After class, Flynn headed straight home. He dumped his bag on his bed. While pulling out his notes to finish an assignment, his eyes landed on something inside his bag—a school uniform stained with dirt. It was Dylan's uniform. He realized he hadn't washed it yet.
Taking the uniform, Flynn went outside to where they usually did the laundry. He soaked the shirt in water first, then poured some powdered detergent on it. As he tried scrubbing the stain, his brow furrowed in frustration—it just wouldn't come out.
"Come on..." Flynn muttered. His arms ached from the effort, and the stubborn stain felt like a personal challenge. Giving in, he decided to let it soak longer—maybe time would do the trick.
After giving up on scrubbing the stubborn stain, Flynn went back to his room and carried his bag to where his old laptop sat. It was connected to the neighbor's WiFi. It was slow and sometimes froze, but it was his only link to the outside world.
With a few clicks and scrolls, he dove into articles and videos on how to remove bloodstains from fabric—cold water, salt, even vinegar. He took mental notes, memorizing every tip, determined to save Dylan's uniform from the stubborn mark.
Dinner passed by quietly, the smell of something barely edible lingering in the kitchen. Flynn poked at his food but barely managed to swallow a bite. His mind was elsewhere, stuck on the shirt soaking outside, waiting.
Once the plates were cleared, he stepped out as the sun began to dip lower, the air cooler now. The damp fabric felt heavy in his hands. Following the methods he had read, he carefully applied them to the stained area. Slowly, the dark blotch lightened, fading like a shadow retreating.
A small smile broke through his tired expression when the stubborn stain finally gave way. Gently, he wrung the shirt, water dripping steadily, and hung it on the clothesline. The breeze caught the fabric, making it flutter softly against the warm glow of dusk.
----
Dylan had just gotten out of the shower after coming home. He toweled off his hair as he stepped into his room, the cool air brushing against his damp skin.
His bed was still unmade—exactly how he'd left it that morning, rushing out to get to school before Flynn did.
As he was straightening the sheets, Dylan noticed a pillow at the edge of the bed, a bit out of place. It was covered with a pillowcase made from Flynn's shirts—a shirt Dylan had worn when Flynn took his uniform.
Without thinking, he picked it up and brought it closer to his face. Flynn's natural scent still clung to the fabric. Dylan smiled, breathing it in before catching himself.
It was something he'd never done before, but he found himself doing it now—and, surprisingly, it felt comforting.
He gently stroked the pillow once, thumb grazing over the soft fabric like it was something fragile. Then, almost as if to erase the moment, he quickly placed it back on the bed, smoothing it out with care.
With a short breath and a glance over his now-tidier room, Dylan grabbed his gym bag and headed out to play basketball.
While Dylan was playing basketball, the sound of his phone buzzing repeatedly interrupted his game. After he was done playing, he quickly checked the missed calls, his fingers swiping over the screen with urgency.
10 missed calls from Cholo, 15 from Jake, and 20 from Stephanie. 5 missed calls from Wilson and 11 from Nicole—who, despite being on the same campus, he could barely find because of how vast it was, with buildings so far apart.
"Shit..." Dylan muttered, his eyes widening in disbelief. He hadn't expected this many missed calls from his friends and girlfriend. Since school started, his attention had been entirely consumed by Flynn—he'd spent the past few weeks relentlessly bugging Flynn, hitting the gym after school, and going to bed early so he could be in their classroom before Flynn showed up. Everything else had faded into the background.
Dylan swiped his phone screen, his thumb moving instinctively to the contacts app. He tapped on Jake's name, staring at the number for a moment before pressing dial.
The phone rang twice before Jake picked up.
"Yo, Dylan! Finally!" Jake's voice sounded both relieved and a little frustrated. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you for weeks. You've been ghosting us, man."
Dylan sighed, leaning against the wall of the locker room, trying to shake off the tension from his last game. "I know, been busy with stuff. You know, school and... other things."
"Other things?" Jake's voice dropped, curiosity creeping in. "What other things? You've been MIA, dude. What's going on?"
"Nothing serious," Dylan muttered, trying to deflect. "Just... needed some time to focus. But hey, you're right. It's been way too long since we hung out."
Jake paused, sounding more relaxed. "Yeah, no kidding. We've been meaning to catch up. You've got to stop being a stranger. You owe us a night out, man."
Dylan smiled, feeling a weight lift off his chest as he heard the familiar tone in Jake's voice. "Alright, alright. How about this weekend? Let's hit a bar. I miss hanging with you guys."
"Finally!" Jake laughed. "I'll tell Cholo and the others. We'll round up the crew and make it a night to remember. I'll see you this weekend." Jake's voice was lighter now, the tension gone.
