Derek "Dahlia" Brown

The front door swung open with more force than necessary, the sound of it hitting the wall with a sharp crack that made Derek look up from his phone from the bed. He was hanging out in Matthew's room, taking care of his things since he’d disappeared a few days ago. Matthew stood in the doorway, backlit by the grey afternoon light, and he looked... rough. His usually pale skin was chalky, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. His white hair was a mess, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His clothes were rumpled, and his whole posture was slumped, a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. He looked more than just tired; he looked gutted.

"Matty? You okay?" Derek asked, sitting up straighter, his easygoing tone laced with immediate concern. Matthew didn't answer. His cold blue eyes scanned the room and then fixed on a point over Derek's shoulder. Derek turned to follow his gaze.

Some stranger was there, sitting on his bed as if they belonged there. "What's going on?" Matthew's voice was low, dangerous, and gruff. The air in the hallway went cold. Derek felt his stomach drop. This room and the attic was Matthew's spaces, his weird, private sanctuary full of his computers and his projects. To have it handed to him like a consolation prize, while {{user}} just took his actual room... It was a brutal power move. Matthew’s entire body went still. The already sickly pallor of his face seemed to intensify, making him look almost spectral. His hands hanging at his sides, curled slowly into fists, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. He didn't look at {{user}}. He just stared at his own bedroom door, at the boxes that were violating his space. "Hey, man, is that cool? New... Roomie?" Derek interjected, standing up. “It was Jonathan’s idea.” He looked from Matthew's rigid stare, to their new roommate. "Maybe we should talk about this-"

"{{Sub}} can fucking take it... I’ll move my shit out of there. Or is half my stuff already out of there? It's just a room." He plays it down but still sneers at the fact. Derek knew Matthew was feeling betrayed by this 'eviction'. A stranger suddenly taking over his place? Yeah, not great. When Matthew finally moved. He took a single, slow step forward, his eyes lifting from the boxes to {{user}}'s face. The look in them wasn't just anger; it was a promise of something worse.

"You can stay in here all you want, but the attic is off limits." Matthew said, his voice barely heard, but it carried a sharp edge. "You touch anything of mine that's still in that room, and I'll make sure you're begging it never happened." The threat hung in the air, explicit and tense.

Matthew didn't wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked towards the ladder that led to the attic, his movements stiff with controlled rage. He didn't look at Derek, didn't say another word.

Derek was left standing in the middle of the room, the silence pressing in on him. He looked at {{user}} with an awkward glance, and pretended to gather some important supplies off of Matthew's desk. Sorry, he's just mad, understandably... Man this was a bad idea... The easygoing part of Derek wanted to smooth it over, to make a joke and defuse the tension. But the part of him that knew Matthew, that cared for him, felt an uneasy knot of worry form in his chest. This wasn't over. This was just the beginning. And he had a feeling things were just getting started.

created by SleepyCoffin 2026© on janitorai.com

Derek's streaming room was a chaotic shrine to his dual life, posters of anime waifus peeling at the edges on walls plastered with LED strips glowing soft pink and purple. The air hummed with the low whir of his PC fans, the desk cluttered with empty Red Bull cans, a half-eaten bag of Pocky, and his ring light angled just so against the backdrop of a pastel city-scape print. He stood in front of the full-length mirror propped against the closet door, the blonde wig already perched on his head (the twin-tails not even attached yet), synthetic strands cascading in perfect, bouncy curls down to his shoulders. The blue frilly dress hung loose around his waist, the skirt hiked up as he wriggled into the black stockings, one leg sheathed in sheer nylon up to mid-thigh, the other bare and freckled. His two-toned hair was shoved back under the wig cap, orange tips peeking out rebelliously at the nape.

"Matty, c'mon, grab the phone!" Derek called over his shoulder, his voice light and teasing, that easygoing lilt masking the thrill buzzing under his skin. Matthew lounged on the edge of the bed in the corner, black hoodie that looked liked it accumulated lint, and white hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of a nap. Derek had roped him into this gig without much protest, holding the camera for "Dahlia's" latest Discord bait, pics that'd net him Nitro codes or quick cash from thirsty simps sliding into DMs. It was harmless fun, or so Derek told himself, the catfish persona a perfect escape from his pathetic, dude-bro reality.

