#ignore everybody’s clothing because I didn’t want everyone to just be disembodied heads... but I also didn’t want to draw clothes lol

[gin-draws]

I like to doodle my d&d group at work, but I’ve never properly figured out our heights… so I made myself a height chart.

[thestupidgatsby]

How Not to be Happy

I hate corniness with all my heart.  I wish I spent more heart-energy loving people, I really do, but if I’m going to be honest, most of my heart I use for the soul purpose of hating things. 

It’s probably all the hate that makes me so depressed.  And so, like a typical broke intellectually starved college graduate, I use the one moderately academic resource I don’t have to pay for, or actually read:  TED talks.  I multitask, spending, ½ my time listening to them while I spend the other half washing dishes, folding laundry, and engaging in other forms of uncreative busy-work to avoid facing the fact that I’m supposed to be an Artist, whatever that means.

So every week I see dozens of people going through the motions of giving inspiring motivational speeches.  Every single one of them looks absolutely convinced that they have found the key to success, happiness, relaxation, or whatever it is that changed their life.

No TED talk has ever worked on me.  Since I am still unhappy, I am living proof that none of the people I wasted ½ my time listening to knew what they were talking about.    I want my lack of money back.  I spend more time getting angry at the motivational speakers than actually listening to them.  I want to prove to them, through the screen where I watch them alone in my apartment, that I’m not falling for it.  There is no way my happiness boils down to this one simple thing I could have been doing all along, that they’re about to teach me.  If it was that simple I’d be doing it, I’m not stupid.  I try not to have this attitude, I try to open my mind, but it hurts.

I’m jealous is what it is.  I see these people and their perfect teeth and their white symmetrical faces, and their nice clothes, and sure enough, they look like they have the answer to all their problems, but not for whatever psychological quick fix  or life hack they’re preaching.  They look like they have plenty of money.  Either that or they were born with good genes and luck, into a supportive well-off family with the right connections.  That’s what I see.  They are where they are for superficial reasons, and now they have the nerve to get up on a pedestal and talk about how, not only are they better than us, the audience, but we could have been like them the whole time and we just chose not to.  Why do I spend my free time insistently watching people who have obviously been exposed to more opportunities than me, trying to school me on how to life my life.  They have no idea what it’s like to be me, and I hate them for thinking they do.

There’s a part of me, a shitty defiant but very persuasive part of me, who is jealous of everybody.  She assumes you have more than her, and she hates you for it.  When something good happens to you, she smiles and congratulates you and hates you for it.  She thinks the world is unfair, and rather than wanting to be successful herself, she thinks she’s better than you for defying the whole damn system.  She thinks her suffering makes her aware that she isn’t special, unlike everyone, which ironically, makes her special.

But just because I know she exists doesn’t mean I can make her go away.  I hear her voice in the back of my mind, ranting about the society of consumerist sheep we are a part of, any time I do something as simple as watch a commercial.  She doesn’t want to be happy, she has better things to do.   She has places to go and things to do and YouTube videos to hate.

She is such a strong part of me.  I would to almost anything to kill her, but then I wonder, who would be left?  What would happen when something corny happened on TV and my friends turned to me, waiting for the typical snarky response?  Who would they see instead?  How would I behave it I was happy?

Maybe I would just be lost, a blank slate with no personality or opinions on anything.  That’s what She wants me to believe.  She is that part of me that gets shit done.  But she is exhausting.  What’s the use of getting shit done when the rest of the time, you can’t even get out of bed.  The world is bleak, grey.  “Everything has been done before, you’re not special.  You’re getting older, wasting time, wasting away.”  That’s what she tells me every morning when I wake up, and I drown her out by gong back to sleep.

She plants images in my mind.  Images of me taking a knife from the kitchen and slicing my back and legs.  Letting out some of the blood she boils.  It spills out, bright red, in slow motion.  Maybe I’d really feel that.  She tells me it would be exciting.  But I know what she really wants.  She wants us to get sent to the psych ward again.

She loved it in the psych ward.  It was like a prize; she was truly insane.  And that meant she was special.  Zero responsibilities, she could blame the world for everything.  The only job of a crazy person is acting crazy.  Firemen put our fires, doctors cure patients, crazy exist to be crazy.  She loved being crazy; insanely rambling to the nurses and doctors.  She was so good at it, by her own made-up standards of course, she felt she had truly found her place in this world.  The one time she was every happy.

She misses the psych ward so much now.  She would give up everything I’ve worked for:  our adult car, our adult job, our adult apartment, in a heartbeat, just to be locked up again.  She tells me that’s where we belong; that this world wasn’t made for people like us, that the only sane response to this life is to go crazy.  That our people would be waiting for us there.  Like the bullies at my school, she keeps going evern when I pretend to ignore her, because she knows I’m really listening.

That’s when all  these meta questions come up.   Questions like:  since I’m writing about an alter ego whose voice I hear in my head, doesn’t that make me crazy?  So shouldn’t I just do what she wants?  These questions confuse me because I’m probably stupid.  I’m probably stupid because I spent too much time judging people as a kid and not enough time listening.

I just want relief.  This pattern is getting so old.  All I want is not to hate everything.  Is that so much to ask?

The last thing I wrote was an article on how to be happy.  Monkey see, monkey do:  I had watched so many TED talks I could spit out a conglomeration of all of them without even thinking, or feeling anything.  This isn’t to say my article wasn’t genuine, it was, just like I’m sure all those TED talk are.  But that didn’t stop it from sounding like I was claiming to even begin to understand anything about being happy.

Well I don’t.  At worst, just reading this article will make you vicariously unhappy.  At best, you happen to be an alien or disembodied soul, considering different approaches to a future life as a human, and now you can safely eliminate this one of them.  This is how not to be happy.  Your welcome.

[unpopcorned]

.

.

How does one usually start the day?

Waking up in the morning, staring at the ceiling, eyes nearly shut and unfocused. He supposes he starts it the same as anyone else, he’s not too different. But at the same time, he is. Vastly, otherworldly almost.

Hi.

His name is Derek Arthur Peterson. He just turned sixteen yesterday. He goes to Durmhall Highschool. And he’s been deaf since he was ten.

At first, he hadn’t realized. No one around had really noticed. His fourth-grade teacher had though, she used to scold him for not paying attention in class. When really, his hearing had steadily deteriorated throughout the year. He was often seated in the back of the room for his failing grades, many parent-teacher conferences were called in hopes of helping, and his parents would simply think he was ignoring most of the adults in his life.

It wasn’t until there was a fire drill at school, when he was inside of the bathroom and failed notice the piercingly loud sirens. He’d been one of the last students to leave the building, out of befuddlement from the empty classes and halls, and that’s when everyone found out more or less.

