Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will gets his first job when he’s thirteen.

It’s a summer job at his uncle Mark’s lobster business. He’s then too young to go out into the ocean with the adults like he wants to, but not too young to prep the lobsters for shipping into the fancy restaurants his uncle supplies all throughout the year.

It’s not the best job on the planet. Will often finds himself cutting his hands on cages and wires. After years of constant use, his uncle’s shop is old and the material even older, more rugged edges and duct tape than anyone would like. Will comes home each day with fresh new blood sipping into the handcuffs of his hand me downs and, more than once, he has to cry for help as a lobster pinches his ear.

They’re nasty little buggers, lobsters, and smarter than they seem. They like to stare at him with their beady little eyes as Will puts rubber bands around their claws, stripping them away from their only means of defense. They don’t appear to be resentful or angry about this, but then again Will isn’t sure how many emotions lobsters are capable of. They mostly look judgmental and resigned to their fate.

Will knows what that’s like. The irony of his job doesn’t escape him, although he’s sure if he were to tell anyone else that he feels like a lobster awaiting certain death, they would probably think his sense of humor left a lot to be desired.

Lobster prepping is not the best job one could hope for. In fact, in the privacy of his own head, Will would even go as far as saying that it’s rather crummy. He gets below minimum wage and his shifts often go longer than the four hours discussed at the start of summer. Will’s uncle is alright, bringing him sandwiches from the shop at the end of the workday, but the rest of the adults don’t spare Will a glance as they come back from the ocean.

It’s a lonely summer, for the most part, unless you count the lobsters.

Will doesn’t count the lobsters.

His skin burns and his freckles gain new life underneath the sun, relentless during the summer months even in a place like Maine. Every single item of clothing he owns adopts a particular brand of seafood smell that he can’t get rid of no matter how many times he washes them. Will doesn’t hang out with a single person his age for the entirety of summer break and yet it’s worth it, as all jobs should be, when his uncle gives Will his paycheck at the end of every fortnight.

After his uncle hired him, Will’s parents informed him that from then on Will would be in charge of getting his own clothes and books for the new school year. A lot of people would assume this was meant to be a parental technique to teach Will about being responsible with his own money and planning ahead, but Will recognizes the simplicity in its truth: Will’s parents have five kids, three aging parents of their own, a mortgage and a car that’s been fixed with so much tape it’s a wonder it can still run.

Will is the middle child and while he wouldn’t consider himself unloved, he would be hard-pressed to remember the last time one of his parents was able to take one hour out of their day to spend with just him.

As such, him getting a job is seen as a smart, adult decision, and is treated as such. Will doesn’t mind. He hadn’t been planning on blowing through his money anyway.

In fact, he saves nearly all of it in a small wooden box that he hides underneath a loose floorboard under his bed. 

The only purchase he makes is at the end of June.

On a particularly hot Thursday afternoon, Will goes into town after work and goes to the charity shop near church, the one that sells more trinkets and odd bits than clothes. It has always been Will’s favorite and he finds himself perusing the aisles for what has to be the hundredth time in his life.

After he’s ascertained there’s nothing new there he hasn’t seen, he walks to the register and asks Clarice, the shopkeeper, if she could go get the item he’d asked her to save at the beginning of summer. He didn’t have money then but he has it now, four crisp $20 bills pressed neatly inside his wallet.

Clarice smiles like she always does when she sees Will.

“Just a second, lovely,” she says before she retreats into the back. There’s a small break room there, alongside a storage hall and a toilet. Will resists the urge to lean over the counter and watch as she goes. He’s not a child anymore.

His eyes scan the rest of the shop while she’s gone. He finds himself clenching and unclenching his hands as he waits. He cracks his knuckles: one, two, three. He’s always been twitchy, even when he was just a kid, although he’s been getting better at containing it to these small moments. He taps his legs: one, two, three.

“Here you go, Will. Oh, and I got this for you as well. No charge, please, don’t bother arguing. Consider it a complimentary gift.”

Will opens his mouth to refute the offer before he’s even aware he’s doing it, but he stops when he sees what’s in Clarice’s hands.

It’s a book. The cover is dirty and the corners are dark with damp. It does look quite old.

“Are you sure?” he asks because his brain and his mouth don’t always cooperate.

Clarice beams at him.

“Positive. I found it lying in the old storage room the other day. It must have been there for years.” She hands him the book, which he puts inside his backpack. “I’m afraid I don’t have a case for this, but I do have some pretty big bags where the main body should fit.”

Will nods. For some reason he’s sweating and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s excited, nervous or if it’s just because it’s such a warm day. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his forehead as he gets the notes out of his wallet.

“Thank you,” he says, handing her the money with a softness not often known to teenage boys. His knuckles are dry from the ocean salt. There are cuts across the pads of his fingers. More than he can bother counting.

With Clarice’s help, they put his purchase inside a large plastic bag. It’s white and nondescript, not even a logo grazing its front. 

“You have to promise you’ll come back and play something for me when you become a master of that thing, alright?” Clarice asks him, making Will blush from the root of his hair all the way down to his toes.

“Maybe. I mean sure. I mean, yes, maybe. I— thank you. For holding this for me, and for the book.” Will doesn’t often stammer, but that’s because he’s often quiet, preferring to keep all the words inside his head there where they can’t embarrass him. He knows he’s not going to speak to anyone for hours after this.

Clarice is kind, though, kinder than Will deserves. She beams at him again and shushes him with her hand. “Alright, alright. No more thank yous. Off you go.”

And that’s the story of how Will made his first and only purchase in the summer he was thirteen.

He bought a guitar. A decent one, according to Clarice, with tight strings and a real rosewood body. One that would last him a decent while if he took care of it.

And so he would.

(Years later, during a lazy saturday morning where neither of them can be bothered to get up to do anything except rob the kitchen of snacks, Nursey will ask him, “Why a guitar?”

Will shrugs. “It’s not like the only secondhand shop in a small town in Maine had a lot of variety to offer.” 

Dex opened the curtains after he came in the room with his arms full of treats  — cookies, muffins and a box full of juice — but now he wishes he had kept them closed so that he and Nursey were still in darkness. He always found it easier to talk in the dark, where his blush wasn’t so obvious and he could hide his expression. This feels too honest, as if he’s leaving himself for Nursey to read like an open book.

“Why not go somewhere else though? You played hockey in high school. You could have bought something else on a roadie.”

“Like what? A saxophone? Or a drum set? Not very practical for hiding, Nurse.” Dex laughs but it doesn’t sound genuine, not even to his own ears. It takes Nursey a long moment to reply, the silence stretching around them until it’s almost too much.

“Why did you hide? Would it have been so bad if your family or teammates found out?” he asks.

Will shrugs, looking away from Nursey and up at the ceiling.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe,” he says. It’s not the truth but it’s not a lie either. “I just never knew how to say it.”

Nursey hums like Will’s reply makes sense even though it doesn’t, not really, and lets the subject drop.)

Will’s hometown is a small seaside village in Maine an hour’s drive from the closest city, which just about says all that needs to be said about the place.

Will doesn’t dislike it, per se. There’s quite a lot he likes about Maine in general. He loves that he got to grow up near the ocean. When he was a kid, he was often lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves, so soft and sweet to his ears, smaller then, more mellow. He likes the feeling of salt on his skin, as uncomfortable as it may get after a few hours. He likes being in nature, putting on his sturdiest pair of boots and walking across coarse terrain with trees and wilderness all around him.

He likes that he knows the names of various plants and trees, that he knows which mushrooms are good for eating and how to skin a fish. He likes nature, in general, tends to feel claustrophobic whenever he goes to a bigger city. He’s only been to New York a handful of times and although he found the city amazing, he also thinks he wouldn’t be able to make it there. 

It’s too much, too busy, too big, and Will isn’t used to anything like it.

When he was a kid, the first thing Will used to ask his parents at the start of every weekend was always “Can we go to the beach?”

The answer would often be no; his parents were busy people and in between working three jobs, taking care of so many kids and keeping up with social obligations, there wasn’t a lot of time to take little Billy down to the beach.

Still, sometimes his mom would smile at him, the tips of her cheeks tinged in pink, and she’d say, “Alright, go call your siblings.”

Then Will would run all across his house, gathering up everybody while Mom packed a couple of sandwiches for the trip.

Being so close to nature is the best thing his hometown has to offer, in Will’s opinion.

The worst part would be the people, although it wasn’t always like that.

Will’s childhood is a happy one. Despite not having a lot of money, his family is loving, if a little rough around the edges. His mother tucks him into bed each night and his dad is there to catch him the first time he falls trying to learn how to ride a bike. Caoimhe and Sean are three and five years older than him, respectively, and although they fight at least once a day and Will is like a walking canvas of bruises for most of his kid years, he knows his siblings have his back against the dangers of the world.

Once, when he’s seven, he falls down a hole when walking across a field with Sean. It’s not a big hole, but Will twists his ankle and he can’t walk back to their house. Instead of running to get help, Sean pulls him up and lifts Will on his shoulders. He’s not much bigger than Will at the age of twelve, but not once does he falter on the walk back to their house.

“It hurts,” Will says. Around them the sun starts to set, splashing the sky in hues of burnt orange and deep pink, and nature comes alive in the quiet of the night.

“We’re almost there,” Sean tells him. They’re not, they still have at least a mile to go — they’d gone all the way down the beach today to catch fish in the pools left by the low tide — and Will can’t help but sniffle as he covers his brother’s shoulder with snot.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Sean pats Will’s leg.

“It’s alright, Billy. I’ve got you.”

Afterward, Sean rides with him to the local clinic, his mom on the driver’s seat. He even holds Will’s hand while the doctor looks over Will’s leg. 

It’s the nicest his brother had never been to him and Will doubts he would ever forget it.

It’s only as Will starts to grow older than things start to change. 

He joins the local hockey team when he’s nine. Sean plays football and Caoimhe basketball. Will is looking for something to call his own and he knows his father likes hockey, so it seems like a choice as good as any.

He’s not aware of how much hockey equipment costs or what it means to play a sport competitively, even if only at school level. He just thinks hockey would be fun.

And it is. As a sport, hockey is as good as it gets for Will. He’s a little bit unsure at first. His legs shake on the ice and he thinks he sees the light the first time he gets checked, but after a few seconds he realizes those are just the ring lights, which he’s staring at straight-ahead now that he’s on the ground. The player who checks him stops by to help Will up. He doesn’t apologize for the check, but he does stop to give Will a pat on the back, almost as if he’d seen people doing that on television and he’s now recreating the moment step by step.

“You alright?” the kid asks. He will drop out of the hockey team in two years’ time after breaking an arm on a bad fall and the two of them will never speak again.

Will nods, skating away without a word.

The next check he experiences, he’s the one giving it. The other kid doesn’t fall over, but he does lose the puck. Will fills a thrill ran across his skin, seeping through his pores all the way down his bones. He feels powerful. Immense. His feet gain confidence on the ice faster than the coaches expected, if the looks they give him are to be of any consideration.

This time he’s the one asking, “Are you alright?” to which the other kid nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the kid — Randall — says. Randall will stay with the hockey team until he graduates and moves to the east coast for college, where he joins a writing group and becomes a screenwriter. 

After practice, one of the coaches comes up to Will and gives him a pat on the helmet.

“Well done, kid,” he says. Will preens at the attention, standing just a little bit straighter, holding his stick just a little bit tighter.

Throughout the next few days, Will tries a couple of different positions before he settles on defense. As a kid, he’s lanky and skinny, but there’s an energy to him that most kids don’t have. Will is nine and with four siblings and eleven cousins, he’s so used to fighting it becomes second nature to him, and he’s not afraid of hurting himself. He’s not afraid of anything, period. At least not at the age of nine.

He’s not used to being good at anything but with hockey he feels confident, capable. He wouldn’t go so far as saying he’s the best in his team, not by a long-shot, but he’s certainly not bad either.

He’s ten years old the first time he notices someone calling another person a f—. The statement is closely followed by the n— word and a whole other spew of curse words that Will struggles to follow. He’s no stranger to curse words, but his mom didn’t like that type of language around the house or her kids, so the most he ever heard his family say was fuck. Most of the kids in the playground came from similar backgrounds, but the hockey team is different.

Some of the kids Will shares a locker room with are older since their school isn’t big enough to separate them by year. They’re all taller, stronger and meaner, and with that come new games, new jokes Will hadn’t even contemplated up until that point.

The older kids curse a lot. They throw names at each other with the careless manner of someone who’s never questioned the nature of what they’re saying before. They call Will some of those names, too, and it’s just a little roughhousing, his parents tell him, so Will tries not to think about it too much, only the words linger on him longer than they do with anyone else.

Their comments start to get harsher as Will grows older and soon Will realizes it’s not just his teammates. His family as well, when they think no one easily offended is hearing them, slip insults into their conversations like they’re salting fish. There are also new things Will hadn’t even contemplated before. People who his family classify as bad, immoral, perverts and thieves all of them.

As a kid, Will is not very aware of himself. This is to say, he knows he’s a person, a human boy with bright orange hair who’s good at maths and likes to play explorers in the playground. But he’s not aware of himself in the sense that he ever thinks about his gender, or his skin color, or even his sexuality. None of that is relevant to him when he’s a kid. It’s grown-ups stuff, and to a young William Poindexter the world of grown-ups is a distant one, and with it so are thoughts of love, of sex, of kissing someone.

But then Will grows older and— Well.

Postcard written by Will and sent to Derek the summer after their first year of university:

Hey Derek,

Mom wanted to go into the city last weekend to buy some sewing supplies so I offered to drive her. Augusta is probably little more than a small town compared to New York City, but we stopped by this little bookshop selling vintage postcards that you’d probably find cool so I got you one. Hope your summer is more exciting than mine.

Best,

Will (Dex) Poindexter

Will learns to play the guitar with the help of Clarice’s book and the internet. He learns the chords with the book but then searches YouTube for clips as well to make sure his notes sound right.

He starts learning songs with the basics. ‘Wonderwall’ is annoying and overdone but it’s an easy song to master and Will finds himself going back to it as his hands get used to the guitar.

He doesn’t tell anyone in his family that he bought the guitar. He’s not sure why. It’s not as if music is forbidden in his household — far from it, in fact, his mom is a huge fan of The Corrs. But for some reason, this is different. Special. He bought the guitar with his own money that he earned through his own job.

Music belongs to him in a way little else in his life does. Will shares almost everything. His clothes, his food, and his toys. If it weren’t for the fact that Sean recently moved out and got a place of his own, Will would still be sharing a room, struggling to find a single moment where he can play in private.

So he hides the guitar. He makes sure the hall is clear when he comes in that June afternoon and leaves the guitar hidden underneath the bed until Sean leaves. Even afterward, when Will has the room all to himself, he only practices with the door closed and a thick robe stuck to the wooden frame to absorb the sound. Once or twice his siblings question why he likes to listen to Oasis so much, so Will tells them he’s a big fan and makes an effort to diversify his playing range.

When he’s older, he’ll find himself playing these same songs again to a captive audience of one, who requests Will play every single song he has memorized.

(“Really, Derek? Every single one?”

“What? You got something better to do with your time, William?”

Will rolls his eyes. They both know there’s no one else Will would rather spend his time with, not even Chowder, but Will knows a lot of songs.

“You’ll get bored.”

Nursey grins at him before flopping down on the bed. “Try me.”)

That's how he finds himself playing music that he would have otherwise never even listened to. Jazz, metal and pop. It's not easy to get all the sounds right on an acoustic guitar, but Will tries his best, changing a few notes as he goes, adding different rhythms as his skill set develops.

After a few months of playing on a near-daily basis, Will starts to write his own songs. They're just sheet music at first, a few of his favorite notes put together, bits and bobs that he picks up from all over the place. He doesn't really sing at the start, just mumbles or, embarrassingly, talks the lyrics.

He's afraid of one of his siblings discovering his songs. He writes them all in just one notebook, black and nondescript, exactly like all his other school notebooks from the dollar store. He keeps it in underneath the loose floorboard beneath his bed alongside his cash and only ever takes it out at night when he's sure his little siblings have gone to bed.

His songs aren't anything to fawn over. They're angsty, most of the time, this hybrid of punk and rock no one but a teenager could get right. Will doesn't pour his heart into his music — he has no clue how he'd even do that — but he likes it.

His music is an escape, a way to distract himself from the rough edges around him that get closer every day. Music is fun the way hockey was when Will first joined the team. Nowadays playing is more stressful than anything else, with people around him already discussing scholarships and contracts and a "bright potential" before someone else makes a joke about sucking dick and did you see how that other kid looked at Johnny, yeah, that fucking f—

Will cringes and blanks out. He's not very good at letting things people say slide off him, but sometimes he's able to distract himself by reciting complicated songs in his head, going over each note one by one.

So yeah, music is fun and it's like-- it's like the first breath of fresh air after being imprisoned for all his life, it's like sunlight on his skin as the sun kisses the sky good morning, it's like a prayer he learned to speak before he could talk.

More importantly, it's his.

Song written by Will in his little back book. Age 15.

I dream of flying
Letting the world be the canvas
As I grow wings and cut
The air into pieces

I dream of being Icarus,
Of getting so close to the sun
I can taste it, sweet and mellow
Like caramel on the tip of my tongue

I dream of going impossibly high
Of becoming a speck of dust
Oh let me fly as far as I can
Oh let me fall just this once

Falling is like flying
Just the other way around

The year Caoimhe moves out, Mum enrolls little Jaime in football classes and Aimee joins the science club at school in addition to already being a star player the volleyball team. With the two of them busy in the afternoons, Will feels less self-conscious about singing.

So he does it, more often than not. He sings quietly at first but, as his confidence grows, so does his voice.

