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It’s Sunday night and they’re almost-but-not-quite wrapped up together in the weird, tentative way they always end up in. Matteo isn’t supposed to sleep over, but he probably will anyways. He wanted to be near him, brought him coffee as an excuse. Brought him weed, too, even though David was supposed to be studying. Matteo was selfish when it came to David, and he was so nice when he was high, clumsy and heavy-lidded and laughing at everything Matteo says.
They started at the kitchen table. Matteo pretended to be patient while David finished his math homework. He lasted about ten minutes before he tilted his head toward the door, joint tucked behind his ear. David shook his head at him, exasperated, but he followed him to his bedroom. He didn’t even hesitate. The little monster that sits in Matteo’s belly and feeds off of David’s attention felt darkly pleased.
And now they’re here. Matteo has only been in David’s bed a few times before. Once, he fell asleep on the floor, and woke up in David’s bed, wrapped up in his blankets, arm curled beneath his pillow. He tried not to think too hard about how he got there.
David blinks at him, slow and sleepy. Matteo curls his arms around the pillow he stole, pressing it to his chest like it will hug him back if he tries hard enough. He’s so cute. It makes him feel like a teenage girl to admit it, but he is. He looks like he would be the lead in one of those romantic vampire dramas. Dark and brooding.
“What?” David says, and Matteo realizes that he’s been staring three beats too long.
“I don’t know,” he says, but he does.
When David smiles, he looks like a Disney prince. As soon as the thought pops into his head, it feels selfish to keep it to himself. It would probably make him happy. When he says it, though, he’s still being selfish.
“You’re like a Disney prince,” he says. David’s high too, and it takes a few seconds for the words to process. Matteo watches David’s face open up in fits and starts—lips parting, brow scrunched in confusion, cheeks rounding when he finally gets it. Matteo looks away, down at the joint in his fingers, up at the ceiling. Anywhere but him. He feels like he’ll do something dumb if he stares too long.
“A Disney prince, huh?” David says. His voice is rumbly and fond and makes Matteo feel wobbly and calm all at once. And then: “Which one?”
Matteo lays flat on his back and pretends to think about it. The answer was clear as soon as David asked. For a moment, they’re quiet, save the music playing from David’s crackly speakers— You make my earth quake, you make my earth quake— and the sound of their slow, unhurried breaths.
“Eric,” Matteo says finally. Casual. Like he hasn’t thought about it until now. “From The Little Mermaid?”
He hears David roll onto his side. Matteo wants to turn over too, then, but the prospect of looking him in the eyes while he swallows Matteo’s answer feels too intimidating. He wonders if David knows that that was his favorite movie when he was little. Have they talked about that before? They probably have. God. He probably sees right through him.
“Why Eric?” David says. He sounds like he’s smiling. Matteo feels like his chest might collapse in on itself like a dying star.
“Your hair,” he says, mouth dry. “And he’s like. I don’t know. I like him.”
David’s so quiet. When his hand wraps around Matteo’s, it scares him. But he’s just searching for the joint. Matteo gives it up and listens to his soft inhale, feels the warm air against his cheek when David exhales.
“You like him,” David says, and he says it like he’s trying not to laugh. Matteo sort of wants to whine—he’s higher than David, and he’s saying too much, and David knows this and is fucking with him, playing with him. Matteo throws his arm across his eyes.
“If I’m Eric, does that make you Ariel?” David’s voice is so nice to listen to that Matteo gets too distracted to respond. He wants to wrap himself up in the sound of him talking and fall asleep there.
Then it sinks in. Matteo feels himself getting pinker. He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. David starts laughing at him.
“You really are Ariel.” Then, “Look at me, Matteo.”
The request startles him into obeying. He pulls his arm away from his eyes and rolls over onto his side, the way he was too afraid to do earlier. They face each other like twin commas. David’s cheeks are warm and red, maybe from how hot his room is, or maybe from what Matteo said. Matteo lets himself believe it’s the latter.
“I can talk,” he says, a little shy. He wants to hide again, but he also wants to look at David, because David is just nice to look at. He wonders if anybody has called him handsome before. The idea of David not knowing he’s handsome is so distressing that Matteo almost blurts it out right there, but his few remaining brain cells hold him back.
“Ah, you can talk. Then the other reason is what makes you Ariel.” David smiles knowingly. Matteo wants to be let in on the secret. He scoots a little closer, brow furrowed.
“You don’t know what it is?” He’s fucking with him.
“David,” Matteo says, a little whiny. “I’m stupid.”
David flicks him on the forehead. “You’re not stupid. Don’t talk like that. I’ll tell you what it is, though, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and waits.
David grins. “But you have to say please.”
Matteo throws his head back and groans.
“Please.”
“Please, David,” David adds.
“ Please , David,” Matteo says. He tries to be annoyed but he can’t quite muster up the energy.
David looks at him for so long after Matteo says please that he has to struggle to keep from fidgeting. When David looks at him, it’s like he’s looking for an answer to a question, but Matteo never knows what it is. He would be intimidated if there wasn’t a bemused little smile sitting on his lips, like there was nothing more entertaining than fucking with Matteo. Matteo is hungry for David’s attention, so he doesn’t protest. He barely even breathes, afraid of letting him down, afraid of being the reason he looks away.
