#anobrain

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“Matty! Get the fuck up you absolute wanker! I want to leave!” You smirk through your words despite the false anger painting them, punctuating your sentence by tossing a pillow over at a peacefully sleeping Matty, splayed across your couch.

“Oi!” He groans, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s a bloody Friday, and we’re going out.” There’s no hint of a question in your voice, and Matty knows it. When you’re in the mood to party, there is no force, no matter how strong, that can stop you. Thankfully, Matty is exactly the same way. Maybe some would call it reckless; you just call it living. 

Matty rolls over, pushing his face further into the cushion. He had dozed off about an hour ago, practically seconds after he had arrived at your house. You had spent the time rustling through clothing and makeup, before settling on a lacy dress with some fishnets underneath. Your hair was teased and half up; your eyes painted in black and silver glitter, with your lips a deep maroon. You watched as Matty slowly rolled over, opening his eyes to see you towering over him. A smirk paints his face as he takes your frame in, eyes greedily mapping up from your thighs to your tits.

“Oi, eyes up here, Healy,” you snap, a laugh slipping out at the end. You liked this. Being here, in your house, with him. When the sun had long set and the only lights in the room were flushed pinks and neon purples. When the glitter on your eyelids caught his gaze in the glimmering rays of fluorescence. 

Matty grins. You grin right back.

“So, where the fuck did you say we’re going to?” Matty’s voice is painted with the last reminisce of sleep, his appearance showing it much more heavily. He had been absolutely knackered when he arrived, likely tired from a long day of doing god knows what with god knows who. But, when he was here? None of that mattered. He could rest with you; rest in the uncertainty and the sureness and the sane-madness of it all. Of you two.

“The woods.”

“The woods?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Matty raises an eyebrow, squinting slightly.

“What do you mean ‘the woods’?”

“So, the woods are this place where there are loads of trees and they– oi!” Matty tosses the same pillow you had previously thrown at him back in your direction, hitting you across the chest.

“I know what the bloody woods are, Jesus," he laughs, “I meant what the fuck are we doing in the woods?”

You laugh, fixing up your now tousled hair.

“Some girl Ross has been messing around with and her mates are throwing a thing there, he texted me and said we should come.”

Matty scoffs, leaning back with a groan.

“How the fuck does Ross get more girls than I do?” He protests, “I mean, he’s fucking massive– he’s pratically a beast!”

You glare at Matty through mascara covered lashes, “Matty, you literally shagged me yesterday.”

Matty freezes, a blush finding his cheeks. 

“T-that’s different.”

“Oh?” 

Your voice is dripping in faux-intrigue, as if you are desperate to hear Matty’s pathetic interpretation of whatever this was.

“I-” he starts, “this feels like a trap.”

You smirk, taking a step closer.

“W-what do you want me to say?” He murmurs hesitantly.

You stop mere centimeters from him, slotting yourself between his stretched legs.

“I think I like you best when you’re not saying anything at all, Healy.”

Matty bites on his lip, consequently dragging a smile from you. You run a sure hand over his clothed thigh, stopping when your eyes gaze down to find him already half hard and straining against the black denim. 

You liked having him like this. It was much easier to pretend he was yours when you had him squirming under your fingertips than when his side of your bed was empty and his lips were kissing another girls’.

“Pathetic– pull yourself together, mate.”

You turn, leaving his breathing heavy and uneven.

‘Mate’.

Matty rakes a hand through his unruly curls as he catches his breath.

“I hate you,” he manages to gasp out.

“Yet, you’re in my house?” You smirk, touching up your lipstick.

You turn back, taking a firm hold of his wrist in your palm, relishing in the way he looks utterly and entirely affected by your barely-there touches.

“C’mon,” you start, “I don’t want all the beer to be gone by the time we get there!”

You hear something like a groan covered by an incredibly un-slick cough escape Matty’s mouth, drawing your gaze to his direction.

“What was that, Healy?”

You make a point of letting your eyes fall heavy onto his trousers, somehow looking even tighter now over the obvious bulge that had formed.

