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What's going on right now is very normal and not at all abnormal. Yes, that's the case. That's what Chris believes. Because it's true. Obviously.
Matt leaves the house all the time. He goes to the grocery store and the mall and the park and other normal places that people go when they want to shop or unwind or hang out or do other normal things. It's something that Chris envies about him a little bit. The ability to leave the house at any time and go anywhere without having to pay an absurd amount of money and/or wait an absurd amount of time for someone else to drive you—still not enough to convince him to get his license, though.
So yes, this is very normal. No it doesn't matter that Matt didn't tell anyone he was leaving. No it doesn't matter that he won't answer any calls or texts. No it doesn't matter that his location is turned off. No it doesn't matter that he's been gone for 6 hours. And no it doesn't matter that Matt actually never leaves the house or goes to any of those places or does any of those things and Chris is just gaslighting himself into thinking any of this is normal while he sits in his living room at 2 in the morning staring off into space with tears rolling down his cheeks praying to God that his brother will come home safe.
That doesn't matter. Because this is normal.
Nick has always been the brother most comfortable alone. He sleeps soundly alone, goes to friends’ houses alone, travels alone, and stays home alone. When Matt and Chris decided to go to Vegas for Slap Battles, Nick slept easy knowing he finally had some peace and fucking quiet. Chris slept easy because even though Nick was absent, at least he still had Matt.
Tonight, Nick is home in Boston doing work for Space Camp. Chris has been sleeping easy because even though Nick has been absent, at least he's still had Matt.
But now Matt's not here, and Chris can't sleep. He hasn't called Nick yet because if it's late in L.A., it's even later in Boston, and Nick probably has something important or official to do tomorrow morning. Nick can't afford to be kept up all night by Chris just because Matt's out a bit late.
I don't need to call Nick, Chris keeps telling himself. I don't need to call him because I just know that the moment I do, Matt will walk through that door and we'll both go to sleep. It's not worth bothering him.
But Chris can't fall asleep in a quiet, empty house. An empty room. An empty bed. He just can't.
So he waits.
And he waits.
…And he waits.
He waits until he's called Matt so many times that his phone is dead. He waits until his leg starts to get sore from all the nervous bouncing it's doing. He waits until the tears slowly but constantly trickling down his face have given him a hell of a dehydration headache.
Yeah, about that, actually.
He isn't exactly sure when he started crying. Maybe it was hour three? Four? Five? Hell, maybe he's been crying since he realized Matt was gone. He doesn't know, and he doesn't entirely care. It doesn't change anything.
Something about Chris's current state is preventing him from moving, he realizes. He can't get up to get Advil and water for his head, a charger for his phone, or a hoodie for the chill. He feels locked to his spot on the couch; locked inside his own head.
So he waits.
He waits so long that the living room starts to brighten, now bathed in the cool blue-gray light of another melancholy L.A. morning. He glances out the large windows to his right. Did he seriously just accidentally pull an all-nighter?
He instinctively grabs his phone and clicks the power button. Nothing happens, obviously. The phone's been dead for hours by this point. Chris rolls his eyes at himself and stands up to get a charger. He takes a long stretch break before rubbing his eyes and walking to the staircase, looking over at the clock on the microwave before descending.
He mindlessly enters his room, plugs his phone in (not before missing the charging port three times first), and drops it carelessly onto the nightstand with a clatter.
He turns and takes two steps towards the door, then freezes. It just occurred to him the time he read on the microwave. 6:42 a.m.
Nah, no way. I read that wrong. I'm too tired for this.
He rubs his eyes again, this time harder, as if by doing so he could somehow rub the real time directly into his brain. Still, his paranoia ends up getting the best of him. He snatches a hoodie off the bed, one that's already been worn a few times since its last wash, and dashes up the stairs. When he gets to the top, he rechecks the time on the microwave.
6:43 a.m. He hadn't read it wrong. Matt's been gone for nearly eleven hours.
Eleven. Hours.
Nick has had a wacky couple days. He's in Boston doing shoots and work for his new Space Camp collab. Really he didn't have to go to Boston, he could have just done the shoot in L.A. and communicated with his business partner digitally, but Nick decided to go to make it easier.
