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The coffee shop was brightly lit up, adorned with fairy lights, coffee tables, the usual sort. Derek sat at his table, chatting Avery.
Avery did not enter the café so much as detonate into it.
The little bell above the door gave a frantic jingle as he burst through, rainwater still clinging to the sleeves of his hoodie, dark curls damp from the weather outside. The warm scent of roasted coffee beans and caramelized sugar filled the air around him instantly, but somehow Avery’s presence swallowed even that. He was louder than the café. Brighter than it. Alive in a way that made every other person inside seem dim by comparison.
He started jumping the second he spotted Derek near the window booth.
People turned.
One woman nearly spilled her latte. A guy with a laptop blinked at them over the rim of his glasses. Someone else snorted into their drink trying not to laugh. Horror and amusement, both looked hilariously similar when directed at Avery.
But Avery didn’t notice any of it.
Or maybe he did, and simply decided the world could deal with him.
“Derek!” he exclaimed with such unfiltered delight that Derek physically felt the sound of his own name hit his chest.
Before Derek could even stand properly, Avery threw himself toward him, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders in a warm, crushing hug. He smelled faintly of rain and cheap cologne and the cold air from outside. Derek’s breath caught immediately.
“Sorry I took so long though, dude!” Avery continued, still half hanging onto him. “My mom was asking if I needed money.” He laughed under his breath, conspiratorial. “Heh. She doesn’t know you’re treating me.”
Then his voice shifted lower, softer, teasingly affectionate.
“Oh… How sweet of you, Derek…”
He nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own, dragging the words out just enough to make them dangerous.
Derek cleared his throat almost instantly.
It was pathetic, honestly. One nudge from Avery and suddenly he could no longer remember how breathing worked.
His gaze remained fixed on him anyway.
Because God.
Avery looked beautiful.
Not in the polished, cinematic way people in magazines looked beautiful. Avery was warm, real. His smile arrived before his words did. His eyes crinkled when he laughed. His entire body moved when he talked, like excitement physically could not stay contained inside him. Even soaked by the rain and slightly out of breath, he looked radiant. Maybe if he were ever in a magazine, he'd be sure that the stocks would be sold off. But he wouldn't mind sharing every bit of Avery's beauty with everyone. His own silly dilemma.
Derek almost caught himself staring too long.
Almost.
“…Avery.”
The name slipped out quietly.
Softly.
Like something precious.
Uncharacteristic of him.
The way Derek said it nearly startled Avery himself.
Avery blinked once, caught off guard by the tenderness hidden in the single word. Then, naturally, he grinned like a menace.
“Woah, Derek.” He leaned closer over the table, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Didn’t catch my buddy as a softie.”
“…No comment,” Derek muttered immediately.
He looked away first.
Of course he did.
Trying to regain composure, Derek reached for one of the cups resting on the table between them. Steam curled upward in delicate ribbons as he pushed it toward Avery with careful hands.
“I wanted you to try this one.”
Avery accepted it, fingers brushing Derek’s for the briefest moment.
Derek hated how much that tiny touch affected him.
He stared at Avery again despite himself, though this time his gaze wandered nervously, eyes flickering away and back again, unable to settle. His shoulders were tense. His fingers tapped once against the side of his own cup.
He was nervous.
Terrified, actually.
“Is that why you were asking me what coffee I liked?” Avery laughed, lifting the cup closer to inspect it dramatically. “I mean, I’m not the craziest coffee guy, but I’d drink any amount of coffee for you.”
“Not more than three or four.” Derek answered immediately.
Avery barked out a laugh.
“I don’t mean literally, Derek…”
His smile widened into something softer after the teasing faded.
“Although…” Avery tilted his head. “I could always stand by my word.”
“Avery…!”
The name escaped Derek with helpless fondness.
Without thinking, Derek reached forward and took Avery’s hand.
Gently.
Carefully.
Like he was holding something fragile.
The moment froze both of them.
Derek’s hand was warm despite how tense he looked. Avery suddenly became hyperaware of every point of contact between them—the roughness of Derek’s fingertips, the quiet strength in the way he held him, the way Derek’s thumb barely shifted against the side of his hand before going still again.
“Just sit down,” Derek murmured. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Avery stared at him for half a second longer than normal before finally sitting across from him.
Too far.
Much too far for Derek’s liking.
He'd never admit it,
Not that he would ever admit that aloud.
“Huh?” Avery rested his chin against his palm, still smiling lightly. “What’s up, my best bud?”
Derek inhaled slowly.
The café noises blurred around him.
The hiss of the espresso machine.
The quiet chatter nearby.
The rain tapping gently against the windows.
