Dylan woke up early, roused by the shrill beep of his alarm cutting through the stillness of dawn. Groggy and heavy-limbed, he sat up slowly, his bare feet meeting the cold cement floor that made him shiver slightly. The room was dim, lit only by the faint light creeping in through the slats of the window.
Without wasting another second, he made his way to the bathroom. The worn-out tiles beneath his feet were damp and cool, the silence broken only by the soft creak of the door as he pushed it open.
He stood there for a beat, facing the bucket of water by the wall — no shower, no heater, just the familiar tools of every rushed morning: a plastic dipper floating in the icy stillness.
Dylan reached for the dipper and filled with water from the bucket. He held it mid-air for a second, his fingers trembling slightly from the chill. Then, bracing himself, he poured it over his shoulder.
The cold hit him like a slap.
His breath caught, and he nearly jumped back as the freezing water cascaded down his back. "Ah—shit!" he gasped, his voice echoing against the bathroom walls.
He lingered for a moment, shivering, before scooping again. Again and again, he doused himself, each splash colder than the last — the kind of cold that crept into his skin and clung to his spine like a warning. Every pour came with a sharp gasp or a muttered curse, his body tensing as if in battle.
Time was a luxury he didn't have. He hurriedly rubbed soap across his skin, the fragrance sharp in the steamy room, and rinsed off quickly, eager to finish.
Once done, Dylan moved swiftly, his fingers fumbling only briefly as he pulled out his uniform—neatly pressed and hanging in the cabinet. He slipped it on carefully, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders.
Before stepping out, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes lingered there, searching, weighing—before a small, stubborn smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Outside, the morning sun cast long shadows across the cracked concrete of the street. Dylan's old scooter stood parked just by the door, weathered but dependable. He pushed it slowly out of the gate, the metal scraping softly against the ground, then kicked the engine to life.
Last night's fight with his father still echoed in his mind—the harsh words, the final command to leave. There was no second thought. He brought the suitcase Wilson had packed and left before dawn's first light, his heart heavy but determined.
He spent the rest of that night searching for a place to stay, wandering unfamiliar streets until he found himself in Flynn's neighborhood. It was quieter here, lined with small houses and shaded by swaying trees. Dylan spotted a modest unit—compact and unassuming, but it felt like a place where a new chapter could begin.
Next, he hunted for a scooter, something reliable for the daily grind of school.
Before he mounted his ride, he paused to wipe the grime off the mirror. His reflection stared back, tired but unbroken.
A new beginning for a new life, Dylan murmured, a flicker of joy lighting his eyes.
With that, he kicked the scooter into gear, the engine sputtering awake beneath him. Dylan believed that by living this way, he could get closer to Flynn. If they shared the same world, maybe the distance between them would shrink. And just the thought of it made his heart race with quiet excitement.
Dylan parked his scooter discreetly at a quiet corner, just enough to stay hidden but close enough to catch a glimpse of Flynn if he passed by.
After waiting for a while, Dylan's eyes caught sight of Flynn walking steadily down the street. He waited, heart quietly pounding, until Flynn had moved just past him. Then, with a calm that barely masked his nerves, Dylan fired up his scooter and rolled toward him, pretending it was nothing more than a casual pass.
He eased the scooter to a stop right in front of Flynn, blocking his path like it was completely intentional.
"Come on, ride with me," Dylan said softly.
Flynn glanced at the old scooter, eyebrows raised. "Looks like that thing's about to give up on you. And you want me to ride it?" he teased.
"Don't underestimate my scooter." Dylan replied with a grin, an eyebrow arching challengingly. "I could take you anywhere every day, and it wouldn't give out that easily," He added.
Flynn's gaze softened, curiosity flickering. "Wait... you live around here too? Why am I only seeing you now?"
Dylan paused for a moment but quickly recovered so it wouldn't show. "I don't really go out much. And since I have to get to school early, maybe that's why you've never seen me."
"Impossible," Flynn said with a smile, shaking his head. "I pretty much know everyone around here."
"So, are you coming with me or not? You don't want to be late again, right?" Dylan changed the subject, holding out one of his helmets from the basket on the front of the scooter.
