Dylan and Milo

by SalientLane

Part 1

Dylan Lee's fingers trembled as he buttoned his new shirt, the crisp fabric a stark contrast to the raw welts hidden beneath. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the hollow-eyed boy gazing back.

"You can do this," he whispered, echoing his mother's words from his dreams. But the comforting visions of Celeste faded with the morning light, leaving only the dull ache of loss.

The walk to school felt endless. Each step was a battle against the urge to turn back, to curl up in his bed and pretend the world didn't exist. But Dylan pushed on, his mother's gentle encouragement a phantom presence at his side.

The bustling hallways of Oakwood Middle School were a cacophony of excitement and nervous energy. Dylan kept his head down, weaving through clusters of chattering students.

"Watch it, new kid!" someone shouted as a tall boy with unruly dark hair stumbled into Dylan's path.

"Sorry!" the boy said, flashing an apologetic grin. "I'm Milo. Just moved here and I'm totally lost."

Dylan found himself smiling back, surprising himself. "I'm Dylan. Where are you headed?"

As they compared schedules, Dylan felt a tiny spark of something he hadn't experienced in months: hope.

The cafeteria was a sea of unfamiliar faces. Dylan's stomach knotted with anxiety as he scanned for an empty table.

"Hey, want to sit together?" Milo Pittman appeared at his elbow, tray in hand.

Relief washed over Dylan. "Yeah, that'd be great."

They settled at a corner table, Milo launching into a story about his mom's new job as a judge. Dylan listened, grateful for the distraction from his own thoughts.

Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal erupted from across the room. "Rat! There's a rat loose!"

Chaos erupted as students scrambled onto chairs and tables. Dylan's heart raced, but a part of him relished the pandemonium – anything to drown out the constant hum of grief.

"We should help catch it," Milo said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Dylan hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Milo grabbed Dylan's hand, pulling him into the fray.

What followed was a slapstick comedy of near-misses and close calls. Dylan found himself laughing for the first time in months as he and Milo chased the elusive rodent under tables. Through the kitchen. Between the legs of their surprised classmates. "Excuse us," Dylan began, ". . .we're on a mission!" Milo finished.

Finally, with a triumphant "Gotcha!" Milo scooped the rat into an empty lunch box. The cafeteria erupted in cheers.

As they handed the rat back to its sheepish owner, Dylan caught Milo's eye. In that moment, something shifted. The weight on his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

"That was actually kind of fun," Dylan admitted.

Milo grinned. "Told you. I have a feeling we're going to be pals, Dylan."

For the first time since his mother's death, Dylan felt a flicker of genuine happiness. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive this after all.

The locker room buzzed with pre-gym chatter, but Dylan's stomach churned as he approached his locker. He glanced nervously at Milo, who was already changing nearby.

"Hey," Milo said softly, positioning himself between Dylan and the rest of the boys. "You okay?"

Dylan nodded, grateful for the shield. "Yeah, thanks."

As they changed, Milo kept up a steady stream of conversation, drawing attention away from Dylan. "So, what do you think Coach has planned for us today? Hopefully not another round of dodgeball."

Dylan managed a weak smile. "Anything but that," he murmured, quickly slipping on his gym shirt.

Out on the field, Coach Johnson bellowed, "Alright, time to pick teams for soccer!"

Before anyone else could move, Milo's hand shot up. "I pick Dylan!"

Dylan's chest tightened with emotion. This was the third time Milo had chosen him first, ensuring he wouldn't have to remove his shirt for team assignments. As if Milo knew. But he couldn't know. Milo only seemed to notice that Dylan was shy about his body, but he'd asked no questions.

As they jogged to their side of the field, Dylan whispered, "Thanks, Milo."

Milo's eyes crinkled with warmth. "What friends are for."

Later, as they walked to their next class, Dylan overheard whispers.

"There go Dylan and Milo again," someone snickered. "They're like, joined at the hip."

A more contemptuous voice cut in. "Maybe they're boyfriends."

Dylan froze, his face burning. But Milo spun around, towering over the speaker – J.D., the class jerk.

"And what if we were?" Milo challenged, his voice steady. "Would that be a problem?"

J.D. faltered, clearly not expecting the confrontation. "I… uh…"

"That's what I thought," Milo said coolly. "Come on, Dylan."

As they walked away, Dylan's heart raced. "You didn't have to do that," he mumbled.

Milo shrugged. "Yes, I did. No one talks about my best friend like that."

Dylan's breath caught. Best friend. The words settled over him like a warm blanket, chasing away the chill of loneliness he'd carried for so long.

The autumn sun hung low in the sky as Dylan and Milo walked side by side, their backpacks swinging in rhythm. They'd taken to spending most afternoons together after school, and today was no different. Except, there was one thing different about today. It was Dylan's thirteenth birthday.

Dylan's heart raced as he tore open the wrapping paper, revealing not one, but two presents from Milo. His best friend watched with an eager grin, practically bouncing on his toes.

