Highschool Love
chapter two — his house, his rules
[Sometimes a new beginning doesn’t feel like hope. Sometimes it feels like another place to survive.]
content warning: emotional abuse, family conflict
Ash Pov.:
Riverstone wasn’t what I had expected. There were no loud streets. No constant honking. No sirens that continued echoing through your head long after midnight. Instead, something heavy lingered in the air… not oppressive, exactly, but watchful. As though this place listened carefully before deciding whether it was willing to accept you.
I rested my head against the car window and watched the landscape drift slowly past me. Too much green. Too much space. The houses stood farther apart, as though they were secure enough in their own existence that they didn’t need to touch one another. Everything appeared more organised. Quieter. And that was exactly what made it feel so unfamiliar.
Riverstone felt like a place that had existed for a long time without ever needing to prove itself. As though it had kept its stories behind closed doors and decided not to force them upon anyone. I couldn’t tell whether I liked that or whether it made me nervous. Probably both.
The closer we came to our destination, the stronger that strange pulling sensation inside my chest became. It wasn’t fear. It felt more like the realisation that I had finally left something familiar behind, even though that familiarity had hurt. There was nothing here that I recognised. No sound. No smell. No corner that stirred a memory. Riverstone was a blank page.
And I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to be the one who wrote upon it. My mother had been right. Reluctantly, I had to admit it. She had thought of everything. Schools. Routes. Distances. Everything seemed easier here. More manageable. Almost as though this little town had prepared a plan for us long before we had even arrived.
I liked that thought far less than I probably should have. I slowly breathed out and turned my attention towards the road ahead. If Riverstone was supposed to be a beginning, then it was a quiet one. No explosion. No clean cut. Just the careful opening of a door, with no way of knowing what was waiting behind it.
And behind that particular door waited my uncle’s house. Yes. You heard that correctly. Our entire family was moving into my uncle’s house. All four of us. My mother. Lauren. Harry. And me. The thought alone felt wrong. Too big. Too much. As though someone had simply decided that I belonged there without ever asking whether I wanted to.
And somehow, my mother had managed to arrange it. Even in her condition. Even with all the chaos she carried around with her. She had spoken to her older brother. Called him. Explained everything. Asked for help. And Dylan had agreed immediately. At least, that was how she had made it sound. I stared through the car window and imagined how that conversation must have gone.
Dylan had probably laughed. That short, deep laugh of his that always meant he had made his decision long before anyone else realised there was one to make. He was happy about us coming. Genuinely happy. Just not because of me. I knew that without needing proof. Lauren and Harry were the reason. He liked them. He always had. He would have done anything for them.
Dylan was tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a face that revealed very little and forgave even less. His presence was heavy, almost suffocating, as though he entered every room with the intention of taking control of it. A soldier. Through and through. Not only because of his profession, but because of the way he spoke, walked and looked at people. Everything about him was order. Discipline. Expectation.
With my mother, he behaved like a brother. Protective in a way that wasn’t gentle, but was at least honest. He never allowed her to fall completely, but he also never let her forget when she had made a mess of things. Perhaps he was the only person who still dared to do that. Lauren and Harry, however, belonged to an entirely different world in his eyes. His voice softened around them. His gaze grew warmer. He crouched down to their level, listened when they spoke and laughed at things that weren’t even funny. He looked at them as though they were something worth preserving.
And then there was me. With me, Dylan was different. Colder. Harder. Unforgiving. Whenever he had visited us in the past, I had felt it immediately. Every mistake was commented on. Every reaction was judged. He spoke to me as though I first had to earn the right to occupy the same space as everyone else. As though I was too much. An unnecessary complication. Something additional. Something expendable. His gaze always lingered on me a little longer than it did on anyone else… not warmly, but critically.
As though he were constantly searching for something he could use against me. I never knew when I had done something right. But I always knew when I had done something wrong. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I didn’t. Either way, the feeling remained. That constant tightening in my stomach whenever he said my name. That silent question hanging between us. Why are you even here?
The car began to slow. The road narrowed. The trees grew denser. Without meaning to, I straightened in my seat. Because whether Dylan liked me or not, his house was about to become mine as well. At least for now. And then I saw it. The house. My uncle’s house stood slightly elevated, as though it had deliberately chosen that position for itself. Not to impress anyone, but to keep everything within view.
The dark wood was heavy and solid, blending almost seamlessly into the surrounding forest. Tall trees stood close enough to offer protection, but not so close that they obstructed the view. Nothing about this place appeared accidental. The longer I looked at it, the more obvious it became. This house had not been built to feel cosy. It had been built to endure. Weather. Time. Perhaps even people.
The wide balconies, the clean lines and the stone foundation all appeared stable, deliberate and almost military in design. As though whoever had built it had constantly calculated what might happen if something went wrong. Even the driveway was immaculate. No weeds. No cracks. Not a single detail appeared to have been overlooked. It was unmistakably Dylan’s house.
Not because of its size. Because of the way it carried itself. Silent. Watchful. Prepared. A place that didn’t forgive mistakes, but offered protection as long as you followed its rules. The windows were large, but not inviting. They looked more like observation posts than opportunities to admire the view. I had the strange feeling that from inside this house, you could see everything… while never truly being seen yourself.
As we drew closer, I noticed how little of Dylan’s personality could be seen from the outside. No decorations. No playful details. No evidence of carelessness. Only function. Structure. Control. As though Dylan had drawn clear boundaries here as well… between himself and the rest of the world. I swallowed. If the house was a reflection of its owner, then living here was going to be anything but easy. But it wasn’t frightening. Not exactly. It was more… challenging. The kind of place that didn’t offer you a place within it. It expected you to earn one.
