Dylan Skylar
I wake up to the soft nudging of my shoulder, the persistent touch dragging me out of a dreamless sleep. My eyes flutter open, heavy and unwilling, and I’m met with a familiar face hovering over me.
“Dylan?”
His voice is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure I’m real.
“Grayson, what do you want?” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Dylan? That’s you?”
I sigh, letting my head fall back against the pillow. “I hope so.”
I sit up, groggy, and blink at him. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open like I just told him I ran over his dog or something.
I frown. “Do I have something on me?”
“What happened to your hair?”
I run a hand through the short strands, feeling the emptiness where the weight used to be. “I donated it.”
“Oh.”
There’s a pause. A long one.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Six in the morning.”
“Good night.” I flop back onto the mattress and pull the blanket over my head.
The left side of my bed dips, and I feel the warmth of him sitting beside me.
“Did you just get back?” I ask, my voice muffled.
“Yeah, took longer than expected. Too much traffic on the way here.”
I peek out from under the blanket. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
“I wanted to.”
I roll onto my side, facing him now. Even in the dim lighting, I can see the exhaustion lining his face. His eyes are soft, but there’s something behind them, concern, guilt.
“I’m sick,” I mutter, breaking the silence.
“I know. I can hear it in your voice.”
I pull the blanket higher. “Don’t get near me.”
Grayson smiles—just a small twitch of his lips. “But I want to. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re such a dumbass.”
He grins wider. “Your dumbass though.”
“That’s gay.”
“Nothing bad about that.”
I hum in response, my throat too raw to argue.
“How long have you been sick?” He asks, his voice quieter now.
“Since the day after Thanksgiving. Jason got me sick.”
“Who's been taking care of you?”
“Stephanie and Jason. Nick comes around occasionally, but he’s been busy with his new girlfriend. I gave him a box of condoms ‘cause I don’t want a kid calling me uncle just yet.”
Grayson laughs, shaking his head. “My sister’s kids call you uncle.”
“Well, they’re an exception.”
“Lucky them.”
“Yeah,” I say, letting the quiet settle again. “Jason proposed to Stephanie during Thanksgiving dinner, so you missed that too.”
“I know,” He says. “Jason doesn’t know how to keep quiet about things. I saw all his stories.”
I huff a laugh. “Surprisingly, he didn’t tell you I’ve been sick all this time. Good. You get annoying when you’re worried.”
Grayson leans back against the headboard, arms crossed. “Insisting on having you eat should not be seen as annoying. I see more bone than meat on you.”
“I like it that way,” I murmur. “I was getting too fat.”
His expression darkens, and his voice turns stern. “Dylan, you’ve always been extremely skinny. The skinnier you get, the less energy you have. You lack sleep on top of that, and you’re getting paler. I’m sorry for pushing you to eat, but I don’t want you passing out one day because of the lack of nutrients.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut.
Because I know he’s right.
But it’s hard to change now.
I’ve been doing this for so long.
All because of him.
I look away, swallowing hard. “I hate you, Grayson King.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look surprised. He just watches me, a quiet understanding in his gaze.
“I know,” He says.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
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Uploaded 11/14/24
Edited 01/21/52
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Hate (BL)
Non-FictionDylan Skylar and Grayson King were once best friends, but middle school changed everything when Grayson became cold and cruel, leaving Dylan with years of hurt and resentment. Now in their late twenties, they work at the same company, where Grayson...
