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@matthewbaudelaire
|||MATTHEW㠀㠀㠀â㠀㠀㠀so i got ten minutes to be all or nothing to whoever wants to hear , but i donât think you understand me or what i fear , and iâm only here for a minute and i donât care what you say -  original character for greywood rp by kim
@matthewbaudelaire
Walking into the Blue Frog Café, Helen held her head low, as usual, wearing her favorite long skirt, top and cardigan combination despite the sun outside. She had found that going out before sunset and coming home right when the sun was disappearing was the best compromise in the weeks when Alexander was home, allowing her to talk with people she knew and finish tasks she wanted to finish. Meanwhile he would sleep and once ready they would go for breakfast/dinner and spend the whole night together if he wanted that.
Another storm between them had passed now and he had given her a new gift with which to always make sure to know where she is. And now she pushed it around in her bag as she took her wallet out, another new gift where he would leave money for her. As she put it back inside and she waited for the coffee to be ready she let her eyes absentmindedly travel around the café before stopping on a rather familiar set of hair. As she took the cup she walked slowly over leaned on the free chair, not really able to summon a smile right now. "Hello!" she said quietly, a bit unsure if Matthew would be okay with her presence considering she had never reached out after Christmas to thank him for her unexpected present or to check on him like he had done once when he had after walked her home, which seemed like a decade ago.
Matthew glanced up over the edge of his book at the quiet greeting, the voice so soft he didn't recognize it until his hazel eyes landed on the woman. "Oh," he let out softly in his surprise at seeing her here unexpectedly. "Helen, hey," he slipped an old gum wrapper that he'd been using as a bookmark into the pages of his book to keep his place before closing it shut so he could adjust his seat, pushing it a bit further away from the table where he sat so he could gesture to the opposite chair, "Do you want to sit?" He offered to her.
She looked better, well, at least better than she had when they'd first met and she'd been dazed and unwell. He might also look different to her, his appearance had shifted somewhat as mortals were wont to do, changing every day in small ways that became more noticeable over greater lengths of time. The appearance of dark shadows around his eyes, an indication that sleep was difficult for him these days, and a pair of thin frame glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Generally he wore contacts but his frequent migraines made wearing contacts a painful endeavor so he more often went without.
"It's been a while," a very long while but he didn't mind all that much, life was busy and they were essentially friendly acquaintances still. "How are you doing?"
"I'm feeling alright," she murmured softly, her concern evident for the other person. "I sincerely hope I didn't hurt you in any way. I can be a bit intense at times, and I feel as cold and lifeless as the undead."
"You seem to have some recognition of me," she observed, tilting her head with curiosity. "I've only recently returned to this town, so I'm not entirely sure where you might have encountered me before?"
Matthew felt the edge of his mouth turn up in a quick smirk when she spoke, "Yeah, no, it's fine. I'm used to it," he replied automatically. He'd worked with vampires as a donor for years now that he felt more comfortable around the undead than he did with the living. What he didn't understand yet was why he felt that he knew her, especially since she said she'd just come back to town. "When's the last time you were here?" He asked her, "I used to work at the vampire lounge," he offered as a start to his explanation, the implication that they could have met back then when he'd been working there depending on how long it had been since she'd been to Greywood last.
Not good, concern spread across Romanâs face as he looked at his son. Many things were running through his head, the man desperately wanted to make whatever wrong instantly disappear but he knew his son wasnât a child anymore and gentle words and a kiss on an injury would not make whatever wrong go away. As he waited in anticipation, his hands were tightening around the paper cup. Suddenly, when the words were finally spit out from Matthewâs lips he sat there stunned. His mouth hung partially open as he wondered what could have possibly happened. A break? Wasnât that what Ross and Rachel did in the 90s? âIâI,â he was baffled by the news. Last time he spoke with Jean Claude, the vampire assured him of his feelings towards his son. None of this made sense at the moment.
