Chapter Text
Derek spends a scary normal amount of time thinking over his last encounter with his neighbor.
There's not a lot else for him to do, after dropping out. So he sleeps some, cooks himself breakfast, plays Minecraft, reads, and overthinks.
…It can't be healthy for Avery to look like that. I mean, obviously. Clearly he's not resting well. Is Avery resting? Getting sleep at all?
Not anymore. What had that meant? Just that coffee doesn't help anymore, or that nothing helps anymore?
Humans can die from a lack of sleep.
And he'd made up excuses about botany, but Derek's almost certain he was lying. At least in some regard. But he's clearly working on something. Something school-related? No matter the courses Avery's taking, he can't be losing that much sleep, can he?
…
Actually, no, Derek believes it.
But how does one convince someone else to take care of themself?
…Why does he care enough to be wondering that?
Is it because Avery had cared enough to ask if he was taking care of himself?
That doesn't really make sense. Derek's been asked plenty of times if he's taking care of himself, plenty of times has been worried about without an obvious reason.
Is it because Avery had been kind enough to offer to help him?
(Offering to give him coffee and pills to help him sleep. Offering to…
Give him food?
Would Avery have made him something???)
Maybe.
That seems more plausible, but…
Even then.
Even the kindest of grandparents and aunts have offered to do things like that for Derek, but it never particularly warmed him to them. Not in the same…
…
In the same way.
As if— As if Avery has been?
As if there's something here to question, instead of one of the many things he's simply made up to ask himself about?
Derek doesn't just—
He doesn't just care.
That's not in his nature.
That's not who he is. (Is it?)
From the moment he could, he'd moved out. Away from his parents. Away from people that gave a damn. Not because he didn't, but because he couldn't.
In the brightness of his own family, he was his own outcast. Someone that didn't want a family of his own, didn't want friends. Wanted to be left alone, ultimately, because it felt safer.
It didn't hurt that way. It didn't change anything. It didn't cause a ripple, or a branch in the already-set path laid out for him. (Is it really his if it's been set?)
That's just… How things are meant to be, for him.
It gives him less purpose, sure, but that's— It's protected. He can exist through life in the purest sense; without caring, and without being cared about.
So, to say—to even think about…
. . .
Damnit.
He is.
He's worried about Avery.
He's worried about a stranger.
Gods, he's really lost it.
What's next?
Doing something about it?
*
Derek does something about it.
…In a way.
There's not really a whole lot you can do for someone who's sleep-deprived, so he settles on the next best thing:
Food.
And Avery seems like he'd enjoy sweets in particular, so Derek goes out and buys ingredients for cookies. He intends on sugar ones, since those are the simplest to make.
(This is a very normal thing to do for your neighbor whom-you've-talked-with-twice.
Surely.)
He bakes such.
…
The end result is sugar cookies.
They're a little deformed.
He taste-tests one and it's… Fine.
Not great, but fine.
He debates throwing the entire batch out because fine is not gift material—but that would require going back out to get more flour which he is out of, and also magically gaining the talent for baking overnight. He could hone the craft for a few years, but he doesn't have that kind of time. (Who knows if Avery will even be around then.)
He would've been better off just giving Avery a pot of dirt.
(Like, genuinely, if botany is something Avery is into.)
…
It's going to have to be fine, isn't it?
That's what he gets for thinking of doing anything in the first place.
Ugh.
Maybe, if he's lucky, this will save him the trouble of ever having to worry about Avery again because Avery will move out immediately after this.
One can only hope.
*
He chooses to bring the cookies the next evening, assuming Avery has a life and won't be home the entire day like Derek is. He knocks on the door and waits patiently.
It takes slightly longer than last time for an answer, but Avery still does.
This time is different though.
There's an even more frazzled way about the other man's appearance, hair much more a mess than Derek remembers seeing. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, either from being awake for too long or from crying too long.
Somehow, it feels more like the latter.
And maybe he's seeing things, maybe he is going mad but— When Avery looks back at him, Derek swears he can see tears forming in those wide, vulnerable-looking green eyes.
Ah. So. Derek has caught him at a bad time.
"Uh, sorry," he finds himself blurting. "I can come back another time if—"
"No!"
Oh.
"No no, it's okay, it's— You're—" His voice cracks. "I-it's okay, seriously, you don't have to go— I'm just. I-I'm sorry, I haven't been— I'm not—" He gives himself room to breathe, exhaling, shaky. "I… Um." A swallow. "D-did you need anything?"
…
"No. Not, uh, not really, I just…"
Derek holds up the Tupperware container that's been burning holes into his palms since he approached Avery's door.
"I… Made these for you," he says, and he can't quite look at the man, eyes flitting to Avery's slippers instead. They're bunnies. Of course.
"Oh," he hears Avery croak out. …Then, "You. W-wait, y-you— What?" The tremble in his voice has Derek looking back up, and—
Avery looks somehow worse.
Like a semi just collided with him, ran him over, and sent him tumbling down a cliff.
He's shaking so terribly that Derek worries he'll fall over, and he's only somewhat relieved when Avery seems to get that idea too, moving to lean his weight against the doorframe. Both of his hands cling to it, white-knuckled, desperate. As though to anchor him.
…Or to keep him from doing something.
Derek can't for the life of him imagine what.
(And, he hadn't even said what it was he'd made for him yet???)
Derek looks away, again. "They're. Uh. Sugar cookies. They're probably— I tried one of them, so I know they're… You can just throw them out if you don't like them. Or, don't want them in general."
That does not seem to be Avery's concern.
At all.
"You made me cookies?" he asks, and his voice is soft, and it's… Is that awe? "You really— You made me…?"
Derek just shrugs. (His cheeks feel hot, for… Some reason.) "You were kind to me the other day, and…" he explains, hesitant. "You seem to… Not be doing well."
"You—" Avery chokes. "You noticed that?"
…
Derek gives him a look, and a weird sort of anxious giggle bubbles up from the blonde's throat.
"I meant— I-I mean, you…" He sobers up, brief smile fading. There's that awe again. "You were… Worried about it? About—"
He stops, but it's unspoken.
About me?
Ugh. (His cheeks feel even hotter.) "I… Guess," he manages, trying not to cringe at himself. Really trying.
For stars' sake he might as well just be honest, he's gotten this far with making himself a fool.
Own being a fool.
"…I mean, yeah. I…" He nods. "I was."
(Something must be genuinely, deeply wrong with him.)
It doesn't seem to matter how stiff the slight movement was, or how awkward he's appearing to his neighbor.
Suddenly, the container of cookies is ripped out of his hands.
Derek blinks after, stunned at the sudden thievery.
"You'll get it back later." His neighbor's voice is small. "Please don't do this again."
…
Sorry, what?
Avery's breath catches. "And please…"
His green eyes bleed with fresh tears, mournful and begging and broken, as he whispers,
"Never talk to me again."
The door is slammed in Derek's face.