Archive of Our Own

Dex never meant to spend so much time at the Bittle-Zimmermann’s, fixing their oven. He tried to keep to his schedule, but it was near the end of the day, and he and Jack were friends through the local hockey league, and Eric wouldn’t let him leave their apartment until he’d tried two different pie recipes and his new peach jam muffins. By the time he got back in his van to head to his next, and last, stop for the day, he was running three and a half hours late.

“I’m sorry, Johnson,” he said, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he drove through traffic. “Can you just call this guy and let him know I’m running way behind, but if he doesn’t mind I can still try and fix his window tonight?” He glanced at his watch - 8:47 PM. It shouldn’t take him too long to do this job, but still, most people wouldn’t want him poking around their homes at nine on a Friday night.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Johnson said. “It’s all good, trust me, just go on over there. This is how everything is supposed to play out.” Johnson hung up and Dex tossed his phone on the passenger seat, thankful Johnson managed to stay on top of his job answering the phone and creating their schedule. He was a pretty weird dude - Dex thought he might be part of some crazy cult that believed in predestination and a Divine Plan or something, but he didn’t actually need to know to do his job, so he never asked.

Once he got across town to his last contract for the day, he had a hell of a time finding a place to park. He ended up circling the block a few times and eventually getting lucky as somebody pulled out of a spot. Based on what Johnson had told him, he wouldn’t actually need that many tools for this job, which was a good thing. A few months ago, he’d double-parked because he and Whiskey had gone out to install a granite countertop, and they were still paying off the stupid parking ticket. He’d had to pick up his van from a goddamn impound lot. It was a good thing one of his friends was a decent lawyer.

He turned the van off and grabbed his bag from the back before trudging down the slushy sidewalk to the apartment building, pressing the buzzer for 604. The door clicked open immediately, so Dex went inside, straight over to the elevators. The building was old but not in an antique, pricey kind of way. It wasn’t falling apart, either, and all of the lights seemed to work. The landlord had just signed their contract, so Dex hadn’t been to this building before for repairs, though someone else clearly had.

The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor and Dex heard music playing loudly from one of the apartments. He felt a little like he’d stepped right into a frat party, and he was still out in the hallway. As he walked past the doors, he really hoped the music was coming from any of them, but of course, when he reached 604, he could hear the sounds of music and voices coming from behind the door. He knocked on the door and figured he’d have to reschedule. At least he could go home early, maybe take a bath and work on plans for his brother Charlie’s back deck.

To his surprise, the door swung open after only a few seconds. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “This shouldn’t take that long.”

“Daaaaayum, Holster,” the guy yelled in his face. Dex had no idea what he was talking about - he had a tool belt around his hips, but maybe this guy was drunk enough to think it it was some kind of weird holster. “Did you call a stripper?”

“What?” Dex asked. The guy opened the door wider and motioned for Dex to come into the apartment. There weren’t actually that many people in the room, but there was a very expensive stereo against one wall, bottles and cups spread across a low coffee table and people sprawled on the couch.

“Do you have, like, a specific song, or something?” the guy asked. He leaned into Dex’s space, fingers running along the open edge of his flannel shirt. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, smiling invitingly. His breath smelled like tequila, and Dex absolutely didn’t notice the shades of green in his eyes, the long flutter of his lashes, the stubble across his jaw. He did not even think about repeating the words back to this guy - it didn’t matter how true it was; he wasn’t about to fuck up the contract with this landlord over one sinfully hot tennant. “Can’t wait to watch you take your clothes off.”

If he’d been a different kind of person, less hot-tempered, less defensive and proud, he might have been flattered, but Dex had grown up scrappy and ginger, with two older brothers, and as a consequence, he had a pretty big chip on his shoulder. He was working on it, learning to take deep breaths and hold himself back from fights. Standing in this apartment full of strangers and pounding music, Dex didn’t have the patience. He dropped his heavy bag of tools a few inches from the guy’s bare toes, making him stumble back a few steps. A few people turned to look at them.

“Dude, that sounds like some serious supplies,” someone said.

“Did you call Johnson?” Dex asked. “From Samwell Contractors?”

“I really don’t care who contracts you,” he said, a lazy grin still on his face. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up so Dex could see the screen, which was covered in a web of cracks so dense it looked pretty useless. “I can’t really use my phone right now, anyways. Unless that was a line?” He looked down, gesturing at Dex’s tool belt. “Is that a hammer in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

The question was ridiculous on so many levels, Dex didn’t even want to think about it. He bent down and fished a long flat-head screwdriver out of his toolbag. “Where’s your window that’s stuck?” he asked, loud enough to be heard over the music. He might have held the screwdriver a little menacingly, even though he knew he couldn’t actually stab anyone with it. Johnson was a pretty lax guy, but he wouldn’t be cool with Dex murdering someone on the job.

“Wait, what?” The guy was swaying slightly, leaning into Dex’s space just a bit too much.

Dex pulled his own phone out of his pocket and opened his work calendar. “You Derek Nurse, 18227 Rushleigh, Apartment 604?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the guy - Derek, apparently, said. “‘s my birthday on Tuesday.” He smirked.

Dex rolled his eyes and kept scrolling through his phone. “At 3:17 pm on Monday February 6, the landlord of this building, Georgia Martin, contacted Johnson Repair and Contracting regarding a window in apartment 604 that’s stuck open, is this correct?”

“Oh shit,” Derek said slowly, his eyes fixed on Dex’s chest. Dex looked down, figuring he must have a smudge of grease on his shirt or something, until he realized he was still holding the screwdriver at a pretty good angle for stabbing. He let his arm fall to his side. “You can fix the window?”

“Yeah,” Dex said. “That’s what I’m here for.” Derek jerked his head towards the back of the apartment, stumbling as he turned. Dex picked up his bag and followed him, hoping this guy wasn’t about to fall over walking through his own apartment.

“Where you going, Nursey?” another guy yelled, fiddling with an iPod. Dex wondered for half a second if Derek was only friends with stupidly attractive people, or if they just naturally grouped together and became friends.

“Dude, Rans, chill,” Derek said over his shoulder. He stumbled again, this time over the narrow rug that ran down the hallway. “Shit, sorry. It’s in here.” He opened a door, stepping into the room and trying to edge out of Dex’s way. The room was cluttered, bed unmade and clothes spilling out of the closet. In the wall opposite the door, the only window in the room was wide open, letting in a frigid breeze and the noise of traffic outside. “Shit,” Derek said again, under his breath. Dex turned to see him shuffling his feet, arms wrapped around himself.

“You’ve been living with this for a week?” Dex asked, crossing to the window.

“Pretty much,” Derek said. “I mean, like, I’ve been sleeping on the couch and keeping the door shut and stuff, but yeah.”

Dex crouched down, feeling along the window frame. Carefully, he ran the edge of the screwdriver through the jamb, checking for anything that could be stuck there, preventing the window from moving. Then he reached outside the window, his hands on the stile on either side of the pane. He pushed just hard enough to pop the window back into its jamb, then slid the window closed again.

“Somehow you got the bottom window pane stuck on the top one,” Dex said, looking at the upper half of the window. “I don’t know how you managed to do that, but next time -”

The music changed abruptly to a pop song Dex recognized, suddenly much louder. Dex glared at Derek. You don’t gotta go to work, work, work, work, work…

Derek glared right back at him. “Don’t give me that whack look, I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he said. He bit his lip and Dex cursed himself for instantly thinking about kissing Derek, about leaning in and tasting alcohol on his tongue, about pressing his own teeth into Derek’s bottom lip. Dex took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “My friends are kind of drunk - well, we’re all kind of drunk,” Derek said, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I didn’t know what song to pick,” the guy Derek had called Rans said, leaning his head in the door. “This seems like a solid choice though.” He frowned, looking from Dex to the closed window behind him. “Hold up, he fixed the window?”

“Justin! Great song!” someone yelled. A second later, a giant blond guy came running down the hallway. He crashed into Rans, who didn’t even try to catch him. Together they fell backwards into the wall, somehow managing to put a sizeable dent in the drywall. Derek turned to look pleadingly at Dex, who was a little stunned that Derek and his friends really were the most accident-prone people Dex had ever met.

“I’m not fixing that tonight,” he said. “I’m gonna have to come again later.”

“I’ll make sure you come again, sweet cheeks!” one of the guys in the hallway yelled.

Derek laughed nervously, smiling at Dex and doing his best to ignore his friends’ raucous dancing in the hall. “You wanna stay for the party?” he asked, taking a step closer to him. “We can explain this whole thing to Rans and Holster and everybody else.”

“I’ve been working all day,” Dex said. “Actual physical work, not some cushy office job. It’s late and I’m tired and I’d really like to go home.”

“Oh,” Derek said, turning to leave the room. “Yeah, sure. You don’t even want to stay for a beer or something?”

“I am still working,” Dex repeated. “Have your landlord call Johnson, we’ll fix the wall.”

“Right.” Derek glanced behind him, like he’d already forgotten his friends had managed to put a hole in the wall. “Well, at least now I know someone who can fix it.” He smiled. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

“Dex,” he introduced himself. They were standing by the door now, Dex’s work bag still on the floor where he’d dropped it. They shook hands, Derek’s hand warm and solid in Dex’s.

“Dex,” Derek repeated. “That’s a cool name.”

He knew he wasn’t being mocked, that Derek was probably genuine in his approval, but something still sparked conflict in Dex’s chest - maybe his natural inclination to fight, or some strange need to prove himself to this near-stranger. “It’s a nickname,” he said. “My name’s Will Poindexter.”

“Slightly less cool than just Dex,” Derek said, smiling teasingly. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“You could always just hang a picture over the hole your friends put in the wall.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to stay away from Derek - if it was the bright look in his eyes, or the spark at the touch of their hands. This whole thing with Derek could go one of two ways, and the likelihood of it working out in his favor was pretty slim. It wasn’t that he’d never been in a relationship before, or even that he’d never been with a guy. Dex’s just crushes had a history of ending badly. He’d developed a habit of saving himself the heartache and stopping before things went too far. Besides, he didn’t even know if he’d have a chance with Derek at all, and on top of that, Derek was a client. It didn’t matter how stupidly hot he was or how much Dex crushed on him - Dex was just here to do his job.

“I could,” Derek agreed, hands in his pockets as he moved closer to Dex. “But I’d rather spend more time with you.”

“Okay,” Dex said slowly. He could feel a blush spreading across his face. He never knew how to react to people flirting with him, particularly when they were simultaneously gorgeous and adorable like Derek. “Try not to break anything else,” he said, crouching to pick up his bag.

“I’ll try,” Derek said. “No promises. We’re all pretty clumsy.”

“Dude, no, don’t leave already,” Rans said, swaying slightly as he walked towards them.

“Nah, dude, he’s gotta go,” Derek said. “Clearly he’s a busy guy.” Rans smirked at him and held out his fist, gently knocking knuckles against Derek’s. He opened the door, bracing his arm against the edge of it. “See ya later, Dex,” Derek said.

“Bye, cute stripper repairman,” Rans said brightly.

“Bro, he’s actually a repair man,” Derek said. He reached out to push Ransom’s shoulder but lost his balance and fell into Dex, on his way out the door. Both of Derek’s hands landed flat against Dex’s chest, their thighs just touching thanks to the way Derek had stumbled. Automatically, Dex lifted one of his hands to catch Derek at the waist.

“Whoa,” Derek said quietly, looking down at Dex’s hand on him before flicking his gaze back to Dex’s eyes. Derek’s eyes were a swirl of greys and greens watching him intently. He leaned closer, letting more of his weight settle against Dex.

