Dylan's father had always been a man of austere habits. Despite having a well-paid job as a civil servant, he never spent more than necessary—a philosophy he made sure to pass down to his son.
Thanks to that mentality, their family never left the old neighborhood they lived in, even though they could've easily afforded to. Still, he didn't let the money sit idly; over the years, he invested in a quiet countryside home where he now lived peacefully with his wife, surrounded by pine trees, ducks, and chickens that waddled around their spacious yard.
'What does he even see in those dumb animals? It's not like he eats them,' Dylan wondered as he heard the roosters crowing in the distance, mingled with barking dogs and the occasional roar of a battered motorcycle.
His contempt for them didn't stem only from the many mornings their songs had woken him before dawn. In truth, it came from his bad experiences with avian creatures in the other world.
'At least those bastards didn't taste bad.'
A weak attempt at consolation, accompanied by a shake of the head to drive those memories away.
Snapped back to reality by external factors, he discreetly scratched his back as he felt a now-familiar gaze settle on him, all while continuing to observe the suburban landscape and the decay that defined it.
The buildings were covered in graffiti, mostly lazy tags from teenagers marking their turf and scrawling nicknames everywhere they could. The paint on many houses, faded by sun and time, peeled off in chunks, revealing the dull gray of bare concrete.
This wasn't exactly a wealthy area, and that became even more obvious the farther one got from the main highway, where the supermarket Dylan had visited the previous week stood.
Why would anyone open a store like that in a place like this? Only the owner—and perhaps God—knew the answer.
Some families lived in even worse conditions. Without brick or wooden constructions, their homes were hazardous improvisations made of rusted zinc sheets, with black plastic tarps covering the gaps the metal couldn't reach.
Oddly enough, the lack of luxury seemed to bring people closer to nature. Fruit trees were everywhere—mangoes and oranges hanging over fences, or popping up in backyards. Street vendors knew the deal and often "harvested" the fruit without asking, later selling it by the roadside.
Stray dogs also roamed freely, leaving behind pawprints, torn trash bags, and the occasional bite mark to passersby who were kind enough to reach out a hand.
The roads were another issue: where traffic had no way through, asphalt was nowhere to be seen, courtesy of a local government bent on saving money. Because of this, some residents still used pit latrines due to the lack of a proper sewage system.
Dylan had grown up in that world. He knew what it was like to live with dirt roads, half-built houses, and the resourcefulness that came from not having much.
Things had improved, at least on paper, when urban development rolled in during his teenage years.
Sometimes, when bored of the routine, he wished nothing had changed. He still clearly remembered those afternoons playing soccer with the neighbor's kids on an unpaved road. The dirt softened their falls, and no one was afraid to dive to block the deflated ball they usually played with. But when everything was covered in a thick layer of asphalt, the games and laughter disappeared as well.
'Or maybe, we just grew up.'
He knew age wasn't a barrier to fun, but what delights a child rarely keeps its charm in adulthood. 'Part of growing up,' he'd tell himself, whenever that bittersweet twinge of nostalgia hit...
"Hey, man! Long time no see!"
Suddenly, a loud voice pulled him out of his musings.
'What the hell is this idiot doing here?'
That was his first thought upon seeing the man leaning against his door, nodding off as if he might fall asleep at any moment. Talking to him was the last thing he wanted, as he could already guess the reason for the visit: asking for money.
'Damn it… giving him my address was a mistake.'
It all went back to the day their brief deal ended abruptly. Roberto had shown up at Dylan's place after he refused to hand over the car keys at the parking lot due to a spat with the owner of the place the night before. Besides, that Tuesday he had been focused on preparing for his first afternoon run and didn't want to waste time on other people's problems.
Now however he regretted it.
"What's up, man? Not even a lousy hello? Don't tell me you've already forgotten your old buddies."
Resigned, Dylan sighed and took a step back, narrowly avoiding the hand that reached out to him.
"I haven't forgotten anything, Roberto. I was just wondering what the hell you're doing here."
His reaction of obvious displeasure caught the man off guard, his eyes widening in disbelief. But the awkward moment lasted only a few instants. Soon, his usual crooked smile returned, accompanied by a light chuckle.
"Me? Eh, nothing special. You know, I was around and thought I'd say hi. See how you're doing after the whole quitting thing and all that. Also, I live nearby—just a couple blocks away, more or less—so it's no big deal to drop by."
"Oh, really? That's weird. I don't remember ever seeing you around here."
Dylan raised a brow, not bothering to hide the skepticism.
"Well... maybe not exactly a couple of blocks, but close enough to walk here in a few minutes."
"Uh-huh… Sure, if you say so."
"Hey, don't doubt it! Anyway, like I said: I just came to say hi. So… Hi, Dylan. Ha. It's a pretty beautiful day, don't you think?"
