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If there was a word that Mattheo would describe his relationship with dad, it would definitely not be “perfect”.
In fact, it wouldn’t even be “good”.
The thing is, he (Tom) fucking deserves it. He deserves it all. He deserves it for it is his fault Mattheo is who he is today. It is his fault Mattheo never grew up with parents (does Tom even fucking count at this rate?).
It is his fault that Mattheo does not trust adults, because why should he? All they’ve ever done is betray and hurt him and disappoint him. They’re all the same. They never change.
He will always be an ungrateful and needy teenager in their eyes. Oh, how he loves being alive.
They’ll never get it. No one does.
You’d think by now he would have someone he would trust with his life. Jokes on you, the only person he will every fully trust is himself.
He had learnt that the hard way.
His friends might get him— if he ever trusts them enough— but then again, they’ll pity him. And he does not need their pity. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity, he can manage on his own, thank you very much.
The thing is, they’ll never fully get it. They’ll never know how it feels to live like a ghost in your own house, or your dad being an addict. They’ll never know the feeling.
So therefore, they won’t get it. You can’t object against that. They’ll say they’re sorry, that they get it, and then they don’t. They never do and he’s never felt so stuck before.
How is a sixteen year old supposed to supervise his own dad? How is a kid supposed to take care of an adult when he’s never had the joy of ever truly being a kid? How? How is he supposed to live with that?
How is he supposed to live, knowing that he was picking up broken beer glasses Tom has broken when he should’ve been tucking Mattheo in bed and telling him that he loves him? That he loves his son?
He doesn’t. Because that love died long before Mattheo knew. Long before Mattheo stopped trying for his attention. For him to just love him. To tell him it’s gonna be okay. They’re gonna be okay. That there is still a chance for them.
He doesn’t. Before they’re too far broken to be ever fully repaired. To be okay. To care.
And nothing hurts more than knowing that Tom cared more when the fridge runs out of beer than he ever did Mattheo.
Of course, he has tried to ignore it. Ignore the nagging feeling in his stomach, mourning someone who’s not dead, but not alive for him either. But it still hurts. It hurts way more than it should, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. How to make it okay. How to turn back to when things were simple. Back to when all he wished was that Tom would remember his Birthday.
Even a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ would’ve been enough. Except it was always a hollow ‘go run to the store and fetch me some beers’.
It hurts way more than it should.
But of course, his disappointment stopped after his 11’th birthday when Tom had a psychotic breakdown on his birthday, and that night. He cried himself to sleep, wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering how to make it right. Wondering if it was even his fault.
He stopped expecting more from Tom after his 11’th birthday, of course. It wasn’t gonna get better magically one day like a fairy tale. This was his life for now and it wasn’t gonna get any better, so he didn’t ever let himself get too hopeful when every once in a while Tom sobers up and realizes he has a son he was supposed to be caring for.
Today (Mattheo supposes) was another one of those days.
He had come home from school, nothing new. What was, however, new, was Tom.
He looked in better shape than he had in all the years Mattheo has seen him. Which was new, because he was usually, you know, too drunk to care about looks. He would just be mourning the life he could’ve had if he didn’t have another mouth to feed (yes, Mattheo knew he regretted having him, that much has been clear since childhood) and another soul to fend for.
He was mourning the life he could’ve had if he didn’t have a son (something broke in Mattheo when he finished stage Denial, which was the longest thing he’s ever had to do).
At least he did what was expected of him, but that was long ago. Tom didn’t deserve that. He didn’t and Mattheo wasn’t gonna give him that. He wasn’t gonna give himself up for a man who didn’t even remember his birthday, let alone care for him (then why was it so hard to let go?).
The plot twists always get’s Mattheo. This is definitely one of them.
Obviously not knowing how to deal with a sober Tom, uncomfortable silence filled the air around them. Tensing up, Mattheo tried acting like he didn’t notice acknowledging Tom and slip past him, hopefully to avoid whatever was awaiting him.
Turns out, god has something against him because everything went against right exactly how he wanted it. God, why couldn’t be he spared from this? Just this once?
Of course, even if he didn’t acknowledge seeing Tom. He did, because of fucking course he has to ruin his reputation more, what more damage could possibly be done it—
“Mattheo, son.”
