The Best Gift I Will Ever Ask For

Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece that is using the world and characters from Ngozi Ukazu's Check Please!, and is made entirely for enjoyment. Most of the song lyrics belong to Fall Out Boy, with a few belonging to other pop stars. No financial gain has been made in the making of this piece. All other situations and plot developments are mine.

Summary: The hockey team decides to help Derek with a guy. Music, banners, and a big public display are included.

Author's Note: I wrote this instead of working on other things I should be. Title from Fall Out Boy's 'Yule Shoot Your Eye Out''. Possible out-of-characterness and un-beta'd.

Constructive Criticism is always welcomed

Published: 23 December 2018

Rating: T

Derek walks out of Founders' and sees the students milling around the other end of the Quad. It looks like someone has set up a few speakers. Curious because he doesn't remember seeing anything about an event, he wanders closer.

Someone starts playing a guitar and shaking some jingle bells gently, and then Holster's voice booms out over the speakers. "Hello everyone! This is for Brad Johnson from the marching band! Brad, this is for you from Derek!"

Derek freezes, and he can see Brad moving up to the front of the crowd, a smug expression on his face. He can't believe his hockey team—he's been trying to get rid of Brad! They went on a few dates, and the guy just couldn't understand that Derek wasn't feeling it; Brad is getting dangerously close to the 'creepy stalker' line in his refusal to accept the poet's disinterest. Why was his team doing this to him?!

Tango and Whiskey yank on a string and unfurl a banner behind Holster as the tall blonde begins to sing over the guitar. And then Brad's face changes. He turns like he's going to stomp off, only for Ollie and Wicks to stop him. Wick says something with an edged grin, hand on the horn player's shoulder.

"And all I want this year is for you to dedicate your last breath to me / Before you bury yourself alive!" Holster sings, a huge smile that's almost sincere on his face as he glances up from his note cards.

And…what?

Derek moves so he can really see the whole thing. With the fluffy snowflakes that are drifting down, it looks like the ultimate romantic gesture, until you read the banner (You are never ever, ever getting back together is written in a gorgeous script and bedazzled beautifully), see the box off to the left (sporting a large sign that states everything in it is Brad's), and start listening to the lyrics of the song (Holster is gleefully singing that he wants Brad to get an awkward silence and to cry himself to sleep while waiting by the phone).

There's a musical bridge, where Chowder shakes the jingle bells softly while Ransom studiously plucks out the melody on his guitar, every now glancing up at Dex, who seems to be the one who's counting and playing the more advanced parts of the song on his guitar. When Dex inclines his head, Holster, Chowder, and Tango burst out into the chorus of the song, Whiskey joining in, but looking more self-conscious about it. "Doooon't come home for Christmas! / You're the last thing I wanna see / Underneath the treeeeeeee! / Mer-ry Christ-mas, I could care less!"

And Derek can't help himself. His eyes are bright with tears and he has to cover his mouth to keep his laughter inside. He should have known that his team would never sell him out; they had his back. This had to be one of the greatest thing anyone had ever done for him after a break-up (if you could call it that—Derek hadn't dated Brad that much).

"Thank you! You've been a great audience!" Holster yells into his microphone over the applause as the song finishes. "And remember—this was for Brad Johnson of the marching band! BRAD JOHNSON!" He points at the fuming guy who's being held in place by Ollie and Wicks (both wave their free hands at the crowd brightly). "Next time, when someone tells you they're not interested, take note!" Holster says before bowing deep. "Thank you!"

Derek makes his way over to the team as they start breaking down the banner and speakers, and Brad stomps off. "Thanks," he says when Ransom and Holster notice him. "You didn't have to, but that was a wicked show."

"Bro, it's nothing," Ransom says cheerfully. "It was kinda fun way to say 'fuck off' to the asshole, eh?"

"Maybe the guy will learn something, right?" Holster agrees. "And if he doesn't, well, now everyone knows he's a ginormous douche."

Derek snorts softly. "Ch'yeah they will. Did I see the Swallow filming this?"

"Yeah!" Chowder bounces over. "Dex said it'd be better if there was a reminder online and if people missed the original performance, they could see it there! Makes it harder for the guy to retaliate if everyone's seen it!"

