#Raskolnikov you’re both smart and stupid

[loadsofcats]

I’m reading Crime and Punishment. Much thoughts in me

[artificialqueens]

Cheap pack of cigarettes (Pearlet)

Hey everyone, that’s my first fic in English and even though I feel really fucking insecure bc of the language, I think it’s time to step over it, right?? No beginning — no result, in the end. Hope y'all enjoy it. Much love.

“I do not want to hear this,” Matt says, feeling slightly annoyed. He’s used to it. He’s always slightly annoyed. “What I want to hear is at least one thing explaining the reason you want to be here, darling. I get it, you choke on Santino’s balls every day on lunch break, but what’s the point of waking up early every day, coming home at six in the evening and constantly, constantly find some inner strength to annoy the others if you have the nicest opportunity to just…leave it?”

Okay, Matt knows that Kevin will stay here, even if his cheeks explode right in front him (which is pretty expectable as Kevin’s pale cheekbones are just radiating pure shade of radish right now), because Santino hates useless people and because there are a lot of hot model guys on the fourth floor, stupid ass models that assume Kevin is kind of an other Santino for their little bronze arses.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he hears Santino’s voice suddenly, blinks and sets a schmaltzy cheshire smirk on his lips.

“Nothing”, Matt says, “just talking about life with your arm candy.”

“Ow, and following whom? Nietzsche? Raskolnikov?”

“More like Father Goriot vibes,” Matt smiles acidly and walks away from the room, knowing for sure that Santino’s going to eat up any kind of shit he comes up with. He’s not just a marketing guy, he’s the marking guru, although it’s been just seven months of his practice. Matt even wears these adult Hugo Boss suits because Santino takes him to every business deal, whether it’s just a lunch or an official meeting.

The perks of being smart. Or cons. Depends.

Right now, he’s impatiently staring at slowly changing numbers in the elevator, from twenty two to one, even more impatiently playing with the lighter in his left hand. He quickly crosses the hall filled with the sounds of ladies’ heels clatter, marimba ringtone and scent of hot coffee and storms out of the building, to the parking lot, a fag already between his lips.

Fuck.

Once, twice. Four times, then a couple more. His lighter is dead. Matt harshly swears under his breath.

The sky is grey. You can’t even see it under this big cover of massive clouds — with their purples, indigos and even dirty greens looking more like fresh bruises on a pair of pale knees. And god, the air is unsparingly humid, feels like you can raise your hand and stay with handful of cotton candy. Matt wants it to rain so hard the water would wash him away, dissolve his body under the pale clouds above.

And there it is. A quiet cough somewhere next to Matt, causing him to lift his gaze down and turn a little bit.

There’s a guy. In a white tee shirt and ripped grey jeans. He’s pale and his dark, Matt would even say ebony hair tied up in a bun, very messy and very, very curly one. He has a baby pink satin gym sac on his shoulder and a lighter in his hand, which he points at Matt with.

Matt nods. The boy puts a cigarette in his mouth and walks forward to Matt, lighting his cigarette first and not breaking their kind of heavy eye-contact. He’s a little bit taller. And smells like organic shampoo, no wonder why his hair looks so soft.

The boy blinks and lights his own cigarette. Matt licks his lips.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The matter is, the guy’s probably a model. Tall, slim, legs for miles and not dressed up like a Wall-Street habitué. And although they usually drink smoothies and vanilla frappuccinos whilst smoking and also smoke in front of the building, posing for street style websites, he really looks like a model. And Matt doesn’t like models. At least all the models he’s met here were pretty much obsessed with talking shit about each other, that’s literally all.

“Jason!”

They both turn their heads to the sound of a female voice, and Matt recognizes Isabelle, the CEO of the whole company in this petite woman, quickly making her way towards them on her heels. He’s see her a lot of times and Santino even told him once that she said she was really pleased with Matt’s work, but they’ve never interact properly. Isabelle is dressed as perfect as usual, milk chocolate hair framing her well-aged face, yet a little bit concerned at the moment.

