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Matt took another swig of the horribly cheap vodka that'd been kicking around in his cupboard for the last five years. He's inebriated enough that it practically tastes like water anyways, so he's really not too bothered about the quality.
He's got bigger things on his mind. Things that make him want to drink on a Monday afternoon, like he is now.
Things that involve his mom, guilt, and constant phone calls from the prison that go something like: "I'll be out on parole soon, I need a place to stay, you owe me that much..."
It brings up a lot of emotions for Matt.
There's pain, fear, the urgency of what she did to get into jail in the first place. He's overcome with heavy distrust and a sense of still wanting to be the perfect child despite knowing, deep down, that he'll never get there. It causes a flare up of the ever lingering anxiety in the pit of his stomach, twisting him all in knots.
It's incredibly confusing and hard and Matt wants nothing more than for the internal warfare to cease.
So he's drinking.
On a Monday afternoon.
Except it's not helping. Not really.
It's sending his brain into hyperdrive and suddenly all he can picture are the crime scene photos and the blood.
His father's dead body.
There was so much blood.
Just thinking about it makes him feel absolutely gross, and dirty—almost contaminated in some sick way.
Matt frowns and caps the vodka, letting the bottle drop down to the floor as he tries to get to his feet. He's certainly a lot more tipsy-bordering-drunk than he'd thought he was, but he still manages to stumble over to the bathroom.
He turns the water on and just manages to slide out of his sweatpants and t-shirt before he loses his balance and the momentum thrusts him toward the bathtub. In an effort to catch himself, he attempts to find purchase in whatever is closest to him. As a result, he ends up yanking the shower curtain down and it lands in the tub with a crash. Matt tries desperately to keep his feet under him, but he quickly topples in after the plastic curtain.
He groans as the icy water sprays down on him, but he quickly shakes it off and reorients himself.
He throws the curtain out of the shower with unnecessary force and turns toward the water, letting it flow over him as it slowly begins to warm up. There's water spraying outside of the tub and creating a puddle on the floor and it's quickly turning into a mess, but he really can't be bothered to care. He doesn't have the energy, or even the brain power, to deal with it.
The water streams over him and the muffled roar of water in and around his ears brings some sense of calmness to his chaotic state of mind. As he starts blocking out the mayhem in his brain, he gradually lets the muscles in his body go lax.
Matt lets out a long, pent-up sigh and feels himself relax slightly.
At some point through his shower, he starts feeling a little more human and he's beginning to find a way to put distance between himself and everything that's been overwhelming him.
And then he gets out of the shower. That's where the fun starts.
Thanks the puddle of water outside the bathtub, he slips like an idiot and smokes his head against the bathroom sink with a loud (and very unnerving) thud.
The pain finds him immediately and sucks the wind out of him for all he's worth. He curses with a raspy, barely audible voice, and fights back the tears of frustration that attempt to settle on his eyes. He feels fragile, maybe more than he ever has before, and he's wishing that he could just pull himself together. He's so sick of feeling like he's weak, like he can't handle anything properly, like he's drowning. He's really sick of it.
He manages to shakily get to his feet and towel himself off, a look of surprise crossing his face when he dries his hair, only for the towel to come back with bright red splotches. He holds the towel to his head immediately, hoping that it's just a superficial cut.
In the mean time, he stumbles to his room, where he one-handedly slips on a fresh pair of sweat pants and heads to the living room. He's sobered up a little, but the world is still spinning, or maybe he's just hit his head that hard. He pulls back the towel and curses when he immediately feels a warm trickle of blood crawl down the side of his scalp.
After he puts the pressure back on his head, Matt makes a split second decision and seeks out Kelly's contact in his phone, tapping it before he can second-guess himself.
"Hey, you." Kelly replies cheerfully. "What's up?"
Matt sigh and closes his eyes briefly, "I kinda hit my head"
"Kinda?"
Matt just grunts, more out of frustration than pain at this point, "I really hit it."
Kelly's voice becomes a little more serious. "Where are you? Is it bad?"
"At home. Sorta slipped in the shower." Matt utters out, slightly aware that his words are slightly slurred. "Bleedin' a lot."
"Alright, I'm on my way. Sit tight." Kelly replies after a few seconds.
"No rush." Matt says airily, sending a half grin through the receiver.
"No rush my ass, you only call about injuries if they're ICU-worthy."
"Well I'm drunk, so—" Matt yawns and then makes some kind of waving gesture with his free hand, "—my judgement is compromised or something. Right?"
"Hold up. It's like three in the afternoon and you're drunk?"
"Kelly Severide, I did not call so you could judge me." Matt lets out firmly, eyebrows raised as he finds his vodka once again. He decides to take another pull of the disgusting shit in honour of another scar that'll hide in his hair until the day he dies.