Will sings, with lungs full of air and an unsure heart. He hits high notes he never imagined he would even get close to and then he does it again and again, feeling the music flow all the way down to the bottom of his chest.

Day in, day out, Will's life is filled with these things: hockey, more AP classes than his advisor was comfortable with (Will wasn't banking it all on a hockey scholarship no matter how often his coaches told him he was a sure thing), and music.

Few things interfere with this balance, but they do exist.

Grandma Poindexter is like a lighthouse in the middle of the fog that is Milbridge, Washington County, Maine. Population 1,353.

For starters, Grandma Poindexter isn’t from Maine. She’s from New York — like, the real New York — and she likes to tell Will about the city when Will visits. She’s a short woman, the tiniest in the Poindexter clan, but she has more energy than most of the youngsters combined and she’s always doing something around her house, from painting to sewing to replacing the covers on all the old furniture.

Will likes to come over at least once every two weeks to see what Grannie is up to. Usually, he finds himself helping with her DYI projects before she ushers him into the kitchen and asks for help there too. He would like to come over more often, but he recently started picking up shifts at Uncle Jim’s shop and in between hockey, school, work, and music, it’s a wonder he even gets a spare minute at all.

“It’s useful, you know, for when you find yourself a good girl. Just bring her over some homemade sweets and you’re guaranteed to win her heart.”

At the age of fifteen, these words make Will cringe. He’s gotten good at hiding his reactions by now, but he’s always a little more relaxed around Grannie, and he thinks his expression speaks louder than words ever could because Grannie stops, just for a second, and pats his hand before she instructs him to start working on the sugar glaze.

“Anyone can be won over with a good dessert,” she says and Will doesn’t know if she means it like that but he hopes— he hopes she does, even though he’s too afraid to say any of what he’s thinking out loud.

“I’m not sure if my cooking skills are enough to win over someone’s heart, grandma,” he says. He means it as a joke but it falls a little flat.

“Nonsense. You make a wonderful brioche,” Grannie says, the same way some people would tell him he’s good at hockey and others would praise his grades.

They’re making cinnamon buns today because they’re Will’s favorite and Grannie says she’s had a craving for a while. The radio is playing in the background, set in the only station Grannie ever listens to: Spirits of the 80s. The music cracks every so often, pieces of static bubbling in between upbeat jingles and old classics. The scent of cinnamon fills the air, sweet and sugary as all good things should be.

Sometimes, when Will is distracted, he finds himself humming along with the music.

“You should sing,” Grannie tells him.

He always shakes his head in response. Even when it’s only him and his grandma, he’s not comfortable enough to sing out loud. Just doing this — baking, helping her mend old furniture, painting funny animal statues she found in the trash — is too much at times.

Grannie pinches his arm and tells him to start working on the mixture for the glaze.

Grandma Poindexter dies right after Will turns seventeen, never once having heard Will sing or play the guitar.

It is, to the end of his days, one of his biggest regrets.

A few months later he gets an acceptance letter from Samwell, alongside a scholarship offer that will cover tuition and boarding.

The letter talks about academic merit, incredible resilience and outstanding potential and all Will can think about is that less than 1% of Samwell students get a full scholarship offer like he just did. Will thinks hockey and computer engineering and one in four.

Suddenly, without him even being aware of it, Will starts to cry.

He cries these big, heaving sobs that bubble in his throat, choking his lungs. He cries until he’s red-faced and panting and there’s snot running down his nose.

He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He thought he was just happy, at first, but then the tears don’t stop even as the rush of excitement leaves him. He feels like there’s this weight on his chest he can’t push off, this weight that has been there all his life and only now does he realize how heavy it is. He cries for so long that his mom hears him and rushes to his bedroom.

When she asks him what’s wrong, Will just shows her his laptop screen, where Samwell’s red and white webpage delightfully informs him he can now register for the Fall semester.

Then his mother cries, and Will cries some more alongside her, even if they’re not crying for the same reason.

Chapter Text

William Poindexter comes to Samwell University with a bag full of clothes, a suitcase, two boxes of miscellaneous junk and cold sweat running down his back.

The suitcase is new, a purchase his parents were surprised by. Will doesn’t own a huge wardrobe and his only possessions that took up space were his hockey gear, which he wouldn’t need after Samwell fitted him, and his books, which he told them he wasn’t bringing. He needed a place for his guitar, however, and buying an actual guitar case seemed impractical. He would hardly have a use for it afterward.

With the suitcase, at least, he can lend it to other people if they needed it for a big trip.

His mom and dad are the ones that drive him down to school. His mom is nervous, so she fills the empty silence with detailed stories of the latest gossip at her work, alongside minute reports on all the shows she’s been watching — isn’t Netflix great? So many things to watch! A person never gets bored! — and dramatic demands that Will has to promise to call at least once a week and he has to be careful because university girls can be very dangerous.

His dad, on the other hand, is quiet, but every so often he catches Will’s eye in the rearview mirror and smiles as if they’re both in on an inside joke.

Will isn’t sure what the joke is or who’s being laughed at. At home, he often felt like it was him, quiet Will Poindexter who spends his summers with lobsters and his winters on ice, but he smiles back anyway.

It’s a long drive down to Samwell. They all get up at the crack of dawn to make sure they arrive around lunch hour, helping Will clean his dorm and unpack some of his stuff before hugs are given, tears are shed and his mother whispers, “Oh, Billy. My little boy, all grown up.”

Will huffs a laugh. “I’ve been grown up for a while, Ma.”

“Yes, I guess you have,” his mother says with a wet smile and eyes full of such sadness that Will has to look away.

His father is less emotive, but the hug he gives Will still chokes the breath out of him for a second from how tight it is.

And then they’re gone, just like that, and for the first time in his life, Will is the only Poindexter in a place where no one knows his name and his story before he even opens his mouth.

Samwell is… a lot for Will at first.

He’s not used to being around so many people, much less so many new people. Despite all the AP classes he took in high school, his class in university schedule is still packed, and what little free time he has is quickly taken over by the hockey team, which is a whole other ballpark of "new" and "outside Will's comfort zone".

Coming to Samwell, he knew playing hockey in college would be a lot more challenging than high school. He was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for was for all the team activities that happened off the ice. It seems Samwell Men’s Hockey is big on team bonding, which includes a variety of concepts such as Team Breakfast, Team Movie Night, Team Parties, Team Hide & Seek Across Campus, Team Study Sessions, and Team Pottery Classes.

Will, who up until now was used to a life of leaving the rink and going straight home or work, is a little bit overwhelmed.

He tries not to let it show to the others, but his experience in hiding his feelings has always been a result of hiding from people being pieces of shit, not people inviting him for a pie-eating contest.

During his first month at Samwell, Will realizes that he has a habit of frowning when he's confused by something, which has led to his teammates thinking he's some kind of mean-spirited jackass since Will is confused a lot.

"Are you alright?" Chowder asks him when Holster and Ransom start acting particularly Holster&Ransom-ish, which is too say they're even louder than usual and bodily damage is on the table for anyone foolish enough to be distracted from... whatever it is they're trying to accomplish.

Will isn't sure. He thought they were coming up with a new board game earlier, but Holster just started shouting about the laws of mass and physics not being in balance on a quantum level and Ransom seems to be googling how to do paper mache and Will is confused, as always.

"I'm fine," Will says, one eye on his computer and the other on the other occupants of the Haus.

"It's just that you look kind of angry," Chowder says with a grimace, as if it pains him to even acknowledge Will might be in a sour mood.

“You look like you’re contemplating murder,” Nursey adds from the other side of the room. Dex glares at him before he turns back to Chowder.

"I'm not." Will is aware that he’s not selling himself well even now, his words coming out harsher than he intended. His next statement comes out below a whisper so that only Chowder can heart it. “I’m just confused. What are they trying to do?”

It’s not easy for Will to admit that he doesn’t know something after a lifetime of having to watch his own back for fear of mockery. But out of everyone at Samwell, Chowder is the one he trusts the most. The guy doesn’t seem to have a single bad bone in his body and he always acts like he genuinely wants to hear about Will’s thoughts, a novelty for Will.

“Oh, Ransom and Holster?” Will nods. “They’re working on a project for one of Ransom’s classes. I think it was called something like Nanoscale Energy Transport Products.”

“It’s called Nanoscale Energy Transport Processes and it’s kicking my ass. Man, I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this,” Ransom yells, his head in between his knees as he curls up into a fetal position.

“Is he okay?” Will asks. Should they do something? Is this normal? Will is pretty sure the university has a therapy service that’s meant to help with something like this. Maybe there’s a number they could call?

“Bro,” Holster says, swooping off the chair to kneel by Ransom’s head. “You are the most ’swawesome science genius I have ever met. You are a ray of light in an otherwise gloomy day. You have a supercomputer brain inside the body of a supermodel. This class has got nothing on you, bro.”

“Then why does it feel like death?” Ransom whispers, holding his head tighter.

Holster goes in for a hug, which ends up with the two of them spooning on the floor in the middle of the Haus’ living room. “Don’t let the system get you down,” Holster says, dead-serious.

“Dex?” Chowder asks and that’s a new one, being called Dex. Will isn’t entirely used to the nickname yet, but he doesn’t hate it. It’s weirdly fitting, in a way. It matches with the hockey team and all their bubbling energy.

“Yes?” 

“You’re frowning again.”

Dex makes a conscious effort to relax the muscles on his face. “Sorry. I think it’s just how my face works.”

“Oh, so you have a resting bitch face,” Nursey says in his perpetual and infuriating brand of ‘I’m so chill that nothing interests me, including this conversation’. 

“I have a what now?”

It takes a lot for Dex to resist the urge to toss a pillow at Nursey, but he’s an adult, for fuck’s sake. He can settle for hiding Nursey’s pencil case while he’s not looking.

“A resting bitch face. You know, it’s when your normal resting face kind of looks like a mix between a frown and a glare, which you do a lot. That makes sense.”

“I guess?” Dex had never heard the term before but he guesses it kind of fits him.

After Chowder and Nursey determine that the mystery that is Dex’s facial expression is solved and go back to their homework, Dex takes out his phone and texts his younger sister. She's always been his dictionary for pop culture and the least likely to judge him out of everyone in the Poindexter club.

Well, that answers nothing.

Once he’s aware of the fact that he tends to glare at people without noticing it, Will tries to make a conscious effort not do that. He doesn’t think he does a very good job at it.

None of his other teammates ever mention it, but on more than one occasion Dex catches one of them looking at him out the corner of their eye when Holster and Ransom are more generous with their hugs, or Shitty starts discussing gender politics or Lardo talks about useless white boys.

And Dex gets it, alright.

He gets that he’s a white boy from a small town off the coast of Maine, who up until recently thought Ru Paul’s Drag Race was about cars. He gets that the Republican sticker on his laptop — a hand-me-down from his brother, if it’s any consolation — is the Samwell equivalent of putting a bullseye on his forehead and shouting I’M AN IDIOT! YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND!

And he gets that so far he hasn’t done all that much to change their view of him. He doesn’t participate in the off-ice team building as often as some of the others, still overwhelmed with his class load and living by himself. Whenever he’s around, he tends to frown at people without noticing and starts arguments without meaning to.

Dex knows that he’s not perfect, not by a long-shot, but he’s trying to do better. It’s just hard to change when you grew up all your life hearing that change is bad.

Nevertheless, it still pains him when, in early October, he’s pulled to the side after walking into the Haus kitchen to find Bitty dancing around the kitchen. From the smell, Bitty is baking blueberry muffins while Beyonce blasts from the speakers.

“Alright,” Shitty says. He’s dragged Dex into the living room and is now looking at him with his arms crossed, a speculative glint in his eyes.

Dex, feeling rather put on the spot, crosses his arms as well.

“What?” he asks Shitty’s chest. He doesn’t have issues making eye contact, but something about Shitty’s expression, this fatherly mix of disappointment and anger, makes Dex feel self-conscious.

Shitty doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds before he sighs. His posture relaxes and he puts a hand on Dex’s shoulder.

“Kid, I’m neither your father nor your coach, so there’s no reason for you to listen to me, but you should listen to me anyway when I tell you that you need to let down some of those walls around you.”

Shitty’s words pierce straight through Dex’s skin, worming their way inside him like poisoned barbs. He didn’t realize that he was so easy to read.

“I don’t know what happened in your past that’s made you feel like you have to be on guard all the time, but that’s not how things flow around here. This is Samwell, bro. We’ve got your back.”

“I’m not— I know— I mean.” Dex takes a deep breath. “I know that. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

Shitty squeezes his shoulder. “And that’s fine. I get it, but you can’t go around glaring at everyone who is comfortable with who they are and expresses it freely. Bitty likes to bake, alright, and he fucking loves Beyoncé — amen to that woman — and if you have issues with that you need to do a little soul-searching, buddy.”

“What? No, it’s nothing like that. I’m overwhelmed by how different Samwell is from my town, but I’m not bigoted,” he says, a word that up until three months ago he’d never used outside an academic context.

Shitty looks disbelieving. “You sure?”

“Yes, dude,” Dex huffs.

“Then what the fuck was that back there in the kitchen? When you were giving Bitty a death glare while he’s out there sacrificing himself for man and country baking muffins for us?”

At the mention of his name, Bitty pops his head through the kitchen door right on the bell before Dex has a chance to reply.

“Did someone say my name?”

Dex looks at Shitty, who looks back at him, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Dex and I were just done talking. I’m off to class now. You kids have fun,” Shitty says, giving Dex a pat on the back that’s neither friendly nor unfriendly.

“Kids,” Bitty scoffs in an awful imitation of Shitty’s accent. “He thinks he’s so old now that he’s a senior. He’s only two years older than me, you know?”

“Might be the mustache. Gives him confidence,” Dex says, making Bitty laugh.

“Lardo told me once that the mustache gives Shitty superpowers. I can kind of see it now.”

Dex laughs as well. “Shitty the Mustachioed Hero.”

“Oh yes, that would be perfect.” Bitty looks back at the kitchen. “Would you like to come in for a muffin? I’m about to take them out of the oven.”

Dex had come into the Haus looking for a quiet place where he could do his homework. There was a rally near the library, something about birds in Africa and saving the trees, and Dex couldn’t work with that much noise in the background. He has about five pages of exercises to get through but as Grannie used to say, there’s always space for dessert.

Thinking of Grannie and baking is not easy for Dex. His eyes start to tear up almost immediately and he has to blink a couple of times to stop any stray tears from falling.

“Are you alright, honey?” Bitty asks him as he puts on his oven mitts. He chances a look back at Dex before he peers inside the oven. “I heard some of your conversation with Shitty. I didn’t mean to pry but you know how loud he can get.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—” Dex pauses, unsure of how to say the next few words.

“You know you don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. You are who you are. You don’t need to change for anyone else’s sake,” Bitty tells him and no, that’s not it. No one here seems to get him and Dex wishes they just would, except that’s stupid, isn’t it? How can they understand him if he never tells them anything?

He’s never admitted this out loud to anyone, not his mom and dad, not his siblings, not his few friends from high school. But Bitty deserves an explanation and here, in the privacy of the Haus’ kitchen, with the smell of blueberries and dough filling the air, Dex feels brave enough to make a confession.

“I used to bake with my grandma. Before she— before she passed away.” He looks down at the floor. “I really miss it sometimes.” 

Bitty stares at him for a moment in silence. Even though they’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks, Will can tell he’s struggling to restrain himself from hugging him.

“Well, if you feel like practising again, or if you just need a place to be, this kitchen will always have its doors open for you.”

Will likes the way Bitty says that. If you need a place to be.

“Thank you, Bitty,” Dex says and when Bitty keeps looking at him expectantly, he smiles, softly, and adds, “I’ll try to take you up on that offer one of these days.”

The smile Bitty gives him could power a small city. 

“You do that, hon. And now! Muffins. You get to choose two, one for now and one for later.”

After devouring two of Bitty’s muffins and powering through his algebra and engineering homework, Will walks back to his dorm room where his roommate is, as always, nowhere to be found — Dex thinks the guy is either completely nocturnal or has another room somewhere because he’s literally never around.

This works fine for Dex, who likes having the room to himself, especially after a long day like the one he just had.

He takes out his guitar and plays some of the angsty songs he wrote as a teen, but they don’t feel right anymore, so Dex decides to switch things up. He looks up a couple of Beyoncé songs and sees what kind of variations people have done on the sheet music. Pop songs don’t always translate well into acoustic, but he finds a tab for Halo that he quite enjoys.

Dex practises the notes until he has them all memorized and then he closes his eyes and sings, imagining what it would be like to sing this in the Haus.

Derek Nurse is — by far — the most aggravating human being Will has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

He's just about everything Dex despises in a person rolled up into one. He's obnoxious, has more money than he knows what to do with it, went to a private boarding school of all fucking things, and walks with a permanent air of chill as if there's nothing in the world that can bother him.

Before coming to Samwell, Dex had no idea how people like Derek even existed.

It didn't help Dex’s frustration that, on top of everything else, Derek Nurse is also one of the most handsome people Dex has ever laid eyes on. He’s ‘wouldn't go amiss on a fashion cover' levels of handsome, to the point where three different people declare their love for him in the first month of school and all Derek ever says in reply is, "Oh, that's very kind of you."

"Like, who the fuck even says shit like that?"

"What would you rather have him say? Take me now, mysterious stranger ?" Chowder asks. His imitation of Nursey's New York accent leaves much to be desired. 

"He could stop acting like he's god's gift to the earth, for starters."

"Nursey's not that bad," Chowder says, but there's no point in arguing with Dex when he’s like this.

"He is. Did you know the other day I saw him lie down on a pile of leaves and spend ten minutes taking selfies? It started to rain at one point and he still stayed there. When I asked him what he was doing he told me he was 'enjoying the aesthetic'." Dex throws his hands in the air. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

“I think he meant the overall enjoyment of the situation—” Chowder tries to explain, but Dex is on a roll now and no man, woman, or non-binary person could stop him.

