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Derek would love to say that he has no idea how he and Casey got into this situation. He’d love to turn to her and say, “Hey Case, what the actual fuck is going on?”
But he can’t. Because, well, unfortunately, this situation is kinda his fault.
(Okay, it’s absolutely his fault, but he’d never admit that aloud, and especially not in front of Casey.)
“What the hell has gotten into them?” Casey exclaims, waving her bottle of peach schnapps in the air and narrowly avoiding hitting Derek in the head.
Derek leans against the loft door that separates the lounge room and his bedroom and gives it another hard shove. “Let us out,” he shouts, banging his hand on the door. “I mean it guys, Casey needs to pee!”
Casey looks up at him, confused. “No I don’t!”
He levels her with a look and her eyes widen in realisation. “Ooooh, yeah guys, I so badly need to go to the bathroom.”
“We’re not letting you guys out until you sort out your weird sexual tension!” Sheldon yells.
“Yeah,” agrees Emily, “you guys are such a pain to live with.”
“You don’t even live here!” Derek yells back, incredulous.
“Hey,” Casey and Sheldon shout at the same time.
“Emily is an honorary member of our loft,” Casey says, “and you will treat her as such.”
Derek is way too drunk to be dealing with this right now.
He says as much to his friends, who are unrelenting.
“Just kiss her and we’ll let you out, man,” says Sam, “it’s not like she’s a bad kisser or anything.”
Casey nods her head and takes a swig of her schnapps. “It’s true.”
Derek slides down the door to sit on the floor, sighing as his flushed skin hits the wood panelling.
On the other side of the door his friends start chanting “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”
“Well Derek,” Casey says, falling down next to him ungracefully, “we’re really in it this time.” She giggles, not quite understanding the gravity of the situation, and passes him the bottle in her hands. “You want some?”
Derek puts his head in his hands and groans.
~~~
Casey had found the advertisement by pure accident. It was a pretty good advert, if Derek was being honest. Sheldon had spent an entire afternoon on it and had even used his office’s fancy-ass software to make it seem legit.
Needed: Roommate
Five bedroom loft located in the inner city, sixth floor. No balcony but have rooftop access. Running water, large kitchen, washer, dryer, the works. 350 a week, must be paid on time. No leniencies. Roommates are all male, aged 23-25. To enquire email Sheldon at [email protected]
(“No leniencies?” Ralph had asked, “I don’t think Derek has paid rent on time, like, ever.”
“Exactly,” said Sheldon, rolling his eyes. “The last thing we need around here is another Derek.”
“I both resent and respect that,” Derek had said, throwing an apple up in the air and catching it with both hands.)
So, yeah, Derek wasn’t too worried about them finding a new roommate. Their loft is positioned directly between their local hockey rink and the cheapest bar for three blocks, a location any sane male in their twenties would kill for.
Turns out, it’s Sheldon that Derek needed to be worried about.
“You choose a girl to live with us?” Derek had asked, clutching his hockey stick for support.
“She’s actually really nice,” said Ralph.
“Really hot too,” said Sam. “And single.”
“That is beside the point,” Derek hissed. “I can’t believe you guys interviewed and picked our next roommate without me!”
Sheldon shrugged. “You were down at the rink and that was the only time she could come in. She’s a lawyer, so her hours are fucked.”
“You’re a lawyer, and you still manage to have normal hours.”
“For God’s sake Derek, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a lawyer. I am a management and financial consultant for a law firm. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Derek muttered and swung his hockey stick to the left. “I’m going to bed.”
“She moves in on Tuesday!” had yelled Sheldon.
Tuesday had come, much to Derek’s dismay, and so had the arrival of the one and only Casey McDonald.
“Der-ek,” she had exclaimed, “what are you doing here?”
At least some things never change, Derek thought dryly.
“I live here,” he said, crossing his arms. “Please don’t tell me you’re our new roommate?”
