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How Do You Think It Goes

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we just met and I
wish we could be holding hands

-- C.R. Jepsen


When he gets the notification, Dylan shoots up out of his bed like a fire alarm has gone off. He scrambles around his bedroom hysterically, picks stuff up and puts it back down, runs around in circles for a couple minutes. He throws his phone across the room at some point, which snaps him out of his all-consuming celebration, because hey, he needs that! When he finds it again, he calls two people.

"Hey Mom, Harry Styles followed me back on Twitter, love you, bye," he says and hangs up.

"Hey Max, Harry Styles followed me back on Twitter, love you, bye," he says and hangs up.

"Guys!" He calls out as he runs out of his room. "Hey guys! Guys! Something just happened!"

There's nobody in the house, so he checks out the front window, sees who he's looking for, and stumbles out into the front yard.

Posey and Hoechlin are out lounging in chairs with their feet in the kiddie pool Posey set up. Posey is wearing his swim trunks like they're regular clothes, like he has been all year when they're at home, and Hoechlin is wearing unbuttoned jeans over his swim trunks. They're surrounded by empty beer bottles and pizza crusts from the pizza they have somehow floating in the pool. They look the perfect image of why stores had to invent "no shirt, no shoes, no service" policies. It really hits Dylan then how much they live like trailer trash. First of all, kiddie pool in the front yard.

"Guys!" He continues yelling. "Harry Styles followed me back on Twitter!"

Posey stands up so quickly he ends up stepping on the side of the kiddie pool and letting a bunch of water flow out onto the grass and his trunks slip down so his ass is half out.

"Let me see," Posey says.

"I can see your butthole," Dylan says.

Posey just pulls his trunks up and rips Dylan's phone out of his hand.

"Oh my God," Posey says.

"I know!" Dylan says.

They hold hands and jump up and down while screaming for a few moments. Hoechlin scrunches his nose at them fondly. Dylan has been obsessively watching One Direction videos on the internet for weeks, but he's only managed to convert Max, Posey, and sometimes Holland to being fans along with him, because being obsessed is always more fun if you're surrounded by other people who feel the same way. Posey understands how monumental this is.

"Is he your boyfriend yet?" Hoechlin says.

"He is not my boyfriend," Dylan says. "I just like, admire him."

"Admire his--" Posey starts.

"Okay, hang on, I have to say something about this. Umm." Dylan punches out a quick tweet.

@dylanobrien Can't believe my teen idol @Harry_Styles is following me! Wow... :)

He watches the favorite and retweet counts climb for a few minutes. He didn't realize how many crossover fans they had. He spends the rest of the day clenching his fists and waving them around excitedly while laughing like a maniac, looking around for something to explain how his life has become this wonderful.


Dylan doesn't realize anyone is in the room with him until he feels a cheek pressed directly against his. He's been lying on his stomach on top of his bed for who knows how long with his legs kicked up behind him, refreshing Twitter over and over until his eyes feel crossed. He screams and throws his phone across the room for the second time that day. Posey laughs and picks it up for him, then plops down next to him in the same position to stare at his phone with him.

"Whatcha doin'?" Posey says.

"Nothing," Dylan mumbles into his arm. "Waiting for Harry Styles to further acknowledge my existence."

"You exist," Posey insists.

"You're no Harry Styles," Dylan says sadly.

"Let me try for a while," Posey says, gently extracting Dylan's phone from his eagle talon grip. "Can I say something to him?"

"No!" Dylan says, ripping his phone back out of Posey's hands. "No, absolutely not! Then it'd be like a Cyrano de Bergerac situation, like he'll fall in love with your words but think it's me saying them and then when he realizes it's been you the whole time, something bad happens. I think. I don't know, I never found out how that one ends."

"Well, don't kill yourself together or anything," Posey says. "Maybe you could like... DM him."

"DM him what? My phone number?"

"Yeah, like, you just met him, and this is crazy, but..."

"Don't ruin that song for me!" Dylan says. "I don't want to be in pain every time I hear it now because it just makes me think of him."

"Send him naked pictures," Posey suggests.

"Should I make him a video?"

"A naked video?"

"Stop that. Just like a fun video. That's usually worked out for me. It got me a job acting on TV."

"It didn't get you a date to prom, though," Posey points out.

"This isn't the same," Dylan says.

"Isn't it?" Posey says. "Isn't it?"

Dylan thinks about it and shrugs. He's right; it might as well be.

They find themselves two hours later, both wearing wigs and putting the finishing touches on an elaborate lip syncing dance routine to "Call Me Maybe" because if he's being honest, he's been associating that song with Harry Styles ever since he saw Harry Styles anyway and he just hopes Harry is okay with that being their song. Posey is bent over his desk pretending to wash it like it's a car, like in the video, when Dylan turns the song off in the middle of its 463rd play.

"I don't think we should film this," Dylan contemplates out loud. "I've done some embarrassing things, but this seems really embarrassing. He doesn't even know I exist."

"Yes he does," Posey says. "He added you on Twitter! He's not just adding random people on Twitter left and right. He knows you."

"But does he know I love him?"

"Before you came into his life, he missed you so bad," Posey says, and Dylan silently loves this topical reference, but can't focus on it right now.

"This is so creepy. I'm probably gonna accidentally shoot him because I love him so much and he's weirded out by it because he doesn't know me at all. I know so much about him! Am I supposed to act like I don't? I'm on TV!"

"I don't know," Posey says with absolute certainty.

"Ugh, I'm emotionally gross and exhausting," Dylan says. He takes his wig off and throws it somewhere.

"No you're not," Posey says. He keeps his wig on and keeps having to push it away from his face.

"Yes I am," Dylan says. "This is so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Posey says, and he sounds frustrated, which is so rare that Dylan stops berating himself for the time being. "When was the last time you checked Twitter?"

Dylan practically falls over and dies getting to his phone to refresh it.

"Umm," Dylan says hysterically. He holds his phone out to Posey to take like it's a hot potato and grabs his own face in an attempt to rip it off.

Posey reads aloud (at signs and all):

"@Harry_Styles @dylanobrien Haha.. We're holding auditions for a sixth member if you're still interested! .x"

"Oh my God," Posey says after several moments of silence. "Does 'x' mean hug or kiss?!"

"I think it means kiss," Dylan groans in agony, throwing himself on his bed. He takes his phone back and looks at the amount of favorites and retweets Harry's tweet gets, and notices he's suddenly getting a steady amount of new followers.

"Oh my God, Dylan. Are you okay?" Posey sits next to him on the bed and rubs his back up and down.

"I don't think so," Dylan says.

"What do we do?"

"First we're going to print 10,000 copies of this tweet out and roll around in them on my bed," Dylan says. "Then we're going to frame it and hang it on every wall in the house. Then we're going to call everyone in the entire world and tell them about what just happened."

"Dylan, Harry Styles tweeted at you. And asked you to audition to be in One Direction. He's like, referencing stuff you've said."

"Don't talk to me," Dylan says. He buries his face in his pillow and tries not to explode with excitement. His heart is racing and his hands are so sweaty and they've never even met before. Harry Styles merely knows Dylan exists and Dylan can't even handle that.

"I can see your butthole," Posey says as he puts his finger on Dylan's butthole. Dylan yelps and kicks out mindlessly.

"Don't touch my butthole," Dylan says.

"Why? Is it reserved?"

"It's not like that with me and Harry," Dylan says before realizing what he's even saying. He picks his head up, hoping the increased oxygen will help him think. "Oh my God, I'm insane. Can we watch that video where he changes the words in all their songs again?"

"Maybe you should answer him first," Posey says.

"What do I even say? 'That sounds great, I've watched every video of you available on the internet and I'm obsessed with you, please don't have me arrested for being a nutjob'?"

"That's too many characters," Posey says wisely. "Just say like, how you feel. What would you say if you were talking to me?"

"Don't touch my butthole?"

"No. Well yeah, but that's honesty. You'd be honest. Tell him you're a big fan and you want to look into his eyes and say when he opens his arms and holds you close tonight, it just don't feel right!"

"You're worse off than me," Dylan says.

"You're a beautiful person and I love you," Posey says. Dylan makes a disgusted face at him but accepts the compliment anyway. He could really use it right now, he guesses.

"Okay," Dylan says. He stares at the tweet Harry sent him again and has to chew on his lips so he doesn't get a headache from smiling too hard. "Okay."

@dylanobrien @Harry_Styles Name a time and place and I'll be there with bells on! :)

He reads it 10 times. He makes Posey read it 10 times.

"Is that creepy?" Dylan says. "It makes me sound creepy. I'm not going to stalk him. I mean, not anymore than I do now. Not like, in person."

"It's not creepy," Posey says.

"Am I asking him out on a date? We should've just made the video."

"There's still time..."

"No, I'm just gonna send it," Dylan says. He hits send and throws his phone in the drawer on his nightstand and slams it closed.

"I'm so proud of you," Posey says. He pets the back of Dylan's head soothingly. "You're making all your dreams come true. Soon you'll be leaving us to join a British boy band and getting married to a teenager just like you always wanted."

"They're British-Irish, and he's 18," Dylan says. He doesn't protest the being in a boy band or getting married part. He's brought a lot of latent feelings to the surface in just one day and he's decided to be fine with all of them.