All of it faded beneath the violent pounding of his own heartbeat.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“Obviously,” Avery chuckled.
Derek almost smiled despite himself.
“I just don’t know how to word it.”
“Oh?”
“Promise me something.”
Avery’s teasing expression softened slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t laugh at me after I tell you.”
“Alri—”
“Please.”
The interruption came out sharper than Derek intended.
Not angry.
Desperate.
And suddenly Avery understood this was real.
Whatever this was, Derek was genuinely scared.
Avery straightened immediately.
“I-I promise.”
Silence settled between them.
Derek looked down at the coffee in front of him for a moment, gathering courage piece by piece like someone trying to pick shards of glass from his own chest.
“…Thank you.”
“Okay…” Avery said quietly now. “Tell me. Don’t leave me in suspense…”
Derek looked up at him again.
And God, Avery was looking at him so openly.
So trustingly.
Like Derek could say anything in the world and Avery would meet him halfway.
“…Avery.”
“Yes, Derek Hutchins!” Avery dragged out the name with exaggerated enthusiasm, saying it like it was a song made specifically to annoy him. “You called?”
Derek’s lips twitched faintly.
Then the smile disappeared as quickly as it came.
His throat tightened.
His hands trembled beneath the table.
And finally,
“I think I love you.”
The words landed softly.
Quietly.
Yet somehow they hit harder than anything Avery had ever heard in his life.
The world stopped.
Completely.
The café disappeared.
The people disappeared.
The rain disappeared.
All Avery could hear was the echo of those four words replaying violently in his skull.
I think I love you.
I think I love you.
I think I—
“…?”
His brain short-circuited.
It actually shut down.
Like every coherent thought inside his head collectively packed its bags and fled the country.
Derek stared at him in immediate horror.
Because Avery wasn’t saying anything.
Wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t even blinking.
“…Avery?”
Nothing.
Avery’s face rapidly heated all at once, color surging violently into his cheeks until even the tips of his ears burned crimson. His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
No sound came out.
His entire body looked moments away from collapse.
Derek immediately started panicking internally.
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered under his breath, already trying to retreat into himself. “Forget it. You can forget I—”
“YOU—”
Several people in the café turned again.
Avery pointed at him like he’d just been shot.
“You can’t just SAY that!”
“I literally just did.”
“But like—romantically?!”
Derek looked like he wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole.
“…Ideally, yes.”
Derek immediately regretted everything.
Not the confession itself—never that—but the fact that it had apparently launched Avery into full psychological collapse in the middle of a public café.
Because Avery was still pointing at him.
Still red.
Still visibly buffering.
His mouth opened and closed several times like his soul had temporarily disconnected from his body.
Around them, the café had become painfully aware that *something* dramatic was unfolding. A barista slowed mid-wipe on a glass cup. The girl near the counter was very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop while eavesdropping with Olympic-level dedication. Somewhere in the background, soft jazz continued playing through the speakers with almost insulting calmness.
Meanwhile Derek felt seconds away from cardiac arrest.
“…Ideally, yes,” Derek repeated quietly, because apparently humiliation could always deepen.
Avery made a sound Derek had never heard before.
It was somewhere between a gasp, a squeak, and a system failure.
“Romantically,” Avery echoed faintly, like he was testing whether the word was real. “Like. Like dating romantically?”
Derek stared at him.
“…There are not many alternative interpretations available to me, Avery.”
“Oh my God.”
Avery dropped back into his chair so suddenly the legs screeched loudly against the floor.
He covered his face with both hands.
Then immediately uncovered them again.
Then covered them again harder.
“Oh my God,” he repeated into his palms, voice muffled. “Ohhhh my God.”
Derek’s stomach twisted violently.
This was bad.
This was catastrophic.
Avery was spiraling.
“I understand if you don’t feel the same,” Derek said quickly, words coming out clipped and uneven. “You don’t need to react like the world is ending.”
Avery’s head snapped up instantly.
“THE WORLD ISN’T ENDING,” he whisper-yelled.
Several people glanced over again.
Avery lowered his voice immediately.
“This is just— this is— hold on, hold on, I need—”
He gestured vaguely into the air like he was physically trying to grab coherent thoughts from above his head.
Derek watched him carefully.
And despite the sheer terror clawing through his ribs, something warm still unfurled quietly in his chest.
Because Avery was adorable like this.
Hopelessly, disastrously adorable.
The blush on his face kept deepening instead of fading. His fingers trembled when he pushed his hair back. His eyes wouldn’t stay in one place for longer than two seconds because every time they landed on Derek, his entire expression short-circuited again.
Derek had never seen him speechless before.
It felt strangely sacred.
“I just…” Avery swallowed hard. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“It's just how I do things.”
