Tyler hears it about half a second before someone stumbles into him hard. Only his hands on the person’s waist and some serious upper body strength keep them both from toppling off of Tyler’s chair. “Whoa! You-” He looks up to make sure they’re okay and-
Oh no. No. There’s just no fucking way.
“Shit, thanks man, the carpet attacked me or, hey! Tyler, right?”
Dylan fucking O’Brien. Fell on him.
“You here for the con? Ha, stupid question, you’re there for every con, right? Uh, not, I mean that’s totally okay that you are. Dedicated. Hi?”
Jesus Christ, say something. Say hello, say how are you! Say that commercial you did when you were twelve was hilarious! Anything!
“I’m not following you around.”
“Uh.” Dylan blinks. “That’d be pretty impressive if you were, since you got here ahead of us and we only decided where to stop about five minutes ago.”
There are a few awkward moments of staring before something warm shifts under Tyler’s palms and he realizes he’s still clutching Dylan’s waist. His hands squeeze joyfully once before he snatches them away with a curse. “Sorry, I didn’t- uh.”
Dylan shrugs it off with a grin, regaining his balance once Tyler lets go. “Thanks for the save.” He glances to the back of the restaurant, where it looks like the rest of his party is getting settled in. “So, uh…” He turns back to Tyler, smile like a beam of sunlight (Tyler may already be planning this blog entry in his head). “How was the trip to the coast?”
“The-” Holy shit, they talked about Tyler’s latest surfing trip at the last con, a month and a half ago. “It was great. You remember that?”
He thinks, no, he’s sure that Dylan fucking O’Brien just blushed at him. “Yeah, man, I don’t meet a lot of surfers I guess. Hey!” He points back at his party, grinning again. “You guys wanna join us? My treat, as like, a thanks for making sure I didn’t break my very valuable face.”
Typer finally tears his eyes from Dylan and looks across the table.
Oh right, he was having supper with Holland, who is staring at them both open mouthed. She nods dazedly.
Tyler looks back up to Dylan and tries to look like his heart isn’t flinging itself around his chest. “Uh, sure?”
“Awesome! It’ll be great to have something to talk about that isn’t ratings or how I should conduct myself on Twitter. Come on!” Dylan walks off, leaving them to follow him.
Numb legs barely holding, Tyler stumbles after him. Or tries to when Holland pulls him up short and hisses in his ear.
“You are naming all your celebrity babies after me for picking this restaurant, Hoechlin. All of them.”
SHRIEKING OH MY GODS