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Derek wanted to die.
At least, Avery hoped that was the case; he wanted this, wanted to sacrifice his mind, wanted to leave Avery alone with nothing but—
He stopped that train of thought before it could get further derailed.
His thoughts had been all over the place, here lately; though he supposed they’d always been somewhat crazy, skewing in hazardous swirls in his head that only he could make sense of. A wild coaster, gone far off the tracks, barely reigned in by medications of various sorts that he barely knew half the names for. Not that the names of them mattered, not at the moment— Avery had barely gotten up from bed, let alone bother touching his medicine cabinet for the past week.
It was January Seventh. A whole week since D3rlord3— Derek, his friend’s name had been Derek— was… lost. Gone, because Avery had been so stupid, so useless in the single moment that it had mattered most. Derek believed himself a saint, saving everyone— saving Avery, someone whom he knew every part of before speaking a word to him— from the king, from Hastur. An entity that Avery would only ever recognize as the burning yellow irises in his nightmares, and thankfully would only ever recognize The King In Yellow as such; all thanks to his friend.
Derek. Derek, Derek, Derek. Gods, with all of how special he’d been, his name was so common that thousands had appeared when Avery searched the name. Missing reports upon missing reports, Facebook accounts and other various socials blurring together in his head, faces becoming blobs to form a face that Avery pretended was Derek, the one face Avery felt he had yet to ever see.
Wasn’t that ironic, in the most rotten sense? Derek knew everything about Avery. From his favorite color, his hobby, his most embarrassing stories to the worst moments of his life, how he hadn’t looked at his own face in well over a year. Things that Avery wouldn’t ever tell another, yet Derek had looked at him, saw him for who he was, and cared enough for him to leave messages. To lead Avery to him, to protect Avery, to save him from The King in Yellow. To be willing to sacrifice his own mind, his own state of well-being, so that someone as plain as Avery Madison would continue on living.
It sounded so stupid, to Avery. He was nearly positive that Derek could have found another way—any other way, really. Hell, Avery himself—despite being dumber than a rock, as his parents always said—had thought of various other ways it could have gone down, lying in bed and contemplating how useless, how stupid he really was. If Avery was smart, he would have pushed Derek off the platform before his friend could do so to him. He could have read off those inciting words, a quick copy-paste from chat. Could have allowed The King in Yellow to infiltrate his mind, only to be killed whenever Avery chose the right thing, the good thing, and downed a bottle of pills before Hastur could make it much further. A vessel wasn’t very good dead, he had figured, and with his own mind dying, he had thought that the King in Yellow would die with it. A plan that Avery didn’t like at the time—who would like dying?—but had been willing to perform for humanity’s sake, for Derek’s sake.
Technically, he was correct on that front. The King in Yellow would have died, if Avery’s own plan had been followed through with. If Avery was smarter, stronger, far more capable than what everyone believed him to be.
Yet he had only proved everyone right—his parents. His siblings. His grandparents, his friends, his teachers from the years before he’d needled himself into college. Because Avery was stupid. So, so stupid.
Stupid enough to hope that Derek wanted to die.
Because if he didn’t want to die? If he had wanted to bask in the sun once more, singing with family, dancing with friends, playing games he enjoyed, and taking time for hobbies?
Then he would have died afraid. He would have died scared and alone, staring down the King in Yellow, thinking about only the gods knew what.
(Selfishly, Avery hoped Derek was thinking of him. Hoped that, if the roles were to be reversed, Derek would be as heartbroken as Avery was, tearing himself apart over his loss.)
It wasn’t fair. None of it was—they’d both been put in impossible situations, made to believe that death was the only option. And even if it hadn’t been, even if they’d both survived, Avery was sure Derek wouldn’t want to talk to him. Let alone see him—Avery was probably the biggest figure in all his pain, his suffering in his final moments. For Derek knew everything about Avery—every nook and cranny, every thing he tried to push to the darkest corners of himself—yet Avery knew nothing of him except for his name.
