matthew baudelaire

Walking into the Blue Frog Café, Helen held her head low, as usual, wearing her favorite long skirt, top and cardigan combination despite the sun outside. She had found that going out before sunset and coming home right when the sun was disappearing was the best compromise in the weeks when Alexander was home, allowing her to talk with people she knew and finish tasks she wanted to finish. Meanwhile he would sleep and once ready they would go for breakfast/dinner and spend the whole night together if he wanted that.

Another storm between them had passed now and he had given her a new gift with which to always make sure to know where she is. And now she pushed it around in her bag as she took her wallet out, another new gift where he would leave money for her. As she put it back inside and she waited for the coffee to be ready she let her eyes absentmindedly travel around the café before stopping on a rather familiar set of hair. As she took the cup she walked slowly over leaned on the free chair, not really able to summon a smile right now. "Hello!" she said quietly, a bit unsure if Matthew would be okay with her presence considering she had never reached out after Christmas to thank him for her unexpected present or to check on him like he had done once when he had after walked her home, which seemed like a decade ago.

She looked better, well, at least better than she had when they'd first met and she'd been dazed and unwell. He might also look different to her, his appearance had shifted somewhat as mortals were wont to do, changing every day in small ways that became more noticeable over greater lengths of time. The appearance of dark shadows around his eyes, an indication that sleep was difficult for him these days, and a pair of thin frame glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Generally he wore contacts but his frequent migraines made wearing contacts a painful endeavor so he more often went without.

"It's been a while," a very long while but he didn't mind all that much, life was busy and they were essentially friendly acquaintances still. "How are you doing?"

"You seem to have some recognition of me," she observed, tilting her head with curiosity. "I've only recently returned to this town, so I'm not entirely sure where you might have encountered me before?"

“I’m not happy,” he commented.  Despite his distaste in vampires, Jean Claude was slowly becoming someone Roman admired and felt could be a good person for his son.  The wolf wasn’t fully there in accepting the relationship…non relationship or whatever they were, but he was working on it and the vampire had grown on him a bit.  “Wha–what happened?”  Roman questioned, unsure if he would get a response from his son.  The two never really spoke about things of substance.  Everything was always surface level and although Roman hated it, ultimately it was up to Matthew if he wanted to allow Roman access to anything deeper.

where?; a 24-hour convience store. long days mean for shorter nights, the summer sun desperate to stay out past hours not her own, the dark of night creeping in later and later until she is barely noticeable till the wee hours of the morning. vampires stuck living by dusk were therefore limited to hours spent outside – and while jean-claude had a daylight charm, it had been taken out and placed safely in a trinket dish in his bedroom. (he wishes he was angry and careless enough to throw it, to lose it but, at heart, he has always been sentimental). the black of the evening has finally settled, streets of greywood oddly quiet, dark illuminated by streetlamps at the neon signs of shops and bars still open to rowdy patrons inside. he always walks alone now, seeking out the familiar sterile whiteness that comes from the local convenience store, 24/7 flashing and sending out a glow of red and pink across the faces of those entering. someone greets him on the front till, so used to the vampire’s sharp figure as he makes a beeline for snacks he cannot taste, a few beers that will not get him drunk. he’s going to ask thalia over; longer days feel lonelier than longer nights. green eyes settle on brands he doesn’t recognise, their flavours and labels in languages he doesn’t understand, some of them advertised by characters he vaguely does – matthew likes this stuff, it’s japanese, and it makes jean-claude think about roman’s emotional visit the other day. never in his life would he have expected to see the older baudelaire beg him, a vampire, for anything but to leave his eldest son alone. it was almost disturbing to see roman cry and ask things of j.c, not to give up on his son, to be his light in the darkness, to acknowledge his own failings as a parent. the things they’d talked about stuck with him, lumps on his ribs, making it difficult to breathe. it might not be fixable but, you must try. and if it wasn’t – if that trust couldn’t be repaired then, he would have to settle for friendship. as long there was even the briefest flash of matty in his life, he had to try. he didn’t know how long he’d been staring at snacks, ignorant to the world around him in those moments where thoughts consumed him, and yet it seemed that some unknown and cruel force had taken what jean-claude had been thinking about and manifested it in his reality. the familiar beep of someone stepping into the shop did little to grab his attention but, the figure now standing at the end of the aisle did. matty. does he look different? maybe it’s the shop lighting, harsh and false that leaves everyone under it bare. maybe it’s just jean-claude looking for something, signs maybe, that he’s doing better or doing worse. do those eyebags look deeper? is there more colour to his cheeks? haircut? new clothes, weight lost or gained? not that j.c would say anything other than he’s still beautiful, despite it all. it seems there’s been too long a silence, and in a show of desperation he just does what he does best – acts fine. “hey,” he gives a lame little wave paired with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, fangs just peeking over the edge of his lips. the vampire vehemently ignores the way his insides have begun twisting up, the sick feeling in his chest. it’s not that he isn’t happy to see his boyfriend-not-boyfriend-we’re-on-a-break-situationship, it’s that he wanted to plan it out. to know what to say and how to act. “lime and rose. think they taste any good?” j.c shook the bag he was holding, raising a curious eyebrow.

