Flynn woke up early to the blaring sound of his alarm clock. Slowly, he propped himself up on one arm, his body protesting with the movement. His eyes scanned the room, still blurry from sleep, trying to locate the source of the noise.
When he spotted the alarm clock, he reached out and slapped it off, but the attempt to sit up made him wince. His head spun. He braced himself with one arm, eyes squinting at the dim morning light creeping through the curtains. The room was hazy, like his mind. The events of last night were a blur—he couldn't piece it together.
"Fuck..." Flynn muttered, his face contorting as he rubbed his temples. The pain pulsed in his skull, relentless. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead, hoping the throbbing would subside.
When he finally managed to sit upright, his legs felt like jelly. He staggered out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, each step heavy with the weight of his hangover. The smell of something warm and comforting hit him—porridge, soft and inviting. It was the only thing his dad could actually cook well, something Lucas made almost every time. In the kitchen, Lucas was standing by the stove, stirring a pot, the morning light dancing on his hair.
"Oh, you're up already," Lucas remarked, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. "Eat first. I made porridge for you. Then take a shower before you head out. It'll help with your hangover."
Flynn nodded silently, his stomach turning at the thought of food, but he sat down at the table anyway. Lucas spooned the warm, comforting dish into a bowl and placed it in front of him. The steam rose gently, mixing with the scent of ginger and rice.
Before Flynn could even lift his spoon, something in the back of his mind clicked. He stared at the bowl, his brows knitting together in confusion. His mind desperately tried to piece together what had happened the night before. Nothing. It was all a blur. He couldn't remember how he got home. He didn't remember anything.
Lucas' voice pulled him back to the present. "What's wrong, son? Eat up."
Flynn blinked, trying to shake off the feeling of disorientation. Then looked up at Lucas, a mixture of curiosity and unease in his eyes.
"Dad, how did I get home last night?"
"Dylan brought you home," Lucas replied, while stirring the hot porridge to cool it down for Grandma Mina, who was sitting across the table from Flynn.
"Dylan?" Flynn echoed, his heart rate picking up a little. "How...?" He shook his head, trying to piece it all together, but the fog in his mind was thick, and everything seemed scattered.
They'd been drinking together, sure, but that wasn't the issue. What had him truly baffled was how Dylan had ended up taking him home. And more than that—how did Dylan even know where he lived.
"Yeah," Lucas continued, stirring the porridge of Grandma Mina and blowing on it to cool it down.
"He said he invited you out, but you drank way too much. I offered to let him stay here since it was already late, but he refused. He said he wasn't that drunk and could get home on his own."
"He's such a kind kid," Lucas added. "He even helped you clean up and change your clothes when you threw up after you got home."
Flynn blinked, his mind racing. "He... helped me clean up?" The image of Dylan gently assisting him, taking care of him... It was too surreal.
"Yeah" Lucas replied, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.
It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over Flynn. His body broke out in a cold sweat as the full weight of his father's words sank in. He glanced down at his clothes—t-shirt and shorts—and his stomach twisted in discomfort. He looked inside his shorts and felt his heart drop when he realized he wasn't wearing any underwear.
In an instant, the hangover faded into the background. The only thing Flynn felt now was embarrassment, a gnawing sense of shame that made his skin burn hot. He didn't know how to face Dylan after hearing this. The idea of seeing him again made his chest tighten, his mind racing with awkward questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.
After Flynn finished his porridge, he quickly showered and got dressed to head to school.
---
When Flynn arrived in class, his eyes immediately found Dylan, who was now sitting in the vacant seat next to him.
Flynn hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the options—should he sit elsewhere or just pretend he didn't see him? In the end, he went for the path of least resistance and plopped down beside Dylan.
"Why are you sitting here?" Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of suspicion.
"Why? There's no one sitting here, right? Plus, now you've got someone to sit next to you. Bro." Dylan answered with a mischievous grin, emphasizing the "bro" like it was some inside joke only they were in on.
Flynn blinked, unsure how to respond. He could've protested or made a snarky comment, but instead, he just slumped into his seat, resting his head on the desk. The hangover still clung to him like a heavy weight.
Dylan, on the other hand, looked completely fine—almost annoyingly so. "Hey, just got here and you're already going to sleep?" he teased, nudging Flynn lightly with his shoulder.
Flynn groaned, barely lifting his head. He shifted just enough to glare at Dylan. "Can you just... not bother me right now? If you wanna sit next to me, at least be quiet."
Dylan clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Wow, you're such a grump. I could've sworn last night you were all sweet and cuddly." He smirked, leaning in closer to Flynn, eyes glinting with mischief.
Flynn ignored him, his mind a blur, trying to focus on anything but the embarrassing, blurry mess of last night. His head felt like a foggy haze, and the more Dylan kept poking at him, the more confused and ashamed Flynn became. He didn't even know if he could trust the fragments of what Dylan was saying.
Dylan didn't stop there. He tilted his head and started dramatically acting out what Flynn had apparently said the night before, his hands exaggeratedly gesturing like Flynn's drunken state. His voice changed, sounding just like Flynn's slurred tone.
"Why are you carrying me, huh? Where are you going to take me?" Dylan mocked, dragging his words out like Flynn had done, before raising his eyebrows and giving an exaggerated confused look.
"Then you were like, 'Dylan, don't leave me!'"
Then, in an even higher-pitched voice, Dylan continued, "Dylan, why did you defend me? What? You're like my personal bodyguard now? I was so fucking worried you were gonna get expelled!"
He paused, looking at Flynn with a smirk before adding, "Oh, wait, so you don't have a mom? Is that why you got all touchy with Jayson's comments?" He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up like he was acting in a soap opera.
The more Dylan mimicked him, the hotter Flynn's face became. His stomach churned with a mix of shame and disbelief. How could he have said all of that? How had Dylan remembered every little thing? It was all a blur, but Dylan's playful teasing made it feel like he was being dragged through every humiliating moment of the night.
Sweat beaded on Flynn's forehead as he clenched his fists, trying to hold back the rush of panic. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't even look at Dylan now—he just kept replaying the image of himself, drunk and helpless, in Dylan's care. The memory felt distant, almost unreal, but Dylan's teasing made it all too real.
As Dylan went on, talking about how Flynn had practically begged him not to leave, Flynn couldn't take it anymore. He shot up from his desk and quickly slapped his hand over Dylan's mouth, effectively silencing him before any more embarrassing details could come out.
"Shut up. Please. I don't need to hear it, okay?" Flynn whispered, his eyes darting around the classroom to make sure no one else had overheard. He could feel the heat on his face as he desperately tried to push the embarrassment away.
Dylan, grinning despite being silenced, pulled away Flynn's hand from his mouth.
"Ah, finally remembering, huh? You're so weak when it comes to alcohol, man. We barely drank anything last night!" Dylan chuckled, eyes dancing with the satisfaction of teasing Flynn. "It was honestly like, one shot and boom, you were out. I swear you were already done after two drinks."
Flynn's cheeks were on fire. His mind was still a mess of confused, fragmented images from the night before, but Dylan's mocking laughter, his playful taunting, and the way he spoke with that familiar, carefree tone... it was almost too much for Flynn to bear.
While the two continued teasing each other, Nathan sat quietly, watching them.
'When did they get this close?'
He couldn't help but wonder when exactly they had gotten so close. It felt like just yesterday that they were constantly bickering. But now? They were sitting side by side, laughing like old friends.