Work Text:
The last days of may, Matteo thinks, should seriously consider coming back to normality.
The sun winks at him a moment and disappears the next, replaced by midsummer-like thunderstorms. Not that he doesn’t like thunderstorms, he just prefers the quietness of sweet summer mornings when the sun smiles and nothing else moves in the sky, when everything wakes slowly and everyone is a little drowsy because of the heat. Like, you know, how it actually should be in May.
(And, yes. He’s trying not to think about these very evident consequences of climate change, okay?)
Those mornings remind him of Italy, of long car travels with his parents, when everything was still all right, and his father put on a breezy italian singer he liked and his mother laughed out loud and he opened the window and let his fingers catch the running wind.
He remembers driving to the coast and feverishly looking out of the window to see the sea, whoever glimpsed the glittering blue first got to decide what to eat for dinner, no matter that it almost always ended up being pizza.
He remembers the sound of cicadas in the night and the slightly nauseating smell of the anti-mosquito spray on his skin.
The stifling heat, the sticky sweetness of aranciata and the sky full of constellations: his father showed him how to recognise them, his mother told him the ancient stories behind them.
Her voice full of wonder told strange tales of monsters and heroes.
He still knows every single one of them and even now when he goes away from Berlin for a few days he stays up late to see if he can find them in the sky again. He always does.
It’s strange to think that those times won’t happen again, never again.
It’s strange and it comes with a kind of hurt that goes deep and stays heavy on the chest, like a nightmare, a monster that looks at you while you sleep, its big eyes awake and uncaring. He calls it the Heaviness, a familiar sort of pain.
Sometimes Matteo wakes up in the night and shakes his head, trying to get all those memories and thoughts to stop, to forget the dead and absent eyes his mother had when his father left, his father’s cold and detached voice when they fought.
All the days spent alone, trying to get her to do anything else but stay in bed. And then again, all the days spent alone in his own room, smoking and looking at empty walls, trying to get up, to move, to talk, to do anything at all but waste away.
And yet, as much as he presses his eyes close, the Heaviness stays. Almost like an old friend it comes back to him expecting him to greet it and to let it in. To feed it and to give it a place to stay. And he always does. He doesn’t know how not to.
As he bikes home from Jonas’ he wonders if this is how he’ll always feel, always, always so heavy. There isn’t even a reason, but one moment he feels great and the next he feels ....bad. It comes and it goes and when it stays, it makes everything so damn difficult.
But it’s not that bad, anyway.
Well, yes, of course he hates himself. And he is stupid and useless most of the times and yes, he wishes he could disappear almost every single day. But everyone must feel like this, it’s completely normal to feel like shit. He isn’t special, it’s just the human condition.
Matteo snorts.
He makes a turn and a car homps at him. He ignores it. How could anyone not feel like shit in this body, in this skin, he wonders, how could anybody like themselves if they were Matteo, anyway?
Something bitter fills his mouth. He bikes faster.
Yes, yes. He does know that he should maybe talk to someone about this to feel better. But is it really worth it? Is he really worth it? Why should he be allowed to feel better, anyway, if so many others who are so much better people than him have it so much worse?
Does he even deserve to feel better?
The road goes down and his hands let go of the brakes, the bike runs and runs and he feels the wind in his hair and in his face, cutting sharply into the skin and making his eyes tear up. The world goes blurry, almost disappears.
A great emptiness is rolling in waves in his stomach.
He really isn’t worth it, nobody should be forced to sit and listen to him cry over himself and his little, unimportant problems. He had hinted at it once to David and the worried look he had received was too much.
He wants to deal with this on his own, because it’s his own problem, and not even much of a problem anyway.
The Heaviness will go away again. And if there are days where he cannot possibly look at himself in the mirror or bring himself to eat something or get out of bed or generally feel like a person, well then. Then he will deal with it on his own, nobody should feel like they have to take care of him.
Nobody should need to kneel to see how fucking far he’s sinking down.
*
They lie in the park, drinking beer and exchanging random talk, the sky is blue and wide and Matteo is drowsily listening to his friends while he keeps his eyes closed, feeling peaceful.
Carlos is rambling about a new hobby of his, “I mean, I already tried out flamenco lessons with Kiki and while that was pretty fun and there were some pretty hot moments, I also kind of want to try dancing alone? What do you think, is that dumb?”
“I mean, everything you do is dumb, but that sounds great, brudi. You should cultivate your talents.”
“Thanks, Jonas. I just can feel the rythm in my bones, you know?”
“I mean, you know you will have to shake your booty for us too, yes? Don’t keep all the sexy moves for Kiki alone, man.”
