Dylan woke early, the cool morning air against his skin as he dressed to meet Flynn.
Truth was, he'd barely slept, his mind buzzing with thoughts of their plans.
It was strange—he'd never felt this kind of anticipation over something as simple as tagging along for a haircut.
By nine o'clock Dylan was already heading out to meet Flynn, bringing his scooter along.
When they finally saw each other, a familiar grin stretched across Dylan's face. Without wasting a moment, he revved the engine of his scooter and led the way toward the public market, his mind momentarily at ease as Flynn hopped onto the back.
As they sped along the quiet country roads, green fields and tall trees flashing past as sunlight glinted off the rice paddies.
The cool breeze lifted the week's weight from Flynn's shoulders, drawing a rare smile as he realized how long it had been since he'd simply enjoyed a moment without rushing.
Dylan kept the scooter steady through each curve, a soft chuckle escaping when he caught Flynn's contented look.
The engine's low hum and their shared laughter turned the ride into a private escape.
When they arrived at the public market, the two of them wandered around, weaving through the crowd as they searched for a barbershop.
It was Dylan's first time in a place like this—bustling, chaotic, and alive with energy. The streets were crowded with people haggling over fresh produce, street vendors calling out to passing customers, and the air thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling street food.
It was far from the sterile calm of city malls, but something about it made Dylan feel alive. The noise and rush weren't boring but vibrant, full of stories he could almost feel.
After a few minutes of circling through the market, their eyes finally landed on a small, humble barbershop tucked between two bright stalls. Without a word, they stepped inside, and soon found themselves in line. It was Flynn who stepped forward first, taking the seat the barber offered him.
"What kind of cut?" the barber asked, his eyes already focused on Flynn's hair.
"Just a trim, please" Flynn replied, his gaze locked on the mirror in front of him. In its reflection, Dylan was seated nearby, watching him intently, their eyes meeting for just a moment. Flynn could see the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of Dylan's lips.
As Flynn sat in the barber's chair, it was clear he wasn't happy with what was happening. The barber's hands were doing more than just a simple trim. Flynn wanted to speak up, to complain, but the barber had already started, and now it was too late to do anything about it.
He glanced at Dylan in the mirror, hoping to catch a reaction, but Dylan was too busy talking on the phone to notice. With a sigh, Flynn could only frown and wait, feeling helpless as the barber continued to snip away.
Dylan, on the other hand, waited for Flynn with his attention focused elsewhere. His phone rang, and without missing a beat, he answered it. It was Stephanie. From what she knew, Dylan was out with Jake and Cholo—at least, that's what he'd told her. So, naturally, Stephanie decided to drop by and join them, expecting to find the trio together.
When Flynn finished his haircut and stepped out of the barbershop, the disappointment was evident on his face.
"What's with that face? Why the frown?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Just take a look at what he did to my hair. I told him it was just a trim, but he cut it way too short!" Flynn snapped, frustration creeping into his voice.
Dylan's eyes drifted to Flynn's hair. It was noticeably shorter. The heavy fringe that once hung above his brows was gone, replaced by a clean-cut style—clipped on top with a subtle lift, the sides faded so smoothly they seemed to blend into his skin. The sharp cut revealed a stronger jawline, making his features look more defined, and somehow, even more handsome.
"It actually looks good on you. You look more... handsome," Dylan teased, though his words were half sincere.
"Whatever," Flynn muttered, brushing past him and walking out of the barbershop. Dylan followed, still trying to hide his smile.
Before they continued their stroll around the market, the two of them decided to grab some street food from the vendors they passed. Dylan, usually picky about his meals, was surprised by the unique flavors—his eyes widening in genuine surprise at some of the snacks, many of which he had never tasted before.
As they wandered further, Flynn's attention was drawn to a claw machine nearby. It was a brightly lit one, the inside filled with plush toys—SpongeBob and Patrick staring out from the glass, their yellow faces practically glowing in the fluorescent light. Flynn paused, looking at it longingly. He wanted to try his luck.
But then he checked his wallet. There were only a few coins left—enough for maybe two tries. The cash was barely enough, especially after buying all the food for the both of them.
He hadn't planned on treating Dylan, but when the offer slipped out of his mouth earlier, he hadn't expected Dylan to eat so much. The other guy had devoured the food like he hadn't eaten in days, and Flynn hadn't minded paying for it. He was just... surprised.
Flynn approached the machine and dropped a coin into the slot. He grabbed the joystick and focused, his face hardening into concentration. His steady hands clicked the joystick, the sound sharp against the market noise. But Dylan, ever the tease, leaned in, his breath warm against Flynn's ear as he nudged him.
