note: sorry if I didn't incorporate the prompts correctly, or at all. Mint cream lollipops and crying over fictional characters just didn't work, which is probably a lame excuse, but I did try! And sorry I posted this at, like, 3AM. I suck.
for: Jo (mystiques) — happy valentine's day!
another note: flashbacks are not in any specific order.
Everything you want's what we used to be
And I can't fight these feelings inside of me
- All For Love, Lady Antebellum
It's a well-known fact that Fridays are the best day of the week, but Fridays when you're running late and there's no way in hell you can stand online at Starbucks to get your coffee might make them the worst. And factor in some rain—not just a light drizzle, but a full-on downpour, where the second you walk outside, you're drenched all the way through—and everything's really great.
Derrick does not enjoy any of this.
All he wants is his usual, but this time with two extra shots of espresso, and to get to class before it ends. The line is out the door this morning. He has no idea why anyone would want to stand in this weather, and he's not about to become one of them, so he darts into the nearest no-name coffee shop he can see.
It sure as hell isn't Starbucks, but it'll do. There's the same sort of air to it, the one he can't place that makes him want to sit down for hours at a time, doing absolutely nothing. Couches line the walls, and they're mismatched, as is everything else in this place. It's kind of endearing.
With a quick shake of his body, Derrick strides to the counter. His phone buzzes erratically in his pocket; Josh, no doubt, but he doesn't pick up. He can survive class without him this one time.
He's observing the menu on the wall, an anxious, jittery feeling creeping beneath his collar. There's something nerve-wracking about ordering coffee from a different place; he's not even sure what any of these drinks are. His usual is definitely not up there, everything is weirdly named, and—
—and he's so distracted he bumps right into the person standing in front of him.
"I… uh, sorry," he murmurs quickly. He leaves it at that because New Yorkers are cranky in the morning. They're cranky at night, too—all day long, actually—but he's not in the mood for an argument. Not today.
She turns. Of course she turns. This isn't Derrick's day, not really, and he has even more apologetic words on his tongue to ease her annoyance.
"I just got really sidetracked and I—I—I…" He stumbles over his excuses the moment his eyes meet hers. He feels as if he's being held beneath some kind of water, but the water is the color of her irises, and he's drowning in a pool of amber. "Massie," he breathes.
Her response is her typical smirk, the one that lifts a little bit more on the right side of her mouth than the left. Raindrops fall to the ground, a puddle at his feet, and she says, "Hi, Derrick."
.
"You've got to like something other than soccer." She looks at him expectantly. Her lips are swollen and her hair is mussed, but Derrick likes the way she looks, dressed in his clothes. He doesn't know how they ended up at this point. "I like fashion, but that's not what I really want to do with my life."
Derrick sighs, dropping down onto his bed. "Not everyone has their five year plan already figured out, Mass."
"I'm not asking for you five year plan, Derrick. I want to know what you're interested in."
"You," he says, and he tugs her closer to him.
Massie lets out an indignant squawk, but remains where she is. "Real smooth," she comments, resting her forehead on his chest, "but seriously, I want to know."
"I…" He thinks about it, drawing circles into her back. She shifts closer to him and he's overwhelmed by her overall scent when he finally tells her. "I like television."
"What about television?" she asks. "And don't you dare say 'watching it'."
He laughs lightly, moving his hand to her hair, where he curls it around his finger. "I don't know. Not—not, like, being the talent or anything. I think… writing. Yeah. Writing."
.
"What are you doing here?" he questions, his hair plastered to his forehead and his jeans sticking to him in the most uncomfortable way.
Massie, of course, looks flawless and, irritatingly enough, completely dry. "Visiting."
"Visiting?" he parrots. Someone behind them complains that they're holding up the line.
She steps closer to the counter. "Yeah. Kristen."
Kristen. Columbia. Right.
"Oh," he says lamely. "Haven't seen her in a while." Not that he would. It's not as if the two of them are all that friendly. They hung out once or twice before they found their own places, but that was it. He coughs. "How's school?"
Massie brightens. "Great, actually," she tells him, and that person complaining cuts in front of them, shooting them a dirty look. "California is so nice, and my roommate is literally exactly like me, and I think this whole business major thing is really for me, you know?"
He nods, but Derrick doesn't really know.
"How are you?" she asks.
