summer

twelve- hypocricy

After a very long period of time with Sawyer held in Dylan's arms, the two went their separate ways and off to their own rooms. Dylan was fine with this- he was rather burnt out from the amount of exhausting discussion with Sawyer- but he feared Sawyer was still upset. It was almost 7, so he couldn't fall sleep yet, but he didn't know what else to do. Dylan stared up at his ceiling, then the walls, then the desk, then the floor. It was all the same. He was quite bored. Eventually, a gentle knock sounded at his door, and it slowly creaked open. Sawyer crossed over to him, his face determined but worried, and sat at the end of Dylan's bed.

"You don't have to open up to me or pretend to care when I open up to you," spat out Sawyer, then sighed as though it was a heavy weight off his chest.

"Huh?" Dylan inquired, sitting up and cocking his head to the side.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been dumping all my shit on you, and you've had to put up with it when you've clearly stated you don't want to be around me. I'm sorry. Just- don't pretend like you care or you're sorry for me if you're not. I can deal with it," he mumbled, staring down at his fidgeting hands.

"What? No. Stop apologizing. I'm not- I'm not pretending to care, Sawyer, I do," Dylan replied, slowly blinking.

"What?"

"What?"

"I just- you don't- Dylan, you don't like me. You've said that, many times."

"I know."

  "So..?"

"So?"

  "So why would you give a shit about any of the stuff I'm dumping on you?"

"First of all, you're not dumping anything on me. I asked, remember? And second, I would feel bad if it was anyone. No one deserves that."

"I do."

"No, you don't," Dylan gently said.

He'd recently grown to understand that Sawyer wasn't the big, cocky, popular, gorgeous Californian Dylan had perceived him as, but something else entirely. In fact, Sawyer was like no one he'd ever met before.

"Whatever. I'm not gonna dump my self hatred bullshit on you anymore," he sighed, about to sit up.

"But I do- all the time," Dylan reminded him. He'd taken to speaking in gentler tones with Sawyer, suddenly feeling as though he was a delicate flower that any wrong phrase could crush.

"That's different," Sawyer drily laughed.

"Why?"

"Because-" Sawyer threw his hands up in annoyance. "Because I want to hear that. I want to know what's bugging you. I want to understand you. It's different."

"And how is that different?" Dylan inquired. Sawyer looked at him and laughed, as though Dylan was missing something huge.

"Because you don't want to know about me!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you've literally said it!" Sawyer cried, his voice rising as he grew more upset.

"I never said that exactly," Dylan said. "And even if I did, I didn't mean it."

"What?"

"I want to know about you, Sawyer. I want to know what's bugging you. I want to understand you. It's not different." Sawyer looked away, seemingly angry.