“You know I don’t encourage this,” she says, pointing to the cigarette in the boy’s fingers. “And we’re going to be late, so…oh, Matthew!” she exclaims, turning to Matt. Very surprised Matt. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, darling, not the greatest time, but nevertheless, I’m so glad we’re having you here!” she finally stops in from of them and quickly shakes Matt’s hand with her diminutive one, crinkles by her eyes as she smiles make her look even more sympathetic.

“It’s an honor for me, honestly,” Matt shakes it in awe, feeling a little bit awkward at the same time.

“Really wouldn’t want to treat my best workers like that, but you will have to excuse me, we’re running out of time, honey. See you later!”

She even fucking kisses him twice on the cheeks, and Matt sees that mocking smile on the boy’s, Jason, apparently, lips, after that, but then Isabelle just grabs his hand and the two of them quickly walk to the car, the woman’s sweet chirrup stuck in Matt’s head for a long time after they disappear.

***

The next couple of weeks go as usual, except Matt thinks of ripping the fuck away all the collars and sleeves of his shirts more and more — it’s physically hard to wear anything but tees in August.

Santino claps his hands and smiles.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we’re having a five minute break now, please don’t be late, we still have a lot of stuff to discuss today.”

And the whole room of people rushes out of the door as fast as possible, mostly to grab some water. Matt, the lucky motherfucker who never sweats, goes directly to the back staircase, no time to go to the parking lot. One very smart and wise man, Kurtis, who now works in fucking Interview magazine, once showed him this quick and unproblematic way to have a minute, bless his chicken-loving heart. No, seriously, the lad loved chickens more than he loved his husband.

“Oh, hi.”

The moment when Matt is gone with the memories of his working life master is ruined with…Jason.

“Hel…lo?”

“It’s not illegal, right?”

Matt feels himself smiling a little.

“What?”

“Using the stairs. I’ve just spent fifteen minutes waiting for the elevator, like, it’s really too much for a one minute ride, right?”

“Yea, just a busy day here. It’s fine, using the stairs is not illegal.”

“It’s just special, then,” the boy says, his expressions go mock-coquettish.

“For elite only,” Matt agrees and takes a long drag, studying the boy who slowly walks down. He’s wearing a pink tee shirt and little shorts, leaving his long legs open for admiring. Dark curls this time cascading down to his shoulders, making the boy’s eyes deeper and bigger. They’re also dark, as far as Matt can make out, but he’s not sure.

“I cannot imagine how y'all wear that shit every day, I’m dying even in a t-shirt, you know. It’s hot as fuck.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I know it suits me,” Matt teasingly retorts, causing the other boy to raise his eyebrows and the right corner of his lips to turn upwards.

“I was actually talking about my t-shirt, not your suit, love.”

Matt chuckles and nods, defended, and throws the fag away.

“Have a nice day, Jason.”

“Same to you, Matthew.”

***

Matt is really fucking hungry, the only thought keeping him alive that past hour was the loveliest still-life, deserving to be hanged in Tretyakov’s gallery — a big, shiny with its fat, hot Barcelona burger, a plate of oily french fries and a giant vanilla milkshake from Mile’s. Matt takes a deep breath and opens the door to the cabinet to take his jacket and freezes under two pairs of eyes — Santino’s and Jason’s. It’s been two or three months since he last met the boy, and again, that’s more than unexpected.

“Hi Jason,” he says slowly, shaking off the confusion, but still looking into the boy’s eyes. He can’t read them, he cannot understand them, same confident, amused expressions, yet blank, matte. Emotionless.

“Hi Matthew,” he slowly answers, not breaking the eye contact either. Hell knows what he’s thinking about. His leg could be burning right now, and Matt still wouldn’t understand that.

“Oh wow,” it’s Santino’s turn to talk. His voice, just like his face, is…shook. Matt doesn’t know why, but he enjoys it. “Alright then. Have a nice evening, boys. Matt, see you tomorrow.”

