i didnt rly know how to go about doing #s with my music, so i went on spotify (which is working now all of a sudden????) and first sorted music alphabetical by song name and counted 57th but that was legit a dubstep track SO i shuffled 57 times and got camisado by patd lol so this has barely anything to do with the song and u said jealous mitch IDK I TRIED PLS LOVE ME
-
can’t take the kid from the fight | implied vague mat/vik, implied vague one-sided mat/mitch
Vik finds himself pacing before he even realizes he’s doing it, taking large steps as he walks back and forth in front of the line of chairs in the hospital lobby. It was just a concussion, they said, but they were doing a few checks just to be sure. Vik’s mind runs away from him, and he’s thinking of brain damage and amnesia and flat heartrate monitors before he can stop himself.
His pacing is abruptly stopped when he runs into a tall, thin body. He looks up to see Mitch, frowning at him and eyebrows furrowed from where they peaked out under his touque.
"What’s got you so upset?" Mitch asks, walking past him to sit in one of the chairs. He must’ve came in and talked to the front desk without Vik even noticing.
Vik flushes a little, “Just worried for him.”
When Mitch stays silent he continues, “I hate hospitals, too.”
Mitch nods and tries to laugh a little, over the uncomfortable twisting in his gut that hit him out of nowhere. “Mat’s built like a rock, he’ll be fine.”
And Mitch doesn’t doubt this, not one bit. He’s seen Mat get injured from fights, dumb stunts, or, in this case, a little bit of both. Skiing when still kind of drunk from the night before was probably a bad idea, but nobody expected the guy to get so angry either. Mat had bumped him while trying to get on the ski lift, knocking the man over, and it all escalated from there. Mat got knocked out for a bit, but the other guy looked pretty bad too, so Mitch would call it a win. He knows Mat would, too.
Vik stops pacing and sits down, fidgeting with his phone and sweater sleeves. Mitch ignores him until they’re called into the hospital room, where Mat is grinning under some gauze. They both head to his side, Vik looking relieved and still terrified all at once. Mitch just grins back, tells him, “You should see the other guy.”
Mat laughs, wincing with the effort, and Vik reaches almost subconsciously for his hand in response. When Mat doesn’t refuse him, even smiles a bit and reassures Vik he’s fine, the uncomfortable feeling comes back to Mitch. He gives a quick ‘goodbye’ and stalks out, to the sound of Mat and Vik laughing together.
okay look, apparently i've been having a poetry-esque writing phase right now. wherein i write stupid bad tryhard poetry fic shit and it's awful and i hate it. you can have it because unless i decide to like it, it's not going on ao3. there's 3 things here.
so here's the first thing from the document titled "dumb match poem is dumb and i suck", mat pov, sads
you will meet him with the smell of fried dough in the air. the sun will be so high, you'll be burnt before you go home. he'll laugh at you, compare you to red things. you will want to tell him that his smile could burn you in a minute if he looked at you directly. you will wonder where that came from. you won't say it.
you will play video games until your eyes are unfocused and weak. you will pass notes in french class. you will shove your whole body against his while playing hockey.
you'll fall before you even know what tripping feels like.
you will build him up, support him. you will watch his house, water his plants, play army wife. you will see his smile in photographs and pretend you can feel its warmth.
you'll want to call him. you won't do it.
you will watch him grow so big, nothing can contain him. you will watch him walk through doors and back out of them. you will carry a box into his car and cut yourself on the cardboard. your breath will be lost, just for a moment. you won't put a band-aid on. you'll watch him drive off.
you will hear his voice in midnight thunderstorms, you will smell him at public pools. you will wear his shirt and travel so far, nobody knows your name. you will not tell them, even if they ask.
you'll still love him. you won't ever stop.
--
2nd is the document tiled "mitch sads idk", writing mitch is hard for me but mitch pov, sads, can u guess who california is supposed to be here, inspired mildly by quotes from invisible monsters and this song, no disrespect to his girl
mitch had a good childhood. a loving family. an average high school life. he graduated and moved out. started his own business, more or less. made it big. he drives an audi now, at only 20.
he probably has no right to be this bitter.
there was a time he called it cynicism, as if that was somehow better. before that, it was realism. but there's no mistaking the way he eyes people with contempt, distrust. the way he tries so hard to keep everyone at arm's length. the way he can smile and charm a room but he always goes back to an empty apartment. the way he likes it that way, private and personal and solitary.
