Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek remembers the first time he visited the Haus and the full body shiver that came with it. The paint was - and still is - curling away from the walls, colours unfurling from each other to reveal the pockmarked brick underneath. The sagging porch roof was offset with a sun lounger that still sits proudly, and a duckling pool floatie that has long since disappeared. If he were back in New York, he would have crossed to the other side of the street and went on his way without a second glance. He distinctly remembers the photo he sent to his family after the dibs fiasco with the caption, ‘can’t wait to move in :)’ and the ensuing uproar on both of his moms parts.

It's been two years since then and he thinks fondly of bumping into every corner, drunken nights spent on tacky floors and endless afternoons spent in the living room. Every room feels like a blanket that he's never learned to settle under, because the Haus changes every year, whether its appearance or occupants. Derek only feels he’s beginning to learn this now, halfway through October of junior year and wishes he could escape the churning of time. Instead, he focuses on the residual fondness as he and Chow walk back from class, his coffee in hand and Chowder holding two.

“Hey, remember when we first saw the Haus? What'd you think?” He asks.

“Haunted,” Chowder immediately responds, “Have you ever watched Monster House? I thought every house on the east coast was like that for years.”

Derek nods, grinning widely. “Great fucking movie-” He’s cut off when Chowder tries to kick at him, “Dude. I already have a broken arm.”

“That shit gave me nightmares for weeks as a kid,” Chowder scolds him, a pinch between his brow that deepens when Derek laughs and he hikes his backpack higher, clearly affronted. “Not like the Haus isn’t haunted anyway, so I wasn’t even wrong.”

“Chow, I’m gonna question our friendship if you actually put some faith in Rans & Holster’s ghost stories.”

“Look, I swear-”

“No. Don’t say another word or I'll sic Dex on you. You know how he is with this shit.” 

“He’s not superstitious,” Chow ignores Derek’s chants calling bullshit remarkably well and continues, “But he definitely believes the Haus is haunted.” 

Derek rolls his eyes so hard he's surprised they don’t get stuck. They step up onto the porch, and Derek calls over his shoulder and makes sure to imbue every iota of sarcasm in his body.

“ Sure , dude.” 

“Ask him,” Chow sounds smug and a sliver of doubt worms into him. Derek narrows his eyes and Chowder just smiles back placidly, far too comfortable for Derek's liking.

"Hm,” Derek gives one final squint before glancing in the kitchen where Bitty is standing over the kitchen sink, the sound of running water accompanying some slow, acoustic pop. The oven is lit up with the promise of food but Derek is a man on a mission. 

“Yo, Bits.” 

He startles, spinning to face Derek and abandons his phone to the sink board. 

“Hi!” He clears his throat and he's clearly distracted. Derek feels a slow smile creep on his face. 

“How’s Jack, Bits?” 

“He’ll be doing better if you keep your chirps to yourself, Nurse,” Bits responds smoothly and Nurse laughs.

“Dex?” He motions into the house in question. 

“In the attic. I think Ollie asked him to fix the sound system up there?” 

“Wait, they have a sound system?” Chowder asks, dismayed as they start making their way upstairs. “Since when?” 

“No clue,” Derek responds as they start on the narrow staircase to the attic. Voices grow louder as they ascend, and when Derek reaches the landing, he raises his brow in surprise. The place is a mess. Furniture (and a double bed?) is pushed back from one of the sloping attic walls where Dex is currently kneeling amongst the remnants of wooden slats, his back turned to them. Wicks is beside him, trying his best to clear the space but Dex is a maniac when it comes to home construction, and no one's been able to keep up when they try to give him a hand. There's almost a precision to the scraps of wooden Dex throws over his shoulder, because Wicks is the target of every piece of debris. 

Derek whistles, "What'd you guys do to Dex? Thought building violations were for the basement only." 

"Wicks kicked in a part of the wall by accident, and we found a load of old shit," Ollie supplies from where he's seated on the floor, a tangle of wires in his lap. 

"Ooh, like what?" Chowder pushes ahead to peer into the wall. Another portion has clearly been walled in to give the attic some sort of cohesion but Derek can see piles of stuff in the dim corners, packed tightly between the triangular wedge of the ceiling and floor.  

"Seems like a load of girly shit. But we found these sick noughties speakers," Wicks motions to two dusty, beat up speakers that have seen better days. There's white residue from stickers all over them, along with a pink glittery substance that looks like it was haphazardly painted across it.

"M'trying to find - Ah," Dex kneels partially in the newly found space before leaning back, a victorious grin in place and the end of a cable in hand. He shuffles over to the speakers, scoffing a little when he sees the mess of wires. 

"Wanna give Ollie a hand, Wicks? Might be here till graduation otherwise," he chirps and Ollie scowls, but doesn't respond as he concentrates untangling out a particularly nasty knot. Dex glances up at Nurse and falls into a frown when he sees them, his coffee still in Chowder’s hand. Things may be a little fraught since Dex's move to the Darkness Below, but it was Derek’s turn to buy coffees, and he doesn’t have the heart to exclude Dex’s coffee order. Yet.  

“You better have not put in some nasty syrup this time.” 

“Three shot americano,” Derek responds, making sure to widen his grin that much more as he hands him his own drink. Wisely, or maybe Derek is too predictable (which is absolutely something he has to fix) Dex takes the lid off and rolls his eyes when he sees sweetened, milk monstrosity Derek always orders. 

“Gimme,” Dex orders and Derek hands over the correct one, Dex not even hesitating to take a sip. Derek sits on his hunches, peering at the cable and plug head in his teammate's hand. They've certainly seen better days, the cable having been chewed through and the plug is filthy with twenty years worth of dust. 

“Looks like a mouse got it,” Derek wisely says and Dex snorts. 

“Good thing this hockey team has a history of hoarding.” 

Dex shuffles behind Derek, grabbing a clear, plastic box behind him. 

“I could have grabbed that,” Derek says and Dex just appraises him, making sure to linger especially long on his arm. 

“Sure, dude,” he says, consolingly and Derek bristles at the tone. At least when he was angry at him over his arm, Dex didn’t treat him like glass. To distract himself from the biting remark on the tip of his tongue, he instead tries to make sense of the box Dex is rooting in. It’s surprisingly neat, with every cable tied in a loop, Poindexter’s organisational charm all over it. 

“Looking at this hurts my head.” 

