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There’s someone staring at Avery from across the dining commons.
It’s late May. The end of spring quarter is coming up. Avery has been studying his ass off so he doesn’t fail his organic chemistry class again.
Winter quarter was hard. Classes began only a few days into the new year. For the first few weeks, Avery couldn’t even remember the details of what had happened, but a crushing sense of guilt weighed constantly on his chest. Almost daily, he would have moments where he felt like he couldn’t even breathe.
The dread that hit Avery when he found the recording on his computer was absolute—here was the answer he was looking for, the one his heart already knew.
As he watched the footage through, his memories returned, piece by terrible piece, building toward that devastating, inevitable conclusion.
Finally, he reached the section in the library and that strange string of characters Derek sent through chat.
Winter quarter was hard. It didn’t take too long for Avery to think of that YouTube video and to try out some of its tricks. In the last week of January, he discovered the new Google Drive folder with Derek’s half of the New Year’s Eve footage and the link to his YouTube channel.
The video of Derek’s goodbye letter destroyed any last shred of hope Avery was holding onto.
There’s someone staring at Avery from across the dining commons.
Winter quarter was hard. Following the discovery of the goodbye letter, Avery fell into a fugue of mourning. Sometimes, he felt like a fool crying so much over someone he barely knew. But then he’d read the letter again, and the grief would well within him until it could not but overflow.
February was a blur of endless tears. However, as spring—and final exams—approached, Avery’s mourning gained a spiteful edge.
Derek should have lived. Avery would have to live for him.
Miraculously, Avery did not completely flunk his winter quarter schedule, only failing the one class in organic chemistry. He bought some sparkling water and fruit juice in celebration, mixing together a cup of apple spritzer at home and toasting it in Derek’s name. A few days later, when spring quarter began, he promised himself he would do better; be better. Be the person Derek’s last words described.
It’s late May. The end of spring quarter is coming up. Avery has been doing okay. Not great, not terrible, just okay. Peel back his determination and you will find his despair, but don’t mistake the first layer for a mask—it’s the skin he’s made of.
There’s someone staring at Avery from across the dining commons.
The person is wearing a hoodie, mask, and sunglasses, completely obscuring their face. It should be impossible to tell which direction they’re looking in, yet Avery can feel their gaze on himself like the first prickle of sensation on a numb limb.
“Hey, Avery? Avery!” One of his friends, Imelda, is calling his name amid the din of the noontime crowd. It pulls Avery’s attention back to his table, and he realizes he’s stabbed his fork cleanly through a slice of pizza. Imelda’s brows are raised. “My dude, are you okay?”
Avery musters up a smile. “Yeah, of course.”
“You sure? You can talk to us, you know,” says his other friend, Sean.
Imelda and Sean are two pre-med students Avery’s met while retaking CHE 118B. They’ve been kind enough to take Avery under their wing, probably because he looked so pitiful struggling with practice problems when they first ran into each other during TA office hours.
They’ve been his first friends in college. Well, apart from—you know. Avery doesn’t know how to explain Derek, though. So he hasn’t. He’s never spoken about him to anyone in his personal life, and certainly not to anyone online. He’s not sure how he feels about the viral videos, or the fact that nobody seems to think any of it is real. He wouldn’t believe any of it was real, either, if he weren’t living through it.
Imelda and Sean are nice. Avery doesn’t want to scare them away.
“I’m fine,” he says, dropping his fork and pushing his plate to the side. “Not that hungry anymore, though.”
Imelda and Sean look at his plate still full of food and exchange glances.
Imelda opens her mouth to speak, but she’s cut off by a smooth voice: “Avery.”
In the time Avery has taken to answer his friends, his masked admirer has found their way to their table. This close, Avery can discern the shape of their brow under the shadow of their hood. He’s sure he’s never seen this person before, but everything about them feels so painfully familiar.
“Do you know this guy, Avery?” Imelda asks.
“Avery,” the person repeats. “It’s me.”