âIâm not happy,â he commented. Despite his distaste in vampires, Jean Claude was slowly becoming someone Roman admired and felt could be a good person for his son. The wolf wasnât fully there in accepting the relationshipâŠnon relationship or whatever they were, but he was working on it and the vampire had grown on him a bit. âWhaâwhat happened?â Roman questioned, unsure if he would get a response from his son. The two never really spoke about things of substance. Everything was always surface level and although Roman hated it, ultimately it was up to Matthew if he wanted to allow Roman access to anything deeper.
The man sat there completely confused about things, wondering if his son lost his chance of happiness. It broke his heart, he wanted all of his children to find someone. Someone that brought out the best in them, someone that made them feel the way Carina made him feel.
Hearing that Roman was not happy resulted in Matthew turning his head away, the plastered smile dropped as he turned his gaze down to the paper cup of hot coffee in his hand. It wasn't a frown that now rested on his features, it was an expression of nothingness, purely blank and neutral, appearing to be at least, if they were just talking about something unimportant, like the weather. "I--" he started to say and stopped again, pausing to wet his lips as if that might help him get the words out. He didn't even know what to say. He took in a breath and looked up at the dark sky, expanding his chest with the inhalation of breath filling his lungs, "I fucked up," it came out with his exhale, a gust of emotion carried in his tone, but what emotion it was he couldn't name it, it just felt tight in his chest and at the bottom of his throat.
This unknown emotion was so strong it overpowered everything else and overall just left the human feeling numb, so he didn't feel much of anything else as words started to free fall from his lips, "I get these migraines and I take --" he stopped again, a flicker of fear rose up through the crackling numbness but it didn't last long before it was swallowed up, "I was taking pills for it... and even when I didn't have a migraine I would take it... and J.C. ... told me to tell him if I had a problem but I -- I didn't think I had a problem and then he found my pills... after I lied about them and ... and he got upset... and so he left." All this delivered in the same quiet absent tone of voice, recounting the events flatly and without emotion.
@matthewbaudelaire
where?; a 24-hour convience store. long days mean for shorter nights, the summer sun desperate to stay out past hours not her own, the dark of night creeping in later and later until she is barely noticeable till the wee hours of the morning. vampires stuck living by dusk were therefore limited to hours spent outside â and while jean-claude had a daylight charm, it had been taken out and placed safely in a trinket dish in his bedroom. (he wishes he was angry and careless enough to throw it, to lose it but, at heart, he has always been sentimental). the black of the evening has finally settled, streets of greywood oddly quiet, dark illuminated by streetlamps at the neon signs of shops and bars still open to rowdy patrons inside. he always walks alone now, seeking out the familiar sterile whiteness that comes from the local convenience store, 24/7 flashing and sending out a glow of red and pink across the faces of those entering. someone greets him on the front till, so used to the vampireâs sharp figure as he makes a beeline for snacks he cannot taste, a few beers that will not get him drunk. heâs going to ask thalia over; longer days feel lonelier than longer nights. green eyes settle on brands he doesnât recognise, their flavours and labels in languages he doesnât understand, some of them advertised by characters he vaguely does â matthew likes this stuff, itâs japanese, and it makes jean-claude think about romanâs emotional visit the other day. never in his life would he have expected to see the older baudelaire beg him, a vampire, for anything but to leave his eldest son alone. it was almost disturbing to see roman cry and ask things of j.c, not to give up on his son, to be his light in the darkness, to acknowledge his own failings as a parent. the things theyâd talked about stuck with him, lumps on his ribs, making it difficult to breathe. it might not be fixable but, you must try. and if it wasnât â if that trust couldnât be repaired then, he would have to settle for friendship. as long there was even the briefest flash of matty in his life, he had to try. he didnât know how long heâd been staring at snacks, ignorant to the world around him in those moments where thoughts consumed him, and yet it seemed that some unknown and cruel force had taken what jean-claude had been thinking about and manifested it in his reality. the familiar beep of someone stepping into the shop did little to grab his attention but, the figure now standing at the end of the aisle did. matty. does he look different? maybe itâs the shop lighting, harsh and false that leaves everyone under it bare. maybe itâs just jean-claude looking for something, signs maybe, that heâs doing better or doing worse. do those eyebags look deeper? is there more colour to his cheeks? haircut? new clothes, weight lost or gained? not that j.c would say anything other than heâs still beautiful, despite it all. it seems thereâs been too long a silence, and in a show of desperation he just does what he does best â acts fine. âhey,â he gives a lame little wave paired with a smile that doesnât reach his eyes, fangs just peeking over the edge of his lips. the vampire vehemently ignores the way his insides have begun twisting up, the sick feeling in his chest. itâs not that he isnât happy to see his boyfriend-not-boyfriend-weâre-on-a-break-situationship, itâs that he wanted to plan it out. to know what to say and how to act. âlime and rose. think they taste any good?â j.c shook the bag he was holding, raising a curious eyebrow.