What would Derek even like? Avery could imagine he’d like to sit out in the sun on a warm spring evening, the sounds of nature around him used as background noise as he read a book he enjoyed, lying in the grass and enjoying being alive enough to be there. Avery distantly imagined himself there too—sitting at his friends’ side, rambling on while Derek listened, smiling at the right moments, and bantering with him before the sun set, before they had to go back inside in case the mosquitoes decided they looked good.
(If Avery wanted to be more selfish, he’d imagine the two going into a nice, cozy house. Warm lights, homemade food, kids of their own skittering from room to room while laughter filled the halls. If Avery was more selfish, he’d picture him and Derek cooking dinner together, playfully arguing before Derek decided to kiss him to shut him up.)
(If Avery wanted to be more selfish, he’d picture him and Derek being far more than what friends could ever be.)
But none of that could ever happen. Nothing even close.
Because Avery was selfish and Derek was dead, and what was the term for it? No rest for the wicked? He hoped Derek got plenty of rest; in that case, he was the furthest thing from wicked that his mind had to offer—
Not the point. The point was, Avery was stuck in a place another should be filling. Breathing air, eating food, taking space where another much noble person should go. Avery was adding nothing, contributing nothing, doing nothing but staying in limbo, lying in bed to make the time pass. His roommate had moved out just a week before New Year’s, another dropout of the season going to live with their parents, and it wasn’t like his own family was about to talk to him. Really, the person he’d talked to the most in the past week was—was Derek, and it was evident how that had turned out.
Avery was all alone. No friends to rely on—not many people wanted to listen to his ramblings, his quick changes of both mood and topic—and very few cared enough to message him on New Year’s, let alone worry for his sake.
He didn’t have anyone left, to care for him.
Why should he care for himself?
Wasn’t it ironic, that a King lost to a Lord?
And isn’t it ironic, that Avery loses to his own heart?
————————————
Two weeks after New Year’s, two weeks of staring into space and dreaming of Derek’s arms wrapped around him while he couldn’t get out of bed, classes started back up.
Normally, Avery would be excited. He had his schedule set up to take a whole class in a semester—double the work, double the time and effort it would take, but Avery didn’t mind one bit. It would allow him to finish college faster—only cutting off a few years, sure, but it was time Avery was willing to take—and it always encouraged Avery to work harder, study harder, prove himself quicker and more efficiently. The faster pace, yet more given time a day, always seemed to help Avery out more so than not; he hadn’t once gotten a thing below a B, and most professors seemed to enjoy his work and effort. The praise he earned was always unexpected yet welcome, and he always loved to hear what others had to say, to get input on how he could do better, be better.
Which was usually why, the few days before classes would start, he would try—just a little—to be more presentable. Not necessarily by looks; he already knew he was dead ugly, no use in bothering to try and take care of any of that when it was all for nothing anyways. No, he would usually spend a little extra money, splurge a little bit on the nicer soaps so that his dreads at least in a half-decent state, and he’d pick out an outfit for the first few days of classes, when the professors were still getting used to everyone. It would usually be for nothing in the end, it usually was, seeing as the week afterwards he’d continue his usual theme of pajamas or wherever he could find to throw on in the moment, hair messy with lack of upkeep and new hope of new classes dimmed down to it being the usual.
That list of events was not, in particular, at all what happened in the days following up to the first day. No; in the days following, Avery had stared at the ceiling and debated the merits of getting up to eat—which he rarely did at this rate, sustaining himself on water and a dream—before rolling over and sobbing himself to sleep for the umpteenth time, then repeating that process until his alarms blared in his ears to get up and do something with himself. He’d at least bothered to throw himself in the shower before class, a quick one that most consisted of him trying not to smell like he’d bathed with pigs, then grabbed the first clean clothes he saw and stumbled into them before dragging out his messenger bag, barely looking at his laptop before shoving it in with textbooks and notebooks.
He kept to himself, most of the day. Barely muttered a word, instead nodding to familiar classmates and avoiding the gazes of strangers, barely looking up from the floor. He got weird looks, most of the day; he’d shoved on basketball shorts and a shirt now too big on him, layering it with a coat that looked like it was swallowing him whole. Some asked in passing if he was okay, if he was feeling well, if he needed help. Avery would just mutter something about stress, about feeling nervous with home events, before walking off and not giving anyone the time to talk back.