At least that's what he told Matt and Chris.
Not that it was entirely a lie, it did make things easier, but there also had been a concert that he had really wanted to go to in Boston that week, so it worked out perfectly. Plus, it feels good to get out and do something by himself every once in a while.
Nick is in the middle of a conversation with one of his photographers when his attention is caught by angry buzzing coming from his pocket. He pulls out his phone and sees that it's a call from Chris.
That's odd. It's 11 a.m. here in Boston, which isn't insanely early, but 8 a.m. L.A. time certainly is; for Chris, at least. Which means that either he's spontaneously decided to fix his horrendous sleep schedule, or he's been up all night.
Nick apologizes to his photographer and quickly excuses himself to a corner. He picks up the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nick–”
“Chris, sorry, is this important? I'm a little busy.”
Chris makes a small noise as if he intends to answer, and then hesitates for a long time.
“No, no, I guess it's not,” he finally responds. His voice sounds extremely shot, so Nick assumes he just woke up. It seems impossible to imagine Chris sleeping like a normal human being, yet here he is, up at 8 in the morning. Nick internally applauds him.
“Okay. I have to go, sweetheart, I'll call back when I get a minute, alright? Love you, bub.”
“Love you.”
Nick hangs up the call and walks back over to his photographer, dropping his phone face-down on a nearby table.
“Sorry about that.”
“It's fine. Back to what I was saying…”
Two hours later, as they're wrapping up the shoot, Nick sits down at the table with a Coke in hand. Tired from being up on his feet all day and regretful about not buying Dr. Pepper, he picks his phone up and flips it over with the intention of getting lost in Instagram or Tiktok for a moment. His lock screen lights up with the time and a few notifications. His face ID doesn't immediately unlock the phone, as he's actively taking a sip from his drink, which gives him a moment to take notice of his notifications.
The ones that catch his attention are two missed calls and four new text messages from Chris, all from about two hours ago.
Nick frowns at the screen and puts his drink down, hunching over the phone and unlocking it to check what Chris wants.
Today 11:27 AM
Nick can you pick up
I lied it is important
It's about Matt
He's gone
Nick stares at the texts in shock and confusion. He quickly gets up from his seat, Coke forgotten, and retreats back to his corner. He leans up against the wall and anxiously taps the Call button on Chris's contact.
Chris picks up before the end of the first ring.
“Nick, oh my fucking god-”
Chris's voice still has the same broken, gravelly quality to it that Nick had previously mistaken for morning voice. Now, given the context, he realizes Chris has been crying. Not “pretty” crying, either; his voice only gets like this after the kind of deep, throaty sobbing that steals your voice and leaves your lungs devoid of air. It, unfortunately, happens more often with Matt than it does with the other brothers, so hearing it on Chris makes it twice as terrifying.
“Chris, you better not be fucking kidding with me right now, what's going on?”
“I don't know! Matt's just gone, he's gone.”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘he's gone’?” Nick demands, possibly a bit too loudly because it earns him a few glances from his crew.
“I mean he's GONE, Nick!” The more Chris has to say the word “gone,” the more his voice deteriorates. “He just up and left without saying anything, and his keys and phone are gone, and his car is gone and- and his location is off and he- he won't answer my calls an’…” After that, his voice crumbles into unintelligible whimpering.
“Okay, okay, Chris, sweetheart, breathe,” Nick comforts into the phone, switching personas from “angry older brother” to “worried mom” in an instant. He turns to face the wall to avoid making eye contact with everyone giving him concerned looks. “I'm sure he's fine, okay? When did he leave?”
Chris breathes twice, then replies.
“Like 8 last night.”
“Chris, oh my god, why the fuck didn't you call me sooner!?” Aaaand we're back to older brother.
“I thought he would just come home, Nick, I thought he would just come home. And it was late, I… I didn't want to bother you if he was just going to come home.”
“Chris, honey,” Nick starts, his voice breaking. Back to mom again. He leaves his corner and walks over to his bag, starting to gather his things. “I wouldn't've been mad if you ‘bothered’ me for this.”
