Chapter Four
Dylan showered away the grime of a long day at work, then sprayed enough cologne to cover up his three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
The facial hair lining his neck had a few odd strays that didn’t lay uniform with the rest of his finely trimmed beard, and Dylan took his time clipping them with the tiny scissors Kaiden had bought him.
Honestly, most of Dylan’s hygiene routine and products had been at Kaiden’s behest. Kaiden had become the fairy godgay Dylan never realized he needed.
Granted, Dylan lost interest in all the upkeep of using a dozen different bottles for hair, skin, face, facial hair, sensitive skin, this or that, and whatever else.
But there were some things Dylan found himself keeping a routine for.
When it came to his body hair, Dylan let his chest and stomach grow as wildly as they wanted. Same with his arms and legs. He did trim his crotch hairs from time to time. Much like his beard, which itched a lot less now that he didn’t let it become unkempt.
After finishing his routine, he’d mostly air-dried, so he tossed his towel in the hamper and threw on a breezy outfit.
Since he’d grown up in Dorothy’s Home, he learned long ago to handle the lack of privacy any way he could.
As a grown man, strutting around in just a towel wasn’t going to cut it like when he lived here as a resident.
Dylan checked in on Jasmine, who was unwinding in one of the smaller bedrooms she’d claimed as her own.
Only her and Dylan had the privacy of their own rooms, while all the teen residents had to share their space.
But Jasmine tried to ensure the bigger rooms in the house went to those who bunked together.
Even when she saddled four to a single room, they landed the master bedroom with a built-in bathroom. Everyone compromised in their own ways.
“You sure you’re going to be good tonight?” Dylan poked his head into Jasmine’s room. “I’ll have my phone on if you need anything.”
Jasmine waved him off. “Go have fun. What have I said about clocking out?”
“And what have I said about not giving me an actual time sheet?”
Technically, Dylan only worked part-time at Dorothy’s Home, since that was all Jasmine could afford.
Still, it came with housing and food and peace of mind.
Truthfully, Dylan spent way more time giving back to the home that got him off the streets and gave him a chance at a future.
But he’d do it for free if Jasmine wanted.
“Just be careful, sweetie,” Jasmine said. “I’ve heard Himbos has been getting hit lately.”
Dylan quirked a brow, quizzically.
“Crime, hun.”
“Damn wicked gays.” Dylan tsked and shook his head disapprovingly before cracking a smile.
“It’s not a joke,” Jasmine clarified. “There have been muggings, assaults. It’s not always safe wandering around the wrong parts of downtown late at night.”
“Here I thought Himbos aimed to be one of those upscale clubs.”
“You know what I mean.” Jasmine pointed a finger, poking Dylan in the chest with her nail.
He rolled his eyes because, as ridiculous as it was, the warning was valid.
Sadly, it was the price of existing and the risk of creating openly queer spaces.
All the same, Dylan learned how to handle himself in precarious and dangerous elements years ago as a teenager who did what he had to do in order to get by before Jasmine dragged him off the streets and into her queer youth home.
“Now, just because you’re being safe doesn’t mean you can’t turn this into a fun weekend.” Jasmine did a little shimmy, enthusiastically smiling. “Take the weekend and really enjoy yourself, sweetie.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dylan grinned.
He did have the weekend off, which almost never happened between his side jobs, his holiday hustles, and his position at Dorothy’s Home. He took his job almost as seriously as Jasmine when it came to running the youth home, but she’d insisted he spend a little time being free from responsibility.
“Oh my God,” a high-pitched voice called out from behind Dylan. “Please tell me you’re not wearing that ugly ass outfit in public.”
Dylan frowned, taking in the judgmental once-over from the residential fashionista, Miguel Alvarado-Hernandez.
He was a short, slender teen with a bronze complexion, complemented by the oversized powder-pink polo that he kept tucked in the front and hanging out in the back.
Did Dylan question Miguel’s fashion choices?
Certainly, but only to himself. Miguel had already schooled him on trendsetting enough to make his head spin.
“I was just about to change,” Dylan said, making his way past Miguel and to his bedroom.
He slipped into some loose jeans and a crop top, which he hoped Rus might like.
“The 80s called and said you’re doing it wrong,” Miguel announced, inviting himself into Dylan’s room.
“The 80s called, and you answered?” Dylan asked, aghast. “Then why do you always send me to voicemail?”