"No way," Dylan breathed, holding up the t-shirt. "Ratbusters? You didn't!"

Milo laughed, pulling out an identical shirt from his backpack. "Oh, I did. Matching shirts for the dynamic duo who saved Oakwood Middle School from the Great Cafeteria Rat Invasion of '22."

Dylan's mind flashed back to that chaotic day - screaming students, him and Milo crawling on the cafeteria floor, armed with nothing but lunch trays and determination, cornering that wily rodent. It was the day that had cemented their friendship.

"This is amazing," Dylan said, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe you remembered."

"How could I forget? It was the day I met my partner in crime-fighting… and everything else."

Dylan's cheeks warmed at Milo's words. He set the shirt aside, noticing there was still something else in the gift bag. His breath caught as he pulled out a plastic-wrapped comic book.

"Is this…?" Dylan's hands trembled as he turned it over, revealing the familiar Sandman logo and the number 25. "Holy crap, Milo. This is the one issue I'm missing! How did you even find this?"

Milo shrugged, but his eyes sparkled with pride. "I have my ways. And I know how much you love those creepy Dead Boy Detective guys."

"Rowland and Paine," Dylan corrected automatically, then shook his head in disbelief. "This must have cost a fortune."

"Hey, what are basically-brothers for?" Milo said casually, throwing an arm around Dylan's shoulders.

Dylan felt a rush of warmth spread through him, as comforting as curling up by a fireplace with a soft blanket. And a best friend, he added mentally, leaning into Milo's embrace.

"Thank you," Dylan whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. "This means a lot to me. I mean. . . I. . ." Words failed him. It was on the tip of his tongue. ( I love you. )

"So, where to?" Milo asked, his eyes bright with mischief. "Arcade? Park? Or are you finally going to let me see your comic book collection?"

Dylan's stomach clenched. He forced a smile. "How about we hit up that new ice cream place instead?"

Milo raised an eyebrow. "Again? That's the third time this week. You know, we could always hang at your place for a change."

Dylan's palms began to sweat. He scrambled for an excuse. "Uh, my dad's… renovating. Yeah. The whole place is a mess."

"Oh," Milo said, his tone casual. "Well, we could go to mine then. Mom's been asking when she'll finally get to meet you."

Dylan's heart raced. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a friend's house. Years. "Really? She wants to meet me?"

Milo laughed. "Of course, dummy. I talk about you all the time."

As they walked, Dylan's mind whirled. What would Milo's house be like? Would his mom be nice? The thought of a warm, welcoming home made his chest ache with longing.

"Here we are," Milo announced, stopping in front of a tidy two-story house with a well-manicured lawn. And an empty garage. "Looks like Mom's working late, though. She doesn't keep regular hours."

Dylan hesitated at the foot of the driveway. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I should probably head home."

Milo's face fell. "What? Why?"

"I just… I don't want to impose," Dylan mumbled, shame burning in his chest. How could he explain that he didn't belong in a place like this?

Milo's hand found his shoulder. "Hey, you're never imposing. You're my best friend, remember?"

Those words again. Best friend. Dylan looked up, meeting Milo's concerned gaze. For a moment, he wanted to tell him everything – about his dad, the beatings, the constant fear. But the words stuck in his throat.

"Okay," he said instead, managing a small smile. "Let's go in."

As they walked up the path, Dylan silently vowed to keep his secret safe. He couldn't risk losing Milo. Not when he was the only good thing in his life.

Dylan lay curled on the couch, homework scattered on the coffee table, the TV flickering in the dark living room. A key turned in the front door. Dylan's eyes snapped open. His heart sped up. Dad was home.

Heavy, uneven footsteps in the entryway. The door slammed. Chris staggered into the living room, eyes bloodshot. The reek of alcohol. He glared down at Dylan with pure loathing.

"What're you doing up?" Chris slurred, looming over him.

Dylan swallowed hard. "I-I was just finishing homework. I'm sorry, I'll go to bed—"

A meaty hand clamped around his arm. "You're sorry? You'll be sorry."

Terror flooded Dylan as his father dragged him toward the basement door. Not again. Please, not again.

"Dad, please," he whimpered. "I didn't mean to—"

The back of Chris's hand cracked across Dylan's cheek. Tears stung Dylan's eyes as Chris dragged him stumbling toward the basement. No, not again, please God no…

The basement. Cold concrete. Soundproofed walls.

Chris shoved him against the wall. "Shirt. Off. Now."

Dylan's fingers trembled as he peeled off his t-shirt. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them back. Crying only made it worse. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

Ugly purple bruises and scabbed-over lash marks crisscrossed the boy's back. Chris uncoiled his heavy braided leather belt, the one he only used for beatings.

"Hands on the wall," Chris growled.

Trembling, Dylan obeyed. The first lash seared across his shoulder blades. Dylan screamed. Another stroke, lower on his back. Blinding, burning agony. Dylan sobbed as the belt rose and fell, laying his flesh open.

"Shut up!" Chris roared, striking harder. Belt whistling through the air. The buckle gouged his side.

