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There's some things you just know in dreams.
Avery knows this: he's at his aunt's house. They're having a party, the kind bustling with chatty relatives and random little kids of family friends. The music and chatter are drowning in each other, and he did not come to this party alone.
Yes—Derek! Where is he? They came to this party together. He should be here. There is a significant lack of Derek by Avery's side—this he knows. He just knows.
Avery moves into the kitchen, where his aunties are chatting with the popular girls from high school. A combination that would break reality, if it truly manifested.
"Have you seen Derek?" he interrpts to ask.
"Who is Derek?"
"Avery's friend, Derek!"
"Derek? He's over—"
"Derek should be over—"
"Avery, you've grown so tall!"
"He came here with you, didn't he?"
"Derek's just over there."
"Avery, I was just talking with your mother, and—"
"On the left, you'll find him."
"He's right there!"
"How's school?"
"How's Derek?"
It's a lot of noise, but that question is the one that makes the conversation pause, so that everyone looks at him expectantly.
"He's," Avery says, the words maneuvering like heavy gunk on his tongue, "good."
The two words are enough of a green light for everyone to look away from him. Avery counts nine or so auntie-popular girls at a ratio of 1:2. They act familiar with each other, as if Avery's aunts were regular visitors of his homeroom class in high school, or the popular girls were his cousins he frequently saw at family gatherings.
Their chatter is bright and bubbly, chit amplifying chat. It feels quite real, like they would really act like this if they knew each other—it hadn't occurred to Avery before, but seeing it now? It just made sense.
A snap.
"You should go find him."
"Yes, he's waiting for you."
"Who is this, again?"
An uncle shuffles past Avery to reach a boiling pot of soup by the stove. He fills his bowl.
"Derek, Avery's friend," a popular girl with rows of multicolor bracelets says like it's obvious,
"Who is that?"
"I sit next to Avery in Chemistry, and he's always talking to someone. He's probably in that class."
The uncle passes by Avery again, bowl of soup in hand—he ruffles his hair, and Avery lets out a little chuckle and nods to him in acknowledgement.
"Avery, you should pay attention to your classes," his aunt reprimands.
"How long have you known him?"
"Will we meet your friend's family?"
"Who is he?"
"Do you still talk to him?"
"Avery, dear—"
"Avery—"
"Avery."
Avery backs away. "I think my mom's calling."
Nobody comments on his leave. He ducks away into the living room. A clump of uncles and uncle-adjacents sit on the couches with beers and playing cards. The way they're all seated makes it look like they're in a pit.
Someone makes a quip, and a gentle roar of laughter pulses through the clump.
"Did my mom call?" Avery asks.
"She's outside," an uncle replies, pointing to the sliding glass door. Avery nods, about to make his leave, before his feet stutter—then he backtracks. "Have you seen Derek anywhere?"
"Nope—sorry," replies another uncle, a cigarette wedged between his yellowish teeth. Nobody else seems to know Derek, because they all shake their heads.
"Oh, okay."
"What does he look like?"
Avery bites his tongue. "..."
He goes outside; his mom and dad are talking around the pool, colored a glowing crystal blue. It reflects the moonlight and some surrounding lanterns, so that it looks like they're streaks in the water.
"Mom!" Avery rushes up to his parents. His mom gestures an arm open. Avery hugs her. "What'd you call me for?"
Mom blinks in surprise. She exchanges a look with Dad, and laughs. "I didn't call you, Avery."
Avery frowns. "Didn't you?"
Mom shakes her head.
"Huh," says Avery. "Weird."
"Someone was looking for you," she says instead. Avery takes a step back, and mom's arms fall from the embrace.
"He looked worried," added Dad. "Said he'd be waiting for you though."
Avery lights up like a firefly. "That's gotta be Derek!" He runs off—feet flying across grass and pavement, skipping over floaties strewn across the floor. "Thanks, mom! Thanks, dad!"