Casey’s eyes had widened in horror. “You’re the roommate that works at the hockey rink? That couldn’t be here for the interview?”
“Guilty.”
They both had stood there, barely moving, like some kind of fucked up mexican standoff.
“I really need a place to live,” Casey blurted out.
“So? This is my turf, McDonald. Move back home.”
“I will not go crawling back to my mother just because my asshole ex-boyfriend kicked me out of my apartment.”
“Sounds like a you problem to me.”
“Nice to see you still act like a petulant child at every chance you get.”
“Ah, Casey, I see you’ve met our roommate Derek,” Sheldon had said, interrupting the two as he walked into the kitchen. “Don’t let his prickly attitude fool you, he’s quite nice usually. We get free shots whenever he’s on shift at the bar downtown.”
Casey shot Derek a look that said we will discuss your poor choice of career(s) later and turned to Sheldon. “Actually, we already know each other.”
“Oh, really?” Sheldon said with a raised eyebrow. “How?”
Now, Derek has never had very good impulse control. So as Casey opened her mouth to do the whole, “well, actually, his dad married my mom and we’re stepsiblings,” thing, Derek jumped in instead.
“We went to high school together. We didn’t know each other very well, of course - Casey was kinda a loner. But we had a bunch of classes together.”
Casey had just stared at him, stunned.
Sheldon had merely shrugged. “Small world.”
Derek had avoided eye contact with Casey and left the loft without another word.
~~~
He’s not exactly sure why he didn’t just tell the truth. Maybe he wanted to start fresh, to erase almost a decade of tension filled bad blood between him and Casey. Maybe he saw this as a do-over, a chance to prove to his dad and Nora that the two of them are mature now, that they can live together and not lose themselves in prank wars and petty arguments.
But a small, sick part of Derek knows that those reasons aren’t why he lied. A small, sick part of him knows that this is his only chance to-
He can’t admit it, even to himself.
~~~
The first three weeks of Casey living in the loft are weird.
Derek is thrown back to his fifteen year old self, confused and territorial and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of crap that women always seem to amass. For Derek, Ralph, Sam and Sheldon, it has always been easy. Food, beer, TV, couch, hockey gear. The five necessities.
But for Casey there’s boxes upon boxes of so-called necessities. There’s air fryers and oven mitts and Godforsaken coffee table books, hair straighteners and makeup and dozens upon dozens of law textbooks that make Derek’s head explode by just looking at them.
“What the hell is this?” Derek asks, holding up a green plastic oval.
“An avocado slicer,” Casey replies, nonchalant.
Derek nearly combusts on the spot.
That’s the extent of their conversations for the first few weeks since Casey moved in - small quips and mild bickering. The boys don’t bring it up with Derek, though he knows that Casey is bitching about him to Sam while Derek’s at work.
Sam denies it, but Derek knows. Or, rather, he knows Casey.
The ice between them is (finally) broken one night, almost a month after Casey moved into the loft.
The bar is practically empty, except for a few drunken stragglers trying to sober up down the bar, and Derek decides to call it. He reaches for a damp cloth and begins to wipe down the bar, humming Ed Sheeran’s latest attempt at rapping under his breath.
“Vodka cranberry, please,” comes a voice from the bar.
Derek looks up and shrugs. “Sorry princess, we’re closed.”
Casey raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t closed the till.”
He relents, and slides her vodka cranberry across to her without any fanfare. “That will be thirteen fifty. Bar’s closing in fifteen minutes, so drink up.”
“What, no family discount?”
Derek glares.
“Okay, look,” Casey says, holding up her hands in surrender. “I couldn’t sleep, and Ralph said you were working tonight, and I just - we need to talk, Derek.”
“You have until I finish cleaning up,” Derek replies, busying himself with stacking the dishwasher behind the bar. Casey grabs her drink and hoists herself up onto the bar so she is facing Derek, swaying her legs side to side. “You’re not allowed to do that,” he warns.