“Fine, the 80s texted,” Miguel huffed, then plopped onto the edge of the bed.
Years of living in a home with so many teens rotating in and out had taught Dylan not to expect privacy of any kind.
“So, where you going?”
“Downtown.”
“Where downtown?”
“Thinking a biker bar, maybe a pool hall. I might just wander the streets aimlessly singing showtunes.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”
Dylan searched through his belts, trying to pick one out.
Miguel made a face at Dylan’s two choices, so he set them down and ran his hand over a rack where his belts hung.
It was like a metal detector, only instead of a beep, Miguel’s expression softened when Dylan’s hand landed on a choice he didn’t find revolting.
“So, going out with Kaiden?”
“Yup.”
“Again.”
“I guess.”
“You two hang out a lot.”
“When we can.” Dylan shrugged. “Our schedules can get pretty busy.”
“Must be hard, being away from him and all.”
“Excuse me?” Dylan fastened his belt and turned back to Miguel.
“Come on, we all know you two have a thing. Just wondering if you’re going to walk on eggshells the entire time.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, he’s your situationship.”
“I do not have a situationship.”
“Oh, so your DL boyfriend?” Miguel nodded affirmatively. “Good for you. Big step.”
“Kaiden is my friend,” Dylan said, quite slowly in a slightly mocking tone. “Not all queer men need a situationship.”
And maybe he’d contemplated a situationship at one point or another with Kaiden, but he really did like their friendship. If Dylan knew the first thing about healthy relationships, he’d have asked Kaiden out a lifetime ago. Now, he was content with their friendship and didn’t need Miguel’s mockery.
“Yeah, bitch, I know,” Miguel replied. “And not all friends need to spend their every waking minute of free time tied to each other, or text bullshit memes at all hours of the day, or—”
“Yes, they do!” Dylan protested. “That’s what friendship is.”
“Gurl, he could slap you in the face with his dick, and you’d say that was friendship.”
“Okay, first off, no one is slapping each other with their genitals,” Dylan said with the reddest face—so red, he felt the heat burn from his neck to his cheeks. “Second of all, where in the hell did this come from?”
“Am I the only one who—”
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Chelsea stormed into Dylan’s bedroom, arms flailing and bringing the heavy aroma of bleach wafting inside.
Chelsea Blisston used to be one of the sweet, quieter residents living at Dorothy’s Home.
While Dylan was grateful the timid trans girl had found her voice, he did wish it came with fewer profane outbursts.
Thanks to her friendship with the sassiest guy in town, she’d learned to drop a swear word with nearly every breath she took.
Miguel, naturally, encouraged the attitude.
“Are you gonna finish with my goddamn hair or sit in here jerking your dick all night?” Chelsea had foil around her hair, currently soaked in bleach products.
“Language,” Jasmine shouted from another room.
She was more of a stickler about vulgarities than Dylan, but she also put more effort into getting her teens ready for the world.
“Well, bitch?” Chelsea planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Miguel.
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” Miguel slid off the bed, giving Dylan a finger wave goodbye before turning to Chelsea.
“You sure you want to go with blue, pink, and purple? I get the whole bi pride blah, blah, blah, but your pasty ass face can’t handle those colors without looking like a wrecked ass meth head pop star doll. ”
“Fuck off, fruitcake.” Chelsea shoved a laughing Miguel.
He sidestepped away from her and started twerking. “Not a fruitcake, but a poundcake.”
“More like a pounded out cake,” Chelsea scoffed.
“You two are about to be a grounded out cake if you don’t watch your mouths,” Jasmine said from afar, making anyone in earshot burst out into a raging cackle.
With that, Dylan left a little early to avoid any more conversation from the house and considered where his evening with Rus and Kaiden would lead.
If he got lucky, he might be able to find someone for Kaiden to hit on so he could figure out if he and Rus had anything in common.
Well, enough in common to determine if Dylan wanted more than friendship and more than a casual fuck.
Although it had been a while since he’d rolled between anyone’s sheets.
He opened an app on his phone, doomscrolling through blank profiles, and contemplating just how much time he had before clubbing.
Dylan sighed. Was this a friend or a friend? He wanted to get clarification, but resigned himself to sending a polite, non-intrusive response.
Rus replied with a string of laughing cry faces.