"I won't judge you, don't worry."
"Good. Otherwise you can forget about me buzzing you up." Matt replies cheekily.
Kelly bites his bottom lip, shaking his head fondly. "I have the code, you dumbass."
"You're a good boyfriend," Matt gushes, grinning into his next sip of vodka.
Kelly, despite his worry, can't help but smile at that. "I'm just parking alright? I'll be up in five."
"Fiiiiiiiive?" Matt whines like an absolute six year old. A six year old. "My grandmother could get here faster—also I'm still bleeding."
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Kelly huffs, taking the stairs three at a time as he rushes up.
Matt stifles a barked laugh. "Yeah, that's what you'll be saying tonight."
"Shut up," Kelly retorts sharply, yanking his keys from his pocket as he finds himself getting closer.
Matt has the audacity to giggle. Yeah, giggle.
"I'm here," Kelly says breathlessly as he walks through the front door. He's not really sure what he expects to see, but the sight of a still dripping from the shower, shirtless Matt, with a bottle to his lips and a hand loosely pressing a bloodstained towel to his head, isn't necessarily it.
"Ayy!" Matt raises up his bottle and grins at Kelly. "Let the real party begin."
Kelly raises an eyebrow as he approaches. He quickly confiscates Matt's drink before gingerly peeling back the towel in order to assess Matt's injury.
As gentle as he is, he still aggravates the two inch horizontal gash tucked just behind his hairline. Matt whimpers below him and Kelly can't help but wince. It doesn't seem concerningly deep, but it's still stitch worthy and they'll definitely need to get it looked at.
"Alright, let me grab the first aid kit and I'll patch you up good enough for us to get to the ER."
"ER? No thanks. Not happening."
Kelly sits down on the coffee table across from Matt, "I know it's not your favourite place, but it's happening. Unless you want Shay to come over to practice her sutures and give you some janky-ass scar."
"There's super glue in the kitchen."
"You're such an idiot, you know that?"
Matt shrugs and leans back against the leather couch, not really caring much if he makes a mess. "But I'm your idiot."
"Yeah, you are." Kelly shakes his head endearingly, placing his hand on Matt's knee. "Wait here, alright?" He says as he stands, making his way in the direction of the bathroom, where they keep all of their first aid supplies.
Matt contentedly leans back and lets his eyes flutter shut as his body reminds him of just how exhausted he is. He lets out a sigh and tries to clear his head from the swirling, messy thoughts that lurk in his mind, when suddenly he hears a slightly muffled yell of: "Matt!? How in the fuck even?"
A chuckle is the first thing that tumbles out of Matt's chest when the words hit his ears. He's a little too far gone to pick up on the rigid worry and desperate confusion that lie between the words themselves, and right now, everything feels so upside down that he doesn't even really know what's right.
But then Kelly comes back into view and there's an expression on his face that even Drunk Matt knows he's only seen a few times.
"Matthew."
He says the name soft. There's concern, then there's something else that Matt can't quite place. It sobers him a little, sends a pang through his chest that gets his brain to start faintly ticking through the fog. "Kel."
"Tell me what happened."
"I said I tripped." Matt mumbles, shrugging once again.
Kelly sits down on the couch beside Matt and opens up the first aid kit. "I'm talking about what happened to cause all this. C'mon. You're drunk. You only hit the hard stuff like this if you're not okay. Talk to me, Matty."
Matt sighs and barely manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Just leave it."
Kelly tenderly pulls away the towel and begins reassessing the wound. It's still bleeding a little, so he starts laying down some gauze. "You know I can't."
"Kel."
"I love you. I'm just worried."
"I know." Matt peeks up at Kelly through his lashes and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a pained half-smile. "It's my mom."
Kelly's movements freeze and his eyes immediately connect with Matt's. "Your mom?"
Matt nods hesitantly, ignoring the sting and pull that comes from his head. "She uh—she wants a place to stay." He says, his voice barely a whisper. "She's getting out soon and she—" Matt trails off weakly. The anxiousness and worry he's been trying to repress suddenly comes back in full swing.
"Why didn't you just call me?" Kelly asks a few seconds later, almost hurt but still undeniably relieved that Matt's opening up. "We could have figured this out a different way."
Matt, still with no filter, doesn't hesitate to ramble out the words that've been sitting on the edge of his tongue. "Our relationship is still fresh, Kel, I don't want you to leave and I know you probably will when you see how messed up I am."
Kelly smiles and pulls Matt to him, embracing him in a gentle and warm hold. "Messed up?"
"Yeah." Matt slurs, relaxing into Kelly's strong arms. The warmth and brightness of the alcohol begins dissipating from him completely and he's left feeling exhausted and perplexed. "I'm so screwed up, man. I can't even handle my own mother without resorting to day drinking. I mean, how pathetic am I?"