"See you, bro," Dylan replied, before ending the call.
Dylan went back to his contacts and dialed Stephanie's number. It rang only once before she picked up, her voice bright and expectant.
"Dylan!" Stephanie exclaimed, relief and excitement clear in her tone. "I thought you forgot about me."
Dylan chuckled softly. "Hey, I could never forget you."
Stephanie's voice softened. "I've been worried. You haven't been around much, and I wasn't sure if you still wanted to talk."
"Sorry for worrying you," Dylan said sincerely. "It's just been a crazy few weeks."
Stephanie's laughter was light, almost teasing. "Well, I'm glad you called. We should catch up—maybe this weekend?"
Dylan hesitated, feeling the weight behind her words. "I actually already made plans with Jake and the guys that day. I promised I wouldn't back out."
There was a pause before Stephanie's voice dropped, hurt and accusing. "You haven't been around, don't answer, and now you're choosing them over me?"
Dylan sighed, trying to keep calm. "It's not the same. I already said yes to Jake and the guys. I don't want to disappoint them."
There was a brief silence, then Stephanie's voice cracked just slightly, but she quickly masked it with a sharper edge. "Fine. Just... don't forget about me, okay? Let me know when you're free."
"I will," Dylan promised, a small, guilty smile tugging at his lips.
After calling Stephanie, Dylan grabbed a towel from his locker and headed for the showers before going home.
Later, on his way back, he stopped by a small restaurant near his apartment building for a quick meal before finally heading upstairs.
When he reached his floor, Dylan stepped out of the elevator and headed toward his unit. But as he approached his door, he was startled to find it slightly ajar. I definitely closed this before I left, he whispered to himself in confusion.
After a beat of hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The silence of his apartment felt heavier than usual as he moved toward the living room.
And there, sitting calmly on the sofa with his legs crossed, was Xavier. His expression was serious and controlled. Behind him stood Wilson, arranging a large suitcase.
"Why are you here?" Dylan asked coldly.
Xavier's voice was calm but laced with restrained fury.
"Nicole's father called me. You had the audacity to enroll in that school without my consent, and now all I hear are reports of you stirring up trouble?"
He leaned forward slightly, his tone firm. "You need to go home. Now."
"No," Dylan shot back without hesitation. "I told you from the start—I won't live under the same roof with you and and that woman."
"You'll stay there temporarily. I'm arranging your studies in Europe." Xavier stated flatly.
"I'm not going. I don't want to study abroad."
"I've given you enough time, Dylan," Xavier snapped, though his tone never fully broke its veneer of composure.
"This should've happened last year. You said you weren't ready, so I let you be. And what did you do? You refused to enroll, and now? All I hear is chaos."
"If this is all you came here to say, then leave. I have an early class tomorrow," Dylan shot back.
Xavier rose from the sofa and closed the distance between them, his presence looming. "This is your future we're talking about, Dylan."
"My future, or yours?" Dylan shot back, his voice like ice. "The only thing you care about is your damn company, isn't it?"
Xavier's expression darkened. His hand flew before he could stop himself—smack. The slap echoed in the small room.
But Dylan didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his eyes.
"I'm not a child you can control anymore," he said flatly. "Ever since Mom died, I've forgotten I even had a father."
Xavier's fury finally snapped. He ripped the belt from his waist and began whipping Dylan with it, again and again. Dylan didn't fight back. He took every strike in silence until he finally slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor and curling into himself.
Wilson rushed forward, panic in his eyes as he grabbed Xavier's arm. "Master, please! Calm down." His voice was desperate, his gaze flickering with pity toward Dylan. But he couldn't stop Xavier completely.
"How dare you talk to me that way?" Xavier barked, seething. "I've worked myself to the bone to give you money, to fund your damn lifestyle!" He raised the belt again, but Wilson blocked the swing, holding him back.
On the floor, Dylan sat motionless, arms wrapped around his knees. His voice was calm, stripped of emotion. "I don't need your money."
Xavier's glare burned hotter. "If you don't need my money, then maybe it's better if you leave. Let's see who comes begging after a month."
"I will leave," Dylan replied, his voice empty of emotion. "And I'll show you I can survive. You won't see a son begging after a month. Not ever."
For a long moment, Xavier just stared at him—searching for a crack, a tremor, any sign of weakness. But there was none.
At last, Xavier turned away, snatched his coat from the sofa, and stormed out.
Wilson lingered, his eyes heavy with guilt. He bowed slightly toward Dylan. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before hurrying after Xavier.
Dylan remained where he was. Still clutching his knees.