Work Text:
Mattholomule was five years old. It was his brother's birthday.
His parents were still out on a trip. They had been gone for a while.
He was running around the kitchen, a mess of frosting, sugar, and flour coating the walls, counter, and his clothes. The frosting was blue and yellow.
There was a lopsided sad looking cake on the counter, the frostings messily drawn over it, rainbow sprinkles covering every free area.
There were candles sticking out of all sides of it. It was a mess, but a beautiful one.
“Mattholomule? What are you doing?”
“STEVIE!!! I MADE YOU A CAKE!” Mattholomule jumped onto a stool, holding the cake up high, a huge smile plastered on his face.
One of his front teeth were missing, along with one of his bottom ones. He had a bandage on his cheek and forehead. He had stolen one of Steve's t-shirts with some old band that not even the oldest people in the Boiling Isles seemed to know, and was wearing a random pair of shorts. His hair stuck up in every direction, a short choppy mess. (Steve still hadn't gotten too good at haircuts).
His eyes were filled with hope and happiness, two emotions of which would be gone in years to come.
But for now, they were there. And that was all that mattered.
“Wow, it looks… great!”
“I made it myself!” Mattholomule set down the cake and jumped off the stool, still smiling brightly.
Steve ruffled Mattholomules hair as he ran past him, tumbling up the stairs, then coming tumbling back down after a few seconds, now holding a badly wrapped gift.
Once he caught his breath again, he handed the gift to Steve. “Open it!!! Open it!!!”
“Okay, okay! I'm opening it!” Steve laughed, dusting off an area of the counter and sat on top of it, unwrapping the gift. Between layers of paper lay a small, badly made(and pretty ugly) ring. It has an S carved into the side, though it looked more like a lopsided two.
Steve smiled nonetheless, holding it close to his chest. “I love it.” he said, “maybe we can get some string so i can wear it around my neck, close to my heart. That way, we’re never apart.”
“YEAH!!” Mattholomule said, pushing the stool over to where Steve was sitting, climbing up onto the counter next to him, “Happy birthday Stevie,” he said, hugging his brother tightly, “I love you”
“‘Love you too, Mattie.”
%%%
Mattholomule was eight. He was eating a batch of cookies he had made, a batch of cookies that he wanted to share with his brother, but couldn't because he was too busy.
He didn't understand why Steve was always doing work. He knew that their parents had been gone for a while, but he knew they would be getting back soon— they had to be. They could be gone forever– they promised they wouldn't leave either of them behind if they found somewhere better to go!
They just hadn't found that place yet. Once they did, they'd come running through the front door, hand in hand, smiles on their faces.
Right?
Mattholomule set down his cookie, standing up from the kitchen stool and walking up to his room, closing the door behind him.
His room was extremely bare. A bed was thrown into one corner, a small nightstand next to it with a make-shift lamp Steve had made, along with a make-shift fan. There were a few random trinkets on the nightstand, along with an empty glass of water.
On the opposite wall there was a dresser and small mirror, then a walk-in closet on the last remaining wall– the only thing about his room that was worth anything.
Most of his closet consisted of torn-up shirts that used to be Steve’s– they were mainly band shirts and shirts with random logos. All the shirts were too large for him, but he didn't mind.
He liked having a connection to his brother, even if it wasn't much.
Mattholomule laid down on his bed, staring at his ceiling, looking at each crack and hole. It was strangely calming to look at.
As he stared, his mind started making up movements, making up the cracks growing larger and larger, the holes getting bigger and bigger too.
Then, it stopped. And Mattholomules eyes slowly closed, the world around him turning to darkness, his mind being filled with fragments of his imagination.
%%%
Mattholomule was ten. He was home alone. He sat in his brother's bedroom, looking around at all the posters on the walls. Some were for bands, and others were things he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to see. But there was no one there to stop him, so he looked at them anyway.