"Sure, honey. Watch your step, please!"
The dark blue sky is tinged with a faint yellow at the edges, stars speckled all over. Avery realizes that he did not receive any instructions on where to find Derek, but it did not seem to matter, because his body knew what to do regardless. Knowing that Derek was waiting for him was enough.
Avery explores the house, opening every door—the closet, the bedrooms, the bathrooms—it feels frantic, but purposeful. There's two floors to the house, and while chugging up the stairs, there is a fleeting moment of panic when he slips on one of the steps. He doesn't fall, luckily, and continues.
Avery twists knob after knob, until finally—he already hears kids playing in here—he gets to his cousin's spare office playroom thing.
A handful of kids, and half a gaggle of preteens and teens—littered and strewn about. Watching videos on the couch. Lying on their stomachs with iPads and digging around in toy chests. Rolling around in bean bags and screaming and laughing and playing.
Avery smiles when he sees someone at the PC. His heart is nodding, beating in agreement, and something about all of this feels like home.
It's only the back of his head and a quarter of his face, but he knows it's him, like he knows everything else that he does about the world, because that's just how it is. Of course Derek is here, playing Minecraft. Where else? Who else?
"Derek," prods Avery, creeping up behind him. "I found you."
"…Me." The hand on the mouse stills. "…Avery?"
(That string of words sounded extremely silly. It tickles Avery's brain. He almost laughs. Almost).
Derek doesn't look at him, though—Avery remembers it then, and it crushes him a little (a lot) that he does not know what Derek Hutchins looks like. But his soul knows it, knows that this is him, that it is meant to be him. It is him! It's Derek.
Avery pokes his shoulder. "Can I show you something cool?"
"Sure," agrees Derek.
The simple reply makes his heart pang:
I miss you. I miss you so bad. I don't even know you. I miss you. I wish I knew you. I want to know you. I miss you.
Avery leaves the room without checking to see Derek follow him. Dream logic twists and turns his path, spawning extra potted plants and turning the roof into glass. A fish or two swims by in the air. Avery sees the world in Minecraft for a bit, a slime green arm in view and a golden knight marching behind him when he swivels around to look back. There's a crosshair and a hotbar and their footsteps make sounds like trotting atop quartz.
He opens the door at the end of the hall and brings Derek in, then switches on the lights.
"This is a laundry room," observes Derek. The dryer is running on a bulky/heavy cycle, wheezing as it spins the blankets inside.
"Yeah," Avery admits.
"This is what you wanted to show me?"
"I guess?" It's what his dream gave him, so. "Er, thoughts?"
"I have no strong opinions on the matter," Derek shrugs, and Avery looks at him and knows a half-smile tugging at the corner of this mouth.
Avery laughs—then leans his back against the wall, and sinks down onto the floor. The laughter flutters away. "I'm sorry, Derek. I brought you all the way here for nothing."
Derek hums. He slowly joins Avery where he is seated on the floor, his limbs folding like a willow. "Not nothing." He points to the dryer. "That's something."
Avery's chuckle is dry. "Sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry."
Derek's shoulder brushes Avery's. He doesn't say anything.
"It's funny having you here, like you're meeting my family."
Avery pauses, dwindling, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
"I can't help but see you everywhere I go," Avery muses. "Like… I don't know. Like, what do you mean the reason why the world can still exist is another face in the crowd? What do you mean he's—dead? That, that I couldn't—I couldn't save you. The most loveliest, most loneliest boy in the world—and I—" Avery chokes out a desperate laugh. "I couldn't save him!"
"You're… everywhere." He stares at a light brown tile on the floor—glancing around the laundry room floor will show him dirty clumps of lint and hair. "You're everywhere, and I keep—I keep thinking, what if you were here? What if you could see this sunrise? What if you could taste this new Oreo flavor? What if you could hear this old song that I've never heard before, so really it's kinda new to me—what if?"
"Avery," Derek says softly. "I know."