It took everything in Mattheo to hold back the cringe shivering down his spine. Damn, he really was fucking ancient. He even spoke like he lived in the 17’th century.
“Dad.” Yes. Of course he had to acknowledge him.
Fucking ‘dad’? Where did that even come from. Mattheo hasn’t had a dad for as long as he can remember. Sure, he had a father who provided for him, but that was it. He did the fucking bare minimum, he didn’t deserve the title. He never did. But what’s done is done.
“Come, sit down.” Tom guided him as if Mattheo didn’t know his own fucking house, as if he’s a stranger that came into Tom’s house. Of course he should’ve expected a stunt like that. It wasn’t a surprise, but still had its own Element of surprise.
In the end, Mattheo ended up sitting across Tom (he wasn’t sitting anywhere within 3 feet of that man, he stinked of alcohol) still in his school uniform.
If Mattheo had to confirm, this was the most awkward conversation he had ever had. It even topped the conversation with his principal back when he broke a school toilet (don’t ask him how) and had to repay the damage.
“Hey so I—“ Tom began. Clearly making an ‘effort’ of putting the words together in a moment of hesitation before finally declaring (from how much Mattheo could read his face).
“I was thinking, maybe, we could go down to the museum for your birthday later this month?”
Oh.
Oh.
Definitely not a plot twist he would’ve seen coming.
Now, what the fuck does he say to that.
Tom has missed nearly all his birthdays, always sleeping on the couch after too much beer. And now he suddenly wants to spend quality time with him? Definitely a plot twist for sure.
But,
But Mattheo knows not to get high hopes. Never again.
But he misses being a kid so, so much. If he even knows what being one is like, he misses it. He misses being taken care of. Being cared for. Not having to worry about certain things kids needn’t worry for.
He misses it.
What could be the harm in letting him try one last time? He figures.
“Only if you promise to stay sober.”
Now, in all his life Mattheo has never wanted to take anything back more than now. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There goes his only chance of, finally, working up on his relationship with his dad (well, at least what’s left of it).
He fucked up didn’t he? He would never get any chance at fixing his relationship with his dad and now everything’s ruined and now all of sudden breathing is hard— fuck, fuck— okay he can’t afford a panic attack now. Fuck, why is breathing so hard? Focus on breathing.
Focus. Please, he (for once) pleaded to the universe. His breathing tensed and it’s like something in the air shifted. Please don’t take this away, he mentally and physically can’t anymore and he needs to fucking breathe before he ruins everything again—
“I promise, that I’m gonna try. For you.”
Okay. Screw breathing. What the fuck is going on.
It’s almost like his soft and sweet tone has convinced Mattheo. But he knows better. Don’t fucking bring up your hopes. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
But he did. Fuck. He did. The inner child in him has too much hope, it seems. He listens but is never heard. And the child in him wants nothing more than to jump at the first chance to save his relationship with his dad. Which is bullshit, cause he never even tried. And it isn’t fair.
Mattheo is tired. He is so, so fucking exhausted from everything. And all he needs right now is—
Is a fucking good night’s sleep. Yep. Totally. What he totally needs right now is sleep because he’s tired, very tired (he’s totally not gonna overthink everything Tom has ever said to him and cry himself too sleep because it feels like a fantasy come true).
Just because that’s what he needs, that doesn’t mean that’s he, however, is gonna get it. Because he never does. The fucking universe despises him too much to let him catch a break. Nope. No breaks for the mentally ill.
“Alright.” He whispered. He hated how small his voice sounded, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Then suddenly (you guessed it!) plot twist. Again.
This time, Tom opens his arms in Mattheo’s direction. Waiting for him to embrace him back.
But of course, it never happened.
It’s not that Mattheo doesn’t want it, he does. More than anything. But he couldn’t. It’s too much. It’s all too much. He can only handle so much at once.
“One step at a time.” Mattheo said, which way his way of saying ‘not yet, you don’t get that luxury yet. You need to fucking work for it like how I did for so fucking long.’