kind, happy family and supportive friends. he probably has no right to hate people this much.
maybe what he really hates is himself, or the idea of himself that he could never achieve. maybe he just hates the way his parents still talk about college as if his success would never be enough. maybe he just hates the way people look at him these days, like he holds their future in the palm of his hand. maybe he just hates the way people around him always have a way of letting him down. maybe he tries to let them down first.
mitch is always the one packing his bags.
getting away from his family was the first step, from the country that never really felt like home even when his accent was so far gone nobody noticed anymore. but even when he got back to where he thought his happiness was hiding, all it did was bounce along to the next place. he thought it was in california, in brown eyes and strong arms and an even stronger tongue. he thought it was in florida, in rolling waves and bottles of beer.
maybe he always knew it was in a two story house in suburban montreal. in the way hair curls around ears, grown too long. in the way curses and insults always sounded like love songs. in the way his heart felt too big, too full, and like it was completely gone all at the same time.
he got himself a girl instead. pretended he was writing song lyrics in his head to her brown eyes and curls and laugh. kept her at arm's length even when she fought with all she had against his hold. told montreal about her, about the trips, about the sex that never happened.
mitch used to talk like he hated women.
he would say you can't trust them, they take all your money, they get too emotional. he would talk like he had any idea of what he was saying. he would talk like he knew more than the indifference and distance of his household growing up. he would talk like saying 'fuck you' instead of 'i love you' was the right choice.
he had no idea, not really, but it sure kept them quiet. the girl did too, at first. then it was when will we meet her and why don't you talk about her and when's the last time you even saw her. then it was lash out and break up and are you guys all happy now.
maybe he has no right to be this angry.
but he has a best friend that is trying to destroy him behind his back. he has a clique that treats him more like a god than a human. he has more phone calls asking for money than asking how he's doing. he has brown eyes a couple thousand miles away and nothing to show for it.
there was a time he thought montreal could love him too, maybe it still does. but mitch could never stay long enough to know.
--
last one, "more vague mitch stuff wtf i suck", guess who is darkness, guess who is familiarity, inspired by this asw and this song, sry for long paragraphs
you loved before him, and you will love after him.
you loved soft hair and blue eyes on the swings of a playground. you talked to her like you hated her but you never let anyone else get close. you pushed her over and helped her up, parents called it cute. it was all you knew how to do, taught from your peers and television. you didn't understand at the time, maybe you don't really now, but you know love comes in many forms. some aren't are beautiful as they seem to be.
you loved dark hair and dark eyes and a darker personality. you loved the darkness like you could make it bright again, just with a smile and a touch. you loved the darkness because you could see whatever you wanted in it, and brown curls aren't that much different from each other when your eyes are closed anyway. you loved the darkness even when it tried to consume you, tried to stain you dark as well. you loved it most when it painted itself gold, but there was always scratches in the surface. you thought you loved darkness, maybe you did, but you know love can sometimes be destruction tied up in a bow.
you loved the fast life. you loved red eye flights in first class and spending too much money on bottles in clubs, you loved throwing parties and watching from the sidelines as everyone fell apart. you loved falling apart, too. you loved one drug and then you loved another, and it was hard to not love the ones that followed. but you loved bottles more than you loved most people, and that was enough for you. you thought you could do this forever, maybe you could have, but your bank account saw red and you knew love could never be a series of thrills. you cut yourself off all at once.
you will love familiarity and simplicity. you will fall right back into dark, curly hair and a sharp tongue as if it's all you've ever known. you will do it because it's easy, because it's nice to be loved. they will say 'about time', as if they knew something you didn't. you will let them believe that they do. you will love adequately, you will stay long enough, you will flee before it's too late. you will anger people, but never him. you will say you didn't deserve him, maybe you didn't, but love was never meant to be this boring.
above all, you will always love him. it will always come back to curls and brown eyes, to the kind of personalities that never let you get away with anything. you will always go wandering back to cold weather and cold hands and a warmth in your chest you always hated. you will still hate it, even years later. you will look at photographs and videos with no sadness, but an emptiness. you will never talk about high school, about certain games, about the entire country. you will look as if you've seen a ghost, every moment of every day. you will be fine after him just like you were fine before him. you will convince yourself that you believe this. you will try to find yourself in pictures, but you will only see blond hair and green eyes and never anything else. you will love him, maybe you always will, but you will hate him too, for the things you never did and the way he loves, so openly, but never with you.
fic!!! finally!!! ample swearing as always. was originally lapslock but i fixed it so sorry if i missed some shit, took liberties with timeline and skipped things because yolo swag 420, roman numerals denote section changes, not dashes or anything else.
warning of sorts: there is a brief mention of the idea of a bomb, the idea of a violent act, and the idea of drug withdrawls. in case any of those bother you.
