#omgpocplease

Dex has homework to do, which is fine, because the whole reason they’re in school in the first place is to learn shit, and they can only do that if they do their assignments, so there’s absolutely no reason for him to be sad about not getting any texts from his boyfriend. No reason at all. He wants Dex to succeed academically, but he won’t if Derek goes to his room and makes him worry. And if Dex worries about him, he’ll cuddle him for the rest of the night, which is not conducive to getting any of his work done. So really it’s better if he just leaves Dex alone.

Farmer went home for her Nana’s eightieth birthday celebration, which is a big one, and Chowder, of course, loves her a lot, so it only makes sense that he would miss her. Missing her is a perfectly good reason to bring her up whenever he talks to anyone, and of course he’s gonna respond when she texts, it’s not like he’s ignoring anyone on purpose, it’s just that Farmer’s more important to him. Plus her Nana’s been sick lately, so she’s worried about her, and she needs to talk about that with her boyfriend. Her understanding, supportive, loving boyfriend who drops entire conversations with the people around him to compose understanding, supportive, loving messages that will comfort and reassure her. It’s endearing, really. They have a strong and healthy relationship. Derek’s happy for them.

Bitty is spending the weekend with Jack, so Derek’s not gonna call to whine when Bitty hasn’t seen his boyfriend in nearly a month. And it’s not like he’s gonna call Jack, either. That would be a dick move. He’s not gonna encroach on their time together, or ruin their evening by interrupting their alone time and bombarding them with texts. He should let them have their time together. It’s good that they’re happy.

Ransom has enough of his own stuff to worry about; he doesn’t need Derek’s shit to pile on top of that. He should focus on his schoolwork. And even if he’s not doing homework right now, it’s good that he’s blowing off steam. He’s too stressed, it’s not healthy. Who is Derek to mess up what little free time Ransom has?

Holster is juggling too many people’s problems as it is. What with keeping Ransom afloat, reassuring his sisters whenever they’re going through something, talking his parents down when they’re trying to figure out how to deal with his sisters...it’s a lot. He doesn’t need Derek’s problems on top of all that. It would be selfish of him to even ask.

Maybe he could talk to Lardo--but wait, no, Lardo has a big project due that’s been kicking her ass for a couple weeks now. What kind of friend would he be if he took her away from that? A shit friend, that’s what kind. And it’s not like him feeling sad is that big a deal anyway; he’s depressed. He’s always sad. He takes his meds and he exercises regularly, but the sadness still lurks in the back of his mind. It drains him of all energy, makes it impossible to finish even the simplest of tasks. She doesn’t need any of that distracting her right now.

Shitty can barely figure himself out these days--how could Derek possibly ask him to pull focus from his epic journey of self-discovery just to talk Derek through another pointless meltdown? Everyone has bad days, he just needs to suck it up.

He’s not that close to any of the tadpoles, and it’s not like he can offer them dibs, so what reason would they have to listen to him? It’s better to not put them in the awkward position of having to pat his shoulder and give a heartfelt “That sucks, man.” Better to just leave them be, so they won’t see him like this.

Calling his family is out of the question. His mom worries about him enough already; she doesn’t need to listen to him cry. Dad will try, but won’t know what to say, so he’ll inevitably say the wrong thing. Jasmine is six years older than him and an entire ocean away right now--she has her own life, is starting her own family, and doesn’t need her annoying little brother messing stuff up for her.

So Derek decides to go for a walk to clear his head. And if he realizes his pockets are empty when he reaches for his phone to check the time, then he’s not gonna go back for it. No one will try to reach him anyway.

He starts a slow lope around campus, occasionally dabbing at his eyes with his scarf. Flurries start to blur the space in front of him, so he finds a tree and settles onto the ground in front of it, leaning against the trunk to watch the sky. He wonders, suddenly, what it would be like to fall from such a great height; he supposes he’d feel weightless, imagines that the air would be cool on his face. Time would simultaneously pass in a blink and stretch on endlessly.

Derek loves the endlessness of snow. He used to marvel at blizzards as a child, watching them from his bedroom window with awe. It just keeps piling up, dusting the grass and the roads until it’s a thick coating that covers everything, wrapping the earth in a firm embrace. A blanket, keeping him warm while he sleeps.