Chris doesn't reply, just keeps sniveling into the phone. Then, something dawns on Nick.
“Chris, have you slept?”
Chris chokes on his breath.
“No.”
“Sweetheart…”
“I can't sleep without you guys, Nick. You know that. I can't stand this quiet fucking house.”
“Okay, Chris. I'm coming home. Right now.”
“No, Nick–”
“You don't get to say no. I'm coming home.”
And Nick isn't kidding, either. He calls an Uber back to his hotel, writing up an email to his crew and business partner that he would be flying back to L.A. early due to an “emergency.” He isn't even sure if it's an emergency yet, but his brother has been mysteriously missing for 14 hours. That seems like reason enough.
When Nick gets back to his hotel, he throws his bag onto the bed, props his phone up on the kitchen countertop, and switches the call, which he never hung up, to FaceTime.
Chris pops up on the screen, and Nick immediately recognizes that he's in Matt's room. The room is oddly dark for it being almost 11 a.m. where he is, making the quality all grainy. The only thing Nick can make out is the door in the background and the black silhouette of Chris's hair right in front of the camera. Before Nick gets the chance to say something, Chris leans out of frame and clicks on the lamp next to Matt's bed, which illuminates part of the room, including Chris. He leans back into frame and squints against the sudden bright light, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust. His eyes are simultaneously red and puffy from crying and surrounded by dark circles from lack of sleep. It's a sorry sight.
Nick sighs, reaching for his headphones on the counter and powering them on. They automatically connect to his phone.
“Chris, you need to get some sleep.”
Chris lets out something between a sigh and a scoff as Nick puts on his headphones and walks away from his phone to quickly pack his things.
“Yeah, I know. I just can't.”
“I get that, but you really need rest, bub. Do you think you could fall asleep if I stayed on call with you?” Nick starts hastily jamming all his clothes and equipment into suitcases.
“I don't know. Maybe.”
Nick hears shuffling and glances over at his phone to see that Chris has grabbed a pillow and is now clutching it to his chest, the lower half of his face buried in it. He's still just a tad too close to the camera, and all Nick can see is his eyes and hair.
“Do you wanna try that?”
“God, Nick, I don't know, okay? I hate falling asleep alone.”
“You won't be alone, that's the point. I'm right here with you.”
“Motherfucker, you're not right here with me. You're across the fucking country. I can't fucking do this, Nick.” Chris's voice starts breaking again.
Nick pauses, puts his bag down, and walks over to his phone. He picks it up and brings it to the hotel nightstand as he sits down in the bed.
“Yes, you can. Okay? You're not alone, I'm with you. Put the phone somewhere I can actually see you, and turn your brightness and volume down.”
Chris hesitates for a second, then does as Nick asks, adjusting the phone's position to give Nick a better view of him laying on his stomach on Matt's bed.
“Okay, now turn off that light, and just try to calm down. Remember that I'm still here.”
Chris reaches up for the lamp and clicks it off. The picture goes back to being dark and grainy with only basic silhouettes visible.
For 30 minutes or so, Nick sits on his bed in front of his phone, gently coaxing Chris to sleep. He's almost unaware of the comforting words of reassurance coming out of his own mouth as he mutters into the phone, his mind wandering elsewhere (‘elsewhere’ being the subject of Matt). Occasionally, just when Nick starts to think that maybe Chris is finally asleep, Chris aggressively turns over or groans with annoyance to prove that he isn't, and that Nick needs to keep talking.
Now is one of these times. Chris hasn't moved at all or made any noise for a good few minutes. Nick is pretty sure that Chris is actually asleep, and is about to get up to finish packing when a tiny movement on the screen catches his eye. Nick examines the picture closely and is able to make out the slight twitch of Chris's shoulders. He cranks his volume and can make out Chris's shallow, sporadic breathing as well.
“Chris?” Nick asks softly and carefully. “...Are you crying?”
Chris draws in a deep, shaky breath.
“I was the one that made him leave and I fucking hate myself for it.” Chris admits shakily.
