I might be asking for the impossible here but can I possibly ask for a Dylan prompt 🤠 specifically a proper redemption arc for him that happens post-villa because I refuse to believe that he changed that quickly in game. Thank you in advance!
DYLAN'S REDEMPTION
S4 | Dylan | 5300+ words | @mrsbsmooth
This could easily be 20k+ words. But here's my attempt at setting Dylan on the right path.
______
As soon as he walked in, he saw his Mum with absolute shame written over her face. She didn’t hug him. She didn’t greet him. She took one look at him and burst into tears, running into the other room and slamming the door behind her. His stepdad looked furious. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary.
“Have you seen it yet?” his stepdad had demanded.
Dylan had the common sense to say nothing and just shake his head. Steve pointed at the couch, pressing play on the recorded version.
Dylan had had to stay in a hotel room until the episode had aired. And by the time he’d arrived at Cardiff Airport, he was the most hated man in the UK. He’d expected his phone to be blowing up from jealous acquaintances, deals with protein powders, and possible agents for modelling contracts. But the opposite was true. Sponsors were pulling out of their contracts with his volleyball team at such a rapid rate that he found out he’d been stood down from it via reading their Instagram post.
But now, he’d finally seen it for himself. Dylan sat, completely furious, staring at the TV as the next programme started. This was bad for him.
He walked to the door.
“Mam? Alla i ddod i mewn”
[Mum? Can I come in?]
He heard his Mum crying behind the door.
“Na. Ewch i ffwrdd. Mae cymaint o gywilydd arna i.”
[No. Go away. I’m so ashamed.]
Dylan sighed, and turned back toward the door to leave. She just didn’t get it.
“Dylan” Steve seethed
“What, Steve?”
Steve looked angry. “People linked you to your Mum’s business. They’re blaming her for raising a piece of shit. She’s been completely boycotted. She’s going to lose everything.”
“Sounds like a her problem, not a me problem.”
Steve picked up the mug next to him, and threw it directly at Dylan’s head, missing him by inches, and smashing on the wall beside him. Dylan gave him the finger as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
***
If he thought people hated him when it aired, he should’ve been prepared for it to properly blow up on social media. The Love Island producers contacted him to ‘check on his mental state’, which, to be honest, was totally fine. He’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t his fault Shelley had fucked him.
How could she not? He smirked to himself.
All this talk about “Her and Bruno were the greatest love story of all time” and “Dylan ruined everything” and “he gaslit and negged his way into her pants and convinced her Bruno would be so jealous he’d beg for her back”
He was pretty pissed off that he’d been stood down from his volleyball team, but his coach said it was only temporary - just until it all blew over. But it wasn’t blowing over.
In fact, most of the hate seemed to be directed at his Mum.
From day one, the media were hounding her for an interview about ‘bad parenting’. They wanted to run a story entitled ‘Raising a boy: What I’d do better’.
On day two, someone egged her house.
On day three, someone posted her email address online.
A tiny voice in the back of his mind was whispering that It seemed a little unfair that his Mum was copping the hate for what he’d done. But he silenced it pretty quickly, relieved that he wasn’t the one having to deal with it.
But on day four, he got turned down from the seventh talent management agency he’d contacted. No one wanted him. That pissed him off. He almost threw his phone across the room, but instead punched another hole in his dedicated punching wall. The satisfying smash of the plaster under his fist made him smirk.
But then, in his hand, his phone rang. Someone was calling him.
“You’ve got the Dylan”
“Oh, good god, man, you even answer the phone like that?”
A deep, soothing voice that Dylan kind of recognised was on the other end.
“Who’s this?” he asked, his voice bored.
“We’ve never met. But let’s just say… We have Love Island in common.”
“What d’you want?”
“To help you”
“I don’t need help”
“My friends tell me otherwise.”
“Your friends are wrong.”
“My friends are never wrong. You haven’t had a single talent agency show even the slightest bit of interest in managing you. You’ve got an image problem, and rightfully so, because you’ve got an attitude problem. My friends and I are going to help you with it.”
