#yeah i might as well bring my figure collecting hobby to tumblr

[darishima]

⋆｡°✩

[fabermemorialrink]

some mistake, part 5

When exactly is something going to happen in this story, you may ask. Soon, but the pacing will be super weird, I tell you. In other news, to answer a question that I am too dumb to understand how to tumblr-reply to, this story isn’t yet on AO3 because it’s very unfinished, but hopefully someday I’ll get it together! Thanks for reading so far!!

Derek’s first year at Phillips Andover finally draws to an end, and it's as he’s locking his dorm room closed that he takes a deep breath and decides that yes, he's got this. He can make it through the next three years.

Summer passes in a blur of lazy days spent lounging at the Met trying to find inspiration for his summer writing assignment and hot afternoons on the balcony looking out on the city. Derek rides four different airplanes and swims in two different oceans; he visits family down the east coast for the Fourth of July and hits up Chowder in early August to see all the local sights in the Bay Area. Chowder takes him to San Francisco where they walk along the wharf and gawk at fish at the aquarium. He drinks milk tea full of custard and eats enough egg tarts to last a lifetime. They go surfing and Derek manages to trip while underwater, causing Chowder to go into heroic lifeguard mode even as he's shrieking barely censored profanities in alarm. C helps him pick out a tiny orange crab keychain for Dex that Derek wraps protectively under several layers of tissue paper.

Derek returns to New York to hang out with his parents before their schedules de-sync again. Mama takes him to the ballet while the other two are busy. He goes with Mom to Central Park where they eat ice cream and people-watch for an entire day. Dad decides they should try a glassblowing class together while he's not needed for a few blessed days at the company. Derek makes a clear paperweight with a golden-red heart, like a flame suspended in crystal. It's pretty and pointless and it makes him think of Dex, who'd hate to know what Derek's comparing him to. He wonders what Dex is doing for the summer. Is he working somewhere else, or still doing his odd jobs in the forest? Derek can imagine him working in a hardware store half the week and on the docks for the other half, plus baby-sitting duties on top of it all. Dex has never talked about his family, but he seems like he would have siblings. Derek's never asked if Dex is home-schooled, though he suspects it might be the case. Why else would he have so much time to spend in the woods? He figures he'd have learned by now if Dex went to Andover High. Maybe he attends the technical school in town?

There are a lot of things he still doesn't know about his best friend. It's sad, he realizes as he watches sunset dip into twilight over the skyline. He knows little things, like Dex's favorite cookie and that he likes all bugs except mosquitoes, and that he knows how to ask for a glass of water in French and Russian. He knows that Dex is afraid of the undertow in one of the forest's brooks, and that he has a collection of odds and ends that's been bestowed upon him by the forest crows (which Derek maintains is the most YA protagonist shit that he's ever heard of).

But none of the big stuff. Where Dex lives, what his parents do, how many siblings he has. What his hobbies are and what his dream job was when he was a little kid. Whether he's ever broken a bone or his favorite Halloween costume or the first person he gave a real valentine's card to in middle school. Who he is when he's not with Derek. Who he is when he's not in the woods.

Derek doesn't even know Dex's real name.

That's a part of the rules though. Derek knows that, but it doesn't stop him from wanting.

Early at the start of sophomore year, Derek finally takes Chowder into the woods with him. Chowder waffles between being excited to meet Dex after so long and wary of all the rumors that still float around the school.

“Do you think Dex knows about all the ghost stories?” he asks as they trek across the field. “Do you think he’s ever seen a ghost?”

“Even if he has, he probably wouldn’t admit it to me,” Derek says. It seems like the kind of thing Dex would remain tight-lipped about. Dex can talk for hours with Derek about fly fishing and carnivorous plants and the nitrogen cycle, but important subjects like Dex’s birthday and rumored exorcisms have him clamming up before Derek can even think of an objection.

“Maybe he’s shy because he thinks we won’t take him seriously! Nursey, you’ve gotta tell him that I won’t laugh at him. I mean, unless he does something hilarious. He sounds like a funny guy.”

Derek isn’t sure where exactly Chowder got that idea from, but Chowder does have a hidden streak of schadenfreude under his naturally caring personality. He and Dex probably have that in common. Derek’s been chirped enough times by both of them for injuring himself whilst just trying to live his life.

Shit. What if they get along too well? Not that Derek’s jealous or anything. He just doesn’t wanna get ganged up on by these two terrors.

They enter quietly, with Chowder making a suppressed fuss over every cool thing they see. Derek brings him to his hollow tree, where they huddle together trying to listen for ghosts, or birds, or any other sign of life. Nothing appears, as always, so they lie there trying to decide if they should take digital photography or sculpture next year.