“And last week, I heard him talking about Margaret Atwood so I was like ‘who’s that’ because I recognized the name but I wasn’t sure where it was from. And you know what he did? He literally threw a book at my face and told me to get educated. Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Rich Boy, but not all of us are trust fund babies who went to boarding school and got tutors to teach them French and Mandarin from the age of five.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

“And just yesterday—”

Nursey walks up to their table halfway through Dex’s tirade, a stray leaf caught on the edge of his beanie and an overpriced Starbucks cup in his hand.

"What are you guys talking about?" he asks even though he's looking at Dex with a raised eyebrow that says he knows exactly who they were talking about.

"Nothing," Dex says, looking away from him.

"Would you like to join us, Nursey? Dex and I are working on our programming homework."

"Chill," Nursey says.

Dex doesn't mean for his next words to come out, only he's still angry at Nursey and his insufferable expression, and before he even knows it he's already speaking. "You know, for an English major your vocabulary isn't very extensive."

Chowder does a quick intake of breath that comes out as a high pitched hiccup and Nursey glares at him with so much force that Dex feels it on his skin, this prickling itch that he's dying to scratch.

"Poindexter, what is your fucking problem?"

"Guys, please. We're gonna get kicked out of the library. Again," Chowder says.

Dex huffs. Nursey points a finger at Dex. "He started it."

"I did not."

"Literally all I did was come over and you insulted me." A pause. "Dickhead."

"Dex," Chowder says, in his most resigned voice. "Apologize to Nursey for insulting his vocabulary."

Dex crosses his arms. He doesn't wanna apologize to Nursey. The guy is a nuisance and how he even got on the hockey team when he can't take two steps without falling is a mystery. Dex ignores the part of his brain that points out that, despite being the most clumsy person on planet Earth, Nursey is still one of the best players Dex has ever played with or against.

Chowder won't stop giving him the puppy eyes, though, and Dex knows he needs to suck it up or leave. He sighs and tells himself he’s only doing it because he has a paper he needs to get through.

"Sorry," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dex is aware he’s acting like an immature brat and it’s not fair on Chowder or the rest of the team who have to deal with his behavior. He knows people notice when he and Derek start arguing and that their squabbling can turn the mood sour faster than Jack can devour a pie, but it’s not as if Nursey is of any help either.

For all the times Dex says something mean to Nursey first, there are just as many — if not more — incidents where he plans on not even replying to whatever dumb shit Nursey has just said. Whenever this happens, Nursey is the one who turns around and starts pestering him with comments or pointed looks, like he’s just dying for Dex to pick a fight.

“Nursey, please apologize to Dex for calling him a dickhead.”

“You have got to be kidding me. C, come on.”

“Nursey,” Chowder insists, slamming his hands down on the table and making a few people stare at them. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Fine, I’m sorry I called you a dickhead.”

Since Dex is not a total asshole and Chowder is looking at him like he’ll die if Dex doesn’t show some type of gratitude, Dex says, “Apology accepted.”

But then of course, of fucking course, Nursey just has to go and fuck it all up without even wasting a second, the overachiever.

“It’s not my fault though. Poindexter needs to chill.”

Dex’s brain barely has a moment to think ah, fuck it, before instinct kicks in and he hits Nursey under the table with a well-aimed kick at his shin. After a lifetime of sibling squabbling, Dex is a bonafide professional at underneath-the-table-leg-fighting, and very soon a proper fight breaks out that results in all three of them getting kicked out of the library. Again.

Chowder looks long-suffering as Dex and Nursey bicker all the way out, only stopping when they part and head towards their respective dorm rooms.

Since he got to Samwell, no one has yet to ask Dex what’s the most annoying thing about Nursey.

This is a small blessing, as it would be impossible to pick just one thing from the extensive catalog that maketh the man.

Nonetheless, if he had to do it, he would have to say the worst part is that outside of all their intense bickering and homicidal tendencies, they actually understand each other quite well, even on ice.

Alright. Maybe especially on ice.

Dex can't explain it, but there's something about his connection with Nursey on ice that's on the next level. Their passes connect more than anyone else’s — Dex had checked — and they always seem to know where the other is, being able to cover each other without saying a word.

If they were in a magical universe with dragons and wizards, Dex is sure there would be nothing he and Nursey couldn’t do together if they had just one-tenth of their on-ice connection there.

It’s possible that this comparison is a bit of an overkill, but the point remains. Despite being incapable of not having at least one argument per hour of time spent together, Dex and Nursey are good D-men together. Holster and Ransom claim it’s because of the epic Samwell D-Men Bonding Magic, which sounds like pure gibberish to Dex at the start of the semester but is starting to sound a lot more plausible with each passing day.

It’s frustrating, to say the least. On more than one occasion, Dex has considered asking the coaches to have him play with anyone else, but as much as it sucks to admit it, he knows that if he did that he just wouldn’t be as good as he can be. 

Nursey must think the same thing, because sometimes during practice Dex will catch him staring like Dex is this a weird puzzle Nursey just can’t for the life of him figure out and Dex thinks yeah, tell me about it.

Dex doesn’t have a lot of free time to play the guitar now that he’s in college. Nevertheless, he’s still managed to create a little routine for himself, where every day after practice he goes back to his empty room and takes out his notebook. Music comes through his fingertips as easy as breathing, his heart flowing onto the page with every line he writes.

Without the worry of one of his family members disturbing him, he doesn't feel as self-conscious about singing, although he avoids being too loud. He doesn’t want to be known in his dorm as that dick on the third floor who’s always listening to terrible music.

Near the end of November, Shitty calls for an emergency practice session on a late Thursday afternoon. Dex didn’t know emergency practices were a thing, much less that Shitty held the power to call for one, but he doesn’t question it.

“It’s Harvard, we’ve got to be on point,” Shitty yells after they’re done. Dex is too busy wondering if the jelly feeling in his legs is from exhaustion or dehydration to comment.

The same can’t be said for Ransom and Holster, who yell something back about Shitty being on a power trip. Naturally, this dissolves into an altercation that’s not really an altercation because this is Samwell Men’s Hockey, not Dex’s little backward high school group. Here, chirping is seen as just another way to show affection between the team.

Dex, who needs to physically unclench his muscles after the yelling made him tense up, is clearly still not used to that.

After practice, he goes to his dorm room and works on a song that’s been on his mind lately. Dex can’t seem to get the words right, but he likes the rhythm, and he finds himself freestyling various ideas for the lyrics.

He’s not expecting anyone to come to his room — he’s still pretty sure his roommate lives somewhere else and only comes around to mess with his bedsheets once a week because the guy is truly never there — so he’s surprised by the knock on his door.

Dex looks at his phone. Nine in the evening, which means it’s too early for it to be someone complaining they can’t sleep because of the noise. Maybe it’s someone trying to study? He leaves the guitar on his bed, tossing a blanket over it.

He opens the door to a Chowder radiating so much energy and happiness he could be glowing and a bored-looking Nursey.

“Dex! I didn’t know you were into acoustic music,” Chowder says as a way of greeting. “I always thought you were more of a punk rock type of guy. What were you listening to?”

Dex’s brain short-circuits for a second. No one has ever complimented his music before. Even though Chowder doesn’t know it’s him, it still means a lot to him. Which is not to say that he’s gonna tell Chowder the truth.

“Oh, I don’t know. I had the playlist set to shuffle,” Dex lies, hoping he sounds more convincing than he feels.

“It was really nice. You have great taste!”

Dex laughs, looking away. He’s glad his room doesn’t have a lot of light, otherwise his blush would be impossible to hide. “Thanks. What are you guys doing here?”

“Frog movie night?” Chowder asks, lifting his arms to show Dex the bundle of blankets and snacks he’s holding. “Nursey has a single. We thought we could go there.”

Dex looks at Nursey, who still hasn’t said a word. He sincerely doubts Nursey wants to spend the night watching movies with him, but he’s not actively voicing any complaints right now, which is the most that can be asked of him. If Nursey is playing pleasant, Dex won’t be the one to ruin the moment.

“Alright. Let me just grab my hoodie.”

“You’ll need to tell who you were listening to later. I wanna make a frog playlist with all of our favorite songs and that one was really nice.”

Dex wishes he could just tell them the truth. Chowder is one of his closest friends at Samwell and Nursey, despite being a huge dick, seems like the last person to criticize someone’s art-related hobbies.

The words never come out though. He walks in silence instead, humming every so often as Chowder begins to tell him about all the movies they’ve picked for the night and how Dex gets to pick one too, of course, as long as it’s not horror because he can’t really deal with horror, if that’s okay?

“Yeah,” Dex says. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

Derek Nurse has the best jawline Dex has ever seen. Not that Dex has been comparing it against other people, especially not guys on campus, including every single guy on the football and baseball teams. It’s just that it’s a fact and Dex kinda hates it.

It’s unfair, for starters. One human being should not be allowed to possess great skin, green eyes, large shoulders, a wall of solid abs (they share a locker room, okay, it’s not like Dex is going out of his way to stare at Nursey, that would be ridiculous), and a killer jawline.

“You’re staring,” Chowder whispers as he devours a large bowl of cereal that will soon be followed by two bananas, a muffin, and a piece of toast. Hockey players, man, they got large appetites.

“I’m not,” Dex says, you know, like a liar.

He knows damn well that he has been staring at Derek ever since he entered the dining wall with a shirt so tight it should be illegal for him to wear it. It’s not even nine a.m. yet. Dex is not mentally equipped to deal with Derek being even more Derek-y than usual before he has at least two cups of coffee.

“Did Nursey do something particularly aggravating to you before breakfast? Usually you only glare at him like that after you two have a fight.”

“I’m not mad at Nursey.” No more so than usual, anyway.

“Then why are you staring?”

Dex scrubs his eyes with his right hand, dropping his knife.

“I’m just distracted,” he lies again.

He doesn’t know how to tell the truth.

That he’s pretty sure he’s gay and even though he’s known this since he was a kid, he’s always been too scared to think about it, much less seriously contemplate it. Up until now, Dex’s life plan had roughly consisted of go to university, graduate, get a job as far away from his family as possible, and maybe then figure his shit out, but the universe just had to fuck it all up by tossing Derek Nurse into his path.

It’s not fair. One man shouldn’t be simultaneously the source of all of Dex’s annoyances and wet dreams. There should be laws of physics against this stuff.

Sometimes, when Dex is distracted, his brain starts to make up scenarios in his head, like what would happen if Dex went over to Nursey right now and kissed him on the mouth, a hand holding that perfect stupid jaw in place? Nursey looks like he would be a good kisser. Slow. Considerate. Dex doesn’t have a lot of practice but he thinks he could be good as well with Nursey as his partner.

And then, of course, Nursey has to ruin everything because Dex just isn’t allowed nice things, not even in his daydreams.

“Yo, Poindexter, you need to stop glaring at that piece of toast like it just spat on your grandmother’s grave. It’s not even nine a.m. yet.”

Actually, scratch everything Dex has just thought.

Derek Nurse is a huge fucking asshole and all of Dex’s infatuation must be some cross-wiring in his brain caused by a lifetime of gay repression or some shit.

“Don’t talk about my grandmother, Nurse.” Dex hisses before he looks away from Nurse and the rest of their table. He’s not going to cry. Jesus fucking christ, he is not gonna cry in the dining hall on a Tuesday because of Derek fucking Nurse. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

Dex picks up his tray and leaves without another word, ignoring his teammates’ calls for him to come back. Just as he’s about to leave the hall, he hears Bitty speak up in his most serious, no-pie nonsense voice. “Nursey, you shouldn’t have said that.”

But it doesn’t matter because Nursey already said what he said, because he hates Dex, goes out of his way to antagonize him at every turn, and Dex thinks maybe he deserves it, for all the thoughts inside his head.

Song written by Will on the back of a scrap piece of paper during Law, Technology, and Culture, the only class he shares with Nursey their first year of university:

It’s in your hands, it’s in your smile
This happiness I wish to hold
But you’re not mine
You’re not mine

It is impossible to choose
Just one word to define you
When for you 
The whole alphabet wouldn’t do 

And I wish you understood
How much I want you
Because this feeling is tearing
me apart

And you’re not mine
You’re not mine

Chapter Text

His first semester at Samwell ends when Fall gives away to Winter and brings in the snow and holiday cheer Dex loved as a kid.

Despite the fact that he only saw his family for Thanksgiving during the whole semester, Dex is still slow to pack and one of the last leave.

“Are you alright, honey?” Bitty asks him more than once.

Everyone around them has been hit by the holiday bug and is enthusiastically packing and discussing their holidays ahead. Dex, on the other side of the spectrum, has been lying on the Haus couch for the past three hours and the only thought in his mind is whether or not he has time to buy garlic bread before the Stop ‘n Shop closes.

Probably not, unless he could get someone to loan him their car.

“I’m fine,” he replies. He means it too. He’s alright. He’s happy to go home and see his family. Really.

This feeling of mild inner peace is short-lived, lasting only a little over two days. It gets him through the miserable bus ride back home that puts a crick on his back, ending a couple of hours later when some of aunts and uncles decide to visit.

Dex didn’t think this was possible, but that Christmas he finds himself enjoying his family’s company even less than he did when he was younger.

It’s not that his family is bad, per se. It’s that they all seem to have the same close-minded opinions, which they share loudly and without considering the possibility that someone at the dinner table might disagree. Dex has grown accustomed to fading into the background during most of these ‘adult conversations’, but there are times where he has to make a conscious effort not to talk back.

There’s wrong and then there’s wrong and some of the things his family believes in are point-blank infuriating. Shit about all lives matter and if they’re that bothered, they can go live somewhere else, can’t they?

Dex wants to yell at them that no, that’s not how change and progress work, but he knows they wouldn’t get it. Not because they’re stupid, but because they’re uninterested in getting it. They like their little bubble lives and small-town ideals, believe they’re the few ‘honest’ ones in a world of fakes. Dex feels ashamed to be around some of his relatives, even more so for not having the courage to fight back, but he doesn’t know how to face these people with his head held high.

If they’re this awful to total strangers, how would they act towards him?

He comes back to Samwell after Winter Break feeling more tired than when he left. The feeling of shame lingers on him like a bad smell that he can’t wash away. He wonders if his teammates used to see him the same way he now sees his family. Maybe. Probably. Dex doesn’t think he is as bad as them, but there are a lot of things he’s uneducated on, and he knows how he comes across when he’s frustrated.

He ends up skipping most of the team activities during the first days back, earning himself concerned texts from all his teammates that range from ‘you know you can always talk to me if there’s something on your mind’ (Bitty) to ‘Dex!!!! What’s wrong!!!!!!’ (Chowder).

Even Nursey texts him, of all people. 

Dex stares at the message for longer than he does with any of the others, but in the end he ignores it too. He still shows up at practice and sits next to Chowder in class, but he tends to keep to himself even then. There are too many thoughts inside his head for him to enjoy any one moment. Although people try to drag him into conversation, Dex finds it hard to pull away from his own head, too many what if s running after one another.

It all seems to come to a head after their first roadie of Spring semester. They’re playing Yale, who are known for being more aggressive than necessary at a college-level hockey match, and it’s a tough game all around. Bitty gets checked early in the game and they have to replace him, which brings down morale.

Even though Dex knows he’s objectively better than anyone on Yale’s team, he still lets himself get distracted by the taunts they throw at him and Nursey, which leads to a shot going straight past him and into the net during third period.

“Poindexter, what the fuck just happened?” Nursey yells at him.

Dex swallows down on nothing, feeling his throat close up, his face burn hot. He can’t say it, can’t repeat the words that Yale piece of shit just tossed at him before he slotted the puck in. It was about Nursey and Dex and don’t all Samwell players love getting fuck–

"Let's just keep playing," Dex grits out. Nurse squints at him for a couple more seconds, his eyes reaching so deep Dex feels like his soul is being stared at. He’s about to tell him to just drop it when Nursey gives him a shaky nod and skates away.

In an unsurprising turn of events, they lose the match, but not before Shitty hears the same player who cursed Dex say some other dumb shit.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Shitty asks, because he's braver than Dex. Everyone here is so much braver than him.

A fight breaks out afterward. It's not a big affair, as far as hockey fights go. Shitty lands a solid punch before he's pulled back and at least two people skate away with black eyes.

Dex doesn't join the brawl. He wants to but he's frozen in place, a lifetime of worries plaguing his head. Everything from what if his parents hear about this to what if that guy calls me a f-g again and everyone hears and then they all know.

It takes every inch of strength in him to keep breathing for the rest of the match. To compensate, the rest of his movements are sluggish and off-balance, not that it matters anyway. After Shitty's fight, everyone in the Samwell team is off-balance and they lose 4-2 without any fanfare.

As soon as the match is over, Dex leaves the rink to shower and get dressed in record time, heading for the bus right after. He doesn't talk to anyone and if anyone calls out for him, he doesn't hear it.

The ride to the hotel is filled with quiet chattering between a few of them, although most stay quiet. Dex puts in his headphones before he even sits down and doesn't say a word when Bitty sits down next to him. Bitty, for his part, seems to understand Dex is not in the right mood to talk and leaves him be, talking to Chowder in hushed tones instead.

Once they get to their hotel, the feeling that there's something wrong doesn't leave Dex. The sensation is like a weight on his chest, this black hole inside him threatening to swallow him whole. He scratches his stomach through his shirt, pushing in his fingers and the edge of his nails until it hurts. He forces the air in through his nose, out through his mouth, slow, steady, hoping it will help him.

"Dude, you alright?" Nursey asks after closing the door behind him.