You smirk as his eyes follow yours, snapping back quickly to your face. He knows far better than to test you when you get like this– all irritated and domineering. He also knows that things are much more likely to go his way if he just sits back and lets you handle him.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” you give his wrist a squeeze, accompanied by a sickly sweet smile.

You feel his pulse jump under your fingers.

God, how you loved the feeling of his skin against yours; heartbeat dancing.

God, how he loved your shimmering eyelids; pupils sharp as blades.

God, how you love whatever this is.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pink and blue lights prance across your field of vision as you stumble into the woods, Matty’s hand still tightly in yours. 

The walk was quick– not nearly long enough to constitute a drive. Plus, the extra few minutes gave you the opportunity to smoke the spliff you had rolled earlier that afternoon without prying, greedy hands of partygoers trying to get a hit or two.

The sky had long gone dark, the silhouette of tall, winding branches all that was left above you.

Hazy warmth blushes through your blood and tingles at your fingertips, brushing mindless circles into Matty’s skin.

Ribbons dangled from low-hanging branches; you watch as Matty twirls one around his digits with his free hand.

“Reckon we’re getting close, now?” Matty asks, temporarily pulling you out of your cloudyminded state.

“Yeah, I hear music I think,” you respond airily, mind in the clouds.

You catch a smirk spread across Matty’s face as you speak.

It was no secret how funny he found it that even after all of these years of doing god knows what together, you were still a proper lightweight. Or, at least, compared to him, that was.

He openly reveled in your foggy state of mind, rarely holding back from teasing you.

More often than not, he was still met with quite the retaliatory effort from you– even when high out of your mind. He found it cute. You knew he did.

Another few steps ahead, you feel as though you have been smacked with sound; heavy bass and streaming light wash over the both of you as the crowds distort into a murky swamp of colour and sweat.

Matty spots Ross before you do, signaling you with a squeeze of your palm.

“Oi! Ross!” He shouts out, his hand dropping yours suddenly in favour of creating a make-shift megaphone with his palms. “Oi! Over here!”

After a few more shouts from the both of us, Ross turns to face us, a lazy smile plastered onto his face.

You turn to Matty, voice low, “god, he’s already bloody hammered, isn’t he?”

Matty grins, “let’s hope so– I was bored anyways.”

“Y/N!!” Ross nearly shouts, slurring the last syllable, “You came! And, you brought Healy!”

You keep your cool tone, any remnants of your previous height sinking lower and lower as you realize you and Matty are the significantly more sober parties in the conversation.

“Yes, Ross,” you start, “you invited us.”

“Right– of course.”

Matty squints slightly, eyes locked onto Ross’s mouth.

“Is that…lipstick?”

You let out a gaspy laugh as you focus your eyes, several smeared streaks of purple and red painted across Ross’s face and neck. Maybe he really was getting some action.

“Oh, you can fuck right off,” he sneers, wiping his face with an obvious lack of dexterity, “it’s a party for god’s sake!”

Matty laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Oh, we know.” He smirks suggestively, pulling you closer, arm finding your waist and squeezing slightly, pulling a sharp laugh from your parted lips.

Ross was no stranger to your somewhat-odd public displays of affection; nonetheless, he never failed to look endlessly disgusted by it. God, he really didn’t know the half of it.

He didn’t know the way you had Matty squirming for you at the simple brush of your hands.

The way the hair stood up on his arms when you whispered how ‘good’ he was after what seemed like lifetimes of bringing him right to the edge, but never quite letting him fall off.

The way he liked his hair pulled and back mauled by your sharp nails when he was feeling needy.

He certainly didn’t know how much you enjoyed it; how much you thought about it. 

How much you wondered if it was all just a game to him.

“Save some of the chicks for the rest of us, mate– seriously it’s unfair,” Matty groans. His hands are still on you. You cringe ever so slightly; he doesn’t notice.

“Piss off,” Ross huffs, “I’m getting another drink.” He disappears into the crowd; the wall of rubbing fabric and sparkling makeup generates enough heat to draw a bead of sweat down Matty’s forehead despite your intentional distance from the epicenter.

“So,” Matty turns to you, eyes glittering, “I guess Ross is a bit too preoccupied to hang ‘round with us, then?”

You smile, rolling your shoulders softly as you try to shake off all of the damn thinking you’ve been doing. This was a party, afterall.

