#bsf matt

"you did all of this?" i asked, stepping closer. "you hate parties."

"it's not really a party," he mumbled. "just a few people. some food. lights. i didn't even get balloons."

i laughed. "you planned it, though."

"technically i just texted everyone and bought stuff and made nick and chris help me put it together."

"so... you threw me a party."

he finally looked at me then, and i swear there was this tiny flicker in his eyes — something between pride and embarrassment.

"you like your birthday," he began, his voice low. "and you always make a big deal out of ours. figured i should return the favour."

my heart did a very stupid thing. very stupid.

"you're ridiculous," i told him, smiling so hard that it hurt my face.

"you're welcome," he replied, not even pretending to be smug.

i reached over and hugged him without thinking. he went stiff for a half second — classic matt — and then exhaled, leaning into it. just for a moment.

just long enough.

when i pulled away, he looked at me like he wanted to say something else. like he had more thoughts lined up behind his eyes but didn't quite know how to let them out.

"thank you," i said again, softer this time.

he scratched the back of his neck. "yeah. happy birthday."

and even though he hates parties, even though he spent the next hour lingering at the edge of the group with a paper cup of lemonade and that familiar don't-look-at-me-posture... he stayed. the whole time.

watched me laugh with our friends. smiled when he thought i wasn't looking. and when the sun dipped low and i sat on the blanket beside him, our knees brushing slightly, he didn't move away.

matt sturniolo doesn't like parties.

but he threw one for me anyways. because he does like me.

maybe more than either of us will admit out loud.

yet.

do not repost, copy, or translate without permission, or credit.

this is my original work — please respect that.

a/n. what a cutie pie c:

she didn't laugh. stern expression, forcing him to continue, forcing the thoughts to slip his lips. 

the room was too warm, heating enough for the sweat to fall behind his neck as if he was being interrogated. 

Matt try to tell himself it wasn't that extreme. but his heart ached, eating itself in an attempt to not cry. 

"She looks at me like, like I'm an idiot, like every word i say is wrong."

"Do you truly believe she thought that?"

Matt hesitated, breathing deeply as he reflected on his words. he was stuck in his mind so easily, eyes stinging from his dead zombie stare at his lap.

"No. she just has it hard. nothing is easy and she doesn't want to lean on me. I'm there anyway. i force it. i try to help things that don't have an easy answer."

"You were her hope."

"False hope. but i really fucking try. it's not enough."

"For who?"

he hated himself. he hated everyone and everything around him. the shift from snow to leaves, tiny evidence of life fucking everywhere. none where it was supposed to be, where it deserved to be.

"For God. For reality."

"You're allowed to be angry."

"it's just-" he choked, wiping at his face in frustration. "she's always been angry. a-and i didn't get it, i tried to fix it."

Matt cradled his own face, tears spilling as his throat closed.

"Hope doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything. shitty stuff happens anyway." he sniffled. 

"Hope matters." the woman spoke softly. "Did you make her happy?"

he looked up to meet her eyes, darting them away when his mind swam with memories.

the laughs he'd managed to tug out despite the world collapsing around her. the feeling of her warmth on his chest, trusting him for love and for life. 

Matt nodded.

"Do you feel like that mattered?"

he covered his face once again, soul trying to escape through sobs that he was determined to hold back. 

of course it mattered. she matters.

"Yeah. but it didn't fix anything. She's still dying."

the air paused due to his words. as if he'd uttered a secret so great even nature stopped to listen.

he hadn't. it was the world realising that Matt yet again wasn't fully present.

"Matt." her voice was soft yet again. "Remember what we spoke about."

"No." he refused, head shaking, covering his ears with his hands.

"It is difficult. You aren't alone in feeling this way."

"I don't care. I'm not doing it."

"Matt-"

"No!" he yelled out, staring directly at his therapist. "She's not fucking gone! She's not!"

Matt rose from his seat, wiping his face as he paced the room in anger.

"i know that she's, she's not." he sighed between his words. "i know she's not here. but she's not, she can't be-" he sniffled.

the woman paused, waiting for the quiet to show a slight increase in calm.

Matt continued mumbling into his hands.

"You need to use the right vocabulary. it will help you to process."

"I'm not talking about her in fucking past tense!"

she didn't flinch at his anger. he flinched at himself, tears spilling uncontrollably.

Matt tried to focus on his breaths, muttering into his hands different numbers and words that would settle himself down. there was relief in the crying, his lungs seemingly able to breathe cleaner than before.

he blinked away the tears, sighing out deeply and sniffling. he walked back over to the couch, setting himself where he was supposed to be.

