#matt ocre

      “Mama, it’s only the five of you…” He says, eyeing the folder apprehensively as his mom rifles through it. She seems to be gearing toward a three-course banquet. 

      “I know, but this is my chance to one-up Lindsay!” She replies, handing him a cookie recipe and waving him into the kitchen. Matt sighs. His mom and her best friend are fiercely competitive women, and spend much of their time trying to outdo one another in various activities. 

      “Besides, it’ll take your mind off your hot date tomorrow.” She grins.

      “Mom!” Matt chokes. “We’re not- he isn’t- it’s not a date, okay?! We’re just meeting up to- to talk, and... yeah.” He adds carefully, realising too late that he maybe paused in the wrong place. His mom nods sagely, but winks. 

      “As long as you’re home by morning after your… talk.” She snickers and Matt wants to die, right there in the kitchen. His mom laughs, nudging him out of the way. He goes willingly but she grabs him before he can properly escape. 

      “Uh uh. You’re helping me cook whether you like it or not.” She cackles, and Matt has no choice but to resign himself to a whole day of being trapped in the kitchen with his imp of a mother. 

~~~~~~~

      He somehow manages to wake himself up on time the next day, having accidentally fallen into a routine of sleepless nights and late mornings. He doesn’t use his alarm clock anymore. It got switched off, batteries removed, and tucked away in a drawer the day he got home. After the war, he’d figured he deserved to sleep in every day for the rest of his life, and was so far making good on that decision. 

      He goes through his daily routine, feeling oddly disconnected the whole time, and finally ends up pacing in front of his mirror. Since enlisting, the cargos-and-boots look has grown on him. He doesn’t usually care what people think, but he really doesn’t want Harper to continue to affiliate him with the army, which is stupid because he was there with him and he can’t help it, he’s nervous and he’s meeting up with a guy who knows his dirty secrets, and today might be the day where Matt has to actually tell him to his face how he feels and if it goes wrong it might get ugly and- 

      He forces himself to take a deep breath. It’s only Harper. He should be relieved, actually. He’s (probably) not going to want to make small talk, and even if he does it’ll be about something relevant to them both. Something that won’t have Matt doing his best to not look bored or irritated. It’s only Harper, he reassures himself again. Nothing to worry about. Yeah right. 

      He considers asking if he can borrow his mom’s car, but he knows better than anyone that he’s still looking over his shoulder, still ready to fight at a moment’s notice, still operating with a lit fuse. Driving is probably not a good idea. Especially when he’s already antsy. So he catches the bus instead. It’s a fair journey and he spends it alternating between tapping his foot out of rhythm, glancing around at the other passengers (trying to be inconspicuous about it), and checking and re-checking his pockets. I must look like I’m on something, he thinks wryly as he makes accidental eye contact with a middle-aged man a few seats down. The man immediately looks away, but he eyes Matt warily every few minutes. I’m sorry, he wants to say. I’m not fixing to mug you - it’s just that I’ve come back from a fucking war and I can’t seem to adjust to the real world again. It’s not you, it’s me. But he knows he can’t say those things, so he tries not to look in the man’s direction again. 

      He finally makes his way to the café where he and Harper agreed to meet, grateful to be off the bus. He’s early. Twenty minutes early, actually. The next bus would’ve only left in an hour, and he’d have been rudely late. He picks a table next to the window and near to the door. Unfortunately, that means that everyone who enters walks past him. He can only imagine how shady he looks, flinching every time somebody walks in. By the time Harper arrives, Matt’s already had two coffees in a futile bid to quell his nerves and he’s fidgeting in his seat. Harper gives him a smile and sits opposite him. He opens his mouth but Matt beats him to it. 

      “Been a while, huh?” He says, unconsciously tapping on the tabletop. Harper nods, taking him in. 

      “You look agitated.” He replies in his even, measured manner. Matt doesn’t know what to say to that. He is agitated, but he shouldn’t be. So he makes a noncommittal noise, shrugs and looks away. He hears Harper let out a small breath. He jumps embarrassingly hard when the Sergeant touches his fingers. 

      “It’s okay, y’know.” He says softly, leaning in. Matt shrugs again. He isn’t sure what Harper’s getting at, doesn’t want to push and find out. But he’s itchingly curious at the same time. 

      “The shakes go away, and you eventually learn to sleep again.” Harper continues. “There’s no shame in looking for help, Ocre. I should know.” It takes Matt a second to realise what he’s talking about. He almost laughs when it clicks. Almost. He’s had two coffees in the space of fifteen minutes, on top of being wired with apprehension. Of course Harper thinks he’s neurotic. 

      “I’m- uh, I’m okay.” He answers belatedly. “But thanks anyway.” Harper gives him a long, searching look. Matt does his best to meet his gaze, but it’s intense and he can’t hold it for long. Caffeine is a treacherous bitch. 

      “Good. But if you’re ever not, you can call me, okay?” Harper says, then mercifully changes the subject. Matt manages to stumble through the conversation, but eventually Harper cottons on. He puts his cup down and leans back in his chair. The air between them thickens. Matt’s pulse speeds up even more. He’s probably gonna have a heart attack in a minute. Definitely. 