As usual, he and Dex are sharing even though they can barely stand the sight of each other on any given day. It’s D-Men tradition, according to Ransom and Holster, and rooming with other people might jinx them in future games. Although Dex would consider himself the living breathing definition of a skeptic, he still respects some hockey superstitions, as annoying as they may be.

Nursey is looking at him with a furrow in his brow. One of his hands is reaching out for Dex, but stops halfway there. Nursey looks at him with apprehension, like he knows any sudden movements may be all it takes to spook him.

What’s truly frustrating about this is that he’s right. Right now, Dex feels like a trapped animal, a stupid little creature that's been caught and has nowhere to go. He has all this energy and rage inside of him dying to get out and all he wants to do is go home, back to Maine, the one place he knows better than he knows himself. He absolutely hated being home for Christmas but at least there people understand him. They don’t push him past his comfort zone or judge his silences for anger. 

Dex wishes he could just go back home and get his guitar. Music has always helped him when he’s like this. His fingers twitch. One, two, three. The void in his chest grows so big he can feel it, pressing against his throat. His feet take him across the room before he even notices it. He walks the length of it, back and forth, with no destination in mind.

“I need to do something. I need to –” Dex looks out the window. Rain has started to fall outside. According to the weather report, it’s the beginning of a thunderstorm.

"What do you need?" Nursey asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Dex can't even look at him without wanting to burst into tears, which just goes to show how fucked up he is right now. The last time he cried was when he got his Samwell acceptance letter and he doesn’t know what it means that this moment now is somehow worse.

He hates that he’s like this. He hates that he’s always worrying, that he can never say the right thing, and that he can’t love properly, can’t act properly, can’t just fucking live like a normal person without all his thoughts threatening to break him.

Oh, what Dex would do to not exist for a while. He doesn’t want to die, it’s not like that. He just wants to not be for a couple of days. Maybe a month. He wants to let time pass through him as if he’s transparent, a ghost, there and not at the same time. He wants to close his eyes and not have a single doubt or worry clouding his sight.

A bolt of lightning breaks through the sky. The rain is now pelleting the ground like the gods  themselves are crying. Dex clenches his hands as the urge to just go out and do something hits him as strong as a bullet train. He wants to feel the rain. He wants to feel something, anything, other than himself.

“I’m going outside,” he announces.

“You’re doing what?" Nursey asks, but Dex is hardly listening. He darts to the door and starts walking down the corridor as Nursey yells out for him. "Wait, Dex, come back–”

Dex doesn't turn back. He reaches the elevators but goes for the stairs instead, flying down the steps until he reaches the ground floor and bolts outside. He doesn't start to run until he actually leaves the building and the first drops of rain hit his overheated skin.

The rain is cool and the night is dark. Dex runs with no idea of where he wants to go, focused on nothing but the pain in his chest.

He doesn't know how much time passes when he hears someone yell. “Poindexter!”

He doesn't stop or look back to see who it is. He would recognize that voice anywhere. No matter how dark the night or loud the rain.

He takes a sharp corner, darting past a small alley into an open park. There's a lake ahead of him and for a wild, intoxicating second, Dex's brain yells for him to jump . He's already wet from the rain and he hasn't gone swimming in ages. It would be fine. 

“Will!” Nursey yells for him again. For whatever reason, it's the sound of his name – his real name – that gets him to stop.

Dex pauses by the lakeside, pulling in huge gulps of air as he tries to get his heartbeat to calm down. There is a faint prickling around the edges of his vision that reminds him he hasn't had dinner yet. The only light in the park comes from the headlamps by the pathway, a good fifty feet from where he's standing.

"What do you want?” he asks. He still hasn't turned back to look at Nursey, staring at the end of the lake instead. On the other side of the park, he sees lights coming from people's apartments. They seem warm and soft, making him jealous for a life he longs to have but can't picture as his own.

“What do I want?" Nursey asks. "Dude, it’s raining like crazy. What are you doing?” 

“I needed to get some air," Dex replies, finally turning around.

Nursey is standing behind him, hands on his knees as he tries to get his breathing back in check. He's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, both of which are soaked through from the rain. His hair is plastered over his forehead, for once looking perfectly imperfect. Dex can only imagine what he himself looks like.

“Are you kidding me? Come back inside, dude. You’re not even wearing your jacket. You’re gonna catch a cold," he says, which is ridiculous because it's hardly like he's dressed any better.

Dex rolls his eyes. “What do you care?”

“I–” Nursey huffs and looks down at the ground. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?"

The admission is the final straw in getting Dex to stop contemplating jumping in the lake and focus on Nursey.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for what I said to you back in the dining hall last year. Bitty talked to me afterward and it made me realize I’d stepped way out of line.”

That's… actually the last thing Dex expected to hear tonight. It's a confession unlike any he's ever received from anyone, much less from Nursey.

The honesty of it makes him uncomfortable so he shrugs, looking away. “It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“Still, it wasn’t chill of me to say that to you. And, in general, I know I haven't been the best teammate these past couple of months. I’m sorry,” Nursey repeats for a third time. He sounds like he’s genuinely broken-hearted that he might have hurt Dex, which is something Dex had never considered possible before.

If Nursey can apologize to him, Dex can at least try to meet him there. It’s not as if he hasn’t been dreaming of making amends with Nursey for weeks now.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, the words tripping out of his mouth. “I was an asshole to you all the time and I’ve said a lot of stupid shit that I regret. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came to Samwell. I think I made a lot of assumptions that were wrong and then didn’t know how to fix them.”

Nursey is already nodding before Dex has even finished speaking.

“Look, can we start over? Like, can we just pretend the last semester didn’t happen and maybe talk to each other like normal human beings? I swear, I’m normally not this much of a dick.” The words rush out of Nursey’s mouth in a hurry, stumbling into each other as he takes a step closer to Dex.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Nursey says with so much fervor that Dex has no choice but to believe him.

“So is this the part where you introduce yourself? Give me a handshake and tell me your name is Derek Nurse like they do in all the movies?”

His answer makes Nursey frown at him like he’s cross between punching Dex and punching himself and he has no clue which option to pick. Dex grins at him, fully aware that the two of them must look like lunatics yelling at each other in the rain in the middle of the night.

“Actually,” he says. “You know what? Yes, let’s do that. Hi, I’m Derek Nurse, English major with a minor in poetry. College-level hockey player partnered up with one of the best defensemen in the tri-state area. Nice to meet you.”

Dex stares at Nursey’s hand with the intensity of a wildfire. Despite the fact that he’s twenty minutes away from getting hypothermia, he feels warmth rush through his bones and skin. He can’t meet Nursey’s eyes for fear of an early-onset heart attack. It could happen. His heart is already beating at ninety miles an hour as it is.

“One of the best defensemen?” he asks anyway because he’s an idiot and all of a sudden hearing Nursey say those words again is more important than breathing to him.

“You know that already,” Nursey says in an almost bored tone of voice, but when Dex looks up he looks wounded, like he’s not sure if Dex is trying to humiliate him or not.

“Not really,” Dex confesses. He takes Nursey’s hand and shakes it. “I’m only as good as I am now because I’m playing with you.” A little quieter, he adds, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Nursey tells him, giving Dex’s hand a lingering squeeze before he drops it. “Are you alright? Do you wanna, like, yell at the sky or something?”

“Yell at the sky?” Laughter spills from his lips completely on its own.

“Well, I don’t know! You’re the one who rushed off and ran here. What’s the plan?”

“There isn’t a plan. I just needed to get outside. I felt…” Dex lips his lips, tasting saltwater and nothing else. It’s then he notices he has started to shiver. “Overwhelmed. Like I couldn’t breathe.”

Even though Dex hasn’t said a single logical thing for the past ten minutes, Nursey still nods at him like he makes perfect sense. “And can you breathe now?”

“Yes,” Dex replies, another burst of laughter coming through, this time more self-deprecating and conscious. 

“Then can we go back to our hotel room? You can introduce yourself to me while I set up my laptop. I’ve got an entire season of Property Brothers we can watch if you feel like criticizing other people’s poor workmanship for fun.”

And that’s how Dex finds himself sharing a single hotel bed with Derek Nurse. Their large shoulders hunch together to avoid either of them falling off the bed. Nursey’s Macbook has been shoved between their legs and there’s a whole array of snacks lying next to it.

Turns out, he and Nursey are both secret snackers and like to fill up half of their bags on roadies with an unhealthy combination of cookies, chips, and candy.

“Jack will murder us if he ever finds these.” 

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Nursey says as he shoves an armful of gummy bears in his mouth.

Dex takes a second to steal a couple of chips and eat them before he answers. “Wanna do a spit swear?”

“A spit swear? What are we? Twelve?”

“Can’t believe you’re besmirching the fine tradition of the spit swear right now. You know Holster and Ransom do one at least once a month, right?”

Dex chances a look at Nursey and yup, Nursey is squinting at him like he’s not quite sure if he’s talking to the real Dex or a very convincing alien. 

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Wanna do a spit swear to find out?”

Nursey throws a whole bag of cookies at him in response, making Dex laugh so hard he chokes on a stray piece of chip and has to run to the toilet for a glass of water.

He comes back to a smug-looking Nursey who’s reclined so far down the bed he’s pretty much just lying on it now. Dex hesitates between going back to Nursey’s side or slipping into his own bed. It’s getting late and they should probably go back to sleep if they don’t want to be zombies tomorrow.

His train of thought is broken by Nursey’s quiet voice. “Get back here. The brothers tried to tear down the kitchen wall and only now realized it was actually a foundation wall. The mom looks like she’s gonna flip.”

Dex watches Nursey scroll back the cursor to roughly around the time before Dex’s Potato Chip Incident. He lies down on the bed next to Nursey, who pushes the laptop up with another pillow. They watch the rest of the episode like this, their commentary quiet between them. The fourth episode of the night starts to play as soon as the previous is over.

At one point, Dex looks over at Nursey. He looks so calm, not the pretentious sort of calm that Dex has started to realize is fake down to the core, but a more genuine type of peace. Like despite all of their differences and bickering, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than with Dex in a hotel room in Connecticut, watching the Property Brothers build an open-air kitchen.

“Thank you for coming to get me tonight,” Dex says, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

He can tell Nursey is looking at him and although he tries to fight it, he finds himself looking back after a couple of seconds. Nursey has a unique power to draw him in that nobody else in the world seems to share. He wonders if it’s like this for everyone else Nursey knows or if it’s just Dex and his foolish crush.

“I meant what I said earlier. I want to try again with you. I want us to be friends and that means I want to be there for you when you feel like you need someone to talk to or yell at.”

Dex looks away. If he’s honest, he’s not sure that a friendship between them is even possible. They’re such different people. They clash all the time and there’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t feel inadequate when he’s standing next to Nursey. Dex is full of rough edges, unpolished and brash and too weak to admit when he’s wrong about something.

He knows for a fact that he’s gonna fuck things up again, sooner or later, only now it will be worse because he’ll be solely responsible for the fact that he’s physically unable to make real human connections. At least before, he could pretend Nursey was half to blame.

Still. Nursey is looking at him, his head on the pillow and a focused expression on his face. Dex can’t help but wonder at how soft he looks like this, wearing his pajamas and with his hair pressed up against the pillow.

Dex doesn’t want to be the one who ruins this. He knows he will, sooner or later, but right now he wants to at least try.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s try to do that.”

And so they do.

He and Derek start to hang out more afterward. It starts with small things, like walking to class together since they lived in the same dorm and meeting up with Chowder together. They have less real arguments but still bicker incessantly, which their teammates do not understand.

“You two are weird,” Chowder tells them after Dex and Nursey spend ten minutes discussing the best robots in Star Wars.

Nursey thinks it’s BB-8, but he’s only saying it because he finds that little ball cute, which it is, but that’s not the point. Dex would lay down his life for K2SO.

“Everyone’s a little weird, Chowder,” says Nursey.

“Yes, but you two are extra weird. Lovable, but weird.”

“I’ll take that,” Dex says.

“Fair enough,” Nursey agrees. 

This is yet another new development in their relationship. Now that they’re not constantly fighting each other out of spite, he and Nursey find themselves on the same page on an increasingly larger number of things. A lot of the fundamentals (best snack choice, pop culture masterpieces) are lost causes, but then there’s other stuff they can agree on without even discussing it.

For example, they never argue when it’s time to pick a place for dinner. The faster the service and bigger the portions, the better. Plus, they’re both really into sushi. Not to mention they have become rather adept at reading each other’s moods, so they know when to shut up and when to bring the other a cup of coffee and a slice of pie after a long day.

It is, against all odds, not that hard for them not to despise each other.

In an effort to become a better friend and a person in general, whenever a name he doesn't recognize pops into conversation Dex texts it to himself so he can look it up later. He's never gonna be a Shitty, loud and outspoken against all the injustices in the world but he thinks it helps, even if just a little, that he can at least follow along with most conversations and nod at the right places.

A few weeks after he and Nursey start hanging out without experiencing homicidal urges towards each other, Dex finds himself sharing a late afternoon beer with Nursey, Lardo and Shitty in Shitty's room.

The three of them are discussing the latest series of anti-police protests in Massachusetts. Dex, for obvious reasons, doesn't have a lot of relevant commentary he can add to the conversation. He's never been the victim of police discrimination and, up until now, he didn't know anyone who was either.

Nursey, on the other hand, has a few stories to share about his time in New York and Andover. He's not quick to get into details and throughout the conversation Dex can feel different pairs of eyes on him, almost like he's being tested. He decides to stay quiet, ignoring the idiotic part of him that wants to be contrarian just for the sake of it.

"And then I had to leave and walk back into the snow because this crazy white lady wouldn't let me go inside my own fucking building and I didn't wanna risk her calling the cops on me."

"Damn. And your parents weren't home?"

"Nah, they were away for a weekend. In the end, I had to call up my weed dealer, of all fucking people, because he's the only white dude I know in New York who lives near me."

Despite how horrible the experience sounds, all of them let out a dry laugh at Nursey's story, including Nursey himself. It’s one of those situations where you either laugh or cry and right now the mood is light enough they can laugh.

"Man, that's fucked up. Like, really, really fucked up," Lardo says.

“Twisted as hell,” Shitty agrees.

Dex, who still hasn’t found his footing in conversations like this, decides to err on the side of caution by putting a hand on Nursey’s knee and looking him in the eye as he says, “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Nursey. That sounds awful.”

Nursey smiles at him, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling as laugh lines form. “Thank you, Dex. It’s chill.”

Dex frowns. He doesn’t think that Nursey being harassed for the color of his skin sounds chill at all, but that isn’t for him to decide. He nods, squeezing Nursey’s knee before he removes his hand.

He’s aware of the skeptical eyebrow Lardo raises as she shoots Nursey a questioning look, as well as the grin on Shitty’s face. Neither of them say anything, though, so neither does Dex.

In addition to often walking to class together, Frog hangouts with Chowder, impromptu snack runs, and chilling at the Haus, another thing Nursey and Dex start doing is studying together.

When he was younger, Dex only ever studied by himself, but he finds himself enjoying the company now. Chowder is a great study-buddy, helping him with his programming homework whenever he’s stumped by something or just needs someone to bounce ideas with. Bitty, on the other hand, is so bad at staying focused on a book that it’s kind of funny. Dex enjoys his chaotic energy and likes being able to help Bitty stay focused.

In predictable fashion, Nursey is unique even with something as mundane as studying, because of course he is. If Nursey ever did anything like a boring human being, Dex would take it as a sure sign of the apocalypse.

It seems Derek Malik Nurse only has two modes when it comes to studying: hyper focused to the point where he forgets to eat, drink water and rest his eyes before getting horrible migraines or distracted by anything as insignificant as a weird-looking cloud or a funny name in his history book.

It must be said that although studying with the first mode is often more productive, Dex secretly prefers hanging out with distracted Derek, who likes sharing his observations almost as much as he enjoys making them.

Roses are red
Pizza sauce is too
I ordered a large
None of it’s for you

Dex looks up at Nursey and lifts up both eyebrows to give Nursey a look drier than the fucking Sahara.

“Nursey, what the fuck,” he says.

Nursey grins at Dex, showing off his dimples, which is just unfair. He looks unreasonably pleased with himself.

“I’m just kidding, Sexy Dexy. You can have some of my pizza.”

“Is that some kind of metaphor or did you really order pizza to the library?” Dex asks after a beat. He’s not sure what pizza would be a metaphor for, but leave it to Derek to turn food and poetry into a weird metaphor.

“The pizza is real,” Nursey says with a roll of his eyes. “App says it should be here in five minutes. I’m gonna go outside to wait for it. Hold my seat for me?”

“You know you can’t bring food inside the library, right?”

Nursey shakes his head, closing his eyes as he does a little put-put sound like a sarcastic soccer mom in Beverly Hills Housewives. “Ye of little faith.”

Five minutes later, against all odds and reason, Nursey is back at their table slightly out of breath and with a large pizza box in his hands.

“How the fuck did you get this in?” Dex asks even as his mouth starts to water. His meals are fairly restricted thanks to his meal plan and the fact that all his extra calories are usually spent on Bitty’s baking.

“Because I’m Derek Fucking Nurse, that’s how,” Nursey explains, dumping the box between them.”

Will raises both eyebrows in distasteful disbelief. It’s a new look for him but he thinks he’s rather good at it.

“Alright. I had someone hold the box for a second while I convinced the librarian there was someone looking for them on the second floor and then I literally sprinted here. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Nursey cracks open the lid just a fraction and reaches into the box, ripping out a slice for himself before he pushes the rest towards Dex.

Jesus. Is this what religion is meant to feel like? Dex hasn’t had a slice of pizza in so long that he feels weak. Just smelling the bacon and— “Are those mushrooms ?”

“Chicken, bacon, mushrooms and extra cheese. It’s the only way to go.”

Holy crap. “That’s my favorite too,” he confesses, dumb-founded. He’s never met anyone who liked mushrooms on pizza, much less someone who liked the same weird combination as him.

