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    Summary

    And if Tyler had wanted to listen to logic, he wouldn’t be talking to Dylan. He slumps back against the couch cushions grumpily and points out, “Okay, except in Derek Hale’s land of misery and man-pain, you’re pretty much his best friend.”

    Dylan does an odd giggle-snort thing and knocks a fist into Tyler’s knee. It makes his skin tingle. “You are buying what the fandom is selling you and that shit is cut with battery acid, dude.”

    Tyler glares at him, because Dylan should be as upset and out of touch with reality as Tyler is. Whatever it takes to get them together at the same time on the same set for more than six seconds is worth whatever leaps of illogic are required. He will make this point if it kills him.

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