#davetteo

The day Matteo died, Dave's whole world shook violently, like an earthquake only he felt. He zoned out more regularly, his partner unable to stop him with that soft smile of his that made his stomach flip, and the concerned tone of, “Hey, don't zone out on me again, Davey boy."

November 28th, 2025.

"Time of death, 01:48."

That's what rang in his head like a school bell that never stopped.

He replayed the moments before the pronounce in his mind. His only best-friend's body splayed out on the ground of a street lit by a dim light, bright enough for Dave to see his injuries.

He'd told Matteo that he just had to stay awake, and he couldn't forget the joke Matteo made, trying to help them both accept the inevitable.

"Guess the roles reversed, huh..?"

Dave didn't laugh. He didn't tell him he loved him, because he had hope he would live to see another day, to be able to joke again about being the one in the hospital this time.

To be able to be told that he was loved, to be hugged again.

But the second his eyelids slipped, he was gone.

Internal bleeding, they said it was.

You couldn't have known, they said.

But how couldn't he have known? Those racist fucks had been suggesting it since Dave was told about it.

The coincidental show-up at the office, Matteo coming home after him with a small bruise, sometimes on his face, other times on his arms or shoulders, one among many others he attempted to hide.

Dave didn't ask, he didn't want to pressure him to say anything.

He should've asked.

He should've pressed.

He rocks back and forth in his bed, empty of his partner's embrace, and for a minute, feels the blood on his hands again from trying to keep the life inside of him, putting pressure on the worst of his wounds. Feels the way Matteo's head thunked back on the ground as he lost consciousness, eyes rolling back.

He remembered how, as soon as he gave up, sirens and lights flashed across the street, making him wince. They had finally arrived. They'd save him.

But every scenario that went through his head was the same.

"Time of death, 01:48."

Maybe it was his brain trying to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have known, listening to the paramedics from before.

Or maybe it was Matteo trying to tell him that instead.

With the added stress, Dave started getting nightmares every night, waking up in a cold sweat, expecting him to be there and run his hand through his hair, whispering sweet nothings in his ear while the strands curled around his calloused fingers.

But their bed was always colder every time he woke.

He didn't like to admit it, but Matteo haunted his nightmares now. Instead of being the safe embrace after, he was now the elephant monster waiting to lure him in, vulnerable, and scared, and just wanting his Matteo back.

They were going on a late-night date for Dave's birthday, damnit. They had planned everything out to keep the parasomniac awake as long as his body willed, clocking out of their shift early.

That was the mistake he had made.

He was the one with the idea to leave early, so they could have time to take showers, lay around without being afraid to pass the time.

But fate had another story.

Occasionally, he lands himself in the hospital after rather violent nightmares, sedated all the time, practically half-dead. He just hoped if the other half wished to come, he'd see his last friend again.

Dave and Matteo stepped into their shared apartment, feet barely holding them up. Saying it was a hard shift that night was an understatement— their body felt like lead, and every blink burned. They wanted to sleep until the next week.

Most importantly, in eachother's arms.

In a tangle of limbs, they collapsed against their shared couch— barely awake and yearning for the warmth beyond the uncomfortable office chairs.

Here, in their home, they could do that.

Matteo, after a while of silence, leaned in to kiss his head slobberily. The shorter one smiled, wrapping him around his arms tighter. God, he needed this, more than he knew. Which he knew he did a lot already.

"Do y'wanna get some pizza or something before bed?" He asked, and Dave could hear his slurred tone, barely agreeing with what he was saying himself.

He just shook his head, eyes blinking slowly, basking in their glow of pure love and content. He saw Matteo lean in that his breath tickled his skin. He didn't care, though, leaning in with his lips embracing his partner's.

His hand came up to meet Matteo's jaw, carefully gliding a finger along his jawline and down his neck.

Matteo, if he were more awake, would've been surprised at the sudden confidence, but he figured the man was tired enough he could barely decipher what they were doing, so, he reached his hand to the back of Dave's head, fingers gently curling through his hair and playing with the strands, feeling him practically melt into a puddle against his chest.

"Oh, y'rsuch a tease..." He slurred, more because of their never-parting lips sharing breaths than his exhaustion.

He reached weakly, trying to get his jacket off, and Matteo smiled at the failed attempt. He pulled away from his lips with a gentle pop sound, hands moving to help him take the black denim off.

As it unraveled his plain, white t-shirt, soaked with sweat, Matteo leaned in and kissed from his shoulder, and down his arm. Soft laughs started to escape Dave's lips, curling up on himself. "You're tickling meeee... sta-ha-haaappp.." He pleaded, though staying in place as the dumbass he was. Or maybe he wanted it in secret.