“A lot of things hurt your head,” Dex mutters as he roots through the box and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I'd like to see you read some Foucoult.”

“They're just words, aren't they? I'm sure it's not too hard,” Dex responds, his voice lofty and his muscle flickers at the corner of his mouth as he fiddles with a screwdriver and the plug.  

“Yeah, and so are these,” he smiles widely, “Fuck you.”

An echo of a chirp is in Dex’s lopsided grin when they're interrupted by Chowder’s gasp. 

“Isn't that-” 

“No fucking way.” 

They glance over to find Chowder and Wicks crouching over the back of the speakers, voices hushed. Dex's hands pause as he frowns over at them. 

“What is it?” 

“ ‘Property of Maddy’,” Wicks leans in closer, frowning, “ ‘And Jenny’.” He finishes as Chowder types furiously into his phone before he shoves the phone into a bewildered Wick’s face. 

“Look, look! I knew it.”

“Guys,” Nurse says and Chowder glances over, his eyes comically wide. 

“These speakers belonged to one of the Haus ghosts!”

“Huh, cool. Speaking of -” He lands a hand on Dex’s shoulder and peers at him. “Ghosts - yay or nay?” 

Dex’s face is unreadable when he glances up at Derek. He takes his time to think through his answer, his gaze making Derek tap his fingers against his coffee cup. Dex's eye’s flicker down to the movement, before they drop further down to the electrics in his hand and he starts to disassemble the wiring from the plug. Derek notes how delicate his hands look while handling it. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“'Yeah, sure?’ Sorry, what?”

“Ghosts exist, yeah,” There’s absolutely an echo of a chirp in his voice and irritation flickers in Derek. 

“Bullshit. You believe in ghosts, but you're not superstitious?” 

“Yeah, why not,” Dex shrugs before he flips the plug, taking it expertly apart and for the first time in his life, Derek looks at the inside of one. 

“Oh shit, didn’t know you could do that,” he says, knowing the exact response he’ll get from Dex, who gives him one of the strongest glares he’s given in a while. Shaking his head, he inserts a new battery or circular metal tube, fuck if Derek knows, before screwing it closed. 

“Wicks, is the speaker connected?” he asks and Derek glances behind him to see Wicks giving a thumbs up, hands on the speakers and his phone connected by an aux cord in the other. Chowder is sitting back, a wary look on his face. 

“Guys, I feel we shouldn’t mess with people’s stuff who, y'know, died.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate their stuff being used by the Haus’ successors,” Ollie says, his voice easy with confidence. “We’ll use ‘em at the next kegster.”

Dex twists sideways, pushing the plug into the wall and even before it’s connected fully, a crackle pulses and static whistles from the speakers. Ollie and Wicks high five and whoop and Dex sits next to Derek, frowning slightly. 

“Huh,” Derek hears Dex mutter to himself and he sits back, glancing sideways at him. 

“What?” 

“Didn’t think that would w-” 

Immediately, music bursts from the speakers, loud enough to make everyone jump in the room. The sound is shockingly clear, despite the static running like an undercurrent and Derek winces as the volume grows, Britney Spears voice trilling at a pitch that makes Derek want to cover his ears. 

“Dude, fucking turn it down-”

“I’m not even playing anything, what the hell!”

Derek scoots backward until he’s beside Dex who was closer to the wall. He glances over and is gratified to see Dex eying the escalating situation between the speakers, and their two upperclassmen who are arguing and trying to yank the cable out over the din. Chowder, the wisest of them all, has already moved to the stairs entrance, grimacing slightly, before fleeing downstairs. Derek clears his throat and elbows Dex to get his attention. 

“Hey, do you-”

Dex doesn’t even let him finish before he’s nodding furiously and whispering “Go, just fucking go.”

The two of them dart out of the room. Dex grabs their coffees and Derek giggles echo down the stairwell, Britney working her ass off to smother Ollie and Wick’s panicked shouts alongside him. When they reach the ground floor breathless with laughter, Ford glances from where she and Tango are watching tv and she raises a brow at the noise echoing behind them. 

“Is everything alright?”

“The guys found some haunted speakers,” Derek supplies helpfully, but Ford looks even more confused, and Tango’s brows are dipping into dangerous territory, his mouth halfway to a question but Dex interrupts it with a firm, “Nope.” 

He drags Derek into the kitchen, who falls into a chair easily. It’s quieter here, Bitty must have gone into his room but the music still booms from the attic and Derek listens carefully. 

“Oh, we’re onto Backstreet Boys now, chill.”

“Pie?” Dex asks and Derek hums. 

A plate of pie slides in front of him and Derek looks up to see Dex plopping down into a chair opposite him with his own slice. He's surprised, and he mustn’t be hiding it well enough because Dex's frown deepens. 

“You're making a face.”

Derek hums and takes a bite. 

“Just surprised you're sitting with me. You've avoided me since you moved rooms.” 

“No I haven't,” Dex insists. It's a bald faced lie, and the irritation that instigated so many of their fights over the years flickers in Derek's gut. 

“Want me to get C's opinion? Or Bitty's?” Derek responds coolly and wisely, Dex just clamps his mouth. 

“Not particularly,” Dex eventually says and he glances over at Nurse, his hands curling in front of his mouth. Silence settles between them, the atmosphere uneasy. Derek can't lie to himself; he hates it. It feels like the hard fought friendship they've created has been dashed in half. He distracts himself by listening to the chaos upstairs, but anxiety hums under his skin and he's about to speak, ready to write off the thing just so he can pretend he isn't on edge, when Dex speaks.

“I know I overreacted,” Dex clears his throat. “It took me all of five minutes to realise I could have just asked for some space, and I'm sorry for that.” 

Derek doesn't reply immediately, just ponders the kitchen table in front of him.

“Jokes on you, I probably wouldn't have listened,” Derek admits carefully, even if he's trying to appear as laid back as possible. Dex snorts, the sound bouncing off the walls and lessening the vice around Derek's chest. 

“Glad you can admit that now. I'm proud of you,” Dex pretends to wipe away at a tear and Derek feels a smile grow.

“Oh fuck off,” Derek kicks at him and Dex kicks back which causes a game of footsie to spark between them, the first of one in weeks. Derek is laughing, buoyed from the relief and from the sound of it, Dex is just as invested, his breath rumbling out of him. Eventually, Dex is declared the winner when he lands a particularly nasty blow on Derek's shin. It sends his leg kicking into the table and he curses amongst breathless giggles, though its more of the latter at this point. 