They’re alone now. Matt blinks and slowly puts on his jacket.

“Um…”

“I’m hungry,” Jason announces, lifting his chin and crossing his arms on his chest. “Actually, I told him I was waiting for a friend here and he didn’t believe me and offered to take me for a dinner and I said I was not hungry, in case if you were listening.

"I wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

Jason looks like a swan, like a proud, elegant, yet offended bratty swan with his long neck, hair tied up in a messy bun again and long pale arms crossed.

Matt has seen this person twice before this evening, but he still feels like there’s something wrong. The boy’s still calm, still confident and poise, but Matt feels as if there are invisible hurdles all over him, very agressive and very, very traumatic indeed.

“So you’re not waiting for a friend here?”

“Technically, you were that friend. I wanted to ask if I could have a cigarette from you.”

“Sure you…”

“Are you going home now?”

Matt blinks twice, trying to read the consequences of a positive and the consequences of a negative answer.

“I was actually going to Mile’s, because I’ve been fucking starving,” he says cautiously. And then, even more cautiously, adds “wanna join?”

He notices that tension slowly leaves the boy’s body and his dark brown eyes soften. His arms are still crossed though, but Matt understands. He still doesn’t know a thing, but he understands.

“I do.”

***

“But what if you like another one more?”

“I’m pretty satisfied with how much I like Barcelona, thank you Ja—”

“You’re a coward.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said you—”

“Good evening gentlemen, can I take your order?”

Jason crosses his arms on his chest again and turns his face to the petite blonde with an IPod.

“Hi, yes, thank you, we’d like to have two vanilla milkshakes, a Sicilia and a Barcelona burgers, and two french fries, please, one with cheese topping.”

“Both with cheese topping,” Matt corrects, watching Jason.

“Both with cheese topping, please.”

“Owkay, anything for the dessert?” the girl asks, winking at Matt.

“Later,” they say in sync, nodding.

She pouts a little (Jason’s shady eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed) and repeats their order, takes the menus and goes away, leaving the two of them tête-a-tête again.

“How did you find that place?” Jason asks, which was a bit unexpected, because he still seems a bit tensed. As if he put himself together, but there was too much going on, too hard to pretend. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I was looking for Vivi Bubble Tea actually, it was here a year ago or something, but they moved and I decided to go try—”

“Barcelona.”

Matt licks his lips, teasingly annoyed.

“Yes. Barcelona. And I think that this talking-over habit of yours is really worse than smoking, love.”

“Is that an invitation?” the corners of Jason’s lips tremble slightly.

“Well you were waiting for me and my pack all in all, so yeah, it is.”

“You’re so sweet, you know.”

“To your bitter.”

“Rude,” he holds the door for Matt, before they enter the street, busy, noisy and so different to the comforting little cafe, filled with friendly radio songs and french vintage posters, and pleasing smell of oil and frying meat too.

“Why didn’t you buy yourself a pack?” Matt asks, watching Jason lighting his cigarette. For some reasons, their whole connection just flies around Marlboro Lights or Camel Yellows.

“I forgot my wallet at home and went to ask my mom for some cash but she wasn’t at the office and then I remembered you.”

“How nice,” Matt chuckles, deciding that he really doesn’t want to remember the Santino part of today. “How you’re going to go home?”

“My driver,” Jason shrugs. “He’ll pick me up at seven, so you’re stuck with me until then, love,” he mimics, and Matt rolls his eyes. And smiles.

***

The bitch took his Barcelona burger as soon as their order came.

“Jason, what the fuck, give it back to me, Jesus Christ,” Matt groans, whilst the boy next to him shakes his head unapologetically.

“Stop nagging, you knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

“What? Having to tolerate Satan itself till seven pm?”

And Jason starts laughing, like, properly laughing, with his head thrown back and crinkles by his eyes visible. Not as adorable as it could’ve been when your burger dreams are fading right in front of you. But still kind of nice to see.

