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He could be a porn star if he wanted to.
It was just cold, damn it.
“C’mon, dude. Why aren’t you laughing?” Derek’s grin was infectious, but Dylan felt immune. “Sex work is nothing to be ashamed of. You should be flattered.”
Dylan managed a few perfunctory chuckles before retreating to the bedroom. He’d never felt so glad to not be naked.
His mind was spiraling out of control. Everything was so loud. His meds wore off hours ago, and he kept forgetting the next step of what he should be doing. No wonder this was hilarious to Derek. He squeezed his eyes shut like he could hide from the memory of the overheard exchange with Hudson.
Derek knocked and called from the door. “I figured you’d forget to run out and get detergent. No big deal. You didn’t respond when I texted to ask, so I just picked up some of that unscented organic kind you said you liked on the way back from my mom’s.”
Dylan should feel grateful, but the assumption that he wouldn’t remember stung. It stung worse since Derek’s assumption was correct.
When Dylan walked back into the kitchen, Derek was stacking all Dylan’s abandoned mugs and glasses on the drying rack next to the sink. A thumping noise from the closet off the kitchen meant Derek had started the laundry. He could complete the necessary tasks like they were simple. Probably because for people with normal executive function, they were simple.
“You okay?” Derek slung a kitchen towel over his shoulder and crossed the bare subfloor to face Dylan. A charmingly crooked smile angled his face. “Joni’s joke about you falling through the ceiling being the start of a porno seems even funnier now.”
While Dylan’s brain truly sucked at remembering to clean up dishes or buy laundry detergent, it was really good at figuring and creating new reasons to be anxious. Carol had offered to keep his nonexistent porn creation a secret in exchange for information about Gus.
What if…
What if Derek was just being nice and flirtatious right now to get him to keep Gus a secret? Or to get the repair done on the apartment? Dylan stiffened and leaned a half inch away. The part of his brain recalling that moment when Derek’s body had pressed into his on the sidewalk to hide the bag of dog food wanted to match Derek’s flirtatious tone. Normally he would have thought this entire situation was as hilarious as Derek found it. That same part of him had been low-key fantasizing ever since Derek mentioned Joni (of all people) making a joke that him falling through the ceiling sounded like the start of a porno. That part of him wanted to ask what Derek had meant by saying Olive was “Right about his eyes.”
But this wouldn’t be the first time Dylan had gotten the wrong idea. He could hyperfixate on a crush if he wasn’t careful, and he was too attracted to Derek to think clearly. It was too easy to believe that Derek would never have even spoken to him if he hadn’t literally crashed into his life. If Derek was flirting with him, it was probably because he needed him to keep up his end of their bargain.
“You’re not actually a secret porn star, are you?” Derek tossed a dry dish towel at him.
Dylan caught it. “Not a chance.” As he grabbed a mug to dry, the memory of Hudson’s words clanged in his head, and so he said it. “Not in a million years.”
Chapter 15
DEREK
Thank you for washing my scrubs! That new fabric softener is better on them too. I agree.
DYLAN
You’re welcome.
Derek sighed. How did a simple period at the end of a text make a normal you’re welcome text read like it actually said, “You’re welcome, asshole.”
After doing some stock room inventory at the very end of an uncharacteristically slow day, Derek lay down on a stretcher in the old, unused part of the unit. He needed a five-minute mental break. Not from work, although this was his sixth shift in a row. He needed to rake in every cent of overtime and shift differential bonuses to cover the most recent mold abatement invoice. The problem had been worse than expected, but if Derek could keep up this work schedule, he might be able to cover everything. The better-than-expected news about his financial situation didn’t make up for the weird “emptiness” of his time in the apartment since the day Dylan definitely overhead the conversation with Hudson two weeks ago.
Derek still hadn’t figured out how to apologize for it or if he should apologize, or if that would just make things worse. Dylan wasn’t cold or angry. He was being nice and considerate—the bland niceness that was completely devoid of actual feeling. It was careful and boring and so different from the weirdly energizing quasi-hatred, quasi-something else from before. No repeat of accidentally naked-tackling Derek into piles of unwashed laundry.
Did Derek really miss that?
Yeah, he absolutely did.
Supposedly, the weather was amazing, but it wasn’t like Derek could or wanted to take advantage of it. The nice weather did mean that they had discharged all but four of their patients. Which gave Derek just enough time to overthink. Last night in that hollow polite voice, Dylan told him two more days of work, and then they could close up the hole between the two apartments.
He wasn’t used to spending this much time in close quarters, but moving back downstairs made him feel strangely nervous. He’d always needed alone or semi-alone hours to recharge. But even though Dylan was quiet, he existed loudly. Or at least Derek felt his existence loudly. All reasons why Derek should be desperate to move back downstairs.
Needing a distraction, he shot off a few texts to his mom and sisters just to check in. His mom had said she didn’t need him to come change her car’s oil tomorrow like he always did. That was weird. If he wasn’t completely swamped by work and the apartment disaster he’d probably be as nosy as Amy was being about it.
He closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he just enjoy the silence? Like a tag on a new shirt, something itched at him.
Damn that Dylan Gallagher.