“Guess you really are clumsy,” Dex said, trying to pull back as far as he could without letting Derek fall. He took the hint, taking a step away from Dex, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good night.”

“Night,” Derek echoed, looking out at Dex, who was now standing in the hall.

As the door closed behind him, Dex heard Rans say, “Repairman, my glorious ass.” He ignored the elevator in favor of running down the stairs, the heavy fall of his work boots echoing in the stairwell. Brusquely, he walked through the lobby and out into the street, not stopping until he reached the van. He tossed his bag into the passenger seat, hopped into the driver’s seat, and rested his hands on the wheel.

It had been a weird evening, for sure. Certain moments replayed over and over in his memory: Derek’s expression when he’d first opened the door, surprised and curious and full of want; the way he’d looked standing in his bedroom watching Dex work, shadowed and soft in the dim light; the feeling of his body against Dex’s, the curve of his hip under Dex’s hand. Dex wanted to find more excuses to touch Derek, to spend more time with him and actually get to know him. He took a deep breath, fingers clenched around the wheel, wondering if he could send Whiskey to fix the wall, if they got that call. It might not be the best idea for him to be around Derek again - Dex liked his job, but exploiting that job to spend time with a cute guy made Dex feel terrible.

Even though he wanted to see Derek again, it might be better if he just forgot this night ever happened. Dex started the van and drove home, surprised that it only took him a few minutes. Derek’s apartment building was not far from Dex’s own place, though the neighborhood was a little different. Once inside his apartment, Dex dropped his bag by the door, stripped off his dusty work clothes, and took a shower. He got in bed and turned on the tv, letting sportscenter play mindlessly in the background as he closed his eyes and tried not to picture dark curls and bright green eyes.

The next morning, Dex woke up early, made himself coffee and ate breakfast before checking his calendar for the day. Today was full of a few standard appointments - replacing a doorknob and lock for Mrs. J. Ramirez, then installing new kitchen cabinets for a couple in the process of renovating their kitchen. Dex liked to do smaller projects, though he would sometimes ask Johnson for bigger projects that would take him a few days to do. Ollie and Wicks usually went out for the longer renovation and construction jobs, only calling Dex if they really needed a lot of help.

He poured more coffee into a thermos, double-checked the tools in his bag, and headed out for the day. During the day, Dex let himself get wrapped up in his work, focusing all of his attention on each little task. He remembered all at once, at random times, how much he loved his job - building things, fitting pieces together like a giant three-dimensional puzzle in people’s lives. One day ran into the next, falling into an easy routine. That weekend, he slept in, went to hockey practice with Jack and the rest of their team, and with everything else he’d done that week, he’d practically forgotten about that night at Derek’s apartment.

When Monday morning came around, Dex was surprised to wake up to a text from Johnson: extra appt today 9am 18227 rushleigh ave apt 604 d. nurse drywall patch job

Dex groaned and rolled over in his bed. At least it was too early in the day to be drunk - unless Derek did nothing but party. He could’ve been drinking all night and never gone to sleep, though his apartment building seemed too nice for him to live the frat boy party lifestyle. He allowed himself a few more seconds to mentally prepare for the day, for the thought of seeing Derek Nurse again. At least he probably wouldn’t mistake Dex for a stripper this time.

By the time he knocked on the door of Derek’s apartment for a second time, Dex was prepared. He knew what to expect. Since he’d seen him last, Dex didn’t let himself dwell on Derek, on his plush lips or bright eyes or his stupid, self-satisfied smirk. Still, his face was hard to forget; sure, Dex might not have remembered the exact details, but if Derek ever answered the door, Dex was prepared for his model-beautiful face. Dex knocked again. It was taking Derek a long time to answer the door. He checked his watch - 9:02 am.

“Hey, sorry, sorry,” Derek said, opening the door.

Dex was absolutely not prepared for this.

Derek answered the door half-naked, a pair of bright flannel pajama pants hanging low off his hips, his skin slightly damp. “Sorry, I just got out of the shower. Overslept.” He grinned at Dex, who was still standing out in the hallway, blatantly staring. Derek had a wide tattoo, a thick band of intricate patterns twisting around his bicep. Dex almost dropped his bag again, this time out of shock.

“You awake?” Derek nudged Dex’s shoulder, shaking him a little. Dex wasn’t entirely sure - dreaming seemed a likely explanation for this scenario, though it wouldn’t explain the feeling of Derek’s palm, warm against his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, or the fresh scent of either soap or cologne, the faint drip of a coffeemaker coming from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dex said, entirely honest this early in the morning.

Derek laughed. “Well, there’ll be coffee in a minute. How long do you think this’ll take? I only got off work for this morning.”

Dex shrugged, following Derek into his apartment. “Shouldn’t take too long, maybe an hour or so.”

“Great,” Derek said, leading Dex back through his apartment to the hallway, the hole in the wall still there, at roughly the right height for a tall man’s elbow. He set his bag on the floor and started looking for his drywall knife. The door to Derek’s bedroom was wide open, light streaming in through the window. “You want some coffee?” Derek called from somewhere else in the apartment.

“Sure, thanks,” Dex said, measuring out the spare piece of drywall he’d brought up. By the time he’d trimmed it down to the right size, Derek walked back into the hallway with two mugs of coffee and handed one of them to Dex.

“I’ve got cream and sugar if you want it,” he said.

“Black is fine, thanks,” Dex said, blowing across the surface to cool it. He squinted at the mug, reading the words printed on it. “Really? Shakespeare?”

“Hey, I thought it was funny,” Derek said from his room. “Besides, I’m a librarian, I needed it.”

Dex coughed, nearly inhaling a sip of coffee. “A librarian?” he repeated skeptically.

“Chyeah,” Derek said, standing in the door of his room. He’d changed from his pajamas into a pair of dark navy pants, but he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. “What did you expect?”

He took a second to look at Derek, considered everything he’d learned about him during the short amount of time he’d spent in his apartment. “I don’t know, a professional dog walker?”

Derek laughed again, more of a snort than an actual laugh. “Yeah, no,” he said. “Not even close.”

“I guess I figured you were a grad student or something,” Dex said, tracing out the hole he’d need to cut in the wall to replace it cleanly. He checked that he wouldn’t cut into any electrical wires or worse - he’d once accidentally cut a wire that turned out to be part of the building’s alarm system, setting off a horrible cacophony that took hours to repair.

“Whoa shit what are you doing oh my god,” Derek said, his words rushing together as he hurried out of his room, just as Dex sunk the drywall knife into the wall. “I thought you were gonna fix it!” Derek said.

“Yeah, I am.” He tossed the scraps of drywall on the floor, grabbing a piece of sandpaper to smooth the edges. “Or are you the expert now?”

Derek pouted. There was no other way to describe the jut of his lower lip or the look in his eyes. “Fine, do your job,” he said, gently placing his hand in the center of Dex’s back as he walked past him to get to the bathroom. He turned on the light but left the door open, pulling Dex’s attention from the project in front of him. Derek stood in front of the sink, carefully rubbing some product into his hair, looking intently at his reflection. He rinsed his hands off under the faucet and glanced over, catching Dex watching him. He raised his eyebrows, then slowly smiled at Dex.

“Am I distracting you?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at Dex.

Dex turned away, refocusing on sanding down the edges of the hole in the wall. The apartment was quiet apart from the scritch of sandpaper, which Dex tossed aside, reaching for the drywall patch he’d measured. As Dex scored the back of the patch, he heard Derek humming quietly. He turned off the bathroom light, walked back through the hall and into his room, barely brushing against Dex as he passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Dex watched him move around his room, still humming to himself, still not wearing a shirt. He rolled his shoulders; Dex watched, mesmerized by Derek’s broad shoulders and the smooth skin of his back. Derek pulled a belt around his waist, fingers deftly slipping around belt loops. Dex thought about undoing his belt, then his pants, about sliding his hands all the way down his back.

Derek was singing under his breath. He swayed as he walked across his room, swearing quietly when he stumbled. Abruptly, Dex realized that he was staring - that he had been staring for way too long, that he was here in this apartment because he had a job to do. He dropped the drywall patch, startling both of them when it hit the floor.

“Shit,” Dex muttered, quickly crouching down to pick it up. While he knelt, he looked through his bag for the rest of the tools he would need to finish repairing the wall, forcing himself to concentrate on each tool in his bag as he came across it, on what he used them for, trying to regain his composure.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Derek called, hands braced against the doorframe. He’d put on a plain white t shirt that pulled taut across his chest, the lines of his tattoo disappearing under the sleeve.

“Yeah,” Dex said, spreading compound on the patch so he could put it into the wall. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

“‘Kay, sweet,” Derek said, smiling at Dex before disappearing from view. Dex managed to get the patch into the wall and smoothed compound over it, carefully blending the edges. He didn’t have the right shade of paint to match the wall, but that was probably something Derek could handle himself.

“Sick, a whole wall, not a hole wall.” Derek leaned against the wall, finally fully dressed.

Dex looked up at him. “That’s the worst pun I’ve heard in my life.”

“It’s still early,” Derek said with a shrug. “So that’s it?”

He looked at the wall consideringly. It had been a small hole, with no real structural damage. He didn’t really need to put a second coat of the drywall compound on it, but in this apartment, he had a feeling the wall would need that tiny extra bit of reinforcement. “I need to wait for this to dry before I put a second coat on it,” he said.

“Okay,” Derek said, stretching the word over several seconds. “You want more coffee or something?”

His cup of coffee sat on the floor, untouched, since he’d been distracted - first by Derek himself, then by repairing the wall. “Maybe in a minute,” Dex said. Derek bent to pick up Dex’s coffee mug from the floor but somehow managed to trip, catching himself on his hands before sitting down on the floor, smiling at Dex like he’d meant to do that all along. Dex thought about remaining standing, but realized Derek would probably end up covered in coffee if he tried to hand Dex his mug. Instead, Dex sat down on the floor a few feet from Derek, picked up his mug of coffee, and took a sip.

“You think I’m a total disaster,” Derek said.

Dex shrugged. “I’ve seen guys on the ice fall over less,” he said. “So yeah.”

“On the ice,” Derek repeated. “As in hockey? Or do you just like to make walking a challenge?”

“Hockey,” Dex said. “I played in college, and I’m part of the local league here.”

Derek nodded slowly. “I’ve never played hockey. I feel like I’d be good at it.”

Dex snorted, almost choking on his coffee. He looked sideways at Derek, who was looking back at him. “No offense,” Dex said, “but I think you’d be terrible.”

“Maybe I’d turn crashing into people into a defense strategy,” he said. “Isn’t half of hockey crashing into people and starting fights?”

“No. Firstly, it’s called ‘checking,’ second of all that is a defense strategy, and, dude, the point of hockey is actually to score goals,” Dex said. He knew he was being a little rude, that this really wasn’t how he should talk to a customer. Then again, Derek had started this, wandering around half-dressed and giving him coffee, asking him to stay for a party and treating him like a friend instead of a random stranger here only to repair the broken parts of his apartment. Most people ignored him when he was on a job, chit-chatting for a few minutes when he arrived before going back to their lives, letting him get on with his work. Derek had pulled him into his life right from the start.

Against his better judgement, Dex looked over at Derek, at the long sprawl of his legs and at his broad shoulders. At some point, he must have been some sort of athlete, or he’d been more blessed by genetics than anyone Dex had ever met. “What about you?” he asked. “Did you play something in college?”