“Yes Abdi, my love, I will not deprive you of any sexy Carlos time.”
He hears David move slightly, fom where Matteo has put his head in his lap.
“What kind of dancing were you thinking of doing?”
“Well, man, I sure like hip-hop and that stuff but also, aerobics just looks so fun, you know? Like it really frees your limbs and soul and shit. Also, the pop music they use just slaps.”
Matteo grins, keeping his eyes closed.
“Dude, that’s so gay.”
David catches the occasion, as Matteo knew he would, “Yes, it is. Carlos, I completely approve.” His friends whoop. Best gay allies ever.
The air is too hot but David’s lap is comfortable and Matteo feels like there is no other place on earth where he would like to be at the moment.
*
As he stands in the supermarket aisle looking at all the different types of cereal he tries not to dwell on the black hole inside of his stomach.
He takes a carton in his hands, reads the ingredients and tries to concentrate on the loopy writing. Apparently, he’s holding “the flaky sugary sensation of crunchy nuts in the morning”. Matteo facepalms.
He wants to make David dinner tonight, because that’s what he’s good for in their little shared household, so he has to find something other than the crunchy nuts too, as fascinating as those sound.
He throws in them in the carry, thinking David will get a good laugh out of it the next morning, and drags his feet to the next aisle.
It has become a ritual of sorts for them, to buy the funniest or strangest cereals one could get. These aren’t really the best contenders, being quite normal looking.
In fact, David once triumphantly dragged home a carton of pink flamingo shaped ones and really, maybe only the ones that looked like little, extravagantly gay rainbows Matteo found the time after could top those.
But the name is innuendo-inspiring enough and Matteo somehow can’t concentrate enough to look for any others, so they will have to do.
He really likes it though, that he and David have developed their little inside jokes and rituals.
It comforts him to think about them, it reminds him of all the good times they spend together, all the times he isn’t alone and doesn’t need to be.
All the times someone as strange and wonderful as David chooses to spend his time with his little boring self, of all people.
*
Sometimes he stares at nothing for hours and doesn’t realise that the day has gone away, like ash losing itself in air.
And he wakes up only because the door opens and David calls out his name and Matteo realises he hasn’t done anything he was supposed to do today and he hates himself for it, he hates himself so much he wants to disappear, become nothing at all.
But the ground isn’t soft enough to sink into it, it seems, and Matteo still has a body and a name, so David still sees him when he comes into his room and his eyes are worried and he doesn’t understand, he says, what’s wrong, he asks, and no, there’s nothing wrong but everything hurts and no, he doesn’t deserve this, not his good David and Matteo can’t bear the softness in his voice and in his hands when he reaches out for him.
Breathing becomes difficult, the Heaviness settles into his chest and presses down as much as it can and Matteo feels tears in his eyes, his heart beats so fast it could burst and Matteo just wants to be invisible, to be gone, to be nothing. Be ash losing itself in air.
But his body stays heavy and present and Matteo still can’t open his mouth to tell David that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t want to be like this and that he doesn’t know why.
He can’t talk or move or think and he hates himself so much for putting David and all his friends through this, again and again and again.
*
Once he had a dream that got stuck in his mind for a week. He’s walking through a field of olive trees, like the one his grandmother had in italy.
It’s midday, he knows this because in his dream he can read what hour it is in the shadows of the sun, and everything is silent.
The wind brushes through the silver leaves, whispering secrets, and Matteo walks and walks, looking for something, though he doesn’t know what.
Finally, there’s a warm voice that calls out his name, though it sounds different, it sounds beautiful in that voice, not at all like his name.
So Matteo turns and there he stands, obviously, his David. He looks like an ancient soul in the mids of all those centuries old trees, he looks like a statue or a hero or a god. A saviour, perhaps.
He smiles at him and reaches out a hand and Matteo starts walking towards him, but with every step forwards the wind’s whispers grow louder and David seems farther and farther away.
Matteo starts to run and the sky darkens, still David smiles at him, dark eyes calm and sure. A storm breaks out and wet drops make it harder for Matteo to see him, it thunders snd there are lighting bolts, trees fall down and the wind keeps calling and Matteo’s cowardly soul wants to hide somewhere, to put its head under its arms and wait until the storm comes down.
But David still stands sure and still looks at him, his hand outstretched, the silver leaves flying around him like a cloud of moths.
Matteo stumbles and falls and that’s when he wakes up, feeling helpless and lost and alone.
But then he feels a warm body beside him and a sleepy voice croaks out his name. Matteo turns and there he is, his David, real and human and true. And hugging all the blankets.