“Fuckin’ loud here,” Matty complains, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly, “Fancy sitting down somewhere?”

It was funny– for two people who seemingly went out constantly, you and Matty seemed to always end up tucked away somewhere; a corner, a bathroom, or as you were now, backs pressed against an oak tree, hidden away from the flashing lights and streamers hung over branches.

Matty had lit another spliff, all while complaining that you had ‘hogged the first oneI’. Classic.

He takes a slow, lazy drag, letting the smoke curl into the cool evening air. 

The skin of your back is prickled by the bark of the tree, your hair slightly caught in the moss. You glance over– Matty looks…God.

Matty looks beautiful: lips plush and wrapped around the filter, eyes a bit red at the corners. His hair is a mess, and his cheeks glitter softly, likely with some highlighter he snagged from your makeup bag.

You smile– if not for your growing desire swirling low in your stomach, (only perpetuated by the earlier high and the shots you had downed before secluding yourself deeper into the forest), then for your sheer gratitude for getting to see him like this.

Matty looked like a puppy– no, maybe that wasn’t right.

Maybe he looked more like a deer.

He was strong and slender– pale and ashy.

He carried everything that was dark and gave out to the world only that which was light.

You snatch the spliff from his fingers, taking a long drag of your own before passing it back to him, blowing smoke across his face as you did.

“You look pretty, Healy.”

Matty’s eyes catch yours, but he doesn’t dare respond.

He knows this is a losing game; you’re both high, but more than that, you’re both here. You’re here as one. He’s been with you enough times to know that if he wants to feel good when you’re like this, he needs to sit back and let you.

“Look at you.” you coo, eyes scanning over his body like he was prey. If he was a deer, then you were a hunter. “Having fun?”

Matty nods, and you swear you can see desire swirling across his blacked-out pupils.

“Thought so,” you move closer, thighs pressing against his, “you always look so pretty when you’re having fun, baby.”

Matty has to actively fight the moan-like-sound that stirs in his throat at the petname– knowing that if he made any wrong moves, you would leave him needy and reeling. 

You run a sure finger up Matty’s chest, stopping when your digit reaches his chin. You lean forward, pressing your painted lips against his, only pulling back to see the stain that the red had left behind. Your deer, marked with blood, the wounds of your arrows.

“Tell me what you want.”

Matty makes a grumbled noise, a greedy hand snaking around your back in a sad attempt to plant you atop his lap.

“Words, pretty boy,” you stay cemented beside him, not moving in the slightest until you get what you want, “need to hear you, you know that.”

Matty bites down on his lip, discarding the burnt-down joint beside him before placing his attention onto you. For a moment, you wonder if he is genuinely lost for words– he just sits there looking at you blankly; a deer in fucking headlights.

“Need some help?” You smile sweetly as you run your hand back down his chest, stopping just before the waistline of his jeans, and making a point of noticing the bulge forming beneath them.

“When did this happen?” You smirk, tapping once on his clothed hardness.

Matty near moans as you do, body shivering at even the slightest contact.

“‘Dunno…” Matty manages to gasp out, voice weak and unsure. He was too damn cute like this– all malleable and airy-headed in your hands. You could practically feel his brains melting right out of his ears as you began to palm him through the denim, coaxing a groan from his pink lips.

“Want me to touch you like this, gorgeous?”

You watch with hunger in your eyes as Matty nods aggressively, eyes screwed shut tightly in pleasure.

Suddenly, your hands are off him– a weak sob falling from Matty’s mouth in response.

“Need to hear you say it, ‘kay?” The corners of your mouth perk up as you watch Matty process the request in real time. It never failed to amaze you just how gone he became every time you took control. A deer running for his life in the forest.

“N-need you to touch me,” he pleads, eyes beginning to tear up as he thrusts helpless against nothing. He is straining intensely against the fabric of his jeans, and you can tell it is nearly cutting off circulation. “I-i’m so hard it hurts…just need to– ah!”

You cut him off before he can plead any more, unzipping his fly and relieving the slightest bit of pressure. You tap his hip twice and he raises it, allowing you to slip the tight-black garment down his slender thighs. 