Nick exhales gently, feeling hurt, shocked, and speechless all at the same time. If he didn't convey his heartbreak well enough with the sigh, he definitely does with his words.
“Chris, don't say that, bubba. You didn't make him leave.”
“Then who did, Nick?” Chris contests. “Who the fuck did?”
In an extremely rare turn of events, Nicolas Sturniolo finds himself at a complete loss for words.
Nick stares down at his phone screen, his finger hovering over the End Call button. He doesn't want to hang up—to leave Chris alone like this—but he has little other choice. He's delayed it as long as he can, but the plane is going to take off in a few minutes, and he really has to hang up now.
He scans over the picture for the hundred-thousandth time, taking in the exact same almost-still image of Chris's sleeping form on Matt's bed, curled around a pillow like a cat protecting its kittens. He listens to the soft, rhythmic sound of Chris's snoring, barely loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.
He's resting well now, but what about later? The flight from Boston to L.A. is almost 6 hours, and it's very possible that Chris will wake up before then. If Chris wakes up and is unable to reach Nick, would it not seem like Nick has abandoned him, too?
Nick is broken out of his short trance by the pilot's announcement that everyone should turn their phones onto airplane mode. No more time to overthink, he needs to hang up. He waits for the announcement to end, then unmutes himself—he had originally muted himself to protect Chris's sleep from the loud nature of airports and planes—and whispers, “I'll be home soon.”
He then taps the large red End Call button at the bottom of the screen.
When Nick approaches his front door, his anxiety is on an all-time high. The lack of a car in the garage is only making it worse.
He fumbles with his keys at the door before finally unlocking it and going inside. He drops his stuff at the base of the stairs.
“Chris?” he calls nervously up the staircase, shutting the front door behind him without bothering to close the garage. There's no response. He hurries up the stairs, leaving his bags. When he gets to the top, he scans the living room, finding it empty. Something about the silence has Nick on the brink of tears. It's not often that he calls out and there is no response.
Nick walks so quickly down the hall that he practically runs to Matt's bedroom door. He stops himself before he barges into the room. He straightens, and grips the door handle, turning it but not opening it yet.
He's not sure what he's so nervous about. It's not like Chris is going to jump out and bite him, if he's even still in there. Maybe it's just the nature of the situation that has him freaking the fuck out.
He takes a deep breath, then slowly, gently, pushes the door open.
Chris does not jump out and bite him. He's still asleep. For some reason, that doesn't make Nick feel any better.
Nick exhales softly. By the looks of it, Chris hasn't woken up since Nick hung up. The phone is still propped up on the bed facing Chris, the screen dark. He's in relatively the same position, just with one leg kicked out and a less aggressive hold on his pillow companion.
Nick rests his hand on the door handle and watches Chris for a few more moments before entering the room slowly, his fingertips gliding off the brass knob as he exits the solace of the doorway. He walks up to the side of the bed and gently lifts the sleeve of the hoodie that Chris discarded there. He glances up at Chris's bare back, then back down to the hoodie.
It's a blue Fresh Love hoodie; impossible to tell if it's Chris's or Matt's, as they wear the same size. Nick kneads the fabric between his fingers, allowing himself to think for a moment.
Coming home to Chris still being here and, better yet, still being asleep has eased his nerves slightly, but definitely not entirely.
He has no idea what to do about Matt. That's the truth. He has no clue. He's already tried calling, seeing if maybe Matt just has something against Chris right now, but to no avail. He could try reporting Matt's absence to the police, but because Matt is a grown adult and evidently left on his own accord, they probably wouldn't care much.
But he needs Matt back. He knows that Chris needs Matt back.
Coming to this realization, he stops fidgeting with the sleeve. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and swings his legs up onto it. The shift in weight on the mattress causes Chris to stir. He rolls over and rubs his eyes, looking vaguely in Nick's direction as his eyes adjust to being awake. The first words out of his mouth…
“Matt?”
That breaks Nick. All of his pent up anxiety and nervousness surrounding both of his brothers spill forth in that moment. He chokes out a sob poorly disguised as a scoff and brings his hand up to his face, prepared to wipe away the tears that had welled up in his eyes faster than he would have ever expected.
