Chapter Text
Adam awoke to the familiar sound of rain splattering his window, his bare feet dangling out from under the quilt. The blue hue of a winter morning bounced around his room, reflecting from half-torn wallpaper and shoddily plastered walls, before resting softly on an old fraying carpet. His brown eyes adjusted to the low light as he sat upright against the headboard. A desk full of unfinished homework, the gaming chair hidden under a pile of hand-me-down school clothes as day old underwear and gym attire lay crumpled beside his bed. He had truly mastered the art of organised chaos.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, fighting through a layer of teenage musk and damp walls as old pipes creaked throughout the house – someone had beaten him to the shower. A muffled voice echoed from the floor below, followed by the sharp slam of a cupboard door. Adam rubbed his eyes and glanced towards the digital clock on his bedside table, its faded red numbers blinking 7:03. He muttered a curse under his breath and pushed the quilt aside, wincing as the cold air bit at his bare skin. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he stepped into to his white CalvinKlein’s while rainwater crawled slowly down the corners of the windowpane, tracing crooked paths through the condensation. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle whistled angrily over the sound of the storm, and for a brief moment Adam considered climbing back under the covers and pretending the entire day didn’t exist.
His body ached under the remnants of yesterday’s rugby match, another humiliating loss for his local team, The Kites, named aptly after the red kites that circled the nearby fields, though unlike their namesake, they certainly never soared. Every muscle in his legs complained as he shifted, a dull, lingering pain settling in his shoulders and ribs like a reminder he couldn’t ignore. He rolled his neck slowly, wincing at the stiffness, and stared at the damp ceiling as if it might offer some kind of excuse to stay home. Somewhere in the distance, the house continued its morning routine, indifferent to him, while Adam could still feel the echo of tackles, the sting of mud, and the weight of another match where everything had gone wrong in exactly the same familiar way.
A sharp burst of laughter echoed up from downstairs, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps and the unmistakable sound of someone arguing over the bathroom door. That would be Rhys, his 18-year-old brother already in full command of the morning chaos, as usual. Adam let out a quiet sigh, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to place where everyone would be in the usual rotation of noise and movement. His twin sister, Cerys, would be in the kitchen by now, probably stealing the last of the cereal before anyone else had a chance to claim it, humming Taylor Swift to herself like she wasn’t part of the same mess of a household. Somewhere closer to the stairs, Evan, his younger brother, would be rushing between rooms, half-dressed and panicking about being late for school again.
From downstairs came their mother’s voice cutting cleanly through it all. Mrs Hughes, though nobody ever called her that in the house, was already steering the morning like she always did, single-handedly holding together a family that never seemed to slow down. “Rhys, out of the bathroom now!” she called, firm but tired, the kind of tired that had become permanent. Adam knew the rhythm of it all too well: Cerys pretending innocence, Rhys arguing back just for the sake of it, Evan making everything worse without meaning to, and their mam keeping it all from falling apart completely.
Adam stood in his room for a moment longer than he needed to, still in his boxers, before finally dragging himself out into the corridor. The floorboards were cold under his feet as he made his way toward the bathroom. He could already hear the house properly awake now, voices overlapping somewhere downstairs, the clink of crockery, and Evan’s usual rushed movement that sounded more like panic than preparation. He reached the bathroom just as the door opened.
Rhys came out first, towel wrapped low around his waist, steam rolling out behind him like he’d brought the shower with him. He was built solid in that unmistakable way years of bricklaying tend to leave behind. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, and hands that looked permanently shaped for lifting and carrying weight. There was a faint dusting of stubble along his jaw and a tired set to his eyes, the kind that came from early starts on scaffolding and long days spent in wind and rain, stacking bricks until the job was done whether your body liked it or not. He barely slowed as he saw Adam, just adjusted the towel at his waist and stepped past him, leaving the smell of soap and steam in the air as if that was all he had time for before the next hard shift of the day.
“Enjoy, there’s no hot water left,” Rhys scoffed as he brushed past, still tying the towel tighter around his waist, already halfway back into his own world of early starts and brick dust.
“Fucking typical,” Adam muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything else, watching Rhys disappear down the corridor before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
The small room was still warm from Rhys’s shower, mirrors fogged and the air thick with steam that clung to the tiles. Adam leaned back against the door for a second, exhaling through his nose, then reached down and stepped out of his boxers, kicking them aside without much care. He turned the tap expecting cold, but the water that hit him was sharp and immediate, stealing his breath for a second as it ran cold over his shoulders and down his back. He flinched, swore quietly, then forced himself under it anyway, standing still as the chill settled in and slowly stopped feeling like a shock, letting the noise of the house fade away into the steady sound of running water.