Derek shook his head. “Not in college, nah. I played lacrosse all through high school, though.” Dex couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face, a knee-jerk reaction to the word “lacrosse” that brought back four years of warnings and bad memories. “Whoa, did I insult your family or something? You got something against lacrosse?”

“The lacrosse team at my school was the biggest bunch of assholes I’d ever met,” he said. He didn’t say anything about not thinking they were so bad, at first, about slowly discovering the lacrosse team was awful to particular people because of what they wore or how they talked or who they dated. There was a time in his life when Dex would’ve been friends with the lacrosse team, but it was far behind him. Logically, he knew that all lacrosse players couldn’t possibly be like that, but he couldn’t stop his initial reaction.

“Not chill, man,” Derek said. “You come into my house, drink my coffee, and call me an asshole.”

Dex frowned. “I didn’t call you an asshole.”

“Kinda sounded like you did,” Derek said.

“Well I didn’t,” Dex said. “That would be a really shitty business strategy, not to mention just a shitty thing to do. And not what I said at all.” He looked over at Derek, who had a hand pressed over his mouth, barely trembling. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Chyeah,” he said, still giggling. “You’re kinda funny when you’re mad.” Dex felt his face get hot. He thought about smashing a new hole in Derek’s wall for a second or two, before the rational part of his brain reminded him he was being ridiculous. He had overreacted a bit and Derek was teasing him for it. He knew what he looked like when he was angry - face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears - and, he admitted silently to himself, he could see why Derek would find that funny. Not that he’d ever say it aloud.

He reached up to test the patch and decided it was dry enough for a second coat, shifting to apply a second coat of compound. Derek was still sitting on the floor a few feet away, watching Dex work. “Why’d you decide to become a repairman?”

“Family business,” Dex said. “More or less. My uncle runs an appliance repair shop. I started working for him in high school.”

“And that was the moment you decided to spend the rest of your life cleaning up other people’s messes?” Derek asked.

Dex didn’t ignore him, exactly. He kept his eyes on the wall, on the easy sway of the putty knife as he smoothed compound over the patch again, blending the edges until the only thing that revealed there had been a hole at all was the difference in color. “I don’t clean up messes,” he said, tossing tools back into his bag. “I put things back together.”

Derek smiled, amused. “Right,” he said. “’s what a repairman does, right? Fix stuff.”

“Yep,” Dex said, picking up his bag and heading for the door. He could hear Derek following him through the apartment. If he turned around and faced Derek right now, he would probably do something stupid, like ask if he could stay for another cup of coffee, or offer to fix anything else that needed it, then and there, which was why he was practically running for the door. His job was great, but he hated making people feel like their home had been invaded by a stranger. Logically, he knew that most people didn’t think along those lines, that most people knew he was there to do a job and that really they needed him, or someone like him, to put one particular part of their life back together, but he couldn’t shake that feeling. Derek Nurse, with his easy smiles and his good coffee, made Dex want to overstay his welcome.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Dex said, opening the door. Derek reached under Dex’s arm to grab the door so he could hold it open.

“No problem,” Derek said. “If you ever want good coffee and clumsy company, you know where to find it.” Dex had already stepped into the hallway and waved over his shoulder as he walked to the elevator. “Hey, Dex,” Derek called, making him stop and turn back. Derek leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, hips tilted out. “Thanks for filling my hole,” he said, smirking.

Dex wished more than anything that he could control the way he blushed, could stop his whole face from turning red. He turned and kept walking away. “Any time, Nurse,” he called over his shoulder, hoping his voice sounded normal. Once he was in the elevator headed back downstairs, he buried his face in his hands and groaned. The nice thing about this job, he told himself as he left the apartment building, was that he rarely had repeat customers - it would take some kind of force of nature to destroy an apartment badly enough to need something else repaired every week.

So Dex didn’t go to the local library for the first time in months just because he thought Derek might be working there. He didn’t go to the coffeeshop on the corner of Derek’s street, even though he actually liked their house blend of coffee, and he went to the grocery store a little farther from his apartment because it was also farther from Derek’s place. He went on with his life just like he did after all the rest of his jobs, hoping Derek would fade into his memories of all everyone else whose apartment he’d repaired.

A few days later, Dex was out on a job with Whiskey installing a complicated wall-sized shelving unit in an apartment, when his phone buzzed repeatedly, notifying him of a long string of incoming texts. Whiskey raised his eyebrows at him. “If we tape some sandpaper to that, we can use it as a sander,” he said dryly. Dex glared at him and ignored the buzzing, keeping his hands steady on the shelves. As soon as they’d reached a stopping point, Dex pulled his phone out of his pocket to read the messages.

Johnson: rushleigh apts 604 d. nurse can’t shower needs you

Johnson: r help

Johnson: haha seems like i hit enter too soon anyways

Johnson: nurse wants you to come over for shower head

Dex flushed bright red. Whiskey smirked at him. “Work isn’t really the place to be checking your online dating matches, dude,” he said. He ignored Whiskey and kept scrolling through his texts.

Johnson: repair

Johnson: tomorrow 4 pm

Johnson: this is a really flawed method of communicating ideas i’m not used to this medium of expression

Johnson: though what really is the difference between existing in one fictional format or another

Frowning, Dex looked up at Whiskey. “Do you ever get the feeling Johnson is into some really weird new age-y shit?”

Whiskey shrugged. “Everybody I know is pretty weird,” he said, picking up another handful of screws. “Including you.” He jerked his chin at Dex’s phone, which he’d just put back in his pocket. “So, you have a hot date or something?”

Dex frowned. “With Johnson? No, it’s another job for tomorrow. The same customer’s apartment must be falling down around him or something.”

“What, is it an all-day thing?” They had gone back to work, assembling and installing shelves and support pieces while still carrying on their conversation. It had taken them months of working together to feel comfortable and familiar enough with each other’s work habits to do this - or at least, for Dex to feel like he could both work effectively and pay attention to whatever they talked about.

“No,” Dex said, “but it’ll be the third time I’ve been there in a few weeks.”

“Really,” Whiskey said. His normal speaking voice was monotone; it was tough to tell what he really thought about anything, but his total lack of inflection made Dex suspicious.

“What?”

“Check the level on that,” Whiskey said, taking a step back to look at what they’d done so far. He tilted his head one way, then the other. The entire shelving unit was made up of hexagonal pieces, a complex honeycomb pattern that was starting to look like an optical illusion. “Guess he’s just got bad luck.”

“Something like that, I guess,” Dex agreed. He held his hand out to Whiskey. “Give me the level.” It took them almost an entire day, but by the time they were done, the shelving unit looked spectacular. Dex had no idea what the owners of the apartment were planning on putting in it, with over fifty shelves on the wall now, but that wasn’t his problem at all. His only problem now was cleaning up and getting back to his apartment. Maybe he’d watch some netflix before he crashed.

Whiskey took a picture of it, smiling in the small, self-satisfied way he had when he’d done a job well and was proud of his work. “You gonna have fun with that client tomorrow?” he asked as they packed up their tools.

Dex groaned. On one hand, he was looking forward to seeing Derek again, even though it would only be for a little bit. Because Dex would be there to repair something else that was broken, which was his job. On the other hand, it was getting harder and harder to think of Derek as a customer, instead of as a friend. He thought about asking Whiskey to go over to Derek’s place tomorrow, to let him take care of it, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He dropped Whiskey off at his place, then dragged himself upstairs to his own apartment.

Though he’d spent all day working, he didn’t feel very tired; his brain buzzed with thoughts of seeing Derek again tomorrow. He tried to distract himself with tv, and music, and even a book at one point, and he finally fell asleep, annoyed with himself and dreaming about living as a surfing instructor in Fiji.

By the time he got to Derek’s apartment the next afternoon, Dex figured his day couldn’t possibly get any worse. That morning as he drove to his first job of the day, traffic was so bad it made him spill coffee all over what had been one of his favorite work shirts. As soon as he had the chance, he angrily stripped off the henley and buttoned up the flannel he was wearing over it, hoping he wouldn’t look indecent. His first job that day was a kitchen counter repair in a house with six cats. Dex hated cats. They were mean and awful and he was allergic to them. Even though he didn’t see a single cat the entire time he was there, he could’ve sworn he could feel them watching him. He’d spent the entire morning sneezing, and his eyes were still itchy. Then his favorite sandwich place had been closed for lunch, and then he broke a pilot bit in someone’s bathroom cabinets.

Dex was not having a good day, which meant there was no way Derek M. Nurse could make his day any worse.

Derek answered the door that afternoon, hair mussed and shirt rumpled. Dex would’ve guessed he’d just rolled out of bed, but there were streaks of marker on his hands and arms below where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “I thought you were a librarian?” Dex asked. At the moment, Derek looked much more like an elementary school art teacher.

“Nice to see you, too,” Derek said, letting Dex follow him to the bathroom. “I had to lead children’s storytime this morning. Today was Rainbow Fish, so we colored fish scales. Those kids are harsh critics.”

“Of your coloring skills?” Dex suggested. The shower head looked normal - at least, it was still attached to the pipe.

“Nah,” Derek said. “I, uh, wrote a children’s book that’s meant to be, like, rapped.” Dex stared at him. Derek started talking again, quicker than Dex had ever heard him. “I mean, a lot of those kids’ books already have a decent pitter-pat, and I know kids get bored quick, so, like, why not play with that? Get them to clap along - though some of those kids can’t lay down a beat at all - do, like, call-and-response type stuff, y’know?” Dex really did not know at all. He raised his eyebrows. “My friend Larissa did all the illustrations for it. It’s pretty cute.”

Dex was still trying to process this information. “What the hell is ‘pitter-pat’?”

Derek smiled. “The rhythm, the flow of the words. Like Doctor Seuss, that guy was crazy good. ‘When the fox is in the bottle where the tweetle beetles battle with their paddles in a puddle on a noodle-eating poodle.’ Feel it?”

Dex looked at him. The first few buttons of his shirt were open, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Dex was feeling something, that was for sure, but it didn’t have anything to do with nursery rhymes. “So what’s wrong with your shower?” he asked, reminding himself that he wasn’t here to learn about Derek’s life as the next Dr. Seuss.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just super drippy and it leaks,” Derek said. “The water pressure is all whack, too. Look.” He turned on the water, which dribbled sadly out of the shower, leaking all over the place.

“Okay. I’ll have to take it apart.” He turned off the water, waiting for it to flow down the drain. “Can you turn off the water?”

“You just did,” Derek said, confused.

Dex frowned. “I meant in the apartment, do you have access to a water main?”

“Oh,” Derek said. “Yeah, yeah I can do that, gimme a sec.” He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door, then disappeared. Dex heard him clattering around the apartment for a bit before he yelled, “Okay, you’re good!”

He clambered into the bathtub and got to work. It should only take a few minutes, no matter what the problem was, unless he had to replace the whole thing, which he didn’t even have the supplies to do. Once he’d removed the shower head, the problem was obvious. There was no washer or tape around the end of the pipe, and the inside of the shower head was pretty gross. He knocked it against the edge of the bathtub and cleaned it out before he went to get a roll of tape and a washer from his bag. As soon as he reached up to tape the end of the pipe, water sprayed from it, quickly soaking Dex.

“What the hell?” he yelled, jumping out of the spray of water and almost falling as he got out of the tub. “Didn’t you turn off the water?” He pulled his flannel away from his skin, but he was already dripping wet. He should probably wring out his shirt.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” Derek said. He hesitated between finding the actual water main to turn it off and helping Dex somehow. “I’ll get you a towel. And a shirt. Fuck.” He ran down the hall and Dex decided he didn’t want to risk his shirt dripping all over his jeans, so he took off his soaked shirt and hung it over the shower curtain, away from the pipe that was now slowly dripping water into the tub. The water stopped dripping completely just as Derek reappeared in the doorway holding a towel and a faded t-shirt.

