Chapter Text
There is a spot on Matteo’s window that has been there ever since he moved in over a year ago. No, he has not tried to remove it. Because of reasons. Two reasons, to be exact. One, he is a lazy fucker. Two, if he leans back in his desk chair just right and shuts his right eye, the spot aligns perfectly with the branch fork of the oak in front of his window. That is true at every time of the year, and he finds that it is one of the few things that remain stable over time. These few things being him, and his spot, and his branch fork, stuck in time, while the world keeps moving around them.
All of his friends have gone off to college, started internships, volunteered, spent time abroad, started taking dance lessons or bought a turtle (Nobody would have expected Abdi to be the first of the group to become a father, but he has, and he has done so with great enthusiasm. Turtle Dagmar is now his most prideful possession). Which is great – Matteo doesn’t like to think of himself as an envious person. Greedy and selfish, yes – but he genuinely does feel happy for the people around him. He just can’t help but feel stuck in comparison.
Which he is, quite literally, since he’s failed his Abi spectacularly, ruining every chance he had seen to start college with Jonas (which would have been slim anyway if he is being honest – and studying whatever his best friend is studying just so he won’t be left behind alone sounds dumb in hindsight, even to him). So he is objectively stuck, studying for the same exams for a second time. Or, staring at the same spot on his window, as it is.
He picks up his phone, scrolling past messages from Sara and his mother to open the ok.cool chat that has been blowing up with messages earlier.
Jonas Party at Marie’s house, byob
Jonas Where can we pregame? Luigi?
Abdi Who’s Marie?
Carlos Why the hell do you care? It’s a party!
Abdi Maybe she’s hot?
Carlos Alter! Aren’t you still into Sam?
Abdi Sam’s in Peru, man
Carlos Wasn’t she going to that other country? Equator-something?
Abdi Sam’s not at the equator?
Carlos The country?
Abdi Ecuador!
Abdi Nein man, Peru!
Jonas Jungs! Pre-game?
Matteo I’m out, need to study
Jonas But Abi’s not until in a few weeks? You’re coming out, stop ditching us!
Matteo sighs. Jonas is right of course, but fact is that he doesn’t really want to go out. The boys alone are fine most of the time. Nothing has changed between them, even if their lives have drifted apart a little, and Matteo knows he can count on that, if not forever, then at least for now. But going to another one of Jonas’ college parties, just to be asked about his major every time someone new crossed his path? Small talk isn’t his favourite pastime on a normal day, but explaining that he is still in high school because he’s fucked up his last year has gotten old really quick.
Jonas Okay pregame at mine, still have the booze from last time. Be there at 8!
He sends back a thumbs-up, already regretting his life. Maybe if he gets drunk enough, he won’t even make it to the party. Or at least not remember much of it.
The apartment the party takes place at isn’t much unlike the one Matteo lives in with his flatmates in that if you don’t know your way around you can easily get lost in a five-room apartment with all its corners and alcoves. The magic of Berliner Altbau. Him and Jonas lose the others after three seconds and make their way through people who Jonas seems to know from his studies, some of which Matteo has probably met before but forgotten immediately.
One especially condescending guy offers some fancy-ass peach coconut whatever vodka (that Matteo downs without saying thank you), asks him how his Abi is going and then proceeds to reminiscent over his own high school experience when everything was easy and carefree. Matteo tries to get the timing of his nods and his laughs right, to concentrate on his facial expression, on his breathing. On the burning in his throat when he downs the next shot.
‘Anyway, Stefan here might actually be able to get me an internship at Greenpeace next year. He knows some people from his own FSJ,’ Jonas says.
‘Wow, look at you saving the whales, cuddling with pandas, cleaning the atmosphere!’ Matteo grins, his words a little blurry, but at least they come out in the right order. He thinks.
‘Fuck you, at least I’m not a lazy fucker who ditches the Friday for Future marches to eat kebab with Abdi!’
‘That was once! And Mia says I’ve upped my recycling game a lot since last year, I’ll have you know!’
‘OhHh, your recycling ga-‘
Matteo is pulled from the conversation by cold hands wrapping around his wrists.
‘Dance with me!’ Sara slurs over the beat of the music. She seems to have forgotten that he has been ignoring her for a few weeks straight or at least chosen to ignore the fact.
Matteo really, really wishes he was as drunk as her.
Her arms are around his neck and she stumbles more than she dances, her hips pressing into him like they are fucking supposed to, he has to remind himself. This is good. A nice, beautiful girl in his arm at a college party, kissing down his neck. It is almost normal; it’s what is supposed to be happening to a guy like him, young and kinda cute, and brooding.