“No, Chris.”
Nick doesn't need to specify who he is. Chris can tell by his voice, even though most people can't.
Chris simply groans and rolls back over, seeming upset and disappointed. In any other circumstance, Nick would have definitely taken offense at his presence being whined at, but right now? Right now, he gets it. Nick understands exactly what Chris is feeling. He understands all too well.
“Maybe I would be better off without you.”
Matt sits in his car, staring out the windshield with his arms crossed over his chest to keep his heart from beating out of it.
It was just a stupid little argument. They have them every day. This one wasn't even an argument, more like a mischievous exchanging of words. It probably meant nothing to Chris; just another day on the job as a triplet saying meaningless nonsense he wasn't even listening to himself. To Matt, it meant far too much more.
He had been having a horrible few days, possibly weeks. He didn't keep track. Maybe it was as simple as him just reading a few too many comments on a few too many TikTok videos. Or maybe it was as complicated as 21 years worth of pushed-back thoughts coming to attack him all at once.
Whatever the reason, it had him lying awake at night, over-analyzing anything he or his brothers—or anyone, for that matter—had said or done that day.
Did Nick actually mean that comment he made? Chris seemed more energetic; it was probably because I wasn't there. I didn't say anything to either of his brothers until 8 p.m. Did they even notice? I only got up today to drive Nick to the airport. Is that all they needed me for? A chauffeur? They obviously don't need me for that when Uber exists, so why am I even here? And god, Chris has been working so hard on Fresh Love recently, hasn't he? If only I had that kind of dedication. What am I even doing for this line of work, anyway? What do I add? What use do I have?
Matt's racing mind ended up keeping him holed up in his room most days. In his eyes, Nick and Chris didn't seem to notice. Which led him to the ultimate question:
Would anyone even care if I was gone?
Nick and Chris have never, ever, in a hundred thousand years, for any reason, in any situation, given Matt any reason to believe that they didn't care. But recently, it seems like they haven't been doing much to prove that they do, either.
He was weighing down on himself, and it was leaving his mental and emotional state fragile. All it took was one altercation for it to all come crumbling down. For Matt to finally get his answer.
Matt blinks hazily at the TV, struggling to keep his eyes open even though he slept away most of the daylight. It's not even that late, maybe 6 or 7 p.m., and he already wants to go back to sleep. His eyelids start to sag as he slowly nods off, the TV still droning on in the background.
Three knocks on the door are what startle him awake again. His brain takes a moment to register the sound. He rolls his eyes.
“Come in, Chris.”
With Nick in Boston for the next week or two, Chris has very limited choices when it comes to who he can bother on a moment's notice. ‘Very limited’ meaning literally just Matt.
“Woah, why's it so dark in here?” Chris flicks on the lights and Matt winces. “Are you trying to go to sleep already?”
“No,” Matt lies. His voice is coarse.
Chris looks suspicious. “Okay… Well since you're not going to sleep, can I not go to sleep with you?”
Matt scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Chris, can't you just do something by yourself for once?”
Chris is slightly taken aback. “I… Yeah, Matt of course I can do… I can do something by myself. What–?”
“Really? Can you? Because every single day it's you hanging out with me and Nick 24/7. You can't even sleep on your own. You have to sleep in our rooms every night because you just can't stand sleeping alone.”
Matt doesn't want to push Chris away. If anything, he wants to keep Chris around so he has at least a fighting chance at doing something other than rotting away in his bed with his thoughts. He doesn't mind Chris's presence—if he did he probably wouldn't have survived this long, being his brother and all—especially not Chris sleeping in his room. Matt knows that he shouldn't be so angry, yet he is anyway. Maybe if his ears weren't filled with the rush of blood, he would have noticed the twinge of hurt in Chris's voice when he spoke next.
“Matt, c'mon. I definitely can sleep by myself.”
“Yeah, sure. You believe that,” Matt tosses back sarcastically.
“Yes, I do believe that. Because it's true. I don't need you and Nick for everything.”