“Derek?” Avery chokes out.
“Yeah,” Derek murmurs. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Avery responds before remembering his surroundings, Imelda and Sean looking back and forth between him and Derek. “I, uh—give me a moment, guys, I’ll be back soon—actually, probably not—okay, just finish lunch without me. I wasn’t eating any more anyway.”
Sean gestures toward the empty chair at their table. “Derek can sit and speak here, if he wants.” Imelda nods in agreement.
“The topic is kind of private,” Derek says.
Avery stands from his seat. “Yeah, sorry guys.”
“It’s all right,” Imelda replies. She shoos Avery away from his plate when he tries to take it. “Sean and I will handle the cleanup. Your conversation seems important.”
“Thanks,” Avery says. He turns to Derek, and before he can say anything, Derek holds a hand out. Avery takes it without thought.
It’s warm.
It’s such a simple fact, that Derek’s hand is warm, and Avery can already see that he’s standing and speaking in front of him, but it’s only now that it truly sinks in, that Derek is here, that he’s alive.
Derek is pulling him through the lunch hour throng, face askance. Avery’s eyes begin to water and his breath hitches, too quietly for anyone to hear beneath the chatter of the dining commons. Without looking back, Derek squeezes his hand.
Avery automatically squeezes his hand in return, then smiles, almost laughs. Even now, Derek is taking care of him.
They walk out of the dining commons. The sun is bright and the air is fresh. They weave through the students crowding the sidewalks for a short distance before stepping off the pavement, heading toward an alleyway between two of the residence halls. Once they’ve ensconced themselves in a shadowed corner of the alleyway, Derek stops, turns to face Avery again, and murmurs, “Ah.”
Because Avery can’t get rid of the tightness in his chest, tears leaking down his face as he stifles his sniffles. Derek lets go of his hand, but before Avery can hide his face in his own, Derek is reaching up to brush the tears away.
“It’s all right, everything’s all right,” Derek is saying, his own voice wavering. “I found you, all right? It was my turn, and I found you.”
“That you did,” Avery tries to say, but the last word cracks on a sob.
And he can’t stop himself from heaving another sob, and then another, and it’s stupid, because Derek is right in front of him, he’s alive, he’s warm and real and alive, and Avery is stupid, so, so stupid—
“Hey, none of that,” Derek is saying as he pulls Avery into his arms. “You’re not—stupid. Avery, you’re good—you’re so good, okay?” And it’s terrible, how Derek also sounds like he’s crying, how that makes Avery feel the slightest bit better as he’s ruining Derek’s hoodie with his tears.
“You’re good,” Derek repeats as he starts carding a hand through Avery’s hair. “You’re good, Avery, you’re so good.”
Avery holds onto Derek tightly as he cries. Finally, he runs out of tears, but he doesn’t want to let go of Derek, almost afraid that Derek will disappear again if he does.
At least Derek doesn’t seem to want to let go of him either, still rubbing circles into Avery’s scalp.
“I don’t mind it,” Derek says. “We can stay like this if you want.”
Avery props his chin on Derek’s shoulder. So, he thinks, you’re a mind reader now?
“Side effect of the infinite knowledge thing. Or same thing, really.”
Avery frowns. “Are you okay? Wasn’t it really painful?”
“Most of it’s gone now,” Derek says. “What remains is a jumble of information about our world and its adjacent timelines. I’m still pretty bad at sorting through it, but the present moment is a natural point of focus, which includes things like your thoughts…it’s been difficult for me to avoid them. Sorry about that.”
“I don’t really care,” Avery says. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He pauses. “You’re okay, right?”
“I’m okay,” Derek says. “Well…”
Avery leans back to look Derek in the eye (never mind that he can’t actually see past the tint of Derek’s sunglasses), causing Derek to shift his hand from Avery’s hair to the side of his face. “‘Well’ what?” Avery demands.
