Room For Rent [Dylmas]

Chapter 3

"Here's the good old telly. We've got cable, so use it as you please."

"Does that increase my rent fee?" Dylan asked. I pursed my lips, thinking.

"Hm, that's good, but nah. You've got a fixed fee for the electricity and water, so don't mind it."

He stared at me. "Wow. I mean, wow. I think I'm lucky I found your place."

I waved him off. "Anyway, here's some books—if you'll need any. Here's some comfortable couch to go with that."

I spread my arms out. "That's that," I said. As I'm done showing off the living room, I turned around and observed Dylan. He's at the bookshelf, inspecting my worn-out encyclopaedia. I crossed my arms as I watched him.

"Hey, Tho—" he turned to me and we both froze.

I cleared my throat and distracted myself by sitting on the couch. "What is it?" I asked after settling.

He came closer and sat with me, farther to my right. "What's wrong with your house? I mean, it's okay. It's clean, safe, and proper. Uh, I mean..."

He stumbled on his words, finding what to say. I waited patiently on what he's going to ask, staring at him.

"I give up. I can't ask it!" he raised his hands in defeat. I laughed at him as he stared at me.

"Lad, think before you speak, yeah? You got me bloody waitin' on what you were going to say," I slapped his back and stood up. "I'll leave later at 2:00 p.m., so come with me upstairs and I'll give you a spare key of the house, yeah?"

"You like to say "yeah", you've noticed, yeah?" he mocked. I rolled my eyes at him but smiled nonetheless.

"Shut it," I told him as I walked upstairs. I heard him snicker as he followed me. I almost stopped walking as something just popped in my head—in my heart. This feeling, the feeling of having company. The feeling of laughing with someone again. It feels... Weird? No, not weird. Something else. It kind of feels...

Foreign.

Huh, foreign. Well, ain't that something? I smiled a bit as I entered my room, inviting Dylan inside.

I rummaged through my desk drawer as Dylan settled sitting on my bed, feeling comfortable. "Where are you going, anyway?" he asked.

"Off to a drive. I do that often," I answered mindlessly. "Where the hell is that bloody spare?" I mumbled.

"Oh, you have a car?" he asked, again.

"Motorcycle."

"Oh, wow! That's awesome!"

"I agree, bikes are awesome," I turned to him and gave him a smile and then frowned, "I can't find the spare."

"Well, that's okay. I'm not going out today, anyway. I'll stay here and unpack my stuff."

Now that he metioned it, I don't think I saw his luggage or anything of the sorts the night he came here.

"You got a lot to unpack? I can help you," I offered. He immediately shook his head to refuse.

"No! It's fine. It's not a lot. It's..."

"It's what?"

"Uh, just a backpack full of stuff," he shrugged. I eyed him as he looked away. Just one backpack? Okay. That somehow leads me into a conclusion that this young chap probably ran away from home. Well, it's not really my place to butt in, so I dismissed the topic.

"Okay, then. Help yourself to some food in the kitchen if you go hungry, yeah? I'll be back soon."

"Okay, uh, thanks," he answered, unsure. I raised my brow at him and placed my hands on my sides.