“Could've fooled me.”
Chris opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates for a moment. He frowns at Matt, trying to gauge what the hell he did wrong to deserve the Mattitude he's suddenly receiving. Then, he says, “Alright, then. I'll stop sleeping with you every night, since you obviously hate it so much.”
“God, Chris that's not–” Matt sighs, “that's not what I fucking care about. It's the constant nagging, the constant having to be either in here or on call with Nick, the constant need to be with–”
“Then I'll stop that too!” Chris interrupts. “In fact, what if I never talked to you or Nick ever again, huh? Fun idea, Matt! That's the perfect solution, since obviously all I do is drag you down.”
Chris's hurt turns to anger, leaking like venom into his voice. Because that's where he keeps his pain.
“Actually, now that I think about it, it would be better, wouldn't it? I could use some independence, too. Yeah, yeah, you know what, Matt? Maybe I would be better off without you.”
Now it's Matt's turn to be hurt without the other knowing. He stares at Chris for a second or two, his expression an upsetting mix of shocked and pissed off.
“Get out of my room,” he finally says through gritted teeth.
“Gladly.” Chris flicks the light off passive aggressively and exits down the hall. Of course, leaving the door wide open.
Matt kneads his tongue into his cheek and keeps staring at the bright rectangle where Chris stood a moment before. Tears start to silently trickle from his eyes. Because that's where he keeps his pain.
Matt is jolted from his rumination by the sudden growl of his car's engine revving. He quickly picks his foot up off the gas, his eyes darting over the dashboard, trying to see what caused the sudden outburst.
He concludes that he had subconsciously started bouncing his leg under the dash, a fairly common nervous tic he has, and had pressed the gas pedal by accident.
Thank God for parking brakes, he thinks.
Now that he's free from the grasp of his mind, it seems like a better time than ever to do what he came to do. Before he fucks up anything else about his car. Or his life. Or his brother's life.
Matt turns off the car and loads his phone and keys into his pockets before stepping out, slamming the door behind him. He parked a couple houses down from his actual house so that the sound of the engine wouldn't alert his brother. Though it is almost 7 in the morning, making it highly unlikely that Chris is awake, you can never be too safe.
He stares nervously at his front door as he approaches it, his hands jammed into his jacket pockets to keep them from shaking. He's so on edge that the chirp of the car letting him know it automatically locked itself is enough to make him jump.
He steps up to his door and stares at the wood anxiously. Just in and out, he tells himself. Then you'll be out of Chris's hair.
He looks down at the doorknob and goes to pull out his keys, but notices something odd. He abandons the keys and hesitantly reaches for the doorknob. It turns smoothly and the door opens with no resistance.
What the fuck…
Matt locked the door when he left. He’s sure of it. The only way it could be unlocked is if Chris had left the house, which he never does without at least one of his brothers.
Matt steps through the dark doorway, extremely confused but willing to brush it off anyway. He slowly, gently closes the door behind him, taking care to be as quiet as possible, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The idea is to use his phone flashlight rather than turning on any lights to avoid disturbing Chris. This is a well-planned heist.
He turns on the flashlight and immediately stops in his tracks. He stares, dumbfounded, at the floor. Near the base of the stairs, jammed against the wall, is a handful of duffel bags. The exact duffel bags that Nick took to Boston.
No, no, no. What the fuck? Nick shouldn't be home yet, it's only been a week. He's not supposed to come home until 3 days from now. This can't be real, there's no way this is real.
And yet it is. There they are, Nick's bags, sitting dejectedly on the floor in front of him. What's worse is that Nick is never the type to leave his bags sitting around when he gets home; he prefers to unpack immediately. However, the bags have quite obviously been here for at least a few days, judging by the small sprinkling of dust on top. Nick must have been in a hurry.
Come to think of it, Nick did call Matt repeatedly the day after he left. Did Nick come home early because he was…
No, no fucking way. Stop being so selfish, the world doesn't revolve around you. He probably just finished early. That, or he was worried about Chris, not you. Surely not you.