Some body changes would be there, the stress of quitting a drug habit and a nicotine habit added stress to a body that he supplemented with working out more instead, filling his hours with moving his body and doing something because it was better than doing nothing and fixating on the fact that all he needed to do was dial a number in his phone and a new batch of pills would be ready for pick up. It was something he tried not to think about and he'd deleted the saved contact in his phone to keep himself from thinking of it, but he couldn't shake the memory of the number from his brain, memories couldn't be deleted so easily.

There would be more pronounced bags under his eyes, darker shadows from sleepless nights. He'd always been a fitful sleeper even when they were together but now that he was alone and hadn't been finding the excuse of another body to tire him out at night or the pills to aid him, sleep was evasive to the human. This resulted in his physique looking good, more defined muscle structure visible even beneath the t-shirt that he wore, but looking overall exhausted and worn out, a contrasting image of good and bad. His hair had grown from the bleached platinum blond and was trimmed and redyed back to as close to his natural color as much as possible, and as it was late at night he'd already taken out his contacts and replaced them with his thin frame glasses.

He does not respond to the wave or the greeting aside from a slight nod of his head. A show. A pretend. He recognizes Jean-Claude's actions for what they are and it was something that the human was good at too, pretending to the vampire clientele he used to cater to. He'd once spoken that way to Jean-Claude but at what point did the pretending stop being a pretend. Somewhere along the lines of hushed comments in the dark of the vampire lounge and the shared moments between bed sheets it became less a show and something more tangible and real. But it was back to being a pretend again. Matthew stepped up, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look at the bag Jean-Claude held.

“Matty, my boy…” He began as he moved to brew a pot of tea first, leaving Matty to find a seat for himself at the kitchen table. “Be honest with me, please. I know it’s hard but give it a try. How have you been since then? And how is Jean-Claude? I saw that he did not take everything well. Would you two like to go to someone to talk about it? I have high recommendations, a couple of friends of mine who work at the Greywood General Hospital, I know them since my military days. I can ask about a schedule that could squeeze you in? Mental health is important Matty, especially in times like these. Just as and even more important than going to a regular doctor for a checkup or a dentist.” He began, one of the rare times Corey actually dared to be so direct and intrusive about the topic, though he was trying his best to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, adopting a similar tone he’d use if Matty had caught a cold and he was advising him to visit his family doctor instead of self-medicating or ignoring it in hopes that it would go away on its own. 

But perhaps it could be sensed in his tone that this time Corey was quite concerned for Matty. Because no matter how much Matthew tried to appear solid and tough, Corey knew that he was a deeply sensitive, gentle and easily bruised person. Because in that, they were birds of a feather and one recognized another.

