#matmitch

xi.

It's just a whisper of a name, a single syllable made of consonants and vowels and altogether not very special. But Mat turns, he can't help himself, and seeks out the one who says it. Even after all these years, the name sounds as familiar to him as his own.

Just a simple utterance and the nostalgia is creeping up his throat. He tries with all his might to push it back down to where it came from, but there's still the hope that maybe, just maybe, it's the right person this time. The one he hasn't seen in ages but still thinks about almost daily. The man who haunts him from television commercials and on packaging in stores and, still, from his Youtube front page. From Facebook and Twitter and every other place he couldn't remove him from, even if he wanted to.

Someone says his name and Mat turns, but the conversation changes quickly. It's a football player, or maybe a scientist, and it's never the teenaged boy he played games with until the morning nor the businessman and entrepreneur he grew up into.

Mat downs the whiskey in his hand, goes back to small talk and smiles that never reach his eyes.

  x.

A short video, an even shorter tweet. Sorry guys, it's not you but me, I have things I need to do. They're mad, of course they're mad, but some things are more important than a hobby turned side job.

Mat is graduated and in a good job for being fresh out of university and he has co-workers and bills and there's just no time anymore.

He'd love to, really, but he can't. Maybe in the future. Maybe if things work out.

Maybe if his desire, his love, comes back to him.

It's funny how Mitch was the reason he started, and Mitch became the reason he finished. Funny, in the way a homicide is funny. In the way a car bomb is funny. In the way a heroin addict's withdrawals are funny. It's hilarious, really, how one skinny frame with big doe eyes could bring him to his knees. It's breathtaking how a knife against your throat can feel just like a promise.

Mat abandons it all even as his blood screams out for him to stay.

  ix.

It's the first time they've talked in over three weeks and Mitch sounds nothing but annoyed and exhausted before he even speaks a word. There's about a million things Mat could be saying instead, but he settles for, "This is the thirteenth time you've ditched a recording."

"I'm busy," Mitch explains. There's some noise in the background, voices, as if everyone was working together to give him the best alibi. "Why are you keeping count?"

"Does it fucking matter? We promised this video almost a year ago," Mat snaps at him, but even as he does he can't gather enough anger to sound truly menacing. Maybe a few months ago, maybe between the fourth and fifth time, maybe then he could have. But anger comes and goes like the tide and for as many times as it's rained—which is not a metaphor for crying goddamnit, he's a fucking man—the water is completely drained out.

"You know as well as I do that nobody gives a shit," Mitch responds and Mat has never heard him sound so venomous in his life. He wants to believe that they're feeding him lies, that they're trying to turn everyone against him to keep him as their own. But life isn't a TV drama and even in the height of their glory days, they could never make people care enough. That's why it never worked out. That's why Mitch chose him over Mat in the end. In the beginning, really.

"Don't fucking pretend you're going to do a recording if you have no plans to," Mat says, avoiding responding to Mitch's claim, which is enough of a confirmation as either of them need. "If you don't want to fucking record, then tell me. Don't be a little bitch about it."

"Fucking fine," Mitch bites out, voice sounding slightly more distant. Mat can imagine him turned to look behind him, can see the other guys with confused expressions on their face because how could their ray of sunlight ever be this angry? "I don't want to record with you. are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Mat deadpans, mostly for lack of a better thing to say. He'll rip out his own vocal cords before he begs; he'll break his own bones before he ever goes crawling back to Mitch. "Have a nice fucking life."

Even as Mat says the words, he wants to draw them back into himself and lock them up. He wants so bad for the sentence to come out like a threat, but he's always so weak in front of Mitch and there's still so much affection in the five words. He can hear Mitch snort, some sarcastic remark on his tongue that he learned from his partner in crime, no doubt. Mat ends the call and doesn't let him finish. He types a hearty "go fuck yourself" in the chat window but can't make himself hit enter. He deletes the contact before he can make an even bigger fool of himself, cursing the way his hands shake—the betrayal of his own flesh.

  viii.

Mat doesn't know why he's here. Or why he even goes to these things anymore. The conventions were nice; looking at games and seeing friends who live far away. Sometimes a fan or two will greet him, and he'll pose awkwardly for a picture, still so unsure of what to do in these situations.

But the after parties were another thing entirely. There was always at least two, so just choosing to go somewhere was already asking for trouble—it wasn't exactly a war, but entering one house instead of another could be like aligning yourself with enemy soldiers if you weren't careful. Mat mostly snuck under the radar for all that, the black cloud of youtuber drama shifting and changing each year so that Mat couldn't be bothered to keep up anymore. He goes where Mitch goes, and that's usually where Alex, Brandon, Rob, and all their other mutual friends end up too. But where Mitch goes, Jerome and Ryan and a whole slew of people Mat doesn't know or doesn't like (or both) go too.