“No, I mean trying a new burger. Come on, I’m sure it’s actually better than Barcelona.”

“You can have it,” Matt grabs the plate with both hands and puts it in front of Jason. “There, bon appetite, now give me my—”

“You know what, we’ll share.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah, you’re eating the half of Sicilia and then you’ll have your precious Barcelona half, deal?”

“No, not deal, you don’t even have money to fucking pay for this.”

“I’ll pay you as soon as my car arrives, with my wallet and stuff, besides, you brought me here, you initiated this, so the gentleman pays, asshole,” Jason’s clearly having the time of his life right now, and for some reasons unknown to humanity, Matt prefers this, not gone with clearly not that bright thoughts Jason.

“I’m not a gentleman, you fucker—”

“Well I’m clearly less a gentleman than you are, so shut up and eat the burger while it’s hot.”

It’s actually enough for Jason to just look directly into Matt’s eyes to make him take the burger in his hands. One poise, domineering look of dark brown eyes — and Matt just obeys, biting the bloody burger.

And if likes Sicilia more than Barcelona, well. Jason doesn’t need to know.

***

It’s 6th of October, the birthday of this shithole Matt works at. Not exactly a shithole actually, but sometimes there’s nothing but shit going on here. Sometimes Matt thinks it’s too adult for him, but then he’s just too exhausted to expand this thought.

He’s on the twenty eighth, the last floor of their building, in a group of people he couldn’t give less fucks about. Like, they talk about work, even when there’s free booze all around and each of them knows for sure no one wants to talk about the rises and the falls of the week. But they still do.

That’s why he’s staring at the window. He loves this floor, because it’s actually a very elegantly designed restaurant, with giant windows for walls and tender creamy lights, making people’s faces look prettier than they are. And the city is there, this endless metallic city, with towers and bridges, lights and tabloids, constellations of people and tragically lonely wolves wandering around. Matt canot really see the sky, because of the light’s reflections on the windows, but he sees himself, his bored and annoyed self, in a crisp white shirt, and navy-blue suite. He wants to take these clothes off, grab a can of beer and throw himself at one of these sofas just in his boxers and watch America’s Next Top Model.

He swallows two glasses of pink champagne and goes to the bar for ridiculously sweet screwdriver; sweet, but not schmaltzy. Matt’s definitely feeling buzzy by 10pm, when they start serving fish délicatesses. He hates fish.

And also public bathrooms. But moreover, public bathrooms with no music playing. And thank god, neither of those things he has to experience this night. The bathrooms are still kind of public, but fancy-public, with little bouquets of lavender by the sink and four clean towels, just like at Matt’s mom’s bathroom. And the soap is pink, with little pieces of chai roses.

There’s fucking Jason standing in front of the bathroom door when Matt opens it. His eyes go wide for a second.

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, you knew we would meet, we always meet,” Matt says sardonically.

“Um, for the record, I was watching your tormented breakdown for twenty minutes, so yea, I knew we would meet. I’m shocked that you’re still alive and didn’t actually hang yourself in the bathroom.”

“My…my breakdown?”

“You looked really pathetic standing by the window a couple of minutes ago. Pathetic, noble and mentally destructed.”

“So you worry about me.”

Jason is frozen for literally half of a second. Then, he raises his eyebrows high, blinks so bitchily that Matt feels as if he’s just been bloody read, and huffs with the grace of Mean Girls.

“I was worried that if you die there will be no one left to buy me a drink, so yeah, I was, darling.”

“Wowowow, so I have to buy you a drink now? Interesting,” Matt chuckles and leans on the door frame.

“Everyone here knows me. No one’s going to let me drink,” the boy rolls his eyes and crosses his arms on his chest.

“How old are you? Fifteen?”

“I’m nineteen, asshole, just get me a drink, you don’t even have to buy it, all the booze’s on my mom,” Matt could swear, he has never ever known a creature meaner in his life.

