#chapter two yeeeeeew

[viskovie]

Almost Like Family

Chapter I

Chapter II                                            (TW: heavily implied PTSD)

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      As the arranged date of his meeting with Harper draws closer, Matt finds himself becoming more and more restless. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a false deadline; like he’s walking underwater. It’s nagging at the back of his mind. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like he owes Harper anything. Does he? Then he remembers that Harper is probably going to bring up their conversation at the end of the tour and he has to distract himself before he gets that empty feeling in his stomach. 

      A few days before their reunion (he refuses to even think of it as anything resembling a date) his mom suddenly announces that she’s going to be hosting a lunch for all her writing-club friends. It’ll be on the same day that he’s supposed to be meeting with Harper, but somehow he still gets roped into helping his mom cook. He wonders for a moment if she actually believes that he only worked in the kitchens during his time in Iraq but is immediately corrected when she hauls out her recipe folder. It’s stuffed to bursting with bits and pieces torn from magazines, hastily printed webpages, glossy pamphlets and delicate scraps of paper covered in his grandmother’s shaky handwriting. Matt’s heart sinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Good. Gimme your address so I can pick you up on... Friday?” He grins. Matt’s own smile broadens as they work out the details. He guesses he got all worked up for nothing. The adrenaline is starting to dissipate. Another coffee is in order, it seems.