Adam stood under the shower, water running steadily over him as he leaned one hand against the tiled wall. At fourteen, he had grown into a tall, solid build - the kind shaped over years of rugby rather than a gym routine. His frame was broad through the shoulders and upper back, with a natural strength that came from repeated contact, sprints across wet pitches, and the constant impact of tackles rather than anything carefully sculpted.
His legs carried most of that history, strong and well-developed from years of running drills and driving through scrums, the kind of strength that showed more in how he moved than how it looked at rest. His upper body had the same practical power to it: sturdy rather than defined for appearance, built for endurance and collision. Faint bruising and old marks lingered here and there, the usual aftermath of matches that never really left him completely between games. He tilted his head slightly forward under the spray, letting the cold loosen the stiffness in his shoulders and back.
With a final breath, Adam reached for the tap and shut the water off. The sudden silence felt louder than the shower had been. For a moment he just stood there, dripping onto the tiles, before stepping out and grabbing a towel from the rail. The air hit him straight away, biting against damp skin, and he let out a quiet exhale as he wrapped the towel around himself, already thinking about how late he was going to be before picking up his toothbrush and hurriedly scrubbing his teeth clean.
He wiped the mirror free of steam, blinking at the reflection as it slowly came into focus. His brown eyes looked heavier than they should’ve, still carrying sleep, framed by a faint tiredness that never quite left him on school mornings. Freckles dotted his nose and cheekbones, subtle but visible now in the harsh bathroom light, like they belonged there more than anything else.
His soaked brown hair was cut in a faded trim on the sides, clean and short, but the top had grown into its usual mess overnight - thick, uneven, sticking up in every direction like a bird’s nest that refused to be tamed. When he leaned closer, there was the faintest hint of facial hair along his upper lip and jaw, still light and patchy, more promise than anything fully grown yet. He ran a habitual hand through his hair, only making it worse, then lingered for a moment longer than he meant to, studying his reflection like it might have changed since yesterday.
He left the bathroom with a towel slung loosely around his waist, damp footprints marking the corridor behind him as he made his way back to his room. The house felt louder again now that he was out of the steam and silence as voices drifted up from downstairs, the clatter of something being moved in the kitchen, Evan’s hurried footsteps somewhere in the mix.
Back in his room, he dropped the towel onto the end of the bed and crossed to his chest of drawers, pulling open the top one and grabbing a clean pair of boxers. He pulled them on quickly, then turned to the pile of uniform waiting on his gaming chair. Shirt slightly creased, tie half-knotted from last term, charcoal school trousers folded over the back like they’d been abandoned mid-routine. He got dressed in pieces, sitting down briefly to pull the trousers up, standing again to button them properly.
He was just finishing fastening the top button when the door swung open. Evan, his 11-year-old brother, walked in without warning, already half-dressed himself, both of them shirtless as Evan froze in the doorway. He was small for his age, all sharp angles still in the middle of growing into themselves, with pale skin and a shock of messy blonde hair that never seemed to lie flat no matter how much their mam tried to tame it in the mornings. His eyes flicked up to Adam for a lingering second, then away just as quickly, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to be there anymore.
He stood awkwardly near the doorframe, clutching his shirt in one hand as if he’d forgotten what he came in for. There was something naturally meek about the way he carried himself. Shoulders slightly hunched, weight shifted onto one leg, like he was always trying to take up less space than he actually occupied. “Sorry,” he muttered automatically, voice quiet and uncertain, already edging back as if he might retreat the moment Adam said anything.
Adam paused for a second, then nodded slightly. “Morning,” he said, voice still rough from sleep. “What do you want?”
Evan hovered in the doorway a moment longer, shifting his weight from foot to foot, the shirt clutched in his hands like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be asking. “Can… can you help me?” he said quietly. “The buttons. And the tie.”
Adam gave a small sigh that wasn’t really annoyance, just early-morning delay, then gestured with his head. “Come in then.”
Evan stepped into the room slowly, still a bit uncertain, glancing around at the mess of uniform and the open drawers before stopping in front of Adam. It was his first day of Year 7, and he looked like he wasn’t sure whether that meant he was supposed to feel bigger or smaller than he did. He held the shirt out awkwardly, waiting.