He supposes it had taken awhile, given the fact he was good at reading lips, which he’d unconsciously learnt as his hearing grew worse. In fact, he used to think it was a superpower of his. Surgeries were attempted, but didn’t help very much, apparently it’d been going down hill for years and they were lucky to catch it before he was completely unable to hear.

High-pitched sounds sometimes break through the constant roaring or water-rushing noises in his ears. He has a difficult time pinpointing exactly where it may come from, but he hears it, nonetheless. And the hearing aids are the only help with that, with much of anything. He has to be extra-extra vigilant of his surroundings if they were going to be of any use.

Anyway. He guesses he can say he’s like anybody else. A normal person. Besides - well, everything else.

He has a mother. A brother. And a grandmother.

A mother - she’s constantly on the brink, on the edge. She worries a lot, her hair is always frizzy, and she keeps a close eye on Derek. She’s a nurse, so she works long hours, checks on him when she can, and scrounges up just enough money to get them through tough months.

His grandmother - who’s pushing seventy, she knits and cleans and cooks all day long. Their water bill was substantial the previous month, she could wash dishes and do laundry until the sun goes down. She smells like sweet cookies and peppermint, and her touch is always gentle. She frets over her daughter a lot, Derek can see where his mother gets it from.

His brother - he’s seven years older than Derek. And he doesn’t come around much anymore. Not since the accident.

His family has a lot of secrets. And a lot of ups-and-downs. But they’re still family.

He sits up in bed, reaches to his left and plucks his hearing aids from the end table beside him. They’re tucked smoothly into his ears, there’s been points where they don’t help much with day-to-day life, but its a comfort to have them either way. He’s quick to brush his teeth, splash water into his face, put on his clothes.

His grandmother is cooking breakfast already, and his mother is fluttering around the kitchen like a hummingbird. He can tell they’re speaking to one another, his mother looks frustrated with something and his grandmother is barely giving her the time of day, flipping a pancake smoothly and reaching for a stick of butter on the counter. Even though they may be at odds most of the time, they still move around each other fluidly and familiarly.

Derek isn’t very hungry, but the smell is irresistible.

As soon as they notice him, he’s bombarded with kisses and good mornings, and told to sit at the table and wait. And so, he does, eating slowly once his grandmother puts the plate down in front of him. Ever so often, he’ll take glances in their direction, they continue to speak as if he isn’t there. Which they often do a lot.

“Jesus, Mom!” His mother is complaining, quickly pouring herself a cup of coffee and slamming down the maker with far more force than necessary, “Can you just give me a minute to think? To breathe?” He doesn’t catch the rest of what she’s saying, because she turns head away and takes a hearty drink.

His grandmother is saying something back, which only makes his mother cast an ugly look in her direction. He’s pretty sure he sees her mouth something about bills, and so, he speaks up, “I can help.”

Both of them look over at him. His grandmother’s face looks sympathetic, his mom looks even more frustrated than before. She’s quick to sign to him, lips moving along with her hands, “Help with what, sweetheart?”

“You’re talking about bills, right? I can help.”

Her mouth presses in a firm line. And she signs - How?

“A job.”

As soon as the words are out, she’s glaring, “No,” she makes sure to enunciate the word sharply, “No. No, absolutely not, Derek.”

“But, mom--”

“I told you not to bring that up anymore. Your disability check is fine--”

“I want to do more. All summer, all I did was lay around.”

“You did not - Oh, Jesus Christ. Derek, can we not do this now?”

“We’re not doing anything. I’m only saying--”

“Not now.”

“Give the boy a chance,” His grandmother says, she’s moved most of the dishes she’s used to the sink. Wiping her hands clean on her apron, she faces her daughter, “He obviously wants to work. Have something to do, it’s normal for teenagers.”

“Do not tell me how to raise my kid,” His mother hisses, and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t mean for him to be able to read her lips that time, but he does, “Derek, I want you to focus on school. That’s it. You do plenty - you go to group, you hang out with your friends, you--”

“I want to do more.”

“Why don’t we have this conversation later?” His grandmother suggests optimistically. She crosses the kitchen to plant a kiss on his head, “You’re going to be late.”

He feels frustrated, because it’s as if no one is listening to him. With the look his grandmother gives him, she can tell that she’s pleading for him to drop it - just for his mother’s sake. So, he does, leaving his food and grabbing his things.

Before he’s out the door, his mother catches him, hands him his gloves and kisses his head, the same as his grandmother. She smiles at him - but the lines on her face are tired and worn. Familiarly, she signs: I love you.

He signs right back: I love you too.

And her smile widens, the weight on her shoulders appears a bit lighter.

.

.

When people greet him at school, they make sure to tap him on the shoulder before saying good morning. Just so they’re certain he can see it and respond. And he appreciates that, because there’s been many instances where he’s oblivious to the ones around him.

Everything is a constant numbing sound, he finds himself drifting off more often than not.

“Morning!” Jade says to him when he gets to his locker ( 16 - 20 - 02 ), opening it quickly and stuffing his backpack inside. She seems to notice his dampening mood fast, “What’s wrong?”

Arguing.

“Ah,” she nods, cocking her head slightly. He’s known Jade since he was much younger, right before the accident. And ever since then, she’d been a stable support system in his life, learning sign-language quickly and fluidly, talking to him when no one else would.

She signs to him: Want come over later? Her hands move in such a fast-pace, lazily - almost like her words. She even has this small quirky way of disembodying her words, cutting off her hand movements at the last second and switching to the next. Derek’s known her long enough, fortunately, to be able to to tell what she’s trying to say.

He almost nods. But something over her shoulder catches his attention. He must get That Look on his face, because the next moment, Jade is following his gaze.

Wyatt is coming down the hallway.

Wyatt is a cheerleader, he’s tall, he’s smart, and he’s too cute for his own good. He has this hair that looks so soft and pretty. And this mouth that’s constantly in a smile, like he knows a funny joke and Derek is desperate to be in on it. And these shoulders that are like whoa. He’s the type of person where its hard to stare at him for long intervals, because you’re bound to fall in love.

Brooke had once said he looked like the kind of guy you wanted to climb like a tree. Well, yeah, that too.

Which is a little strange because Derek’s never liked a guy before. He’s never looked at much of anyone for more than a second or two. When he was in the seventh grade, he had a girlfriend, but he was pretty sure she was doing that out of pity because he didn’t have a date to the Spring Fling Dance that year. Other than that, no one’s really put in the effort to try and date him ( more than likely because of his disability and all the shortcomings that came with it ) and he’s never really minded either.

But Wyatt--

Is it possible to have such a big crush that you don’t know what to do with yourself?

“Nice uniform,” Jade points out when Wyatt is close enough to greet. She even goes out of her way to sign it as well, just so Derek can keep up with the conversation, “Becca and Jessica really want a bunch of people at the pep rally, huh?”