"He likes 'em older anyway," Posey says. He reaches into Dylan's drawer to get his phone out.

"Stay out of my drawers," Dylan says.

"You have a reply already," Posey says, almost like he's awestruck.

"What?" Dylan screams. "Give me. Gimme."

@Harry_Styles @dylanobrien Yes! Maybe I could audition to be on the show.. saw an episode the other night, loved your closeups ;)

Dylan furiously kicks the air and flops around on his bed, because his body hurts and he wishes he wasn't inside it anymore. He's feeling too many feelings.

"Is this real?" Dylan says after he calms down. "Are you pranking me somehow? I've never seen you and Harry Styles in the same room."

"I'm not Harry Styles..." Posey says uncertainly.

"That's right, you're not," Dylan says. "God. What do I even say? First of all, Harry Styles has seen our show. One Direction sits around watching Teen Wolf and he said he liked my closeups. My face! He's like definitely flirting with me, right?"

"I think so," Posey says. "I don't go around saying I love everyone's faces."

"Yes you do," Dylan says.

"Yeah, but only 'cause I love everyone's faces," Posey says. "Harry Styles is not a liar. Remember that video where he cried?"

"Yessss," Dylan whines while rolling around on his back like a helpless emotionally unstable turtle. "He's so sensitive. Can we watch it now?"

"We can watch one One Direction video for every time you answer him," Posey says. "That can be your reward for putting it on Harry Styles."

"I'm not putting it on Harry Styles," Dylan says. "I'm not even putting it around Harry Styles. He's probably just being nice. Winky faces don't mean anything."

"Tell him you want to touch his weiner," Posey says.

"I can't tell him that!"

"He probably wants to touch yours," Posey says. "I don't go around just winking at everyone."

"Yes you do," Dylan says.

Posey shrugs.

"Okay..." Dylan says. "Okay. Here."

@dylanobrien @Harry_Styles haha you're so cute. think of the ratings that would get!

"Is that too much?" Dylan says. His finger slips and he hits send before he can have the full time he wants to angst over it. "Oh God! Harry Styles is gonna know I think he's cute!"

"Good," Posey says. "Let's watch the video where he cries."

Three hours later, the backs of Dylan's knees are sweating from watching 37 One Direction video clips with Posey and he feels like his blood is made of lava because he loves Harry Styles so much, and he looked on Amazon to see if they had any 27x30 posters of Harry Styles they could put up in the living room, Harry Styles knows who he is and has watched the TV show he's on, and he's in the middle of a conversation with Harry Styles right now, and he wants Harry Styles to be his boyfriend. Posey actually fell asleep next to him after about 15 clips, but Dylan continued watching them anyway. He's spiralling in more ways than one.

He checks his phone.

@Harry_Styles @dylanobrien Aw.. you think I'm cute? ;)

Dylan starts shoving his phone in his mouth to keep from screaming but then realizes that's probably not a good idea.

"Tyler," Dylan says. "Posey. Wake up. Tyler Posey."

"Mmmm," Posey says since he didn't wake up at all.

"I'm gonna DM Harry Styles my phone number. That's a sentence I thought I'd never say. Wow. I'm actually gonna do it. Then like, every ball will be in his court."

"Balls," Posey laughs in his sleep.

Dylan opens a new direct message and types in Harry's name.

Hey, I'm DMing you so maybe this torrid affair won't be so public :) and here's my number, so text me maybe? 32383369653

"I'm so embarrassing," Dylan says to a sleeping, drooling, snoring Tyler Posey, who is wearing a bathing suit as clothes. "Well, embarrassing for me."

When Harry Styles doesn't text him within 30 seconds of Dylan giving him his number, Dylan starts sweating all over his body, in places he didn't know he could even sweat. Like, his elbows are sweating, and it's all because Harry Styles is basically rejecting him, and he's a dummy, and this entire day has been meaningless.

"You took your time with the call, I took no time with the fall, indeed," Dylan sighs. He can't believe he's finally truly understanding the meaning of that song.

Dylan's phone vibrates. He holds his breath and looks at it.

Max Minghella: Harry followed you back on Twitter!?!?

"God - damn it," Dylan exhales and breathes deeply for a few moments to keep from ripping his hair out. He's never hated Max so much in his life.

Me: Yep, check our convo! We're 1 step closer to joining 1D!! We have to fight for the sixth spot, though

Max Minghella: Um, so you guys are getting married soon?

Me: I gave him my number...

Max Minghella: Girl bye

Dylan is texting back and forth so rapid fire with Max that he wonders why Max is sending him lyrics before he realizes it's from a weird unsaved number.

+44204875293: Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

Dylan gets up off the bed, finally disturbing Posey from his slumber.

"Where are you going?"

"To put my head in the oven," Dylan says.

"What? Don't do that!" Posey gets up and trails after him.

Dylan ends up going outside and starts doing jumping jacks.

"What are you doing?" Posey says.

Dylan throws his phone at him and it hits him square in the forehead, but he manages to catch it after it bounces off his skull. "Look at this!"

"Ow..." Posey says. He rubs his forehead and reads the text. "Who's this?"

"Harry Styles," Dylan says casually. He's jogging in place because he doesn't know what else to do.

"It is not," Posey says.

"I gave him my number and he sent me that," Dylan says. "Harry Styles is in love with me."

"He is!" Posey yells, and he throws Dylan's phone back at him, but he can't throw straight to save his life, so it misses Dylan completely and flies right into the kiddie pool. Dylan dives after it, only it's too late. He fishes his phone out of the pool. It's only been underwater for 2 seconds, but the screen is blinking like there's an angry ghost inside it.

"No," Dylan says. "No, no, no. No!"

"I'm sorry!" Posey says. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine I'm not mad at you move!" Dylan shoves Posey onto the grass and runs inside to toss the kitchen for dry rice. He rips open a box of Rice-A-Roni and shoves his wet phone inside, then holds the top shut with his fingers and stares at it, willing this to work while silently praying he didn't just clumsily lose the first text Harry Styles ever sent him and, more importantly, Harry Styles' phone number.



One torturous hour later, Posey pries Dylan's eagle grip from the Rice-A-Roni box and checks on his phone for him, because Dylan can't bear to, and Posey is a good friend, even if he is a terrible pitcher.

"I think it worked," Posey says. "It doesn't look haunted anymore."

Dylan takes his phone back like it's a newborn baby. Everything seems intact, and Harry's message, phone number included, are still there. He saves him as a contact immediately and tells Posey he's going to force him to buy him a new phone as soon as possible, just in case.

"Okay, so crisis averted. What are you gonna say to Harry?" Posey says.

Dylan starts typing away without thinking too hard. He feels beyond excited to talk to Harry, but he doesn't feel like, nervous. Just overwhelmed.

"Should I text him hilariously appropriate One Direction lyrics?" Dylan says.

"No!" Posey says.

Me: It's hard to look right at you baby :) you guys should cover that song... my friend and I --

"Mention me by name!" Posey interrupts. Dylan rolls his eyes.

Me: It's hard to look right at you baby :) you guys should cover that song... my friend Tyler Posey and I just choreographed a dance routine for it

The response is near instantaneous and Dylan is struck by the name Harry Styles being in his phone, and it's not like, a joke name. It's actually Harry Styles. And they are flirting wildly. And he doesn't know why this happening, but he's certainly not going to be the one to stop it.

Harry Styles: Ha! You can be in our video for it then ;)

Me: We were gonna make a video of it but we decided it was too embarrassing

Harry Styles: I'd like to see that! maybe you can make a video just for me ;)

"Oh my God," Posey screeches.

"Tyler..." Dylan says. "Am I sexting with Harry Styles from One Direction?"

"I think so," Posey says.

This all seems so sudden. This morning Dylan didn't know Harry Styles even knew who he was, but apparently Harry Styles is a fan of his show and of his face, and now he's sexting with Harry Styles and Harry Styles is asking him to be his private dancer or to make a sex tape or something. It's all completely unreal.

Me: Haven't you seen those PSAs about not sending sexy videos of yourself to other people?? It could ruin my life...

Harry Styles: I never said it had to be sexy.. but if you insist ;)

Dylan doesn't even get a chance to respond before Harry's next texts come in.

Harry Styles: you're pretty sexy without trying anyways

Harry Styles: I watched the scene of teen wolf with the closeups of your lips more than once

Dylan flushes all over his body. He can feel it. His skin is hot, and he bets if he looked in a mirror right now he'd be red from his hairline to his toes. His fingers ghost over his own lips, thinking of Harry looking at them, liking them. He's done the same for Harry's lips, sometimes, but he's never thought about it beyond "nice lips", and he's certainly never told anyone about it, least of all the person the lips belong to. It's just a thought. Dylan's looked at and likes Harry's lips, too.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable with letting you read this," Dylan tells Posey. They're sitting next to each other on the couch with their heads together. "I don't know if I feel comfortable with letting myself reading this. I think I need to go be alone."

"Me too," Posey says. "That's like... really hot for some reason? I'm totally getting a boner."

"Put it away," Dylan says. "This is for My Boner Only. Oh my God, I have a boner caused by Harry Styles. Like, himself and not just a picture of him."

"You've jacked off to pics of Harry Styles?"

"Is this escalating too quickly? Am I... the s-word?"


