Chapter 41
Will
At first, I think it’s my imagination. It very easily could be.
We’re both tired. We both had a night like no other, and make no mistake about it, it was a night that didn’t involve much sleep, so when Mat heads to bed early, I try not to read too much into it.
I almost succeed, and maybe I would if it wasn’t for the stilted smile he gives me as he says goodnight.
His lips peel back into a tight, straight line, and his eyes look weirdly overfocused.
I let it go because, to be honest, I’m feeling a little off myself.
Last night was a lot. A lot more than we bargained for.
In my mind, I’d kind of imagined it being more carnal.
I hadn’t thought it would be so slow and considered and so…
intimate. It was good, don’t get me wrong, it was very, very fucking good.
It’s just the way Mat and I looked at each other was really intense.
I didn’t think Trouble would fuck us both, and for some reason, that made it feel a lot different from how I’d expected.
When Mat looked at me as Trouble entered me, it was different from all the other looks he’s ever given me.
It made me feel things I’ve never felt before.
I’m not sorry I fucked him. It was hot as fuck.
I wanted it, and he must have wanted it too because he’s the one who offered it.
It’s just that afterward, I felt really, really…
I don’t even know what I’d call it. Destroyed?
Wrecked? Burned to cinders, but in a good way?
All those apply, but not totally because as overwhelming as it was, it was also beautiful.
I wake up late on Saturday and find Mat gone. His gym bag is gone too, which is unusual because he doesn’t usually go without at least asking me if I want to join him. I don’t normally like going early, but still, he usually asks if I want to.
I feel uneasy all day, checking my phone intermittently to see if I’ve heard anything from Mat, and for good measure, I check to see if I’ve heard from Trouble too.
Mat is abnormally silent, and Trouble is so uncharacteristically vocal that, for a second, I think his phone must have been stolen or hacked as a prank.
Trouble: Heyyyyy.
Trouble: Happy Saturday!
Trouble: Hope everyone’s feeling okay.
Trouble: Meant what I said about the Tylenol.
I see the last message as soon as it’s sent, and the next time I check, I see he’s deleted it, and the happy Saturday message has also disappeared.
I have less than no idea what to make of it.
When Mat’s not home by nighttime, I start getting the shits.
He never does this. An average day is filled with at least ten messages from him updating me on the minutiae of his existence.
When he’s at work, he takes it so far that he often lets me know when he takes a break to take a shit.
That’s what normal looks like in my world.
I go to bed in a huff at eleven and toss and turn before falling into an unpleasant, restless sleep.
I wake every hour to check my watch and listen for Mat.
By the time I finally hear him come in, I’m so goddamn tired that I can’t be assed to get up and give him hell.
“Morning!” I say sharply when he finally stumbles out of his room. One pot of coffee has already gone cold and the next one is headed that way.
“‘Sup.”
‘Sup? Fucking ‘sup?
Is he for real?
“Where were you last night? I waited up for hours.”
He looks taken aback, as is his right. Neither of us usually feels like we have a right to tell each other where to be or when.
“I met up with Gould after the gym. He was going to the beach, and he asked me to go with him. It was last minute. You know what Gould’s like. We ended up at Micah’s and had a fuckton of those purple cocktails. Why?”
I struggle to think of a reason that doesn’t make me seem crazy.
I come up with nothing. It seems completely plausible, reasonable even, that he went out with Gould and had a boozy lunch that turned into a late night.
It happens. Especially when Gould is involved.
I choose to end the conversation there. I’m not loving the picture I’m painting of myself right now and am certain I’d be very hard-pressed to explain it, so I pour him a cup of coffee and hold it out to him instead.
“Coffee?” I ask rather redundantly.
He takes it, quirking his lips into a smile that doesn’t come close to dimpling his cheeks.
I know he’s hungover. His eyes are red and bleary, but on top of that, he looks uncertain and lost. He only looks like this when someone’s hurt his feelings.
In all the years we’ve known each other, this is the first time he’s ever looked at me like this.
“Mattie, what’s wrong?” I ask when I can’t take the silence for another second.
He doesn’t speak for a while, sipping his coffee and then scratching his head as if he hopes I’ll forget I asked the question.
When it becomes clear to him I won’t, he says, “This thing with Trouble…it’s kind of gotten away from me.
I’ve been feeling like…I’ve been feeling a lot of big shit lately, and I’m not sure what to do with most of it. ”
I weigh my options carefully. I’m good at reading people in general and exceptional at reading Mat specifically.
I know myself and our history, and I can feel that the answer to this question has the power to change us.
I’m suddenly incredibly aware of how close Mat is standing to me.
He’s facing me. His toes are a few inches from mine.
Heat emanates from his body, warming and scaring the hell out of me simultaneously.
“Are you falling for him?” A light quiver vibrates through my words. I know the answer. It’s plain as day, but I want to know if he knows it too, and if he knows what it means to me and for us.
“Yeah.” There’s no uncertainty in his voice. His answer is quick and definitive. Totally sure. Something about the way he says it sounds like an ending to me, and it makes my chest clench so hard it’s painful to breathe.
I start talking before I’ve nailed down what I want to say. “Well, I mean, I guess I can bow out if that’s what you want. I can make myself scarce if you want to be alone with him. I understand if that’s what you want.”