“Everything okay?” He asks, with half lidded eyes, and raises a hand to brush Matteo’s hair away from his forehead. Matteo feels sticky with cold sweat.
“You’re burning up.”
Matteo sighs, “Just a bad dream.”
David blinks awake and furrows his brows, “Want to talk about it?”
Matteo shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”
David doesn’t look half convinced, even in his confused, i-just-got-catapulted-out-of-my-well-deserved-sleep status.
Matteo mentally tramples down his anxious feeling of guilt, and grins, tackling his beautiful, sleepy boyfriend. “Yes. Now give me some of the blankets, asshole.”
David goes down laughing. He doesn’t even stand a chance.
*
Amira stands in the kitchen, a tea mug in her hands and a strange expression on her face, having just been verbally wrestled into guest exilium, away from any form of household duties. Matteo shuffles beside her, putting away the used dishes.
“You know”, she says, “It’s so funny to think about how time passes. Just two days ago it seems we were in highschool, dragging ourselves through daily tortures, and now look at us, we’re actual adults.”
Matteo scrubs at a particularly insistent spot of tomato sauce, “Still dragging ourselves through daily tortures, but hey, they’re new and unexpected ones that actually have serious consequences on our life.” He says, dryly.
He looks up at her, making the form of a 0 with his soapy fingers, “just nice.”
Amira hits him, but she’s smiling. “Well, yes, dude, but. But, we actually are capable individuals, more or less! You have your own flat with David, you have a job, I am following my dreams at uni. It’s all good for us, isn’t it? How incredible. We actually did alright.”
Matteo manages to defeat the stain, “Don’t use the past form, it isn’t over yet.”
He wonders what exactly it is. He also wonders how seriously he should take Amira when she’s holding a mug with a pink middle finger on it (and yes it’s his favorite mug, a moving away gift from Mia).
Amira rubs a finger over her left eyebrow. “I’m just proud of us, I guess. Sometimes it’s difficult to see the good things, the good parts of whatever we’re living through now. But think about all the stuff we’ve been through, man. We’re practically invincible. Unbreakable.” She shakes his shoulder a little while she says this, and he has to grin, too.
Unbreakable isnt really a word he’d use about himself, but Amira deserves it completely.
They’ve bonded about this too, after the end of school and biology study sessions, how to battle depression and anxiety (Matteo has been opening up to her very slowly and with lots of baklava accompanied meetings) which has resulted in Amira coming by to eat with them almost weekly.
Sometimes it’s just Amira and Matteo, eating pasta and talking about everything or sitting on the balcon, Matteo smoking a cigarette and Amira telling him about all the damage it’s going to do to his lungs, with researched statistics and everything.
In those moments the world sits still, quiet and silent for a moment, and Matteo is happy to have another friend, who’s so different but understands him so well.
He still can’t believe that strong Amira, funny Amira, chill Amira, Amira the actual queen, feels so anxious she could puke sometimes, or so depressed that she won’t talk to anyone for days. And yet she’s told him about so many things -him- and after a while he felt like he could tell her things too.
Mostly because the looks he receives are not looks of pity or worry, but of understanding.
That’s why often they are alone when she comes by, but other times they’re joined by David, who smiles a lot and gets on super well with Amira from the start and who makes everything better by just being there, because that’s just what he does.
The two of them have actually developed a friendship based on two main principles: 1) how weird white people are, and 2) what a dumbass Matteo is. Both constitute a surprisingly big amount of material to discuss, as it always keeps coming up with new evidence they feel the impelling need to share when they see each other.
But when David’s with them, Matteo struggles to talk about the Heaviness, or, well, the depression, as Amira so plainly and easily calls it. He doesn’t want David to hear about this part of him, he doesn’t want him to worry or feel bad about him, to pity him.
But David’s found him in really bad conditions and David has always treated him with the same love and gentleness, not ever expecting more than Matteo could give. It’s time for Matteo to open up, too. Maybe.
The sound of fingers snapping bring him back to the present.
Amira is looking at him, “World to Matteo. Where did you go?”
Matteo shakes his head free of his daunting thoughts. “‘Tschuldigung, what were you saying?”
Amira taps her fingers in a rythm on the licentious mug, suddendly looking red and uncharacteristically shy.
Matteo begins to grin. “....Amira? Dude? What is it?” He has a feeling that this must be good.
Amira looks down, but the corners of her mouth are turning up. “I’ve been talking to this really cute girl and we sort of have a date tomorrow-“
Matteo whoops and throws his arms around her.
His hands are still wet but she doesn’t seem to mind, because as much as she tries to pat him away she just can’t stop laughing.