Morgana arrived in the small town, her vampire instincts bubbling just beneath the surface. It had been many years since she last set foot in this place, and she was taken aback by how much it had transformed. As she caught a glimpse of her son Joey, she felt a powerful longing to hold him once more. However, the guilt of leaving her children and the pain she had caused them held her back, like an invisible force keeping her at bay.

Lost in her thoughts, she accidentally collided with someone and quickly apologized, "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

A joke sat on the tip of her tongue, something about the world not stopping for her. But she couldn't suggest to take up that much space in the world, even as a joke. "Life is life," she echoed. As much as things changed, they stayed exactly the same. Sighing, Maya said, "Well, you've seen me. I'm alive and well enough. You don't have to stay if you don't want to." She said it with the assumption that he would want to leave. After all, he had probably come to confirm she was alive and with that confirmed there was no other reason, in her mind, for him to want to stay.

"Exactly! I know you and of course this would work, Theo is easier all I need to do is offer quality time and he'd take it." She joked and gladly let him take it. "Okay no need to be rude. We all know it's true but you don't need to say it!" It was Sienna's turn to feign offense. "I work all day and night and this is the thanks I get?" In truth she really did want to make a homemade meal but she always worried that she would mess it up too bad and it would be inedible so Sienna went with the safest option.

because isn't that what he's doing? becoming one of those people? j.c had thought, naïvely so for someone of his age, that he could he really help the other get over this. it is a harsh realization that he can't. that his endless adoration and understanding did nothing at all apart from make the vampire a lovesick fool.

"no," then he does look over, green eyes to hazel, arms folded across his chest like they would provide protection from something yet unspoken. holding jean-claude together, who's anger has fallen away to a guttering sadness he dares not express.

"i mean what i said, matthew, mon soleil. that's why i think we should...go on a break," the reaction to come terrifies him, honestly. "you need help and i can't give it you. i'm sorry,"

Before he could settle in his seat and take a sip from his drink, Matthew was already questioning his motive.  “I–I,” it was clear he was nervous.  Their last actual conversation between just the two of them turned volatile and he didn’t want his son to get hostile towards him.  “I um, jus’ wanted to see how things were with you.”  The man figured he wouldn’t get much out of Matthew, usually he got two or three words out of the other Baudelaire before things started to go south.  “How are you?  How is Jean Claude?”  He questioned, trying to make an effort to be more active in his life.  “Is the pottery going well?”

the apologies come forth and the vampire's expression morphs, brows drawing together as he realises that he isn't sure it's the truth being told. that he even believes it, even if it were, trust so easily shattered in a single instant.

"can i trust you?" j.c knows his words are poised like a knife that takes a slice every time they leave his mouth. "are you sorry or - just sorry you got caught? sorry that i had to find them. because you wouldn't have stopped, would you, if i didn't?" they are accusatory, his heart feels as if it has stopped beating completely.

I love you, but...

Funny, how that's how it always goes. Everyone who claims to love him always leaves in the end in the self fulfilling prophecy of his life. It started with his father, then his mother, then every almost someone special and now it was happening again with Jean-Claude. His vision flares red as Jean-Claude continues, looking directly at him now when he declares a love for him then follows it with but...

I can't do this...

Jean-Claude isn't looking at him but Matthew has his hazel eyes trained onto him, the vampire who claims to love him but can't do this. It's happening, he feels himself thinking, he's going to leave me. Matthew isn't sure if he feels a rise in desperation or a surge of anger. His emotions swell to something he doesn't recognize, the curling of his fists at his sides and the blaring red along the edges of his eyes a warning sign that he's going to explode if he doesn't release something but he bites it all back down, sour and bitter acid curdling in his gut because if he lets it out now he'll only spit flames and he doesn't want to hurt him even more so he turns it inward instead and burns himself with the flames. All he's ever known is how to hurt himself and he's still doing it. If he hadn't let himself get close to Jean-Claude, then none of this would have happened. It's his fault once again.