“If you don’t come, I’m here to show you what you’ll be missing,” Wyatt tells her, giving his one-hundred-million-dollar smile. Truth be told, he is wearing his cheerleading uniform, and it’s sticking to him in all the right places. He notices Derek right after, smile growing wider: Hey, Derek.

He’s getting good at that. His motions could be a little sloppy, but he’s trying. And Derek finds himself smiling back, cheeks growing flushed: Good morning.

“I won’t be missing much of anything,” Jade says, “Full on dyke here.”

“Everybody needs a little action,” Wyatt replies, glancing at Derek again, “Right?”

Derek might as well be a bobble-head, that’s how fast he nods. But then again, he’d nod at anything Wyatt says. Just to be included. His heart is going pitter-patter in his chest ( you love-sick idiot ).

Did you need help - Wyatt’s hands hesitate for a moment - getting to class?

“Work on your delivery,” Jade says, which Derek is unable to catch, “And your flirting.”

Wyatt gives her a look. But glances back at Derek after awhile and - and he has those intense kind of eyes. The moment doesn’t last long because someone apparently calls Wyatt’s name, and Derek can tell because Wyatt turns his head suddenly in the other direction, over his shoulder.

Jessica Crimson, along with a few other cheerleaders, come to stop at his side. Jessica is also pretty, she’s like - otherworldly pretty though. Long blonde hair with never a single strand out of place, slender figure that everyone glances twice at, and the perfect life ( including her family, grades, and friends ). And for some reason, she’s always liked Derek, she pinches his cheeks sometimes and kisses his head, she even knows a few words in sign language.

He can’t keep up with the conversation, because they’re talking too fast and some of them aren’t even looking his way. But he can stare at Wyatt this way without seeming weird. At his nice hair, his nice smile, the nice little freckle on his collarbone.

Derek studies and stares at people and things a lot. But not as much as Wyatt, he’s realized.

He catches one of the cheerleaders say “party” and Jade is rolling her eyes, turning her face towards him and imitating sticking her finger down her throat: Gag me.

The bell rings. The vibrations are shrill enough where he can feel it. Students around the group beginning closing their lockers and disappearing into separate classrooms. Jade loops her arm through Derek’s, they have the majority of classes together, so he typically follows her throughout the day.

“Bye, Wyatt,” Jade gives a prissy little wave, just to bug Jessica.

“See ya’,” he tells her, his eyes linger on Derek though. And he makes sure to sign: After school. Derek doesn’t know what that means, since they’ve never met after school before, but Jade tugs him away before he has a chance to ask.

Class goes pretty smoothly, but he has a hard time paying attention. Mrs. Spuel - his translator that transitions to every class with him - notices, and she makes vague gestures to get his attention throughout. He’s too busy thinking about Wyatt though ( pretty, handsome, always-looks-good-in-uniform Wyatt ).

His first three classes go by in a blur and soon, it’s time for lunch. Despite his disability, a lot of people are nice to Derek, go out of their way to communicate with him. Jade, Aahna, Paula, Janet, and Mason are already at their usual table. Derek sets his sights on it fast, relieved to get a moment to just sit and think for a small while without anyone bothering him.

Mason hardly looks up from his book when Derek joins the table, Aahna and Jade are going back and forth over two bands and which is better, Janet is leaning into Mason’s side, peeking over his shoulder to see what he’s writing in his notebook. And Paula, as usual, is lost in her own world, daydreaming.

Derek pays to the attention at the table for the most part - Mason looks as if he’s more focused on studying, Janet tries to find a middle ground between Aahna and Jade, and Paula prefers not to be pulled into any of it. Finally, Janet turns to Derek. 

“Derek, what do you think?”

He blinks, smiles uncertainly, “Both...are okay, I guess.” 

“You guess? Oh, c’mon,” Jade begins complaining, “No way you prefer Foo Fighters over Pulp.” 

He’s still smiling, “You know me. Not really into music.” And to make a point, he taps the side of his hearing aid twice. 

Underneath his breath, Mason laughs. And then so does Aahna, and next Jade. Janet is the only one who gives them the stink eye, “That’s not funny. You guys have the worse sense of humor!” 

He finds its better to laugh at his situation, rather than mull over it. 

.

.

True to his word, Wyatt sees him after school. 

Derek notices him in front of his locker as soon as he’s close enough. And it takes a moment for Derek to process that ( super-pretty-Wyatt is standing at his locker ). He takes a moment to to take him in, hesitate on his steps before he gains his nerve and practically skips over. 

“Hey,” Derek breathes when he’s close, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Wyatt is already smiling, pushing himself off his locker, hands in his pockets. There’s a bustle of students around them, some stop to say hi to Wyatt, which he eagerly returns, but always refocuses his attention onto Derek, “Class was okay?” 

Derek rocks on his feet, his stomach is filled with butterflies now. And he’s never had that happen with anybody else, “Oh. Oh! Yeah, it was good. Nice. How about you?” He’s fumbling with his words, uses his hands as clarity as he speaks. 

“Boring. But you know, it’s looking up now,” He stares at Derek for awhile, presses his lips together to smother a smile, “So, after the pep rally, we’re all going over Trevor’s. Did you want to come?” 

“Ah,” he shakes his head. But they’re both smiling - looking like idiots staring at each other, “My mom doesn’t like me staying out really late or anything. She worries all the time, you know?” 

“Yeah, I get it,” But something weird happens. He moves closer, close enough where Derek can see the different specks of color in his eyes, “You never come to the pep rallies or parties or really anything, so I thought I’d ask.” 

Wyatt looks for him at those kind of things? Whoa. Even so, his eyes don’t waver from his mouth, “It’s...’cause of my mom. I want to go.”

“Then you should. I’d like to see you there.” 

His hands stop, “You do?”

Wyatt is patient, eyebrows lifting, smile still there. He’s so pretty, it hurts. Smart, handsome, always-nice Wyatt, “Yeah. We never really get time to hang out.” 

Yeah, they don’t. It feels like they’re on total opposite sides of the spectrum, Wyatt’s constantly surrounded by cheerleaders and jocks. Derek has always kept to the same people since middle school, Aahna and Mason, Janet and Paula. He’s never tried to drift out of his circle, his comfort zone was always best for himself, he decided that a very long time ago. 

Wyatt is different. He’s never wanted to be so close to a person before. He wonders if he smells as good as he looks. 

“That’s my fault,” Derek says, he’s still really distracted by his presence in general. A pause as he thinks, “I can...I can ask my mom if she’ll let me go.” 