"Oh my goodness, Posey."


"Nevermind," Dylan says. "I need to go be alone now."

"Okay, but keep me posted! Show me any dick pics."


"Aw, man," Dylan hears Posey say as he shuts his bedroom door.



Me: Yeah... that was kind my equivalent of a shirtless scene :)

Harry Styles: It was gorgeous. You're so talented.. don't like to take your shirt off, eh?

Me: Thanks :) not on tv. I have a pretty face a good personality. But my body isn't exactly camera ready

Harry Styles: That's a shame...

Me: Full disclosure, I'm a huge 1D fan and know all about your addiction to nudity. You can't convince me to join in

Harry Styles: Aw :) maybe once I get you in person you'll change your mind..

Dylan doesn't know what to do with himself. Obviously he should jerk off to this as much as possible, and soon, because he doesn't know how long this tryst is going to last. But he feels like he should tell Harry he's going to jerk off to him, now that they're acquainted. He's done it before, like abstractly, with a million different thoughts and fantasies mixed in, but now, he's going to be thinking about Harry specifically. Harry, completely naked, liking Dylan's lips, touching them, kissing them, using them.

"God help me," Dylan says. He touches himself absently through his pants a little bit, but he can't stop texting Harry now.

Me: Haven't you ever heard of stranger danger? Meeting people from the internet is risky

Harry takes a while to answer back. Like, a really long time. Dylan tries to do other things, but every 10 seconds he checks his phone, like maybe he didn't hear it, even though he has the text message alert volume all the way up. He's starting to fall asleep staring at the ceiling, worrying that he's put Harry off with his stupid joke, when he finally gets a text.

Posey: Hey I'm in my room!!!!! Are you asleep?

"God damn it," Dylan says.

Me: No.

Posey: I was just dming back and forth with Niall Horan

Me: You were not

Posey: Yup and we decided we're gonna parent trap you and Harry

Me: How did you get Niall to follow you back?

Posey: I told Harry to tell him cuz I have connections now

Me: Why???

Posey: Me and Niall are gonna switch places and you and Harry will have to meet to switch us back

Dylan is contemplating how realistic that is when Harry answers him. He's so happy he could cry. He thought for a minute there that he'd made Harry feel bad for being so forward or something, which is not how Harry should feel. Dylan likes forward. Harry can move forward on him all he wants in more ways than one.

Harry Styles: I'm not from the internet! I'm from Cheshire

"Oh god, he's so cute," Dylan says right out loud, kicking his feet into the air.

Me: And I'm from New York, too bad they aren't closer together

Harry Styles: Have you heard of airplanes? They were invented in 1903

Me: You just looked that up

Harry Styles: Louis looked it up for me. He also told me what to say

Dylan's heart stops. He knows he was showing Posey every text from Harry and asking his advice earlier, but he can't believe Harry would be doing the same. With Louis. Louis Tomlinson. of One Direction. He doesn't know if he feels betrayed or utterly rapturous. Okay, he does know how he feels. He feels utterly rapturous that Harry is sharing him with his friends already, the way he himself had been doing earlier and probably will continue to do until he's on his deathbed. "C'mere, gather round and let Grandpa tell you about the time he sexted with Harry Styles," he'll say to his grandchildren.

Me: Need help wooing me?

Harry Styles: You tell me ;) I'm going to be in L.A. in a few days..

Me: I just checked and I'm thoroughly wooed. No help needed here. Where?

Harry Styles: Not sure yet.. I'll tell you the details when I arrive?

Dylan sees that question mark and he's gone. He can't stand Harry being unsure of this.

Me: It's a date :)

Dylan feels two things in this moment, the first and main one being arousal, and the second being optimism, something he doesn't feel often when it comes to dating, or whatever this is, whatever.

"Hey Posey!" Dylan yells through the wall. "Is it okay if Harry Styles stays with us for a few days?"

"Duhhhhhhhh!" Posey yells back.

Me: I don't know if this is weird but if you want to stay at my place instead of in a fancy hotel then you're invited

Dylan gets that song from the Mary Kate & Ashley slumber party video stuck in his head.

"Hey Posey!" Dylan yells through the wall, then in a slow motion voice, "I want pizzaaaaa..."

Posey responds immediately in his slow motion voice,"P-I-Z-Z-A!"

He doesn't get a response from Harry for a really long time and starts to anguish over it. Maybe he did take it a step too far. It's one thing for Harry to text him erotic things, but it's another thing to stay at Dylan's house when he barely knows him.

Me: Or we could meet in a public place first so you can see if I'm a murderer or not

Harry Styles: It's not weird. I don't think you're a murderer, I think you're a dorable.. ;) what's your address

Dylan groans at the joke, because it's so bad, and it's so cute, and then gives Harry Styles his home address and can't believe this is happening to him.




"I can't believe this is happening to me," Dylan yells over his playlist, which is just "Call Me Maybe" over and over, to Posey the day before Harry is set to arrive, when Posey walks in on him standing on one of their dining room chairs in the bathroom, scrubbing the ceiling.

"What, insanity?" Posey says.

"No," Dylan says. He reaches too far and almost falls down, but manages to regain his balance before slipping and dying of hitting his head on the bathroom counter. That would be horrible to do at any time, but especially now that things are happening to him. "Harry Styles. Talking to me. Like I'm a real person. And coming to stay. Here."

"Is that why you're cleaning things I never even knew existed?" Posey says. He walks around Dylan by climbing in and out of the tub to get past him to the toilet. He leaves dirty foot prints on the bottom of the tub.

"I just cleaned that!" Dylan shrieks.

"Sorry," Posey says. He just gets his dick out and pisses right in front of Dylan like it's nothing. "I'll help you after I'm done."

"Done with what, being a gross freak of nature? Get out with that! We're not actually married!"

"Might as well be," Posey shrugs, flushing the toilet and turning to put his arms around Dylan's legs. "And you are a real person. You're very loveable."

"Wash your hands or wash the tub," Dylan slaps Posey hands away from him.

"And nothing is happening to you. You're making things happen for yourself. Look at you, making things happen!"

"I'll make you happen if you don't get your dirty footprints out of my tub," Dylan says.

Dylan finishes scrubbing the bathroom ceiling and moves on to the living room walls. He's already been at it for 3 hours. Everything is already picked up and put in its place or thrown out. Now he's just getting to the foundation of everything. He's almost finished scouring the entire house when he remembers he hasn't done anything to the carpet. There are a few stains here and there, created by Posey or him doing something or other, either being a weirdo or being clumsy, respectively.

"It's so gross in here," Dylan says hopelessly with his head in his hands as he collapses to the ground. "Harry Styles probably has 12 maids."

Suddenly there's a knock at the door.

"Oh my God, what day is it?" Dylan says. "Is he here? How long have I been going crazy?"

"I called for reinforcements," Posey says as he opens the door.

Holland and Colton come in carrying swiffers and brooms and buckets full of various cleaning solutions and candles, for some reason, and Hoechlin brings up the rear with a carpet cleaner hoisted on his shoulder.

"I got this at Wal-Mart for $99!" Hoechlin says proudly.

"What?" Dylan says. He looks around, not comprehending that his friends all standing above him in a circle as he has a meltdown on the floor. "What are you all doing here?"

"Posey said you needed help," Hoechlin says.

"Yeah, he said you have a special guest coming," Colton says. "But he wouldn't say who. Is it someone stupid?"

"It's Harry Styles," Dylan says. "Decide for yourself if that's stupid or not."

"Oh!" Holland claps her hands together delightedly. "That's great!"

"Do we get to meet him?" Hoechlin says.

"First of all, I haven't even met him yet," Dylan says. "Second, none of you are never ever allowed to meet him. Ever. In your life."

"Why not?" Hoechlin says sadly.

"Look at you!" Dylan says, gesturing at Hoechlin's perfectly grown stubble and sculpted body. Dylan's pretty skinny, but even when he sits out he gets a little chub roll on his belly. When Hoechlin sits down it just looks like he has more abs. "You'd steal him away in a second. And then there's Tweedle-Pretty and Tweedle-Prettier over here."

"Which one's Tweedle-Prettier?" Colton says.

"Oh, honey, I am," Holland says.

"This one's probably okay," Dylan says, jabbing his thumb at Posey.

"Thanks," Posey grins.

"Oh, Posey," Colton says fondly.

"But otherwise, no," Dylan continues. "Not until he's madly in love with me and hopelessly devoted to being sexually attracted to exclusively me, nobody is allowed to meet him. Unless you wear a paper bag over your head and body. You just have to be wearing a full-body sack. He can meet you if you're behind a curtain at all times and your voice is disguised."

They all stare at him blankly.

"Okay," Holland says, clapping her hands together. "Let's get to work. I'll supervise."

Two more hours of hysterical cleaning later, the entire place is scoured from top to bottom. The carpet is shampoo'd and drying, and everyone is walking around with plastic bags taped on their feet like shoes because Dylan screamed at them. The front porch is swept, which has never been done before. All the posters hanging on the walls are actually straight. Posey found three dollars and sixteen cents inside the couch, when Dylan made him vacuum it all to hell, which he graciously uses to tip the pizza lady when they order a pizza, which Dylan is now forcing them to eat on the front lawn. The front lawn is soggy and wet because Dylan made Posey dump the pool water out and put it away so they didn't look like freaks.