That doesn’t help the nausea that comes over him when she starts kissing his neck. It doesn’t help when his flight instinct kicks in, his heart beating way too fast and his stomach in knots. But he’s used to it by now, so he pulls her closer instead of letting go. Pulls her close enough so her chin lands on his shoulder, and they are hugging more than dancing now. And Matteo hates himself for wanting this just the tiniest bit, for melting into the bodily contact ever so slightly. Sara is nice, and she likes him, and she really is one of the few people that actually touch him these days, and whenever she doesn’t try to use her lips for things that aren’t drinking or talking, he thinks he might actually be able to do this. Be with her. Pose for silly Instagram selfies next to her, make fun of the way she pronounces American city names, be good to her, mostly.
But then he can feel her mouth on his skin again, slowly dragging up his jar, and he bolts, almost throwing her off, glad when she only bounces into the dancing bodies around them and sways with them immediately. She looks more confused and hurt than angry. Matteo has seen angry Sara before, and he does not fancy meeting her again.
He leans in again. ‘Gotta piss,’ he lies.
He pushes through the bodies, swaying slightly with them. He actually makes his way to the bathroom, patting his pockets for the joint he’s rolled earlier.
‘I’m glad we’re not some self-absorbed assholes anymore that smoke in strangers’ bathrooms at parties,’ Jonas has said a few weeks back. ‘Still assholes though,’ Matteo answered. ‘Still assholes,’ Jonas repeated, ruffling his hair. Well, fuck him; Matteo can be a self-absorbed asshole just by himself, thank you very much.
He blows smoke at his own mirror image, daring him to blink. He has to close his eyes at the eye contact. Pathetic fuck.
At least the vodka is starting to kick in, and in combination with the weed, it’s kinda working. He can feel it in his head, his thoughts still racing and self-destructive as ever, but softer around the edges, not as cutting. So what if he is a lazy, self-serving asshole. So what if he is lying his way through life, so what if he has abandoned his mother, broke up his best friends’ relationship, failed his Abi, disappointed his girlfriend, caused global warming, hasn’t managed to pack his lunch four out of five days last week and has been forced to survive on dry Knorr Asia noodles. So what.
And fuck, now he is hungry. He wonders if that Marie girl has some food lying around. Or if the fridge has been left unguarded.
He presses the joint into the sink, puts the remnants behind his left ear and pushes past the little queue that has formed behind the door, including an obviously highly inebriated Abdi jumping from one leg to the other.
‘Should have known, you fucking asshole!’ he grins, hand held out for a high five.
Matteo flips him off while walking backwards into the kitchen – or rather, into the person standing in the doorway, as it happens.
‘Fuck, sorry,’ he turns around to the guy who is currently patting his hoodie in a hopeless attempt to save the unsalvageable. It’s quite obviously soaked with whatever drink he was holding before Matteo knocked it over. And he isn’t even looking at Matteo, but his eyes, dark and unwavering, still manage to captivate him, so Matteo stares. And he wonders, briefly, if Sara had this kind of eyes, if he could manage to kiss her like he means it, but then the guy also has hands, and shoulders, and cheekbones, and –
‘Damn, I was going to wear this for my sister’s engagement party tomorrow,’ the guy says, looking up and yep, he definitely has lips, too. His eyes widen a little when he sees Matteo, and it’s probably the fact that Matteo looks a mess even without having a drink up his shirt, his hair a mess and his eyes red from smoking.
‘Fuck, really?’ Matteo tries not to stare at the sarcastic smirk forming around the corner of the guy’s mouth.
‘Yep, I was going to combine it with my tartan kilt and suspenders.’
Matteo huffs. ‘If that’s the case I might have spared you the embarrassment. Suspenders are obviously meant to be worn with leopard print only.’
‘Oh?’ the guy raises an attractive eyebrow (Apparently, Matteo thinks eyebrows can be attractive now) and looks him up and down agonizingly slowly. ‘Tell me more, fashion guru!’
Matteo is sure, if he could feel his face, he would feel a blush forming at his cheeks. And he isn’t exactly sure if he has been flirting, or if he is being flirted with, but he knows that he can’t take the risk to stumble into this conversation with his guards down.
‘I was actually just looking to get some food.’
The guy turns around, ‘I saw some Pizza Hollandaise in the microwave earlier. So unless you’re into that – I think you’re out of luck’
‘No, no, no, that’s just unacceptable. I’ve been trying to convince my boss for ages to take it off our menu,’ Matteo mutters, passing him to open the fridge. An impressive amount of beer bottles and nothing else. He sighs.
‘So you’re a fashion expert and a food connoisseur. Any other talents you want to tell me about?’
‘‘You don’t have to be a food connoisseur to know that Pizza Hollandaise is an abomination.’
He should leave. He should leave before he can fall into the trap of captivating dark eyes and beautiful dark skin because that shit is scary in ways that dancing with Sara isn’t. But then he turns around and holy shit, the guy has eyelashes too, and rosy cheeks and –
‘But I do roll a decent joint, I’ve been told. Fancy a smoke?’ He taps a finger against the joint behind his ear.