"I'm ticklin' you? Oh you haven't seen the tickle monster yet, Davey boy." Arms around the shorter one, his hands joined in, fingers sweeping lightly at his hips at an attempt to tickle him. If they were both more awake, it wouldn't have worked, but it did.

Dave kept flailing around in weak chuckles, trying to pry Matteo's hands off him but he didn't retreat, and after a while, his arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace, while he curled up against his chest even more.

He was falling asleep— Matteo could see the way his eyelashes fluttered, trying to cling onto consciousness, onto this moment of love.

It only made him lean back in to steal his lips in another kiss, this time more gentle, allowing Dave an out whenever he needed.

But Dave didn't want an out. No, not with Matteo.

His body did, yeah. He was running on three days without sleep, but he wanted to stay in this moment for as long as time could buy.

"Y'getting sleepy on me, Davey boy? We're only just gettin' started." He stifled a yawn, slumping until his lips were against his partner's again.

God, as much as he hardly felt anything happening, he treasured this feeling of being lulled to sleep with such gentle endearment, by his person, no less.

This would be one of those nights where he feels safe enough that no nightmares plague him.

That's who Matteo was to him— his dream warrior.

He could remember how Matteo first laughed at that nickname, and soon, it became his contact name on Dave's phone: "My dream warrior" with a few hearts beside it.

He was never one to be a sap, or at least it would be silent, like that weird flip his stomach does whenever Matteo's hand grazes his, or the way his heart drops to his feet when Matteo does a shitty prank on him where he's died or hurt.

But for Matteo, he actually felt safe to express his feelings, his love. He opened up— talked about his dreams, his trauma, his... ‘dream powers’, as his companion liked to call them.

Dave could feel his eyes close, and Matteo's arms sliding beneath his back and knees to haul him up bridal style.

As sleep caught up to him, he was rested against Matteo's chest again, his ears blessed with his steady heartbeat, and peppered kisses on his head.

Dave felt his head spinning. His body barely held him up, hand shakily pressing on the hole in his side.

A few minutes ago, Matteo had run in and took down the maniac. Now, he couldn't tell between the funny flips and his heartbeat slowing down when Matteo had his arms around him to keep him upright.

"Hey, Dave, you're gonna be okay a'ight? Linda's— She's comin' up to help, okay?" He barely heard him due to the ringing in his ears, but he nodded, a groan subconsciously leaving his lips as he tried standing up straight. Every inch of movement hurt like hell.

Fuck, was this it for him? He felt himself slipping, a metallic taste exploding in his mouth as he wheezed.

"Oh, fuck.." Matteo grabbed his walkie-talkie, holding his finger on a button. "Linda! Where the hell are you?!"

A staticy noise came through, then he heard Linda's distorted voice. "Pretty close! How's he doing?" He could hear the panic in her tone, trying to get to him before he fades.

"Uhh, not too good. He's coughin' up blood and it's— it's not— Hey, c'mon, Dave, keep those fucking lids open!"

The shock is making him more drowsy, and sleep has never felt better. Not even in the days where he'd lay down after three days of none.

He leaned heavily on the wall, and Linda's instructions blur out, suddenly feeling a hand against his wound, pressing on it tightly. He made a sound between a whimper and a grimace, holding onto Matteo's shoulders.

His partner's voice could be heard apologising repeatedly, mumbling something about how it was necessary to keep him from bleeding out, atleast until Linda gets there.

He felt his heart slow down, his knees go slack. He let Matteo lift him back up, knowing he was there to do so during everything, and now maybe the last one.

"M'tteo..."

"Hey, hey, shhhh... Talkin' will just make it worse. I got you, okay? Just keep breathing." Matteo cursed the trespasser in the back of his mind, eyes itching to look back at his unconscious body, but he had to focus. He couldn't let Dave— No, not that word. He won't die. He would make sure of it.

Despite his blood-stained lips, crimson running down his chin and onto his white t-shirt, also stained from the gunshot wound, he pulled Matteo in with his remaining strength, lips intertwining.

The latino knew Dave thought he wouldn't make it, wouldn't get to see a cure or— fucking something, for this pandemic, so he had to move the heavens and the earth to keep him here, at least so he can make fun of him later on about being an unbelievable sap.

Either way, he leaned in, holding Dave close with one arm and the other still applying the most pressure to his wound as he slowly lowered him to the ground, sharing the taste of iron with him before he pulled away. "You're not gettin' away with this, okay? I won't fuckin' let you." He chuckled, his blood staining his mouth and the glare in his eyes making his own open a bit more, wanting to see his chocolate orbs glistening with what looked like.. tears? Or maybe they were his, blurring his vision further.

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