Derek sighs. “Hastur—the King in Yellow—may or may not be living in my head now.”
Avery stares at him for a second. “Are you serious?”
“It’s not that bad,” Derek says, almost begrudgingly. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s the reason my head isn’t constantly trying to kill me anymore. Like, I think most of the knowledge is gone because he absorbed those parts of it back. And the parts I can still access, sometimes he helps me sort through their details? Okay, that doesn’t happen very often. He’s still an asshole.”
“What the fuck,” Avery says, because what the fuck.
“He’s more annoying than anything, honestly. He talks at me all the time—he’s the worst backseat gamer to life ever. To be clear, he does stay in the backseat. He’s never taken control of my body before.”
Avery chews the inside of his mouth before responding, “That’s good at least, that he can’t force you to do anything.”
“I’m not completely sure he can’t. Maybe he’s just never tried.” Derek huffs. “I don’t think that’s likely, but you should keep the possibility in mind.”
Avery furrows his brows. “All right. If you say so.”
Derek’s thumb is brushing the skin beneath Avery’s right eye back and forth. Avery presses into it, and he swears he can see Derek’s expression soften around the edges of his mask and sunglasses.
“Is there a reason for your whole getup?” Avery wonders aloud, pulling lightly at the fabric of Derek’s hoodie.
“Yes,” Derek says, very matter-of-factly. “I’m on the run from the government, so it’s helpful to hide my face.”
“Okay, dude—wait are you actually serious.”
“I know you’ve seen the DMS takedown of my footage,” Derek says, apparently actually serious. “Those people broke into my apartment and kidnapped me while I was still in the middle of merging with Hastur—the entire process lasted a few days, and it already wasn’t a very fun time even before they showed up.”
“They—they took you?”
“Yes. For research purposes. That also wasn’t a very fun time.”
Avery makes some kind of distressed noise in the back of his throat.
Derek is still holding Avery’s face in one of his hands. He tips it gently toward his own. “I’m okay now.”
“How can you say that?!”
“I’m out of there. And I found you.”
Avery turns his face into Derek’s hand. “You are impossible,” he mutters.
“Avery.”
Avery peeks back at Derek. “Yeah?”
Derek takes a breath before saying, “The DMS has also been making plans to detain you. I kind of…came here to ask you to run away with me.”
Avery blinks. “What, like right now?”
Derek nods. “There are people monitoring you. They already know I’m here.”
“What?!”
“Mm. We can take your car to Sacramento, but it’s too easy to track for long-term use. I’ve got bus tickets to go east from there. We can go to your dorm to pack some essentials first, but we should hurry.” Derek detangles himself from how they’re holding each other, and Avery mourns the loss of contact until Derek offers his hand to him once more.
And again, he takes it without thought. This time, though, Derek doesn’t immediately start walking. Instead, he tilts his head. “So you’re deciding to come with me just like that? Based off of nothing but my word?”
“I trust you,” Avery says.
Maybe he’s stupid to do so. Avery still doesn’t really know who Derek is. A few hours of footage and a New Year’s Eve is an acquaintanceship at best.
But Derek knows Avery.
Derek knows Avery, and he still chose to warn and save him all those months ago. Derek knows Avery, and he’s still chosen to hold him so tenderly as they speak face to face for the first time. Derek knows Avery, and he still chooses to wind their fingers together, warm and ultimate, here and now.
What is that quote again? If you want the rewards of being loved, you must submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
Avery doesn’t know Derek. But Derek knows Avery. And Avery knows this: he is loved, completely and wholly, and desperately, so desperately, he wants to be able to return it, even if only a fraction.
Derek looks down. “You don’t owe that to me.”
But Avery has had months to come up with rebuttals to this particular statement. “Whether I owe you anything or not doesn’t matter. It’s just how I feel.”
For a moment, Derek is silent, the direction of his gaze fixed on their intertwined hands. Then, he looks back up. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Derek nods. “Let’s go.”
This time, they go together.