Absolutely Definite
nothing's absolutely definite, until it's absolutely, definitely gone.
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!"
In the line for the ride, Mitch makes a Halo reference, Mat's eyes light up, and the rest is history.
i wrote a ceo!mat and secretary!mitch thing that isn't even really finished bc there could be more written for this wtfever take it, it's cliched as fuck be warned
Rob doesn't even knock before entering Mat's office, his usual flourish lost to a panicked expression. Before Mat can even ask what the problem is, Rob exclaims, "You need to find a date for the gala tomorrow."
Mat frowns at the command. "Don't you normally handle these things? Or get someone else to?"
"I had a date for you but she fell in love and ran off to Europe, and now here we are," Rob explains, silently tidying up Mat's office as he speaks.
"So I'll just go alone," Mat leans back in his cushy office chair and watches Rob flit around with amusement.
"You never listen to me do you?" Rob holds up a hand before Mat can respond, already anticipating the negative answer. "Mr. Jones is a family man, he isn't going to work with someone who seems like a bachelor."
"But I am a bachelor, surely he's seen the articles."
"And I've assured him that its all lies and you're keeping your relationship private. So you need to find someone willing to put up with your ass for a night or two, or you're losing this deal," Rob hovers around the door of Mat's office as he finishes his speech, his mind moving on to the next big issue to deal with. "Find someone and get them to my office by 6 pm."
Rob rushes out the door, slamming it behind him and Mat sighs, slumping over onto his desk.
-
Come 5:59 pm, Rob is pacing around his office, assuming Mat ignored him and trying to mentally list all the girls who owe him a favor. The clock ticks over to 6 pm and Mitch shows up at the door.
Rob hadn't talked to the secretary much since he had hired him, too busy with important deals to do his usual check up on new hires. The boy had already lasted two weeks under Mat and hadn't come complaining to Rob yet, which is more than he could say for the last three secretaries he hired. Whenever he sees Mitch around, he always appears in high spirits, and Rob had endured enough lunch hours with Lachlan gushing at him to know that Mitch is very charming and well-liked among the other staff members. Rob had high hopes for him but Mitch's presence at his office has him assuming the worst.
"Don't tell me--you want to quit, right?" Rob doesn't let Mitch respond or even look at him before continuing. "Can you at least wait a week? I really can't hire someone else right now."
Mitch frowns at Rob's desperate rambling and says, "Mathew told me to come to your office at six..."
Rob is momentarily caught off guard at the use of Mat's full name, enough to blurt out a bewildered, "You call him 'Mathew'?" before realizing the implications of Mitch's presence at his office.
"Well, he didn't want me to call him 'sir'," Mitch answers, his neutral expression morphing into an amused smirk. Rob can't help but smirk back.
"He must love that," Rob mutters, before straightening up and eyeing Mitch's outfit. "He didn't tell you what this was for, did he?"
"I kind of assumed I was being fired for calling him a whiny asshole this morning," Mitch explains. "Or maybe for telling him to drag his balls through glass this afternoon."
Rob laughs out loud at that. "No, it's not that. Tell me; do you have a tux?"
-
Two hours later, Mitch is wearing a brand new tux and sitting in a limousine, adamantly refusing to get out and walk the red carpet.
"Mitchell, get out of the fucking car," Mat spits out, shoving him towards the car door.
"No one told me there'd be reporters and famous people," Mitch whines in response.
"It's the annual gala held by the Mayor, what the hell did you expect?"
"Beer and hockey?"
"Get the fuck out before I murder you."
"Alright, alright," Mitch takes a wary glance out of the car window and then taps on the glass, signaling the driver to open the door. As soon as he steps out, the cameras go crazy, but it isn't until Mat steps out behind him and links their arms together that the reporters start yelling at them.
Amid cries of How long have you been together? Are you gay now? and What happened to Anna?, Mat leans in to whisper to Mitch, "Just smile and walk." Mitch does as he's told with no protests.
