Re: log: dylan & max
When she touched his hand, Dylan's tapping slowed and then stopped. It was like tripping the moment you started to think about where to place your feet. It was only when she touched him that he knew what he was doing, and at the same time, didn't have a clue what he was doing. So it was easier just to stop. By now, he was too drunk to worry about or reflect on when exactly he'd started falling into line with things just because they were easier. Probably around the same time that he'd stopped trying to think so much. The bad thing about trying not to think about something was that you inevitably fucking did at every turn... and it'd been tough in that door because of that. It'd been so fucking tough until it just wasn't anymore.
He felt reborn since then, and that kind of feeling was dangerous, but he just couldn't do the void again. He couldn't have a heart like a vacant lot, and he nodded along with Max when she said that hope made things worse. He didn't think that he needed hope now, he'd settle for what was tangible. Maybe she was doing the same thing.
"Did you get out before the hotel kicked you back here?" The real question was left unsaid but probably obvious. Did she get a chance to readjust? The waitress walked by then, and Dylan ordered them a couple of burgers and the milkshake that he wasn't sure she meant to point out. He got it for her anyway, strawberry. He went with banana.