Chapter Text
“Another sleepover?” Elliott asked. They’d just had one last weekend. Elliott knew better by now than to question his over-the-top son. Dylan dropped to his knees immediately, holding the leg of his father’s chair.
“Please, dad!” He begged, his voice whinier than usual. “You always say he’s welcome whenever!” Elliott did say that.
This sleepover seemed to be a mistake.
Jayden held his breath for what felt like forever. He couldn’t come to the uncomfortable realization that he was painfully in love with his best friend. Dylan had no clue, rambling on and on about everything that came to his mind as he always did.
Dylan wasn’t like him. And he knew that. Dylan was charming and attractive. Jayden didn’t have anything going for him. At least—that’s what he thought. Dylan kissed girls.
Jayden had no desire to.
He was fifteen and still didn’t have even his first kiss yet. He felt…broken. And he knew why. Because every time he stared at his best friend, time stopped. His world came crashing down and slowed to just Dylan. The way his lips moved, his long, dark black hair falling just perfectly around his face, his eyes glistening…
“Jay?” Dylan hummed, his head now completely turned to face Jayden. The other boy nodded. “I’m listening.” He confirmed, before his best friend even had the chance to ask. Dylan nodded, looking back up at the ceiling to talk again.
Suddenly the sheets felt suffocating. What a fucking weirdo. Nobody stared at their best friend’s lips like that. Nobody listened to their best friend talk like what he had to say was the most important thing in the world. Nobody was selfish with their time with their best friend like he was.
Jayden was gay.
Jayden was in love with Dylan.
He couldn’t cope with this revelation.
“Dylan.” Not without doing something.
“Yeah?” Fuck, he was so pretty.
“Stop talking.” Dylan was clearly taken aback by this.
“What?” Jayden leaned over, cupping his best friend’s cheek. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead—he wiped his thumb across his cheekbone.
Dylan’s brows were furrowed, and his eyes looked thoroughly confused. “What…?” He repeated, his voice lower, more of a whisper now. Even in the dim light, Jayden could tell how flushed he was.
“You uh—still had some dirt on your face.” He muttered back a half-assed reply before laying back down. Shit. Dylan stammered for a second—before his lips flew open.
He did what he did best, and began rambling again.
Jayden was so fucking screwed. He cried in the passenger seat when his mom came to pick him up. Quietly, to be sure not to worry her. Of course, nothing ever worked out for him—so she noticed.
“Jayden, baby, tell me what’s wrong.” She repeated, for what felt like the millionth time as they entered the house.
“Momma, I told you it’s nothing.” He muttered, wiping his eyes.
“I don’t believe you, Jayden.” She didn’t have to say that. He knew. He attempted to get away, to walk upstairs, but she stopped him—with her words.
“Is this about Dylan?” She asked. Her tone was so soft it was impossible to say no. To decline. Jayden slowly turned towards her. Even slower, he made his way down the stairs, burying his head in her shoulder.
Mari always knew. She was psychic in that sense. Her son had always been different, but she’d never considered it being in this way until she realized how sad Jayden seemed around his best friend. How close they seemed.
Her hand cradled his head and rubbed down his back like he was little again. Even if he towered over her now, he’d always be her baby.
Sunday morning. Elliott got called in for a job in a neighboring town and he realized he didn’t want to leave Dylan home alone for thirteen hours.
“Remind me why I need a sitter?” He asked, his tone exasperated and indignant.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” He replied, grabbing his keys. “It’s just…” He realized he didn’t really have a reason. “What if someone tries to break in? This way you won’t be alone.” He declared.
Dylan felt his eyes physically roll back. “Whatever.”
The neighbors door creaked open. There he stood. Arthur—or, Mr. Baker as Dylan had always known him. Elliott and him exchanged a few bullshit words before his dad pawned him off to the man.
He could leave. He could walk back home and forget about the stupid arrangement. Instead, he walked in, taking a seat on the couch as Arthur offered. Arthur stood at about “6’3. He had a lot of muscle on him and his hair was graying slightly. He sat next to Dylan on the couch, surfing through movies with the remote.
“What do ya like to watch, kiddo?” He asked, his voice just as gruff as he remembered.
Dylan shrugged. He looked up from his phone, around at the empty house. Suddenly, his brows furrowed and he straightened up against the back of the couch. “Where uh—where’s your wife and kids?” He asked, slowly setting his phone down in his lap.
Arthur’s expression shifted in a way that made Dylan’s skin crawl. “They’re out. Girls day.” He replied easily. That answer made no sense to Dylan. Arthur only had one daughter, the rest were boys.
He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Yeah.” He muttered, looking back down at his phone.
Arthur cleared his throat. “What have you been doing in school?” He asked suddenly, his eyes still fixed on him.