      “Come on a date with me, Ocre.” Harper says unexpectedly. Matt hits a wall and goes blank. His heart is hammering like a cartoon woodpecker and he feels lightheaded.

      “I- what- a date?” He asks shakily. “Like, a real date or- or just for lunch?” 

      “It can be for lunch if you want, but I’d rather take you to dinner.” Harper replies smoothly, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

      “Uh…” Nice, Matt. Real articulate. This guy thinks you’re smart, remember? Harper sighs. He reaches forward, almost-but-not-quite touching his hand again.

      “Look, I’ve had weeks to think about this. I don’t know if you were tryna tell me, in Baghdad, that you’re- y’know... yeah.” He continues slowly, carefully picking his words. Maybe he thinks Matt’s gonna bolt if he says it outright. Maybe he’s right. “I’ve toured with a couple of different teams, and it’s normal to think about them every now and then after you come home, but Ocre… I’ve missed you, man.” 

      Matt doesn’t know how to react. He’s spent the last few days bracing himself for not only rejection, but for the shitstorm that would likely go with it. Because soldiers aren’t gay. Harper seems to understand.

      “I get it, y’know. A lotta boys pretty much only enlist because the girls back home throw themselves at a man in uniform, so a guy looking for another guy...” He murmurs, shaking his head. So you can read minds,  Matt thinks, just a little sardonically. He looks down at his lap, trying to get his thoughts back together. The caffeine-adrenaline cocktail in his system is probably not helping. 

      “Ocre…?” Harper prompts gently, and  damn if he doesn’t look a little insecure. “D’you wanna go on a date sometime?” 

      “Yeah.” Matt answers, finally. “Yeah, I’d like that…” He smiles shyly, half to Harper and half to himself. Across the table, Harper lets out a breath. He seems relieved.

“Y-yeah,” Matt says, a little shaken and incredibly grateful. “Thanks, yeah?”

“No problem,” the man says. He hesitates for a moment, looking Matt over, and whatever he sees makes him add, “Next time something like that happens, you find me and tell them you’re with me, all right? Or better yet, just come over.”

Matt is stunned for a solid amount of seconds. “That’s...” he starts eventually, not quite knowing what to say. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. He has a pleasant, open face and short blond hair and Matt thinks he can see the outline of dog tags through his t-shirt. Definitely a certain type of army physique, he notes. A local accent too, if he had to guess. “I’m James, by the way,” the young man says, and offers Matt his hand.

Matt takes it, saying his own name in turn.

He’s having trouble coming up with what else to say while definitely wanting to say something when James asks, “You don’t come out here often, do you?” He keeps his distance even with how crowded the place is and Matt appreciates it, although he’s not uncomfortable in the least.

“What gave me away?” replies Matt, smiling sheepishly, and James grins.

If it had been up to Matt, he would have never come here in the first place, really. To his misfortune (although Matt starts to re-evaluate that the longer James stands there), his dear mother decided to involve herself in his personal matters. She’s held off on any judgement during his first semester, but Matt’s continuous evasion of any social life well into the second finally spurred her into action. The college social experience, according to her, should be about more than staying in your dorm drawing and pushing the opening hours of various campus libraries.

“You should go out,” she’d said earlier that night on the phone, not for the first time either. “Have fun,” she’d added, to which Matt had replied, “I am having fun, mom,” at which she’d sighed and didn’t say anything for a couple of very long, very pointed seconds, at the end of which Matt grudgingly said, “Fine,” and then, “I have to go now,” and, “I love you.”

He then googled “student night life kansas city,” figuring he might as well get it over with, hyped himself up for a good one and a half hours and ended up in a pub not far off campus that had a slightly wacky taste in interior decor and famously cheap grilled cheese sandwiches. He told himself he’d stay for one (1) hour and had just been served his drink when some sleazy dude invited himself right into Matt’s personal space, clearly undeterred by his lack of interest or reciprocation of any kind. Matt had made it through twenty torturous minutes of spectacularly bad come-ons when James, bless him, finally came to his rescue.

“There’s been a consensus that I’m a hermit, apparently,” Matt adds, a little bashful and wisely leaving out the mom part.

James keeps smiling at him, warm and genuine and making Matt feel slightly nervous, albeit definitely in a pleasant way this time. “How about I get you a drink, then?” James says. “And just so you know, I do take no for an answer,” he adds, and winks.

Matt’s stomach does a little flip. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” he says before he can think better of it.

The corner of James’ mouth quirks up. There’s a glint in his eyes as he takes one last swig from his bottle, and Matt feels his cheeks redden. Maybe that was too forward. Probably he made a fool of himself. Definitely what he should have done was just go to a fucking library and—

“Come on then,” James says, setting his bottle down, and motioning for Matt to follow, and Matt does, his heart beat picking up a notch, the music loud and pleasant in his ears.