Dylan's legs gave out. He crumpled to the floor, curling into himself as the beating continued.

Mom, he thought desperately. I need you.

But she was gone. And he was alone.

Dylan lay crumpled on the cold basement floor, facing the wall. Each shuddering breath sent new waves of agony across his raw, bleeding back. He whimpered softly, too weak to even cry anymore.

Tap tap tap. A faint sound from the basement window. Dylan froze, heart pounding. Tap tap. There it was again. Just leave me alone, he thought. But something deep inside him stirred. Go, answer it.

Gritting his teeth, Dylan struggled to his feet. He nearly passed out from the pain. Somehow he managed to stumble up the stairs and crack open the door.

Milo stood there, eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God, Dylan…"

Dylan swayed on his feet. "Milo?"

"I had to come. You didn't answer your phone. I knew something was wrong." Milo reached for him. His voice fell to a whisper. "Jesus, your back…"

Milo's arms encircled him gently. The hug was agony on Dylan's raw wounds, but he didn't pull away. Months of pent-up tears spilled out as Milo held him close.

"It's my dad," Dylan whispered. "He… he blames me for Mom."

"Shh, it's okay," Milo whispered. "I'm here now. I've got you."

Tears spilled down Milo's cheeks. "This isn't your fault. None of it."

Dylan sobbed into Milo's shoulder, body shaking. Haltingly, he choked out the whole awful story - the beatings, the blame, the crippling loneliness.

"You're so brave," Milo murmured, rubbing his back gently. "I'm so sorry, Dyl. You don't deserve any of this."

Dylan just clung to him and wept, overwhelmed by pain and relief. Milo was here. He wasn't alone anymore. For the first time in forever, he felt a tiny flicker of hope.

They sank to the floor together, arms around each other, as the last of Dylan's walls crumbled. He had nothing left to hide. Milo knew, and he was still here, still embracing him. Maybe, just maybe, things could get better now. Maybe he wasn't so alone after all.

Milo's arm encircled Dylan, the two boys sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor. Dylan's shirt was gone, revealing cuts scabbing over on his back. He slumped against Milo, fatigue and pain etched on his face. Milo didn't care about the blood staining his own shirt. All he cared about was Dylan.

"How did you find me?" Dylan asked, voice hoarse. He looked at Milo with shadowed eyes.

Milo's jaw tightened. "I asked Kylie. She used to ride the bus with you, and I told her we were friends. I said… I was worried about you. So she told me where you lived. She says you walk to school now."

"Yeah," Dylan sighed. "We live a lot closer to the middle school. There's no need to ride the bus, I can be there in five minutes."

An unspoken understanding passed between them. Over the past months, since the start of term, they'd grown unaccountably close. Milo was drawn to Dylan's humor, his cleverness, the easy way he charmed people. And Dylan - guarded, wary Dylan - had let Milo in. Let him get close.

Best friends. But tonight, it even went beyond that. Tonight, Milo felt Dylan was his brother. And brothers protected each other.

Milo loved him. He knew that now with startling clarity. He pulled Dylan a little closer, mindful of his wounds.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Dylan made a choked sound. Tears glimmered in his eyes. He turned his face into Milo's shoulder.

They sat in silence, clinging to each other, as the night deepened around them.

Milo's hand rubbed soothing circles on Dylan's back, carefully avoiding the cuts. "You can't stay here tonight, Dyl. Your dad almost killed you. He's going to kill you if you don't get away from him. Come home with me tonight. We'll figure everything out later."

Dylan shook his head against Milo's shoulder. "I can't, Milo. Dad will kill me." His voice was small, trembling.

"I'm afraid he really is going to kill you." Milo's throat felt tight. He pulled back slightly, his hand on Dylan's shoulder, meeting his haunted eyes. "Come home and stay with me tonight. You'll be safe with me. Don't stay here with your dad. He shouldn't even be your dad if he can't love you. Please."

Fresh tears spilled down Dylan's cheeks at Milo's words. Milo pulled him close again, crying with him, holding him tenderly, mindful of his pain. Dylan clung to him, this friend who fearlessly loved him, who called him brother, who swore to protect him.

Stay and risk his father's wrath, or go with Milo to safety and love? The choice was clear.

Wordlessly, Dylan pulled away and tried to get to his feet. Milo helped him stand. He reached for a shirt with shaking hands. He stuffed some essentials into a plastic bag.

Together, they crept from the house, past Dylan's father who lay passed out, oblivious. Out into the night, not looking back.

At Milo's house, his mother intercepted them at the door, taking in their disheveled state with concern. "Where did you go so late, son?"

Milo met her gaze steadily. "Sorry, Mom. It's my buddy, Dylan. He's having some trouble at home. His mom died and his father is not a good person. He needs to stay here tonight. I mean, he really needs our help. Trust me. I'll explain everything tomorrow, I promise. Please, just trust me."