Wyatt brightens fast, even his eyes light up. He’s too cute. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Someone from behind Derek must say his name, because Wyatt cranes his head around his shoulder, and his eyes flicker back to him quick. He signs: So I’ll see you there?

Yeah. Definitely. 

.

.

So turns out, no matter how much he begged, his mom wasn’t letting him leave the house that night. The two of them even went back and forth over it for awhile, until his grandmother forced her way into the conversation to calm them both down. 

He feels beyond frustrated - he always sticks to the house rules, he goes to group, he makes good grades, he tries his hardest every day, and he’s not allowed one night to just be a normal teenager. By the end of the conversation, his mother looks close to crying, and she keeps saying she’s tired and doesn’t want to talk anymore. She has her second shift soon, so she goes to her room to finish putting on her shrubs. 

His grandmother runs him a bath, gives him a sorry look when she opens the door for him. In the tub, he can only watch as the steam lifts to the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment just to block everything out. 

He wishes he had Wyatt’s number. He can’t help but wonder if he’d even notice if he wasn’t there tonight. Probably not. And the thought makes him shift deeper into the water until his head is submerged underneath. 

When he’s finished and dressed for the night, he works on his homework. Just for a couple hours, and to clear his head. His mother leaves for work, when he glances at the clock, he can see its well past ten at night. So, she has to be gone. Which means she hadn’t taken the time to say goodnight to him before going. She must really be upset. 

He’ll have to apologize in the morning. He feels like a jerk now. 

His grandmother is the one who comes and kisses his head and leaves him to his studies. And out of instinct, he tells her he loves her twice, but the jerk-feeling doesn’t go away. After he finishes his homework, he stands from his desk and stretches. He’s tempted by the sight of his bed, but he’s also too anxious to sleep before his mom gets home. 

Which wouldn’t be for another few hours. 

The kitchen is spotless, his grandmother always cleans throughout the day. There’s the heavy smell of cleaning products and laundry detergent every time he comes home. And in the fridge, it’s stocked with leftovers and plenty of food, drinks, snacks, anything he asks for he usually gets. That just makes the jerk-feeling take a punch to his gut, he really hates fighting with his mom. 

Lips quirk to the side, and he reaches into the fridge to take the carton of orange juice out. By the time he pours himself a cup and puts it back, he’s already yawning. Maybe he should call Jade, just so she can keep him company until he feels better. 

He turns, “Oh!” 

“Sorry!” 

Derek almost drops his cup, wide-eyed. On the other side of the island counter, his older brother stands there. Brandon stares back at him, hands lifted in up to his shoulders, like he’s a burglar who just got caught. Derek hadn’t noticed him come in, heart in his throat, he carefully places down his glass. 

His brother stops for a moment, takes a glance in the corner of the room where the door leads to the sitting area. Probably making sure they didn’t wake their grandmother. And then he returns to his attention to Derek, grinning impishly. 

Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. 

Derek hesitates: It’s okay. 

Whenever he sees his brother, he thinks of their dad. Not only because of what happened, but the similarities - the sharp nose, the hard-set eyes, even the way he set his shoulders sometimes. Even though his memories of his father were very blurred, he can see him in Brandon easily. 

His brother is eyeing him now: What’re you doing up so late?

Studying. 

“Ah,” he nods, continues glancing around: Mom redecorated? 

No. Grandma.

It’s silent between the both of them for awhile after that. His brother still hasn’t gone around the counter, hasn’t hugged him. There’s never been a time where he hasn’t felt far away from Brandon in some sense, though. In the back of his mind, he can remember warm hugs and a hand on his head and remembering the skinny lines of his back. Because all he used to do is follow Brandon around when they were younger. It seems so long ago now. 

He stops, drags his thumb over the rim of his glass: Mom is going to be mad if she knows you were here. 

Brandon sighs, “I’m not gonna take anything. Don’t worry.” 

I know. 

His eyes tighten, and he looks visibly tense now. He must’ve cleared his throat, because his throat bobs uncomfortably, “Hey, so - uh--” He shifts: Happy Birthday. Derek can’t help it, he smiles. Brandon smiles back, “You thought I forgot? No way.”

Mom probably thought he did. But not Derek. Even though Brandon has missed the last couple years, Derek never really lost hope. That’s his job though, staying optimistic even when things’re particularly hard. 

Thanks. 

“Yeah, sure,” Brandon is shifting on his feet still, “I wanted to come by and see you, but...” He shrugs a shoulder uneasily, “You know.” 

Yeah. He does know. 

Did Mom get you anything cool? 

Shoes. Some notebooks. New sheets. 

She’s so lame. 

I needed new shoes. 

Brandon is smiling now, looks close to laughing. He keeps glancing at the door and listening out for any noise. But there doesn’t seem to be any, “You look good, though. Like - you’re eating more, I mean. Doc say anything at your last checkup?” 

Derek shakes his head. 

“Huh. Okay,” Brandon presses his lips together, the smile leaves as quickly as it comes, “You know...you know I miss you, right? And as soon as I work all this shit out, I’m going to come see you more. Not just once or twice a year. No bullshit. For real this time. I promise.” 

Most of Brandon’s promises were empty, easy to see through and clear as day. Like a shallow puddle. Derek kind of hates when he makes promises because he so fiercely believes them, even now. He stares at Brandon for a long time, taking him in. The disheveled hair, the stubble, the jitters. It’s the same as last year, and the year before that, and the five years before that. 

He’s doing it again.

Derek’s expression falls slightly, enough where it catches Brandon’s attention. He leans his weight into the counter, staring at him beseechingly, “Look at me, okay? I’m gonna get better, I’m gonna stop doing this shit, alright? No more. I’m serious, I’m done. I’m gonna - I’m gonna start rehab and then I’m gonna come back home. I swear, Derek.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“I know mom is really mad at me right now, about before. But...I’m going to pay her back.” 

Derek is still staring at him, eyebrows furrowing. A familiar feeling stabs him straight in the chest, Brandon has said this to him before. Many times. He knows what comes next. 

“But right now, see - right now, I can’t. I’m kind of in a bind. I need your help.” 

Here it comes. 

“I need some cash.” 

Derek stares more. The feeling is stronger now, its filling up his chest. But he ignores it, he ignores stuff all the time. Plays dumb, acts like he doesn’t notice certain things, even when it eats away at him. This is no different. Attempting a half-smile, he signs: I have leftover money from my birthday. 

Brandon looks overwhelmingly relieved when he sees that. His face relaxes, shoulders slightly droop, “Thanks, little brother,” Derek retrieves the money fast, its a thick bundle that he hands over without hesitation. Brandon pockets it fast, hugs him tight right after. 

Derek has a hard time letting go though. He always does. 

.

.

