Days passed with barely anything new.
Most mornings, Flynn walked to school alone. Nathan used to wait, but with Flynn being late almost every day, he'd stopped bothering.
Dylan, on the other hand, found himself even more drawn to Flynn after following him home that day. Though he still teased Flynn now and then, the frequency had lessened. It wasn't the same relentless needling as before. During study periods, Dylan even gave Flynn space to rest, watching silently as the other boy drifted off on his desk, head cradled in his arms.
---
As usual, Flynn arrived late to class.
He slipped into his seat with practiced nonchalance, dropped his bag beside his chair, and leaned forward, ready to resume his usual mid-morning nap.
But something under his desk caught his eyes.
He blinked once, then leaned down. A plastic bag sat beneath the storage shelf of his table, slightly crumpled but clearly placed with care. Inside were several pieces of bread—individually wrapped, neatly arranged, and unmistakably expensive. The kind of pastries you'd only find in high-end bakeries.
Flynn furrowed his brows. Who the hell left this here?
He immediately turned his head toward Nathan. Their eyes met. Without speaking, Flynn raised the bag slightly, as if to ask, Did you leave this here?
Nathan, clueless, misread the gesture. Thinking he was being offered the bread, he smiled and shook his head politely, rubbing his stomach and mouthing, "I'm full."
Flynn gave him a blank look, then turned back to the bread. His eyes lit up in curiosity—and maybe a little excitement. He had never tasted this kind before. The aroma of butter and sugar wafted through the plastic, warm and rich.
He picked one up, examined the label, then slowly took a bite.
Soft. Sweet. Slightly warm—like it had only been bought that morning.
Flynn chewed thoughtfully but soon paused mid-bite. He stared at the rest of the bread still inside the bag. There was no way he could finish all of them.
With one more glance around the room, he quietly pulled out a second piece, stood up slightly, and—with a quick glance behind him—slid the pastry onto Dylan's desk before turning back around like nothing happened.
Behind him, Dylan leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Flynn.
A smug grin pulled at his lips, pride flickering in his expression. So he liked them. Good.
He tilted his head a little closer to Flynn and spoke in a low, teasing voice, "You're too kind. Thanks for sharing. I've got plenty more at home, you know. Just tell me if you want more."
Flynn paused, mid-chew, and turned to glare at him. "Wait," he said slowly, lifting the plastic bag, "These were from you?"
Dylan gave him a lazy nod, smile widening.
Flynn's face twisted in irritation. He shoved the bag onto Dylan's desk in one swift motion. "If I'd known you gave them to me, I wouldn't have touched a single bite. I'd rather starve."
Then he turned away sharply and buried his face back into his folded arms.
Dylan didn't say anything for a moment, but the glint in his eyes said more than words ever could.
He smirked.
---
During their break time, Nathan talked to Flynn about Dylan. Since the classes started, he had been watching the two of them argue every day.
Although Dylan often teased and bothered Flynn, it seemed different to Nathan. It wasn't like Dylan was trying to pick a fight—rather, it felt like he was just trying to get Flynn's attention.
"You know, I think Dylan likes you," Nathan said.
"What do you mean?" Flynn asked, puzzled.
Nathan shrugged, grinning. "Look, he teases you all the time, yeah. But it's not just to annoy you. He actually cares."
Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Cares?"
"Yeah. You probably noticed how weird it is for us to get close to him. He only talks to you, hangs around you."
Flynn frowned, thinking it over.
"And those breads he gave you?" Nathan added. "I've tried them too. They're fancy—expensive stuff. Not just something you pick up anywhere. People queue for them at malls."
Flynn blinked, surprised. "Really? I thought it was just some random snack."
Nathan chuckled. "Nah, man. It's special. And he gave it to you."
Flynn scoffed, shaking his head. "You're just overthinking things. He probably just wanted to annoy me."
Nathan shook his head with a small smile. "Nah, man. Every time I look your way, I always see Dylan just staring at you."
Flynn went quiet, unsure how to respond. The words lingered between them as they walked down the hallway side by side.
Suddenly, a small woman with short hair stepped up to Flynn, holding out a letter without a word.
Flynn glanced at the letter, then looked up at her. "Is this for Nathan?" he asked, puzzled. "Why didn't you just give it to him since he's right here?"
The woman shook her head gently. "No, it's really for you," she replied with a small smile.
Flynn blinked, surprised, as the woman turned and walked away quickly.
He furrowed his brow, curious. This was strange—Flynn had never received letters or gifts before.
---
In the afternoon, while sitting in class, Flynn's mind kept replaying what Nathan had said earlier: "Every time I look your way, I always see Dylan just staring at you." The words echoed in Flynn's head like a curious whisper.
A strange flutter tickled his chest, and driven by a mix of confusion and curiosity, he slowly turned his head to look behind him.
His heart practically jumped out of his chest—because there, leaning casually against his chair, was Dylan. Arms crossed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips, eyes locked onto Flynn like a hunter sizing up his prey.
Flynn's voice came out before he could stop it, shaky but honest: "Why do you have to stare like that? It's... kinda creeping me out."
Dylan's grin only widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't jump to conclusions," said Dylan, sitting calmly in front of Flynn, eyes gleaming. "I'm sitting right behind you, so it's only natural you'd think I'm staring."
Then Dylan's voice dropped, teasing but low, "But don't worry... I only have eyes for you."
Flynn's cheeks heated up as Dylan's grin grew wider. "Shut up," Flynn shot back, but he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. Without another word, he turned and buried his face back into his folded arms on the desk.
And then—
BANG!!!
The classroom door slammed open, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
Jayson, a student from the Creative Arts Department, stormed in, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. His voice cut through the stillness like a whip.
"Flynn Amaro Luz!" he called, his tone laced with anger and accusation.
Flynn was startled to hear his name. Slowly, he stood, the weight of Jayson's gaze pinning him in place. At once, Nathan rose from his seat, sliding quietly to Flynn's side, his face taut with concern. Behind them, Dylan remained seated, expression unreadable but eyes sharp, watching every movement with quiet intensity.
Jayson stepped forward, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Stop messing with my girl."
Flynn's brow furrowed, confusion rippling through him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Jayson's gaze hardened. "Don't play dumb. Someone told me you talked to Lila earlier. I'm telling you, she's mine."
The words hit Flynn like a cold wave. His mind raced back to the brief encounter — the small girl with short hair who'd slipped a letter into his hand. Now it made sense. Jayson was courting her. But Flynn barely knew the girl, and the contents of the letter were a mystery to him.
Then Jayson's voice sliced through the tense silence, cold and biting. "Is that what someone without a mother does?"
The words hung in the air like a knife, sharper than any insult Flynn had heard that day.
At the sound of that, Dylan's expression suddenly twisted—a sharp pang seeming to pierce his chest, as if the insult was meant for him personally.
Without a second thought, he shoved his chair back with a harsh scrape against the floor. His entire body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.
His movements were swift and unyielding as he closed the gap between them, his fist connecting solidly with Jayson's face with a sharp crack—sending a powerful message that words alone could not convey.