As Dylan drove through the quiet, late-night streets, a glance to his right made his chest tighten. Flynn was slumped against the window, fast asleep, yet silent tears streaked down his cheeks. Every few seconds, a soft sob escaped him, the kind that only comes from a heart breaking in pieces. Dylan's own chest ached at the sound.
By the time they reached the apartment parking lot, Flynn was still crying. Dylan stepped out, circled the car, and gently lifted him onto his back again. Flynn's arms curled weakly around Dylan's shoulders as he continued to quietly sob, each tear warm against the side of Dylan's neck.
They rode the elevator in silence, the soft hum of the machinery doing nothing to mask the tiny, broken sniffles behind Dylan's ear. But just as they reached the apartment door—and before Dylan could slot the key into the lock—Flynn's arms tightened around him. His grip wasn't forceful, but desperate, trembling, as if he were clinging to the last thing holding him together.
"Take me to the rooftop..." Flynn whispered, voice hoarse, fragile, pleading.
Dylan froze for a heartbeat. Then, without question, he turned away from the door and headed toward the fire exit. He didn't take the elevator this time—Flynn's request didn't feel like something that belonged in bright, enclosed spaces. So he chose the stairs.
With each flight, Flynn's sobs grew softer but more painful, like he was breaking in slow motion. Every few steps, Dylan heard the same word escape him—shaky, small, childlike.
"Pa..."
It hit Dylan like a knife each time.
His feet hurt, his back ached from carrying Flynn's weight, and sweat clung to his skin despite the cold. But none of it mattered. Not when he could feel Flynn's heartbreak shaking through him. Not when the sound of Flynn quietly crying into his shoulder felt heavier than the body he was carrying.
By the time they reached the top floor, the cold wind rushed in to meet them. Dylan stepped onto the rooftop, scanning the space until he found an old metal bench near the edge. Carefully, he lowered Flynn onto it, making sure he was steady before sitting beside him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Flynn stared out at the city, lights flickering like a thousand distant stars. Below them, life moved quietly—cars humming, the breeze whispering through the metal rails. Everything felt far away, muted, like the world knew someone up here was hurting and chose not to intrude.
Dylan didn't look at the view.
He only looked at Flynn.
Dylan felt it—the heaviness, the grief, the ache that wasn't his but somehow lived in his chest anyway. He could feel Flynn breaking beside him, and all he could do was sit there... be the anchor he needed... and carry the pieces until Flynn could breathe again.
The wind blew gently, brushing past them, cold and soft.
"Ever since my mother passed away, no one took care of me except my father. Even though he doesn't really know how to manage a household, he does it without complaint. Even if he can't cook well, he keeps trying so we won't go hungry. And though sometimes he doesn't seem to think things through, he always finds a way to provide for us," Flynn said, his voice trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared into the distance.
Suddenly, his sobs broke through. Dylan gently rested Flynn's head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Flynn, holding him close, brushing his hair gently while Flynn's sobs continued against his shoulder.
"I've accepted that he's going to have a new family," Flynn continued between sniffles. "But... it still hurts. It feels like I've lost my father too. No one's going to wash my clothes and mix up the colors because he doesn't separate them properly. No one's going to fry those burnt eggs in the morning. No one's going to... no one's going to mess up like he used to."
Dylan's own eyes began to sting. He wrapped his arms around Flynn, holding him close, brushing his hair gently while Flynn's sobs continued against his shoulder.
"You haven't lost your father, Flynn," Dylan murmured softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "Even if he has a new family now, he's still here. You're still his only child. You'll still see him, always. And I'll take care of the rest. From now on, I'll do the laundry for you. Even if all the clothes get mixed together, we'll buy more and I'll wash them over and over until they look like a rainbow. I'll fry your eggs every morning, even burn them worse than your dad ever did. Everything your father used to do for you? I'll do it twice as well."
Tears finally slipped down Dylan's cheeks, but he kept his composure, holding Flynn steady. Gently, he lifted Flynn's head from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.
"Flynn, I promise you... apart from your father, no one else will love you this much. Only me. I will love you with all my heart. I may never match the love your father gave you, but I promise... I will love you."
He leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Flynn's forehead, sealing his promise in a quiet, unspoken vow.