Nursey stops scarfing down his pizza to grin at him. “D-Men magic,” he says.

Dex takes his own slice of pizza. He knows it’s stupid, but the moment somehow feels bigger than what it is, as if he and Nursey just discovered this deep meaningful connection between them that could change their lives. Maybe they have. Maybe pizza is that meaningful.

“D-Men magic,” he agrees.

Nursey flashes him another brilliant grin. There’s a stain on his cheek from the tomato sauce and a piece of mushroom hanging off his sweater and all Dex can think is that maybe it’s D-Men magic, yes, but maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s this feeling he can’t describe, this big ball of anxiety and worry and affection inside his chest that has been growing steadily since the day Nursey found him in the rain.

Thirty minutes later, Dex is out cold in a food coma and Nursey sends everyone in the groupchat a picture of him drooling on his engineering notes.

“You’re a conniving bastard, you know that right?”

“Can’t handle the pizza, stay out of the library, ginger boy.” Nursey laughs. In retribution, Dex picks up Nursey’s eraser and tosses it across the library.

Alright. So maybe Nursey is still as annoying as ever and pizza was just pizza. Go figure.

— — —

The Spring Kegster is the most mellow one yet.

Dex can’t speak for anyone else, but school and hockey have started to wear him a little thin. There is a lot of pressure for him to keep his grades up so he doesn’t lose his scholarship, not to mention his active role in the hockey team’s social circle. He initially planned to use the kegster as an excuse to get drunk and loosen up a little, but once he gets there he finds he’s too exhausted to contemplate serious drinking.

He spends most of the night chatting in the kitchen with Lardo, who wants his help with her final project of the year.

“I’m doing a series of paintings and I want you to be in them,” she says.

“Me? Are you sure?” Dex asks, staring down at his drink. He’s only had three beers so far. Maybe he should drink more water?

“Yes, William.” Lardo rolls her eyes. “I want to paint your freckles. The theme is Abstraction Through The Dot and I think it could work.”

Dex doesn’t know anything about art but he does know that he likes Lardo’s dry humor and the way she keeps the hockey team in check through a delicate balance of sarcasm and force.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Dex says.

She flicks him in the forehead at the same time as she beams at him. Sarcasm and force, all the way through.

“Thank you. I’ll email you later with the details.”

Towards the end of the night, Dex notices someone has left a guitar by the speakers. It looks sorta brand new, but the wood doesn’t have the same robustness as a higher quality make would. Dex finds his way to it without even noticing, weaving through the midst of warm bodies and sloshing drinks with ease.

The party music is on too loud for him to play anything for most of the night, but once they hit four in the morning they have to turn the volume down if they don’t want to risk the cops coming over (again). 

Dex takes the guitar out into the back porch and decides to play a song he’d heard earlier in the night. There are only a few stragglers out here having quiet conversations over lit cigarettes and Dex doesn’t think it will disturb them. The hockey team, as far as he’s aware, are all either back inside or already in bed.

Over the years, Dex has gotten quite good at replicating certain songs after he hears them a few times. The strings slip between his fingers as he whispers the lyrics to himself.

“ All this time I was finding myself, ” Dex whispers. “ And I didn't even know I was lost. ”

As time progresses, a small crowd settles around him. Dex is not aware of them, focused on getting the notes right. It’s only after he stops playing that he looks up and sees there are ten or so people staring at him.

Pain blossoms from the center of his chest, so strong Dex struggles to breathe for a few moments, the air getting lodged in between his nose and his mouth. He coughs, looks away, doesn’t register any of the faces staring at him until he makes eye contact with Nursey, leaning against the wooden pole across from Dex.

A few people clap and Will looks back at them. Against all odds, he manages a smile. He starts to move the guitar away from his body lest someone ask him about it when he remembers he can’t just abandon it after he basically stole it from the party, which — crap — he really should go back and find whoever it belongs to. He thinks Lardo invited some of her art friends so it could be them, although then again Ransom and Holster have half the university on kegster speed dial, so who knows.

Nobody outside seems to care about the guitar, though, and the few people who linger fall into conversation with each other once it becomes clear Dex won’t be playing another song.

“Whose guitar is that?” Nursey asks.

"Found it at the party." Dex cringes. "I didn’t steal it.”

"Chill, Poindexter. Never said you did."

Dex looks away from Nursey, staring down at the guitar instead. A couple of seconds go by before one of them speaks again.

“You played really well.”

Dex can't hide his surprise, snapping his head up to stare at Nursey before he looks away again.

"Thanks,” he says, barely above a whisper.

He's aware there's more he could say, like I sing too and I even write my own songs sometimes . But those confessions seem too much even now, in the dead of night and no one else paying attention to them.

"Have you been playing for long?"

Dex hesitates. He's never shared this out loud, but he and Nursey have gotten a lot closer the past couple of months and he knows Nursey is not gonna be an ass about it.

"Since I was thirteen. My guitar was the first purchase I ever made with my own money."

There, a confession. Don't nobody say Dex isn't trying. He is. He just struggles a lot, most of the time. More than everyone else seems to, in any case.

If Nursey sounds surprised by Dex’s admission, he doesn't show it, his face remaining in the Unfazed Derek default.

"Cool. Is it here? Your guitar?"

"Back at my dorm."

"Cool," Nursey repeats. Maybe he's drunker than Dex thought. He's usually a little bit more coherent than that. "Do you think you could play for me sometime?"

Alright, this time Dex has to look up and stare at Nursey. He almost repeats the question, sure his big ears must have failed him for once, but then he sees Nursey properly. He's looking at the ground, hunched over himself with his hands inside his pockets and just as Dex looks, he scuffs at a rock almost like — almost like he's embarrassed.

Dex has never seen Derek Nurse embarrassed before. Not even at that kegster where Shitty dared him to do a naked run around the Samwell Well five times and he ended up getting dizzy and almost fell inside said well, a Chris Chow rescue coming in at the very last second.

"Maybe," Dex admits. He doesn't think he could actually play for Nursey. He struggles with something as basic as just looking at the guy, for fuck's sake, but Nursey seems so genuine. Like he really wants to hear Dex play.

So maybe.

"Cool," Nursey says again and alright, he must really be drunk then. He probably wouldn't even remember this conversation tomorrow.

Dex tries not to be disappointed at that thought, the whole thing confusing him.

"Are you gonna play more tonight or– ?" Nursey points his head inside. Dex isn’t sure what Derek is asking him. Does he want Dex to play more? Or is he just looking for someone to go with him back to the party?

Dex sighs. It’s too late in the night to deal with cryptic Derek Nurse. "I probably should go back. Whoever brought this in must be looking for it."

Nursey frowns, wrinkling his nose in an expression that should not, by any standards of the imagination, be cute.

Dex thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

"I think one of Lardo's friends brought that in and they all left ages ago. You should be fine."

"Oh, okay," he says and not would you like another song even though the words are on the tip of his tongue for the first time in his life.

He almost goes for it but then Nursey is nodding at him like the moment is over, just like that. Dex stares at him. He wants to ask Nursey to stay but he’s neither brave nor drunk enough for such a request. As Nursey moves back inside, he looks back at Dex once, twice, his head moving from the door to Dex like he's searching for something he knows he won't find.

Dex remains silent, afraid of fucking things up even worse by saying the wrong thing. He waits until Nursey is back at the Haus before he makes his own way inside, feeling like he just threw a piece of himself to the wind and he’s not sure if it will come back.

Postcard written by Nursey and sent to Dex after receiving Dex’s card:

Hey Sexy Dexy,

I could lie and say I found this in one of the amazing New York secondhand stores I live in like a sad hermit crab, but truth be told I found it on Ebay and bought it thinking of you, my lobster boy.

Life’s not the same without you here to yell at me whenever I break something (two vases and counting baby!). See you back at Samwell! x

Your kick-ass D-Partner, creative extraordinaire,

Derek

Chapter Text

The summer after his first year at Samwell is a long, never-ending exercise in longing.

It’s a longing for a place he didn’t know he would miss until he left. An ache deep in his bones that cracks and splinters every time he goes home after a day of work at his uncle’s lobster boat. Not a day goes by where Dex doesn’t find himself searching for faces he knows he won’t find back home. It’s a longing for a place where the jokes are actually funny and he doesn’t have to stop himself from speaking far too many times, unsure of how his family will react to some of his ideas.

It’s a longing for cooler days and the slip of an ice rink. Dex has always been a winter kind of guy and this summer, in particular, is hard on him. It’s hotter than usual, which he blames on global warming even though it makes the other guys on the boat roll their eyes at him. The sun bakes his skin despite his best attempts at covering it with sunscreen. As the months go by, he leaves his old pale complexion behind and tans a few shades darker. It’s not a noteworthy change in his opinion, but it does bring out his freckles.

It’s a summer of texting so much that the people around him start asking him about his girlfriend, which makes him cringe each and every time. It’s nights up late skyping with Chowder and Nursey, the two of them grinning at him from his phone. 

“I wish I was on the east coast with you guys. We could all go on a frog road trip, spend some days at the beach in Maine and then drive down to New York City. It would have been ’swawesome.”

Dex smiles with his eyes closed, two seconds away from dropping the phone on his face and falling asleep. “I couldn’t do that anyway. Gotta work,” he says.

“Don’t you get days off?” Nursey asks.

“Not enough to go on a road trip.” Dex yawns. “Gotta save up. Scholarship money doesn’t cover everything.”

He turns his head to the side, snuggling into his pillow without even noticing he’s doing it. God, he really needs to go to bed soon if he wants to get at least four hours of shuteye.

On the other side of the line, Nursey and Chowder go quiet for long enough that Dex’s brain goes into snooze mode. It restarts once again when Nursey speaks up, almost as if it’s tuned into Nursey’s voice.

“Well, I could go up if you’d like. I could take my dad’s car,” Nursey says. He looks lovely like this, the lights in his bedroom set to a low warm yellow that makes his skin glow.

Dex resists the urge to lean in and give Nursey’s video face a smooch. It’s a good thing he’s too tired to move his head to start with.

“Don’t bother. There’s nothing interesting to do here.”

“You must do something on your days off, though,” Chowder says.

Dex nods, or at least he thinks of nodding. He does. He plays his guitar and writes songs about the fact that he has a crush on the most annoying, beautiful boy he’s ever seen. He could give Taylor Swift a run for her money if he’d like.

The next thing he knows, his alarm clock is ringing and his phone is lying on his chest about to run out of battery. Dex plugs it in and heads out the door, the conversation from the previous night forgotten until the next evening, when he sees he got a text from Nursey while he was out.

Dex frowns down at his phone. He’s not sure why Nursey is offering to drive up here before. He’s never expressed an interest in Maine’s rural coast before. It feels such a shame for him to trade time in New York with his parents for Dex’s small hometown. He waits for Nursey to say something else, but a reply never comes.

The next time they talk is in another video call with Chowder, the topic of visiting all but gone.

– – –

Years of dealing with mild to high levels of anxiety have forced Dex to learn multiple coping mechanisms for keeping his worry in check. His dramatic run in the rain with Nursey was one of the few times he couldn’t keep himself in check. He is, for the most part, quite good at hiding how he feels.

Nonetheless, he is forced to confess that he’s rather anxious about his return to Samwell and doing a poor job at hiding it. He’s twitchy, unable to keep himself from tapping and snapping his fingers at random. At times he finds himself pacing the floor of his bedroom, throwing stuff into his suitcase days before there’s any need to pack. On more than one occasion, he cuts someone off while they’re talking, which earns him a few pointed glares from his family members.

His parents assume he’s apprehensive to return because he doesn’t want to go back to Samwell. They tell him there’s no shame about making the best decision for himself and joining one of the family businesses. 

“You know we would never force you to do something you don’t wanna do, Billy.”

“I know, mom.”

“So if you’re nervous about going back to Samwell, for whatever reason, you know you’ll always have a place here. There will never be a time where we don’t welcome you with open arms.”

Dex struggles to swallow. He knows his mom is being candid, but he wonders if her words would stay the same if she knew the real reason why he was nervous.

Truth was, Dex wasn’t worried about going back to Samwell because he didn’t like it there, but because day by day the place he’d called home all his life felt more alien to him.

“Yes, I know. I love you,” he says.

At least that’s not a lie.

No matter what happens, come hell or high water, Dex will always love his mother. Even if there comes a day where he comes out – a scenario he struggles to imagine – and he’s no longer welcome in Maine, Dex will always love his family.

He doesn’t know if that’s fucked up or not, but he tries not to dwell on it regardless.

He makes the drive back to Samwell with no other company other than the stereo. His parents recently got a new car and have gifted him their old Toyota Prius, which Dex should be able to park by the Haus. When he tells the guys about the news, there’s an explosion of excitement in the groupchat and a lot of yelling about road trips and midnight snack runs, which makes Dex laugh.

The biggest perk of having the car to himself is that he gets to sing all the way to university, his radio cranked up to the max and his voice happy and free. He sings along to country music and sugar pop and some true bangers, as Nursey would put it, which is his codename for Alicia Keys and Rihanna.

For the first time in months, he feels himself relax. A quiet energy takes ahold of him as he drives down the cozy Samwell roads with the big oak trees and sidewalks lined with students. 

His first stop is at the Haus, where Ransom and Holster greet him with bone-crushing hugs.

“Dex! Look at you! Jesus, did you spend the summer lifting trucks or something? Your arms are concrete, dude,” says Holster as he feels up Dex’s forearm.

“Sick gains, bro,” Ransom agrees.

“I spent the summer working with my uncle,” Dex explains.

“At the lobster boat? Damn, I’m almost glad Jack isn’t here anymore or he would have us all do that as a mandatory team exercise. Your guns look massive.”

Dex is aware of the fact that during the summer he gained a few pounds of muscle, as well as a healthy tan and a golden undertone in his hair. He didn’t think much of the change at the time since he’s never considered himself attractive. He knows some people like the freckles and the red hair, but on him he’s always thought those features were kind of ugly. It doesn’t help that he has such big ears, a straight nose, and spends most of his free time surrounded by some of the most gorgeous people to grace the face of the earth.

Ransom and Holster’s combined attention is enough to make Dex blush, but it’s not until he sees Nursey that he’s embarrassed.

Nursey comes out of the kitchen just as Dex crosses the front door. He's wearing a loose tank top that does nothing to hide his muscles, going all the way down his nipples in an impressive show of skin that has Dex biting his bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

One would think that after knowing Nursey for a year and having seen him in an undisclosed number of compromising situations (the pirate pool prank, the angels and demons themed kegster, many a game of truth and dare, and at least three falls holding soft foods), Dex would be less immune to the nuclear powerbomb that are Nursey's looks, and yet here is, salivating like a teenage loser.

His one consolation is that at least he wasn't like this during his teenage years, when his family saw him every day. Dex sincerely doubts he would be able to hide his moping and thirsting from people he lived with.

He's about to say hi when Nursey looks up from his phone and spots him. He then proceeds to do what looks to Dex like extremely complicated air acrobatics, but in reality is a bizarre combination of him tripping on air, dropping the plate of cookies he’s holding, twisting around, and landing on his head.

Dex is running before his brain has even finished processing what happened.

“Holy shit, Nursey. You alright?”

Nursey groans, turning around on the floor with sugar covering his face and crumbs all over his shirt. “I’m good. Perfectly fine. Just dandy, actually.”

Dex frowns. He can’t see any blood or twisted limbs, but that was still a nasty fall. “You’ve got to be more careful. You can’t just walk around while looking at your phone.”

Nursey pushes himself up with Dex’s help and together they get Nursey to the couch.

“Yeah, that was my bad,” Nursey says, not quite meeting Dex’s eyes. There is a flush on his skin that Dex has never seen there. Maybe he has a fever? 

“Are you sick? I can go get the thermometer. Just wait here.”

Dex gets up but is stopped from going anywhere by Nursey’s hand on his wrist. “I’m fine, Will. Really. I just got distracted.”

Dex frowns. Nursey almost never calls him by his first name and he still looks weird, like there’s something worrying him. None of this is the least bit reassuring.

“If you say so,” he says while making a mental to text Bitty about the thermometer as soon as Nursey is distracted.

“If I didn’t know you were secretly a big old softie before, I’d definitely know it now. I’m fine, Nurse Pointdexter. Now come on, let’s go find Chowder. He’s been waiting for you to get here so he can tell us all about his sick California summer.”

The return of sarcastic little shit Nursey is what finally puts Dex at ease, his shoulders unwinding. “We talked on the phone literally just yesterday.”

“That’s not the same,” Nursey says, slinging his arm over Dex’s shoulder as he leads him to the backyard. 

Dex laughs. “Alright there, Gandalf. Thanks for the wisdom.”

And though his heart strains in his chest, Dex knows there’s nowhere he’d rather be than with Derek Nurse laughing in his ear and a wide smile on his face, so close and yet so far.

Once he’s back at school, time seems to speed up and summer in Maine fades from his mind. He throws himself into practice and school with fervor, enjoying the test to his physical and mental strength. He feels as if he’s on more solid ground this semester. He knows what to expect from Samwell now, alongside what the world expects of him.

This, of course, is when his world decides to turn upside down once more.

On a Wednesday in early October, practice ends earlier than usual after the coaches decide that they don’t want to tire them out before the match against Brown. Dex decides to use his newly found free time to go back to his dorm and play some music. He’s been working on an array of new songs lately that are not about anyone whose name starts with D and ends with -ek and it would be nice to practice them.

He’s just finished a heartfelt rendition of a song about broken hearts and summer nights when he decides to get a glass of water and opens his door to find Chowder outside.

“Uh,” Dex says with all the eloquence of someone who’s two seconds away from slamming the door and pretending he has an evil twin.