“But think of how sick it would be if you woke up and were like, ‘oh I sure would like some wheaties-’”

“C, wheaties, really?”

“ ‘-wow am I glad I can eat out of this mad awesome bowl I made in sculpture with my buddy Chowder!!’” Chowder’s New York accent is so exaggerated it warps into Jersey, Appalachian, and leprechaun by the time he's done.

“Okay, but consider this: you, fifteen years in the future, sitting at your desk coding or some shit. You look to your right, it's to a stunning framed photo of your beautiful spouse and your beautiful kids. You look to your left and see a gorgeous photo of yours truly that you keep on your desk to remind you of what a hella cool idea it was to let me convince you to take photography!”

“Pretty convincing, but why does ‘hella’ always sound so wrong coming from your mouth?” Chowder ponders, which is when Dex pokes his head into the hollow and observes them needling each other about regional slang, Chowder starting to put Derek in a headlock.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna go,” Dex says blandly, ducking back out as Derek tries to pinch behind Chowder’s knees.

“No, wait, hold up,” Derek gasps out as Chowder lets him slip free. He falls to his knees, about to introduce them to one another when Chowder releases him like deadweight and springs to his feet outside the tree.

Chowder opts for a wave at the same moment that Dex reaches for a handshake, and they wind up swaying their hands around in that dance of indecision, until they settle on some sort of awkward introductory fistbump mush. Derek clears his throat to pretend he isn't laughing. Without further delay, Chowder jumps right into his spiel, full speed ahead.

“Hey, Dex! Nursey’s told me all about you. You can call me Chowder! I know you have these, um, special rules, but I swear I won't break them, so I hope we can be friends too. Not to pressure you or anything! Acquaintances is fine! People in casual acknowledgment of each other, or whatever! It's all good!”

He finishes by tossing up his arms in a mix of declaration - here I am! the famed chowder! - and apology, which Dex watches with a sort of baffled fascination in silence. He looks somewhat overrun, Chowder drops still after his stream of crescendoing words, and Derek has flip-flopped from being afraid they'd like each other too much to being terrified they won't like each other at all.

But Derek’s told Chowder all the rules before, made him promise to remember every single one or Dex would blow his fuse and murder them both, and it pays off, because all Dex does is take a deep breath before meeting Chowder’s greeting with his own slightly flabbergasted one.

“Hey...Chowder. Nursey talks about you all the time. But I didn’t realize you were, uh. So exuberant?” Dex scratches at the base of his skull, watching Chowder like he might solve him if he looks long enough.

“Oh my god, it’s too much, isn’t it? Shit, sorry, I know, I know, I'm way too excited, but like, Nursey’s my closest friend here? I still feel like the ‘new guy’ with everyone else, and you’re his best friend, and I just thought it’d be ‘swawesome if we could also be...something? I should just shut up, sorry-”

“No! No, ch- calm down,” Dex says, biting back the ‘chill’ that Derek is positive he was about to let slip. Derek cackles internally, expressed as a smirk, and Dex glares at him before continuing. “You’re fine. I just don’t hang out with people much. Besides this guy,” he says, jerking a thumb and Derek, and how he manages to make it sound both fond and contemptuous is impossible to understand. “I need to adjust, but it’s not a big deal. You're kind of refreshing.”

Chowder goes from raincloud to solar flare in under a second, beaming at Dex so brightly that the redhead staggers momentarily under his light. “Really? I mean, since you mostly talk to Nursey, and he’s a huge dork-”

“What,” Derek interjects.

“-I mean, I love him and all, but…”

Chowder stops to give him a pointed look, which Dex notices with a stifled laugh, and he claps C on the arm.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, the lines of his frame finally loosening up. “I’m with you on that one.”

Derek eyes them suspiciously. “Yo, are you two just here to slander my name, or-”

“Oh! I brought you a burrito!” Chowder interrupts, swinging his backpack around to present his prized offering to Dex, who accepts it with an unholy gleam in his orange demon eyes.

Chowder had wanted to bring a gift for their “host” because it’s only polite, and Derek has learned by now that Dex, despite being a self-professed unadventurous white American, will eat basically anything Derek offers. Junk food, spicy food, vegan food; “anything but bugs” seems to be the general rule. Regardless of his height and a fair amount of muscle from what Derek can make out under Dex’s loose flannels, Dex’s poor dietary choices can't be doing him any favors.

“Wow, thanks,” he says blankly, trying to absorb the burrito through its foil wrapper with his stare.

“Go ahead; we’re down to chill while you eat,” Derek says, and Dex tears into it, dropping to sit up against the roots of Derek’s tree. He's toting a canvas bag that he dumps in favor of food.