His throat is dry when he goes to answer. He swallows. "You know, okay, I guess." She tilts her head to the side, and he pulls the hair off his face. "School is school. Josh is Josh. I want to sleep for eight weeks straight, but no can do."
"You're still majoring in television?"
"Yeah." Derrick's voice cracks. "Yeah, I am."
"That's great." She claps her hands together once and he's startled by how incredibly happy Massie is. She's so different from the girl he used to know, the girl he used to date.
He wants to talk to her more, to find out how she did it, how she got rid of all her demons, but the barista calls her name and sets Massie into a flurry. The brunette grabs two drinks—one's for Kristen, obviously—and gets ready to leave.
Derrick barely has time to register her passing comment—"All four of us should meet up later!"—before she's gone.
A very familiar ache settles in his chest, the same one that took weeks to get rid of. He wishes he had said something more proactive, something to have made her stay a little longer. The only thing that's on his mind is I miss you and that's not exactly something Massie would want to hear. It's not something he'd want to say, either, because he knows what would come after that.
He breathes deeply through his nose, tries to get rid of the rocking in his stomach, and turns on his heel. There's no way he's going to class after that.
.
Her room is bare. The walls are unnaturally empty, the pictures and posters she had covering them stored in one of the many boxes in her living room. Massie lies on her back staring up at the ceiling, and Derrick sits at the end of the mattress. Her bed is the only thing still fully made.
"I leave tomorrow," she whispers. The three words pull Derrick's stomach down to his feet; he feels as if he's about to throw up. "Tomorrow."
"Yeah" is all he can think of saying.
"You know, when they talk about going away to college, nobody ever said it would be this hard." Massie hoists herself on to her elbows. "It freaks me out a little—it's like I never lived in this room at all. Like a stranger did, or someone who only stayed for a short amount of time, not eighteen years."
Derrick opens his mouth, but he has nothing of substance to say.
"I packed up my life into all those boxes," she continues on. She's looking at him, but not really. It's like she's seeing right through him. "And it feels like something is missing, like I'm forgetting something. I didn't know what it was until right now." Her gaze focuses on him, her eyes incredible and sad. "It's you."
Now Derrick really thinks he's going to throw up; he can feel it, the way his stomach churns. "You can't take me with you, Massie."
"I know." Her voice is so soft. "I wish I could."
"I know," he parrots. Believe me.
He makes love to her one last time in that room and the sliding of their bodies feels too much like goodbye. Each touch tears at his heart until there's a Massie-shaped hole inside him, a pain that only she can fix, but even though they're so close, so intimate, she can't.
Somehow, without him noticing, they broke up, and Derrick knows he won't be there to see her off the next morning.
.
"What the fuck, man." Josh slams the door when he enters their room, tossing his backpack onto the floor. "You left me alone in Bio! You know how much our teacher freaks me—why are you face first in your bed?"
Derrick doesn't move, keeps his head buried in his pillow. He kind of hopes that if he stays in this position long enough he'll eventually suffocate. "Massie's here," he says.
"What?" Josh asks, throwing himself on Derrick's bed.
The blonde boy lifts his head just enough to get his mouth out of his pillowcase. "Massie is here," he repeats, and then he drops back down.
"Ah." There's unnecessary weight on Derrick's back as Josh lies on top of him, nosing at his neck. "Would you like to be cuddled?"
Derrick wrinkles his nose. "Nnnn—yes."
Cuddling means Josh gets to stay where he is apparently, doing absolutely nothing comforting, and Derrick sighs. They're guys, yeah, but this is a really awful moment in his life, and Josh could, you know, hold him or something. That'd be ideal.
"Tell me all about it," Awful Snuggler demands.
Derrick frowns so deeply his head starts to hurt and tries to get Josh to roll over next to him, but to no avail. "Massie is here to visit Kristen and I saw her at the coffee place I went to and I'm going to die."
"I was looking forward to you getting me coffee, but you didn't show up."
"You know this is supposed to be reassuring and great, Josh," Derrick snaps, but his pillow muffles his nastiness. "I am feeling none of those things."
Josh wraps his arms around Derrick's middle, sliding off his back and onto the mattress. He presses up against him until they're basically spooning and Derrick kind of likes being the one that gets held, even if it is by his best friend—which isn't weird at all, not really. They've never had any boundaries to begin with.