He decided he did not like the girl's bodies. They were too unlike his own, too unnormal. They seemed too good to be true, too perfect. Nothing sparked in his heart or mind when he saw them. They were just there, existing.
On one of Steve’s walls was a bunch of guitars. There were four, to be exact, and they all hung in the corner next to his desk. They were all covered in stickers, much like every other surface in his room, but one that hung lower than the others, only had a few. They weren't placed with any logic, and there were many scuffs on it.
Mattholomule slowly got up and grabbed it, picking it up and strumming it a few times, flipping down one of the switches, then plugging it into the speaker, sitting on top of it as he strummed the strings. He knew it was out of tune, but he didn't know how to fix it.
So he didn't. He played, despite the twangs of the strings and the squeals from the speaker. It reminded him of when he was six, when Steve had first shown him how to play the guitar.
He wasn't any good then, and he wasn't any good now either. But he didn't care. He strummed up and down, putting his fingers over random strings, pretending he knew what he was doing.
And then he stopped. He turned off the speaker, he put back the guitar, and he sat on his brother's bed once again, this time falling backward, his legs hanging off the side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling.
“Hey Steve,” he said, his voice filling the emptiness of the room. “It's been a few days since you've been home. I watched five sunsets without you. My fan broke today, too. But I was at school, so it was fine. It's a little hot in my room though.” Mattholomule sighed. “I know you can't hear me… but I miss you. It's not the same here without you… I know that I said I didn't care what you did, and that I can take care of myself… and I can do those things! I really can! It's just… boring here, all alone. I wish you were here, just so we could catch up, or something.”
Mattholomule paused. “I, Uh, made some friends! Her names Bria. she's… nice, I guess. A lot more powerful than me, though. Most people at Glandus are. It's okay though! I'm getting stronger! Soon those guys won't know what hit them!” he chuckled, though it was forced. “I don't think many people there like me. They… make fun of me sometimes. I am a lot weaker than most of them so it makes sense I guess… It's just hard. I think I’m the only one there who doesn't have someone at home to help me out. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to forge Ma’s signature… I think I would just be better off without school.”
There was another pause. “That's… really all to catch up on. I, uh. Hope you're okay.” and with that, Mattholomule stood up and walked out of his brother's room.
%%%
Mattholomule was 13. He was crying. His head pounded as he brought his knees to his chest, gasping and grappling for air. His throat was tight, his eyes heavy and wet.
It was raining. Half his ceiling was gone, and with the wind blowing the way it was, the rain hit his arm.
He didn't care. He didn't care about the stinging sensation, nor the blood that he was 90% sure had started dripping down onto his bed.
He would be fine. He'd been burned before, what was one more time going to do?
Besides, after Steve stopped showing up… He’d gotten used to healing and patching himself up.
As his ceiling started to collapse more, the boiling rain causing it to get even weaker, Mattholomule still stayed where he was, throwing his blanket over his head and tightening it around his body. A sob shook through his body, the world around him finally crumbling down.
Steve was gone. He hadn't been home in months. His scroll got ruined in the rain, so he couldn't talk to Gus. His ceiling was barely surviving the rain, and he knew even if it did stop, he wouldn't have the motivation to get up and fix it. He barely even had the motivation to eat– fixing a broken ceiling was asking for a lot.
Maybe he could just switch to his parent's old room. Maybe if he ever gained enough strength, he could move into his brother's room. He always did like it there more. He shook the thought away.
Steve would come back someday. Unlike his parents, Steve was not dead. Mattholomule refused to believe he was dead.
Steve was strong, he was someone who didn't give up.
Mattholomule had.. Hope that Steve was alright. That he was alive and safe. That his job at the coven wasn't as bad as it seemed to be on the outside.
“Stevie… if you're out there… I'm sorry…” his voice was weak. He hated when it was weak. “I don’t know if you're still alive…. Or if you were killed coming home… or if the coven just… really hates you… but I'm sorry…. I'm sorry…..”