As he spoke, he raised his hand to point at the clear sky—though he quickly brought it to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun shining in his direction.
Despite how absurd his gestures seemed, Dylan rolled his eyes and decided to play along.
"Still early to tell. But… yeah, I guess."
Hearing the indifferent tone he was used to from Dylan at the office, Roberto nodded with satisfaction before continuing the conversation.
"Right, right. I forgot the time after seeing you come from outside. Hey, speaking of forgetting... ha ha! Man, I never told you properly about that call from the guy at the parking lot last week. The dude called me at midnight thinking someone had stolen my baby. No joke—I had to explain the deal with you before he called the cops. It's funny now, but at the time I freaked out. I was half-asleep, after all, and it took me a while to piece things together."
The mention of "his baby" made Dylan scowl; Roberto, on the other hand, puffed out his chest, proud of the connections he had built over the years.
"That guy is quite a character, but he's good people. I used to park my car there when I worked construction because I didn't have the cash to build a decent garage at home. Honestly, I'm surprised he still remembers me. Ha ha! Guess I'm just that unforgettable, huh?"
Seeing his cheerful face, Dylan remembered why so many women at work had crushed on the guy, even if he never reciprocated.
Roberto had a magnetic presence. He was tall, nearly two meters, with broad arms lined with prominent veins. His sharp jawline and slim torso stood out under sun-bronzed skin that matched his short, bleached blonde hair, messily styled in a way that still looked attractive. Even the deep bags under his brown eyes didn't diminish his looks; if anything, they added a melancholic charm that contrasted with his otherwise robust appearance.
And it wasn't just his looks. His naturally cheerful and charismatic personality helped him break the ice with almost anyone. That had been the case with the Dylan of the past, when Roberto was one of the few who dared to approach him, even if he got no reply.
"I see… But seriously now, tell me: what the hell are you doing here?"
Still, that was then. Now things had changed.
Back then, Dylan would've lowered his gaze to the ground, letting him talk as much as he wanted. But this time, the sticky sweat on his skin and accumulated exhaustion left him with no patience to deal with a chatterbox like him. He just wanted to get inside, shower, and nap for a couple of hours before continuing his workout routine. So he didn't bother faking courtesy.
"Eh? I think I told you I came to—"
"Cut the crap," Dylan said sharply. "We were never as close as you pretend. So since I don't buy that you're just here to say hi, tell me—what do you want?"
"W-well…"
Roberto faltered, thrown off by an attitude he wasn't used to. He rubbed his fingers nervously, as if the plan he had brought was crumbling in his hands.
"Let me guess," Dylan cut in before he could come up with a clever excuse. "You came to ask me for money, didn't you? You think that just because of one deal we made, you can come back with another story? Well, no. I don't still have a job. And even if I did, I wouldn't give you a damn cent. End of story. Goodbye, Roberto."
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and pulled the key from his belt pouch as he approached the door.
"H-hey, wait a second!"
Roberto called out, grabbing Dylan's shoulder this time.
That was a mistake, as the contact triggered an immediate reflex: Dylan's muscles tensed, and he clenched his fist before turning his head to shoot the man a furious glare.
Thus, Roberto raised his hands in surrender.
The physical difference between them was obvious, but Dylan was confident he could take him down if he had to. Still, he wasn't the kind of brute who solved everything with fists. So with slow movements, he went back to trying to unlock the door, giving Roberto time to speak.
He noticed this and lowered his arms, staring at him thoughtfully.
"You've changed, Dylan, you know that? You used to look like a walking rock. Like the whole world owed you something. Always angry, gloomy, and messy. Now... well, honestly, you still come off as a grump, but it feels different. Like you're finally at peace with yourself. It's good to see you like this."
Dylan paused at those words.
"Also, you stink. Did you seriously go running this early? Damn, that's dedication. Maybe I should do the same; my girlfriend won't stop nagging about my belly. You know how women are: see one extra kilo and it's game over."
"Oh yeah? Well, you still look fit to me."
"Thanks, man. But don't get too excited. I'm not into guys."
With that, Roberto dramatically stepped back and wrapped both arms around his chest, making Dylan grit his teeth.
"This bastard..."
Roberto laughed, amused.
"Come on, dude! Just messing with you. Anyway, yeah… I came to ask a favor. But I swear it's not about money, okay? I'm not as shameless as I look."
For a few moments, Dylan looked him up and down before clicking his tongue. The thought of kicking him out crossed his mind, but in the end, he decided to at least hear what he had to say.
"At least you're aware of how you come off. Fine… I'll believe you for now. Come on in. I'm not staying out here on your account."
Even though he let him in, he still felt uneasy; his gut told him the favor Roberto had come to ask would turn out to be more trouble than just lending him money.