Dylan accidentally insults Tyler in some group interview, trips all over himself to fix it. Tyler laughs, looks down at nothing and laughs, and that's how Dylan knows he's screwed; because the laughter about their ship, right, that's real and fucking infectious, but when Dylan runs his mouth it's the other kind, the kind that has Dylan's gut twisting like a dying fish, hands finding Hoech's shoulder, trying to fix it with touch alone.

Tyler's had his dick moments too, grabbing his hand in front of everyone last year, saying Who knows? With this show it's 50/50. In front of everyone, with no warning. But he didn't know, couldn't know why Dylan freaked out like he didn't in the hotel later, Nothing, man, it's nothing, I'm tired. Aren't you tired? Hoechlin at his side like a two hundred pound shiny-coated golden retriever, too eager and easy and accepting of all this crap. People like us together? Awesome, let's give the people what they want. Us, out there, exposed—

Except Tyler's just playing a part, slipping in and out, no sweat, and Dylan's working three levels of subterfuge trying to come off half as casual.

Two months later they're tucked away in Hoechlin's trailer, supposedly going over sides, but getting distracted by deleted scenes. There's no one and nothing to break the spell, and Dylan stays in it, stays Stiles for as long as he possibly can.

Tyler's a Sterek mastermind; that's what nobody else but Dylan seems to see. Jeff, he's, like, completely oblivious to this massive talent under his nose, and if he'd stop fawning over Dylan for three seconds, maybe he'd get that. Not that Dylan's ungrateful; he's freakin' stunned people aren't literally just, like, laughing in his face, but there's... There's this look Tyler gets before he remembers that he has to be fine, this flicker of—oh. Right.

And it makes Dylan want to punch something.

Instead he presses his palm to Tyler's shoulder, his arm, tries to—be Stiles, summon the Derek in him. Which should be the wackiest thing Dylan's ever thought, the most... but it isn't, somehow. Touch is the best thing Dylan has, or it's the first thing he can think to do, his fingers seeking out Tyler's bicep, settling. And Tyler settles too, gets past it, or seems to, just the smallest thrum of dejection all through him.

Dylan writes by thinking out loud, spit-balling and seeing what sticks, and Hoech'll match his frenzied energy, no problem, but his best scenes come after he goes quiet, when he's tentative about it. He'll let himself get excited in the telling, though, his eyes lighting up, gestures growing more and more animated; they both get amped up, just thinking about it.

And then Jeff says, I'm not doing that. Two lines in, and Tyler didn't even get to the best part yet, but he's already resetting.

No, listen, Dylan says, and Jeff listens, and then he writes four episodes where Derek doesn't say a word.

After the convention, Tyler's a magnet at Dylan's side, so relieved it hurts Dylan to look directly at him. The constant arm around him is a weight, or, like a, like a burden, like a test or something. Dylan can't help freaking out a little bit, wondering what they look like, if it's totally obvious to everybody.

He shouldn't mind, right? Shouldn't give a fuck what people think. But it's hardwired in him to obsess over it, try to—stay, like, publicly neutral. Not make any statements, you know? Not be that guy. That, that token guy who—Because everyone assumes Hoechlin's the one fucking him, in this scenario. That Dylan's the girl, or the bitch, even if that's not how it is, like, at all. He's seen the drawings, okay, Colton is kinda a monster at finding that shit. And that's...

That freaks Dylan the fuck out, to be honest. Seeing that, seeing himself like that. Makes it almost hard to let Ty touch him at all, or, near him at all. And then when Posey asks about it, and Dylan can practically see the wheels turning in his head...

Because that's what Dylan used to think, you know? That this guy was insanely good looking, would probably break his girlfriend in half if he wasn't careful. And he and Posey, they used to laugh about that. How Jeff had to chain him up to contain that much, like, violent sexuality. Season one, it was the most hilarious thing to them. And then there was the pool scene, and Dylan pretty much stopped breathing the pain was so bad, and Tyler grabbed his hand underwater.

After that, it just became more and more obvious. How Dylan wanted to be—more, despite how completely delusional that felt sometimes. Thinking about those jokes with Posey, and just, looking at the guy, are you serious?

But Tyler'd grabbed his hand, and there was—for press, they were press buddies. Because Tyler'd been doing press since he was literally eight, and Dylan was a nervous wreck who said stupid crap like, literally all the time. So doing press together, they looked out for each other, jumped in if the other one was floundering. Or just backed each other up, just—literally, Tyler appeared behind Dylan like a smoke monster and put his hands on Dylan's shoulders, at which point Dylan promptly forgot anything he'd ever coherently thought for like a second and a half; then Dylan found Tyler's shoulder and tried to take a nap on it, despite the camera and mic like six inches away.

And Dylan got used to it, touching Ty all the time, and forgot that was only their little press deal. And just—kept doing it, all the time.

And didn't let stupid things like falling in love with him get in the way.

But now...

Now there's this story out there, this rumor, and pretty much anything Dylan wants to do plays right into it. There's him, and there's his massive fifty foot fucking shadow, and he can't twitch a muscle or that giant him will destroy Japan or something. Will just spiral out of control, unstoppable.

Dylan, he really needs that control. Needs his own life to still be his. Not some character, not...

Tyler's arm is warm around his shoulders, and Dylan is starting to sweat.