“No, because you’re Derek.”
Derek blinked slowly.
“…I am aware.”
“You don’t understand!” Avery leaned forward over the table now, voice urgent with bewilderment. “You’re like—”
He stopped abruptly.
Because suddenly he had to describe Derek Hutchins out loud.
Which was apparently impossible.
“You’re you,” Avery finished helplessly.
Derek stared at him for a moment.
Then, despite himself, a quiet laugh escaped him.
Small.
Low.
Warm enough that Avery physically felt it in his chest.
God.
That laugh.
Avery had heard Derek laugh before, obviously. Little dry chuckles under his breath. Muted amusement hidden behind sarcasm. Tiny sounds Derek tried not to let escape too often.
But this one was different.
This one sounded soft.
Open.
Like Derek had accidentally let Avery touch something hidden deep inside him.
And suddenly Avery realized—with terrifying clarity—that Derek had probably been carrying this alone for a while.
That realization hit him all at once.
Every strange moment, oddly tender glance.
Every unnecessary act of care.
Every time Derek remembered things Avery himself forgot mentioning.
The extra coffee napkins already waiting before Avery even asked.
Derek texting him to make sure he got home safely, but disguising it as annoyance.
The way Derek always walked on the side closest to traffic.
The way his gaze lingered whenever Avery laughed too hard.
The way Derek always looked simultaneously exhausted and relieved whenever Avery entered a room.
Oh.
Oh.
Avery’s heart began pounding so hard it almost hurt.
“You…” Avery started slowly, eyes widening more and more with each realization. “You’ve liked me for a while, haven’t you?”
Derek looked away immediately.
Which was answer enough.
“A while,” Derek admitted quietly.
“How long is ‘a while?’”
Silence.
“A concerning amount of time.”
“DEREK.”
Derek rubbed a hand over his face.
“…Eight months.”
Avery nearly ascended on the spot.
“EIGHT—”
“Lower your voice.”
“EIGHT MONTHS?!” Avery repeated in an aggressive whisper.
A nearby customer snorted into their drink.
Derek looked seconds away from climbing directly into the espresso machine.
“Avery, please.”
“No, hold on, hold on—” Avery leaned even farther across the table now, eyes impossibly wide. “You mean to tell me you’ve been sitting there acting all emotionally constipated for eight months?”
“…Emotionally constipated?”
“Yes!”
“That is an insane phrase.”
“But it’s TRUE.”
Derek exhaled sharply through his nose, though Avery could see the corner of his mouth threatening to betray him again.
God, he was beautiful.
And Avery suddenly hated how long it took him to realize it.
Not just “oh he’s attractive” beautiful.
No.
Derek was the kind of beautiful that revealed itself slowly, then all at once.
Like staring at the night sky long enough to suddenly realize it had been full of stars the entire time.
The sharpness in his features softened whenever he looked at Avery for too long. His eyes—normally guarded, calculating, unreadable—became devastatingly gentle around him. Even now Derek was looking at him with the nervousness of someone offering up his own heart with bare hands, pretending not to notice how vulnerable he’d become.
And Avery realized something else then.
Something terrifying.
He didn’t want Derek to stop looking at him like that.
Ever.
The realization hit so hard Avery physically sat back in his chair.
Derek noticed immediately.
His expression dimmed.
“…You don’t have to say anything right now,” Derek said softly.
That softness nearly killed him.
Because Derek sounded prepared for rejection.
Prepared to survive it quietly.
Prepared to smile through it if he had to.
And suddenly Avery imagined Derek walking home tonight thinking he’d ruined everything between them.
The thought alone made Avery’s chest ache.
“No,” Avery blurted instantly. “No, no, hold on.”
Derek looked at him carefully.
Avery dragged both hands down his face.
“I’m thinking,” he groaned. “Which is dangerous for everyone involved.”
Despite the situation, Derek laughed again.
There it was.
That tiny helpless smile.
And Avery swore his soul left his body for a second.
“You know what my problem is?” Avery said suddenly.
“I suspect you have several.”
“Derek.”
“My apologies.”
“You know what my current problem is?” Avery corrected dramatically. “I can’t tell if I wanna kiss you or throw myself into traffic.”
Derek choked on his coffee.
Actually choked.
Avery immediately burst into panicked laughter.
“Oh my God, don’t die, holy shit—”
“You cannot say things like that without warning me first,” Derek rasped.
“But did you hear the important part?!”
Derek froze.
Completely.
The air between them shifted.
Avery realized what he’d accidentally admitted exactly one second too late.
And Derek looked at him now with an expression so fragile, so carefully hopeful, that Avery’s chest nearly split open from it.