The guy tilts his head and seems to think on it for a second, sending Matteo’s pulse racing for no particular reason. ‘Sure. Won’t help you with your cravings though.’
Matteo huffs, nodding to the corridor. ‘I think I’ll survive.’
He can’t help but exhale in relief when he pulls the apartment door closed behind him, even feeling the guy’s eyes on him. He feels drained and for some reason, he thinks the boy next to him might just understand that, as he just stands there and waits patiently for Matteo to get a fucking grip.
‘What’s your name?’ Matteo asks, to shake off whatever has settled between them.
‘David. And you?’
‘Matteo.’
‘Up or down, Matteo?’
Matteo crosses his arms, and wonders if he could be brave this one time. If he can believe in an ‘up’ for once. But as it is, there isn’t much reason to. He’s still him, after all, even if one brave moment in some girl’s kitchen has brought him to this staircase with a beautiful stranger. So he nods downwards and follows David down the stairs.
Matteo takes the lowest step, leaning against the wall with his back, his feet against the railing, mirrored by David one step above. It takes him several tries to light the joint between his own lips and hand it to David. When he looks up, the other one looks amused.
‘You’re so drunk.’
‘You’re so drunk,’ Matteo parrots before thinking, but it makes David’s lips stretch into a smile around the joint in his mouth, and fuck, that’s a sight.
‘You should probably get out of that hoodie,’ he says, deflecting, ‘It’s soaked.’
David looks down with an uncertain frown for a second as if contemplating something, but when he looks up again, a confident smile plays around his lips. ‘It was just a drink.’
Matteo huffs. ‘Okay…’
He finds a coin in his pocket and twirls it between his fingers. This is the best or the worst part of getting high, he can never decide. The not-thinking, the emptiness. He’s almost there.
‘You’re not in political science with Marie, are you?’
‘No.’ Please don’t ask, please don’t ask. He knows what comes next, or he thinks he does. The usual questions, the pitying looks. Rinse, repeat.
‘Thought so,’ David grins instead, ‘You don’t have the vibe.’
‘The pretentious gonna-save-the-world-before-breakfast vibe?’ Matteo, smiling fondly thinking about Jonas. He could never pull it off, but his best friend always does look effortless sporting rolled up jeans and protest signs.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, doesn’t fit you either.’
‘Thanks. I decided I could do better by the world by shooting people directly instead of scheming around it,’ David deadpans.
That startles a laugh out of Matteo, although he makes sure to cover it up by coughing. ‘So you’re an assassin?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I take that as a yes.’
David laughs, and it knocks all air out of Matteo’s lungs, he just exhales with an exaggerated whoosh and stares, because boy, that smile –
There is a commotion above them, and seconds later a bunch of drunk students stumbles around the corner, laughing at some drunk joke none of them will remember tomorrow.
They both move to get out of the way, on different sides of the stairwell, and Matteo’s eyes are fixed on the other boy’s lingering smile still, in a horrible, sweet, can’t-look-away-ever kind of way, and – he only recognizes Sara’s blonde shock of hair when it tickles his face and she stumbles into his body, lips on his. He presses into the wall behind him but unfortunately doesn’t disappear into it.
‘Hey, na? Don’t feel like partying?’ Sara slurs against his mouth, ‘I was looking for you!’
He grabs her hip when she struggles to stay on her legs and she sags down on the stairs.
‘May I?’ she reaches out to take the blunt from David’s fingers who looks put out for a few seconds before schooling his impression into something more friendly, distant. Matteo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so possessive over weed that isn’t him. The smoke from Sara’s mouth fills the space between them, a harsh reminder that Matteo can’t have good things. He only ever gets to look at them through the fog.
He almost scoffs at the obvious symbolism. This is what he gets for getting high while sad.
‘Oh!’ Sara pulls him out of his own head, ‘You’re the guy! The – Leonie guy, yes?’
She pushes against David’s arm softly, as if recognizing an old friend.
‘Er, yes? I –‘
‘Take me home?’ she turns back to Matteo sagging against his legs and he automatically grabs her head to steady her.
‘Uhh. Where’s Leonie?’ he asks.
Sara casts another uncertain look to David, who is looking up at the ceiling, and then back at them. ‘I should get back. Is she gonna be okay?’
Matteo nods, eyes cast down at the girl. An outsider could think that he’s just that concerned, a nice guy who just wants to help, not a pathetic fucker who can’t meet a guy’s eyes that he’s barely known for more than ten minutes. Matteo knows better, but he won’t think about it. ‘Do you have your keys?’
‘Can’t go home, no keys, lost my roommate. Take me to yours!’
‘Can you walk? I don’t want to carry you.’
‘As if I’m that fat!’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Hey!’ she swats his hand away when he tries to get her to stand upright and he snorts, mirthlessly.
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’