“Dex, you didn’t tell you could sing,” Chowder says, sounding so happy and excited that Dex immediately discards the evil twin idea.

The slamming door concept is not terrible, but odds are he would feel awful afterward and never forgive himself for being mean to Chowder, so he puts it away as well. After a few seconds of hesitation, he opens the door a bit wider so Chowder can come inside. 

“I don’t. I mean, I do sing, sometimes, but I’m not particularly good,” he says.

“Are you kidding me? You’re amazing! And you can play the guitar.” Chowder clutches at his chest like a maiden in the 18th century. Dex takes a step towards him just to make sure he’s not about to faint and crack open his head. He worries enough as it is about Nursey. 

“Yeah, I’ve played for a few years,” he says. His guitar is laying on his bed and it’s hard to resist the urge to go over and shove it out of sight, but he doesn’t want to bring even more attention to it.

Plus, it’s not like putting the guitar away is going to make Chowder forget what he’s seen. Not when his friend is looking at him with something that can only be described as akin to wonder in his eyes.

“Years?” he asks.

Dex shrugs. “Seven or so.”

Chowder gasps. Dex isn’t sure whether or not he should be offended by that. 

“I had no idea! You never said! Are you part of any band? Are you going off on the weekends to play gigs at bars and doing tours and stuff? Is that what you did this summer?”

“What? No. I was working all summer. I only play and sing in my free time. I’m not in any bands.”

If Dex is sure of one thing, is that he’s not emotionally equipped to handle this conversation at all. He’s flattered, but also struggling, and he thinks it must be evident from the way Chowder’s tone changes from excited to concerned in the blink of an eye.

“But why? You’re so good,” he says.

“I just… never really thought about it. Not many people know I sing anyway,” Dex says, which is not a total lie. One person can be considered ‘not many people’ if you squint.

“Well, that’s a shame. Doesn’t Samwell have some kind of music group? You could probably join them. They would be so lucky to have you!”

Dex rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself. “Samwell only has an acapella group.”

“Well, why don’t you try that?” Chowder asks.

“I don’t know, C. I’ve never–” his words choke in his mouth. He’s no longer sure what he’s embarrassed about. A few months he would have said he would be embarrassed to sing in front of others, but saying that out loud in a place like Samwell and in front of Chowder, specifically, feels stupid. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as he looks away. Chowder doesn’t push him, but he doesn’t give him an out either, waiting patiently for an answer instead. In the end, Dex admits. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“That’s alright. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just think this is something you should consider.” Chowder puts a hand on Will’s arm, squeezes it, just once. “You really are very good, Dex.”

“Thanks,” Dex says. His face has grown so heated throughout the conversation that Dex can feel the warmth radiate through his skin. He has a minor freakout in the blink of an eye when, out of nowhere, his brain reminds him of this article Nursey sent him last month about real cases of human self-combustion. Holy shit, Dex could actually die from this, except probably not because Nursey follows all these sketchy pages on Facebook who post fake articles all the time and self-combustion isn’t possible. Likely. Maybe. Dex is like ninety percent sure anyway.

“You alright?” Chowder asks. He’s giving Dex his patented concerned-friend eyes now, which are quite similar to his regular earnest eyes except there’s a twist to his eyebrows that wasn’t there before, as if Dex has personally caused him emotional harm.

Dex doesn’t know how to begin to express that he’s had at least two freak-outs in the past fifteen minutes and one of them was about spontaneous self-combustion, of all freaking things. Only Nursey could have done this to him.

“Yes, C. I’m good.” Dex attempts a smile and hopes it doesn’t come out as a grimace. He attempts eye contact for a few more seconds before he feels overwhelmed, looking down at the floor afterward. “And thanks, you know.”

He’s not sure what exactly he’s thanking Chowder for – for not making fun of Dex and his singing, for telling him he’s good enough to play in a band, good enough to sing – but thankfully Chowder seems to get it.

“You’re welcome. And hey, if you ever feel in need of an audience, or if you just want some support, let me know okay. I mean it.”

Dex shakes his head. He can’t imagine a scenario where he would ever want an audience. Still, Chowder’s offer is nice. Kind. He smiles, despite himself. He cracks the knuckles of two of his fingers. Releases some of the tension he had been holding.

“Yeah, alright. Come on, let’s get to class. I’m pretty sure this teacher already hates us enough after the water balloon fiasco.” Both Dex and Chowder cringe as they remember the water balloon fiasco. That had been… bad. As in, 'it’s a genuine mystery how Holster and Ransom didn’t get kicked out’ levels of bad. It had taken three of Bitty’s pies just for Dex and Chowder to be allowed back into class.

He always thought he would die of embarrassment if someone caught him singing, but now that the moment seems to have come and gone he feels alright. A bit frazzled, but no worse for the wear in the long run. It helps that Chowder doesn’t bring up the subject of Dex’s songs, although it’s anyone’s guess whether that’s because he didn’t notice or because he’s too polite.

Dex puts his guitar away, being careful with making sure it’s snug in the case and gives Chowder a pat on the shoulder as they walk out of his room. 

He plans on putting the whole acapella conversation in the same corner of his brain where he puts such extremely useful information as Holster’s favorite Broadway musical ( Les Misérables ) and what Shitty eats for breakfast when he’s hangover (a shit ton of eggs with enough tabasco to kill a small mammal). Alas, less than three days later, Dex sees something that has him stop in his tracks and wonder if he’s in a low-budget prank show.

It’s a recruitment poster for the acapella group. It has dates for their try-out – and who even knew acapella groups had try-outs – alongside all the information on where and when the event will take place. Dex finds himself registering the information even as his brain tells him to keep walking. 

He doesn’t mean to spend the next hour watching every video Samwell’s acapella group has ever posted online, but that’s what he sure attempts to do while waiting for his CSS class to start.

Dex doesn’t have the tools to measure, but if he had to take a well-educated guess, he would say Samwell’s acapella group was pretty good. Their videos, at least, were above average in terms of production quality. The image was clean and the camera panned across the stage smoothly in the long-shots, although that was hardly what Dex focused on.

No, what he focuses on is the music. Dex doesn’t know if this is the norm for acapella groups, but Samwell’s covers seem to have one or two main singers that change from song to song, with the rest of the group doing backup vocals. 

They’re a well-coordinated group, with different people performing different ranges and notes. Dex spots a couple of beatboxers and others doing really soft notes. He wouldn’t be able to do either of those if he joined. They probably won’t let him in any way. He’s never sang in a group before and he always thought that if he joined a band, he would just play his guitar.

It seems hopeless to even dream about it, but. Still.

Dex subscribes to all of Samwell Acapella’s social media pages. He tells himself he’s just showing school pride, even as he goes back to watch a few more videos that night. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend he’s on stage with everyone else. Once, when a hearty rendition of the Beatles comes on, Dex almost pictures it’s him on stage belting out the lyrics of Hey Jude.

It’s a nice thought and it leads him to sleep.

He keeps watching their videos as the week progresses. He watches them in between classes, after hockey practice and while he’s doing his homework. He finds a program that doesn’t look too sketchy and downloads most of their songs as MP3 files, which he then transfers to his phone.

Once, he even listens to their music while he showers, and if he sings along to a few verses, no one is none the wiser but him and the shower drain. 

Chowder, being the good friend that he is, doesn’t bring up Dex’s singing again. Dex was thankful for this at first, but now that the group is on his mind, so are the try-outs date – in less than a week – and Dex wishes he had someone to talk to.

He considers calling home for a while but he doesn’t know his parents would react. Dex never told them he likes to sing. They’ve probably heard him through the years but they’ve never brought it up.

They’re not bad people, Dex’s family, but they’re more old-fashioned. Dex’s dad found it weird enough that Dex wanted to go to college and then he’d decided on Samwell and it seemed like the one in four thing hung in the air above them, this ghostly weight that made every moment feel tenser. He told his parents he picked Samwell because of the full-ride scholarship they offered him, which was true, but what was also true was that Samwell wasn’t the only school that offered him a full-ride scholarship.

Dex didn’t tell his parents about that part.

There are a lot of things he’s never told them about, he’s starting to realize.

Dex joins the acapella group.

He does it on a whim. He’s walking past the school auditorium after getting coffee with Nursey when he remembers that try-outs are that evening, which means they should be there now. Before he can talk himself out of it, Dex makes a beeline for the building and goes in.

He knows that, on a deeper level, this is his subconscious pushing him to do something he hasn’t stopped thinking about for over a week. In the heat of the moment, however, he can say it’s an impulse decision and leave it at that.

He slips into the auditorium through one the backdoors and plans to sit at the back, unobtrusive, when someone from the group spots him and tells me he can head to the front.

Dex, who’s clearly been spending too much time with Nursey, panics, drops his backpack, picks it up in a hurry and runs to the front before he can make a further fool of himself.

Everyone who’s in try-outs sings the same song, Africa by Toto. Since Dex didn’t have time to plan out a song, he’s fine with this, even if the idea of singing in front of a group of people has started twisting his stomach into knots.

He’s seconds away from giving up and bolting when someone calls him up on stage.

“William Poindexter. I feel like I’ve seen you around campus somewhere,” one of the girls judging asks.

“You’re on the hockey team, aren’t you?” another person asks.

Dex nods, too nervous to speak. He's at a point now where he would consider himself lucky if he doesn't throw up on stage.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt our reputation to have a big buff sports guy join our singing midst,” says the same girl from before. “Feel free to start when you’re ready.”

He doesn't meet the eyes of a single person as he sings, staring up at the banisters instead. He does his best to hit the high notes even though he's sure his voice is gonna crack at any minute. When he finishes, he almost runs off the stage, ready to leave and pretend this whole experience was nothing but a lucid nightmare. 

The only thing that stops him is the sound of clapping from a few of the group's members in the audience, followed by one of the judges' voices.

"Welcome to Samwell’s Acapella Group.”

"Oh," Dex says as blood rushes to his ears, drowning out the world until all he can hear is a tumultuous buzz. "Thanks."

After that, the Samwell’s Acapella Group welcomes him with open arms. There are twenty or so singers from all different majors and backgrounds and they’re nice, friendly, constantly joking around in the moments where they’re not singing.

They make sure to include Dex whenever they can, asking him questions about himself and bringing him into conversations he would otherwise shy away from.

It’s fun to do something unrelated to hockey or studying, for once, and he enjoys learning how to replicate various instruments with just his voice. Dex is no good at beatboxing, but he can pull off some of the high notes. He keeps that knowledge to himself during the first meetups, but by week four he feels comfortable enough to let go of his inhibitions and goes for it. His performance earns him a few raised eyebrows and loud cheering from the rest of the group.

“Holy shit, Will. That was good,” says Katie, the group’s unofficial leader.

The Samwell Acapella Group is more laid-back than the university sports groups, which means they don’t have a strict hierarchy. There’s an unofficial group leader, a social media manager and two people doing management and operations. Titles are handed down to the more senior group members or whoever fancies them. It’s not obligatory to show up every week, although you have to come regularly if you want a solo in their shows, which the group puts on once a month.

Dex appreciates the informality. He’s not sure he would cope very well with having another high-pressure activity added to his list of ‘shit to worry about’.

“Really fucking good! You should get a solo at our next show,” says Tom, a third-year anthropology student that brings cookies to every practice. They’re not as good as Bitty’s, but Dex is far too polite to say that.

“I really shouldn’t,” Dex says, or at least he tries to say.

He is, unfortunately, drowned out by a group of extremely supportive and loud singers who tell him that he does, in fact, deserve one of the solos at their next show. They usually have around five per show and they try to rotate between the people interested. Since Dex has never done one before, it’s only fair that he gets one.

Not so long ago, the prospect of singing in front of a crowd would have given him a panic attack. Now, after a year of Samwell, Dex only hyperventilates a little. 

He does, however, call Chowder as soon as practice is done.

“Hey, I know it’s kind of late but can we meet up?”

Chowder, bless his heart, doesn't even hesitate. “Of course! I’m at the Haus. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No. Well. Yes.” Dex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he continues. He’s already walking towards the Haus, so he says. “It’s nothing bad. Just weird. Meet you in five?”

“Sure! I’ll see if Bitty has made any pie.”

When Dex arrives at the Haus, Chowder is already waiting for him in the living room with some pecan pie and warm glasses of milk.

Dex doesn’t waste any time getting to the source of his worries, his rant starting the second he sees his best friend.

“So! I may have joined the Acapella group and now they want me to have a solo at their next show? Which is wild! And I told them I didn’t deserve it, but they insisted, and they’re all really nice. One guy brings cookies to every meetup and I always have two. So yeah, I ended up saying yes because I didn’t want to be rude, so I guess now I’m singing at the next acapella show?”

“Dex! That’s amazing!”

He’s about to reply when another voice speaks up, followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase.

“Whoa. You joined the acapella group? I didn’t know you could sing.”

And that’s when Dex realizes that there are three slices of pie on the coffee table, not two, and Chowder is looking at him with an apologetic expression. “Sorry. I thought since the two of you are friends now–”

“It’s alright,” Dex whispers.

Really, it is. He and Nursey are friends. It’s not gonna kill Dex to have Nursey find out he sings sometimes. Even if every part of him wishes he could crawl into a hole and hide forever now.

“I’m nothing special,” Dex says with a shrug, ignoring Chowder’s glare. “I kind of wanted to do something related to music and the acapella group seemed like the best option.”

“Damn, that’s really cool,” Nursey says, taking a seat next to Dex on the couch and picking up his slice of pie. He's wearing a light blue cardigan, a burnt yellow beanie and, for whatever reason, a scarf full of tassels. On anyone else the look would be pretentious, maybe even tacky, but Nursey pulls it off, like an eclectic model.

Dex doesn't have much of an eye for fashion, so he can't provide good commentary. He just knows Nursey looks lovely as always. If anything, today he looks even better than usual. There's an ease to his movements and a smile that's quick to come out. Dex scratches at his brain until he remembers Nursey had a test today. He must have done well then.

"Thanks," he says, looking away from Nursey’s eyes as his cheeks heat up.

“We’ll have to go see your next show. There’s one in December, right?”

“Yes, I think so,” Dex says, but Nursey doesn't seem to be listening to him anymore, his phone already out.

Dex thinks maybe he’s gotten distracted by something when he sees Nursey grin. “Got it. December 12th. I’ll send an invite to the group chat so everyone can put it on their calendar.”

And then he proceeds to do just that, as casual as can be, while Dex feels the ground beneath his feet shake. His phone buzzes in his pocket, which he ignores.

Never let it be said that life at Samwell is boring, that’s for sure. Just when Dex thought he’d found his footing, the world is swept beneath his feet once more.

Nursey, for his part, looks so effortlessly chill that Dex has no choice but to calm down. It’s fine. Nobody’s dying. His teammates are busy people and Nursey’s quite forgetful. Odds are, they won’t even make it to the show anyway, and Dex can just go back to the group and let them know he really can’t do a solo, sorry, he’s suddenly developed crowd-phobia.

He means to do just that, only, he doesn’t, because when he gets to the auditorium next week he discovers that Katie and Tom have already picked out a few songs for him.

“We went off based on your vocal range, but if you have something else in mind we can go with that.”

Dex, who up until now had been resolute on giving up his solo, accepts the song list in embarrassed silence. He spends a couple of minutes listening to their suggestions while the rest of the group's members arrive for their weekly practice. He actually quite likes most of them, although he's still frightened by the idea of signing a solo with high notes in front of a crowd.

"How many people do you usually get at the Christmas show?" he asks.

"Last year we got over three hundred, but this years' social media team has been working extra hard to promote the event so we're hoping to get another hundred or so."

Dex nods. "Chill," he says, because Derek Nurse is freaking contagious and it's either this or crying.

They spend the rest of the meetup practicing other people's songs, but near the end of the evening, Katie and Tommy ask him if he's picked anything off the list.

As a sad consequence of spending too much time with the hockey guys and their meme loving selves (alright, who is he kidding, it's all Wicks and Ollie), David Attenborough's voice speaks up in his mind.

Narrator voice: he hadn't.

"Hum," says Dex, a man fluent in the English language. "Maybe From Now On." 

He only has a vague idea of what the song sounded like in the middle of ten others, but he's pretty sure he liked it. It must be a good option because Katie smiles at him. 

"Perfect," she says as she and Tommy share a Look with a capital letter. "We were hoping you would pick that one. We already have some ideas for the song that we’ll email you later. Next week we can review them and practice with the whole group."

Dex nods, not entirely sure of what he signed up for.

Despite feeling like he might throw up whenever he remembers he'll be singing in the Christmas show, the acapella group is still a great reprieve from the normal stresses of his life. Being a college athlete in a STEM field who needs to maintain a 4.0 GPA to keep all his scholarship money is not easy, and he often finds himself despairing, just a little, sometimes underneath a table.

“You alright, bro?” Nursey asks him. Dex can’t see his face, but he’d recognize those beat-up converse anywhere. Nursey likes to draw on them when he’s bored so there’s a whole array of stars and flowers that Dex can admire from his current position.

“I’m not panicking,” Dex says.

This is, of course, a lie.

A few seconds later, Dex hears Nursey’s backpack hit the kitchen floor before Nursey crawls under the table and joins him.

“What are you doing?” Dex asks.

“Well, since you’re not panicking, this is definitely not me joining you so I can keep you company and help you feel better.”

Dex slaps Nursey on the shoulder. “Dickhead.”

“You looking at a mirror?” Nursey shoots back, grinning at him. “Now, I have one season of Riverdale downloaded on my phone and pretty strong arms, if I dare say so myself. I reckon we can hold out here for at least one hour, maybe two, but I am compelled to point out that our dearest friend Chowder has a room upstairs where we can go and not panic there. Just putting that out there.”