“…Avery,” Derek said quietly.
And the way he said his name this time—
God.
Not like a joke.
Not teasing.
Not exasperated.
It sounded reverent.
Like Avery was something precious enough to ruin him.
Avery forgot how to breathe.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
His lungs locked the second Derek said his name like that.
Soft.
Careful.
Like the word itself needed to be handled gently or it might break apart in his hands.
The café around them seemed unbearably warm now. The rain outside painted blurry streaks down the windows, turning the city lights beyond the glass into smeared gold and amber halos. Steam drifted lazily upward from abandoned coffee cups between them, curling into the charged silence like visible tension.
And Derek was still looking at him.
Still wearing that expression.
That terrifyingly open expression Derek almost never let anyone see.
Avery suddenly understood something deeply unfair about the universe:
Derek Hutchins, despite acting like a chronically sleep-deprived cryptid with commitment issues and approximately three emotions on a good day, was catastrophically romantic when he actually let himself feel things.
And Avery was not prepared for that.
At all.
His pulse hammered violently in his throat.
He became painfully aware of every tiny detail in front of him.
The way Derek’s fingers curled slightly against the ceramic cup.
The faint crease between his brows whenever he got nervous.
The subtle flush spreading up the back of his neck.
Even now, Derek looked composed to anyone else. Calm. Controlled.
But Avery could see through him now.
Derek was terrified.
Not of embarrassment.
Not even of rejection itself.
He was terrified of losing Avery.
That realization hit with enough force to hollow Avery out completely.
Because suddenly all the jokes disappeared.
All the teasing.
All the nervous laughter.
Underneath it was something achingly sincere.
Derek loved him.
Not casually.
Not temporarily.
Not in the half-hearted way people threw affection around because loneliness made them reckless.
No.
Derek loved him carefully.
Patiently.
Quietly enough that it had nearly gone unnoticed.
Like he’d been carrying something fragile in his chest for months, terrified that exposing it to light would destroy it.
And Avery—
God.
Avery didn’t know what to do with the fact that someone loved him like that.
“…You’re staring again,” Derek murmured.
Avery blinked hard.
“Huh?”
“You stopped responding.”
“Oh.”
Avery swallowed.
“You’re just…” He laughed weakly under his breath. “You’re making me feel insane right now.”
Derek’s gaze softened even further somehow.
“That was not my intention.”
“Well, congratulations anyway. Mission accomplished.”
For a second neither of them moved.
The tension between them became unbearable. It wasn't awkward, not really uncomfortable, but it was dense, like something alive had settled into the space between their bodies.
Avery could feel it every time Derek looked at his mouth, to his eyes, before he immediately looked away again.
Could feel it in the way Derek’s shoulders remained tense despite trying to appear relaxed.
Could feel it in himself, too.
In the sudden awareness of how close Derek’s hand rested near the center of the table.
How easy it would be to reach for it again.
How badly Avery wanted to.
And maybe that was the scariest part.
Because Avery was used to affection in loud forms.
Jokes shouted across rooms.
Arms slung over shoulders.
Dramatic declarations made for laughter.
But this?
This quiet thing between them?
This trembling, vulnerable, terrifying tenderness?
It felt infinitely more intimate.
Like Derek had cracked himself open just enough for Avery to see the person hidden inside.
And Avery suddenly wanted to hold that person with unbearable care.
“…Can I ask something?” Avery said quietly.
Derek nodded once.
“When did you know?”
Derek exhaled slowly through his nose.
The question clearly hit deeper than Avery intended.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Derek admitted after a moment. “There wasn’t one specific moment.”
His eyes drifted toward the rain-streaked window beside them.
“It was gradual.”
Avery listened carefully.
“Like realizing I started looking for you first in every room,” Derek continued softly. “Or noticing that every minor inconvenience became tolerable if you were there talking through it.”
Avery’s heart physically hurt.
Derek gave a faint, self-conscious laugh.
“You were exhausting.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“You talked constantly.”
“I am literally speaking right now.”
“And somehow,” Derek continued, ignoring him completely, “I kept wanting to hear more.”
Avery went still.
Derek’s gaze returned to him then.
Steady.
Warm.
“Then one day you fell asleep on my couch.”
Avery blinked.
“…What?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember sleeping on your couch. I do that all the time.”
“Yes,” Derek said dryly. “That was part of the problem.”
Avery snorted.
But Derek’s expression remained soft.
“You were asleep,” he continued quietly. “The movie had ended hours ago. It was raining outside.” His eyes flickered briefly toward the windows again. “And I remember looking at you and thinking…”
He stopped.
Avery leaned forward unconsciously.
“Thinking what?”