Margaret Pittman looked from her son's earnest face to the trembling, broken boy at his side. Dylan, whom she had heard so much about. Milo had talked about his new friend constantly the past few months. But never any mention of any family problems. Slowly, she nodded. "All right. We'll talk in the morning. Get him settled."

Relief flooded through Milo. He guided Dylan upstairs to the safety of his room, closing the door behind them.

They were safe, for tonight. Everything else could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered was Dylan was here, and Milo would let nothing hurt him again.

Milo's bedroom door clicked shut, enclosing them in a space that felt like a sanctuary. Dylan stood motionless, his eyes hollow and lost.

"Why don't you take the bed?" Milo offered gently. "After everything you've gone through tonight, it's going to be hard to sleep as it is. I'll sleep on the floor."

Dylan didn't argue, just shuffled towards the bed and sank down onto the edge of the mattress. "Think you'll be able to go to school tomorrow?" Milo asked as he rummaged for spare pajamas.

A humorless laugh escaped Dylan's lips. "My dad never lets me miss school, even if I can't breathe."

Milo's heart clenched at the matter-of-fact statement. He changed into his pajama bottoms. He didn't put a shirt on. Dylan stared blankly at the proffered pajama bottoms and t-shirt.

"I know this sounds a little weird but…" Dylan's voice was barely audible. "Would you mind sleeping in the bed too? I have nightmares."

Without hesitation, Milo nodded. "Of course. Whatever you need, Dyl."

Dylan managed to pull on the soft cotton pants, but grimaced at the thought of a shirt against his ravaged skin. Milo retrieved a tube of antibiotic cream from the bathroom.

"Here, lie on your stomach," he instructed quietly.

Dylan obeyed, too exhausted to feel self-conscious. Milo perched on the edge of the bed and began gently dabbing ointment onto the crisscrossed welts marring Dylan's back. His friend flinched but made no sound.

Task complete, Milo set the cream aside and slid under the covers. Dylan rolled gingerly onto his side, facing Milo. In the dim light, their eyes met - a thousand unspoken words passing between them.

Gradually, Dylan's rigid body relaxed, his breathing evened out. Milo fought the urge to gather him close, to cocoon him in safety and warmth. He wanted to hold him.

Sleep crept in, entangling the two boys together. As he drifted off, Milo made a silent vow. No matter what came next, he would stand between Dylan and anyone who tried to harm him.

Brother. Protector. Friend. He would be all of those and more.

Milo awoke to the early morning sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains. Dylan lay curled up beside him, his injuries from the night before still raw and painful looking. Milo's heart clenched at the sight of his friend, his love, so badly hurt. Dylan's bare back was pressed against Milo's chest, warm skin against warm skin. Milo felt each rise and fall of Dylan's breath, synchronizing with his own.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Dylan's sleep, Milo lifted himself up on one elbow to gaze down at his friend's peaceful face. Even with the bruises and cuts, he was still the most beautiful sight Milo had ever seen. Dylan's dark lashes fanned out against his pale cheeks, his soft lips slightly parted as he slept. In sleep, the lines of pain and fear smoothed from his brow, making him look younger, more innocent.

A surge of fierce protectiveness washed over Milo. Seeing Dylan so hurt, so vulnerable, had lit a fire inside him. He knew in that moment that he would do anything, give anything, to keep Dylan safe. To shield him from ever being harmed like this again. Even lay down his own life, if that's what it took. Because Dylan was everything to him. More than just a friend or a brother. The other half of his heart.

And maybe, just maybe, Dylan felt the same way. There had been signs, little things that Milo had barely let himself notice before. The way Dylan's gaze would linger on him sometimes, soft and warm. The way he always seemed to find an excuse to touch Milo - a casual hand on his arm, leaning into his side. Insisting on sharing a bed last night, claiming nightmares… when really, Milo suspected, he just wanted to be close. To feel safe and loved.

Well, Milo vowed, from now on Dylan would never have to doubt that he was loved. Cherished. Adored with every fiber of Milo's being. The depth of emotion that Milo felt, gazing at Dylan's face in the soft morning light, nearly took his breath away. He ached to reach out and trace the curve of Dylan's cheek, to press a tender kiss to his brow. But for now, he resisted the urge, letting his battered friend sleep on. There would be time enough later to show Dylan how much he meant to him. For now, Milo was content just to hold him close, to revel in the miraculous reality of Dylan in his arms. His to protect, his to love, for all the days to come.

Dylan's eyelids fluttered open, hazy blue eyes slowly focusing on Milo's face. A smile tugged at his lips, even as pain flickered across his features. "Hey, sleepyhead," Milo murmured, voice soft with affection. "How you feelin'?"

Dylan took a slow breath, awareness seeping back in. The throbbing ache of his wounds, the events of last night… but eclipsing it all, the wonderful, impossible fact of waking up in Milo's arms. "Better, now that you're here," he rasped out. "Is this… is this okay?" He gestured vaguely at their close-twined bodies, bare skin pressed together.

