn't supposed to say that... oops."
He smiled softly. So they'd used the same excuse. But he still hadn't had the chance to talk to him. He had to call, but now he was being ushered down in a seat and given a set of cards.
"We're playing Casino 'cuz Jake doesn't want to lose any more money," Francis chuckled, shooting a glance toward the soccer player.
"Well, can you blame me? Landon and Tyler are masters," he defended, taking a shot.
Landon hummed. "Yeah, but that's compared to Cole and like, who else is bad? Dylan."
"Dylan played? Where'd he go?" Chris asked, trying to be sneaky. Landon nodded.
"Yeah, he did, he was here about a half-hour ago. He left, though, and I haven't seen him since," he shrugged, sipping on what Chris assumed to be water since Dylan had told him that Landon didn't drink.
"Oh, okay."
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(Dylan's p.o.v)
God, it hurt. He looked at his phone once again, but there was nothing from anyone. Not even Felicia. He leaned against the bathroom wall, feeling like the biggest cliché in the history of clichés.
It was all lies, wasn't it? All of it lies and none of it true and it just made his entire body ache with shame. How could he have been so naïve to think that Christopher Davis of all people was anything but a player in every sense of the word?
He let out an unwanted sob, and brought his fist to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as to not make any more sound. Chris wasn't worth it. Not at all. He'd moved on and so would Dylan. He just didn't think would take as little as an argument about college to break what they'd had if it had even been anything.
He'd moved on. The realization hit him again and he leaned his head against the door. With Megan, the super attractive cheerleader who had helped with Jenny. Had they been doing it since then? Felicia could probably find out if he asked her about it. She had a way of finding anything.
Even in his melancholy, he smiled thinking about his best friend. Then, he didn't. He'd left her there.
"Shit," he hissed, getting his phone out and brushed away some stubborn tears that had decided to come forth despite his attempt not to cry. He dialed her number, not wanting to wait for a reply to a text.
"Dylan?" She sounded surprised.
"Hey, Felicia, I'm sorry, but I really had to go home but I can come to pick you up when-"
"Dylan, are you crying?" She asked, and of course, she would hear the fragility of his voice. He cleared his throat. "Did something happen? Did you talk to Chris?"
"No, uh, I didn't get the chance, I felt a little ill," he cleared his throat again, trying to get his voice even. 'He was a little busy doing Megan' he wanted to say, but that would do nothing to stop the pain in his chest.
"That's fine, I'm just chilling right now and I can get someone else to pick me up," Felicia said and Dylan could almost see the smile even though he couldn't see her, "hope you feel better."
"Thanks. Are you going to call Maddie?"
"Yeah, I might call her," she said, a little louder; it seemed that some people came into the room, "anyway, I should let you rest now. Get better, and call if you need anything- or well, preferably when I'm not drunk, but you get the gist."
Dylan smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you."
He ended the call and put the phone down on the floor, sighing heavily. Then, he stood, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, and the skin around his eyes was red even though he hadn't cried a lot.
The bed made a cracking noise as Dylan threw himself onto it. He gathered up all of the blankets on the bed, wrapping them around himself, and looked at the wall. On the chair by the window lay one of Chris's shirts discarded and he had to swallow a sob. Sure, Chris wasn't worth it, but that was only what Dylan's logic said. His heart, however, said different things.
He picked up his phone, staring at the screen for a long while. There were still no messages. No calls. No nothing. Chris was probably busy anyway.
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