five times kissed (is a million years late bc i just woke up & am scrolling through my dash)
Matt doesn’t have the excuse of being wasted like Josh does. He can’t call it impulsive, because he’s been thinking about this for weeks, ever since Josh put a friendly hand on the back of his neck and Matt thought oh, this feels nice. His stupid laugh always makes him smile, no matter how shitty a day he’s having, and that’s no exception now as he cracks himself up over a joke that isn’t nearly as funny as he thinks it is. Their arms are pressed together as they stand next to each other against the wall, the lights dim and the music loud. The corner of Josh’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, and Matt vaguely wishes they could be etched onto his face forever.
He’s close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, and that should be enough to repulse him, but he doesn’t shy away. Not this time. Josh sags against him, drink making him lethargic, and Matt turns to catch him.
If Josh doesn’t remember this in the morning, he can claim it was an accident, that Josh was falling and his lips were right there and this shit happens when you’re drunk. But all Matt can think about when he’s kissing him -- this light, tentative thing, after a moment or so stirring a response in Josh as he returns it, pressing Matt onto the wall behind him -- was how much he hopes Josh doesn’t regret this in the morning, because he never wants this to end.
In the morning, his phone lights up with a text from Josh. Matt looks at it, and smiles.
“Oh my God, you two are actually, physically, making me sick.”
“In my defense, I’m not initiating any of this,” Matt says with his hands up, but unable to hide the smile on his face as Josh pecks his neck again. He squirms and pushes Josh away, and Josh latches his arms around Matt’s stocky chest in return -- two boys tumbling, a game.
“This is my house, and I’m allowed to lavish some affection on my stud of a boyfriend --”
“ - if I want to,” Josh finishes, waggling his eyebrows, “And we all know how impossible I am to resist.”
“Wow, take the ego down a notch, maybe,” Matt suggests, eyebrows raised. “I’m not that easy to make swoon.”
“What from I saw last night, you’re are.”
“TMI, TMI, I am leaving, goodbye!” and as the guest storms out of the room, they kiss with laughter on their lips.
“You know, sometimes you can be a real...a goddamn real --”
“What, Matt?” His laughter is hollow and dry. “A psycho?”
Hurt swirls with the anger on Matt’s face, because does he honestly think he’d call him that? Does he forget that they’re same fucking boat here? Or did the days where Matt cried in his arms and tried to push the torturous thoughts out of his head mean nothing?
“An asshole,” Matt finished through gritted teeth. “And, you know, fuck you, you’re not the only crazy one here.”
“Oh, and don’t I know it.”
He leaves. If he doesn’t, he’ll do something he’ll hate himself for later. He takes his jacket and storms out the door and does his best to hide the look on his face he must have. (Like he’s been slapped in the face.)
He walks for hours, down dirt paths he walked holding his mother’s hand, up the hillside Sam always takes him to when he’s having a bad day, by the lake where he and Josh kissed by the treeline and tried to stifle their giggles from the old fisherman who peered around suspiciously until Matt finally lost it. He walks until the sun is lost behind the treeline and stars breathe life into a multicolored sky.
When he closes the door behind him, Josh slams into him hard enough to make the wooden frame rattle.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that I was such an asshole I know I know I love you so much please don’t leave --”
Matt kisses the tear track on his cheek and forgives him.
He cries. He rages, and he yells, but mostly he cries. He curls into Josh’s arms like he’s trying to disappear, and he can feel him kiss his forehead, run his fingers through his hair, mutter nonsense that they’ve both heard from each other time and time before - “It’ll be okay, I’m here, It’ll be okay.”
What did I do wrong, he wants to ask -- his parents, his brothers, God or Allah or whoever doesn’t exist anymore -- I want to go home I want to go home.
He runs out of tears, and he’s hollow. He hears voices around him, Mr and Mrs Washington, Beth, Hannah. He can make out words like eat and scared and fuckers and therapist. Matt stares at the ceiling like there’s something to be seen up there. He turns is over, what he could have done differently, what he did to deserve this, why his family doesn’t love him. He doesn’t find the answers.
He feels Josh cup his hand in his and lift it to his lips. He kisses his finger pads as lightly as air.
“Come back,” he whispers, a plea like he’s never heard from him before. Matt could never say no to him.
The first thing he does when he gets the acceptance letter is run into Josh’s room and kiss him with so much enthusiasm, he accidentally tackles him to the bed in the process.
“I told you, you’re meant to be a college boy,” Josh says, wrapping his arms around his waist, those familiar crinkles back on the corner of his shining eyes.
Matt kneels on top of him, presses their foreheads together, and matches his lover’s smile.