“It’s so hot!” Jade groans, tipping her head back. Messy hair thrown into an even messier bun, she pulls uncomfortably at her sweaty shirt before returning her attention to Derek. He’s watching her in clear amusement, “I’m serious! It’s fall, isn’t it supposed to be freezing by now?” 

Derek shrugs, holding out his mitt. Jade takes the hint and lobs the ball at him. Coach Kenson could be pretty lazy sometimes - throwing a baseball back and forth for an hour couldn’t really be called exercise. But Derek can tell most of the students don’t mind. Anything to get out of the stuffy school for a few minutes. The rest of the class is lined up, tossing back and forth along the field. A couple of guys are currently wrestling over the last inflated football, two of them crash into the grass and the rest dog-pile on top. 

Coach blows his whistle, Derek can tell from how far his cheeks puff out and how Jade immediately cringes away from him, “Hey! Hey, no rough-housing!” 

Derek throws it back, “Is everything with Paula going okay?” 

“Huh?” She seems startled by the question, and ends up fumbling and dropping the ball, “Oh. Yeah. I mean--” A shrug, “We’re cool.” Derek can tell that she’s mumbling, he can barely make out what she’s saying. When he squints his eyes at her, she rolls her own and makes sure to enunciate her words, “We’re fine.” 

Derek makes a face that visibly says - yeah, sure. Just because he may act stupid sometimes, doesn’t mean he is. He knows Jade better than the back of his hand and he also knows when something is going on with her. He’s deaf, not oblivious. Give him some credit here. 

“Don’t give me those squinty eyes,” She lobs the baseball at him hard, and Derek hurries to catch it. It’s hard enough to make his hand smart, he shakes it out with a frown, “I just - I think...she’s not into me, okay?” 

That’s strange. From what he could see, Jade and Paula went together very well - personality and in a physical means. They’re always touching, always smiling at each other, and Jade’s never been happier. He can tell. But for the last couple weeks, he guesses Paula has been acting a little weird ( more than usual ), distant almost. Maybe Derek is just a little too good at reading his friends. 

“Some stuff is going on at home with her. And I’ve been trying to be there. But she’s the type to push people away, I think,” Jade smoothly catches the ball when he throws it back, “We’re kind of...on a break. Or whatever.” 

He blinks fast at her. It’s like a freeze-frame on one of those stupid movies Mason liked to binge on Saturdays. With wacky jokes and overdone theatrics. He loves comedies. 

“It’s only for a little while.” 

Now, he feels bad for even bringing it up. And sympathetic. Removing his glove, he signs: We can hang out after school and talk about it. 

“Yeah,” she nods, looks as if she’s relieved to even get it off her chest, “Yeah, okay.” Something past his shoulder must catch her attention, she’s wrinkling up her nose fast, “Oh, here we go.” 

Derek turns. And runs right into someone. A chest, a really nice chest. Sweaty, warm. And the smell is very familiar. He snaps up straight, “I--” 

Wyatt is smiling already, grabbing a hold of his shoulders to steady him, “Sorry.”

He almost says don’t be. Why should he be sorry when he smells so good and looks so pretty? The sun is out just the perfect amount, shining through his hair and making it appear golden. Derek doesn’t know why Jade was complaining, the light helps the view. 

“It’s okay,” he signs it as well, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

“Wyatt sure was,” Jade says, though Derek has no way of catching it, he’s facing away from her. Jade sticks her tongue out when Wyatt gives her a look, “Aren’t you supposed to be running laps?” 

“Hey, so,” Wyatt ignores her, “I didn’t see you at the thing the other night.”

Derek blinks, and then blinks again. The thing, the party. It’s not like he’d forgotten, but he was kind of hoping Wyatt had, “Oh. Yeah. My mom said no.” 

“I figured,” Wyatt shrugs his very nice shoulders, “I was looking all over for you. Was gonna save you a dance and everything.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Wyatt steps closer, which Derek immediately notices, “I wanted to see you.” 

“Gag!” Jade teases from behind them. 

Derek feels lame, enormously and utterly lame. He can’t even go to some high school party without his mom throwing a fit, and even though he’d prefer to avoid all conflict with her especially when she’s so stressed, it’s hard. Besides the frustration, there’s a light feeling to his chest, spreading from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. 

Wyatt had saved a dance for him. Had wanted to see him. Totally cute Wyatt.

“Is it okay if I come over to your place?” Derek is back to blinking like a dummy again. He must look startled because Wyatt rushes to finish, “We can hang out. I figured it’s best to come to yours, rather than force you to some stupid party. Unless, you don’t want to--”

“No!” Derek stops him quick, “No, I do. I mean - you can. Yes.”

Wyatt is smiling again, it spreads across his face slow. Derek doesn’t think his heart can take much more of this, “Yeah? It’ll be okay with your mom?”

“Yeah! She would love you.” 

“Love me, huh?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

“This weekend okay for you?” 

He’s reverted back to Bobble-Head-Derek, nodding fast. 

“Good. Great.” 

“Okay.” 

“So I’ll see you this weekend?” 

“Yeah.” 

Wyatt is shuffling backwards on his feet, this almost excited smile to his face. Before he can say anything more, Coach is yelling in his direction, assigning him two more laps for stopping to chat. Wyatt locks eyes with him for a moment, a quick wink thrown in Derek’s direction, and then he’s jogging off. 

When Derek turns back around to face Jade, absolutely smitten, she’s staring at him.

“What.”

“You know what. You might as well get a shirt with the words written across. LOVE ME, WYATT.” 

Derek throws the ball at her, aiming for her shoulder. And she catches it, laughing.

He hangs out with Aahna and Jade after school. Janet and Mason usually do their own thing, and Paula has a strict curfew, so it’s only the three of them left. They get milkshakes and burgers ( Aahna doesn’t, she’s been a vegetarian since she was eleven and refuses to even look at meat for too long ). 

“--and I was like, well why didn’t you tell me sooner that you wanted to break up. And she was all like, I didn’t tell you ‘cause I knew you’d freak out. And get this, she had the nerve to just call it a break.” 

Aahna looks puzzled, “What’s so bad about calling it a break?” 

“Everybody knows a break is just stalling the inevitable. We might as well be done,” Jade huffs, leaning back heavy in her seat, “And you know, it sucks. Because...we’ve always been great together. It came completely out the left field.” 

Yeah, for Derek too. It’s definitely a surprise. Maybe Jade and Paula are a lot better at hiding things than he’d originally thought. He reaches across the table, touches Jade’s hand gently. She gives him an awfully sad look and he squeezes in return. 

Aahna is equally as affectionate, rubbing at Jade’s back in comfort, “You did say before that Paula was going through a tough time, right? Maybe when things’re better, she’ll actually talk to you.” 