“Don’t get drunk too fast, kid.”

He earns one more heartwarming eyeroll.

***

To Matt’s surprise, Jason takes him to the back staircase. They have a bottle of champagne and two glasses (Matt really shouldn’t have drunk one more screwdriver), and now the noises and talks and music is gone — just the two of them sitting on the stairs.

“I’m actually a bit confused that you didn’t stay there.”

Jason exhales the smoke with his pouty lips and turns his face to Matt.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d talk to all these models and people and Santino…ah, fuck.”

“Dot get drunk too fast, huh?” the boy smirks.

“Shut up, I’m not drunk.”

“Well, I’m not a model. And not one of "all those people”.

“I thought you were.”

“I’m not. I’m a dancer.”

“A dancer?”

“A ballet dancer.”

“Dude.”

Jason laughs and takes a sip of champagne.

“Uh-huh.”

“Where did you go with your mother that day we met at the parking lot?”

“The premiere of Swan Lake.”

“You…you’re taking part in Swan Lake?”

The boy nods with a little smile, watching Matt, clearly amused.

“And who’s your character?”

“The evil magician.”

“The Rothbart one?”

It’s Jason’s turn to be surprised. His eyebrows fly high again, but not in a teasing way.

“I’m impressed, Matthew. You’re not just one of those who watched "The Balck Swan”, yeah?“

"I didn’t like it. I like the story of Odette more than Natalie Portman going crazy over some role.”

Jason’s laughter light up the whole empty space of twenty eight flights.

“Same, darling, same.”

“I think you’d do a great Rothbart.”

“I think it’s my nose.”

“Your nose?”

“Yea. It’s huge. And, like, aquiline a bit. Ugly, but Rothbart.”

“You think your nose is ugly?”

For the first time in the history of their meetings, Jason looks a bit unsure. He shrugs a little.

“I like your nose.”

“Matthew, honey, right now you’d like anything,” Jason licks his lips and lights up another cigarette.

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” Matt watches Jason exhale. “But tomorrow I’ll be sober and I’ll still like your nose,” he shrugs and takes the bottle.

There is silence after that. It makes Matt look at Jason again just to find the boy watching him, head pressed to the wall, smoky haze filling up the air slowly.

“Why do you work here?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t like these people. You don’t fit in. You’re different. There are people like you, you’re not the only one, but they have some reasons I at least can figure out. And yours…I think I might have an idea, but nevertheless. Why do you work here?”

“What’s the idea?”

“I asked first.”

“I’m drunk.”

“You said you were not.”

Matt glares at him and daringly swallows his whole glass of champagne in two seconds. He wrinkles his nose a bit and puts the glass on a stair.

“Well I am now.”

Jason slowly shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a smile.

“So what’s the idea?”

“You’re a coward.”

“Explain.”

“It’s the same thing with the Barcelona burger. Like, you tried it once and you liked it and it’s enough for you, you’re satisfied. You don’t try anything else, even if you’re like, tired of it, you’re scared that you won’t like any other burger. Well, yea, I mean, it’s possible, lots of things don’t work out and we have to search more, but you’re not even twenty five, you’ve just finished uni, you already have a year of practice here and it would be an honor for any other company to have you for an employee, like, you have so much potential and ideas and you’re so fucking smart, yet you’re stuck here, because, like, why? It pays well and everyone loves you and you don’t have to put much effort here. It really would be enough for someone who’s fourth years old. But you’re done here, this step is completed, go higher, you have to go higher. You’re meant to be higher.”

Silence, again. Matt wants do dissolve in these walls, cigarette smoke and Jason’s voice. He doesn’t want to think, he doesn’t want to move, his head is so hard, but it’s numb, it’s fucking empty at the same time.

“I feel so wasted right now.”

Great. And his voice sounds like fourteen years old girl’s after she found out Zayn had left the band.

“I’ll make sure you’re home safe if you let me stay at yours this night.

The boy’s…bizarre.