Milo's heart swelled with tenderness. "More than okay," he assured, pulling Dylan a fraction closer. "This is exactly where I want to be."

Dylan's answering smile was like the sun coming out. Gingerly, he pushed himself up on one elbow, bringing his face level with Milo's on the pillow. Milo hardly dared to breathe. Slowly, giving Milo every chance to pull away, Dylan leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against Milo's cheek.

Milo's eyes drifted closed as he savored the sweet tenderness of Dylan's lips on his skin. When Dylan started to pull back, Milo chased after him, capturing Dylan's mouth in a true kiss, gentle but lingering. He felt more than heard Dylan's shaky exhale against his lips.

"We're not just buddies, are we," Dylan whispered as they parted. It wasn't really a question.

"You're my best friend, Dyl," Milo said, cupping Dylan's cheek in his hand. "But no. We're more than that. So much more. That's why I need you to be safe. Why I'll do anything to protect you. Because I love you."

"I love you too, Milo," Dylan breathed. Tears glimmered in his eyes, but he was smiling, radiant. "I'm so glad you moved here. It's like… you were what was missing. With you, I feel whole again. Thank you. For everything."

"I'll take care of you forever, if that's what you want," Milo vowed.

"It's what I want," Dylan said, absolutely certain. "You and me, for keeps. From here on out."

From down the hall, the sound of approaching footsteps broke into their perfect moment. Milo's mom, up and about. Reluctantly, the boys disentangled themselves, putting a chaste distance between their bodies… though they couldn't keep from exchanging heated, meaningful looks.

A soft knock on the bedroom door. "Milo? Dylan? Are you boys awake?" Margaret called softly.

The door swung open and Milo's mother stepped inside. Her keen eyes took in the scene - Dylan and Milo in bed together, shirtless, faces still flushed, and a spark of realization lit in her expression. These two had become very close indeed in a short time. More than friends, unless she missed her guess. But she carefully kept any hint of judgment from her face.

"What happened?" she asked gently, coming to perch on the edge of the bed. Her motherly gaze swept over Dylan, taking in the pain he tried to hide, the way he leaned towards Milo like a flower to the sun. Her son's new… boyfriend? soulmate?… had clearly been through something terrible. And she intended to find out what, and how she could help.

Dylan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Milo's mother was looking at him with such open concern, such genuine kindness, that it made his heart ache. He hadn't felt a mother's caring attention like that since…

Since his own mom died. The reminder was like a knife to the chest.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. How could he even begin to explain the horror story that was his life at home? The constant abuse, the blame and hatred from his father, the soul-crushing loneliness?

Sensing his struggle, Milo reached out to take Dylan's hand, lacing their fingers together. He gave a gentle, encouraging squeeze. "It's okay," he murmured, softly. "You can trust her. My mom will help you. I promise."

Drawing strength from Milo's support, Dylan took a deep, shaky breath and began to talk. Haltingly at first, then with growing urgency, the awful tale spilled out.

"My mother had gestational diabetes when she was pregnant with me. It's why I was her only child. After I was born, the diabetes became permanent - Type 1. She tried so hard but could never get it under control."

Dylan's voice cracked but he pushed on. "Her kidneys failed. I wanted to donate one of mine but she was too sick. Couldn't handle dialysis. In the end, her heart gave out too. Diabetes completely destroyed her."

He looked up at Margaret, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "My dad blames me. For all of it. He says if I hadn't been born, she'd still be alive and healthy."

The tears spilled over, tracking silently down Dylan's cheeks. "He hates me. He always hated me, even before Mom died. Takes every chance to beat me, usually on my back, with his belt. Till I bleed. If I cry, it just makes him whip harder. I… I have scars."

Dylan's shoulders shook with repressed sobs. "Milo's the only one I ever told. No one else knows. Except you, now."

He dropped his gaze, chin tucked to his chest. Waiting for her horrified reaction, for her to recoil from his brokenness and damage.

But Margaret surprised him.

"May I look at your back, Dylan?" she asked gently.

Dylan turned slowly, his face burning with shame as he exposed his back to her. Margaret couldn't suppress a gasp of horror as she took in the brutal wounds marring his skin.

His back was a patchwork of angry scabbed cuts and deep purple and sickly yellow bruises, the flesh mangled and swollen despite it being hours since his father had beaten him. The injuries looked excruciatingly painful.

Margaret felt a surge of anger and protectiveness towards this sweet boy. No one, especially not a parent, should ever treat their child this way. Dylan had suffered alone for far too long.

"I'm taking you to the Emergency room so they can look at you," Margaret said firmly, making a decision. "I'm also not going to let your father anywhere near you again."

Cupping Dylan's face tenderly in her hands, Margaret watched as his eyes filled with tears, his lower lip trembling. When was the last time he had felt a loving maternal touch like this? Not since his mother passed away, most likely. Her heart ached for him.

Milo leaned closer and put a comforting arm around Dylan's shoulders. A simple gesture, but one conveying so much - friendship, solidarity, brotherhood, family. Dylan did not fully realize it yet, but he was no longer alone in this.