***
Dylan showed up at the address, a scowl on his face. He’d come all the way from bloody Swansea for this. For them to help fix his image. And hopefully… if he did that… people would leave his Mum alone. She still hadn’t spoken to him. Steve had told him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Ever. He needed to fix this for her. Clean up his image enough for someone to hire him, or start paying him for posting online. He needed to make sure his Mum was taken care of. Steve had certainly never been any help. And he wasn't likely to start now that shit had hit the fan.
So this had better fucking work.
He knocked on the door, and a small panel slid open, right as his eye line.
“Password?”
“Er… Love Island theme song”
The eyes on the other side of the door narrowed slightly. “You have to sing it”
He sighed, but reluctantly hummed the theme song to the show. The door swung open, and he stepped into a long, dark corridor
As the door swung closed behind him, he came face to face with an actual, honest-to-god celebrity.
“Oh hey, aren’t you Felix Cummings? From Season 2?”
“That’s me!” Felix said, “But I’m not supposed to talk to the students. Apparently it ‘slows their progress’”. He emphasised the last portion with air quotes.
Students?
Felix walked him down the corridor, and Dylan found himself in a large room, with dozens of corridors leading off from it.
In the centre, a large, central desk.
The letters along the front of it told him exactly where he’d been brought.
LOVE [AND RESPECT] ISLAND UNIVERSITY
And sitting at it?
Noah Alexander
He was dressed in a well-fitted, and obviously well-ironed shirt, and a smart tie and jumper. Felix walked him to the desk, and Noah smiled at him, nodding.
“Welcome to student administration, Dylan. Thank you for coming.”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“Well, to be fair, you didn’t give us much of one, either” Noah said, frowning disapprovingly.
“So… What is this, then?”
“You left Love Island. This is sort of like a… finishing school.”
Felix nudged him with his elbow. “For assholes!”
Noah shot him a disapproving look. “No, not for assholes, Felix. For people who need a little more information on how to treat their partners with dignity.”
Dylan scoffed, and crossed his arms. “I don’t need it, then.”
Noah smiled. “Of course not. But perhaps you’d like a tour anyway? We have industry connections with every major clothing brand in the U.K, as well as multiple TV networks, and every talent agency. Graduating from Love and Respect Island University is basically a guarantee to brands that you’re not going to bring down a media shitstorm on them by doing problematic things. The islanders who teach the Level 3 courses receive special talent representation that guarantees them a £10,000 minimum per Instagram post.”
Holy shit.
“Er… yeah, I’ll take a tour I guess, then.”
“Excellent. Your tour guide will be along shortly.”
“Oi, I’m 5”9 with shoes on.”
“I said shortly, Tim.”
“Ahh, right. Fair enough.”
Dylan’s face fell in surprise as his tour guide appears. None other than internationally recognised DJ - Big T. Timye. The one and only Timmy Smalls.
Tim motherfucking Pritchard reached out a hand to shake his.
Dylan was positively starstruck, and said absolutely nothing.
“Come on, lad. I’ll give you the tour.”
***
“So a full courseload is four subjects. The subjects go for two hours each, every day. So it's a full 8-hour day with a half-hour break in the middle for lunch. Each subject takes two full weeks to complete. Once you graduate Level-1, you can teach Level-1. Once you graduate Level-2, you can teach Level-2. But to teach Level-3, you have to pass and be assessed by the panel. To pass a Level, you have to… Are you paying attention, Dylan? This part’s important.”
But he absolutely was not paying attention. Because walking towards him, down the hall, was a pair of tits so magnificent that he was sure he’d have to be rubbing his face all over them before he’d believe they were real.
Marisol.
Her tight pencil skirt and white blouse had him screaming sexy secretary in his head before he even saw she was frowning at him.
“God damn, I’d love to bend that over a desk”
Suddenly, Dylan felt a wetness on his face.
“No. Bad Dylan.” Tim was squirting him with a water gun. “No flirting until you’ve passed Flirting Respectfully”
Tim turned to Marisol, and smiled. “Marisol, did you get a haircut? Looks great!”
“Thank you, Tim, I did! Love the new shirt, by the way.”
Tim smiled back. "Oh, thanks!"