For a moment, Matt considers turning and leaving. Whatever the reason, Nick is here. His chances at waking someone up and getting caught have just doubled. But oh, he really needs something from his room.
So Matt presses on. He steels himself as best he can and quietly walks up the stairs, peeking over the short wall at the top to scan the living room. There's nobody. They haven't decided to sleep on the couch, thank God. They're probably in Nick's room, actually.
This realization gives him a bit more confidence. He crosses the living room and kitchen area and stops in front of his bedroom door. He gently turns the handle and shines his phone flashlight inside.
…and promptly freezes in fear.
Right in the middle of his illuminated circle is Nick, tucked carefully under the covers and asleep on Matt's bed. Matt panics, averting the flashlight to the floor. That only makes the situation more nerve-wracking, as he discovers Chris lying there. The youngest is splayed across the carpet with a few of Matt's clothes strewn off-handedly around him. Matt's favorite plushie, Mr. Wrinkleton, is being suffocated underneath Chris's head. Matt's heart sinks. Unfortunately, the makeshift pillow is exactly what he came for.
He rifles through a few ideas for how he's going to retrieve his plush, varying from gently sneaking it out to pulling an Indiana Jones to flat-out waking Chris up and taking it. He doesn't get to make a decision before the bright flashlight causes Chris to stir.
Matt fumbles with his phone and quickly turns off the light, hoping that he will be able to camouflage in the darkness long enough to devise a plan. What he fails to account for is the soft moonlight streaming in the large windows in the living room, letting in more light than the blackout curtains in Matt's room, effectively backlighting the middle triplet. This, combined with the fact that Chris's eyes are much more adjusted to the darkness than Matt's, makes is so that–
“Matt?” Chris mumbles.
Shit.
“...Matt!?”
He can see me.
“It's just another nightmare, Chris. Go back to sleep,” Nick groans, adjusting his sleeping position.
Oh, good. Chris has been having nightmares about me coming home. How delightful.
Matt steps out of the doorway and walks backwards down the hall, all the way into the kitchen, entirely unsure of what to do.
“No, Nick, he's–”
Matt can hear Chris shuffling.
“Chris, sweetheart, he's not here. Come get in bed.”
Matt watches as Chris comes tumbling out of the doorway and stops to stare right at him. The two boys gaze at each other. Unmoving. Unbreathing. The room is so quiet, you can almost hear both boys’ heartbeats echoing off the walls. The air is heavy, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Time stands still for a few moments as Chris tries to deduce whether Matt is real or not, while Matt tries to think of a way to convince Chris that he isn't.
Then, time resumes.
“MATT!”
Chris launches forward, closing the gap between the two brothers in a matter of seconds. Matt attempts to think of a way to deflect his brother, but by the time he realizes what's going on, Chris is already on top of him. The younger tackles him into a tight embrace with so much force that Matt falls backwards onto the couch.
Matt, immediately feeling overwhelmed and a little bit trapped, squirms around in Chris's arms awkwardly, trying to escape the grasp of his little brother. Chris is saying words into Matt's jacket, all of which Matt is busy ignoring. He wrestles his arms free and forces one between him and Chris, using the other to flip the two of them over so that Matt is the one pinning Chris now.
“–but I'm so happy you're back.”
“Will you just–” Matt starts, his voice breaking off like glass. He gazes down at Chris, seeing his brother's perfect blue eyes scrunched with shock and… pain? Matt stares in befuddled silence for a second or two more. “Wait, what did you just–”
Before he can finish, a strong hand closes around his arm, pulling him to his feet.
To be fair, when Nicolas begrudgingly got up to retrieve Chris from the living room, he wasn't exactly expecting to see the younger man being pinned down on the couch. In his defense, he truly didn't think it would actually be Matt. In an act of pure energetic instinct, he grabs the assailant's left arm—that familiarly-tattooed arm—and jerks them to their feet.
“What the fuck do you think you're–”
As Nick spins the man around, he certainly isn't prepared to see a face matching his own looking back at him, startled, confused, and horrified.
“Matt?” Nick loosens his grip on Matt's arm, his threatening grasp turning into a gentle hold. Matt somehow looks more surprised than he does.