"Nobody is allowed to do anything inside that house until Harry gets here," Dylan says. "We're just gonna have to hose you off out here and send you on your ways, because no."

Holland collapses onto her back with a frustrated sigh and points at her mouth, commanding Colton to feed her pizza.

"How do you do that?" Colton says as he dangles pizza into Holland's mouth.

"Lots of practice," Holland says.

"Can we all go to Hoechlin's beach house and do jell-o shots?" Posey literally begs of Dylan.

"Please," Hoechlin says, looking up from his phone. He's been on it quite a bit today, actually, for Hoechlin. He's not normally so rude, which must mean Dylan has been a real monster.

Dylan feels bad that he's been such a terrorizing dictator that Hoechlin, who'd never hurt nobody, nohow, feels he can't even go to his own house without his permission. They all deserve something special for being such wonderful friends to him.

"You're not hostages," Dylan says. "Sorry for being a hostzilla."

"We understand," Posey says. "But like, we really need jell-o shots. You included."

"I can't," Dylan says. "I have too much crying to do."

"Where is Harry right now, anyway?" Holland says.

"He's like, on a plane right now, right? It takes like 18 hours to fly here from London," Posey says.

In the chorus of "oh, Posey"s that follows that statement, Dylan realizes he hasn't looked at his phone all day. Harry could've sent him messages like, "just kidding, you're ugly!" or "I have friends cooler than you in hell!" or something odd and British like that. He's almost afraid to look, his worst fear being that Harry would take everything he said back, like it was all a joke, or like it was nothing.

He's surprised to see he has an entire series of messages waiting for him to live for.

Harry Styles: Can't wait to see you tomorrow! x

Harry Styles: I'm renting a car so you don't have to pick me up. I get in very early

Harry Styles: I can sit in your driveway like a pervert until you wake up

Dylan wants to call him and scream hysterically, "What are you even doing with me?" Harry Styles of One Direction could and probably frequently does get any person he wants. Dylan has never been hip. He's never been cool. He's never been in. That's the tagline of Never Been Kissed, which is something he was until much later than everyone else he knew. Harry Styles is probably Ever Being Kissed. Dylan keeps trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but when that gift horse is Harry Styles and the horse mouth is Harry Styles' mouth, it's hard not to look and then freak out.

Harry interrupts Dylan's beginnings of an emotional meltdown with another text.

Harry Styles: It's still okay that I stay with you?

Dylan doesn't know how to express how very, deeply, incredibly okay it is besides saying it.

Me: Nothing is more okay than you staying with me

Me: Just don't get arrested for stalking me

The idea of Harry Styles stalking him instead of the situation being in reverse makes him laugh to himself so much that he starts crying. He only remembers other people are still around him, for some reason, only after they've witnessed him being a nutcase.

"Is he okay?" Colton says.

"No," Holland says. "There may be something there that wasn't there before."

"What's there?" Colton says.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Holland says and kisses him on the forehead.

"You did that on purpose," Dylan says. "Am I the beast?"

"What?" Posey says.

"Everyone get out," Dylan says, though they are all technically out, since they're still sprawled all over the front lawn, and Dylan couldn't physically keep any of them here anyway. Hoechlin could hold him down with one finger while they all escaped, then throw him over his head and run. He wouldn't, but he could. "Go have fun. I'm gonna go stare in a mirror for 12 hours."

"Sweetie, you're gorgeous," Holland says. She reaches over and starts pinching various parts of his face. "Look how rosy your cheeks are! And you have the most perfect little button nose."

"Just what every person wants in a man," Dylan mutters. "You're making me sound like I look like a Christmas elf."

"You're fucking hot," Posey says. "You have fuckable lips and a bangin' beach body. Look at your fuckin', like, gun show. Flex for me." Posey manipulates Dylan's arm into flexing. "Damn. Can I get tickets to that? I wanna do you. I'd do you in a second. I'd do you in less than a second. I'll do you right now."

"Don't do me right now," Dylan says, shaking Posey off his arm.

"How many people have you said that speech to, Posey?" Holland says.

"A few," Posey says. He looks into Dylan's eyes. "But this time I mean it."

"Thanks, guys," Dylan says. "Really, I mean it. I'd be flushing myself down a toilet right now if it wasn't for you."

"Speaking of," Hoechlin says. "We are all gonna go do just that. You sure you don't wanna come over?"

Hoechlin ruffles his hair and it feels like sunshine on his head. He doesn't know how he does that. Maybe Hoechlin should meet Harry as like, Dylan's stand-in. They've never met in person, so Dylan could be able to get Hoechlin to pretend to be him. Dylan would help Hoechlin with what to say, feeding him lines though an earpiece. "Hi, I'm Dylan. I look different than I do on TV. Do you want to tell everyone about my abs?" Nothing would go wrong or be embarrassing and Harry would be in love with him because he'd be someone else.

"Tempting, but I'd rather lie awake staring at the ceiling all night," Dylan says. "You all go have fun."

Everyone gets up off the ground and stretches. They hug Dylan and wish him luck.

"You'll be fine," Holland says.

"Just do you," Colton says.

"And Harry," Posey and Hoechlin say in unison, then high five each other as Colton and Holland shake their heads.

They get in their cars, Posey riding along with Hoechlin after hugging Dylan for 5 minutes, and off drives Dylan's motorcade of friendship. He's on his own. He looks at his phone.

Me: Just don't get arrested for stalking me

Harry Styles: Looking forward to it ;)

"What does that mean?" Dylan shrieks to himself in the middle of the front yard.




Dylan isn't sure how he falls asleep, only where, which is on the floor in Posey's bedroom after he physically exhausts himself cleaning more, even though there's really nothing else to clean. He goes in to check Posey's room - he doesn't think Harry will have any reason to go in there with like, a latex glove on and sweep the place for dust, but just in case there's anything weird in there. Who knows what Posey gets up to. Dylan looks under the bed and doesn't find dead bodies or crazy sex things, so he guesses his body decides it's okay to fall asleep.

And so Dylan wakes up at 5 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday on Posey's bedroom floor, not for the first time, and probably not the last. His back hurts and he wishes Posey were here to stand on it, but when he checks the bed, Posey isn't in it. He remembers then why he's on the floor: Harry Styles is coming. And he has to face him alone.

"Oh god," Dylan says to the emptiness of the house and within himself.

He looks at his phone for the splittest of seconds and sees there are a few messages he's missed, but he throws it somewhere because there's not enough time and jumps into the shower, considers bleaching it again. He doesn't want the house to smell like bleach in case everyone knows Harry is coming over and he accidentally dies and then the cops come and smell bleach and think Dylan has murdered Harry and he has to go to prison and then Johnny Depp will get wind of his case and help him get released and they can get matching tattoos, which, when he thinks about it, the destination doesn't sound so bad, but the journey sounds terrible, so he ultimately decides against it and then runs to his room to put clothes on.

"What," Dylan gestures at his closet as if accusing it of something. Of not telling him what to wear, he thinks. He should've had someone pick out his outfit and lay it out for him before they left. What do you wear when you're meeting your possible future? Does he dress like he's going on a job interview?

He goes with black jeans and a button down, but then he can't seem to make his hands button it right and it keeps ending up crooked and like he's a child who was allowed to dress himself, so he goes through Posey's clothes and just picks a t-shirt at random because it's soft. It makes him feel like Posey is hugging his back through this, which is nice. If Dylan asked Posey to hang on his back for days, he knows there'd be no questions asked. The shirt will have to do now because Dylan isn't strong enough yet to support a person on his back for days at a time.

"Should I put on a blazer?" He asks himself in the mirror. "It's really early. It's not Blazer Time, is it?"

He regards his physical appearance for a few minutes longer. He looks like he's never gone out in the sun before, like those kids in that movie with sun allergies who turn out to really be ghosts. The truth is he doesn't go out into the sun that much, despite living in California, so he only has himself to blame for that. He has a lot of moles, which he's gone through a lot of stuff about and come out the other end feeling okay with them. They give him character, everyone says. If Face Mole Guy is his superhero name, he thinks he can accept that. He has hardly any abdominal muscles to speak of.

He finally looks at his messages, most of them from hours ago, when he was in the midst of an emotional meltdown or an emotional sleep. Dylan wants to die because Harry is so cute and he doesn't know how he can go on knowing someone this cute exists.

Harry Styles: Hope you're asleep.. I'm at the airport now

Harry Styles: I've just married 10 girls at the airport so I can't come to see you anymore

Harry Styles: I take it back. They mean nothing to me

Harry Styles: Sorry, I'm tired

Harry Styles: An old woman fell asleep on my shoulder before we even took off so I had them put a blanket around the both of us

Harry Styles: It's weird what you get used to

Harry Styles: Sleeping with my new friend. See you tomorrow! ;)

"If things go right, I'll be sleeping with my new friend too," Dylan mumbles to himself. Oh god, did Posey possess him and make him say that? He'd never. Except, Harry must bring that out in him. He's never done anything like this before and now here he is, inviting famous strange men into his home for what he can only assume will be a sexy romp. He thumbs through his messages from other people.