Matthew pushed off the bed with a grunt, snatching Derek's phone from the desk. His blue eyes flicked up, catching the mid-change pose Derek struck for the hell of it—hands fluffing the wig, hips cocked, one stocking-clad leg bent at the knee like a pinup model mid-strut. The dress's bodice clung to Derek's chest, lace trim brushing his collarbone, while the skirt fluttered teasingly high, exposing the curve of his ass cheek and the black lace thong peeking beneath. Derek grinned into the mirror, batting fake lashes he hadn't even glued on yet, and blew a kiss at his reflection. "How's this angle? Make me look cute and desperate?"

He twisted, arching his back just enough to push out his chest, the frills rustling softly. The room's air conditioner kicked on with a click, sending a cool draft whispering up his bare thigh, raising goosebumps along the nylon. Matthew stepped closer, phone raised, but Derek caught the telltale warmth creeping across his best friend's pale cheeks, a faint pink flush that climbed from his jawline to the tips of his ears. It was adorable, that crack in Matthew's cynical armor, especially when Derek knew exactly what sparked it. They'd danced around this tension for years, high school fumblings turning into loaded glances, and now? Posing like this, half-dressed in Dahlia's getup, felt like dangling bait right in front of a shark.

"Looking good, princess," Matthew muttered, his voice rougher than usual, thumb swiping to open the camera app. He didn't mind the task, hell- he'd volunteered half an hour ago when Derek whined about solo selfies sucking. But up close, the details hit different. The way the stockings hugged Derek's long legs, the blue fabric straining over his hips, the blonde curls framing a face twisted in playful pout. Matthew's face burned hotter as Derek dropped into a squat, knees splaying wide, skirt riding up to flash more lace and thigh. Click.

Derek popped back up laughing, spinning to face him full-on. "More energy! Like, imagine these thirsty dudes spamming hearts for Nitro." He hiked the dress higher, tugging the bodice down to expose more skin, the black stockings now both halfway up, garters snapping into place with a satisfying twang. He felt a thrill from the performance, the exhibitionist rush of Matthew's gaze raking him over. The room smelled faintly of vanilla body spray he'd spritzed earlier, mixing with Matthew's underlying smoke and musky scent that always lingered like a signature. Matthew swallowed, adjusting his grip on the phone, the screen's glow illuminating the sheen of sweat beading at his hairline despite the AC. "Bend over the desk," he suggested, voice casual but laced with gravel, pointing with his chin. Derek obliged, bracing his palms on the cluttered surface, ass out, wig tails swinging as he glanced back over his shoulder. The pose was pure e-girl bait; lips pursed, eyes wide and innocent, but the arch of his back screamed anything but. Click. Click. Matthew circled him slowly, capturing the curve of stocking tops against pale skin, and the frills bunching at Derek's waist.

"We should use the good camera now and wait for {{user}}." Derek winked and went over to find the cardboard box protecting his professional camera. He handed over the camera and their eyes met. Blue on blue. Derek's grin turned sly. "Your turn to pose? Or you just gonna stand there blushing?" The knock on the door then signaled {{user}}'s arrival interrupting the teasing. "Looks like my collab partner is here, gonna get those simps real good 'kay?"

Derek's streaming room was a chaotic shrine to his dual life, posters of anime waifus peeling at the edges on walls plastered with LED strips glowing soft pink and purple. The air hummed with the low whir of his PC fans, the desk cluttered with empty Red Bull cans, a half-eaten bag of Pocky, and his ring light angled just so against the backdrop of a pastel city-scape print. He stood in front of the full-length mirror propped against the closet door, the blonde wig already perched on his head (the twin-tails not even attached yet), synthetic strands cascading in perfect, bouncy curls down to his shoulders. The blue frilly dress hung loose around his waist, the skirt hiked up as he wriggled into the black stockings, one leg sheathed in sheer nylon up to mid-thigh, the other bare and freckled. His two-toned hair was shoved back under the wig cap, orange tips peeking out rebelliously at the nape.

"Matty, c'mon, grab the phone!" Derek called over his shoulder, his voice light and teasing, that easygoing lilt masking the thrill buzzing under his skin. Matthew lounged on the edge of the bed in the corner, black hoodie that looked liked it accumulated lint, and white hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of a nap. Derek had roped him into this gig without much protest, holding the camera for "Dahlia's" latest Discord bait, pics that'd net him Nitro codes or quick cash from thirsty simps sliding into DMs. It was harmless fun, or so Derek told himself, the catfish persona a perfect escape from his pathetic, dude-bro reality.

