for @bvrntsugar .
timestamp : week one , before the cookout .
sitting on his bunk , matthias is propped against the wall perpendicular , spine curved like a c and conversed feet planted flat on the floorboards — the only way he can slot his ungainly body into it . his copy of frankenstein had suffered major cosmetic damage on his way from missouri to new york state , now a survivor of a caramel macchiato - related disaster . his first and probably now last caramel macchiato . the embarrassment of pronouncing it mah - chee - ado only to be snidely corrected was one thing , and the book defiling was adding insult to injury . the pages , one straight and white , were now waved and brown , eerily reminiscent of soft serve rob’s teeth , rob being the man who drove the only ice cream truck in the county back home . the realization spurs matthias to toss the book across the room in the direction of the wire trash can , despite the fact that he’s had it since high school . instead of his desired perfect shot , it lands flat on the wooden floor with an offensive bang . he wants the ground to swallow him whole . “ . . . sorry . ” the apology has a slow start , trickling out of him like honey before he attempts to haul himself into an upright position to retrieve the book , refusing to look thea in the eye . in fact , he hasn’t even once — he hasn’t lived with a girl in years , since his sister left home . and it’s more uncomfortable than the way his too short camp shirt rides up when he lifts his arms the slightest bit .