He had Margaret and Milo now. People who cared about him, who would protect him and give him the love he deserved. They were his family now. He wasn't alone.

Dylan winced as the doctor pressed on a particularly tender bruise along his ribcage. The stark white of the hospital room seemed to amplify every ache, every throb of pain. While the doctor examined him, an officer stood nearby, her face etched with concern.

"Dylan, I need you to tell me how this happened," she said gently. Her eyes flicked to the angry red lacerations criss-crossing his back, now being carefully photographed by the doctor for evidence.

Milo squeezed Dylan's hand, steadying him. Dylan took a shaky breath. "It was my dad. He's been… beating me for years. Since before my mom died."

The words came tumbling out--the brutal blows, the shouted accusations, the nights curled on the floor sobbing. "He blames me. For my mom getting sick. Dying. Says it's my fault." Dylan's voice cracked.

"Did he ever hit your mother too?" the officer asked.

"Yeah, he used to slap her around. But never like he does me. I guess I'm his punching bag now that she's gone." Dylan felt a flare of bitter resentment. It wasn't fair. None of it was his fault.

Margaret, who had been on the phone in the corner speaking in low, clipped tones, came over and rested a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "Don't worry honey, he won't lay a hand on you ever again. Not if I have anything to say about it." Her voice rang with fierce determination.

The officer nodded. "We'll make sure you're safe, Dylan. Your father will be in custody soon and Judge Pittman will be your temporary guardian. You're in good hands."

Dylan sagged back against the pillow, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. It was over. The nightmare of beatings and beratement, ended after all this time. He glanced over at Milo, who hadn't left his side, stalwart and steadfast.

As the officer turned to Milo to get his statement, Milo gripped Dylan's hand harder, his words tumbling out in a rush. "He's my best friend. We only met at the beginning of this school year back in August. We're brothers now. We hit it off. I didn't know what was going on in Dylan's life. He was ashamed, and didn't tell anyone. Never wanted me to come over to his house, so we always did other stuff. He didn't want anybody in gym class to see him with his shirt off, so I sort of guarded him while he changed clothes. Now I understand why. His dad was beating him all this time. I wish I'd known earlier. We might have stopped it sooner. I saw him right after his dad beat him last night--I couldn't believe it. I made him come home with me. I thought his dad was going to kill him if he stayed there! It's not safe for him. He's my brother. It's my job to keep him safe."

Dylan felt tears pricking his eyes as he gazed at Milo. His throat felt tight with emotion. Through all the darkness, all the pain, Milo had been his guiding light. His guardian angel. The one person who saw him, really saw him, and refused to let him suffer alone anymore.

In that moment, Dylan didn't need words. His face said it all - the pure love, the boundless gratitude shining in his eyes as he looked at the boy who saved his life, in every way a person can be saved. His best friend. His brother.

His everything.

Dylan carefully placed his stack of comics into a cardboard box, wincing slightly as he straightened up. Milo noticed his discomfort and gently took the box from him.

"Here, let me get that. Why don't you sit for a minute and rest your back?" Milo set the box down and guided Dylan to sit on the bed.

"Thanks, Milo. I don't know what I'd do without you," Dylan said gratefully, reaching out to squeeze Milo's hand. A current of deep affection passed between them, reflecting their newfound bond beyond friendship.

Milo smiled softly and brought Dylan's hand to his lips for a tender kiss. "I'll always be here for you. We're in this together now."

Dylan's heart swelled with love and appreciation for this amazing boy who had been his best friend and now meant so much more. Though his body still ached, Milo's steadfast presence soothed him like a balm.

They resumed packing, Milo handling the heavier items while Dylan sorted through odds and ends - a weathered soccer ball, a few action figures, some dog-eared notebooks. Each held precious memories.

Dylan and Milo walked through the strangely quiet house together, emptying his closet and dresser, adding a framed photograph of Dylan's mother--and Milo found a framed photo of Dylan as a cute little boy, and he added it, too. "I want this," he said simply, hugging it to his chest.

"Go ahead and take it," Dylan said, smiling. "I can't imagine Dad even caring that it's missing."

Dylan carefully placed his worn soccer cleats into the closet, his fingers brushing over the scuffed leather.

"Making progress?" Milo appeared in the doorway, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Slowly but surely." Dylan returned the smile, his heart fluttering at the sight of his boyfriend. "Did your mom need any help with dinner?"

Milo shook his head. "Nah, she wants us to focus on getting you settled." He stepped closer, slipping his arms around Dylan's waist. "How are you doing with all this?"

"Honestly? It still doesn't quite feel real," Dylan admitted, leaning into Milo's embrace. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and be back in that house, with him."

"Never again," Milo said fiercely, tightening his hold. "This is your home now. With me, with us."

Moisture prickled at the corners of Dylan's eyes. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

A throat cleared softly, startling them apart. Margaret stood there, her expression warm and understanding. "Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to talk to you both about the living arrangements."