There was a very brief moment where Matthew thought of just walking away. It flashed strongly into his thoughts, he almost thought he'd done it but he had not, his feet remained rooted in place at the end of the aisle as he stared down it at the familiar figure of Jean-Claude. A figure that would always look like that while he would constantly be changing, every day subtleties lost to himself who looked at his reflection every day but likely noticed to someone like Jean-Claude who could compare what he looked like now to how he had looked before.
Some body changes would be there, the stress of quitting a drug habit and a nicotine habit added stress to a body that he supplemented with working out more instead, filling his hours with moving his body and doing something because it was better than doing nothing and fixating on the fact that all he needed to do was dial a number in his phone and a new batch of pills would be ready for pick up. It was something he tried not to think about and he'd deleted the saved contact in his phone to keep himself from thinking of it, but he couldn't shake the memory of the number from his brain, memories couldn't be deleted so easily.
There would be more pronounced bags under his eyes, darker shadows from sleepless nights. He'd always been a fitful sleeper even when they were together but now that he was alone and hadn't been finding the excuse of another body to tire him out at night or the pills to aid him, sleep was evasive to the human. This resulted in his physique looking good, more defined muscle structure visible even beneath the t-shirt that he wore, but looking overall exhausted and worn out, a contrasting image of good and bad. His hair had grown from the bleached platinum blond and was trimmed and redyed back to as close to his natural color as much as possible, and as it was late at night he'd already taken out his contacts and replaced them with his thin frame glasses.
He does not respond to the wave or the greeting aside from a slight nod of his head. A show. A pretend. He recognizes Jean-Claude's actions for what they are and it was something that the human was good at too, pretending to the vampire clientele he used to cater to. He'd once spoken that way to Jean-Claude but at what point did the pretending stop being a pretend. Somewhere along the lines of hushed comments in the dark of the vampire lounge and the shared moments between bed sheets it became less a show and something more tangible and real. But it was back to being a pretend again. Matthew stepped up, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look at the bag Jean-Claude held.
"Probably tastes like perfume," he commented, sounding normal, he thought he sounded normal. He can't tell if his eyes are lingering too longingly on Jean-Claude's face before he looks away, a casual glance over the rows of colorful snack bags on the shelf. He's already forgotten what he came in for. Maybe it was out of habit to buy cigarettes.
Greywood Pride
matthew doesn't often wear bright or pastel colours but for pride he doesn't let his usual muted shades stop him. he will be seen sporting pastel outfits in all colours. he's not big on accessorizing so keeps it simple and lets the outfit and the colours speak for themselves.
âThere were a lot of people and it was a mess. But I honestly hope he just wasnât there. I would not have wished this experience on anyone.â Corey said with an almost tired sigh as he retreated into the kitchen with Matty following behind him. Luckily the younger man wouldnât be able to catch Coreyâs deeply worried expression, the older man schooling it back to normal as soon as he had to turn around. If he was this worried over the entire thing, Roman included, then he could only imagine how deep and troubling Mattyâs feelings must be.Â
âMatty, my boyâŠâ He began as he moved to brew a pot of tea first, leaving Matty to find a seat for himself at the kitchen table. âBe honest with me, please. I know itâs hard but give it a try. How have you been since then? And how is Jean-Claude? I saw that he did not take everything well. Would you two like to go to someone to talk about it? I have high recommendations, a couple of friends of mine who work at the Greywood General Hospital, I know them since my military days. I can ask about a schedule that could squeeze you in? Mental health is important Matty, especially in times like these. Just as and even more important than going to a regular doctor for a checkup or a dentist.â He began, one of the rare times Corey actually dared to be so direct and intrusive about the topic, though he was trying his best to make it sound like it wasnât a big deal, adopting a similar tone heâd use if Matty had caught a cold and he was advising him to visit his family doctor instead of self-medicating or ignoring it in hopes that it would go away on its own.Â
But perhaps it could be sensed in his tone that this time Corey was quite concerned for Matty. Because no matter how much Matthew tried to appear solid and tough, Corey knew that he was a deeply sensitive, gentle and easily bruised person. Because in that, they were birds of a feather and one recognized another.