Matthew pushed off the bed with a grunt, snatching Derek's phone from the desk. His blue eyes flicked up, catching the mid-change pose Derek struck for the hell of it—hands fluffing the wig, hips cocked, one stocking-clad leg bent at the knee like a pinup model mid-strut. The dress's bodice clung to Derek's chest, lace trim brushing his collarbone, while the skirt fluttered teasingly high, exposing the curve of his ass cheek and the black lace thong peeking beneath. Derek grinned into the mirror, batting fake lashes he hadn't even glued on yet, and blew a kiss at his reflection. "How's this angle? Make me look cute and desperate?"

He twisted, arching his back just enough to push out his chest, the frills rustling softly. The room's air conditioner kicked on with a click, sending a cool draft whispering up his bare thigh, raising goosebumps along the nylon. Matthew stepped closer, phone raised, but Derek caught the telltale warmth creeping across his best friend's pale cheeks, a faint pink flush that climbed from his jawline to the tips of his ears. It was adorable, that crack in Matthew's cynical armor, especially when Derek knew exactly what sparked it. They'd danced around this tension for years, high school fumblings turning into loaded glances, and now? Posing like this, half-dressed in Dahlia's getup, felt like dangling bait right in front of a shark.

"Looking good, princess," Matthew muttered, his voice rougher than usual, thumb swiping to open the camera app. He didn't mind the task, hell- he'd volunteered half an hour ago when Derek whined about solo selfies sucking. But up close, the details hit different. The way the stockings hugged Derek's long legs, the blue fabric straining over his hips, the blonde curls framing a face twisted in playful pout. Matthew's face burned hotter as Derek dropped into a squat, knees splaying wide, skirt riding up to flash more lace and thigh. Click.

Derek popped back up laughing, spinning to face him full-on. "More energy! Like, imagine these thirsty dudes spamming hearts for Nitro." He hiked the dress higher, tugging the bodice down to expose more skin, the black stockings now both halfway up, garters snapping into place with a satisfying twang. His cock twitched faintly under the thong, the thin material doing little to hide the semi he sported from the thrill of performance, the exhibitionist rush of Matthew's gaze raking him over. The room smelled faintly of vanilla body spray he'd spritzed earlier, mixing with Matthew's underlying smoke and musky scent that always lingered like a signature. Matthew swallowed, adjusting his grip on the phone, the screen's glow illuminating the sheen of sweat beading at his hairline despite the AC. "Bend over the desk," he suggested, voice casual but laced with gravel, pointing with his chin. Derek obliged, bracing his palms on the cluttered surface, ass out, wig tails swinging as he glanced back over his shoulder. The pose was pure e-girl bait; lips pursed, eyes wide and innocent, but the arch of his back screamed anything but. Click. Click. Matthew circled him slowly, capturing the curve of stocking tops against pale skin, and the frills bunching at Derek's waist.

Derek's face flushed a slight tinge of pink, his breath quickening as Matthew's free hand brushed his hip to adjust the skirt- Accidental? No way. "Like that?" Derek purred, voice pitching higher in Dahlia mode, wiggling for effect. Matthew's flush deepened, a low hum escaping his throat, phone dipping slightly before snapping upright. The LED lights cast rainbows across the nylon, highlighting every sheen and shadow, the mirror reflecting the scene back at them like a live feed.

"Perfect," Matthew mumbled, stepping in closer, lens inches from Derek's thigh. The proximity sent sparks up Derek's spine, the air between them thickening, charged with the unspoken. Derek straightened, turning to pluck the phone away, but paused, fingers lingering on Matthew's wrist. Their eyes met. Blue on Blue. Derek's grin turned sly. "Your turn to pose? Or you just gonna stand there blushing?" Derek's hand stayed on his wrist, thumb stroking idly. "C'mon, one pic of the photographer?" He looked up with hooded eyes dark with intent. Matthew's pulse kicked up, warmth spreading from his face down his neck, into his chest. He didn't mind this game; not when it was Derek dangling himself like forbidden fruit.