"Better?"
"Much," Derrick begins to answer, but the word isn't out of his mouth before Josh is letting go of him, and Derrick is feeling less and less comforted. "The point of cuddling," he mutters, "is to remain in this position for longer than eight milliseconds."
"My phone is going berserk. Hold on."
Hold on, Derrick thinks snidely. Next time Josh needs love Derrick's not going to comply. Nope.
"It's Kristen," Josh tells him, his thumb moving across his keypad as fast as it can. "She saaaaays… there's a rooftop party tonight and she wants us to come—"
"I refuse to go," Derrick announces, interrupting the invitation. "Stop reading, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Please continue to hold me."
.
"Derrick Harrington to the principal's office immediately," the intercom crackles. The voice repeats itself and the boy in question sighs deeply, rising from his seat.
Mr. Myner shoots him a look, like it's his fault they're calling on him at the very moment, and Kemp wishes him luck from his seat in the second row. Derrick ignores the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face—he wouldn't need luck if his friends hadn't left him high and dry—and saunters out of the room. As the door closes behind him, he hears Olivia whisper to Meena about how cute he is.
The walk to the office isn't long at all; Derrick finds himself staring at the secretary before he knows it. She glares at him, points to a chair against the wall, and returns to her typing. He can see she's not doing work, instead chatting to someone named Miranda on Facebook, and has half a mind to rat her out when he's called in to see the principal.
He throws himself into the seat next to some brunette girl he's never seen before and leans his chin on his propped arm.
Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen. The bell rings at one point, signaling that the class he was just in is over, and the next one sounds right after, starting the next. More time flies, his phone vibrates in his pocket. The secretary continues to type away, the door to the Principal Burns' office never opens, and the girl next to him speaks.
"I assume you committed some sort of crime if she's got you waiting here for almost an hour."
Derrick spares her a glance, accidentally catches her eye, and feels like he's tumbling into the unknown just by looking at their vibrant color. It's like nothing he's ever seen before, this brownish-yellow color that's not quite hazel, and he mumbles his response, which never happens. "Could say the same to you."
She smiles a little. "I may or may not have deliberately hit Layne Abeley in the back of the head with a volleyball."
"Yeah?"
"It may or may not have happened multiple times."
He grins. Layne Abeley is not only the most annoying person to walk their campus, with her silly valley girl accent and super short skirts, but she's constantly trying to get Derrick to date her or, more recently, sleep with her. "She must've done something to deserve that kind of treatment."
"She called me a dumb bitch." The girl shrugs. "And accused me of hooking up with her boyfriend."
"Ouch."
"Yeah, well—Layne and I don't exactly have the best history. What'd you do?"
Derrick leans back in his chair. "Um, stuck Post-Its all over the assistant principal's car."
"That was you?"
"Not just me," he finds himself saying hastily. "My friends were there, too, but they threw me under the bus to save their own asses, so…"
"Well, no one really likes Dunkel anyway, so everyone will be talking about that, which means everyone will be talking about you. I wouldn't be too worried about it. You'll go down in pranking history."
"I'm Derrick," he introduces, shooting his hand out—which is completely stupid, but he can't take it back now.
The girl looks from his face to his outstretched arm, the tiniest hint of a smirk on her mouth. "Massie," she tells him, wrapping her fingers around his. Her grip is warm and strong. Derrick thinks he's in love.
.
Derrick doesn't know whose rooftop this actually is. It's nice, though, with the string lights all over and the little garden to the side. The party is divided between the person's apartment and this roof, but there are enough people on top of the building to hint at an intimate gathering. Though, he doesn't know anyone besides Josh—and Kristen and Massie, of course, but he hasn't seen them since they got there—and he's not feeling so friendly.
He presses his lips into a line, raises his cup to his nose, and blanches. He doesn't know what this is, doesn't know why he's here, and wants to go home right now.
But he's not sober enough to find his way home at the moment, and he doesn't really like walking alone in the dark in New York, so he sits himself on a bench and takes tentative sips of his drink.
It's too strong (but was that ever really a bad thing?). There are a bunch of Columbia students around him, mingling with each other because they know who they are. He probably gives off some NYU scent that keeps them away.
