It's Christmas. But even that wasn't occasion enough for Derek to decorate the outside of his loft. I guess I can't blame him, there are plenty of other people around here who don't put up lights or tinsel or wreaths. And the area, which no word can quite embody the feeling of, doesn't really lend itself well to colour or festivities.
As I walk up the stairs I notice a few drops of the blood on the ground. I sigh and I'm sure my face contorts into look that's a mix of disappointment and dread. I don't want it to be his, even though I know he really has nothing to worry about. It's almost funny that that fact isn't actually comforting in the slightest. I don't want it to be anybody else's who I know for that matter. But I especially don't want it to be his.
My knock echoes throughout his apartment. In no time the large tin door is being dragged back making that horrendous sound that is actually music to my ears because it means he's home. He steps out from behind it, surprising me because he's absent of his signature clothing; his long-sleeve crew shirt, jeans, and boots. Instead, he's barefoot and wearing tracksuit pants and a white singlet. It looks like he's just woken up.
"Merry Christmas!" I cheer out. He smiles slightly, ever so sweetly, and then responds with a very Derek-esque "Merry Christmas."
I step inside as he gives me a quick peck on the lips before closing the door behind us.
The first thing I notice is the Christmas lights. They're beautiful, bauble-like white ones strung symmetrically along each wall, fading in and out slowly giving the normally very hollow space an intimate glow. And what's even better, they look brand new, like he's bought them just for us.
Tucked close to one of the four beams holding up the apartment is something I'm even more surprised to see than the Christmas lights; a tall, at least 6ft, real Christmas fir tree. It too was adorned with the same lights as the walls, except small versions, and underneath it lays a handful of well-wrapped presents.
"How was the morning with your family?" he asks as we move into to the 'kitchen', where some bacon and eggs are cooking on the stovetop.
I let out a kind of abridged laugh as I move around to the other side of the bench and think of the answer to his question, which is enough for him to tell what I'm thinking.
"That good, hey?" he says.
"It was fine, but you know them. They weren't very happy about me leaving to come see you. And especially not today of all days."
I feel bad every time I have to say something along those lines to him. He's always been so kind to me about this stuff, and my parents for that matter. I don't usually come out to see him on special occasions because they'd rather I not, but that wasn't going to wash today. Not a day that's supposed to be enjoyable and a celebration for everyone.
I've told him before that I want to move out, that I'm tired of living like a child. Every time I have he's reminded me how they're my parents and that they just want the best for me. I guess that's his worldly experience talking, being a few years older than me and all. Never has a disrespectful word come out of his mouth about them. Never. Heaven forbid they show him the same respect.
"It doesn't matter anyway. I'm here now, with you." I smile at him. He looks up ever so slightly so that his eyes make contact with mine, and then he gives me a mischievous smile before returning to plating up breakfast.
"That tree looks pretty nifty," I say, looking over at it. "And it came with some presents too," I add.
"Alright then smartass," he chuckles back, handing me a plate consisting of bacon, eggs, a hashbrown, and some toast before we move over to sit in the lounge room and begin to eat.
By the time we're done, the warm winter sun is finally starting to burst through the giant windows of the loft. It's a little past mid-morning now, which is when things finally start to warm up in here. There's still not enough sun to diminish the aura of the lights in the room, which is good. It's all actually quite beautifully together.
After cleaning up the dishes, Derek returns and sits back down, but not before moving the handful of presents from under the tree to the coffee table in front of us.
"Present time," he announces, with a hint of what I think is apprehension in his voice.
He looks at me as if to egg me on to start opening them, not expecting anything in return.
"Well I have some for you too of course, silly," I say in an obvious tone.
His eyebrows rise. He's surprised, and hopefully at least a little excited too. I don't think he's ever really been given presents, not since he was young at least.
I hoist the bag I brought in with me onto my lap and take out the three quite large and badly-wrapped presents it contains. He sniggers a little, clearly at the terrible wrap-job I've done compared to his masterpieces.
"I'm sorry, they're not very much," I say to him, feeling kind of embarrassed that he's gotten me so many more gifts than I've gotten him.
He just smiles and says "it's okay, I'm sure they'll all be perfect," and suddenly I feel so warm inside.
We both start to unwrap our respective piles.
Inside of his he finds a basketball, a replacement for the previous one which was popped by his claws one day while we were shooting hoops, or rather, while he was shooting hoops and I was admiring him do it; a leather jacket, not that he didn't already have enough, but this one is brand new and without all the clunky random things hanging off it; some car shine, because I know how much he loves looking after that thing; and a wristband I had custom-made online with the word "SOURWOLF" printed on it in large letters. He sniggers at the last one before putting it on and giving me a hug, thanking me and reassuring me that he loves them all and that he doesn't need anything so this is all perfect.
In my assorted pile of gifts I find a $100 iTunes card; some new shirts (which heaven knows I need considering my other ones always seem to go missing when Derek's apparently no longer fit), the Divergent trilogy books, some chocolate, and a red wolf-paw keychain. Great minds do think alike, I guess.
"They're all brilliant, thank you so much, babe," I say, "but am I really that predictable?"
"Of course not!" he responds with. "But I'm glad you like them all."
By now it's past midday.
"I'm tired as," I say. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom then I'm going to have a lie down, okay?"
"Okay," he responds, before he gets up and moves towards his 'bedroom'.
By the time I come back he's already laying on the bed. I slide onto the other side and snuggle up close so we're facing each other.
For what feels like ages, we just lay there, the warm sun showering down on us, as we look into each other's eyes, not saying a word, just appreciating being together.
The silence only breaks when he says "I have something else for you," and pulls out a small package which must have been hidden behind him, and places it in my hands.
I sit up and begin to examine the box. It's not quite as small as a box a ring would come in, and it's not quite as deep, but on the contrary it's not really that big either. It's perhaps the size of my phone.
"What is it?" I say.
Like I'm going to get an answer.
He just laughs and says that I have to open it to find out. So I do.
I begin unwrapping the again beautifully wrapped paper as he watches my process intently. Inside is a case with a lid, like the ones medals are stored in, except this one's lid is detachable.
Before taking the lid off, I look at him. He looks back and insists I continue. He's biting his lip, looking partly anxious, but also like he's trying to hold back a smile.
As I take off the lid, the sun reflects off something shiny inside. When I regain my awareness after clenching my eyes shut in response, I notice that a small object sits comfortably on a bed of velvety material.
"A key," I begin.
"To my…" Derek clears his throat, "…our apartment," he finishes.
I look at him, my mouth agape. That look is still on his face—the one where he looks anxious but also like he's trying to hide a smile—and for obvious reason: in case I didn't want it.
A million thoughts are rushing through my head right now. They range from what my parents will think, to what I need to pack to bring, to where I'll store my stuff, to the fact that we'll need new furniture, to how I'll get to school, and then what people at school will think. But none of that matters when I realise I still haven't said anything; when I realise I've left Derek hanging.
The moment my mouth crashes down onto his, where I find myself straddling his hips as his back lays flush against the bed with my hands embracing his face, I think we both know the answer.
"Yes," I let out. "I love you."
"I love you, too," he responds.
FIN~