Hate (BL)

06

Dylan Skylar

What is that smell?

I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes as sunlight filters through the curtains.

"Morning," Nick says from the doorway, holding a mug of coffee. "Did I wake you?"

"No, Nick, you're fine." I stretch, catching a whiff of something savory. "What smells good?"

"Grayson went out and got groceries to make breakfast. Hope you don't mind us using your kitchen."

"Not at all," I mumble, blinking away the sleep.

Nick strolls into my room and flops onto my bed, making himself comfortable.

"I keep forgetting how ridiculously soft your bed is," He says, running a hand over the duvet.

"How would I sleep if I didn't have the softest sheets?"

Not that they help.

My closet is packed with sheets from the manic episode I had, trying to figure out why I couldn't sleep. None of them worked. The nightmares don't help, either.

Nick glances around. "What happened to all your posters and paintings?"

"Changing things up."

Ripped them up. Every last one.

"Knock, knock," Grayson says, walking in with a tray full of food. "Breakfast in bed."

Nick groans. "I hope my breakfast is on there."

Grayon smirks. "How about you get your lazy ass up and get it yourself in the kitchen."

"It's not fair Dylan gets his brought to him."

"He let us stay. It's the least I can do," Grayson replies, setting the tray in front of me.

While they bicker back and forth, I stare down at the tray: pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast. It's too much. The smell is good, but my stomach churns at the sight.

"This is too much," I say quietly. "I don't have much of an appetite in the morning."

Grayson frowns, leaning against the wall. "I'll pack the rest for lunch, then."

"No, thanks," I mutter. "Just leave it in the fridge. I'll have it for dinner."

"I'm making you dinner."

I glance up, raising an eyebrow. "When did I say you could stay over?"

"When I saw how empty your fridge is."

Nick laughs. "He's right, you know. I don't want you living off takeout, either."

"Fine," I grumble.

Nick reaches for the tray. "We can share this, then--"

"Nope," Grayson interrupts, pointing toward the door. "In the kitchen."

"But, he-"

"Now."

Nick huffs and gets up, leaving with a dramatic sigh.

I stare at the food. Too much. Too many calories.

"Eat," Grayson says, his tone soft but firm.

I shake my head. "I can't. I feel nauseous,"

"Dylan, you need to eat."

"I told you, I don't have an appetite," I snap, my voice sharper than intended. "This isn't going to make me hungry."

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," I bite back, my chest tightening. "I don't want your help. Just leave me alone. This isn't your problem. You're just in my way."

Grayson's jaw tightens, and his expression hardens. "Fuck you"

"Same to you," I mutter, refusing to meet his eyes.

He grabs the tray and storms out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

I glance around the room. Bare walls. Bare shelves.

Bare life.
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Uploaded 10/28/24
Edited 01/18/25