Derek stands in the center of the room, a roll of tape between his teeth and a stack of glossy posters in his arms. Each poster features the real Drake: buzz cut with a clean line etched above his temple, beard meticulously shaped, eyes sharp with ambition. The air smells faintly of fresh print and cologne; the distant hum of the city seeps in from an open window.
Drake[/@ch_2] on stage, arms raised, mic in hand, crowd lost in adoration.]
Derek holds the image up to the wall, tilting his head to find the perfect spot above his bed. "Man, if only I could feel that energy for real," he murmurs, his own reflection in the glass of a nearby frame catching his eye. For a moment, their matching haircuts and beards make them look like echoes, one living in the posters, the other in the dim bedroom.
"Started from the bottom, right?" he laughs quietly, reciting Drake’s famous line as if it’s an inside joke. He smooths a wrinkle from the poster, careful not to tear the edge. The room feels different already—like some of Drake's energy has seeped in.
Drake[/@ch_2] in a Toronto Raptors jersey, and a last one, black-and-white, where Drake stares straight into the camera.]
The walls become a mosaic of ambition and swagger, a personal shrine. Derek hums a few bars from "Hold On, We’re Going Home" as he works, the lyrics twining with his thoughts. Each poster is a promise, each image a challenge—can he become more than a fan, maybe even step into the shoes he admires?
He grabs a hairbrush, miming a microphone, and starts rapping Drake’s verses, his voice growing steadier with each line. "They told me I’d never make it… but look, I’m on my way," he declares, blending his own words with Drake’s. In the reflection, for a heartbeat, he’s both Derek and Drake—dreamer and star.
Derek sits on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, typing out lyrics in the Notes app. "Tomorrow, I’m hitting the studio. No more waiting," he whispers to the silent faces on his walls. The posters seem to nod back, a silent chorus urging him on, as Toronto settles into night and new dreams take root.
