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It was a clear and beautiful day in Greenpath. Mato was so excited to get out and start his day with a simple forage! He exited his childhood home, in which the door was so small yet so tall for him at the same time.
“Goodbye, father! I will be back with materials for supper!” He called before the door could shut.
He could not properly see him, but Mato was swiftly and harshly shoved out of the doorway by Sly, door slamming shut behind him.
Mato turned to look at the door, confused. Not by his father’s actions, those felt strangely justified to him. He was more puzzled by the state of the door and focused on it.
Was the door always this strange yellow?
Was this door here in the first place when Mato was young?
He could almost touch it…
And then suddenly he was elsewhere in a field, a basket in hand.
No matter how hard he looked or how far he walked: his basket was empty. Each time he looked into the basket, his head felt heavy. Heavy and Empty. Was he empty too? He felt close to tears but they never came.
He would keep looking. For if he didn’t return with the food or even a few ingredients his master would be most displeased with everything he’s ever tried to do.
Utterly disappointed it took so long: that he was slow. Results need to be made and those results must be great!
They need to be something to Mato. A little would feel like nothing. When he found a berry and placed it within his basket, it would just disappear and he didn’t even realize.
He just focused on how if he didn’t get enough, he knew he would offer to go hungry while everyone else eats.
It’s the Nailmaster way.
But for everyone but him to eat, he must provide. Why would he eat anyways when he needs to be focusing?
Focus Mato. “Mato, Focus!” his eldest brother's voice would echo. Find what you need. Be enough. Do what you must do at all costs to yourself. For food. For mastery.
Nothing would appear. No progress.
Not a thing.
With a frustrated sigh, Mato approached the river bed and sat down. He tossed the basket down and in a desperate need to release some steam, he slammed his hands into the grass beneath him.
“Ouch!” He yelped, pulling his left hand up swiftly. From his hand, hard to perceive, he yanked what he thought was a splinter out of it. He looked at it and saw it was a nail, small and covered with spots of his yellow hemolymph.
Startled, Mato threw it into the river.
It made the river shatter like a mirror which made him lurch forward automatically to look into it.
He saw his reflection cracked into three chunks: ugly chipped horns from years of scraping around and fighting beasts bigger than he could chew. Tired creases in his mask looking dark and tear-logged.
He reached above it to touch it, dripping blood into the water but it just looked like raindrops distorting the image.
The ugly, sad image.
Was he really getting married as he was?
Has he done all he needed to earn it? Earn any of it? Had he done enough?
His injured hand touched the water, his reflection slowly meeting to match him. With a motion that would make Mato feel like he’s been punched in the gut, the reflection grabbed his wrist from within.
As if he weighed nothing, he was flipped and pulled into the water. Darkness took over as it sent him rapidly falling, sinking deeper.
Fear took his heart into its grasp as he tried to look around but saw nothing, just the endless feeling of his cloak rushing up around him. The pressure of water was not even there but he felt like it was heavy on his mask.
All he could see were bubbles and flecks of white streaming up quickly above him, sending piercing thoughts through him as the ground seemed ages away.
Had he earned everyone’s love for real or was it just conditional?
Was he going to disappear again?
If he did: sinking into his own head deeper and deeper…
Would anyone look for him? Pull him up?
Or would they wait until he breaks and seeks the comfort himself?
Would anyone even notice?
If they didn’t, he knew in the most irrational part of his soul that he deserved it.
He needed to earn it. He needed progression.
He needed to rise.
To be seen.
Earn love.
Earn becoming perceivable.
As he fell into an abyss of fear and confusion; he felt a pain (a pressure?) around his chest. He curled into it, uncertain. He was always so uncertain but always trying.
He had to try, he had to always try!
But now, he could only fall and fall and fall. The pressure grew louder, his vision awashed with static told him one thing and one thing only.
You cannot do it as you are.
And then he woke up.
It was slow at first, the verdant fields of his childhood easing out of his mind as he took in the dim, greyed-out colors of his more current abode. An ache rested atop his head as he struggled to process exactly what he had just gone through in his mental realm.
He shifted to his side, grabbed a second pillow blindly, and pressed it against the black divot of his mask.
He wanted to just bury his head within both these pillows and forget the damn dream but it was stuck in his brain like a crystal to a shardmite’s back.
It was hazy, but there. The field, empty basket, and river.
Feeling unloved and slow.
It couldn’t be like any pleasant dream he had and just fade away. Story of his life.
He shut his eyes and tried to just fall back asleep, shifting his arm under the pillow beneath his head to squeeze the ache away. It wasn’t helping.
Mato huffed, shifting around more to get comfortable and aimlessly looking around his floor. He saw the standard loose nails puncturing the ground, excess blankets and pillows, strange mass in the center of the room, assorted papers containing drawings from Ghost and Hollow, a few stray skulls, his cooking nook-
His sleepy mind slapped him a touch more awake.
“Agh!!” He sat up, startled, and threw the first thing he could at the mass, lest it be a home invader. Petty thief, or something!
