Finding You || Dylan O'Brien

thirty six (edited)

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She gripped the edges of some of the books, her back to him, breath shallow, struggling. Dylan stood from his seat, panicked. His girlfriend had gone pale and it was still unnerving to see her like this.

He rushed to her side and gently pried one of her hands off the spines of the books, intertwining their fingers. Her colourful, paint-stained hands shook as she tried to get her fingers to lace with Dylan's gracefully, but her movements were sharp and jerky.

He didn't say anything but held onto her fingers and hoped that she was okay. He hoped that it would pass. 

"I'm sorry." she said, looking down at his shirt. "I saw Harry...I saw Harry Potter and I freaked out I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

He held her close. "It's not your fault. Everything will be fine - it's not your fault."

She nodded and sunk into his arms, beginning to cry. He combed his hands through her hair - something he knew would calm her.  He wished she wasn't upset. Half of her liveliness had gone since Bonnie died, and things like this happened way too often. 

"I miss her." she sobbed, turning her head so that he could hear her. "I miss her so fucking much."

He kissed her hair and didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say - he missed Bonnie too. 

He waited until her tears passed, and until his eyes felt dry again, before giving her another kiss and parting away. She looked at him with wide, puffy eyes. 

"Come on, your majesty." he said, beckoning for her to follow him with an outstretched hand. "The ballroom awaits." 

She shook her head at him disapprovingly, but held out her hand and allowed herself to be pulled into dancing position - what they assumed was dancing position, anyway. He shivered when her cold fingers interlaced at the nape of his neck. 

"You need to think of other things." he said as they turned in uneven circles. 

She sighed. "I know. But-"

"Try, for me." he pleaded. 

She hesitated, chewing her lip, before a small smile formed on her lips. "You should be working right now. You're technically on a shift." 

"There's nothing to do." he grinned, leaning down to gently kiss her cheek. "Except you." 

"Where are you learning these lines?" she questioned. "If you think Minho's charm works on me, it doesn't."

"It works on Ben, so I just assumed." Dylan shrugged. 

"How is Minho?" Astrid asked.

"According to Ben he's been fine. He hasn't changed much since last week." Dylan said. "I think Ben's at the hospital a lot now. He's getting better at accepting."

Without warning, Dylan swung her into a romantic dip. She squealed as he kissed her nose.

"Pick me up, I'm falling!"

He did, and their dancing came to a halt. He bowed mockingly, and she curtsied in the same manner, lifting the hem of her invisible ballgown. 

"It's cold." she said, hugging her arms. 

"The heater's on." he said, but he picked up his jacket off of his seat and gave it to her anyway. She smiled in thanks and put it on. The sleeves drooped down at the ends. 

Astrid made her way back to her 'throne' - an unruly pile of mismatched pillows collected from the neglected corners of the library. Newspaper spread out below her and paint littered the black printed words. In front of her 'throne' was a canvas propped on a easel, where a half finished painting shone with fresh paint.