Posey: Good luck STUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! get U some!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He thinks of Posey calling his lips fuckable and flushes, then thinks of Holland saying he has rosy cheeks and flushes more. Just then he gets a new message from Harry, which makes him flush even more.

Harry Styles: Just landed :)

Dylan thinks then how strange it is that he's never heard Harry speak. Well, he has, seeing as how he's watched all those video clips and all, and Harry says he's seen Teen Wolf, but he means in reality. They've never actually spoken to one another with their voices.

Without thinking it out any further, Dylan dials Harry's number.

"Hello," Harry answers. He's British. Oh god, he's so British and sounds so sleepy, but he thinks there's a smile in his voice.

"Hi," Dylan breathes out. He's breathing really heavily as if he's just been on a trampoline, but he knows it's just a trampoline of anxiety. "I just realized we've never spoken?"

"What?" Harry says, and there's definitely a smile in his voice. It comes out "wot?" and Dylan internally screams. He doesn't mean to be one of those Americans who can't resist an accent, but god help him, because he certainly can't help himself.

"I mean, we've never spoken to each other, verbally, with our mouths," Dylan goes on. "And I thought that was kind of weird. So, I'm calling you. Here's what I sound like!"

"And here's what I sound like," Harry says, putting emphasis on every other word so it really shows off his spoken vocal range. It all sounds slow and disinterested. It's wonderful. Dylan realizes he's mouth breathing into the phone and sits down to talk with his head between his legs. It sounds like he's speaking to a young Severus Snape, which he vows not to say to Harry's face. Not all British people are in Harry Potter, Dylan reminds himself.

"Um, so you had a good flight?" Dylan says.

"Oh, it was great," Harry says. "Learned a lot."

"About how many strangers you can sleep with?" Dylan says. He winces at himself immediately.

"How old the stranger I'm sleeping with has to be before I say no," Harry says. "My cutoff is 90."

"Well, old people need sleep, too," Dylan says. What are they talking about? Dylan realizes he's probably slowing Harry down and preventing them from being face to face sooner. "I can let you go now. I just wanted to say hello. Welcome to America! Or welcome back. You've been here before."

Dylan winces at himself because now that he's actually talking to Harry, he realizes he has no idea how to talk to Harry. It's very awkward, but there's nothing he can do about it how. He can't just say nevermind and disinvite Harry. Well, he could, but the guilt and shame would eat him up inside until he was nothing but a very sad skeleton.

"Thanks," Harry says, apparently not noticing how awkward any of this is. "I'm going to rent a car and then I'll be on my way. Alright?"

"Okay," Dylan says. "See you soon."




Harry Styles pulls into Dylan's driveway literally in a little red Corvette.

"Oh god," Dylan says to nobody. He pretends there's a little Posey dressed like an angel sitting on his shoulder just so he's not talking to himself.

Harry steps out of the car and Dylan feels like his foreign mail-order bride has just arrived. Harry's wearing dark jeans that are hanging off his ass and a black t-shirt that's like, a scoop neck. Sunlight gleams off the necklaces that sit against his collarbones. He shakes his hair out with his hands like there are treasures in it and moves it to one side of his head. The Harry Styles Hair Flip, and Dylan is seeing it in person. He feels, dare he say it, overwhelmed.

"I'm very aroused," Dylan says to the little Posey on his shoulder. The angel Posey has gone away and is replaced by a Posey dressed in a sexy devil costume. Sexy devil Posey wiggles his eyebrows and Dylan shakes his head. He needs to stop imagining this before Harry has to call an ambulance for him and he's locked up for his own good.

Dylan steps out of the house just as Harry pops the trunk and bends into it to get his luggage, screen door banging behind him.

"Hey," Dylan says.

Harry pokes his head out of the trunk and grins. "Hi."

Speaking of screen doors banging. He wants Harry to dump a bucket of water on himself and starting dancing on the hood of his car. This all feels like a dream, like he spent all night eating cheese and watching One Direction videos and now he's having this crazy dream where Harry Styles shows up at his house in a little red Corvette for mysterious reasons that barely make any sense if you think about it. God, he knew he thought Harry was attractive, but this is too much. He still doesn't know what they're doing, but try to stop him now.

Harry drops his luggage on the ground and meets Dylan halfway to throw his arms around him in a hug. Dylan stands there with his mouth hanging open, blinking the stars out of his eyes and not doing anything normal with his arms until he realizes he should put them around Harry and hug back, so he does. They're hugging. Dylan can't breathe properly and he knows Harry can feel it. It's horrible. He loves it.

"It's nice to see you," Harry says, like they've seen each other before. "You smell nice."

"You too," Dylan says. "Nice to meet you, too. I mean, and you smell nice too. You smell like how all those tween magazines describe you. I don't read those. Yes, I do. But I don't buy them. I just flip through them at the store and put them back. Is that worse? Sorry."

Harry's mouth works like he's trying to hold his laughter in but it's really painful. They still have their arms around each other so Dylan lets go. This all feels so ilicit already.

"Have you got posters of me up in your room?" Harry says.

"I took them down before you got here," Dylan says. "Allow me."

He carries Harry's bag into the house but doesn't know where to put it. He didn't really think of where Harry would be staying, specifically. "Inside" is as far as he thought about it.

"Umm," Dylan says. "Where do you want to sleep?"

Harry's standing in the doorway looking at his phone when he asks and Dylan feels even more awkward than before. He knows they don't really know each other, but he at least thought they wouldn't be terribly disinterested in one another. It's like having a sleepover with the weird kid in your class because your mom made you, only Dylan is probably the weird kid, and he doesn't think Harry's mom made him come.

"Sorry, it's my mum," Harry says, putting his phone in his pocket and looking up at Dylan. Dylan almost wishes he'd go back to looking at his phone, because being looked at by Harry Styles is both embarrassing and painful. "Wanted to let her know I got here safely. What'd you say?"

"I just didn't know - where you wanted to sleep," Dylan says. He gestures to Harry's bag, as if perhaps Harry could fold himself up and stay in there. "I've never done this before?"

"You've never had a slumber party?" Harry says. He walks towards Dylan slowly, looking at him square in the eye the whole time and smirking. He takes the bag, replacing the handle with his own hand in Dylan's. Harry just drops it on the floor and it lands next to Dylan's heart, which is in his feet. "It's okay. I've had loads. I know what to do."

"Um," Dylan says, worried about how sweaty his hand is in Harry's. "Are you hungry?"

Dylan feels terrible. He's pretty sure Harry's just made a transatlantic booty call all for him and he has no idea what to do about it. He knows what he wants to do, but he can't. This isn't asking someone to prom. This isn't being on TV. This is Harry Styles, in his house, holding his hand and looking at him. He's not - he's not Posey in a sexy devil costume. He's just some goober with a pasty noodle torso and a kind demeanor.

Harry smiles, perhaps with a knowing twinkle in his eye, like Dumbledore. No, he's not in Harry Potter! Dylan's got to stop that.

"Yeah, I could eat."




Dylan starts making them breakfast. Harry hovers near him the whole time, watching him, and it makes Dylan feel clumsier than he normally does.

"Can I help?" Harry says.

"Sure," Dylan says.

Together they make chocolate chip pancakes. Harry's never made them before but he picks it up quickly, pouring just the right amount of batter into the pan to get the perfect size and shape pancake. Dylan remembers he's watched videos of Harry cooking on the internet and feels like a creep.

"You know," Dylan says as they sit down to eat. Harry sits down next to him rather than across from him at the table and it feels intimate. "I feel like this is a really one-sided relationship."

"But I cooked," Harry says. "I'll clean, too. I can change."

"No, I just mean, I've watched a lot of videos of you. I know you can cook. I know a lot about you and you don't know anything about me. Isn't that weird?"

"You're just like any other groupie," Harry says.

"Do you go to a lot of groupies' houses and eat breakfast with them?"

"Not really."

"And anyway, I'm not a groupie," Dylan says. "You're in my house. Maybe you're the groupie."

"Maybe," Harry laughs. "This isn't like, weird. We're like, on a blind date, do you know what I mean?"

"No," Dylan says. "Is this a date?"

"Yeah, and it's like, we've both seen each other on TV and on the internet, but not in person."

Harry speaks so slowly. Listening to him is like watching something happening in slow motion and not being able to stand waiting to see what happens, but you can't fast forward it. It's torture.

"So it's like, we're just having a date. We can like, share stuff about ourselves. You can tell me about yourself, like, so you don't know more about me than I do you."

"You flew awfully far for a date," Dylan points out.

"At least I didn't make a banner," Harry says.

Dylan gasps. "You didn't."

"I watched every single Youtube video you had," Harry smirks at him.

Harry says Youtube like "Youchube" and it makes Dylan's head hurt. He has chocolate in his dimple. Dylan tries to think of any sight more beautiful than chocolate in Harry Styles' dimple and comes up with absolutely nothing.

"Say 'Youtube' again," Dylan says.

"Youchube," Harry says.

"This is gonna sound weird," Dylan says.

"I like the sound of this already," Harry says.

"I really wanna touch your hair," Dylan says. "Is that weird? You probably get that all the time, strangers wanting to touch it."

"You're not a stranger," Harry says. He looks absolutely sincere, which Dylan can't fathom.

"It's just, your hair is really great," Dylan says. "It's like a sculpture. You know?"