-maybe party things here-
Mitch wakes up the next morning with a make-up stained pillow and a way too expensive tux strewn around his room. His phone is going off non-stop and when he finally looks at the screen, he sees it's 1 pm. Thankfully he has a text from Rob telling him to take the day off.
His other 100 texts are from his friends, mostly Jerome. The first one he sees is UR DATING UR BOSS??? WHEN U SAID HE WAS AN ASSHOLE AND I SAID 2 SUCK IT UP THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.
Mitch throws his phone on the floor and goes back to sleep.
i accidentally did a match thing idek sex things are mentioned sads below
"tell me to stop," mitch mutters, breath laced with alcohol that mat can smell clearly as mitch leans in. mitch rests a hand on his thigh, and the other comes up to cradle mat's jaw. he's drunk, clearly, but so soft and tentative in his movements. there's a pause, where mitch with half-lidded eyes traces every contour of mat's face but doesn't ever meet his gaze. if he did, he'd probably see all the raw anticipation mat is trying to keep out of his breaths. they still come and go shakily, despite his efforts.
mitch moves forward, a gentle contact, before pulling back again. there's no movement from either of them, and mitch moves forward again, keeping their lips connected for even longer. when he pulls way, he whispers, "tell me to stop."
mat doesn't.
-
months later--years, maybe, if they were to sit down and count it--and their bodies move together with a practiced ease. it's like when mat plays his favorite song, fingers moving across strings without needing to put any attention towards it. mitch had briefly mentioned florida earlier, and mat's finger tips slipped but the note that came out still sounded nice, just different. it's different tonight, too, much more like that first time when beer and liquor held their hands like they were lost children.
this time mat can't meet his eyes either, both of them playing a game of 'staring at the sheets really gets me going, trust me.' mat glances down where bodies meet and pictures other men, other women with tan skin and smiles laced with something unspoken. it's frenzied this time, primal and hurried, as if they could fuck the bad taste out of their mouths. as if they could save the burning building with the way their breath comes out in only pants and choked out expletives.
they fall asleep there together, wrapped around each other out of habit. mitch doesn't say it, but he thinks it; tell me to stay.
The first thing Rob does when he finds them is start sniffing the air. This is pretty common for Alphas to do--always looking for an Omega to court or other Alphas to challenge--but with Rob being happily taken by a nice Omega girl, it's kind of unexpected. There's no Alphas nearby, and big events like conventions always have scent suppressants pumped throughout the building. Without it, it'd be utter chaos.
Still, Rob sniffs around and then finally says, "I just missed Mitch, huh?"
The group of betas--Mat, Alex and Brandon--look up at him from where they're lounging on the floor in a random hallway. Brandon scrunches his face up in confusion and responds, "Mitch hasn't been around all day. He's at a signing, I think."
Rob's face mirrors the confusion on Brandon's face. "It smells like him, though. You sure he wasn't nearby?"
"You sure you're not just wrong?" Alex counters. Rob gives him a blank stare, conveying what everybody already knew, Alpha senses and scents are stronger than Betas'.
Rob looks around the area, muttering disdainfully, "It smells all salty and beachy, I know it's Mitch."
Of course, just because Alphas can smell each other better than any of the Betas could, doesn't mean they liked it. Mitch was competition, after all.
Mat holds up an arm in Rob's direction and the other boy whips around, zeroing in on the movement. Mat moves his arm around, showing off the fabric surrounding it, and says, "I was freezing, so Mitch let me borrow his hoodie."
There's silence from Rob so Mat adds, "That's probably why you smell him."
Rob eyes him from where he's standing above the group, then sits down next to Mat and sniffs again, unable to hide his displeasure at the scent. Mat thinks the scent is subtle, especially with how quickly it's being suppressed in the building, but it's enough that Rob looks mildly annoyed.
"He gave you his sweater to wear," Rob says slowly, halfway between a statement and a question. There's a lot of implications behind his words and Mat rolls his eyes.
"I'm not a fucking Omega, relax."
"But Mitch is still an Alpha," Rob fires back immediately, staring at the wall across from them and not looking at Mat at all. Brandon and Alex stay quiet.
"He's not trying to bone me, alright?" Mat responds, voice raising with his annoyance. "Alphas, especially rich and famous ones, don't fucking settle for Betas unless they have to."
