Derek was having a pretty great day, whatever days were anymore for the time-strained teen. Wearing his authentic bomber jacket, navy blue with a brown fur collar over a white tee to match his blue jeans and converses. He had a glass bottle of… something in his hand, the brown glass lacking any label or markings. Seeing the boys crowding around the TV with the blue relic of times he might not even be able to reach got him to crack a smile. 

“Yo, got room for me to get in on this?” he says in a chipper tone, reaching into his pocket and slamming a 20 dollar bill with Grover Cleveland on it before taking it back and putting down a different one with Harriet Tubman. He’d take up the controller in one hand, slamming back a deep drink from it, a smell reminiscent of diesel coming off of the bottle. He was always eager enough to get a game in, throwing himself back into the couch and kicking his feet up onto the low table in front of it, next to the baggies Abisu had provided.