“I doubt it,” Jade mumbles, avoiding both of their eyes. She takes a long drink of her chocolate milkshake, “Me and Paula aren’t like everyone else. All perfect all the time,” Derek doesn’t have to hear to be able to detect the light jabbing in Jade’s voice, she’s obviously frustrated, “Like you and Sam. Cute and cuddly and kissing.” 

“We don’t kiss all the time,” Aahna protests, there’s a flush to her cheeks now. She releases Jade, tucks hair behind her ears in a flustered fashion, “And we’re not perfect. No couple is.”

“He’s always there for you when you need him. He touches you in public. And you guys talk, all the time. Sounds perfect to me.” 

Aahna turns a deeper shade of red, “Can we not talk about this? Maybe Paula isn’t for you. Sometimes stuff just doesn’t work out. And I mean, you’re great, Jade.”

“Yeah,” Derek decides to put in, “You’re funny and talented and your hair is really nice. It’s always in cute styles.” 

Jade stares at him, this little smile comes to her face, “You’re kinda obligated to say that, you’re my best friend.” 

“Still!” 

“Paula doesn’t know what she’s missing,” Aahna puts in next, smiling now. She moves closer, lighting pressing her shoulder into Jade’s, “Derek isn’t lying about the cute hair part--”

“Okay, okay! Enough about my love life,” Jade says, “Geez. Let’s talk about Derek’s instead.” 

His eyebrows go up, “Mine?” 

“Derek has a love life?” Aahna’s attention is caught swift, looking between the both of them, “Since when?” 

“Since he started drooling over Wyatt,” Jade supplies. 

“Cheerleading Wyatt?” 

“Mhm.” 

Now, he’s the one blushing, ducking his head and studying his own milkshake like its the most interesting thing in the world. He can feel them both staring at him, so he tentatively lifts his head to see what they’re saying, “I’m not...drooling over him.” 

“Sure,” Jade teases, “You just get all twinkly-eyed and stare at him.” 

“Staring,” Aahna repeats, “I haven’t noticed.” 

“Are you kidding? Every time Wyatt spots him, he’s running over to say something. It’s so gross.” 

“Does Wyatt like guys?” 

“He likes Derek, definitely.” 

“Wyatt--” Derek says, “Wyatt doesn’t like me,” His two friends look over at him, Jade looks doubtful and Aahna appears curious, “Nobody really likes me. That way.” 

“Why would you think something like that?” Aahna is staring at him again, leaning closer from across the table. 

“Because,” he shrugs his shoulders in an almost helpless manner. His heart is racing now, it’s not a usual where the conversation and attention may shift onto Derek. Actually, he makes sure it never does. Because who wants to hear about him - sure, you might like his smile or his sense of humor or anything on the surface. But that’s exactly what it was, just stuff on the surface. Nothing below the skin. Maybe that’s why he related to Jade so well, because he knew she felt like that too sometimes, “You know. I’m kind of weird. Abnormal.” 

Jade speaks first, “Who isn’t? Aahna and Janet are pretty weird. Mason, too.” Aahna glances in her direction, pursing her lips at her, “Don’t take it personal. It’s a good weird. We’re all a good weird.”

“I think you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,” Aahna notes, quite seriously. She’s staring right at Derek. Aahna’s always had those really, really deep eyes that you can’t help but stare into. Can’t lie to her face, can’t be mean to her for even a second. Her eyes are that powerful, “You can’t see that?” 

They’re both staring at him and that makes him wish he hadn’t said anything, “Wyatt wouldn’t like someone like me. He would like someone like...Jessica. Or Brooke. Or--” 

“He would have super bad taste then,” Jade complains, “Can we not mention Malibu Barbie while I’m eating?” 

“I’m only saying,” Derek tells the both of them, “I don’t want anybody to be with me out of pity. Or because they think they have to. He’s just being nice to me. He doesn’t want...that.” 

Aahna visibly sighs, puffs out her cheeks. But Jade is the one who speaks up, “If you don’t see how much that cheerleader is head over heels for you, then you’re not only hard of hearing, but blind too.” 

“Jade!” Aahna slaps her arm, makes a face at her, “That’s not funny!” But Derek is already smiling and laughing. And then Jade is, too. Aahna glares at the both of them, “Janet’s right, your senses of humor suck.”

.

.

His bedroom door opens and Derek turns slightly to see his mother standing in the doorway, already dressed for her shift. He’s busy cleaning, folding his laundry and tucking each article of clothing into the proper drawer. His mother leans against the wall, watching him for a moment: Cleaning? So it’s not Jade who’s coming over?

He shakes his head: No. Somebody else from school.

Her eyebrow raises: Have I met this person?

No. You will soon. He’s really nice.

As long as he’s nice. She pushes off of the wall, leaning over and kissing the top of his head quickly: Grandma already went to bingo, she probably won’t be home until late. If she doesn’t fall asleep at Ms. Mable’s again.

I hope she does well. 

“You know your grandmother. She’s pretty lucky.” She hesitates, watching him, “I love you, Derek,” She puts a hand to his shoulder soothingly, then up to the back of his neck to touch his reddish-brown curls, “You know that, right?” 

He does know that. And he loves her, he loves her more than anything. He loves her and he loves his grandmother and his brother and his home. Sometimes, on some days, he loves himself and he thinks he wouldn’t want to change anything about his life. Because he wouldn’t be Derek without all of his imperfections. And then on other days, not so much.

He nods, “Love you too.” 

“Of course you do. ‘Cause I’m your mom,” she curls her arms around his shoulders, “I’m sorry I’ve been so...parent-y lately.” 

He smiles now: It’s kind of your job.

“Yeah,” she smiles back, it looks a little tired and soft - like her usual smiles, “Yeah, I know. I wish I could be better at it.” 

Better at what? 

“At being your mom,” He’s just barely able to decipher what she’s saying. A delicate wrinkle appears to his forehead when she brushes his hair back, “I remember when we first moved to this house and I just kept thinking that now its just me. And my little guy. You’re so big now, it’s hard to remember that.” She’s quiet for a long time after that, and then she suddenly says, “I should call your brother soon. Don’t you think?” 

He thinks back to a few nights ago, seeing his brother for the first time in a long time. His desperate eyes, his thin frame, his scratchy voice. He nods again: You should. Her smile twists, she looks like she’s in pain. After kissing his head one more time, she reaches over and takes the shirt he’d been currently folding and does it for him, pointedly tucking the sleeves back first.

“This is why you don’t do laundry.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be going?” 

He can still see the tension lingering at her shoulders, it’s not often that he gets to see her like this. She bottles stuff up a lot, and he thinks that’s where he must get it from. He worries that she will overrun, like a glass that’s filled with water and threatening to crack. When she talks to him like this, its at super small windows, when they’re just alone and she snaps back just as fast. It’s hard to get her to open up, he’s been trying ever since dad died.