“What are you going to do, kick me out?” Casey says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “I know where you live, you know. I can make your life a living hell.”
“Who says you haven’t already?”
“Touche, Der-ek.” Casey takes a long sip of her drink, fingering the plastic straw with her thumb and her forefinger. Derek decidedly does not look at her mouth. “Are you ashamed of me?” she blurts into her drink, avoiding eye contact with him.
Casey’s admission is raw and honest and vulnerable, and it shocks Derek. Every time he thinks he can get a read on Casey, she goes and flips everything on its head.
“Of course not,” he says, leaving against the bar so that he’s mere inches away from her. “Why would you say that, Case?”
She shifts slightly and hands him her empty glass. Derek takes it but doesn’t put it away.
“Look, Casey,” he starts, “we’ve had our differences-” Casey snorts, interrupting him, “-but I’m not ashamed of you. You’re nerdy and anal and a complete pain in the ass, but you’re only an embarressment like, thirty percent of the time.”
A ghost of a smile falls onto Casey’s lips. Derek takes it as a win.
“Thanks,” she says, “I think.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that our roommates don’t know that we’re family.”
Ah. Derek knew this was coming, yet he still feels caught off guard.
“What can I say - they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer.”
“Der-ek, Sheldon literally graduated top of his class at Yale.”
“And yet he’s still a glorified assistant.”
Casey shakes her head. “You really have no idea what he does for a living, do you?”
“Not a fucking clue.”
It’s way past time for the bar to close, so Derek closes the till and kicks out any remaining drunks.
“I’m not mad you didn’t tell them,” Casey says, and Derek wants to scream. ‘I just want to know why.”
“Didn’t we finish this conversation, like, ten minutes ago?”
“No,” Casey says slowly, as if she’s talking to a child. “Just because you cut a conversation short doesn’t mean it’s finished.”
“Sure it does,” Derek replies as he begins to count his tips.
“Just tell me why.”
“Look, I don’t know, okay? I just didn't want them to know about us. Simple as that.”
Casey mulls his answer over for a couple of seconds. “A fresh start.”
Derek scoffs. “Sure, a fresh start. Why not.”
“Well,” Casey says, holding out her hand. “In the spirit of a fresh start, I’m Casey McDonald and I really need a place to live, since my ex-boyfriend kicked me out of my apartment. I would move back home but I am constantly reminded of how independent and self-sufficient my older step-brother, who I am constantly in competition with, is, so living with my parents at twenty four is out of the question. What else? Oh, I’m a lawyer, so all bills will be paid on time, like the responsible adult that I am. I can also make a mean margarita and I stress bake a lot, so the loft kitchen will constantly smell like chocolate chip cookies. Do I have the roommate spot, or what?”
Derek shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms McDonald. Welcome to the loft - your complimentary night of beer and hockey awaits you.”
Casey smiles, a big one that is something akin to sunshine, and Derek realises in an instant that he’s missed this.
That he’s missed Casey.
“Come on, Ms McDonald,” he says, waving his keys at her. “Let me walk you home.”
“You still owe me change, you know,” Casey says as they walk down the pavement towards the loft.
“Add it to my tab.”
~~~
The next few months go a little something like this:
Derek and Casey end up in a fight over something trivial and childish but important, like a parking spot or who gets the first shower, or who has to take out the trash.
Their roommates make all kinds of snarky comments about enemies to lovers shit, for real, and please, for the love of god Derek, stop antagonising Casey.
(Which, in Derek’s defence, is complete and utter bullshit. Half the time it’s Casey instigating an argument with him, not the other way around.)
Then, after a week, the guilt overwhelms them and an olive branch appears in the form of chocolates and hockey tickets, flowers or a box set of a comforting TV show.
It wasn’t the best system, Derek admits, but it works nonetheless.
~~~
True American is, in Derek’s humble opinion, one of the greatest drinking games ever invented.
And not just because he invented it.
“It’s true,” nods Emily, linking her arms through Sheldon’s. “I was skeptical at first, but Derek truly is a master at work.”