"I…I don’t understand this, but…sure, I guess?”

“You have no choice anyway.”

“We always have a choice.”

“I enjoy this fake-deep conversation in a very odd way, you know.”

“I bet we look so dramatic and artsy.”

Jason laughs quietly.

“I think so too.”

***

Matt is a lucky motherfucker not only because he never sweats, but because he’s also never hungover. So when he wakes up in the morning, feeling pretty much fine, he thanks god for the millionth time for this gift.

He feels the familiar warmth of Honey lying next to him and turns to be greeted with her wet black nose and rough pink tongue.

Although…wait. Matt frowns a little, feeling that her paws are wet as well. He quickly sits in his bed and takes them in his hands, because she easily could just break a plate or a glass and hurt herself…but her paws are fine, wet as if they’ve just been washed, and…and they smell like his shampoo.

Jason.

Matt briefly remembers hearing the door closing a while ago, twice, and that means…that means Jason walked with his dog.

It’s almost one pm.

He remembers waiting for the taxi and the feeling of Jason’s shoulder under his cheek in the backseat. He remembers Jason’s hands on his waist and his voice asking for permission to borrow a tee shirt and sheets. And he remembers the glass of water Jason made him drink before closing his eyes.

No one’s there in the sitting room when Matt enters it with Honey pressed to his chest. Two towels, pillows and sheets are carefully folded up on the couch, a cup, a plate and a spoon are in the sink. Honey licks his nose happily and makes him turn his face to her, a little frustrated.

He knows he has a lot of things to think of. He has always had them, this particular subject, but Matt is one of those people who needs people like Jason to tell him everything right in the face. He prefers to be blind until someone wipes the glass in front of him. And he couldn’t be more thankful for that.

The only thing that breaks Matt a little bit in this morning is that Jason has left no note. He shouldn’t have, for sure, he’s done more than Matt could even expect, no one has never walked his dog in the morning, but. Like.

That’s stupid.

And people do think stupid sometimes.

***

“So are you, uh, dating Jason?” Santino asks Matt on Monday morning, causing him to choke on his coffee.

“What.”

The man shrugs and keeps looking at the papers in his hand, clearly trying to show how little does he care. Of course.

“You two were hanging out on Friday night together, and then that time he came here to pick you up after work…”

“We’re not dating.”

“Oh. I see. He’s pretty hot, innit?” he smirks and winks filthily. What the fuck.

This whole dialogue left Matt tensed for hours after that. No, of course he’s not dating Jason, not even close, but the thing is, Matt suddenly finds himself clearly not in favour of Santino showing interest to that curly-haired menace. He remembers how annoyed and tensed Jason was that day Santino asked him out, and for sure he doesn’t know what is going on between them, but on Tuesday Matt finds himself in front of Isabelle’s office with the stupidest thought in his head: he has to tell Jason. And to make it work he’ll ask his mother for his phone number, yeah, thank you very much.

He hasn’t come up with a not-creepy explanation of why he needs his CEO’s son’s number yet and he has no idea what he’s going to say when Isabelle looks up at Matt like there’s clearly something wrong with him, but he has to do that.

People also do act stupid sometimes.

His whole plan is ruined when Isabelle’s secretary nicely informs Matt that she’s in Chicago. He doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t want Jason to be bothered by Santino, moreover, he doesn’t want Jason to be one of many guys Santino’s had.

God help Matt, bless his little trembling heart. Little trembling jealous heart.

***

Despite all the what-the-fuck-are-you-doings and this-is-the-most-embarrassing-shit-you’ve-ever-been-up-tos, Matt takes his seat in the second row, right in the middle of it. He doesn’t know if it’s god who helps him, or he’s really that kind of really bloody lucky motherfucker, or both, but he, for almost the first time in the history of Matthew Lent, didn’t leave everything for the last moment and bought the ticket a week ago, because when he opened the theater’s website yesterday to check up the address, all the seats were taken. They perform twice a month, have been doing Swan Lake for about five months now, and the show is still really demanded by the public.