Eventually, Tom stopped. “One step at a time.” He repeated, trying to make sense of the phrase however it may make sense of itself in his head. Not even trying to hide it, disappointment washed all over his face. Clearly because Mattheo didn’t do as Tom pleased anymore.
Fucking cocky manipulative bastard got what he deserved.
“I’m gonna head to bed if you don’t have anything else to say.” Mattheo found his voice and spoke up, trying to sound as casual as he could, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice.
“No, no,” Tom said, objecting against having anything else to say. And to that, thank god. Mattheo would absolutely break if he has to handle one more of whatever that was with him. “Go rest, god knows you must be exhausted.” He said so causally as if pretending he didn’t fucking ruin Mattheo’s entire life.
“Yeahhhh…..” Mattheo trailed off. Not even bothering to pretend anymore and heading straight for his bedroom.
That might just be the weirdest interaction he’s ever had.
That night, for the first time in years, Mattheo had slept with high hopes that maybe, just maybe, things might get better, maybe it’s not too late (oh how wrong he was).
~~~
Tom had, surprisingly, kept his promise. Which was rare for him considering he never made any promises.
He had stayed sober, has finally payed attention to Mattheo as if the past 16 years didn’t even exist, which made Mattheo even more mad than he ever was before. Maybe it’s the fact that Tom still hasn’t act knowledged it, maybe he’s still in denial. Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t apologized for anything and pretend it didn’t happen. Or maybe it’s both.
Still doesn’t change what he had done to Mattheo. And he sure as hell isn’t planning on forgiving him anytime soon.
But that didn’t mean something in him still didn’t crave for his attention. Just for him to be proud of Mattheo for once, hang his A+ exam papers on the fridge and crack jokes with him and listen to him rant about his shitty teachers. And god, Mattheo still wanted it all.
He doesn’t care if that makes him selfish. How does wanting for you dad to love you is even selfish?
It doesn’t. It shouldn’t.
As time passes by, Mattheo slowly started making small talks with Tom from time to time, it wasn’t everything but it was something.
It was a pretty damn good progress, if you asked Tom.
If was a poorly awkward progress, if you, however, ask Mattheo.
But it was something. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t nothing. It was something, and that was everything that mattered.
Tom started by asking how his day went by when they ( now has apparently ) started to eat dinner. Mattheo— Ever the genius— tells Tom the bare minimum, but it was enough to satisfy him.
Mattheo has started warming up talking with Tom about his friends by the end of the second week. And may or may have not mentioned his new lab partner way too much, Tom seemed to catch up on it and asked about the ginger named George way more often than not.
This. Tom being there and listening to him and cracking a chuckle whenever Mattheo jokes around. It still wasn’t enough to make up for all the years he’s missed, it might never will. But Mattheo is glad they’re making progress.
It might be little, it might be slow, but it’s better than nothing in his genius 16 year old brain. It meant too much for him to lose. He doesn’t think he can handle losing it, losing this. He would lose a part of him if he loses this and he doesn’t think he is ready to let go. He might never.
Of course, he was proved wrong by the very person who started this. Who started all this. Mattheo may have seen those betrayal movies, but in real life it was another level. It was too personal. It hurt too much.
It was like any other day in the past three weeks, Mattheo woke up, Went into the kitchen and sat by the counter while Tom prepared them breakfast, they chatted as they ate breakfast, it was never too quiet around them. Then he was off to school, went to the boring lessons, finished his after school detentions from last Tuesday after the stunt he pulled (which, mind you, was fucking self defense but apparently School Councilor is more than happy to disagree), and then.
Then he went back home which, of course, is where it all always seemed to start.
And, of fucking course, it had to be on the day before his fucking birthday. Of course it did. His life always seriously seemed to have some main character complex.
As always, he was back home. And then it hit him.
He almost had to cover his face from the strong smell of alcohol that he most definitely hasn’t smelled in almost a month. His heart sank at as his mind traveled a hundred miles through every possibility that might explain what was happening.
He immediately got his answer as soon as he entered the kitchen. The very sight he thought he would never see again, that he had high hopes is finally behind them, was right in front of his eyes.
Tom was drinking. He was fucking drinking. Sky is blue, grass is green, Tom is drinking and Mattheo is fucking furious.