His classes were boring, anyways. He remembered he’d been excited about them—photography classes, coding classes, most things that Avery would have loved enjoying.
But Avery couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy much of anything at the moment. He could barely make himself get out of bed, eat something that was more likely than not to be expired, get through the day without falling to his knees and sobbing to the point he couldn’t breathe. Fitting in things he liked to do? Go out for walks with his camera—the nicest thing he owned—and fill sketchbooks with scenery and people passing through? As if that was happening, any time soon. As if he would actually bother with much of anything other than what was absolutely needed, what Avery had to hold onto to make it through the rest of college.
If he wanted to make it through college at all, at that rate. He was majoring in Photography, something that he really could just go out and start doing if commissions worked out well enough. The assignments, things that Avery usually put a lot of thought and passion into, now felt more of a chore than anything. Felt more like he was wasting his time, wasting everyone’s time, whenever someone more deserving could be in his place. Whenever someone who actually managed to save the people they loved, could be where Avery was and would be far more worthy.
Avery wasn’t worthy of much, these days. Most of the time, it really seemed like he was only good for taking up the space he shouldn’t be in, doing things he shouldn’t be doing, and ruining everyone’s time.
Maybe that was why he found himself in front of the train station, so early in the morning, bright lights buzzing overhead as he glanced at the time of the train’s arrival. Five minutes.
Five minutes felt like too long a wait. Avery wasn’t planning on going anywhere special—it was five in the morning, early enough to not be too weird but odd enough for him. He was used to waking up around noon, after staying up to ungodly hours doing nothing. That was the one thing he was happy with himself over—he’d made all his classes for the afternoon, so he wouldn’t be made to get out until absolutely needed.
It felt odd, being out at all. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was there at all; his mind felt like it was in a daze, body on autopilot as he wrapped a scarf around his neck, tucked his overly large green coat around him, never bothering to put on anything warmer than basketball shorts and a T-shirt under his winter gear before he went out into the streets outside his dorms. It was a cold January—or was it February? Avery never kept track of the days—morning, very few people out, leaving Avery uninterrupted as he made the ten-minute walk to the local metro, scanned his account card before sitting in front of an empty railroad, glancing at the clock every few moments to debate the merits of waiting or going back to his dorm, cursing himself over wasting time.
Not that it would really be wasting time. He wouldn’t have done anything else anyways; he had failed to sleep once more, having had one of the worst nightmares of his life before waking up screaming. He’d laid in bed for a long time, carefully avoiding anything in his dorm with even a hint of yellow, twisting and turning in bed before staring at his laptop for a long, long moment.
The laptop started it, really. It was how Avery met Derek, how he’d found someone who cared equally as much for him as he did for them. Derek was so sweet, so funny, so kind—even in the stunted time Avery had known him. From what he’d gathered from found footage, from what he’d gotten through speaking to the man, to what he’d read of his friends’ final note before his vision became too blurred to see through. Really, it was a miracle the laptop held no water damage, with how much Avery had cried over the thing in the past few weeks. Weeks that were left forgotten, useless memories that were entirely unneeded in his current state.
The laptop was in his dorm, still. Sitting under a scribbled-out note, something that Avery had fought with himself over writing for the longest time, even when his decision became sure. It had been written in what had to only have been a minute, maybe even less before he shoved on his winter gear and left.
He had half the mind to destroy the damned laptop, get rid of it altogether. He decided against the action whenever he took a glance through it, stumbled across Derek’s footage for the dozenth time, rewatched it through his sobs.
Avery stood. The train would be coming any moment now; he could barely see the lights down the tunnel, could distantly hear it racing against the tracks, as if running against time. Avery hoped it would stay fast. Hoped that his own feet would be just as fast.
The train was closer now. The lights far more clear, sound far more noticeable. Any moment, the train would be right there, and Avery would have either gotten his wish or made a complete fool of himself.
He hoped he got his wish.
He just wanted to see Derek.