Derek hesitated.
Like even now the honesty embarrassed him.
“…That if there was anyone I wanted the rest of my life to feel like,” he said softly, “it was you asleep on my couch while it rained.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Avery’s brain ceased functioning immediately.
Every organ in his body collectively gave up.
His soul evacuated.
Because what the fuck was he supposed to do after hearing something like that?
“That is,” Avery whispered hoarsely, “the most disgustingly romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Derek immediately looked horrified.
“I regret telling you.”
“No you don’t.”
“…No,” Derek admitted quietly. “I don’t.”
Avery stared at him.
Then laughed helplessly—not because anything was funny, but because his emotions had become too large for his body to contain properly.
His chest felt tight.
His face hurt from smiling.
His heart was beating so violently he wondered if Derek could hear it from across the table.
And suddenly Avery realized something devastating.
He had loved Derek for a while too.
He just never recognized it because it had never arrived dramatically.
There was no lightning strike.
No cinematic realization.
It had happened slowly.
Through routine.
Comfort.
Trust.
Somewhere between late-night phone calls and shared coffees and Derek silently handing him things before he even asked for them.
Somewhere between laughing until his stomach hurt and realizing Derek was the first person he wanted to tell things to.
Somewhere between “best friend” and whatever this unbearable feeling was now.
“Oh my God,” Avery whispered.
Derek immediately tensed.
“What?”
“I’m stupid.”
Derek blinked once.
“…That hardly seems relevant.”
“I’m serious!” Avery dragged both hands through his hair frantically. “I think I’ve been in love with you for months and somehow didn’t NOTICE?”
Derek stared at him.
Completely motionless.
“…Come again?”
Avery pointed accusingly at him.
“This is YOUR fault somehow.”
“My fault?”
“Yes! You did all this quiet yearning bullshit so subtly that I thought we were just—” Avery gestured wildly between them. “—weirdly emotionally codependent best friends!”
Derek looked deeply offended.
“We are weirdly emotionally codependent best friends.”
“YEAH BUT NOW THERE’S ADDITIONAL FLAVOR.”
Derek laughed again.
That soft laugh.
That warm, helpless laugh Derek only seemed to have around him.
And Avery suddenly couldn’t take the distance anymore.
Before he could overthink himself into oblivion, Avery stood abruptly from his chair.
Derek looked up immediately.
“Avery—?”
Then Avery walked around the table.
And Derek stopped breathing.
Derek watched Avery approach him like someone watching the tide come in—helpless to stop it, helpless to move away from it, and deeply aware that once it reached him, nothing would remain the same afterward.
The café suddenly felt far too small.
Far too warm.
Every sound inside it blurred into meaningless static beneath the roaring pulse in Derek’s ears. The low jazz music overhead melted together with the hiss of milk steamers and the soft murmur of strangers speaking nearby, until all of it became one indistinct haze surrounding the singular, devastating fact that Avery was walking toward him.
Toward him.
Avery stopped at the edge of the table.
For one suspended second, neither of them spoke.
Derek had to tilt his head slightly upward now to look at him properly, and the sight nearly unraveled him completely.
Because Avery was flushed from the roots of his curls down to the visible line of his throat. His breathing looked uneven. His lips were parted slightly, like he kept trying to say something and failing before the words could fully form. Even his hands seemed uncertain what to do with themselves—opening, closing, flexing at his sides with nervous energy that had nowhere left to go.
But his eyes—
God.
His eyes were devastating.
They were no longer wide with surprise or spinning with confusion. The panic had melted away into something softer now. Something frighteningly sincere. Avery was looking at Derek like he had finally solved a puzzle that had been sitting unfinished in front of him for months.
And Derek realized, with terrifying vulnerability, that Avery was seeing him completely.
Not the composed version Derek carefully maintained around everyone else.
Not the sarcastic, emotionally restrained shell he hid inside because it was safer that way.
Avery was seeing the raw thing underneath all of it.
The part of Derek that had spent months loving him in complete silence.
The part that memorized Avery’s coffee order after hearing it just one time.
The part that instinctively reached for his phone whenever something funny happened because his first thought was always, Avery would laugh at this.
The part that had begun measuring days by how much time he got to spend around him.
And the worst part—the most humiliating, unbearable part—was that Derek would willingly let Avery destroy him if it meant being looked at like this for even one more second.
“Avery,” Derek said quietly.
His voice sounded wrecked.
Avery laughed softly under his breath at that, though the sound trembled around the edges.
“You keep saying my name like that,” he murmured.
Derek swallowed hard.
“Like what?”
“Like it means something.”
The honesty of the statement lodged itself directly in Derek’s chest.