Adam stayed shirtless as he took it, moving without much fuss as he started fastening the buttons one by one, working from the bottom up with practiced ease. Evan stood very still while he did it, eyes flicking up at Adam’s face, then quickly down to his bare torso, then back up like he couldn’t quite settle where to look. When the shirt was done, Adam straightened it slightly at the collar.
“Right,” Adam said, reaching for the tie next. “Head up.”
Evan lifted his chin a little, but his eyes still kept darting sideways, stealing quick glances at Adam and his body as if checking he was doing everything right just by being there.
Evan muttered a small, “Thank you,” once the tie was sitting properly, his fingers immediately moving to touch it as if checking it was real and not going to fall apart the moment he left the room. He hesitated for a second after that, still standing there instead of heading out, eyes drifting around Adam’s room like he was suddenly unsure where he was supposed to go next.
Adam reached for his own shirt from the pile on the chair, shaking it out once before slipping it on. Evan didn’t leave. He just watched quietly from the doorway at first, then a bit more openly once he realised Adam wasn’t going to say anything about it. There was something calm about the way Adam got dressed - unhurried, familiar, like it was just another part of the routine rather than something to think about.
Adam pulled the shirt over his shoulders and started fastening it from the bottom, working his way up. “You alright?” he asked, glancing briefly at Evan as he adjusted the cuffs.
Evan nodded quickly. “Yeah,” he said, then added after a beat, “It’s weird. Year 7.”
Adam gave a short hum of acknowledgement, finishing the last button and rolling his shoulders slightly as the shirt settled into place. “It’ll be fine,” he said simply, like it was obvious. Evan didn’t reply straight away, just kept watching for another second before finally shifting his feet like he remembered he was supposed to be somewhere else. Adam noticed Evan still standing there, watching a bit longer than usual, eyes flicking between what Adam was doing and the floor. It didn’t feel strange to him, just Evan being Evan, taking in everything like he always did when something felt new or uncertain.
He gave a small shrug as he adjusted his collar. It was just his brother in the room, nothing more than that. Evan was starting Year 7, everything probably felt bigger and slightly unfamiliar right now, and Adam figured that was normal enough. People watched people they looked up to, or just people who were closer than the rest of the world. It didn’t mean anything complicated. Besides, he played rugby, he was more than used to people watching him change.
“You’re gonna be late if you keep standing there,” Adam said lightly, grabbing his tie from the chair.
Evan’s eyes widened slightly as the words landed. “Oh, shoot,” he blurted, suddenly snapping out of it.
He took a half-step back like the idea of being late had physically pushed him. “I’ve gotta go! Mam said I can’t be late on my first day,” he added quickly, already turning towards the door but still moving awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure which direction counted as fastest.
Adam let out a quiet huff of something close to amusement, looping his tie loosely around his neck. “You’ll be fine,” he said again, calmer this time. “Just go.”
Evan nodded too many times in a row, clutching his shirt and shifting on the spot for a second longer before finally backing out of the room. “Okay-yeah-okay,” he said, then turned and hurried down the corridor, footsteps quick and uneven as he disappeared towards the stairs.
Adam watched him go for a moment, then turned back to the mirror, tightening his tie properly as the house noise started to swell again around him.
A knock came at Adam’s door before it opened without much waiting. Cerys, his twin sister, leaned in first, already dressed, her hair still slightly damp like she’d rushed the morning. Her eyes moved quickly over the room, taking in the walls, the smell, the general pace of everything.
“You nearly ready or what?” she asked, like she already knew the answer. Then she paused, glancing past him. “Where’s Evan? He ran past me like the house was on fire.”
Adam finished tightening his tie before answering. “First day nerves,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “Forgot the time and panicked.”
Cerys gave a knowing look, like that explained more than it needed to. “Classic,” she muttered. “He’ll be fine though.”
“We’ve gotta leave soon,” she added, straightening up in the doorway. “Max is outside already. He’s taking us.”
At the mention of Max, Adam barely reacted. He didn’t mind him. Max was one of those quiet IT nerd types, far more comfortable talking about computers than people, but easy enough to be around. He mostly just got on with things, which suited Adam fine.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Adam said, reaching for his blazer from the chair. “As long as he doesn’t start explaining routers again.”
Cerys snorted softly. “No promises,” she said, already stepping back into the corridor. “Hurry up.”
The stairs creaked under their combined weight as Adam and Cerys made their way down, the familiar groan of old wood echoing through the hallway. Their school bags hung from hooks by the door, and Cerys grabbed hers first, slinging it over one shoulder without breaking stride. Adam followed, tugging his blazer straight as he reached for his own.