"Hey, you gonna win this or what?" Dylan teased, the tone light but full of mischief. Flynn's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing at the prize.
The first try was a disaster. The claw missed SpongeBob entirely, and Flynn couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips. Dylan was still goading him, poking at his sides and giving him no room to breathe.
On the second try, Flynn was so close—SpongeBob just within reach—when Dylan gave his sleeve a sudden tug. The claw jerked and the toy slipped away.
Flynn's jaw tightened. His lips parted, a frustrated exhale slipping out as he turned to face Dylan. The muscles in his face were tense, and the vein in his temple throbbed slightly as he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, Dylan's phone rang.
Dylan answered, lifting the phone to his ear with a frown. He could already feel the shift in his chest before the voice on the other end even spoke, and when it did, the sound was like a punch to the gut.
"WTF, dude? Where the hell are you?" Jake's voice blared from the phone, loud enough to make Dylan flinch. It was sharp, almost vibrating through his bones.
"I thought we were meeting today! I told Cholo and the others, even Stephanie's here. What am I supposed to do now? They're looking for you, man."
Dylan's eyes flicked over to Flynn, who was already walking away, a little too fast. The soft clinking of coins in the machine seemed to echo in Dylan's ears. He took a deep breath before responding.
"Sorry, Jake. Something came up. I'll make it up to you next time," Dylan muttered, his eyes now glued to Flynn's retreating back. "Just... take care of Steph for me, okay? And next time, don't call me if it's not important. I'll be the one to reach out."
Before Jake could reply, Dylan hung up the phone with a soft click, his thumb swiping the screen. He tossed the phone back into his pocket and pulled a few more coins from his wallet, dropping them into the machine. The cool metal of the coins felt smooth against his fingertips, and the faint scent of mint still lingered on his skin as he prepared for another try.
After a few more attempts, Dylan realized he was no closer to winning anything than when he started. The claw machine seemed to mock him now, its glowing lights almost teasing. Each coin he dropped into the slot felt like another chance slipping away. His frustration grew with every failed attempt, the edge of his confidence wearing thin.
But what bothered him the most wasn't the game—it was the fact that Flynn was slowly walking away. Dylan couldn't shake the thought that maybe Flynn was upset because he didn't win the plush toy because of him.
Just as Dylan was about to give up, a staff member appeared by the machine, moving with practiced ease to collect the leftover coins and perform a quick maintenance check. Dylan watched the staff member's hands slip into the machine, moving the plush toys aside. His eyes lit up with a sudden idea, a spark of desperation.
He quickly approached the staff member, feeling his heart race in his chest. "Hey, I was wondering..." Dylan began, his voice low and slightly hesitant. "Could I... buy one of the toys in there? Like, the SpongeBob or the Patrick?"
The staff member raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, sir, we don't really do that," he replied, his tone polite but firm.
Dylan felt his stomach drop, but he didn't back down. "Come on," he said, a sly grin forming on his lips. "It's for my girlfriend. She's mad at me, and I really need to make it up to her. I promised I'd get her a SpongeBob."
The staff member hesitated, then glanced around. It was a busy morning, and he didn't want to deal with complaints. Dylan's earnest expression won him over. "Alright, fine," the staff member said, shrugging. "Just don't tell anyone."
Dylan's grin widened, and he stepped back as the staff member collected the toys and handed them over to him. SpongeBob and Patrick, soft and plush, now in Dylan's hands. He felt a rush of victory as he turned away.
When he finally caught up to Flynn, he didn't say a word at first. Instead, he lifted the toys up in front of Flynn's face, a devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The sight of SpongeBob and Patrick made Flynn stop in his tracks. His eyes widened for a brief second before he masked his surprise, though Dylan could see the flicker of amazement behind his frown. Flynn's gaze shifted from the toys to Dylan, his brows furrowed, but there was no denying the curiosity in his eyes.
"You've been busy with your phone the whole time. If you had other plans, just go. I'll head home. I'm not in the mood anymore."
Without waiting for a response, Flynn turned to walk away. But before he could take another step, Dylan reached out and grabbed his arm, his fingers brushing against Flynn's jacket.
"Wait," Dylan said, his voice softer now, more genuine. "Here."
He held out SpongeBob, offering it to Flynn with a small, almost apologetic smile. "Sorry, man. I can see how much you wanted this."
Flynn hesitated, his eyes flicking from the toy to Dylan's face, trying to read the sincerity in his expression. After a long pause, he finally took the plush toy from Dylan's hands, his fingers brushing Dylan's just a bit longer than necessary.
"How did you get it?" Flynn asked, his voice still guarded, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Secret," Dylan replied with a wink, his tone light and playful.
"Whatever." Flynn let out a sigh, but it was softer this time.