"'m sorry." he mumbled.

she nodded in recognition. "Would you like to try again?"

Matt nodded, fiddling with his hands.

"I miss her. i miss her being mad at me. i miss making her happy. i want, i want her back, i miss waiting for her to love me. i can't wait for that because she's not- i can't wait for her for anything. i cant wait for her to message me, talk to me, come and see me."

his eyes filled up once again.

"I hated the waiting. now, all i want is to wait for her because it would mean there's a chance she's coming back."

"Why do you think you said you hate her?"

"because i want to be mad at her. i want anything except how much i miss her. but that's all i have now. its all I'm ever gonna have."

"and your love for her."

"Yeah. i fucking love her. that's always been there. its not going anywhere."

Truthfully? - with every imperfection too?

I don't think many people want to be remembered for their flaws. Sometimes I think I do though, in a way.

When I die, as everyone will, I want people to know that I suffered. I think sometimes people do or choose to forget that I did.

When you spend your whole lifetime - however long or short, with a voice at the back of your mind telling you to stab yourself a million times over, you realise what would get you to plunge the knife into yourself one more time is the idea people would lie for your sake and call you the light of their life. Call you happy.

I don't want people to diminish my misery because it's more comforting to believe there were times when I was happy. The type of happy I've been has never been pure. Tainted in a way I could never clean. I tried to. Then i didnt want to try anymore. Then I wanted to just want to try. But I didn't. I don't.

If I die and the thing that lives on is times that I was pretending for everyone else’s sake, I'd just wish I'd yelled more.

I think I just need to die and be remembered as having suffered - enduring until I couldn't. I don't want people to invalidate how much I hid from them. There's so much people don't know. When I die, they won't ever know.

Maybe a part of you knew. It felt different.

You clung onto Matt more than normal, needing him for both balance and emotional stability. His eyes lingered on you as per usual, but a little more intense. Maybe a part of him knew too.

You couldn't get over the idea that all of this had been inevitable.

Matt’s chest gave off warmth that you envied. You dragged your fingertips across his chest, watching the way it rose with his breaths. You wondered when your own would stop.

“Hey,” he interrupted your spiralling, reaching to caress your face as gently as always.

You didn't have enough strength in you to answer, feeling as if parting your lips would allow your soul to escape you. Eyes blinking and sparkling up at Matt, you hoped he understood. Which he did.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise it's okay.”

He didn't pull his head back for another moment, muttering soft words into your skin. You wished you could tattoo the feeling, live with his closeness permanently - but nothing really is permanent.

You heard him sniffle, deciding to use your ounce of strength to caress his face. Maybe he needed it more than you did. After all, you just had to let go. You finally got to leave everything, and you were holding the one thing, the one person that was holding you there, stabilizing you.

Matt tried to blink away his tears, face frown, sobs chasing to escape him.

“I-i’m sorry i dont- i didnt wanna be like-like this i-”

You pressed your forehead to his, eyelids fluttering and trying to close out of exhaustion. No part of you was okay with leaving Matt like this though, you wanted to do one thing right in your life.

“I- i just dont want you to go, i want you to stay.” His eyes squeezed, tears running down his face. “I wish it was okay - I do, but it's not. It's not, it's not, I need you.”

The effort to keep your eyes open had made them water - either that or you were displaying emotions that your mind couldn't signify to you.

You didn't really feel anything. You ached. Like you needed to click every bone in your body.

With your body reluctant, Matt had to hold you up, cradling your face and placing hurried kisses as the water spilled down your face. Sometimes you worried about how nice it felt - actions like that relaxed you a little too much, like you’d fall off the cliff of life if you soaked into the feeling for a second too long.

He choked down his sobs, laying down and placing you against him. His cheek pressed against your head. You felt safely enclosed, like something treasured yet secret in a small box.

You let your hand fall against Matt's chest, feeling his heartbeat. Therapeutic.

Should you feel guilty for feeling okay? Body for once swimming with a level of peace you'd never experienced, while the love of your life suffered in front of you. Would pain be worse?

“Matt?” you spoke up delicately, eyes threatening to close again.

He sniffled, hands shaking as he shifted so he could meet your eyes. “Y-yeah?”

You breathed deeply, pushing out energy without trying to. “It doesn't hurt.”

Matt’s face tensed, you knew he was trying not to cry. A touch of your hand to his cheek helped him to let go.