Dylan could go on and on, about how when he first saw Harry's hair he thought it was stupid, but then he looked at it more and more, and he came to think it really suits him, how his curls look like Japanese wood block art carved out of the world's most beautiful and luxurious tree, how it makes him almost faint when he flips his hair. He resists the strong urge to tell Harry just how overwhelmed he is by the way he flips his hair.

"Go ahead." Harry tilts his head towards.

"Is it real or is it a wig?" Dylan tentatively puts his hand on the very top of Harry's hair, which isn't even close to his scalp.

"Give it a tug and see," Harry smirks.

Dylan rolls his eyes, but also rolls his stomach, because Harry Styles just told him to grab his hair - which is like, iconic - and pull on it. He's touching a symbol of England right now. Dylan pulls a little at Harry's hair and it doesn't come off.

"Not a wig," Dylan says. He wonders if he sounds as dazed as he feels.

"Is yours?" Harry says.

"Have you ever had braces?" Dylan says.

"What?" Harry says. He's leaning on his hand and probably getting chocolate on his elbow too, and he's looking right at Dylan.

"I don't know," Dylan says and uses the hand on Harry's head to pull him in and kiss him.

Harry inhales through his nose and opens his mouth on a gasp, surprised, like it was the last thing he was expecting. Then he moans a little, because Dylan has a good grip on Harry's hair now, and he digs his fingers right in, which is something he apparently likes, Dylan has a moment of personal triumph - he made Harry Styles gasp and moan! - but then almost immediately regrets kissing him just now, because it's really gross, because they both have bits of chewed food in their mouths, and it's chocolate and it's pancake, which are both delicious things, but if there's one thing Dylan is especially not turned on by, it's someone regurgitating in his mouth.

He pulls away and Harry follows his mouth, eyes shut. He looks beautiful and young, covered in chocolate and flushed. He has rosy cheeks, too. And his nose is pretty cute.

"Sorry," Dylan says. "We shouldn't kiss with our mouths full. I just - you have chocolate on your face."

"Get it for me," Harry says.

"Do you want me to like, get a napkin, or..."

Harry kisses him this time, closed-mouthed, gently taking Dylan's top lip between his own. Dylan licks at the corner of Harry's mouth and tastes sweetness.




After a little more kissing and a lot more eating - both easy things to bond over, and maybe this slumber party will be okay after all - Harry really does clean up for him, Dylan trying to protest the entire time.

"Your mother certainly raised you right," Dylan says, leaning on the kitchen counter and watching Harry load the dishwasher. It's very erotic for some reason. Dylan hasn't seen another person load the dishwasher in forever because he's the only one who ever does it. It's kind of like watching someone else masturbate when all you've seen is yourself masturbating for the longest time. Then he's thinking of watching Harry masturbate and he bites his hand to stop it.

"I'm not an animal," Harry says.

Dylan takes his hand out of his mouth. "I live with animals, so I'm not used to it."

"Yeah, where is everyone, then?"

"I sent them away," Dylan says. "They all have embarrassing pictures of me on their phones."

"You wanted me all to yourself," Harry smirks over his shoulder. He sure does smirk a lot. God, he knows just what he looks like and he knows what to do with it.

"Why would I want that? No one would ever believe me. 'Hey guys, guess what! Harry Styles from One Direction flew all the way here just to see me and I didn't let anyone else see him and we didn't take any photographs!'"

"Who says there won't be photographs?"


"I secretly took a picture of you while you were cooking," Harry confesses. "Sorry."

"Oh my god, I thought I was the creepy one," Dylan says. "Did you tweet it?"

Harry turns the faucet on and pulls the sink hose out and squirts Dylan right in the face. He covers the gleeful burst of laughter that comes out of his mouth with his hand, then he gets his phone out and snaps a photo.

"No, but I'm definitely tweeting this one," Harry says.

"You complete dick," Dylan says. "What movie is this from?"

"Huh?" Harry says.

"This happens in a movie," Dylan presses, but even he can't think of which. Harry is distracted anyway, typing out a tweet on his phone and, but he lets Dylan look at what he writes.

@Harry_Styles: Hosed... @dylanobrien

Dylan wants to look at his phone forever and watch the retweet and favorite counts climb. Harry Styles just acknowledged him, publicly. He knows he should stop calling him Harry Styles in his mind, but he can't. That's Harry Styles, he's in his kitchen, and they've kissed, and people know he's with Dylan right now. He wonders what people are thinking. He wonder if people can tell they've been kissing just from looking at him.

"Did you realize your shirt has tits on it?" Harry says.

"What?" Dylan looks down at himself.

"Right," Harry pokes one spot on his chest, "there," and another.

"This isn't mine," Dylan says. Of course Posey would have a shirt with tits on it and of course Dylan would put that one on of all the shirts in the world.

"Maybe you should take it off, then," Harry says, touching the hem of Dylan's shirt. "It's all wet."

"I don't," Dylan starts. "Uh."

"I'll go first," Harry says.

Harry proceeds to strip his shirt of in the sexy way they make Hoechlin do on the show. His necklaces jingle and fall against his bare chest. This is all moving so fast. One day Dylan is minding his own business, not inviting strange men into his home at all, and the next he's got an internationally famous British pop star shirtless in his kitchen. He feels dizzy, but maybe that's because, he realizes, he's been holding his breath for probably longer than he ever has in his life.

"Well?" Harry says.

"You really do have four nipples," Dylan exhales.

"How many have you got?" Harry says.

"I don't really... take my shirt off."


"Sometimes. But not... usually."

"What about your trousers?"

"That might be okay."

"Really?" Harry says. "You'd rather have your bottoms off than your top?"

"Is that weird? I don't know. Legs don't seem as sexual as chest. Unless you're a leg man. I feel like not a lot of people think mens' legs are sexy. Why? What would your rather have off?"

"All of it," Harry says.

"Right, you're a nudist. I saw that clip too."

"Come on then," Harry says. "Off with 'em."

"Here?" Dylan looks around like they're in a public place and Harry is insane.


Dylan starts to undo his jeans, but then notices Harry is just - staring right at him.

"Don't look at me," Dylan says.

Harry covers his eyes with his hand but very obviously and adorably peeks through his fingers.

"I can't do it," Dylan says. "I can't take my clothes off in front of another human being. Unless I was like, on fire."

Harry reaches for the stove with the hand not still pretending to cover his eyes.

"Don't set me on fire! God, okay."

Dylan unbuttons his fly.

"This is horrible and weird," he says. He can feel that he's blushing from his head to his toes. Every ounce of him is red with embarrassment and a longing to die.

"It's not weird," Harry says. "I do this all the time."

"Oh, so I'm the weird one? You go to people's houses and you take off your clothes with them for no reason?"

Harry shrugs. "Basically. Would it help if I took my trousers off first?"


"Because I could -"

"No!" Dylan says again, more firmly this time. Everyone taking their pants off is not going to help anything. He's starting to feel like a mental patient, with Harry as his counselor. "I'll do it. I'll do it. Just don't tell me family or immediately call an ambulance for me, because I know I probably look really sickly and misshapen, but this is just how I look all the time and nothing is wrong, specifically."

Harry just looks at him with a face full of pity and understanding, like he's the cute one.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Harry says.

"I want to," Dylan says. "I'm just - afraid."

"Don't be," Harry says.

They've been standing apart from one another this whole time, which is something Dylan realizes when Harry has to take a few steps towards him until he's close enough to touch. Dylan reckons they're about the same height, give or take a centimeter, but their bodies are different. He's all top and has stubby, skinny legs. Harry, meanwhile, has a torso like a runway and legs for days. He's just long. It's particularly noticeable right now, with Harry not wearing a shirt and his pants low on his hips. He has a clusters of tattoos scattered in odd places all around his shoulder and arm. He presses his fingers gently against one on his collarbone.

"You have a lot of these," Dylan says.

"Do you have any?" Harry's looking at him like he's trying to pick him up, which Dylan thinks is his default expression. He's just always on. It's not like he has to do any more work. Dylan's been picked up.

"No," Dylan says. "I don't think my delicate skin could handle it."

"I bet you have loads," Harry says. "Like, secret ones, and that's why you have to keep all your clothes on all the time."

Harry puts his hand over Dylan's hand that's still on his collarbone.

"Would you like one?" Harry says.

"Um," Dylan says. Harry is holding Dylan's hand and making it rub up and down his own shoulder. It's so soft, and he has like, a shoulder pimple. He actually has a few pimples on his face, too. It's endearing for reasons he doesn't understand.

"I can give you one," Harry says. "We do it all the time, like backstage. We get bored."

"What would it even be?" Dylan says. He's thought about it vaguely, but he never seriously considered it. Is he seriously considering it now? Just because Harry Styles suggested it? God, he probably would.

"My face," Harry kisses one of Dylan's cheeks. "Right here," then the other.

Dylan flushes until he thinks he can feel his blood boil. "Am I getting like little pictures of you on each cheek or, like, a big mask of your face on my face?"

"Big mask. Or you could get it here," he says as he moves down Dylan's neck, dragging his lips gently over it.

Dylan swallows nervously, and Harry smiles against his skin, knowing Dylan just swallowed nervously. Harry grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head so smoothly Dylan barely has a chance to register that it's off and that he doesn't have a shirt on in front of Harry Styles.