They talk about gay feelings for the rest of the evening and any semblance of Serious Adult Thoughts go for a stroll outside in the hot evening air of May.
*
Matteo and David wake up together, their limbs are entangled.
Matteo and David pack their things together, various items are thrown and bodies are hit with toothbrushes and underwear.
Matteo and David get out of their flat together, the door shuts with a click and a giggly kiss is exchanged.
Matteo and David take the s-bahn together, fingers interlaced hidden by the bags.
The light outside is clear and the world is still waking up, the most beautiful man in the world grins toothily at Matteo and Matteo feels unexplicably and immensely proud.
“The first thing you need to do when we get there is showing me how to do a handstand. I still can’t believe you’re actually and secretely that sporty.”
Yes, Matteo has various hidden talents, one of which derives from four years of circus training when he was younger. The only sort of sport he ever did, really. The juggling is always a surprisingly great hit at parties. A pity he can’t run or climb or do any other form of physical activity, even if his life depended on it.
But nobody needs to know that (they almost certainly all already do).
“Can’t handle me being better than you at something, huh?” Matteo leans forwards so that their noses are almost touching.
David raises his eyebrows, and shoves him away, putting a finger on his forehead, “Oh, no, no herr Florenzi, I just think someone with such talent should share it with others and not hold it just for himself, that would be simply egoistical, really.”
Matteo snorts. “You couldn’t even believe me when I told you I could do a handstand. You laughed at me for days.”
David smiles. “And then you went and actually did one on the sidewalk to prove me wrong. I was stunned for weeks.” The feeling of pride swells up again. “A pity you idiot shaved your hands in the process because you forgot that we were, you know, on a sidewalk.”
David’s eyes are twinkling with a slightly devilish but also very attractive glint.
Matteo loves him so much.
He takes his hand dramatically away and turns his head in the other direction, pretending to be offended.
He hears David laughing, “No, Matteo, please. You’re the best handstander I know, also the only one, but I assure you that doesn’t mean anything!”
Matteo tries to stop smiling, ignoring him.
“Come now, you know I find your circus talents incredibly cool,” David takes his hand again and swiftly presses a kiss to his knuckles, “you’re the only clown in my life.”
Matteo turns his head to glare at him, David is biting his lips, trying not to grin, “And you know I’ll always be there to clean up your shaved up hands. You’re my dumbass.”
He says it with so much affection that Matteo has to lean in again, just to give him an eskimo kiss. He mumbles, “I guess I can accept all this disrespect towards my outstanding abilities, then. “
“And you’ll also show me how to do it?”
“Yes, mr-i-must-be-good-at-everything-or-else-i-will-surely-die-Schreibner. Good thing we’ll be on the beach, though, because you’ll fall on your sorry ass more times than I can count.” He raises a finger, “I’ll have you know that handstanding is an art, not everyone can do it.”
“Of course. I will try very, very hard not to be offended when I won’t be able to catch up with your talents.”
Matteo and David sit in a train together, going for the weekend at the lake, and the softest of grins are exchanged.
*
There’s moments when time stops, just for a second, and it seems like all of eternity is holding its breath.
Moments when it feels like the planets are alligning and whatever great entity there is up there is distracted enough to forget to assure the passing of time.
Moments when everything fits just right and Matteo feels like something unchanging, a part of the universe that will always be and never die.
Matteo and David are sitting at the lake, their feet dangling in the water, their shoulders, touching, covered by a patchwork blanket that Abdi, in his newly found passion, had knitted for Matteo last Christmas.
There is almost no sound, just the slow sound of water and the quiet breathing of David next to him.
No cicadas, it’s not hot enough for them in northern germany, and no loud italian campers either.
But it’s perfect, nonetheless. Their fingers are intertwined and Matteo holds David’s hand tightly.
He looks up and the sky offers itself to him like a seafarer’s map, monsters and heroes blinking at him like old friends.
“Hey, David,” he whispers, breaking the almost holy silence, “Do you know how to find constellations?”
David takes his eyes away from the lake and looks at him, dark eyes full of softness and mystery, “No, I never learned. Please don’t tell me you have other secret talents I know nothing about. My ego can only take that much in a day.”
Matteo grins, thinking about the many times David had failed to do a handstand, getting gradually more angry. Matteo had laughed until his belly hurt. He had catched him everytime he fell, though.
“Aw, yes, baby. I’m sorry, but I fear I’m better than you at this, too.”
David shakes his head, but leans his body into him, “Unacceptable,” Matteo passes his fingers through his lovely, curly hair.
“Show me some, anyway?”
Matteo puts his head on David’s and points to the sky with his finger.
He starts talking.