He placed his hand over yours, letting his emotions start to escape. You wanted him to feel just a little like how you did. You wanted him to feel peaceful.

“Thats-that's good, im-im glad you’re not hurting,” he inhaled sharply, another sob escaping him quickly after.

“It doesn't hurt anymore.” you reassured him, quiet, slow.

With every flutter of your eyelids, Matt felt his heart stop. Over and over. He knew what was coming and his anxieties tormented every second waiting for it.

“You’ll, you’ll be okay.” you relaxed your face, matt cried out once again as he placed his forehead against yours. There was limited warmth you gave off and yet he chased it still.

“But i-i need you.”

“You have me,” he tried to settle his breathing, “Always. I promise.” You made your oath.

He gently kissed your lips. He wanted to give his life to you, and in a way, this was the only version of that he could do.

“I love you,” Matt sobbed out. “So so much.”

“love you.”

I had to learn how to feel alive.

I grew up abandoned, but I felt hollow enough that I thought I wasn’t enough to even be considered ‘abandoned’. I wasn't worth anything.

It wasn't until I learned the way I was supposed to grow up that I mourned the life I should've had.

Death is harder when it shouldn't have happened. Life is harder when it doesn't feel like living. It's hard to compare life to death when you're always alone. That was how I grew up, that is how I live and that is how I will die.

You crave hunger. Being eaten from the inside out. The ability to know you're starving and empty - heart, stomach and soul.

“You need to eat.”

When you grow up living in a body people torment you for, you learn to torment yourself. You crave a sickness so there's an excuse for the abomination you're supposed to live with.

He held out a fork of food, hovering just in front of your lips.

Is this poetic? This is how you had to live to finally be a fraction of some kind of fucked up beauty?

Matt caressed your cheek, softening your guard enough to finally feed you. He immediately started working to gather the next bite.

Would the cure be noise or quiet? One makes you feel out of control and the other makes you feel alone. It's an empty question, really.

“C’mon. Next bite.”

Maybe you carry too many thoughts around with you. The mind is where you're trapped and it doesn't exactly make it a nice place to be.

He kissed your forehead. He does it a lot. Sometimes you wish he could live forever in your mind, giving kisses, maintaining life the way he’d been able to so far. Maybe that would be cure enough.

There's a strange kind of relief in being hopeless.

“You need painkillers?” he whispered into your skin.

The feel of it would typically be irritable, but it came with a warmth your body refused to provide for you.

You shook your head, ignoring the whirring it sent inside your skull.

“That's okay. Tell me if you do.”

You nodded, eyes forced shut from the way the room spun.

“Matt?”

Matt was a lifeline - you climbed over to lay against his chest, feeling him push the plate out of the way. His heart was beating, softly, functional.

A twinge of jealousy formed in your heart, quickly combatted with the knowledge that if anyone in the world deserved a heart as functional as he was loving, it was matt.

“Yeah, baby?”

“How are you, like, perfect?”

He turned away to laugh a little, feeling like the epitome of repetitional mistakes. “I wouldn't say perfect, not at all.”

It was hard to pull your eyes away. You felt dead. You practically were. Matt had so much soul you could pretty much see it in his eyes. And his smile. It's hard to forget his smile.

“You are. You always know what to do and you always do it. How do you not mess up?”

“I mess up all the time. You're my idea of perfect.”

“Me?”

“Yep.”

“Matt, look at me for two seconds. Nothing about me is even good.” Your tone was slightly angry, but if this was a compliment out of pity then you didn't want it.

“Youre missing my point.”

“What's your point, Mr Delusional?”

He scoffed, staring down into your eyes. It felt heavier. “Thought you didn't want me to talk about this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He leaned down, placing his head in the crook of your neck. “Do you just want me to compliment you? That what you want?”

“What- no. i dont-”

“Because I will.” He gently kissed your neck once but drawn out slow.

“That’s not-”

“You know how I feel.” he looked up, face intimately close as he held eye contact.

“How do you still feel it? I'm dead, Matt.”

“You're not your sickness-”

“But it affects everything! It always has!”

“That doesn't make you less!”

It was full of energy, more life than you were used to. Matt broke it only for a second to take a deep breath, like this was his first experience of relief. He gripped your face, pulling you closer to deepen it.

His breathing was heavy, guilt from raising his voice even if it had only been a fraction. He hadn't moved but he felt closer, sending pressure to your heart. You realised then you wanted him closer, reaching to grab his face and press your lips to his.

You clawed at his shirt, fiddling, desperate to avoid thinking.