Mattholomule knew it wasn't his fault. He knew that he had no control over what happened to his brother. Yet here he was, completely blaming himself. If he had only known about the horrors of the emperor's coven, maybe Steve would be next to him, fixing the gaping hole in his ceiling. If only he had stopped him from leaving.
“I should have just made you stay… if only i knew… I wish I knew…. I wasn't ready for you to leave…. I'm sorry…. Please… come back….Please….”
Mattholomule tangled his hands in his hair, choking on another sob. He gasped for air all over again, the small task of breathing becoming just about impossible to do.
Then he heard a voice.
“Hey. in for three….” the voice breathed in.
He did too.
“Hold…”
He held.
“Out for three.” the person speaking did the breathing in thing again, exhaling a bit louder to emphasize it.
Mattholomule breathed out.
“Repeat it.”
And despite the voice in his head telling him no, to not listen to the mysterious voice, he did. And while tears were still streaming down his face, he could finally breathe, finally think somewhat clearly.
So he opened his eyes. It took him a second to adjust to the darkness. That was one thing he never liked about his room– with his family there or not– it was dark. But once he finally adjusted, he saw the outline of a person standing in front of him.
“A– Gus?”
Despite the darkness of the room, Mathholomule could have sworn Gus smiled.
%%%
Mattholomule was still 13. His best friend was sitting next to him on his bed, and for the first time in his life, he was glad for his room having close to no lighting.
He knew without even seeing it that his face was bright red, that his heart was beating ten times faster than normal.
He just hoped Gus didn't notice.
“How did you get in here?” He asked, “Also… how much did you hear?”
Gus looked at Mattholomule through the darkness. “I saw the house with a huge hole and thought it was abandoned. I was getting out of the rain.” Then, there was a pause.
“You know, none of that stuff you said was true.” he said, shifting slightly then tapping a piece of paper, causing a few balls of light to float upwards. “I don't know what happened to him, but there was nothing you could have done to change that. None of us knew how bad the emperor's coven was.”
“... It was though. ‘Ve always been a bad brother. And a bad witch.”
“Mattholomule, you are an amazing witch. And don't say you arent– because you are. You are so strong, and brave, and everything between… you don't give yourself enough credit. And I'm not just saying that. It's the truth.”
“I think you give me too much credit. I could barely do basic spells a couple months back. I'm not as great as you think I am.” Mattholomule stared at the balls of light, and how they lit up a good majority of his room. He liked how the light looked against his bare and stained walls.
It showed how outdue for a change he was.
“You're amazing to me. You always have been”
Mattholomule could have sworn that Gus blushed.
Gus seemed to think for a moment before reaching out towards Mattholomule, gently fixing his hair before keeping his hand set on the side of his face.
Now he knew Gus was blushing.
He knew he was too.
“You always will be. “
Mattholomule put his hand on top of Gus’s, barely noticing anything else other than his touch.
He knew he was staring. But he didnt care.
“Matty, I really like you. I think part of me always has– and I don't want to lose you. I don't want to see you hurt, i don't want to see—”
Mattholomule was crying again. But now, it was for different reasons.
“Oh no– M–”
Before Gus could talk again, he was tackled into a hug, a hug filled with sobs.
Mattholomule was crying again, but for reasons of happiness, of joy. The tears were filled with laughter, with blushing, with hands brushing against each other, hair being pushed to the side, foreheads being pressed together.
With small almost kisses, torn apart before they could happen by laughs and spins.
Gus and Mattholomule danced messily, right there in his own room, his room with a half broken ceiling, boring walls, and a pile of random human artifacts– both real and fake.
They danced messily, not because they didn’t know how to dance, but because they were tripping over each other's feet, laughing too loud to hear the music… It was all them, and no matter how bad it was, it didn't matter because they were together and if they were together, then everything would be fine.
Mattholomule was fourteen, and for the first time in years, he was happy.