He hopes the bad feeling in his chest will go away by time Wyatt comes.

She leaves soon after. It’s been awhile since he was alone in the house, his grandmother usually watches after him. But it feels empty like this, with him just alone. He makes himself busy by finishing laundry and cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink. His room is pretty boring, there’s no TV, so he doesn’t see a point in tidying it up too much. 

He’d said hang out, so Derek’s pretty sure that’s code for eating a bunch of junk food and talking. As he debates on where they should sit ( at the dining table or at the couch ), the doorbell rings. He can tell because the flasher in the corner of the room goes off twice and catches his eye. His heart almost jumps out of his chest, he nearly drops the couch pillow in his arms.

He manages to make it to the door, takes a deep calming breath, and then opens it. Wyatt is standing there, he’s wearing his cheerleading jacket and jeans and nice sneakers. He looks pretty, Derek is always a little starstruck every time he sees him. He must look dumb, just standing there and staring at him. 

Wyatt smiles: Can I come in? 

Bobble-Head-Derek is back. There’s no stopping him. He closes the door after Wyatt once he steps inside, “You’re getting good at that.” 

Wyatt turns to look at him, smile lifting into an easygoing grin, “Yeah? I’ve been practicing a lot.” That makes his stomach flutter, that Wyatt would take time out of his day to learn more and more, just so he can be able to talk to Derek, “Can I take off my jacket?” 

“Yeah.” 

Wyatt does just that, he removes his jacket. Derek takes it, almost in a daze. Wyatt’s arms look really nice, and even though he isn’t looking in Derek’s direction ( he’s glancing around the expanse of the house ), Derek is staring at him. Gosh, how can a person be this nice to look at? Shouldn’t be it like, against the law or something. 

Derek tries to keep himself moving, he goes to hang up the jacket in the sitting room closet. 

“This is nice,” Wyatt says, he’s still taking a quick look around, “Where’s your room?” 

Derek pays close attention to his hands, blinks once, “Oh. In the back.” It’s not that exciting to look at, it’s almost painfully boyish. Posters of bands, pictures of his friends, dirty clothes bin in the corner, dark blue sheets and blankets. Fortunately, he’d taken the time to tidy up before Wyatt got there. 

He never thought he would get to this point. His crush, totally cute cheerleading Wyatt is in his house, his living room. The old-eighties wallpaper along with the ugly drapes his mom refuses to get rid of become even duller in comparison with him here. He’s here, he’s really here. This isn’t another one of those over-imaginative dreams, and he has a lot of dreams about Wyatt. He hopes he’s not staring too much or he thinks his house is ugly-looking. 

But of course not, because its Wyatt and he’s sort of incapable of being mean. He turns to him with this pretty smile under prettier eyes, “I always imagined how your house was, but it’s different actually being here.” 

“Really?” That’s exciting to hear. 

“Yeah. I realize how weird that seems now. Saying it out loud and everything.” 

“No, it’s...” Derek shakes his head, “I bet your house is cooler.”

Wyatt shifts on his feet, and for some reason, it looks very shy-like, “Can I see your room?” Derek leads him down the hallway, hooking a left into his bedroom. Wyatt seems even more entranced, he’s taking a close look at everything around him. Derek fidgets some. 

Wyatt’s mouth moves, but Derek doesn’t catch it. So, he enunciates more clearly, “There’s a lot of pictures of Jade in here,” he says, poking at a taped portrait on his wall, over his bed. Along with a hundred others, “I’ve known her since grade school, you know.” 

“Really?” Jade had never mentioned it.

“Yeah. She used to steal my crayons all the time,” He’s studying on with rapt attention, flipping it halfway over to see the back. It’s dated, Derek dates all of them, “Your birthday was this week?”

“A couple days ago,” Derek tells him, “It was--” Now Wyatt is staring at him, for some reason Derek now feels as if he said something wrong, “It’s...not a big deal or anything.”

“I missed your birthday. I can’t believe I missed your birthday,” he says, slightly slack-jawed, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Derek is kind of smiling at his reaction. Kind of surprised too, “I didn’t think you’d care.” 

Wyatt looks even more offended than before, “Not care? You’re serious? I would’ve gotten you something - no way, I’m getting you something.” 

“You don’t have to. Jade didn’t even get me anything.” 

“Jade obviously doesn’t know how lucky she is to be close to you.” 

Derek is grinning and blushing now, and Wyatt is shaking his head to himself in some kind of mock disapproval as he puts the picture back. Derek takes his time pointing out each one and telling him when it had been and where. After awhile, the two of them are sitting in bed and looking through them, and just - well, talking. And that’s nice. It’s like they’ve been doing it for their whole life. 

“What did you do for your birthday?” 

Derek stares at his hands as he signs and speaks, “There was lots of cake. And everyone was talking and having fun. Aahna and Jade, too.” 

“Having fun?” He’s staring at him with this almost amused tilt to his mouth, “You make it sound like you weren’t there.” 

“It’s just--” He shrugs, “Everybody was dancing.” 

“Dancing - oh. You don’t like dancing?” 

“It’s not that. When I was younger, I remember I liked to dance. All the time, my mom said I was always moving or something.” 

“Yeah?” Now the smile is wider, more amused. His eyes are shining, “We should dance then.” 

Derek blinks, curious. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything, Wyatt is already glancing around the expanse of the room before he seems to remember something. He takes Derek’s wrist in his hand gently ( his hands are so nice and soft and -- ), and tugs him towards the living room. There, it’s his grandmother’s old stereo that she never got rid of, the one encased with glass and she always told him not to touch when he was younger. Wyatt fiddles with it for awhile, Derek can do nothing but watch. 

Music starts to play, he can tell because Wyatt stands up straight and turns up the volume. Eyebrows slightly furrowed, Derek is unsure of what’s playing but Wyatt doesn’t look as if he minds too much, even as he shrugs and says, “Okay, we can work with this.” 

It’s a jumbled, muffled mess to Derek. But he can’t keep himself from smiling, watching as Too Pretty Wyatt steps closer to him and offers his hands. Like he’s some kind of prince asking for him to waltz. Derek doesn’t even hesitate, he clasps his hands with his, surprised when Wyatt pulls him forward without pause. It’s pretty clumsy and Derek’s heart is in his throat, but it’s also kind of perfect. 

To be completely honest, he hasn’t dance in a long, long time. He can’t remember the last time, actually. It’s not because he feels awkward or embarrassed doing it, he just can’t hear the music. Of course Wyatt would be the one to take him out of his comfort zone, a million miles away from it, in fact. It’s hard to say no to that face, that smile, those eyes. 