Jasmine and Ivan had gone before him, and Gabriela will go after; she’s familiar with this feeling, but it still rests heavily in her chest. His voice makes its way through the door, cutting off her brief musings. He’s singing, “His Royal Highness, Christopher Rupert--”

Her own laugh startles out of her. He’s watching Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, a masterpiece of a movie she’d first shown him as a toddler that he has yet to let go of. Their old VHS tape had been worn down beyond repair years ago from his constant rewatching, but it still has a place in his room--right beside the DVD copy they’d gotten to replace it for one of his birthdays. She pushes the door open a crack, and sure enough, there he is, clutching his stuffed dog to his chest and bouncing happily to the beat.

The door creaks, giving her away. He turns to look at her, still smiling.

“Hey Mommy,” he says casually, pausing the movie.

She pushes it open all the way and comes in. “Hey, baby. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No worries, you’re fine. What’s up?” he asks, making room on his bed for her.

She takes up more space than he allotted her, deliberately leaning into him. It has the desired effect; he chuckles and pushes at her, pretending to be annoyed, but ends up wrapping his arm around her in a side hug. She returns it, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He’s not as small as he used to be, she thinks mournfully.

“You wanna watch?” he offers, gesturing to the TV with the remote.

“That’s okay. I wanted to talk to you, actually.” She pulls back from their hug so she can look at his face. “You’re gonna be leaving me soon.”

He shrugs. “I won’t be that far. And it’s not like you won’t still see me all the time,” he assures her.

She nods. “I know. I just worry, that’s all.”

“‘Bout what?”

This is what she’d come here for, and she’d been gearing herself up all night for it, but his open expression, the ease with which he asks--he’s still so young. Too young. He doesn’t need to know that the world is cruel. But maybe it’s naive to think that he doesn’t already, wishful thinking on her part. She looks at him and sees the little boy who’d followed Jasmine and Ivy everywhere, who put poems in her Mother’s Day cards next to careful drawings of the six of them playing in the park. Other people will look at him and see a threat.

“I know how you like to have fun,” she starts, changing tactics, “but I want you to be careful. Dad and I will still come get you if you need us, but keep in mind that it’s a longer drive now.”

“Mom, oh my god,” he laughs. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m some kinda party animal from. I like to keep a low profile, come on.”

She raises a disapproving eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh. Just don’t be actin’ a fool up there, okay? Stick with that loud friend of yours, the one with the name.”

“Shi--uh, Milky? I hate to break it to you, but he’s not exactly a paragon of virtue.”

“He will be if he ever wants to come back here again,” she warns. She’d had her doubts about him when he’d first come over to work on a group project with Ivan--and even more when he seemed to latch onto Ivan’s little brother instead of his own classmate--but he’s been a constant presence in their house, nothing but respectful and polite. Except for his shouting. And his cussing when he thinks she can’t hear him. “And I’ve told him to take care of you, too, so he knows what’s at stake.”

He rolls his eyes, and she finds herself aching for the days when he could afford to be carefree. When hardly the only words he spoke were lines from his favorite movie.

“I’ll be fine, seriously. Were you like this for Jas and Blue?”

“I worry about all of you, mijo,” she says, reaching out to turn some of his curls between her fingertips. “You just happen to be the only one starting a brand new chapter of their life in a few days.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and she wills herself to breach the intended topic of conversation.  

“Baby,” she starts slowly, “you know, with everything that’s been happening lately . . . you know you need to be careful, right?”

She hates that his eyes tighten, catching her meaning immediately. “Yeah, I know,” he answers softly.

“And you remember what I taught you before?”

“Yeah, I remember.” His brightness has dulled, and she hates the world for forcing her to do this. “If I’m at a party and the cops show up, stay with a group. If I get stopped and frisked, don’t make too much eye contact, but don’t keep my head down. Keep my hands outta my pockets and stay relaxed.”

It kills her that Mike Brown’s mother probably had this same conversation with her son. She hates that there are millions of other black parents giving their black children the same advice. But most of all, she’s terrified that this might not be enough to keep him safe.

“You keep your phone in your hand, okay?” she urges. “You can open your camera right from the lock screen, right? Don’t forget to hit record.”

“I won’t,” he promises solemnly.

She takes a shaky breath, dropping her hand through the hair at his temple and cradling his face. She hates that she’s brought her children--four beautiful, thoughtful, intelligent, kind-hearted, amazing children--into a world that tears them down, devalues them. “You know I love you, right, sweetheart?”

His expression is confused now. “Of course.”

“And call me if you need me,” she reminds him. “I don’t care what time it is or what you think I’m doing, call me.”

This had been a hard lesson to teach him; nothing he needs will ever inconvenience her, she will always want to talk to him, he’s always tied for number one on her list of priorities. For now he seems to believe her, taking her hand from her lap and resting their palms together. “I will.”