“Motherfucker-” 

“Hard loss, Nurse,” Dex says, his grin wide as Derek rumbles at him, spearing into his pie. 

“Bitty will never forgive you if he can’t play Beyonce in peace now,” he motions upstairs and if Dex cares about the sudden subject change, he doesn’t show. As if to accentuate Derek's point, the noise from the attic grows as Bitty’s shouts join the fray and okay, this will actually be a nightmare. He’s pretty sure Rick Astley is playing now. Dex rolls his eyes, as if Derek is the one acting out of line. 

“They’ll stop any minute now. They’re just having some fun.”

“Who?” When Dex just raises a brow, Derek makes a strangled noise. 

“This is not allowed - Sorry, this has to be added to the bylaws that you are not allowed to believe in ghosts.” 

“Why?” Dex asks and he sounds genuinely curious and wow, Derek wants to kill him sometimes.

“It makes no sense! How can someone with such a big stick up their ass-”

“Fucking rude.’

“-believe in something as intangible as ghosts?” 

“There is a possible force on this planet that lives off of spite. How could I not believe in it?” Dex throws back and damn, that’s not entirely untrue. 

“Right, fine. If they actually exist, can you get them to turn the music off? Bitty might burn the Haus down if Rod Stewart keeps playing.”

Derek didn't actually pose it as a question, the sarcasm in his tone was as clear as day. Dex doesn’t respond, watching as Derek takes another bite before he takes in a breath and speaks out loud. 

“Yo Mads, mind turning off the music for a bit?” 

Derek raises an eyebrow, but his expression freezes because well, the music just stops. The sudden departure of it leaves the silence deafening, even their housemates' voices barely a whisper in the aftermath. He glances up at Dex who is just draining his coffee, their eyes locked onto each other until he sets his empty cup down. He stands and leaves the kitchen, but not before clapping his hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

“Don’t eat with your mouth open,” he hums, his voice low and Derek clamps his mouth shut. 

“A fluke,” he says desperately through the food in his mouth. Dex suddenly leans down and Derek feels something swoop in his gut, because their faces are inches apart, and Dex has a look like he’s on the ice, quiet and intense. He leans down, and quicker than Derek can react, he blows a burst of air into Derek’s ear. He jumps back, nearly falling off the chair and just righting himself in time but Dex is already gone, laughter trailing down the basement stairs. 

“Motherfucker,” Derek mutters to himself, ignoring how wide his grin has grown, and how the pie tastes that little bit sweeter.

Chapter Text

The first Sunday where Derek has nothing planned happens unexpectedly. 

They beat Harvard in an away game and it’s a particularly brutal one that has left bruises blossoming on his skin and an aching shoulder to deal with. Usually, winning against Harvard is cause for a Kegster but the game ran late on Saturday and by the time they got back to campus, Derek had been supporting a zonked Chowder back to the Haus. Even Louis, the great man he is, had slouched back to the dorms with the rest of the waffles, his headphones shut off and hanging around his neck. 

Now, Derek is sitting in sweats and cozy socks on the couch, munching on a bowl of popcorn and throwing the equivalent at Dex who is lounging similarly. Chowder is chilling at Farms, Bitty left bright and early to hang with the Haus 2.0 crew and Ollie and Wicks are nowhere to be seen. It’s a good day so far; Derek read in bed for a while, Dex whipped out a pie from a killer hiding spot and they demolished the tin whilst watching the most grotesque episodes of home makeover shows. Now, energy bubbles under Derek’s skin and he frowns down at the bowl in his lap. 

“Hey Dex.” 

Dex grunts, eyes focused on the tv and Derek throws another bit of popcorn to grab his attention. It bounces off of his forehead and a muscle flickers, but Dex resolutely ignores him. 

“I've got a question.” 

“I don't care.” 

“How much popcorn do you think can fit in my mouth?”

“Like 50,” Dex responds immediately and he glances over to see Derek placing popcorn in his mouth, frowning with concentration. He's just put his 11th one in when he feels Dex nudge his waist with his foot. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What-” he can't speak properly, the words too warped so he just motions at himself, decides he articulated enough before continuing on. He's pretty sure Dex brings up his hand to hide a smile though so he's emboldened to try and cram even more in. He concentrates on hitting his 22nd through a wayward grin that he can’t drop, and is still going when Dex speaks up. 

“Hey Nurse,” he says, tapping on his phone and he holds it up, video already playing. 

“Who's the hottest uber driver-” 

Deep inside him, a peal of laughter bubbles through him but he clamps down, breathing heavily and covers his eyes with his hands because he will spit all of this out if he meets Dex’s eyes. He glances between his fingers when it feels like Dex has backed off except his phone is directly in his face now, the familiar chime of a Thomas the Tank Engine soundbite in his ears and Derek loses it. He breathes in sharply, gets some popcorn caught in his throat and devolves immediately into a coughing fit that is made ten times worse when Dex’s laughter joins in. There’s a tear or two tracking down his face, popcorn all over his clothes and floor and their mingled laughter suffuses the room louder than any video or tv programme can. But Derek desires sweet, sweet revenge so as soon as his breath returns, he leaps onto an unsuspecting Dex and starts shoveling the last of the popcorn down his t-shirt. His reaction is instantaneous. 

“No, Nursey don’t!” He yells out, trying to shove him off but Derek has the advantage of surprise and keeps ahold of him. 

“You’re such an asshole-” Derek says breathlessly, his grin wide as Dex shoves his face away. Instead of fighting it, he allows the momentum to tip him over and he sprawls onto the floor, popcorn crunching under him, giggles still pouring from him. Beside him, Dex is sitting up, grimacing as he shakes his clothes free of popcorn, his hair an angry whorl of red. One singular popcorn lands near Derek’s mouth and he sits up quickly, but not quicker than the thought of second hand kisses. 

“I'm going for a piss,” he announces and stands up, but not before giving a quick dig into Dex's side and grinning at his yelp. He narrowly avoids the responding kick, but predictably, doesn't hear Dex chase after him, too caught up in the mess left behind him to continue their roughhousing. 