He’s smiling and laughing again, Derek wishes he could hear it. He’s never wished something so bad in his life. It dissolves into Derek jumping around in a full circle, he’s moving energetically to what he guesses the music sounds like, and Wyatt’s watching him like he’s doing something weirdly endearing.  

At some point, Derek had closed to his eyes, and he’s unsure of just when. But he feels Wyatt’s hands on his shoulders, twisting him gently back around to face him. When he opens his eyes, he finds Wyatt staring at him again, smiling and breathless, “Here, here--” 

He’s guiding his arms, keeps them from flailing around, his touch is warm and kind. For just a heart-stopping second, their eyes meet. And neither of them are really dancing anymore, just smiling at each other, pink-faced. 

Jade’s words are stuck in between them, said over and over in his head: Wyatt likes him, definitely. 

He doesn’t know if that’s true. 

Well - he figures out literally two seconds later because Wyatt leans in and kisses him. It’s a quick kiss, just a peck. Nothing to gush over. Except that it is. Wyatt watches his face carefully as it goes from surprised and wide-eyed, to processing like a slow computer, to as red as a ripe tomato. Derek doesn’t give himself a chance to back out of whatever just happened, he leans in and kisses Wyatt right back. 

A peck, just like him. Testing the waters to make sure it’s fine. Wyatt smiles at him again, all goofy and ecstatic, Derek mirrors him. It’s a pause between the both of them, before Wyatt is leaning back in. They kiss, again and again, sweet and soft, Derek delving for something deeper when he’s unsatisfied with just that. 

He becomes bold enough to touch Wyatt, both hands framing his face delicately, careful even in this spur of a moment decision. He didn’t think this would ever happen, so he admits that he’s trying to milk it for all its worth. Things like this only happens in dreams, and those dreams do nothing to compare to the real thing. Wyatt’s arms wrapping fluently around him, pulling him in, thumb tentatively brushing his hip when Derek’s shirt rises just an inch or two. 

He hates that he needs to breathe, that his lungs feel like they’ll explode if he doesn’t. Kiss breaks away for a second, Derek attempting connect the right wires in his brain, in and out. It proves to be fairly difficult with Wyatt staring at him, almost affection-like, the look in his eyes making Derek’s stomach go all gooey. 

Vaguely, he remembers the music. Even if he were able to hear it clearly, he’s sure it would be difficult to over the roar of his heart, practically jumping out of his chest. He’s left blinking at Wyatt in some type of wonder, as if he’s never seen him before. If he could press PAUSE on his life right now, he would, no hesitation. Just to stay in this moment right here. 

Finally, his mouth seems to start working, maybe twenty seconds in, “You...” 

“Was that okay?” Wyatt is asking, and Derek has never been more happy to focus on his lips - kiss-bruised as they are, pomegranate flush to them. His breath is on Derek’s face, the scent of him invading his sense, thoroughly. Like aliens when they conquer Earth in those movies Jade likes - that’s how Derek feels, as if Wyatt has conquered and taken over him completely and he has no want or urge to fight it. 

“I--” Derek is at loss for words, blinking and staring. If he wasn’t so against letting go of Wyatt, he might’ve pinched himself, “I don’t get it.” 

“Hm?” Wyatt nuzzles into his cheek, breathing out through his nose, question in the furrow of his brows.

“You’re...Cheerleading-Pretty-Nice-Funny-Arms--” 

“Arms?” 

“--Tall-Cute-Smiling Wyatt...and you kissed me.” 

Wyatt pulls aay a bit, just so Derek can see his face fully, can make out what he’s saying. There’s surprise there, in the subtle curve of his lips, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Derek keeps blinking. That seems as if that’s all he’s able to do. “Because.” 

“Because?” 

“You know...” 

“I don’t,” He smiles at Derek, “Enlighten me.” 

“You know.” 

“I don’t.” 

“It’s really hard to think when you’re so close.” 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I just - Jade said you do, but I can’t tell if you like me or not--”

“Derek,” His mouth forming around those two syllables is so pretty to watch. Eyes melted, he presses forward, mouth close to Derek’s, murmuring, “I’ve liked you for like, two years now. Since I met you.”

Derek probably looks like a goldfish, mouth open in an ‘o’ shape. And Wyatt laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges, teeth white against his plush lips, forehead nudging against Derek’s, “You’re silly.” 

“I like you, too,” Derek gushes, quick as ever, praying to whatever is above them that this isn’t a dream, “I like you so much, Wyatt.”

This time, Wyatt is the one who flushes. Pink in the cheeks, he’s still smiling, “Can I kiss you again?” 

Derek nods, eager, leaning into him, lips parted and searching. Wyatt meets him halfway, kisses him softer than the last, a brush of their mouths, Wyatt’s tongue dipping inside and Derek is pretty sure he moans. 

“You like me,” he’s mumbling against Wyatt’s lips, over and over again, heart in his throat, “You like me, you like me.” 

“I like you,” he says back, voice subdued, swaying the two of them gently, and Derek thinks it’s to the music. “I like you.” Wyatt kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, and the crown of his head with soft lips. He thinks his heart will melt this way, completely and truly. 

But that’s okay too. It kind of already belongs to Wyatt anyway. 

. 

.

Cold hands slither underneath Derek’s shirt, press flat to his ribs and back, and he yelps, jerked out of sleep. Twists and turns, tangles himself further in his covers to try and escape, but it’s futile. You’d think Derek would get use to this type of wake-up call, but nope. It scares the crap out of him every morning. 

Wyatt’s weight in the only up side to it all, his lips pressing soundly against the back of Derek’s neck, mouthing something. Derek cannot help it, he pouts until he’s kissed, melting into it for just a second until he’s complaining about his own morning breath and trying to bury his face into his pillow halfheartedly. 

“Good morning,” Wyatt says against his cheek, chest pressed against Derek’s back, “I missed you.” 

Derek peeks one eye out, just to see what he’s saying, catches the tail end of his words, “Missed you, too.” Even though they see each other practically all the time, he means it, definitely. 

“C’mon,” Wyatt swats him on the butt, Derek lazily kicks at him, “Rise and shine.”

Wyatt helps him with sitting up in bed, reaching over to pluck his hearing aids from the bedside table. Derek smiles at him in thanks, filled with warm and fuzzy feelings, tucking each smoothly into his ears. After, he watches Wyatt go, maybe watching the way his jeans and t-shirt fit him so nicely. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and puts on his clothes. 

Quiet, Derek stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. 

How does one usually start the day?

Hey.

His name is Derek Arthur Peterson. He just turned sixteen a couple months ago. He’s pretty normal. Just like any other teenager. Goes to Durmhall High School, been deaf since he was ten. 

He has a mother. A brother. A grandmother. And now a boyfriend  - a caring, cute, cheerleader boyfriend.

.

.