Room For Rent [Dylmas]

Chapter 5

I eventually woke up to the constant sound of the bathroom door being slammed shut. I rubbed my eyes and felt for my phone, checking the time. 6:13 a.m.

I groaned whilst locking my phone, going out of my room. I heard the toilet being flushed and saw a pale-faced Dylan, shutting the bathroom door. He was sweating and holding his stomach.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked as he saw me.

"Nothing," he mumbled, heading for his room.

"Just tell me," I urged, half-awake still.

He looked at me and groaned. "My stomach's what's wrong."

"Let me guess," I yawned before continuing. "You've been shitting nonstop, haven't ya?"

He rolled his eyes and started walking towards his room. I crossed my arms and blocked the door.

"Let me through. I need sleep," he whined.

"I need sleep as well, but we can't bloody have that with the incessant slamming of the bathroom door, yeah?"

He groaned and I flicked him on the forehead, "You're such a child. We've got medicine, you know?"

I went inside the bathroom and took the medicine from the med cabinet, noting how I should visit the chemist soon to replenish my stock. I gave some meds to Dylan and told him to get some water downstairs.

We ended up hanging out in his room as the clock hit 7:00 a.m. I yawned. "How's your stomach?"

"It settled itself now. Thanks, Thomas."

I waved him off and stood up. "I'll go take a shower. I probably won't fall asleep anymore."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he hung his head low.

I sighed and sat next to him on his bed. "It's alright, you know? It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," he answered stubbornly. I raised my eyebrow at him as he avoided eye contact.

I nudged his sides to make him look at me. "You probably got less sleep than me. That doesn't matter?" he was about to answer when I cut him off. "Look, Dylan, drop it. It's nothing. The good thing is that you're not shitting your internal organs anymore."

I ruffled his hair and stood up. I eyed him and he just seemed so sad. Really. Why's he like this? I rolled my eyes. "Fine," I said. "If you want to make it up to me, make me a coffee or something, yeah?"

He beamed and smiled, happy that he was paying me off. I turned and went to my room, got my towel and took a shower.

As the water started running, so did my thoughts. I guess I lived off my life almost alone that I forgot how other humans were. I observe chaps, yeah. From time to time, in the grocery, in my shop, by the town, or almost anywhere. Different chaps with different personalities, but this is probably my first time again to actually live with someone else. Up close and in contact as well.

I watched the water drop from my chest down to my torso as I let out a sigh.

Dylan.

I don't like how he wants to repay everything's that's done for him or how he wants to pay off for things as an apology. Being thankful is enough. Saying sorry is bloody good enough.

This is most probably why I tend to mind my own. I don't want to feel the push of people doing things for me to pay off my kindness or so they call it. I don't need it. It only makes me feel a huge amount of guilt. It's as if they think I'm only doing things to get something in return and it makes me awfully agitated.

Particularly with Dylan.

I hate it.

I really hate it.

I hate how it makes me feel. It's as if he doesn't trust me—no.

No, it's not that.

I ruffled my hair and got out of the shower, leaving my thoughts there. I got dressed in a plain black v-neck and some pair of jeans. I took my keys with me and went to the kitchen.

I saw Dylan napping on the table, some coffee and toast in front of him. I gingerly took a seat in front of him and drank some coffee. I looked at the wall clock and saw it was 7:43 a.m.

I sipped some more coffee before tapping Dylan, waking him up.

"It's almost 8:00 a.m. Go get ready. Don't you have school?"

He nodded and stretched his arms. "I'm so tired," he yawned.

"Just be quick. I'll drive you to school."

I grabbed a toast and bit it whilst taking my coffee. I stood up immediately and went to the living room, not needing to hear Dylan's protest.

I eventually heard his footsteps going up the stairs. I smiled a bit and rested my chin on my palm.

It's not that he doesn't trust me. It's just that he's not used to it.

I suddenly frowned at the thought. I don't want to think so, but it seems to be the case. I sighed. If Dylan's going to live here, I want to make it alright for him. It's only been a day, but I've grown so close to the lad. I know how it feels to live a rough life, so I want to make it less hard for him.

I don't know how, but I want to try. Maybe give him some string of happiness that I never got from anyone.

I let out a dry chuckle. Yeah, something like that.

Mindlessly sipping on my coffee, I slowly let my eyes drift on the living room. I grazed my free hand on the couch's armrest.

How long had I been here?

"Thomas?"

I sipped the coffee a little too soon and ended up burning my tongue. I winced and turned to look at Dylan. He looks ready to go. Well, ain't that quick?

I stood up and went to the kitchen as Dylan followed. I dropped the cup on the sink and got a bottled water from the fridge.

"Take this with you," I told Dylan as I hand it to him.

"I'm not a child. I don't need this."

"Oh, trust me. You'll need this. You need water in that buggin' body of yours, else you'll pass out."

He pouted but took it anyway, taking a sip and sliding it inside his bag. I motioned for him to follow me and we went to my garage. I let Dylan watch me as I wipe my motorcycle and heat it up.

"Are you sure you want to give me a lift?" he asked finally. The hesitant look in his eyes irritated me. I rolled my eyes at him and gave him a look, shutting him up.

"Alright, let's go. Grab that helmet," he took the one I pointed at and stared at it. He looked at me, then the helmet, and then at me again. I told him to come nearer and he did.

I got the helmet from him and put it on his head, adjusting the strap, then locking it. "And, done. Come on. Close the garage."

I drove out of it and waited for Dylan to lock it. He gingerly sat behind me after doing so, not knowing where to put his hands as he held it up.

"Put your hands on my waist or shoulder if you don't want to fall and die."

As I strapped my helmet on, he chose to rest his hands on my shoulder. It was light on weight, he wasn't really holding on. I smirked behind the helmet and whispered so low. "Hold on tight, idiot."