You gasped into the kiss, overwhelmed from the feeling. Matt pressed kisses to the corner of your mouth and down to your neck. Finally, he gave himself a moment to breathe - and process.

Eyes met once again, he noticed the watery layer in yours, cradling your face and caressing with his thumb.

“You okay?”

You nodded, tight lipped smile but silent. Somehow you had simultaneously always wanted to do that but also promised yourself you never would.

“Do you regret it?” Matt's voice was softer, shy. Afraid of the answer and unsure of the question.

“A little.”

“That's okay. I'm sorry.”

“Dont be. I liked it, i just - i dont know.” he didnt push. He gently held you as he always did. “I thought it would be easier if we just left it. Then nothing's unfinished. I hoped it would hurt you less.”

“Just me?”

You blinked up at him, not really sure of his point.

“I think you thought it would hurt you less. And I mean since we were younger too. You've never let anyone get too close.”

“Because what if people don't actually like me? Get so close they actually know stuff about me just to realise they don't like it - realise they don't want me.”

“Then they don't deserve you.”

“Its even worse with you! If you don't like who I actually am then I truly am something awful. I couldn't live with myself and I barely can anyways.” you looked away from him, growing nervous when you became aware of your rambling.

“I do like who you are. I love who you are.”

“I’m nothing.”

“Not to me.”

You finally met back with his gaze, deciding to groan and slowly faceplant into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him. “Stop trying to make me kiss you again.”

“I do wanna.” you mumbled.

“If thats what you really want.” he giggled, you felt his chest’s movements as you pressed into him.

You realised you were thinking all sorts of corny phrases, like how you wanted to listen to him laugh all the time. Especially if it meant he was happy with you.

“Hmm?”

“I do wanna do it again.”

“Yeah?”

“Dont make me regret it.”

“I won't. promise.”

©mi-co-uk

His eyes burned. Blaring white light, your blinking heartbeat. Repetitive. The way it had to stay. 

Unwavering attention, as if your life was in his hands - his eyes. He barely blinked, couldnt look away. Not again. 

“I cant do it- i cant fucking do it matt.” you sobbed. “It hurts- i cant-” 

“I know, i know, im so sorry-” he cried with you.

His heart stopped every time your chest stilled. Breathing in and out but the pause inbetween was dangerous. Its like he lost you over and over again. Matt had been living like this for months, yet never having felt like his every move was as risky as it felt now.

“Just- just let me call someone, i can-” 

“No! dont let go, dontletgo- please-” tears spilled from your eyes.

“I have to. I have to.” he cradled your face and begged.

Hed been staying at your house a little while now. Barely trusted you on your own regardless, but he felt responsible. You didnt like watching him leave, the ache always more prominent in your heart every time he did.

It felt like dismissing you to walk out, like he was trusting the universe with your life and every day it felt more untrustworthy. Like it was waiting to hurt him whenever his back was turned. 

He removed your grip from him, placing you back on the carpet you had fallen too. He sprinted for his phone, dialing, with his heartbeat the only thing he could hear. Pulsing and beating, just to turn and see you. See you laying there. Still. Completely still. 

You didnt like to rely on him or anyone. But wanting to die and dying arent the same thing. You were wasting away, crumbling. Life was being slowly dragged out of you, being with matt was a little less confronting.

It felt less like you were dying, or maybe just that youd do it together. 

You knew why he had to let go. But medication, any life line that was supposed to work felt like it didnt. Just knowing you werent sinking though the floor to hell because matt was holding you worked better.

He set you down low, like you were already dead, already being placed into a coffin. You breathed out. Your body decided that was all you had left. 

You thought maybe it wasnt hell when you woke up. White lights more positive despite the way it made your eyes strain, forcing you to blink the pain away. Turns out you were still stuck here.

He shuffled his seat closer to your side, mumbling his reassuring curing words trying to wake you up as if sleep and death were equal.

Matts touch was soft, holding your wrist and stroking the spot where your pulse was. His eyes pleaded, red and aching from exhaustion but he still looked gentle. 

Your fingers twitched, working up the strength to reach for him. He noticed your efforts, meeting you halfway to pull you into a hug. He kissed your head, your cheek, apologising through all of them.

Your head pulsed too much still to hear him. You tugged him closer, forcing the embrace to move more comfortably on the hospital bed. 

The breathing synced with each other, relying on each other to think you were allowed to. You both knew it would get worse. It would get harder to cope. You forced yourselves awake, not letting time drag you into the next extreme just yet.