Dex shakes his head, his laughter filling up the kitchen air. It should be impossible, but just having Nursey there with him makes him feel better. He looks over at Nursey, who looks quite proud of having made Dex laugh. He’s so close that all Dex would have to do is lean in to kiss him.

His eyes flicker down to Nursey’s lips, pausing there for a fraction of a second before he looks up. Nursey is watching him with a pinched brow and Dex doesn’t know if maybe he’s thinking the same thing (maybe, maybe, maybe ) or if he’s just waiting for Dex to answer. Nursey, who’s a good friend, a great person, better than Dex deserves and so lovely, to the point where Dex could cry. Nursey, who feels like the whole world sometimes, so intense is Dex’s love for him.

Dex starts to lean in, a planet being pulled towards the sun. If the idea of a guy like Nursey liking a guy like him wasn’t so silly, he could swear Nursey was inching closer too, the two leaning into each other on the cold linoleum floor until their noses touch, a wisp of contact that sets fire to Dex’s belly. They’re gonna kiss. Dex is going to kiss Derek Nurse.

“Now what are you two boys doing in my kitchen?”

Or, he’s going to spring apart at bullet speed, wack his head on the floor and feel sorry for himself for the rest of the day. One of the two, really.

“I was having a hard time and Dex decided to join me on the floor to keep me company,” Nursey says without a single note of hesitation in his voice. He’s looking up at the kitchen table and Dex can’t meet his eyes.

“Aw, Nursey. Well if you don’t mind going to the living room for a bit, I can make us all some hot chocolate and you can rest there for a bit. Are you stressed about your coursework?” Bitty asks.

“Yes, but I’m feeling better now, thanks. Some hot chocolate would be great. Right, Dex?”

Dex has to clear his voice before he can speak. “Right, yeah. Hot chocolate would be great.”

And so he gets up, packs up his stuff and goes to the living room where Bitty joins them a few minutes later with hot chocolate. They talk about their upcoming exams and hockey schedule and the pressure to do well in school. They don’t talk about the almost kiss that didn’t happen, not even when it’s just the two of them, and Dex thinks he could have imagined the whole thing were it not for the way Nursey can’t meet his eyes for the rest of the day.

– – –

Three days after the incident under the kitchen table, Dex gets an email from Katie with thoughts on how they would make From Now On work as an acapella song. It’s accompanied by a note that she will ask previous alumni in attendance to join the chorus from the audience and would Dex mind being the closing act? They want to finish with a really powerful song and Katie just knows Dex will kill it.

Also, how does Dex feel about his performance going on youtube? 

Dex doesn’t even have space to freak out this time, because Nursey is sitting next to him in the library, and a part of him still hopes Nursey has forgotten about the Christmas show and somehow deleted the calendar invite.

It’s a long shot, but a man can hope.

A man can also, in total delirium, reply ‘Are you sure?’ to an email instead of ‘Absolutely fucking not’. He feels bad about outright refusing when it’s clear Katie has put a lot of time and thought into this.

And who knows? Maybe it won’t be so bad. Dex has taken to performing with the group with a lot more ease than he expected. Maybe the show will be just like that but a bit bigger.

Chapter Text

Dex is going to die.

He is going to literally and physically collapse on the floor, life drained from him as his soul twists in agony and despair. He is going to die a sad, awful death and no one will ever be none the wiser to his true feelings and thoughts, because he’s a self-repressed idiot who hides when he’s stressed and bottles up better like a one-hundred-year-old port.

Right now he can’t even make eye contact with anyone, that’s how bad he feels.

There have been many times in the past where he felt anxious, so much so that he’s grown used to the feeling of his stomach twisting whenever he has a big match or an important exam coming up. But this? This is something else entirely.

For starters, he can’t for the life of him stop shaking.

It’s not too noticeable to others but he feels it. This tremor that runs from the tip of his fingers to the core of his chest. He feels so unrooted and small that a single gust of wind could blow him away. The only thing that’s stopping him from running away and never looking back is the thought that he’s already embarrassed enough. If he leaves now, the only future viable for him is one deep underground where no one can ever talk to him again and, unfortunately, Dex has yet to develop mole-like abilities.

Around him, his fellow acapella club members are chatting away between themselves or practicing for their show. They’re all ten minutes away from taking the stage and the auditorium is already packed with people. Dex knows there’s only so much time he can spend glaring at his phone, pretending to be busy to avoid making eye contact, but damn if he’s not willing to push it to the last moment.

Just as he’s about to make a run for the bathroom to disembowel himself, Katie comes up to him with a huge grin on her face.

“Will, are you ready?” Dex doesn’t know what his face looks like, but it must look pretty awful because it makes Katie frown and pull him in for a tight hug. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re going to be wonderful and everyone out there is going to love you.”

“Thanks,” he says, willing himself to believe it, if only for long enough to walk on stage with the group and take his position as one of the backup singers.

His performance isn’t until the end of the show, after all the other solos, which does absolutely nothing for the pain in his stomach.

Jesus Christ, he is so going to die.

The only small blessing about performing in a large auditorium with stage lights is that Dex can’t see anyone in the audience, their nameless faces and bodies cast in shadow. Tom told them earlier that they managed to sell over four hundred and fifty tickets — a new record for the group — but he has no clue whether any of those tickets went to Samwell Men’s Hockey team.

Dex has his fingers crossed that none of the guys bothered to come. It’s a Thursday after all and they have exams coming up. Dex is not even that big a deal in the team. He thinks Chowder might be there. Maybe Nursey, but then again Nursey has spent the past week complaining about this awful essay he has to write on Spanish Literature and how it’s kicking his ass. He might be too busy. Maybe he didn’t even remember today is the day of Dex’s obvious and imminent death (probable cause: self-induce panic or a falling stage light, if he’s lucky).

But then there’s another part of Dex, a part that’s been hidden away in shame and sadness after years of running from himself. It’s a part that craves affection, that craves for people to be there for him, just once, to care for him. He once read a quote on how family are the people you choose, not the people you’re born with, and sometimes he thinks maybe it’s true and Samwell can be that for him.

Maybe, maybe, maybe .

Most of the show goes by in a flash. As a backup vocalist, Dex can focus on hitting his notes and avoid thinking of what’s coming up, right until the moment when Katie goes up to the mic and calls out his name.

“For the last performance of the night, please welcome the latest addition to our oddball crew: William Poindexter. He’ll be singing the song From Now On from the musical The Greatest Showman . Enjoy!”

Dex moves across the stage on auto-pilot. At first, he keeps his eyes focused on a blank spot in the audience and avoids looking at anyone in specific. He doesn’t mean to let his eyes wander, but then there’s this moment where the lights deem, just for a second, but it’s long enough. Dex catches a glimpse of Eric Bittle, smiling as hard as he would after making a great cobbler, and Derek Nurse with a blank expression and wide eyes.

He closes his eyes just as the rest of the group starts to sing. A deep breath, the kind that makes one lift up their head and give them balance. He closes his fists and taps them against the side of his legs. One, two, three. Another deep breath and then Dex starts to sing.

He starts slow at first, his voice low and gravelly for the first few lines. Not a sound can be heard from the audience, not until the song picks up tempo and Dex belts out the lyrics he’s been chewing for the past month.

“From now on, these eyes will not be blinded by the lights. From now on, what's waited till tomorrow starts tonight.”

The performance goes by in a rush. He’s thankful for his years of practice alone in his empty bedroom because his voice doesn’t crack, not even once, the music flowing through him as an extension of himself. He holds onto the mic stand for most of the song, leaning into it for the high notes, letting his chest fill with air and music.

He doesn’t think about anyone in specific as he sings. He doesn’t think about Nursey, his family or the hockey team. For a few scarce minutes he is free of all worries and doubts, nothing on his mind but the song flowing through him and how beautiful it can be to sing with others, their voices filling the room from wall to wall. 

And then it’s over, just like that. People start clapping — people start yelling — and some even get up to cheer, which makes those around them get up as well until the whole auditorium is up and giving Dex the first standing ovation of his life.

He is greeted with claps on the back and hugs from the rest of the acapella group as he walks back to them. Katie makes a speech, something about dates for their next shows and where they can find them online. Before Dex knows it, he’s walking out of the building and into the cold December air.

There’s a stream of people around him that are loud and boisterous. If Dex weren’t so dazed he would participate in their cheer or go with them to get drinks, but his body doesn’t feel his own, so powerful is his high. Plus, there’s a weight deep inside him that says there’s something else he must do.

He’s not quite sure what that something is until he’s all alone and he rounds the corner to find a group of excited hockey players. Before Dex can even open his mouth, the group swarms him in hugs and starts yelling right into his poor ears.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Someone is yelling, possibly Chowder, maybe Holster.

“We need to start doing karaoke at the Haus, like, immediately.” That’s definitely Holster.

“Bitty! We need pie!” Ransom says as he lifts Dex two feet off the ground.

“Dex, you were amazing!” Alright, that’s Chowder, who looks like he’s been crying, which is like a gunshot right to Dex’s chest.

“So incredible! You never told me you could sing like that, honey. And to think you’ve never joined my Beyonce singalongs.”

The only person who stays quiet during the intense group session is Nursey, who hangs back from the group and only gives Dex a pat on the back after Dex’s release. Dex is not sure what that means. That Nurse, of all people, has nothing to say to him after Dex bared his soul on stage but Dex won’t— he’s not gonna be upset about it, alright? At least not in front of the guys.

He has to promise to a karaoke night at least three times to three different people (Ransom, Bitty and Lardo) before he’s allowed to beg off an improv kegster (it’s a Thursday, my dude) and leave the group.

It’s not until everyone starts walking in one direction save for Nursey, who stays right where he is, that Dex remembers he’s not the only one who lives in the dorms.

Dex starts walking in silence even though his curiosity is itching at him like a bug bite. It’s not unusual for him to be quiet but Nursey has been uncharacteristically and suspiciously mute the whole evening. Dex has no clue what that means coming from a guy who once wrote a poem about poking a hole through an old sock. Did Nursey hate his performance that much?

And then, halfway to the dorms, Nursey speaks up. “Dex, you were so good tonight. Like, could be in Broadway levels of good.”

The confession is so unexpected that Dex pulls a Nursey and trips on air, his feet fumbling on nothing before he’s saved from certain death by a pair of strong arms.

“When did you start singing?” Nursey asks.

Dex pulls away, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know. I guess it was around the same time as when I started playing the guitar.”

For whatever reason, these words make Nursey stop in his tracks and stare at Dex with saucer wide eyes. 

“Holy shit. You play the guitar ,” he says, like repeating Dex’s words is in any shape or form elucidating. 

“What about it? You’ve seen me play the guitar.”

“I know, but that was like a year ago and you’ve never played since. And I didn’t know you could also sing! Is there anything you can’t do, Poindexter?”

“I– yes, lots of things,” Dex stammers out, the question catching him by surprise. His skin heats up as his thoughts stray from music to other corners of his mind.

“Like what?”

Dex shrugs and looks away. “Things.”

Nursey seems displeased with the response, huffing out a tiny breath. “Can you play for me?” he asks.

This time, Dex is the one who whips his head around to stare at Nursey as the words hit him like a wet paper towel. “Like, right now?”

“I don’t have any other plans for tonight,” Nursey says with his own equally fake-chill shrug.

If any of this were to happen a year ago, Dex would have told Nursey off for acting so unbothered when it’s clear there’s something on his mind. But he knows Nursey now and he can tell he’s nervous. At least now Dex feels less alone. 

The walk back to their dorm is quick, the sharp sting of the winter night making them hurry. They take off their coats and scarves once they get inside, Dex putting his away while Nursey discards his stuff on the floor. 

“Do you have any preferences?” Dex asks as he gets his guitar from beneath the bed. His dorm doesn’t have a lot of space, so the hidden spot continues to be the best solution, even after all these years.

“Surprise me,” Nursey says.

Dex finds himself frowning as he thinks, but Nursey doesn’t seem to mind. He sits down on the floor and looks up at Dex with a soft smile on his face. After a few seconds of thinking, Dex decides to pick one of the songs on Katie’s list for him to sing. He looked up the cords last week, so they’re still fresh on his mind.

Dex is not a big musical fan. Or, to put it in better terms, Dex is poor and has never had the money or time to see any musicals in person. Still, he’s seen Les Misérables on film, and although it didn’t impress him much, he likes this song. It’s powerful and heartfelt, the kind of music that can shake you to the very core.

It’s too late in the night for Dex to be loud, but he still pours himself into the music. With his eyes closed, it’s easier to ignore the fact that he has an audience and focus on the hungry part of him that always wants to impress Nursey.

“Oh my friends, my friends forgive me that I live and you are gone. There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on.”

When he’s finished, Nursey is quiet for long enough for Dex to worry that he’s fucked up, somehow, picked the wrong song or sung the wrong notes. Maybe Nursey hates Les Mis, can’t even stand to hear it, and subsequently now hates Dex.

But then Nursey says, “You’re so good,” and he’s quiet, almost reverent, and Dex thinks maybe he’s got it all wrong.

It takes everything in him not to refuse the compliment. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You don’t believe me,” Nursey says.

Dex looks away, finding it hard to meet Nursey’s eyes after such a long and eventful night. His response is the wrong one, alas, for it riles up Nursey, who jumps from the ground and strides towards him.

“William Marcus Poindexter.”

Dex laughs and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. His heart is beating faster than it would if he had just finished a marathon. He wonders how he looks. Flushed, probably, with his skin matching his hair all across his face.

"That's not my name," he says. Nursey shakes his head like Dex is getting it all wrong. Maybe he is. That's how he usually feels like, anyhow.

"You're genuinely one of the best singers I've ever heard, Will. You're amazing," Nursey says. Dex can't look at him but he also can't not look, so in the end he ends up staring at Nursey's shoes.

They're nice. A deep velvet blue that is inappropriate for the weather and would look pretentious on anyone else. Nursey manages to pull it off.

"Thanks," he manages to get out.

Nursey doesn't say anything for a few moments but Dex can tell he’s staring with the force of a relentless sun. Nursey is usually so chill, so unflappable. When he does get passionate about something, though, he burns brighter than a supernova, all this energy and excitement bubbling through him so strong it's contagious. Dex has only ever been on the receiving end of Nursey's full attention when they're arguing, so it's highly disconcerting to have it now and to have it be like this.

Soft, quiet, unrelenting and so confident. Nursey sounds like he'd sooner admit the sky is yellow than to admit Dex is a bad singer.

Dex has no clue what to do with himself.

His hands twitch. He'd never been able to get rid of this habit after all. He taps the head of his guitar. One, two, three.

Nursey puts a hand on Dex's shoulder, right where his skin meets the edges of his shirt collar. It's possible that it takes his time doing so, but Dex is still surprised. His eyes snap up from Nursey's shoes to his face. He loosens his grip on his guitar and he feels it. The air seems to thicken, wrapping them both in a bubble where time moves slower and every movement seems charged.

Dex loosens his grip on the guitar and the handle slips from his hands. The guitar hovers in the air for a fraction of a second before it starts to lean down. It's close enough to the ground that nothing would happen to it, but Dex's heart hammers in his chest anyhow. In all the years he's owned it, he'd only ever dropped his guitar once and now–

Now nothing happens because suddenly Nursey is there, his hockey reflexes kicking into play outside the ice for once, and he grabs Dex's guitar before it has a chance to fall on the floor.

He holds it carefully, like it’s something precious and he's afraid his mere presence could harm it.

"I'm sorry," Nursey tells him. Looking at Dex right in the eyes. His expression is earnest. Soft.

"It's fine," Dex says. He stares at Nursey knowing he should move soon. It's getting late and they have practice early next morning.

He doesn't move. Neither does Nursey. They stare at each other, so close that Dex can feel Nursey’s breath on his mouth. With the room cast in darkness around them, the only light coming through the soft glow of the moonlight, Dex could have sworn nothing else in the world existed but the two of them in this moment.

Dex is waiting for Nursey to do something when he realizes maybe Nursey is waiting for the same thing. Dex doesn’t know if he can do this. He’s kissed people before but never boys, never anyone that mattered, never Nursey . He’s terrified that maybe he’s read the signals wrong, maybe this is something else entirely, yet the moment stretches on, past the point where it’s comfortable, and still neither of them has moved. Dex thinks fuck it, starts to reach his hand to hold Nursey’s jaw when the sound of something crashing against the door outside Dex’s bedroom breaks them from their reverie. 

“Dude,” someone whispers.

“Sorry, sorry,” another person says before bursting into giggles.

Dex and Nursey stare at each other as the noise fades away. The electric current that was running between them seems to have faded as well, leaving behind the air dense and packed with doubt.

“I should go,” Nursey says.

“Yeah,” Dex agrees, even though no part of him wants him to leave.

Nursey nods, once, twice, and gives Dex an awkward pat on the arm.

“Goodnight,” he says before he walks to the door.

Dex watches him go, waiting for something to happen, for Nursey to turn around and come back, but he never does. Dex stares at his closed door for a couple of seconds afterward. A wave of hot shame hits him head on, the feeling so overwhelming he could drown. He feels foolish and miserable and then foolish once again for doing something so stupid as to believe Nursey was gonna kiss him.

His movements are slow as he puts his guitar away, leaving it by his bed. He has a couple of text messages from the rest of the guys that he should reply to, but he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone else tonight. His bed could swallow him whole and he would feel blessed for the interruption to his sadness.

On a purely logical level, Dex knows he’s being a tad overdramatic, but there’s no one around to see him, so what does it matter? At least he’s acknowledging his feelings. Between that and how he used to repress everything, he’s pretty sure most therapists would say he’s doing better.

Dex sighs. He’s about to take off his shirt when the door to his dorm is slammed open and Derek fucking Nurse steps inside Dex’s room for a second time that night, this time looking slightly more manic than the first time.