The car doors slammed shut before anyone had the chance to say anything. Lauren and Harry had barely placed both feet on the ground when the front door opened. Dylan stepped outside. He moved calmly and with complete control, as though he had heard us long before the car had even reached the driveway. Tall. Broad. Perfectly straight posture.
A gaze that appeared capable of taking in everything at once. And then, for the briefest fraction of a second, a genuine smile crossed his face. “Well, look at you two little mice,” he said. Lauren squealed and ran towards him, with Harry directly behind her.
Dylan laughed quietly, dropped into a crouch and caught both of them effortlessly, as though they weighed nothing at all. He lifted them, one on each side, and briefly pulled them against him. Their laughter was bright. Free. Honest. For a moment, Dylan looked younger. More human. “Did you miss me?” “Yes!” they answered in unison.
He grinned and lowered them back onto the ground. At that exact moment, my mother stepped closer. Dylan straightened and looked at her. His smile grew smaller, but not weaker. Without saying a word, he pulled her into his arms. Firmly. Protectively. As though, for one brief moment, he intended to shield her from everything she had brought upon herself. He released her. Then he raised his head.
And looked at me. Not briefly. Not casually. He studied me. I felt it immediately. That heavy, unpleasant tightening inside my stomach. As though something invisible had been stretched taut between us. His eyes moved over me slowly and critically. From head to toe. There was no warmth. No welcome. Only judgement. And in that moment, I knew. I would have to prove myself. Not because I wanted to. Because Dylan expected it.
Here. Now. From the very beginning. He took one step towards me. Not threateningly. But with purpose. His voice was calm and deep, and suddenly he no longer sounded like my uncle. He sounded like a soldier. “Ashton,” he said. No nickname. No room to manoeuvre. “Welcome.” I gave him a short nod. “Thanks.” His gaze remained hard. “There are clear rules in my house.” He briefly looked towards my mother before returning his attention to me.
“You’re the oldest. That means I expect responsibility, discipline and respect.” Every word landed exactly where he intended it to. Clean. Precise. “Lauren and Harry are not open for discussion,” he continued. “They’re children. They need stability.” Then he paused. “You make sure they get it.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I pressed my lips together and nodded again.
“Understood.” His gaze held mine for a moment longer than necessary, as though he were waiting to see whether I would break beneath it. I didn’t. But I knew he noticed. “Good,” Dylan said eventually. “Then we’ll get along.” He turned away as though there were nothing more to say. And I remained where I was, with the certain knowledge that this wasn’t a temporary home. It was a test.
Inside, the house was cooler than I had expected. Not unpleasantly so. Controlled. The air smelled of wood, stone and something metallic that I couldn’t quite identify. Order didn’t merely exist in the objects around us. It existed within the silence itself. Every footstep echoed softly across the floor, as though even the house had learned to restrain itself.
The hallway was wide, open and without embellishment. Dark wood covered the walls, while pale stone tiles stretched beneath our feet. Everything appeared expensive, but not pretentious. There was no unnecessary furniture. No decoration without a purpose. This house did not want to impress anyone. It wanted to function. Dylan had already slipped back into his role.
“Lauren, Harry,” he said, clapping his hands once… calmly, but firmly. “Come with me. I’ll show you your rooms.” Their faces lit up immediately. Lauren reached for Harry’s hand, and without hesitation, they followed Dylan up the stairs towards the second floor. My mother went after them. She briefly looked back, as though she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. Her footsteps became quieter until only the creaking of the stairs remained.
I stayed where I was. Not because no one had called for me, but because my attention had caught on something. A heavy chest of drawers stood in one corner of the living area. Dark wood. Solid. Old. A row of framed photographs rested on top of it. Neatly aligned. Equally spaced. I stepped closer. Photographs. Several of Dylan in uniform. Different years. Always the same expression. Serious. Watchful.
Then there were pictures of him with my mother when they were younger, laughing with their shoulders pressed together. Lauren and Harry. Playing. Laughing. Sitting on his shoulders. Held securely in his arms. And then… There was a single photograph of me. I was younger in it. Much younger. Perhaps ten. An uncertain smile. A jacket that was too large for me.
I couldn’t even remember when the photograph had been taken. It wasn’t placed in the centre. It stood closer to the edge. But it was there. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel about that. “Ashton.” I flinched. Dylan stood behind me. I hadn’t heard him come back down the stairs. He moved the way he always did. Quietly. Purposefully.
His gaze followed mine for a brief, almost imperceptible moment before returning to my face. “Your room is in the basement,” he said matter-of-factly. No explanation. No justification. “Similar to your old room.” I immediately nodded. “That’s perfect.” And it actually was. I liked basements. The silence. The distance. He studied me for a moment.
“You’ll have space. Peace. Privacy.” Then he added, in a tone that allowed no argument: “That’s because of your mother.” Not because of me. “You’re old enough,” he continued. “And you need room. But you also need distance.” He briefly looked towards the ceiling. Towards the others. “Upstairs is family. Downstairs is focus.” There it was again. That feeling of being sorted into a category. Not excluded entirely. But clearly separated.
“I expect you to fit in here,” Dylan said. “No escalation. No excuses.” His gaze bored into mine. “You want to stay here? Then show me that you’re worth it.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned away. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.” And as I followed him, I knew one thing with absolute certainty. This house wasn’t merely a home. It was Dylan’s territory. And I had only just entered it.
———
End of chapter two
Thank you so much for reading Chapter Two. 🤍
Riverstone is supposed to be a new beginning. But for Ash, every new place simply means new rules, new expectations… and another person he has to prove himself to.
What were your first impressions of Dylan?
Do you think he’s simply strict, or is there something more behind the way he treats Ash?
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
chapter three coming soon.
★ everythingaftermidnight 🌙 ★