He flicks the light on in the bathroom, clearing away the itchiness in his throat. He puts his phone onto the mirror’s shelf and goes for a piss, letting his mind wander. He hadn’t expected Dex to stay in the Haus when Chowder left, but judging from the quickness he’d pulled out the pie, maybe Derek shouldn’t have been so worried after all. The thought feels like a glass of cold water on a hot day; refreshing and deeply, deeply satisfying. Enough so, it leaves a content smile curling on Derek’s face as he flushes the toilet and pulls his trousers back up. 

He goes to wash his hands when a riot of colour catches his eye. He looks up from washing his hands to see the mirror’s shelf filled to the brim with hair accessories, his phone sitting snugly at the end. There’s comb headbands, sparkly hair ties, butterfly clips of all colours and two fluffy scrunchies. They’re both dusty and look a little pale with age, but the colour and texture is enough to give him pause. One is yellow, whilst the other is a dark green which isn’t odd in of itself, but Derek swears they weren't there when he came in the room. He’s pretty sure the entire shelf was empty actually, because it's notoriously shit for actually staying on the wall, despite Dex fixing it time and time again. 

That thought has barely self realised before a shaky sort of energy zips up his spine and he rushes from the room, drying his hands on his trousers. When he reaches the living room, Dex has the dustpan and brush and is grimacing at the popcorn stuck in the permanent, sticky spot that is half hidden by the couch. Derek goes over to him, tapping on his head until Dex swipes him away. 

“I need your opinion.”

Dex looks up at him, eyebrows raised in mock concern. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I need you to check something in the bathroom,” Derek responds fast, and maybe it’s his willingness to skip their game of bickering that Dex doesn’t respond with a chirp. In fact, a practiced sort of frustration falls into place on Dex’s face that almost feels worse. 

“I swear to fucking God, if you broke that shelf again-”

“For once, Dex, I’m not out to trouble your handyman tendencies, I just need you to check some -” Derek waves his hand erratically, “-hair shit.”

That piques Dex’s curiosity and he stands up from where he’s kneeling, giving Derek a very confused expression before walking ahead of him. 

“Eloquent, dude.”

“Dex, you use 5 in 1 shower gel and nothing else. I am not the problem here,” Derek snarks and together, they walk to the bathroom even as he sidesteps a responding kick. Derek isn’t stupid when they reach it, he’s watched enough horror movies to know to never walk into weird shit first but he does glance to ensure it’s all still there. Dex walks in without preamble, his shoulders loose, but even he stops abruptly when he sees the shelf and Derek immediately pokes at him. 

“See?” 

“Would Farms own any of this?” Dex sounds doubtful of his own suggestion and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Dude, she hasn’t been here in a week,” Derek steps forward and goes to pick up a clip when Dex’s hand shoots out and slaps it away. 

“Ow! The fuck, man-” 

“Don’t touch any of it,” Dex interrupts and Derek tries again, only for Dex to poke him in the side and distract him. 

“You’re being super fucking annoying right now.”

“Aw, like I’m not everyday? Cheers for the compliment,” Dex says, pushing and prodding at him with a smirk. Derek walks back down the hallway, half heartedly dodging Dex’s quick fingers. 

“Fuck you,” he whines, as Dex moves past him with a last jab. He tries to swipe at him, but Dex is too quick. 

He immediately goes to the kettle and flicks it on, taking down a mug from the shelf and the battered, metal canister that Derek has come to recognise as Dex’s stash of tea. It’s hexagonal shaped, its colours washed out to leave behind a rich, tarnished golden colour that reminds Derek of evenings in an armchair with good coffee and a thrifted historical fiction book. His frown deepens as he opens the cupboard and it clicks in his mind. 

“The ghosts!” 

There’s an imperceptible pause from behind him and Dex’s hand reaches past his head to grab the honey. For a moment, heat warms Derek’s side as Dex’s body lines up against his, and he forces himself to let out his breath. Which, y’know, he doesn’t think is all that strange and he turns back around, not distracted enough to continue with his original train of thought. 

“Gonna go touch that stuff in the bathroom,” he says, watching Dex carefully. 

“Don't,” Dex warns and Derek's grin widens. 

“Hmm,” He starts to edge out of the kitchen and Dex sighs. 

“Nursey, don't touch their stuff,” Dex says and Derek gasps, keeping his voice low.

“Oh-em-gee, wait, are they here right fucking now?” 

Dex makes a displeased noise in his throat, “Don't say acronyms out loud, and I don't know, they probably are if their shit is?” 

Derek glances around, trying to sense if the Haus feels any different but no, he can still smell the fabric conditioner on their drying hockey gear, the leftover coffee in the pot. It’s not even colder than it usually is, which means Dex must have loosened his iron grip on the thermostat. 

“I thought they were your bros,” Derek pauses, “Your girls? Your chicks?” 

Dex makes a sound of disgust, “That just sounds like they're my groupies.” 

“Hmm, yeah,” Derek hums quietly, thinking to himself and tries not to grin at Dex's already exasperated expression when he opens his mouth. “Would you fuck a ghost?” 

Dex brows twitch but Derek snaps his fingers, forcibly adjusting his brain's wanderings back onto the more important matter at hand, the motherfucking haunting he is currently bearing witness to. 

“Ignore that question. I'm more interested if the ghosts actually talk to you.” 

“Nurse,” Dex warns, measuring out a teaspoon of honey and not squirting from the bottle directly like a respectable human being. Derek hops up on the counter next to him and holds his hands up placatingly. 

“Genuine curiosity, dude. I bet they have the best gossip from all of our Kegsters.”

“Probably on half the student body,” Dex admits. He stirs his tea, and for once, Derek keeps his mouth shut and waits out Dex’s first sip. 

“They don’t speak to me,” Dex begins before he makes a face, “I hate that I'm about to say this, but I get more of a ‘vibe’, -” Dex throws up quotation marks with his hands, “- than any spoken word.” 

Derek breaks out into a smile and Dex wags his finger menacingly. 

“So what was the ‘vibe’ during the attic speaker situation? Some Britney to set the scene? Or a little bit of tomfoolery?” 

“Yeah, a bit of fuckery I think. I don't think they liked the guys touching their stuff,” Dex says with a grin and he takes a sip of tea, making a noise of contentment that makes Derek's fingers fidget. 

“So why ghosts though? Like why believe in those and not fucking Bigfoot or something?” Derek asks, just to distract himself, but also because they've fallen into an equilibrium that feels good. It makes Derek want to close his fingers around their little bubble of space and hold on as long as possible.