Thankfully, it was just a pillow. It softly bonked the mass and slowly slid off of it. Mato’s yelp, however, made it move and sit up.
Oh.
Oh, it’s Ogrim.
Mato mentally noted this, covering the bottom of his mask with his hands. Ogrim rubbed his face with his claws, blinking his eyes open.
With an obviously dehydrated voice, he asked, “Beloved…? Did you yell…?”
“Oh…Ogrim, I’m sorry I-” Mato’s headache made him hold his forehead and rub his mask before he could finish his thought. “...you startled me…mmm...” He looked Ogrim up and down, confused.
“I thought you went to sleep in your burrow, tonight?”
“Ah...” Ogrim smiled nervously, yawning a little bit. “See, I couldn’t quite sleep. I felt I just needed to be near you tonight, that's all.”
Mato let out a sigh and got up out of his rest area without another word. Ogrim looked a little confused. “...Are you feeling alright, dear?”
He watched Mato ignore him and tiredly walk to the fireplace. “I’m just going to be awake, hfsh… doesn't mind the fire when he sleeps… ” He muttered under his breath, harshly sighing twice.
“Do you want tea or water? Tell me now.” Mato said, not meaning to be as curt as he sounded.
“Tea’s alright…but is something-”
“Gotcha.” Mato interrupted, searching around languidly for his sharp slice of flint to light a fire.
“Mato…” Ogrim pressed with concern, still quite tired himself. Mato didn’t acknowledge this as he grabbed his sliver of steel. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
Mato’s shoulders tensed, as he stubbornly looked down at the flint and steel like he was angry. He did know that, but he was upset, tired, and trying to process the awful dream that was upsetting him.
He already felt slow and dumb in that moment, he didn’t want to make himself feel worse by trying to verbalize it.
So he just sat, squinted down, kept quiet, and started to strike the flint against the steel. It sparked and sparked but was refusing to light the old kindling.
“Something is definitely wrong, dear. Look at me.” Ogrim scooted closer to him but didn’t close their distance.
Mato growled to himself, striking it over and over. He just wanted a damn fire to look at while he sorts his scattered thoughts out. He just wanted some tea.
He just wanted to truly always feel like he was enough.
He just wanted to look at the fact he has unconditional love around him and be able to take it as such.
“Mato,” Ogrim said in a tone that demanded no nonsense. Mato kept repeatedly hitting the steel, barely paying attention to how tight he was holding it until-
He sucked in a rugged sharp gasp to try not to yell when the flint slipped, slicing his ungloved hand not unlike how his dream played out.
Ogrim looked concerned as Mato roughly put down the tools with a loud-
BANG!
He stiffly held his hands out to the side, and with a frustrated hoarse voice said,
“I’M FINE-”
Ogrim’s concern turned to a slight fear as he approached Mato further. “That is not fine, Mato.” He put one claw around Mato’s back, and when met with no resistance he grabbed Mato’s injured hand.
He looked it over and then gave it a kiss when he saw it wasn’t deep. “Do you want to clean this?”
“...” Mato looked away, shame making his heart beat too fast.
“Talk to me…please.”
Mato sighed. “...I’ve had worse, this is small and doesn’t even need a bandage.”
“I’ll give it more kisses then.” Ogrim tried to make light and give it another kiss but Mato pulled his arm away before he could.
That made Ogrim want to get to the point.
“What’s hurting your heart, dear?”
Mato looked away further, still trying to process the dream. “It’s…it’s old stuff. I should be over it by now, really, but…you know, never mind it, I guess…”
“I do mind it if it’s still harming you, Mato.” Ogrim felt that went without saying with the both of them.
“...i know…”
Ogrim picked up the fire tools best he could and started the fire by himself. He couldn't quite hold the flint right but his claws helped the spark along just fine.
“So…I would like it if you told me what’s on your mind if you could…” Ogrim said as he blew down on the ember he made. The breath made him yawn a touch more, but Mato took priority over sleeping then.
The warmth of the fire quickly began to grow, along with the speed of Mato’s beating heart.
He really wanted to say: “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” but he knew for a fact Ogrim would not take that as an answer. Not after cutting himself by mistake.
Not after everything they've been through together: Ogrim would not take Mato's thoughtful hypocrisy at face value.
And so, Mato looked back over to him with the most genuine smile he could muster.
“...It’s nothing to be so worried about, Ogrim. Nothing major. Just…a bad dream.”
“A bad dream…” Ogrim echoed with a hum. But he wasn’t buying it. He knew that smile was pained. Ogrim stood and grabbed the kettle, filling it with some of their stored water so he could boil it.
He hooked it over the fireplace, sitting back down next to Mato. “Care to tell me about it, then?”
Mato sighed, looking down at the fire as it started to warm the kettle’s bottom. He held his scratched hand, picking at the small wound. He curled his hand into a fist, it was barely bleeding. He simply held it within his other hand, stalling.
“It was…I was in my childhood home in northern Greenpath, but an adult. I went out foraging but Sly was…” Mato tapped his hand, not liking what he was saying one bit.