Dylan scoffed loudly in disapproval. “What the fuck! How come you get to compliment her and I don’t?”
Marisol turned to him, her gaze firey. “You degraded me to assert sexual dominance. Tim complimented me to make me feel good about myself. Plus, he’s my friend.”
“I’ll be your friend, babe?”
Tim just squirted him with water again. Dylan looked at Tim like he was about to punch him.
“Squirt me with that fucking bottle one more time, I dare you.”
“Awww did the water hurt your feelings, Dylan?” Marisol bit her lip.
He smirked at her. “Baby, kiss it better and I promise you’ll be drenched too.”
Marisol raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Tim. She unscrewed the bottle at her own waist and upended it over Dylan’s head.
***
Tim led him down a hallway, and he couldn’t help but notice how many classrooms there were.
“How many former islanders are here?”
“Er… pretty much everyone, to be honest.”
“What do you mean everyone?”
“Well, everyone’s got something to learn, don’t they?”
Dylan frowned “And everyone teaches?”
“Pretty much everyone, yeah. Everyone’s got a different area of expertise. Different life experiences and that. We all have a lot to learn from each other. Plus, sometimes people are so shocked by their own behaviour, that they go on to teach a class on it. Like, you should see Gary Rennell's course on Weaponised Incompetence. It's amazing.”
“Well, once I’m done with the easy courses, I can teach a class on pleasuring a woman if you want?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Just because they’re Level-1, doesn’t mean they’re easy, mate. It’s just the basics. But some of the courses have a fifty per cent fail rate. Besides, the Principal’s expressly banned you from teaching a class.”
Dylan stopped walking and furrowed his brow. “The fuck? He can’t do that?”
“Seriously? You don’t understand why?”
“Doesn’t matter why! That’s not fair!”
“Why would you even want to teach a class? I thought you didn’t even want to be here.”
It was a good fucking question. He didn’t even want to do these dumb classes. Why the fuck was he suddenly angry he couldn’t teach one?
“Well, it’s the principle of it. Everyone else gets to teach one. I should too.”
Tim frowned. “I dunno mate. The Principal was pretty set on it.”
“Fuck that. I wanna talk to him. It’s a him, right? Or did you give the job to a woman because of ‘equality’”
He did the air quotes with his fingers, and Tim facepalmed.
“No, the Principal is a lad. Don’t worry. We wouldn't be subjecting any women to your dumb ass at this stage.”
“Good. I wanna talk to him.”
***
Tim led Dylan to the door, and knocked. He popped his head in, and then looked back at Dylan.
“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere. I have to fill him in.”
As soon as Tim was inside, Dylan wandered the hall, doing exactly the opposite of what Tim had asked.
Each of the doors had a small whiteboard, detailing the teacher and the subject matter of each class.
The closest one to him read:
__________________________
Just because you respect your female family members doesn't mean you respect women
Teacher: Nicky Horne.
__________________________
He peered through the small window, and spotted multiple former islanders. Gary Rennell and Camilo Santiago Flores were right at the front, concentrating hard, taking notes.
The next door was to a smaller room.
__________________________
Anything other than an enthusiastic Yes is a NO
Teacher: Henrik Bergstrom
__________________________
It looked like an intensive class. One-on-one. Henrik was sitting backwards on a chair in front of its sole pupil, clearly appalled, and lecturing him angrily. And Dylan’s eyes widened as he saw who the student was.
Lucas Koh.
Despite being inside, he was wearing dark sunglasses. He was shuffled all the way down in his chair, trying to make himself look as small as possible. The hood of his hoodie was up, and pulled tight, concealing his usually manicured hair. He looked bloody ashamed of himself.
Henrik was pointing furiously to a section of a thick folder, with I.C.O.B.Y written across the front, reading passages from it that Dylan couldn't hear.
Huh. Weird. Wonder what that means? Dylan thought.
Dylan shook his head and was about to continue peeping through the doors when Tim suddenly came back out of the Principal’s office. He noticed Dylan halfway down the hall and frowned.
“The Principal will see you now.”
***
As soon as he stepped through the door, Dylan froze.