Matt has no idea if he’ll be able to catch Jason after the ending. He has no idea if Santino has already got to him. He also can’t predict Jason’s reaction. But he’s doing something, it’s really a lot, because, despite his success at work, Matt is still the best at doing only one thing in his life — nothing.

He does nothing. He’s a coward. He’s lazy. He’s not interested most of the time.

And that’s different, for unknown reasons. Maybe because Jason is different. Maybe because of magnetic fields and stuff. A shit ton of explanations.

But there’s no room left for them when he sees the tall shape of Jason on the scene, dressed in dark blue tight costume, showing his slim elegant body that is totally, absolutely flawless. The music is loud and sublime, the lights turn soft and kind of silky, everything works for that boy there, getting Matt mesmerized, breathless. He forgets where he is, he forgets the main purpose of this night, he’s just there, in front of a work of art moving fast and slow at the same time, making everyone feel like the whole world stopped for a while to admire this one creature.

He’s superlunary.

***

It’s cold as fuck outsides. Matt has no idea what he was thinking about, but he’s too exhausted to go home. He wanted to buy flowers in the nearest flower shop, but it was really late and all he got was a little pot of violets. And now there’s a chance that they fucking die before Jason shows up. If he ever shows up, actually, because maybe there is an other door for dancers and staff.

Fifteen minutes to eleven. Ten. Seven. Four. It’s eleven pm. The only thing keeping him waiting is Odette and some other dancers, Matt saw them walking out of the building. He feels stupid. He knows he’ll feel even more stupid anyways: either he’ll meet Jason or he won’t.

His hands are burning and so are his cheeks. The coat keeps his body warm, yeah, but not his toes that he’ll probably have to amputate — Matt stopped feeling them ten minutes ago.

He feels vibration in his pocket. For a half of a second he thinks, maybe it’s Jason, but Jason doesn’t have his phone number. And why would he call him now, Jesus Christ.

It’s Matt’s mom. He taps on the green circle, and a very familiar warmth starts creeping up from his chest after his mom’s “Hello, sugar!”.

“Hi, mom. Sup?”

“Nothing particular, just checking out,” the woman talks with a smile in her voice. “What are you up to? You’re outsides?”

“Yeah, waiting for a friend,” Matt says, looking up at the doors.

“Someone special?” she asks teasingly.

“No, just a friend.”

Liar.

“Don’t worry, sugar, you’ll find so—”

“Mom.”

“Alright-alright, big boy. By the way, are you planning to come home for Christmas? We’ve all missed you loads.”

“Yeah, for sure I’ll come, no way I’m missing you’re pudding and—”

“What was that, honey?”

“No, nothing, it’s just, my friend is here.”

He’s really here, enters the street and makes Matt’s heart pound so hard he feels it on the tips of his fingers.

And he’s with someone else. Some guy telling him something and making the boy smile. Boom.

There was no way people like Jason are single.

“Oh alright then, I’ll call you—”

“No, I denoted,” Matt quickly turns his back to the theater and looks at the violet in his hand. “Keep talking,” because you’re the only reason I’ll be fine tonight.

“Matty, what’s happening?”

“Where?” playing dumb is also on the list of things Matt does the best.

“Matt.”

“What?”

“What is going on?”

“Mom, I was wrong, it wasn’t my friend, it’s crowded here, I’m not wearing contacts, what do you want from me?”

“Why are you not wearing your glasses?”

“I forgot them at home.”

“Don’t tell me you were driving without you contacts.”

“I was not driving, I took the train. My friend lives far and I was tired.”

“Where are you two going all tired and at eleven in the evening?”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“There’s kind of a performance downtown, you know? Like Marina Abramovic kind of stuff, it starts in an hour.”

“Wow, sounds great! Will you manage wake up tomorrow?”

Matt chuckles a bit.

“Yeah, I have a meeting at eleven am, it’s fine.”