Nick pulls him into a tight hug. “Thank God you're home. Oh my fuck.” He pulls away, giving Matt a quick once-over. Both of his hands are squeezing Matt's biceps. He shifts one to Matt's cheek. “Are you okay? You fucking idiot, what the fuck were you thinking? Leaving like that?”
Matt frowns and withdraws from Nick's touch, taking one step back. “Why don't you ask Chris?” he suggests sarcastically, looking over his shoulder.
“...Why..?” Chris asks, seated on the edge of the couch. Matt's words were supposed to make Chris angry, proving his point before he even makes it, but Chris looks more confused than ticked off. That just eggs Matt on further.
“Maybe I would be better off without you,” Matt quotes. “Is that not what you said to me?”
Nick looks to Chris expectantly, his expression struck with surprise.
“...Fuck I did say that didn't I…”
Nick opens his mouth to chide Chris, but Chris continues before he gets the chance.
“Matt, you couldn't possibly have thought I was being serious.” Chris stands up, reaching for Matt's arm empathetically. Matt dodges him. The denial of touch seems to physically pain Chris. He drops his hand to his side and keeps talking. “Listen, Matt, I didn't- I was just- I wasn't– …I'm sorry.”
Matt stares at Chris apathetically, his steel-blue eyes drilling holes into Chris's skull.
“I'm sorry, okay? I'm not better off alone. I'll never think I'm better alone.”
Matt stays silent for a few moments more. “Then why'd you say it?”
“...I don't know. I can't live without you, Matt.”
Matt nods twice mutely, then steps left, breaking out of the perfect line the three of them had been forming. Completely forgetting Mr. Wrinkleton, the only reason he came in the first place—fuck his original plan, everything has gone to shit anyway—he starts walking toward the stairs to leave.
“Where are you going?” Chris asks nervously. He quickly grabs Matt's wrist but Matt wrestles him off. He starts down the stairs without responding.
“Don't leave again, Matt, please. I can't live without you.” Nothing's working. Matt's leaving. Matt will be gone again. Chris panics. His next words fall out of his mouth before his brain can think of them.
“If you go I’m going too.”
Matt stops, his brown hair just barely visible over the top of the half-wall next to the staircase. He backtracks a few steps back up the steps and Chris nearly collapses with relief. Nick looks over at Chris, a wildly thrown-off expression on his face. Matt is giving him a similar look, but all Chris cares about is that Matt's not still walking away.
“Chris, what do you mean by that?” Matt asks sternly, concern lacing his voice, as he starts approaching the youngest. Chris stays silent because he knows he can. The expressions on Nick and Matt’s faces are telling him that they already know exactly what he means.
“Chris? What do you mean?!”
“I can’t live without you, Matt.”
“Christopher Owen,” Nick intrudes.
“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t heard me say it a million fucking times before. I can’t live without you. I can’t live without Nick, either. And I was 100% wrong when I said I could. And- Matt, listen,” Chris grabs Matt’s arm as if he isn’t already listening, “I love you, bro. I’ll love you until the day I die. Please just- Please don’t leave.”
A long and ever-so-slightly awkward silence follows. Chris keeps his hand on Matt’s arm as if the elder might fly away if he lets go. He stares directly into his brother’s eyes, trying to decipher the thoughts behind them. Nick stands a few feet away trying to decide what to do with his hands.
After a tense few seconds, Matt averts his gaze, sighing defeatedly at the floor to his right. Chris understands what that means and acts immediately, pulling his brother into a tight hug before the other has the chance to change his mind. Matt slowly accepts the hug, returning the embrace. Nick quickly joins them, his hands finally finding their home around both of his brothers.
No more words are exchanged, but Matt starts to cry. In the moment, he can’t pinpoint exactly why. Soft weeping rapidly turns to heavy, labored sobbing as Matt holds Chris tighter, letting the tears disappear into the fabric of Chris’s shirt. Soon enough, his knees threaten to buckle out from under him, but he doesn’t fall. His brothers are right there with him to hold him up.
And they always will be.