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FREITAG 21:34
Matteo is pale and glassy-eyed when she shuts the door in his face, and Laura’s heart would probably be breaking for him if it wasn’t already shattered by the choked-off little sobs she can hear from the other room.
David is sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, already clapping his headphones back over his ears by the time she slides down the wall to sit next to him. He barely acknowledges her, instead picking up his phone from the floor on his other side and staring at it for a long moment before tapping out a text with shaking hands. Laura watches him press his lips together tightly and send it, then drop his phone back on the floor.
“David,” she says. He shakes his head, staring blankly into middle distance, his dark lashes wet and glistening.
“I love you,” Laura tries instead, and he nods; lets her take his hand. She holds it between both of hers, keeping it safe; she wishes she could do the same for his heart. For his beautiful, brave, terrified heart — full of more love than he knows what to do with, but so fucking afraid of someone loving him back.
Even like this, sitting on the floor with red-rimmed eyes and hunched shoulders — especially like this, maybe — he’s the strongest person she’s ever known.
They just sit like that for a while without speaking — David blasting RY X in his headphones; Laura in silence, broken only by David’s occasional sniffle or shuddering sigh. She squeezes his hand every few minutes, just to remind him that she’s there, and he always squeezes back. Comfort given, comfort returned. They’re lucky, in some ways. No matter what, they have each other.
At some point David pulls off his headphones, drops them next to his phone. He sniffs again, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says.
David picks at a loose thread in the knee of his sweatpants, and she swats gently at his hand. They can’t afford to rend their garments, in mourning or otherwise. “I never thought he’d show up here,” he says.
She nods. He’d asked her to read the text before he sent it, and they’d both agreed that it was gentle, but firm enough to buy him time. Probably not enough time — it’s not like I’ll ever... David had whispered miserably last night — but a little time, at least. Time for David to lay low.
Time for Matteo to move on.
“I couldn’t really hear him,” David says quietly. He slides down the wall a few inches further so he can rest his head on her shoulder, just the way he had when they were kids, watching TV in their shared bedroom. Laura leans her head on top of his; lets his wild hair tickle her cheek and nose. “Was he okay?”
“I don’t know.” They have a firm sibling honesty policy; they’ve had it for years, ever since he’d told her Laura, I’m a boy, don’t tell anyone , one sunny Thursday afternoon when he was twelve. “He didn’t seem mad, just sad. But I don’t know, that friend of his — Jonas? — said he’s always sad.”
“Not always,” David says, his voice tight. He scrubs his free hand over his face. “That’s not true.”
“Okay,” Laura says. She glances down at their joined hands, rubs her thumb soothingly over the dry skin of David’s knuckles. “Well, he seemed sad now.”
David curls in on himself, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Fuck, I hate that. I like him so much.”
“I know.” Laura wishes she had brilliant advice for him; something to say that would ease his pain and illuminate the way forward, but, well. She’s only nineteen herself — she’s doing her best. “So... you told him you need time, so take some time, and see what happens. You don’t have to do anything right now. If it’s meant to be it’ll be. Que sera, sera, all that shit.”
David sighs. “Um,” he says. “I may have already done something.” He picks up his phone from the floor, opens to his texts, and hands it to her. She glances down at the last message he’d sent.
“Oh,” she says.
“I panicked.”
“I see that.” She passes his phone back to him. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” David says. He scrolls through his texts with Matteo and sighs again. “Even if he doesn’t hate me after this, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still me. I’ll have to tell him eventually and then it’ll be fucked anyway.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Or it could be fine.”
“Historically,” David says drily, “it has not been fine.”
“They don't count,” Laura says. They never really talk about their parents, if they can avoid it. “They’re old, they don’t understand anything.”
David shrugs.
“Whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you,” Laura says, kissing the top of his head. He grumbles but doesn’t move away.
“I know,” he says. “Um. Do you want to support me with a grilled cheese sandwich?”
Laura snorts. “Another one?” He hasn’t eaten the same thing this often since he was a toddler obsessed with grapes. “I think you’re actually in love with cheese sandwiches.”
”Yeah,” David says softly. “Maybe I am.”