Avery took off in a dead sprint towards the tracks, hoping he’d get there at the exact moment needed.
He would have, if he continued running. He would have succeeded. The train would have rammed him over, making him nothing but a mush on the floor, killing him on impact. Painless in full, something Avery had hoped for in his final moments.
Or what would’ve been his final moments.
He was grabbed from behind before he could get even a foot within the tracks, dragged backwards until there was no chance of him making it, the train rushing by as firm arms wrapped around his own arms and chest. Even as he struggled, even as he fought against the hold, it was all useless as he watched his failure slow to a stop, doors opening and late-night train riders emerging to go off and do their usual. None spared Avery a glance, none bothered to look as the gentle arms went lax, allowing Avery to break out easily.
Avery immediately whirled on the asshole that stopped him, planning on tearing him a new one. Planning on shouting at him, screaming at him, making him regret ever coming to the rescue at all. Words that Avery would be sure he’d regret later, but couldn’t be bothered to worry about as he pushed away, whirled around, and—
“You’re not a very hard guy to catch, you know—“
The words died in Avery’s throat.
“—Avery.”
Avery immediately began sobbing.
Derek looked exactly like and nothing like he imagined, yet nothing but handsome and perfect regardless. As though he was sculpted out perfectly, made just for Avery to see. Long brown, nearly black hair fell over slim shoulders, nearly reaching mid-back. His skin was tan, as though he’d slept in the sun too long, yet held a greenish tint that Avery already could guess what was from—Avery’s own complexion was similar after he sat staring at his computer for days on end. Derek’s cheeks were hollow as well, hazel eyes tired, yet he looked nothing but kind as he took Avery in his arms once more, holding the sobbing man against his chest.
He looked as if he’d rushed to the train station, rushed to Avery’s side, in a complete hurry. His clothes were wild, clearly thrown on in the heat of a moment. Baggy sweatpants, pooling at dirt-stained slides and long socks, a large coat zipped halfway to allow Avery to burrow his face in Derek’s chest, muffling his sobs. Square-framed glasses sat on his hooked nose, threatening to fall off as he clung to Avery, having dropped what looked like a cane in the moment after reaching Avery, face pressing into his forehead and murmuring words Avery couldn’t hardly make out. His arms were tight around Avery, not daring to let go, as if he’d disappear if he dared to do so.
Avery’s thoughts were a whirl of chaos, of panic and relief, of guilt and a sorrow that would surely swallow him whole. None of it felt real, as if he was in a sort of fever dream, a delusion his mind conjured to keep him from the brink of insanity. Or maybe he was already crazy? He’d thought for the past…however long it was, since New Year’s, that he was dead. That Derek was gone, slipped from his hands before he could ever begin to grasp him.
“I know,” Derek murmured in his ear, tightening his hold on Avery. It was only then that Avery figured out he’d spoken aloud. “I know, Aves, I know.”
“You were gone,” Avery sobbed, hands curling into the fabric of Derek’s coat. He pressed his head impossibly closer into Derek’s chest, peeking up blearily to stare at his face. He tried to take in all the knowledge of him he could; the sharp jawline, the light stubble, the full pink lips that trembled with Derek’s own tears. His eyes were bloodshot with tears, yet didn’t dare drag away from Avery, as if the man in front of him was his lifeline.
“I know,” Derek repeated, a hand coming up to gently brush the tears from Avery’s cheeks. “Gods, Avery, I—you can’t, Avery, you can never do something like that again.” His hand shifted to cup Avery’s cheek, carefully leading Avery’s gaze to his own. His eyes had turned stern, worried in a way Avery wished to memorize. “Never, you’re not allowed. Ever.”
Avery could only nod shakily, humming through shaken gasps and sobs, before going right back to clinging to Derek.
Derek gave a soft huff, something lighthearted and sweet, before curling his arms back around Avery and holding him tight.
—————————
It was a good ten minutes of Avery sobbing into Derek’s chest, people staring at the two as they passed, before Derek had led the two to a bench—the same bench Avery had been sitting on, waiting for the train that, by now, had taken off and was well down the tracks. Avery stayed cradled against Derek’s side, head buried in his shoulder while Derek absentmindedly messed with the loose threads of Avery’s coat, waiting for Avery to finally calm down.