Through the front door window, Rhys was already outside, sitting on the low garden wall with his phone in hand. He was dressed for work now, bricklayer’s gear on - worn boots, thick, orange high-vis jacket, the kind of clothes that always looked like they’d already done a full day’s work. He looked up as Cerys stepped out first.
“Have a good day,” he said to her simply, nodding once.
“Yeah, you too,” she replied automatically, walking past.
Rhys’s eyes flicked to Adam for a second, then back to his phone. No greeting. Just the quiet assumption that Adam would figure his own day out.
From inside the house, their mam’s voice carried down the hallway. “Evan! Shoes on now, we are leaving in five minutes!” followed by the sound of hurried movement and something dropping upstairs.
Cerys rolled her eyes. “He’s still not ready,” she muttered, already heading down the path.
At the end of the street, Max’s car was parked half on the curb, engine idling. Max himself sat in the driver’s seat. Seventeen, slight and a bit awkward in that unmistakable “computer kid” way. He had messy dark hair, glasses that kept slipping down his nose, and a leavers hoodie that looked like it had seen more keyboards than sunlight. He gave a small wave as they approached.
“Morning,” he said, voice polite but a little unsure, like he was still getting used to talking and driving at the same time.
“Hey,” Adam replied, sliding into the back seat.
Cerys got in the front, immediately leaning over the centre console. “Morning,” she said more warmly.
Max smiled faintly. “Traffic’s alright today. Should be quick.”
“Good,” Cerys said. Then, without hesitation, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before buckling her seatbelt.
Max went slightly red, hands tightening on the steering wheel for a second. “Right-yeah-cool,” he said, trying to sound normal again as the car pulled away from the curb.
Adam leaned back in the seat as the car pulled away from the curb, letting Cerys and Max slip into their easy back-and-forth in the front. They were already talking over each other about their weekends. Max going into some over-detailed explanation of a coding project he’d been stuck on, Cerys half listening, half teasing him for spending “a Saturday night arguing with a laptop.”
Adam didn’t really get involved. He glanced sideways for a moment at Cerys and Max, thinking - not for the first time - about the fact her boyfriend was three years older. It still felt slightly odd when he bothered to think about it, but not enough to care much. Max was harmless. Awkward, overly technical, permanently attached to a hoodie. And more importantly, he had a car. That alone made most of Adam’s opinions irrelevant.
He shifted his attention to his phone instead, thumb scrolling through Snapchat stories. Another house party. Loud music, flashing lights, people crammed into a kitchen pretending it wasn’t as messy as it clearly was. He tapped through them one by one, expression neutral, seeing names he recognised and faces he vaguely knew, none of them people who’d thought to invite him.
Outside, the streets blurred past in familiar chunks of pavement and hedges, while the car filled with the low hum of conversation he wasn’t part of.
The drive didn’t take long. Just the familiar stretch of roads and roundabouts blurred by early morning traffic and grey skies. Max eased the car into a space in the Sixth Form car park, tyres crunching softly over gravel as he straightened up between the lines.
“Alright, here we are,” Max said, glancing into the rear-view mirror. “Have a good day.”
“Cheers,” Adam replied, already reaching for the door.
Cerys was out first, grabbing her bag and calling a quick “thanks, Max” over her shoulder before heading off without waiting. Max gave a small nod, still focused on parking properly, while Cerys disappeared into the flow of students heading towards the building.
Adam stayed in the back seat for a moment longer. The car was warm compared to outside, and the rain on the windows had started to thicken into proper drops, sliding down the glass in uneven paths, some merging, some breaking apart as they raced each other to the bottom. He pulled his phone out, flicked it off without much thought, and let it rest in his palm.
For a few seconds, he just watched the rain instead - the way it hit the window, scattered, then slowly found its way down again like everything was in competition with everything else. Outside, the school carried on in muted colour and movement, but in here it felt briefly paused, like he didn’t quite have to join it yet.
Eventually, he shifted forward, ready to get out and face it.
Adam pushed the door open and stepped out into the damp air, bag slung over one shoulder as the car behind him locked up and he and Max went their separate ways. For a moment he just stood there, letting the noise of the car park settle around him. Shoes splashing through shallow puddles, distant shouting, the low hum of students arriving in clusters.
He glanced across towards the bike sheds out of habit. That was where Dylan usually ended up.