You run a hand over his hard cock, noticing a dark spot where the precum had already stained the dark fabric. You stroke him through the fibers, watching with a grin as he melts into the wood behind him.

“Wanna see you, pretty boy,” you lean close, pressing your lips into the soft skin below his ear, “is that okay?”

“Mhm…please…need you,” Matty’s voice is lighter than before. All of his characteristic cocky-confidence is entirely lost under the heat of your hands.

You slide your fingers under the fabric of his underwear, letting his throbbing dick slap back against his stomach. You shift onto his lap, straddling him with a practiced ease.

Matty opens his deep, brown eyes for the first time in minutes, and you swear he nearly faints when he sees the sight. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you two slept together, touched each other, or did anything for that matter– Matty looked like a kid on Christmas every time he got to see you.

A creeping thought weaves its way into your head– did he look like this with the other girls too?

A soft gasp falling from Matty’s mouth pulls you back into reality as he ruts his hips against yours. You smirk, letting him chase his pleasure momentarily before stilling his movements with your steady hands.

“Did I say you could move?”

Matty stills, fear and something that looked rather like arousal painting his expression. He shakes his head no. You smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you press a kiss onto his forehead, skin warm against your lips, “now be a good boy and stay still for me, alright? Gonna use you since you’ve been so damn needy.”

Matty mewls as you begin to stroke him, not before spitting with an obscene groan onto your hand.

Dirty, slick noises fill the night air, the only other noise audible being the faint sound of trashy house music from the party that the pair of you had long abandoned.

The sight below you is near pornographic: Matty, bottomless, cock leaking into your hand, and you: fully clothed and atop of his bony hips. 

Your lips meet his as you lean down, a sure hand still working him closer and closer to the edge.

You feel his muscles go taut against you, and you press a flat hand against his lower stomach to only further the feeling.

“Feel you getting close, honey,” you whisper against his lips, “gonna come for me, sweet boy?”

Matty moan against you, rutting his hips into your fist like a vice.

“S-so…please…need to cum…”

You smirk as you slow your pace, not quite letting him reach the high he had been so desperately running towards.

“No!” Matty chokes out a pathetic sob, eyes flying open and full of terror as your hand continues to slow. “W-why’d you stop? ‘Was so close…” He throbs in your hand; the head of his dick angry and red. You lean back, taking him all in. He’s flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat– his eyes are dark with lust and his brain seems to be devoid of any substantive thoughts. 

He may not be yours, but right now, he belongs to no one else. 

He’s your favourite game, and he’s just too easy to hit.

“Relax, pretty,” you coo, biting softly against his neck, leaving behind a red mark in the place of your teeth, “‘s not fair if only you get to feel good, is it?” You watch as he nods, nearly looking embarrassed that he had come so close to a release without accounting for you. “Don’t I deserve to feel good too? After all that I’ve done for you, baby?”

Matty looks at you as if you were a god. Little did he know you were the hunter that held the arrow he was forever hung from– wrists punctured and heart bleeding. All that he knew was that you were here. That you were the living embodiment of all that he desired and all that terrified him– he knew that you made him feel so good it was saintly.

You make quick work of getting your bottoms off, leaving behind nothing but your lace panties, already soaked through. Maybe, with another man, you would have been embarrassed by how wet you were– not with Matty. Matty looked as if he would gladly drink every last bit of you up like water if it meant getting to touch you, or rather, be touched by you.

You pump his own slick precum down his dick, sneaking your free hand into your panties and rapidly circling your neglected bundle of nerves. You stifle back a moan, and you’re sure Matty does the same; his hips meeting your hand with every flick of your wrist.

“Wanna feel you…please…need to be, uh, in you…” Matty’s voice is low– unsure. As if he was scared to speak his mind, worried you would leave him teetering on the edge once again.

You smile in response, “there’s my boy,” you give his dick a squeeze, “using his words so good f’ me, yeah?”

Matty nods, melting into the pleasure happily.

Your lips find his once more as your free hand slides the lace barrier away from your entrance, letting his head circle the pooling wetness. He slides in with a whine, and you clench around him immediately.

The stretch was delicious– familiar, but never diminished.