There's a pause in which the other three boys try to resist the urge to list the multiple Alpha/Beta couples they know. Mat continues, "And Mitch isn't gonna have to settle. If he doesn't go for Lachlan or Ashley, I'm sure some fan will offer themselves."
Mat pulls out his phone to signal the end of the conversation, and they sit in silence for a few minutes before the topic changes. Nobody mentions how bitter Mat sounded.
this is trash and not even close to the prompt germost gave me and it's also just self-indulgent bullshit and it's MORE match shit from rob's perspective because i am the weakest babby about rob and the ending IS THE WORST I WAS TRYING TO HINT AT FUTURE MATCHLESS AND I SUCK
---
When the idea of moving in together is first proposed, Rob is surprised but excited. It only made sense; the three of them do the same job, often together, and living under the same roof could make that easier. Mat had been dying to move out of his parents’ control as he finishes his last year in college. Mitch was desperate to live somewhere where he didn’t have to shovel his own driveway. Rob—well, Rob was getting kind of lonely in his city apartment.
Rob had expected their shared house to be pretty crazy, parties every weekend and a recording room absolutely filled with trash. He expected frequent streams and late night Dota sessions, and he expected a lot of bitching about who drank the last of the milk.
What Rob didn’t anticipate, however, was the sheer chaos that comes from letting Mat and Mitch be together nearly 24 hours a day.
The first week was a honey moon phase; everyone excited to be together and doing vlogs and streams for the fans. They ate pizza for dinner most nights, and unpacked boxes to sounds of dubstep blasting from speakers.
Then the second week hit, the novelty wearing off and being replaced with the realization that they’ve never spent this much time together before, and it surely wasn’t the same as a weekend in a hotel room for a convention. Rob liked to think he was adjusting well enough, learning the others’ quirks and modifying to fit those better.
Mat and Mitch were a completely different story. They fought about everything.
Rob would be woken up at two am by Mat’s enraged screams at Mitch’s idiot move that lost them a game of Dota. Rob would come back from grocery shopping and find the two of them arguing over Mat’s lost homework and how Mitch seemingly threw it away when he was cleaning. They’d fight over cleaning, cereal, who the best Dota team was, dirty socks, and anything they could possibly find to pick at about the other person.
By the time the third week hit, they were actually fighting. Rob would be filming a Factions episode and hear glasses smash in the other room, praying the microphone doesn’t pick it up. Rob would come into the house after running errands and find Mat and Mitch, literally rolling on the floor and yelling at each other.
After the fourth week, Rob was used to it, and practically expected to be woken up every day with “Get the fuck out of my way, you suck dick at making coffee”, then hear the faint sounds of “My laundry is important too asshole” followed by “Yeah fifty power moves shirts are so fucking important” as he showers. He eats lunch to the symphony of limbs crashing into couches and floors and the cries of “I’ll fuck you up!”. Even in recordings they’re at each other’s throats, going after each other with an insatiable blood thirst.
He’s so used to it, that he hears the telltale crashing and banging sounds coming from the living room one night when he’s streaming, and he’s barely fazed. The chat starts asking what are those noises??? and Rob laughs and says, “The two brats are fighting again.”
The fighting seems to diminish after a bit, no yelling and instead only indistinct noises. Rob is relieved at first, until someone says in the chat, lol mat is probably beating mitch up and Rob suddenly can imagine it, Mat holding Mitch down and punching him and Mitch too proud to call for help. Rob jumps up in a flash, getting tangled in the cords of his headphones and calling out, “I’ll be right back! Need to check on them!” as he rushes out the door.
Rob walks into the hallway and realizes he can’t hear them at all anymore, which could either be good or terribly bad, so he picks up the pace to the living room where he suspects they are. Rob predicts he’ll find them tangled together on the floor, one of them in a headlock and both a little beaten up. A cup will probably be broken. Maybe even the coffee table.
Rob rounds the corner into the living room and the two boys are entangled, but not in a way he could have ever anticipated. Instead of them wrestling on the floor, they’re laying together on the couch, making out with hands out of view but clearly in a good place, if the sounds Mitch is making are any indication. Rob almost thinks they’re fighting when he sees them going at each other so aggressively, mouths meeting so hard it has to hurt and fingers pulling at each other’s hair. Mat shifts up slightly and Rob is inexplicably drawn to the movement, his eyes catching sight of the rhythmic up-and-down motion of Mat’s hand between the two of them. Rob bolts at that, before he can see anything else, and he comes crashing into his room and back on camera for the stream.