“What's in the bag?” Derek asks.

“Garbage,” Dex replies. “No, seriously, I was picking up litter,” he says when Derek tries to sneak a peek after that unsatisfying answer. True to Dex’s word, there's nothing but wrappers and styrofoam and cigarette butts.

“Whoa, that's great! Nursey says you’re really into nature and science, but I didn't know you were such an environmentalist!” Chowder, squatting next to Dex, bounces on his heels.

“It's not quite like that,” Dex says, words only a little muffled by all the food he’s crammed in. “I'm not planning to study this at college or anything, but- it's just something I do. I take care of the forest.” He scrunches his mouth on one side as he tries to find the words; Chowder waits patiently until he starts explaining. Both of their hands soon join in the conversation as Dex gives Chowder an overview of what he does in the woods all day. Derek watches as they string together movement and sound, orchestrating words with every sweep of their arms. There’s poetry in it, but Derek is content to let the words flow through him without trying to capture them.

He lets them talk without giving much input, happy to sit back and see where things go. Around him, the forest is quiet and light, an island of respite from outside. Conversation between the other two runs easy, a comfortable air already settling around them, and Derek lies down to rest his head on Chowder’s shin. He feels almost completely at ease.

He doesn't realize he's dozed off for a short while until he’s woken by the sound of his name from Dex’s mouth.

“Y’know, I'm, uh- I’m glad Nursey has you at school. He was- I think his first semester was hard for him. But you’re actually normal and nice, unlike all those dyed-in-the-wool old money jackasses. And me, who lives in the fuckin’ woods.” Dex’s voice is wry, but truthful, and Derek studiously keeps his eyes shut so Dex doesn’t stop talking. It feels slightly disingenuous to be listening in like this, but when else will he get the chance to enjoy Dex being the secret sap that he is?

Chowder, perfect as he is, hasn’t moved at all since Derek passed out on his leg. He keeps his legs still, though Derek can feel that his upper body must be moving as he speaks. “No, you're super cool! Living like a book character from one of those outdoorsy survival books like The Hatchet? And you're really nice too!”

“I’m really not,” Dex says around a smile; Derek can tell as much even with his eyes shut.

“Even better, then,” Chowder declares. “It's good to have at least one friend who’s kind of a dick.”

Dex’s laugh slips out, raucous and surprised, and Derek bites his lip to keep from laughing himself. “That's a role I can play,” Dex replies warmly, and for the first time in his life Derek is truly, legitimately glad he came to Andover, if only for the chance to meet these two.

With a loud yawn Derek visibly rouses, stirring on Chowder’s shins. He meets Dex’s upside-down gaze and crosses his eyes even though it makes him dizzy, just to see the way Dex’s mouth twitches as he raises an eyebrow.

“Good nap?” Chowder asks.

“Of course; you're the best pillow I could ask for,” Derek replies, and both his friends snort.

“Don't sugarcoat it, Nursey. I know I'm all bones down there,” C says, nudging Derek with his knee to drive the point home. “Good thing you woke up. I was just about to ask Dex for camping tips! He lives in the woods, you know. Oh, you probably do know - have you seen his house before?”

Derek, stretching his arms wide enough to almost punch Dex in the side, finally lifts himself off Chowder as he tells him, “C, he doesn't actually live in the forest. He just spends like 85% of his time here.”

“Ha, yeah, what he said,” Dex says hurriedly, taking another bite of his burrito. “This is really good; thanks, C,” he mumbles, cramming the rest in and tossing the tin foil ball into his rubbish bag.

Chowder goes supernova when he notices Dex using Derek’s nickname for him, and dives into an extended analysis about the burrito places he's encountered so far in the northeast, and how they can never compare to the ones back home. Dex, used to Derek’s rambling, impassioned treatises about food, flashes him a knowing smile and settles in to listen.

When sunset draws close, Dex walks them to the field. Derek stays behind a minute to dig up a few pieces of trash Dex didn’t notice: glass shards and what looks like a crumpled dryer sheet. Carefully, he wraps the glass pieces so he doesn’t cut himself and jogs to catch up with C, who is saluting Dex goodbye and starting to walk swiftly backwards out from the trees.

“Hey, wait for me,” Derek calls, but Chowder shakes his head, yelling back, “I’m not gonna get stranded in pretzel prison again!” as he hustles across the grass at an alarming rate while waving at Dex.

Derek resists the urge to pull a face, but Dex notices his displeasure anyway, asking, “Pretzel prison? What the heck is that?”

“Team movie night. Coach always buys these unsalted wheat pretzel sticks and someone gets stuck with the responsibility of eating them. Usually it’s last one through the door; C learned this the hard way.” Derek wrinkles his nose, then gets an idea. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to-”

“I’m not going to pretzel prison for you, Nursey.”