"You know, yeah, but… you'll never see."
"…"
The dryer hums in the background. Avery's knees have curled up to his stomach, and his arms are wrapped around his shins.
Derek falls—falls, as in allows—allows his shoulder to lean more on Avery. The pressure is certain and real and there.
"It's my turn," Derek declares, standing up suddenly. "Avery, may I show you something?"
"What?" Avery grins weakly. "You gonna show me a puzzle or something?"
"No more puzzles," he reassures him, and Derek holds his hand out for Avery.
Avery takes it.
Derek's other hand lands on the doorknob, and its golden metal gleams when he twists it and pulls it in.
Navy and blue and darkness and cold—
A thunderstorm, in an overgrown community garden of a backyard. Homegrown trees and sprawling flowers and decorations accumulated over the years—wind chimes and step stones and little statues and fairy lights on a deck: lush and green and plenty and dimmed in the storm.
"It's cold," Avery points out immediately, "and raining."
Derek's hand squeezes his. "Look at the clouds."
With all the world's gentleness, Derek tugs Avery forward by the hand, and into the pouring rain. It's some heavy ass rain. There's a white flash in the sky and a clanging named thunder. Derek looks up, so Avery copies him, like the rainwater that falls on his face mimics the saltwater from his eyes.
Avery squints. The huge lumps of long blooming cloud that have taken over the sky seem slowly distant; the rain quickens, then stutters, then draws into a careful pace.
"…They're moving," he concludes, approving he phrase as a D3rlord3 worthy observsation. "The clouds are—moving out. It looks kinda fast. Wow. Strong wind, huh?"
The weather is ruthless. Unforgiving and seething. The wind stings, and the water on his face just makes it feel colder still—yet: Derek's hand in his.
A water spout is aggressively spewing rainwater into a giant overflowing bucket.
Derek's thumb moves to Avery's knuckle. "With all the world's knowledge, don't you think I would know you?"
Avery blinks—and frowns. His clothes are sopping wet, but Derek looks untouched, as if the rain just passes through him. "…what do you mean," he indulges skeptically.
"Well," says Derek. "In every moment that you think of me, that is a moment that I knew you thought of me, and that is another moment that I know that I am remembered. Do you understand?"
"Uhhh…" Literally what does that mean. "Elaborate."
"Avery," —and the look in Derek's eyes is quite devastating, and incredibly fond— "It's because of you, I am loved."
The rain and wind have ceased, leaving gentle blue and soft chimes and rustling wet leaves. Derek lets go of Avery's hand.
"For every sunrise you wanted me to see with you, I did see it—simply because you wished it, and I knew that you would—or that you will. I know you will miss me, and I know you will mourn me. And… I cannot bring myself to thank you for your sadness, but—... When you miss me, when you wonder, when you think, when you remember—please understand, that you have brought me to your side by doing so."
"So, Avery…" He takes his hand again. The sky clears for the sun; flowers in their vibrantly colored brilliance shake off water droplets and leaves and branches glisten with rain. Derek leans forward slightly, and raises Avery's hand to brush a kiss against his knuckles. "Live."
Derek looks up at Avery—their eyes meet, and Derek's expression is open and bright and lovely and so, so alive. Beautiful and alive and free, the way that only a warm vision of a dead man can be.
Only after shooting Avery a playful wink does he release his hand once again.
The door to the laundry room is still open, and the dryer chirps a jaunty little tune to alert of its finished cycle.
"I see you, Avery," Derek admits in a broken way; it's so very honest that it cuts, but something about it fiercely challenges Avery to hope. "Clouds must move."
Avery feels his stomache unfurl. His heart comes out of pro-skater retirement to attempt a kickflip, and it achieves a little one—with a promise of more in the future.
"I know," he says, and he takes Derek's other hand in his own, so that the sun may shine on both of the backs of their hands. "I know."
Avery wakes up, just in time for sunrise.