Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The soft rustling of empty solo cups and paper towels being loaded into a garbage bag was Derek’s only companion in the morning light. Even those who had fallen asleep at some point in the night had managed to get themselves up and out of his house before the sun truly came up in earnest.
He had done a preliminary sweep of his house already for stowaways. The only room he hadn’t checked was Casey’s. The door had been closed, and he wasn’t stupid enough to try the door, in case it was unlocked.
In case she was awake.
He really hoped she wasn’t awake.
He had gathered all of the trash into a pile in the living room, the dining table having been moved elsewhere, in an effort to delay the actual work of having to clean anything up.
He sighed to himself. Really, it might’ve been worth it to wake her up after all, knowing she would’ve taken charge of all the cleaning, despite the lecture that surely would’ve taken his minor headache into a giant migraine.
He looked around again. Probably worth it, he thought, as long as she doesn't remember last night.
He paused.
She wouldn’t remember, would she? It couldn’t be too much to hope that she might’ve actually had a beer or two, anything to make their actions last night muddled and hazy.
Okay, well, his actions anyway. Casey had taken one look at him after he’d broken away and fled up the stairs, not to be seen or heard from again the rest of the night. She wouldn’t even open her bedroom door for Emily, who had correctly assumed that he was the source of her best friend being upset.
He really hadn’t been trying to upset her, though. He hadn’t been trying anything. He just knew he felt relaxed around her in a way he usually wasn’t, the alcohol in his bloodstream making everything muted, except for her smile. And her eyes. And her laugh.
After everything that had happened with Truman and Sally and Max and every single thing he’d ever done to make her hate him, he’d thought in this moment that maybe she liked him enough after all.
That’s not true though. What he was actually thinking was if she was wearing that cherry lip balm Sam had offhandedly mentioned one time, while he and Casey were still dating. He had flushed with embarrassment, and Derek had made a sound of disgust to keep himself from asking Sam weird questions about that lip balm.
Or maybe he’d been thinking about what perfume she had on, if her hair was freshly washed with that shampoo he always smelled when he took a shower after her. How those were the mornings he was always late for school, because that smell was so intoxicating it literally brought him up short.
And she’d been looking at him, that fire in her eyes like she was waiting for a challenge. A challenge he always tried to provide so she’d look at him that way again and again.
Then he’d done it, his hand cupping the back of her head, fingers bunching gently in her hair. His lips had found hers, and they were even softer than he could’ve imagined. He was incredibly jealous of every boy she had ever allowed to kiss her, that they had gotten to do this and hadn’t felt the need to broadcast it to everybody. But the difference between them and him was he probably fucked it up, and Casey had backed away from him like a prey animal.
Fuck, she was totally going to remember.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize until too late, when he heard a small cough come from the direction of the stairs.
He whirled, which was a mistake as his hangover caught up to him, making the room spin. He pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled. Now that she was here, he just wanted her to go back upstairs. She probably wanted to talk about their feelings and what everything meant.
If Casey wasn’t so Casey-like, he probably would’ve kissed her a long time ago, safe in the knowledge that sometimes you could kiss a girl you liked without it having to mean anything or go anywhere.
But if Casey wasn’t so Casey-like, he probably wouldn’t have been wanting to kiss her for so long.
He heard her cross behind him and move into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets, likely unsatisfied with his non-answer.
In a moment, she was back, kneeling beside him with her hands outstretched with a glass of water and two white pills. He looked at her quizzically.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Aspirin. I’m not trying to poison you.”
He hummed noncommittally, gingerly taking her offerings from her hands. “I’m interested to see how you would explain that one to dad and Nora.”
“Please,” she said with a laugh. “If anything, you’ll die from alcohol poisoning rather than anything I do to you.”
“I think you underestimate yourself.” He swallowed the pills down, grateful for her caring nature, not that he was going to tell her so.
When he looked up again, she was staring at him with wide eyes, fidgeting with a bracelet. He stifled a groan. Here we go.
“So,” she said slowly, glancing at him like she was waiting for him to interrupt or take over. He stayed silent. “Last night.”
His eyes tracked her as she took a deep breath, strands of hair falling over her shoulder. She started again. “I know you, and I know you probably think it’s easier if we just ignore what happened, but I don’t. And I don’t want to put pressure on you to say anything you don’t mean, or feel like you need to protect my feelings or anything, but…”
She absently twirled a strand of hair around her finger, looking at the ground instead of at him. So far she hadn’t said anything that he had been expecting her to, and he felt off-balance. Suddenly she looked up, and their eyes met.
“If what happened last night was a mistake, just say the word and I’ll go. We can pretend this never happened, and I promise to go back to how we were. If it’s all in my head, tell me now. Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow.” Her voice was so delicate. “But… If you meant it…”
She held his gaze, her blue eyes wide but steady. He got the feeling she was searching, but for what, he didn’t know. After a beat, he realized he was going to have to say something.
She had given him an out. A really easy one, in fact. One that didn’t involve hating each other, but rather staying where they had been at before his lack of impulse control gave him away.
He stared back at her, wishing he knew what she wanted.
What did he want? She was basically asking him if he wanted more, if he wanted her. It felt like too much to process all at once.
In that moment, he saw the paths of their lives diverge from here.