It was almost five in the afternoon when Dylan and Flynn finally decided to head home. They walked quietly toward the parking lot where Dylan had left his scooter. Dylan pulled the scooter out of the slot and mounted it, quickly starting the engine. Reaching into the small basket at the front, he grabbed the extra helmet and extended it toward Flynn.
But Flynn, his hands still occupied with the two plush toys, didn't take it.
Without saying a word, Dylan leaned forward and gently placed the helmet on Flynn's head himself. Flynn flinched slightly at the contact, visibly uncomfortable.
"Hey," Flynn muttered, furrowing his brows. "I'm not a girl. Don't treat me like one."
Dylan smirked as he adjusted the strap under Flynn's chin. "What did you want me to do—let you drop those precious plushies? You couldn't even lift your arms."
Flynn didn't answer. He simply climbed onto the scooter, wrapping one arm around Dylan's waist for balance.
As they made their way back through the countryside roads, the wind grew colder. The sky, once painted in shades of gold and lavender, now darkened with heavy clouds. Soon, fat droplets of rain began to fall—first in light taps, then in a sudden, drumming downpour.
Dylan squinted through the rain and spotted a small roadside waiting shed. Without hesitation, he veered toward it and stopped the scooter underneath the shelter. The engine sputtered to a halt, replaced by the relentless roar of the rain overhead.
"Shit. Now it decides to rain—right when we're on our way back." Dylan wiped the water from his face and looked over at Flynn. "Good thing those plushies didn't get soaked."
He stepped closer, reaching up to check Flynn's hair and shoulders with his hands.
"I'm fine," Flynn said flatly, brushing Dylan's hand away with a quick motion.
The rain showed no signs of stopping. The two of them were alone in the shed, the only light now coming from the faint glow of passing cars in the distance. The wind had turned sharp and cold, slicing through their damp clothes.
Dylan sat down on the wooden bench, pulling out a cigarette with shivering fingers. The flame from his lighter briefly illuminated his face as he lit it and took a drag.
Flynn watched him for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Dylan.
"Here. You look awful. Like a wet rat."
Dylan looked at the jacket, hesitating.
"What about you?"
Flynn shrugged. "I'm fine. You were up front—you took the brunt of the rain."
Without another word, Flynn snatched the cigarette from Dylan's lips, took a quick drag, and exhaled into the cool air. Dylan grinned and draped the jacket over his back.
Nearly an hour passed before the storm finally began to ease. The rain slowed to a drizzle, then stopped altogether, leaving behind the scent of wet earth and the sound of dripping leaves. Without wasting time, the two of them got back on the scooter and continued their journey.
They arrived at Flynn's house just as another downpour began. Flynn hurried to the veranda, reaching the covered space just before the front door. Dylan parked the scooter in the yard and quickly followed, both of them soaked once again.
Lucas, Flynn's father, stepped out of the kitchen after hearing the scooter's engine. The door swung open just in time to see the two boys dripping on the porch.
Lucas stepped out of the kitchen after hearing the scooter's engine. The door swung open just in time to see the two boys dripping on the porch.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. You boys got caught in that rain?" Lucas said, worry etched in his face. "Come on in—quickly, before you get sick."
"Flynn, grab a towel for Dylan," Lucas added. "You both need to shower. Don't wait—you'll catch a cold. Once you're done, let's eat. Your Aunt Mary dropped off some food earlier."
"Dad, Dylan won't be showering here," Flynn replied. "He's heading straight home."
"In this weather? Look at him—he's soaked."
Before Flynn could answer, Dylan cut in with a cheerful tone. "Uncle, where's the bathroom? I'll go first."
Lucas chuckled. "Just head down the hall—it's the one next to Flynn's room."
Dylan gave him a friendly salute and vanished down the hallway.
Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Since when were you and Dylan this close?"
"Did you forget who brought you home when you were drunk? Besides, he's a good kid."
"What makes you say that?"
Lucas gave a knowing smile. "I just know. And it's not often you bring a friend home."
Inside the small bathroom, Dylan looked around. A plastic pail and a dipper were set in the corner. No shower, no heater—just the basics. He started undressing, his damp clothes peeling off his skin with a cold, wet sound. Steam rose from his body in the cool air.
He reached for the faucet to fill the pail—but it wouldn't budge. He tried again, grunting in frustration. It was stuck, possibly broken.
"Flynn!" he called out, his voice echoing off the tiled walls.
Flynn and Lucas heard the shout from the kitchen.
"Go help him," Lucas said. "He probably doesn't know about the busted faucet."
Flynn walked down the hallway and pushed open the bathroom door—only to be greeted by the sight of a completely naked Dylan, standing with his hands on his hips like a confused statue.
"You already stripped?" Flynn groaned, quickly averting his eyes.
"I didn't know the faucet was broken," Dylan replied with a shrug, unapologetic.
Flynn sighed, grabbed a pair of pliers from the nearby shelf, and stepped inside. With a bit of effort, he managed to twist the valve open, water splashing into the pail with a loud rush.
"Here," he said, handing the pliers to Dylan. "Use this when you're done. And make sure to turn it off properly—we don't waste water here."
Dylan took the pliers and grinned. "Aren't you gonna shower too? Come on, let's go together."
Without warning, he reached out as if to tug at Flynn's shirt.
Flynn yelped, jumping back and smacking Dylan's hand away.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Flynn hissed, cheeks flushed as he quickly glanced toward the door. "Are you trying to get us caught? My dad and grandma are out there!"
With one swift kick, he sent a wet slap of his foot against Dylan's bare backside, making the latter stumble forward.
Dylan stood under the cold splash of water, chuckling to himself.