This fic operates under the theory that we may see/be around people who become very close to us many times before we ever actually meet them. I have some inspiration for this, which I will explain at the end of the last one.
It is a series of five brief one-shots. Each one is a time where Addison/Derek either saw each other, or were in each other's presence – but never met – leading up to the time when they finally did meet and acknowledge each other.
For my purposes, Addison, Derek, and Mark are all born and raised completely in NYC. Derek and Mark attended one set of schools together, while Addison attended another.
Mark nudged Derek's ribs lightly with his elbow. "Dude, check out the majorettes. There are some hot girls at this school. Maybe I should transfer…"
Mark fixed his eyes on the girls in their short red and gold sequined dresses, smirking a bit to himself. He always enjoyed the pre-game shows almost as much as the actual football games, for this reason. Of course, girls from other schools always appeared to be more attractive than the ones from his own.
"I hate majorettes." Derek said with a scowl, having recently been dumped by one such baton-wielding young woman from their own junior high school.
On the field, Addison smiled out at the crowd, the shiny metal of her braces gleaming in the lights. She'd gotten red and white bands put on them at her last orthodontist visit to match her school colors. Her red locks were pulled back tightly against her head into a French braid.
Addison brought her baton up in front of her body clockwise for a toss turn; dipping it behind her head, and bringing it back around. The baton rolled over her thumb, controlled as she tossed it in the air. She whirled around once beneath it and caught it with a grin; she always looked a little too surprised when she caught the baton, the coach had said. The cold metal, wrapped in prismatic red tape, laced its way through her fingers and back in the next move of the routine. Addison took a deep breath. Her least favorite part was coming up; another toss turn, but the spin was doubled. She always had trouble catching it.
That time was no exception. The baton fell to the ground, its rubber ends bouncing it across the grass and several feet from Addison. Mortified, she dashed across the field to retrieve it. It was times like that when she wished she had stuck to playing the clarinet in the band instead of becoming a majorette.
"Then that should cheer you up." Mark pointed to Addison, who was still scrambling to pick up her fallen baton. "That chick just lost her baton."
"Good." Derek laughed coldly and crossed his arms. "I'm glad she dropped it. Those sticks are instruments of heartbreak. Holly would have stabbed me with hers if I'd let her."
Mark rolled his eyes. "You have to get over her, Derek."
"I'm over Holly." Derek insisted. "I just hate baton twirling."