“Ahhhh, Dylan. Welcome! I wondered when we’d be seeing your handsome face around here!”
Dylan’s jaw almost hit the floor. “Jake Wilson?”
Jake smiled broadly at him, his sparkling Colgate smile making Dylan wonder why he’d had to go on Love Island at all. “Oh, you recognise me? Thanks for that, very kind of you! Come in, come in, have a seat!”
Dylan stepped into the room, settling down onto a couch full of overwhelmingly ornate cushions. He picked one up, and looked at it, noticing it had a tiny pattern of intricate fruits on it. Melons, apples, bananas. Dylan furrowed his brow at it.
“Admiring my pillows? Jakub did them for me! He’s learning cross-stitch. They’re very good, aren’t they? He’s got a great eye for detail. His class on Taking pride in your appearance and home has been really helpful for a lot of people.”
“Yeah, I loved that one” Tim said. “He made ironing sound fun, which is something I never thought I’d say.”
Dylan crossed his arms. “Tim said you’re not letting me teach a class. Why not?”
Jake sat in a chair opposite Dylan. “Well, I must say, I’m surprised you want to. Can I ask why?”
“Because. I know more about women than any guy in here. I’ve slept with more, too. Guaranteed”
Then he looked over at Tim, smiling softly at him. “Tim, could you give us a moment?”
Tim nodded, and walked out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jake looked over at Dylan.
“I'm not an idiot, Dylan. It's quite clear that the reason you want to teach is that Noah mentioned that our Level-3 teachers are very highly paid?”
Dylan rolled his eyes.
Jake waited for a verbal response, but when he didn’t get one, he continued. “We don’t let just anyone teach the highest grades, Dylan. You’d have to pass the full course, including the ones taught by our female and non-binary colleagues, and then be assessed as competent to teach in an area unique to you. It’s extremely competitive. We don’t have many male islanders who’ve reached that level.”
Jake paused, looking Dylan over. He tried staring Jake down, but as soon as their eyes met, he suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. Seen. Almost like Jake was reading his soul a little. Dylan swallowed hard.
“You want the money to help your Mum. I already know about the café. And about how it’s tanking because of your reputation.”
Dylan scoffed, but a sharp pain ran through his stomach like he'd been stabbed.
Jake continued. “It’s not very fair, is it? That she’s the one who’s copping the blame for what you did, regardless of whether you think there was anything wrong with it or not.”
“It makes no sense.” Dylan agreed. "What does it have to do with her? I don't get why they'd go after my Mum"
“Society finds it easier to blame women for men's bad behaviour. It’s okay to be confused about it. It makes no sense to me either. You'll learn more about it here.”
Dylan looked down at his feet, breathing deeply. Why was he opening up to Jake? Why did he feel so safe here? “She said she’s ashamed of me. It makes me feel weird.”
Jake smiled softly at him. “It’s called guilt, Dylan. You feel guilty because someone you care about was hurt when you didn’t intend for them to be.”
“Guilty? Nah. That means I regret it. I never have regrets. No regrets.” His voice wasn't nearly as confident as he'd tried to make it sound.
Jake went quiet again, studying him, and Dylan felt like he was naked. Jake had such a way of stripping back pretense. He almost felt like there was something inside him being unmasked whenever he looked at him. But Jake said nothing.
“So are you going to let me teach, or not?”
Jake’s expression only changed a little… but Dylan saw the flash of a frown. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m sorry Dylan.”
“The fuck? Why not?”
Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “Dylan, I’m sure you’ve heard this a fair bit already. But your behaviour on the show…” He sighed. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that it was one of the most abhorrent displays of toxic masculinity we’ve seen since Jakub. But even he admitted to being wrong once he was confronted with the facts of what he’d done. You treated Shelley like she was lower than dirt, destroyed her relationship and reputation, and–”
“Hey! I can’t help that she wanted to fuck me!” Dylan interjected.
Jake held up a finger, sternly. “You know what you did wrong, Dylan. You know you were negging her. You know you manipulated her. And you're not taking responsibility for it.”