The chat starts racing by again, fans saying rob is back!!! and are they still fighting???
Rob laughs a little bit, at himself or the situation he isn’t sure, and reassures, “They’re not fighting anymore. They probably won’t be for a while. Or ever again.”
He gets back into the swing of things quickly, joining a new game of battledome and starting to collect resources. But for the rest of the stream he’s distracted, barely talking as he replays the scene he just saw over and over and trying to convince himself that it wasn’t hot thank you very much and he’s definitely not imagining himself between them, no way in hell.
Rob ends the stream prematurely and collapses on his desk in despair. The fighting should be over with, but now he has a whole new problem to deal with.
It's the third day of Lachlan and Preston's visit to Montreal and, not coincidentally at all, the third day of Rob walking into the bedroom they all share to find Mat and Mitch making out.
As soon as Lachlan and Preston had gotten there, them and the other three boys went up north a little bit and rented a cabin at a ski resort for the week. The best place they could get on such short notice, however, involved three bunk beds in one room and the smallest kitchen Rob has ever had the misfortune of cooking in. Rob knew Mat and Mitch were together, though it was kept under the radar from everyone else, including their families, but he figured they would keep the romance to a minimum with everyone sharing the same room. The two of them even slept in separate beds, Mat making sly remarks about Mitch finally getting to be on top as he climbs the ladder to his bed every night.
Yet here Rob is, trying to find his phone to pull up an awesome recipe for dinner that night, and this is how he’s repaid for his good deeds. By having to see, in full color and much too close to his own bed, Mat hovering over Mitch, their mouths nearly fused together and their hands out of sight but definitely too close to each other’s belt buckles. It takes them a few moments to even notice Rob, clearing his throat and peeking out behind his fingers, so he has to see Mat leave marks on Mitch’s neck as Mitch lets out the most ridiculous, broken moans. Moans that are not at all appealing in anyway, thank you very much.
Rob finally throws a pillow at them and they stop, Mat narrowing his eyes at Rob in annoyance. Rob throws his hands up and cries, “Don’t get mad at me! You’re the one defiling public property, which we all share, might I remind you.”
Mat gets up from his position over Mitch and sits on the edge of the bed, but Mitch stays lying down, hair disheveled and shirt pushed up past his stomach.
“Be quiet, won’t you? They’re going to hear you,” Mitch complains, but he’s smiling as he does it.
“If you don’t want people to know what you’re doing then why are you doing it!” Rob nearly yells, collapsing onto his own bed, opposite of the couple, in exasperation. “Is this about Lachlan?”
Mat looks at Rob in surprise, then shoots a quick glance at Mitch, “What do you mean?”
“It totally is isn’t it,” Rob continues, seemingly figuring it out as he goes along. “He’s been following after Mitch the whole trip. It’s been ‘Mitchie this’ and ‘Lil benja that’ the whole time.”
Rob can see Mat looking less confident and pleased with himself as he speaks, until finally Mat says, “So?”
There’s a pause, and suddenly Mitch is hysterically laughing and Mat is frowning in Rob’s direction. In between laughs and gasps of air, Rob can hear Mitch say, “You’re jealous!”
Mat’s frown seems to get even stronger at that, and he weakly mumbles, “I’m not.”
“You’re jealous of Lachlan!” Mitch exclaims, and even Rob starts laughing a little bit.
Mat finally seems to get fed up and he turns towards the door, shouting, “Lachlan get your ass in here!”
The three of them hear footsteps bounding up to the door and then Lachlan comes in, just as Mitch’s laughter is starting to die down.
“What is it?” He asks, looking at Mat but shooting confused glances at Mitch. Mat turns away from Lachlan completely and instead grabs Mitch, pressing their mouths together and giving Mitch the most obnoxious, thorough kiss of his life. Lachlan stares in shock, and maybe he’s blushing a little, until Mat deems his job done and turns back to face Lachlan.
“We’re dating,” He states firmly. “Now stop flirting with my fucking boyfriend.”
Lachlan just nods mutely and stumbles out of the room, confused and generally scared. Mitch immediately starts cooing at Mat, telling him his jealousy is adorable, and Rob decides to leave before they start getting too intimate again.
When he starts walking towards the kitchen, he hears Preston yell, “They’re what?!” and decides to make a detour to the living room instead. The two of them can deal with their new discovery on their own. Frankly, Rob needs a beer.