Because he did not know how to explain that Avery’s name had begun meaning everything.
That somewhere along the way it had stopped being just a name and become a feeling instead.
Home.
Relief.
Warmth.
The first good thing in every terrible day.
Derek looked away briefly, unable to withstand the intensity in Avery’s eyes for too long without risking complete emotional collapse.
But Avery noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He always noticed.
Slowly, carefully... Avery reached down toward him.
It wasn't sudden, nor was it uncomfortable, or teasingly.
This time, the movement carried intention behind it.
His fingers brushed against Derek’s hand resting near the edge of the table.
The contact was featherlight at first.
Barely there.
Yet Derek reacted like he’d been electrocuted.
Every muscle in his body tensed instantly.
His breath caught violently somewhere between his lungs and throat.
Because Avery’s touch had always affected him far more than it should have.
Casual shoulder bumps.
Hands grabbing his wrist while laughing.
Avery collapsing against him during movies without thinking twice about it.
Every tiny touch had been torture.
And now Avery was touching him knowingly.
Derek looked up sharply.
Avery’s expression softened the second their eyes met again.
Then, very gently, Avery intertwined their fingers.
The feeling shattered whatever composure Derek had left.
His chest tightened so painfully it almost bordered on grief.
Because this—this tiny, simple thing—was everything he had spent months trying not to want too badly.
Avery holding his hand willingly.
"It means so much, this whole moment... it means everything. You mean everything." Derek finally blurts out, earning a soft laugh from Avery.
Avery choosing him back.
“You know what’s messed up?” Avery whispered.
Derek could barely think straight enough to answer.
“What?”
“I always thought love was supposed to feel huge immediately.” Avery laughed weakly. “Like fireworks or some life-changing cinematic revelation.”
Derek listened silently.
“But this…” Avery’s thumb brushed softly across Derek’s knuckles. “This feels like realizing I’ve been home for months without noticing.”
Derek’s eyes closed briefly.
The words hit with enough force to physically ache.
Because Avery had unknowingly described exactly what loving him felt like too.
When Derek opened his eyes again, Avery was still staring at him with that unbearable tenderness that made Derek feel simultaneously healed and mortally wounded.
And then Avery smiled.
"I just realized it, Derek."
Not his loud grin.
Not his dramatic teasing smile.
This one was smaller.
Quieter.
"You are the only man I'd come back to after every struggle in life, you're the only home I'll ever feel content with."
It looked almost shy.
Derek thought it might kill him instantly.
“I think,” Avery said softly, “I’ve been falling in love with you in pieces for a really long time.”
Something inside Derek cracked apart completely at those words.
Months of restraint.
Months of carefully contained affection.
Months of pretending every feeling inside him was smaller than it really was.
Gone.
All of it gone.
Because Avery was standing here now, holding his hand like it mattered, looking at him like he mattered, speaking with the same trembling honesty Derek had been terrified to hope for.
Derek stood up too quickly.
The chair scraped harshly against the floor beneath him.
Several nearby customers looked over again, but neither of them noticed anymore.
Or cared.
Because suddenly they were standing impossibly close.
Close enough for Derek to see the tiny flecks of gold hidden in Avery’s eyes beneath the café lights.
Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
Close enough that every nervous breath Avery took seemed to brush directly against Derek’s mouth.
The realization struck both of them simultaneously.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
But the air between them changed entirely.
Heavy now.
Electric.
The kind of silence that existed only when two people wanted the exact same thing but were terrified of ruining the moment by reaching for it too quickly.
Avery’s eyes flickered downward first.
To Derek’s lips.
Then back up again.
Derek nearly lost his mind.
“Avery,” he whispered again, though this time the name sounded less like speech and more like surrender.
Avery inhaled shakily.
“You keep saying my name like you’re already kissing me.”
Derek’s entire body went still.
Then Avery laughed softly at the look on his face, though the sound came out breathless.
“Oh my God,” Avery murmured. “You want to kiss me.”
Derek stared at him for one unbearable second longer before answering with painful honesty.
“Yes.”
The word came out rough.
Immediate.
Like it had been waiting too long to exist.
And Avery—
God, Avery looked utterly ruined by it.
His cheeks flushed darker.
His lips parted slightly again.
Even his grip on Derek’s hand tightened unconsciously.
Then, with all the nervousness and sincerity of someone stepping off a ledge willingly, Avery lifted his free hand and rested it gently against Derek’s jaw.
Derek stopped breathing entirely.
The touch was unbelievably careful.
Avery’s thumb brushed slowly along his cheekbone, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of him.
And suddenly Derek realized Avery was trembling too.
Not because he was uncertain.
Because this mattered to him just as much.
