Don't You Cry No More

by YourLocalAsexualLoser

You can tell alot about a man and how he was raised by his handshake. And this guy? He might as well be a vampire with how fucking cold his hand is. A new boy transfers to Watford from the US. Baz x OC

16. 16 DYLAN

DYLAN

It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I'm transfixed. (Haha, transfixed. Get it?) He's so beautiful when he plays. His eyes are closed, and his body sways with the song. Some of his hair has fallen forward over his face. He's still wearing his school pants, with his white button-up tucked in. He's left the rest of his uniform somewhere. Probably in his room. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing a sliver of his alabaster chest. He's rolled up his sleeves to his elbows too. The belt around his waist only emphasizes just how slim he is. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Whoever he wrote this song for is either really lucky, or a really big piece of shit.

Baz finishes the song and sets his violin down, leaning it against the wall. He looks at me and I'm at a complete loss of words. Speechless. I'm completely speechless.

His gray eyes are dark in the night, so much more complexity to them than just rich kid problems. There's hurt. There's sadness. There's loneliness. There's longing. He looks tired. So tired. I want to reach up and brush his hair out of his eyes. I refrain from it though. I don't want to make him uncomfortable. I don't want to cross any lines.

"It's late. You should go to bed," he says in that silky smooth accent of his. "I'll walk you back to your room. Come on." He begins picking up his violin and and sheet music.

"Oh, I uh, I think I'm gonna stay up here a little bit longer, y'know? It's real nice out tonight," I sputter. Shit shit shit shit shit.

His eyes narrow at me. Cold. His eyes are so cold now. "Talk to me, Dylan. Who is your roommate? Why are you so against going to your room? Are you scared? Is he hurting you?"

"No! There's nothing wrong with my roommate, Baz! It's me. I'm the problem!" I'm yelling now. I doubt there's anybody outside at 11 at night, but if there was they'd definitely hear me.

Baz stands there bewildered. His arms hang losely at his sides. I'm crying now. My tears are hot and big and angry and anguished. I rip my hands through my hair. And then I finally break.

Three days.

I was good for three days.

Nobody knew but Agatha and the Mage.

For three days.

I wasn't the trans guy. I wasn't the freak. The queer. I was just Dylan. For three days.

It was a nice three days.