“Oh good, you’re home.” Tom said so fucking causally, as if he wasn’t the one drinking again,
“What the fuck is this?” Mattheo said and oh god. He hated how fucking small he sounded. He felt like a kid again, his mind demanding answers as to what he could’ve done that has possibly made his father this angry at him as Mattheo sobbed into his pillow, not daring to do anything that might alert Tom of his existence again,
“What does this look like to you?” Tom, the ever worst fucking Father, raised his voice. No longer trying to keep his patience “Does this look like a fucking tea party? Use your fucking brain for once and stop being such a useless piece of crap that craves attention.”
Oh. He deserves the reward of being the shittest dad. He deserves an Oscar for keeping up the fucking fake concerned bullshit act for weeks.
But that. That reached such a deep point in Mattheo he wasn’t sure it even existed. He might’ve pulled through Tom’s bullshit before, but this was his fucking last straw. Words spilled out of him before he could stop himself.
“Were your fucking bullshit ever real?” He whispered, not daring to raise his voice any much to save himself from the way his voice might crack. He wasn’t gonna show any fucking vulnerability to him. “Did you ever really care? Or was it all just to get me to fucking get my hopes up and crash them all over again?” At this point. Fuck his voice, it didn’t matter the way it cracked when he started raising it.
“How much more did I have to do to be worthy of being a fucking child who needed to be loved?”
Unfortunately for him, Tom didn’t seem to care one bit. Instead the asshole looked like he was holding back a chuckle, it fucking made Mattheo’s blood boil. It was unfair. It was unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair.
Maybe the fucking gods really did love seeing him suffering because there is no other explanation to how fucking unfair any of this is.
Tom, ever the drunk asshole, just chuckled as he watched. “Did you really think you were every gonna be worthy of my time?” He mocked him in a ‘loud’ whisper. “Did you,—“ he grinned even wider. “—really thought, that I would ever love someone as unworthy as you?” He slammed his fist on the table as he threw his head back in a fit of laughter.
The echoing sound only send a shudder down Mattheo’s spine as he watched
His him, his dad, his everything, the destroyer of his life, the worst thing that happened to him giggling like a Sociopath. By now, he isn’t trying to stop the tears. There is no point. After all,
It had been his fault for having such high expectations from a drunken.
In a fit of rage he picked up one of the empty beer bottle from the table and threw it to the ground. In seconds, a lot of things changed, for one. Tom looked up at him with an angry expression he’s never seen before. And he’s be a fool if he said that didn’t fucking terrified him. He hasn’t seen that looked since the last time he angered Tom and that didn’t go that fucking well—
“You fucking ungrateful piece of scum!” Tom hissed at him as he rapidly stood up from his chair and headed straight for Mattheo.
He yanked him by the shirt as he punched his nose and fuck— that shit hurts like a bitch. “You should be grateful you even have a roof under your head with a full stomach!” He yelled into his face but Mattheo didn’t care. All he could focus on is his now bloodied nose. Fuck, he didn’t do well with blood. Ironic how he have to either way. Not a fucking choice, is the correct term of accepting it.
“I should’ve fucking given you up to the adoption center when I had the chance.” He said into his face, again, but all Mattheo could hear is the constant ringing in his ears.
Oh. Has he really given up on Mattheo that much? Was this all he was worth? Was this really his life? Stuck with an addict with no escape. He was fucking stuck and he couldn’t find his way out. Was this it?
Was he going to murder him? His own father?
No. No, this can’t be it. It can’t be. He refuses to accept it. He won’t. He is not gonna fucking die. He can’t just leave everyone behind. He can’t. He doesn’t wanna die (does he really?).
He miraculously found the strength in himself to grab another bottle, he didn’t know if it was empty or not, and quite frankly. He doesn’t care. In an attempt to escape his grip, he aimed for Tom’s head. Smashing the bottle as they both fell to the ground.
“Wha” Tom was confused. okay. He can escape. He is gonna escape. Yep. He is gonna make a run for it and never look back.
While Tom fell backwards as his head has now started to bleed, Mattheo had the element of surprise, and if he hesitated for a moment before making a run for it, no one needs to knows that.
Without a second glance, he ran.