“Weak.” Dex bats Derek’s thumbs-down away, his face a ruddy pink. Odd. “Why do you look like a Valentine’s Day candy display?”

“Shut up, that’s why.”

“Ooh, nice burn,” and when Dex just rolls his eyes, Derek decides it’s time for his customer satisfaction survey. “So, um, Chowder’s cool, right? You guys had a lot to talk about.” A flutter of worry lands on his chest at the thought of them somehow hating each other, regardless of any evidence saying otherwise.

“Yeah, he’s really- uh, he’s great. How do you handle it? He’s so...dazzling,” Dex hisses. He looks overwhelmed still, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. He keeps glancing away from Derek to return another little goodbye wave to Chowder, who's shuffled backwards quite a ways on the soccer field, waiting for Derek despite his fear of low-sodium snacks. Dex’s gaze won't hold for long though, and keeps skittering back to rest safely on Derek, who doesn't make him act like a shifty corner dealer. Suspicious.

“Holy shit, you have a crush on Chowder,” Derek accuses when he realizes the truth.

“I don't have a damn crush-”

“Your face is fluorescent pink right now, you liar-”

The color only worsens. “He gave me a hug, okay? I haven't hugged anyone in years, and he's good at it, so sue me.” Dex’s choppy robot arm movements aren't doing him any favors. “And you know I turn red at everything; it doesn't mean anything, Jesus.”

“Years?” Dex's family must not be big on physical affection. “You should've told me. I could hug you.”

“Why the hell would you hug me?”

Derek fixes him with his sternest frown. “You're clearly hug-deprived; it's my duty to fix that.”

“It's really, really not. Stay back, Nursey, don't you come any cl- aaaurgghhh!”

It's unintentional, of course, but when Derek latches on for a hug and unavoidably knocks them to the ground, Dex lands in a painful heap on a cluster of roots and rocks, and he groans miserably into Derek’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, there there. I'm here now.” Derek uses one hand to pet gently at Dex’s hair; Dex wriggles anemically in his grasp for a moment before sagging into the ground, his face still buried in Derek’s shirt. He’s solid under Derek’s weight, all his sharp corners leaving Derek comfortably uncomfortable.

“Thanks. Now please leave.”

Derek already knows he’s going to be turned down, but he can’t help asking on the off chance that one day Dex decides to accept, so as they walk to the treeline he asks, “You sure you don’t wanna come crash movie night? We’re watching Toy Story 3. It’s supposed to be incredible.”

“They made a third one?” Dex looks pleasantly surprised, but he shakes his head. “You know me; I’ve got wood to chop and fires to extinguish. Maybe next time. Good luck on your math test tomorrow.”

Maybe next time is better than all the other previous rejections. Someday perhaps it’ll become a yes.

“Alright, Smokey Bear. I’ll save you some pretzels.”

By the time Derek catches up with Chowder, Dex has retreated back into the forest, but Derek is left pondering one glaring oddity about his friend that he’s wondered about before.

It’s been over a year, but Derek has never seen Dex cross the treeline before. At the very most, Dex will linger right at the edge of the wood, but Derek has never seen him step foot on the soccer field. That, he could attribute to some kind of superstition, but what he really wants to know is...

Does Dex actually live in the woods somewhere?

His stories - the ones about Bitty the baker and his boyfriend J, about Lards and Cam and April and the party girls - mostly seem to happen in the woods. Could it be that they all reside in some kind of wilderness commune?

Dex talks more about his friends than his family, and Derek would assume that Dex just has a shitty home life, or terrible parents, but the few times he does mention them in passing during vague anecdotes of his childhood, he always sounds fond. Sometimes he seems envious of the good relationship Derek has with his parents, but as if he misses them. Maybe his parents passed, or there's some other complicated situation with his folks, but Derek doesn't know how to ask without making Dex feel trapped and on edge, so he continues to keep his mouth shut and wonder about all the sad possibilities.

Because there are times he wants to ask more, wants to press his luck and tell Dex, hey, you're my best friend and I'm here for you; you can tell me anything. Like when Derek asks why Dex has such strong feelings about the fishing industry, or where he grew up, because sometimes his inflection and the draw of his vowels doesn't quite match any of the Massachusetts accents Derek’s used to.

Or when Dex traces those three letters on his hatchet, KAP, and his eyes go dark and wistful before shuttering when he notices Derek watching.

But Derek is patient, and if he needs to wait a lifetime until Dex is comfortable enough to tell him all his forest-kept secrets and the memories he holds close to his heart, then he will. He will wait until they're both ready.