"Hey, Paige — can you cover the desk for a bit? I inked myself," Dylan said, holding up his hand as proof.
She laughed, but waved him on. "Twenty minutes, then it's my lunch break. And you gotta swear to keep three feet on the floor at all time!"
"Him?"Dylan shot her a disgusted look. "Please, I have standards."
"Uh, no you don't, Dill," she countered with an unrepentant grin. "Didn't I see you disappear last week with the new guy on the janitorial staff who doesn't speak a lick of English —orSpanish — and you'd met him, what… five minutes before?"
"Um, excuse you. It was at least a half hour, and we have a connection that transcends language," Dylan informed her, tossing the stained paper towel into the trash.
"Whatever you say," she said, the laughter thick in her voice.
"I do say." Dylan gave a mock sniff. "Besides, Pavlo is hung like ahorse.If you ever see it, you'll understand."
"Ah," Paige nodded sagely. "Now that I believe."
Dylan just smirked at her as he grabbed his water bottle from the desk, figuring he might as well get a refill since he was going anyway. It was a big bottle, and Paige always teased him for never letting it fall below half. But when full, it'd make a decent club in a pinch.
And once she's been running for two days in the summer heat with no water,thenshe can tell me how to live my life. Not before.
"C'mon, fresa." Dylan grunted at Ashton, already heading for the double doors at the back of the lab. Beyond them lay the rest of the building, and eventually, the restrooms where hopefully Pavlo had remembered to refill the damn soap this time.
Beside him, Ashton jogged to keep up. "What's that mean?
"Fresa?" Dylan asked, thinking up a lie fast. "Oh, uh… slang for tough guy."
Can't very well tell him it means I think he's a soft, snobby rich kid, can I?
"Like that anime character?" Ashton paused abruptly outside the door to the men's room, staring as if there was a big 'radioactive' symbol painted across it.
"Uh, sure," Dylan answered him without slowing down, honestly not knowing or caring if it was the truth as he called over his shoulder — "Not that one."
A long hall, two lefts, an awkward elevator ride up, a right, and another slightly shorter hallway later, and then Dylan was pleased to find therewassoap today. He continued ignoring his new shadow in favor of scrubbing at where the ink had gotten between the three fingers of his left hand, and — aw, for fuck’s sake — even across the scarring over his missing pinkie.
"Why are we all the way up here?" Ashton grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the grey tile.
"Well,Iam up here to get this stupid mess off my hand. And I figured if you're going to follow me around like a lost puppy, then maybe you'd prefer the bathroom that’s always empty this time of night, instead of the lab's downstairs that's busier than Zócalo on the Day of the Dead," Dylan said, rinsing off his third attempt at soap and scouring, with frustratingly little success.
Damn. He'd gotten the worst of the actual ink off, but the stubborn stain looked as if it wasn't going anywhere, like a dark shadow soaked into his skin. Dylan scowled at it, and then at the other stubborn shadow plaguing him today; both just as sullen and silent.
"The question is," Dylan said pointedly, wedging himself into Ashton's personal space under the guise of grabbing a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. "Why areyouhere?"
Ashton was quiet for a long while.
"Why?" he finally asked, his voice strained.
"Yeah." Dylan rolled his eyes. "That's what I’m asking."
"No, I mean… Why'd you say all that? About — "
"About youmaybebeing gay?" Dylan guessed, incredulous. "Because I was messing with you, dip shit. I was bored, and stuck in that closet, and you were being an ass. You really think I care if you are or aren't? Because —Hello! Wake up!— I don't."
"Oh." Ashton's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I didn't know if, like… I mean,obviously, I'm straight. But if I'm giving off a, uh — a sense…"
"Your giant 'Insert cock here' tramp stamp's a bit garish for my taste, I'll admit," Dylan shrugged. "But you aren't pinging some kind of gaydar, if that's what has your nips in such a twist."
Ashton was quiet again; not so much doing an impression of some purebred golden retriever this time, but a lost mutt who'd been left out in the rain.
Dylan sighed, absolutely not feeling anything like sympathy for the guy.