"Yeah, it's--" his words stopped unspoken but spoke volumes in the silence as he stared down at the table's surface. It was a lot to deal with. He didn't know what it all meant. Things had happened in Greywood for his entire life, mysterious things that were normal due to how often they happened but this was a first and this scared him. He'd always thought he wasn't afraid of dying but that night had triggered something in him that he hadn't felt before. "Mm?" He looked up when Corey started speaking to him again, asking him questions on how he'd been, how he'd really been. Something in him let him know that Corey wouldn't take a placating answer this time, nor a joking one.
"I don't--" Matthew wet his lips, stopping again as Corey mentioned up an appointment at the hospital for a mental health visit. "Thanks, but I'm fine," he swept a hand in the air before pushing it back through the soft brown of his hair, "Not that I'm fine, but it's fine. I don't.. I don't need you to talk to someone for me. I.. already have a therapist." It wasn't something he spoke about often. A subject so often considered taboo in media, that someone who went to therapy was broken. He already felt like he was broken, didn't want other people to feel it too, but maybe they already knew.
Tyler patted Nugget's head gently before he stood up as well and looked at Matthew. "I don't get pouty." Tyler said, with a small frown on his lips. He glanced down at Nugget who tilted his head to look at Tyler before he moved and nudged Matthew's leg gently. Tyler smiled when Matt stepped forward and pulled into a hug, Tyler happily hugged his friend back. "I've been pretty good, trying to keep pit of trouble." Tyler said with a laugh before he shook his head. "Probably not enough water, but I also believe that is a lie. No one needs that much water and your uncle is treating me fine." Tyler said as he tilted his head slightly. "How about you? Keeping out of trouble?"
"Right? We're not plants," Matthew gave a half scoffed reply, "If I drank that much water, I'd be pissing every half hour." He parted after the hug, Nugget still nudging his leg and leaning against him for more attention that he was more than happy to give, stooping down somewhat to pat the friendly dog's back and top of his head. "Trouble finds me, you know that," amusement in his joking tone, "But hey, my hands are all healed up so that's a win." A few months ago now he'd broken his hand and really fucked up the other but within the last few weeks he'd gotten the cast off, "Physical therapy is all over now," he flexed his fingers, stretching them out and rubbing his hands together, the knuckles raised with shiny new scars. The story that he'd told everyone was he'd gotten into a fight, which was partly true and not too surprising to anyone who knew he used to cage fight for cash in a not so legal way. He'd been long since retired though, so it was a bit out of the ordinary for him to suddenly do it once again, of course the story he told was not true.
There were times, moments she wasn't proud of that Maya had been disappointed in her parents. In those darkest hours of her life, she had been angry with them for not fighting harder to live. Thoughts like those always pulled her deeper into a vortex of self hatred. No good daughter would dare to suggest that her parents hadn't fought their hardest. "Mostly, I think I would've disappointed them," she replied with a sigh. Of that much, Maya was certain. Her parents, or maybe the version of them she had created in the past sixteen years, would be disappointed in her.
It wasn't really fine. She knew that. But it also wasn't her fault. Her only sin was making things more complicated by sleeping with him. Given her lack of information at the time, that could maybe even be forgiven. She couldn't help but laugh though when Matt claimed that he had stopped expecting much from his dad. She knew that wasn't true. Maya knew too well the heartache of hope to believe the statement. "We always say that," she replied, staring up at the ceiling, "I don't even want to be adopted anymore. Then when it breaks your heart, you can't even tell anyone because you insisted you didn't care."