"He did, did he," Derek says, keeping his voice neutral, but unable to resist glancing over at the redhead. Dex is assiduously packing up the speakers on to a combination handcart and determinedly not looking over at them.

"Ch'yeah, d-man's got your back!" Holster announces loudly. "Whole thing was totally his idea!"

"Organised the entire thing," Ransom puts in. "Helped Lardo with the banner, taught me the guitar parts, got the sound system, wrote up the lyrics up on notecards for Holtzy, found out when Brad Johnson's class got let out so the jerk couldn't miss it—dude planned it all."

Derek desperately wishes that Dex would turn around—his hat is pulled down over his ears and his scarf covers the back of his neck, so Derek can't see if they've turned red or not from this angle. If they were face-to-face…

"Well, I suppose that I should thank him, then." Derek doesn't wait for a response and makes his way over to his defensive partner.

Whiskey takes one look at him as he approaches, and grabs Tango. "We're needed over there."

"What? Are we? I thought we were helping Dex," Tango protests in confusion. "Aren't we supposed to be wrapping up the banner and strapping it to the top of the speakers? Isn't that what Dex told us to do? Isn't Dex the one in charge of all this?"

"We're getting the box that Bitty made," Whiskey says as he pulls his teammate away. "We don't want to forget it."

"Do we both—"

"Yes. Both of us. And we have to roll up the extension cord," Whiskey interrupts as he makes sure they're as far away as he can get without being even more obvious.

"So," Derek drawls out as Dex tightens the tie-down straps. "They tell me this was your idea."

Dex shrugs and his face is too pink, even for the cold air. "Asshole wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. Had to do something about it and since we're not allowed to punch people…" He shrugs again before grabbing the abandoned banner and dropping it on top.

The poet catches one freckled hand in fingerless gloves and gives it a squeeze. "Thank you. It was sweet and pretty 'swawesome."

Dex's cheek go from pink to red. "It was nothing," he mutters and shuffles his feet as he glances away.

"Not to me it wasn't," Derek says, smile starting to grow. "Maybe when you're done packing this all up, you'll let me thank you properly with a dinner or something."

"I don't need dinner," Dex snaps, eyes coming up sharply and glaring hotly. "Fucker had it coming. He deserved it."

"Thought you said it was nothing," the curly-haired boy teases gently, arching one eyebrow.

If anything, Dex's face gets redder. "I don't—it wasn't—I mean—" He sputters and Derek knows he's in trouble because even this is endearing.

He shifts his hand so his fingers can weave between Dex's cold, rough ones, and watches as amber eyes flicker down. "I know you don't need dinner," he says softly, stepping in closer to make the moment more private, even though his teammates are purposefully giving them space. "But I'd like to. I want to."

The redhead's gaze glances at their hands again. "Uh."

"Eloquent, Poindexter."

"Fuck you!"

"Before I buy you dinner? Bro, our teammates are watching."

Dex splutters out a mishmash of sounds that range from indigent to embarrassment to anger.

The poet enjoys it for a moment and then he shuts up Dex by leaning forwards and pressing his lips to Dex's cheek, right next to his mouth. "I was serious about dinner," he murmurs in the space between them. "I really want to take you out. As many times as you let me."

Dex's eyes are wide and his jaw is a little slack. "I…I'm not going to let you take me out all the time," he finally spits out, some of his annoyed fire coming back. "I'm not going to be some sort of sugar baby. If we're going to do this, I'm going to take you out at least half the time!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you. But since I asked first…I'll pick you up at seven tonight, yeah?"

The redhead glares harder. "…Fine," he grits out. "Seven. Now let me finish cleaning this up."

Derek grins and quickly kisses a speckled cheek again. "Great. I'll see you then!" He backs away before the other boy can completely gather his wits and heads off towards his dorm room, a bounce in his step. He has a pretty epic date he has to plan in the next couple hours; and it has to be good because it's Dex and Dex has given him a great 'fuck-off' concert to guy who wouldn't go away. He knows he can't top it, but he's going to try. Dex is owed that much, at least.

Humming to himself, he starts scrolling through the local restaurants on his phone, looking for the right one. He's going to get this right; he's not going to let Dex regret a single thing and he's going to make sure that Dex agrees with him that this is the best gift that he's ever gotten.

x Fin x