“Oh, shit,” he said quietly. Dex belatedly realized it was beyond weird and inappropriate for him to be standing around shirtless on a work call. He hoped Derek wouldn’t call in a complaint. “Here you go.” Derek held the towel and the shirt out at arm’s length, still in the doorway. It was hard to tell with Derek’s dark skin and the lights in the bathroom, but it looked like Derek might be blushing.

“Thanks,” Dex said roughly, grabbing the towel and throwing it over his shoulders to dry himself off as much as possible. “Should be a simple fix, as long as that doesn’t happen again.”

Derek left the shirt on the counter by the sink. “Maybe leave your shirt off, in case it does,” he said. This time, Dex could feel himself blushing. “Uh, I can put your shirt in the dryer though, if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay,” Dex said, cautiously redoing the tape on the pipe so he could put the shower head back and go home, where he can try to erase this entire terrible day from his memory. Once he was reasonably confident he wouldn’t get soaked again, it took Dex all of ninety seconds to reassemble the shower head. Derek still stood in the doorway, watching him. Dex wrung out his shirt, which was now just damp instead of soaked through, towelling it off as much as he could before putting it back on and buttoning it.

“That’s it?” Derek asked.

“That’s it,” Dex said. “Now you can turn the water back on. Shouldn’t drip anymore.” He draped the towel on the rack and walked towards the door, but Derek was still standing in his way, watching Dex. He walked all the way to the door, practically toe-to-toe with Derek. Slowly, so slowly Dex thought he might be imagining the entire situation, Derek reached up and swiped his thumb across Dex’s clammy skin, picking up a few water droplets just above his collarbone. Dex was overly aware of his own breathing, of his heart beating in his chest and his pulse pounding everywhere else like rolling thunder. This was the calm before the storm, and whatever came next would be devastating.

“I should go before I’m late for my next job,” he lied.

“Right,” Derek said, finally taking a few steps back. “Right, you have, like, other things to do.”

Dex laughed, a little more shakily than normally. “Yeah, must be a surprise,” he said. “There are other people in this city besides you who have apartments that need to be repaired.”

“Hey, man, that’s not cool,” Derek said. “Maybe I’m just not as lucky as I could be.”

“Maybe,” Dex agreed mindlessly, walking past Derek and going straight to the door. “Listen, um. Thanks for the towel.” He half-turned to talk to Derek, who had followed him through the apartment.

“No worries,” Derek said. “Sorry my shower attacked you.” Dex blushed again, thinking about the way he’d angrily stripped off his soaked shirt earlier. Unbelievably unprofessional, he chided himself.

“Well,” Dex said, hesitating in the doorway, “I guess I’ll wish you good luck, then. With your life.” Because this is the last time I’ll see you, Dex silently added. Because things will stop breaking and we’ll both go on with our lives, separately, forever.

“Yeah, thanks,” Derek said. He hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans and watched Dex. Briefly, Dex let himself imagine staying at Derek’s apartment, sitting down for a cup of coffee or a beer, listening to Derek tell stories about his work and the books he’s written and whatever else he’s done in his life. But that kind of relationship didn’t exist between them; there was no relationship between them at all, so Dex nodded awkwardly and walked down the hall, away from Derek Nurse’s apartment.

Once he got back to the van, Dex pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Eric. After the day he’d just had, there was only one thing that could possibly make him feel better - a giant slice of pie.

Derek stood in the open door of his apartment, blatantly watching Dex walk to the elevator doors. His faded, dirty jeans clung to his ass in a spectacular way that was probably indecent for work that wasn’t, like, modelling. He thought about repairs he could get Dex to do that would involve a lot of bending over - something to the kitchen drawers, maybe, or the floor. Though if he fucked with the floor, there was a good chance he’d end up fucking up the ceiling of the Loskutovs’ apartment downstairs, and he really didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to do any lasting damage at all. He just wanted to see Dex more often - preferably every day, for the rest of his life.

He stepped back and closed the door so that he couldn’t do anything spectacularly creepy, like pull out his phone and take a picture of Dex to set as his lock screen. Oh yes, Derek had it bad. He knew the situation was pathetic, had known since his birthday party when Dex walked into his apartment and Nursey assumed he was a stripper. Alone in his apartment, he cringed at the memory, though he still stands by that judgement. He’d love to watch the slow sway of Dex’s hips, watch him shed his layers of flannel and shirts to reveal pale, freckled skin. The image of Dex standing in Derek’s shower, shirtless and dripping wet, had burned itself in Derek’s memory. Now that was a picture he needed.

His stomach rumbled loudly, and Derek remembered everything he’d done before Dex came to fix his shower - getting to the library at 8 am, setting up for story time, reading Rainbow Fish three times to three separate groups of kids and their parents, then having Larissa stop by the library to lead the interactive art session. He looked down at the streaks of marker crisscrossing his forearms and was glad Dex had repaired his shower. He liked to think of himself as a chill person, but he really appreciated his shower’s water pressure. It had sucked to be without it, even if had only been for a couple days.

Before he even got to the kitchen, Derek knew his fridge would be pretty empty, aside from leftover take-out and protein shakes. Cooking really wasn’t one of his strong points, at all, no matter how many cookbooks he’s perused during his shift. He’s read The Way To Cook more times than he can count, and he still can’t quite make a grilled cheese without burning something.

Still, Derek opened the fridge and stared at its lack of contents, wishing it was possible to glare food into existence. He closed the door of the fridge and skimmed the verses he’d arranged on the fridge. For years, his sister had been giving him magnetic poetry kits as birthday presents. There were so many words stuck to his fridge at this point, he didn’t even remember what all of the kits were. He could write an epic poem down the entire length of his fridge - it might not make a whole lot of sense, but it was a great creative exercise. As he called the pizza place around the corner and ordered himself dinner, he shuffled words around. Do you plaintiff wanna bridge summer and stubble/ let’s bounce professor make this crazy bro. He managed to order a pizza and breadsticks without reading any of the magnets, which for him was an accomplishment.

With dinner on the way, Derek slumped on the couch and called Ransom, who had been listening to the developing story of Derek’s crush like it was a soap opera. Ransom and Holster had been in the honeymoon phase of their relationship for the entire time they’d been together, which was sickeningly adorable, so Ransom had been living vicariously through every ridiculous situation in Derek’s life for the past three years.

“Nursey!” Ransom exclaimed when he answered the phone. “How’s the life of my best lovesick bro?”

Derek leaned his head against the back of the couch. Ransom was a great friend, even if he wasn’t always the most sympathetic. “Dude,” Derek said. “He came over again today and he was shirtless and I’m literally gonna die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Ransom said automatically. “Wait, why was he shirtless? Is he actually a stripper, for real?”

“No,” Derek said. “I broke my shower so he’d have to come fix it, and then my shower attacked him because I can’t actually turn off the water supply.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Derek actually looked at his phone to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped, and when he put the phone back to his ear again, Ransom was laughing. “Wait hold up, did you just say you broke your shower?”

Derek groaned. He hadn’t planned on telling Ransom that he was intentionally breaking things in his apartment to have excuses to see Dex again, but now that he’d already said it, he couldn’t take it back. “It’s really easy to take apart a showerhead,” he said. Ransom kept laughing.

“Holy shit, dude, you have got it bad.”

“I know,” Derek moaned. “He was fixing my shower and the pipe was still leaking or whatever so I guess he got soaked and then he took off his shirt. Dude, it was literally like something out of a porno. He’s so hot and I was just staring at him and now he probably thinks I’m, like, the world’s biggest creep.”

“I doubt he thinks you’re the world’s biggest creep,” Ransom said. Derek could hear him typing something, probably some kind of analysis. Ransom was a research analyst, and he made spreadsheets in his spare time, just for fun, for every possible situation. He probably had spreadsheets of other spreadsheets. “Does he know you’re methodically destroying your own apartment as an excuse to see him?”

“I don’t think so,” Derek said. “Probably not, nah.”

“Then chill, dude,” he said. “So what are you gonna break next?”

Derek groaned again. “This is dumb. This is seriously the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I didn’t say it,” Ransom said. Derek could practically hear him shrug. “I’m not arguing with it, though. Definitely not arguing.”

“Firstly, dude, not helping,” Derek said. He stretched his legs out under the coffee table, kicking over a few books on the ground. “Secondly, do you have any better ideas?”

Ransom snorted. “Yeah. Just ask him out, like a normal person,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Derek asked, sitting up. He banged his shin against the coffee table in the process and winced, rubbing his leg where he’d hit it. “What if I make things totally weird?”

Ransom sighed. “Is this totally one-sided?” he asked. “Does this guy seem into you at all? Serious, not hopeful.”

Derek remembered the expression on Dex’s face when he’d let him into his apartment, shirtless and sleepy, last week; the way Dex had stared a few seconds too long, so that Derek knew he was distracting him; the brilliant red of Dex’s blush at Derek’s innuendo. “I think so,” Derek said softly. “But I really, really hope so. Serious and hopeful.”

“I mean, I could make a spreadsheet,” Ransom suggested. “Run some numbers.” Derek was surprised he hadn’t brought it up earlier. He laughed. “But I’ve also been listening to you whine about this guy for weeks, so I’m gonna say screw the numbers and take a chance, bro.”

“I-” He had a dozen excuses lined up. The only contact Derek had with Dex was through Samwell Contractors - he didn’t have his personal phone number. It would be awkward as hell if Dex turned him down and then Derek actually needed something repaired. Maybe he had misread the lingering looks. He thought their banter was flirty, but obviously, he could be dead wrong about the whole situation.

“What if you never see him again?” Ransom asked. “Are you gonna regret not asking him out?”

“Hell yeah,” Derek said without thought.

“Then just ask him,” Ransom said.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

“Good,” Ransom said. “So what are you gonna break this time?”

Derek grinned. “I have no idea,” he said, looking around for his laptop, which was probably still on the kitchen table, half-buried under papers. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

Ransom muffled his phone and Derek thought he heard Holster talking. A second later Ransom said, “Holster says you should break something in the shape of a heart, give him a message.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, great idea,” he said. “I’ll just smash a heart-shaped hole in the wall and claim it was an accident.”

“In your bedroom,” Holster said.

“Dude,” Ransom said. There were scuffling sounds, probably as Rans took his phone back. “Maybe not that obvious.”

“Really?” Derek asked. “That sounded so perfect, though.”

“I knew it,” Holster said.

“Babe, he’s joking,” Ransom said.

“What? No,” Holster said. “That’s a great idea.” Derek rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time Ransom had forgotten he was on the phone because Holster was around.

“Good luck, Nurse,” he said. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Thanks, man,” Derek said. He ended the call and checked the time - still at least half an hour until his pizza showed up. Sighing, he dropped his phone on the couch and looked around his apartment, looking for something that would be easy enough for him to break, just a little. The window in his bedroom had brought Dex to his apartment the first time, and then Rans and Holster had put a hole in his wall. It was easy enough to take apart his showerhead. He could probably do something similar to the sink, but that would probably be a problem for a plumber, not for Dex. He had a basic tool kit, so he could probably take the door off his kitchen cabinet, but that would look too intentional, and ripping the cabinets apart would make him seem like the Hulk.

His stomach rumbled again and he stared hopefully at the front door. He scratched the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully and looked at the door again before picking up his phone and googling “how to take apart a door knob.”