You two were no strangers to sex. You were no stranger to taking control. Yet, this moment, the one where he enters you, where he splits you open and leaves you gasping for air as you are pulled under– it is the one moment where you feel like the deer. His arrow pierces you just as yours pierces him. How utterly tragic. How perfectly orgasmic.

Once you are sure he is ready, you begin to move your hips against his. You can tell he won’t last long, his face distorting in pleasure with every thrust. It’s perfect. He is yours.

“Fuck– please…so close…” Matty whimpers, skin glowing red even in the pale moonlight.

“Yeah? Gonna be a good boy and cum for me?”

You move faster, feeling your insides re-arrange for him as he hits spots even deeper within you. The sounds of skin against skin echo through the halls of trees, your gasps punctuating every last movement. You feel yourself clench once, twice more and you know you won’t last long either.

Your hands find Matty’s waist, squeezing and pulling on the skin. He looks utterly pitiful below you, spewing endless moans and crys.

“Gonna—fuck! Gonna cum…please…” 

He’s nearly begging now, holding on for dear life as you increase your pace.

“So good for me,” you manage to gasp out whilst holding onto the edge of your own orgasm, “asking so damn nice– shit, c’mon, gorgeous,” you press an open mouthed kiss into his neck and feel his dick twitch, “cum for me.” 

Matty grabs desperately onto the last of his cohesiveness, his eyes locking on yours.

“W-where?”

“Inside. Pill. Matty, now.”

The words serve as more than approval for him– they allow yourself to let go as well. You cum in tandem, waves of ecstasy washing over you, pulling your intertwined bodies deeper and deeper down into the sea of pleasure.

Matty spews hot, white ropes deep into you. You watch in pure wonder as Matty reels below you, body twisting and arching and melting into the soil beneath the two of your frames.

He is wrecked. You’ve caught him. 

You lean closer into him, letting your bodies collide into one another. The hunter and their prey.

“Feeling good, Healy?”

Matty bears a blissed-out smile, utterly destroyed and perfectly happy to be so.

“Thank you. Thank you– god, ‘felt amazing.”

You smile right back, kissing his cheek as you catch your breath.

The two of you lay there for a moment. He pulls out eventually, watching as his pearls cascade out of you messily.

The music from the party is long-forgotten in the distance. The surroundings matter less and less with every passing moment.

You lace a hand through Matty’s messy curls– damp with sweat and smelling of desire.

You hold him tight; your prized game, won so valiantly.

You liked having him like this. 

It was easy to pretend.

You hear a yell in the distance– partygoers far too drunk and horny.

You look back at Matty.

that was all before. before the injury that rendered his shoulder useless, before his girlfriend left him for his best friend in the world, before he dropped out halfway through his senior year of college and went from a household name to a bad example.

he'd moved back to his hometown after everything to clear his head. one year, to get his life back on track, turned into two. then five, and then next thing he knew he was 30 and living off of the remains of his sponsorship savings paired with mediocre income from selling party drugs to rich kids with daddy's credit card.

that was where he met you. you were different from everyone else he'd sold to. he never got the impression that you had daddy's money, or that you even had parents, to be honest. you had the sort of face that could be in a magazine, but an air about you suggested that you'd never cared, or maybe even noticed.

monthly meet ups in his car turned into weekly, and you seemed to linger a little longer each time, like you'd rather be sitting in the passenger seat of his car than anywhere else. you seemed perpetually stressed, lips bitten raw and shadows under your eyes each time he saw you. he found himself, stupidly, wanting to fix it. you seemed worse than usual when he finally let himself ask.