“Why should I have to? I didn’t do anything wrong! A man has needs, and if Shelley was willing to meet them, then that’s her problem. I thought we were supposed to let girls be sluts these days. And just because I fucked her doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to discriminate against me!” He crossed his arms, glaring at Jake.
For the first time since he’d entered, Jake looked a little angry. “So what’s your plan, here? You think you can trick everyone into thinking you’re a reformed man, so that you can get the six-figure payday that comes with it?”
Dylan furrowed his brow, trying to think of something to say.
Jake continued. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’ve slept with an untold number of women, and you think that means you’re a master of pretending to be a ‘good guy’. Well, here’s something surprising, Dylan. You’re not acting like a good guy. Half of the women you've slept with, you've manipulated, and the other half knew full well what you were doing, but thought you were good-looking enough to get away with being just awful. The world will only ever judge you by your actions. To be frank, if I was your mother, I’d be bloody ashamed of you, too. I’ve never even met her, but I’m absolutely certain she raised you better than this.”
Dylan’s heart sank through the floor. It hurt. It hurt to hear someone saying it out loud. Especially someone like Jake. Everyone adored Jake. He was such a man. Huge alpha energy. So if Jake thought he was wrong...
Jake reached out for his arm. “I’m sorry it came to that. I don't know you that well, and I can only judge you by what I've seen of you on TV, and in this conversation. But Dylan... You're not making this easy for me. I really want to give you a chance, Dylan. I really do. But I’d be risking my reputation, and the reputation of the entire organisation, on someone who won’t even acknowledge their part in it. And I’m sorry, but we rely entirely on donations and partnerships with brands. It’s just not fair to everyone else to put everything on the line just to help you out financially.”
Dylan nodded. “I understand”
That was it. His last lifeline. Gone. He wasn’t sure what to do now. The volleyball team were definitely not going to be taking him back. He couldn’t work in his mum’s cafe if there were no bloody customers. He could make a few grand doing interviews. But after the initial shock value had worn off… what would he do? He’d be completely tainted. And all because of his own actions.
It was just like Steve had always said. He must’ve gotten his entire DNA from his bio dad. He was like a carbon copy of him. He was born a piece of shit, and he’d die a piece of shit. Never having achieved anything, always too skinny, never good enough for the girls he liked, he’d always just be a useless piece of human trash that no one would ever love, or want anything to do with.
Dylan felt his eyes burning. He swallowed the tears back, instead curling his hand into a fist.
Jake reached for a few of the pillows, stacking them up, one in front of the other, and braced them against his arm. Reading the sign, Dylan socked the centre of them with a sharp right-hook, instantly feeling better.
“You okay?” Jake said, quietly.
Dylan nodded. "This was my last hope. I don't know what else to do. I'm never going to be able to fix this on my own. I don't know how."
Jake looked at him, a slight sparkle in his eyes.
Dylan swallowed hard. "I... I need help."
"Thank you, Dylan. That's exactly what I needed to hear.”
Dylan furrowed his brow, and looked up at Jake.
Jake smiled softly at him. “There’s a Dylan in there that has feelings. And probably a fair bit of empathy. We can work with that.”
Dylan dropped his eyes back down to his feet, saying nothing. No snarky quip, no comeback, no stirring remark.
Jake sighed. “Are you going to take this seriously? The learning?”
For a moment, he considered just ripping Jakes stupid fucking embroidered pillows in half and walking out, ripping the door off its hinges on his way. But there was something so calming about Jake’s presence that made him feel like he didn’t have to do that.
“Do you think it would help my Mum? If I cleaned up my reputation a bit?”
Jake nodded. “I do.”
“Then yeah. I’ll take it seriously.”
“I’d like you to make me a promise that you will.”
Dylan looked at him, a little confused. Why would Jake even trust his word? But he nodded. “I promise.”
Jake immediately stood, walking to the door to call Tim back in.
“So what do I do now?” Dylan asked.
“At the end of the week, I’m going to speak to your Buddy. If they think you’re making adequate progress, I’ll consider allowing you to progress thorugh the teaching stages like everyone else.”
“Jake!” Tim gasped. “You can’t be serious?”
“I know you love my jokes usually, Tim, but I promise, This Time, I am.” Jake stood, offering his hand to Dylan.