Their busy schedules meant Dex didn’t have the time to meet up with Eric and Jack for a few days, but it was beyond worth it once Dex was sitting at their kitchen table with a giant slice of apple cinnamon pie in front of him, still steaming from the oven. It felt good to be able to sit in someone’s kitchen and not worry about repairing anything, to just be able to relax with his friends - particularly when one of them was a professional baker.

“So that’s definitely the weirdest experience I’ve had as a contractor,” Dex said. He was sitting in Eric and Jack’s kitchen again, this time there as a friend and not to repair anything. “I mean, seriously, I didn’t even think that kind of thing happened in real life. Themed male strippers, I mean.” Jack stared at him, eyebrows raised, while Eric had both hands over his mouth and was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Themed male strippers,” Jack repeated skeptically.

“I think it was the tool belt,” Dex said, taking a huge bite of pie. At that, Eric burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry, Dex,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And you had to go back there?”

Dex almost missed what he said because he was too busy enjoying his slice of pie. He either needed to spend much more time at the Bittle-Zimmermann’s or convince Eric to keep him supplied with pie for the rest of his life. “I’ve been back twice,” he said, setting down his fork to stop himself from eating the rest of the pie in the next ten seconds. “Once to fix the wall and once to fix the shower. Which was a disaster.”

“Why?” Jack asked. Dex told them the whole story, from when he actually fixed Derek’s window to getting soaked fixing the shower, pausing to eat the slices of pie Eric set in front of him every time his plate was empty.

“Oh, Dex,” Eric said once he’d finished the story. He smiled and patted Dex’s hand sympathetically. “It’s just like in Holes.”

“What?” Dex and Jack asked at the same time.

Eric rolled his eyes. “You know,” he said, voice slow and accent thick. “I can fix that.”

“I know that. I’m a repairman,” Dex said. Eric sighed and cleared the table, muttering something about an impending movie night.

Jack watched Eric move around the kitchen. “So is it normal to do a bunch of repairs at one apartment like this?” he asked. Dex frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever done a string of repairs like this, but was saved from having to answer by his phone buzzing on the counter with an incoming call from an unknown number. He debated not answering it, but Johnson sometimes forwarded calls to him. It was a little late for a business call, though.

“Hello?” Dex said.

“Dude, I need your help.”

“Derek?” Dex asked. Several dishes clattered at the sink and Eric glanced over his shoulder then very obviously focused on the dishes.

“Chyeah,” Derek said. “Listen, I tried to leave my apartment but the doorknob just literally fell out in my hand.”

“Well, you could always go out the window,” Dex suggested, immediately wincing. Johnson had never given a client his personal cell number; he had no idea how to handle the situation, and now he’d already gone and said something stupid.

“Huh,” Derek said. The line was quiet for a minute, before Dex heard the scrape of the window being pushed open. “Yeah, I could probably-.”

“No, Derek, I was joking,” Dex said hurriedly. “Don’t try to go out the window, oh my god.” Jack’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. Eric flicked a dish towel at his boyfriend and watched Dex, smiling.

Derek laughed. “You worried about me, Poindexter?”

“Yes,” Dex said, too honest, overly aware of Eric and Jack watching him have this conversation. He hurried on. “You can’t even leave your apartment without breaking something. I’m a little surprised the building is still standing. Really, I’m worried for all of your neighbors.”

“That’s pretty harsh,” Derek said. “So… can you come help me, or should I climb out the window and find someone else to help me?”

“Oh my god,” Dex said again. “I’ll be there soon. Maybe just sit down and don’t touch anything else until I get there.” Derek laughed again, making Dex smile, too.

“So I’ll see you soon, then?” Derek sounded hopeful, probably because he was trapped in his apartment until Dex could come rescue him.

“Yeah,” Dex said. “Yeah, see you soon.” He ended the call, still smiling, then he texted Johnson: did you give a client my cell number?

Johnson: haha yeah it’s fine

Dex: isn’t that a little unethical

Johnson: if that’s what you’re hung up on you’re thinking about this too much

Johnson: just enjoy it

Often when he talked to Johnson, Dex had the strange feeling he wasn’t talking to him at all, even though they were the only ones having this conversation. Eric cleared his throat, making Dex look up at him and Jack, who were now sitting next to each other at the table.

“So,” Eric said, drawing the word out. “You give your phone number to all of your customers, or just the ones who have you over three times a month?” Dex blushed. Eric and Jack were two of Dex’s best friends, but they also mocked him mercilessly.

“Do you tell a lot of your customers to try and climb out the window?” Jack asked, grinning. “Or is that a special service?”

Dex groaned. “Any way I could get the rest of that pie to go?” Eric slid a container full of pie across the table to him. “You’re the best,” Dex said. “I hate you, but you’re the best.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Will Poindexter,” Eric said. “Now go on and help out that poor boy with whatever’s broke this time.”

“His door,” Dex said, shaking his head as he stood up. “Apparently he broke the doorknob off the door.” Jack snorted.

“Well then, you better go rescue him,” Eric said. “I’m sure he’ll be very grateful.”

“Goodbye, Eric,” Dex said pointedly. “See you, Jack.” Dex left their apartment with his pie before Eric could make any more suggestive comments. His own traitorous brain was already making him think there was something possible with Derek; he didn’t need more encouragement from Eric, or from anyone who’d only heard Dex’s hopeful side of the story.

By now, Dex could drive to Derek’s apartment entirely on autopilot, giving him too much time to think. He tried to distract himself with the radio, but his thoughts repeatedly drifted back to Derek. It wasn’t like Eric and Jack had told him anything he didn’t think of already, or even that they were particularly suggestive with their jokes. It didn’t matter, though - the possibility of actually being in a relationship with Derek taunted him, constantly warring with the responsible part of his brain that helpfully reminded him of things like the professional conduct clause in his contract, like not living up to the stereotype of creepy repair guys, like common fucking decency.

Still, Dex waited to get buzzed up to Derek’s apartment, went up the elevator and walked down the hall and told himself everything was totally fine - just another normal job with a normal client he most definitely didn’t want to kiss and date and settle down in the suburbs with their two dogs. Yeah, Dex could do this and not be weird about it at all.

He knocked on the door to Derek’s apartment. “Samwell Contractors,” he called loudly.

“Seriously?” Derek sounded like he was right on the other side of the door. “I know it’s you, Dex. I can’t open the door from the inside. It’s unlocked, though.”

“Probably not a good idea to shout that for everybody to hear,” Dex muttered, carefully turning the doorknob and opening the door. Derek stood in front of him, holding up a doorknob and smiling sheepishly.

“Good to see you,” he said. “Guess I won’t have to climb out the window now.”

“For the record, that’s a terrible escape plan,” Dex said.

“What if the building’s on fire and there’s no other option?”

“Oh my god.” Dex rolled his eyes and took the doorknob from Derek, their fingers brushing. Dex forced himself not to linger, not to purposely sweep his thumb along Derek’s wrist. He knelt in front of the closed door, looking at the place where the handle should go. There weren’t any signs of abnormal wear or breakage, and it was a fairly modern fixture - must have been replaced at some point recently, maybe right before Derek moved in. There wasn’t anything wrong with the plate underneath, either. Dex almost would’ve suspected the knob had been removed, rather than simply fallen off.

“Did you find any screws on the floor or anything?” he asked, turning the knob over in his hands. “It looks like there were three of them holding this on the door.”

“No,” Derek said slowly. “Is that how that works?” Dex turned to look at Derek over his shoulder. He was leaning against the wall just behind Dex, eyes clearly moving up and down Dex’s back.

“Yeah,” Dex said, startled by Derek lazily, blatantly checking him out. “Yeah, it’s screwed in there.” He immediately winced at his word choice, even though it was technically an accurate description of how the doorknob went together.

Derek grinned at him, looking gleeful. “Freudian slip?”

“No,” Dex said, turning around to dig through his bag for a screwdriver. “I’m trying to teach you about home repair.”

“Oh, okay.” Derek’s knees thudded softly against the carpet and then he was kneeling next to Dex, so close their shoulders bumped. “So how does this work?” Derek’s face was inches away from him, his whole body so close Dex could feel every shift and movement as he made himself comfortable kneeling on the ground.

“Well,” Dex said, licking his lips. His throat felt very dry, all of a sudden, and he could feel Derek watching him intently. “It’s pretty simple.” He hesitates for a second before motioning Derek even closer, so that he can see the latch assembly and the spindle sticking out of the door. Since he came up with this stupid idea, he might as well go through with it. It wasn’t like he had any complaints about Derek kneeling next to him, pressed against his side. “This is the latch assembly.” He tapped it with the edge of the screwdriver. “The spindle goes through it, and it’s attached to the knob on either side so you can control the latch.”

“Uh huh,” Derek said. Dex could feel his breath on the side of his neck; he fought not to flinch.

“That’s about it,” Dex said. “If you don’t have the screws for this, I’ll have to see if I can find any that are the right size in here. Hold this for a second.” He gave Derek the doorknob and bent to dig through his bag, which was stuffed full of pretty much every tool he could possibly need for basic repair jobs. He piled the contents neatly on the floor, stacking socket sets and hex keys until he found the little boxes of screws jumbled in the bottom. It would’ve been easier if the original screws hadn’t somehow disappeared into thin air, but after trying a few different sizes, Dex finally found some that would work. He twisted the knob in Derek’s hand so he could see how many screws he needed, and for a brief second he forgot he didn’t work with Derek every day. That was a dangerous idea to entertain - working with Derek the same way he worked with Whiskey, going through the city patching up what needed to be fixed.

“Can you hold these, too?” he asked, suddenly tentative.

“Sure, yeah,” Derek said, holding his empty hand out to Dex so that he could drop a couple screws on his palm. Dex repaired the doorknob quickly and efficiently, overly aware of Derek at his side the entire time. Every time he picked up a screw, his fingertips brushed against Derek’s hand and he fought the urge to trace the lines of his palm. Once he was finished, he turned the knob experimentally and watched the latch retract.

“All fixed,” Dex said. “Now you don’t have to climb out the window.”

“My hero,” Derek said, grinning infuriatingly at Dex. He got to his feet quickly, practically scrambling away from Derek, from his bright smile and warm eyes. Derek got to his feet a few seconds later, a little farther away now they were both standing. “Seriously, dude,” he said. “Thanks so much, for everything.”

Dex shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck where he could feel a blush creeping across his skin. He never did know how to accept compliments gracefully, or whatever. “It’s my job,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” Derek said. “You’re just, like, wicked good at it, you know?” Dex couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Derek’s phrasing, even though he felt like he really didn’t know. He enjoyed his job, and he knew people were satisfied with his work, but fixing things always felt practical - it never felt like a particular talent.

“I guess I am pretty handy,” he said, making a terrible joke because he didn’t know what else to say. Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his empty hands, so he drummed his fingers against his arm.

Derek made a sort of choking sound. “That was -” he cut himself off and bit his lip. Dex thought he imagined the way Derek’s gaze flickered down to his lips, the way he stood a little closer, and he jumped when he felt Derek’s hand wrap around his own, stilling Dex’s nervous fidgeting. Dex was too focused on the sight of Derek’s hand around his to notice until Derek had already moved into his space, his other hand gently holding his jaw so he could lean in and kiss him.

Dex leaned into him instantly, gently sliding his hand around Derek’s hip to his back. His other hand was still tangled with Derek’s, caught between their bodies. Derek’s stubble scraped against Dex’s chin as they kissed. Somehow, Derek stumbled, pushing Dex backwards until his back hit the door, which rattled faintly in its hinges. The momentum crashed Dex back into reality - he was making out with Derek Nurse, in his apartment, in the middle of a work call. He turned away, pushing Derek back gently.