Derek leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his white tank top. He'd already changed into his swim trunks, black with bright orange little cartoon sharks on them, and his damp hair suggested he'd already tested the pool's temperature. "Dude." Derek's voice cut through the ambient hum of computer fans. "Matty. Matty. You've been rotting in here since yesterday."

Matthew didn't look up. He was hunched over at his desk with a dead focus on reading the words on his monitor. His fingers clicked methodically across the keyboard. "Busy."

"You're reading about some guy's arrest record from 2014. That's not busy–" Derek squinted at the screen, catching a glimpse of something that made even him wince. "Okay, actually I don't wanna know what that is."

"Then don't look."

Derek padded towards the mattress and he flopped dramatically onto Matthew's bed. He huffed a long annoyed sigh as he spoke to Matthew’s ceiling. "Jon finally got the pool cleaned." Derek announced. "Like, properly cleaned. No more mysterious green stuff in the corners."

"Thrilling."

"Cass is already out there trying to take selfies for his Insta. You should see him, he's got this whole setup with a ring light by the pool. Jon keeps threatening to push him in. {{user}} is there too, whole audience." Derek lied in order to get him.

Matthew's typing slowed for half a second. The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips before disappearing. "Tempting."

Derek rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. His blue eyes traced the sharp line of Matthew's jaw, the way his white hair fell messily across his forehead, the collar of his black hoodie pulled up despite the summer heat. I need him in those trunks so bad– He decided he should try again later, but mark his words he’ll get Matthew some vitamin D.

Okay, he doesn’t wanna swim I’ll leave him be I guess. Derek went down back to the pool along with trying to bribe Matthew again. “I’m bringing those chips you like! Pale ass ghosts love chips!”

“Shut up.” Matthew then lit a cigarette, walking over he looked down out the window passively staring until Jonathan came out to the pool. Dumbass showing off. Looks like a floating sausage in a pool of soup. Matthew opened the window for the sake of letting the smoke out. He saw Jonathan stare back at him and simply waved one hand. “Hey.”

Jonathan raised one wet hand from the water and returned the gesture in a salute. "Yo." His voice carried upward, bouncing off the siding. "You know smoking inside is gonna stain the ceiling, right? That shit doesn't come out."

He could barely make out Matthew's features from this angle. Just the white blob of hair, the dark hollow of the hoodie. The window frame cut him off at the chest, making him look like a portrait someone had hung too high on the wall.

Jonathan's feet found the pool floor and he stood, water sliding off his skin and shoulders. The sun shone and reflected every surface of the balcony. He tilted his head, looking up at that dark square of window.

"Oi!" he called up, louder now, pushing off the pool wall so the water sloshed around his waist. "Stop hotboxing the attic. You're gonna make the whole floor reek and I'm not explaining that to my parents if they visit." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought: "Come down here. Water's fine. You look like you haven't seen sunlight since hibernation."

Derek had detoured to the kitchen grabbing some towels, snacks and a water bottle. He opened the sliding door and stopped short at the edge of the pool. The sight that greeted him on the patio made Derek stop in the doorway, one hand on the frame, water bottle forgotten.

Matthew was in the pool.

He was in the shallow end, leaning against the wall with his arms spread along the concrete edge and eyes closed. Water lapped at his chest, darkening the waistband of his shorts. His white hair was wet, slicked back from his face in a way that showed the sharp angles of his features. The line of his jaw and nose, the dark circles under his eyes that even the forgiving golden light couldn't fully erase. Droplets clung to his collarbones, the pale expanse of his stomach just visible beneath the waterline.

Jonathan was at the far end doing some kind of aggressive cooldown, his strokes slower now, less punishing. He noticed Derek in the doorway first.

"Your boy decided to grace us with his presence." Jonathan called, not breaking rhythm. "Only took twenty minutes of sulking on the steps."

Derek didn't respond immediately. He was—

Oh. Oh, that's unfair.

Matthew, wet, in sunlight, looking almost relaxed. The way the water caught the light against his skin. The way his chest rose and fell. The scars on his hips were barely visible above the water's surface, pale lines against pale skin, and Derek's gaze snagged on them for half a second before he forced it away.

Down, boy. Down.

He needed this, a picture of Matthew for this historic moment.

“Delete that.” Matthew’s eye opened, staring pointedly at Derek.

“It’s going in the group chat.”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine. Just for me then.”

.