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Dex paces the perimeter of the basement floor. He's not sure how he ended up here.
He sits on his makeshift bed in the center of the room and rubs his hands against his face. It doesn’t placate him. He's not sure how he ended up here.
He pulls out his phone and checks his texts with Nursey, but they haven’t talked since he moved rooms. He's not sure how they ended up here.
-
When Dex wakes, he thinks about the possible frostbite affecting his extremities. Well, at least that’s his first thought before his brain is flooded with anything and everything pertaining to Nursey. He wants to curse himself out, beg his brain to give him a break, but maybe he doesn’t deserve one. Maybe he needs to get a grip.
Dex looks around at the dingy basement room; It’s all greys and harsh lines. He misses the warmth of his room, of his and Nursey’s room. Dex knows that the basement and their old room could be metaphors for him and Nursey in some stupid story Nursey might spin. It’s because Nursey is warm colors and soft edges, all the good things in the world; He is a tangible representation of love.
Dex thinks he's possibly been lying to himself, not just possibly, but quite certainly. He knows how they ended up here. It’s just easier to ignore it. To ignore the pain he’s inflicted. To ignore how Nursey won’t meet his eyes, how he only mutters things to him when absolutely necessary.
He almost laughs out loud at the whole situation.
He’s torturing himself over Nursey, over the pain he has put Nursey through. And honestly, if Nursey wasn’t at the center of it all, he thinks he might’ve chirped him about it, calling this self-inflicted pain poetic.
He knows he should say something, apologize even, but just knowing something doesn’t make it easier.
He knows that he has some horrible mix of feelings towards Nursey that he’s boxed away inside himself, but that doesn't make it any easier.
He knows that he’s cracking, his feelings threatening to overflow, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
It makes it worse, actually.
It’s what caused all this. Dex had tried to be calculated around Nursey, counterbalancing his feelings (that don’t quite have a name yet, but could if Dex thought too hard about them) with coldness.
He had over adjusted. Everything he said (and didn’t) was biting, aimed to cut, but Dex had misjudged the depth of his offenses. He had bled Nursey dry, watched him struggle, and then dug the knife in deeper.
It’s not easy to come back from that; Dex isn’t even sure it’s possible, but he has to try. He knows he’ll fuck it up, he always does, but that’s their thing.
He doesn’t get words the way Nursey does, can’t see their true meaning. He used to analyze poems out loud for Dex sometimes, probably to annoy him, but he liked it. Nursey held a key to unlocking hidden meanings and Dex had been so afraid of Nursey prying open the box inside himself.
He’s still afraid, he’s fucking scared out of his mind, but he’s already ruined everything they had worked for. Dex thinks this is the only way that he might be able to get Nursey to look at him again.
He’s going to have to let Nursey see his true meaning.
-
Dex stands outside his room--his old room. It’s Saturday morning, too early for Nursey to have left, but hopefully early enough that he’s awake. Dex knocks lightly on the door before he can convince himself to retreat to the basement.
“It’s open!” Nursey calls from inside.
Dex hesitates. He wonders if he should announce himself before opening the door. If he does, Nursey probably won’t stay long enough for him to get more than a couple of words out. He feels bad for creating a situation where Nursey is going to be uncomfortable, but he has to catch him off balance; He prays it doesn't feel like an ambush.
He opens the door, Nursey is sitting at his desk with his back towards him. He looks like he might be reading, but Dex can’t tell.
Dex is hesitant. Unsure. He doesn’t know how to start.
Nursey glances back and goes rigid, but just for a second. He immediately puts on his facade of chill, but the clenching of his jaw betrays him. Well, that and the fact that he looks like he’s mapping a possible escape exit out of the window, just in case the door isn't an option.
That’s enough to ignite Dex.
“Um, hi, Nurse,” Dex says, sounding completely unsure of himself.
“Do you need something.” He’s not asking a question.
Okay, not a great start. Dex rubs at the back of his neck, he should have prepared more for this.
“Can I talk to you?” Dex tries to sound as earnest as possible.
“We are talking,” Nursey replies, attempting to sound uninterested, but his voice comes out slightly strained.
“Okay, um, well, I was just wondering if we could talk about the other week. I wanted to apologize.”
Dex wishes that Nursey would look at him, but maybe that’s asking too much. He doesn't know anymore.
“It’s chill,” Nursey replies smoothly like it doesn’t matter.
The thing is, Nursey’s ‘chill’ doesn’t even bother Dex how it used to. Instead, it makes his insides churn unpleasantly because he knows it’s all a lie.
“No, it’s not. You know I’m not good at words like you are, but I want to do this right. Would you give me a chance? Or another one, I guess. I know you’ve given me more than I deserve. I know that if I was an outsider I’d tell you not to give me another one, but I at least want to apologize. Please, Nursey?”
He’s begging. He’s begging without explicitly saying that he is, but it would be hard to see this as anything other than a plea. And by some grace, no, by Nursey’s grace, his kindness, that Dex so does not deserve, Nursey turns to face him. He’s still guarded, but Dex’s shoulders relax at the gesture, he hadn’t even registered how tense he was. Dex also notices that he’s wringing his hands together, he’s unsure how long he’s been repeating the motion.
“I, uh, fuck, I don’t know how you do this.”
He cringes a little at himself for that, but it's an honest emission at least.
“Do what?”
“Bare your soul,” Dex answers, ending with a quiet sigh.