“I…” he started, eyes wide and nervous. There was no way he could defend himself, nothing that could possibly justify such a total lack of professionalism. “Have your landlord contact Samwell Contractors if you need any other repairs,” he said, grabbing his bag from the floor and leaving as fast as he could. He was blushing furiously and too embarrassed to look back, where Derek was still standing in the open doorway to his apartment, staring blankly at the worn carpet in the hallway.

“Holy shit.” Derek might have been yelling into the phone. If it was someone else in his situation, he would definitely tell them to chill, but he really didn’t have that level of clarity at the moment. “Fuck, man, I fucked up so bad.”

“Dude, breathe,” Ransom said. “I’ll be there as soon as I get off work, or you can come over our place, or we can go out somewhere - you wanna get out of your place for a while?” Derek groaned. He did want to get out of his apartment, maybe permanently. He also wanted to wrap himself up in about six blankets and curl up with Netflix and some ice cream, which was pretty pathetic, considering he and Dex hadn’t even been dating.

“It was one dumb kiss,” he said. “Well, I mean, it wasn’t dumb, actually it was pretty great-” Ransom made a loud noise of protest. “But why did I think that was a good idea?”

“You were blinded by his freckles,” Ransom suggested.

“God damnit,” Derek said, scratching his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at your place when you get off work. There’d better be, like, a stupid amount of beer.”

“Sweet,” Ransom said. “Don’t worry, we’ve got vodka, too.”

“Awesome,” Derek said. “Thanks, dude.”

“Yeah, man, see you soon,” Ransom said, ending the phone call. Derek dropped his phone on his bed and then fell face-first on top of the mattress, groaning into his pillow. He knew he was being incredibly overdramatic, but he also didn’t care. He and Dex had spent a lot of time together, even if that had been mostly Derek’s fault in the first place. When he opened the door and saw Dex standing there that first time, he felt a little stunned, and he still felt that way every time he saw Dex. Derek knew he crushed easily and often - he was an optimist, and he liked to see the positive qualities in people, whether mental, physical, or emotional. So yes, he’d had a crush on Dex basically from the moment he saw him, but in the handful of hours they spent together, Derek had felt himself falling. It was the way Dex’s t shirts pulled across his shoulders; it was the capable movements of his hands and the calculating expression in his eyes as he worked; it was Dex’s soft smile over coffee. Derek had a lot of crushes, but he didn’t fall for very many people. He was fucked, and not in the way he wanted to be.

He let himself lie on his bed and feel sorry for himself for another three minutes before he got up and dragged himself over to Holster and Ransom’s, where they would hopefully distract him with alcohol and bad jokes until he stopped feeling so shitty, at least for a little while.

An hour later, he was sitting on Ransom and Holster’s couch, squashed between the two of them and yelling at the tv. “What is a fuckin’ timpani, Alex!” Holster yelled. Ransom threw a bottle cap at him, narrowly missing Derek’s ear. “‘At The Orchestra,’ come on, pick a harder category!”

“Wow Jason is not doing so well,” Ransom commented, leaning forward to grab another slice of pizza. He passed a piece to Derek, too, even though he hadn’t asked. Derek smiled in thanks, and Ransom jostled his shoulder. “Drink up, man. I thought we were drinking every time somebody answered wrong.” Derek rolled his eyes and took a drink of his beer. By the end of the game, he was yelling at the tv as loud as Holster, and when the show ended he took another beer and listened to Ransom and Holster argue over what to watch next. He ended up falling asleep on their couch, waking up half an hour before he needed to be at work the next morning.

“Good night?” George asked amusedly when he came running into work.

“Whatever,” he said, throwing himself into his chair and rolling several feet from his desk. “Just hanging out with some friends.” For some reason, he felt the constant need to explain himself to George. She had a very intense stare and a way of bending people to her will.

“Sure,” she said. Her smirk said that she didn’t believe him at all and suspected the reason he was late was because he’d caught a taxi straight from the club. “You’re really revamping the image. Turning librarians into party animals.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be quiet in a library,” Derek grumbled, clicking through his emails. George mimed locking her lips shut and walked back to her desk, her heels muffled by the carpet.

When Derek was little, he hated going to the library - he always thought it was too quiet, and he’d gotten lost more than once in the endless aisles of books. When he was little, he also thought being a professional hockey player was an achievable career goal, and he didn’t even play hockey. As he grew up, he learned to love reading, to relax in the quiet atmosphere and to calm himself running his fingers along the books’ spines. Now he spends a lot of time researching any random idea that catches his interest, writing his own pieces, and helping people find oddly specific books.

Derek spent way too much time that day at work watching videos of recipes he’d never be able to cook, or at least get to turn out that perfectly, before being interrupted by a giggling group of kids looking for help on book reports. The after-school rush came and went, with Derek spending a few hours helping kids figure out how to use the Dewey Decimal system and finding misplaced Harry Potter books before his shift finally ended. He didn’t get any writing done, but he also wasn’t really feeling it, wasn’t trying to make the time to write. Writing was never good when it was forced, or at least, Derek’s writing wasn’t, and he didn’t want to waste his time. He left the library, picked up dinner, and went home, closing the door behind him and not thinking about Will Poindexter or any of the places he’d been in this apartment.

So Derek went back to work, and he spent significantly less time looking at home improvement blogs and watching do-it-yourself videos. Instead he continued to destroy Holster at Words With Friends, and he read to excited toddlers at children’s storytime, and he started reading some of the biographies George had recommended to him weeks ago. He even thought about finally taking Larissa up on her offer and joining the beer league baseball team she manages in the spring. He lived his life as normally as he could without one vibrant red-headed repairman in it - or so he thought.

“Are you okay?” George asked him a few weeks later, standing in front of his desk and frowning. “You’ve been weirdly quiet lately. Normally I need to remind you to turn down your music, or stop posting progressive rap videos on the library’s facebook page, or something…” Derek took a sip of coffee rather than actually look up at George. He hadn’t been feeling particularly sad - if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t really been feeling much of anything. It had taken him years, but Derek Nurse thought he finally achieved an ultimate state of chill. It just now occurred to him that people might perceive it as apathy, or something equally pathetic.

“Yeah, I’m chill,” Derek said, smiling a little as George rolled her eyes. She hated when he talked like a ‘90s teenage skater bro. “‘s’all good.”

“Sick,” George said sarcastically. “Since you’re so chill, I’m gonna go get some lunch. Do you need anything?” Derek shook his head. He already had coffee, and he’d eaten a big breakfast before he came in late that morning. “Alright, don’t let the library burn down while I’m gone.”

“Don’t even joke about such a tragedy,” Derek said, knowing it would make George smile. He hadn’t met a single librarian who wasn’t devastated by the fate of the Library of Alexandria, two thousand years in the past. With George out to lunch, Derek was the only librarian at the main research desk, the only person around to help Mrs. O’Reilly find the next book in whatever weird series she was reading now. She came in every Friday around lunchtime, so at least they could all prepare for her loud gossip and excessive perfume. Sometimes she brought cookies, though, so Derek could look forward to that possibility.

His phone lit up with an incoming call. Normally Derek ignored his phone - they weren’t supposed to take personal calls while at work, and his desk phone was basically only good for calling other libraries in the system. He glanced at the screen, expecting a call from his mom, and almost dropped his coffee when he saw Dex’s name glowing on the screen. He stared at his phone, hands gripping the edge of the desk, never hating the library’s strict silence more than in this moment. He couldn’t even leave to answer Dex’s call because George had gone to lunch. He was literally trapped at the desk, staring at his phone like he could make Dex understand that he wasn’t ignoring him at all. The screen faded as the call ended and Derek watched intently until the voicemail notification popped up.

Mrs. O’Reilly cleared her throat, startling Derek so badly he banged his elbow on the corner of his desk. She winced sympathetically. “Sorry, dear,” she said, patting his hand consolingly. “Would you be so kind as to help me find a book?”

“Of course,” Derek said, eyes watering. He might as well distract himself as much as he could, so he wouldn’t spend the entire rest of his shift staring at his phone in cast Dex called again. He pulled the latest Nora Roberts novel for Mrs. O’Reilly, and he had just finished helping a young couple find some very specific gardening books when he saw George walk back to her desk.

“I’m going to lunch,” Derek announced, double-checking his phone in his pocket before practically running back to the break room. By the time he’d opened his voicemail, Derek could feel his hand shaking as he held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Derek.” He definitely should’ve sat down; just the sound of Dex’s voice, his ridiculous New England accent, made his knees weak. “I… It’s Dex. Um, Will Poindexter, your, uh, repairman…” There was a little huff before Dex cursed almost inaudibly. “Can we talk? Or if you don’t wanna talk you can delete this message and I will never call you again. But, um… call me back, I guess. Bye.”

Derek’s hands were now slick with sweat, and he fumbled his phone in his haste to call Dex back. He listened to it ring, bouncing his leg nervously, for so long he thought it would go to voicemail. Derek hadn’t planned for that - he didn’t even know what to say if Dex did answer.

“Hello?” Dex said.

“Dex?” Derek asked hurriedly. “Hey, how’s it going? Are you busy?”

“I--no,” Dex said.

The line was silent. Derek wanted to give Dex the opportunity to talk, since he was the one who called him in the first place, but apparently Dex didn’t have anything to say. “You wanted to talk?” he prompted.

Dex sighed. “Not over the phone?”

“Oh, sure,” Derek said. “Sure, yeah, sick, you wanna get coffee or something?” Dex said nothing for long enough that Derek doubted himself, thought that Dex might not want to get coffee or even see him ever again, thought he was regretting ever calling Derek at all.

“Yeah,” Dex finally said. “Coffee would be good. Are you, uh, at work?”

“The library, yep,” Derek said, glancing at the clock in the break room. “My shift is over at four. There’s a nice coffeeshop around the corner, I could meet you there?”

“Okay, see you later,” Dex said. “Bye.” He hung up before Derek could say anything else. He still held his phone to his ear for a few seconds longer, wondering if he could switch to shelving just so he’d have an excuse to run up and down the aisles of the library until the end of his shift, until he would see Dex again.

Dex stared at his phone like it was a grenade. He was meeting Derek for coffee in a few hours, and he still wasn’t sure if that was the best or worst decision he’d ever made. He’d spent a few days on autopilot, waking up, going to work, and not being disappointed every time he went to another repair that wasn’t for Derek Nurse. Dex kept telling himself there was nothing different about his life, except that wasn’t true - now he knew what it was like to kiss Derek, knowing the feeling of their hands entwined and their bodies pressed together. He was lying to himself, and he was miserable.

Eric called him out on it, eventually. He came over to Dex’s apartment one day armed with his sternest expression and a cherry pie. Dex couldn’t resist, so he told Eric about the kiss, about how he hated feeling like some creep, invading Derek’s home and betraying his trust.

“Well that is the biggest pile of shit I have ever heard,” Eric had said, making Dex drop his fork in surprise. “Sure sounds to me like Derek kissed you. You didn’t make any moves, you didn’t betray any trust. You’re not a creep at all, hun.” He smiled, sudden and wicked. “Did you want him to kiss you?”

“Of course I did, haven’t you heard anything I’ve said in the past two weeks?”