Sure enough, he was there, half in the shelter of the metal structure, half out in the open, leaning against the fence like he owned the space even though he clearly didn’t. Dylan had that unmistakable alternative look about him: dark, slightly messy hair that never really sat right, a couple of piercings catching the weak light when he moved, and uniform that was a size too big in a way that felt intentional. He was chubby, but in a way that looked like he was still growing into his frame rather than settled in it - soft around the edges, but with the beginnings of something heavier underneath, like he’d eventually fill out properly.
He was holding a vape loosely in one hand, not even using it properly at that moment, just turning it between his fingers while he talked to someone off to the side. Dylan didn’t look like he was rushing anywhere. He rarely did. School, breaks, lessons, everything seemed optional in the way he moved through it. When his eyes flicked up and spotted Adam, he gave a small nod and a half-smile, already shifting his weight as if ready to peel away from whatever conversation he’d been half-involved in.
Adam slung his bag a little higher on his shoulder and started across the wet car park, weaving between groups of students until he reached the bike sheds. Dylan was still there, leaning against the fence in his usual spot, vape in hand, watching the movement of the school like it was something separate from him.
“Alright,” Dylan said when he noticed him, lifting his chin in greeting. He tapped the side of a cherry-flavoured ElfBar between his fingers. “You want a hit?”
Adam shook his head lightly. “I’m good.”
Dylan shrugged like he expected that answer anyway, taking a quick pull before exhaling to the side. The sweet smell lingered in the damp air. “Your loss.”
They stood there for a moment in the usual rhythm of it. Not rushing, not really in a hurry to get inside yet. Dylan asked how Adam’s weekend had been, and Adam gave the short version: rugby, sore legs, losing again, nothing new. Dylan nodded along, like he was half listening and half forming his own thoughts at the same time.
Then Dylan gave a small, amused snort. “Rugby’s just posh lads watching working-class kids bash each other up for entertainment, innit? Proper gladiator shit for the elites.”
Adam glanced at him but didn’t bite. Dylan always had a way of turning everything into some kind of theory.
“Meanwhile,” Dylan continued, a plume of vapour trickling from his nose, “I’ve been ripping music all weekend. Old albums, new stuff, whatever I can get my hands on. Stick it to the system a bit. They want you paying for everything, I just… don’t.”
He said it casually, like it was obvious, leaning back against the fence again as another group of students passed by without really looking at them.
Adam didn’t bother arguing. He’d had this conversation with Dylan before in slightly different forms, and it always ended the same way — Dylan with a theory, Adam with sore legs and no energy to care. He just nodded once, hands in his pockets, letting Dylan talk through his thoughts while the morning carried on around them.
They stayed by the bike sheds a little longer, drifting between small bits of conversation. Dylan half-ranting about music labels and streaming platforms, Adam giving short replies where needed, mostly just watching the steady flow of students heading toward the building. The school bell eventually rang out across the grounds, sharp and final, cutting through the noise and shifting everything into motion.
The main building stood ahead of them, old slate roof darkened by years of rain, walls worn but solid, with newer extensions tacked on either side where funding had allowed. Above the entrance, a modern sign read “Ysgol Cwm Elan”, with “Elan Valley School” printed neatly underneath in smaller text, like an explanation for anyone who didn’t already know.
Students funnelled through the doors in uneven streams, some rushing, others dragging their feet. Just inside the entrance hall, the headteacher, Miss Jenkins, stood like she always did at the start of the day - a middle-aged woman with a sharp posture and a no-nonsense expression that made it clear she noticed everything. Her voice carried easily over the crowd as she corrected someone’s uniform and waved another group onward, directing traffic more than greeting anyone.
As Dylan stepped forward, the headteacher’s nose wrinkled slightly. She caught the faint cherry-sweet smell of his vape lingering in the air.
“Dylan,” she said immediately, tone clipped.
Dylan froze half a second too late.
She pointed sharply toward him, then gestured for him to follow. “With me. Now.”
He let out a quiet sigh, already resigned, and followed her a few steps aside as she began speaking to him in that firm, controlled voice that meant he was in trouble whether he admitted it or not.
Her attention flicked briefly to Adam as he passed. “Registration. Go on,” she said, already moving him along.
Adam nodded and slipped past them without fuss, blending into the stream of students heading down the corridor. Inside, the building smelled faintly of wet coats, floor polish, and morning air trapped too long indoors. He made his way toward registration, where he’d collect his term planner and get ready for first lesson, the day properly starting whether he felt ready for it or not.