So Mat finds himself sitting awkwardly at dining room tables, drinking beer from ice cold bottles and the occasional mixed drink in a red solo cup, if he can find one. If he's lucky, the rented home has free wi-fi and he can check Twitter. If he's unlucky, he traces patterns in beer bottle condensation and tries to hold conversations without seeming too miserable.

There used to be a time when Mat would never say "no" to a good party, but all the people he used to rely on to get him through these events were orbiting around Mitch and co. Normally Mat would be there too, always three drinks ahead and daring Mitch to do crazy shit once he was drunk enough to lose his worries. But Mitch was currently riding the high of hitting 5 million subscribers and Mat couldn't muster the appropriate amount of enthusiasm to avoid looking like a jealous asshole next to him, with his measly 700 thousand.

Mostly, he's thinking about how Mitch canceled the annual Barbados trip to go to Japan with the others—the squad­—and how none of their other friends seem to be bothered by it. In fact, the first time Mat showed just an inkling of annoyance, the conversation turned from jokes to awkward silence. As if even outside the Youtube sphere, Mat is never safe from the judgment of being just a squire in a kingdom full of dukes and knights. He wonders if the king even knows the villages are burning down outside the castle walls.

  vii.

"My best friend?" Mitch laughs, glances off camera to the person next to him. The stream had been going for about an hour, and they decided to start taking questions, Rob and Vikk reading off things from the chat as they play endless rounds of the Hunger Games. In another country, someone watches with bated breath. Mitch always avoided these questions from fans, or derailed enough to distract them. The real answer was unspoken, just the idea enough to cling to in times of doubt.

"You better say me," Jerome threatens, meeting Mitch's eyes for a fraction of a second before letting out a distressed cry at being attacked in game.

Mitch swoops in to save the day, killing the attacker, and responds, "Of course it's you. You've always been my main man."

The chat floods with comments about Merome, and the stream is closed before Mitch can even finish the word "hashtag".

  vi.

After twenty straight minutes of pacing around his house, making a pattern of kitchen-living room-front door, his mother demands he sits down or goes somewhere else. Mat makes a half-hearted attempt to play with the bunnies, but they're asleep in their cages and pay him no attention. Even his dog is chewing happily on a bone, unaware of Mat's anxiousness.

Mat decides to go outside, sitting on the front steps of his house even though the fall breeze makes him want to go back inside. All his sweaters were in the washing machine, with the exception of one Power Moves Only hoodie, shoved in the back of his closet and reeking of tequila shots and the liquid inside glow sticks.

Mat plays on his phone, makes a few tweets of his favorite song lyrics at the moment, contemplates the state of his childhood bike. Mostly he stares patiently at the road, always looking up when he hears the sound of a car turning onto his street. The invitation was always there, but Mitch only took him up on it at the last minute. Mat had seen his photographs at the airport posted on Instagram, knew the weather was fine and there was no reason for a flight delay. There was probably traffic coming out of the city, Mat decides, and stays on his phone until the battery dies and the sun is low in the sky.

His mother knocks on the door—as if the entire outside world was his bedroom and she was invading his personal space, somehow—before opening it and informing him that he could eat dinner whenever he was ready. He never told her what he was so anxious for, but he assumes she can probably guess, with the way her smile only barely graces her lips. She comes back out a few minutes later with a blanket, which Mat silently accepts.

Its not until Mat hits his head on the banister after almost falling asleep that he goes back inside again, throwing the blanket on the floor by the front door and going straight to his room, ignoring his mother's calls for dinner and his father's silent stare from the living room. He crashes on his bed to sleep, and when he finally plugs in his phone the next morning it lights up with unread messages and tweets.

"Took a detour to Toronto instead to see the concert with @MrWoofless, maybe next time bless jags!"

  v.

Mitch (BajanCanadian): Dude, florida is so nice! You got to come down here sometime. Beaches full of beautiful ladies :P

Notchm: fuck yeah, i'll make a trip as soon as i'm off school. spring break baby!

-

@BajanCanadian: Getting my tan on by the pool, gotta love sunny Florida! <3 instagram.com/p/seuhHeu2jC/

@NoochMC: @BajanCanadian what is sun? is that a video game?

@BajanCanadian: @NoochMC It's a new hero in Dota, didn't you hear?

@NoochMC: @BajanCanadian sounds awful, pls ban

-

SMS [3:48pm] from Jagmaster Admiral:

Make it there alright? Also, I hope this charges you extra long distance fees

SMS [3:51pm] from Mitch:

I'm good, will skype soon. Also, you get charged too asshole

SMS [3:52pm] from Jagmaster Admiral:

fuck

  iv.