He ran and he ran and ran and ran. He ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He ran until his legs gave in but he can’t stop now, not when he was so close to— to—
Wait. Where was he going?
As a familiar hit of realization settled in, he slowed down to look at the very fancy looking neighborhood. Huh. He recognized this place. It’s—
It’s where Theodore lives.
He was already in front of his house, his parents (thank god) weren’t home. Seeing they were partners with the infamous Glass Maker company, they are very busy people. And thank god they are cause Mattheo doesn’t know what would’ve happened if he basically knocked down their door with how much he was knocking on it.
Open it, open it, open it, open the goddam door—
“Slow down!” The oh so familiar voice of Theodore came from the other side of the door and Mattheo had to old back the urge to not break down. “You’re gonna break the very fucking door I chose myself which is simply the best fucking door out there and—“ he cut himself out as soon as his eyes landed on Mattheo and god, the concern itself on his face was enough to crack Mattheo.
“Theo, my man, ally, best friend I would sell my kidney for and steal from the government from,” Theodore listed off the fucking stupid silly nicknames. Of course he does, it’s Theodore. You can’t expect anything less. “What happened to you?” He whispered and with that. Mattheo cracked.
He basically threw himself in Theodore’s arms as he sobbed, tears streaming down his face nonstop and he can’t fucking breathe.
Fuck. He can’t breathe, he needs to breathe. He inhaled but a sharp pain across his chest cut him off. Breathing. Okay. He can do that. He’s a professional at that. Breathing. Cool.
Fuck, why is breathing so hard? Breathe, breathe, breathe. Focus. Please, please, just focus. Focus.
“Mattheo, You’re okay. You’re safe now, no one can get to you.” Theodore whispering on cue as Mattheo clinged onto him, sobbing harder than before. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He really needs to control his breathing, and it was as painful as it looked.
“No—“ Mattheo managed out between sobs. “No, no— it’s okay. It’s never gonna be okay—“ he gasped for air, not very interested in passing out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Focus on breathing.
“He ruined— everything and now— now it’s not okay— no—“ he shut his eyes as more tears fell, ruining his friends shirt who seems so fucking terrified and Mattheo can’t blame him. He didn’t ask for this, and now Mattheo has managed to ruin everything again—
“Mattheo, no. It’s not your fault,” Theodore said. “It’d gonna be alright. You’re safe, you’re gonna be okay. You’re not going back there, you understand?” He said, praying to god Mattheo can hear him.
“It’s gonna be okay. Just take deep breaths with me,” Theodore guided him. “Come on, with me.” He inhaled an exaggerated breathe and Mattheo tried to mimic him and failing miserably, which only resulted in him wailing harder.
“I can’t, I can’t— you don’t understand— please, please,” he begged. He doesn’t wanna go back, ever. “Don’t make me go back— please.” He panicked over the thought of having to go back, he can’t.
He can’t, but they won’t listen. They’re gonna send him back and everything’s gonna ruined again and he doesn’t wanna go back—
“Mattheo, Theo. You are not going back. I’m not letting you go back there, alright?” Theodore said, trying to assure Mattheo that he is gonna be okay. Hopefully, it works. Hopefully.
“Now come on, take deep breaths with me again. It’s alright, you’re safe now. You’re gonna be okay.” He finished, taking a deep, exaggerated breathe again. And exhaling it, waiting for Mattheo to mimic him back. He only, briefly managed, breathing still shaky and he exhaled. As another wave of disappointment hit him and he barely managed to back the urge to breakdown again.
“I just wanna be okay—“ Mattheo managed out. “Please, I just wanna be okay, I wanna be okay—“ he cried. He was absolutely hyperventilating. There was no objecting aganist that. “Why can’t I be okay? I wanna be okay.”
And Theodore would lie if he didn’t say that something in him broke that night. Fucking hell, what has Mattheo’s dad been doing to him? What the fuck has he done to cause Mattheo a Major panic attack like this, setting him on edge?
“Theo, listen to me. You are doing great. You’re doing enough. You’re enough, that piece of trash doesn’t deserve you.” Theodore said, hoping it would work to keep him distracted enough to calm him down.