Matthew turned his head on the arm rest of the lounge chair to look over at her when she spoke. A revelation that she believed she was the disappointment and not that her parents were, dead or alive. He considered that for a moment, but trying to determine which of the two were better or worse was difficult even for a sober mind to comprehend, let alone one that was high. So he replied with a shrug, because he didn't know the answer and maybe no one did, "Maybe, or maybe not," he wet his lips and went back to staring at the water stains on the ceiling. Maybe he was a disappointment to his father too. "Maybe we always feel like that. Maybe it's why we keep trying to be better."
The corner of his mouth turned upward, though in his half upside down head reclined state it looked like a frown. "You're in my head."
Collided - Morgana Baudelaire open starter
Morgana arrived in the small town, her vampire instincts bubbling just beneath the surface. It had been many years since she last set foot in this place, and she was taken aback by how much it had transformed. As she caught a glimpse of her son Joey, she felt a powerful longing to hold him once more. However, the guilt of leaving her children and the pain she had caused them held her back, like an invisible force keeping her at bay.
Lost in her thoughts, she accidentally collided with someone and quickly apologized, "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
Matthew let out a soft grunt at being bumped into but automatically started to respond, "It's fine," without really looking at who had done the colliding into him, mostly focused on not dropping what he'd been carrying. He'd come from the farmer's market and so had a tote full of some fresh produce and a coffee in his hand, no matter the time of day he was prone to drinking coffee, something to ease the jitters in his hands that came with detoxing from nicotine and the pain medicine he'd been withholding from taking. "You okay?" He asked the woman, now looking up at her and was suddenly struck with the most intense feeling of recognition. He knew her face. "I know you?" He half asked and half stated, not sure where he knew her from but he just knew that he did.
@morganabcudelaire
"Is a plane really a tall place?" she countered, feeling a little more like herself. Maya had no plans to take up skydiving. While heights didn't scare her, it didn't seem like a priority.
A joke sat on the tip of her tongue, something about the world not stopping for her. But she couldn't suggest to take up that much space in the world, even as a joke. "Life is life," she echoed. As much as things changed, they stayed exactly the same. Sighing, Maya said, "Well, you've seen me. I'm alive and well enough. You don't have to stay if you don't want to." She said it with the assumption that he would want to leave. After all, he had probably come to confirm she was alive and with that confirmed there was no other reason, in her mind, for him to want to stay.
Matthew looked absently toward the door as if considering that option of leaving, this moment of consideration only took a fleeting second before he leaned his elbow against the foot rail of the hospital bed, appearing to get himself more comfortably situated. "I don't mind staying to hang if you're not too tired for the company. All my pots are glazed and thriving so unless you're going to commission something new from me right now, I got no plans."
"Exactly! I know you and of course this would work, Theo is easier all I need to do is offer quality time and he'd take it." She joked and gladly let him take it. "Okay no need to be rude. We all know it's true but you don't need to say it!" It was Sienna's turn to feign offense. "I work all day and night and this is the thanks I get?" In truth she really did want to make a homemade meal but she always worried that she would mess it up too bad and it would be inedible so Sienna went with the safest option.
"That's because Theo is a golden doodle," Matthew joked affectionately at their brother's expense, him not being here to defend himself, "He loves words of affirmation," the eldest Baudelaire laughed. Despite knowing full well it was all a joke, Matthew couldn't help but add on afterward as placating reassurance, "Yeah, yeah, I know, you work so very hard. Frozen pizzas are great. I appreciate it, really." He also didn't mind cooking for her whenever she wanted it but it was also nice to take a break from the kitchen and frozen meals had been getting a lot better than they used to be.
he didn't want to be one of those people, someone else who left matty when things got a little difficult, when the honeymoon period ended and both realities came crashing down at once. jean-claude is too cowardly to look his boyfriend in the face, glances over to see the tension written all over his body, hands curled into fists, a potent mixture of anger and self-loathing written in the way he holds himself.
because isn't that what he's doing? becoming one of those people? j.c had thought, naĂŻvely so for someone of his age, that he could he really help the other get over this. it is a harsh realization that he can't. that his endless adoration and understanding did nothing at all apart from make the vampire a lovesick fool.