"Listen, yeah, you've got some issues. But I love them. I love that you have them. If you were perfect, if you didn't have these tiny little flaws, you'd be so completely out of my league. Hell, you are as it is. I'm not ever leaving you, Matt, I promise."
Matt freezes for a moment but quickly melts back into Kelly, his face pressing up against the other man's neck and a smile sneaking onto his lips, "I love you, Kel."
"I love you too. Let's go get you checked out and then we'll just take it easy the rest of the day. Sound good?"
"Fine." Matt sighs resignedly, shaking his head softly.
They leave the emergency room a couple hours after arriving. He's unhappily sobered up and managed to get away with just a minor concussion, some bruises, and twelve stitches.
The ride home is silent aside for the soft warbling that comes from Kelly's car radio and the muffled sounds of Chicago's rush hour traffic.
And when they get back into the apartment, Kelly finds himself immediately guiding Matt to their bedroom.
Matt lets himself be led because he can tell, now that he's not inebriated, that Kelly's worried and he's hurting. He feels a little guilty, knowing he's the cause, but he also feels extremely relieved that he hasn't scared Kelly off with this all.
Deep down, he knows better. He knows that Kelly is different and that Kelly would fight for him. But he's still relieved.
And so when Kelly guides him to sit on the edge of the bed, Matt does it wordlessly and without question.
He lets him peel the bloodstained shirt up and over his head.
He lets him grab a washcloth and wipe away the dried and flaking blood that clings to his hair and neck. He lets him erase the memories, or what's left of them.
Matt lets him gently slide his favourite squad hoodie over his head, lets him pull his body close and lets him press their lips together so softly they barely touch. The blond chases his lips as he pulls away, tugging him into a longer kiss that feels desperate and warm, but still so tender it almost hurts.
"I'm sorry." Matt says. It's about the drinking and the hospital visit and the fact that he's still trying to learn how to do this communication thing.
Kelly knows. He nods as he pulls away. "You don't need to apologize."
"I kinda do." Matt whispers, watching as Kelly slides off his own clothes in an effort to change into something more comfortable.
"I'm just glad you're okay," Kelly mumbles, shaking his head. He pulls a clean t-shirt over his head and saunters back over to where Matt is, standing in front of him and pulling his tired form into a loose embrace. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts," Matt smiles wryly, sliding his arms around Kelly's hips and linking them behind his back. He buries his face against Kelly's abdomen, burrowing into the warmth.
"Let's go lay on the couch, I'll make you some dinner and then we'll watch a movie."
"Not really hungry," Matt mumbles, letting Kelly haul him to his feet despite his head telling him to crawl in bed and sleep for the next seventy-two hours.
Kelly leads him down the hall and snorts. "Too bad. You need to eat."
Matt shrugs. "Do I?"
"With the amount of alcohol you consumed today? Definitely." Kelly chuckles softly, gently squeezing Matt's shoulder as he helped him settle into the couch.
"Okay, fine, I'll eat. But if I eat then you have to cuddle with me while we watch tv."
"Is that supposed to be a punishment?" Kelly raises an eyebrow, clicking on the TV so Matt could already start watching something while he cooked for them.
"No. Yes. I don't know." Matt shrugs, settling further into the couch cushions. "I just want to be held."
Kelly just smiles, bends over, presses a kiss to his forehead, and whispers, "I'll hold you all night, if that'll make you feel better."
Matt nods a little and his eyes flutter closed briefly as Kelly's lips linger. "Good."
Kelly rises back up to his full height, slips the remote in Matt's hands and gives him a fond look. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
Matt's asleep by the time Kelly returns to the room with their supper. He shakes him awake gently, smiling when his eyelashes flutter apart and he's met with those soft blue eyes he's grown to love. "Hey, sleepyhead."
Matt responds with a grunt and shifts himself so he's sitting a little more upright on the cushions. Kelly places a bowl of soup in his hands and settles down beside him with his own food.
A mere half hour later, Kelly is laying on the couch, his head propped on the armrest, Matt's head on his chest and his body practically on top of him. This is really Matt's favourite place to be and he's so relaxed into the hold, with those strong arms locked around him, that he's asleep in no time.
True to his word, Kelly holds him all night. Though, in that time, they move from couch to bed; and even though the bed allots them more space, they remained as pressed together as possible.
And the next day as they watch the Blackhawk's game, his and Kelly's bodies haphazardly tangled together, Matt's mom phones again. But this time's different. It's really different. He's not finding the weight on his chest so compressing, and he's certainly not reaching for cheap alcohol.
He feels safe, especially so when he feels the other man's arms tighten around him and lips pressing into his hair...
He feels safe.