“You know,” Avery whispered softly, voice unsteady with emotion, “for someone who acts emotionally unavailable twenty-four hours a day, you’re ridiculously easy to love.”
Derek let out the smallest, most broken laugh Avery had ever heard.
Then everything inside him gave way at once.
He leaned forward first.
Slowly enough to stop if Avery wanted him to.
Slowly enough to let him pull away.
But Avery didn’t.
Instead Avery moved closer too, like gravity itself had finally become unbearable between them.
Their foreheads brushed first.
The contact alone nearly destroyed Derek.
Warm.
Real.
Intimate in a way that felt almost more dangerous than kissing.
For one suspended heartbeat they simply stayed there breathing the same air.
Avery’s eyes slipped shut first.
Derek watched him for half a second longer, overwhelmed by the impossible fact that this was real—that Avery was here, that Avery wanted this too, that all the quiet love Derek had buried inside himself had somehow survived long enough to be returned.
Then Derek kissed him.
Softly.
Like something precious.
Like something he had wanted for so long he was almost afraid of it.
And Avery melted instantly.
Not dramatically.
Not explosively.
He simply gave in.
One quiet breath escaped him against Derek’s mouth, shaky and warm and full of emotion Derek could physically feel.
The kiss deepened carefully after that—not rushed, not desperate, but unbearably tender.
Months of hidden affection unfolded inside it.
Every almost-confession.
Every restrained glance.
Every moment Derek nearly reached for him and stopped himself.
Every time Avery unconsciously chose Derek first without understanding why.
All of it lived inside the kiss.
And somewhere in the background, unnoticed by either of them, the café erupted into scattered applause.
The message itself should not have affected Derek nearly as much as it did.
But it did.
Because Derek had changed Avery’s contact nickname less than fifteen minutes ago.
Not impulsively—Derek rarely did anything impulsively—but after nearly twenty straight minutes of staring at the blinking cursor beside Avery’s name while lying half-awake in bed. The room had been dark except for the pale glow of his phone screen, rain tapping softly against the windows in uneven rhythms. He had changed it once. Changed it back immediately. Then changed it again.
*My Avery.*
Simple.
Embarrassingly simple.
Yet the second he finally let himself keep it there, his entire chest had tightened with unbearable warmth.
Not because Avery belonged to him in some possessive way. Derek would never think of him like that.
It was the opposite, really.
The nickname existed because Derek still could not fully comprehend that Avery had chosen him at all.
That Avery looked at him with softness now.
That Avery kissed him goodbye reluctantly.
That Avery reached for his hand automatically.
That somehow, impossibly, the person Derek had spent months loving in silence had begun loving him back with equal intensity.
And now Avery was outside his house.
Because apparently seeing the nickname had been enough to launch him into immediate emotional catastrophe.
Derek opened the front door to find Avery standing beneath the dim porch light with flushed cheeks and visibly disheveled hair, like he had run at least part of the way there without thinking things through first.
Which, honestly, was probably exactly what happened.
The night air carried the scent of rain-soaked pavement and cold wind. Avery’s hoodie sleeves were pulled over part of his hands, though judging by the way he kept fidgeting with them, it clearly wasn’t because he was cold.
He was nervous.
The realization softened Derek instantly.
Avery looked up the second the door opened.
And there it was.
That expression.
That devastating expression Derek had begun recognizing more and more lately—the one Avery wore whenever he looked at Derek like he still couldn’t quite believe him.
Neither of them spoke immediately.
For a moment they simply stood there staring at one another in the soft yellow porch light while the distant sound of rain filled the silence between them.
Then Avery broke first.
“You changed my nickname.”
Derek immediately looked away.
Which was essentially an admission of guilt.
Avery let out a disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“You actually changed my nickname.”
“It is not that significant,” Derek muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Derek.” Avery stepped closer immediately. “You changed it to My Avery.”
The way he said it—softly this time, without teasing—made Derek’s entire body tense.
Because suddenly the nickname sounded far more intimate spoken aloud.
Dangerously intimate.
Derek cleared his throat once.
“You came all the way here because of a Messenger nickname?”
“Yes.”
The answer arrived instantly.
Without hesitation.
Like it was obvious.
"You're not wrong though... But,"
And somehow that affected Derek even more.
Avery laughed quietly at the look on Derek’s face, though his eyes remained impossibly warm.
“You can’t just do things like that,” Avery murmured.
“I changed two words, Avery.”
“You emotionally altered my brain chemistry.”
Derek failed to suppress the faint smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
Avery noticed immediately, of course.
“There it is,” Avery whispered dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “The smile. He’s smiling at me. Everybody stay calm.”