"no," then he does look over, green eyes to hazel, arms folded across his chest like they would provide protection from something yet unspoken. holding jean-claude together, who's anger has fallen away to a guttering sadness he dares not express.
"i mean what i said, matthew, mon soleil. that's why i think we should...go on a break," the reaction to come terrifies him, honestly. "you need help and i can't give it you. i'm sorry,"
There it was and everything within Matthew exploded in an instant, Jean-Claude's words settled like fine dust in the aftermath and the gears that kept his body working clicked into place. Running on auto pilot, the conductor had left the engine room, a 'we will return soon' sign hung in the door outside, or maybe it said 'gone fishing.' Part of Matthew blanked and all the anger, all the anxiety, all the fear and the upset and sour feelings that had burnt a hole in his gut dissolved away in the blast. It left him with a huge resonating nothing. "Okay," he said, because what else was he supposed to say. He wasn't going to beg, he wasn't the type, maybe he should be, maybe if he hated himself less he could do it. "So we go on a break," mechanical words, echoing Jean-Claude. "I, uh," he turned his head to look away, to look at something, he doesn't know what, eventually his vision lands on the tote bag he'd brought for the useless things he'd bought in.
His thoughts go briefly to the pills on the counter, part of him wanted to take them just so he can make a show of getting rid of them; he could throw what was left of them into the sink and turn on the disposal to grind them away forever, he could throw them into the bin which was less anticlimactic but resulted in the same. He ended up doing neither and didn't even spare them a glance. "You know I.." teeth caught onto his lower lip pausing the words. It's dangerous to feel so empty, so numb, when he doesn't know what he's feeling he can't be sure of anything. His head dropped and he shook it all away, the unsaid words, with a sniff and quiet, "Nevermind."
Once he approached his eldest, there was a tiredness in his voice. The once big and jovial man was now withering away and barely could place a smile on his lips without the sadness in his eyes showing. âOkay,â Roman went up to the counter and placed an order for two black coffees and returned with the drinks, handing one over to Matthew.
Before he could settle in his seat and take a sip from his drink, Matthew was already questioning his motive. âIâI,â it was clear he was nervous. Their last actual conversation between just the two of them turned volatile and he didnât want his son to get hostile towards him. âI um, jusâ wanted to see how things were with you.â The man figured he wouldnât get much out of Matthew, usually he got two or three words out of the other Baudelaire before things started to go south. âHow are you? How is Jean Claude?â He questioned, trying to make an effort to be more active in his life. âIs the pottery going well?â
Matthew took the coffee, grateful to now have an occupation for his hands to keep his mind off of the cigarettes in his pocket he wanted to smoke but decided he shouldn't. He gave a minute shake of his head when Roman asked after him, after Jean-Claude, the name of the vampire who was ... no longer his boyfriend but somewhat still was ... Matthew wasn't entirely sure exactly where the two of them stood. He bit the lower corner of his lip before bringing the cup up to scald his tongue on the hot coffee, delaying his response because he simply didn't have the words. Maybe it's because he was feeling particularly lonely lately, without Jean-Claude to keep him together at night, sleep was hard and terrible, a daunting thing for the human to face each night and without the numbing crutch of pills and nicotine and weed to help block out the ache in his head and the throbbing in his chest, it was all a little bit worse. Maybe he wanted a connection, just once, for someone to stay no matter what he did.
"Not good," he said, so quietly it was almost nonexistent, he may as well have mouthed the words for all that seemed to leave his lips was a soft breath close to a sigh and he had to follow it up with a clearing of his throat as his thumbnail dug into the side of the paper cup, leaving a slight indentation marking where the nail had been. He wet his lips and said again with more clarity, a false smile making it's way to his mouth as he looked up to face Roman, "We broke up," still smiling, "Or we're... on a break," his mouth felt full of cotton with how forced the smile he wore was, like it was stitched on, held in place by nothing but a thin thread. "Bet you're happy to hear that. No more fanger to worry about."