He watches them do their thing. It gets boring real fast; they don't do anything differently. They're all smiles and laughs, jokes and stories. Derrick could probably slide right into one of these conversations, but he doesn't want to. Has he mentioned how much he doesn't want to be at this party?
"So." Massie slides on to the bench beside him and he nearly chokes on his drink. "We didn't get to talk much before."
Derrick swallows quickly and painfully. The alcohol in his drink burns his nose and throat in the process. "Not really." He coughs, voice going in and out.
She pays that no heed. "So, really, how do you like school? How's living with Josh? Do you go home often? Do you still talk to Cam?"
The way she's staring at him, like he's the center of the universe, makes him anxious, even though he knows she's looking at him like that for reasons other than the ones she used to. "Uh. School—it's school. Too much homework, annoying teachers, textbooks that cost an arm and a leg." He tilts his head back, letting more of the liquid in his mouth. "Josh hasn't changed much. He's annoying. He likes to cuddle—"
Massie laughs in surprise, clapping one hand over her mouth, her other on his leg. Derrick stares at it, mesmerized by how it looks against the denim of his jeans, and drinks some more. "Still?" she questions. Her voice echoes in his ears. "Don't tell me he—"
"There's a lot of cuddling going on in our room, if that's what you want to know."
"That's adorable."
"We're really masculine, okay?" he defends, though he's not acting the way he wanted to. He wanted to be curt, have the shortest conversations, show no interest at all. Instead, he finds himself smiling, in the middle of a laugh; he blames whatever's in his cup.
Massie giggles, her nose wrinkling in that really cute way. "Yep. Totally masculine. Masculine and in love with each other."
"No," he argues. He scoots closer to her, away from the loud music. "I'm in lo—Josh is just really needy."
"I heard that slip-up, Derrick," she murmurs, leaning forward enough for him to smell the lavender of her perfume. "Who's the girl?"
He widens his eyes, downs the rest of his drink, and says, "Uh, I don't really go home all that much unless I absolutely have to, which is never often, and Cam and I… we haven't talked since he rushed that fraternity."
She ignores all of that, her hair tickling the skin at his wrists. "Tell me."
Derrick blinks, all the alcohol he consumed finally rushing to his head. There are two Massies in front of him, blurring into each other, and she's asking him who he's in love with, and all he wants is another drink.
He could make up some girl, create someone to be interested in, and she'd never know. Instead, "Do you want to go for a walk?" falls from his lips.
.
He's been to six classes and lunch already and has seen her three different times, but he can't get the words out. Josh is constantly making fun of him, Cam threatens to do it himself, and Kemp apparently started a bet pool with the rest of their grade, or so he says.
Massie's at her locker when he finally musters up the courage to walk up to her. She greets him with a smile that has his heart beating at an unnatural rate, causing him to stall momentarily.
When he doesn't say anything, she turns slightly. "What's up?"
Derrick opens his mouth, then closes it. He practiced this about seven times in the mirror this morning, even made his sister sit there and tell him if he sounded stupid. She said he did, but Sammi's not one to be trusted; she thinks her brother and romantic situations are hysterical.
It's easy enough to say. In his head, at least, he can get as far as "Hey Massie" but his mouth doesn't do the same.
"Are you okay?" she asks, eyes alight with worried curiosity.
"Yeah. Yeah," he croaks. He wants to slap himself in the face.
"Do you need anything?"
"I don't necessarily need anything," he starts, and curses himself for sounding stupid, "but I want to ask you a question, if that's alright."
Massie laughs slightly. "If it's about the math homework, yeah, you can—"
"No," Derrick cuts her off, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "It's not—it's, uh—do you—doyouwannagooutwithme?" He says it so fast the words are a garbled mess.
He can basically feel the disappointment from everyone else in the hall, like they're all watching him make a complete and utter fool of himself. He has no idea if that's the case, but it could be, since Kemp has gotten most of them to bet on his awkwardness.
Massie, however, only cocks her head to the side, confusion painting the pretty contours of her face. "I didn't…"
Derrick takes a deep breath, licks his lips. "Do you want to go out?" he asks. "You know, on a date. With—uh, me."
And now it feels like the entire hall is holding their collective breaths. Or it's just him, waiting anxiously for her response.