“I don’t know, it started off as a family thing, I guess? My mam is a weird mix of agnostic & Catholic,” Dex pauses for a second and Derek watches him frown to himself, piecing the words together with a scrunched up expression that leaves Derek inexplicably hanging on for every nugget of knowledge. 

“I think it was a comfort for her, when she left Ireland. She shared a lot of folk stories she grew up with. A lot of them involved spirits who played tricks,” Dex smiles and it’s a soft, gentle thing that makes Derek’s chest bloom with warmth. Oh no, he thinks in a quiet panic. Oh no. He can’t even speak, frozen with the realisation that he likes - he forcibly stifles that thought as soon as it appears - but Dex continues talking, entirely unaware of Derek's miniature breakdown. 

“My favourite was a local one from her hometown,” he flicks his phone open and when he turns it around, all Derek can see is a long strip of a sandy beach rolling away from a dappled, grey sea. An island overlooks it all, a single solitary round tower on it and draped in sunshine from where the sun is setting behind the camera. Derek can almost smell the coastal breeze from the image and wonders what Dex would look like if he were the focus of the frame, painted in the same golden hues.

“The island's tower overlooking her town was occupied by a banshee. If you found a comb submerged in the water, you were supposed to leave it alone otherwise she would steal you away at night.” 

“Did she ever find one?” 

“Nah,” Dex smirks as he continues, “Might have given me ammunition for pranks on my sister though.” 

“Neat, I applaud your use of the source material.”

Dex rolls his eyes, “It was literally just a prank, Nurse.”

“Still, very smart. Didn’t know you had it in you,” Derek bumps his leg against Dex’s hip. Stop, he tells the fondness growing like a goddamn fungus deep in his chest as Dex ducks into his tea, hiding a smile. STOP. 

He's saved from committing something stupid, like letting his fingers curl around Dex's shoulder, or even worse, opening his mouth when the front door of the Haus clatters open. The atmosphere that had settled between them disperses, if only because Derek notices how Dex shifts, putting a scant bit of space between them. Recognising the moment is gone, Derek hops off the counter and ignores the resulting flicker of sadness. 

“S’up,” Bully’s voice sounds out from behind the fridge door, and Dex’s murmured hello is quiet. 

“How’s my least favourite Waffle?” Derek calls out from where he’s rooting in the fridge for the energy bites Bitty knowingly made in preparation for a lazy Sunday for the team.

“Top shelf, Nurse,” Dex calls out and Derek straightens back up, tupperware in hand. There’s no shift to Bully’s expression, but there’s a certain attentiveness he gives the team and maybe Derek is feeling particularly aware right now, but he swears his eyes flicker between them. Derek plops down at the table and keeps his shoulders loose as Bully responds to his question, his voice wry. 

“I think Hops is still in his lab tutorial,” Bully drops his laptop bag onto the kitchen table, nicking an energy bite and eating the whole thing in one go. Derek doesn’t even have to turn to know Dex is making a face and damn, maybe he really does have a problem on his hands. A rustle in his jimmies. A situation gone code fucking red. 

“The internet in the library was shit, so gonna study here if that’s alright,” Bully says and Dex shrugs from where he leans against the cabinet. 

“Don’t have to ask, man,” he responds and he walks back into the living room, but not before throwing a questioning glance at Derek over his shoulder. Derek is helpless to deny him, and he pulls himself out of his chair to join him, but not before flicking Bully on the head. 

“Have fun studying, nerd.”

Bully huffs, already stuffing another energy bite into his mouth as Derek and Dex settle back onto the couch, feet tangled together and soon enough, Derek’s attention is drawn back into the tv. They’ve just utterly destroyed the living room of a historical home that has both of them scoffing with disgust, when Bully appears over the couch, a phone in hand. 

“Your phone, Nurse. It was sitting on the shelf in the bathroom.” 

“Oh cheers, man,” Nurse pockets it and then freezes before sitting up sharply. 

“Yo River, was there any other stuff next to my phone?” 

“Uhh,” he sits back in his chair at the kitchen table, frowning, “No, was there supposed to be?”

Derek is already scrambling out of the sofa and slides down the hallway, nearly slipping in his haste to reach the bathroom. He flicks the light on, and immediately zeroes in on the abrasively empty shelf. He steps forward, flicking a hand quickly over the shelf but it’s actually empty, not a single clip left behind. He’s still staring at it in disbelief when Dex appears in the doorway and hums to himself. 

“Huh. They must be finished.”

“I hate you. I hate you so much,” Derek says and Dex rolls his eyes, but not before clamping a hand on his shoulder and begins to steer him away. 

“C’mon, I’m sure you have some more food you can throw at me to make you feel better.”

Derek laughs weakly, entirely aware how easily Dex’s hand clasped on his shoulder does the job already.

“It’ll be a drink next time, don’t worry.”

Chapter Text

Derek's thinks he's never met someone so determined to avoid his gaze before. He finishes off his coffee, allows the silence to reign before quietly speaking. 

“Will we get the bill?” 

Before him, Clara smiles faintly, her hand twisting at the collar of her shirt as she nods. 

“Yeah.”

The end of their coffee date passes predictably. She makes a show of trying to pay, he insists and taps his card before there's any real conflict and they step outside into late spring air. At this point, she's barely even glancing at him when they start meandering on the footpath. She throws a hand up towards the wooded path to the sorority houses, her body already halfway turned towards it. 

“Anyway, I'm gonna head this way.” 

“Alright,” Derek says uselessly, before he clears his throat, “Well, see you around.”

They separate cleanly and Derek's feet move of his own accord, tracing the well worn path to the Haus. He’s walking, trying not to tangle the threads of confusion and bewilderment in his mind and laughter spills from his mouth.

“What the fuck,” he says aloud. He ignores the student’s throwing him questioning glances, and even a dirty one when he abruptly shifts direction to Jerry’s because he refuses to end his morning with a shit date at the worst coffee spot in Samwell’s suburbs. If he’s really being honest, he should have taken into account her steadily emptier messages over the week but he pushed forward anyway. He’s good at hook ups, whispered words tasting of cheap alcohol in dark spaces. He is decidedly not good at romancing someone else when his own heart has been staked cleanly through with cutting smirks and an attitude to match it. 