Eric’s smile brightened. “Then what are you doing still talking to me?” He nudged Dex’s phone, lying facedown on the kitchen table, closer to Dex’s hand. “Sounds like you should talk to him - the boy deserves at least an explanation. If the whole situation really makes you that uncomfortable, then at least you’ve both got closure, y’know?” Dex sighed and picked up his phone, grateful to Eric for at least pretending to be busy while Dex left a horribly awkward voicemail for Derek.

“Feel better now?” Eric asked.

“Not really,” Dex said glumly. If anything, he was more nervous. He’d given Derek the option to never talk to him again, and a knot had settled in his stomach at the thought that he never would.

Eric patted his hand and slid him another piece of pie. “Jack was talkin’ ‘bout goin’ to the rink later today. Maybe you should go with him, get your mind off this whole thing.”

He was jittery and nervous, and nothing sounded better to him than lacing up his skates and shooting some pucks with Jack. “Okay,” he said, picking up his phone again, this time to text Jack. “Yeah, that sounds perfect. Thanks, Eric.”

“Anytime, babe,” Eric said. “Enjoy the rest of the pie - don’t go expectin’ one a week, though.” Dex smiled, putting the pie in the fridge before he could eat the whole thing. At least he had hockey to look forward to, to distract himself.

When Derek called him, Dex had been finishing packing his hockey bag, about to head out the door. He stood in the hallway for the entire phone call, his hockey bag hanging off his shoulder and his heart in his throat. He wasn’t meeting Derek for coffee until four, so he still had a few hours until then. That was plenty of time for him to play some hockey with Jack, and maybe calm some of his nerves.

Dex really should’ve known he’d lose track of time, chasing Jack around the ice and passing the puck back and forth. He glanced at the clock and swore, hustling off the ice with a shouted apology to Jack. He rushed through his shower, threw everything back into his bag as quickly as possible, and ran out of the rink, but there was still no way he was going to meet Derek on time. He drove as fast as he could without actually hurting anyone, and by the time he ran into the coffee shop, Derek had apparently shredded the cardboard sleeve from his coffee cup.

“I should’ve texted you,” Dex said loudly, still several feet from the table where Derek was sitting. He could feel his hair dripping in his eyes, still wet from the shower. “Sorry.”

Derek stared at him, still twisting a mangled piece of cardboard between his fingers. “You’re here,” Derek said, making Dex feel a little worse and a little better at the same time. He sat down across from Derek, knocking their feet together under the table.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry I’m late, I was playing hockey with Jack and kind of lost track of time.” Derek nodded, but didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on until Dex scrambled to his feet. “I’m gonna get a coffee,” he said, walking away quickly and hoping Derek wouldn’t see him blushing. He probably felt bad for Dex and that was the only reason he’d agreed to meet him again. He thought about just saving Derek the time and leaving, but that would still be a shitty thing to do. Selfishly, Dex didn’t want to ditch, even if he was afraid of what Derek was about to say.

He went back to the table with his americano and sat down nervously, biting his lip. “Derek,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I-”

“Look,” Derek said. Dex could feel him bouncing his knee beneath the table. “I don’t know if you want me to, like, apologize for kissing you or whatever, but I’m not. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Dex said stupidly. “No, I. Um. My job is going into people’s homes and fixing things, and sometimes I make a mess before I clean it all up, but it still just feels like - I always feel really out of place, and I never, ever want to make people uncomfortable in their own home, because I’m there. It’s a weird, like, privilege or something, constantly barging into places, and you…”

Derek stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “Did you think you were, like, taking advantage of me?” Dex blushed and looked down at the table. Derek started laughing, loud and unselfconscious. “I’ve been hitting on you since that night we met,” he said. “My friends thought you were a stripper. I’ve been-” He snapped his mouth shut quickly, lips pressed together, his expression breaking into a smile. “I wanted to ask you out the first time I saw you. I woulda, if I wasn’t so drunk.”

“Might’ve made it awkward when I came back to fix the wall,” Dex said. His coffee sat cold and forgotten on the table between them; he was too distracted by Derek’s hand on the table a few inches from his own.

“Yeah, it might’ve,” Derek said slowly. “Probably not, though.” He reached out and grabbed Dex’s hand. Dex couldn’t help but smile at him. “I guess that makes this our first date, then.”

“That’s pretty cliché, a first date in a coffee shop,” he said, even though he didn’t care at all how cliché it was. All he cared about was the way Derek was smiling at him, still holding his hand, his thumb slowly tracing across his knuckles.

Derek shrugged. “My friend Larissa is having a gallery show next week,” he said. “We could keep up the clichés, if you want.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Dex said. “I was thinking dinner and a movie, or maybe we could go bowling.”

Derek made a face. “I’m terrible at bowling,” he said. He tapped his thumb gently against Dex’s hand. “So you don’t want to go to an art gallery with me?” He looked genuinely nervous, like he really thought Dex would say no, he didn’t want to spend any more time with him. “It’s chill if you don’t, we could do dinner or whatever if you wanna do that, I was just thinking-”

“Derek,” Dex said, trying not to laugh. “I’d love to go to an art gallery with you, but I should warn you I don’t know anything about art.”

“Dude, no big,” he said. “Larissa’s art is super cool, right now she’s into a lot of abstract stuff so it’s, like, whatever you see in it.”

Dex frowned. “So you’re gonna try to psychoanalyze me with your friend’s artwork.”

“Pfft, no,” Derek said. “I’m gonna take you someplace we have to dress up and we’re gonna get drunk on champagne and listen to people try and understand abstract paintings and it’s gonna be awesome.”

“Oh,” Dex said. He really didn’t know anything about art, but as long as he was spending time with Derek, he would have fun. He smiled, suddenly feeling shy. “Okay.”

“You hate it,” Derek said, leaning away from him.

“No,” Dex said quickly. “No, I don’t. It’ll be great. I’ll be with you, so...” He bit his lip and looked down at the table, feeling himself blushing furiously. He was never nervous like this, but he’d also never dated anyone stratospherically out of his league like Derek.

“Are you gonna finish that?” Dex looked up at him. He had absolutely no intention to finish his sentence, but Derek jerked his chin at Dex’s forgotten coffee.

“Probably not, no.” Being around Derek made him feel electrified; adding caffeine to that would probably lead to him babbling on about the best type of material for kitchen counters, or even worse, about the house he wanted to buy so he could fix it up, about how he could picture himself and Derek living there in a few years with a couple of dogs and a huge wall of shelves for Derek’s books and a nice garage for Dex’s tools. Now was not the time for Dex to start babbling.

“Okay. You wanna get out of here?” The late rays of sun slanting through the windows washed Derek in shades of gold, making him look like some kind of Renaissance painting. Dex couldn’t believe he was real, let alone that he’d just asked Dex out on a date, or the way he was smiling, bright and shy and genuine.

“Yeah,” Dex said, gently pulling his hand out of Derek’s grip as he stood. As they walked out, Derek settled his hand low on Dex’s back. When they got out on the sidewalk, Dex turned to walk the few blocks to where he’d parked his van. “I’m parked a couple blocks this way,” he said.

“Cool, I’ll walk with you.” They made it about a block before Derek tightened his hand in Dex’s jacket, pulling him to a stop.

Dex turned. “What are you-” Derek was much closer than Dex expected him to be, and before Dex could finish his sentence, Derek had wrapped his hand around Dex’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Dex leaned into Derek, kissing him enthusiastically. Happiness welled up in him and he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. Derek pressed a kiss to the corner of his smile.

“I thought it’d be douchey to do that in a coffee shop,” Derek said, his lips moving against Dex’s cheek.

“It’s not douchey to make out in the middle of the sidewalk?” Dex asked, laughing.

“There’s nobody out here,” Derek pointed out, tightening his grip on Dex as he laughed. “Sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of kissing you, Poindexter.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I said at all.” Dex grabbed the front of Derek’s jacket, his thumb pressing against his collarbone, fist curled over his heart. He kissed Derek before he could start laughing. Dex didn’t care if it was in the middle of a crowded coffee shop or out on an empty stretch of sidewalk - as long as Derek kept kissing him, everything else faded away.

Derek still couldn’t believe Dex had actually agreed to go out with him. He really thought he’d blew it, completely destroyed his shot when he kissed Dex in his apartment, and probably made everything worse by not answering his call because he was stuck at work. But Dex had surprised him, had turned up at his apartment that evening dressed to impress in a navy button down shirt that made his eyes glow like embers. Maybe Derek had been reading too many teen novels, but he was putting together a table display, and he liked to have a personal knowledge of every book he recommended.

“Well,” Dex said. “Let’s get cultured.”

Derek stared at him. “I don’t think I can go out with you anymore.”

Dex rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard you say the word ‘whack’ seriously in a sentence more than once and you’re embarrassed by my word choice?”

“Yep,” Derek said, heart skipping when Dex held out his hand to him.

“Shouldn’t you be all about freedom of expression or whatever?” Dex bumped their joined hands against Derek’s thigh, leading the way to his car.

“Sure,” Derek said. “But there’s a difference between freedom of expression and sounding like an idiot.”

“Oh my god.” Dex rolled his eyes and staggered away, stretching their arms but still holding tightly to Derek’s hand. Derek grinned and pulled him back, kissing him softly on the cheek. “Oh god, you’re such a sap.”

“Yeah,” Derek said quietly. There was really no point in denying it - if they kept dating, Dex would’ve found out sooner or later. “Let’s go look at some art.”

By the time they got to the gallery, it was already crowded with people - Derek was secretly pleased, and he used it as an excuse to stay close by Dex’s side all night, arm curled around his waist. They wandered slowly through the space, weaving around clumps of people and picking up glasses of champagne along the way. Eventually Derek needed to find Larissa, but he figured she would be busy being congratulated by pretty much everyone here.

Dex stopped in front of one of Larissa’s paintings, shades of gray and blue paints layered thickly on top of each other, scraped away to reveal bare canvas in thin hatch marks. Larissa had gone through a lot of phases with her art. She’d helped him with his children’s book, and sometimes she took jobs doing illustrations or cartoons to make a little extra money. She’d gone through a pretty long series on sexuality, and another on athleticism, and a while ago she’d told Derek she just wanted to stop thinking and start painting her feelings instead. It was a beautiful collection, and Derek wasn’t surprised to see the gallery so crowded.

“It reminds me of the ice,” Dex said, staring mesmerized at the canvas.

“It’s very chill,” Derek said. Dex elbowed him in the side. “Wanna go find Larissa?”

“Sure,” Dex said. They moved through the crowd again, Derek looking out for Larissa, who was admittedly difficult to find since she was so short, even when she wore heels. When he finally spotted her across the gallery chatting to a small group of people, Dex tensed beside him for a second before following Derek over to them.

“Seriously wicked collection,” Derek said, bending down to hug Larissa.

“Thanks, bro,” she said, watching something happen over Derek’s shoulder. He turned to see Dex having a hushed conversation with the people Larissa had been talking to before. “So that’s him, huh?”

Derek blushed. “Yeah, that’s Dex.”

At the sound of his name, he took a step forward. “Your work is beautiful,” he said, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“He was worried it would be too high-brow for him,” Derek said. Dex glared at him.

Larissa laughed. “He did tell you I illustrated his Kanye for kids book, right?”

“It’s not Kanye for kids,” Derek interjected angrily.

“High-brow really isn’t my style,” she continued. “So, do you know Shitty?”

“Oh, no we just met,” Dex said. “I play hockey with Jack, though, and Eric’s a good friend of mine.”

“Sweet,” Larissa said. “We should all get together sometime. Derek throws a pretty good party.”

Dex snorted. “Yeah, I know. That was how we met - well, kind of. It was a weird night.”