"One million subscribers?" Mat asks incredulously, voice already slowed down by the amount of beers the two of them have consumed. They're in Mat's backyard, the sun long gone and cell phones indoors, the only light coming from streetlamps and passing cars. Mitch laughs in response to Mat, like he has every other time Mat mentioned the milestone that night.

Mat continues, "I remember the early days of ASF, man. When we were excited our solo channels got one thousand subscribers."

Mitch nods, drinks from his beer.

"One million is a small country. Probably," Mat pauses to think for a moment, and Mitch realizes maybe he's drunker than Mitch had previous assessed. "What do you think the smallest country is?"

Mitch tries to come up with something clever, before finally muttering, "Your dick?"

The joke is terrible, hardly even  a joke, really, but Mat still laughs and shoves at Mitch's arm. "For real though, this is super cool."

"Doesn't seem real," Mitch offers, although he feels like Mat is more enthusiastic for him than he is for himself. Mitch thinks it could have something to do with Mat's own much smaller sub count, but he feels guilty for even thinking it.

"You're gonna start getting commercial deals and TV appearances soon," Mat suggests, cracking open another bottle and offering it to Mitch. "Don't forget about little ol' me, Mr. Hollywood."

Mitch scoffs at that, "Dude, you're the first person I'm taking to any of that shit. Photoshoots are boring, man, it's like school picture day but for hours."

"You better take me," Mat says, but it comes off more serious than joking like he had hoped.

"Who else am I gonna bring along?" Mitch asks, and a list of unspoken names go running through both their heads. Jerome, Preston, Rob, Ryan... "Duplicity before hoes or something like that. Right?"

"God, Duplicity," Mat laughs, leaning backwards so much he almost falls over. "That was a thing."

"There are things and there are not things...," Mitch begins, but Mat puts all his weight into shoving Mitch onto his side before he can finish.

"Stop! It hurts!" Mat laughs and the two of them play fight for awhile, yelling stupid ASF catchphrases at each other and trying to ignore the impending feeling that it won't be this simple for much longer.

  iii.

"Nooch, did you see how many views we got on the recent video?!" Jerome exclaims as soon as Mat answers the Skype call. Jerome has his webcam going, so Mat can see the joy across his face with every word he says. Mitch is in the call too, no webcam, but Mat can imagine his small smile and the way he tries to hide the excitement in his voice.

"A billion?" Mat asks, and Jerome immediately frowns at him.

"No, fuck off, don't ruin this for me," Jerome grumbles. Mat opens the channel page and looks at the recent video, and sees the much higher view count than normal. "Man, what happened?"

Jerome is midway through saying, "I don't fucking know," when Mitch interrupts with, "We're just that awesome!"

Mat laughs, they all do, and they start making plans for future videos and series they could do. Mitch proposes the idea of a streaming show too, when he moves back to Montreal, and Mat is glad his webcam is off to hide how big his grin is. They could do this, they really could, and it's all unfolding before his eyes.

  ii.

When Mat first sees the stacks of video games in Mitch's room, he runs down the titles in his head and then proclaims, "I could totally kick your ass in Halo."

Mitch glares at him just slightly, and Mat is worried he already fucked things up with his new friend, but Mitch breaks quickly and starts laughing. "Good luck, asshole."

They play Halo for a few hours, then pause for dinner. Mitch's parents quiz Mat on every possible subject, and while Mitch is embarrassed, Mat answers all their questions patiently. I've lived in Montreal my whole life. I'm the same age as Mitch, just a few months younger. I have an older sister. I have a dog and two bunnies. I want to be a video game designer when I get older. Yes, I'll help Mitch with his French. No, I don't have a girlfriend.

When they finally finish dinner and escape Mitch's parents, Mitch apologizes for them, but Mat just laughs and says it's alright. Mat reveals in a rare moment of intimacy that his own father never wants to meet his friends, normally doesn't even eat dinner with the family. Mitch nods and pats his shoulder, awkward teenaged male comforting at its finest, and tells Mat he's welcome to have his dad, since he's so annoying anyway.

The honest moment is lost when Mat tells Mitch his older sister is hot, from the pictures he saw in the house, and Mitch tries to punch him for the comment. Mat calms him by offering a picture of his own sister on his phone, because the guys say she's pretty, I don't know. Mitch decides she's super hot, and they spend the rest of the evening playing Call of Duty and saying dirty things about each other's sisters. It's the beginning of a tradition of weekly gaming sessions, that eventually end up recorded and posted for thousands to see.

  i.

"Mitch, this is Mat," their friend, name unimportant, says. Mat looks up slightly to meet Mitch's eyes and holds out his hand.

They shake hands awkwardly as the friend continues, "And Mat, this is Mitch."

There's a pause where they look at each other in quiet contemplation before Mitch offers, "Want to go ride a roller coaster?" gesturing to the looming ride behind him.

Mat smiles, "Fuck yeah!"