He orders something ludicrously indulgent from Jerry’s and heads to a bench outside to ruminate. He begins to disentangle the threads of emotion in him, trying to not prick himself on the more sharper ones that curl a little closer to his sense of self. He’s had a good week; his sophomore year is finished nicely, all essays and exams completed and the team is gearing up for a Kegster he hopes that’ll give his upperclassmen the farewell they deserve. There’s no reason to focus on his afternoon disaster, though he feels guilty calling it that because the date was fine. Perfectly amicable, even if it became pretty clear there wasn’t an ounce of chemistry between them. But his brain has taken the opportunity of a poor social interaction to pick apart every moment; did he say something to throw her off? Should he have not told the story of how he ended up on the roof in his freshman year? God, he probably sounded like an utter dumbass. 

He stews over his words and is broken out of his cesspit when he finishes the last of his coffee. He becomes aware of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he takes it out almost reluctantly. He ignores the various group chats pinging away, and opens his most recent private message. 

Chow: How’d it go?

Derek: ugh

Chow just reacts to his message with a poop emoji and yeah, Derek fucking gets it. He follows up quickly enough asking when Derek will be back at the Haus and he takes it as his cue to leave. He barely even notices the sun’s warmth on his shoulders, or how celebratory the atmosphere is along the riverbanks because he’s completely lost in his own head. By the time he’s back at the Haus, he’s no better at having untangled the mess in his head and Louis is greeting him in the hallway, all 6 feet of bumbling, blonde energy and wide smiles. 

“Nurse! Can you give me a hand with the playlist when you’re ready, I think it’s-”

“Sorry man, can’t at the moment,” Derek doesn’t even stop whilst clapping a hand on his shoulder, just continuing on. He doesn’t hear Louis voice any disappointment, but he can practically feel his energy deflate and Derek makes his escape before the guilt can fully settle. He waves at an already frowning Chowder who stands next to a preoccupied Dex in the kitchen and Derek books it then, very determinedly not wanting to attract his attention. He takes the steps two at a time and maybe he looks a bit crazed, his energy is probably throwing off all of his teammates but he’s too far beyond the point of caring. He opens his door, adds his jacket to the mess of clothes and books on the bottom bunk and climbs to his bed to slump into. Immediately, he's sinking. He's aware of his body pressed against his sheets, the way his hand is curled awkwardly under his torso. He can feel where the pillow and stubble scratch at each other when he buries his face deeper but all of this means nothing while his mind goes on a free fall. 

What was originally an unsteady dissection of every social minutiae has extended to every action of the past two weeks. He panics quietly about his exams. Tries to remember if he included the correct sources in his paper for his history elective. Thinks over any awkward interaction he's ever had in his life. He opens his phone to read through the writing he's thumbed into his notes, only to end up hating every single one of them. When he finds one that speaks about red hair and being burnt, his hand flinches as if he's about to throw it, so he lets it drop to his bed. He rubs his face, pressing down on his eyes until he sees stars and mutters aloud.

“I'm such a fucking idiot.” 

And that's the crux of the issue. With time, he could fall for someone else and get over this encompassing, amorphous thing he feels for a teammate. But they have at least another year of living and breathing and playing in the same space, and Derek finds it hard to believe that anyone will ever be able to live up to what the year will bring. He's ready to dip back into his pool of self loathing, when there's a knock at his door and Denice's voice calls out. 

“Derek?” 

He frowns deeply and doesn't respond. 

“You can mope in silence, or eat the slice of pie I brought.” 

Well, shit. “What flavour?”

“Peach,” she supplies and Derek sighs in defeat.

“Come in.” 

She steps in, two plates in hand and shuts the door with her foot behind her. She passes up the plates and doesn’t ask permission to climb up. She's the picture of summer right now; dark blue dungarees over a light green tank that she probably stole from one of the boy’s laundry. 

“This is why you're my favourite,” he says before he takes a bite. 

“I thought Louis was,” she gives him a wry smile when he groans and sinks further into his bed. 

“He hates me now.”

“He doesn't,” her voice is firm, and a little exasperated because every good team manager must have some degree of ‘already over this shit’. 

“Besides, Tony has probably already distracted him with something else.” 

“Oh, it's Tony now?” 

“Stop trying to deflect,” she says, too matter of factly before continuing, “What happened today? I thought you were looking forward to it.” 

“Ugh,” he shoves another piece into his mouth to avoid elaborating, but Denice just steals one of his pillows and settles even further into the bed. He hopes Lardo is feeling some sort of second hand pride right now. 

She gives him time though, enough for him to finish his slice.

“It was fine,” he eventually says before he snorts, “I hate people.” 

“No you don't,” Denice smiles, easy with the confidence of knowing him too well, “You hate how people perceive you.” 

Derek splutters, “Kick a man while he's down, Denice!"

“Derek, from one anxiety riddled kid to another, stop self catastrophizing so much. It's distinctly,” she lengthens her pause, because she is at heart, a theatre kid before smiling toothily, “unchill.” 

And shit well, he can't have that. He grabs her foot and a shriek erupts from her as he digs his fingers into the sole of her foot. If he was better prepared, he probably, definitely, would have won but he forgets that Denice is a middle child with brothers on either side of her and is not afraid to play dirty. Amidst her spluttering laughter, she shoves a foot into Derek’s face and he immediately yells. 

“Why the fuck,” he grunts when an errant knee digs into his gut, “Ow - Why do I suddenly smell someone’s jockstrap right now?” 

“You wish,” she responds sarcastically as she tries to shove his face away, “Got someone on your mind, Derek?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he mutters and his breath is punched out of him when an elbow drops into his gut. Scuffle forgotten, Denice kneels over him, eyes blinking owlishly behind her glasses.  

“Wait, who-?” 

The door jumps open and Dex walks through, already looking wholly unimpressed. Surprise loosens Derek’s grip on Denice's hand, which lands on his face and he lets out a squawk that's decidedly uncool. He hears a muttered ‘Oops’ as she sits back and Dex wanders closer. 

“How much longer do you need to stop him sulking? The music still needs to be prepped.” 

“Give us five,” Denice responds. 

“You come into my house,” Derek mutters, sitting up and he waves a hand at Dex, not bothered to meet his eyes right now. 

“Chill, Poindexter. We'll be down in a bit.”

“Don’t tell me to chill,” Dex responds automatically and Derek lifts his eyes just a smidge. He can't read his d-man's expression at all. His brows have slipped halfway into a frown, but his mouth isn't downturned like when he's pissed. There’s no tension in his jaw, but his hands are clenched tightly. Derek doesn’t really care about reading more into it, so he flops down onto his bed and throws his arm over his eyes. 