“What–” Dex starts to speak, but his words are cut off by Derek taking two quick steps to him and grabbing his waist.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay,” he says. It doesn’t sound much like a question, but Dex still finds himself replying.

“Okay?” he replies, his brain working on auto-pilot, uncertain of what’s happening but certain of what he would like to happen.

Derek nods, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then proceeds to give Dex the best kiss of his life.

Granted, Dex doesn’t have a whole lot of experience in this department besides a few random make out sessions, but he reckons that he would still rate Nursey at the top of the list even if he had kissed a hundred people.

Or maybe it’s just because it’s Nursey and the way he’s stroking the back of Dex’s neck with one hand while pulling him closer with the other. He opens his mouth kiss by kiss like he’s in no rush at all. Dex is not a religious person and he’s not about to become one either, but he thinks there’s something sacred in the way Nursey is holding him and the way he, in turn, drapes his arms over Nursey’s shoulders.

The two of them are pressed together from hips to shoulders, not an inch of space between them. Dex is almost afraid to breathe, not wanting to do anything that could disturb the moment. He finds a moment to do it when Derek bites his bottom lip, drawing it out with a sharp sting before he moves towards Dex’s jaws and starts littering a trail of heavy kisses there. 

Dex himself feels overheated and hyper-aware of every single part of his body, from the sound of his labored breath to the flush on his skin.

It’s impossible to tell how long they spend kissing. All Dex is aware of is the sway of their bodies, almost imperceptible at first, but then growing more noticeable as they both start to head towards Dex’s bed without a word being spoken. 

Right as Dex is about to pull Nursey down with him, the door to his dorm is open for a second time that night, only this time it’s Dex’s roommate, who takes one look at them, shrugs, and dumps all his stuff on the ground.

“Sup,” he says. It’s the first time Dex has seen the guy all semester, believe it or not. Dex was rather hoping they would never see each other at all, considering Johnson’s scarce presence was the only reason why Dex decided to room with him for the second year in a row.

“I cannot believe this,” Dex says.

“Sorry, dude. But I need to crash. Y’all can continue what you’re doing, just try not to make too much noise.”

Dex squints at Johnson, wondering if it’s too rude to flip someone off while you’re holding hands with someone else. He’s not about to maybe have sex with Nursey for the first time – not that Dex is assuming anything is gonna happen, he’s just saying , in the eventuality something happens – with his roommate in the same room.

“I, uh, I have a single?” Nursey says, only it sounds more like a question. Dex raises his eyebrows at him. “Not that I’m presuming anything’s about to happen, of course, I’m just saying. We could go there. If you’d like.”

Before Dex has a chance to say anything, Dex’s roommate interrupts. Again.

“If he has a single why are you guys even here?”

If looks could kill, Dex is pretty sure he would have been charged for murder come tomorrow morning. As it is, he looks up at his ceiling, counts back from five to zero, and grabs Nursey’s hand with every ounce of courage in him. “Let’s go.”

“Have fun,” his roommate calls out. Dex flips him off.

He and Nursey pretty much power walk back to Nursey’s room, on the floor above Dex’s. They don’t share a word between them, as if they’re both afraid anything they say might be the final catalyst in tearing apart whatever it is that they have between them. They’re also holding hands, although how that happened is beyond Dex.

Still, once they get to Nursey’s blissfully empty room, they have no choice left but to stare at each other.

There are so many things Dex wants to say but is too afraid. Like how he’s wanted to kiss Nursey for weeks and how he’s never done any of this before, not like this, not with someone who mattered.

He licks his lips, a movement he wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for how Nursey’s eyes dart to his mouth and then they’re moving, both of them in sync, and meeting in the middle once more.

They kiss for minutes that feel like seconds, time stretching and compressing around them as if they’re in their very own bubble of time and space. If Dex didn’t know any better, he would say he was drunk and none of this is real, but then again he doesn’t think he could ever imagine something as good as this.

Nursey kisses him like an astronaut looking for a last shot of oxygen before he takes the final leap. He kisses him like he’s starving, wanting to take every bit of Dex for himself, and Dex knows, then and there, that there’s nothing he wouldn’t give him. It’s this thought that gives him the courage to break apart, reluctant as he may be.

“Nursey, what does this mean for us?”

“What do you want it to mean?” Nursey asks, as cryptic as cryptic can be.

“I want it to mean something.” Dex takes a big breath and darts forward to kiss Nursey once more. “I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

He can feel more than see Nursey’s smile. “I really like you too. I want to take you on a date. A fancy date. I want to buy you flowers.” 

“Flowers?”

Nursey kisses him. “Whatever you want,” he whispers, the words hot on Dex’s lips.

“I want everything,” Dex says, the confession slipping out of him. He has a fraction of a second to feel scared that he’s said too much before Derek lunges at him, kissing him with such a force that Dex forgets everything else.

They fall into bed together where they keep kissing until their mouths are sore and their eyelids grow heavy. They don’t do anything else that night, for which Dex is grateful. Although sex with Derek would probably go on the top five of ‘best things to ever happen to him’, he has to desire to rush it. His inexperience is the main cause of his worries, but he also thinks it would be nice if they got the chance to do some more of the kissing and talking before they change their relationship forever.

As they lie in bed together, their limbs tangled in each other, a question comes to Dex that he only dares whisper because it’s quiet and dark and such things give him confidence. 

“When did you know you liked me?”

It takes Nursey a few seconds to answer as he strokes Dex’s hair, his hand moving without him seeming to notice it.

“The night after the Yale match,” he says, making Dex frown.

“That was, like, the first time we ever had a pleasant interaction.”

“I know,” Nursey says, making a poor attempt to hide his face in the pillow. “I thought you were such a prick before that. A hot, stupid prick who only cared about himself, but then that night you were out there in the rain like a Disney princess and all I could think was ‘no guy who’s this dramatic about his feelings can be cold-hearted’.”

Dex has no idea how to deal with this information. “Are you serious?”

“Kinda. I mean. I don’t know. I just felt like I’d never seen that side of you and then afterward you were so nice. You watched Property Brothers with me for hours–”

“I like Property Brothers.”

“Yes, I know that now, but at the time I thought you were just doing it to make amends with me or something. And then afterward you kept being nice and thoughtful and I realized maybe I’d got you all wrong.” A pause. “I really did.”

If Dex was a fruit, he would be a tomato from how hard he’s blushing right now. “I was kind of an asshole when we first met. You don’t have to feel bad about disliking me.”

“I disliked you because I made too many assumptions when we first met, but you’re not an asshole.” Nursey rolls over on top of him. “Well, you are, a little bit, but that’s a good thing.”

Dex looks up at Nursey’s eyes with shortness of breath. He’s always been astonished at how casual Nursey can be about physical contact. How he can just do something like this – move his body freely, easily – and light up a spark in Dex’s chest with a touch, as simple as that.

“It’s a good thing I’m an asshole?” Dex asks.

Nursey grins. “Yes, because I am too.” He leans down to kiss Dex on the mouth. “This way we match.”

The kiss lasts for seconds that turn into minutes, time shifting around them unnoticed. When he pulls back, Nursey’s lips are red and slick with spit and Dex’s hair as been tousled past repair.

“Alright, what about you? When did you know you liked me?”

Dex has to think about it for a minute. “There’s loads of little moments for me, like that time you brought pizza to the library, or when you talked about my grandmother in the dining hall. Just a few seconds before that I’d been daydreaming about kissing you.”

Nursey cringes. “Oh fuck. I’m really sorry about that.”

Dex puts a hand on Nursey’s chest. “It’s alright,” he says.

“So was that it? The moment you realized you liked me?”

“No. That was when I realized I was attracted to you and frustrated the living shit out of me. I think I only realized that I liked you – really liked you,” he adds, in lieu of using the big L like the coward he is, “was during the spring kegster, when you saw me play the guitar for the first time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to ask me to play another song so badly that night.”

“Really? ” Nursey asks with even more disbelief sprinkled in his voice. Dex isn’t surprised. Up ‘til now he’s been quite recalcitrant to share his music with anyone, but it’s true.

If there’s anyone he’s ever wanted to sing to, it’s Derek Nurse.

“I have a notebook. It’s full of songs I’ve written over the years. Most of my teenage stuff is pretty angsty and sad, but then I came to Samwell and I started writing about something else. Someone,” he corrects. “Someone else.”

From the way Derek looks at him, Dex could almost be fooled into thinking he just confessed to knowing the whereabouts of a million-dollar fortune.

“Would you ever show them to me?”

Dex scrunches his eyes, rubbing a hand on his face. “Most of them are really pathetic. I kind of have the biggest crush on you. It’s embarrassing.”

At that Derek lets out a huge burst of laughter before he flips himself over Dex and kisses him on the lips for a few breath-taking minutes. 

“Do you wanna see my notebooks? I’m a poetry major, Will. I’m sure I can give you a run for your money on sad lovesick writing.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Dex says, the weight of Nursey’s body reassuring and comforting all at once.

If Dex wanted to, he could say that after he and Nursey start dating, their relationship doesn’t change all that much. This would be a lie, of course, but he could say it, if only to stop Chowder from looking smug all the time.

Truth be told, they do change. The physical affection is the most drastic change and the one that starts immediately. He and Nursey go from the occasional bro hug to holding hands while walking to class, cuddling in the evenings and napping in the afternoons. Nursey also touches him all the time. It’s nothing massive, just a hand on Dex’s thigh when they sit down together or an arm around his shoulder when they’re walking by someone else’s side, but Dex notices it all the same.

He finds the touches nice. Warm. He’s not as good at reciprocating as he would like to be. He often has to will himself to reach out for Nursey, none of it coming naturally to him, but he thinks he does alright from the way Nursey smiles at him like Dex is the very sun itself.

There’s more, of course. There are the pet names (and no, Dex is not calling Nursey honeycheeks, no matter how much he asks), hanging out together even more often and the kissing.

The kissing has yet to lead to anything else, but Dex can tell it’s only a matter of time. He’s nervous about it, but he also wants Nurse to fuck him silly and he’s pretty sure his nerves will lose sooner rather than later.

Still, it’s nice not having to rush anything and having everything run at its own pace.

It’s two weeks later when Nursey brings up the video the acapella group posted of Dex — which is already at ten thousand views, what the fuck — and the possibility of Dex making his own content.

“That’s really not my thing,” Dex argues, or at least tries to argue. It’s rather hard to say no to Derek Nurse when he’s pouting at you – actually pouting! With his bottom lip all drawn out and his eyes open far too wide. It would be funny if Dex wasn’t so far gone for him.

“But why not? Bitty could lend us his camera and I would help with the editing. Your music is so good, Dex. It’s a shame to hide it from people,” Nursey says as he places a hand on Dex’s thigh and gives it a squeeze, which is just about all Dex’s resolve needed to die an undignified death.

Dex sighs. “Okay. But my face can’t be on them.”

He knows he’s being weird, that after singing live in front of hundreds of people he would have at least let go of his weird hangup with music, but he’s just not ready to put himself out there like that. His life is already so much at times. So much change, so much stress, so much love.

“Deal,” Nursey says, hopping onto the bed to give Dex a kiss.

Dex thought Nursey would argue a bit more. After all, what’s even the point of recording videos of someone singing if the person doing it isn’t even properly in frame, but Nursey looks quite pleased with himself, giving Dex an additional kiss on the nose before he flops down on the bed.

“Have I just been played? I feel like you’ve tricked me somehow.”

“Have I?” Nursey asks, the puppy eyes making a solid return.

Dex glares at him. “Yes.” A pause. “Maybe. I’m not actually sure.”

Nursey rolls his eyes at him, but he’s smiling as he does it, like the fact that Dex is an idiot is something he can’t help but be fond of. As Chowder would say: mood.

“Babe,” Nursey says and oh, wow, that’s not gonna get old anytime soon.

The first video is recorded a couple of weeks later when Jack, Shitty and Tater, of all freaking people, come to visit. Shitty wants to see Dex sing live after hearing so many praises in the groupchat. Jack claims the same thing but they all know damn well he’s lying, although bless his heart for trying. Tater is clearly just there for the pie.

Dex refuses to be the first one up on the rickety stage Lardo put together just for this special occasion. Nonetheless, he must confess that he enjoys watching people’s eyes widen in surprise as he takes out his guitar from behind the couch. 

“You are just full of surprises, Dexy boy,” Holster says.

“You can say that again,” Nursey yells out, making Dex bark out a laugh. He can’t stop the smile that refuses to leave his face or the way he blushes whenever he looks at Nursey.

He wonders if there will ever come a time when the lovesickness leaves him. Maybe, but probably not.

“Alright, everyone keep your boxers in your pants. This song is dedicated to no one in particular,” Dex says, ignoring the whistles and catcalls, “and I hope you all enjoy it.”

“Liar!” Nursey yells, but Dex ignores him and strums the guitar strings he’s known for a lifetime.

The music flows through him and although he’s nearly as nervous as he was when singing with the acapella group, it’s somehow easier to do this in front of these people who smile and cheer for him every step of the way.

“In the cathedrals of New York and Rome, there is a feeling that you should just go home and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is.”

And when he’s finished, Nursey gets up from the couch and pulls Dex in for a kiss that is long, embarrassing, and unbelievably inappropriate for a public setting and Dex thinks he might love him.

That very night, a video goes up on Dex’s newly created youtube channel — sans kiss. The angle is set up to crop his face, but Dex is not risking on the eventuality that one of his family members finds it and outs him.

He wakes up the next morning wrapped around Nursey’s arms, the morning light filtering in through Nursey’s broken blinds. Dex makes a mental note to fix them soon. He’s thinking about what tools he’ll need when Nursey shoves his phone into his face.

“Nurse, what the hell.”

“Look,” Nursey says. It takes Dex a couple of seconds to clear his vision and find out what the fuss is all about.

His youtube video, posted less than twenty-four hours ago, has already hit fifty-thousand views.

“How the fuck.”

The laugh Nursey lets out when he spots the number of views on Dex’s video is bright and full of love.

“Told you,” he says, right before he drops a big wet kiss on Dex’s cheek.

“How?” Is Dex’s main – but not only – question.

He can feel Nursey shrug next to him since they’re pressed together from their faces to their toes. Were it anyone else, Dex would be uncomfortable at being so close to someone, but he finds he rather likes having Nursey’s solid weight next to him. 

“You’re really good,” Nursey says. Before Dex can complain, he adds, “Also, Ransom and Holster know a lot of people. They probably sent the video to a few people and got the ball rolling. Have you checked the comments?”

No, Dex hasn’t. He’s kind of genuinely terrified at what people might say about his singing.

Nursey, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the same qualms. He reaches out a hand and slowly starts scrolling down while Dex holds the phone, giving Dex the opportunity to pull away if he so desired.

The comments are… good, actually. Like, really, really good. A lot of people praise his singing and ask for more songs. A few people even ask if he’s a professional singer, which is wild.

“Hm,” Nursey says. It’s not a particularly good hmm, more like a displeased grunt that makes Dex’s heart clench in his chest.

“What?” he asks, turning slightly so he can face Nursey.

“A lot of people here are, like, really into you. Which I get. Totally normal. I mean. Yeah, totally, it’s fine. I’m not bothered,” Nursey says, sounding nothing but bothered.

“Are you jealous?”

Nursey grunts again and then he does the cutest thing Dex has ever seen. He drops his head against the crook where Dex’s shoulder meets his neck and rubs his face from side to side, pressing in as close as he can get as if he wants to hide there. Dex puts serious consideration on the idea of snapping a quick selfie before he brushes it away.

Not the time and place right now. Maybe in the future.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s such an asshole move. I’ll get over it, don’t worry,” Nursey says, pressing a soft kiss on Dex’s skin and letting his lips linger there afterward as if moving away is an unfathomable concept to him. 

“No, it’s fine,” Dex says. He doesn’t sound too convincing, probably because he’s still in shock, so he coughs to clear his throat and tries again. “I’m flattered. I don’t think anyone has ever been jealous for my sake before.”

“That’s because you don’t let people in very often.” Nursey gives Dex’s neck a small nip. “I’m here now though and I’m definitely jealous, but mostly just happy for you and proud and, like, so fucking into you already it’s kinda wild.”

And for the first time in his life, Dex’s chest fills not with anxiety but with love, as overwhelming as that word may be. It fills with hope and wonder for a future he could never even dream of and now feels so real. If he were a louder person he’d go outside right now and shout on the sidewalk, but he’s still rather quiet, for the most part, so he smiles instead and turns on his side so he can kiss Derek.

“I’m really into you too,” he confesses.

“Good. Now let’s go call Chowder and have a photo shoot so you can give your fans some of that eye candy they want.”

Dex laughs, embarrassed and blushing like a soft tomato, the thought of refusing not even crossing his mind.

(“If I sing you every song I know, we’ll be here for years.”

Nursey laughs and closes his eyes against the last rays of the setting sun. “I’ve got time,” he says.

Dex shakes his head but picks up his guitar as he’s been asked. “Any requests?” he asks because he’s polite and that’s what polite people do, even when they already know the answer.

“Surprise me,” Nursey answers.

Dex grins. “I wrote something new the other week. I think you’ll like it.”)

Art by banemeart.

Title track of Dex’s EP - Being Icarus. First performed in Dex and Nursey’s Boston apartment to a lovely crowd of one. 

We’re not a love story for the ages
Written in stone columns, sung in sonnets
We won’t be recalled as heroes
And for that I am grateful

Because what we have is so much better
Oh, it’s so much better

We are young love
We are soft days in bed
And weekends in the city
searching for the best pizza
Ten dollars and a smile can buy

We go out every weekend to indie concerts
Because you love the music
and I love you
We are simple and easy just like that

And when we fall together in bed
I don’t dream of ancient Greece in our veins
I dream of you and what we’ll do
Tomorrow when we wake up

And it’s so much better
Oh, it’s so much better