Dillon knew, of course, that his brother wasn't fine. And if he had tried to play it off, there would've been no hesitation for Dillon to call him on it. Lately, their whole family had been worlds apart, and Zach's part of that had been work-related. He hadn't seen his brother, really, in months. To the point that Dillon hadn't even felt right mentioning that everyone had seemed to skip his birthday. A month ago; he was twenty-one now, and he still felt wrong mentioning it.
The question—a relative call-out—was an interesting one; one that Dillon hadn't really given a ton of thought to. Was April 'his girl?' He shrugged. "A wise man," their father, "once told me that a woman isn't a possession to anyone but themselves," he pointed out with a little grin. Clearly Zach was tired enough to forget that little phrase of wisdom. "So, no. April's her girl, I think. Just my... something." He didn't know exactly what they fell under. Was there a category for when you enjoyed each other's company, had kissed, but didn't have a title? "I mean... yeah, she asked me here, but I'd've come anyway," he mused.
Yeah. DJ was, in fact, confused about April. He'd never really been the object of a girl's attentions before. He shrugged and tried to play it off. Pride, mostly. Most guys his age had already been through something like this. "I dunno," he said, his inarticulate attitude probably saying more than words could. "I don't really have a lot to be confused about, do I?"
Smoothing a hand over his hair, Dillon cleared his throat. After all, they were really just friends, right? Until they came to a decision in that respect. Was that how these things worked? He had two dozen questions circling in his mind, and Zach could probably tell that from the look on his face, but his pride wouldn't let him admit that.
"Usually whenever someone says 'don't worry about me,' it's a sign that you should worry," he pointed out. In all the books and video games he played, the hero always said 'don't worry' right before some epic collapse and fall. "So, don't try to fool me, because I'm pretty sure I know you better than that," he suggested with a wry little grin, pleased as punch to be winning something like this for once. "Hermits and crazy workaholics are only separated by that one thing," he pointed out. "I'd rather not have you, like... die from exhaustion, or whatever. Can people do that?" he asked.
He shrugged. "It was always dad's method. Let's go somewhere else. Some fresh air will do you good," he commanded.