There's a small huff, but Dex leaves without another word. If Derek tilts his arm so he can watch him leave, that's his business except Denice's quiet exhalation upon the door shutting makes him freeze. He stays still, in the hope that whatever way he’s laying down, it wasn't actually interpreted as actual ogling. Beneath him, the mattress shifts as Denice squishes into the sliver of space between his leg and the bed and makes no delay in making herself comfortable. She props her knees on the bunk bed's barrier and hums. 

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours?” 

Derek thinks for a second, “Shoot.” 

“Tony has already given me ownership of the stereo in the attic for next year,” she wrinkles her nose as if she's disgusted, but there's a small, genuinely happy smile that contradicts herself. In spite of himself, Derek's own smile grows. 

“Yo, that's mad cute.” 

“I know,” Denice sighs, but with no actual upset. She pokes her finger into his knee, “Your turn now.” 

“Ah,” Derek clears his throat and he laces his fingers together to stop the sudden onset of nerves. The only person he broached the topic with was Chowder, drowsy on exhaustion and beer they smuggled into their hotel room at an away game some weeks ago. Chowder hadn't said much, just provided a much needed vacuum to Derek's words in a room that was already stifled with heat because they couldn't figure out how to turn off the thermostat. 

“I think,” Chowder appears unruffled from the heat and Derek is more than miffed as he plastered himself to the cold window, barely cracked open because of the safety function. “You need to talk to him.” 

“I'm pretty sure Poindexter would actually blow a fuse if I told him I wanted to rock his socks,” Derek said dryly as Chowder giggled, “It'll pass anyway.”

He waved a hand at the time, as if writing off the tangled mess of it was as easy as clearing away a cobweb. Except now, he's still horribly caught up in it, and Chowder has given him enough succinct looks when he catches his eyes lingering on Dex that he's developed a cold sweat as a Pavlovian response. But for now, Denice is squished beside him, humming gently and Derek clears his throat. 

“I've forgotten so many books in the basement, he built a bookshelf to hold them,” at Denice's curling smile, he feels emboldened to continue, “He’s put my favourite tea in with his stash so Hops stops drinking it.”

“Aw shit, Derek,” Denice says with a wide, cheesy smile. He'd usually chirp her for it, but his own cheeks hurt from how badly he’s trying to hold back his own smile. 

“Yeah, it’s chill,” he says and Denice rolls her eyes. She sits up, grumbling as he tries to kick at her as she climbs down. She doesn’t immediately leave, instead standing on the bottom bed and crosses her arms over the wooden frame of the bed. Her smile is a torch against the remnants of his anxiety. Momentarily, Derek is struck wordless at how absurdly grateful he is to have her in his life. He wonders, not for the first time, what deity has made the greatest, but absurdly stupid decision to shower the Samwell’s hockey team with luck. 

“Ready to get schwasted for the senior’s final kegster?” she asks. 

Derek holds out a fist over the bed, and Denice returns it with a grin. 

“Let’s do this, shortstack.”

***

Derek doesn’t end up getting to the tub juice for another hour. He’s barely stepped onto the bottom floor before his eyes are drawn into the living room, where Ollie and Wicks are arguing and Louis looks on dejectedly from the sofa’s armchair. Ford wanders into the kitchen, and Nursey immediately dips into the living room, throwing an arm around the Swede and giving him a shake. It’s a little pathetic how easily Derek’s mood lifts when Louis gives him a happy grin, but Derek will take what he can get right now. Take that, motherfucking anxiety. 

“Whatcha got so far?”

“Uh, I think Bits added all of Beyoncé’s discography? Which, y’know,” Louis shrugs shoulder, in defeat already, even though Derek already knows it was never a real battle to begin with. 

“Whatevs, wouldn’t be Bit’s final Kegster if the main lady herself wasn’t on it,” Derek glances at Louis’ phone and sees some familiar names, before grinning widely. 

“Yo, go onto their page,” he points at one, “I’m pretty sure they’ve put out good compilation stuff.” 

The next hour is spent building the playlist and trying to stave off Wicks' attempt to include as many Nsync songs as possible. Hops wanders by at one point, laughing as Louis gestures wildly, mouth moving a mile a minute.  

“-They were a cardboard box over their head -” 

“Christ, Louis, they're terrible -”

Louis & Hop’s light hearted argument fills the room as Derek adds some musical songs, because it’s guaranteed Holster and Ransom will hijack the music as soon as they arrive. Others have trickled into the room, lounging around and enjoying the shaft of sunlight that pours into the room. Outside, he can hear Ollie laugh as he and Wicks start setting up the tub. Everything feels blissfully slotted into place and Derek revels in the familiarity until Dex comes into the room, unrolling the cuffs of his sleeves. He slots himself against the back of the sofa next to Derek and flicks at his arm. 

“Finished moping now?”

“I’ll be alone forever,” Derek says sadly. He uses the opportunity to lean against Dex, and his heart hums when he’s not pushed away immediately. He's out of his funk now, but Dex must know him too well, because there’s no chirp to be found. 

“You'll find that someone,” Dex is pointedly looking away, even as Derek's mind screams you, you, you. He continues staring sideways at Dex and it seems like he'll turn his head and their faces will only be apart by a few, scant inches. The room is full of people; Hops is now unsuccessfully trying to start another round in Smash Brothers, Ford is wheedling her way on to the playlist despite Louis best efforts to stop her. Whiskey is relaxing in the armchair, watching something on his phone. It's entirely not appropriate to think of leaning forward; the resulting reactions might actually tear apart the Haus. But he wants to, can imagine it as easily as Dex turning slightly to meet his eye. It takes a moment for realisation to sink in that he is looking at him, eyeline cutting barely above his nose. When Derek bites the inside of his lip, nervous energy leaking out, Dex must find what he's looking for because there's a flash of heat that makes Derek's chest tighten. 

“FROGS! TADDIES! WAFFLES!” Ollie’s voice blasts into the room, disrupting the sleepy, sun-drenched atmosphere that had begun to settle. Whiskey, who had been in ground zero, is already trying to wrangle the window closed from where Ollie is trying to climb through. 