"Or here," Harry says, dipping his head down to kiss the center of Dylan's chest. "Or here," he says, crouching down to kiss right above Dylan's bellybutton.

Dylan is so incredibly turned on he doesn't know what to do or say. He's just blank. All he can do is stand there, leaning against the kitchen counter, breathing heavily like a freak, while Harry Styles plants smooches down his body, like his body is smoochable, like he's worth smooching. Harry looks up at him, waiting with that smirk on his pink lips, and his flirty eyes, and his beautifully carved hair, and his mile-long torso, and his dumb tattoos.

"Where else?" Dylan says with only the slightest tremble in his voice.

"You'll have to take your trousers off," Harry says.

"I don't think I want a tattoo of your face on my penis," Dylan says.

"I was going to say ankle, but if you don't want my face on your penis..."

"What are we talking about?" Dylan says. "Did you know you speak very slowly and very Britishly?"

Harry presses an open mouthed kiss to Dylan's crotch, and even through his jeans and underwear, he can feel how hot and wet Harry's mouth is. It makes him stand on his toes, shying away from it, even though what he really wants to do is shove Harry's head into his crotch and somehow live like that forever, like crotch-to-face conjoined twins.

"Do you have a bedroom?" Harry says, thankfully interrupting him out of his disturbing thoughts.

"Yes. Should we go to it?"





Dylan thinks maybe Harry should be getting a tattoo of Dylan's face on his penis because Harry has a gigantic dick. Of all the things he's read on the internet about One Direction, Harry Styles' penis had never come up, probably because he never thought it'd come in handy.

He laughs right out loud at that - Harry Styles' big dick is about to be coming in his handy.

Harry looks at him, amused. He's managed to get Dylan stripped down to his underwear and on the bed through tickle torture and kissing, but he did it while making Dylan feel comfortable and not like he's at a doctor's appointment. There aren't a lot of doctor's appointments he's been to where the doctor sucks on his neck and kisses him so stupid they somehow end up on the floor for a few minutes. Harry's taken the rest of his clothes off and now he's lying next to Dylan on the bed, hand on Dylan's neck, thumb brushing over the mark he's left there.

"Did you know you have, like, a huge dick?" Dylan says.

"Yeah," Harry says. He leans in and kisses Dylan, but Dylan can't stop talking.

"Of course. Of course. That's why you like to be naked all the time. I'd be naked all the time too if I had that between my legs. My god. Where do you put it?"

"Well, I can think of a few places," Harry says, a bit uncertainly. It's like he knows that's what he wanted to say, but he doesn't know if it's working, like trying a password you don't quite remember. His half hard cock brushes up against Dylan's thigh and Dylan jumps like it's a bug that landed on him.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Dylan laughs hysterically, because he's hysterical. "This is totally doing it for me. I'm just like, this is really weird."

"It's not weird," Harry says.

"It's like, 11am."

"We can take a nap," Harry says. He rubs his knuckles over Dylan's stomach where his hand is caught between them and Dylan twitches all over. "We don't have to do anything."

"I'm sorry," Dylan says again. "I'm dumb. I'm just - I've never. Done this."

"I'm enjoying your company," Harry says. His cheeks are red and splotchy and his eye are twinkling with the light that's sneaking in through the closed blinds and he's biting his bottom lip, his two front teeth sticking out slightly more than the rest of them. The curls around his temples are curlier than the rest of them where he's gotten a little sweaty. Dylan can't believe such a beautiful person is in his bed. He wonders what he looks like next to Harry. Probably like a monster.

"Can we get under the covers?" Dylan says.

"I like looking at you," Harry says.

"I don't like you looking at me," Dylan says.

"I don't like you not liking me liking looking at you," Harry works out ever so slowly.

"I don't - like you," Dylan says. He sticks his tongue out.

Harry smoothes Dylan's eyebrows down with one finger. "You have a very expressive face."

"It's gotten me into trouble my whole life," Dylan sighs.

"Mine too. It'll probably win you awards," Harry says.

"Your face will win me awards?"

"No, your face."


"You won't want awards?"

"In my dreams. I'm not that good at acting."

"You're good," Harry says. He pinches Dylan's cheeks.

"Nah," Dylan says. Dylan lifts his hands up and pinches Harry's cheeks right back."You don't think this is weird?"


"This," Dylan says, gesturing between them, now that they've let go of each other's cheeks, and Harry is resting a hand against Dylan's bare hip. If you told him a week ago he'd be lying nearly naked in bed with a completely naked Harry Styles, first of all, he wouldn't have believed you and he probably would've had you confined, and second of all, this isn't what he would've thought they'd be doing. "A few days ago I was just psyched that you followed me on Twitter. Now..." He points at Harry's dick.

"Happens all the time," Harry says. "Social media" - Dylan wants to scream in his face, because he says 'mediar' and it's wonderful - "brings people together."

"Sure," Dylan says. "Every day Katy Perry is just hooking up with Leonardo DiCaprio and it's completely normal."

"Are you Katy Perry or Leonardo DiCaprio in that scenario?"

Dylan sighs. "My point is, this is strange for me, no matter how not strange it is."

"Your friend Tyler and Niall having been texting back and forth," Harry says.

"I knew that," Dylan says. "But they're not - doing this."

"And your other friend Tyler... Hoochlin..."

"Close enough."

"Louis' been texting him."

"What?!" Dylan yells. He sits up, subconsciously remembers he doesn't have a shirt or pants on, and puts a pillow over his junk, but mainly his stomach. Harry gently extracts the pillow from his fingers and rubs a palm on his belly, soothingly, while Dylan is distracted by the idea of Hoechlin and Louis Tomlinson interacting with one another. What planet is this? What dimension is he in?

"He's not gonna know what hit him," Harry says.

"This is not happening," Dylan says. "Does Colton get Liam and Holland get Zayn or something?"

"What? We haven't been to Holland for a while."

"Nevermind," Dylan says. He flops back onto the pillow.

"It's happening," Harry says. He shakes Dylan by the bare shoulder. "Just accept it. Do you want to watch your show?"

"Actually," Dylan says. He doesn't mean to be conceited or anything, but that sounds like the perfect activity right now. Familiar. Something he knows something about. "Yes."




Dylan and Harry lie in bed together - under the covers, finally, with their legs intertwined, and it's nice to be pressed against Harry, skin to skin, even with no funny business - and watch episodes of Teen Wolf on Dylan's laptop. Dylan gives him a live DVD color commentary. He tells him what they had to do during this scene, what Posey was doing off-camera during that scene, how injured he got doing this, how frustrated he got doing that. He tells Harry how grateful he is and how lucky he feels to be doing this. He tells him how he wants to do more.

He notices Harry watching him more than the screen, so he shuts the laptop but keeps talking.

"Posey and I met like, at the audition, and we just clicked," Dylan says, watching a scene of him and Posey together. "Instant best friends forever."

"That's what happened with me and Louis," Harry says.

Dylan has to fight the urge to say "I know" to everything Harry says. He needs to just let him tell his own stories.

"I love when that happens," Dylan says. "Like, being understood so easily by another person so fast, instead of like, having to figure someone out."

"Yeah, like you just understand one another. Like puzzle pieces," Harry says. It should sound stupid, but for some reason, it doesn't. "It's like, your best friends are really easy 10 piece puzzles they give to babies, and other people are like, really hard 1,000 piece puzzles."

"Makes sense to me," Dylan says.

Harry looks at him fondly before he kisses him. Dylan's still not used to it and will never be used to it. They could be married for 100 years and be living in space with their space cats and adopted space babies and Dylan would still think, Harry Styles is kissing me! Maybe he's thinking too far ahead.

"Did you notice that you were driving a little red Corvette?" Dylan says as he pulls away just enough to talk.

Harry's lips are wet with who knows whose spit and slightly plump. "What?"

"Little red corvette," Dylan sings and does probably the whitest shoulder dance as best he can while lying down on his side."Baby, you're much too fast."

He thinks suddenly how he wants to hear Harry sing in person. He would never ask, though, because he feels that might be rude. He doesn't want to make Harry bring his work everywhere with him, even though it's hard to think of what Harry does as being a real job. Harry would never ask him to put on a one-man play just because he's an actor. Although, now that he thinks about it, he would totally put on a one-man play if Harry asked. Now he's hoping Harry asks him to. He already has so many ideas.

"It's funny because you're here just to sleep with me," Dylan continues. "Prince is really great. He's always celebrating women. Usually by having sex with them."

"That's not true," Harry says, sounding hurt.

"You don't like Prince?"

"I mean, I'm not just here to sleep with you," Harry says. "I didn't like, assume."

"I know, because I'm not sleeping with you right now," Dylan says.

"I don't care," Harry says. "It's -"

"I want to," Dylan talks over Harry, because he wants to make himself clear before Harry can talk him out of anything with his kind and understanding words. "I just don't know - how to start?"

"Do you want me to start?" Harry says. He puts two of his fingers under the waistband of Dylan's underwear and rubs the elastic mark in his skin with his fingertips. "I'm good at starting."

"Okay," Dylan says.

"Okay?" Harry's hand leaves Dylan's hip and moves to the front of his underwear, and he gently cups Dylan's cock in his hand and squeezes.