“Jake…” Tim whispered. “You’re sure he’s not just playing you?”
Jake nodded. “Dylan has given me his word that he's going to take this seriously.”
Dylan looked at Jake, a little surprised. He was… trusting him?
No one had trusted him to do the right thing in… he wasn’t sure he could remember the last time it’d happened. He realised he’d been playing the villain for so long that he never really stopped to consider if it was actually how he wanted to be anymore.
“Thank you, Jake.” He whispered.
“Now, Tim, If you could please take Dylan back down to see Noah, we’ll get him enrolled, but first, we’ll need him to meet his buddy.”
Dylan glanced at Tim, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Oh, I, er…”
“Not you, Tim” Jake chuckled. “I’ve had someone specifically request to be Dylan’s buddy.”
Dylan’s eyes widened, but before he could guess, there was a gentle knock at the door.
“Come in! Come in! Perfectly punctual, as usual!”
Dylan turned and was essentially looking directly into the chest of another islander. He must’ve been one of the biggest guys Dylan had ever seen. He had impeccable posture, his shoulders back, yet relaxed. Quietly confident. A self-assurance that only came from being entirely comfortable in one’s own skin. Dylan could see the hair on his chest through his slightly-open shirt. His large arms, sly smile, and perfectly manicured moustache immediately stood out.
“Hello, Dylan,” he said, the low booming voice sounding immediately familiar. “I’m Hazeem. We spoke on the phone. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m your buddy.”
Hazeem stuck out his enormous hand, and Dylan took it, Hazeem shaking it with reserved confidence that immediately asserted that he was not to be fucked with.
Dylan nodded a silent acknowledgement and turned back to Jake, who was smiling.
“Hazeem is the first student in the history of Love [and Respect] Island University to be granted Recognition of Prior Learning. He was able to perfectly demonstrate every single Level-1 skill that we teach. He will accompany you to every single one of your classes, and report back to me on your involvement, progress, and participation. And he will be very difficult to impress.”
Hazeem looked Dylan up and down. “Thank you, Jake. It’s quite an honour. But I must say, I’m looking forward to sitting in on the Level-1 classes. I can always do with a refresher.”
Jake smiled and nodded at him. “Thank you, Hazeem. You’ll be an excellent buddy for Dylan. Now, what do we say we get Dylan enrolled?”
***
“These are the courses I’d recommend for you.” Noah slipped the paper toward Dylan. “It’s a full courseload, but we usually have better results from students who fully commit and study four subjects at once.”
_____________________________
Bobby McKenzie: Making appropriate jokes.
Tai Kahu: Toxic masculinity in all-male sporting environments.
Seb Matthison: Being friends with women, even if you find them attractive.
Ciaran O’Connor: Expressing your feelings
_____________________________
Dylan frowned at the list and turned to Tim. “What about that flirting one you mentioned, that sounded fun.”
Noah shook his head. “Flirting Respectfully is a Level-3 course. Now, you’ll need to hurry if you’re going to be on time for Seb’s class.”
The rest of the day went fucking terribly. He got drenched by the entire of Seb’s class when he suggested you should just be friends with ugly women instead of hot ones, problem solved. Even though Jasper agreed with him. Such bullshit.
He got drenched by Ciaran’s entire class when he said the only feelings he had were anger and horniness.
He got drenched, and almost asked to leave the class when he suggested that Tai should play for the women’s team instead of the men’s if he had such a problem with locker-room talk.
Dylan had to spend the majority of his lunch break drying his shirt in the bathroom. He was cold. He was grumpy. He really was trying. He wasn’t sure why he was doing so shit. And Hazeem was on his case constantly. And now, he had to sit through a class with Bobby fucking McKenzie.
“Afternooooooooooon, lads!”
Dylan’s eyes shut in annoyance. This fucking clown was already giving him a migraine.
Unfortunately for Dylan’s willpower, Bobby was disarmingly charming. He explained what makes a joke funny, and what kinds of topics generally cause the most hurt. He talked about the difference between laughing with someone, and laughing at someone, and why the type of relationship you had with the person, and the topic, made all the difference. How the best way to make fun of something, was to make fun of yourself.