“You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” Avery said softly, stepping fully into Derek’s space now, “you made me yours anyway.”
The sentence hit Derek so hard he physically stopped breathing for a second.
Not because Avery meant ownership.
Derek knew him better than that.
It was the tenderness of it.
The quiet certainty.
The way Avery said *yours* like it was something precious rather than restrictive.
Like being loved by Derek felt safe.
And God, Derek wanted to deserve that trust so badly it hurt.
“Avery,” he said quietly.
Avery’s expression softened immediately at the tone.
The teasing dissolved from his face little by little until only affection remained behind.
Then, without another word, Avery stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Derek.
Not dramatically nor playfully. Just… close enough. Warmly.
Real.
The hug hit Derek with such force emotionally that his arms moved around Avery almost instinctively, pulling him nearer before he could even think about it.
Avery melted against him instantly.
Derek could feel the tension leave his body in slow increments.
The warmth of him seeped into everything.
His hoodie smelled faintly like rainwater and fabric softener and something unmistakably Avery beneath it all. Derek buried his face briefly against Avery’s hair before he could stop himself, breathing him in like relief.
And Avery—
God.
Avery tightened his arms around him immediately in response.
Like he had noticed.
Like he liked it.
“You know,” Avery murmured softly against his shoulder, “I was trying to act normal about the nickname.”
Derek let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like laughter.
“How unfortunate.”
“I lasted approximately four minutes.”
“That may be your personal record.”
Avery snorted quietly.
But neither of them pulled away.
Because the truth was that both of them had become frighteningly addicted to this already.
The closeness.
The softness.
The ability to touch each other without pretending it meant less than it did.
And Derek especially was weak against affection from Avery. Catastrophically weak.
Every time Avery leaned into him willingly, Derek felt something deep inside himself unravel completely.
Eventually Avery tilted his head upward slightly.
“Can I come inside?”
Derek looked at him for half a second before answering honestly.
“You could probably ask me for anything right now.”
Avery’s cheeks flushed immediately.
“Oh my God,” he muttered. “You’re getting worse.”
“I am aware.”
Derek stepped aside to let him in.
The house was quiet except for the distant hum of rain against the windows. Warm lighting spilled softly through the living room, painting everything gold and amber against the darkness outside.
Avery immediately kicked his shoes off near the door like he belonged there.
The sight nearly destroyed Derek emotionally.
Because Avery already acted natural inside his space now.
Already wandered comfortably through the house.
Already filled the silence with warmth until the rooms no longer felt so empty.
Derek shut the front door quietly behind them.
By the time he turned around again, Avery was already standing in the middle of the living room looking at him with that unbearably fond expression again.
“What?” Derek asked cautiously.
Avery smiled slowly.
“I really like being loved by you.”
The honesty of the statement struck Derek so deeply he could not respond immediately.
Avery noticed the effect instantly.
His expression softened further.
Then he walked back toward Derek again—slower this time, quieter somehow—and gently took Derek’s hand before leading him toward the couch.
There was no resistance whatsoever.
Derek would have followed him anywhere.
The rain outside had intensified again by the time they settled onto the couch together, the sound wrapping around the room in soft rhythmic waves. The lamp beside them cast dim golden light over everything, leaving the rest of the house shadowed and quiet.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Avery simply curled closer.
Closer.
Until eventually he was practically folded into Derek’s side entirely.
And Derek—
Derek nearly lost his mind over how natural it felt.
Avery rested partly against his chest now, one arm loosely draped across Derek’s waist while Derek’s own arm stayed securely around him. Their legs tangled together unconsciously beneath the blanket Avery had stolen from the armrest.
The position should have felt awkward.
Instead it felt inevitable.
Like they had been slowly moving toward this exact moment for months without realizing it.
Derek looked down after a while to find Avery already staring at him.
Sleepy.
Soft.
Completely open.
“What?” Derek whispered.
Avery smiled faintly.
“You keep looking at me like you’re scared I’ll disappear.”
Derek’s chest tightened immediately.
Because it was true.
Some irrational part of him still expected to wake up and discover all of this had been wishful thinking.
That Avery would stop looking at him this way eventually.
That Derek had somehow imagined being loved back.
But Avery reached up then, brushing gentle fingers through Derek’s hair near his temple.
The touch was impossibly tender.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Avery murmured softly.
And something inside Derek finally, finally began to rest.
Slowly Derek lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against Avery’s.
Their breaths mingled together in the dim quiet of the room.
Outside, rain continued falling endlessly against the windows.
Inside, wrapped around each other on the couch with warmth pooled between their bodies and Avery half-asleep against his chest, Derek realized with almost painful clarity that this—this right here—was the closest he had ever come to happiness.