"Yes," Dylan says. Their faces are so close they should be kissing, so Dylan kisses him and gets rewarded with another squeeze, and he gasps into Harry's mouth. "Should I...?"

"You can do whatever you want to me," Harry says against Dylan's lips.

"Jesus Christ," Dylan says. He feels like the wrinkles in their lips could fit into each other perfectly if they tried. Like puzzle pieces. God, he's so sappy. This is dumb. He likes Harry a lot and wants to date him and space marry him already. Harry said this is normal for him, though. He probably does this with everyone he meets.

"Touch me," Harry says. His eyes are just barely open, and they look like dark glitter peeking out from between his eyelids.

Dylan touches Harry's eyelids.

"That's not really what I meant," Harry says, but he allows it.

"I like your eyelids," Dylan says. "They're like, puffy."

"That doesn't sound sexy at all," Harry says. "Puffy eyelids. 'I like a man with a puffy eyelid.' Who goes around saying that?"

"Me," Dylan says. "They frame your eyeballs nicely."

Dylan sweeps his thumb under Harry's eye, grazing his eyelashes. His eyes twitch, but he doesn't open them.

"This is what they do before giving someone a lethal injection," Dylan says.

"Exactly this?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Touch me," Harry says again.

"You noticed I get easily distracted?" Dylan says.

Harry grabs Dyan's wrists and guides it to his cock. Dylan wraps his hand around it automatically, like riding a bike. A bike made of flesh that's a penis.

Dylan giggles, and Harry puts his hand in Dylan's underwear and gets his cock out. Dylan giggles even more. Like, he's totally giggling.

"Enjoying yourself?" Harry smirks at him.

"This is wonderful," Dylan says. Harry squeezes the base of his cock and it startles him out of his gigglefit and he moans.

Harry takes the opportunity to roll them over so he's on top of Dylan, straddling him with his knees bracketing his hips. He jacks the entire length of Dylan's cock once, and a drop of precome comes out of the tip. Harry smears it on his own palm and keeps going, jacking Dylan off unbearably slow.

Dylan's just kind of hanging on to Harry's dick. He arches up over so they bump up against each other, and Harry exhales out of his nose harshly.

"Can we," Dylan says.

"Like," Harry says, encircling both of their cocks in one of his hands.

"Yeah," Dylan says.

Dylan puts his hand over Harry's to help. He's not good at starting, but he can be led. Harry leans down to kiss him, probably because Dylan's mouth is open and his tongue is out and he basically feels like he's begging for Harry to fit their mouths together. Harry lets go of them, leaving only Dylan's hand around their cocks, and puts his hands on either side of Dylan's head, one of the bed next to him and the other on his face, so he can really kiss him. His necklaces brush against Dylan's bare chest. He thinks they'll be cold metal but they feel like a brand. Harry fucks into Dylan's moving fist, cock sliding next to Dylan's easily. Dylan thinks, this is how Harry would fuck him.

"Oh, God," Dylan says.

"Hm?" Harry says.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Harry groans. "Now?"

"Not," Dylan says.

"Yes," Harry says.

Harry thrusts a few more times, short and quick, and comes all over Dylan's hand and stomach. Dylan's not far behind.




"Can I use your shower?" Harry asks him when they wake up from their nap.

Dylan stares at him. In fact, he's been staring at him for two hours. In fact, it wasn't their nap at all; it was Harry's nap, and Dylan stayed awake and watched him sleep. He feels creepier than he's ever felt before, but he couldn't help himself. He's just proud that he didn't take the covers off Harry and stand over him all Paranormal Activity like. Harry can use anything of Dylan's he wants. He's pretty sure he's in love. Can you fall in love in one day? Technically, in like 8 hours?

(He texted Posey about an hour ago, deep into his terrible vampiric staring spiral, to ask his opinion.

Me: Posey am I in love???

Posey: I don't know are you?

Me: How will I know?

Posey: Are you asking me cuz I know about these things?

Me: How did you know about my super secret playlist?

Posey: I go through your things when you're not looking. Have fun miss u!!!!!!!! Put a sock on your knob

Me: Don't talk about my knob

Posey:I love your knob and I love you!!!!!!!!)

"Of course you can," Dylan says.

Harry reaches out and walks his fingers in jumpy patterns on his face. His fingertips are slightly damp, nap-sweaty and warm.

"I like your moles," Harry says.

"They give me character," Dylan sighs, repeating what everyone always tells him and what he has to tell himself. "Sometimes they airbrush them out of pictures. I was in a wedding once, and they totally photoshopped them out of some of the pictures."

"No! How could they?" Harry leans up and kisses Dylan on the cheek, on one of his moles. Dylan knows where every single one of his moles are and Harry is definitely kissing one of them. He feels Harry's tongue poke out and lick it.

"They're like little chocolate chips," Harry says.

Dylan makes a face at that, because that's just a weird thing to say. Harry sees it and mirrors the face back. Harry is so nice, and so cute, and he seems like such a good and decent person. It makes Dylan feel like he has problems.

"Shower with me," Harry says.

"Okay," Dylan says.

After they shower, with only a little funny business - the most erotic thing was probably when Harry let Dylan wash his hair, Harry moaning softly when Dylan really digs into his scalp - and they're fully dressed once again, Dylan asks Harry what he wants to do. Dylan didn't make a lot of plans, probably because he didn't really think this would be happening. Now that it's happening, he still doesn't believe it. He can't think about it too much. Harry Styles of One Direction is the Harry in his house, and they've seen each other naked, and touched each other sexually, and Dylan knows how Harry washes his armpits, and he doesn't know what to do with any of it. He's just going with it.

"Do you want to go out or stay in?" Harry says. He sits down next to Dylan on the couch and leans into his side. Dylan's fingers fumble and he drops the sock he was about to put on, and Harry does that thing where he picks it up with just his toes, and hands it to him. Dylan wants to die, because Harry is a normal human being who does weird stuff, just like he is.

"We could go out," Dylan says. He gets sweaty just saying it. Him, out with Harry Styles, in public. He keeps thinking Harry is going to shamefully hide him and this entire experience from everyone in the world, but Harry seems perfectly comfortable with it.

"I have the car for an entire week," Harry blurts out suddenly.

"A week?" Dylan says.

"It's cheaper to rent a car for a week," Harry says. "Like, good package deal."

"You want to spend an entire week. With me."

"Yeah," Harry says. He sounds unsure, like maybe Dylan wouldn't have him for a whole week, voice coming from somewhere near Dylan's armpit. He wonders if Harry can hear his heart beating, because Dylan feels like you could probably feel it through his skin, like a baby kicking. "Is that... I wouldn't want to like, impose."

"No," Dylan says. "Impose. Please. Impose me. Feel free to impose me as long as you want."

"Good," Harry smiles. He kisses Dylan's shoulder.

"What do you wanna do for an entire week?"

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at him.

"That's not sexy," Dylan lies.

"How far are the California redwoods from here?" Harry says.

"When you say 'California' you sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger," Dylan says. "Cauli-forny-yah."

"Cauli-forny-yah," Harry says in an Austrian accent.

"Can you do an American accent?"

"Can you do a British one?"

"Why, yes, I can," Dylan says in a British accent. "Cheerio, mate. I've watched loads of One Direction videos, and I can do a spot on British accent."

"Like, oh my God, I have never said 'cheerio' in my life," Harry says in an American accent. He sounds like a valley girl.

"Oh my God, what if that's your real voice? Like, that's what you're supposed to sound like?"

"It's not!" Harry says, back to normal, shoving at Dylan's chest.

"The redwoods are like, a 12 hour drive. Why?"

"I've always wanted to hug a redwood. They're like, so old, do you know what I mean?"

"They are old," Dylan says. "So... roadtrip?"

"Roadtriiiiip!" Harry yells, lifting his arms above his head with the kind of fake enthusiasm of someone cool trying to hide how enthusiastic they really are.

Dylan has no such restraint. He jumps up off the couch, letting Harry flop over where before he was being supported by Dylan's shoulder, already thinking about what to pack, until he remembers this isn't his real life and he has obligations and responsibilities.

"I think I have to be on set," Dylan says. "At some point. Like, tomorrow."

"Oh," Harry says, smiling up at him. His mouth is so cute.

"You could come," Dylan says. "And then people will know I'm not hallucinating and that you're real."

"What if I'm not real? You could still be hallucinating." Harry wiggles his fingers and makes a scary face, or as scary as he can get, and moans a ghostly “oooooh”.

"I know you're not a ghost," Dylan says. "For a fact."

"Because I'm hard?"

"As a rock," Dylan says.

"What will we do in the meantime?" Harry says. He pushes his hair out of his face and pats the spot next to him where he's lying on the couch, which is when Dylan realizes he's still standing up and just looking down at Harry. Harry, who is looking back at him, like they've been looking at each other for years, eyes sparkling, mischievous and fond.

He wants to sit on Harry's lap. He wants Harry to clean up after him when he cooks. He wants Harry to fuck him. He wants to wash Harry's hair and put his necklaces the right way and watch TV with him and go away with him and force him to meet all his friends. He wants the people in Harry's life to know he exists. He wants he and Harry to exist. Even if this isn't real life, he wants it to be. He starts by sitting down next to Harry.

"We'll find something," Dylan says.