Flynn glanced at the two helmets, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes, but he said nothing. After a brief hesitation, he nodded and climbed onto the scooter behind Dylan. There was still a noticeable space between them as Flynn settled.
"Hey, why so far back?" Dylan teased softly. "Move closer, so it easier to balance."
Though a bit shy, Flynn shifted closer to Dylan.
"Hold on tight," Dylan murmured, a smile tugging at his lips as he kicked the scooter's engine to life.
The scooter sputtered beneath them, shaking slightly as Dylan twisted the throttle with a bit too much force. Flynn tightened his grip on the sides, brows furrowing.
"Take it slow," he muttered close to Dylan's ear, his voice half-scolding. "And watch the road."
Dylan only let out a soft chuckle, but Flynn didn't miss the way the scooter wobbled slightly before it steadied.
Flynn shifted his eyes forward, the morning air brushing past his skin—cool, refreshing, and different from what he was used to.
For the first time, he wasn't rushing on foot, panting, dodging puddles or stepping over cracked pavement. Now, the wind kissed his face gently, lifting strands of his hair as they rode past houses that looked somehow softer, slower, quieter.
The world felt different from the back of a scooter. The roads he thought he knew stretched longer, wider, like they were part of something bigger than his routine.
Flynn and Dylan arrived at school early. It was the first time Flynn got there earlier than usual.
When Dylan and Flynn stepped into the classroom, a sudden hush fell over the room. Conversations died mid-sentence, and all eyes turned toward them like they'd just seen something impossible. A few students exchanged bewildered glances, whispering under their breath.
Nathan, sitting in his seat, almost dropped his books in shock. His jaw went slack, and he stared at the pair as if they were ghosts. He couldn't believe the two arrived together.
"Is that... Dylan and Flynn? Together?" someone murmured from across the room, disbelief thick in their voice.
The usual buzz of the classroom was replaced by a tense, expectant silence. It was clear nobody had expected this — the two arriving side by side, early no less.
As Flynn and Dylan took their seats, it was obvious from Dylan's face that he was tired and sleep-deprived. He yawned slightly, trying to hide it, but Flynn noticed.
"Looks like you're the one who didn't get much sleep last night," Flynn said, searching through his bag.
"Yeah, I didn't sleep well," Dylan replied.
"Here..." Flynn said as he handed over the uniform he had washed.
Dylan took it, and almost instantly, his senses seemed to wake up. His eyes brightened, and the exhaustion faded away when he saw the uniform Flynn handed him. It was clean, as white as ever, looking almost brand new, and smelled of fabric conditioner. Dylan's face lit up with happiness as he took in the scent.
"Did you wash this?" Dylan asked with a smile.
"My dad washed and ironed it. I even told him to just throw it away," Flynn said, a little annoyed.
"As if you'd show your dad a uniform covered in blood," Dylan teased.
"You already know the answer—you still had to ask," Flynn said, burying his face in his desk.
Dylan just watched him for a moment before turning back to the uniform lying on his desk. He carefully folded it again and gently tucked it into his bag.
After class, Dylan invited Flynn to ride home with him again. Flynn just nodded but said he wanted to walk a little first. So the two of them walked, Dylan pushing his scooter beside him. It was light—almost like a bike.
As they walked, Flynn suddenly stopped and faced Dylan.
"Are you free this weekend? I'm thinking of getting a haircut. Want to come with me?" Flynn asked.
"I have plans this weekend," Dylan replied.
Flynn paused for a moment, looking a bit disappointed but hiding it well. "Never mind then," he said coldly, then walked away quickly.
Dylan smiled, hopped onto his scooter, and started the engine to catch up.
"Hey, Flynn, wait up!" he called as he caught up and stopped in front of him. "I haven't even said if I'm coming or not."
Flynn said nothing but immediately climbed on behind Dylan.
Dylan handed him a helmet. "Okay, I'm coming. Just tell me what time." he said without hesitation. Then, starting the scooter, they rode off together.
In Dylan's mind, he wasn't usually like this—so quick to say yes, especially when he already had plans. Usually, he'd think it over, maybe even refuse. But for some reason, with Flynn, it felt different. He found himself willing to cancel anything, rearrange everything—just to be there. He didn't fully understand why, but the thought of spending time with Flynn made everything else seem less important.