Francois Arnaud âł How Far Will We Take It (Orville Peck x Noah Cyrus)
location: regal's wine bar & bistro
with: @ignislupinotuumdaemonium
Matthew didn't know if throwing himself fully into his work was beneficial or just another method of masking what he was feeling as his world currently crumbled but it was what he was doing. Working kept his mind off the fact that his boyfriend hated his guts right now -- maybe he shouldn't call Jean-Claude his boyfriend anymore considering they were technically on a break -- and he was trying to detox from the opioid pain meds he'd been abusing and still suffering the side effects of that. Namely, the harsh and cruel return of his migraines that he'd been taking those pills to get rid of in the first place. Instead, Matthew swallowed a couple of over the counter tablets with a gulp of water, knowing it wouldn't do much for the throbbing migraine around the base of his skull but he was desperate. If he weren't in public right now he'd probably pour the water over his head and lay down in the puddle.
"Okay," he adjusted his glasses, normally he wore contacts but again, rise in migraines made wearing contacts feel like his eyes were on fire so glasses helped somewhat to mitigate that, "what sort of shape are you looking for for the base? I can do a nice scalloped edge or can try to make it look like lace, or if you want seasonal ones I can do different carved designs to go with a theme?" If there was one thing he was fairly good at though, it was ignoring pain.
he knows matty struggles, it isn't something he's blind to completely - jean-claude knows that dating him means finding the perfect balance between distance and closeness, not suffocating his boyfriend yet not leaving him to fester completely within his own misery. j.c has felt that cavernous emptiness through memories, knows that loving matthew means accepting all that comes with it. good and bad.
the apologies come forth and the vampire's expression morphs, brows drawing together as he realises that he isn't sure it's the truth being told. that he even believes it, even if it were, trust so easily shattered in a single instant.
"can i trust you?" j.c knows his words are poised like a knife that takes a slice every time they leave his mouth. "are you sorry or - just sorry you got caught? sorry that i had to find them. because you wouldn't have stopped, would you, if i didn't?" they are accusatory, his heart feels as if it has stopped beating completely.
"matthew. i love you," a pause, folding arms, turning so pointedly away. he can't look into those eyes he adores. "but - " oh! the but. "i can't do - i can't do this if you're hellbent on ruining it because you hate yourself more than you want to be happy,"
The question hits hard and Matthew's lips slam shut from the impact. He doesn't know how to respond and so he doesn't and turns his face away out of shame, guilt, he isn't quite sure but whatever it is, it burns. The truth is somewhere in Jean-Claude's question to him. He wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't been caught, he would have kept doing it, taking pills in secret, a routine habit he'd grown accustomed to without even realizing it. He blames himself for it, not only for hurting Jean-Claude but for everything because how can he not when his actions were the direct root cause of everything going wrong now.
I love you, but...
Funny, how that's how it always goes. Everyone who claims to love him always leaves in the end in the self fulfilling prophecy of his life. It started with his father, then his mother, then every almost someone special and now it was happening again with Jean-Claude. His vision flares red as Jean-Claude continues, looking directly at him now when he declares a love for him then follows it with but...
I can't do this...
Jean-Claude isn't looking at him but Matthew has his hazel eyes trained onto him, the vampire who claims to love him but can't do this. It's happening, he feels himself thinking, he's going to leave me. Matthew isn't sure if he feels a rise in desperation or a surge of anger. His emotions swell to something he doesn't recognize, the curling of his fists at his sides and the blaring red along the edges of his eyes a warning sign that he's going to explode if he doesn't release something but he bites it all back down, sour and bitter acid curdling in his gut because if he lets it out now he'll only spit flames and he doesn't want to hurt him even more so he turns it inward instead and burns himself with the flames. All he's ever known is how to hurt himself and he's still doing it. If he hadn't let himself get close to Jean-Claude, then none of this would have happened. It's his fault once again.
"Are--" he swallows thick and shoves the short cut of his nails into his palms to temper the flames rising up his throat, "Are you breaking up with me?"