She smiles at him, and this is a smile he's never seen before. It's timid and shy; she follows it with a quick tuck of hair behind her ear. "Sure," she answers. "I'd love to."
Somewhere, beyond the rushing blood in his ears, he hears Kemp announce, "I think I just lost a hundred and fifty dollars."
.
They end up in Central Park, a surprising feat indeed, considering Derrick still has no idea where that party is located. A slight breeze flirts with him, tugging at his hair and nipping at his nose, but it's not too bad.
He drops to his back on some grass. It's a little damp from the earlier rainstorm, but he doesn't care much. Massie quickly follows suit.
"Do you remember when I almost went to school for astronomy?" he asks. It's the first thing out of his mouth, and it's probably the worst thing he could've said. Above him, the city lights are too bright, drowning out the stars, but there are still a few here and there that he can see. Back home, he can see almost all of them.
"Yeah," she whispers, "I was worried for a second."
"I wanted to find new galaxies, new life," he tells her, "but I don't really—can you see that star up there?" He points, hopes she can follow his finger in the dark, and it's in his direct line of vision, right smack dab in the middle.
Massie makes a sound of confirmation. She's close enough that he can smell her again; it makes him kind of woozy.
"I don't know if you remember… don't expect you to, either, but—" Derrick breaks off, clearing his throat. "That's the star I got you for your birthday."
He hears her sharp intake of breath. "How—how do you know that's the one?"
"It's the brightest one." He shifts a bit so he's closer to her, feels her gaze hot on his cheek. "You can see it even though the lights hide the rest. I picked it because… because you shone—sorry, you shine the brightest."
There's a silence before—
"Derrick," she says, her voice raspy, "who are you in love with?"
He doesn't look at her when he says, "You."
.
It slips out without him noticing, three little words that mean so much more than they really are.
Massie stares at him, her face turning red, and he's just about ready to book it and pretend it never happened. He couldn't even ask her on a date without rehearsing the very question. This… this is a disaster.
"Really?" she whispers.
"Really," he responds with a quiver in his voice. His hands shake minutely.
The smile forming on her face is absolutely brilliant. "Me t—I—I love you, too."
Derrick blinks, his heart skips a beat, and he feels as if he's freefalling off a cliff.
.
"Derrick…"
"No, no, don't say anything," he starts, taking a deep breath. "I'm not—I'm not asking you to tell me you feel the same. You just… you asked, so I—I answered."
"Me," she breathes, and he can feel her body heat against him as she moves closer, their sides now touching. "You still…"
"Always."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her bite down on her lip, gnawing at it. "We haven't talked in months, Derrick."
He shrugs. "That doesn't mean I stopped loving you. You can't just turn that off."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Yeah." Massie rolls on to her stomach, resting her chin on his upper arm. He smells more than lavender now, harsh alcohol combining with the sweet scent. "I shot out of that store because I didn't want to say anything stupid and I couldn't talk to you until I drank something… and the only topic that came to mind was school." She lets out a short laugh like she can't help herself.
Derrick lets the corners of his mouth quirk up. "I'd talk about the weather if you suggested it."
"It's just…" She swallows. "It took me so long to get used to being away from you, and seeing you in that coffee shop—it reminded me just how hard that was. And I don't want to get attached again because I know I'll have to leave."
"So don't get attached," he suggests weakly.
Her hand goes to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think it's too late for that."
"We haven't interacted enough for you to get attached," Derrick reminds her. He holds her wrist, rubs circles into the skin above the bone.
"I don't think that matters." She sighs. "But I also don't think I should be spending this much time with you."
Her words send a stream of disappointment through his bloodstream. "Go, then," he says, despite that.
"I don't want to."
"What are you saying, Massie?" He holds her gaze until she breaks away, looking past him.
She shakes her head. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I don't want to get used to being away from you again."
"I never got used to that, if it makes you feel any better."
"That doesn't change the fact that I have to go back to school."
Derrick tucks her hair behind her ear, very aware of their current situation, the way they're wrapped in each other with no clue where one starts and the other ends. "Let's pretend you don't have to."
"How?" She closes her eyes the moment his fingers brush against her cheek. "You can't stop time."
"No, I can't," he agrees, "but I can take you on a date if you'll let me. We can figure out the rest when the time comes." He leans forward to press his lips against the corner of her mouth. "Until then, I know this great Italian place…"