“If I-“ David interrupts himself before he can finish his own sentence. Then, he lifts his hand, hovers it somewhere above Matteo’s cheek. Matteo watches his jaw shift, like it does when he’s angry, like it does when he wants to bolt. The idea of him leaving right now makes Matteo’s entire heart hurt so he nods, quickly. He doesn’t know what David needed him to say yes to, but it must be enough. David curls his hand around Matteo’s cheek. His palm rests there, heavy and warm, and his fingers scratch gently against his scalp, carding through his hair. Matteo sends a silent thank-you to his past self for deciding to break his four-day dirty streak and showering before coming to David’s place.
He closes his eyes and focuses on the touch, on David’s steady breathing, on the scent of the pillow beneath his cheek. Everything is David now. He’s all around him.
“You’re pretty,” David says softly, so quiet that Matteo isn’t immediately sure that he was meant to hear it. “Like Ariel.”
He lets one eye drop open to make sure it was real. David is still looking at him, brow furrowed, warm and fond, but hesitant, too. Matteo knows him well enough now to know when David is getting ready to run. How his mouth purses, eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t like to give much warning, and it’s irritating, but Matteo learns more every day.
His face heats up. The heat comes from somewhere deep in his belly, embarrassed but pleased. “I’m not,” he argues, but it’s weak. It’s selfish; he says it because he wants to hear David tell him otherwise.
David’s hand slips lower, rests in the space where his neck meets his jaw. His thumb rubs down his jaw, across the stubborn patch of acne near his chin, stops at the very corner of his mouth. Matteo lets his mouth fall open just a little bit, acts like it’s a mistake, like it isn’t an invitation.
“You’re so pretty,” David says again, unrelenting. It’s always a battle of wills with them. Usually, Matteo would fight back, push until David had to shut him up another way, hands around his wrist, pushing him against a wall or the floor or the kitchen counter. Matteo is selfish. He’s learned to be okay with that.
Matteo only hums at that, tries to make it sound noncommittal. He doesn’t really see it, but he basks in it anyway, because he can never receive too much of David’s attention. It’s almost pathetic, sometimes, the lengths he’ll go to to get David to look at him.
“You are,” David insists, even though Matteo never argued. “And you like me.”
Matteo wanted to hide his face again, but David’s hand was still there, so close to his mouth, like he knew Matteo wanted to run from him.
“Did you lose your voice?” Matteo hesitates, then nods. David’s thumb shifts, slides against his bottom lip and stays there. It feels like something is going to happen. Matteo might die with the waiting.
“I haven’t seen that movie in a long time. I don’t remember a lot of it, but—“ David stops, bites at the inside of his cheek like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s trying to make up his mind. Matteo will make it up for him—he lets his lips part further beneath David’s thumb, slides his knee along the bed until it bumps against David’s. He lets it stay there. An invitation, if he wants it.
David kisses him. His hand slips from his jaw and curls around the back of Matteo’s neck, pulls him closer across the gulf of the bed. David tastes like the coffee Matteo brought him and something else that Matteo thinks is permanent and unique to him, something he can’t really describe, but wants more of it nonetheless. When they pull apart, Matteo doesn’t let him go far—it would be easy for David to run now, probably, if he knows how David operates. Matteo tucks his head beneath David’s chin and presses his face into his neck, lips against his throat, relishing in the feeling of being small and wrapped up in David. He feels it when David laughs, the low rumble that starts in his chest and up his throat until it pours from his mouth.
“You’re laughing at me,” Matteo says, and tries to scowl, but gets distracted with David’s hand on his waist.
“I’m laughing at me. That was the cheesiest fucking thing I’ve ever said,” David says, sighs out like he’s embarrassed.
“Hey. Shut up. I liked it so much,” Matteo says, brow furrowed. “And look. I can talk now.”
David laughs at him that time, leans down and kisses him again like he was afraid of being too rough with him the first time. Matteo isn’t used to being touched like he’s something delicate, something that could be broken. It was like—Sara expected him to be a boy with her. A boy-boy. Matteo was never good at that. He liked being held. He liked feeling taken care of. David kissed him like knew that. And Matteo didn’t have to think about it before he kissed him back. It was like breathing.
***
He falls asleep in the curve of David’s body that night, his back against David’s chest, lulled to sleep by the up-and-down rhythm of David’s breathing. David’s still awake when he drifts off, and he knows this because his hand keeps drifting up and down his hipbone, thumb pressing into the soft skin of his belly and tracing around his waist. It wasn’t a suggestion or an invitation. It didn’t make Matteo feel like he owed him something. They were just existing together.
“You wanna be my boyfriend,” David hums into his ear, lips brushing against his hair.
”Mhm,” Matteo mumbles, too drowdy to be embarrassed. “Wanna be your boyfriend. Don’t be gone when I wake up.”
“What if I am?” David is soft, teasing, but Matteo is too tired to find the humor in it. He whines wordlessly and paws gracelessly for David’s face, pats his cheek with the back of his hand like it’s a warning.
“Kidding. Always kidding. I’m not going anywhere.”
”Promise?” It’s stupid and childish and insecure, but David doesn’t laugh at him like Matteo worried he would. He hucd’s warm air against the back of his neck, palm warm, hand resting in the soft dip of Matteo’s waist.
“Promise,” David says, so gentle, so fond.