Dylan's stomach tumbled nervously, but he met her gaze. "Of course."

"Dylan, I've set up the guest room for you," Margaret began, gesturing down the hall. "It's right next to Milo's room, with the jack-and-jill bathroom in between. But I want you to know, you don't have to stay in there if it doesn't feel right."

Milo made a confused noise. Margaret held up a hand.

"Officially, that will be 'Dylan's room'. But Dylan, if you feel safer, more comfortable staying in here with Milo, that's completely fine. It's your choice."

Hope bloomed in Dylan's chest, bright and buoyant. "Really? You'd be okay with that?"

"The way I see it, you two are already partners in the ways that matter most." Margaret's eyes shone with affection and acceptance. "I know this isn't a normal situation. We'll have to keep things discreet, since you'll be my foster son while we sort out the adoption. But I would never try to keep you apart. I honestly don't think I could, even if I wanted to."

"Adoption?" The word burst from Dylan's lips, almost of its own volition.

Margaret smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "Sweetheart, after what your father did… he's going to be behind bars for a long time. I want to give you a real home. Permanently."

"But what about…" Dylan swallowed hard. "What about relatives? I'm not sure, but there might be an aunt, or-"

"We'll sort all that out," Margaret promised. "But Dylan, there's nowhere else I'd rather you be. I felt like I suddenly woke up today with two sons instead of one."

Tears spilled down Dylan's face, his whole body trembling. "I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"Oh, honey." Margaret pulled him into a tender hug. "You never have to thank me. Not for this."

Milo joined them, his own eyes bright with unshed tears. He pressed his face into Dylan's hair, his voice muffled but fervent. "We're going to be a family. All of us, together."

Dylan held on to them both, joy and relief cascading through him. He'd spent so long simply trying to survive. But now, he could finally breathe. Heal. Build a life with the two people he cherished most.

The three of them stayed like that for a long moment, happy tears mingling as they celebrated the future they would make together. The future where Dylan was safe, loved, and home.

The aroma of roasted mushroom and garlic wontons wafted through the Pittman's cozy dining room as Dylan settled into his chair, the unfamiliar sensation of a proper family dinner making his heart race. Margaret's warm smile put him at ease as she passed him a steaming bowl of green beans.

"I hope you like everything, sweetie," she said, her eyes crinkling with kindness. "I wasn't sure what your favorites were, so I made a little of everything."

Dylan's throat tightened with emotion. "It all looks amazing, Mrs. Pittman. Thank you."

Milo playfully nudged Dylan's shoulder. "Look at you, already becoming Mom's favorite. I'm getting jealous over here."

Dylan tensed for a moment, old fears surfacing, but Milo's teasing wink reassured him. This was different. This was safe.

As they ate, Margaret gently broached the subject Dylan had been dreading. "Honey, I wanted to talk to you about your father's arraignment coming up. Are you comfortable telling your story in court?"

Dylan's fork clattered against his plate, his appetite vanishing. Milo's arm was instantly around his shoulders, a steady presence anchoring him.

"I… I think so," Dylan whispered, drawing strength from Milo's touch. "I have to, don't I? To make sure he can't hurt me or anyone else again?"

Margaret reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "You're so brave, Dylan. We'll be right there with you, every step of the way."

After dinner, Dylan followed Milo to his room, grateful for the distraction of Elden Ring on the PS5. As they battled the digital Fire Giant, Dylan found himself relaxing, Milo's infectious laughter easing the knot of anxiety in his chest.

Hours later, exhaustion setting in, Dylan peeled off his t-shirt, wincing as the fabric stuck to his back. Milo's sharp intake of breath made him turn.

"You're bleeding again," Milo said softly, already heading for the bathroom. "I'll get the stuff."

As Milo gently applied the medication, Dylan closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the tenderness of the touch. He'd never known care like this before.

"All done," Milo murmured, his hand lingering on Dylan's shoulder. "Ready for bed?"

Dylan nodded, hesitating only a moment before leaving his shirt off, mirroring Milo's own shirtless state. They slid under the covers, and Dylan found himself drawn to Milo's warmth, resting his head on his best friend's chest.

The steady thrum of Milo's heartbeat, the comforting weight of his arm around Dylan's waist, the clean scent of his skin – it all combined to create a cocoon of safety Dylan had never experienced before. As sleep claimed him, a smile tugged at his lips, peace settling deep in his bones.

For the first time in his life, Dylan felt truly at home.

The aroma of pizza sauce and roasted vegetables wafted through the air as Dylan and Milo sat across from each other in their favorite booth at Pieology Pizzeria. Dylan couldn't help but steal glances at Milo, his heart fluttering every time their eyes met over the steaming vegetarian pizza they were sharing. Dylan gazed into Milo's sparkling blue eyes, mesmerized and completely focused on his best friend's animated storytelling.

"So, last summer at Lake Tahoe was amazing," Milo said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Dad and I went canoeing every day, and I swear I spent more time in the water than on land! One time my dad totally flipped the canoe by mistake! We both went flying into the lake, it was funny!" Milo recounted, laughing.