"are you alright?" you seemed to bristle at the question, avoiding his eyes and straightening your shoulders, "yeah, i'm fine. why?" "you just look tired," he shrugged, lighting a cigarette and cracking the window, "you always look tired, i guess," "how sweet," you mumbled, but your posture relaxed slightly, "just have some shit going on, i'll be fine,"

"like what?" he couldn't help himself now, you had him. "working a lot, trying to make rent and my roommate just told me she's moving so i have to find a way to cover her half, too," he was surprised you were even telling him any of this, "it's not a big deal," he wasn't sure where it came from, what fucked up part of his mind, or if it was his compulsive need to fix things, but the words spilled out of his mouth quicker than he could think, "do you need some help? i could pay it this month, help you get on your feet,"

you went tense all over at that, shaking your head before you could even consider it, and opened his car door, "i don't need a hand out, jesus. you barely even know me," and then you were gone, the crumpled $50 in the cupholder the only evidence that you'd ever been there.

he knew what it was like, to feel like some charity case, really. but he did know you. he knew you were 22, and that you'd moved out as soon as you turned 18, and that you had a roommate you borderline hated and an ex you definitely did. he knew your favorite color was purple (you had a streak of it in your hair and you almost constantly wore a dark purple sweater), that your favorite band was the 1975 (you put them on every time the two of you smoked in his car), that you worked at a coffee shop in the mornings and bartended in the evenings.

he knew you wouldn't let him get close, despite your odd sort of friendship you'd formed over shared, messily rolled joints and cheap cigarettes. he knew you were scared, for whatever reason, and that you never seemed to be completely comfortable. he just needed to learn how to fix it, that was all.

the next week, he pulled up to your usual meeting spot, despite never receiving a text from you asking him to. and there you were, purple sweater and cutoff shorts and threaded converse, climbing into his passenger seat with an apologetic smile. "hey," you said quietly, and he knew immediately something had to be wrong. your voice was hoarse and raw, and your eyes were rimmed red with smeared mascara, but that small smile stayed on your lips, just for him. "hi," he held out the joint he'd rolled just for you, smiling slightly as you took it, "what's wrong?"

it all came out in a mess after that. all the walls you'd seemed so hellbent on keeping up crumbled, your shoulders shaking with silent cries as you pulled your knees into the seat, teary gaze focused on the view outside the window. he wasn't sure what to do, he just knew he needed you to stop, to feel better. his hand went to your knee, rubbing circles into the skin, shushing you gently. "just talk to me," he murmured, "what's going on?"

you finally caved, telling him all about how you’d fallen behind on bills and your roommate moved out and you’d have to move back home if you didn’t figure shit out real quick, how you were terrified that you were failing at life when you’d just barely gotten started. he’d listened to every word, his chest aching for you, wishing he could take it all away, or at least some of it.

“you’re not failing,” he said softly, reaching out to hold as much of you as he could across the console, “you’re gonna be okay, alright? everybody gets a little behind sometimes,” “it’s not just a little behind, art, i’ve got no savings and no plan and my job is shit-“ you started up rambling again, your voice shaky. “hey, hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up, brows knit in concern, “i’ll help you sort it out, okay? we’ll figure it out,”

“i can’t ask you for help, it’s hard enough i’m sitting here crying to you,” you sniffled, “i didn’t mean to drag you into all this, you’re just so sweet,” “you might be the only person in the world who thinks i’m sweet,” he smiled slightly, brushing a piece of hair from your face, “why don’t you just stay with me tonight and we’ll sort this out in the morning, yeah? if you need to move back home i’ll help you,”

“are you sure i wouldn’t be overstepping?” you asked, more timid than he had ever heard you. “of course you wouldn’t be overstepping,” it was ridiculous, the thought of you inconveniencing him in any way, “buckle up, kay? you can sleep in my room and i’ll take the couch,”

the ride to his apartment was quiet, but not awkward. it never seemed to be uncomfortable between the two of you, just static silence filled with occasional glances and shy smiles. “it might be a little messy,” he laughed apologetically as he unlocked his front door, despite knowing he preferred to keep his space clean. you glanced around as he walked you inside, and he was struck by the intimacy of seeing you in his space, surrounded by his things, like you were truly a part of his life.

"it's nice," you finally said, gazing out the balcony window, "how long have you lived here?" his mind fleeted back to memories of a younger version of himself, full of ambition, hopes and dreams that never came to fruition. "uhm, about five years," he cleared his throat, suddenly all too aware of the space in the room that you occupied, of the way he'd chased the feeling of being known only to struggle with the idea of you knowing him, "do you wanna smoke before i head to bed?"

he was grateful you agreed, glad to have something to do other than watch you trace the lines of his life throughout the apartment, but he wasn't sure this was much better. you sat across from him in the windowsill, your eyes hazy and soft as you exhaled smoke, and he thought in this light you looked more and more like someone he could fall in love with. but that was insane, and he'd only known you for a few months, and you were probably unavailable, he reasoned with himself. that didn't stop him from watching your every movement, entranced by the way the smoke cast a veil over your features, by the simple motion as you passed him the joint.