“Theo, you are cared for, and I care for you, man.” Theodore said abruptly, not quite sure what now, since the closest thing he’s ever seen anyone has a panic attack were from fucking Fanfiction.
In a moment of desperation he bursted out. “Mattheo, I’m gay!”
And, oh.
Oh.
In a moment where everyone in the house freezed, they both looked at each other. Stared for a moment.
“What the fuck?” Mattheo breaked the silence.
“I’m gay.”
It took a few moments before they both burst out laughing. They were already on the floor but Mattheo released his tight grip on Theodore now that his panic had calmed down.
Wether Mattheo was half sobbing or half laughing is only for him to know.
They sat still on the floor when the laughter died down. Mattheo placed his head on Theodore’s shoulder, which automatically activated the butterflies in his stomach he only got when reading Fanfiction, but no one else needs to know that (besides you now, I guess).
Mattheo sighed quietly, realizing he needs to explain himself and why the fuck he was about to knock off Theodore’s door at 7PM and then had a Major Panic Attack in front of him.
When he did, however, said instead went along with something like this; “Thank you for tonight, Theo. I, uh,.. I really appreciate it. Just— thank you.
“I don’t know what could’ve happened tonight if it wasn’t for you, and for that. Thank you. I mean it, you better take the fucking apology cause you will hear me saying this again.” He said. Theodore let out a small chuckle at his comment. Everytime Mattheo Said something Even remotely nice, he will assure you that you will never hear it again. Of course, Theodore has caught up with it and now it just feels like an inside joke between them. Just, them.
“Mattheo,” Theodore stated slowly. “Are you.. uh. Are you safe alone with him?” And, Theodore had to ask. He had to know if Mattheo was safe or not. He needed him to be safe. He may have spilled too much when he had a panic attack, and Now Theodore had to be sure that he’s safe.
He doesn’t think he can live with himself if something happens to Mattheo when he could’ve done something about it, so better safe than sorry.
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Mattheo snapped. Seemingly no longer interested in keeping physical touch with Theodore. And Theodore would tear anyone apart who had dared to done that to Mattheo. He might not know everything, but he isn’t stupid or oblivious to the red flags.
“I mean, are you safe back at home? Do you need help?” Theodore knows he could push it further. He would, but it’s Mattheo. And he doesn’t wanna break that trust, but he has to know. He needs to know.
And Theodore, he wants to pretend he didn’t notice that moment of hesitation of Mattheo before he answered. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” And at this point they both know his reasonings and answer is weak, but he isn’t Mattheo if he goes down without an argument.
“Mattheo, I might be humorous and oblivious to most things, but child neglect and abuse is certainly not one.”
And Mattheo, he fucking tried to not flinch back at Theodore’s harsh words. Theodore’s heart sank at Mattheo’s reaction to his words. But Theodore is not gonna back down now.
“So, tell me Mattheo, what’s going on? What are you so afraid of?” Theodore said, nothing above a slight whisper. Obviously (if you haven’t figured by now) they were standing and in a moment of desperation Theodore’s arm reached out for Mattheo’s.
“Don’t.” Mattheo warned him, and that was enough for Theodore to back down. “Don’t fucking touch me.” And despite how confident you might think he sounded, he was still shaking all over.
“I- I’m so fucking sorry.” Theodore said. Desperately trying to take back how much you might’ve think he pushed and fucked up. “I’m sorry, I just want you to be safe, that’s all. I swear.” And (you guessed it) by now he was rambling and Mattheo cut him with a slightly soft tone.
“Theo, you’re rambling again.”
“Right,” Theo shook his head slightly. “Sorry, I, uh, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Theo,” Mattheo sighed. So much for the one who had a panic attack. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you, but for now. This, this is all I can give you.”
Theodore tried to hide the disappointment in his face, of course. It’s Mattheo’s life, he doesn’t have to tell him anything unless he wants to. He’s not gonna force it out of him.
“Well,” Theodore managed to grin. “You know what that means.”
“It’s time for a sleepover.”
“I swear to god if you play that stupid fucking sad Disney movie again I will murder you myself and make sure your body will never be found!”
“Not if I murder you first if you don’t clean your bloody nose!”