Nursey looks at him questioningly for that. Dex is not quite sure how to explain.
“I just mean that when you perform your poems, or even just share them, it’s like you're giving pieces of yourself away. It’s terrifying as fuck.”
“You gonna read me a poem, Poindexter?”
It’s the closest thing to a chirp he’s heard in a while, it’s comforting.
Before Dex can respond, Nursey continues, “You’re not wrong. I share parts of myself and hope that they’ll be treated properly. I have to hope that I won’t be torn apart until I have nothing left, that these parts of me will be cherished, not abused.”
He feels his insides churn again, he’s pretty sure a few pieces of Nursey became collateral damage from Dex’s fruitless efforts at protecting himself.
“I’m sorry that I, uh, did that. I hurt you and I knew how because you told me. You let me in and I knew exactly where to put the blade. It wasn’t intentional, or that’s what I keep telling myself--that I wouldn’t try to consciously cause you pain, but I think I knew what I was doing, at least partly.”
Nursey doesn’t say anything to that so Dex continues, “I was trying to save myself. I guess I ended up digging our graves along the way. I just-I couldn’t let my guard down. I know you have walls up too, but you were doing so well at letting me in, at trusting me, and it freaked me out. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason.”
Dex has been averting his eyes, it’s fucking hard to admit all this without the added pressure of looking into the eyes of the friend he fucked over.
“I don’t get it. You kicked me while I was down, used my weapons against me, all that poetic shit that I envied writers for being able to express--by the way, totally not envious of them anymore--but you did this to save yourself? From what? Me? I just don’t get what you're saying.”
Derek looks completely lost and rightfully so. Dex knows that he left him in the dark, he’s always been shit at communicating, but he’s trying now. He’s really trying.
“You fucking terrify me, Nursey. You’re all charm and warmth, you fucking radiate love and passion, even when you try to act chill and unbothered. You’re intoxicating. You get under my skin and it doesn’t even bother me, it’s comforting; I want you to chirp the fuck out of me, literally all the time. And I just don’t know how to fucking handle all of this.”
Dex takes a breath before continuing, “I don’t know how to deal with all of this wanting. Because I, I fucking do. Derek, I want you so badly. I have never wanted anything or anyone like this before. I never wanted to depend on others, but you fucked up my plans and in turn, I sabotaged us. I’m sorry."
It’s not as hard to say all this as Dex thought it’d be. It’s still excruciatingly terrifying, but the words come easily enough. Maybe his brain to mouth filter is malfunctioning in a way that benefits him for once.
Dex knows he has to say more, though. It’s not enough to just explain away his actions, he has to genuinely apologize.
“You didn’t deserve my cruelness and I shouldn’t have just left. I know you’re frustrated with being out of games because of your injury. You were looking for patience and I couldn’t give it to you. I so desperately wanted to wish all of these feelings away, that’s why it was so fucking difficult to live with you. I shouldn’t have lashed out and moved into the basement how I did. You deserve more than I’ve been giving and I’m so sorry, Derek.”
Dex deflates a bit. He still hasn’t met Derek’s eyes, but he feels like that’s the right thing to do. Closing his eyes, Dex takes a deep breath in and then exhales; He consciously tries to expel all his anxiety in that one action. Then he’s opening his eyes to find Derek’s.
“As I said, it’s not an excuse, but it’s the reason. You’re the reason, Derek,” Dex ends with a tone of finality that was unintentional, but he welcomes it, nonetheless.
There’s so much more he wants to tell him, but Dex hasn’t miraculously turned into some world-class communicator; He’s not perfectly in touch with his emotions and if he was, he wouldn’t know where to start in an effort to verbalize them (but he’s trying).
Derek is keeping eye contact with him, but not giving him much else. Dex can almost see the gears turning in his brain.
“Sorry, this is a lot to take in. I’m not making you sit in silence to torture you or anything. Not all of us are sadistic,” Derek adds on the last bit with an exaggerated wink.
It’s another chirp and that makes him feel hopeful, at least. Like he hasn’t completely fucked up whatever this is between them.
“Thank you for apologizing, I know that’s not always how we handle things, but I needed that. I’m still a little hurt, but I understand and I forgive you,” Derek tells him with a soft smile.
“For all that other stuff, I’m not saying no, definitely not saying no, but I never really allowed myself to think about us like that, you like that. I didn’t think you were into guys and then everything with our room made me believe I made up our whole friendship too.”
When Derek pauses Dex sees tears welling up in his eyes. He thinks his heart might be on the verge of shattering into a fuckton of pieces.
But then Derek wipes his eyes and smiles widely and continues, “Hey, maybe if you take me out on a real date you can get a piece of all this!”
Derek wiggles his eyebrows and gestures up and down his body with his hands, he’s suppressing a laugh, but Dex allows one past his lips.
It feels nice. Actually, it feels better than nice, it feels like coming home. And really, Dex has never been this poetic in his life. Derek brings out the romantic in him, softens all his edges, brings color into his life; Dex dubs it the ‘Nursey Effect’, but he isn’t going to tell him all that.
He huffs and pushes at Derek’s shoulders, but he’s smiling through it all.
“I’d like that, a lot,” Dex replies, he feels like his smile is too wide for his face.
Dex sees a glint of something akin to fondness in Derek's eyes and he’s suddenly unsure why he was so terrified in the first place. And okay, maybe he will tell him all that mushy stuff because communicating does work out in their favor after all.