"you can borrow some clothes if you need to change before bed," he offered, voice thick, "i'm sure i have something," "i'd appreciate that, thanks," you gave him a small smile, following him to his room hesitantly, eyeing everything like you needed to commit it to memory. he'd never regretted anything more when you emerged from his bathroom a few minutes later, his old stanford shirt hanging loose on your frame, brushing your thighs as you walked. he nearly choked, his eyes going anywhere but to you, terrified of what he might say if he lingered. he was grief stricken for a life that didn't exist, seeing you in that tattered red shirt. he could've been the sort of man you deserved, could've been someone you'd be proud of, good enough to get you out of any problems and into the safety of a nice life. his eyes were stinging, and he blinked tears away, clearing his throat.

"well i'll- i'm gonna go to the couch," he gestured awkwardly to the living room, "there's a white noise machine on the nightstand, if you need it," "i think i'll manage without it, but thank you," you laughed, and he wished desperately to eternalize this moment, "thank you again, art. for everything," "it's really no problem," he ran a hand through his hair, anything to distract himself, "i'll be in there if you need me, okay? goodnight,"

he almost couldn't tear himself away, but he forced himself out to the couch, eyes lingering on the doorframe despite you being long out of sight. the mental image of you curled up in his sheets was enough to keep him awake for what felt like hours, his jaw tight, head clouded with bad judgement. he'd finally started to doze around 2am when the floor creaked slightly, and he looked up to see you only feet away, tip toeing through his hallway. you were so beautiful that way, totally oblivious to his gaze, all alone in your head as you snuck back to the windowsill, a cigarette between your fingers.

"leavin me already?" he asked, smiling to himself as you jumped, startled by his voice cutting through the silence. "sorry, i didn't mean to wake you," you frowned slightly, "not leavin, just couldn't sleep 'nd needed to smoke," "it's okay," he waved a dismissive hand, stretching before coming to join you, "can't sleep either. d'you want me to make some coffee? "i can do it, feel bad enough stealing your bedroom. might as well make myself useful," you looked hopeful, eager to help, and his chest warmed at the thought of you wanting to do something for him.

so there you were, in his kitchen, humming to yourself as you steeped coffee in his french press, looking like you belonged there. he'd never realized how lonely he'd been until you came into his life, taking up empty space he'd once been content to leave hollow. he could get used to it, he thought, and that terrified him. the idea of doing anything to run you away, to disrupt this relationship, friendship, whatever the two of you had, he couldn't take it.

you settled onto the couch next to him, sipping your coffee, watching as the sun slowly rose through the curtains. "did you think any more about what you're going to do?" he asked after a bit, disturbing the peaceful silence, "about your apartment, i mean," "i think i'm gonna move home," you sounded so disappointed, it made him sick, "maybe that'll give me a chance to save up, get my bearings and just restart," "ah," he busied himself circling the rim of his mug with his fingertip, his mind racing with thoughts on how to fix this, how to take all your anxieties and pass them on to himself, "and you're sure that's what you want?"

the story was all too familiar to him, a mirror of what he'd been through years prior, bringing all the memories to the surface once again. maybe your fall from grace wasn't as high as his, but he was sure it would scar just the same. "i don't think anyone wants to move back home, but i don't know that i have much of a choice," you shrugged, "i'll get used to it," "you could stay here until you're back on your feet," the offer hung in the air again, just as it had last night, "i mean it, i don't mind at all. you shouldn't have to move away just because you're having a hard time,"

"art, i can't ask you to let me move in here," you frowned slightly, "it's so nice of you to even offer, but i need to figure this out on my own," "you're not asking," he said it like it was simple, and he supposed in his mind, it was, "i'm offering. i wanna help you, and i'm telling you is not an imposition, okay? or i can just pay your rent, whatever you owe. we'll call it an early birthday present,"