“Thank you Emily,” Derek says diligently.
Casey wrinkles up her nose in distrust. “But it doesn’t make any sense. We’re not even American.”
“Ah,” Derek says, handing her a bottle of fruity premix that he knows she’ll like, “but that’s the beauty of True American.”
Casey waits for him to elaborate, but when he doesn’t she gives up and goes to stand near Sam.
“So, how do we play?” she asks him, ignoring Derek as he starts shouting things at Ralph.
Sam rolls his eyes and holds up his can of beer. “You drink.”
“No, seriously though. How do we win?”
“Drink,” Sam says, laughing. “It’s a game created by Derek, how do you think that you win?”
“Good point,” Casey replies. She takes a giant swig of her drink and makes eye contact with Derek.
You’re going down, she mouths.
You wish, McDonald, he mouths back.
~~~
Eventually, their friends get tired of waiting for Derek and Casey to “fuck out their issues,” and open his bedroom door with an apology shot of tequlia, welcoming them back to the party.
“I deserve financial and emotional compensation for that,” Derek mutters, before downing his shot.
“And I deserve the four hundered dollars you owe me,” Sam says cheerfully. “Drink up!”
“You could have just kissed me, you know,” says Casey, clutching a beer bottle in her left hand and her trusty bottle of schnapps in her right.
Derek sighs, taking the beer bottle off her and having a hearty swig. “Not like that, Case. Not like that.”
~~~
Casey wakes him up at four am.
It’s the night after the fateful game of True American, the night after the kiss that never was, and Derek is fucking is so hungover that he wants to die.
“What the hell, Casey?” he asks, opening up the door to his room and glaring at her.
“Someone’s trying to break into my window,” Casey says, fear evident in her voice.
“What? Are you still drunk? Go back to bed, Case.”
“No,” she says harshly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards her room. “I am still not drunk. Someone massive and loud and scary is trying to break into my window and I need you to help me.”
“Where’s feminism when you need it,” Derek says sarcastically. Casey whacks him on the shoulder and gestures towards her room.
The someone massive and loud and scary turns out to be a fucking bird, which causes Derek to laugh so hard that he swears he’s going to get a stomach ulcer.
“God Casey, how did you ever manage to survive without me?”
“It was a struggle, believe me,” Casey replies drily, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
“So,” Derek starts, leaning on her door frame. “What did you think of True American? Greatest thing I’ve ever done, or what?”
Casey puts her forefinger to her chin and pretends to think it through. “Hm, I don’t know, I still think your hot sauce on chocolate ice cream was pretty exceptional.”
Derek winces at the memory. “I still can’t eat chocolate ice cream to this day without gagging.”
Casey laughs and pushes his shoulder softly. “Goodnight, Derek,” she says.
And Derek, never one for impulse control, grabs her wrist on a reflex and draws her close. He kisses her quickly, before she has any time to protest or start sprouting logic. Derek can feel her thinking for a few quick seconds - her body is rigid against his and her lips don’t respond to his kiss. He can pinpoint the exact moment where she goes fuck it, however, and Casey becomes putty in his hands.
She melts against his body and grips his biceps, kissing him with a ferocity that Derek thought was only possible in romantic comedies or badly directed pornos. Casey loops her arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him even closer, and runs her hands through his hair. Derek can taste artificial strawberries, and he thinks back to the hideously pink drinks that Casey had been drinking all night.
Strawberries, Derek thinks somewhat hysterically, fucking strawberries.
They break apart for air, both of them not moving an inch, and Casey looks at him in a way that Derek can only call lustful.
He almost wants to make fun of her for it.
Almost.
Just as Casey moves forward to kiss him again, Derek pulls apart completely.
“I meant something like that,” he says softly, avoiding her eyes and hastily making his way back to his room.
He leaves Casey standing in the doorway of her room, the ghost of his lips and body lingering.
Something like that.