Dylan felt like… he was actually learning something.
Bobby even had them play a game. He had lots of videos for them to watch, showing clips of different islanders making jokes, and having people be in the hot seat, to say whether to joke was appropriate or inappropriate. And the stakes were immediately raised when Bobby presented a bag of chocolate bars as a reward for getting the answer correct. Dylan got progressively more frustrated, as time after time, he got every single one wrong. Bobby frowned, clearly trying to make sure everyone got some positive reinforcement to finish the day.
“Okay. I think I’ve got one for you.”
Bobby fiddled with the video, and brought up one Dylan had already seen. It was him, on his date with Shelley.
______
“So what about you?” he said “Do you get to the gym often?”
Shelley smiled warmly at him. “When I have time. My schedule’s crazy when I’m at home. My clients are all over the world, so if one of them wants to talk about a change to a commission at 3 am London time, I have to be ready and professional.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow at her “I knew artists tended to not to have a steady income. Funny how the hours are like that, too. Bit of an unstable job, no?”
Shelley’s face fell, and Dylan felt a weird feeling in his stomach that he wasn’t familiar with. She looked so hurt. “Artists are capable of having busy routines too.”
His smirk came back up on the screen, and he rolled his eyes. “Lighten up! I was just joking.”
_______
“So what do you think, Dylan? Okay or not okay?”
He thought hard about what Bobby had said about laughing at people rather than with them.
“Not okay”
Everyone gasped, and Bobby’s face lit up like he’d just won a prize for buttercream. But he didn’t celebrate right away.
“Why is it not okay?”
Dylan furrowed his brow, thinking back to what he’d learned in Ciaran’s class. “Because it would have hurt her feelings.”
Bobby nodded, and he absolutely beamed at Dylan. The corners of his mouth were pulling so tightly at his freckled cheeks that it made his eyes crinkle. He was practically jumping up and down when he tossed Dylan a Snickers.
But suddenly, his amber eyes went wild with excitement. Bobby walked back to his desk, and opened a small mini-fridge underneath it, prompting a gasp from the other students.
“Hey, Dylan… extra credit question. Can you think of an example of something that would have been an appropriate joke?”
Dylan was halfway through his Snickers already, but he paused as he chewed. The sweetness of the sugar rush was making him feel more relaxed than he had in months. He thought hard as Bobby smiled hopefully at him.
Bobby looked at him. “If I’m Shelley, and we were having that same conversation. If I said, ‘if one of them wants to talk about a change to a commission at 3 am London time, I have to be ready and professional.. What could you have said?”
Dylan thought hard, and everyone waited silently. He could’ve made a joke about what else they could do in the middle of the night. But Seb’s class had taught him to avoid innuendo. He thought of everything he’d learned today…and took a deep breath. .
“How about… ‘If someone called me at 3 am to talk about volleyball, I don’t know if I’d be very professional about it’”
Bobby’s face fell in surprise. “Oh my god! Dylan! Yes! Good job!”
Hazeem beamed at him, and Dylan’s heart started racing.
He did a good job?
He smiled a little and felt his cheeks go a little warm. He wasn’t sure the last time someone had told him he’d done a good job.
Bobby ripped open the fridge, pulled out a perfectly decorated cupcake, and placed it on a plate in front of Dylan. “You earned this. Try it”
Dylan took a bite, and almost fucking groaned. Holy shit it was so fucking good. Chocolate mud cake, with a raspberry filling in the middle, and some sort of berry frosting. Fucking hell.
Hazeem clapped him on the back gently. “Good job, lad. Very, very good.”
Dylan was grateful for the cupcake, because it meant he didn’t have to think of something to say in response.
He didn’t regret sleeping with Shelley. He liked her. He thought she was hot. But he wondered… if he hadn’t messed with her head so badly… would she have wanted to sleep with him?
He could’ve made that joke to Shelley. It didn’t make him look like less of a man. In fact, it made him look charming. Funny. Confident. The guy he’d seen on the video wasn’t the man he wanted to be.
Maybe… just maybe…
He could stand to learn a thing or two about respect.
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