“That’s not it,” he says softly. He hesitates and scuffs one foot against the other. “The thing with Trouble, I get it. It kind of makes sense to me because it happened the second I met him. I know what it is. I understand it. That’s not what’s got me rattled.”
“You know you can talk to me, right? You can say anything, and I’m not going to be mad. If we crossed a line you weren’t comfortable crossing the other night, we can talk about it. We can make it right.”
“It’s not that.” His words are strained, and they falter.
“Th-that’s not it. It’s that something’s happened to me, and I don’t know how the fuck, or why, b-but I’ve started to feel super fucking weird about you.
” He turns his head so he’s looking forward, avoiding eye contact with me.
“I just want to say up front that I’m sorry as hell about it.
I’m fucking sorry, and I’m going to try to put a lid on it and get my shit together.
I know I’m not all that great about getting my shit together usually, but this time, I’m really going to try… ”
“Mattie, what are you talking about?”
He blinks hard and pinches his lips together tightly. When he opens them, he looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“It’s you, Will. I’m just…” His voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath and starts over.
“I’ve been thinking about you, okay? All the time.
Can’t stop, even when I try. I avoided you yesterday because lately, I just cannot stop myself from thinking about going to your room and getting into bed with you, and every time I think about it, my heart starts beating so hard I can physically hear it.
” He digs a few fingers into his chest and presses hard as though trying to release some deep tension.
“It happened again this morning. I heard your footsteps in the kitchen when I came down the hall, and fuck, my pulse is still through the roof.”
“Mattie,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. He clamps his bottom lip between his teeth and looks down. “Sorry, okay? I’ll get it under control. I’ll make it right.”
“Mattie,” I say, louder and stronger.
He still doesn’t look, but he leans toward me slightly.
I can’t tell if he meant to do it or not.
I take the hand still on his chest in both of mine.
I hold it for a few seconds, feeling the warmth and solidness of him, and then I place it palm down on my chest. My heart throbs violently.
Fast and erratic. A collection of drums played by more than one person.
He doesn’t move, and I can tell from the total silence in the room that he isn’t breathing. At last, he sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out through a wobbly, toothy smile.
“Seriously?” Both dimples dip so hard that deep shadows flicker on his cheeks. “You too?”
“Me too.” I keep his hand where it is. I’d rather do anything than let go, but I dip my face and rest my lips against his cheek, inhaling the sweet smell of safety and home and a plethora of things that are new.
My gaze travels down his neck and lands on an angry violet semicircle where his neck and shoulder meet. “Can I see it?”
“What?”
“My mark.”
He smiles and tilts his head, pulling the collar of his T-shirt to the side.
I trace my fingers along the violet imprint of my teeth.
I can see most of it, but some of it is still obscured by his T-shirt.
Suddenly, that feels intolerable to me. I slide a hand under his T-shirt and pull it up.
Muscles tense under my touch. His skin is smooth and warm and sends a hot rush up my arm.
I start moving slowly, but by the time he turns to face me, I’m dragging it off over his head.
He’s wide-eyed and panting by the time I drop it onto the floor, hair wild and standing on end.
His lips are parted, and his eyes are fixed on my mouth.
“Show me,” I growl, and when he tilts his head this time, I have an unobstructed view of the mark I made on him. It’s purple and pink, set in deep. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, it hurts, dipshit. You bit me really fucking hard.”
“Sorry,” I say, though I can’t tell if I really am. Something about seeing part of me imprinted on him is really, really doing it for me.
“Don’t be. I like it. I liked what we were doing when you gave it to me, and I like wearing it on my skin. I went to the bathroom like twenty times yesterday just to make sure it was still there.”
“You did?”
He nods and leans the side of his face heavily against mine.
He starts to turn and his stubble scrapes against mine.
I inch closer until I feel his breath on my lips.
I close my eyes and part my lips. As I do, something twists in my chest, and I pull back at the last second.
Something isn’t right. Something is missing.
“Mattie, I, uh, I feel like maybe we should call Trouble, you know, just to let him know what’s happening and make sure he’s okay with it, or whatever, ‘cause we haven’t really spoken about this with him.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Call him. Put him on video.”
We sit on the sofa, and I make the call. Trouble answers on the second ring.
“Hiiii,” he says brightly. “If it isn’t my two favorite straight bro…
bi guys.” His voice sounds a little strident, but that’s probably because I’m not all that used to hearing it on video.
His mouth drops open and he does a dramatic double-take.
“Ohmigahd, are you guys doing the good cuddling right now? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I say, brushing my fingers through Mat’s hair for extra effect. “That’s kind of why we were calling. Mattie and I just talked, and we were thinking we might want to do more than cuddling.”
“D’you want to make out?” His eyes flare with delight.
Mat starts to laugh beside me.
“Yeah, we want to make out,” I say.
“We might want to do a whole lot more than make out too,” adds Mat.
Trouble’s eyebrows shoot as high as it’s possible for eyebrows to raise without the aid of botched plastic surgery.
“Wait, are you guys calling to ask for my permission?” His voice lilts all the way up. “Is that what this is?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Last time we spoke, we told you we don’t do this, so we just wanted to let you know things have changed, and we wanted to make sure you felt all right about it.”
“Of course, I feel good about it,” he says emphatically. “Go for your lives. Fuck the cum out of each other. Just remember, if it doesn’t sound like someone’s in pain, you’re not doing it right.”