He knew Sly didn’t act like that when he was younger. Dreams don’t account for that always. “...he felt unhappy with me and sent me out with a shove…a quiet “gather food or don’t bother” sort of…situation…”
Ogrim hummed, nodding. He put his claw back around Mato’s sides. He didn’t dare interrupt.
“I looked…for so long but I couldn’t gather anything for us to eat. What I did find kept miraculously disappearing the second I touched it.” He didn’t bring up the starvation or not feeling like he was enough. If he could get away without bringing it up, he’d be happy.
"Why would he eat when he should focus?” That part made his insides hurt, so he pressed his clasped hands against his stomach.
Mato felt Ogrim rub his back, a silent plea for him to take a deep breath. He did as such, but it was shaky.
“When I realized I was seemingly getting nowhere- ” This sentence coming out of his mouth made him hold his head for a moment, huffing.
“-I sat down by the closest river, and cut my hand on a mysterious tiny nail…” He skimmed over the broken water and finding his own reflection appalling. “...and then I…fell in the river. And I drowned until I woke up.”
Ogrim looked down, taking a deep breath of his own.
“Mato dear, that’s terrifying.” Ogrim took his hands and stated directly. “I’m sorry you went through such pain in a horrid nightmare but that’s not “old stuff” either…what in your dream was old?”
Mato’s eyes widened at his own mistake in his phrasing, grabbing Ogrim’s claws tighter.
Shoot.
He looked to the side, trying to take another deep breath but failing. He looked down, doing the same short breath again.
Ogrim pressed lightly on his chest, making him look him in the eyes. He lifted his claw, pushed it down, and took a slow deep breath. Mato copied him.
A good practice he always did on his own. It didn’t hold as Mato tried to form his words.
Hesitant, he closed his eyes and said. “I dreamt…I felt…like I haven’t earned love because I haven’t completed anything. I left with nothing and would come back with nothing.”
There it was.
“I dreamt I deserved to be alone and shunned for…for being slow. In gathering food.”
These feelings Mato was talking about felt so familiar to Ogrim, it was easy for him to quietly say,
“In pursuing mastery…”
Mato didn’t open his eyes when Ogrim connected that. He let go of his claws and covered them. It was true.
Ogrim looked down, trying to find the words to comfort his fiancé. He removed the boiling kettle from the fire and added some of Mato’s spare tea leaves.
“Mato: Do you remember a good while back, not long after I retunneled the path between here and Dirtmouth, when Hollow and Hornet both fell ill for around 4 sleeps because of some flora in Fog Canyon they sampled?”
Mato peeked up, confused at that statement. “...Yes? That was awful. Hornet hurled everywhere and felt incredibly stupid-”
“Do you remember how that led me down a short spiral with nightmares about the great knights because I was petrified for their lives? Over food poisoning? How you held me through that even though that pain is older than the dung in the bottom of my burrow?”
Mato tilted his head but nodded regardless. He shrunk back a bit when Ogrim’s voice was firm.
“Your call for mastery eating your psyche to the point of harming yourself, one way or another. Your wish to prove somehow you have “earned” the love we all hold for you with the precise swing of a nail. Your fear you’re losing your family because of these things. Those are all old pains you are healing from to this day.” Ogrim spun his claw, and pointed at Mato.
“Just like me, you are not immune to these pains swelling and aching out of nowhere long after they’ve been “solved”. From a new stressful situation or a random knock from your subconscious.” Ogrim put his claw on Mato’s shoulder as his words made him begin to tear up.
“Dear, you're allowed to hurt. I feel like you need me to say this right now.”
This sentence made it all shatter.
Mato shook his head, lightly shoved his claw off his shoulder so he could move forward and slowly move himself into Ogrim’s embrace. He made sharp squeak noises, classic holding back sobs from him Ogrim recognized.
All Ogrim could do was rub his back and encourage him to breathe and feel to his fullest.
“You’ll be okay…I’m here…I’ll be there. I love you. They love you.”
These gentle sayings were whispered to him
Mato had always had troubles accepting he would always have love in his life. That him blinking and losing it all because he wasn’t good enough was never a thing that would happen.
He truly felt at times that all love he held would melt away eventually, through a tragedy or his own inadequacies.
In Ogrim’s claws, however, he felt this love stabilize his heart. If this was the love you get for being a failure, he didn’t want to succeed. But he didn’t need to think about success right now.
Truth be told, he felt like one for getting an engagement charm on this bug. Ogrim kissed the top of his head and amended that thought tenfold.
All Mato could do was breathe a faint “Thank you.”
Ogrim held Mato close and they could stay there for as long as he needed. Ogrim never minded. He could sit here for hours if Mato said the word, but he just fell silent and sunk further into his hold. It was all he needed.
They forgot about the tea, but it cooling down would not phase them at all.
They had enough warmth in their care for each other to warm hundreds of the deepest glasses. Whispering sweet words to him until Mato could stand to start his day with a look of comforted hope or get a better sleep.
It was all Ogrim could want for him: to be there.
Forever and always.