Then, a reckless impulse hit him. “Okay,” he whispered to himself, heart pounding, “let’s go to Theo’s room.” He scurried toward the right door, flattening his tiny body to crawl beneath the door frame. The wood scraped against his back, but he wriggled through, emerging into Theo’s room.
The sight hit him like a wave. The room was a chaotic mess—piles of dirty laundry sprawled across the floor, tangled heaps of socks, underwear, shirts, and shorts. A pungent odor hung in the air, sharp and musky, overwhelming yet strangely thrilling. Dylan’s nose twitched, and a secret flush of excitement coursed through him as he stepped forward, weaving between the giant garments. A crusty sock loomed like a boulder; a pair of worn boxers draped over a chair like a tent.
His heart raced as he ventured deeper, the danger of this giant world sinking in. He knew he shouldn’t linger, but the thrill was intoxicating.
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