"i can't let myself be in debt to you," you said quietly, looking anywhere but his face, "don't you see that? this isn't just some casual amount of money, this is a lot for me, and i appreciate you but it's just too much," "you wouldn't be in debt to me, okay? what can i say to make you see that? i want to help you, i'm not expecting anything in return, just let me be there for you," "i'm not gonna let my dealer pay my rent, art. let's be serious about this,"

that stung, just as much as if you'd slapped him. "right, yeah. i'm just your dealer," the words felt bitter on his tongue, like his body was rejecting the very thought. "that's not what i meant, art, i'm sorry," you reached for him as he stood from the couch, your hand cool against the flushed skin of his wrist, "i'm not good at this, i don't know how to just take help from people, okay? i'm sorry, please come sit back down,"

"i'm not good at this either," he sighed softly as he sat back beside you, eyes trained on your fingers still lingering on his arm, "i just- i hate the thought of you struggling, okay? and i could have this all wrong, so please tell me if i'm overstepping, but there's something more here," he gestured between the two of you, "don't you feel it? if you don't, just tell me and i swear to you i'll never overstep again,"

you hesitated, the tension between you palpable enough that art could feel his heart racing, could feel his face flushed in anticipation, preparing himself for rejection. "yeah, i feel it too," you finally said, "that's part of the reason i can't just accept handouts from you, i don't want anything we might have to be built on me owing you something," "i would never make you feel like you owe me anything," the very idea of it was ridiculous to him, "you know me better than that,"

"i can't afford to chance it, art," your voice sounded so small, then, and the idea that you'd been through this before finally occurred to him. this wasn't the kind of hurt that just materialized itself. "okay," he finally sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender, "will you at least stay here while you work things out with your parents to move back home?"

"i'm starting to think you just want me in your bed," you smiled over at him, and the relief he felt was a rush, like he could breathe again now that you'd relaxed. "maybe," he laughed softly, "just wanna know you're safe, that's all," "how come you didn't tell me you went to stanford?" you asked curiously, tracing your fingers over the hem of the t shirt he'd given you. "oh, uhm- didn't seem important," he shrugged, any relief he'd allowed himself to feel immediately replaced by shame, "it wasn't a big deal,"

"i couldn't sleep, so i looked you up," you said, tone casual and light, the opposite of what he was feeling, "you were famous, art," "i wasn't famous, i just played tennis," he said quickly, "and it doesn't matter anymore, anyway, so that's why i didn't tell you-" "i'm just asking," you laid a hand on his shoulder, looking over his flushed face, "most guys would've bragged about that," "i don't have a fuckin' thing to brag about," he shook his head, "i'm sure above all the articles about my success you saw the articles about my failure,"

"who cares about failure?" you rolled your eyes, "i read that you had an injury, and then i stopped reading to give you privacy," he glanced over at you then, the sincerity in your voice striking him, "yeah, i had surgery on my shoulder," he admitted hesitantly, "had a really bad breakup, kinda lost my shit. dropped out and moved home," "oh, art," you said softly, "i'm so sorry,"

"don't-" it came out sharper than he intended, "please don't feel sorry for me," "i don't think it's fair for you to try to fix me but i can't even feel sorry for you," he knew you didn't mean anything by it, but it unsettled him nonetheless, his jaw clenched as he bit at the inside of his cheek. "my entire career, my life, going out the window is not the same as you having to move back in with your parents," he knew as soon as he said it he'd gone too far, could tell from the way you jerked your hand away from him, your eyes steely.

"i didn't say it was," your voice was level, like you'd closed yourself off, "i need to go, i have a shift later and i should call my parents," "you don't have to go," he hated how he was immediately pleading, "let me drive you, at least," "i'd rather walk, thanks," you disappeared into his bedroom, returning in your own clothes, the stanford shirt folded neatly on his bed. "thank you for letting me stay here," the words sounded difficult for you to form, "i'll just call you later or something," "i'll pick you up from work," he offered, looking up at you from the couch as you lingered by the door, "i'm really sorry-" "don't apologize," you shook your head, "you were right, it's not the same thing at all,"