“All of you on the motherfucking porch NOW!” The latter half is muffled when Whiskey shoves Ollie back and shuts the window, scowl riding high on his face. The debacle is enough for the shock to wear off, but he swears his heart feels like it just ran a mile. Next to Derek, Dex clears his throat as Ollie starts tapping insistently on the window. 

“C'mon fuckers, you know he won't let up until we go.” 

There's grumblings, more than one confused questions and Bitty looks particularly peeved as he's dragged out by a grinning Wicks. Derek loops an arm around Chowder's shoulders as they walk outside to settle himself. It’s as if the threads had tangled themselves once again and Derek wonders how tight they can spin until they snap. His thoughts shift easily when they step outside to a Wicks standing in front of the tub with his arms crossed. To his left, is a table filled with an ungodly amount of unopened mixers and alcohol. 

“Alright, me and Ollie were talking-” 

“More like banging,” Derek whispers so only Chowder can hear. He smirks when Chowder has to use his hoodie to hide his laughter. 

“Nurse, shut your mouth!” Wicks waves the megaphone at him threateningly, “Anyway, we've decided to add a final bylaw. The final tub juice of the upperclassment’s final kegster must be contributed by every member of the team.” 

“So… Kings Tub?” Chowder says and Ollie shrugs. 

“Dude, it's like, meaningful and shit,” Ollie says from where he is rummaging through the alcohol before he clicks his tongue, and walks over, bottle of vodka in hand. 

“It will be a blessing for our post college endeavours, and a shitload of luck for the Haus to stay standing for the next year,” Wicks pats the wall gingerly, a plank of wood shifting dangerously loose. Derek doesn't even have to turn to Dex to find his reaction, Hops resounding laughter next to him is enough to make Derek grin. 

“Anyway, take your pick from the table. But no fucking beer, even if the last time was ‘accidental’,” Wicks warns. It immediately devolves into another argument between them all; Ford, Whiskey and Derek stick up for Tango. Derek because he’s a disaster in his own right, and Whiskey and Ford because they’re bros. Hops, Ollie and Bully absolutely refuse to believe their argument that there was a slippery patch that caused the inciting incident. Bitty doesn’t even speak, just grabs the smallest bottle from the table, pours it in and sweeps back indoors, muttering to himself as he takes a left into the kitchen. Chowder just sits back, throwing in arguments in favour of both sides and Derek isn’t really all that sympathetic when Hops and Bully band together to pour a bottle of lemonade over him. So caught up in watching their antics, Derek doesn’t even notice Dex has left until he arrives back, two clear glass bottles in hand with unfamiliar blue labels.

“Yo, what the fuck is that?” 

Dex just holds out the bottle in answer and Derek takes one, looking over the bottle. 

“‘Zima?’ The hell is this?” 

“Some drink from the nineties. They’re doing a limited edition right now, and the murder stop & shop had a few.” 

“Huh,” Derek says. The bottle is pretty neat, the ribbed glass giving it a more vintage look that Derek appreciates. Before Dex can say anything, he pops the lid off and takes a swig and immediately makes a face. 

“Dude, it tastes like lemon juice filtered ten times over with tin foil. Where did you even hear of this?” 

“Recommendation from a friend,” Dex says lightly, but it’s spoken through a grin that spells trouble. Suspicion immediately rises and Derek squints at him. 

"Hm," Derek doesn’t have time to say anything else before Dex steps up to the tub and starts emptying them. He swears a resounding, girlish cheer filters through the house beyond his team’s laughter, but as quick as he thinks it, the noise has faded. Dex must hear it though, because he flinches towards the noise, his grin grows wider and Derek feels excitement curling in his gut. 

“Oh man,” Derek steps up, selecting a bottle of something fruity and uncomfortably bright orange, “What have you done?” 

“Well, it’s luck for Bits and the boys,” Dex throws an uncharacteristic soft look towards the kitchen, and Derek tries to compare his image of freshman Dex with what’s in front of him but then stops, because what’s the point when what he has in front of him is so much better anyway. 

“And we’ll need every bit of luck to keep the Haus standing anyway,” Dex continues as Derek pours his drink in. Across from him, Whiskey is pouring in a bottle of vodka and wordlessly, they tip the butt of their bottles together as Derek finishes up and turns around back to Dex. 

“Nah. With you helming this ship, absolutely nothing will go wrong,” Derek says easily. 

Dex mouth quirks, “Absolutely nothing?” 

“Maybe Betsy 2.0 will break, or security gets called at a kegster and another pie will definitely be dropped by the waffles, but it'll be totes fine. If anyone can keep this ship going after Bits, it'll be you.”

Derek doesn't realise how startlingly genuine he sounds until he looks at Dex, who is clearly taken aback. He meets Derek's eyes and the smile that fills his face is Derek's most favourite; a small, confident thing that gives the impression of dimples on his cheeks. They've never discussed why Derek voted for him, but Dex is a man of action, for both himself and others around him. Derek suspects his vote is enough in itself. 

“Thanks, Derek.” 

A genuine fondness has coloured his voice golden, and Derek feels both a fool, and a victor. He has to look away this time, clearing his throat as he dumps his bottle into the box of rapidly filling empties. 

“Yeah, well. Anyway,” he clears his throat again because Dex is still smiling at him like it’s no one’s business, “Ready to get this show on the road?” 

Dex's two bottles join Derek's and his voice is brimming with confidence when they step back inside. 

“Let's fucking do this.” 

Later, he will try to encapsulate the night and early morning hours into sentences that burst at the seams with emotion. He’ll never get it quite right; it’s impossible when every moment is a memory and he never wants to miss a single one. But he tries his best the very next day, and continues into the week, when he’s back home in New York. He writes paragraphs about the taste of metallic and sugary sweetness, of laughter that still trembled through him the next morning, wrapped in a blanket and laughing at the shades perched on Dex’s nose to block the sunlight. How Caitlin had shot down her opponent at beer pong, cup after cup with no pause and Chowder had nearly fallen to his knees practically weeping with joy. How Haus 2.0 had rumbled through the house, relaxing into their places like they never left. Maybe it was luck imbuing their night; Derek likes to think the lemon taste in the tub juice was the girl’s doing, along with the shifting of the music at moments that made the cheers loud and the laughter even louder. 

But he knows that these moments will follow him from Samwell, to wherever he goes next, even when his anxiety whispers the opposite. So, he turns another page in his journal, takes another sip of his coffee and writes, pausing only to check when his phone pings.