“You were gone,” Avery murmured again, only slightly less hysterical than before.
Derek nodded for the umpteenth time, humming softly. “I know.”
“Did—did you die?” Avery sat up only sightly straighter, barely able to look Derek in his eyes as his foggy mind cleared slightly. He didn’t have the heart to lean up completely, sure of himself that if any contact was lost, he’d break down in tears again. “Were you really—“
Derek shrugged, cutting Avery off. “I… don’t know, exactly,” Derek murmured. He glanced around, making sure nobody was trying to listen in, before leaning in close to Avery. He knew it was for the sake of whispering, as random people definitely should not be hearing about anything related to their topic, but it still made his face heat up regardless.
“After the King—“ Derek gave a sharp breath, hesitating for a moment. “After… Hastur, infused himself with me, I passed out. It was horrible, it was—I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, really.” Except for Hastur, but that part went unsaid. “I don’t think my plan happened exactly as I imagined, but... it technically worked. He’s stuck in my head, now.”
Avery paused. That made some sense, to him. He was eternally grateful that Derek was alive and in front of him and talking to him in that voice that Avery only dreamed of hearing—but then he paused. Looked up properly at Derek, arms only tightening on his friend.
“He’s… stuck?” Avery murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Like—“
“Like a prison? Sort of,” Derek shrugged, not meeting Avery’s gaze. “I hear him, I can talk to him, but…”
“He can’t leave.” Avery thought for a moment. “So you did succeed.”
Derek shrugged again. “I mean, I guess. Really thought I’d die, kinda hoped that I would—“
Avery tightened his hold on Derek impossibly further, as if trying to squeeze the very soul from him. As if the thought of Derek dying, even though it had been his perceived reality the past few weeks, was too much to handle. Derek didn’t seem to mind, however, leaning his head back onto Avery and looking out at the train tracks. Train tracks that Avery should be smeared across, but Avery didn’t think much on that.
The two fell into a silence, something Avery wouldn’t dare call ‘comfortable’ yet definitely wasn’t bad. Though he supposed things couldn’t be bad, at least not then— he had Derek in his arms. He was right next to him, holding onto him equally as tightly, head tucked under Derek’s chin and words slightly muffled by his shirt.
“So,” Avery said, after a long, calm moment. “…Are you okay?”
Derek winced at the question, arms tightening slightly around Avery before relaxing again. He took a long, deep breath, as if debating on if he should tell Avery or not, before deciding on the former. “…Technically, I’m admitted in the hospital right now. So.”
“What.”
“It’s not that big a deal, really,” Derek was quick to try and reassure, hands coming up placatingly whenever Avery sat straight up. “I’ve been alright, I swear by it—“
“You’ve not been released yet,” Avery breathed, face doing something funny. Derek had come all this way— oh gods, it was an hour’s walk from the hospital to the metro station they were currently at. “You— did you walk here?”
Derek carefully avoided Avery’s gaze, telling Avery all he needed to know.
Avery nearly fell over himself trying to stand up, Derek having to catch and stabilize him before he stood fully up, attempting— and, notably enough, failing— to pull Derek up as well. Derek snorted at Avery’s attempts, giving him a look.
“What are you trying to do.”
“We’re calling an Uber,” Avery breathed, continuing to try and pull Derek up. He still failed, yet could not be blamed for trying. “You’re going back to the hospital, right now—“
Avery nearly stumbled again as Derek grabbed his arm mid-pull, tugging him gently back onto the bench. His arms wrapped tightly back around Avery, trading his head against his shoulder as a hand ran idly along Avery’s spine. Avery hated that the action calmed him significantly, shoulders slumping and mind going slightly hazy.
“It’ll be okay,” Derek reassured, voice muffled slightly. “Just— can we stay here, like this? Only for a second, I swear, just—“
He paused for a long moment, mind scrambling to find the words. Avery understood regardless.
“Yeah,” Avery breathed, settling against Derek’s chest. “Yeah, we can stay.”