Dylan chuckled, picturing a soaked Milo and his dad sputtering as they surfaced from Lake Tahoe's chilly waters. He felt a twinge of wistfulness, wondering what it would be like to have a dad who took you on fun trips instead of… well, what his own father had done. Pushing aside the dark thought, Dylan focused on Milo's bright smile.

Dylan leaned in, captivated by Milo's enthusiasm. "That sounds incredible. You and your dad seem really close."

Milo nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, we are. Even though he and Mom aren't together anymore, we still have a great time."

Dylan's brow furrowed slightly. "How come they split up?"

Milo shrugged, unfazed. "They just grew apart over time. It happens. But they're still really good friends, just not a couple anymore. Honestly, it hasn't been a big deal."

Dylan marveled at how well-adjusted Milo was, despite his parents' divorce. In Dylan's world, a "broken home" meant abuse, chaos, pain. But Milo proved a family could still be loving and happy, even if the parents weren't together. It boggled Dylan's mind.

His thoughts drifted to mental images of Milo in swim trunks, diving into the lake, tanned skin glistening… Feeling his face flush, Dylan mumbled, "Man, what I wouldn't give to see you in nothing but your trunks all day…"

Milo's eyes widened briefly before he burst out laughing. "Next time I visit my dad, you're totally coming with me then!"

Dylan's face fell as reality crashed in. "I don't know… Spending a whole week in just swim trunks, with my back all scarred up… I don't want anyone seeing that."

Milo's hand reached across the table to squeeze Dylan's. "Dyl, you're crazy hot, scars and all. Those marks just show how tough you are. You're a survivor. You've got nothing to be ashamed of! I mean, have you seen yourself? You're ripped like Tarzan or something!"

Before Dylan could respond, a new person appeared at their table. It was Bonnie, a girl from their school, her eyes fixed on Dylan with unmistakable interest.

"Oh, hey Bonnie," Milo replied, eyebrows raised. The girl was clearly into Dylan, looking at him like he was an Instagram model brought to life.

"Hi guys," she said, her voice syrupy sweet. "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

Dylan shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of Bonnie's attention. He glanced at Milo, seeking silent support, before turning back to Bonnie with a polite smile.

"Actually, Bonnie, we were just finishing up," he said gently. "But it's nice to see you."

Bonnie's face fell slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Oh, okay. Well, maybe we can hang out sometime, Dylan?"

"Ah, thanks Bonnie, that's sweet of you. I appreciate the invite. But I'm sorta… already spoken for, ya know?" He darted a meaningful glance at Milo.

Bonnie followed his gaze, realization dawning. "Ohhh, I get it. Wow. Well, I feel silly! But you two make an adorable couple. The best, really."

"Thanks, Bonnie. Milo's the best thing that's ever happened to me." At thirteen, Dylan knew it was crazy to think forever, but with Milo, he couldn't imagine anything else.

Bonnie smiled, eyes shining with genuine happiness for them. "You deserve it, Dylan. Both of you." She stood. "Well, I should probably get going. You two lovebirds have fun," she winked, and sauntered off.

"Friendly gal, huh?" Dylan chuckled as they watched her go.

"Told you she'd be fine."

The soft glow of the laptop screen illuminated Milo's face as Dylan stepped into their shared bedroom, water droplets still clinging to his bare chest. Milo's eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape as he took in the sight of his sexy boyfriend.

"I, uh… what was I watching again?" Milo stammered, his cheeks flushing.

Dylan chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. "You okay there, space cadet?" He sauntered over to the bed, aware of Milo's gaze following his every move.

Without hesitation, Dylan plopped down next to Milo, their thighs touching. Milo's arm instinctively wrapped around Dylan's shoulders, pulling him close, until he was practically in Milo's lap.

"Back's looking better," Milo murmured, his fingers ghosting over Dylan's skin.

Dylan leaned into the touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah, it is." He paused, his voice softening. "You know, I haven't felt this… free in forever. Maybe not even when Mom was alive."

Milo's arm tightened around him. "Tell me about her. She must've been sweet, 'cause I know you didn't get your sweet heart from your dad. What was she like?"

Dylan closed his eyes, conjuring his mother's image. "She had the best laugh," he began, a smile tugging at his lips. "Like sunshine, you know? And she'd sing while she cooked, always off-key…"

As Dylan spoke, he felt himself relaxing further into Milo's embrace. It felt right, like coming home. He described his mother's terrible jokes, her penchant for rescuing stray animals, the way she'd dance in the rain.

Suddenly, Dylan burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Milo asked, amusement coloring his voice.

Dylan grinned up at him. "I didn't know you were a rock collector, dude. Because it feels like you've got a rock in your pocket."

Milo's face flushed crimson. "You are such a dork," he groaned, but he was laughing too, the sound mingling with Dylan's in the cozy bedroom.

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Dylan and Milo

by SalientLane

Part 1