“Okay, sugar, take care! Waiting you for Christmas. And don’t forget Honey!”

“I won’t mom, see you later. Bye.”

“You did it so good I almost believed you.”

Matt is one hundred percent sure his heart just missed a beat. He feels a hand on his arm, making him turn slowly. Every lie he just keeps coming up with in his head sounds ridiculous. What he told his mom was also ridiculous, starting from the part where he’s not wearing contacts (he’s basically blind without them or glasses), but she ate it up, she always does. And Jason, who’s not smiling or smirking, just staring at Matt with his big shiny eyes, he’s not his mom. He radiates warmth, his cheeks are blossoming from the cold, curls framing his pale face with same unreadable expressions on it.

“Hey,” he says quietly, not even blinking.

“Hi.”

“You’re cold.”

“You were busy.”

“Saying goodbye to my best friend after the show.”

Matt feels his ears burning. Not from the icy air around.

“I’m speechless.”

“Me too.”

“Why?”

“You’re first.”

Jason smiles. Smiles. Not smirks. Or rolls his eyes.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here. Ever.”

“I had to talk to you. I tried to ask you mom for your phone number, but she was in Chicago.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Santino was hitting on you and I thought I had to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

Matt hates himself so much right now. He knows his face is pomegranate-coloured, from the elbow to his neck.

“He’s an asshole.”

“I had a crush on him for two years.”

Boom.

“And then I realized I was too good for him.”

That’s something Matt has never thought he’d hear from a nineteen years old guy.

“Everyone wants Santino.”

“I’m not everyone.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never been given flowers after the show, you know.”

Matt looks at the little ugly pot of violets in his hand.

“I wanted to buy a bouquet of something white, but they ran out of flowers in the evening. And I got this.”

“Something white.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s awkward.”

“Thank you very much, very nice of you, you know.”

Jason carefully takes the pot from Matt’s hand.

“Oh my god, your hand is fucking red.”

“That sucks,” Matt shrugs and almost puts his hand in his pocket, but Jason’s warm fingers stop him.

He doesn’t feel the electricity or fire or butterflies. He feels warmth, like liquid, like butter or honey crawling down his spine. And of course it’s Jason who leans in and captures his lips between his own, because Matt is a coward and he’s ridiculous and stupid and, and, and. But he feels the heat of Jason’s mouth, his fingers holding the fingers of Matt’s, his breath that smells like cigarette smoke. And oh god. He finally realizes that he’s falling so fucking hard.

***

He’s quit the job after finding a much better place — some controversial website with 70s theme and 90s Kate Moss for an idol. They also print 6900 copies of their shit once in six months and sell it for fifty bucks per exemplar. Everyone eats it up because it’s fucking sick. He also has bought about thirteen or fourteen everyday tee shirts. Finally placed all his X-men comics in the right order. Stopped using contacts. He drinks more milkshakes than beer. Smokes more. Meets new people and explores new places. Has watched a shit ton of movies he had to watch, the whole list of them in his notes is full of ✖️emojis. Oh. And he tried all the burgers and all the soups, salads and desserts in Mile’s.

Because of fucking Jason.

The boy who spends most of his mom’s money on cigarettes.

Matt knows his haircare routine — nothing but organic shampoo. No conditioners, masks, no balsams. Just shampoo. And love. He knows that he listens to Beethoven and girlsbands. And that it’s impossible to hear him walking at home — he’s noiseless. Literally. He knows what it feels like to have Jason inside him. Both physically and mentally. He knows that Jason doesn’t have a lot of friends and Odette and Odile and the others don’t like him, they really don’t like him. Matt knows that Jason doesn’t care, like, he really doesn’t, because he’s younger than all of them and still a better dancer. They have that pot of violets in Matt’s kitchen, because Jason spends more time at his than at his mom’s now. They bloom a lot. They are pretty. Jason likes violets. So does Matt now. He would never had guessed that he’d love violets the most.

Because of fucking Jason.