Dylan shrugged again. “I dunno. Just random shit.” He answered. This reply earned a gentle laugh from the man. He sighed, his hand coming down to rest…on Dylan’s knee. He flinched at the contact.
He looked at the hand on his knee, his brows furrowed. Then, he looked up at Arthur. His expression made his face drain of color and made him shiver.
Music blasted in Elliott’s car. Thirteen hours passed. It was 10pm, and Elliott was outside Arthur’s home. He got out of his truck, whistling his whole way to the front door. As soon as he knocked, Dylan walked out past him, making his way to the truck. He immediately got in without a word, looking down at his feet.
Elliot was surprised, but assumed he was tired. He thanked Arthur, who seemed very calm.
Once he hopped in the truck, He began ranting to Dylan about his day. He talked and talked—and suddenly their dynamic had switched. All he needed to do was pull into their driveway and park the car. Once he did that, he looked over to his son, who was still abnormally quiet.
“You alright, champ?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked. Dylan nodded, forcing a smile that never quite reached his eyes before pulling the door handle open. Elliott’s brows furrowed.
He heard the shower turn on, the sound serving as background noise for what felt like forever.
Dylan scrubbed his body until it felt raw. Every single touch felt like he was still marked. Still tainted. He sobbed, hoping the shower would wash away the harsh sound of his cries. His body shook with anger and sadness and pain.
He felt his hands everywhere still. In and on his hair, especially. Dylan liked his hair long. His mother always thought it was beautiful. But now he couldn’t help but resent it. It made him easier to grab, to hold onto. It only brought more pain. Despite the hot water, he shivered at the reminder.
Staring at himself in the still-fogged mirror, he grabbed the scissors from the bathroom drawer. Fuck this. Fuck the hair. He cut every curl that was past his neck. He looked at himself in the mirror. So damn different.
He shook away the thoughts, drying himself off.
Elliott went to throw away his paper plate. His heart instantly sank at what was in the trashcan. The clothes Dylan was wearing earlier. He looked at the clock.
12am. Maybe he should see if his kid was still alive in the bathroom.
Before he could knock, Dylan emerged. His hair was at least three inches shorter than the last time he saw him. “Woah. Hey kiddo—.” Dylan flinched at the nickname, his face scrunching.
“Don’t call me that.” He muttered. Elliott swallowed, nodding awkwardly. “…Noted. My bad champ. I just—noticed your new hair.” He replied. Dylan nodded silently, walking to his room. Elliott couldn’t help but notice Dylan walking with a limp. Not to mention the kid leaving the bathroom fully dressed instead of in a towel. He’d never done that before. Odd. All of it was odd.
He knocked faintly on the door. No reply. “Dylan?” No reply. He slowly twisted the handle. Nothing on his TV. He looked at the bed, his expression softening. His kid curled up in his bed, under the covers.
Elliot walked over slowly. He needed this to not be true. This couldn’t be true. His hand gently ran through Dylan’s damp hair. “How was Arthur’s?” He asked, so soft it couldn’t be mistaken for a cruel question, despite all the knowledge Dylan had to bear.
He flinched at the name, curling into himself further. “Fine.” He whispered, his voice cracking. Elliott’s heart wrenched.
“Then why are you acting so weird?” He asked, still carding through his curls. Elliott was a lot of things—but stupid wasn’t one.
Dylan shrugged. “I dunno. Tired.” He gave a weak, half-assed reply. Elliot was better than that.
“Dylan.” He muttered knowingly. “What happened?” He repeated, slotting into bed next to Dylan, still sifting through his hair. Tears started to burn in Dylan’s eyes.
“Nothing.” Lies. It was all lies.
“Dylan Noah Collins.” Dylan froze. He’d caught on. It didn’t take much for him to break down in his father’s arms. He cried and cried. Elliott knew. He already knew. But when he heard him say it, he felt his whole world crumble. Nothing felt real anymore.
Suddenly, he was worried about taking his kid to the ER. The word “Rape,” felt so unreal when a doctor talked about his fifteen year old boy. His son. His baby. Without hesitation, Elliott excused them both from school and work, taking his kid home to rest.
His poor son. His sweet boy. He almost left him to sleep in the quiet of his room, but Dylan begged him to stay. He did. Not like he would’ve gotten any sleep—but watching his son sleep made him feel better.
This way, he knew he was safe, at least. In the gentle light, he looked so young. He looked like an infant again. He was curled up next to him in bed, just like when he was a toddler.
His fifteen year old kid. His baby. He couldn’t believe how someone could be so heartless. So cruel. How could they do that to his son. The thought alone angered him. He thought for a second he could trust this evil bastard.
He’d have to keep him safe from here on out.