“Not a story for tonight, though,” Derek said, sliding his arm around Dex’s waist again. “Seriously, you killed it tonight. Knew you would, but it’s amazing to see it, I’m so happy for you. Have fun tonight!”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. Derek steered Dex away before he could completely embarrass him. Larissa had witnessed enough of Derek’s antics to already have a lifetime of material to mock him for; she didn’t need another whole arsenal from Dex. Besides, he had a feeling they’d be sharing those stories sooner or later.

“So,” Derek said casually. He felt off-balance, off his game in a way that was strange and new to him. He knew what he looked like. It wasn’t that he was used to people throwing themselves at his feet, but his previous relationships had been easier. He’d never felt the constant need to impress, never tried so hard to make his date smile and laugh and just be happy. With Dex everything was different, because a part of him wanted everything to be perfect. “You seen enough art for one evening?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve taken in enough culture for one night,” Dex said, smiling teasingly. Derek rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and pretended to be terribly offended by Dex, instead of terribly endeared. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Sure,” Derek said, happily threading his fingers with Dex’s, savoring the feeling of Dex’s calloused hand in his. They left the gallery and walked back to the car, the night quietly settled around them. Dex started his car, some old rock song quietly playing from the speakers. He fidgeted with the radio dial automatically, turning the volume up and then back down again. Derek thought he might recognize the song. He’d probably heard it before, but not enough to remember it. He liked the way Dex tapped his thumb on the wheel to the beat, the way he hummed to himself quietly, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The song ended as Dex turned onto Derek’s street, fading into a commercial for some car dealership. Dex turned off the radio and parked near Derek’s apartment.

Derek didn’t move. Inside the car, time felt frozen, suspended, and the second he undid his seatbelt he would shatter that moment, pushing both of them back to their separate lives until the next time they saw each other, at some nebulous point in the future. Derek didn’t want that - he wanted to stay here with Dex, in the quiet of his car, driving around the city with the radio quietly playing and streetlights sliding past the windows. Dex looked at him and Derek felt the moment slipping away anyway.

“Do you wanna come upstairs?” he asked. His voice was too loud in the car, too bold, and he instantly worried he’d pushed too far.

“Yeah,” Dex said before Derek could backtrack. He smiled, slower and more tentative than Derek expected but still impossibly sweet. Suddenly he scrambled out of his seatbelt and out of the car, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. Dex followed him out of the car and into the building, his hand spread wide on Derek’s back. As they waited for the elevator, Dex leaned close so he could kiss his jaw, sliding his hand around Derek’s waist as he kissed down his neck. Derek pressed back into Dex’s touch, reaching out to jab at the elevator button another dozen times.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Derek dragged Dex inside, crashing both of them into the wall. Dex laughed softly until Derek kissed him, his hands tangled in Dex’s hair. Dex must have hit the button for the sixth floor, because the doors opened a few seconds later to Derek’s thankfully empty hallway. He didn’t think any of his neighbors would really appreciate the sight of him enthusiastically making out with their repairman, which was their loss, really. He tried not to take his hands off Dex as they stumbled to his apartment, dragging his hand down Dex’s neck to his shoulder and digging his fingers into the muscle there.

He unlocked the door as quickly as he can, nearly dropping the keys when Dex slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Derek’s sweater and dragged his fingertips across Derek’s stomach. Derek swore and shoved the door open, kicking it shut behind them as Dex pulled him in for another kiss. They stumbled through the apartment. Derek focused much more on unbuttoning Dex’s shirt, rather than on where he was going. He didn’t mind, though - Dex held him tightly by the hips, his sweater caught up around his ribs, as Dex steered him around furniture.

Derek stumbled into the couch and decided that was far enough. He pulled Dex down on top of him, regretting this decision when Dex almost kneed him in the stomach. He changed his mind quickly when Dex moved above him, grinding against him. He stopped kissing him just long enough to pull Derek’s sweater up and over his head, struggling where the cuff caught on his watch. Derek fumbled with the last few buttons on Dex’s shirt, kissing down his chest as he exposed smooth, pale skin. Dex draped his arms over Derek’s shoulders and then tensed as something crashed behind him. Derek glanced up. Dex was looking behind Derek, eyes wide with horror.

He turned to see the lamp that had been sitting on the table next to the couch smashed to pieces on the floor. He turned back to Dex again, who was still staring. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Dex said, slowly turning red with embarrassment. Derek was delighted to see that Dex’s blush spread down his neck and across his chest. “I can fix that - probably, I think. Maybe.”

Derek laughed. Dex frowned at him, which only made him laugh harder. “Dude, that lamp was hideous,” he said. “I can’t believe you offered to fix it, it’s in like a zillion pieces.”

“Yeah, I broke it,” Dex mumbled, still blushing. Derek leaned up and kissed the flushed, red skin over his collarbone. “I feel bad about it.”

“Well, don’t,” Derek said. “My mom gave me that lamp when I moved out, I think it used to be my great-aunt’s. Trust me, you did me a favor.”

“There’s broken glass all over the floor now,” Dex said, looking at the mess and giving Derek a chance to appreciate the curve of his jaw. He leaned up and kissed across it, trying to distract him by kissing the tender spot behind his ear. “We should probably clean that up,” he said, though he spoke much slower now, words disjointed and breathy.

“Or,” Derek said, finally successfully unbuttoning Dex’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, “we could go to my bedroom and clean up in the morning.”

“I…” Dex was still looking at the mess on the floor like he still thought that cleaning it up would be the best use of his time right now. Derek slid his hands down Dex’s back to his ass, pulling him down as he arched up as much as he could. It wasn’t nearly enough, and they were still wearing way too many articles of clothing, and the couch had definitely been a dumb idea. Dex closed his eyes and pressed closer to him, bracing himself on the arm of the couch so he wouldn’t crush him. Derek bit the tensed muscles of his shoulder, leaving a vicious purple bruise. “Maybe… maybe your bedroom is a good idea,” Dex sighed.

“Fuck yes,” Derek said, gently pushing Dex off of him. Before he could get up, Dex bent down and slid one arm under Derek’s back, pulling his legs around his waist with the other. He picked Derek up, stumbling a bit as he adjusted to his weight.

“I don’t trust you not to step in the glass,” Dex said. He was blushing again.

“Oh my god,” Derek said, tightening his legs around Dex’s waist. He’s had boyfriends and girlfriends, has hooked up with a decent number of people, but Derek is pretty sure nothing this hot has ever happened to him in his entire life. He kissed every part of Dex he could reach, along his jaw and down his neck, hands clinging to his shoulders. He could feel Dex hard against him; he tried to rock his hips against Dex a little, making him swear and stumble.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Dex said, lips brushing against his cheekbone, “but you’re heavier than I expected.”

Derek laughed, feeling Dex adjust his arms as he stumbled into his room. “What good is all that hockey practice if you can’t even carry me to my room?” he asked, still laughing.

“I’d like to see you try,” Dex muttered, carefully dropping him on the bed. He stood at the foot of the bed and unbuckled his belt, shoving his pants down his legs. “Are… do you-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek said, struggling to take off his own pants. He lifted his hips and managed to wriggle them down his thighs. Dex reached out, surprisingly tentative, and pulled his pants off the rest of the way, dropping them on the floor. Derek leaned up to look at Dex and let his legs sprawl open. “You just gonna stand there?” he asked, hooking his thumbs into his briefs and pulling the band down teasingly.

“Just enjoying the view,” Dex said. His voice already sounded wrecked, lips red and swollen as he stared at him, open-mouthed. Derek stared back for a second before he decided he’d had enough teasing, pulling his briefs off and hooking his foot around Dex’s knee to pull him onto the bed. The movement made the headboard knock against the wall loudly. Derek grinned.

“So if we broke the headboard, would you try to fix that right away, or-”

“Shut up,” Dex said, settling himself over him and leaning down to kiss him breathless. Derek sucked Dex’s lip between his, skimming his hands down Dex’s sides as arched against him.

“Dude, come on,” Derek said as his fingers hit the elastic of Dex’s boxers. “Can I-?”

“Yeah,” Dex said, the word breaking into a moan as Derek teased him through his boxers.

Derek laughed to himself. “Is that a hammer in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Dex groaned again, leaning his forehead against Derek’s chest. “I'm leaving,” he mumbled, but he was kissing down Derek’s chest and made no move to get out of bed.

“Babe, no,” he protested anyway, “What would I do without you?”

“Fuck,” Dex swore, palming himself through his boxers. His fingers caught with Derek’s, both of them hastily pushing down his boxers. Dex leaned down even closer and Derek couldn’t resist rocking against him, his dick sliding against Dex’s impressively toned abs, slick with sweat. Dex wrapped one of his calloused, perfect hands around both of them and started stroking. Derek moaned, working his hand between them to join with Dex’s, hips rocking into the touch. He reached up to pull Dex into another kiss but paused, fingers splayed on Dex’s jaw.

Dex’s eyes were half-closed, still bright amber beneath the faint curve of his lashes. His hair stood in every direction from Derek running his hands through it earlier, one strand curled over his sweaty forehead. He bit his kiss-reddened lip and when Derek twisted their hands and sped up their pace, his mouth fell open for a low moan. His arm strained with the effort of holding himself up. Derek might be a little sex stupid, maybe a bit biased, but he’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

“So hot,” he breathed. “Fuck, Dex, you - oh fuck, you’re so hot, babe, come on.” With a few more strokes, Dex tensed above him, spilling over their joined hands with a broken moan that sounded like his name. Derek came as Dex shook against him, his face buried in his shoulder. Dex collapsed on top of him, squirming until he was only mostly on top of him, spreading the mess between them.

“Ugh, gross,” Derek said, half-heartedly shoving Dex’s shoulder. “Get off me so we can clean up.” Dex said nothing, humming quietly and pressing his nose to Derek’s temple, which was so sweet Derek might have actually melted. Dex’s arm was warm and heavy where he draped it across his chest, his breath tickling his ear.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a stripper,” Dex mumbled. “‘s fucking ridiculous.”

Derek snorted, dragging his fingers through the short hair behind Dex’s ear. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his fingers tapping a rhythm against Derek’s arm, right over his tattoo. “Gonna talk about it at our wedding.” He tensed immediately when he realized what he’d said.

“Good,” Derek said, rubbing his hand soothingly along Dex’s neck as happiness bloomed, bright and warm, in his chest. “I’ll talk about how you broke my Great-Aunt Dorah’s favorite lamp.”

“Damnit, I hate you,” Dex said. He kissed Derek’s cheek, so he was pretty sure he was joking. Derek had no idea if they would still be dating in a month, or six months, let alone if they would end up getting married sometime in the future. He wanted Dex to stay for breakfast tomorrow morning, wanted him to come over for dinner even though he really couldn’t cook, wanted to properly introduce him to his friends at a party where Dex didn’t have to fix anything. He wanted Dex to stay as long as he liked, and if that was only long enough to clean up the broken glass by the couch, Derek would live with that. From the way he pressed against Derek’s side and sighed contentedly, Derek hoped he would stay for good.

The next morning, Derek swept up the shards of his old lamp while Dex made pancakes. Three months later, Dex rolled his eyes when finally unstuck the broken drawer in Derek’s dresser. The next week some of Dex’s shirts were piled in that drawer next to Derek’s. A year after that, Dex did buy that house on the other side of town. He replaced the locks and had two sets of keys cut. He installed bookshelves for Derek in a sunny room that looked over the backyard, and he turned the basement into a workshop. Between the porch swing and the dog house, between new coats of paint and refinished old floorboards, they built a life together.